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beesmygod · 1 year

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who fills the pot holes in “lore olympus”?

the thing about criticism is this: you can absolutely think “too hard” about something intended to be light fare and the delicate balancing act of art criticism is about threading various needles to avoid as many retorts as possible accusing you of opening discussions in bad faith. one of the many ways to obliterate trust in your critical audience is to become so derisively nitpicky that your attempts to draw attention to the pre-existing holes in the setting or the structure of the story will look like petty sabotage. i recognize this is the risk im taking when i get set off by the existence of sports luxury vehicles within a fictional universe created entirely to cater to a specific sexual appetite. indeed, there is no type of pedantry more obnoxious than the sexual pedant.

BUT.

the work doesnt exist in a vacuum. if we’re going to be honest about the work’s intent (or, how the work’s intent explicitly reads to the audience), part of the fantasy is to be completely taken care of. i mean, who among us hasn’t dreamed of this, at least briefly. it’s one of the most fundamental of all human desires. but to be taken care of, in settings which are founded in capitalist societies (everyone groans at my shit), begs the obvious question: where is the money coming from?

author’s note so everyone knows im not insane (hahahaha): i’m not here to argue the virtues of communism over capitalism or imply that depicting capitalism favorably in your comic is a moral failing. it is not capitalism itself that i have a problem with (...in artistic depictions), it is the way that it is invoked within this comic specifically that bothers me; it demonstrates a terminal thread of thoughtlessness that threatens to unravel the entire setting, premise and moral ambiguity of what is being presented as a desirable fantasy. this element is the catalyst that sparks the degradation of the taboo into the unconscionable.

look i’ll be up front: my primary motivation is that this comic sucks and im a hater. the anti-feminist overtones are their own kettle of fish but the runner up contender for most concerning (oooueerrrg, everyone is groaning again) element is the complete lack of class consciousness. look, i mean concerning in the sense of “why has none of this gone recognized by, like, anyone?” every time i show someone a real LO panel they react like i’m went out of my way to fuck with them in an ultra specific way. it has completely recreated the feeling of being the only person in my friend group watching riverdale, if riverdale were the crown jewel of the WB.

to strip the pretension from the phrase “class consciousness” and put it in plain text: the insertion of modern capitalism into the comic has necessitated the creation of an underclass to serve the gods (the focus of the comic). as a result, the comic has repeatedly needed to justify the abuse, exploitation and acts of dominance over the subjugated class in order for the main cast to remain sympathetic. the author is incapable of envisioning a world that does not operate on disparity, in spite of the immutable fact that the gods are the sole arbiters of seemingly infinite creation.

and i’m capable of comprehending that there are times when a work has grotesquely unlikable asshole protagonists on purpose. it could be argued that the fickle behaviors of the gods is SUPPOSED to be detestable and there are obviously times where that is the intended audience read. but this is not “succession” and the entirety of the work does not indicate that it is trying to create quiet commentary by inviting the audience to draw their own conclusions on the characters by simply presenting them with the truth of their actions and deeds. additionally, if the romantic hero also engages in that behavior and it’s unremarked on or encouraged by the author or the heroine, what is the intended audience read?

regardless, all this to say: i do not want to alter the content of the comic, but to verbalize how it reads to me as an audience member. the purpose of criticism is to demonstrate and encourage reflection and to help refine one’s own perceptions.

okay. right. the cars.

this is minthe. i could write 100000 more words about the treatment of her by the comic and, by extension, the author. her introduction is about as subtle as a brick: she serves as the evil whore foil to persephone’s virgin perfection. her introduction as hades’ randomly abusive, hyper-sexual, and cruel younger girlfriend is contrasted with persephone’s naivete, chastity, and sweetness. shes literally smoking a cigar and wearing lingerie. somehow she is not the hero.

like i said, there’s a lot to unpack with her but i need to stay on target. minthe is a nymph, one of many “beast races” (for lack of a better term) that populate olympus and fulfill menial tasks and jobs. for example, this guy runs a modeling agency.

a modeling agency that include car shows. or...dealerships. its not really clear. anyway: she is introduced to hades in a flashback through his brother zeus who sexually harasses her during her shift.

lol uh. or comes as close as he can without becoming objectively villainous instead of “rakish”. as a result, what plays out is all VERY schoolyard behavior.

he executes a 0/10 prank that still kills for some reason.

and then it happens. “it” isn’t a singular event limited to just the example im about to give. “it” is the complete undercutting of the dramatic and logical tension within the story and “it” happens with alarming frequency as the comic introduces more and more modern elements. each additional luxury vehicle or department story or cell phone comes with the artist being forced to depict the people (or in this case, beast races) providing those services. the author cannot imagine a world where luxury is not predicted on service or a product, even or especially when the existence of the service or product does not make sense.

back to “it”...hades poofs away:

if gods can poof and fly (as its been implied some or all of them can), what in the hell is the purpose of the luxury vehicle on olympus? the beast races are sure as shit not buying them as they are explicitly the working class in every single one of their appearances. what does it run on? who pumps the gas? who services the cars? the streets of olympus have been paved so that cars can be driven so this would suggest the city’s infrastructure was centered around the use of vehicles. does he hire someone to drive him around in it, despite the fact that he can teleport? he and persephone clearly use it to get around even though she can fly. these cars are so successful despite having an extremely limited number of buyers, they make enough money to hire booth babes all day explicitly so they can be sexually harassed by the men (of a superior magic immortal race) buying the cars.

why does an entire seemingly unnecessary industry exist within the confines of the universe?

all of the above questions are overthinking a basic logistical problem with the setting for anyone with a moral center: in order to be served, one must have servants. the entirety of the universe in LO is constructed around not a modern re-imagining of the ancient myth, but instead a lazy and depressing hodge-podge of various products and physical items the author places great value on as status items in the real world. and, sadly, this is not as a bit within the universe. this isn’t setting up any message other than the central one of the comic: love and worth can be quantified with a dollar amount.

hades’ department store (staffed entirely by beast races who are delighted and eager to serve their master) offers a purse that two beast race women drool over, only to be informed:

this scene has a direct and obvious purpose: through it, we establish that hades’ store caters to the ultra-ultra-rich. this is a level of rich that is unobtainable to anyone except the pantheon of gods, whose unique abilities maintain the fabric of reality and thus set the terms for the world they unilaterally control. at best, minthe, a nymph, experiences a fraction of this wealth when sugaring for hades. on the other hand, persephone is the heiress to a cereal empire (who is eating the....?.........you know what dont even get me started on that whole thing) so she is all but assured to be independently wealthy even if she was temporarily without funds during certain events of the comic.

back to the purse: hades and persephone arrive at his own department store so that she can have a restorative shopping montage. she learns a heart-warming lesson about how its okay to be rich in what i think is one of the most gratuitous and absolute dog-brained moments of the entire fucking comic, thus far, including the part where persephone gets big and accidentally steps on (real, human, ancient greek) people and has to go on the lam. her accidental manslaughters evidently require a tribunal and a trial of her peers, which is odd when contrasted with the justice meted out on the beast races indiscriminately and unilaterally by individual gods who act as judge, jury, and executioner.

granted these are not the nice gods (i can think of an event with demeter, persephone’s confusingly controlling mother, specifically, as seen above), but there’s an echo of this behavior when hades bullies two beast race women into divulging information about persephone. in one example, a woman purchases a hair comb from a pawn shop, ignorant that it was a gift from hades and persephone is the one who pawned it for emergency funds. when hades shakes her down and demands where she stole the comb from, she directs him to the pawn shop and he just...takes it. to give it to persephone again. whether or not she was made whole or is even okay with this is completely inconsequential to the author but left me, the reader, in a total lurch. the complete disregard for addressing this within the narrative is less shocking when taken into total account with everything else ive been talking about.

the sequence in which hades takes her on a shopping spree to both improve her mood and express his love was too grotesque for me on every conceivable level. it is not just the shockingly antiquated “women b shoppin!” stereotype presented as a healing process, but the open and shameless conflation of money and love, net worth and self-worth. what possible message could come from this except to reinforce that within the fictional universe of LO, it is the place of the lesser to fawn over what persephone is ultimately entitled to. it is her birthright as the protagonist/self insert and as a literal goddess who determines the creation of food...and nymphs. the underclass. the gods are responsible for the creation of their servants.

the industries exist because they are 1:1 representations of or conductive to what the author considers to be a desirable luxurious fantasy. i do not think there is a more complex reason than that, as that is the reason why the entire comic exists: as a personal love letter to the author’s tastes and desires. and frankly, that’s the point of comics. ALL comic artists should succumb to this desire. what continues to vex and haunt me however is the complete lack of reflection occurring despite the author putting these elements together and presenting them for an audience who then lapped it up without questioning what, specifically, was appealing about this and why. it is by sheer accident that these elements combine together to paint an unflattering picture of a culture that has created artificial disparity for no apparent reason than personal gratification.

my question, is this:

who fills the pot holes on the roads built exclusively so that the gods can drive their luxury cars? why do they do it? to get hades some pussy????

#long post #lore olympus

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machinesonix · 1 month

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Dune 2 is out, and as a huge fan of the franchise I am in a semiferal state of hyperfixated fervor. I’ve been reading the book again as a coping mechanism, but it has been sort of difficult finding a social outlet for it. See, there is a lot of fascinating worldbuilding that isn’t in the movies and a lot of messianic philosophy that isn’t quite summed up by ‘well actually it turns out Duncan is the real Space Jesus.’ My wonderful girlfriend suggested this metablogging thing might be a better way to get my fix than stopping strangers on the street with a passion for science fiction easily mistakable for radical Islamic fundamentalism so HERE WE GO

One thing that kinda blows my mind reading through Dune is how both movies have given us radically different portrayals of Baron Harkonnen and how both of them are totally believable in the context of the original text. If you’re not familiar, the new sexy Dune gives us this raspy Kingpin type Baron that wades around in a bunch of unsettling fluids with this villainous gravitas like a fascist hippopotamus. In David Lynch’s 1984 Dune we are still dealing with a caricature of obese evil, but he’s just so goddamn jolly about it. He’s giggling and spitting and cavorting around in antigravity while Games Workshop writers take note about how everyone loves his boils. These depictions are so opposite to each other that seeing them both in the text is giving me this weird double vision.

I think the reason is this beautiful context we don’t really see in either version of the film, and that is the psychopath mentat Pieter DeVries serving absolute cunt with his exposition. It’s a worldbuilding thing. The Baron has a 15 year old Feyd-Rautha watching his uncle to learn a thing or two about statecraft. Pieter is a twisted mentat, which is like a human computer with an OS optimized for human rights violations and he is just having none of the Baron’s shit. He flaunts his expensive drug addiction, offers to dance, and repeatedly reminds the Baron that he was too stupid to have come up with this Snidely Whiplash shit by himself. Pieter correctly reasons that the Baron will have him dead as soon as he has outlived his usefulness and that his attitude isn’t going to be much of a determining factor. For now he is very confident that he remains useful.

So eventually Feyd is like ‘Uncle, I’m just watching you argue, I could be playing GameBoy right now’ because GameBoy is what Feyd-Rautha calls the guy with needles for teeth that he hunts through the steam tunnels. And the Baron goes ‘Ah, but you are learning something. See, one of the great things we lost during the robot jihad were Excel spreadsheets that weren’t little bitches.’ And that’s where it gets me. I can’t tell if this is an impatient mastermind flexing his general obesity or a plague-clown who invited his sassy laptop in to make everyone watch his sick burn. Maybe those aren't mutually exclusive. Maybe it’s not that weird and it’s just David Lynch brain poison leaving its indeliable mark.

Mostly I think it’s a profound tragedy that we don’t have an on screen adaptation of Pieter DeVries going full fucking Starscream. Like yeah, we see some animosity but we as an audience have been robbed of seeing a dude who can do orbital physics calculations in his head acting like he just figured out nothing actually happens when mom finishes counting down from ten. As a millenial STEM graduate, I feel a deep sense of empathy for this human calculator vocalizing to his employer that he hopes his home burns down.

#dune #feyd rautha #baron harkonnen #dune meta #Pieter

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127tyong · 1 year

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Graduation

if you suffer from depression or suicidal thoughts, please skip this one. remember to read the warnings.

this content may be traumatizing or hard to read for younger audiences.

a second version of this story will be released that removes the bigger triggers.

Pairing: Jeno X Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Porn Star Jeno AU

Warnings: SA (on reader), forced pregnancy, emotional abuse and exploitation, date rape drugging, suicide

Word Count: 2.0k

"You're hot then cold. Warm enough to kiss my lips in the morning, but cold enough for me to question if you even love me…"

Part 3 of 4: Autumn- Graduation

"Fuck, it's so deep inside me! Harder!" The girl in the apartment next to yours was screaming her heart out.

"Say my name you fucking bitch." You heard a man slap her.

"Jeno!" She moaned.

"Good girl."

You moved into your apartment a few weeks ago. Everyday it was like this. Jeno would bring over a girl and fuck her for hours. You were the unfortunate person who lived next to him, on the otherwise vacant 12th floor of your apartment building.

You and Jeno had fairly different schedules, so you never bumped into him in the halls… nor did you even know what he really looked like.

But today, enough was enough. You had to confront him yourself.

You knocked on his door a few hours later.

"Who is it?" Jeno yelled.

"Your neighbor." You yelled back.

"Oh, shit!" You heard Jeno hiss through the door, then open it. "What can I do for you?"

"I moved here a few weeks ago… And I just want to ask if you could possibly… Um…" You tried to sort your words. "Keep it down when you're…"

Jeno nodded, clicking his tongue. "Got it. To be honest, I didn't know someone moved in, I thought I was the only person on this floor…"

"Alright. Thanks, that's all." You awkwardly shuffled out of the hall and back into your apartment.

But the very next day, the screams and moans were just as loud, if not louder. You quickly realized… it wasn't Jeno. Jeno was probably watching porn…

You decided to knock on his door. Then you turned the door knob, not knowing it was unlocked…

He wasn't watching porn. He was holding a camera. He's a porn star.

Jeno invited you over to his place after everyone else left. "I should explain… And you shouldn't sit there." He stopped you from sitting on his couch.

"Oh." You noticed someone's… bodily fluids.

"Just sit right there." He pointed at a dining chair.

You sat across from Jeno.

"I… do porn. And I record it all here." Jeno blushed. "The apartment owner let me have my own floor as long as I paid him, but I guess… You're here now too."

"Well… yeah." You didn't really have a response.

"I just want to say I'm really sorry." Looking around his apartment, you noticed a bunch of designer products around. His shoes, rings… even his lamp.

