#// icons are going to be messy for a bit because I made... so many

[afterglowsainz]

yes, and? | max verstappen

summary: max’s impossible crush finally notice him, but he’s stuck in a pr relationship

fc: simone ashley

a/n: so i try something a bit different with this one and made it on the longer side (if you’ve listened to ariana’s song you know this is gonna be messy for sure) (also, simone ashley??? or the prettiest woman ever??? i’m obsessed with her)

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liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and others

maxverstappen1 life off track

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username i screamed cried and fainted

username second pic should be illegal

megan.galanis 🥰

username not the pr girlfriend 🙄

username omg let them live!

username they’re dating, get over it

username the third pic pls he’s so POOKIE

username number 1 stan of max’s thighs

username thirsting on main???

username PLS because how can you not ??

liked by maxverstappen1, bffusername and others

ynusername bridgerton press tour at it’s finest 💍

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username MOTHER

username you’re the prettiest woman alive😩

username yn just one chance please !

bffusername slayyyy

yourusername 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

jbayleaf viscountess activities😎

yourusername 🐝🐝🐝

username im in love with a woman i’ve never met

tiktok comments

username never took max for a bridgerton guy???

username not complaining tho

username max in his regency romance era🤭

username now i get why he’s always in y/n’s likes like damn i too would be obsessed after watching her on that show

ynusername thank you! <3

liked by scuderiaferrari, maxverstappen1 and others

ynusername it’s the monaco grand prix! i never miss the grand prix🏁

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username yn and f1 my two passions❤️

username the way yn always serves cunt MUST be studied

bffusername is it? who’s playing?

username ohhh the reference i love them!

username gorgeous! 😍

username i’m in awe

maxverstappen1 🤣

liked by schecoperez, landonorris and others

maxverstappen1 P1 in Monaco🏆🇲🇨

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username the icon, the legend, the moment

username max verstappen, the only man ever🫶🏽

charles_leclerc nice one mate, congrats! 👊🏽

username no megan appearance, no like, no comment… are we out of the woods?

username oh wow, she didn’t go to 1 race, they obviously must have broken up 🙄

username no but seriously, did her contract ended or something?

username girl why are you so obsessed with their relationship? just leave them alone srsly

liked by megan.galantis, bffusername and others

f1gossippofficial max verstappen has been seen lately on multiple dates with actress y/n y/l/n around monaco

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username he’s been seen on WHAT

username with WHOM

username but… what about megan…

username what about her?

username never thought of y/n as a homewrecker

username never thought of max as a CHEATER!

username im not mad about this pairing tbh🤔

username megan liking this post and unliking it???

username and y/n’s best friend liking it also

username she’s so unserious

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ynusername moments📷

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username bestie who took the pics?👀

username don’t be shy you can tell us🤭

username THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS

bffusername the most beautiful and pretty and talented and funny and smart and

ynusername i’ll marry you rn😩

username after those pics with max i can’t see her the same

username HOMEWRECKER

username haters gonna hate fr y/n i love you if you see this! 💕

maxverstappen1 🥰 (liked by ynusername)

username oh that’s not…

username this is so wrong in so many levels😭

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maxverstappen1 another successful weekend for the team, hopefully many more to come! 🇨🇦

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username “hopefully many more to come” as if we don’t know he’s gonna win all the races already

username being a red bull fan is sooo easy and fun i love it here

username i miss seeing megan in the paddock :(

username jesus christ who understands you, when she was there you hated on her and when she isn’t you miss her

username also, she just missed two races, like😭

username let’s goooo super max

redbullracing many more to come👊🏽

ynusername 🏎🏎 (liked by maxverstappen1)

username she really has no shame huh?

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and others

ynusername yes, and?

tagged maxverstappen1

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username this was the last thing i expected when i open instagram

username pls the caption😭

username she’s NOT a serious person and i love her for it

username welcome back ariana grande😍

landonorris and my credits for the last picture?

ynusername props to you🙄

username hottest couple imo

username this post single handedly convinced me to watch her show

username it’s so good honestly!!

username yesss y/n and max bringing back messy celebrity couples we love to see it!

maxverstappen1 my one and only girlfriend you’re everything❤️

ynusername you’re too much love!💘

username not the “one and only girlfriend” !!

[beelzeballing]

actually i dont think ive posted my thoughts on ofmd s2 overall here yet have i?

ok here goes: i think it had incredibly high highs, and at some parts i genuinely enjoyed it more than i did the first season, episode 6 being peak imo. however, it had equally abysmal lows with some glaring writing-, tone- and pacing issues that all came to a head in the finale.

i once read someone say that, if you ever feel like a finale ruined the whole story, maybe you should take another look at the story. there were most likely cracks and problems all along, and the finale did nothing besides dashing the hope that these would perhaps be addressed later. very rarely do genuinely well written stories go completely off the rails in the finale and ruin the whole thing.

i think this is applicable here in some ways, SPECIFICALLY in regards to edward. good god edward was a MESS this season, and it's so sad because i loved the starting point! the kraken era was absolutely terrifying and iconic as FUCK but... they shouldn't have leaned so hard into the drama and trauma of it all. don't get me wrong, i loved that it did. it's one of my favorite parts of the season and i'm so glad we got it. but if they wanted this arc to work with the overarching plot as they wrote it, they would've had to lighten up the tone here CONSIDERABLY. had they played the kraken era for comedy then sure! edward's bad youtuber apology would've been funny. his fast redemption would've been less jarring. the lack of consequences less disturbing. but as it stands in the show, this arc is too dark to function with the later episodes.

i feel like they wanted to have their cake and eat it too here. they wanted the gritty drama of ed coming off the hinges entirely but also didn't want to deal with the aftermath of such a heavy arc in their silly pirate romcom. be that due to time constraints and budget cuts or because they were simply unwilling to, doesn't really matter in the end. the result is the same either way: a very tonally messy season with some accidentally troubling implications regarding abuse.

and mentioning troubling implications regarding abuse; izzy. my poor, poor izzy... his arc was absolutely glorious. i liked izzy the second he showed up in s1 and i was absolutely EATING this season up in that regard. and i think in this case, they genuinely did fuck it all up in the finale with that one stupid choice:

choosing to kill izzy was the DUMBEST thing they couldve done here.

ive talked about this over and over and over again. ive reblogged so many meta posts. and still i am left absolutely flabbergasted by how stupid of a decision this was. the fridging, playing at the fallen woman trope, killing the beating heart of the season and the character who delivers what is essentially a thesis statement, killing off the character whose arc is about coming to terms with his disability, having him die in edward's arms, comforting him and apologizing after an entire season of finding community and love outside of edward, the absolutely godawful pacing of it all, the extremely easy and obvious solution of just having IZZY become the new captain of the revenge to mirror s1 and hammer home how much he has developed since then in one go... i could go on. and i have. it was a stupid writing decision, completely fucked the tone and pacing of the finale and took away attention and time from things that really would've deserved a better wrap up (lucius and black pete deserved better)

now. the whole prince ricky & zheng plot line... yeah that shit sucked ass, sorry. they bit off more than they could chew here. i honestly think those are the arc words of this season:

✨️ bit off more than they could chew ✨️

right off the bat: i think he was good as a concept. bringing in a foil for stede who just doesn't Get It as stede does could've made for very good comedy and drama (and to be fair there is some of that). but that shit got away from them extremely quickly. nothing about how he's implemented past his first episode works, and i think this is very specifically because he's mostly played as the comic relief in his debut episode. making this completely bumbling fool, who gets his nose hacked off on his first job, the main villain of your entire season is... definitely a choice. idk. he didn't work for me at all.

ok wow mentioning shit getting away from the writers. this definitely got away from me. this was supposed to be a short lil post. well. i guess tl;dr i loved this season but jesus christ there was a lot wrong with it. if you want to hear more thoughts. ask box is open. be my guest. i have more to say so even if you dont ask i might add more to this at some point but im tired and have work tmrw.

[cressthebest]

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 44

chapter 67:

1. jfc remus (how is he that strong)

2. god, can’t our side have one fucking win? all these people captured. including my remus

3. “"She started the war for me, and she'll end it for me, too."” GOD i love lesbians

4. NO NO NOOOO NO NO NOOOOOO NOOOOO NOOOO MARLENE STOP NOOOOO!!! SHE WANTS TO PROPOSE TO DORCAS AFTER THE WAR!!!! SHES GONNA DIE I CANT HANDLE THIS

5. 😦

6. marlene?? i-

7. i’m still in shock

8. okay i have my bearings. this is why the post is two days after the last one lol. anyways, i’m actually pissed that she didn’t get to die a big dramatic or memorable death. she didn’t do anything. it was just a landmine. and she’s dead. and i get it, i really do. war isn’t always big heroic deaths. it’s also this. where one moment, you’re planning to propose to your partner and laughing with your freind, and half a second later, you’re blown to bits. but genuinely, her death fucked me up. i knew it was coming, but not like this. holy shit, not like this

anyways, the first thing i did after i read that bit was text my freind. and first thing they did was call me. i sent in bold “IM CRYING” and i get back “why” “MARLENE” bro immediate call. not well. not well at all

9. i continued and read the rest of her death. and her last words being dorcas will forever fuck me up

10. PANDORA????? PANDORA????

12. anyways all i did was call back the freind and say “PANDORA” and that bitch laughed at me. (love them to death) told them to go suck a lemon (they’d never heard that phrase before) and then they made me hang up to finish reading

my poor roommate has heard me call this freind twice (it’s ten o’clock at night)

13. “Horace would need more than just two hands, many more, to count the amount of people who would have gladly put their guns down for Pandora alone.” yeah, me for one

14. FLEAMONT NOOOOO

15. james will be devestated beyond belief

16. remus? huh??? he was shot in the head. but. he had a pov. i’m not sure now

17. …dorcas? i was so sure she had a pov

no wait she has a pocket. just checked

18. regulus???

19. um actually albus can fucking keel over. wont save all those other people in the lineup, then hears his brothers name and is willing to sacrifice the war for him. i get it, but alberforth knew this would happen to him

20. huh, damn. and alberforth still gets shot

21. 🚨🚨🚨pandora is safe. holy shit pandora is safe. i repeat pandora is safe 🚨🚨🚨

22. and fleamont and suddenly that all made sense

23. “”You forgot to count your bullets."” do i hate snape? yeah. but that’s fucking iconic

24. “Riddle lost the moment those doors burst open and two of Euphemia's someday son-in-laws moved into the room with Dorcas Meadowes one step ahead of them.” lmao freaking iconic. more historically important than trump getting shot

25. effie stopping to mourn barty gave me chills

26. NO FLEAMONT!!!! i’m getting fucking whiplash from this

27. effie having such a short pov but still so much emotion and character is shown in her love for fleamont

28. yall remus, regulus, and dorcas are fucking insane.

and i’m so here for it

29. “For all those years Sirius was taken away from him, Regulus breaks Riddle's fingers. Ten years, ten fingers.

For what Riddle took from James, Regulus takes his eyes. This is a difficult task. Regulus has never removed someone's eyes before. It's messy, and it takes the combined efforts of Remus and Dorcas to keep Riddle from flopping right out of his chair.”

mom pick me up i’m scared

30. “There are no good people in war, and now Dorcas thinks there are no good people out of it—certainly not her, because she would gladly go back into it just to have Marlene again.”

going feral over this actually. i’m unwell. i’m so freaking feral over this omg

31. reading authors notes and finding out that monty was author’s prim is actually making me go fucking insane

32. 😀 hi i’m unwell

(anyways side note, uhhh chapter was fucking insane but also like if y’all are reading this fic or this post, just know that there is no anger or resentment towards the author. he wrote this for himself and shared it with us. it’s a masterpiece and we RESPECT people. so yeah, this is the story he wanted to tell, so he wrote it for himself. just ya know, so yall remember)

[also don’t sell fics 😊 i will hunt you down]

[whoreviewswho]

Your Evil is My Good - Pyramids of Mars, 1975

There are some things, though not many, that the Doctor Who fandom seems to universally agree on. Everybody seems to agree that the Weeping Angels are a great, iconic monster. Everybody seems onboard with the notion that The Caves of Androzani is one of the best stories of all time. Everybody seems to agree that the Hinchcliffe era is one of the most consistently good runs in the whole show. You can probably see where I am going with this. Pyramids of Mars has been forever lauded as one of the all-time great Doctor Who stories, a shining example of a show that appealed to all ages at the peak of its powers. 

Like all consensus opinions, there is obviously a clear logic to this. Pyramids of Mars is incredibly memorable and influential. It was, after all, the third serial to be released on the VHS line and it topped the DWM poll for most anticipated DVD release in 2003. Even if it were not so formative and prominent in fan's minds (the amount of times it has been selected for re-release and repeat is remarkable) it would still be one of the most influential and groundbreaking stories of its time. It is hard to challenge the claim that Pyramids of Mars is the single most important story of the Hinchcliffe era. Not the best (there are at least four prior to this that could more readily stake that claim) but, in an aesthetic sense, the pilot episode for the Hinchcliffe era or, at least, the one where everything finally falls into place.

Prior to Pyramids of Mars, Doctor Who had functioned primarily based on the approach pioneered by Verity Lambert and David Whittaker back in the early 1960s. Their vision of Doctor Who was as a programme defined by juxtaposing aesthetics and the storytelling had developed to facilitate that by colliding genres and styles of storytelling. What debuts in Pyramids of Mars is, in hindsight, the inevitable next step which is positioning the established aesthetics and logic of Doctor Who alongside specific pulp genre stories. The difference is the distinction between the Doctor walking amongst a space opera or a western and disrupting their logics and aesthetics and the Doctor walking around within 1971’s Blood of the Mummy’s Tomb and being beholden to its logic and aesthetic. 

In the 1990s, Steven Moffat infamously derided the Hinchcliffe era for comprising too largely of derivative pastiches and, while I ultimately agree with him, he is made to look a bit of a fool because of how much the approach does actually work. I like Pyramids of Mars. Of course I do. I'm a Doctor Who fan. This story is a blast to watch and it is the first in a really strong run of pulpy, gothic horror-pastiches that define the Hinchcliffe era in everybody's minds (I stress this is not the beginning of a run in terms of quality, just the start of an aesthetic period that also happens to be very good). This is a messy story but it is a very promising first showing. Pyramids of Mars proves that this model of Doctor Who can work and it lays the groundwork for better stories later down the track. after it to take this aesthetic and run into incredibly interesting places. So, as you have obviously concluded by now, this is not even close to my favourite of the Hinchcliffe era, let alone of all time. 

Yes, the production of Pyramids of Mars is spectacular. Probably the single strongest aspect of the Hinchcliffe era is just how good the show was at working within its limitations. None of the stories under his watch look especially naff and Pyramids of Mars is especially luscious. The serial is dripping in tone and atmosphere and I could not begrudge anybody frequenting it for just the mood it puts you in. The sets for the house are great and effortlessly evoke that classic, hammer horror tone of an old, creepy house with creepy old dudes doing creepy *cult* (we can replace that word with *casually stereotypically racist*) stuff. The visual effects are also excellent with particular kudos to that chilling bit where Marcus gets shot. I could watch that one sequence forever. 

This is not a script with a wealth of great material for the actors but there is no question that they are all exceptional. Paddy Russell even claimed as much herself, insisting upon finding strong actors to bolster material that she thought was lacking. Michael Sheard brings a lot to Laurence Scarman, the best part in the whole story from an acting perspective, but it is hard to look past Garbriel Woolf as Sutekh for the best guest performance in the serial. What a captivating voice and commanding presence. Tom Baker's performance is often praised for the seriousness and dread he brings to proceedings. He even has some particularly dark and alien moments such as his total detachment from the various deaths around him. In my opinion, however, I find his performance to be distant and disinterested, likely thanks to his frosty relationship with Russell. Luckily, it does serve this material well and offer an alienness to the role but he seems incredibly bored and pissed off every time he is onscreen.

As with this whole season though, Elisabeth Sladen is at the height of her powers and effortlessly wrings buckets of charm out of scripts that, again, serve her terribly. Following season eleven, it feels like nobody working on the show has any interest or even a take on the Sarah Jane that we were introduced to. Everybody who has ever seen this serial praises the scene where the Doctor leaves the events of the story for 1980 at Sarah's request and rightly so because it is a phenomenal sequence and possibly the most effective way to demonstrate how awesomely powerful the villain is in the whole show’s history. It's so good, of course, that Russell T. Davies had the good sense to nick it wholesale for The Devil's Chord. Everything aesthetically about Pyramids of Mars works. This is a great story to just watch and let wash over you. 

However, I think that this script is deeply flawed and definitely needed another pass before it could attain true GOAT status in my books. Perhaps that will seem unfair to those who will cry out in defence with the reminder that  this story was another late rewrite from Robert Holmes when the original scripts, from one time writer Lewis Griefer, were deemed unworkable. It is somewhat miraculous that this story even got made at all. It’s difficult to say now how much of the finished serial can truly be credited to whom. Greifer, was approached by Holmes, a former colleague, while headhunting new talent. Knowing he had a keen interest in Egyptian mythology, Holmes allegedly pitched the combination of science-fiction and a mummy horror film to him. Greifer’s scripts would have been radically different including the proposed final appearance of UNIT and the Brigadier, a scheme to solve world hunger with plantations on the moon year culminated in the Doctor uniting with Horus and Iris to take on the crocodile looking Seth and stop his plan to replace the grain and destroy the moon. It is from here that the development of the serial becomes very collaborative. Holmes met with Greifer and suggested a number of scaled-back alterations that were more in-line with what Doctor Who was suited to in 1976 as well as taking on suggestions from outgoing producer Barry Letts. 

