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savagewildnerness · 2 days

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I have to do a post for just this image too though.

In an art gallery, it would be entitled “You & me? Poignancy”… (& from me, added - thank you AMC… okokok, I confess, enjoyed how AMC rhymes with “me” & “poignancy”! Immortality also rhymes! Teehee! SO in fact does poetry!!!)

Anyway, I distracted myself from my point with silly rhymes (& if that’s not a metaphor for my existence, what is!?!)

But…

Claudia, looking to Louis; desperate to believe she is all he needs - enough to survive eternity with… but… deep down, she knows… the tragedy is, she knows Louis as maybe he doesn’t know himself…

But oh… Louis wants his words to be true… exactly as simultaneously he contradicts it, in Lestat’s presence… shimmering like an Angel, looking on Claudia with all the benevolent compassion & sorrow that is Louis’ compassion. But, it is Lestat’s compassion too, whether Louis & Lestat know it or not…. But love, compassion are not enough.

I once watched an interview with a child who had a severely disabled twin. They were both only around 10/11 at the time, but the interviewer asked the boy who was verbal what he thought love was & he answered “Love is action.” Love is not the words you say, but what you do. Love is what you give. And in action, poor Claudia is not loved enough. Oh, she is loved, yes. But Claudia deserves to be someone’s world entire. And is she? No.

Oh, it’s a tragedy alright. And yet, out of fairytale, who of us are ever anyone’s world entire? I know I am not, never have been & never will be. And actually, the concept of being anyone’s world entire fills me with incomprehensible dread & terror! And yet, I am human, as are you, so of course I also feel that pull towards completeness of it. Just as I can imagine myself a vampire, existing eternally, uncaring that I have to kill to survive… ignoring the fact that I cannot even squash a spider, for I feel its life.

Why oh why must I feel one image & it can take me into a full essay on it?

How lucky are we to have these actors playing these roles, these writers creating this show? S2E1 was written so poetically! I felt it deep within. The music is so gorgeous - the first 10 minutes, I could not skip a moment: the music is too beautiful. I had to watch a second time to even hear the words, the music was too overwhelming on first listen! But Delainey I adore already: Claudia’s internal pain sings from her: her poignant mix of directness, closed-off-ness, desperate anger & pure hope… Louis already so broken this season. I loved Jacob’s summation of Louis in a recent interview & how he is able to look at the darkness in Louis that Louis is afraid for the world to see. And Sam is infinitely eloquent in the smallest of looks. How joyous Dream-Lestat already is. Without words or even Lestat’s self Sam can express so much… and this moment here made me cry… and it’s this look that really did it. Just a wordless look…

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made4radio · 2 days

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Ready or Not [Ch.3]

Explicit | Multi-Chapter | Alastor Art by @lustylita

Pairing: Human!Alastor x OFC

Content Warning(s): Alcohol, Mentions of past abuse and family issues - if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 2.4K

[Previous]

The golden lights overhead illuminated Alastor's caramel-colored skin, adding a warm glow to his features as he meticulously polished a glass behind the bar. The speakeasy was alive with the low murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of ice against glass, creating a lively atmosphere that filled the room. Alice sat alone on her stool, her friends still nowhere in sight.

"Is this where you work?" she asked, leaning her elbows on the smooth dark wood of the bar, her emerald eyes fixed curiously on him.

With a toothy grin, Alastor placed the sparkling glass on its shelf and replied, "Heavens, no! Mine is the voice that serenades the city at night; I host a rather popular radio show, if you recall."

Alice felt her cheeks flush with warmth as she tucked a coppery lock behind her ear. "Oh yes, I think I remember you mentioning that," she admitted sheepishly.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, my dear," He reassured her, his deep amber eyes twinkling with amusement above his thin glasses. "But if you ever find yourself awake at those late hours, you should tune in. My broadcasts are quite a treat, if I do say so myself."

A blush crept onto Alice's freckled skin as she bit her bottom lip lightly. "I'd love to," she confessed. "But unfortunately, I don't own a radio."

"Well, that is a shame," Alastor responded, his lips curling into a half-smile. "We'll just have to fix that now, won't we?"

The girl laughed, a sound that seemed to dance through the air like a delicate melody. "Perhaps one day. For now, I’ve gotta save every penny I can. I want to find my own place instead of relying on Miss Anjanae's kindness."

There was a momentary silence as Alastor's expression softened into something contemplative. He poured himself a ginger ale, the fizz of the carbonation breaking the tension. As he brought the glass to his lips, his gaze never left Alice.

"Saving is a wise choice," he murmured after taking a sip. "Independence is a precious thing. Precious and rare." His voice held a hint of darkness, a shadow that flickered just beneath the surface, as fleeting as the smile that graced his well-defined lips.

Alice's nod was slow, thoughtful. She found a truth in his words that resonated deeply within her. For a heartbeat or two, the barroom's cacophony seemed to recede into a hush, leaving the two of them adrift in their own island of quiet understanding.

