#I assure you this is the actual soundtrack and timing.

[blkkizzat]

@ 𝙭𝙓𝘿𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙂𝙤𝙙69𝙓𝙭 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮...

AND GOD KNOWS I'M TRYIN', BUT THERE'S JUST NO USE IN DENYING... ❤︎︎︎︎ THE OTAKU IS MINE ❤︎︎

⏯︎︎ OTAKU!GOJO X BIMBO!READER SERIES

bunny, how on earth did you end up dating this huge otaku nerd? urgh, you actually like him and match his freak too? and he buys you what?! omg! what will your friends think?!

⏯︎︎ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘

𖦏 genre: college au

𖦏 ratings: 18+MDNI. unprotected, ecchi gojo, dubcon, cnc, bdsm, puppy play, public sex, creampies, spanking, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, edging, squirting, threesums, femdom, the ridiculous ass pervy pet names gojo gives you & reader is called 'bunny' in lieu of 'y/n'. each story will have warnings on its story page.

𖦏 pre register: comment to be tagged. i may not respond to everyone but rest assured if you comment you will be tagged!

𖦏 gamer's guide: all fics are listed in chronological order, but likely won't be written in chronological order. summaries subject to change slightly. they also will be written over time so please don't rush me for the next installment but feel free to ask me questions i love talking about this lil freak❤︎︎

⏯︎︎ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘:

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟏: ❝ DIGIMON—BUT MAKING U CUM IS MY REAL HOBBY! ❞

𖦏 your best friend gojo is a hopeless otaku virgin with zero rizz that's still obsessed with digimon—despite being a grown ass man. you're a slut who despite her best whoring efforts—can't cum. you'll take his v-card and he'll fix your broken pussy, deal? ⏯︎︎ plays: 13.3k

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟐: ❝ STICKS N' STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT CHAINS N' WHIPS EXCITE ME! ❞

𖦏 so now that you have a filthy rich boyfie who is completely obsessed with you and has moved you into his house, you're winning, right? or you will be at least— if can survive a trip to the sex dungeon. don't worry it's professionally sanitized after each use! ...what? that's not what you're worried about? oh... ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟑: ❝ AND ALL OF THAT WAS OKAY, CAUSE IT WAS IN A 3-WAY!❞

𖦏 the three of you: you, gojo and geto are like peas in a pod, especially since its summer! and if two of you start f*cking in that pod well its only natural that the third want to join in, right? besides, you both already want to f*ck him. just make sure your current boyfie doesn't get too jealous from how hard you are moaning on your other besties' joystick. your only his ecchi angel, remember? ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟒: ❝ IN THE BEDROOM I BE SCREAMIN', BUT OUTSIDE I KEEP IT QUIET—OR TRY TO AT LEAST!❞

𖦏 you can only keep your relationship underwraps from the rest of your friend group for so long. but you need to ease them into the idea first! although, when there's a yacht party for nanami's bday how is your uber clingy otaku boyfie supposed to keep his hands off of you when you're looking like the most perfect pervy princess in that itty bitty swimsuit? ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟓: ❝ YEAH, HE MY MAN, HE WAS NEVER YO TYPE! ❞

𖦏 school is back! thankfully you somehow manage to instill some kind of decency into your otaku boyfie over the summer so he can come across as normal enough to make his own friends. but did you do too good of a job? wait, he actually has a lil rizz now? you mean you aren't the only girl attracted to him anymore... hol'up! ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

𝐥𝐯𝐥 𝟔: ❝ MOVE IT UP, DOWN, LEFT, RIGHT, OH—SWITCH IT UP LIKE NINTENDO! ❞

𖦏 hey, when did you become freaker than your otaku boyfie? so he caught you touching yourself to his femdom p0rn when he came back early from a business trip? yikes! now he wants to try it out with you? don't worry you will do a great job training your new play puppy boyfie! ⏯︎︎ plays: lvl in-progress

⏯︎︎ 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒:

𖦏 soundtrack: [ x ] 𖦏 moodboards: [ lvl 1 ] 𖦏 amazing art by amazing readers: [ x ] 𖦏 faq/thirsts: [ x ]

©𝐛𝐥𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐟𝐱, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.︎︎

[stelly38]

“I can’t remember how much bonking I did”  —Aidan Turner

With Ross Poldark behind him, the star of Di5ney’s adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s Rivals talks ’80s excess, intimacy coaches and beef brisket.

Here I am, avidly watching the first few episodes of Rivals, the sizzling new Disney+ treatment of Dame Jilly Cooper’s raunchy blockbuster, before my interview with dreamboat-y Aidan Turner, when my 22-year-old daughter walks into the room. “What the actual?” she cries, open-mouthed in horror. “Oh my God! What are they doing?”

I chide her prudishness. “Well, if you must know, Rupert Campbell-Black and a woman he probably just met have reached a shuddering climax on Concorde,” I explain. “Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know, darling – the Mile High Club has been around for…” but it turns out that’s not what’s triggered her.

“These people are SMOKING! On. A. Plane. Who even does that?” Everybody, that’s who. Welcome to the sassy, sexy 1980s, Missy. Double-breasted suits and taffeta skirts, booze, bonking, endless ciggies and hairstyles so fugly (the mullet, for pity’s sake?) as to have recently crept back into fashion. It’s all there: rampant sexism, social climbing and conspicuous consumption, to a banging soundtrack of Eurythmics, Hall & Oates, Haircut 100 and the rest – no idea how The Birdie Song got in there though. Did people really...? Yes, we did. Now run along. From the moment the opening credits roll on Rivals, it’s fair to say we are immersed in a very different, instantly recognisable universe.

I lapped up every transgressive minute. Why, dear readers, the last time I enjoyed a pleasure quite so guilty was when Aidan Turner took off his shirt in…  “I’m not here to talk about Poldark,” says Turner very politely, with a fabulously winning white smile, when we meet. So we don’t. At least for a bit. We are here, after all, to discuss his new role in this very different literary classic – and no, ladies, he’s not been cast as the libidinous blaggard Campbell-Black. As if. County Dublin-born Turner, 41, was a shoo-in for dashing Declan O’Hara, the saturnine Irish journalist turned reluctant chat-show host who finds himself at the epicentre of a battle royale in the cut-throat world of independent television. David Tennant plays Corinium TV boss Lord Baddingham, and Alex Hassell’s Rupert Campbell-Black has ascended to the lofty heights of Tory Minister for Sport.

I could try to explain, but that’s about all the primer you need – rest assured that with this high-budget adaptation, even the most loyal of Cooper’s fans will find themselves safe in its (wandering) hands. “Rivals is about the three things that fascinate all of us: sex, power and money,” says Turner. “That trifecta is especially potent when there’s a clash of status and class. Class informs all sorts of things, including the sex, which is sometimes completely transactional on both sides. From the very top to the very bottom of the ladder, everyone’s slightly on the make.”

