#she seems more central to the plot than some of the others

[roaringheat]

Sadie give me a chance pls pls pls

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[whetstonefires]

So the thing with the Matrix for me, right, was I could never get past the assertion that the motivation for keeping humans alive was as a power source.

That pinged as so so stupid, and was presented so late and half-heartedly, that I could not understand it as a sincere part of the premise. Like. We're told very dramatically and pretty early that the world was mostly destroyed by humans 'scourging the skies' to block off all solar radiation in the effort to shut down the solar powered robots, evidently forgetting that all life on Earth is solar-powered also. Too comedically dumb to be really tragic imo.

So to pivot from the premise 'there is no life on earth, other than human beings, because the sun is gone' to 'the humans were kept alive as batteries' is an impossibility for me. Our ludicrous mammalian bodies, incredibly inefficient engines entirely reliant on continuous indirect consumption of solar energy to even survive, were somehow yielding a net output? Not only that, but one superior to nuclear or geothermal???? Bullshit.

I mean. Bull. Shit. I cannot. We just underlined in the backstory how all life on earth relies on the sun! Because life is expensive just to maintain and requires constant external energy input! We get milk from cows by keeping them alive, but that's because they turn the grass energy into something easier for us to process; no such mechanism is proposed for humans consuming dead humans and somehow producing a form of energy more useful to the Machines than just waiting for the corpses to dry out and then burning them to run a goddamn boiler.

This makes the direct opposite of sense.

It had to be in-universe propaganda, right? Another layer of the deception? It couldn't be the real reason. It was too implausible. Which meant I was still waiting to find out why the machines were really bothering with humanity and the Matrix.

I would have accepted without quibble the revelation that humans have special psychic energy that the machines were harvesting; that's dumb but in a comfortable, comprehensible, and above all internally consistent sci-fi kind of way.

I would have been quite open to the idea that the machines relied on human consciousness for their own development to true sapience, and the Matrix was primarily an AI nursery with the enmeshed human brains providing complex inputs, that one's actually cool.

There are a lot of explanations out there aside from the dumb official one, or the Occam's Razor one where they were just keeping some humans alive out of sentimentality! I'm really not that picky!

So anyway I never managed to emotionally engage with the Matrix films well because I had this unresolved 'motives of primary antagonist??? cause of fundamental scenario??????' thing making most of the actual plot twist and drama feel kind of boring.

My sister maintains that this is something wrong with me, that I'm refusing to suspend my disbelief and engage correctly with the text, and this constitutes a hostile, bad-faith and therefore illegitimate reading.

(She hasn't actually said this last part and I'd respect her position more if she did, but this seems to be the broad thrust of her emotional position when she starts shouting.)

I maintain that if a central plank of your sci-fi premise relies on going 'fuck the basic principles of thermodynamics and biology this is a vibes-based system' you should be very careful to avoid invoking the relationship between basic thermodynamics and biology in your core worldbuilding.

[alastorsfuckassbob]

You're Never Fully Dressed-

Alastorxfem!reader

oh boy everyone's favorite! Please I have never written before, I just figured I'd give it a shot it was 1:35 and I was not feeling sleepy so an hour later here it is, its not edited so SORRY ABOUT THAT- all of my friends are normal and would definitely not proof read this hot garbo!

Basic Plot!! Yikes another song fic i know i KNOWW, the reader knew our good pal Al in her life but oopsies he "left" her (he died duh) and now shes taking a sad hot girl bubble bath to reminisce!!

Lyrics are bolded, past events Italics for the most part.

ALSO Please DNI if you're a minor k thanks bye!! You are responsible for your own internet consumption, so here are the warnings! If you don't want to view that ✨dont✨

Warnings include:

-Swearing

-Violence

-Alcohol Use but not abuse! (its hell duh)

-Abusive Relationships

-Slight Innuendo but not a strong one!

-Angst

The fire danced, flitting left and right. It was different than any other fire set in hell, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone or destroy anything. It was just a small flame, melancholically melting the dripping wax down the white lilac scented pillar. Floral scents were hard to come by unless you made them yourself, it was hell after all, its not like theres a flower garden planted on every corner. The candles single wick didn't produce more than a drop of light. It just flickered every now and then, entertaining its own little lonesome sway. Your demeanor softened as you looked at it from the petal filled bath you currently resided in.

Oddly you felt at peace, understood, almost comforted. You had learned to dance the same way it seemed. You caught yourself when you fell, twisting and turning to please an audience. It was a cruel existence. At least the flame looked content in some way, at least it would never know what it was like to contort under the will of another. Yet it was still a light in darkness, shining for no other reason than to survive...All it could ever do was take, even if it didn't want to, fire needs to burn. To burn it must destroy. You sighed sinking deeper into the bubbly water. You didn't want to think about your past. Not anymore. You didn't have to anymore anyway. Life had not been kind to you and that constant displeasure followed you through your death and into the pits of hell. Funny how suffering could follow biting desperately at your heels and the man who was so "desperately" in love with you in life just couldn't find it within himself to stay...God you sounded bitter. To be fair you were. After all he had ruined your life and he didn't even know it...It wasn't that bad was it? You probably would still be in hell regardless, even without his "involvement" or lack of- you had always been a sinner. It wasn't worth it to be upset, not anymore he's most likely dead, you definitely are, whose to say if he'd even wind up down here. You paused a moment, laughing at the silly conclusion overthinking had led you to.. no that fucker is definitely in hell. Sweet as he was up front, he had a dark side that went much deeper than his soft exterior could cover. You closed your eyes..

1923- Central New Orleans

Suddenly it was 1923. The flower lined streets of late spring in New Orleans. His smile never wavering as he dragged you from store to store. As your dear companion, and biggest supporter, he had asked you to assist him at the radio station. Now that you had finished school you would need a job anyway. You'd always had a beautiful voice and a knack for writing. It just made sense. His hand squeezed yours lightly pulling you from your thoughts. In his hands, he held a burgundy day dress and a matching bow.

"Darling, would you try this on for me? I believe it is high time you were rewarded for all of your hard work. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color"

You smile softly at his gentle tone, taking the delicate dress in your hands. You find yourself caught in his eyes. It feels like you two are the only people on the planet

You feel the familiar sensation of tears on your face, you open your eyes again, you hadn't realized you'd started crying.

you let out the shrill scream you didn't know you were holding in. the fluke of champagne you had so tediously been savoring since you began your bath cracked slightly. You downed the rest of the glass, and grabbed the bottle sitting lazily on the floor. You didn't want to think about him or your life anymore...but it consumed you. You had so many more important things to fret about in your..current..environment. Songs to sing, bitches to kill, people to fuck. A grand glorious array of newer shinier problems, and yet you were stuck sulking about the past. You take a deep breath shaking slightly despite the warm vanilla scented water surrounding you. You remove your hand from the water motioning to the shadow hiding behind a vase (of no more than slightly wilted roses). It slinks forward at your beckoning, climbing to the white marble countertop of your vanity, it clicks the worn down knob of your rickety old radio. light jazzy music trickles out and fills the air with lovesick nostalgia you weren't entirely prepared to let in. No matter what he had done...you would always fall back to him. Even if he was nothing more than ill-fated failed fourteen year "endeavor". fourteen years is quite a long time, even if the majority of it was spent more or less platonically. You really did love him. Love doesn't always follow those that leave, you are testimony and truth to that. You let your mind wander guided by the static filled notes of the radio.

Hey, hobo man

Hey, Dapper Dan

You've both got your style

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

Even through the shudder of the static, it really did sound like him. Despite being the "host" of the station. He had his fair share of performances. For such a Hell bound soul he had the voice of an angel.

You close your eyes once again and allow the melody to take you back to an easier time.

1926- New Orleans, Your apartment

You sing along with whatever tune the radio gives you. You're at peace, simply existing for no other reason than to be with your friend.

"Dance with me my little canary, your voice lights a fire within me"

He pulls you in by the waist. His hands splayed across your hips holding them with a gentleness you'd never expected him to hold for you. He leans his head down against the yours and places a chaste kiss on your forehead

"Alastor" you giggle, the sensation tickling you slightly. "You are quite ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?" he feigns hurt. "My darling I am so far from ridiculous the word does not find sense within my ears" he spins you around and into his chest, you roll your eyes ignoring his antics

"Dearest are you aware you are speaking with the future of radio?"

"The future of radio? Please Love, don't jest. The 20s surely have more in store than you" You laugh into his chest and he shockingly laughs with you.

Neither of you know it but you are both so drunk on the sound. To you, his laugh sounds like the swift church bells that used to ring throughout your home town whenever someone got married. It feels familiar and yet like a distant memory. It makes you want to hear it over and over again until your ears stop working, and even then you'd settle in just fine feeling the vibrations of his chest. He sounds like home. To him, your laugh sounds like the rushing creek and smooth algae covered stones resting deep beneath the trees draped in Spanish moss of his mothers cabin in the woods. Just hearing your laugh he can feel the spotted sunlight speckling his freckled face underneath the big willow tree. You sound like home. Everything about you- it felt like home to him. His hands were crafted to hold soft curves of your body. His ears were made to hear your voice and your voice alone. You were purpose, his home. You don't know it, but it is that realization that sparked the idea of marriage into his heart.

That fire was put out not long after.

You at least had those nine years as his friend, three years as his "copain" if you will- and two years as his fiancée...and so many years alone. You only spent 14 years in the company of this man. You had lived before knowing him a good 17 years, and a good long bit after.

Why were you so stuck?