Greifer revised his scripts further to what would be the basic plot of the television version, moving the detecting to Earth with an imprisoned Seth and his rocket-based plans, with the added addition of a fortune hunter seeking the world-saving rice in an ancient Egyptian tomb. Holmes remained unhappy with the scripts and, to make matters worse, Greifer fell ill after delivering a full script for the first episode only. Following his recovery, Greifer then promptly left the UK to take on a job her previously committed to leaving Holmes to do a page one rewrite with the consultation of director Paddy Russell based on what had already been put in motion. With all of this fraught pre-production in mind, I still think this story is an undercooked mess. The first episode is fantastic and I really love the third but there is so much padding in episodes two and four that really drag the whole thing down for me. The entire second episode is just spent cutting between Sutekh killing people and the Doctor setting up a plan to stop him that fails immediately: The foundations of this serial are really strong and it has some great dialogue, characters and moments but the whole thing fails to hold together for me especially in regards to pacing and the real lack of any interesting subtext to sink your teeth into. There is not much to love here that is not aesthetic.

But let's try and dig a little deeper anyway. Broadly speaking, mortality seems to be the theme that connects the various elements of the story. We are first introduced to the Doctor in what is probably my single favourite shot of him in the whole seven years he was in the show. We meet him alone, in silence and brooding in the TARDIS control room. Sarah enters in what will be a coincidentally appropriate Edwardian dress, our first indicator that this story is really all about aesthetics and flavour more than anything else, and we discover that the Doctor is in somewhat of a mid-life crisis, grappling with the uncomfortable realisation that his life is marching on and that he has no real purpose. This is a really well written and performed scene, one of the best the Doctor and Sarah ever had, and probably my favourite of the serial. While the original show on the whole is not know for deftness of characterisation and development, Pyramids of Mars proposes a potentially interesting starting place for the Doctor’s character which is simply to put him in a somewhat depressed mood and unhappy with the prospect of spending his remaining days at U.N.I.T.‘s beck and call. This a Doctor who has lost his sense of purpose and ambition. It is a great idea that could reveal a lot about the Doctor and challenge his character, as we later saw under Moffat's creative direction, but it never goes anywhere here. Pyramids of Mars is a serial about a villain who does have a defined purpose and ambition – to bring death to all of reality. Yet the person best poised to stop him is in a crisis himself about the prospect of that very thing arriving for him. The character-driven story of a wandering hero in a mid-life crisis versus the Lord of Death should simply write itself.

But it doesn't. The Doctor does not walk away from the end of this adventure with a renewed sense of self or really any semblance of change in the morose feelings he expresses in episode one. It would have been perfectly forgivable if his mid-life crisis was something that the production team set-up here and went on to develop over the season but that never happens either. The Doctor is more than happy to assist U.N.I.T. in the very next serial and yet once more before the season wraps up. The elements are all here to ie the themes and character beats together but it never really happens. For example, I would love to confidently read something deeper into the final visual of the house burning down. It is, after all, the Doctor’s defeat of Sutekh that starts the fire and we know from episode one that, later down the track, the manor is going to be rebuilt and repurposed as the U.N.I.T. headquarters.

The thematic implications of this are really nice. Sutekh wants to end everything, leaving "nothing but dust and darkness", but we all know that the manor's destruction is an ultimately necessary consequence to allow for something good to rise up from its ashes. Life always prevails and begins anew. This is a simple enough thematic beat that could have been teased out and made a lot stronger and it could even have been a clear indicator of some character resolution. With the Doctor inadvertently facilitating the conception of U.N.I.T., this whole image could represent his coming to terms with his place in the universe after combatting Sutekh and passionately redefining himself and coming to terms with a now mythic role as a defender of all life in the universe, a champion of change and renewal. It is something almost there in the script but not quite.

The use of Egyptian iconography in this story is very clever. We know that death was an incredibly important aspect of their culture. People's corpses were mummified to preserve them for the afterlife since death was very much believed not to be the end. There is some cool world-building in this story and I really like the idea that Egyptian culture is all founded upon the wars of the Osirans (Osiris being the Egyptian god of the dead and of fertility). Sutekh is directly mentioned as being the inspiration for Set, realised as well as one could expect in his final beastly form, and the whole premise of the story is hinging upon his previous eternal imprisonment at the hands of brother Horus. I love that the bringer of death is punished by having an eternally unlived life. I think that this context is intended to be paralleled with Marcus and Lawrence. The pair are brothers and, for most of the story, the former literally is Sutekh.

Or, in another sense, it might be helpful to take the Doctor’s advice and consider Marcus as already dead. That plays nicely into the broader subtext we are reaching for here of exploring different relationships with death. Lawrence is in denial of his brother’s death since he sees him walking, talking and breathing. The Doctor thinks otherwise, confidently claiming Marcus to be dead already and no longer Lawrence’s brother now that his mind has been overtaken. We should note the Doctor and Sarah’s later scene too where she expresses a lot of sorrow over Lawrence’s death while the Doctor more or less just shrugs, if anything he comes off mildly annoyed, and refuses to deviate from the bigger priority of stopping Sutekh. It is a very memorable and somewhat disturbing scene, the likes of which the modern characterisation of the character never lends itself to. Even the Twelfth Doctor at his most callous was condemned by everybody around him and served his greater character growth. In the case of this moment, it is Sarah who is framed to be in the wrong for imparting human values upon the Doctor which is a potentially interesting notion but not a thread Holmes ever seems interested on pulling on again.

But I’ve digressed. There is potentially something very cool in the parallel between the four brothers but, again, the story is in dire need of another draft to really pull it to the fore. Lawrence is ultimately killed by his brother in quite a genuinely tragic moment since he is such a well performed and written character but the actual implications and significance of the scene beyond just the sheer shock value are ultimately lost on me. Marcus ends up never even knowing he did this, presumably, since he is killed the second he is freed from Sutekh. If Lawrence could be read as a parallel with Horus, or perhaps more closely of Osiris if we are considered the actual Osiris myth, what is this actually supposed to communicate? To depict for us that Sutekh would kill his own brother given the chance, as we know he did? That there is no humanity to appeal to with this villain? I am not sure of the intention but the scene, like this whole story, is almost fantastic.

And then there is the final episode. Every critic of this story before me has already torn this episode to pieces but I will just take it on briefly and note that the whole story just kind of falls apart at this point. The opening scenes with the Doctor and Sutekh are awesome but as soon as we actually get to the titular location, Holmes starts playing for time really hard. The first three episodes are already padded out to the max with extended woodland chases, an awkwardly large number of scenes where the Doctor and Sarah are simply walking to the poacher's shed and the entire character of the poacher himself in episode two who interacts with none of the main cast (save Marcus) and is just killed anyway. None of this blatant stretching of the script bends to breaking point thanks to how strong the production is at capturing the horror tone and aesthetic but the fourth episode is not so lucky. What we have here, for most of the episode, is an extended sequence of the Doctor and Sarah attempting an Egyptian themed escape room. This could have been compelling and some of the puzzles are kind of cool but the presentation is actually quite awful and the whole logic of this situation kind of escapes me. I suppose that Horus set these up to stop Sutekh’s followers from getting into the pyramid but does he just have the same voice as Sutekh? Is that what is going on?

It also does not help the story that this section is all shot on CSO and, aside from some great model work, looks incredibly cheap and bad. The serial takes a really shoddy nosedive but the biggest insult of this whole affair is simply that the whole episode is a colossal waste of time. The Doctor and Sarah accomplish nothing in going to the pyramid and just turn around to go back to the house to save the day with a totally different plan by the end anyway. Neither the characters nor the audience gain anything at all from the whole sequence. 

Thus, this is the great conflict I have with Pyramids of Mars because I love watching it. I love the flavour of the story and the clear effort that everybody put in to make it the memorable, entertaining experience. For the most part, I am really sucked in by it. But it is not a masterpiece. In the end, there really isn't very much to say about it at all. This is a serial that feels like watching the tracks being laid when the train's already moving. It makes for a fun journey but the final destination is really shaky. Pyramids of Mars is exceptional in theory just leaves that little bit to be desired. 

It is still a cracking story though. After all, this is mid-70s Who we’re talking about.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"No Place Like Home." Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Okay! So the amazing and wonderful @applesontheground wrote me a Leslie Vernon fic for my birthday and I adored it so much I didn't want it to end. She encouraged me to continue it, and so I did just that, and then she joined in and kept it going, and it became this beast of a collaborative piece that ended up being thirteen thousand words. It started off as being just for me, and true while it is still very self-indulgent, it's turned into something for all of you as well! I hope you enjoy!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 13K. Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer Obsessed Freak. Banter. Drinking. Murder. Blood. Gore. Ropes. Restrained Reader. Threats. Reader Kinda Wants To Die But Not In A Suicidal Way. Canon Aligned Meta Talk. Man Handling. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnilingus. Blow Job. Messy Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Cum Eating. Scar Worship. Many Feelings. Vaginal Sex. Multiple Orgasms. Overstimulation. Raw Sex. Cream Pie.

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You understood that it was a joke to begin with.

Living in a rural area, there were a lot of empty spots between the bricks that made up Glen Echo. Most of it was the usual urban legends and small businesses that just didn’t keep up with a world changing around it, turning to joke about it amongst themselves.

To you, though, there was something comforting and endearing about the pace. You were a bit of a way from home out here but found yourself filling those gaps and making the best of it. At the end of the day, being somewhere new had its moments that paid in turn for the shortcomings it could put you through.

Simply being “attracted to the area” was only half of a lie; you had shown up because of research on the mythos. You could admit that you even looked into it a little too much. The idea of the enigma who nested in the area – a man that fabricated his whole being just to relish in the spilling of unsuspecting blood – was utterly fascinating. You could find the Photoshopped news clippings and chase almost laughable clues sitting around town for days if you didn’t have a day job to occupy you.

Even remembering the life outside this Autumn night, silent and swift as a cat under a new moon, was something you finally decided to release from your attention. Halloween was no time to worry about a day job, and with that you began dawning your costume. Think like the woman you dress as, you told yourself with a smug grin to the mirror. The iconic blue and white dress fell into place on your body, resting on the midway point between your thighs.

Prudes would call it too short, and company you meshed with way better would tease that it’s far too long. It didn’t help that you wore accents that drew attention to your legs on top of that, those knee-high socks with laced hems and the ruby red slippers, which had a taller heel for an accent.

Life beyond the fantasy you were basking in was far behind you, tightening the red bows that kept two well curled pigtails hanging down behind your ears. With a touch like that, only the thickest of skulls wouldn’t know who you were.

Leaving home, following that yellow brick road that lead out of the small confines of the shabby town and into the rural space, you soon caught up with similarly dressed heathens who were raising their flasks and opened cans of alcohol to you, recognizing you were part of the pack that was heading to the supposedly haunted orchard as part of some middle finger to the belief that anyone smart enough to live out here would abstain.

The possibility had been mentioned that he – a walking spirit or man that pulled the strings as quickly and seamlessly as he did steal souls, whatever he did – would find everyone there, and he would not like what he was seeing despite the high spirits.

“Then what?” A girl expertly stepping along the uneven road beside you, a little too tough to be dressed as Princess Peach, but you quickly digressed because she wore the white elbow-length gloves well.

“Then, we become history.” Someone up the road replied, “Immortalized as the idiots who tried to party with Leslie Vernon.” Putting a fist up, you saw the blue and white Letterman jacket he was wearing had a few rips in it, and that his face was painted a ghoulish grey and rooted with purple veins along his jawline to accent it. Something about him seemed eerily familiar, but then you considered it could be something generic, very plain in the visage of an undead high schooler that the Halloween stores would sometimes parade for the uncreative minds. The fact he was holding a bottle of Jagermister only made you squint a little harder before centering your thoughts back to the road beyond the crowd again.

It was a joke to begin with, but you were still finding yourself wanting to believe it. Almost as if you wanted the party to be at real risk despite the blanket of calm everyone had draped over it, additionally nursing with booze and jokes. Surely, there would be a twist from him to combat the weak one that these costumed groups thought they were pulling.

He can’t deal with all of us, right?

You found yourself needing to take a deep breath at the thought that in your wildest fantasies that he somehow could.

After passing a fence down the trodden path, the air around you was wordlessly shifting. As though it was on a cue from where you were standing, trees were clearing from the sky to allow a half-moon to illuminate the dirt road before you, and somewhere in the lump of unclear horizon sat the dilapidated Vernon farmhouse. Bunches of yellow and rouge apples rest within the first trees that you were passing, a signal you had made it to the orchard.

A breath pulled tight into your chest; eyes as wide as you could make them while you continued to peruse, to listen to every little noise outside of the murmur of people. The Jager man offered you a drink from the cooler that they were lugging out with the rest of the crowd, and after fiddling through the soggy ice, your hand secured a vodka shot between index and middle fingers while the rest of your hand found the rim of a canned pre-mixed drink. He then said something in a pompous tone, but it was otherwise unintelligible to you, so you just laughed it off to go back to soaking in the sight before you instead.

Even after basking for a good portion of the party’s setup, you still weren’t done. You decided to give it a rest, be a little more social. It was the omniscience embedded within you to realize how you looked, staring wistfully into the orchard surrounding the clearing that everyone was gathering in, not interested in any person at a Halloween party. Too suspicious, and despite knowing there were no tricks up your frilly short sleeves, you were aware no one else knew yourself as well as you did.

You began striking up conversations to avert any of the oddly placed suspicion that might have been drummed up, complimenting costumes as the two drinks you had snagged were put down between giggles and conversations about what kind of final girl was the best kind You fell elbow-deep in bringing up a classic archetype, the movie buff who called plot twists and elements that would play out in their own story before they happened, someone locked eyes with you. You didn’t stop, of course, but held the stare from across the party as you went on.

“Please, where would we be without those dudes half-baked and quoting The Creature from the Black Lagoon? They’re the ones painting the picture for the rest of the clueless victims.”

You couldn’t quite pinpoint what about him really excited you. First off, the thrill of him being the Scarecrow and unintentionally matching you passed as you failed to recognize the shape worn on his mask, and the absence of straw in the torn holes of the rest of his getup was only a final nail in the coffin of your hopes. He was just…some mope-mouthed zombie, or a haunted doll.

The people you had been speaking to were well into buzzed territory, taking the lull in your conversation to go stumble into another aesthetically appropriate chat circle while you waited for this new acquaintance. He continued to wade through the crowds that you had been standing off to the side from, and finally piped up as soon as he could be heard from behind everything.

“Looks like you forgot Toto.”

You snickered at that, and shrugged, “Yeah. None of my friends’ dogs wanted to do it, sorry.”

He made an amused noise at that, then pointed to the drink in your hand. “Want me to grab you another one?” You shook your head, grimacing a bit, “No, no. I’m still working on this, and besides- Even in stoppers, not a great combination to keep drinking with these shoes on.”

“Even in what?” He stooped a little to hear better, and you demonstrated it by walking perfectly stable along the uneven terrain, wading off the dirt clearing everyone was gathered in to show off a pair of high heels in all their red, glittery glory on forest brush. “Heel stoppers. They keep me from sinking in all this mud and dirt around the property.” He whistled a bit as you did a fancy little turn, accenting the agility they provided, and he complimented, “Pretty smart. You do that just for parties?”

You bit your tongue, smiling as you walked back over and admitted, “More to just keep in the race should I need to run.” The inquisitive glow to wide eyes suddenly narrowed, and he scoffed, “Run from what? It’s pretty harmless out here, save for those dudes who won’t stop saying they’re gonna climb the roof. It’s gonna give out the second any weight gets put on it…” He faltered, arm shooting out to the farmhouse like it was obvious from where the both of you stood, “Looks that way, anyways.”

“That’s what you think, dude. Do you know where you are right now?” He was silent; merely staring on at you, almost through you. You smiled and elaborated for him, “The Vernon Farm. Leslie Vernon’s resting place?”

He scrunched his eyes and hummed, “Can’t say that’s ringing a bell. Enlighten me.”

You felt as though the words couldn’t fall faster from your mouth, crafted into the same story you loved to tell the locals (as if they weren’t native to the area that it all started in, hearing the tall tale since they were in grade school).

“Isn’t that fucking ingenious?” You paused partially through the story on how he had committed a few murders within a span of the last three years, part of you trying to steady yourself as you realized you had spilled your guts to a man whose face you hadn’t even seen, “He’s up and coming still, but I think he’s taking a lot of cues from the greats of these serial killer types. I mean, morally abhorrent, but I’m no snob to that.”

“Wow.” He looked away in a rather brisk motion, but seemed amicable to the subject, “It sounds like you’re really banking on this dude to be some kind of mastermind.”