Speaking of the top and indeed the bottom, the eight-part series employed not one but two intimacy coaches. “They had a lot of intimacy to coach,” confirms Turner breezily. “I think they really improve sex scenes because they encourage creativity and it all looks so much more authentic. There’s a lot of bonking. I want to say I did a lot of bonking – I can’t quite remember how much.”

Declan is very much the dark-eyed, watchful outsider, his integrity as deep-rooted as his humongous moustache – “artist’s own”, remarks Turner. (He speaks in mellifluous Irish tones and uses his own accent to play Declan.) Amid the jostling for supremacy in the first few episodes, Declan’s only crime appears to be wearing mustard socks on air and having sensuous congress with his own wife (played with exquisite brittleness by Victoria Smurfit).

Such uxoriousness appears borderline scandalous in Dame Jilly’s masterfully constructed world of egos, oneupmanship and serial adultery, which signals that despite being a workaholic, Declan is clearly a good ’un – although, to be fair, I have only seen the first three episodes.

“I hadn’t read Rivals before. It seemed very British so it wasn’t really on my radar, but it’s really fun – although later on it descends into something much murkier. I just read the scripts initially and then was really struck by how faithful they were to the book,” says Turner, who is married to the American Succession actor Caitlin FitzGerald, 41. “You get a real sense of the characters in the first 15 or 20 pages and it’s a mark of excellent writing that you feel you already know these people.”

Whether or not you like them is up to you, but it’s absolutely gripping and Turner’s character is right at the heart of the story. “Rivals is a really truthful depiction of an era that in a great many ways was hugely problematic,” says Turner. “It’s not being refracted through a modern lens and some of it is quite shocking, particularly the way women are treated. There’s also endless back-stabbing; Declan is detached, the one who sees what’s going on, and because he’s not from this class-bound world [he] struggles to understand the playbook – but he’s married to a woman who does and that causes tension.”

To research the role of a broadcasting homme sérieux, Turner trawled YouTube to watch hours of Firing Line, the US current-affairs talk show presented by conservative pundit William F Buckley Jr for 33 years. From 1966 to 1999, he verbally sparred with leading figures of the age.

“I felt it was important to look to older shows, the way they were presented and the communication style,” says Turner. “The interviewee would be given time and space to answer questions in full. These days it’s very different; the nearest we have to that now would be podcasts.”

“Once filming started, to be honest I was channelling my dad the whole time. He’s an electrician, not a journalist, but Declan is very like him – the way he carries himself, the tone of his voice, his passion. He feels very Irish and so does Declan.”

For Alexander Lamb, an executive producer on Rivals, finding the right fit for the pivotal character of Declan was crucial. “The very first person we thought about – the very first person we cast – for Rivals was Aidan. He was the lynchpin because he just felt so right; he’s got depth but also such charm and that was exactly what we wanted. A lot of the cast was built around him.” That cast also includes EastEnder Danny Dyer, Katherine Parkinson, best known for The IT Crowd, Emily Atack of Inbetweeners fame, and Claire Rushbrook, who was in the first series of Sherwood. When it came to Turner, Lamb had been impressed by his previous standout roles as a vampire in the supernatural series Being Human and a clinical psychologist in police procedural The Suspect.

“Aidan hadn’t played sexy-dad-with-teenagers or an intellectual journalist before, so that gave the whole thing a freshness. I think there’s a lot to be gained from getting actors out of their comfort zones,” observes Lamb. “I’ve never really worked with an actor before who was so conscious of his performance. He would come back behind the camera to see if he could improve on what he’d done.” Dame Jilly, adds Lamb, needed no persuasion in casting Turner. “It did not escape her just how good-looking Mr. Aidan Turner was. Let’s just say she became quite the fan.” Turner responds in kind, with unalloyed admiration. “Jilly is so sharp, perceptive and really funny – she’s very kind, but as she was seeing the daily and the weekly rushes I am quite certain that if she hadn’t liked what any of us were doing, she would have told us very swiftly.”

Later, he quietly relates a telling conversation with Cooper at a garden party held at her Gloucestershire gaff (to call it a pile would be too excessive, to call it a house too modest), one summer evening last year, after filming. “I remember a surreal moment when she took me by the arm and led me around the garden, pointing out the place where she would write and how she would look over the valley,” he says. “And then she pointed out the houses where her nearest neighbours and friends lived and said, ‘This is Declan O’Hara’s house, and that one’s Tony’s house,’ and explained how she would visualise the world of Rivals. It was a very special moment.” How magical, I say. He nods very slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching, eyes crinkling at the preciousness of the memory. He’s so unabashedly soulful, I almost have to look away. And so, to business: is Turner really as handsome as they say? Hmm. Maybe that’s what strikes you first but, in truth, it’s the least interesting thing about him.

Born in Clondalkin, a town outside Dublin, before the family moved to a suburb of the city, Turner admits he was never academically inclined. With a low boredom threshold, he struggled to concentrate at school, but when his accountant mother took him along to dance classes, he excelled; he went on to compete in ballroom dancing at national level, but lost momentum.

There was a stint working as an electrician with his father, but it was a job at the local cinema that sparked his interest in acting, entering the Gaiety School of Acting, Ireland’s national theatre school, where he graduated in 2004. After appearing in several theatre productions, including Seán O’Casey’s Easter Rising play The Plough and the Stars, he got his first major television gig in 2008 in the Irish hospital drama The Clinic.

“I was a lowly receptionist and Victoria Smurfit, who is my wife in Rivals, was a consultant,” he smiles. “Let’s just say we didn’t have a huge number of scenes together back then, so it’s great to catch up now.” Soon the BBC beckoned and he was cast as Dante Gabriel Rossetti in the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood drama Desperate Romantics. The six-parter failed to make a mark, but led to a critically acclaimed role in the comedy-drama Being Human, where he caught the eye of director Sir Peter Jackson, who cast Turner as the dwarf Kili in The Hobbit trilogy between 2012 and 2014.

Various other parts followed, culminating in his award-winning portrayal of Captain Ross Poldark in the 2015 revival of the BBC classic, which ran for five series and made him both a household name and a pin-up among ladies (and interviewers) d’un certain age.