"How much are you making?" You blurted out. "Sorry, that's rude, I shouldn't-"

"50 thousand a month." Jeno responded. "But usually I'm the one filming it, not in it…"

You sighed. "That's… crazy."

"If you ever need money you should film with me." Jeno looked you in the eye. "You're pretty enough to."

"I, um…" You were thinking of a valid excuse to leave, when Jeno started laughing.

"I'm fucking with you." He scoffed. "I'm not fucking my next door neighbor."

You awkwardly laughed. "I know I crossed a line by asking how much you make…"

"Do you want some tea or anything?" Jeno stood up.

You stood up as well. "Actually, I think I should be going…"

Jeno showed you out. "Please, don't be afraid to knock or something when we get too loud. Or can you give me your number?"

You shook your head, already out the door. "It's fine. Can you just knock and make sure I'm not home yet before you start filming?"

"Will do, neighbor."

You could tell Jeno was really trying his hardest to stay quiet, which you appreciated. The only thing that really bothered you was…

He seemed too comfortable with you.

"Hey!" Jeno banged on your door repeatedly with both fists.

You ran to open the door, thinking maybe there was an emergency.

"Can I come in?" Jeno let himself in before you could even say no. "One of the girls fucking squirted all over my couch. I wanna watch TV. I brought some beer!"

You watched him, nearly ready to punch him.

"Do you have Hulu?"

"No, I don't…" You gritted through your teeth.

"Let me log in. You can use my account later if you want."

"Jeno." You sighed. "I-"

"Should I deliver some food? I'll buy some for you too, if you want."

You can't really turn down free food… "I guess."

Jeno plopped on your couch then hit the seat next to him. "Sit."

You did as told. "What do you want to eat?"

"You choose." Jeno wrapped his arm around your shoulder and continued to scroll, his head hitting yours.

You thought it was… weird how quickly Jeno began to get close to you, but you figured it was just part of the job, he's probably usually inside girls after 5 minutes. "Chinese?"

"Sure." His thighs touched yours.

You tried to shift away, but he was holding onto you tight.

"I was thinking," Jeno turned on Euphoria. "You and I never really got to know each other properly."

"Yeah…" You were… too awkward. Too unsure.

"Well, let me tell you about myself then."

The rest of the night was filled with Chinese food and Jeno talking about his life, how he wanted to become a K-Pop idol with his friend, Jaemin, but failed, and ended up becoming a porn star since he failed high school and never graduated.

He treated you like he was his best friend. When he laughed, he would slap your arm, and his eyes turned into crescent moons.

Maybe you judged him too quickly and he just needed friends…

"Shit." You looked into your bank app 2 weeks later. You had a negative balance.

You thought about what Jeno told you…

You had no choice, besides, Jeno seemed like he would be able to loan you some money anyways…

You knocked on his door.

He came out, his hair disheveled, only in his boxers. "What-"

You walked inside. "I need your help."

Jeno closed the door behind him. "What?" His voice was husky, probably from just waking up.

"You said if I ever needed money…"

"You wanna film something with me?" Jeno smirked, crossing his arms.

"No, look at my bank-"

"I'm fucking with you." Jeno opened his refrigerator, taking out a water pitcher. "I can lend you the money if you don't actually want to record me fucking you."

"Really?" You ran to Jeno and hugged him. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you!"

Jeno hugged you back. "Actually, you don't have to pay me back."

"Then…"

"I want you to fuck me with the cameras off."

You waited for Jeno to start laughing. "..."

"I'm not joking." Jeno kissed your cheek. "You woke me up in the middle of a wet dream, and I need you to fix this."

"But I-" You wanted to explain you could pay him back.

"Do you want the money or not?" Jeno sat on his couch.

You went over to him and got on your knees.

"Smart girl."

You finally realized why he was a porn star. Beyond his abs and his generally attractive face, his cock was long and thick. It had to have been at least 9 inches…

"I don't- I um… Can I just pay you back?" You backed up.

Jeno stood up. "You want to back out now? No." And he shoved his dick down your throat, face fucking you.

"Jeno!" You tried to scream but you were muffled from his cock going down your throat.

"Such a pretty girl, you take my cock so well…" Jeno cooed at you, even though only half of it was in your mouth.

You tried to tap out as Jeno went deeper into your mouth, but your slaps were only met with laughter.

"You can take it, I know you can. Be a good girl for me and I'll give you a reward, okay?"

You felt like your neck was bulging out from how thick Jeno's dick was, and all you could hear besides your gagging was your saliva dripping onto the floor. It hurt, but somehow, the lightheadedness made you a bit wet…

Jeno pulled out and came onto your face. He went into another room and handed you a stack of 100s, slamming it onto the coffee table behind you.

"Is that enough?" He sighed, sliding a hoodie and some shorts on.

You nodded. "Can I wash my face?"

"Actually, you need to get out right now." Jeno turned the TV on.

You grabbed the money and ran back to your apartment to wash your face off. You felt… weird. This is what you wanted, and honestly, you could say you were… okay with it. And that pissed you off.

You went on with your day. You went to the bank and deposited the money. You came home and had dinner.

And Jeno did too.

"Hey…" Jeno knocked on your door a few days later. "My kettle broke… Can I use yours?"

"Uh… sure." You began to heat up the kettle as Jeno took some tea bags out of his pocket.

He made two cups of tea.

"Oh, Jeno, I don't really like tea…" You grumbled.

"Just try it. Just one glass. For me?" Jeno pouted.

"Fine…" You drank it with sugar.

"Shall we get to the real reason I'm here?" And with that, you fell on your knees, pulling Jeno's sweats down, dick already hard. You gagged a bit when it first entered your mouth, but you got used to it rather quickly.

Jeno grabbed your head, annoyed with how slow you were going, shoving it on and off his cock like you were a doll.

"Fucking-" Jeno hissed, pulling your head off him. "Up." He pulled you up by your head. "Bend over." He slammed you over the nearest table.

He ripped your jeans off you, feeling your slit.

"Jeno, I'm-"

"Quiet." He grabbed your thigh, his fingers gripping you so hard you thought it would leave a bruise the next day.

"Jeno…" You mewled as his middle and ring finger began to pump inside you.

"God, you're so fucking wet…" Jeno whispered.

"Just… put it inside me." You insisted, the pressure getting to you.

"I like your style." Jeno slammed himself into you.

He felt bigger than when he slammed his cock down your throat… You were going to be so sore tomorrow. The way he stretched you out and his tip hit your cervix was all too much.

But it felt so good…

"Jeno." You whined. "You're in too deep…"

"You're fine." He began massaging your breasts, pinching your nipples.

You hated how you mindlessly moaned, covering your mouth with your hand.

He pulled out and came on your back, his cum trickling onto your hair. He ran and grabbed a paper towel, wiping it off your back. You sat on your couch, Jeno sitting next to you.

Jeno wrapped a blanket over you and him, pulling you to rest on his shoulder.

"I'll give you more money tomorrow." Jeno fell asleep on your couch with your head on his chest.

You woke up on your couch, alone, a stack of cash next to your head being the only thing keeping you warm.

You and Jeno avoided each other for the next few weeks. Jeno brought girls around to his place without warning you. It was… grating. It's not like you were in love with Jeno, but you certainly thought you two were able to at least talk to each other…

You knocked on Jeno's door.

"Can I help you?" He was wearing a suit, albeit without a shirt underneath.

"Um… I'm out of sugar! Making an apple… pie! I need sugar. Can you spare me a cup?" You fumbled around with your words.

"You're baking and you don't even have sugar?" Jeno scoffed. "You're such a bad liar. Just come in."

You followed him into his bathroom, hair gel and hairspray on the countertops. "I just… was wondering how you were. But it seems like you're fine, so I'll just go-"

His lips crashed onto yours, his teeth almost hitting yours. "I fucking missed you. Why didn't you come over here?"

You pushed him away, your hand on his bare chest. "Jeno, I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead. That's all."

Jeno rolled his eyes, running his hands through his hair, fixing it in place with gel. "Well?"

"...You're alive. So I'll leave." You stepped out.

Jeno grabbed you by your waist, pulling you back into a back hug. "You can't leave."

You stopped yourself from scoffing at Jeno. "Who are you to control me?"

Jeno placed his palm on your stomach. "Because I put something inside you, didn't I? Honey, you're not on birth control, aren't you? Of course, I had to wait 3 weeks to make sure, but… shouldn't you be getting your period today? I read your calendar."

You thought of the way you woke up on the couch. That night… you were too out of it. How could he open and close the front door without you waking up? "What the fuck did you do to me while I was asleep, Jeno?" You thought of the tea. He put something in your tea…

"Nothing I wouldn't have done while you were awake. But… just without you knowing." Jeno's grip around your waist got tighter. "Pregnancy porn is a really popular porn category. Don't worry, I'll take care of you and the baby until… the 5 month mark? When you start showing, maybe? Then you'll have to work for your money."

"Jen-" Jeno let go of your waist and spun you around, caressing your cheek with one hand, the other hand gripping on your shoulder.

"Quit your job. I'll take care of you from now on. You and that baby are mine." Jeno let go of you. "I have to go to work now. Another girl will be here in a minute. Get the fuck out of my apartment, you fucking whore."

Tears brimmed in your eyes as the reality of your situation sunk in.

"I told you to get out."

Your feet felt heavy.

"Now."

You gasped for air, your chest unable to breathe.

"Fucking- you're only good for one thing and you still want to act like this?" Jeno slapped you across the face. "Can't even fucking cook, God, I should've chosen a better girl. Oh, you know that kid is getting put up for adoption when it comes out of you, right? I'm not paying you child support." Jeno grabbed you by the hair, dragging you out of the bathroom. "Leave."

And you left.

But the abuse didn't end.

You gave birth on a cold day in October, when you gave up your daughter, and you would leave Jeno.

It snowed for the first time of the year the day you finally left.

And you could be... Happy. As happy as you could be.

You went into Jeno's cabinets and brewed a cup of tea with ten tea packets in it.

You walked into the forest with your warm mug in the palm of your hand, sitting under an oak tree. And when you drank it, you were warm.

Until your body went cold.

#nct smut #nct fanfic #nct dream smut #nct x reader #'00 smut #jeno smut

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madarasgirl · 7 months

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A Night for Hunting Ch.10 -What Makes a Meal?

T/W: Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, sexually suggestive content, but also some fluff. Romance, Riocard, shapeshifting. Smitten human with a crush. Seductive vampire troll, ‘dating.’ Comedy but not really? (things are amusing for Alucard at least). Words: 5026 On AO3 @alastorhazbin

Thank you all for the birthday wishes!

This chapter ended up longer than anticipated. Guess I was having fun too! I think it’s needed before the plot gets a bit more serious later.

I received a new shipment of orchids to add to my modest collection and I’ve been obsessed, if you can’t tell with my plant references.

Please read the note at the end of this chapter.

Alucard insisted on taking your number before you left for vacation with your closest friends. It was only a short trip away from home, but it was what you could manage. You ended up travelling to Scotland and visiting all the attractions of interest to your group, including Edinburgh Castle and the Isle of Skye. The landscape at the Isles was truly the stuff of legends. The soft light of late winter painted the sky deep pinks and purples during sunrise, the dusting of frost atop mountains were glittering diamonds in the morning sun before it melted into a shimmery dew, a series of picturesque waterfalls cascaded into the crystal clear Fairy Pools. It was a land of magic and enchantment more suited for a world of fantasy than reality. You almost wished Alucard was there so you could show him the beauty of the land and those spectacular sunrises. You captured countless photos to preserve the memory.

During a hike, your group’s passage disrupted a colony of hibernating bats, sending them fluttering in a noisy, chittering swarm. You scuttered away with your friends, yet you grinned even while squawking as everyone else did. These bats, however, did not possess scarlet eyes. Neither did they want anything to do with roosting in your hands as another bat did.

He was at the back of your mind the entire time. Ever since you accepted your attraction to your immortal suitor, you thought of him frequently in increasingly fond terms. He was absolutely charming. It was frightening how quickly he came to occupy your conscious faculties. You hoped he’d appreciate the small gift you were bringing back to him.

The vampire phoned at night on several occasions. Unfortunately, he did not allow you to elude him with only texting, stating that it was no proper way of communication. Once again, you were pleasantly surprised by the conversation with him. He was the most attentive audience as you excitedly recounted the adventures of the day, then he agreed with your hotel roommate as she teased you about ‘your boyfriend’ in the background of your calls. Curse his vampire hearing. You trembled at the deep voice on the other end. Between them, they had you tumbling into a flustered puddle of stutters and you terminated the call, telling him to let you be and that he was being an idiot.

You fell back on the mattress and pulled the sheets over your head so your friend wouldn’t see the stupid grin on your face. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered again as you recalled the smile you heard in Alucard’s voice during the call. --------------------

At last you were home in England. Considering the circumstances on how you met, the eagerness with which you wanted to see Alucard might be astonishing. His dastardly ways were mostly unchanged, yet his hunting of you for sport was long ago. Your current relationship was decidedly warm.

There was no way you could treat him to a fancy restaurant, so you invited him over for dinner. It seemed like an excellent choice of activity until Alucard expressed his excitement about the prospects of you feeding him, only for you to repeatedly remind him he was not drinking from you again.

Sweet, I have arrived.

You fumbled with the lid to the pot before catching yourself and safely setting it down. You rushed to the entrance with a huge smile and pulled it open, only to stop dead in your tracks.

Huh?

Your smile dropped at the bizarre sight. It was undoubtedly Alucard on the other side of the door. You would never mistake those fiery eyes, the immense stature, and arrogant demeanour for anyone else. Yet he was different. His thick tresses revealed his hairline and fell straight past his rear. He wore a tailored black suit that fit him to perfection and a conceited smirk that matched the enthralling sunset gaze. There was something about his appearance that made him feel more unsettling and dangerous than usual.

You knew the vampire was a shapeshifter, yet you edged backwards when faced with the unfamiliar. His eyes glittered with mirth at your hesitation and his fingertips landed on your cheek with a delicate touch.

“Surely you have not forgotten me in a mere week, Dear?” He jested, rattling you out of your stupor.

As if that was possible. You shut your mouth. Yup, this was certainly Alucard. “I –I could never.” You meekly stepped aside to let in your guest and stared at him as he strode in like he owned your home.

“This is a gift for you,” he pronounced, setting a basket of yellowish, fragrant orchids in your hands. “It is known as ‘The Lady of the Night.’ It suits you.” It was a living arrangement of the whole plant, not just the cut flowers, and you shook your head at the vampire’s double meanings with a sigh.