You hum along subconsciously, the objects in your bathroom begin to glow a familiar pink, levitating slightly in the air as you continue to hum. Your ability isn't weak by any means, but for some reason you were. You were nothing in comparison to hells overlords, especially the newest trio of Vs. Your power is so deeply connected to your voice, how can you hold power when it doesn't belong to you anymore? You drift back to the memory of your arrival. Scared, alone, dressed a great deal less than modestly, and equipped with nothing more than a pair of horns, some wings you couldn't quite use yet, and a thin devil like tail. It was only your third hour in hell. You didn't understand the rules. You were playing a twisted game in which you didn't realize you were just another piece of.

Shock can make a person anxious and fear will make them stupid. He was tall and smelled distinctly of cigars, soured whiskey, and something pungently sweet you couldn't name. It burned your nose as you inhaled it. You would become well aquatinted with the smell of lust in the years to come, you just didn't know it yet. It seemed innocent at first, just a simple contract, no different than a job. All you had to do was sing and dance at a club, in exchange for safety. But it was different and it wasn't innocent. He was cruel and yet no different than so many of the men you had dealt with in life. He agreed to your terms of anonymity and thats about it. You had your private life and his life. Valentino never played fair. You didn't know that yet, and now you're hells favorite sinner, a least no one knew it was you. If he had asked you another day later you would have realized you could have probably fended for yourself, with some difficulty anyway. At least you wouldn't have to be in this mess. You wouldn't be fucking six people before noon. You wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises and scars...Maybe you could have found him, Alastor that is. Maybe you could have at least been friends again. Its silly to hope for anything more since your romantic relationship ended...✨the way it did✨

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

1931- New Orleans, The river

The two of you sit beside each other in a small wooden row boat. Your hair is tied back with your signature crimson ribbon. He fiddles with the pocket of his jacket. The Louisiana soundscape of crickets, frogs and running water accompanies your conversation. Fireflies light up the air, almost bringing the stars down to your fingertips. With a buzz and a gentle green glow, the small creature lands on your hand. Your smile leaks wonderment and Alastor can hardly contain the love he feels for you.

As a Radio Host, he is quite agile in the way of words, yet something about you has him constantly at a loss. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to say his voice wavers as he begins to speak.

"y/n, I want to thank you for the effect you've had in my lif-"

"My love look at the stars!" You didn't mean to cut him off, Your arms stretched upwards your face turning to meet his. The stars were so much brighter then they were in the city, it was only natural for you to be excited

"Yes doll, I see them, they're the same as they were last night and many many nights before hand"

You let out an impatient huff

"that doesn't make them any less beautiful." a mischievous glint hides in your eyes "now wouldn't it be so dreadfully terrible if I got bored looking at you just because I've already seen you before?" You fake a yawn and look at him eyes seething with boredom

"It would be so dreadful considering I was about to propose to you"

There is no other word to describe what you felt other than shocked. You had been an item for quite some time, but you never figured he would stick around (and "seal the deal" if you will).

Tears begin to run down your face rambling small words of agreement and love. You had never expected him to..love you that way. He was who he was, a dreadfully popular radio host, and you weren't really anything more than an assistant. People really only listened for him..yet in this moment, he was speaking only for you.

"I love you so dearly my y/n. If life without you exists I do not want to exist through it"

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

1934: New Orleans, Alastor's house

The house was empty. He was gone. Fully and truly gone. It had been a year since you'd seen or heard from him and six months since the birth of your son. It didn't feel like your house, it didn't feel like your life anymore. It was all still his. His things still bled into your side of the closet, his last purchase, a book, dust encrusted and unread. The blankets and pillows set on the couch exactly as you both had left them after falling asleep to the rain the night before he left wordlessly. You found yourself sporting one of his shirts more often than your own...until eventually they didn't smell like him anymore. The whole house used to reek of his signature vanilla smell. Theres nothing left here but dust and the crooked board of the desk he insisted he could build himself "just fine".

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

1936- New Orleans; ✨that shitty bar you performed at✨

"Get the fuck up you bitch"

You felt his hand tangle in your hair and pull you to your knees. All you could do was groan in pain.

"I'm so sorry it won't happen again I promise"

You mutter almost to yourself. He rolls his eyes shoving you into the counter smashing a glass in the process. Your vision blurs for a second seeing the glass shards decorating your h/c locks in a halo. You feel the blood trickle down your forehead.

"Do you think anyone else would hire you? A whore with nothing to her name and a useless ugly bastard child from god knows who?" You feel angered at his words. Insulting you is one thing, but your child?

But then it sinks in, he's right. The 30s are a sick decade, nothing progressive about them. No one else would hire you. You are lucky to work here..despite it all. You tell yourself anything is better than living on the streets. The mantra doesn't dull the pain but it makes it easier to put up with. You don't have a choice. You have a child to take care of.

"Get rid of him"

you stay silent unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Get rid of the boy. I don't care if you leave him in a box on the street or kill him yourself"

He reaches for a small silver knife under the bar's counter. He places it against your throat.

" y/n..You won't like it if I do it dearest, besides you are saving him the shame of having a mother like you. At least if he's adopted elsewhere he has a chance at a half decent life" he took a deep swig from his un-shattered glass of whiskey, looking at you with such deep distain.

You had never hated anyone the way you hated that man..But he was right. You would never be able to give your baby the best life. It would never get better because you couldn't make it better. So you found a young couple not to far from New Orleans, they took him in, and he got to be happy. he ended up living a successful life. He still is. If nothing else theres that. You know your own misery doesn't automatically allow others to be happier, but at times its what keeps you going.

Your mind is flooded with more and more thoughts. Thousands of little memories pilling themselves on top of you. Who would've thought, even deceased, even owned by Valentino, even trapped in an ever so violent place, the real plight of hell would be your thoughts. You light a cigarette and get out of the tub. You throw on a dark red robe and sit on the vanity's counter to brush your damp hair. The song continues into a jazzy interlude before it reprises again

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But, brother

You're never fully dressed

You're never dressed

Without a smile

You stretch out your wings in the mirror, looking at your demonic self. No matter how many times you catch yourself in the mirror, even after ten years of this hellish existence. It still strikes you as odd. You look more or less the same. The same hair color and skin tone, although slightly more grey. The tail was just fucking weird no matter how long you had it. The song erupts into the finale distracting you from your thoughts. You begin to sing along with it, smiling softly. It really does sound like him. The same pink glow takes over the room as well as your body, Your eyes begin to glow that same soft pink, your hair floating above your shoulders.

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

You're never fully dressed without a smile

The last line comes out much quieter than the rest. A sense of sadness overtakes you once again as you realize how pathetic this whole night turned out. You'd spent the whole night "Simping", as Velvette would say, over a relationship that ended decades ago. Yikes. The static from the radio clicks up a few notches, You cover your ears at the sudden noise. You quickly reach for the dial in order to turn off the device..And then you hear it. You hear him.

"Dearest.." Its almost unintelligible through the static

You think you've finally fucking lost it. Ten years in Hell and you've officially gone "delulu"...another Velvette saying but it feels fitting.

“y/n.”

He called softly, the static in his voice heavy and nearly unreadable.

You almost didn't believe it.

"Y/n" He repeats the static fizzling out leaving his voice raw and almost natural. Fuck this was real. You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You weren't sure if he could even hear you..how he would respond? Would it be worse if he did? It had been an entire decade since you fell, All of this time- he never bothered to contact you. Why now? Why so much later?... Had he forgotten about you? Did he just..die? You cant discern which is worse...that he had left you and your son and lived a long guilt free life...or that he made no attempt to even speak to you in the decade you had inhabited the same existence.

Ok that was all like exposition and shit..considering part two but I AM VERY TIRED RN

[yazthebookish]

I loved all of what Sarah highlighted in her interview today and I'll elaborate a bit especially on the romance part:

In Maas’ fantasy worlds, love interests often exist as fated “mates,” with invisible strings between them that are powerful and often poetic. Readers can see the literary metaphors, like complementary powers between two characters. But other times, there are no metaphors, with their connection initially seeming random.

She's too attached to the mate trope and I like that she gives us different cases and scenarios for it, otherwise it'll be boring.

“Sometimes, I will write a scene with two characters that I’ve planned for them to get together, and then they have no …” She shakes her head slightly at me. “It’s like holding two dolls and being like, now kiss! And they won’t. … And then sometimes a different character will walk in and they will just” — she snaps.

I yelled at this part because it's as if she plucked the scene from Azriel's bonus chapter and used it as an example. Those parallels between Elain and Gwyn are intentional. It doesn't mean Elain is bad it's just their dynamic doesn't work as a couple and it was obvious to the author. I know she didn't specify who this was about but like, come on, who tried to kiss and which character showed up in a bonus chapter after that depressing scene and gave a glimmer of hope?

“It feels like magic in a way where, as much as I tried to plot out things years in advance, I let my characters guide a story. And they usually wind up with the people that they need to be with and who offer them the most growth and joy.”

I love this so much and allow me to speak about my favorite ship and its because the snippets we saw of Az and Gwyn together especially in the bonus chapter brought out a lighter version of Az. His scenes with Gwyn were light-hearted and the bonus chapter ends on a hopeful note for them. It's hard to deny that connection between them whether you theorize she's luring him or they're mates, those theories wouldn't exist if she had no ties to him (she's in his own chapter like come on).

I go the philosophical route with my next question: We’re talking about fate here, but at what point is a character the agent of their own fate? What happens if someone rejects their mate? (Listen, if I were Fae and I didn’t like my mate, whatever God chose for me is not my business.)

People are jumping the gun and assume this example is set to be Elucien but... we have Helion and Lady of Autumn likely being an example of a tragic rejected mates story (if you read ACOWAR and their history it's obvious they're mates). Maybe it's Mor and Eris and that's the secret that ties them to each other. We have other characters from other series too.