After he was shown scything a field shirtless, a sheen of sweat on his ripped – sorry – torso, the Sunday-night concupiscence became so pronounced that media commentators called out the reverse sexism and denounced the reductive way in which Turner was being treated as a piece of prime meat. A decade on, he still seems mildly baffled, but not ungrateful, for the attention, if loath to dwell on it. “There are worse things to be known for than having a nice physique,” he says, philosophically. “But that was a long time ago and I’ve done a lot of fully clothed work since.” Hilariously, in Rivals, Declan finds himself sharing a schedule with a series called Four Men Went To Mow, featuring a quartet of topless hunks – with scythes. Turner almost leaps off the sofa when I bring it up. “I know! I was reading the script and when I saw the Four Men Went To Mow reference, I assumed someone was deliberately winding me up. Then I realised it was actually in the original book, so I took a deep breath and let it go.”

I can confirm he’s fully dressed for our interview, wearing a mustard top by British menswear brand Oliver Spencer, which he dryly describes as ‘drab chic’, Levi’s 501s, and a pair of trainers. He points out they are classic white Reeboks with a natural gum sole. I admit I didn’t know that was A Thing. “To be honest, neither did I,” he shrugs in good-natured agreement. “They were a present from a mate of mine – he’s a musician so far cooler than me, obviously – and he was very emphatic that the soles were a big deal.”

On his wrist is a 1969 Omega Seamaster. “It cost less than £2,000, it was an anniversary gift and the only watch I own,’”he offers, pre-emptively. “Oh, and I’m not sponsored by Omega, none of that.” Would he like to be? I ask mischievously. “Ah well, I’d certainly take the phone call. You always like to have options.” This is all the more interesting because later I ask if there’s any truth in tabloid rumours that he has variously been earmarked as the new Bergerac and the next James Bond. He denies both charges. “But you’d take the calls presumably?” I suggest. A pregnant pause follows. “You know, I don’t think I would. I have to say I think I’d pass on those.” Bergerac I can understand – but intimations of 007 are, like talk of knighthoods, not to be trifled with, much less dismissed out of hand, however cat’s-chance unlikely.

Turner just pulls a slightly apologetic face (possibly for the benefit of his aghast agent reading this). But really it should come as no surprise; Turner has built up a reputation as a protean performer, moving seamlessly between television, film and the stage in a variety of markedly different roles. Last year he appeared opposite Jenna Coleman in a minimalist two-hander, the West End revival of Sam Steiner’s 2015 fringe hit Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons, about love and language. Director Josie Rourke says she cast Turner not just because he is ‘brilliant’, but because he has an ability to connect with his character and with the audience.

“Aidan is a very technical and focused actor who really works hard to prepare – in that respect he’s not dissimilar to David Tennant. That might make him sound dour or serious, but he’s very personable and funny,” says Rourke, a former artistic director of the Donmar Warehouse in London. “He’s acutely aware, in a lovely way, of every single person in the room. There’s something fundamentally unselfish about his performances.”

Off stage, Turner leads a quiet life with his family in an 18th-century house in east London, which he famously furnished with the table and chairs from the Poldark set in Cornwall. He looks amused when I wonder aloud if he hangs out – virtually or actually – with the slew of young Irish actors, like Paul Mescal and Barry Keoghan, who have made a name for themselves. “It sounds boring but I work, and then when a project is finished I start reading scripts again,” he says. “I’m not on social media, I don’t get wrapped [up] comparing myself to anyone else. Frankly, it’s hard enough keeping track of my own career. Since the birth of our son, my wife and I have agreed that only one of us will take a job away from home at any given time; we’ve not [had] a clash yet but we’ll have to see what happens when the time comes.”

They did, however, both have plays on in the West End at one point last year; he was appearing in Lemons while she was in The Crucible. “It worked out really well, we headed out in different directions during the day, catching up with friends and getting stuff done, far too busy to see each other,” he recalls. “Each of us did our show then we would meet up afterwards and share a cab home. It was really fun, but that sort of synchronicity is quite rare.” Like a lot of actors, Turner is guarded when it comes to discussing his personal life. Although frenzied interest from the paparazzi has calmed down post-Poldark, every so often pictures do appear in the tabloids – and Rivals will no doubt increase his bankability. It is something he accepts with equanimity.

“If I do get snapped, I don’t make a fuss or get angry, but I try to stay out of the way.” I remind him of a very striking photo of him putting the rubbish out in a frankly extraordinary receptacle. “Ah yes, maybe I should get rid of the fluorescent pink wheelie bin, a bit of an own goal,” he sighs.

I bet he doesn’t. Far too much of a compromise. I do manage to winkle a few details out of him by playing my fellow Irishwoman card and discover that he’s a ‘serious’ pool player – just this week he settled down in front of a recording of Steve Davis and his teammates taking the 2002 Mosconi Cup in Bethnal Green. He plays golf, enjoys music, and is an avowed Nick Cave fan.

“I’d have to say my favourite downtime is having friends round for good banter and food in the garden, weather allowing. I’m trying to perfect the manly art of beef brisket in my [Big] Green Egg barbecue. I think one of the reasons Rivals was such a happy show to work on was because so many of the scenes were us all together at parties. Then at the end of the day we’d kick back and half of us would still be in character.”

And what characters they are, all dressed up in their ’80s finery, jockeying for position, angling for seduction as Tears for Fears belt out ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World.’ Gen Z won’t understand, much less approve (lock up your 22-year-olds), but as a snapshot of a bygone age, Rivals promises to be TV gold, and at its glittering epicentre, Declan O’Hara, legendary brooding broadcaster with the biggest ’tache in town.

All episodes of Rivals are available on Di5ney+ from 18 October

Interview by Judith Woods from The Telegraph; Photos by John Balsom.

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Lies - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Twenty-Five of Pedrotober: Javier Peña Pedrotober Hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Rating: E for this is Exactly what I want to happen to me. Actually not all that explicit, but there are mentions of oral (fem receiving) and p in v sex. This one's really angsty y'all and also has several depictions of panic attacks and coarse language throughout.

Word Count: 2080

a/n: For those that don't know, Javier Peña is my husband. I love him more than life itself. So much so that I was entirely unsure what to write for today until I let Sabrina Carpenter into my head, and "Lie to Girls" provided the prompt I needed. Truthfully though this is just self-service, and this is my Javi.

"You want the truth, Javi? Fine. Deep down? Deep down I could never love you."

The words spill from your lips before you can stop them, self-imposed anger filling your tone as he stares back at you with wide eyes. You've wounded him, hurt him in a way you were certain no one could ever touch Javier Peña, and yet you have.

He's gone before you can stop him, the door slamming behind him and leaving you in stunned silence.

And then, you're alone with the lies that got you here.

Four Months Before

You know who they're talking about before you even slip into the seat at your desk. Javier Peña. It's an assumption you know to be correct based on the whispered discussion about the size of his cock and the way your coworkers wish he would glance in their direction instead of at the women he claims are informants. You've heard it all before, their daily list of reasons they long to end up in his bed providing the soundtrack to your entire life in Columbia. Murmurs of what he might do to them behind closed doors, all trivial to your existence.