“Thank you. They are lovely.” You accepted the gift graciously and took a quick whiff of the citrusy fragrance that was to die for. The door shut and locked behind the vampire.

Alucard was in excellent spirits. He scented your excitement from behind the door and in truth, he was equally eager to see you. It smelled divine, the aromas of home-cooking and your nervousness mingled to tantalize his senses. He took in the sight of you standing awkwardly beside him, wondering if you were supposed to offer to take his coat, and grinned fiendishly. How adorable without even knowing it.

“Sweet, you should know the physical form I assume is meaningless. I may appear as whatever I desire.”

His handsome countenance suddenly melted into whispering shadows. You gasped as his snakelike tongue lolled before he warped into a bipedal horned monster leaking darkness. His body stretched and broke open to reveal smooth bone, before sinewy muscle fibres formed over skeletal limbs and were encased in fresh skin. Those overly long, disproportionate fingers dripped of the night and you held your breath. You weren’t sure if you were afraid, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the grotesquely fascinating transformation.

The monster dropped onto all fours, the horns elongating into antlers and with a series of crunches, the beast moulded itself into a giant elk that took up all of your living space. The metamorphosis was disturbing, but Alucard remained the most majestic creature, even as the elk sprouted eyes along its snout and down its hide. It stared into you for the longest moment and you didn’t look away, then it shrank into a dog, though the extra eyes remained.

And suddenly he became your Alucard again.

The jagged shadows lashed about before flowing back and forming his familiar face, the darkness rippling around him with a crimson glow. It seemed the magic show was over and you were both silent. You finally released your bated breath. Instead of feeling terrified by the gnarly sight of Alucard remaking himself as if he was liquid, you giggled, then laughed out loud in wonder. You approached him to caress his hands, inspecting the digits that were reformed without any sign they were any longer mere moments ago. You stroked his cheeks, then went to the top of his head. No remnants of horns either.

Alucard’s brow lifted at your reaction. You were…excited by the prospect of having your own petting zoo? Yet he was not affronted by your debasement of his abilities as a Nosferatu. He made you laugh again and he basked in the sound. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ears, his smile matched your own toothy grin that showed your canines peeking through, so tiny compared to his fangs.

You kept giggling, tucking a strand of imaginary hair away, unconsciously mirroring his actions and your eyes glittered as you lunged to embrace him. Such an unexpected and gratifying response you welcomed him with. His expression softened.

“Welcome back, little one,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your waist.

Your lips parted and then closed. And opened again. You buried your face in his chest. “I missed you too, you jerk,” you mumbled, burrowing deeper when you felt the vibrations of his laughter. “I have something for you too, from Scotland.” Holding out something furry with both hands, you presented to your vampire a little stuffed toy bat.

His brows raised before the orange pools spun and the light caught their golden flecks. He took the bat and studied it with a toothy grin, flicking a fond glance at you before tucking it away in his duster. “Delightful.”

You beamed bashfully and pulled apart. “Come on in, vampire, dinner is ready.”

You led your guest inside and seated him at the table. The seats were set and everything was just about cooked. All that was left to do was to plate the dishes and pour the drinks. You excused yourself briefly to use the bathroom.

Alucard settled into his seat while you used the facilities, listening to the sounds of your bodily functions, enjoying everything that made you human. Everything that was a normal life. His eyes opened as you returned and finished your preparations, materializing beside you to assist with preparing the beverages and floating the entrees over, making you shake your head in glee at his ‘magic tricks.’

He tugged at a chair to slide it across the floor with a hushed whisper, then tucked you back into the table once you were seated. “Dig in!” You proudly announced, quickly layering your bowl with an assortment of goods.

As you tore into the deer, you peeked up at him in confusion. He made no moves to serve himself. You almost snorted. He may be your guest, but was he so insufferable he was expecting you to serve him like he was a king?

“You aren’t eating? Go ahead.” You pushed a dish at him and dabbed at the escaped sauce from your lips, not missing the way those predatory eyes followed the movement.

“I will eat,” the vampire replied cryptically.

“You should while it’s hot. It’s venison stew, perfect for this weather! It’ll warm even you up,” you snickered, plopping a sizable serving into his bowl.

He didn’t reply.

This was getting awkward. You tried to chew quietly as your head spun. Was this some archaic vampire ritual where he was supposed to allow you to finish eating before he began? Did you mess up the dish somehow? Perhaps he preferred his meats more undercooked, bloodier? You somehow doubted it was because he didn’t consume meat. There simply didn’t seem to be a hint of a vegetarian in Alucard.

“The meal is perfectly divine, little one.”

The reassurance didn't help. “Then why…” You trailed off. The vampire was enamoured by the process of you eating. You set down the spoon as you finished swallowing.

“Alucard, you’re getting creepy again. You were expected to eat too, you know, not just stare at me.”

He chuckled. "You still wish to feed me?"

“That was why you were invited.”

“As you wish, little one, but you are not feeding me.”

You fixed the flattest, blankest stare in his direction. The quietness was nearly deafening. You made him a feast that blanketed every inch of the table. What game was he playing at now?

Sunset eyes got brighter and that grin grew wide.

“Oh hell no. You’re a grown ass man! I’m not spoon-feeding you like you’re a toddler!”

“That is the only way I will eat human food.” He licked his lips.

“Then don’t eat! See if I care!” You huffed in disbelief, shoving in another bite to chew angrily. All that time spent preparing this plethora of dishes to perfection for this uncivilized beast. More for you, whatever. There will be plentiful food for the week.

The minutes stretched as you ate in silence by yourself. Childishly, you sliced the already tender morsels with more force than necessary to make a point. Several times, your gaze flickered up to check what your infuriating guest was doing, whether he was bluffing or if he truly expected you to demean yourself. An uncanny stare scrutinized every aspect of the way you consumed your food and suddenly you couldn’t remember why you missed him.

Grinding your teeth, you at last threw your hands up in frustration. “You really are insufferable!” You scooped up a slice of deer and shoved it at Alucard’s annoying mug.

The vampire's grin split even wider with his victory and the meat slid into his mouth. He started purring. “Heavenly. Were I still living, I would have appointed you a chef in my castle.”

You rolled your eyes at his grandiose words of praise. Even if he was a Duke or a Count or anyone of enough importance to warrant living in a castle, his manners were clearly plebeian. His appreciation for your efforts would be more apparent if you didn’t need to basically beg him to eat it.

“Come here, sweet one.”

“I am here,” you deadpanned.

“Your obstinate struggles against my will, as entertaining as they are, will always be fruitless, little human. Come here.” He scooted back in his chair and placed a hand on his lap.

The audacity! This was your home.

You had half a mind to demand he leave, but what were you going to do? Try shoving him out the door? He’d just phase through and mock you, if he even let you move him. If sitting in an ancient vampire’s lap to feed him dinner was the only way to expedite the process, so be it. Begrudgingly, you grumbled and plodded over to drop onto one of his thighs, only for him to scoop up your legs and drape you sideways over his lap.

You pouted and glared at him to show your displeasure.

“You really are charming when irate,” he purred, sticking his nose to your throat to nuzzle it. He inhaled. “For the aromas.” He chuckled when you tensed. “I am ready to eat, Sweet.”

You leaned away while pushing at his jaw to create distance, feeling the twitch in the corner of an eye as you picked up the fork and lanced the first piece of deer from Alucard’s bowl before lifting it to his lips. They wouldn’t part.

Not like that. His voice appeared in your mind, immediately followed by an image of yourself holding the cut to his lips between your fingertips.

“You really are going too far.”

“Humour me and you will find your freedom sooner.”

Picking up a slice of stew meat, you shoved it at the beast as you blazed with fury. He accepted the offering instantly, cool lips closing around your fingers to suckle. You squeaked in horror and yanked your hand back while he swallowed what you gave him whole.

“What the hell?!”

He smacked his lips and leered at you through lidded eyes. “Next.”

Gulping down your apprehension, you raised the next piece to his mouth and looked aghast as that scandalous tongue made a reappearance. Alucard made a show of licking your hand, beginning at the palm with a tickle and wrapping around your sauce-coated fingers. He lapped slowly at your fingertips as his eyes flashed, before gingerly taking the deer between sharp teeth and sucking it back with a wet slurp.

The hair on your arms stood on end, making your skin tingle. Your eyes met and his hand tightened around your waist. The other stroked up your thigh and squeezed your hip. Something else like appendages rubbed your shoulders and feet and held you tighter to him. He crooned and licked your jaw before capturing your lips to nibble on. The lounging beast sighed happily as your eyes bulged and you squirmed with discomfort on his lap.

“For the added seasoning,” he murmured against your ear.

That was just rude!

The vampire cackled and flicked at your bottom lip again, making you flinch. “There exists no seasoning superior to your own taste.”

Piece by piece, you fed the old vampire by hand while he held you hostage in his lap. Despite feeling thoroughly harassed, eventually you couldn’t help but feel slightly flattered about your culinary abilities that elicited a response like this. If he liked your food so much, you supposed you could just cook for him again but skip this degenerate’s feeding kink, although being perched on his lap was not too bad. Neither was his touch wholly unwelcome.

You pet his cheek while he chewed, his expression the face of pleasure. Nuzzling into your palm with a moan, his eyes opened to slits when you brushed up one side to investigate the pointy earlobe. He kept purring as loud as an engine.

Your eyes focused on the dancing shadows that surrounded him. They floated and twirled and seemingly pulsed at times. So mesmerizing.

Your unoccupied hand dipped cautiously into the shadow tendrils flowing around Alucard. He shuddered and growled, so low it was nearly imperceptible. A single wisp wrapped around your hand and you held onto it. Making contact with it was the strangest experience. Alucard's shadows were just that –not really tangible, yet you were able to physically touch his darkness. It buzzed in your hand with arcane energy that rippled through your being and tickled your spirit. Finally, you let him go, unable to bear the sensation any longer, and dropped your head on his broad shoulder to rest.

The heat was probably too high in your apartment after so much cooking. Your shirt clung to musky armpits and you fidgeted on Alucard’s lap as the undead cat finished another bite. He inhaled deeply, heavy purrs rumbling through his chest and vibrating through you. What a pervert. Always too suggestive. Always too attractive.

You absentmindedly gave him another piece, nipping on your lips and staring everywhere except at him when he started licking again. Something hard slid against your finger, catching your attention. The goddamn vampire was dragging the side of a fang against your ring finger. You held your breath, but again, it wasn't fear you felt, only curiosity at where he was going with this when he plainly stated he had no intention of biting you.

You caught the wicked smirk and glint in his eyes, now a deeper shade than at the onset of the meal. Again with the teasing. The air was heavy, the aura of mystery and danger swirled. His hair was longer and the locks fluttered despite the lack of a breeze. The lights dimmed before coming back on, throwing contrasting shadows across the pale profile you enjoyed looking at so much.

This smug vampire knew he was magnificent.

Your body responded aptly. After being subjected to hearing and feeling him purr all night, as well as the sensation of having his hands on you all night, you fell victim to his allure… the devilish monstrosity was simply irresistible. It felt like you were sitting in a furnace when you lowered your gaze from his triumphant one.

There it was, the scent of arousal. Alucard inhaled loudly, nostrils flaring as he absorbed his victory, ensuring you knew he was fully aware of your state of restlessness. Human food may be disgusting, but the taste of your skin was sweet ambrosia. For it to be finally paired with this ravishing perfume? Alucard believed he would never have enough of this gourmet delicacy.

The vampire was rock hard. A stiff shaft prodded your rump, large enough to make an impression even through fine wool and the awkward positioning. Your wide eyes lifted slowly to meet his, your shock at odds with his amusement.

The hands returned, the touch now lewd compared to the gentle exploration earlier. A shadow hand massaged your breast, alternatively kneading the mound between its palm and fingers. He traced circles around the tip to create a pebble before he pinched it. Your guest took your lips, prodding insistently until you yielded to his demands. Cold muscle delved into your mouth and he growled as he slid around to conquer and explore. Something firm held the back of your head when you attempted to escape. Another hand. His hands were everywhere, stroking and grabbing until you writhed in his grasp.

Your musk got heavier as your underwear became saturated with fluid. Even you smelled it. Alucard keened and encouraged you to touch him. A strange energy embraced you, leaving you gasping and he smirked with satisfaction.

Curiously, you rested a palm on his chest. He had no heartbeat. Your heart was pounding, but there was nothing beating in his, nothing to show that you weren’t the only one hot and bothered. A moment of trepidation flashed by and passed. Resting your forehead to his chin, you trailed down his torso to rest lightly on the front of his pants. It was held up with steel that strained the smooth material into an indecent tent. You cupped it width-wise, its girth taking up most of the curvature your hand created, and tentatively ran your palm down the length. Down and down and down your hand travelled, until the end ran under your leg and disappeared.

Sweet Jesus, how big was this monster?

He hissed in pleasure as he made another show of licking your fingers, sucking them into his maw one by one. The devil held you spellbound through glowing vermilion orbs. No…you searched within your consciousness…the ancient vampire wasn’t hypnotizing you. This was all you. The revelation was more frightening than anything.

You shivered.

“What say you? Shall we search for nirvana this fine evening for dessert?”

“E-excuse me?”

“As I proposed, I will mount y–”

“I know how the mechanics work!” You screamed, your face on fire as you suddenly found yourself free of your prison and you scrambled off of him in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs, tripping over yourself and landing on your rear by his feet.

Alucard threw his head back and roared raucously as he leaned back to watch you. Eyes opened on the ground and curled in laughter to join in. The extra extremities disappeared. As did your desire –in just these few seconds, your libido jumped off a cliff and died, to be replaced by total mortification.

Not knowing how to recover, you picked yourself up from the floor as the vampire shook his head and chuckled. Stomping down the hall, you turned and hollered, “Time for you to leave! I’m going to bed!” Nevermind the fact that you just ate.

The door slammed behind you and you crumbled to the floor in a panting heap, the mind racing to process what happened. A vampire, you were about to lay with a marauding predator of the night. Sinfully beautiful, but a ruthless murderer nonetheless. You hugged your legs and tried to calm yourself.

It was futile. You too craved his presence.

“...”

You sat alone longer at the edge of a precipice, the distance providing some much-needed clarity, until you finally stood shakily with your fingertips lingering on the door knob, about to flip the switch when you stopped yourself. If you were to be honest with yourself, you didn’t detest this vampire anymore. You would not mind if he stayed the night.

…The bedroom door was left unlocked.