“Please.” You shrugged, “I mean, these murders that happened over three years seem pretty real to me. Whoever, whatever’s been utterly elusive on a rural farm for so long – still Vernon as we see him – he absolutely knows about stuff like this coming on the horizon. I can see it already, it’s so practical now that I have my actual eyes on this place.” You pointed up to a tree you had been perusing, “There’s an electrical wire trailing up this tree, perfectly on the outskirts of the crowd where someone can – no, will run towards it if they get spooked. Seriously, doubt anybody in our group put that up there, it’s not covered in all these goofy Halloween decorations.” His own eyes slowly trailed up your arm, catching on an exposed tattoo before briskly tearing away to see what you were talking about, following your pointed finger.

You then gave the unimpressed tone right back, “That’s going to do something. Electrocute someone, take power to something that’s even more gruesome. It’s too high off the ground to be some sort of cutting wire, right?” His eyes went back down, sizing up your confident expression with a halfhearted blink, “Pretty sure whoever, whatever Vernon is, has more than rocks in his head. Fueled by more than just hearsay, ghost stories…”

Finding humor in your almost asinine explanation, you found this was better timing than anything that’d come afterwards. You were surprised he was even still standing in front of you, as you figured you may as well introduce yourself, still caught in a starry-eyed smirk. You offer up your name.

He shook your hand nicely and replied, “Nice meeting you. I’ll let you in on mine after the party.” Finding it almost bold in nature, looking to fulfill some type of promise with that reveal, you blew him off. Rolling your eyes, you asked, “Sure. Then what can I call you until then?”

Still holding your hand in a mockingly polite way, he mulled, “Just call me the wizard himself. … Or the Scarecrow. Whatever works for this costume, Dorothy.” Taking his hand out of yours, he flicked one of your pigtails while pulling away slightly, just enough to leave you able to recall the subtle warmth from standing beside him as something so much stronger just mere seconds ago.

He had glanced at your arm again, so you decided to keep the topic going. “If you can’t tell, I’m kind of fascinated by these slasher types.” You gave him a good view of your tattoos, and his eyes traced over it, silent at first but the approval shining through in a thoughtful roll of his neck as he took in the entire picture again, every detail having soaked in through painted eyeholes.

“You know, I didn’t take you as someone who saw so much in a dynamic like that. The killer and his final person, I mean.” He carefully crossed his arms, like he was letting this creepy façade rest its head for a moment as he speculated, “Almost sounds like you want that for yourself, or at least to see it for yourself, straight out of the movies and the stories.” You smiled unapologetically, and although it sounded like you were playing along it was spoken in earnest, “Oh, do I.”

He stared off into the tree line with you for a beat, and hummed, “A girl like you really seems to chase after that, stick around in places where it can’t help itself.” You rolled your neck a little, adjusting in the scratch of the costume, as alcohol started permeating on your tongue a little heavier. You admitted, “Can’t help being such a go-getter with this. I almost live for it, which means I have to die for it too, I guess.”

“Go-getter.” The words themselves felt like they could be sarcastic when he echoed them back to you, but something earnest coated his voice as he suddenly affirmed that, “You’ll find it. It’ll find you. One or the other.” A hand came up, grasping at an imaginary subject in front of him as he spoke in even more earnest. “Ghost stories or not, something about that attraction. It’s palpable…magnetic, even.”

He then pulled a handle from his pocket, and you soon saw from the size of it that it hadn’t been inside, but rather sitting right in plain view over the top. The stranger shrugged rather peacefully. “It’s like the two can’t keep away from each other.”

That blade didn’t look plastic. You raised an eyebrow; it didn’t even look chrome; it was chipped in certain spots and narrow in a way that fake weapons just couldn’t emulate. Wear and tear made marks like that. You got one more look at his mask, a few second thoughts shutting you up well and fine.

“I’m keeping that promise, by the way. We’ll talk a little later. Can I count on you?” he asked, friendly enough as you merely nodded, trying to act like you were thinking before the nonverbal answer. He slid right past, not towards the crowd, but into the shadows of the apple orchard that surrounded the farm. No one even looked twice at the noise, so minor that it was easily blamed on the wind, should you not know better.

“Oh.” You spoke to yourself, staring down at your drink, “Oh, now that just isn’t fair.”

~

What in the fuck was he doing?

You felt the rope constrict tighter, one of his long arms stretching over one shoulder to take the other end towards your back. Silent, you merely matched his own lack of words because you were more confused than terrified. Maybe even a little let down.

This was how you told him you had wanted to go, at the hands of some dude like him, and he isn’t even killing you.

Between the small talk by the tree and reuniting with him now, to say you had been put to the test to be his victim would be an understatement. Between the classic straggler at the party who disappeared for far too long only for a severed arm or head to turn up to people hanging from the rafters of the farmhouse or in the trees, everyone had scattered, herded together by the supernatural entity of Vernon, and picked off to the best of his abilities. The ones he hadn’t been able to physically get a hold of got caught, you had noted when you ran by that wire and saw someone electrocuted at the foot of the tree it was wrapped around.

What do you know? I was fucking right.

Securing the entire hog tie, he suddenly lifted his haunches from you. Before you recognized he was gearing to leave, that was it. Turning onto your back and haphazardly sitting up, ignoring how your dress rode up slightly in favor of looking through the trees, he had slipped off again like the ghost that he was trying to emulate. You almost wanted to holler at him: The fuck is THE Leslie Vernon doing taking live captors? Is he getting bait? Playing with the food before consuming it?

Pondering had honestly brought you to a comfortable seat on the dirt beneath your backside, not caring if it was starting to pour into the backs of your socks, or even accidentally slip under your skirt, peppering your bare thighs before you readjusted with a huff. You had a hunch, one that finally helped your dry throat find its gloss and find its voice again.

“Not gonna lie, you’re kind of screwing this up.” You called out, and he emerged from the dark, like he knew your own speculations that would come to the light, much like himself: He couldn’t run off yet. Still saying nothing, he tilted his head to one side. It was impossible to tell if he meant it in admiration or disbelief. Regardless, you heard a shuddering breath behind his mask.

“You know,” You crossed one ankle over the other, calming the pulse between your legs, “I always assumed you’d want to keep this brief. Especially if I’m not your final victim.” He made a beeline back over to you, crouching to one knee. Instead of an unnerving whistle or hiss, he gave you an honest mutter in disbelief. “Please. For you?” He asked, and you curiously let him go on, “If anything you’ve told me tonight is true, about yourself and about your passion for what I’m doing, I almost want to ask for permission.”

A hand came up, sans his weapon but nail just as pristine, as he ran feather-light tracks over the outline of the tattoo resting. “I mean, you weren’t lying about your commitment to this sort of lifestyle. These all look pretty real to me.”

“Rub a little harder, even.” You dared, looking down at the primed muscles stretched on the back of his hands, “I don’t mind if you need to prove to yourself that I’m the real deal.” The pristine curl suddenly became lighter, intimidated even as it fell away, and he quickly digressed.

“It isn’t about that, the sweet honeypot at the end of every horror movie. I always thought it had something more to do with the journey, the planning…” He swung the sickle, breaking through the itchy rope and not courteous enough to keep it from catching threads from your dress. He gasped, “I’m a lot like you, in that I will admit it’s nice, but…I want this whole event to be special, you know?”

Pausing, his eyes scoured your body for a couple seconds before his two hands, the curved blade falling in his lap to give way for nimble fingers pulling the rest of the rope apart, taking it from your body and letting it fall along with the weapon. Still, most of it fell to your own lap. Looking at each other, the sigh practically tumbled from behind the mask. Whether it was relief or exhaustion, neither of you cared to label it. He almost seemed put off by something, squinting at himself more so than anything about you or what you were doing.

Then, with the same hands, he pushed the mask up over his face. Seeing him, not the mirage he had been flowing through the entire evening like water vapor, he smiled through a painted on frown. It had been an accent paint, it seemed, something to abscond in case the wooden face didn’t fool a wandering eye. Everything was smoke-colored and smudged over his expression, beginning to get sweat through, and somehow making the smile lines in his face more prominent simultaneously. It was as though you could see everything and nothing at once.

“Special,” You echoed, “I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean, Leslie.” You cocked your head at the sound of his name on your lips, “Can I call you Leslie?”

“Absolutely. Think we’ve both earned the right to be friendly with each other.” He answered with a harmless nod, and just as swift as he had stripped down to the man that he was, he was shoving you backwards with the heels of his hands. “I honestly don’t know why you’re asking. It’s so clear you knew to use my name long before-“ He framed your arms against the dirt, pinning both the extremities, “we ended up here.” You let your head fall back, the earth supporting heavier realizations as you simply murmured, “Yeah, maybe I did.”

He shifted, as though physically feeling you would do something about this. Rough denim pulled against your bare leg, and even if you could attempt to fix your skirt, you knew you were far past the point of wanting to. Anyone who could see either of you was dead, or rather you could notice from the peripherals of your stare into his own that there was a body nearby.

Whether or not it had been intentionally turned away from the two of you, that was something you enjoyed leaving up to the imagination. You couldn’t even register before he collided into you a little too hard, his hand slipping in a pure excitement that made it hard to keep steady when he was on top of you the way that he was.

It made the fact you talked about the things that you would do about your interest in him all the more diabolical, eyes snapping open and looking past his short dark hair that had been styled by accident to stand on end from how he had removed the mask. You told all of that to his face.

When he finally pulled back, he peered down with an almost euphoric, electrified look to his eyes. “Sorry. I get a little antsy – and you probably knew that, too.” You had no idea what he was talking about until the slow ooze of blood went over the cupid’s bow of your lip. “You’re fine, they happen easily.” You almost coughed through your speech, laughing at imagining just how dishevelled he had you in a matter of a few movements, a few touches that were far from the only ones going forward.

He flicked the sickle, and you watched some stray streaks of blood fall into the dirt, permeate into a diabolical splatter of what you could assume to call mud. “…Listen, we can discuss this away from the rest of the…the party, maybe?” He asked breathlessly, and when you nodded once again leapt off of you with the same pace, the same ethereal ability.

“Well,” You let a string of bloody spit fall from your mouth, as ruby in color as your lipstick and as your shoes, letting him pull you back up by the back of your neck and suddenly hoist you off the ground. You didn’t move as he hefted you over one shoulder; rather, you turned your head and asked, “So, let me just ask this. You’re not gutting me? Stabbing me? Not even slitting the throat, letting me go out in a more iconic fashion? Where the hell are we again?”

Leslie stopped. Readjusting you, the loose threats of your dress along with your soft hip pressing into the side of his neck, he straightened the skirt over your backside with a lingering hand and hummed, “I’ll put it like this: you are not in Kansas anymore.”

Your hands rest on his back, not for lack of support, or fear that he’d drop you, but just because you could, he was right here and he was letting you. Through rough thermal material you could feel how firm he was underneath, defined muscle definitely present, fabric slightly damp from sweat and whatever else from the effort he’d expended this evening thus far. Your nose hadn’t stopped bleeding, a slow drip, he was still carrying you away, somewhere, and you watched as stray drops fell to the ground, bright red standing out amongst dark and loose dirt, like a farewell to the rest of what the party had originally thought it had got itself into. In all honesty, they all assumed it was what it was: a joke.

This was no goddamn joke, tangible as the flexing back underneath your palms.

It’s quiet for a moment, your mind is whirring, wandering as it always is, and watching the faint blood trail, dressed as you were, perched on the monster himself’s shoulder? 

It’s like something out of a fairy tail in a way. The big bad wolf and the little red victim, but instead of a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a gingerbread house, it’s a pathway marked with blood mixing into the earth, and it’s leading to-

A glance around, gaining your bearings. It clicks as soon as your eyes leave the ground. The Vernon farm house.

Oh, this is what he had in mind. He wants to bring you inside. 

You would have been fine getting anything from him, you would have let him fuck you back there in the dirt and loved every single second of it, but apparently he had other plans, better plans. 

You love who he is, and more importantly, you love who you are. 

Furthermore, you have no illusions about yourself either, and certainly no shame. You would have let him do all manner of things in the cool evening air and under the light of the moon, no less than ten feet from a body that he himself had brought to the ground. He deemed you worth more, better than a nasty fuck in the dirt- No. He thinks what you are going to do together is better suited under a roof, in a proper bed.

He thinks you are worth that extra care and effort, and he thinks you deserve the Vernon home’s comfort, warmth, safety…

You suppress a laugh as the word safety floats through your mind. He takes you inside, barely mindful enough to close the door, but enough to give the needed privacy. Up the stairs, you have to stifle another giggle, his shoulder driving up over and over into your sternum inadvertently. He doesn’t even care to notice, let alone say anything about it – especially since you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying yourself. Into the closest guest room, he slings you off of him and onto the bed.

The idea that you are safe with Leslie fucking Vernon is, laughable, hilarious, and yet – seemingly and inexplicably – true. He looks like he is too excited, like he doesn’t know what to do first.

You jump into action, knowing the role deserves such from both parties. You reach out to him, propped up on one elbow, your other hand is open, a move of your fingers, a small invitation to join you on the surprisingly plush surface, it certainly beat the dirt outside (mythos ingrained couldn’t make it any more pleasant after all). He takes you up on it, starts to crawl onto the bed, it’s not as slow as before, as if now that he’s experienced it once, he is craving to be on top of you again too much to not rush it, and soon enough he is. 

You revel in his weight on top of you again, your hand that was previously reaching out touches down on the back of his neck, you sink further into the mattress with a sigh. You speak, you ask, “How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” He asks, and you nod once, “Yeah, after everything, we kept you pretty busy tonight, running around, you feeling tired yet, Vernon?”

A shake of his head, small smile, addressing him by his last name is fine too it seems, good to know. He tells you, “No way, not at all.”

“No?” The question is innocent in tone, but not in what you hope to gain from it, and he says, “You have no idea the stamina I am capable of.”

“Show me?”  You asked, tone thoroughly hopeful, almost offended by the notion you’d underestimate him. Still, you wanted him to make you understand, and not only that, but to not stop until he was sure you understood.

The implication is obvious, the motives clear, yet he still tilts his head a little and asks, “And just how should I do that?”

He’s being so fucking coy about it, he has to know how endlessly attractive that is to you. You fight the urge to grouse, a playful musing of, must you do everything is left unsaid.

Hand on the back of his neck moves up, fingers slide through short dark hair and thread slightly, twist as much as they are able, and you use that to tug him down as you move up so your lips meet. It’s fitting you suppose, there has to be a point where this happens, right? A shift in your dynamic. He’s still instigating, doing the set-up, but you can’t be stock static forever.

That isn’t the point, it isn’t your role. It isn’t any fun if he’s the only one doing the moving, otherwise you might as well just be one of the bodies abandoned in the dirt outside, chilling and succumbing to the elements as you two lay here.

The flavour of him hits your senses due to the union you’d just forced, mostly it’s salt and the paint he wore. It doesn’t taste like any normal make-up you’d ever worn, but it’s him, just as much as the light apple you managed to gain a sense of was. The idea of him taking a small break and eating from the orchard on the job is weirdly endearing, if not a bit funny, but there are better things to focus on. Mostly like, where the fuck did he learn to kiss like this? Was he this good, were you this hard up, or was it everything else? The tension, the build up, the chemistry or as he so succinctly put it earlier, the magnetism? 

Either way, you simply cannot bring yourself to care as he settles in closer to you, body more flush to yours, really letting you soak up the feeling of him on you, letting it consume you more easily not just into him, but the moment itself.

The rhythm and ease, back and forth, push and pull, inhale and sigh, your lips part more, and then you’d realized something vital just now, in your haste to kiss him you’d honestly forgotten about the fact you were still bleeding. You pull back, about to apologize, but that look in his eyes makes you stop again, shining in the low light of the room. The words die a quiet death on your tongue, lingering there before being buried with the taste of iron on your palette.

He doesn’t let you, his hands are on you now, too. Your grip loosens while his tightens, another shift with one hand in just about the same place yours was on him, the back of your neck. His mouth stained differently than before, more red like yours was, and he says, “Not yet.” before leaning in to take further. 

He is getting bolder, more confident, dare you even say a needier edge to this, the thought passes through your mind, How does he like it? He definitely knows himself and what he’s doing. Also, how long had it been for him?

When was the last time he had someone in his bed, kissed someone, touched another person without the express purpose and idea being violent fanfare? Clearly you are not the first, no way anyone is this capable on their first go with no previous experience to back themselves up, but when was the last time he had penetrated a warm body below him in a different sense? It sends a thrill through you, weeks, months, fuck, years? The very idea certainly made you feel special. 

You’d been returning his affection this whole time, matching him in enthusiasm and pace. You wanted to ask, to know, but should you ask right this second when his mouth felt so good slotted against yours? You could talk more later. Right now, your body is betraying what you really crave: a move of your hips against his, a grind upwards, and you feel with perfect clarity how much this is getting to him too. The friction is good but nowhere near enough, the move is repeated twice more, and it just gets better, it makes you want to go further at the warmth that is blooming inside as well as kick off your sparkly heels and shed much more clothing than just that. Something eager, like how he had collided so harshly with you just prior to this, was rushing to the hilt. Practically gagging on its leash, the seams of your panties rubbing you to near pain before anything even passed the barrier of clothing.