Until the moment everything changes.

"He's looking at you," one of them hisses, and you drag your gaze up to lock with his from across the room. His stare is soft, brimming with something that looks like concern, but it's immediately tainted by the fire of those staring at you.

"Shit, he's looking at her?"

"What did she do?"

"Are they sleeping together?"

You don't tell them the truth, that you're only visible to him now after months of working in the same building on the same case because he found you in the parking lot outside last night. Lies had tumbled out of you as you tried to erase the evidence of the tears from your eyes, but he'd seen right through you. He broke you down piece by piece until you confessed everything to him. Mourning the conclusion of a relationship that you'd convinced yourself was good for you because you would rather stay in it than confront the loss waiting on the other side.

He didn't invite you home the way you'd expected him to, but instead drove you to yours, walking you to your door to confirm that you would be okay. From start to finish, Javier Peña was the complete antithesis of the man you thought he was. The man they claimed him to be. So distant from the rough exterior and innuendo-filled personality you typically avoided at all costs.

You assure him you're fine.

It's the first of many lies you'll tell him.

Three Months Before

You inevitably end up in his bed.

It crossed your mind as he covered you with his body that it would be a one-time thing. You're scratching an itch that's been burdening you both since the night you became a blip on his radar and then you'll move on with your lives.

But the error in your calculation is evident when one night turns into two, which turns into three, and then four until you're spending every night with him between your legs.

You attempt to convince yourself that it's just sex instead. Lies you tell to stop the eventual heartbreak. You write it off as stress relief, something you both desperately need. When he has you pinned up against the shower tile it's because Escobar managed to allude him again. When he's eating you out on the kitchen counter it's because you were denied the promotion you so obviously deserve. And when he's fucking you within an inch of your life, the bed creaking below you to the point that you're afraid it might break, it's simply because Steve spilled his coffee all over Javi's favorite jacket.

And then it's not just sex either.

The storm clouds roll in as the last of the evening light fades on the horizon, lightning flashing as you speed back to your apartment. It had always unnerved you, the way Mother Nature could unleash her fury, and while you were reluctant to admit it to anyone, the rumble of thunder frightened you more than anything. More than horror movies, more than spiders, and certainly more than your job with the DEA.

By the time you make it home, rain is falling. The sky flashes continuously as you turn on every light in your apartment. You know you're not truly in danger, but the subconscious part of your brain won't allow you to do anything other than curl up in your bathtub with a plush blanket and a pillow, which is exactly where he finds you.

"Carino," he soothes when he locates you, easing his way into the tub behind you so you can lean back against his chest, strong arms encompassing you in safety. You feel the kiss he presses to the side of your head and can hear the quiet words he mutters to calm you. It works, and for a brief moment, you let yourself believe that this isn't a lie after all.

Two Months Before

Rumors only grow.

Someone catches you when you ease into the passenger seat of his car, a rare smile on his face when he leans over to steal a kiss. A coworker observes the way he lingers in your presence, making excuses to bring paperwork to your desk instead of anyone else's. The chatter intensifies as he walks into the Embassy each morning, hair sticking up on the back of his head like he can't be bothered to tame it, only for you to fix it later when you think no one is watching.

It spirals before you can even try to hide it.

"Have you seen them together?"

"They have to be fucking."

"Lucky bitch."

You change desks to escape it. You remove yourself from the constant questioning and away from his watchful gaze like it will do something to stop the whispers. A feeble attempt at keeping up the charade as you try to quell the suspicions racing around the office. An effort to deny the allegations that you're more than colleagues and about the way he fucks you in the evidence room.

Which, he does, but you never admit it, and neither does he.

Out in the open, your life is a fabricated reality, but when you're sated and tangled in the sheets of his bed, the lines begin to blur.

He explains that the women really were informants, but that they also filled a void he's spent most of his life trying to fill. He tells you about his childhood, about growing up on the ranch, and how he hopes to return there when this can all be put to rest. He's honest when you ask about his past relationships, giving you the backstory on the lies he'd been told that nearly resulted in a marriage he couldn't fathom being in now.

Especially not when he has you.

When you tell yourself he's telling the truth, it still feels like a lie.

It's late. Too late.

Javier always appears like clockwork, but tonight he's nowhere to be seen. It makes you nervous, especially when the distant sound of gunfire sends a chill along your spine. The clock hits ten. Then eleven. When midnight rolls around, you're doing everything you can to convince yourself that he's fine. That he just got caught up with something at the Embassy, that he's with Steve and they've finally found a lead that takes them somewhere productive.

And then, something triggers in your mind.

Doubt creeps in. Your heart rate increases and you try to steady your breath as the whispers grow louder.

"Think she knows he keeps a tally?"

"She should get out while she can."

"It's only a matter of time before he cheats."

By the time he appears, you've convinced yourself that they're telling the truth.

"Where were you?"

He doesn't meet your gaze, the first sign that whatever is about to follow is exactly in line with the warnings you should have listened to sooner. You should've believed them instead of lying to yourself. You'll never be good enough for Javier Peña.

"Please, just..."

"Where. Were. You?" You repeat, standing your ground. Javi remains silent, the anger clouding your vision to the point that you miss the haunted look in his eyes. The one that you should've noticed. "Get out."

His expression shifts to something more hardened. He runs a hand through his hair as he blows out a puff of air. "I'm sorry, I just..."

"Get out, Javier."

"I love you," he says at the same time.

Everything stops. "You don't mean that."

"I do," he returns, taking a step closer, "and don't even try to lie to me, because I know you feel the same way."

You spiral, panic setting in until you're no longer sure which lie you should believe. Yours or theirs. The idea that he's been bound to leave you from the beginning, or the concept that you could never love someone like him anyway. The argument that you're together or the case that you're not. The plea you make with yourself that you love him or the reasoning that he could never truly love you. That everything is based on a lie.

So you lie, too.

"You want the truth, Javi? Fine. Deep down? Deep down I could never love you."

Two Days Later

You learn why he was late and it destroys you. The horrors he witnessed in the dark of night are revealed from the shadows and it makes you sick to think that instead of enveloping him in your arms, you sent him away.

He hasn't shown up at the Embassy since.

"Bet he's out fucking another informant."

"What did I tell you? Notch on the bedpost."

"Think he'll fuck me next?"

You want to scream at them. Want to set the record straight once and for all, that every second of the relationship you've shared with Javi has been tainted by the lies. The ones they've told you and the ones you've told yourself. And now, because you were stupid enough to believe them, you've fucked it up.