For a convincing mate rejection story in my opinion, it needs more than one book or it's a case that we see with side characters where we can see their history and the long-term implications of a rejected bond.

It's too easy of a story to have one person's central conflict be the words "no I reject you" and they're done. Again, this is not exclusive to ACOTAR but also her other series.

“That’s something I find to be very interesting,” she replies. “What if the forces that be put you with the wrong person? Or what if you just decide, eh, I’m not interested. … There’s a lot to explore within the concept of mates and your agency about it.

The concept of agency is something many readers in the fandom discussed especially when it comes to mating bonds and there were arguments on (would Rhys fell for Feyre if she wasn't his mate or would have Cassian fell for Nesta if she wasn't his mate). We know that some mates don't work out but stay together because their dynamic is unhealthy (Rhys's and Tamlin's parents). We got examples of a loveless mating bond already.

We also saw that Nesta didn't immediately accept the term "mate" because it would mean cutting off her last tether with humanity. It's not a matter of "you're my mate" "yes I'll be with you", the dynamic between the mated couple is important to explore.

“I’m not going to say if I am exploring it in future books or not,” she continues, “but it definitely offers a wealth of things to explore with this concept of freewill and what is true love. Is it something that’s destined? Or is it something that you make? Is it both?”

This part aligns with what I think about Elucien. We never had a mated pairing who knew they were mates but are not in love with each other. Every mated couple found out they're mates when they were already in love.

Can a destined love turn into true love? Or do you settle for a destined love without love being in the equation. Love wasn't in the equation for Rhys's parents, but love was the equation for Feysand and Nessian. Elucien was left unexplored for a reason and both Elain and Lucien view each other by label "mate", they didn't have a chance to get to know each other. So it's going to be very interesting to see them navigate their feelings for each other despite the mating bond.

I didn't expect her to elaborate a lot on this but I love that she did and I hope in future interviews she gives us more good bits about her writing and examples of the decisions she took for some characters and couples.

Didn't expect this post to be long but happy reading! I'm still reeling from HOFAS 🥲

[reinababbles]

longing for more [i]

⤷ Uzui Tengen x Fem!Reader x Rengoku Kyojuro

♡ portal ♡ demon slayer ♡ series ♡ words: 799 | reading: n/a

tags fem!reader, slow burn (not kidding in the slightest), angst central, smut (other parts), emotional cheating, fluff, depression, manipulation, maladaptive daydreaming. (lmk if i missed any!)

notes The order of his wife speed run is: you, Makio, Suma, Hina. I would like this au to be one where mainly everyone is living in a big city. For some distance, they could be in a different neighborhood? for the plot.

In the Sound Hashira estate, you are busy washing the dishes after dinner, humming to yourself. Unbeknownst to you, Tengen comes up behind you while you are washing and holds your shoulders. You glance at him but seem to be distracted with your own thoughts “Ah my love!” you smile at him glossy-eyed. Tengen chuckles. "Look at me~" He says in a soft tone, then kisses your cheek.

You fully turn to look at him and hold on to his arms. He smirks and leans down “You look even more lovely than usual." He says in a confident tone. You offer a sweet smile “Thank you, it really-" as soon as you saw Suma enter the kitchen, you turned around and began to hurriedly finish washing the plates. He removes his hand with your movement, and walks over to Suma, embracing her for a moment.

They begin whispering to each other, so quietly that you can not even understand what they are being so secretive about. You dry your hands with the dish towel and start to stride out of the kitchen doors while exclaiming, “Alright, dishes done! Gonna prepare for my nightly walk!” You made the mistake of stealing a glance at them, Suma nods “Alright! Stay safe” while Tengen is staring at her.

As you put up your hair, you remember the good days, when it was just you and Tengen, with Makio in the works of being introduced, and he would be the one to introduce these walks, making jokes about how he would protect and serve you on the streets… His large hands grabbing yours as you two “stride with pride” just for fun.

Now, these walks consist of you walking around popular areas of the city with your hands grazing the potted plants and smiling at other locals in your neighborhood. You take your time admiring at a snails pace, as it is the only time you feel at ease.

Arriving back to the estate, you knock on the door and feel uneasy. Hina opens the door and ushered you in, hugging you as you pass by. “You worried me! This walk was longer than yesterdays!” she scolded. You groan playfully, “Sorry mom” you stick your tongue out, “I’ll make it short tomorrow I promise… maybe.” You jog into the living room, where Suma is reading while Makio stands up. You yawn as Makio walks up to you. She whispers “It’s about time we get to sleep in his arms, we have to fight” she pouts. You nod as you grab her hand and go upstairs.

Tengen always lays in bed first, and enjoys us 4 fight for who gets to be closest to him for the night. It used to be really fun, until it wasn’t, and you just fit in whatever spot was left, as you used to take your walks a little later. Tengen noticed the later times, and told you to please either shorten the distance or walk earlier, as he missed your touch. It made your heart swell, and you were a little nervous to be so close to him. It had been about 2 weeks since you were this close in bed.

In your pajamas, you walk into the master bedroom to see Makio to his left. He smiles when he sees you, and you look down shyly. “y/n, finally” You avoid his gaze as you crawl to his side, his strong arms holding your waist as your head lay on his chest. The other wives join, and Tengen does his ritualistic ‘I love you all’ speech that makes everyone chuckle, followed by soft i love you too’s. Eventually everyone is sleeping soundly, except for you. Tengen’s snoring, paired with your over thinking was too much.

You imagine him kissing your forehead saying that you are his brilliant diamond, like he used to say often when it was just you two. Even with Makio and Suma, he would regularly say he loved and appreciated you, but its been a while. All you end up excited about for three times a week is your nanny job for Senjuro, Rengoku Kyojuro’s younger brother, as well as the butterfly mansion girls. You had a knack for bonding with children, and had good home making skills.

Tengen had envisioned and hyped you up about having children of your own the first year you were married, but now it has been 3 years of growing family in the opposite direction. “Was I really the brilliant diamond he cherished, since he felt he needed 3 more?” you thought to yourself. Your head eventually started to hurt, as your mind drifted to what lies ahead tomorrow. At least Tengen was warm…

reinababbles please do not copy | ty for the ♡ & reblogs!

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Are there any champions from Piltover/Zaun or beyond, who didn't show up in s1 of Arcane, who you'd like to see in s2? Both from a “this character would work really well with the story” perspective, and a “I just really like this champion” perspective.

Mm... I'm really wary about introducing more characters, honestly. Arcane's first season was already absolutely crammed to the gills with characters and one of my criticisms of Season 1 is that while everything that was in it was very very good, it was also so incredibly dense that the audience barely has time to breathe.

It's the kind of delicate balance where it feels like they just barely had the time and space to tell the stories of the main ensemble, and introducing more champions into that mix might make it all tip over.

That said, they do have the advantage that all the introductions and worldbuilding have basically been done now, and there's probably room to introduce one or two more characters to shake things up.

Instinctively I want to say Camille, except it makes no bloody sense why she'd only turn up in Season 2 and have been a complete non-presence in Season 1. Like, there was some shit happening that she should have been involved with in the first season.

Renata Glasc is an option. Zaun is going to have a big power vacuum and she would slot in very nicely as the new major power in the undercity. On the other hand, she's also perhaps a little bit too much like Silco 2.0, being partly based on him in the first place, and I think there's a solid argument for bringing the chembarons from season 1 back to fight with each other instead. Especially since one of them has a literal death vendetta against Jayce now.

Then there's Orianna, who in this canon seems to be Singed's... daughter? Some kind of family member? If all of Singed's research in the first season was about trying to find a way to save her life or bring her back to life, then she'd be a natural character to use to expand on Singed as a character in season 2. I think she'd have to be substantially redesigned, though - "music box ballerina" would be a weird thing for Singed to want to build her into.

Seraphine and Zeri are non-starters, I think, primarily because they are both mages, which would make absolutely no sense in the Arcane universe. Like, it is kind of important to the plot of Arcane that mages are essentially as rare as cryptids in this world. Same reason I don't think they'd introduce something like Janna either. She's a literal demigod, it would raise too many unanswerable questions.

There's no reason to bring in Ezreal, Zac, or Dr. Mundo, but Urgot is... not out of the question. He's the kind of relentlessly dogmatic, bloodthirsty cult leader that would make sense as a figure in the chaos and violence of the war that's likely to erupt. Twitch could also cameo, I suppose, but only as a cameo, I don't think it makes sense to make him a central character.

Outside of Piltover and Zaun, I'd say the main champions we are likely to encounter would be Swain or Darius (Darius specifically was most likely teased by Ambessa), and if Darius shows up there's a greater than average chance he'll have Draven with him. It's not impossible that Samira could show up for a bit of a cameo, as some kind of Noxian bounty hunter getting in the way of things. Katarina and Talon are... not impossible, I suppose, Noxus is probably going to want to assassinate someone, but I also doubt they'd introduce a champion character to fill that role in the narrative. It'd be wasteful.

If Noxus is making moves, of course, there's a non-zero chance that there'll be like a Demacian diplomat at some meeting, which... makes it possible that Xin Zhao or Garen might cameo, and if Noxus wants Piltover's technology to prosecute their war in Ionia, hey, maybe there will be Ionian diplomat characters showing up to plead their case, which opens the distant possibility of someone like Irelia or Shen showing up.

I very, very much doubt it though.

tl;dr in my opinion:

Most likely new champions: Darius, Swain, Orianna, and Warwick (Warwick being Vander)

Not impossible: Twitch, Urgot, Renata Glasc, Draven, Camille

Extremely small Easter Egg cameos at best: Xin Zhao/Garen/Jarvan, Irelia/Shen/Karma, Azir (Shurima is Piltover's southern neighbor), Miss Fortune/Gangplank (Piltover controls the sea gate and trade between two oceans), Ziggs (Heimerdinger's best friend), Ryze (the science boys are starting to fuck with World Rune-level magic hazards), Vel'koz (might show up in a Void vision inside the Hexcore or something).