"Independence is precious," she finally said, her voice low and steady.

"Indeed it is," Alastor agreed, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that made her feel as if he could see right through her. His silence was probing, expectant, until it wasn't—until he shattered it with a question that sounded too casual to be innocent. "So tell me, how does a dame like you end up living with my dearest mother? Surely there's a beau out there just dying to make you his pretty little wife."

The words, delivered with a teasing lilt, had Alice's freckles flaring to life against her porcelain skin. The indignation sparked within her, and yet she couldn't help but laugh—a light, airy sound that belied the tightness in her chest.

"Mr. Alastor, I think I might need something stronger to drink if we're going to venture down that particular path," she retorted.

"Is that so?" His smile was a sly curve of lips as he leaned back against the polished wood of the bar. "What's your poison, then, sweetheart?"

"I- I've never actually..." Her admission was a whisper, suddenly shy beneath his penetrating gaze.

"Never?" His eyebrow arched in genuine surprise. "Well then, let me fix you up something nice." Alastor set about his task with the grace of a maestro, the clink of ice against glass punctuating each deliberate movement. He presented her with an Old Fashioned, the amber liquid swirling seductively as he slid it across the bar to her.

"Go on," he urged. "Just take it slow."

Alice brought the glass to her lips, the rich scent of whiskey wrapping around her senses before she took a tentative sip. The burn was immediate, fierce, searing a path down her throat and eliciting a cough from her unaccustomed palate. But as the heat subsided, it left behind a complex warmth that was somehow... comforting.

"Small sips," Alastor advised softly.

She nodded, following his counsel, finding her rhythm with the drink. Emboldened by the Old Fashioned's fiery embrace, Alice began to unravel the thread he'd tugged at.

"My father," she started, the words coming easier now, "he made arrangements with one of his buddies for me to marry his eldest son."

"Ah," The man murmured, leaning forward, his interest peaking as he rested his elbows on the bar, glasses glinting in the low light.

"Yes, 'ah,'" The girl echoed, rolling her eyes. "They're rather well-off, you see. My father... he believes this will secure my future, ensure I'm taken care of." A bitter note crept into her voice, belying the sweetness of her demeanor. "But the man... I can't stand him."

"Rebellious little thing, aren't you?" The edge in his voice wasn't unkind; rather it held a note of respect.

"Perhaps," she conceded, taking another careful sip of her drink. "So, I rejected the proposal. My father—he didn't take it well and I couldn't bear the thought of living under the same roof as him anymore. He’d always been a wrathful man, but I fear I really pushed him over the edge…So, I packed a bag and left."

"My, where did you go?" His curiosity was palpable, his lean frame coiled like a spring, ready to absorb every detail she offered.

"Anywhere. Everywhere. Slept in the park for a few nights," she confessed, her voice a mere murmur over the rim of her glass. "Until I met Miss Anjanae."

"Mother has always had a soft spot for strays," He sighed, his smile tinged with fondness for a moment before it sharpened again. "And she took you in?"

"Like an angel," Alice said, her gratitude clear in her shining eyes. "Fed me, let me wash up, and in return, I helped around the house. And then we came to an agreement that I could stay."

"That is quite the tale, my dear," Alastor mused, his voice a low purr that seemed to vibrate through the smoky air between them. "You've got spunk. Can't say I'm not impressed."

"Well, thank you," Alice replied, her gaze unwavering even as the edges of her world softened with the whiskey's embrace. "I do believe I'll need all the spunk I can muster."

The man leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Alice's as he asked the question that had been burning in the back of his mind. "So, I simply have to know - what is it about this man that you find so disagreeable?"

Her lip caught between her teeth, Alice's gaze flickered away, a tumult of thoughts wrestling within her. He noted the hesitation, the vulnerability in the clench of her jaw. "You don't have to share anything you're not comfortable with, cher," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm that seemed to seep into her very soul.

A warmth spread through her chest, a sensation she hadn't felt in ages. It was as if the man’s words wrapped around her like a protective cloak. How strange it was that this man, whom she half expected to judge or dismiss her, offered solace instead. A prickle of tears threatened her control, and she blinked rapidly in a futile effort to keep them at bay.

"Please, don't apologize," she murmured when she saw his expression fall. "It's not your fault. Not at all."

But the tears betrayed her, one escaping to trace a path down her cheek. Before she could react, Alastor's hand was there, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin. His thumb swept away the moisture, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. "We can't have you ruining your lovely face over such trifles," he quipped, trying to lift the somber mood.

The laugh that bubbled from her lips was unexpected, a sound that seemed foreign to her own ears. His hand lingered, warm and reassuring, before finally retreating, much to her silent dismay.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Alice found the courage to reveal the truth. "Louis... he's a brute, a child in a man's body who throws tantrums when he doesn't get his way." The words poured out of her, a dam broken. "He has no regard for anyone else's feelings, only his own entitlement. And—" Her voice dropped to a whisper, "he's violent. He's…put hands on me before."