The phone calls you make to his apartment go unanswered. You beg Steve to check on his partner, but Javi never opens the door. You've thought a dozen times about stopping by his favorite bar just to see if that's where he's ended up, but you talk yourself out of it. You convince yourself that he doesn't want to see you and resolve that it's the truth. A final attempt at masking the way your heart is breaking.

But the lies can't dull the reality that the only one who hasn't lied is him.

Grey clouds blanket the sky when you step into the parking lot, your eyes immediately traveling to the empty spot reserved for him. Drops of rain fall on your skin, mingling with the tears you can't seem to stop. You haven't slept. You can't, not when your mind insists on repeating his words over and over.

"I love you."

By the time you make it home, thunder is rattling the frames on the walls of your apartment. Your subconscious takes over, melting away at the emotions you've been riddled with for days and replacing them with fear. Fear of the storm outside, yes, but also the fear that you'll never see him again. The fear that you'll never have the chance to tell him the truth.

The wind picks up quickly as you land in the hallway, your arms wrapped around you as the storm outside matches the intensity of the one raging in your mind. It's overwhelming, the flash of lightning mirroring the detonation of your relationship as you sob into your knees. It consumes you to the point that you're completely unaware of the warmth. You don't notice when he carries you to your bed, barely registering the way he coaxes you back to reality.

"Breathe, mi amor. Breathe."

He holds your face against his neck, hand on the back of your head as he draws you close. His breath is steady and he encourages you to match it. Slowly, you do, and as the sound of the storm dies down, so do the voices, until the only one left that matters is yours.

You finally tell him the truth.

"I love you."

"I know you do, Carino. I know."

[forlorn-crows]

And You Know That It Takes Two

Rating: E for Explicit

Relationship(s): Copia/Dewdrop

Tags: transitional period between era iv and era v, banter, slice of life, first time, first kiss, handjobs. beta'd AND correctly translated italian!

Words: 3731

Summary: “Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar.

special thanks to @miasmaghoul for beta'ing and @foxybouquet for the italian translations ♡

EDIT: now with ART from the fabulous @noahl-art. merci beaucoup, nono!! find his full artwork here

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

Caro: dear

Stai bene?: (Are) you okay?

Ti piace?: Do you like this?/Does this feel good?

Merdaccia infernale: (roughly) infernal fucking shit. Closest to "unholy shit".

Proprio così: That’s it.

“D’you think Lucifer would want us to have black mass every Saturday?” Dew pokes the wooden arm of Copia’s chair with the toe of his boot. “Shouldn’t we be exercising our sinful wiles instead of listening to you drone on about the Dark One?” 

Copia tugs on a scrap of paper trapped beneath the ghoul’s thigh. “You do plenty of that on your off time, my ghoul,” he teases. He looks over his reading glasses, offering a smirk. Dew can hear the unspoken eh? at the end of his sentence, so much so he can’t help rolling his eyes and smirking back. 

“How would you know, old man?” Dew fires back, flicking the hem of Copia’s trousers with his tail. He leans in closer. Elbows resting on his slightly spread knees until his face is level with the anti-pope’s. “Listening in on your free time?” The fire ghoul smiles wickedly, giving him an obvious once over. He cocks his head and bites his tongue between his teeth, waiting for an answer. 

Copia’s face rosies a bit, but he returns to his chicken scratch. He jots down a few words before he mutters: “I am sure you do not fantasize your Papa spying on you, caro.” 

“Maybe I don’t.” A lie. “Anyway, I think Rain’s loud enough to hear across the fuckin’ abbey. Probably have a soundtrack of water ghoul moans to lull you to sleep every other night,” Dew snickers. 

Copia just shakes his head with an amused sigh and continues taking notes. Little chunks of writing in the margins of photocopies of Latin texts, scrawling in both Italian and English in a little notebook off to the side. Dew’s struck with just how patient this man is, endlessly so. He can get crabby on tour, just like any of them, restless and tired, but he really is kind to him and his pack. 

The fire ghoul hums thoughtfully and returns to his upright position. Leaning back into the circles of bare desk he cleared earlier for his hands. “Do you get tired of putting up with us, Papa?” he asks casually. 

“Dewdrop,” Copia says with a measured tone. He puts his pen down, and his glasses too, looking up at his lead guitarist and steepling his fingers. They’re devoid of gloves, Dew notices in passing, his nails neatly trimmed and his skin smooth and humanly wrinkly. “We have been working together for how many years now?”

Dew shrugs. “A few.”

“Si, quite a few, hm?” Copia agrees. He swivels his chair so his body faces Dew more directly and places a gentle hand on his knee. “Why then, my ghoul, would you think I am ‘putting up with you,’ as you put it?”

“Don’t tell me you actually like us,” Dew says sarcastically. But Copia’s hand is warm on his knee, and he’s trying not to focus too much on how he’s looking at him right now, all soft eyes and a worried crease in his brow. 

“Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar. 

He’s quiet for so long that Copia clears his throat and gives his knee a polite pat before taking his hand away. He makes to go back to his notes, but Dew mourns the loss of his hand immediately. His pen barely touches the pages before the fire ghoul sobers up and inhales sharply. 

“Uh,” he blurts out stupidly, shaking his head and squinting his eyes at Copia. Unsure what to say but determined to say something. “You mean that?” Immediately he wants to crawl back into himself—back into the Pit, even—for sounding so small. Vulnerable. 

“Yes, I do,” Copia says quietly, genuinely. He taps his pen against the paper, little dots of black littering the line beneath his skip this? note. Instead of resuming his annotations, he sets the pen down once more, looking up at the ghoul perched atop his desk. His white eye is suddenly piercing in the lamplight, and he’s looking at him like he can see more than just the ghoul sitting in front of him.

“Well, I guess we’re . . . fond of you too, or whatever you wanna call it,” he mocks, aiming for levity. Dew’s tail flicks, ruffling the hem of Copia’s pants again.

Copia chuckles. “Well, that is good then,” he smiles.

Dew hums. Offers a one-sided smile in return. Easy. He could leave it at that; resume the relaxed banter about sermons and his new duties as Papa while Copia gets increasingly tired and/or annoyed and shoos him away with a chocolate truffle in hand (the ones he keeps stashed in his desk drawer for evenings like this). 

He could. But in the same moment, he decides he’s tired of tip-toeing around the idea of what this man is to him. He wades out into the waters, throwing a line.

“Is that . . . the only thing you feel for us?” he says at length, quieter. He scoots his thigh closer to the anti-pope’s hand. Encouraging him to touch again, if he wants. The sudden heat in his belly hoping he does. He wades a little deeper. “For me?” 

Now it’s Copia’s turn to falter, fingers twitching at the fabric of Dew’s trousers. He looks down at Dew’s thigh, then back up to his face. Searching his copper eyes for something, anything, his thoughts as loud as if Dew were a quintessence ghoul. 