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

Sapphic vampire fiction mini reviews, ranked from least favorite to most:

House of Hunger: Bland characters, a story that barely scratches the surface of the implications of its premise, and a central relationship with nothing underpinning it make for an aimless story with a climax that hits like a limp noodle. If the dynamic between a vampire and her indentured maid appeals to you, try The Wicked and the Willing instead.

An Education in Malice: For a Carmilla retelling, the titular character really lacks bite. Laura at least has some interesting contradictions in her, and De Lafontaine could be quite compelling if we saw things through her eyes, but the central relationship isn't built on a lot, and Carmilla herself is really disappointingly bland. The prose comes off as overwrought and melodramatic in the first act, and the constant leaning on poetry feels gratuitous, but it picks up steam and becomes appropriately gripping by the one-third mark, and it carries the book enough that I had an enjoyable but rather shallow experience. I struggle to think of a reason to recommend this over In the Roses of Pieria, which plays with similar thematic and aesthetic elements much more adeptly. Also, it's a pet peeve of mine when a story makes a point to establish a specific historical era for its setting but has characters that feel utterly modern.

The Deathless Girls: This book does a much better job with its sense of time and place, and the characters and their motivations are quite strong. I only rate this one low on this list because the main characters don't actually deal with vampirism as a condition until the very end of the book. On its surface, the premise might seem quite similar to A Dowry of Blood, but there's actually very little thematic or narrative overlap.

Ex-Wives of Dracula: An excellent exploration of the queer teenage experience in conservative small town ~2015 USA along with some pretty novel twists on vampire and horror movie tropes. Strong, vibrant characters with a rich, messy, and compelling relationship carry a solid mystery plot and some pretty pointed critiques of its setting, but the actual climax and resolution don't quite hold up to the quality of the rest. Also I simply must warn anyone who didn't grow up in the time and place this book explores about the profound and casual bigotry and nastiness of that setting, which this book replicates to a T.

The Wicked and the Willing: A thrilling and compelling dark romantic drama centered on a British vampire in 1920s Singapore, her newly hired and desperate to escape poverty personal maid, and her majordomo who is struggling to keep her conscience under control after years of aiding and abetting her mistress's dark appetites. Extremely strong character writing pairs with deft exploration of themes of colonialism, entitlement, class divisions, sexism, and the ways in which certain types of status can and cannot afford one leeway to be nonconforming in other ways. Intermixes diagetic and non-diagetic BDSM very organically also, if that's your thing.

In the Roses of Pieria: Rich prose dripping with atmosphere follows an obscure academic as she digs into a series of ancient correspondences and discovers a millenia spanning love story between two vampires. The character writing is solid, if not quite as impressive as some other entries on this list, but the quality of the prose more than elevates it. The text makes elegant and powerful references to Sappho throughout, and the whole experience is heady and compelling in ways that I struggle to describe in greater detail. Funnily enough, the vampires are the least interesting part of the world building. This one has a sequel coming, and I can't wait.

A Dowry of Blood: A darkly enchanting epistolary novel that takes the form of letters written by the first of Dracula's wives to him as she attempts to make peace with killing him. She unpicks a delicious and horrifying knot of feeling and history as she revisits their millenia together, recounting and reckoning with the manipulations and abuses that defined the good times and the bad. The characters are evocative and rich, the narrative voice by turns sparse, longing, furious, contemplative, and mournful, and the story simply springs to life. It accomplishes an incredible amount in approximately 200 pages, and I absolutely cannot recommend this one enough.

[nobodysdaydreams]

Explaining fandoms I’m not in, but I have seen on my dash from the mutuals (to the best of my knowledge based on their posts):

Why? Because I thought it would be fun and entertaining and I hope I’m not wrong.

The Magnus Archives (TMA)- a group of people document creepy and supernatural events while they slowly one by one discover either that they are the monsters/possessed by them, or that they are being taken in by the monsters, or that their coworkers are the monsters, or that they themselves are possibly friends with or dating the monsters, or that they have been working for the monsters (or bad guys) the entire time. Many of the villains seem to be demented or possessed life sized toys and clowns or eyeballs. This podcast has so many episodes, and I see so many posts about it, but these seem to be the common themes.

Miraculous Ladybug- actually haven’t seen this one on my dash in a long time, but when I first did, despite appearing like a straightforward kids fandom, the shipping discourse confused the heck out of me. But if I have this right, based on the posts from my younger followers, two teenagers are animal themed superheroes who are dating each other and also have crushes on each other, but they don’t know they are dating each other, because they don’t know each others secret identities, because… okay, I still honestly have no idea why. There are ~5K posts about this apparently very central and specific plot line, but not one explains why they don’t just tell each other who they are??? Anything for the plot, I guess. Apparently this has been going on for a long time to the point where even the show’s target audience of children is confused as to how these teenagers and grown adults haven’t put the pieces together as to who everyone’s secret identity is.

Keeper of the Lost Cities (KOTLC)- there’s a girl named Sophie. She is an elf in a love triangle with Keefe and some other guy (I think his name is Fritz). Keefe’s parents are terrible, especially his mom. Sophie has horse DNA (I don’t know if that post was a joke or not sorry if that’s wrong). There’s an elf with fire powers. Elves read minds. There’s a group called the black swan who are the good guys, I think. Also I think the elves and humans are at war. I know Keefe’s parents are trash, does Sophie have parents? From what I can tell, she grows up believing she’s a human but then surprise! She’s an elf and the chosen one, and elves are possibly immortal? Wait, maybe Sophie’s a half elf. Is that a thing?

Spy x Family - two people are fake dating each other for spy reasons but eventually fall in love for real. The twist is, they each think the other is a normal civilian who doesn’t know about the fake relationship (which is kinda messed up to make someone fall in love with you for a fake cover but if they’re also doing the same to you that’s karma I guess) but I think it might end up ok, because they fall in love for real (Aw) but possibly also not okay, because I also think it might be revealed that they’ve been working for enemy sides this whole time (drama). Also the adopted daughter is a mind reader who knows everything but chooses to keep what she knows secret for the plot. Respect. And I recently saw something about the family having a super powered dog? Is he real?

The Murderbot Diaries - a bunch of robots are created for one purpose: murder. But when their murder programming goes haywire, they discover that they might have more in common with the humans they’ve been assigned to kill than they originally thought. Or that they have more humanity inside themselves than they thought… or maybe that the people who created them have more evil intentions than… well in hindsight, “the people who build the murder robots are evil!” seems like an obvious plot twist, but maybe they’re more morally complex or had decent intentions and just never intended for it to go this far… or maybe the robots get hacked or decide maybe they don’t want to be murder bots anymore which brings us back to free will. Interesting philosophical questions, but I think the robots might be getting into some wacky shenanigans as well. Also they apparently have diaries. I get that a diary is just like… a log of what they’re doing, but that won’t stop me from imaging a big scary robot with a little pink glitter pen writing “Dear Diary, I killed three people today. I still see their faces when I try to power off at night. When I go into sleep mode, I dream of their faces. I begin to wonder things, like whether they had families, dreams, or ambitions. I also wonder what they felt in their final moments. I fear this means I am developing a conscience and desire to turn against my programming and the creators. But probably nothing a little update and restart can’t fix. I’ll keep you updated, dairy. XOXO, Murderbot 💕” So. How did I do? Scale of 1-10, with 10 being “you nailed it!” and 1 being “None of this is remotely close. What posts have you been looking at?”

[dmmdipodcast]

Is there any obvious reason *why* McCaffrey included a second variety of female dragons (green) instead of just going with the idea that the gold dragons are female and all the rest are male? The greens are deliberately not allowed to reproduce, so unless it becomes a plot point somewhere, the only function of green dragons being female seems to be introducing the "(male) dragonriders frequently get really horny for each other (as a direct result of their psychically bonded soulmates wanting to have straight sex)" aspect that McCaffrey didn't actually seem to want and has all kinds of follow-on implications. (I suppose maybe she just wanted an excuse for *all* dragonriders to periodically get the super-horny-due-to-dragon-sex effect to drive the weyrs' unusual norms and didn't think through the genders, but that seems like a *really* big and hard-to-overlook detail when she made it literally all male riders other than for gold dragons.)

What an excellent question! The short answer is that no, there really isn’t an obvious reason to do that, and this is the kind of ANNE, WHY?? that made us want to start this podcast in the first place.

As for the long answer... I (Tequila) think most likely she had two competing narrative priorities and this ended up a sort of awkward compromise position

McCaffrey clearly wants Lessa to be the Only Gold Dragonrider circa the start of Dragonflight, both for Special Unique Protagonist reasons and because she wants Lessa to be very alone at the weyr at first so that she can triumph later. Having (almost) all male riders is a feature and not a bug.

Your point about Everyone at the weyr getting an opportunity to be horny. McCaffrey doesn’t want the mating flights to be unusual or up for discussion; she’s building them in as an unquestioned norm of Weyrs and part of what makes them notably distinct from Holds. This means she’s gotta have other female dragons.

There’s also the possibility that she felt it would be unbelievable to have such a drastic skew in gender ratio; diegetically, dragons were bioengineered, and green fire-lizards do lay eggs. It’s implied that green dragons could lay eggs, but chewing firestone makes that impossible, so Weyrs have deliberately chosen to keep greens in combat rather than have them reproduce—Dragonsdawn leaves it ambiguous but suggests that gold dragons were deliberately designed not to be able to chew firestone successfully, unlike greens. Sky Dragons, by Todd McCaffrey, does have green dragons laying eggs, and he "cowrote" it/consulted with Anne McCaffrey, so even though We Don’t Read Those it can give a rough sense of what she considered canonical.