Again, maybe you were just that predictable. His hand tracing from the waistband of your skirt to glide along the socks, his mind was going straight to those heels. You crease your brow slightly as you feel his fingers stick past the spot where the shoes still wedged fast to your foot, and without taking his mouth off of yours, he pushes one of them off. Then, the other with a similar urgency to his movement, the same brisk shuffle of the other hand. When you glance down, he’s holding both of them in one hand, caring not to throw them to the floor but rather set them gingerly by the foot of the bed.

“Those shoes got some thought in them,” He commented when he saw where your eyes had been, “I respect the craft, so I’m not here to wreck those heel stoppers.”

“Well, that decides it,” you say in a serious and emphatic tone, with your brows still pinched together, "I have to blow you."

A laugh, small and shocked, before he asks, "Right this second?"

"Do you have a better or more appropriate time in mind, Leslie?" You say it teasingly and even after you expounded earlier about all the things you would do, even after proving your devotion to the supposed “cause”, it was as if he still didn’t believe you to back it up and be so forward. He had a lot to learn about you.

In the interest of continuing to be forward, you lean in that direction, sitting half up to meet his now kneeling position he took when removing your heels, hands are back on, setting to work on his overalls as you say, “I think I can pencil you in for around four pm next Wednesday if that suits you better?”

“Lots of jokes from you right now-” He starts, and you laugh, as if he didn’t open with one himself earlier, didn’t set the tone, the snaps undone you tell him, “Trying to keep the mood light, it was getting pretty hot and heavy there for a minute.” 

“Are you complaining about some good, solid sexual tension?” He asks as you tug the denim down. You admire the way the dirty off-white material is stretched across his arms and torso, eyes linger while your fingers abandon the straps, settling into the openings near his hips to get it the rest of the way off. “Never, just don’t want you to blow your load too fast, you know?”

“Be honest.” He implores with a smile, and you shrug, eyes break away as you say, “Maybe I want to make this last a bit longer, don’t want to rush something I’ve been wanting for so long.” 

It is honest. You want to savour it, especially because who knows if this is a once in a lifetime offer that will expire after tonight. Perhaps the sun will rise in the morning, then proceed to set on whatever is between you and him right now.

You push the thought aside as easily as you do the rest of dark muddy blue fabric with his help, no time to think about all of that when you have this right now. Enjoy the moment as it happens, for what it is, or regret it forever. Either this is the one and only, the possibilities as infinite as the entire evening felt, or the hopeful first of many, and in either scenario your full attention is deserved.

“That is something I can completely understand.” 

You’re sure he can. Tossing the clothing on the floor with much less care than he gave to your shoes, you notice his current state and ask, “Woah, commando under there, huh?”

“Freedom of movement is important. Gotta stay aerodynamic with all the running, chasing...” He points out, and your hands come up. “Never said it wasn’t”. Verbally, you reply, “Fair enough.” That doesn’t put you off, the idea of him doing this so unencumbered wasn’t bad at all. You reach out again, hands help him with his shirt, and he is more than amicable but at the same time points out, “You are still awfully dressed.”

“You know you can do something about that, anytime you want to.” Making your own point in a similar tone that he did earlier, but before he can start to worry about removing white and blue checkered frills, you are much closer. Hands on his shoulders, another kiss not stolen, but willingly given.

If the excitement you felt when making out fully clothed before was good, him bare under your exploring hands was incredible. You are torn between the feel of his mouth on yours and how the planes of his skin under your careful palms. He had some good scars, ones you would be getting a much closer look at if you weren’t so consumed with how his tongue was working into your mouth. Lower and lower, fingers trace until you are down past his ribs over a particularly gnarly scar on his side that makes him tense. A small breaking apart, lips hardly lifting from his as you ask, “You good?”

A hum of acknowledgement with a nod as you trace over it again, you think this is it, you think this is the big one he got from Her and you are touching it, evidence of their bond and connection, foraging your own private moment with it.

You don’t linger, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable but from the way he is breathing you don’t think he is bothered by it, you think he’d let you do more to it and maybe later you will.

For now your hand is concerned with going lower, thumb slipping over his hip bone until you find what you really want, a fleeting thought of empowering yourself makes a smile pass your lips briefly before you kiss him again, swallowing up the gasp he lets out from the firm grip you take.

Christ, this was going to be good, you could tell, but you can make it better still. You break away to lean down a bit, spitting into your palm before taking back your position, your hand is gliding much easier. You think of putting your mouth to better use. You don’t want to use just your hand; can anyone blame you for wanting to satisfy an intense oral fixation, something that made you hit the ground running at the drop of a dime? Not only that, but you were good at it, and you wanted to show him just how good you could be. To see what reactions you could draw from him when your fingers dig into his hips and pull him in close and down your eager throat made a mantra clear as day cross your mind, almost blinding you as you felt yourself tense slightly in anticipation. 

Stop thinking, start doing.

You make the move, sliding lower on his body. More passes of your mouth, brushes of your lips, quick pecks placed as you travel down, admiring as you go and your hand never stopping. The look on his face made him seem that he was merely allowing it, but as he got more sensitive to each meeting of your mouth against his skin, his posture was starting to slack.

Jaw to neck and neck to shoulder, his shoulder to chest and his chest down his stomach and fuck, you see it: the edge of that brutal scar. You lick your lips quickly, and the pure impulse pushes you to lean in. While tightening your grip on his shaft, your tongue licks up along the length of the raised tissue. He responds as if he’s been electrocuted, a choked sound that was desperately trying to abscond itself made you clench the empty space between your legs. It seems you took him by surprise yet again. Thank God for the hand you have on his opposite side while you work him over, or he might have just toppled right off the bed.

You let the underside of your tongue pass over it once more on your way down until you are finally stomach down on the sheets, right where you need to be. After all, previous thoughts of knowing where Her story ended and yours began was a line you were willing to dance along.

The hand on him slows as you make that first contact, you start with a kiss, something soft and akin to reverent. It’s just to kick it off, but quickly the experimenting turned to knowledge, then knowledge to want. You’re quicker now, and a hungry mouth opens as you take almost half in one go. A light moan around your mouthful, lips close and with the seal formed you suck deeply.

Some people might be grossed out by the taste of him after a night's activities. You are not one of those people. The tang of him is strong, and it is very welcome. The taste of him and heavy weight on your tongue along with remnants of the drinks from what felt like an entirely different night ago made you grind your hips into the mattress as you bob back once before driving down again – harder, taking more.

A hand finds your hair along with a quiet curse, a half smile can be heard in his tone, “Shit, you’re eager, huh?”

Eyes glance up through your lashes, along with a nod that doesn’t stop your pace. You merely slow for a moment, fingers on his hip squeeze, and you use that to draw him closer. You are going to take him to the base and swallow around the head of his dick, even if it suffocates you. Forcing your head down is easy, taking him deeper is no issue, you are plenty motivated, a straining of your neck as you keep leaning, hand pulling him towards you until finally you achieve your goal.

It took a few rocks back and forth, a minute amount taken more each time, until your nose is buried in trimmed coarse hair. Another moan reverberates out of you, somewhere deep in your throat and then up his shaft. Nails bite into his hip as you move him back a hair, and you suck down a deep breath through your nose before your lips are locked once more around his base.

You suck, your tongue moves in slow lazy circles on the underside of his shaft as an opener, yet you still listen as his breathing pitches, becoming laboured. You take the chance and give a strong swallow.

He lets out a groan, the hand in your hair threads, and he tugs, “Fuck-”

That is what you need to hear. No, that is what you live for. A telling tone, rough and faltering into something less confident. It was almost like he was vanquishing that idea, and letting it go where it needed rather than where he saw to fit. You swallow him again, and another sound pours out from above you. You repeat yourself with another swallow, a sound to match once more, and you throb.

Finding some guarded clarity for a second, he then says, “You know you, ugh, you don’t have to do all this.”

Brows quirk, and you move back, pulling him out and noting how he’s dripping in your spit. Your hand locks onto him tightly as you move seamlessly, not breaking stride, and you squarely look up. “I thought you were smart.”

He laughs breathlessly, eyes hard to see from a half confused and half pleasured grimace before he questions, “What?”

Your opposite hand comes up, thumb dispatching the spit that had slipped out, while you maintain eye contact. You tell him, “I’m not doing this to impress you, Leslie. This is just how I like to do this, or else… What am I doing here?”

You lean in and slip the head back between your lips. You suck again, his head tips back as your hand works his shaft in tandem with your mouth and then a few pumps later pop him back out, finishing your previous train of thought, “This? It’s just as much for me as it is for you. Trust me.”

You set back to work, hand slows, and you work him back into your mouth, sucking indulgently all the way, a blanket of bliss taking over. Fingers are loose around the base of his shaft, and you bob your head up and down. The rhythm is casual and easy, you are just having fun with it at this point.

Like the loosening grip on control, he seemed more than happy to let you play. It gave him the time to have what you said linger on his mind.

A minute later, he then let his head fall back down and asked, “What do you mean, it’s just as much for you?”

You didn’t want to stop, so you think you can show rather than tell. Your hand that wasn’t holding him in place while you continue to fuck your mouth with him slips down. A hand goes up your skirt and into your underwear, finally giving reprieve to that wall that kept the last of hidden details from what was before both of you.

Fingers slip down, and you are soaked.

You pushed two into yourself, and gasp as much as you can with him in your mouth. You rock back and forth, fucking yourself on your fingers, and God, that felt so good. You linger for a moment before your hand is pulled out and held up, still shivering from the inside out from its protrusion. His fingers catch your wrist, and he brings it closer to see them slick, a mess running down them and strings of arousal breaking apart when you splay your fingers. 

Undeniable evidence of just how much this particular act does for you. 

You’d hoped he would understand, and he does. Synchronicity is further bliss, so much so that you have this much of a read on him. It was something more satisfying than just grazing the books, the articles written capturing mere glimpses of him. For fuck’s sake, he has your fingers in his mouth. He sucks and tastes you, and apparently likes it so much he moans (not in a dissimilar fashion to how you did upon tasting him.)

Fuck, you had it so badly for him. 

You hadn’t wanted to stop. Urges to keep going until drool was trailing down your chin and neck were throttling you, and you were a breathless mess who was somehow even wetter by the end of it. Looking up, it was becoming clear that he had other plans. It’s shown on how his face once again grew dark, similar to what you had seen when the mask had come off. Eyes fixated on your face, taking in features with a few restless heaves of his shoulders, a still ocean in his expression as he thought for another second.

“You want to know about me?” He asked, smiling as he let go of your wrist. “Let’s scratch that. This business is a lot about improv, if you didn’t already know, and here comes an improvised thought.” He readjusted, finding some footing in the way he was kneeling, and he leaned in a little more – to a point where you could smell yourself on his breath. Another grind against you, he shuddered out the words.

“Let me get to know a little more about you for a second.”

You were frozen in place, merely humming in response as he suddenly turned his attention lower. With a smoothing motion, your skirt rode up your hips along with the heels of his hands, pushing it like something in his way, which you suppose it is.

Suddenly, just as quick and almost erratic as he had been the more he was enjoying himself, enjoying this, and enjoying you – he was off the bed for a split second. You didn’t watch, just waited, made yourself more comfortable, because it was a pattern of his to come back when he did that. Your mouth feels tragically empty at the loss of him, but you have a good feeling whatever he is about to do will more than make up for it. 

“God, they’re the same color as the slippers-” He lamented for half a second, speaking of your red panties he had revealed when he moved your skirt out of the way, but as soon as he had left he was back. Something cold slid underneath the fabric of your underwear, and with a thoughtful turn to rest on a small edge between your skin and the elastic made you realize what it was.

How did you not see that coming? He held it with a steady hand, a semblance of trying to keep some control with something so sharp, as he caught his breath. Pulling upwards in an almost savage motion shattered the otherwise serene, quiet moment.

“Sorry if you were thinking about wearing those again.” He shrugged, no remorse in his tone. You chuckled at that and replied, “You think I’d get rid of them even after that?” As you finished the rhetorical question, you saw him holding them in an iron grip with the hand that didn’t have the sickle.

“Not what I meant.” He said the obvious aloud, and in a quick move of his arm he threw them out of sight, “Good luck finding those again.” You scoffed, head falling back on the bed as you lamented, “Will it be as hard as learning your na-”

He cut you off again, this time with a hand feeling your entrance with the same careful precision he had given with the weapon. It was your turn to shudder, fingers curling in response to the feeling almost immediately as you got your last word out, “Naaaame?”

“Everyone knows my name.” Leslie reminded you, “At least, around here. I’ve done a great job with making it all common knowledge, but…” You stared with lidded eyes as he finally let the middle finger pass your walls, unable to keep the expression of a surprise that broke the final assumption that you couldn’t feel this wet, this hot. Neither of you could keep talking, awe striking both of you from making the connection.

The moment overtakes, there is one thought that breaks through the haze, lingering in the now mostly empty space of your mind, “Leslie Vernon is inside of me.” 

To be fair, he always has been it seems, once you learned about him, it was like he set up camp in your mind, your heart – fucking Hell, into the very marrow of your bones, he took root, curling around your spine all the way up your brain stem. It’s like an infection, poisoning you, making you sick.

You never wanted to get better. If this is what being ill is, then you want to be staying under forever. He’s been in you in every way but a very physical way, but now?

As he almost totally withdraws his middle finger and then adds his ring finger next, he has broken that last barrier, and you need to hold on for dear life to keep yourself from spiralling out. You writhed slightly, trying not to clench your legs and prevent him from doing what he needed to. He started to pump a few times, but it was growing too much again. That same face falling over him like a blanket, he ducked down. His fingers felt incredible, but his tongue was something that made an involuntary gasp come with an inhale, then a shaky cry fall from you with an exhale.

He was mute, focused with a furrowed brow as his mouth merely ghosted, then settled into where he felt fit best. One lick up through your folds had him deciding quietly that he needed to get more comfortable for this, wanting as much of you exposed as possible. Fingers leave you and his hands lock onto your hips. He tugs you down as he moves, showing his strength, no matter how you had made him look weak in full view. The reminders he could do anything he wanted prompts a small moan to slip out.

He has his knees to rough hardwood, your legs remain splayed, and he gets to it. 

You’d thought about this very thing often. It had been an impossibility, a complete pipe dream to be taken by his mouth, but here he was turning the thoughts into one hell of a reality. There had to be a figure that he was rather good at that, even outside his other work. You look down the length of your body to see those weathered hands resting atop your thighs, his eyes closed and that mouth of his getting into a rhythm of doing some frankly criminal things, neck muscles flexing in the process.

His tongue was eager but minded its pace, going from bottom to top, hole all the way up and over straining and hyper sensitive flesh before repeating the action. It made you tense with a quick inhale as your body became taut, the easy simmer of pleasure from the first contact. The tension and tease of a rise upward culminating in the bright burst of feeling that hits when he passes over your clit, to then the leftover buzz when he pulls away briefly to drop back to do it all over again.

It’s wonderful, it’s maddening, and before you could even hope to start to put together the thoughts to form a sentence to complain he knew, somehow he knew just when to move on.  His mouth becomes much more focused, the movements are drawn out and unhurried. Very comfortable, light brushes of his tongue over your twitching bud through the hood make your body respond in kind, unable to remain still. You are so perfectly worked up, it is like you can feel every move, no matter how miniscule with rough palms holding your legs in place during the times they jerk more heavily, and a rough stubble scraping against the edges of your inner thighs. His lips, soft, slick and pliable – they’re phenomenal.

He’s intuitive. You knew this going in, but he is paying very close attention and realizes that gentle passes of his tongue are doing more than something firmer and with more pressure, the real winner though? Using his lips to, not even suck really, more he was just using them to provide smooth gliding and very wet friction, the heat and careful attention is doing you in, the amount of touch is perfect, the pleasure it hoists upon you is near overwhelming.

It’s like a kiss, honestly. A filthy, completely mind-bending, make your knees give out if you were standing kiss, but a kiss all the same. It’s intense, passionate, makes your head spin and fingers twist into the sheets harder. You aren’t even aware of the sounds you are making as your thighs squeeze his head, pitched moans and cries, out of breath and broken praise and encouragement that spills forth without thought. It’s quiet, whispered out hushed over the wet sounds of his mouth as he worked, “Leslie-”

You sound wrecked as you tell him, somehow finding the words to utter, “-jus-just like that-” and he does as asked, keeps the stride. In moments, it has you begging, a weak and pathetic plea of, “-don’t stop, ple-ase, fuck!”

He hums in acknowledgement, and that makes your legs move involuntarily again with a gasp. One of his hands lifts off your thigh, but you are much too consumed with the seal of his lips around your clit, the quick passes of his tongue and the pressure building steadily to notice his hand moving. The loudest moan of the night is torn from you when his hand is back between your legs, those same fingers taking up the same space they occupied before. 