“I . . .” he trails off, a failed start. He clears his throat. “I am, as they say, only human. So there are, perhaps, other . . . things. Si.” 

Dew grabs his hand gently, placing it just above where it was moments ago, confidence building. “Fantasies, maybe?” 

“Dewdrop—”

“For how bold you are on stage, you sure are fuckin’ shy in private, Papa.”

Copia huffs a laugh, moving his hand tentatively along Dew’s thigh. “Eh . . . reserved, maybe. But I don’t know about shy, my ghoul.” He shuffles his chair so he’s situated back between the fire ghoul’s dangling legs. 

Dew smirks. “See? Can call me motherfucker in front of thousands of screaming girls, but it’s my ghoul in here.”

“Ah, but that is the difference. They do not get the privilege of seeing you offstage.” A beat.  “Though, I imagine they would do a lot of things for that privilege,” he mutters. 

Dew bites his tongue in asserting that he is, in fact, a motherfucker offstage too. Instead, he tilts his head so his ashy hair cascades over his shoulder and spreads his legs further, hooking a foot in the arm of Copia’s chair and tugging it closer. He’s baring all of himself now, literally and figuratively. Potentially risking his position, too, if this goes south. 

But by the look on the anti-pope’s face, they’re both too deep to swim back now. 

“And what’re you gonna do with that privilege, Papa?”

“You’re asking?” he deflects, putting the other hand on the opposite thigh.

“If you don’t touch me in the next five seconds, old man, I swear to Satan—”

“Like this?” Copia smooths his hand up the inside of Dew’s thigh, running along the seam of his pants until he reaches where the ghoul’s started to chub up. His breath hitches, head tilting back. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. He looks back down at his hand, tucking chin to chest as he watches those fingers press just so, right where the tip of his dick sits already sticky in his boxers. He bites his lip with a stifled noise.

“Long time we’ve danced around each other, I think,” Copia says. Dew just nods, flexing his hips into his fingers to get more friction. Copia presses more firmly, taking the hint. Drawing a firm line down the ridge of his clothed shaft. 

“Humans and ghouls, well . . .” he trails off, looking up at Dew.

“You’ve thought about it,” he replies simply. 

“Of course. Of course I have, caro. I–” he laughs, shakes his head in disbelief. “I mean, look at you.” He stops himself, color rising to his cheeks. He drops his gaze, focusing back on the hand on Dew’s fly.

The fire ghoul watches him trace a finger around the button before reaching down himself, popping it open. “What about me?” he asks softly, inviting. Shifting his hips again to encourage him to continue. 

“Not just fishing for compliments, I hope,” Copia teases lightly, a little bit of that stage persona shining through as he drags the zipper down.

“That’s not what—hh-oh.” He cuts himself off with a stuttered breath of a moan, Copia’s hand having reached past his fly and into his pants to pet at the dot of wetness sticking his boxers to his tip. The look of pure curiosity—wonder, really—on the man’s face as he feels him up has his stomach flipping. “Fuck, keep doing that.”

“You tell me what you like, my ghoul, and I will do it,” he whispers. 

Dew groans as another bead of precum blurts out into his boxers, wet at just his words. “Keep teasing it,” he breathes. “Shit, see how wet you can get it.” He twitches under Copia’s fingers as he wraps his hand around his clothed cock, thumb swiping back and forth over the head. Firm, but just light enough that it makes Dew keen for more. 

Copia continues the little motions, over and over until Dew’s underwear clings to him, saturated with pre. The friction of it and the intensity of Copia’s gaze on him has him dizzy, wanting. The man’s thumb presses over his slit, and he can’t help his eyes rolling back, thighs twitching towards each other. 

“F-fuck,” he stutters. 

Copia rubs his other hand over Dew’s thigh, soothing. “Stai bene? Good?” 

The fire ghoul nods, hair falling off his shoulders to frame his face. “More than,” he groans. He bites his lip, bucking into Copia’s hand. “Again—do it agai—yes, Satanas, yes.”

The anti-pope presses into his slit again, this time dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridge with even pressure. Humming as he works it back and forth. It’s so sensitive, so instantly overwhelming that Dew has to consciously restrain himself from gouging his claws into the wood. He lets his head drop back, facing the ceiling and biting his lip to stave off the rush of arousal that threatens to make him spill in his pants. 

Below him, Copia sighs. “Beautiful, caro,” he comments. 

Dew half-snorts, half-groans, bringing his chin back down to his chest. “You flatter me,” he says with an eye roll. 

“They say it gets one everywhere, no?” 

“If by ‘everywhere’ you mean ‘in my pants’.”

“If that is where you want me.”

Dew sucks his teeth, scoffs a little in disbelief. Eyebrows twitching upwards when Copia fingers the elastic of his boxers, blunt nails scratching at the peach fuzz on his stomach. He can’t get a grasp on the anti-pope’s tone, switching so fast between charming and soft it makes his head spin. He’s seen both moods separately, of course, fired back his own quips with a silver tongue or begrudgingly accepted praise and a head pat for a productive rehearsal. But having a cocktail of both leaves him with mental whiplash.

The hand making his dick wet probably isn’t helping in that department.

So he nods instead, helping the man shimmy down the waistband of his boxers to snuggle it under his balls, freeing his aching length. Dew hisses at the cool air of the room breezing over the slick-coated head—though, it’s replaced with a puff of hot air when Copia breathes: 

“May I?” 

Dew nods again, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows as a silent duh. Copia chuckles at that, scooting a little closer. He smooths his other hand up the fire ghoul’s thigh, up, up, up until he stops at his hip and rests his palm there, forearm dropping to sit on top of his leg. Dew’s stuck watching its ascent and misses the moment the anti-pope reaches for him, wrapping his fingers gently around the base of his cock and stroking upwards. 

“Lucifer,” he chokes out. He snaps his gaze to where their skin meets and watches his dick kick hard in Copia’s fist, more precum welling up in the slit. 

“Ti piace?” Copia continues to stroke slowly, not immediately translating as earlier. His accent curls around Dew’s eardrums, the Italian twisting with foreignness and short-circuiting his language synapses. He shakes his head, begging the small box of Italian in his brain labeled ‘Papa’s Nonsense Words’ to make sense of the phrase.  

He blinks at Copia’s expectant gaze. “Huh?” he asks eloquently, forcing the word through an embarrassing moan.

“Does this feel good?” he supplies, nodding toward his hand. 

The fire ghoul stares at the man’s hand, now wet with his own slick as it glides up and down. When his brain finally catches up to him, he barks a bewildered laugh. “I’m gonna have to learn more fuckin’ Italian for this,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” Copia laughs too, realizing his little slip-up. Dew’s shoulders shake with his own renewed laughter. Giggles passing between the two as if they were twelve-year-olds who just pulled off a prank on their teacher, not a fifty-something leader of a Satanic church jerking off a near immortal hellbeast turned quasi-human. 