Or perhaps McCaffrey wanted to emphasize how special and fancy gold dragons are by giving them a hierarchical advantage over other female dragons; she certainly seemed to replicate that in her writing about humans, where she frequently surrounds her compelling, complex female protagonists with cardboard cutout female supporting characters who range from “evil slut” to “mom” to “whiny gossip.”

Lleu points out that McCaffrey puts a lot of narrative focus on her central cast, especially in Dragonflight and Dragonquest, and doesn’t actually engage much with the background characters. She stated at one point (extradiegetically) that green dragons are 50% of the population, but if you count up the dragons we meet on the page they’d be more like 20% and most of that comes later in the series. So it’s not totally implausible that she really didn’t think about it until after Dragonflight and then she’d backed herself into a worldbuilding corner and couldn’t dig herself out!

More specifically, the moment that introduces green mating flights to the series is the beginning of Dragonquest. In the context of the book’s overarching plot, T’reb is being used to set up Kylara’s later transgression of not paying attention to Prideth and taking her out of the Weyr when she was close to mating. There’s also some Gender Politics at work here, insofar as the homophobia of the way this scene is handled (and for that matter some of the portrayal of green riders throughout the series) involves portraying gay men as effeminate—hysterical, in this case—and so distancing them from the “fully male” bronze riders Dragonflight focused on. T’reb works as foreshadowing for Kylara because he’s gay and so, in this homophobic schema, not-quite-a-man.

If we want to be generous to Anne, having the Weyrs be full of men having sex with men (especially introduced in this extremely dramatic way) also serves to really drive home how different Weyr sexual mores are from Hold and Craft ones, which we as readers expect will align with generic popular culture pseudomedieval feudalism (and which largely do so). The scene with T’reb and B’naj then also brings Weyr sexuality into the (commoner) public sphere (and this is I think a nontrivial part of what the Weyrleaders are concerned about), in keeping with the way the series as a whole is obsessed with the management of sexuality.

[lockedtombtheories]

Thanks! I think the biggest thing currently bugging me about HtN is why every surviving lyctor, with 1 single exception, was plotting to kill Jod? My understanding is that it was only when they saw cav!Gideon's eyes on the Mithraeum that they realized Jod lied about the existence of perfect lyctorhood. So why had they spent decades plotting with BoE to open the tomb and murder God? Only explanation I've read is "because he made them kill their cavs," which seems weak.

The short answer is: They at least suspected that he lied about it even before meeting Gideon. She was just the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. Plus, he did make them kill their cavs! Their siblings, their lovers, their closest friends! They dealt with that truth for far more than a lifetime, but they just so happens that they had a lot of time to dwell on it. It’s not really a surprise that it eventually got ugly.

Long answer under the cut, because I love my followers and don’t want them to suffer.

First off: it isn't just the surviving lyctors who betrayed God. Mercymorn, Augustine, Cytherea, yes; but even G1deon was willing to share a bed with the enemy. Either he or Pyrrha told Wake about the RB's and what they do to necromancers, thereby handing her an effective weapon against lyctors. 

And then there's Anastasia, who's implied to have gone against John's orders by even founding the Ninth House. Cassie, who contacted BoE *6 000 years ago*. So who really knows what Cyrus and Ulysses were up to, or would have been if they'd survived for long enough. 

As for why? We get two pieces of explanation in the text. 

YOU LIED TO US

Could this refer to the proof in Gideon's eyes? Sure.  But I'm not convinced that it wasn't the message Cyth always wanted to send. 

Checking in with the other duplicitous sluts:

“You’ve offered us explanations for everything over the years. But—some of them didn’t hold up on examination … It was the power I could never get my head around, you know? I follow power back to its source, John. It’s the skill you asked me to perfect. And the longer I looked at yours, the less things added up.”  “This has been troubling you for a very long time, then,” God said finally. [...] “You don’t get your power from Dominicus,” said Augustine. “It gets its power from you. There’s no exchange involved, no symbiosis. You draw nothing from the system. It relies on you entirely, as we all know. You’re God, John. But—as the Edenites are fond of pointing out—you were once a man. So whither that transition? Where does your power come from? Even if the Resurrection had been the greatest thanergy bloom ever triggered, it would drain away over time. And then Mercy said to me—in a moment of true Mercy vileness—she said, What is God afraid of? [...] I never wanted to believe it when she said, What if he didn’t really put down A.L.? And then—What if he couldn’t put down A.L.?” (HtN, ch. 51)

So: they knew that John didn’t have a tangible power source; and lyctorhood was the only kind of internal furnace they know about. Ergo: yes, they suspected that John had lied about perfect Lyctorhood. He made them kill their cavs. 10 000 years of guilt, literally chasing them across the universe, and for what? For whom?

What kind of God demands such a sacrifice? I think that's one of the central questions of these books. What kind of God demands it? (compare the Binding of Isaac - John) But also: What kind of God punishes it? (compare the Mark of Cain - the Resurrection Beasts) 

But - 

“Why would one of the Emperor’s Lyctors hate him?” “Hate him?” The voice of the girl whom Gideon had known as Dulcinea rose, high and intent. “Hate him? I have loved that man for ten thousand years. We all loved him, every one of us. We worshipped him like a king. Like a god! Like a brother.” (GtN, ch. 35)

They are Believers losing their Faith. They’re questioning the entire foundation of his divinity. Augustine and Mercy are still asking, still hoping that they're wrong - “All that effort to break open the Locked Tomb,” said Augustine, “only to have the answer we wanted wander up in the form of one dead teenager flaunting your genes." - but crucially, they are also lovers going through a messy divorce. You know, when people who once loved each other and were presumably capable of communication are suddenly throwing plates at each other? “Come, swear your loyalty, my son—my brother—beloved—Lyctor—saint.” 

Possibly what Tazmuir is saying is, they're the same picture. But that might be conjecture. 

(edited to add in links to other theory posts. call it the director's cut)

[dead-dolphins]

We need to talk about the changes on Mr. Senator.

Friends, you know how much I cherish this AU to the point of being meticulous with the plot (as I am with any fic, really). However, I need to discuss the changes I intend to make to Mr. Senator from the “Things You Need to Know About Mr. Senator AU” that I wrote previously.

But before I begin, let me share what I aim to capture with this fic. Ideally, I should demonstrate things by actually writing rather than explain my reasons, but I feel it’s necessary to clarify so you can grasp the essence of what this fic is about.

Mr. Senator is a fic where I want to portray a Mikasa who is deeply in love with a man she has admired from afar. This man, however, is significantly older and a politician, making her feel insignificant and afraid to approach him for fear of appearing foolish. This changes when she hears a rumour that he plans to marry for electoral gain, needing a wife to secure more votes. Mikasa can not bear the idea of him belonging to anyone else. The pain of seeing him with another would be unbearable, a wound too deep to heal. Driven by this fear and her overwhelming love, she resolves to do whatever it takes to make him notice her, even if it means trapping him. What I essentially envision is a shy yet determined Mikasa. Though she may seem naïve, she is ready to step into the light, determined to make Eren see her as a brave woman and a potential wife. Her complex feelings of love, admiration, fear, and determination intertwine with the recklessness of youth and passionate infatuation. Her youthful impulsiveness propels her forward, making her bold in ways she never imagined. I dare to say that it's a lot of passion for someone so young YET this passion is not just a fleeting crush but a deep-seated need to be seen, to be valued by the man she loves.

So, with that being said, here are some changes (I will not say them all, lol).

First and foremost, to dispel any doubt, I’ve decided that this fic will be told solely from one point of view, and that will, of course, be Mikasa’s. She is the heart of this story, and although you might be interested in Eren’s perspective, I believe Mikasa’s lens will provide the clearest understanding.

With Mikasa’s point of view as the central focus, certain elements, such as Eren being of low-born status, will be adjusted. Instead, I’ll portray him as a wealthy man. This change facilitates their interactions mean to their social class. However, he will remain an Ackerman protégé, and his wealth will not alter this aspect. How he will do that? Keep reading.

Previously, I mentioned that Mikasa has younger brothers, but now they will be younger sisters. So, Mikasa is an older sister of a family full of girls. This shift will impact her psyche, offering rich narrative potential that I can't fully detail at this moment (but the keyword for this is: daddy's issues or something of the sort).

Eren has an ex-girlfriend from their social circle who will be displeased to see the senator she once knew taking an interest in a little girl. Her resentment will play a role in the unfolding drama.

And yes, you read that correctly—senator! In the earlier sneak peek, Eren was merely a candidate, but now he is firmly established as a senator seeking re-election. His ambition stretches further, for he harbours aspirations of one day becoming PRESIDENT.

In this iteration, Mikasa's father is absent, and instead, the family is under the care of her uncle, none other than Kenny Ackerman. This dynamic is one I haven’t fully explored in my previous writings, so I felt it was time to delve into it. Consequently, Uncle Kenny will be a prominent figure in Mikasa’s life, leading to numerous clashes with Mikasa’s mother.

Speaking of Mikasa’s mother, she is a formidable woman, ahead of her time. However, Kenny often outmanoeuvres her at every turn. To survive in this challenging environment, Mikasa’s mother focuses on empowering her daughter, making Mikasa a key player in their family’s struggles (you shall see it later!)

Lastly, Mikasa will be twenty years old in this story, rather than eighteen. This decision ties directly into the dynamic I want to explore between Kenny, Mikasa and Mikasa's mother. In their society, women were expected to marry quickly, but Mikasa defied this norm, which will be a significant element in the narrative. The full implications of this choice will unfold as the story progresses.