You are even wetter by this point, the two fingers slide into you with no resistance at all and at first? He doesn’t do anything with them, he just allows himself to sit inside, let you use him as something to clench on, to feel the effect he is having on you, the flex and pulsing of your walls. Within another minute of your breathing getting worse, more pleas that somewhat resemble words but fall short, that is when he curves them, curls them up and with one pass he finds it, the rougher and spongier tissue and he presses. 

You choke out the first half of his name, a cry of, “Les-!” 

His mouth is still providing that light and simple stimulation, exploiting how sensitive and easy you were, but his fingers decide to be steady, relentless, consistent presses to that same spot over and over. 

You were done, gone, fate was sealed, right on the precipice and nothing was going to stop it from happening, as inevitable as him and you ending up here, you were going to come. 

Words were not needed, as if you could form any right now. He knew, all too aware, with lips around your clit and two fingers deep inside you. Your eyes slip closed, brows are creased, and you are trembling; that bad habit of yours creeping up again, so totally consumed with feeling and sensation, on the bleeding edge of what might be the biggest orgasm of your life that you are not currently breathing. Holding a lungful of air in, your form taut and your body rife with tension. In that wonderful plateau of fantastic torture of that compact moment before it all hits, the space prior to the world splitting and your mind going blank from pleasure. He is consistent and that is just what is needed to slip over and finally fall. 

The first natural reaction is to let out that breath you’d been holding in, as the string snaps and the pressure begins to unravel you, an unsteady exhale that is broken in the middle leaves you, a sharp gasp back in. The sound you let out could be read as his name, it is like it starts off with the “Le-” sound and then instead becomes a chorus of this breathy sound, not a laugh, but close enough. It seems that way because of the open-mouthed smile that has taken over your face. Losing control of the breaths that followed after, you let yourself tumble through an ether of forgetting who you were, who he was – you just knew there was a connection feeling one hell of a hot flash, a touch between one another that could fuel your interest for lifetimes.

You squirm and shift, his fingers were still pumping in and out of you, the other hand on your hip, holding you firmly in place, so you couldn’t wiggle away, making you feel every second of it as he feels it from his side too, every twitch and clench. His tongue has slowed, light passes over your clit still caught between his lips, keeping the stimulation going is vital, ensuring the most feeling out of your peak but still managing to not overwork you. 

You don’t think you can adequately describe how good it feels, but you can’t describe much of anything when you are totally thoughtless like you are right now. It takes a while for the feeling to ebb and slow and eventually stop, and you to return to yourself. Your breathing returning to some semblance of normal was still a ways off yet. You felt weak, boneless and helpless. You barely notice him lifting his mouth or his fingers slipping out of you, the only acknowledgement of the loss of contact a short exhale and your eyes starting to open, you feel the movement of him before you register the sights, eyes taking a moment to refocus. 

How could you even begin to describe the look on his face at this moment? Eye’s alight, chin wet, grin on his face and teeth partially exposed, you’d think the look he wore was one full of mischief and promise of what is to come, pure unadulterated excitement for what is next. You think your own face is betraying your own true emotions as well, and you are positive that yours match his, if anything you think you have a much more distinct tint of want. When he adjusts, between your legs, hands hooked under your knees and grinding himself against you? That shows that you are more than ready, more than wanting. The small smile that was on your face, playful and light, drops as his shaft cuts through you, sliding up over and through your folds, the head of him passing over your clit, and it steals your breath again, 

Another movement of his body against yours, of his hips slotting against you, has you sucking in a hard inhale, and the next move to rush the exhale. Head tipping back, a hushed call of his name for the who knows how many-th time tonight. Enveloped by a thud that brings his hips into yours, a cover of heat that fills your entire body and makes you nearly lose grip of the bed underneath you as you adjust to the push.

Your vision is fixed on the main point of contact between you and him, of him hard against you, soaked, it felt much better than it had any right to. In the frenzied process of him eating you out your costume has gotten even more messed up, the hem of the skirt pulled higher, you are glad for that, more skin on skin contact is always good of course but with the blue and white out of the way there is no worry of the view being obstructed. 

The visual was stellar, his breathing was matching yours and that makes you tear your gaze away up to his face. Your eyes catch his, your breathing is pitched and in sync, chests rising and falling and staring into each other, it escalates further without direct communication. His body moves a tad lower, your hips angle, and then he is lined up just right, slick tip leaking pre-cum prodding at your more than prepared hole. It takes less than ten seconds for you to be telling him in a half annoyed and hurried voice, “Do it already Verno-”

You don’t get his last name out. A hand suddenly comes up from where it had been placed lower on your body to find a hold around the base of your neck, pushing the muscles on either side together. It was something secure, helping to keep your head angled up, but also a reminder of who needed to stay in control. Especially catching the glimpse of his eyes, elusive as ever. If you hadn’t been far too down this rabbit hole, you’d want to bargain that. Truly, who was pushing whose buttons?

His own face changing, a setting of his jaw, eyes harder and committing to focus on yours. He takes, slides home fucking finally and fills you to the hilt. You don't cry out yet, instead opting to make a sound akin to a strangled whine. Hands reach out blindly, unconsciously, wanting to cling to something, to him, a desperate attempt to ground yourself using his body as the means to an end. Your nails scrape against skin as he moves back, taking half of himself out before forcing back in all the way, changing the previous sound to a gasp and that sound, is what changes all of this, really sets it all in motion. Like he knew you had doubted the control within him, and that just made you all the more palpable to what came.

It isn’t tentative or nervous, confidence is gained quickly, it feels right, correct, a give and take that has you and him not working against each other but instead with one another. His hands lock back around your waist, you arch closer, a flick of your tongue against his throat, tasting the salt of his skin has him driving into you deeper, and so it goes. You are trying to hold on, literally, while you adjust to the stretch of him as well as the gravity of the situation, Leslie-fucking-Vernon is inside of you right now, holding you, fucking you. 

How the Hell are you meant to cope with this? You hoped, but weren’t even truly sure he was real until you met him, and now a good roll of his hips had you moaning something close to his name. You’d wonder what your life was, what it had turned into, but why would you question such a good thing? In fact, where you would be and go after this was as far from you as it possibly could. You, instead, in a very healthy move by the way, lean closer still, lips brush the shell of his ear, nearly chest to chest you ask quietly, rushed, “Fuck me harder?”

You are met with a simple and single word, hummed out in a tone that tried to find some sort of sharp edge of condescending but falling just short of fascination instead, “Demanding.”

There was a brief reposition, making sure both of you were ready for some goddamn finale that this night deserved. He’d more than proven his strength to you by this point, and yet you still find ways to be amazed by how he shows it to you, in the sheer force he exerts as he complies with your needy request. It’s good, more than good, but you know it could be better still, the mental stimulation was incredible alone, just a little more was needed. His grip on your waist is keeping you right where he wants, holding you firmly to the mattress, but you do what you can, what you need, feet finding some purchase on the sheets, a slight bending of the knees and you, or rather he, found it. The reaction is immediate and obvious, the moan you were midway through is choked, a tremble that nearly rivals the first ones that wracked your body when he made you cum with his mouth and your own mouth clamping shut. Thighs squeezing his hips and your soaked hole clenching around him tighter, he doubts the hint could be more obvious if it was a neon sign flashing in his face. 

Doesn’t mean he still wasn’t going to be just a bit of an asshole about that, mostly, because he knew you got off on that kind of thing. He holds in you, a purposeful grind that stimulates you both inside and out, a pathetic sound tries to break out as your eyes shut, and he asks, “You okay?” 

You nod, short, curt, he isn’t relenting, another grind but this one ends with him pulling halfway out before filling you completely again, this time you can’t stop the moan that slips out, “You sure? You are being awfully quiet.” 

Before you can try to conjure a reply or attempt to defend yourself, he stops playing around, no more easy but devastating grinds he is back to the previous pace he was setting. There is no true reason to be holding back, who was going to overhear you? The corpses outside? It was laughable, further still, you couldn’t shut up now, not with how he’d locked onto just where you needed him. The litany of moans and gasps might be embarrassing if you weren’t currently drowning in pleasure, you are very unaware of much, just focused on the fact that you needed this feeling to continue, it was overwhelming in the best possible way. Nails biting into his skin and your eyes locked on his, hardly able to process any visuals, you can hear his voice again over the heaving breaths and skin on skin. 

His question makes you realize he was responding to you speaking, brain on autopilot it’s sluggish but catches up. You are connecting the dots through the context clues of his words, his near saccharine and condescending tone and question of, “Yeah? Right there?” 

Makes you come to the fact that you must have been letting out a surely pitiful chorus of, “Ri-right there, right there-”

You lean in further, hoping if you debase yourself further still he’d continue, he’d see this through, he’d make you break apart as strongly and beautifully as he did before. “Yesss-”

You were not far off at this rate, perfectly worked up and so sensitive. 

If the build up before could be described as a slow climb of a staircase, you’d say this one is more akin to an elevator ride that you can feel in your stomach, a rushed ride to the top but one you wouldn’t dare dream of complaining about. The height feels as though you were on top of the world all the same, where nothing could reach you quite like the view would. Looking to him, you concurred it was just as breathtaking. You don’t need to tell him, again, everything else about your body language and the fact he is stuffed to the hilt inside of you tells him you are nearly there. 

The state of being stuck in that lovely frustrating plateau was nowhere near as long as the first, from near the edge, to on it, to thrown the fuck over happened faster than you thought possible. He helped you, continued to hold you, fuck you through it and wring every ounce of pleasure he can out of your spasming cunt. The come down isn’t easy because he simply is refusing to let up, even when you try to pull back a bit, adjust, he isn’t having it, hands slide from your waist to under your legs, resting behind your knees. You can’t escape, he holds your legs closer, pressing them down, he abuses you further, enjoying how you reacted to the intense over stimulation. 

You find your voice again, use it for something more than moaning incoherently, “Leslie-fuck, please, ease up-” 

A minute shake of his head, his grip under your knees tightens, a hard swallow he tells you firmly, forces out, “You can take it.”

You clench around him again, another pulse of heat races through you. “Oh my God-” You gasp out, he’s right, for him, you could and would do just about anything. 

You try not to be crushed under the intensity as you look up at him, and that’s when it hits you, the uneven pace of his breath, thrusts becoming more erratic, he’s close himself and the prospect of him reaching his own end buried inside you is unbelievably exciting. One more word is grit out, “Almost-”

In your fervent excitement, you nearly cut him off, begging for it, “Do it.”

You don’t plead for him to not pull out, you don’t wrap your legs around his hips, you want him to make the choice himself, willingly, craving him to take that leap and that risk with you. Your streak of good luck has not yet run out because he does just that, another slam of his hips into yours, and he cums, holds mostly still, the force of it makes him shudder with your name on his tongue, and you feel near endless pride at that. The shudder of his shoulders completes an already perfect picture, something that would linger like cobwebs in your head.

It’s quiet now, no more noise from the bed or from your bodies against one another, just heavy breathing, and you aren’t in a rush to go, but slowly you do untangle. Your hands slip away as do his, legs are back on the mattress, and he slips out of you, the mess that follows that action staining the sheets and thankfully not your hiked up costume. He falls beside you, and you aren’t sure what to do from there, is it weirder to want to cuddle up with him or to not? 

The same question about whether you should leave is on your mind but, he answers both, an adjustment, an arm around you as he sighs out, “You already ran enough earlier, you can stay a while.”

You let your eyes close as you get comfier and do just that, he might be a killer but he’s courteous enough to let you get a few hours sleep in his bed before you go. 

Even as you began the long walk out, you still weren’t quite sure what to do to cope with meeting Leslie Vernon. Even waiting until the Sun was up to let yourself be known to the world again, a new soul forged from a night you couldn’t even begin to explain to others – let alone rationalize to yourself – didn’t do much for your mind, bogged with a confusion that only knew one thing.

You had enjoyed it despite all that had happened. It still touched your skin, scents still held in your costume, and stepping onto the uneven earth again, you then concurred you knew two things.

You still had the heel stoppers on.

Traversing the uneven road back towards Glen Echo. They were doing their job fairly well, albeit the muscles in your legs were singing another kind of song, straining at any sign of a bend or a shift in your weight. Scanning the surrounding area, you were nearly left thoughtless – because speechless was well and achieved, sitting like a plug in your throat.

There was no one left. Presumably all of the people who had come with you were dead – or left in a state of hopeless confusion just like yourself. For them, it’d be time to put together the facts on what had really happened that night.

But for you? It was the time to paint alongside Leslie’s own fantasy. You had spoken with him about what to say, where everyone had gone, and what had exactly happened to you. It was as gorgeous as the rest of his work, and something you felt rather unique to be touched by, to know the truth behind the…

Behind the mask.

The feeling you were being watched was well weighted on your shoulders, and there was something ever so taunting about knowing when you turned around or tried to meet it, there would be no way to talk to him. Leslie was an open book – you could even call him an open heart, but he also had a job and a name to keep pristine and mysterious as it had been when you had entered the domain of the Vernon orchard.

You considered it a little funny, then a little unexplainable. That just made the thoughts tread foggier water. Part of you wondered if it had even happened, knowing that it didn’t sound serious as you kept telling the story to yourself while walking home. He had given you something straight out of a fantasy, and you then concurred that was his specialty, wasn’t it? There was a solemn recognition that you were going to be the only one that should hear about it.

Still, you then shifted, feeling that there were no longer panties under the dress, (he ended up being right, you couldn’t find them, unsure if they were genuinely lost, or he stole them). That was no joke.

[glubby-guppiez]

*I MADE A TMNT AU [WIP]

*cw: typing quirk

*Oroku family info

*Basic synopsis

*Turtles are from a zoo in Guatemala

*The turtles are Central American Snapping Turtles

*They were stolen and mutated by Baxter Stockman

*Baxter Stockman is the main villain and the turtles work to stop him because he is too far gone and has hurt so many people and creatures in his quest for vast knowledge and is completely apathetic

*)(amato + Foot clan does not affect the story

*The turtles + Splinter lived in Guatemala until they met April and then they moved to New York to go after Stockman

*The turtles start off as regular mutant turtles, but early on during the events of the AU, get mutated further into dragons (friends idea)

*Character Info

*Shared info about the turtles

*Central American Snapping Turtles *All were originally named by the zoo *When they are mutated into dragons, their heights increased *The mutation process was very painful *Wings grew out of their backs and broke their shells at the top where the wings grew *Knows/speaks/writes in Spanish and English *Keeps their original weapons *Learned ninjitsu and self defense similarly to Mutant Mayhem and Bayverse via books and videos but also by watching humans at the dojo that is right above where they live

*Michelangelo

*)(e/)(im Cis male *5'11" (Pre-Dragon) *7'2" (Post-Dragon) *Very muscular build *Lost one of his right toes *Wears cheap gym shorts and an orange sweater around his shoulders that soon turns into his mask after he mutates into a dragon (tears off a sleeve) *Nunchaku on belt *Stickers on shell, including an anime sticker Raphael put on as a joke that won't come off *Old mask had the iconic Mikey short tails *Gay *The Leader *Optimist *Actually good at strategizing *Tries to stay energetic and joyful even when it's inappropriate *A little bit insensitive tbh *Not entirely on purpose he just doesn't understand why everyone isn't happy-go-lucky and constantly optimistic like he is *#1 Cheerleader *Tries to keep good relationships with his family *Very loving and supportive of them *Learning empathy is part of his character development *Mondo Gecko becomes a love interest for him later on

*Madonna (Donatello)

*She/)(er Transfem changed name *6'4" (Pre-Dragon) *7'6" (Post-Dragon) *Largest and most muscular turtle because of her Bo training and mechanical handling *Wears skirts and an apron with lots of storage, including a large tool belt *Steal's Raph's clothes even though they are small on her *Paint splats on shell *Braided mask tails *When everyone's masks broke because of the second mutation, she made everyone but Mikey new ones (Mikey immediately tore up his sweater and made a new mask) *Straight *Group inventor *Not very good at organizing her thoughts and explaining her inventions, and tech is always very messy and hard to follow *Personality is like Rise!Donnie but toned down *Doesn't really get mad but sulky *Very bad grammar *Often butts heads with 'Nardo *)(as a large bo collection and only uses her least favorites and never the ones she really likes unless she has to *Small crush on CJ in the beginning (purely one-sided and goes away after a while)

Leonardo

*)(e/)(im Cis male *5'8" (Pre-Dragon) *6'7" (Post-Dragon) *More scrawny and lanky than the rest of the group *Was effected the most by the second mutation out of the group appearance wise *Wears comfortable loose clothes like hoodies and sweatpants *Plain, long tail mask *Wore glasses before second mutation *)(as a dragon carved onto his lower shell (he begged asked Madonna to do it) *AroAce *Main intel of the group *Very observant *Non verbal and writes everything that comes to mind in these journals called: "Big Book of 'Nardo Thoughts" and hopes to publish them one day. *Thinks he should've been the leader *Geography nerd *Otaku

Raphael

*She/)(er Cis female *5'4" (Pre-Dragon) *7'4" (Post-Dragon) *Muscular but chubby build *Wears feminine clothing mainly jeans and crop tops but also skirts and dresses *Mask tied into a nice bow *Madonna put nail polish drawings on her shell *Paints hers and Mikey's nails *Lesbian *Sassy like 1987 Raphael *Very girly and feminine *Very protective of her family *Does have rage strength *A voice of wisdom/reason *Still kind of childish *)(angs out with Splinter a lot *Gets a girlfriend named Marilyn