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

You stirred, sticking out a leg and kicking over to the other side of the bed, the cotton sheets brushing softly against your naked skin. With an arching back, you stretched the entire length of your body, from the tips of your fingers to the bottoms of your feet, and yawned. The muscles in your legs cramped from being perched in one position last night. Your toes poked out from under the blanket.

“I bid you good morning, little human.”

You sat up abruptly and found the unblinking crimson set of eyes in the corner of the room. For a moment, fear shot up your spine, the terrifying recollection of being at the mercy of a red-eyed monster who wanted to rip into you on another occasion made your blood run cold.

But there was no need for alarm this time. Your heart raced even as the fright dissipated.

There he was, sitting on the grey loveseat with his legs crossed and a frown marring his features, his fingers loosely intertwined. Shooting a panicked glance over to the window, you saw there was indeed light filtering around the edges of the curtains, illuminating the bedroom with the gentle rays of morning. But the sun! Why wasn’t he going off in flames? Did he just watch you sleep the entire night?

“Why are you here?” You asked dumbly.

The frown turned upside down and the vampire cackled, two rows of jagged teeth gleaming like a bear trap. “You invited me in, little one.”

“But you stayed the night?”

“Watching you breathe,” he purred, “listening to your heart beat.”

Creepy, psychopathic behaviour, but then again, this was Alucard you were referring to. You held the sheets closer to your chest before remembering to check on your state of undress beneath. You were the same as how you went to bed, crotch still clammy from the devil’s seduction last night.

“I meant the sun. How are you alive? Shouldn’t you be a pile of ashes?”

He smiled. “Your legends generally do not apply to a true vampire like myself.”

Indeed, Alucard actually looked fresh and well-composed, as if he didn’t spend the night sexually harassing a young woman and then ogled her as she slept. The fog in your mind slowly retreated. A true vampire… There was so much you didn’t know about the supernatural.

You rubbed your eyes and blinked at him. "So the sun doesn't hurt you?"

"No more than it harms you, though I may despise the day."

"Then how about garlic?"

He snorted.

"Crosses? Holy water?"

"Mere irritations."

"Silver?"

"Ah– that may cause injury." The vampire closed his eyes and snickered. "So curious about my existence, little one. You want me dead?" Hellfire bore through your soul.

Dead?

You froze, unsure of how to respond. Did you want him dead? Vampires were a menace to society, a scourge. Wouldn't the world be better off without demons like him wandering it? “You are already dead. But…I can’t say I want you gone for good anymore…”

Silence. The fire burned warmly in those molten pools. "You are such an intriguing creature," he murmured.

You shuffled in bed and propped up a pillow behind your back, being careful to keep the sheets draped over your chest, thoroughly conscious of your nakedness. A million questions bloomed in mind as you sat quietly across from this ancient creature a few paces away, who witnessed the eras come and go. Was it okay to ask now?

“So…how did you become a vampire?”

He sat back and tilted his chin up in thought before staring down his nose at you. “At the end of my human life, I chose vengeance and hate."

You perked up. To be or not to be. "So your sire gave you the option to become a vampire?" You recalled his reaction the last time you inquired about his sire. Hopefully vampirism wasn't a fate that was forced upon him.

Alucard didn't respond immediately. "I have no sire, little human."

You were mildly confused. That was how vampires were born though, wasn't it? Vampires created vampires, as they also gave rise to ghouls. Alucard himself told you so. It seemed the more you learned from him, the less you knew. There was always another secret.

You blurted it out, much more directly than the last time you broached this topic months ago. "...Do you ever regret it?"

He looked sad, wistful, and your heart churned for a demon. What was this feeling? His gaze dimmed, turning downcast as the frown returned.

"Cherish your humanity, child."

Not knowing what to say, you reached for him and he came to you immediately, kneeling by the side of the bed and resting his face in your hand. You ran your fingers through the silky hair you adored and the vampire sighed against your touch.

You pondered Alucard's words as you pet him. So many questions. "Then what about that vampire you shot? Is he like you? Are there other vampires like you who don't bite?"

Alucard tensed before smiling slightly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not something so vulgar and cheap. And I do bite.” A hand shot up to grasp your wrist by his face.

You were undeterred. You put your other hand to his chest and once more noted the lack of comforting beats. His touch wasn’t gross like with the other vampire. In fact, physical contact with Alucard no longer made you feel the need to shower. His aura no longer urged you to run and hide, or face mortal peril. Actually, this was quite pleasant.

His face came within inches of yours and you felt his icy breath as he spoke.

“If you can kill me, I would gladly die by your hands.” He purred at you, pressing your hand hard into his chest, leaning heavily into your touch and lowering his head to rub noses.

To be or not to be. You snorted, “As if that’s even in the realm of possibilities.”

“Only a human can kill a monster.”

“You are not making any sense.” You’ve seen what he can do. He had superpowers while you were a normal mortal. Kill him? What a joke.

Alucard chuckled, “No, I suppose not.” A gloved finger bumped softly against the tip of your nose and he closed the gap between you. Luminescent irises whirled, his gaze affectionate. You stared back into the balmy gaze as you let your lips and foreheads touch in a tender meeting.

Minutes had passed when you pulled apart.

“Okay, you got your show. Time for you to leave.” You sighed, brushing a thumb against his cheek one last time before dragging your sheets with you to keep yourself modest as you rose from bed to pull open the curtains.

He was gone from your room when you turned back.

~To be Continued~

Chapter 11: Interlude I Chapter 12: The Feeling of Safety

Notes: For those of you not familiar with Shakespeare’s work, Hamlet, “To be or not to be, that is the question” is probably the most well-known line from his play. This infamous soliloquy is referring to the decision “to live or not to live,” something Hamlet pondered as he discussed how painful living is and how death may be preferable, if it weren’t for the uncertainty of what came afterwards. Hamlet was suicidal. It is deeper when Alucard said it because he wasn’t merely referring to his ‘cowardly’ decision to turn (“to be a vampire”), but also how by choosing ‘to be,’ he ended up damning himself to an eternity of unlife instead. Alucard wants to die.

While I think Alucard wasn't constantly shagging everyone prior to meeting us, I headcanon that he is normally open to sexual relationships with humans should they be interested (and if they interest him). And if Alucard is sexually interested in someone, he will certainly at least try to seduce them. Alucard is extremely suggestive, very sensual, and the type to take a mile if you give him an inch. If you let him in your pants once, he'll be seeking opportunities to charm them off again. He knows he's attractive, good in bed, and that we’re hot for him.

So now I feel like I kind of lied when I said "no smut" in this story's initial tags (hey it was supposed to be a oneshot), but I think I actually can't avoid some racy content if we're to get to the point where we want to give Alucard all of ourselves. This fic had mature themes from the beginning, so I believe most readers won’t have too much issue with more sexual content, but explicit smut scenes will be mostly in the interludes from this point on. It is now officially “eventual smut/NSFW." Things will be spicier here and there. The Interludes can be skipped and readers will (probably) not miss too much. Just FYI, they eventually do pretty much everything except fuck “all the way,” ie. P-in-V sex. BTW, next chapter is an interlude. It features period blood and is really not for everyone (but hey, our dear monster is a vampire), in which case I hope you’ll enjoy Ch.12 more!

Above: Brassavola nodosa, The Lady of the Night. Not my orchid, but one I eventually want to add to my collection. I wasn't aware of this, but apparently in some cultures, it represents the connection between the living and the dead. Only at night it is fragrant, releasing a smell that is described as citrusy or like gardenias.

#alucard hellsing #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard fanfiction #hellsing fanfic #hellsing ultimate #male yandere #vampire romance #hellsing fanfiction

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krawlernyannyan · 2 months

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Okay wait. Wait. Hold on. Hold on. I feel like my brain is exploding again. I was looking through the mission dialogue again to build up a speculations document and it finally hit me.

Look at the secret message in the invitations again.

Witness the impossible in the realm of dreams, find the legacy of the Watchmaker, Father of Penacony, and thus the answer to the question: Why does life slumber?

It's fairly certain the other invitations that factions have decoded have the same message; Aventurine mentions the Watchmaker directly and Firefly gives her own answer to the question posed. What I want to draw your attention to is actually that first part: "Witness the impossible."

I hadn't given much thought to that first condition yet but then I realized. There's another place we've seen that phrasing. It's right when you enter the Dreamscape for the first time, the note on the table before you even get to Golden Hour or the Gallery of Thought.

Watchmaker's Advice The impossible can also happen in dreams Find it, and then you shall be granted an audience

There's so much going on in Penacony and the plot right now that I hadn't even thought about what these could be pointing at. But then I glanced at it one more time and it hit me like a space train...you can do so many impossible things in dreams - it's the entire appeal of Penacony. But even in Penacony, in all of its Moments, there's one thing it's hammered in repeatedly that you shouldn't be able to do. I'll give you a few hints.

It's Lew Archer, throwing herself off a building over and over to cope with her grief. It's Sparkle's first victim, already walking around again by the time you investigate his "murder". It's so many other sidequests in the Dreamscape. It's the thing The Family has insured can't happen to its guests. It's the thing even a Memokeeper like Black Swan can't circumvent. It's the thing that we've seen twice now in spite of all of that.

It's Death.

Death is the impossible dream. The only "real death" we've seen has come directly from Something Unto Death, and you could definitely say both of its victims "found it". Here's the kicker, and the thing that's making my cogwheels churn so quickly: think about how the SUD actually works in observed practice. It "kills" your party...but their bodies are still there, and you can get them back. It's just taken their souls somewhere else. This is Soul Sepulchers in the fight itself but extrapolate that into a greater in-universe mechanic. In the actual story...where would their souls go?

I think our two victims just got their audience with the Watchmaker.

#EZ: HSR #HSR #Honkai Star Rail #HSR Penacony #looking forward to coming back here in six weeks to see if i was right #i ought to make a proper speculation tag ive got a couple of these posts now #HSR Specposting

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 7 months

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i would like to be in and foster an online environment in which discussions abt controversial topics can be handled civilly without ppl ganging up and sending an influx of anon hate. i think internet in general is a space where ppl love to be outraged and i want to challenge that. that's partially why i wrote this fic. i am tired of purity culture and of fandom/online hivemind. in a fandom where a lot of ppl clearly enjoy age gap ships, i say, what makes one better and more "morally correct" than another? what makes a sugar mommy au better than a college student x teacher fic? so many fics featuring dark themes are popular in this fandom (don't wanna name any names bc i don't wanna get anyone involved), but THIS is the one ppl are upset about?

i wanna ask a question -- is it possible to write a fic where ppl are NOT morally pure but still somehow manage to live and find happiness? why is it forbidden to explore those themes in fiction? when you look at ppl in real life and how weirdly their lives shape up, and how ppl are flawed and make mistakes and live unconventionally or sometimes immorally or unhealthily, doesn't that interest you? in a sense that you would like to read about it? explore what goes on in the minds of these ppl/characters?

ppl forget exploring a theme in fiction doesn't equate to condoning it in real life. each individual has to use their own best judgement when consuming a piece of fiction. i assume everyone reading my fic is an adult (as i write fics intended for adult audiences) and can form their own opinion.

i would like it if people could use their reading comprehension and critical thinking skills when reading my fiction, without me having to put up exact and specific 1826372929392 word disclaimers, so ppl's fragile feelings wouldn't get hurt. would it really be okay if i wrote in all caps before the story WEDNESDAY IS 22? you could have read the first paragraph and figured that out. i tagged it as teacher-student bc it's playing with the concept, even if they are not a student/teacher in the timeline of the story. i use implied underage sex as a tag bc in the 2nd chapter, and repeatedly throughout the story i reference larissa and morticia's relationship, that has occurred when they were underage. i mention that they engaged in sex. it is only mentioned, and not explicitly described. do you need me to write all of that out under the title in order not to send anon hate and clutch your pearls in disgust? or can you just read the story and decide if it's for you or not?

i implore you to read all of my works as a story, without attaching a moral judgement to characters' actions. if and when you do attach a moral judgement and form an opinion, pls remember those are fictional characters, and i am an author exploring certain themes bc i can and it interests me to do so. i want to write unconventional stories, controversial stories, romantic stories, funny stories, horror stories, i want to explore everything. everybody who reads is invited to look at them as a piece of fiction they can enjoy or not enjoy, and nothing more. i hope to take you on a journey that leaves you with something to remember, good or bad, but impactful.

from now on, i will probably write longer works and venture into darker themes (next thing i'm planning is murder mystery/thriller). there will still be fluffy pieces, but i just want to push myself out of my comfort zone. i would like to associate with fandom ppl who are open-minded and can read a piece of fiction without going ballistic. if you look at things black and white, you likely won't like my fiction -- and that's okay.

however, if for any reason you want to send me hate, you will absolutely be blocked. i am a person, and i do not deserve insults and rudeness in my inbox. it's easy to feel empowered and feel like you're fighting for A Cause (TM) and attach the Bad Guy etiquette to a single person. that can feel like you're solving something. esp when ppl accuse me of promoting actual p3dophilia -- that's a cause everyone can get behind. banish the evil p3do apologist!

i am a victim of child sexual abuse, that went on all throughout my formative years, and into my adult age, simply because i thought that's how it must be. that experience has scarred me beyond belief. i don't want to share the details. it's not smth i'm sharing for pity points, nor do i need anyone's sympathy. however, it is an experience that has shaped who i am, and perhaps for that reason, combined with other things, is why i'm drawn to certain themes in fiction. i don't owe anybody an explanation as to why i choose certain topics, but since there have been idiots in my inbox who have accused me of harming victims of minor sexual abuse, i feel compelled to say something. fuck you for using a group of suffering ppl to support your own flimsy arguments born out of puritanism and inability to cope with heavy themes in fiction.

you are absolutely welcome to CIVILLY discuss your opinions about the fic with me -- off anon, exclusively. but i know nobody will, bc this isn't about the actual contents of my fic, this is about the delicious morally righteous thrill of a witch hunt.

enjoy the fic. i will post next wednesday.