Additionally, Eren will be 32 years old!

That’s all for now, folks! I’m thrilled to bring this fic to life, like, for real! It’s shaping up to be a long, single shot (unless I separate it) and I’m diving deep into research to make it unlike anything I’ve written before.

¡Estén atentos para algo realmente INCREÍBLE!! ! :D

[lavendersugarplum]

Why Ben’s Death Was Important.

These two TUA characters could've died earlier, and I would not care.

Now that The Umbrella Academy has come to an end with Season 4, I feel like it's the perfect time to share some of my thoughts on the characters, and one in particular—Jennifer. If Jennifer had been killed off at any point during the season, it honestly wouldn't have affected me in the slightest. I just couldn't bring myself to care about her character. Jennifer's presence throughout the series has been minimal at best; she's barely had any screen time or development, making it hard to connect with or invest in her story. In many ways, she felt like a character who was simply there to serve the needs of the plot, rather than someone we were meant to root for or even understand on a deeper level.

The show could have handled her just as they did with Harlan—abruptly writing her out without much of a send-off. Harlan, who was once an important character, was discarded with little fanfare when his role no longer fit into the narrative. But because Jennifer is more closely tied to the central plot and Sparrow Ben's storyline, the writers clearly felt she was too important to be cut off so easily. Despite her being integral to certain plot points, it felt like her character never truly got the attention or development needed to make her compelling. So, while her survival made sense for the overall narrative, it didn't do much to make her any more memorable or likable to me as a viewer. If they had killed her off from the start, then the show would basically be over. Happy Ending for everyone....except her.

Another character I would have had zero qualms about losing is Sparrow Ben. Especially him. I HATE this character with a passion. No one can ever replace Umbrella Ben in my eyes; he will always be the best Ben, the only valid Ben, and the one who truly mattered. Sparrow Ben, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. I wouldn't give two flying fucks if something terrible happened to him. 😭 From the moment he appeared on screen, it was clear that his character was meant to be unlikable—arrogant, self-centered, and constantly at odds with everyone around him. And while it seemed like the writers tried to soften him up in late end of Season 3, hoping to make him more sympathetic or relatable, it just didn't work for me. Any attempts to redeem Sparrow Ben fell flat, and he remained just as obnoxious as ever.

Frankly, I'm convinced that the only reason the Umbrellas kept him around was because he looked like their beloved Umbrella Ben. If it were up to me, I'd have left his ass somewhere along the way, probably "accidentally" letting him get swallowed up by the Kugelblitz or one of the many other apocalyptic threats they faced. The Umbrellas' insistence on keeping him around felt misguided; he's not their Ben, and he's made it painfully clear he doesn't want to be part of their found family. I kept thinking, "Just let him go! He's not your brother!" The whole dynamic was forced and uncomfortable, and it's hard not to blame him for a lot of what went wrong this season. The group's willingness to cling to this hollow version of their lost sibling only made things worse.

Because let's be real, most of the things in Season 4 can be traced back to Sparrow Ben's actions or his selfish decisions. If they had just left him behind earlier on, half the disasters they faced might never have happened. The Umbrellas should have cut their losses instead of trying to see something redeemable in a character who had no interest in being part of their story. To me, the only decent Sparrows were Sloane and Marcus—characters who, unlike Sparrow Ben, showed some sense of loyalty, vulnerability, and a willingness to grow. Sparrow Ben was just dead weight, a constant reminder of what the Umbrellas lost, without offering anything meaningful in return. He is a prime example to show how none of the Umbrella's are willing to just let go of some things and move on.

The entire series of The Umbrella Academy revolves around one central theme: the siblings' refusal to let go of the past and accept things as they are. They're constantly clinging to old traumas, memories, and regrets, unable to move forward. This is why Sparrow Ben's antagonistic personality is in a way important to the storyline. If he had been as loving, kind, and brotherly as Umbrella Ben, his role as the catalyst for the Umbrellas' downfall would have made no sense. Sparrow Ben's cold and selfish nature was a direct contrast to what the Umbrellas once had, highlighting just how much they were still trapped in the past, desperately trying to hold onto something that was long gone. So even though a lot of us might absolutely loathe this character, he role was a reminder that you can't recreate what you've lost, no matter how hard you try, and this refusal to accept that truth is what ultimately led the siblings down a destructive path.

Rewatching the series with this context makes Umbrella Ben's death feel even more important. On its own, his death is a heartbreaking and tragic moment, a sudden loss of a beloved character. But when viewed within the entire narrative arc of the series, it transforms from a purely sad event into something more complex—almost a bittersweet relief. I believe now that Ben's death was a subtle foreshadowing of how the story would ultimately end. It was a powerful hint at the series' overarching message about the necessity of letting go. Ben's journey was a microcosm of what every character needed to learn but often resisted—the painful but necessary act of moving on.

Ben was the first sibling to accept his fate, to realize that holding onto people, memories, and pain when it's time to let go is not only unhealthy but self-destructive. His decision to let go wasn't just about moving on from his own death; it was about ending his cycle of self-inflicted suffering. He recognized that by clinging to the past, he was only perpetuating his own misery. His final act of release allowed him to find peace, breaking the cycle and allowing his spirit to finally move forward. This stands in sharp contrast to the rest of the siblings, who repeatedly fall into the same patterns, unable to break free from their own personal demons.

To break the cycle, you must be willing to let go, just as Ben ultimately did.

[theerurishipper]

Am I selfish for wishing Marinette wasn't the protagonist? She doesn't really connect to the plot besides her love arc and I don't find it that interesting. Like a lot of female protagonists like the cast of Totally Spies the girls force to work for Jerry, or Bloom finding she's a fairy and has the dragon flame or Iris from lolirock who finds out she's Princess of Ephedia. Like you have all these ladies who's arc isn't just connected to just love like it's part of it but romance isn't central to their character they have more to them.

Like it's so weird honestly because I never really knew of a protagonist who just didn't connect with the story instead the secondary character has. His father the villain, he has fans and many who crush on him, he's a model but he's secretly also the famed ChatNoir, he's an abused child who want their parent attention, rich, and a little behind when it comes to social cues. Like? Are we sure he's not the protagonist is that why the show gives him such little contributions and makes others take what he's deserves. Like the book from early on s2, felix finding out his mother in the basement, Kagami learning early on the whole agreste situation and doing a whole play in front of Ladybug with Felix to convey the situation.

She's in every episode most MC's aren't always there sometimes they leave for an episode or two or have someone take the spotlight but she is there 24/7. Like I kinda want to know another character for a chance because I already gauged enough of her character to know romance is all there is to her lol. I don't know can't we have an Adrien central episode, Alya, Kagami, hell even Luka?

No wonder I think the cast are so bland to me because they just appear we don't really know them personally besides if they get akumatized.

Marinette to me is like if we're seeing the blushing female girl and the entire show from a Hinata perspective in Naruto just there to pine for a boy who aren't even that close.

You're not selfish for that, anon. We all have our different tastes. Personally, I like Marinette as the protagonist, but we all have different likes and dislikes.

I will say that the writing for Marinette as a protagonist is pretty lacking though. She doesn't have any connection to the main plot on her own and can only have any relevance in the final battle of her show by taking the place of some other character. The show is literally allergic to taking the focus off her for more than five seconds. Plenty of shows that have a single character as their main lead also devote few episodes to the developing the side characters.

For example, a superhero show like Miraculous would usually have an episode where Ladybug is incapacitated, and Chat Noir has to do the saving. But Miraculous can't handle not having Marinette be the one to save the day at all times, so Chat Noir is just always reduced to being the sidekick or the one who gets caught and has to have Ladybug save him. Like, even in episodes where it seems like Chat Noir will have a larger role to play, the writers can't help but have it be Ladybug who saves the day in the end. Even in episodes that seem like they are going to focus on Adrien, Marinette will have some B plot shoehorned in that will take over the entire episode until it seems like Adrien's conflict is the actual B plot.

Like you said, it's not wrong for the protagonist to take a step back in a few episodes and let the supporting characters shine. Miraculous' habit of shoving Marinette into the resolution for every other conflict but her own is detrimental to both her own character and every other character. It's just bad writing, honestly.

Thank you for your ask!

[softshrimpy]

How To Woo A Hot Principal

Step 7: Fall Further in Love, Cause You're Gay

Summary: Working at the weathervane was exactly what you needed. The routine, the people, your co-workers. It certainly helped that a certain tall, blonde, fucking gorgeous woman happened to frequent the cafe. Now some may call hopelessly flirting with your customers inappropriate behavior.

But truly, when it came to Larissa Weems, who could blame you?

Guess whos no longer sicc! Anyway, enjoy soft central with a hint of plot building and a dash of foreshadowing. I hope you enjoy 🦐✨

Tags: @variant-2402@the-bagel24@eveymay@kimiinou@muffintopxs

(pls let me know if you want to be tagged/ I missed you!)

Chapter 6 Cross Posted on AO3 here

HTWAHP Masterlist

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

You were so comfy right now, holy shit. You were lying on a heavenly bed. Your head was resting on the softest, warmest pillow you had ever had the pleasure of laying your head upon. You snuggle your head closer freezing when you feel your pillow breathe.

Oh holy shit

You peek one eye open, lifting your head slightly. You’ve had your head resting on Larissa’s chest, your entire body resting atop hers with your legs intertwined. Her face is bare, the sunlight shining on the side of her face making her look even more ethereal than she usually does.