But the shared laughter is familiar. Comforting, in a way. Something to dissolve that final layer of caution that sat like oil on water between them. 

“You are an endless delight, my ghoul,” Copia sighs, huffing out a last chuckle. 

“I’ll give you an endless—uuh-nholy ff–fuck.” Copia runs his thumb over the slit of Dew’s cock, and his sentence is reduced to an eye-rolling moan. He grabs hold of the anti-pope’s forearm that rests on his leg, fingers digging into the muscle as he drools out a fat roll of precum. 

Copia hums and smears it around the head, pulling down the foreskin to rub at the sensitive underside. It’s all the courtesy he’s granted before the man goes back to stroking him in earnest, skirting over the head with each downward pass and tightening around the base when he pulls up.  

Dew grips his forearm tighter, thighs jumping with each tease of his frenulum. “Faster,” he begs. “And tighter. Fuck, feels s’ good.” 

“Merdaccia infernale, are you always so . . .” Copia shakes his head, letting the room fill with the lewd, creamy sounds of Dew’s slick-soaked cock.

“Wet?” Dew supplies as a choked-off noise. “Not al–hah–always. Not since—” his eyes roll back again, too caught in pleasure to be completely coherent. “The–shit–the—” Dew flails his hand in some nonsensical gesture. 

“Si, si.” The man understands without further elaboration that he means his elemental transition. That, despite the effective evaporation of his water, the born-again fire ghoul still carries traits from his original alignment—including dribbling pre like a leaky tap.

But Copia knows, doesn’t need him to explain or elaborate. Just tightens his grip and speeds his hand, looking up at Dew with a gaze that cuts him right down to the core. Intense, yet soft and admiring. Desire flickering just behind that. 

“Shit,” Dew hisses, letting his eyes close fully. Sinking into it. His hips are moving of their own accord now, little twitches that meet each downstroke, just barely fucking into Copia’s fist. It’s so much better than it has right to be, but Dew doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way Copia’s hand feels on his dick, the way his other hand grips his hip, the way his breathing grows heavier and tickles the fine hairs at the base of his dick, how it chills the wetness at the tip only to be warmed by his fingers within the same second. 

“Oh, oh, ohhhh fuck, Papa, fuck.” His pleasure heightens suddenly, the backs of his thighs going pleasantly tingly and his toes curling in his boots. He can feel it starting to build, balls drawing closer to his body with every stroke. 

“Close?” Copia whispers, gripping Dew’s hip tighter and shifting in his chair. He grunts a little, no doubt filled out in his slacks too. Dew can’t confirm from this angle, especially not with the way his vision blurs, doubles even. But he has to be, if his wavering voice is anything to go by. 

Dew throbs at just the idea of his cock straining against his zipper, balls heavy and squished between his thighs as he watches the fire ghoul come apart. Neglecting it as he showers Dew with undivided attention. He’s assaulted with the mental image of Copia in those tight, white pants from his Cardinal days, absolutely everything on display, and he groans. 

He’s shaking now, stomach jumping as his breath starts to quicken. He’s sure his eyes are wild as he looks at the man below him, whining through his teeth as his hand moves faster, faster. Dew watches Copia bite his lip and look down at the movements of his hand, and the sudden fantasy image of that mouth kissing the tip of his cock makes him grip the anti-pope’s forearm until it threatens to bruise, nearly doubling over with the swell of impending orgasm.

Dew needs him. He needs him so badly. 

“Gonna cum—fuck, please,” he moans, breath quickening to shortened gasps. “Kiss me—please, m’ gonna—Papa—” Dew grasps at the man’s shirt collar, pulling at it to get him to stand. Dragging him in by the shoulders and kissing him fiercely, whining when Copia groans into his mouth and pumps him even faster. The scent on him is instantly intoxicating; notes of neroli and patchouli, dull wax from the black patches of makeup, the barest hint of incense smoke underneath. All pressed directly into his nostrils where Dew’s nose smushes against his. 

“Proprio così,” Copia mumbles, encouraging. His other arm loops around to cradle him between the shoulder blades, hand threading through his hair to grasp and hold as he kisses him deeply. That little bit of tension on Dew’s scalp sends a zing of heat right to his dick, and he’s moaning like a whore as he scrabbles at Copia’s shirt, ready to fall over the edge.

“Fucking. Fu–uhh, uh, uhh—” Dew loses all sense of words as he clings to him, mouth dropping open and tongue drooling over Copia’s lips. He cums hard, spilling over his hand with a shuddering groan, bucking into that wet fist until he’s risking sliding off the edge of the desk. He doesn’t, of course, braced and embraced by Copia’s body as he is. 

Dew’s head drops to his shoulder as he rides out the seemingly endless spasms. Far too many for a handy, if he’s being honest. But the anti-pope works him over until he’s milked dry, whispering more words into his hair that he doesn’t understand and rubbing a soothing hand over his back. 

“Shit,” he rasps. After a few more moments he peeks down at his lap—lucid enough now to mind his horns—where his black pants are now streaked with white, Copia’s hand resting on his fly also coated in the stuff. He shakes his head softly and laughs. 

“Got me good, old man.”

“Dewdrop . . .” His tone is pleading, breathless. Dew lifts his head and the hand on his back migrates to the side of his face, caressing softly. He leans into it as he looks at Copia, his face flushed and a look of pure want and adoration in his eyes. “Please, caro.”

He doesn’t need to ask what he needs, eyes flicking down to the tent in his pants and back up again. Dew nods. Moves the hands around Copia’s neck to the back of his head, pulling him in. 

It’s less feverish this time. Softer and slower, but far from chaste. Idly he wonders if any of the others have had him like this: privately in his office, a mere exchange of something fleeting, or hot and heavy in a storage closet after a show, frantic and adrenaline-fueled. 

If any of them have, they’ve never told. He’ll go back to the ghoul wing smelling of him, unless he runs straight to the shower. Douse himself in scalding hot water until he can barely smell himself.

But he won’t. 

Dew slides into the space in front of Copia, ignoring the mess on his dick as he presses close to the man. Licking into his mouth and sliding their tongues together as Copia’s hands start to roam. The fire ghoul slots a thigh between his legs as his palms reach his waist, pressing against his crotch. 

Copia whines in his throat, twisting his fingers into the fabric of Dew’s shirt. He’s hard as steel against his leg, throbbing when Dew presses harder and tugging at him like he could still get closer than he already is. 