#personal #i will produce my own garbage and also consume it

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thefrogdalorian · 3 months

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The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter Four

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 6822 Rating: General Summary: Despite his reservations and against his better instincts, Din heads to a Star Wars convention that he was invited to. Although he fears that his cover will be blown, curiosity gets the best of Din and he can't resist attending a panel. But Din doesn't exactly find the answers he was looking for. Instead, he finds something far more precious. Something that he would never have expected... Content Warnings: None! Author's Note: This was fun to write. Middle pic is one I took in a panel at SWC last year, just to set the scene. Din was down bad from minute one and honestly it's very cute to see him so flustered 🥺!! Also adorable how similar their experiences/reactions to the convention were! Anyway, hope you enjoyed! I can't wait to post the next chapter, hopefully coming on Sunday :) Thanks again @suresnips for being my beta! I appreciate your help so, so much ♡

4. Curiosity Killed The Cat (Din's POV)

To an observer with no background knowledge of Star Wars or its fandom, it would appear that most of The Mandalorian panel's attendees were merely a little bored. However, someone more familiar with the Star Wars world may have realised that the audience had been expecting something more profound. Maybe they had been hoping for some character analysis of the titular character or to participate in a larger discussion on how the show slotted into the wider Star Wars galaxy during this talk. After all, the panel was entitled: ‘The Man behind the Mandalorian: Exploring the Identity of the Galaxy’s Best Bounty Hunter.’

Instead, anyone who had sought out this panel surely would have found themselves bitterly disappointed, as the host had reduced The Mandalorian to nothing more than its violent action scenes. The host appeared to have a fixation on the fighting which occasionally took place in the show, at the expense of all other elements.

Perhaps that was the reason why the audience, on the whole, looked so incredibly bored. Even one attendee, wearing an almost unbelievably realistic cosplay, seemed more entertained by the seams of his gloves than anything the panel had to say about the show he was surely such a huge fan of. His helmet was bowed towards the floor as his leg bounced up and down repeatedly, a sure sign of his restlessness and his keenness for this panel to be over so he could continue his day at the convention.

To outside observers – whether they knew everything about Star Wars or nothing at all – the man dressed in full Mandalorian armour was possibly one of the biggest fans of the show. After all, he had replicated Mando's costume in painstaking detail; it must have taken an unbelievable amount of effort and hours, borne out of the intense love for The Mandalorian that he surely had.

But Din Djarin was not a cosplayer… his armour was not a costume.

The suit that he wore had not been crafted due to his undying love for Star Wars, it had been cast in Beskar, according to ancient traditions, at a forge by the golden-haired woman who served as The Armorer for his tribe.

It felt strange to Din for him to sit there and be spoken about as if he was not present. Of course, to everyone else in the room, the notion of Mando being in the room with them seemed as likely to happen as it was for pigs everywhere to spontaneously begin flying. To all other attendees, Din had just cosplayed as his favourite character. Everyone else in the room did not have the faintest idea that they were in fact in the presence of the man behind the character they all loved. While the assembled group enjoyed Mando enough that they had made their way to the far corner of the enormous convention hall for this panel, they didn’t know that sitting amongst them was the man who portrayed the Star Wars character that they loved so much. Nor that the armour that they had seen so many times on their screens was right there, beside them. Close enough to touch, if they wanted to.

The thought of being amongst so many super fans almost dissuaded Din from attending this panel, which had caught his eye. After deciding to attend the convention the previous evening, Din had used his laptop to search through the events for the day as he lounged on the couch in his cottage, Grogu playing on the rug beside him. This particular panel had instantly stuck out to him, above all others that were advertised. Din had always harboured a curiosity about what The Mandalorian meant to people. But it was perhaps a more selfish interest that had motivated him to seek out this panel in particular: Din wanted to know whether the fans had any idea about his identity.

Din had intended to sneak in and hover at the back and watch the panel from there before exiting as discreetly as he entered. But things had not gone according to that plan at all. Din had never attended an event as enormous as this and had no idea how it worked – he felt out of his depth. It was a feeling he was unused to and uncomfortable with, as Din always liked to be in control and have a plan.

Ironically, it was the very show which was being discussed that had first put cracks into his careful, considered nature. Relinquishing some of that control in signing up to be The Mandalorian had been difficult for Din, as he was required to be on set for a strict filming schedule in a brand new country. The stability and money that had been offered was something Din had struggled to refuse, especially given the fact he now had an extra mouth to feed.

But as Din sat there in the room where the panel was being held, he knew that coming here had all been one gigantic, terrible mistake. It was a stupid, nonsensical idea. It had been nothing more than a rush of blood to the head, Din just hoped he would be able to leave again having remained undetected. There was an old saying that Din had heard many times: ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’ Now, Din felt as though he finally understood that phrase.

Din was furious with himself that he had put himself in the position to hear such harsh words about the show after he had tried so hard to keep himself away from all of the attention portraying a lead role in a Star Wars show brought. For a man who was usually so calculating and meticulous in his actions, this had surely been the most foolish decision that Din had made in a long while.

Even worse than Din's decision to attend this panel, he mused, was his decision to attend the convention wearing his armour. Being surrounded by superfans made Din keenly aware that if any one of their gaze were to linger long enough, perhaps they would realise that his armour was not merely a highly impressive cosplay. So in a bid to distract himself and calm his racing heart, he began fiddling with the stitching of the tips of his mustard-coloured gloves. It was a sign of the acute anxiety that he was currently enduring, but to anyone watching, his fidgeting probably indicated sheer boredom.

Din mentally kicked himself for the ridiculous decision to attend the convention wearing his armour. The choice had made the entire event even more anxiety-inducing than it needed to be. Din lamented the fact that he could have come here with Grogu and simply blended in with the thousands of other families bringing their children to the convention for a fun-filled day. True, it would have still been an overwhelming experience and Grogu may have struggled with the crowds, but at least then, Din wouldn’t have had to constantly fear his identity being exposed when someone realised that his armour was a little too screen-realistic to be a simple cosplay.

Indeed, it was the skill and dedication of other fans that had initially eased Din’s fears of detection when he had walked into the crowded hall and began moving with the sea of people to an unknown destination up ahead. Even if he wanted to choose his path, there was no way to; Din was lost amongst the endless sea of people. As he travelled down the main hall, his mouth felt dry underneath the helmet and his heart thundered in his chest as he had no idea where he was going. But once he had made it to the side and stopped briefly to orient himself, Din realised just how many fans there were cosplaying as Mando.

Din had been stunned by the many amazing cosplays he had seen. After collecting his nerves, he slowly began to move down the hall and gave a polite nod of the head to any other Mando cosplayers he passed. Most returned the gesture, in shared acknowledgement of each other’s craftsmanship. Progress had been slow, though, as Din was constantly asked for photos. Even worse were those that did not ask, but merely threw themselves at him. Some even touched Din without asking first, a gesture which made him flinch. It annoyed Din, just because he was dressed in cosplay did not mean he gave consent to be touched whenever others pleased.

Despite the host of incredible cosplays he had passed, Din knew that none of them truly lived up to his armour, his was a cut above the rest. There was no way to perfectly replicate real Beskar, no matter the incredible lengths that some of the cosplayers had gone to. He just hoped that no one would question it too deeply.

After a few minutes of walking around the main hall, Din had decided he needed some respite from the endless photo requests and eyes that Din felt watching his every move. Din found a quiet corner of the hall with some near deserted toilets and headed for them. He sealed himself into the stall and removed his helmet, grimacing at the way his hair clung to his forehead thanks to how much he had perspired due to his nerves. The helmet was climate-controlled, so the heat of the building should not have been an issue. It could not legislate for Din's emotions, though.

Each time Din moved to leave, he found that the anxiety he had felt while walking through the hall reared its ugly head. He kept telling himself that he only needed a few more minutes to regain his composure. That was until Din checked his watch and realised it was not long until the panel began.

So Din had unintentionally spent most of the time before the panel hiding away in the toilet stall in an attempt to repair his shattered nerves. At that point, it would have been so easy for Din to leave. But he knew that the curious part of his mind would never forgive him if he did not at least check out the panel. It was perhaps the best opportunity he was going to get to discover what people thought of the show, whether they liked the character and, most importantly, whether they had any theories on who The Mandalorian was.

Yet, now he was actually sitting there in the panel, he cursed not only himself for not leaving earlier, but Din also cursed Peli Motto for giving him such a stupid idea to attend this convention in the first place.

Many times throughout the panel – which was headed by a man called Jeff who wore a backwards baseball cap, despite looking as though he should have grown out of such a fashion choice several decades ago – Din had considered getting up and walking out. He had arrived pretty late as it was, only a minute or two before it began, as he hoped to sneak in and take an unassuming spot at the back. But the seats had all been filled back there, and an overly enthusiastic volunteer had guided him to a spare aisle seat about fifteen rows back from the front.

Luckily, almost everyone had been too wrapped up in watching Jeff and his cronies fumble around with technology to pay him much mind, except for the people on his row who were in awe of his ‘cosplay.’ It would have been so easy for Din to just up and leave since he was on the end of the aisle. But he was fearful that it would have drawn too much attention to him. Thus far, he had pretty much gone undetected. Jeff had not bothered to look at the audience too clearly to notice the incredibly realistic Mandalorian that was currently in the room with him. Which was unsurprising, given how self-centred the man appeared to be. The panel really ought to have been retitled ‘The Jeff Show.’

Most of the panel had been pretty inoffensive, if a little dull. Din silently objected to the way that Jeff had reduced the show down to only its violent components, rather than engaging with it on a deeper level. At times, Jeff was so close to understanding what the action scenes demonstrated about Mando’s character and the wider politics of the galaxy. But then he would just make another crass comment about how good Mando was at killing and all progress would grind to a halt.

But then Jeff opened up the floor and invited the audience to step forward to the mic so he could hear comments from the fans. Din leaned forward in his seat, excited to finally fulfil the purpose of attending this panel and hear what others thought of the show that he had poured so much of his heart and soul into. But if Din was expecting to hear positive feedback, he was about to be bitterly disappointed.

Frustratingly, most speakers took their opportunity to address the audience to do nothing more than complain about never seeing Mando’s face or knowing his name. It was no surprise to Din that people felt that way, even if he was a little disappointed that people were so fixated on those two elements. Din knew it had been a concern at the beginning of the show, during early production meetings. But thanks to some input from Din himself, the character of Mando now felt more fleshed-out than he had when Din had joined the project.

Plus, Din felt as though viewers could understand enough about the character and his intentions without needing to know his name or see his face. It was a belief that was being challenged by the attitudes of the attendees of this panel. But Din was not too upset. After all, he was more concerned with whether any fans had any viable theories about his identity. Mercifully, none of them appeared to have picked up on any rumours. When the show's creators told him that no one suspected that Din Djarin was The Mandalorian, it appeared they had been telling the truth.

Fortunately, despite the name of the panel, there had been no speculation on Mando's true identity thus far. Despite the panel's title hinting that the man behind the Mandalorian would be discussed, that had so far not transpired. Things appeared to be looking up for Din; not only had there been no speculation as to his identity, but none of the audience had noticed the incredibly realistic cosplay that was sitting amongst them.

That was until a young man with brown hair, dressed in a Mando t-shirt and jeans stood up and moved towards the mic. His comments started positively enough, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love the show and all,” The man confessed, and Din smiled slightly underneath the helmet. However, he continued: “But I just feel like we don’t know that much about Mando. It’s as if we, as an audience, are being held back from connecting with him fully because of some diva’s selfish demands to keep his identity hidden!” The man exclaimed.

Din felt his blood run cold. He swallowed thickly, feeling bile rise in his throat. He should have known that this was a bad idea, that coming here was a mistake. But the man was not quite finished, yet:

“Seriously, the guy who plays him must be such an asshole. Imagine having to work with that guy!” He ended his tirade, to a smattering of laughter and applause from the room.

The accusations that he had thrown Din’s way, about him being an asshole or a diva – a charge that in particular made no sense, as surely a diva would want their name and face to be plastered everywhere – had been like a punch to the gut. And Din had endured many of them throughout his life to understand exactly how painful they could be.

Far from the kind words he had been expecting, instead, Din had been forced to listen to various people slander both the show and him as a person. Din’s heart ached as he heard the charges being levelled against him; it was one thing to criticise the show but to call his character into question caused a whole other level of pain. If they only knew why he had to keep his identity a secret, they would never throw such cruel accusations his way.

Din wasn’t naive. He knew that by signing up for a Star Wars show, his life would change forever. It was not a decision that he had taken lightly. Especially given that his way of life was opposed to everything the mega-corporation that now owned Star Wars stood for. But it presented an opportunity to not only secure a consistent income and better life for himself and his son but also to showcase his culture to the world. It was an opportunity that Din really could not turn down. However, just because Din was prepared for his life to change in some ways did not mean that he could ever be prepared to be attacked on such a personal level.

At that moment, Din almost tossed aside his priority to remain hidden and not draw attention to himself as he debated walking out of the panel. After hearing such personal attacks against his character, Din was so close to just upping and leaving that room. He had heard enough. If there was even one more vaguely harsh word tossed Din’s way, it might have tipped him over the edge.

Despite the tough exterior that Din Djarin projected to the rest of the world, he was at his core, a fairly sensitive man. He knew that the things that he had already heard about himself would take him a long time to come to terms with. He couldn’t bear to hear any further unkindness.

Din planted his feet firmly on the floor and began to lean forward, preparing himself to leave. It seemed that in a war between his mind and body, his body had won… his subconscious was going to make him stand up and storm out of that room, against all rational thought.

In all of his anguish, Din had missed the girl who had stormed forward to the microphone, dodging limbs and hurdling bags, to stand before the room.

But then she began speaking and her presence became impossible to ignore any longer; her voice was shaky with nerves but there was absolute conviction and certainty behind every word.

And Din was frozen to the spot, utterly transfixed. Suddenly all thoughts of leaving exited his mind.

“I think tying Mando’s identity to his name and face is a pretty narrow way of viewing how we can understand who someone truly is inside and what exactly motivates them. I mean, I think I’ve connected to his character pretty well without ever seeing his face or knowing his real name. That’s because Mando has proved time and time again what kind of man he is,” The girl argued and Din found himself instantly relaxing and leaning back in his seat. “The way he has risked his life multiple times to rid the galaxy of threats and evil shows that he is committed to securing a brighter future, even if he is not around to see it. This man is willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Sure, we don’t know his name or face or a lot about his origins, but I think to us, that should prove that he has nothing but noble intentions. That human side of the man beneath all of the armour allows us to connect to him on a far deeper level than just seeing a face and learning a name ever could,” She finished and Din shut his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Unbeknownst to her, the kind words she spoke had soothed Din's soul. She had begun to heal the wounds that were opened by the previous speakers' harsh words.

Din noticed how nervous the girl seemed and the way she fiddled with her hands as she stood at the microphone. He marvelled at the way she had been up like a shot to defend the character, though. Plus, judging by how eloquently she spoke, Din assumed she was used to this.

Din sat there and listened with a small smile on his face, shaking his head slightly in awe as she launched into a passionate defence of the character. Unlike all previous speakers, the girl understood just as Din did, that seeing someone’s true intentions and the qualities they possessed mattered more than knowing their name or what they looked like.