You grin up at her before gently extricating yourself from her limbs. You manage to get up without waking her and manage to keep yourself from tripping over your own feet. You pick up a shirt that was hanging over the chair at her vanity (she has a vanity, she’s so fancy), slipping it on before making your way to the kitchen.

She has a small kitchen attached to her rooms which you have to basically ransack to find mugs, coffee and hot chocolate. You finish making your drinks, humming to yourself softly. You’re halfway through the bedroom door when you notice Larissa sitting up, the covers bunched up around her, her head in her hands.

“Larissa?” You ask, rushing over to her.

“Oh shit fuck wait-“ you panic, nearly spilling your drink all over yourself.

She looks up at your, her eyes wet with unshed tears. She takes you in, doing your best to balance the mug you nearly dropped, dressed in her shirt, looking at her with so much concern.

You put the mugs on her bedside table, hovering over her nervously.

“Uhm I- is it okay if I touch you? Are you okay?” You ask.

“I- I’m sorry.” She laughs, wiping her eyes. “I just- you weren’t here when I woke up and-“

“Oh…oh gods I am so sorry.” You apologize, grabbing her hands. “I-I would never just leave you. You’re far too lovely for that.”

She smiles up at you, squeezing your hands before looking away.

“I must seem so silly, crying over something so trivial.” She whispers.

“I once cried when a cat looked at me and walked away.” You reply.

She laughs at that, pressing a kiss to your hand.

“I’m serious! It was a tabby and I did the whole pspspspsps and it just walked away! I was devastated.”

She snorts ducking her head and pulling you onto her lap. You squeak, bracing yourself by grabbing her shoulders. She presses a kiss to your neck, burying her face into it.

“Mmm you look absolutely delicious in my clothes.” She mumbles.

“I feel like you’re not taking my pain seriously here.” You hum, scratching at the base of her head.

“No no I’m listening darling…” she hums, pressing more kisses to your neck.

You tilt your head back, running your hand up her spine and humming.

“Are you feeling okay pretty lady?” You ask softly.

“Mmm..” she all but purrs into your neck.

“Do you want your coffee?”

“Mmm…”

“You know you have to remove your face from my neck to drink your coffee?”

She groans at that, pressing one last kiss to your neck before leaning back and reaching for her coffee. You two sit there, wrapped in each other (and Larissa’s soft comforter), sipping your coffee. It’s so domestic and soft and everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

Until you notice the fucking massive headache that you had been ignoring until now. You wince putting your coffee down and reaching up to rub your forehead.

“Are you okay darling?” She asks, reaching up to cup your face.

“Mm. Just a headache. I have no idea why thou- oh wait…” you murmur.

“Darling?”

“Ahhhh I forgot to take my drugs.”

“Your what now?”

“Oh no it’s not- I have prescription medication I have to take every morning otherwise I get all headachey and lightheaded.” You reassure her.

“Oh. Oh, that’s- darling I’m sorry I-“ she stammers.

“Nope. Shhhhhh. None of that,” you start, “nothing to apologize for. I regret absolutely nothing and would rather suffer a hundred headaches than not be here with you.”

“You’re sure you’ll be okay darling?” She blushes, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Mhm, I’ll just take it easy today. I don’t have work anyway so it shouldn’t be a problem.” You hum.

“So I have my pretty barista all to myself today?” She purrs, pulling you flush against her.

“You are absolutely insatiable,” you giggle before rushing forward to kiss her.

——————-

“YOU ABSOLUTE LEGEND. YOU ACTUALLY SLE-“

You slap your hand over James’ mouth, mortified he would be so vocal about your sex life.

“Yes, okay calm down you fucking degenerate.” You hiss, smacking him.

“I’m so proud of you, you spunky little bottom.” He smirks. “And Tyler owes me 20 bucks.”

“You took a bet with Tyler about my sex life?”

“Yes. You know I’ll literally do anything for money.”

You sigh at him, shaking your head. The three of you are getting the cafe ready for Outreach day. You had been leaving Nevermore when Larissa mentioned it to you, explaining how the kids would work in the town for half the day as a way of “bettering normie-outcast relations.” She seemed really excited for it so you internally vowed to be the kindest fucker on the face of this planet.

You had been briefing the boys on how they needed to behave and how you would not hesitate to fuck them up if they were rude(they were both adamant they wouldn’t be and then made fun of you for making such an effort for your girlfriend), when in walked three kids in Nevermore uniforms. One of them, wearing super cool shades, made a beeline for you.

“Your Principal Weems girlfriend right?” She asked, stopping rather closely in front of you.

“Uhm well-“

“Trick question: I saw you leave her rooms the other day.” She grins. “I’m Yoko.”

“It’s- it’s great to meet you, Yoko,” you manage, doing your best to keep your face from burning. “Uh…You want me to show you how to use the fucked up coffee machine?”

“Sweet.” She nods.

You spend the next hour or so teaching Yoko how to make different kinds of coffee. She was surprisingly good at it and really quick to learn. She was also, much to your dismay, pretty good at making late art.

“You’re going to put me out of a job if you continue like this.” You joke.

“Maybe I will,” she deadpans, “maybe I’ll start a vampire cafe. We would put you out of business.”

“Damn Yoko. I thought we were bonding. I can’t believe you would betray me like this.” You cry, wiping away fake tears.

“Nah I’d hire you, you’re chill. You smell kinda like a vampire actually…” she trails off.

“I smell…like…a vampire?” You ask.

She sniffs you, making a face before poking your upper lip. “You don’t have fangs though…strange…”

“I uhh use vanilla deodorant?” You try.

“No…that’s not it…” she murmurs, “Weird…”

The two of you stand there, Yoko studying you and you feeling awkward as anything. She’s broken out of her investigation by two other students entering the cafe, one of them being Enid. The two catch Yoko's attention and, after saying goodbye to you, she runs off with the two of them. Before you can have an internal crisis about what Yoko was talking about Larissa walks in, looking radiant and ethereal as ever.

You lean against the counter, grinning at her in a way you can only assume made you look like a lovesick puppy due to the two “awws” you receive from behind you. You flip both of them the bird before Larissa arrives in front of you.

“Hi pretty lady.” You hum, smiling up at you.

“Hello darling,” she grins. “I’ll take one hot chocolate please.”

“For here or to go?”

“For here.” She hums, looking you up and down. “I don’t suppose you could join me?”

“I would literally love nothing more.” You grin, taking off your apron.

“Are you seriously going to make us make you and your girlfriend hot chocolate?” James scoffs earning a snort from Tyler.

“Isn’t that what you’re here for?” You joke, sliding into the booth across from Larissa.

You notice she’s sitting super straight, her shoulders tense. She’s fiddling with her fingers and she’s blushing bright red. You’re mentally trying to figure out why she looks so embarrassed when it finally clicks.

“Uhm Larissa?” You start. “I know we never really spoke about it. And I mean I probably should’ve brought it up before I just let people say stuff. And I mean you may not even want to be together that way and I shouldn’t have assumed-“

“Darling take a breath.” She soothes, reaching across the table to grab your hands mid wild gesture.

You do as she says, squeezing her hands.

“Sorry…I just really really like you. And I uhm. Would it be okay if- that is to say would you-“

She laughs, a sound that makes your heart race and you barely suppress the urge to swoon. She’s looking at you with such a soft look and her beautiful blue eyes.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” She smirks and god it’s so hot this is unfair.

“I- well. Yes.” You mumble.

“I would love nothing more darling.”

And just like that you are the happiest person in the world. You’re almost certain you giggle and blush like a goddamn schoolgirl. Tyler drops off your drinks, winking at you and raising his brows. You sit and chat for a bit when Mayor Walker enters. He chats with Larissa, essentially ignoring you and it pains you to see how much she has to suck up to him.

They chat for a while, you’re not paying that much attention. A few moments later Marylin enters, ordering herself something at the counter (probably her usual matcha latte) before making her way over to the three of you.

“Fancy seeing you here stranger.” She grins.

“Marylin! It’s so nice to see you again. How’s the greenhouse?” You ask.

“Really well actually! Not to toot my own horn but my nightshades are doing quite well for this time of year.”

The two of you chat for a while, Marylin laughing at your dry humour and resting her hand on your shoulder.

“Mayor Walker, this is Marylin Thornhill.” Larissa says, interrupting your conversation with the redhead and gesturing to the woman in question, “In the spirit of outreach, she's Nevermore's first normie teacher.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Marilyn smiles.

The four of you chat for a while, Larissa shooting Marylin a look every time she laughs at one of your jokes. Eventually, the mayor leaves to get ready for the ceremony and Marylin leaves to gather the students. You’re standing with Larissa at the door when she suddenly pulls you incredibly close and grips your chin between her sinfully long fingers.

“Darling, I have had such a wonderful time with you today,” she purrs.

You feel your face heat exponentially, feeling flustered by both her sultry tone and her proximity.

“Uhm uh no-no problem! I aim to please.”

“And what a good job you do of that, hm?”

You’re sure if you weren’t basically leaning against her you probably would’ve collapsed at her words. She’s honestly looking at you like she wants to eat you (which you are never opposed to). A group of students, led by Marylin pass by, the woman sending you a bright smile and a wave.

You half expect her to let you go, put some distance between the two of you. But to your utter delight, she decides to double down on her affection, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then your lips. You stare up at her, wide-eyed and so in love.

“What was that for?” You whisper.

“Am I not allowed to kiss my girlfriend just because?” She hums, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

“No! You totally can! I just- well with all the students around I just thought maybe you- I mean you have this image as like the principal and all-“ you explain, feeling warm all over.

“Well, I care far less about maintaining a reputation than I do about making sure you know exactly how I feel about you.” She grins.

“And perhaps ensuring no one gets any ideas about trying to seduce you.” She mumbles afterwards.