The atmosphere shifted, charged with an invisible current as Alastor's demeanor changed, a shadow falling over his features. "I see," he stated, the two simple words hanging heavily between them.

The weight of her confession hung in the air, a thick fog of vulnerability that she had never intended to wade into. The silence stretched between them, taut as a violin string, until his voice cut through, soft yet steady. "In that case," he said, "you can feel free to stay as long as you need." A smile danced on Alice's lips, fragile and hopeful. This night was blossoming into something unexpectedly pleasant.

She once more glanced around the dimly lit speakeasy, realizing her friends were still nowhere to be found. Yet, with Alastor's presence, their absence became an afterthought. He was the last person she expected to find comfort in, but there they stood, two kindred spirits adrift in the same stormy sea.

The band struck up a new melody, slow and beckoning, stirring the smoky air with its sultry notes. Alastor leaned toward her, the scent of sandalwood teasing her senses. "Ever danced before?" he queried, a playful lilt in his transatlantic accent.

"Of course I've danced before," She chuckled, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying her rising excitement.

"Not like this, you haven't," He countered, his hand finding hers with confident ease. He led her onto the dance floor, where shadows played across the faces of the other dancers, all lost in their own worlds.

Close to him now, she felt the solid strength of his body as he pulled her nearer than any gentleman ought. Towering over her by nearly a foot, Alastor was the embodiment of masculine elegance—his broad shoulders tapering down to a trim waist that contrasted sharply with her petite frame. She was porcelain to his caramel, a delicate doll encircled by his protective embrace.

They moved together, bodies swaying to the rhythm, two souls momentarily entwined. After a few heartbeats, curiosity bubbled up within Alice, compelling her to ask, "So, what's your story? Surely you’ve got a wife at home?"

His giggle vibrated through her. "If I had a wife, I certainly wouldn't be here, dancing with a pretty, young thing like you," He replied.

A flush warmed her cheeks, the heat of it reaching the tips of her ears. "So why have you never married? Surely there are plenty of ladies eager to take you off the market."

"Ah, relationships," he mused, his gaze never leaving hers as they spun slowly. "I've had a couple, but none substantial enough to capture my interest for long. I simply moved on."

As they glided across the dance floor, she sensed the layers of Alastor's enigma wrapping tighter around her curiosity. "So, you're content being a bachelor then?" she pressed, searching his face.

"Perfectly content," he affirmed, his voice soft as velvet. "Some things aren’t meant to be sought-out, my dear - they simply come to you when they do, regardless of whether or not you are ready for them."

And in that moment, with the music enveloping them and Alastor's arm possessively around her waist, Alice couldn't help but wonder if she'd unwittingly stumbled upon one of those unexpected instances herself.

The warmth of his hand on her waist seeped through the fabric of her dress, igniting a fire that flickered beneath her skin. Their shared smiles, once carefree, now held a weighted tension as the heat between them thickened.

Alastor's gaze ensnared hers, his amber eyes smoldering with an intensity that made her heart race. He swallowed hard, the movement of his Adam's apple stark against the low lighting, drawing her attention to the sharp line of his throat. As he leaned in, the space between them dwindled until only a breath remained, his face so close she could count the dark lashes that framed his piercing gaze.

Alice's eyes fluttered shut, the world falling away until there was only the anticipation of his lips pressing against hers. Instead, his breath danced across her skin, a teasing caress that traced the curve of her cheek before coming to rest at the shell of her ear. His voice, low and rough, sent shivers down her spine. "I think it's time I get you back home."

Eyes snapping open, Alice's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and longing. She'd been spellbound by his charm, the gentle strength of his grip, and how effortlessly he led her across the floor. With a nod, she accepted his subtle cue to depart, her body still thrumming with unfulfilled desire.

"Let's," she agreed, her voice a whisper lost amidst the fading music.

Alastor offered his arm, and together they stepped out of the haze of the speakeasy, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth they left behind. The city was hushed, save for the distant echo of a streetcar and the soft click of Alice's heels on the pavement. Midnight had long since passed, the moon hanging heavy in the ink-black sky.

"Get some rest," Alastor said as they approached her front door. "I will be joining you and mother for dinner this evening."

"Thank you," She answered with a smile, "I’ll look forward to seeing you, then."

As she reached for the door handle, his voice halted her movements. "Alice," he called out, a note of urgency in his tone. She turned to find him staring intently, his silhouette etched against the streetlights. "Please don't mention tonight's activities to my mother. She'd be beside herself to know I set foot in a place like that."

A giggle escaped her, light and airy. "Your secret is safe with me," she promised, her green eyes glinting with mischief.

"Goodnight, Alice," Alastor said, his smile returning as he tipped his head in a gesture of farewell.

"Goodnight," she echoed, and with one last glance, she slipped inside the house.