Suddenly, Din began to feel a lot lighter. People did care, people did love and appreciate the show and they understood Mando as a character. He was pleased by that fact. Din knew he would stay now. Even if the next speakers reverted to being less than complimentary, the girl had bolstered his confidence and soothed his bruised ego enough to stick around.

Din expected that the girl would retreat to her seat after giving her opinion. The awful man who ran the panel certainly seemed to think that was the case as he met her passionate speech with empty platitudes, which Din thought bordered on the patronising.

However, what she did next caused Din’s jaw to drop beneath his helmet. The girl did not return to her seat. Instead, she spoke up and continued to defend not only the character of Mando but also the man behind him.

Din listened in awe as she started speaking up to defend the man who was, unbeknownst to her, sitting only a few feet away.

“Also, I know no one outside this room will probably ever hear what had been said at this panel, but I think attacking the character of the man who portrays Mando, simply because he wants privacy, is unfair. I think we should always talk about people, online and publicly, as though they can read or hear what we say,” She argued and Din almost snorted at that assertion.. if only she knew that he was right here. “We don’t know why he won’t say who he is, but I trust that he has his reasons. Even then, he doesn’t need to have a good reason. Everyone is entitled to their privacy for the simple fact of wanting to be private,” The girl appealed to her fellow fans. Din felt tears pool in his eyes at her beautiful sentiment. Until she came along, he had been about to leave, with his last memories of the panel, believing that everyone hated him and thought he made the show worse. Now, though, he was listening to a passionate, eloquent defence of his character.

The girl finished off her speech with a comment about the show. She explained how Mando respected everyone that he encountered in the galaxy and left the places he visited better than he found them. She implored her fellow fans to take the same lessons from the show, rather than focus on the violent, action scenes. When she was finished, Din wanted to stand up and applaud her, before rushing up to her and thanking her from the bottom of his heart.

It was clear that she understood exactly what The Mandalorian was truly about. The show was, at its core, about respecting others and learning to peacefully coexist. Mando was fighting for a better galaxy, a kinder galaxy and once people understood that, they would understand how important it was to respect the actor behind the Mandalorian.

Din had an overwhelming urge to make his way over to this stranger, to thank her from the bottom of his heart for standing up for Mando so passionately. He knew, given his cosplay, that he could easily pass as an enthusiastic fan.

Then Din remembered who he was and settled on the upsetting reality that he couldn’t take such a reckless action.

If he spoke, she might recognise that the voice beneath the helmet was the very same one that she had no doubt seen on screen so many times. It was too great a risk and, much as Din would have loved to thank her, it now seemed as though their paths would diverge without her ever knowing how truly thankful Din was for her words and how much they had done to boost his confidence. Ultimately, although it was sad, Din knew that it was how things had to be. The risk was too great.

Although for the short time remaining that Din would remain in her orbit, Din was determined to commit every inch of her to memory, so that he would never forget the woman who had unknowingly done so much to him. Din was determined to impress her on his memory on the off-chance that their paths would one day cross in a scenario where he might be able to get to know her. After all, Din was a man, and he was not immune to the fact that she was a beautiful woman, perhaps several years younger than him. But her beauty was not just skin-deep; it was to be found in the way she spoke so eloquently. How she addressed the room with such maturity and wisdom. To Din, it appeared as though she had lived several lifetimes.

Now she had sat back in her seat, Din could only appreciate the back of her profile, though he had noticed the cute slope of her nose and her plush lips as she made her way back to her seat. Din focused on her hair. It looked so soft that he wondered how it would feel against his skin as he nuzzled into her scalp and pressed a soft kiss of gratitude there.

The T-visor had its perks, as no one else in the room was any the wiser to how intently Din had affixed his gaze to her, much like Mando did when tracking a bounty. Din found that, even if he had wanted to, he could not look away from her. He watched quietly as her friend whispered excitedly to her. She was only a couple of rows in front of him and was almost close enough to reach out and touch.

Perhaps that was how Din could make her feel his appreciation in a low-risk way, through a simple touch. He wondered whether he could put his hand on her shoulder on the way out and convey his thanks with a nod of his helmet the way Mando would. But that was another fantasy that would not come to pass, as Din knew that when this panel was reaching its conclusion, he had to make straight for the doors before he got swamped by any of the enthusiastic fans in here. He had seen the way throughout the panel that the number of people who had spotted his incredible ‘costume’ had increased. Din knew he was drawing many eyes.

Despite the overwhelming urge inside him to thank the girl, Din knew that he had to keep moving through the convention centre. Cutting a dedicated path, scything his way through the crowd like the methodic warrior he was.

So, when Jeff started wrapping up the panel, Din sprang straight to his feet and strode towards the doors, before a single soul could say anything. There were a few excited faces and murmured gasps as he strode purposefully towards the exit, but fortunately, no one was quick enough to stand up and thwart his quick exit.

Bizarrely, even though he was unused to being around so many people and had initially found the experience overwhelming, Din found that after the panel, he felt far more comfortable in the larger, crowded spaces at the convention. In a small room, there was no privacy. Anyone and everyone could look at him, their steely, judgmental eyes burrowing into him. They know… he had been constantly thinking to himself throughout the panel. But of course, no one was any the wiser to his true identity. Even if the panel's attendees thought that the costume was realistic, the idea of the real Mandalorian attending a convention dressed as himself was too far-fetched to be real. Even the most imaginative fanfic writer could not come up with such a ridiculous plot.

So, Din found himself physically relaxing as he made his way back to the main hallway. His shoulders were less tense, his jaw unclenched. After he left the panel, Din had not intended to linger much longer. But as he found himself wandering around, stopping for more and more photos with eager fans who were so blown away by his ‘cosplay,' Din discovered that he began to almost enjoy the attention.

There were so many children here too. Some were not much older than Grogu. Din wished he had brought Grogu with him, but he knew that the convention would not have been a welcome environment for his precious son, especially given his nervous disposition. But Din knew with absolute certainty that Grogu was having a pleasant afternoon, he was being looked after by an elderly man named Kuiil, who was a babysitter that the studio had initially put him in touch with. Kuiil was always dependable and happy to help Din out whenever he needed him to take care of Grogu, no matter how little notice Din gave.

Din was gradually growing in confidence as he strode through the main hall of the convention centre. Now, when fans asked for photos or even launched themselves at him without asking first, Din found that he was less nervous. To every request, Din just nodded. When people thanked him, although they didn’t always – Din occasionally wished he could speak to remind them to mind their manners – Din made the same gesture. A simple nod said so much, without saying anything at all.

Din would never speak while wearing his armour. To most, it perhaps came across as an incredible amount of dedication to cosplaying the character – Mando, after all, was a man of few words. But the reality was that Din knew his voice could blow his cover.

Ordinarily, Din rarely feared his voice would give him away as The Mandalorian, as his Mando voice was distorted somewhat by the helmet, so the difference was sufficient enough for Din to feel confident that no one would realise he was Mando. But surrounded by superfans at this convention, in the very helmet that would distort his voice to make him unmistakably sound the same as Mando, Din deemed it far too great a risk to take.

After stopping for photos and fistbumps with enthusiastic fans of all ages, Din was finally ready to make his exit, much later than he believed he would have initially. Ultimately, Din was glad he had attended the panel and not rushed off earlier in the day when he had felt so overwhelmed that he had been driven to hide in the toilet. Although the panel had not been an entirely positive experience, it had been worth it just because of her.

And to think, Din was so hurt after the comments some fans had made about him at the panel that he would have missed out on feeling all the love and appreciation for Mando, had it not been for that girl who took a stand and raised her voice in defence of him. Her words had allowed DIn to feel lighter, freer and as though he wanted to open himself up to the love the fans were prepared to show him.

The day at the convention had been an amazing, eye-opening experience. One that was far out of Din’s comfort zone, something that he never would have believed he could do for himself. But now he realised that he had also stayed far longer than he had been expecting. Din wanted to get back to his son. Grogu was usually settled and happy for the first few hours, but Din knew that it would soon begin to veer into the territory where a meltdown may be more likely.

Plus, Din had finally had enough for the day. He was accustomed to wearing his armour for long periods – it was like a second skin, after all – but he hadn’t sat down, nor removed his helmet for hours. Despite his increased confidence, the fear of being discovered lingered. The fear that his ‘costume’ would be sussed out set him constantly on edge and was draining him far more than a heavy suit of armour could.

So Din began making his way to the exit through the expansive main hallway. He almost made it through without stopping, until he noticed a massive banner with a photograph of himself on it. Din stopped for a second, looking up at it as he remembered the day that photo had been taken. It had been a nerve-wracking experience for him, he was certainly not a model, but they had needed some promo shots. So Din found himself there, posing awkwardly in front of a professional photographer who was barking orders at him and wondering when arms and hands had become such awkward, cumbersome things. Din would rather have spent an entire day throwing himself into walls without a single break before repeating the experience and had informed The Mandalorian's creative team as much. So future photoshoots were completed with a body double wearing a copy of Din’s armour. The photo on display was one of the few that was him, though.

Din stood there for a few moments, smiling proudly at it underneath his helmet before a small voice caused Din to stop reminiscing over the gigantic poster and abruptly turn on the spot to face the direction of the voice.

“Excuse me, could we take a photo with you, please?” A timid voice said. In response, Din felt every hair stand on end as he instantly recognised the person who the voice belonged to.

It was the girl from the panel, staring at him with absolute admiration and adoration. He stood open-mouthed and gawked at her for a few seconds, stunned to be in her presence once again. But then her beautiful features changed. She frowned slightly and then Din realised he had been standing there, frozen, as he stared at her in disbelief. She had taken his silence and inaction as a dismissal and almost retreated before Din snapped out of his trance and nodded quickly. He wanted to tell her how wonderful she had been at the panel, how much her words had meant to him. But everything happened so fast.

Din felt his heart rate quicken as the girl moved to stand next to him. Her arms hung by her side somewhat awkwardly, just like Din’s had in the photo on the poster that he had just been admiring. She was too nervous - or perhaps polite - to sling one around his shoulder or waist. Din wouldn’t have minded though, there was something imperceptible about her that made Din want to be drawn into her orbit. She had a magnetic presence.

Din barely remembered to turn and look up at the girl’s friend who was taking the photo, his ordinarily calm and composed mind had been catapulted off its axis by her presence. The girl went to step away, but Din raised a hand just in front of her body to stop her from moving off.

“Wait, let me… pose properly,” Din choked out, forgetting his vow of silence in a moment of recklessness. He held his breath for a few seconds, but if she recognised his voice, she did not acknowledge it. Din released a shaky breath, trying not to be frustrated with himself. After all, Din had only good intentions. Out of everyone he had taken photos with today, she deserved the best out of them all.

“Oh, thank you!” The girl laughed and smiled appreciatively as she took her place back by Din’s side.

Din placed one hand on his belt and leaned in towards her, hoping that the picture turned out to her satisfaction. They stood there side by side, almost close enough to touch. At that moment, Din wanted nothing more than to remove his helmet and bare his face to the alluring woman who had publicly spoken so eloquently in his defence and been equally polite in their more private encounter. But even if he had wanted to, they were out of time. Their few seconds together were over.

“Thank you! Your cosplay is amazing, by the way! It looks so realistic!” She said with a shy smile as she stepped away. “I think there’s a cosplay competition at the Twin Suns stage this afternoon, you should seriously consider entering. I’m sure you’d win!” The girl said encouragingly.

Din nodded stiffly, struck by her manners and how genuinely excited and encouraging towards others she seemed to be. Both traits mattered deeply to Din. But there were also nerves behind his suddenly restricted motions as he once again feared his cover being blown. Din supposed that it would be unsurprising if it was the same girl from the panel who had shown such a passion for the character was finally the one to connect the dots.

Despite the momentary panic caused by her comment about how realistic his costume was, Din was still amazed by how sweet she had been. The way her eyes shone with genuine excitement as she approached him and yet, she managed to maintain that respect for him that other attendees did not. So many people rushed up to Din when he was in this costume, without even stopping to ask his permission for a photo, let alone take a second to look at him or politely thank him. The fact she had thanked him and complimented him and even spoken encouraging words about his cosplay proved to Din that she was one of the politest attendees.

Din had a few more seconds to appreciate being in the girl’s presence as the friend she was with stepped up to have a picture with him. The girl’s friend seemed more confident than her in the way she posed, she seemed to know exactly what to do. But Din was paying her no mind. Instead, he glanced at the details of her face he could see from behind the phone – complete with Mando case – that she was using to take the photo. Din noticed the spark in her eyes, the way they lit up when she looked at him. She probably didn’t realise just how much Din could see in the helmet and that he was staring directly at her, noticing the look of awe she wore on her face.

“Thank you,” The girl’s friend said with a polite nod and the two walked off.

Din stood for a moment, watching them as they went. They flicked through the photos, jumping up and down excitedly as they looked at one. They were just out of earshot, but Din could tell how excited they both seemed by the pictures they had taken together. He smiled beneath his helmet. Knowing that he could bring such joy to others was a phenomenon he had lived in blissful ignorance of for most of the time since he had been cast as The Mandalorian, the only exception being when he had visited that children’s hospital a few months previously.

Today had opened Din Djarin’s eyes to the impact he was having out there, on so many different people. It was a debt that he owed to her, a debt that he knew he would, regrettably, never be able to repay.

Perhaps, in another reality, Din would have run after her, stopped her and confessed how appreciative he was of her kindness. He would have told her that he wanted to get to know her and asked her on a date if she was single. Maybe she would have been momentarily taken aback, given the bizarre circumstances of him wearing a full suit of armour and running up to her at a convention like that. But hopefully, she would have given him a chance.

They would have gotten to know each other, and gradually fallen in love over the next few months. Perhaps, if things went well, they would have lived a long and happy life together. It felt so real, for one fleeting moment, that Din could almost see their future together.

But that was ridiculous. In this reality, Din watched from behind his helmet as the outline of the girl he felt himself so drawn to grew smaller and smaller before eventually being swallowed up by the crowd.

She disappeared into the distance. Out of view, and out of Din’s life.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @toxic-seduction

#my fics #tbobw #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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mariacallous · 5 months

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What Geert Wilders Wants in Europe

On Nov. 22, Geert Wilders’s far-right Party for Freedom (PVV) won the most seats in the House of Representatives following national elections in the Netherlands. On the same day, Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban gave a keynote speech in Zürich at the invitation of the conservative magazine Die Weltwoche. The latter event offers a key to understanding the former. Orban offered a preview of what Wilders wants to do with Europe.