You giggle at that, stretching up to press a kiss to her cheek. You poke her nose gently, smirking up at her.

“Larissa Weems, do I detect jealousy in your tone?” You tease.

“I-I do not get jealous.” She huffs, her cheeks gaining a pink tinge.

“Sure you don’t,” you chuckle, “so I guess you wouldn’t mind me hanging out with Marylin during your fancy ceremony?”

“Absolutely not-“

“AHA!”

“…Perhaps you may have been the slightest bit correct in your assumption…” She sighs, blushing and looking anywhere but at you.

“Well, it’s a good thing I only have eyes for you then, isn’t it?”

She pauses for a moment, gaping down at you, but then she fucking beams, looking so fucking happy you wish you could freeze this moment and have her this happy for eternity.

“Mm, I don’t think anyone could ever be as stunning and goddamn enthralling as you. So I guess you’re stuck with me.” You finish, smiling dopily up at her.

“You really are delightful darling.” She hums “Whatever did I do to deserve you…”

“You’ll never believe it, you actually just existed.” You finish with a fake gasp. “Now go do your fancy ceremony, pretty lady.”

She snorts, pressing one last kiss to your lips before letting you go. She then saunters off towards the town square and you do shamelessly stare at her ass for as long as you can. You’re broken from your admittedly unholy thoughts by James slapping his hand onto your shoulder.

“Come on whore, let’s go watch your girlfriend's special ceremony.”

——————————

The statue exploded.

If you were honest, the statue was awfully ugly and it exploding wasn’t a terrible loss. But you would not express these thoughts to Larissa who was currently angrily looming over her fireplace.

When the explosion had happened you had freaked the fuck out before immediately searching for Larissa. She had, thank the gods, been unharmed by the explosion. You ran to check up on her, fussing over her as she assured you she was fine.

She had been, and there is really no better way to put this, absolutely fucking livid. You hadn’t understood why until you noticed Wednesday, sitting playing her cello while everyone else ran screaming.

So now, right after Larissa had spent a good 15 minutes yelling at the girl before she left, you decided voicing your opinion on the shittiness of the destroyed statue was not a good idea.

“This is an absolute disaster.” She murmurs.

“It’ll be okay. The statue-“

“This isn’t about the bloody statue!” She yells, whipping around to face you. “It’s about what this does to our reputation! All the work I’ve put in to make things better with the townspeople, with the normies, all of it destroyed because of one selfish brooding teenager!”

You flinch at her yelling, shrinking back into the couch a bit. She notices, freezing and shrinking a little into herself. She opens her mouth to speak before clearing her throat.

“I-I’m sorry. I…” she starts, turning back to face the fireplace. “Maybe it would be best if you went home for the night. You shouldn’t have to- you shouldn’t have to deal with me like this.”

You stand up at that, quickly walking over to her and gently coaxing her to turn around with your hands on her hips. When she finally faces you, she looks so ashamed. There are tears gathering in her gorgeous blue eyes and your heart cracks a little.

“You’re allowed to be upset honey.” You start, making sure to look her in the eye. “I will admit, the yelling scared me a little- but! But it’s okay because you’ve had a fucking awful afternoon. And I know how hard you’ve worked on getting the townspeople to be less stupid and bigoted towards you. You put in so much hard work and you are making a difference. And today was probably a setback, yes, but that doesn’t mean all your hard work goes away okay? You’re so incredible, Larissa. I can’t- I don’t know how to explain how inspiring you are with your passion and care for your students and this school.”

You notice her chin wobbling a bit as she swallows and wipes at her eyes to try stop the tears from falling. She’s terribly unsuccessful at it but you don’t mention that, reaching up to wipe her cheeks for her.

“So today was fucked. And that sucks. And if you want to cry or yell or scream, I’ll be here the whole time. But remember that you are amazing and a fucking genius. So tomorrow we can worry about the angry people and the mayor, and all that stuff. But tonight, I want you to feel all the awful feelings you’re having and then you’re going to come with me to bed and cuddle my brilliant ass all night long. Okay?”

She laughs, a watery sad sound that squeezes your heart. You lead her to the couch, sitting down and pulling her into your lap. She buries her head in your neck, her tears soaking into your skin. You hold her for a long while, letting her cry and curl into you. Every now and again she hiccups something between her sobs. You just sit with her, running your hand through her hair and pressing kisses to the crown of her head between reassurances.

Eventually, she runs out of tears, taking a shuddering breath as she sits up breathing deeply. She looks awfully small at this moment, her eyes red-rimmed and her face wet from her tears. You cup her cheek with your hand, pressing a kiss to her nose. She scrunches her nose cutely at the sensation and you resist the urge to coo at her.

“Shall we go to bed, my pretty lady?” You ask softly.

She nods, standing from your lap and helping you up. You walk her to her room, helping her take down her hair and wipe off her makeup. You do make corny jokes every now and again earning cute smiles and soft laughter from the blonde. When you’re both settled in her bed, you on your back with her laying on top of you (you don’t mention how the weight of her on you feels so comforting you want to cry about it.) she speaks.

“Thank you for- for everything, darling.” She whispers, nuzzling into your chest.

“It really was my pleasure hon. I would do it again in a heartbeat.” You whisper back, wrapping your arm around her waist. The two of you fall asleep that way, Larissa’s head on your chest, your arms wrapped around her, thinking of how absolutely in love you are with this woman.

[nothingenoughao3]

hai i'm curious about what twin peaks is, can you explain it to me (preferably without spoilers) /nf

Oh, is it my birthday?! Yes I can do that!

I will say that I generally do not consider things that happen in the pilot or first episode of a TV series to be "spoilers" so much as "premise". So anything I say here that's direct plot-stuff will only come from the pilot. All right? Let's dig in!

CAPSULE SUMMARY

Twin Peaks is a surreal/magical realism/police procedural/drama/horror/soap opera produced by David Lynch and Mark Frost. It had two seasons of 30 episodes total, a film (Fire Walk With Me), and a third season that came out 25 years later in 2017.

In the pilot episode, a teenaged young woman who everyone in town knows, Laura Palmer, is found murdered. The town reels to cope with her demise and the investigation. A second young woman is found alive and wandering--and she crossed state lines as she wandered. The police call in the FBI, since it's now a multi-state case, and in walks Special Agent Dale Cooper.

As Cooper begins his investigation, he discovers that there's far, far more going on in Twin Peaks than he'd first anticipated.

[NOTE HERE that Twin Peaks covers a LOT of extremely tough and triggering topics over the course of its run. DoesTheDogDie should have a list of all triggers, although those will come with spoilers. The main one to be aware of is that sexual assault, domestic abuse, and rape are discussed. The aftermath of these crimes is depicted. It's 1990, so it's not graphic as in Law & Order: SVU, but it is very much present. Please take care of yourself first!]

NOT-SPOILER REASONS TO WATCH IT

It is a vital historical work of art. Twin Peaks revived the police procedural, popularized soap operas as an art form, launched and relaunched multiple acting careers, introduced surrealism to multiple generations of TV watchers, taught basics of Buddhism, helped spread awareness of the Free Tibet movement, and inspired countless references and imitators. When you watch Twin Peaks, you'll feel like you've seen it before... because you've almost certainly seen something which only exists because of Twin Peaks.

David Lynch is Autism Patient Zero who does not compromise his writing or his vision for NT audiences. He writes dialogue and directs actors in a way that can only be described as "everybody's got the autism accent", and it is a DELIGHT to experience.

The visuals are, often, so strong that you will forget how to breathe. Many of the sets and locations are treated like characters in and of themselves.

The title, Twin Peaks, ties into the show's central themes about identity, which is one of my favorite themes in fiction. What makes you who you are? If there was someone who looked a lot like you, would that compromise who you are? What if they have the same name as you? Are you no longer who you are if you can't remember your past? Is it sometimes a good thing to change your identity? What if everybody thinks you did something unforgivable, but you don't remember it? Does society require all of us to have public faces and private faces? Does anyone really know another person's private face?

When I first watched it, nobody shipped Trucoop (Cooper with the local police sheriff, Harry S. Truman). Now it seems like everybody does and I am not alone, yaaay.

Features one of the very few trans characters in media at the time who was unambiguously positive!

Watch an episode, then pull up the IMDB and see who everyone is. I guarantee that you'll almost always find SOMEone who was famous for other stuff. If you like Star Trek, you'll find that half the damn cast was either on TNG or DS9. It is honestly astounding to me that Jeff Combs wasn't on the series (because, I assume, he was shooting Bride of Re-Animator and other stuff).

THINGS TO WATCH OUT FOR

The subtitling in some versions of the show (on DVD specifically) is really bad and unreliable. I found that the Netflix subtitles were OK. If you don't know about OpenSubtitle, I recommend using them to find better subtitles in case you need them.

As stated above, the show gets into really dark themes, and it does not shy away from them when necessary. I feel that these things are addressed in a sensitive way and frequently related to plot, but it hits everyone different.

The music... eh. I like the electro/late 80s theme and the instrumentals that back most of the scenes. But every time someone sings, I get the cringe. I've never been able to get on board with what Lynch thinks good music sounds like. But a lot of people do, so that could just be me.

It takes a lot of work to watch this show. Since so much of it is visual, it is absolutely a show you have to watch with no distractions. I found it to be worth it--past a certain point, I didn't want any distractions. But I get where it's a sacrifice of time and concentration.

If you watch it and enjoy it, you will probably end up with Lynchian Syndrome, where you are compelled to watch every other thing David Lynch has ever made and develop elaborate hypotheses on how they're all in the same universe and suchlike.

So yeah! I hope this gives you an spoiler-free idea of why this show is so special, and if you had any other questions about it, let me know!