Splinter

*)(e/)(im Cis male *5'6" *47 *Bushy-tailed Woodrat *Wears a dirty ass expensive silk bathrobe that he stole from a human that he WILL NOT take off *Raph likes to style his fur *Straight ally *Only knows Spanish *Reads a lot and taught the turtles how to read *Great cook *Mediocre dad *Was taken from his own parents at an early age so he has no clue how to parent outside of instinct and books *He's trying he goes to the PTA meetings he goes to them/ref *Brought home a whole bunch of girl books for Madonna when she came out to him *Praises Mikey for his optimism *Adores 'Nardo's writing *Wants a wife so bad

Baxter Stockman

*TW FOR MENTIONS OF ABUSE *)(e/)(im Cis Male *5'5" (Pre mutation) *6'4" (Post mutation) *56 *Black and Brazilian *Buzz cut (Pre mutation) *Skinny build (Pre mutation) *Becomes a fly mutant *Much more muscular post mutation *)(air grows out *Kind of looks like Super Fly *Wears stereotypical lab gear *Questioning AroAce *Very devoted to his work *Abused and neglected his wife (April's mom) and daughter (April O'Neil) *Made the turtles, Shredder, Splinter, and other mutants *Everyone )(ATES him *Rightfully so *)(e uses mech suits to fight like 2012 him in season 1 *CJ is his pupil early on *Kind of a bitch to CJ *Sadistic *This man gets very uncomfortable to be around after he's mutated *Like bro wanting disect and study every living thing he comes across after the mutation *Throws a fit when he's wrong about something *Has a deep desire to be all knowing

April O'Neil

*She/They/It Demigirl *5'8" *19 *Afro Latina *She has dark brown hair styled in afro puffs *Skinny but athletic build *Sports a black and yellow track suit with a white undershirt *Bisexual *Daughter of Baxter Stockman *Tech whiz *Madonna's best friend *Big sister figure to the turtles *Grew up in Guatemala and moved to New York with the turtles and Splinter shortly after meeting them *)(er dad's #1 hater *Fluent in Spanish *Knows English, but it's rough *Uses a gun *Dating Karai

Casey Jones (CJ)

*They/)(e/It Nonbinary (fine with gender neutral or masculine terms) *5'2" *17 *White *)(as that 2000's mid length emo boy haircut *Wears Jeans + Band tee and a lab coat *Main inspo from 2012 Casey design wise *Omniromantic (pref for men) Asexual *Kind of wimpy and doesn't fight *Mainly uses mousers and other robots *Stockman's pupil until he joins up with the turtles *Works alongside 'Nardo and Madonna *Genuinely scared of Mikey *Grew up in New York *Failed Art Class and will have to repeat highschool they are so salty about this it is not even *Geek loser *Main personality inspo from '87 and 2012 Stockman

*I will write about more characters later and more lore but rn this is all you get. If you wanna see specific characters or if you have any questions, feel free to ask me my ask box is open!

[ananke-xiii]

My ranking of SPN seasons (based only on their PLOT) pt. 2

In my previous post I'v covered the following:

15: Season 14

14: Season 15

13: season 7

12: season 3

11: season 6

Let's continue!

10. Season 13: this season was a HUGE disappointment to me. The first 6 episodes are brilliant, the writing is excellent, the actors gave their best performances, the scenes were well thought out, the pacing is slow but keeps the audience interested. The plot is intriguing: the heroes are mouring the death of Castiel while trying to both find a way to find their mother and to take care of Jack. In the meantime, the audience comes to understand that there's a new player in town: The Empty. It's mysterious, it seems evil, it seems total. I'm hooked. However, after episode 6 the plot sort of changes, it's like the first 6 episodes were a completely different season. By the end of season 12 we were already introduced to the existence of a parallel world and after episode 6 of season 13 we kind of explore more of it. The plot goes in that direction: the heroes must go to the alternate universe to save their mother. However, frankly, it's all very messy and overly complicated. I'm usually super pro AU, different timelines, same characters but from parallel realities and the like, but this time I was not engaged. I felt quite let down by this season (which also ends in a ridiculous battle that, once again, undermines everything that was said&done in season 5 but OKAY!).

9. Season 12: this season is a bit of a mystery to me. The main plot is: find Lucifer, consequently find Kelly Kleine and ultimately find Lucifer's son. So far so good. I like it. Clear, linear yet stimulating. The subplot is Mary Winchester and the British Men of Letters. Now, while I enjoyed Mary's character I utterly hated the whole BML arc. Just hated it. That Ketch? I hate him. I have no rational reason to explain why but I really hoped he would be killed off by the end of the season but surprise! He'll stick with us until season 15. Not amused. To be fair, the BML is not really a subplot, more of a parallel plot in that it has no correlation whatsover to the main plot. Also, some crazy shit happens in this season like Dean and Sam get caught by a super special police force, are imprisoned for like 3 months or something? unalive themselves, come back to life by making a reckless deal with Billie the reaper, and then go back to normal and no mention of it all is ever made. Well, okay writers' room. All in all, I gotta say that I place this season here in my ranking because it has some amazing episodes and the ending is a bomb. So I gotta give credit where credit's due.

8. Season 1: hear me out, I know that for some this is an iconic season and, honestly, fair enough. But, as any other season 1 of the majority of TV shows, the plot is not exactly exciting? Sure, we get to know our heroes and their backstories, but there are no allies, no other interesting characters, the 2 heroes seem to be living in a vacuum. The plot is simple, clean and intriguing enough to keep you watching, but it doesn't exactly keep you on your toes.

7. Season 10: oh my, oh my. Season 10. WELL. I have to confess that I hated this season with a passion. This is where I was tempted to stop watching Supernatural. I'll tell you why but first, the plot: Sam and Cas try to save Dean from the Mark of Cain. The subplots? Cas trying to bring angels back to Heaven (?), then the whole Castiel/Claire arc, then again Castiel vs Metatron, the mini and insignificant arc centered on Cole... Many, too many for my taste. The effect is that all these subplots are smoke in the eyes to cover for the total absence of creativity to solve the Mark of Cain plot. HOWEVER, however. Since I hated it with a passion, I've decided to watch some episodes again and to read some meta about it. And I gotta say, I was not paying attention. Sure, the plot is what it is and I won't change my mind about it, but ACTUALLY what happens in this season is that the REAL plot is characters' development, specifically Dean's and, to a lesser degree, Cas's. It also makes more sense if you understand that the whole season is about the Dean-Crowley-Cas love triangle. If you get that, you will enjoy the season. I didn't and, as a result, I didn't quite like it. But I gotta be honest and say that the writing for this season was pretty good. Finally, like season 7, this is a connecting season, it prepares us for season 11 where the real prize is. So, in retrospective, I think it deserves ranking number 7 because it didn't give us anything substantial in terms of events but the characters grow a lot after this season so good for them (and for us).

[spookybokchoy]

I got inspired from other ppl doing redesigns of Hazbin characters and wanted to give a go at it. I don't watch the show but I know info about it from the internet because it's kinda hard to avoid it with it being everywhere. Like most ppl I like the fun idea of their designs but there is much left desired when taking account animation and how they stand out from one another in the background. I focused on character design in college so I'm looking at it through a designer's pov. I feel I know enough about the show to give design feedback. Even so you can still disagree with me/challenge me and be valid. Critique is how we grow as artists! We need to know how to give good criticism and how to take it ourselves :) I'll say the strengths and weaknesses of each original design and go over the changes/why

Charlie- Her original design in the show's cute but I thought she was a clown, not a demon at first. Already has a "demon form" with horns+ tail so I added those built in already. Wanted her to feel optimistic but unsure of herself. Lucifer- Original suit tells he's an over the top king, added gold shoulder pads matching the crown piece and exaggerated his shortness so now he has a Napoleon complex and takes pride from being short. Him and Charlie keep the mostly red yellow white color scheme to signify their royalty. Vaggie Vega- Unique hair shape, good for recognition. Changed name to Vega/Vegatha, sounds strong willed, better fitting for her. "X" over hair distracts from her face, put it underneath. I also made her a bit darker in value to subtly show she's a fallen angel Husker- Eyebrow game is strong, got a unique face from your typical toothy big-eyed citizens. Too many symbols that look pretty but don't make sense in his character. He's a sulky hard ass who doesn't want attention but he's got a design that's very eye-catching. I made him look lower class since he used to be an overlord and is fighting a gambling addiction. 180 color change too so you know he's a cat with owl features.

Angel Dust- Iconic floofy hair swoop. Darker suit to bring out face with a heart choker bc he's a feminine fellow after all. On that note, more pink leaning color scheme. Added abdomen for more spider theming. Dr. Pentious- His Victorian steam punk theme is fun & quirky though you can't quite see it in his design. You can't really see it in my design either cuz I was more focused on filtering out all the eyes and extra details. I would want to take this back to the board and do it over. His original top hat face distracts from his actual one so that had to go. 2 front fangs to appear more snakey. Alastor- His design works for the 1930s the decade he passed. I don't get the correlation to radio and voodoo though. The whole discourse with him being creole is messy so I scrapped it and made him a white American broadcaster to not deal with that. I made him blind with supernatural hearing abilities leaning into the sound aspect. It feels chilling knowing he hears your every move, emotion and heartbeat like the warden from Minecraft. Deer and orange fox themed for a dual nature. Vox- This idea of a tech savvy con man is super fun. Made his persona charming and eccentric, being able to appear friendly while being sketchy as f. His body is made of wires too with his teeth resembling the shock waves on his hat. Kept the pinstripes for a wirey feel.

I also did some Helluva Boss redesigns too! I think Helluva designs deliver pretty well (besides Queen Bee) so I more or so redesigned them based off my own head cannons. I used to watch the show but fell off around halfway of S2 bc I wasn't vibing with the direction of the story. Octavia- Young entrepreneur, takes after her father and mother being snobby and looks down at lower classes who she sees as less intelligent than high class. Very creative in problem solving. Millie- I like her og clothes alot. Those overalls are chic. This outfit is what she'd wear out in the field when she's working for IMP or at the farm. She and Loona fight alot about who works harder and Loona having an attitude problem towards everyone. Sallie Mae- Not much change other than white hair and removed eyelashes. I might want to make her shirt dark muted blue instead. I gave her a backstory how she ran away from toxic masculinity parents and eventually gets hired at IMP as a spy.

Loona- Emo to the extremo. She's originally goth but I got emo from her I'm sorry she just doesn't look goth. She's very lax when it comes to her job and slacks off constantly. She still does it well despite not working as hard as Millie, Moxxie or Blitz. She's strict but means well and cares for ppl around her. She also gets adopted at age 14 in my head cannon.

Bee- 180 change completely. She's a thick queen! Made her black coded with more stripes cuz she's a BEE. I don't get why Vivienne didn't give her stripes bc that's a design thing she uses so much and she doesn't use it in a character whose name is BEE? What??? anyway her design is still complex but simplified and uncluttered for animation so the animators can have pleasant dreams. She's the child of Beelzebub and a hell hound. So that's my take on Hazbin/Helluva character design! This was fun re imagining not only the characters but the story itself. I may write a fan fiction but i dunno right now. I respect the original source material which is something I feel everyone needs to acknowledge when they do a redesign of anything. There are things I don't like about the original and that's ok! That's part of why I did the redesigns. That being said I don’t support Vivziepop or her actions. I encourage everyone to be critical and respectful of the thing they are analyzing when it comes to media.

[msclaritea]

Here’s Why Willy Wonka Is An Autistic Icon | Medium

Here’s Why Willy Wonka Is An Autistic Icon

In celebration of the release of the new Wonka movie this month, I recently rewatched, for the billionth time, the original film — Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. Wonka media has been a special interest of mine for the past seven years — -an autism-related term used to refer to topics and subjects that occupy headspace constantly, meaning I know more about Willy Wonka and his crimes against humanity than any sane person really ought to.

While watching the film, I was once again struck by how much I related to the character. His odd mannerisms, his disregard for small talk and social niceties, and his fixation on a self-constructed world all reminded me of a lot of my own experiences growing up as a quiet, book-obsessed, undiagnosed autistic kid. Although I was recently diagnosed at the age of twenty-one (it’s never too late!), the sense that something was always a little off has dogged me since childhood — in my odd tendency to repeat words and phrases, my limited and intense interests, my awkwardness in conversation and struggle to make friends. And as I sat there, watching Wonka spout off nonsensical phrases, constant literary references, and the occasional bit of wisdom, I finally got the urge to lay out, once and for all, what an autistic icon this character is, and has been for the past sixty years. Let’s dive into a world of pure imagination together.

A Little Nonsense

Autism, since it is formally classified as a disorder by the DSM5, has a whole host of medical definitions that try to sum up, in as digestible a form as possible, just what exactly is wrong with you or your child. Instead of pinpointing one definition, I’m going to temporarily throw the psychological jargon out the window and focus on the single term “disorder.” Disorder, classically defined, is a state of confusion or messiness — usually a form of existence that runs counter to broad definitions of harmonic living. Although unintended, I find that the literary definition rather than the scientific one fits my, and Wonka’s, experience of living as autistic. Disorder is chaos, it’s doing things just because.

Take this excerpt from Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, the rightfully-maligned sequel to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory:

“I have never met a man,” said Grandma Georgina, “who talks so much absolute nonsense!”

“A little nonsense now and then, is relished by the wisest men,” Mr. Wonka said.

Many autistic people are told at one point or another that the way they think and act does not make sense. For example, in many adaptations of the story, visiting the chocolate room for the first time leads the parents to question why it came to exist in the first place.

In the original West End musical adaptation, the conversation goes something like this:

Mr. Salt: Well if it isn’t for anything, and it doesn’t make money, then why on Earth does it need to exist at all?

Wonka: You really don’t see, do you?

A painter needs no reason

To make a thing of art

Yes, there’s no switch to stop and start the flow

Willy Wonka (Douglas Hodge) in the Chocolate Room from the 2013 West End production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

We live in an unprecedented age of unthinking consumerism — our lives, from the get-go, are predicated on beneficial transactions. If I am to create something, I better be able to justify its usefulness in the language of monetary gain. Entertainment has become inextricably linked to the words content and consumption — creators make content, and we now consume the art we once admired. This implies a one-sided relationship to the way we engage with art — when we consume something it no longer becomes a conversation between creator and viewer, but rather a passively made, ready-to-eat distraction on which the viewer can project anything and everything they like. To make art for art’s sake or simply because we find it beautiful, is, in today’s age, an indicator of disordered living. Thus, Wonka making the chocolate room, or his factory for that matter, just because is, to most people, nonsense.

Again, from The Great Glass Elevator:

“He walked slowly towards the chocolate waterfall. It was an unhappy truth, he told himself, that nearly all people in the world behave badly when there is something really big at stake. Money is the thing they fight over most.”

The us vs. them mindset suggested by the phrase “nearly all people in the world” is one commonly adopted by autistic people, who feel that their perspective and lived experience do not align with that of their peers. Wonka, in creating a world of his own, has effectively made a safe haven for himself where the things he loves can exist without justification — a form of escapism I often engaged in as a child. In Wonka’s factory, the oddities that would make him an outcast in the external world are, to him, “simply second nature” — the name of the song in which he extolls the joys of being different:

It’s no blessing, It’s a curse

No wait…strike that and reverse

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

What’s a Social Cue?

In the 2017 Broadway adaptation of the book, Wonka opens the boisterous and breakneck-paced song “Strike that, Reverse It” by, muttering:

“Now let’s get the small-talk out of the way.”

The word “small-talk,” for context, is said as if it is the single most loathsome word in the English dictionary.

Though every adaptation of Wonka is unique in some way, all seem to share a love for their craft that is only rivaled by their hatred of social conventions. From the 2005 Wonka’s disastrous introduction and awkward giggling to the original book Wonka’s fidgety and sporadic movements, none of the Wonkas have exactly come off as approachable. Even the new Wonka, played by Timothée Chalamet, has his moment as he practically screams “You’ve never had chocolate?!” to his sidekick Noodle, who answers his outburst nonchalantly. All of these traits: poor conversational skills, fidgeting, volume control, and a dislike of small-talk are all classic characteristics associated with ASD.

Autistic people also often struggle with echolalia, or the repetition of words and phrases for seemingly no reason. Gene Wilder’s Wonka, with his near-constant rattling off of quotes from classic literature parallels this condition, especially (and most entertainingly) when he pedals a bike in the inventing room.

Similar to symptoms associated with ADHD, many autistic people will also find that their hyperfixations and interests make it difficult to focus on daily tasks for long periods of time. Wonka is so fixated on making chocolate that he has actually built a factory where he does nothing but make chocolate, and has been doing so for decades. Take also these lyrics from “Must Be Believed to Be Seen”:

No magic spells, no potions

Forswear legerdemain

My kingdom’s created from notions

All swirling inside of my brain

The manic delivery of “swirling inside of my brain” in both recordings of the song speaks to the sometimes uncomfortable intensity of creative thinking. I want to note here that I’m aware of the “it’s not that deep” factor that plays into all of this, but I kind of shoved it in the back of my mind the second I decided to write an analytical article about Willy Wonka. Besides, I know I personally struggle with a constant barrage of thoughts here and there — sometimes to the point where I have trouble falling asleep at night. Hence these lyrics from Simply Second Nature:

The mind is such a wonder to explore

And though some nights I dread

All the voices in my head

I’d rather be this way than be a bore

I also made a compilation a while back of the mannnyyyyy (and I mean many) times 2017 Broadway Wonka displays some of the physical symptoms of ASD, often referred to as stimming.