Wilders, who has earned the right to try to form a governing coalition with several center-right parties that have already rolled out the red carpet for him, has repeatedly said in the past that he wants to take his country out of the European Union. The PVV program calls for a referendum on “Nexit.” But like other far-right politicians in Europe, Wilders has understood the lessons of Brexit: Countries standing alone in this turbulent world marginalize and weaken themselves, so instead of leaving the EU, it would be better to stay and change it from the inside. This is exactly the scenario Orban sketched out in Zürich.

For starters, Orban apologized to the audience because it had to put up with him, the leader of a small country, while in these challenging times it had deserved a speech by a real leader like Konrad Adenauer or Helmut Kohl—politicians who had ruled postwar Germany for years with a steady moral and political compass, shaping Christian democracy in Europe. But alas, Orban continued, Europe is in decline. It does not have politicians of that caliber anymore. It has lost its grip on the world because it is ruled by bureaucrats infected with the liberal-progressive bug, not by true politicians. If we want to stop this decline, he said, “we must return to classical European political and leadership culture.” This would mean national leaders taking the helm in Brussels, from now on treating European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen as “our employee, our paid employee, whose job it is to carry out what we decide.”

Wilders, whose wife is Hungarian, is close to Orban. He has visited him many times. He knows a large majority of the Dutch do not support a Nexit. Eighty percent think membership is beneficial for the country, which is higher than the European average of 72 percent. None of his possible center-right coalition partners advocate an exit from the EU. Moreover, like Orban, Wilders considers it unwise that the United Kingdom did not just leave the EU but also the single market. Orban told his Swiss audience that decisions taken in Brussels directly affect Switzerland as a participant in the single market, without Bern having any say in those decisions. All the more reason to stay and shape those decisions from the inside. For him, national sovereignty is key, and this would be better served by staying in the EU.

When it comes to Europe, sovereignty is also a key word in the PVV program. “Intensive cooperation between countries does not need a political union like the EU,” the program states. It calls for a smaller EU budget and the usage of opt-outs; for example, in the fields of asylum and migration. On election night, on television, Wilders mentioned the Dublin agreement (on asylum and migration) as a positive piece of EU regulation he wants to stick to. If European regulation is not good, he added, “we can always change it to make it better.” This did not sound at all like someone who wants to leave the EU. On the contrary, it sounded like someone who stays in to grab the steering wheel.

In fact, Orban is showing him the way. Orban currently is playing out several trump cards in Brussels. The European Commission is refusing to pay him around 30 billion euros in European subsidies, because those funds are tied to requirements connected to the rule of law and anti-corruption. Some cosmetic reforms notwithstanding, Orban is doing nothing to meet those requirements. Now, Orban is taking revenge. He keeps blocking Sweden’s accession to NATO. At a European summit in December, European government leaders are supposed to decide whether or not to start formal accession talks with Ukraine. In a letter last week, Orban announced that he does not want a decision yet. He is also threatening to block European financial and military assistance to Ukraine—50 billion euros over the next few years, plus joint arms purchases through the European Peace Facility. Finally, Orban has signaled that if he does not get his billions, he will try to prevent the reappointment of Ursula von der Leyen as president of the European Commission in 2024.

Meanwhile, he ordered posters to be put up all over Hungary depicting von der Leyen and Alex Soros—the son of George Soros and new leader of the Open Society Foundations he founded—with the text, “Let’s not dance to their tunes.” He has also organized a (nonbinding) national consultation on Europe, with 11 rather suggestive questions. One segment about EU financial assistance to Ukraine reads as follows: “They are asking Hungary for additional support [for Ukraine] even as our country has not received the EU funds due to it.” One of the possible answers says: “We should not pay more to support Ukraine until we have received the money we are owed [by the EU].”

Like Orban, many far-right politicians in Europe have concluded that now is not the time to leave the EU. Even a large country like the United Kingdom has lost influence since Brexit. The economy took a beating, immigration has doubled, hedge funds are buying up the country. Moreover, potential trade agreements with third countries have been revealed to be worse than the ones the U.K. had through the EU, with powerful countries like India or Australia taking the opportunity to squeeze concessions out of London they never managed to get from the EU. As former Prime Minister John Major noted in a lecture in 2020, the U.K. is a second-class power that has chosen to become more poor and more powerless—with the slogan “taking back control” more applicable to Europe than to the U.K.

It is no coincidence that both the U.K. and Switzerland are seeking rapprochement with the EU at the moment. The EU’s waiting room is full of candidate countries. Many countries in the EU’s orbit have discovered that with regional powers like Russia and Turkey bullying everyone at will, being part of a larger group can protect them from being eaten raw before breakfast.

The mantra of Europe’s nationalists used to be, “We lose sovereignty in the European Union, so let’s leave the European Union.” Now, many realize they actually gain sovereignty by being part of it. Figures like Orban suddenly emphasize the advantages of the European single market and other benefits such as cheap, common vaccines or the power to collectively discipline multinational companies such as Google or Microsoft.

If anybody embodies this U-turn on Europe, it’s Italy’s prime minister Giorgia Meloni. The minute she took power last year, she started investing in Europe in a way no one had thought possible. She suddenly became supportive of the euro and European defense, and got herself constructively involved in the search for a better EU asylum and migration system. Only on environmental policy and cultural issues has she remained arch-conservative.

France’s Marine Le Pen, Italy’s Matteo Salvini, and Austria’s Herbert Kickl, like Wilders, all seem to realize that—contrary to what Orban says—EU member states already have almost all of the power in Brussels. And that if they manage to get themselves elected nationally, like Orban, they can actually play with that power to their advantage. Like him, they can inflate their position by threatening to use a veto now and then and take everybody hostage. They can open their doors, like Hungary, to those seeking a foothold in Europe in order to undermine it from within. Moreover, they can force the Bundeskanzleramt and the Elysée to finally pay attention. In short, EU membership provides leverage. It is a tool that makes national leaders larger than they would otherwise be.

This is the cynical Europe that politicians like Orban, Le Pen, Salvini, and Wilders are working on. Next weekend, at a conference of Salvini’s far-right European parliamentary group in Florence, they will be tuning their violins again.

Far-right parties used to rant on the national podium against the EU and “unelected Eurocrats” in Brussels, pushing narrow national interests—and, as a result, often clashing among themselves. Those differences are now increasingly overshadowed by the new prominence of some of their favorite themes: security, defense, migration, and border control. The far right no longer just speaks on behalf of the nation against Europe, Hans Kundnani of Chatham House recently wrote; it is now starting to speak on behalf of Europe. This “ethnoregionalism,” as he calls it, is characterized by a rhetoric that focuses on the idea of an endangered “European civilization.”

Indeed, the “decline of Europe” is becoming a common theme for far-right parties. In Zürich, Orban mentioned Europe’s inability to exercise “autonomous and sovereign action” several times. Europe, he said, is losing its way in the world. Then, he posed as its savior—in the footsteps of political giants like Adenauer and Kohl.

The fact that Orban now positions himself in a center-right tradition, not on the far right, is not accidental. It implies that the dam between the center right and the far right, which has been in place for decades, has broken. In many countries, the center right is copying the far-right discourse, making it mainstream. In the Netherlands, it was the center-right VVD—Prime Minister Mark Rutte’s party—that made the PVV electable by opening the door to cooperation. The same is happening in Austria, where the far-right FPÖ has overtaken the center-right ÖVP as the more popular party, with elections scheduled for next fall. In Belgium, which holds elections in June, a similar dynamic could play out. In France, the center-right Republicans are now more radical than the far-right National Rally—and a lot smaller, too. Meanwhile, in the European Parliament, the conservative family that has been a powerful bulwark against political extremism since World War II is equally shifting to the right. It votes down some of the Green Deal climate laws it previously supported; it wants to close borders; and it is getting increasingly vocal in opposing social-justice issues.

With all this happening, far-right politicians like Wilders have fewer reasons than ever to leave the EU. As Orban said in Zürich, “Hungary is not the black sheep but the first swallow, and … we look forward to the others.”

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heliossecretdeskdrawer · 6 months

Text

Loyalty’s Reward

Part of MegaSound Week 2023 - Hosted on Tumblr by @mega-wave-superior Prompt: Day 7 - Free Prompt

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Megatron/Soundwave

Characters: Megatron & Soundwave Warnings: Sticky sexual interfacing, oral sex, cunnilingus, blow jobs, deepthroating, 69-ing

Summary: In which Soundwave and Megatron have a private meeting.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

Hiding away on a large warship was more difficult than one might have thought. At all hours, most corridors had mechs coming and going to facilitate the Nemesis’s operations; the ship didn’t stop needing monitoring just because half of the crew was resting.

Disappearing into private quarters was too obvious, easily kicking the prolific Decepticon rumor mills into higher gear. Not to mention that Soundwave’s numerous roommates were a potent deterring force. Ravage in particular would likely have had an opinion on his protégé cavorting with another member of High Command.

Now though with a locked, soundproof conference room door between them and any witnesses, Soundwave laid on his back on the conference table with his legs apart and his spike in the air.

Heavy thighs settled on either side of his face and only then, shielded by the pelvic plating above him, did he open the mask obscuring his mouth. He didn’t know which bit of intimate anatomy Megatron would give him, but he was ready and willing to accept whatever he received.

Hot ventilations passed over his spike. The inviting, familiar warmth made it twitch as prefluid began to bead up at the tip.

Heavy hands slipped under his hips, gently but firmly hoisting him up. Soundwave’s plating scraped against the conference table as he was dragged while Megatron sat up. His legs kicked awkwardly in the air with the table no longer supporting them. Megatron didn’t seem to mind, his grip not faltering as he bore Soundwave’s weight with ease.

Even with the shift in posture, his exposed face was still positioned directly beneath closed pelvic plating where he couldn’t be seen. Of course, they had no audience, but Megatron had always taken Soundwave’s preference for concealment into account during these encounters.

He wrapped his arms around the legs on either side of his head, resting his hands on hip joints to lock himself into place. However they might move, he would be where he needed to be.

Soundwave could feel the prefluid dripping down onto his abdomen before a warm tongue intervened, staunching the flow as it pressed against the tip of his spike. He suppressed a groan as his frame began to relax from the soft pleasure. Even with a soundproof door, locked with codes that only the two of them knew, they couldn’t get careless.

Above him, a panel opened partway, revealing only a swollen anterior node that pulsed with a soft red glow. Without hesitation, Soundwave pulled Megatron’s hips closer as he eagerly pressed the node between his lips.

A groan overhead nearly escaped before Megatron silenced himself by engulfing the entirety of Soundwave’s spike with his mouth. No build up, no dragging it out as Megatron used his lover’s array as a gag. Soundwave shut down his own vocalizer to keep quiet as the wet warmth enveloped him; the silicone membrane that separated the mouth from the throat twitching teasingly at the spike’s tip.

Perhaps one day, after the war maybe, he thought as he sucked lightly on the node, they wouldn’t have to hide what they meant to each other. Right now, they couldn’t afford to expose such a weakness, neither in front of the enemy nor in front of their own ranks.

But, for now, Soundwave would cherish these moments of respite from the nightmarish war effort that waited for them beyond their shared embrace.

The frame above him shuddered, armor clattering as Megatron thrust Soundwave’s spike in and out of his mouth with his hands alone, shoving the length repeatedly past the fluttering membrane.

Yes, Soundwave would cherish this.

#fic #drabble #megasound #valveplug #megatron #soundwave #megasoundweek #megasound2023

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youaintnothinbuta · 8 months

Note

race x reader where reader (fem preferably, but could be gn) is a brooklyn newsie, she’s spot’s best friend. race catches her eye at the rally (is that the right word lol) at medda’s theatre and he finds her after. you can pick what happens next. thank you!

Thank you so much for the request!! <3

“You always this distractible, Race?”

Summary: You and Race meet for the first time after Medda Larkin’s show, after not being able to take your eyes off him during the performance.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Racetrack Higgins

Word count: 920

Warnings: none. Fluff. Probably typos/bad grammar, u know the drill <33

Request something here !

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You and Spot began the long journey through the streets of Brooklyn to Manhattan and eventually Medda Larkin’s theatre, where the crowd was growing quickly. You wandered inside, looking around, Spot nudging you to look in the direction where he’d Just spotted Jack Kelly.

“Jack!” He called out.

Jack turned toward the pair of you, his eyes lighting up as he saw you and Spot. With a boyish grin, he made his way over to you, giving Spot a pound hug and you a real hug. “Well, if it ain't the pride of Brooklyn,” he smiled, “And her loyal sidekick.” He teased Spot, lightly punching his chest.

Medda Larkin herself wandered over to Jack, with him introducing the two of you to her.

“Are you two hiding too? Jack’s got a whole litter with him tonight.” Medda joked, teasing Jack.

“Goons. You know how it is.” Jack shrugged. He did indeed have quite a few of the boys hiding out at the theatre with him that night, after they all had a run-in with Snyder that was a little too close for comfort.

“Consider yourselves my special guests tonight,” Medda smiled, her usual twinkle in her eye. Just then, she got called on stage, and the lights in the theatre began to dim, everyone in the audience getting settled in their seats. Jack headed back over to his group, which comprised of about 6 or so of the Manhattan newsies. You and Spot found seats by the side of the stage, just as the curtains drew back, revealing Medda standing centre stage, her voice resonating through the theatre as she began her performance.

Spot seemed quite taken with Medda’s performance, his eyes adhered to her entirely. You on the other hand, kept finding yourself distracted. Sitting on the other side of the theatre, you watched as Jack seemed to be telling off one of the boys. He took something away from him, a cigar maybe? It was hard to tell in the dimly lit theatre.

After staring for perhaps a moment too long, the boy’s eyes locked onto yours, the sudden eye contact startling you, making you avert your gaze back to Medda. You were pretty sure you knew who it was. Racetrack, you’d heard him be called. He was one that was talked about a lot, but you’d never actually met him.

Throughout the rest of the show, you found your eyes wandering off of Medda and getting stuck to Race. Strangely, he seemed to sense your attention each time, as his gaze met yours repeatedly. It was as though he could feel your eyes on him, and each time, his gaze ensnared yours.

As the theatre erupted into applause as Medda left the stage, Spot soon found himself chatting away with all the Manhattan boys who were there. You glanced outside the front doors of the theatre, and saw Race standing alone, leaning against a lamppost. His eyes met yours, and a small smile played at the corners of his lips, a small gesture inviting you to join him.

You silently excused yourself from the group. Race remained where he was, his posture relaxed as he took his cigar from his mouth.

"Racetrack Higgins, ain’t it?" You raised an eyebrow.

“Guilty as charged. So, you and Spot, huh?”

You laughed, almost snorting, shaking your head. “He pay you say that? We’re just friends.”

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze holding yours in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

“Good to know.” His voice carried a teasing tone as he took a step closer, his grin widening.

You smiled, a slight blush tingeing your cheeks. "What’d you think of the show?"

He chuckled softly, shrugging. “Don’t know. Didn’t catch much of it.”

“Oh, really now?” You quipped.

“Yeah. Some girl was givin' me the eye somethin' fierce, couldn't concentrate.” He teased you.

“Huh, wonder who that could be.” You shot back, smiling as you grabbed the cigar from his hand.

You took a drag from the cigar, puffing out a little (pathetic) smoke ring, coughing, making Race laugh. “You always this distractible, Race?”

He grinned, tipping his hat back a bit, shaking his head, “Only when there's a pretty girl around, messin' with my head.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Smooth talker, huh?”

“Hey, it's the truth,” he said with a nudge to your shoulder. Race's fingers brushed against yours as he took his cigar back, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Your breath caught with the feeling of touch, you felt your cheeks go pink.

You noticed the group starting to make their way over. “I'm not saying I’m expecting you, but tomorrow I might be waiting outside that little bakery with the good pies.”

Race smirked, nodding, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I think I could find an excuse to head that way.”

Before you could say more, the group of boys wandered over to you two, Spot giving you a questioning eyebrow raise before telling you it was time to go.

With that, you headed off with Spot, en route back to Brooklyn for the night. Similarly, Race joined Jack and the other boys, who were headed to find their night’s shelter, too. As you walked away, you stole a glance over your shoulder, catching Race's eyes watching you, a smirk still playing on his lips. The feeling was mutual, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself at the thought of seeing him again.

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hypeonmovies · 5 months

Text

Priscilla

⭐️ 1/2

Am I missing something? That’s what repeatedly went through my mind during the two hour bore that was Sofia Coppolla’s Priscilla. Coppola means well, but the uneven story and stale performances distract from what could have been an interesting character study of a teenage girl groomed into being a rockstar’s “perfect” wife.

The film starts off well enough with actress Cailee Spaeny portraying a 15 year old Priscilla, bored by the life she’s living on her father’s army base. That is until she’s approached by an officer who invites her to join he and his wife at a party. It’s at this party that she meets Jacob Elordi’s obnoxiously tall Elvis Presley. Elvis spends about 5 minutes talking to her before they take a liking to each other and Spaeny does well portraying a naive teen enamored by Presley and excited by the attention he’s giving her. The age difference is not lost on the audience especially when she has to ask her parents whenever she wants to see him to which her mother often exclaims, “Why can’t he find a girl his own age?”

Spaeny does excel in her performance as a teenage Priscilla experiencing her first love, but the performance doesn’t grow along with her age and the story progression falters once Priscilla moves into Graceland. The transitions from one scene to another are quick and sloppy and years go by without much of an explanation. One moment Priscilla is graduating high school in Tennessee and the next, it’s years later in LA and Elvis is spouting religious rhetoric to a room full of female fans. Characters are mentioned, but not fully fleshed. Important figures in both of their lives become nothing more than background actors. There were multiple times where I felt lucky to have seen Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis biopic, so I had some idea of what was happening in certain time periods.

It’s understood that Priscilla has to grow up quickly once moving to Graceland despite still being a teenager. However, Spaeny’s performance never excels past that of a 15 year old girl. There’s no sense of progression or growth. Up until the end, even in scenes where she’s arguing with Elordi’s Elvis, it’s as if she’s fighting with her father, not her husband. Jacob Elordi tries hard with his portrayal of Elvis. He recently stated in an interview that he only knew of Elvis through a scene in “Lilo & Stitch” prior to playing him and based on his performance, I believe it. He plays him as if he’s portraying him at a Halloween party and it’s clear that the amount of research put into Austin Butler’s portrayal wasn’t done this time around. Elordi’s portrayal was also hindered by the fact that Coppola was unable to use any of Elvis’s real music in the film.

Unfortunately, the performances and unbalanced storytelling turn this into a dull biopic. I found myself grateful that it wasn’t another three hour one. Overall, the film is able to show how the grooming of Priscilla at such a young age as well as the mental and physical abuse she endured negatively affected her and her marriage, but at what cost to the audience?

#priscilla movie #priscilla presley #elvis presley #sofia coppola #movies

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cacodaemonia · 11 months

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This is probably an unpopular opinion among Ted Lasso fans, but the whole Nate storyline has both bored and irked me. Don't get me wrong, I adore this show and how sweet and wholesome it is, and I totally understand if people don't want to read any complaints about it. If that's you, stop reading here. 👍

Anyway: I have issues with the recent emphasis on forgiving someone like Nate.

I loved him at first, but then when he started to show his true colors I was very much in agreement with Coach Beard. Ted was always kind to Nate, always supported him, and the Nate turned on Ted because... his own father is a dick to him? My father was a much bigger piece of shit, but I don't treat people who constantly go out of their way to be kind to me like that.

I am not a forgiving person because I've seen over and over and over what happens to people when they keep on forgiving others for terrible behavior: they become welcome mats. That doesn't mean I dwell on the people who have wrong me—I just cut them off, don't let them waste my time, and my life is much better for it. So the whole 'forgive so-and-so for your own good' thing really doesn't make sense to me. Forgiving someone who has repeatedly wronged you or done something Very Bad to you opens you up to being treated like shit again—because, lbr, unlike in stories, most people don't completely change their personalities for the better. Yeah, it happens sometimes, but it's pretty rare.

So, back to Nate. Since the beginning of season 3, the audience has seen him... develop some? He's got a girlfriend, his dad was not mean to him once, he quit working for Rupert, and he's inexplicably a good waiter when just a few months ago, he was really into demeaning people and bossing them around. I haven't seen any explanation for why he would suddenly tolerate being a waiter, which—newsflash for anyone who hasn't done it—sucks. A lot of customers treat wait staff like garbage and I cannot imagine Nate handling that with a Customer Service Smile™, you know?

So all of that is kinda weird and not really super well explained, imo. But even weirder is that, unlike the audience, most of the other characters never saw any of these changes. For all they know, he's still the same Nate who was utterly awful for all of season 2. Characters like Jamie, Rebecca, Colin, and Isaac, who were varying levels of dicks at the beginning, showed the other characters that they wanted to make amends and worked to do so. They showed that they wanted to be better and gave others a reason to eventually trust them.

But Nate hasn't done any of this with the Richmond crew, so when Isaac, Colin, and Will (who Nate was particularly vile to) show up to invite him back to Richmond, I seriously thought the show was doing a weird dream sequence or something. My partner was equally baffled because it made NO SENSE. And yeah, I get that Ted has influenced people around him to be more forgiving etc. etc. but why would they invite Nate, who was horribly abusive to so many people on the team, back??? It would be like Sam inviting Akufo to dinner at his restaurant.

Anyway, I'm really not looking to argue with anyone. Sometimes you just need to vent, you know? And I just needed to vent about the Nate storyline, which I think has gotten really lame, and about how I take issue with the insistent forgiveness message of this last season. Yeah, I know it's fiction, but they are framing the show's messages as pretty explicit life advice. And the 'always forgive no matter what' message is simply not a universally good policy.

#ted lasso #ted lasso spoilers #ted lasso critical #nate critical #but i do really love the show i just needed to vent about this #venting

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SALTBURN (2023)

Starring Barry Keoghan, Jacob Elordi, Rosamund Pike, Richard E. Grant, Alison Oliver, Archie Madekwe, Carey Mulligan, Paul Rhys, Ewan Mitchell, Lolly Adefope, Sadie Soverall, Millie Kent, Reece Shearsmith, Richie Cotterell, Millie Kent, Will Gibson, Tasha Lim, Aleah Aberdeen, Matthew Carver, Gabriel Bisset-Smith, Saga Spjuth-Säll, Glyn Grimstead and Paul Rhys.

Screenplay by Emerald Fennell.

Directed by Emerald Fennell.

Distributed by Metro Goldwyn Mayer. 131 minutes. Rated R.

Screened at the 2023 Philadelphia Film Festival.

Saltburn: PFF Closes With a Gem

For three consecutive years, the Philadelphia Film Festival has allocated some of its most coveted slots to vehicles that showcased Irish talent. In 2021, the festival’s opening night film was Belfast, the loosely autobiographical work, penned and directed by Kenneth Branagh. It recounted his childhood in Northern Ireland’s capital city. In 2022, the festival kicked off with The Banshees of Inisherin. The tale was set on a fictitious island in Galway Bay, off the western coast of Ireland. It starred the estimable duo of Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson as life-long friends, whose relationship becomes abruptly truncated. This year, in its 32nd edition, the festival’s closing night film was Saltburn. Dublin native, Barry Keoghan, is cast as the film’s protagonist.

Set in 2006, Saltburn is at once a jocular, albeit scathing, satire of the British ruling class and a psychological thriller. It centers on Oliver Quick (Keoghan), an incoming freshman at prestigious Oxford University. Unlike his posh classmates, Oliver hails from a modest background and is a socially maladroit dweeb. His parents are apparently addled with alcoholism and drug addiction. He has no siblings or other familial support to speak of. Oliver is an obvious candidate for ostracism by his more privileged peers.

In the film’s prologue, Oliver speaks retroactively of the ambivalent, tortured, and unrequited feelings that he had harbored for Felix Catton (Jacob Elordi). Felix is a strikingly handsome alpha male, whose family boasts a centuries-old aristocratic pedigree. Felix is accustomed to people fawning over him. In particular, wherever he goes, he is avidly pursued by a bevy of pulchritudinous coeds. Meanwhile, Felix remains totally oblivious to Oliver’s homoerotic longings for him.

The two lads meet serendipitously, when Jacob experiences a flat tire on his bicycle. He is distressed by the prospect of being tardy for a meeting with his new faculty advisor. As Oliver rides past, he notices Felix’s predicament. Oliver veers from the pathway and graciously offers to lend his own bicycle to help the immobilized stranger. Felix expresses his deep-seated gratitude.

Felix defies audience expectations, when he actually takes pains to incorporate Oliver into his elite social clique. As summer break beckons, Felix magnanimously invites Oliver to sojourn at his family home, the eponymous Saltburn. It turns out that the family residence is a sprawling Medieval castle from a bygone era. Drayton House, an edifice situated in Northamptonshire, afforded an ideal site for location shooting. Construction of the spectacularly opulent estate began around 1300 and was repeatedly revised thereafter. Shortly after the house was erected, the original owner of the magnificent structure was issued a license to build ramparts and crenellations as part of a protective wall around the residence.

When Felix gives a tour of the estate to Oliver, he parenthetically references family lore. As a vestige of a tryst that the notoriously licentious Henry VII once had while visiting the estate, the monarch’s desiccated seminiferous fluids are reputed to remain embedded in the mattress in one of the guest rooms. Imagine living in a home with such a juicy historical tidbit attached to it.

Oliver soon meets the residents of Saltburn, a menagerie of well-drawn and altogether eccentric characters. Felix’s immediate family consists of his mother, Elsbeth (Rosamund Pike); his father, Sir James (Richard E. Grant); and his sister, Venetia (Alison Oliver). They are augmented by Felix’s snide biracial cousin, Farleigh Start (Archie Madekwe), who also matriculates at Oxford, and a non-family hanger-on, literally known as "Poor Dear" Pamela (Carey Mulligan). All of the thespians convincingly embody the solipsistic sense of entitlement that is routinely exhibited by upper-class British twits.

However, ultimately it is Keoghan, who delivers a particularly delicious performance that anchors the film. He adroitly captures the evolution of his screen character over the course of the film’s protracted narrative trajectory. Last year, Keoghan as well as his cast-mate, Brendan Gleeson, each scored a supporting Oscar nomination for their respective roles in the aforementioned The Banshees of Inisherin. Keoghan portrayed a cognitively impaired villager in the film. Here, Keoghan demonstrates his versatility, while enlivening a far different role. He establishes that he is capable of carrying a feature film as its lead.

Saltburn is the sophomore venture of Emerald Fennell. In 2020, she made a successful transition from actor/showrunner to screenwriter/director/co-producer with her debut feature, Promising Young Woman. The film generated an Oscar for Fennell’s Best Original Screenplay along with nominations culled for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actress (Carey Mulligan, who as noted plays a juicy supporting role in Saltburn), and Best Editing. Here, Fennell shows impressive growth as a filmmaker. Her screenplay is chocked full of plot twists and apt metaphorical constructs. Fennell makes efficacious use of dramatic foreshadowing and misdirection. Following a faux denouement, Fennell uses a double epilogue to mount a startling montage of events, juxtaposed with a memorable true finale. In her role as director, Fennell evokes strong performances from her entire ensemble cast and handles the film’s frequent tonal shifts with dexterity.

The production values of Saltburn are superb. Cinematographer, Linus Sandgren (La La Land), makes adroit use of light, mirrors, and reflections to fashion a litany of mindboggling images. His use of a 1:33:1 aspect ratio creates the sensation that the viewer is a voyeur, who is surreptitiously spying on the most intimate machinations of the film’s onscreen characters. The editing by Victoria Boydell keeps the pacing taut and the audience guessing what will transpire next. The evocative score by Anthony Willis (M3gan) provides an excellent complement to the visual text of the film. The choice of period pop hits buttresses the film’s sense of time and place.

For all my enthusiasm for Saltburn, I would be remiss if I did not provide a caveat to prospective viewers. The film includes explicit dialogue as well as repeated depictions of drug use and decidedly twisted psychosexual expression. One vignette involves a libertine, who is ruefully disparaged as “sexually incontinent,” and her liaison with an accommodating paramour. Another scene depicts more “mundane” intercourse. These carnal interludes are not gratuitously ribald. Instead, they capture the sublimated urges of various screen characters as well as the intolerant deprecations of their more priggish detractors.

After appearing at the Philadelphia Film Festival, both Belfast and The Banshees of Inisherin each went on to accrue a plethora of Academy Award nominations as well as other accolades. Although Saltburn is a far more polarizing film, it is richly deserving of similar recognition.

Nathan Lerner was a syndicated Film Critic for the Montgomery Newspapers Chain and its corporate successors for twenty years. He welcomes feedback at [email protected].

Nathan Lerner

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#Saltburn #2023 #Movie Review #Barry Keoghan #Jacob Elordi #Nathan Lerner #Philadelphia Film Festival #PFF32 #Youtube

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