Autistic Solidarity

I know I’ve been harping a little too much on the Broadway adaptation, but I promise there’s a good reason.

In this version of the story, rather than just being a decent kid who, for the most part, minds his own business, Charlie is awarded the factory because he thinks as Wonka does. This kind of connection is also implied in the 2005 adaptation, where Charlie is seen to have built an impressively large model of Wonka’s factory made entirely of toothpaste caps, but is only made explicit in both musical versions. This Charlie draws up fantastical ideas instead of doing his homework and spends his remaining free time endlessly pestering his Grandpa Joe for stories about Willy Wonka. Wonka, to this Charlie, is essentially a special interest — he hardly goes five minutes without bringing his name up, or delivering an excitable song summarizing the man’s life history.

Wonka, of course, sees a lot of himself in Charlie. In the song, “Must Be Believed to Be Seen” there’s a section in the middle where the tempo slows and Wonka wistfully sings:

Despite the man seen at these doors

My childhood home was bland like yours

But I knew how to look, to find

A world that wasn’t colorblind

This is the first time (and only until the end of the show) that Wonka makes a genuine attempt to reach out to Charlie — and he does so with language relating to neurodivergent thinking. The musical doesn’t exactly turn to diagnostic criteria for sourcing lyrics, but the use of the phrase “a world that wasn’t colorblind” is once again suggestive of the us vs. them mindset, offsetting the ordinary blandness of the “normal” world with the vibrancy of the neurodivergent imagination. In the same sequence, Wonka also sings:

But in the end there’s quite a prize

If you can see with more than eyes

Autistic people are often hypersensitive to their environments and engage with the stimuli around them more keenly than their neurotypical peers. Exploring the world with all senses, and often with a detail-oriented mindset literally allows many autistic people to see the world with much more than eyes. Often small and irrelevant elements in an environment become points of interest for those with ASD where they might otherwise be ignored by neurotypicals.

Lastly, I want to finish with a brief discussion of one of my favorite lyrics in the musical, this time from the closing song “The View From Here”, where Wonka takes Charlie up through the atmosphere in his glass elevator:

When a boy has just a touch of odd

And he walks the streets without a nod

He should know that odd is a gift from God

Like this starry blue chandelier

Willy Wonka (Christian Borle) and Charlie Bucket (Jake Ryan Flynn) in the Glass Elevator

Most neurodivergent people will be the first to tell you that living as they are isn’t easy. For me, I have trouble finding humor in the same things my friends do, making conversation, focusing, following directions, empathizing, etc. Sometimes things that seem easy or mundane to others are nearly impossible for me. Worst of all, these aversions and behaviors are inexplicable too. I cannot put into words why I am what I am, I just know that I have to learn to accept it. However, for every moment I spend hating myself for what I cannot change, I strive to find more moments where I love living as I am.

I listened to “The View From Here” for the first time in many years recently, and I’m not ashamed to say that I cried a little (maybe more than a little). To quantify one’s differences not as a mistake or a joke or a fault — but as a gift is to accept that they let us do impossibly wonderful things. We need to stop looking for ways to fix or mask autism, and instead make society a more accommodating place for neurodivergency to thrive. Only then can autistic kids dream less about faraway places where they can live as they are, and instead live those dreams in the here and now. And we can start by reaching out to that touch of oddness in each other, and recognizing what the embrace of pure imagination can do for us all.

THERE IS A WELL-DOCUMENTED HISTORY OF NAZIS EXPERIMENTING ON PEOPLE WITH AUTISM.

IT HAS BEEN NOTED BY PROFESSIONALS THAT MANY PEOPLE IN THE TRANSGENDER MOVEMENT HAVE AUTISM

BLOGGERS, CLAIMING TO BE AUTISTIC, HAVE ENGAGED IN VERY AGGRESSIVE BULLYING.

THEY RELENTLESSLY ACCUSED A CERTAIN ACTOR, WHO, HIMSELF SUFFERS ANXIETY OF BEING ABLEST, IN AN EFFORT TO TARNISH ONE OF HIS BEST STAGE PERFORMANCES

THAT SAME ACTOR WAS BEING ENCOURAGED TO DO PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, WHICH I SABOTAGED, AND I'M GLAD I DID, BECAUSE WEEKS LATER I CAME ACROSS AN OLD ARTICLE, WHERE THEY SAID, EMPHATICALLY THAT THE PHANTOM MUST HAVE BEEN AUTISTIC. THE POINT?

IF SAID ACTOR HAD PLAYED THE PHANTOM, HEEDLESS OF THIS THEORY, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN ATTACKED, AGAIN.

AND THAT IS WHAT THIS ARTICLE BELOW IS; AN INTENTION TO ENCOURAGE PEOPLE WITH AUTISM TO SEE WILLY WONKA AS BEING AUTISTIC.

AND WHEN THE NEXT ACTOR WHO PLAYS WONKA, ISN'T AWARE OF THE FACT THAT AUTISM HAS BEEN LOWKEY ADDED, THEN THAT PERSON WILL GET RIPPED TO SHREDS.... BECAUSE OF MANIPULATING ARTICLES, LIKE THIS ONE. THIS IS NOT HARMLESS. THE SAME THING HAPPENED ONLINE WITH BBC SHERLOCK. BLOGGERS ERRONEOUSLY ATTRIBUTED HIS PERSONALITY TRAITS TO AUTISM, THANKS TO THE WRITERS ON THE SHOW. IT WAS ENCOURAGED, TO THE POINT WHERE IF YOU DID NOT AGREE, YOU WERE ATTACKED FOR IT.

THE RIGHT BUILDS ARMIES, AND THEY WILL USE ANYONE THEY HAVE TO.

[pinkymoone]

Akiba Maid Wars Review! *~Minor Spoilers BEWARE~*

Long time no see! I've been occupied with living, and boy, it's been annoying. Anyways, I watched Akiba Maid Wars during my long summer break and decided to write a review because it was one of the only series I actually finished since this year began [which says something abt this anime b/c I never finish anything].

First things first, this anime was hella funny because the concept was one of its kind: maid cafes x gang/mafia. The great dichotomy between those two concepts in itself is hard not to make iconic, and engaging the audience is quite simple when the "surprise" factor IS the plot. But...

...do you see how that can be problematic already?--detrimental and damaging to this whole anime?

I'm going to try to not get too rant-y because credit does need to be given to where it deserves, and this anime was very entertaining.

Pros: The characters had distinct, comical personalities. Although it was a bit stereotypical [a hopeful MC, stern friend, cute/cold friend, cute/violent friend], it wasn't a huge splinter to the story. I'll just say everyone had a funny dynamic with one another and the obstacles they went through because their characters were all different. The villain was a bit boring, but again, not a huge problem. For the plot, it wasn't anything mind-blowing or new, but it was decent mostly because it was so funny. It's so damn hilarious to think that cute maid girls are actually gangsters. I laughed a lot at each episode because of how ridiculous it was, and many scenarios were quite memorable. It made me think the writers probably had a good laugh themselves when writing a maid festival where cute maid groups had to fight each other/climb a huge maid statue to win and get more prestige and sales.

Now I'm not going to lie; there were many eyebrow-raising moments because things just didn't make sense/came off as unnatural.

That goes right into my cons: the plot execution was so messy. Not "just" messy, SO messy. It really affects the viewing experience about halfway through the season, even to the point that I just wanted to drop it. I can see that at the beginning of the series, there was a clear vision the creators had: to shock viewers when cute maid girls suddenly kill each other [obviously, like gangs]. I think they were also going for a meme/gag aesthetic. The first episode accomplished it well, but they already utilized the "surprise factor", so how were they going to top it off in the next 11 episodes? The scenarios began to get severely repetitive, predictable, and the weight of death wasn't there at all, with no consequences or realistic emotional damage. This is a huge problem; it strips away the human quality of the characters/setting that is based on IRL concept of maid cafes in Japan. If they were going for a totally unrealistic/absurd vibe, I'll take it, but the anime seemed confused, because they tried to add real sentimentality of gang stories.

SO at about episode 6 or 7, it was a struggle. They had nothing more to work with in later episodes as the same situations kept happening with loosely mended solutions. Sure, there was a plot to address, but in between that seemed like filler episodes of either kidnappings, sabotage, gun fights, and meaningless deaths. And I'll just say it now, there is such a thing as TOO MUCH killing sprees and character deaths, especially when it's either used as a brainless resolution or a pointless attempt at "shocking" the viewers. It just didn't make it enjoyable anymore, and I know the execution could've been better had they carefully constructed HOW they were going to present important plot points and HOW they were going to solve it. Were they going for a coherent story? Or just a gag (think Gintama) vibe? The humorous situations were what kept this anime going, but then you'd think about the foundational plot and wonder how serious (or unserious) it was, and just end up getting frustrated with the way things pan out.

As for the ending, it was nonsensically abrupt and did not make much sense; I think I constantly questioned, "Why am I still watching this?" at that point. But, you know, I commend the writers for giving it a happy ending than the miserable/sadder ones I see in mainstream media. They got the main message across pretty good: Maid's are defined by their duty to bring happiness. It isn't about power, money, or glory. I suppose you can apply this idea to numerous roles in our societies. Overall, a 6/10 watch.

It was a decent, turn-off brain series to watch, so if that's what you're looking for alongside good laughs, I recommend it. If you hate messy, nonsensical stories to the point that it exhausts you (i was indeed a bit exhausted) don't watch it.

[minijenn]

Jen Tortures Herself With Every Dreamworks Animated Movie Ever: Bee Movie

According to all known laws of aviation... eh, forget it. You know the rest.

So uh... Bee Movie is surprisingly pretty good? Yeah, I know, I'm surprised too. I mean of course, Bee Movie is an Iconic Staple of Meme Culture and for good reason, its humor is just... probably some of the most insane shit out of Dreakworks ever (more on that in a bit). But it's also a pretty compelling roller coaster ride of a movie that held my rapt interest the whole way through???

So what's the story here? Barry B Benson is a bee who ventures outside the hive and meets a florist named Vanessa, whom he of course falls in love with (and she falls for him too, its fuckin weird man). Eventually, Barry discovers that humans make a profit off the backs of bees by selling their honey, so he decides to sue the entire human race. Yeah that's really the fuckin plot they came up with. It's fucking wild, man, from start to end.

Our characters here are just as wild to match that crazy ass plot. Barry is a snarky lil fella, but you can tell he cares about his... people? Bees? Idk man this movie has short circuited my brain. Anyway, Barry is a fun character to follow as our main. Vanessa is a little less developed and kind of all over the place personality wise, and well... she falls for a bee. Enough said. Barry's best friend Adam is cool, almost dies from stinging a guy, so that's fun. We also have Ken, Vanessa's ex-boyfriend who literally gets cuckolded by a bee this movie is actually insane.

The comedy here is just... ridiculous. Again, there's a reason why this movie has produced so many iconic memes. I cackled out loud at some of these jokes and references, many of which I imagine would probably go over a kid's head (the Sting and Ray Liotta jokes especially like... c'mon those are some deep cuts). It's kind of breaking the recent trend I've been noticing from Dreamworks where they're aiming down for a younger audience. Instead, Bee Movie harkens back to their earlier movies, aimed more at adults with blink and you miss them naughty jokes that are actually really funny here?

The animation is also like... insanely impressive for the time this came out? Some of the camera angles and movement on these bees is just... amazing? The flying scenes really make you feel like you're flying along with Barry, taking you through densely colorful and sometimes actually beautiful setpieces. I also enjoyed the worldbuilding inside of the hive and all of the little devices they use to produce honey. I feel like this movie is doing what Antz was trying to do, but accomplishing it so much better, with way less Rancid vibes than Antz had.

The music is also fairly solid, not as many pop songs as you'd expect from a memey movie like this, but the ones that are very are pretty good and backed by a competent score. I think my biggest gripe with this film is... well, it's a little all over the place and out of focus? Like one minute it's about Barry struggling to figure out what he wants to do with his relatively short life, then its about him falling for Vanessa, then its about suing the humans, then its about restarting pollenation so the entire planet won't shrivel up and die? (yeah did I mention this film has an environmental message?) Really, this movie is kind of just... a jack of all trades and a master of none? All of its various plots are ok, but none of them are standout fantastic. It's just... a little messy??

But really, I did enjoy myself watching this movie. I didn't think I was going to, because its been years since I've seen it and well, the internet rags on it all the time, but it's surprisingly well-made! It really is Dreamworks at their most Dreamworks (warts and all) and I think that's a testament to why its so memorable (in both good and bad ways lol). Anyway I just got one last thing to say before wrapping up this review:

Ya like jazz?

Overall Rating: 7/10

Verdict: Watch the Entire Bee Movie but every time they say literally anything the movie starts over until you die

Previous Review (Shrek the Third)

Next Review (Kung Fu Panda)

[blissfullyapillow]

hiya :) id like to request a star rail matchup please (if your rqs aren’t open feel free to ignore)

im a straight female (she/her) and id like to not be matched with sunday

appearance: 5’7”, long blonde hair (usually in big curls or a messy bun) i do wear glasses but if I’m going out I’ve always got contacts in. my style is very girly- a mix of vintage classy (think marilyn sort of) and y2k. my makeup tends to stick to being quite simple and natural, but i do love a red glossy lip

personality: enfp, 7w6. im very outgoing and loud, but i also value my quiet time to relax. i joke around a lot, so I find it hard to converse with people who are serious *all* of the time. im definitely an emotional person, and that will usually drive my actions over logic. im academically intelligent but admittedly lacking in street smarts or common sense. creative, very much the dreamer type and i need to have my freedom.

I put a lot of effort into my appearance because I genuinely enjoy it. It can make me a bit high maintenance but I would not expect too much from a partner, especially not without reciprocating in some way. I also love doing anything artistic (im currently studying art!) travelling, music, and cooking.

my love language in a relationship would probably be physical touch, but I’m easy to impress with most efforts of romance. in a partner I look for someone strong and loyal, with a good sense of humour and ability to have long conversations with- whether that be equally contributed or lead by myself in the case of someone more quiet.

thank you if you get to meee ☺️💖

ps could I be 🍰 anon pls if u don’t have that taken? C:

Pillow Talks: Hi again 🍰! I made my own header for your request because content for Sampo is oddly lacking for some reason??? Anyway, I hope you like your matchup! I promise you it’s good hehehe. 

What I think your relationship would sound like: Sampo Koski

Masterlist

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ݁˖$ ⁺⊹ ★.ᐟ 

Icon creds in header: @/faivrse on pinterest (left) & @/mintst4rss on pinterest (right) 

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ݁˖$ ⁺⊹ ★.ᐟ 

Sampo would be in LOVE with your hair. Really, long blonde hair with big curls? He’s a goner, especially when you put it up into that messy bun of yours. Honestly, he was lovestruck the moment he laid eyes on you. 

Oh, how you made his heart pound. Of course he had to approach you! …Only for his reputation to serve as a horrible first impression. You’ve heard the name Sampo Koski far too many times to count. 

You honestly began to believe it was some legend to educate people on the crafty ways you could be scammed out of your money, but the man himself stood before you, bent down to be eye level with you as he spoke. You knew better than to make the mistake of engaging with him, so you continue walking.

If only he didn’t have such an awful reputation, maybe you would’ve stopped to hear what he had to say. Despite your apprehension, you kept walking to your destination, effectively ignoring him despite his many attempts to ask you out on a date.

You successfully escape him, only to encounter him the following day as you accidentally bump into him. You start to think it wasn’t an accident when he turns around, all too eager with that stupidly charming grin on his face. 

It takes many more encounters for you to finally agree to a date, solely because you happened to see him helping a young child that was previously ignored by everyone else. You were heading over to help the child, but he swooped in to save the day before you could. 

After you witness the tearful, yet happy, reunion of the child and their parents, you decide to give him a chance. Besides, you should form your own impression of him before completely writing him off…

Your decision leads to a beautiful relationship, one that far exceeds your expectations. Through conversation, you come to learn just how complex of a person Sampo is. Although he appears to be a dishonest, crooked individual, he provides remarkably wise advice whenever you approach him with your worries. 

He’s also fiercely loyal, which you’ve come to realize over time. Once you two officially started dating, even before, Sampo’s eyes have always remained on you and you alone. Sampo is an attractive individual so he’s been approached while the two of you have been together. 

You know you never have to worry though, because Sampo won’t even look their way!  He always politely declines any offers he receives, and he’ll casually intertwine his fingers with yours as the two of you walk away. 

He’s more than happy to have long conversations with you, and the tone can shift depending on the topic and your personal feelings. He’s really good at being a solid emotional support for you, and he’s quick to pick up on the little things you do that indicate how you’re feeling.

Sampo relies on you when it comes to academics, but street smarts? Oh, he’s got you. He’s helped you avoid many situations that otherwise would have escalated quickly, and other scammers trying to make a quick buck off of you.

Sampo loves to joke around with you. Your laughter is as heavenly as the sound of money in his hands, as he flips through the stack of cash he managed to make through very legal and very ethical means. 

If his sneaky ways really bother you, he’ll still spoil you with gifts and fun outings, but he’ll make the effort to earn the funds through more conventional ways he knows you’d approve of. But the money he spends on other things? … not so much.  

Sampo is head over heels in love with everything about you, but especially your appearance. Oh, he loves when you put on your red lip gloss, if you don’t specifically tell him to, he won't keep his hands off of you anytime you wear it around him.

Your style is very appealing to him, and he makes the effort to tell you how beautiful you are to him everyday. When he found out you wore glasses, he snuck a picture of your cute face that he can often be found admiring; it’s still his lockscreen.                      

He finds it adorable how much of a dreamer you can be, and he'll happily participate in any of your hobbies you’d like to share with him. 

Regarding your personality, he actually admires how loud and outgoing you are! It only serves to liven him up when he’s feeling a bit down about things. When you’re feeling emotional and it’s causing you to take unwise actions, Sampo is exceptionally good at stepping in and gently talking you down. His voice takes on this soothing tone that you subconsciously calm down listening to. 

Overall, you two are really cute together! He’s head over heels in love with you, and he treats you like the queen you are and nothing less; you are absolutely smitten with him in return.

✧˖°♡〃⋆.˚

His fingers lazily loop one of your curls around his finger, flashing you a saccharine sweet smile when your eyes glance in his direction.

“You look really pretty when you’re concentrating like that, you know?” His words cause your heart to flutter, but you purposefully ignore him in favor of reading the recipe laid before you.

Sampo watches intensely as you bend slightly forward to ensure you pour the correct you need into the pot. How can you focus when you can feel his gaze, and when he’s looking at you like that…

You feel your face heat up considerably. With a huff you turn around to tell Sampo to back off, only for him to immediately capture your lips. 

As much as you’d love to indulge him, you’re both pretty hungry. So, with a sigh you pull away. “We can cuddle and watch movies together later-” You smile at the way his eyes immediately light up, “IF you help me finish cooking. Weren’t you complaining about being hungry earlier?” He sighs in faux annoyance, leaning in to press his lips against yours once more before he begins assisting you.

He knows you’re both looking forward to your cuddle session, after all. 

Dedicated to,

.⋆.˚🍰₊˚.ᵎᵎ˖⁺. ݁

[saintsenara]

chewing gum remus lupin/nymphadora tonks teen | 2.1k words

last year, i’d have been right in there, displaying my natural command of bum-related humour (i get that from dad). maybe i’d have given myself a bum-chin, until they were all laughing so hard they had tears streaming down their cheeks.

but unfortunately, the boys’ sides won’t be splitting this afternoon. because i’ve gone and got myself into a mire of unrequited love and now i’ve forgotten how to be fun.

god, i’m pathetic.

an auror walks into a bar and misses a werewolf. no, this isn't a joke. it's nymphadora tonk's bloody life at the minute.

this piece was written for week one of @ladiesofhpfest, which focuses on all the single ladies [you can find the masterlist of the week's fics here].

author's notes under the cut

when i heard that the topic for this week would be single ladies, i knew there was really only one gal i could be thinking about: everyone’s favourite pink-haired auror, tonks.

like many readers, i loved tonks in order of the phoenix - particularly because she felt so markedly different from the other women in the series. she was bolshy and punky and confident. she was allowed, unlike hermione and ginny [who are certainly interesting female characters who defy lots of stereotypes, but still do so in a way which never lets them be too much], to be messy and clumsy and over-the-top. she was allowed, unlike almost every other adult female character, to exist without her relationship to the domestic sphere being placed under the microscope [indeed, she cheerfully handwaves away her own lack of interest in domesticity the moment she meets harry]. if you compare her to someone like molly weasley [tied to the kitchen whether she’s in the burrow or grimmauld place] or minerva mcgonagall [her apparent spinsterhood softened by putting her in the quasi-maternal role of a boarding school teacher] or bellatrix lestrange [whose defiance of a gendered society which seems to require pureblood women to stay at home is treated as an aspect of her villainy], then tonks stands out for how incredibly refreshing she is. she’s an icon.

and then, of course, like many readers, i found her arc in half-blood prince to be a bit of a flop. it’s consistent with the rest of the series’ worldview of love as something you have to suffer and sacrifice for, but it was still really jarring to see a confident, unapologetic woman made so pathetic on account of a man.

chewing gum, then, was written to defend the tonks of half-blood prince. it situates her feeling worn thin within the context of the war, rather than just lupin, and her worries about her job and her relationship with her colleagues and her parents. it examines the fact that she’s only just starting to learn what her mum left behind when she walked out on her family, and how that makes her think about her childhood and her aunts and her lost relationship with sirius. it thinks about how she’s grieving and how that grief is making her unmoored, and how her desire to cling on to remus comes from the other upheavals in her life.

it was also written to defend her from a criticism of remadora which i think is unfair: that tonks’ affection for lupin comes out of nowhere, and that lupin is forced to be in a relationship he doesn’t want by pressure from her and the weasleys. the lupin of chewing gum is - to be frank - a fuckboy, whose attraction to tonks is real and obvious, but who is held back from taking the relationship beyond just sex by the hulking beast of his own self-loathing.

i’ve always thought that tonks - who’s shown to be very emotionally astute - is aware that this self-loathing means that any affection lupin feels for her is only ever going to be partially expressed, and that her devotion to him is only partially reciprocated. she recognises that this is fucked up, she just doesn’t care. and we can all relate.

[the title is a reference to the excellent sitcom of the same name, written by and starring michaela coel. tracey, the chaotic main character coel plays, has immaculate tonks vibes.]

[khaleesiofalicante]

Damn I feel like it's been forever for some reason lmao. Last week's hell is finally over and I get to relax this week! I'm going out with some friends on Friday and I've also cleared my phone and organized my notes!!! It feels so good😭 Now I have some thoughts about last chapter BECAUSE WOW

First of all fuck Mallory, I hate her and I will never get tired of saying this and I am now divided between wanting to read the next chapter so bad and dreading it with my whole being 🙂

My heart broke into a million pieces with the first part!!! Rafael's fear for Max is shown so damn well and Max's thoughts are messy and all over the place and the way you can see him moving in and out of reality is overwhelming!!

I kinda guessed the "why isn't he smiling?" part but fuck if it ripped my heart 😭😭

"Tears of grief" Max loving him so much he literally recognizes his tears and knows these ones too.... And saying he looks as if he is grieving something that was his everything, not knowing David was grieving him. Grieving them. The life they had built. Gone.

"I wanna see daddy" WHEN I TELL YOU I WAS SCREAMING INTERNALLY ON MY FLOOR!! When we first saw on the first chapters I was so confused and now that the dots connected I am in pain 😭. And you wrote that scene so beautifully, their pain and horror and how you see Max slowly losing himself because it's just too much. The pain is too much. Losing David, Lance's pain, his job, his home...

And the scene with Magnus!!! GOING TO MY FAVE COLLECTION 🥺. Also him giving the band to AJ later, because Magnus said he could give it to someone else when it hurt just a little bit less HOLY SHIT😭😭

I can go on a three hour analysis so Imma stop jdhdjdjkd. BUT THE PRESENT TOO JFC

Max's growth. That ends me everytime. Seeing how much he has changed and how he survived through all of this. Thinking of the was Alec told him how proud he is of Max because he made it. Not the way he planned. But he did it. He got so far, and that took so much strength but he still survived. Same Alec, same🥹

But also the fucking parallel:

"He was careful now (...) Just in case. Just in case he'll get his heart broken all over again."

///

Not without an explanation. Not without getting his heart broken into a million pieces one last time.

Then, just like everything else in life, things slowly got better. This whole fic is a prove of it and I can't even-

YES LANCE CALL HIS IDIOTIC SELF OUT!!! TELL HIM DAVID LOVES HIM MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF!!! I WILL NEVER GET TIRED IF HIS SASS BTW

You once said that tlnd was was about acceptance and healing, but IALS is about forgiveness, about learning to forgive the people we love, but mostly about learning to forgive ourselves (I have the receipts don't @ me) and this scene portrayed that so well. Even though Max knows it wasn't his fault he still blames himself. Because knowing is not the same as accepting it. As Max said, shit is hard to internalize.

THIS GOES TO MY TOP 10😭😭 LANCE AND MAX TALKING TO EACH OTHER IS EVERYTHING I KNEW I NEEDED FROM THE VERY START I AM SO EMOTIONAL!!! Also Lance and Max's detective skills together??? ✨ Iconic✨

Tell me how to love you as you want to be loved and I'll do it to give you the comfort and safety you deserve is something I'll never get tired of😭😭 istg I could go on a whole speech about this part because it's so true. Sometimes parents don't love us the way we want to be loved, but that doesn't mean there's no love there. It's just different of what we expect. And sometimes people go their whole lives not knowing of that love and that's just sad.

That is one unproblematic child,” Max noted. “Really doesn’t fit into this clusterfuck of a family.”

“I’m waiting for him to set Hollywood on fire,” Lance informed. “Don’t lose hope yet.”

HOLY SHIT I JUST REALIZED I'M THE ARTHUR OF MY FAMILY. WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS KNOWLEDGE???

I have so many feeling about that apartment and Harry and them but I will not unpack them bc this shit is already long enough 🙂

Their conversation. The way they've both changed so much. Talking about how they wished they were there for Lance and for each other. I was in TEARS

Everything of the last scene was *screams internally* David fucking pushing Max to the wall, stronger than hate. "He's scared of something". Fucking Mon ange, *what did Mallory do to you?"

I just want you to know I will combust into confetti or tears in the next chapter. Probably both...

Anyway this turned long and I better go. Take care and drink lots of tea!!!!

💙.💙.💙.

This made me so 😇😇😇😇 and gave me some motivation to write the next chapter 😭😭😭😭 Thank you 💚💚💚

This is Lance sleeping in Arthur’s room 🥰🥰🥰

[mihai-florescu]

Another one of them is you narrating your Leo coded friend(?) adventures backpacking through Europe because that made me anxious and it was a third degree knowledge type of thing and they had to get to a place before a certain time because it was their birthday??? I think??? And they also lost the bus or a train one time and that's why they had to resort to hitching a ride with some randoes??? That's like all over the place because you kept saying different things as they traveled so I only remember bits and pieces but it left... An impression....

There's also the fact that I have a clear distinct memory of you regularly talking and/or posting about hypmic or at least seeing you in the asks of a hypmic blog with a jakurai icon (I think it was jakurai but actually it could have been Yuki as well) but still with the same url as now and at this point I no longer know if it's a made up memory or not...

It mustve been a yuki pfp, i dont think i ever had a jakurai one. But i also dont remember talking to many ppl about hypmic...hmm. im curious when that couldve been.

As for my friend...ok here's the story as i remember it. She was supposed to fly from spain to belgium and attend a week of some socialist youth meeting camp in a forest with ppl she had met in highschool during an exchange semester. She had been partying the days leading up to the flight (i remember the day before the flight she showed me the cut she got from climbing some? Barbed wire? To tresspass to a rave? And in that same night she also fell asleep in a field?) Anyway she missed the flight, bought another one, but then didnt have enough money to buy one back. She didnt want to borrow money or, like, tell family that she messed up, so she lied to them that she has enough money for a bus instead, when in reality she started hitchiking (it was also tricky cuz she needed to still buy food and stuff, and she really was pretty much broke).

I was at pride when she called me to say she set off on this journey and then for the next 2-3 days id get updates whenever she caught wifi. I dont remember every single connection but highlights include: the french family who asked if she could stay with them as a nanny. The brazilian guy who invited her to a party in luxembourg (and she went). The police picked her up at some point and brought her to a gas station or truck stop. Some other cars inbetween where nothing crazy happened. And finally in the last day, a truck that was going from france to barcelona, which was where she was supposed to return to. Because, yes, she had a birthday party to attend. Her own (combined with another roommate's, but still. I did not know whether she'd make it to 21 at the rate in which things were going). I love her so much and im glad it all worked out... she's the one with the cat named messi, if you're keeping track of my friends' cats. Messi's an icon, im sure you know him

[thepookainthehat]

It's time for Pooka's Uninformed Philately corner!

As an important point, I know actually very little about the practical design of stamps, I just like them and have Opinions On Things. Today, I'm going to take a look and give my unvarnished - and mostly uninformed - opinion about the new Royal Mint Dungeons and Dragons stamps.

Okay. So.

In terms of the overall design, I'd have to say that they only sort of function as stamps. I know that the monarch's profile and the 1st (or 2.50) indicates that they're intended as postage, but it feels like a little 'Royal Mail' or similar might be not bad. I'm not an especially knowledgeable philatelist, but surely in the Commonwealth there's other countries that include the monarch's profile, and not specifying what country a stamp is from seems like some amateur hour shit.

Left to right, top then bottom.

Red Dragon: It feels like a missed opportunity not to get a bit more of an action shot. Again, I guess they had the art assets that they had, but I'd almost have rathered that they make their own take. Have the dragon breathing fire, or at least in the foreground of the image, and maybe get some brighter lighting. Not everyone's game is four-colour-comic-book, but at least some people do run that sort of game, and the washed out colour scheme on one of D&D's most iconic creatures seems like a waste of potential. That said, the contrast is good with the monarch profile. No idea what the point of the orb is, apart from 'to let the dragon contemplate his orb'.

Owlbear: Art selection wise, too much owl, not enough bear. I actually don't mind the muted colour scheme for this one - it feels like a soft arboreal setting. You have selected a random encounter (again, a staple of the genre) for your stamp, and I don't mind that. I don't mind (in this image) the top of the owlbear breaking out of the frame, but it feels weird to have the claws overlapping the nameplate. The nameplate is supposed to be superimposed, not diegetic, so why isn't it in the foreground of the image?

Vecna: Weird-ass choice for your sole undead representative to be Vecna. It would be like having a stamp selection that featured military figures and having the first one be the King. Like, yes, technically correct, but couldn't you have just featured General Skeletons?

The backdrop on this one is unobtrusive, but I'm getting a bit irritated with how much they're overlapping the creature image over the non-diegetic frame. I can only assume that they had a lot of purple ink that they wanted to use up, because that dude is altogether Too Purple.

Gelatinous Cube: My quarrel with them for choosing a gelatinous cube in this instance is mid at most. It's a weird 'we only have four stamps so let's dedicate one of them to a gelatinous cube' flex, but I don't honestly mind that much. It is an iconic creature, if not the most dynamic. I will say that this is one of the reasons I object to the creatures overlapping the frame, since the cube has a sword sticking out of it but does not overlap the frame or nameplate in any way. It knows that it belongs behind the framing, and is smiling(?) for the camera. Points off for having a messy set of stones in the foreground - old cube-y is going to lose some bones on those rocks.

Mindflayer: Again, I'm getting a real 'we left this to the last minute so we just chose an edition of D&D and grabbed art from it' vibes. I believe my point about them having too much purple and teal ink is well made. Once again, we have a creature's claw overlapping the nameplate, which feels like a design sin. I understand them not wanting to have a mindflayer going buffet-style on someone's gray matter on a stamp, but 'standing around with claw-like fingers flexed' does not feel like a great representation of one of the spookier mid-level D&D monsters.

Mimic: Honestly, my first impression was 'A+ inclusion', given the mimic's iconic role in many editions of D&D. There's something wonky with the perspective of how it's interacting with the nameplate and framing, moreso than even just the 'overlap'. I feel like if you're going to overlap the nameplate, at least make it a part of the creature doing so, instead of a random coin purse. Still, it's an action shot, and the first one in this set so far, so they're not substantially repeating mistakes.

Displacer Beast: Honestly, for a creature that has one foot in another plane, and projects its image, I wouldn't mind if this was the only one that overlapped frame and nameplate. That feels earned, and like a fun meta-joke. Not to body-shame, but this displacer beast clearly seems distressed, and I can count her ribs. Get her a sandwich, and don't stress out the model creatures just to get a good shot - it's not cute, and it's cruel.

Beholder: This is kind of the energy I wanted on the dragon, and you're giving it to me on a beholder. Okay, fair choice to include another veteran of the sword-and-sorcery set, but it does feel weird to give the eyes that 'windswept' look. I don't mind having a warrior doing battle as a size and target reference, either - it feels like this is an action piece. The orange and teal here makes me feel like they're about to do a 'Beholder: 2 Fast, 2 Furious' movie poster.

Overall: Not a bad set of stamps, and it's nice to see some iconic creatures from D&D's history. It's not above reproach, and I might have chosen to vary up the art pieces amongst some of the different artists that have made D&D so iconic over the years if we're celebrating the history of the game. It might have made for a less artistically congruent set, but it might also have given a broader scope of the art that D&D has featured over the years. Solid 6.5/10, next time please don't leave your assignment to the last minute