“Sit down,” Dew rumbles. He breaks the kiss and holds his gaze as he presses on his shoulders, easing him back into the desk chair. Down, down, down until Dew looms over him. He smirks slightly, confidence and ease returning to him as their positions switch. Running his thumb along the painted upper lip then dragging down to the bare one. 

Wordlessly, the fire ghoul sinks to his knees. Scoots Copia to the edge of his chair so he can spread his legs. He smooths his palms up his thighs, his infernal heat seeping through the trousers. He watches Copia’s face as he pets at him, cupping and rubbing at his cock through the layers of fabric. The man’s chest heaves. Hands gripping the wooden arms of his chair. Exhaling shakily as Dew traces a claw around the button on his fly.

“Allow me,” Dew purrs.

[thesecretsofthedivine]

Pick a Pile Reading | What Do People Admire/Find Beautiful About You? ☄. *. ⋆

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──────

PILE 1 COLLECTIVE

7 of pentacles. ace of cups. the magician.

channeled songs: sh-boom - the chords. starstruck - christopher wilde. magic - bob. where you lead - carole king.

people admire how much of a visionary you are! your aesthetic sensitivity, long-term goals, personal values, business skills, creativity, and optimism are some sources of your beauty. people find you to be very physically beautiful in general though. maybe it’s the advice you give or the pleasant sound of your voice, but your charm is undeniable. people also appreciate your unique flare, work ethic, and emotional intelligence. it’s clear you have big dreams and capabilities. something about you is dependable and trustworthy to others. you have tinkering energy and raw talent. people recognize the positive impact you make regardless of the environment. you may often be in a fixer-upper, alchemist, support system, teacher role. people admire your dedication and feel more connected to their dreams/purpose because of you. your energy is healing and uplifting. the sincerity in your heart is a gift and allows others to find hope/relief in you. you’re a trailblazer, philanthropist, humanitarian that does the world good simply by existing and sharing your light. your self-assured outlook is infectious and the way you make life feel like a party is irreplaceable. people admire how much of a safe space and muse you are, tied all into one.

PILE 2 COLLECTIVE

knight of cups. 2 of wands. 9 of wands rx.

channeled songs: perfect (exceeder) - mason. the heart wants what it wants - selena gomez. come & get it - selena gomez.

you are a natural flirt and an object of affection, whether you know it or not! you've got sweetheart/crush/eye candy energy. people love to simply know and be near u. it can be hard to read your mind because of your gentle/feminine/passive nature, which tends to keep the thrill or mystery alive! you're someone that can appear intimidating or too hot to handle, but your inner self is much more reassuring and grounded. people find your resilience, charm, social status, patience, thoughtfulness, style, and mysteriousness to be beautiful. it’s giving hot but unavailable/bad bitch or bad boy. you can be quite protective with your energy/time, which people admire. you know not to settle and to treat yourself like the prize. you often intimidate but intrigue others. cat's got their tongue when they look at you! you embody the beauty standard or simply have that “it” factor. you leave people wanting more and struggling to move on from you. you’re unforgettable and mesmerizing, which is beautiful. you’re like a still and elegant work of art that people would go up to admire in a museum. sometimes it can seem like you're a shiny toy that everyone wants a chance to play with, but you’re not easily impressed.

PILE 3 COLLECTIVE

queen of swords. 5 of wands rx. knight of pentacles. knight of wands.

channeled songs: look at me, i’m sandra dee - grease soundtrack. something that i want - grace potter.

your composure, morality, clear judgment, inner beliefs, and stimulating conversation are really attractive to others! people feel that you have a way with words or a commanding presence without actually exerting force. you’re strategic and wise beyond your years, which makes people want to respect you. others also admire your resilience and thoughtfulness. you can easily find answers to problems or have an unmatched intuition to those around you. you’re in it to win it, which makes u dedicated and passionate. for some, you may relate to the underdog. even with life’s tough challenges, you always persevere. people admire your loyalty & find your mind attractive. you may tend to keep to yourself or people could view you as having a big ego, but your tunnel vision blocks out all that noise. you're admired for the way you defy expectations and others’ authority. you are the boss of your own life and a force to be reckoned with. your identity is a mix of stoic tradition + edgy rebellion, which can surprise people at times. your tenacity, analytical traits, high spirits, and capacity to lead are beautiful. you have natural leadership skills that make people want your approval or loyalty. your aura is dominant and elusive so people know better than to stand in your way or do anything other than tag along for the ride.

PILE 4 COLLECTIVE

8 of swords. 9 of swords. 8 of pentacles. justice (libra).

channeled songs: i’m a mess - bebe rexha. mind over matter - young the giant.

your past, independence, emotional maturity/depth, complex mind, shadow self, and resilience are focal points of attraction. you are a survivor who takes their time in opening up/letting go. people admire the capabilities of your heart and feel a lot of sympathy for you. others may feel that you are too much of a people pleaser or often underestimate/overwork yourself, which makes them want to show up for you. the more reluctant with embracing confidence you are, the more people want to advocate for your potential and growth. others feel like you deserve all the privileges and platforms that you may have been previously denied. you deserve to take up space. people tend to develop a karmic attraction to you where they want to see things through or can’t bring themselves to leave your life. you are hardworking and deserving of everything good, which can enhance other people’s desire to provide and show up for you. if life has not been fair to you, this inspires generosity and admiration in others. people feel protective and want to advocate for you. your fairness and respect for the balance of life is also beautiful. people enjoy how even-tempered, considerate, honest, and reflective you are. they see you as the work hard, play hard type. “went from nothing to something”, apocalyptic energy. you’re on your grind and everyone wants to be a personal cheerleader to you. you fight the good fight and others believe in ur potential because of how beautiful your heart is + how much you’ve overcome. your willpower is also a defining statement/testament of your core identity.

[kuroppiii]

  forty, love ᵕ̈       tennis au!miya twins x gn!reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : the three of you always  ⋮⋮  end up finding yourselves on the ⋮⋮  court , time and time again

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮 ( for now )     ♡ # 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 🥛     ♡ # 2.2𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴     ♡ # 𝙘𝙬 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴     𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵     𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘰𝘯𝘦-𝘵𝘰-𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺

🧺 extensions  ⋮⋮  series masterlist  ⋮⋮  next  ⋮⋮

🎶 on shuffle " the signal " - trent reznor & atticus ross ( challengers movie soundtrack )

🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ hey chat i caved and i'm making this multiple parts 😔☝️ a special gift for the one and only ree 😚 inspired by challengers aka my fav movie ever ( besides greta gerwig's little women , or cmbyn , or emma 2020 , or –– ) ”

in tennis, it's about winning the points that matter.

you can barely sit still. the heat of the sun, blaring down onto the court and onto the spectators in the stands of this match, didn't matter to you at all, though. you were used to this: the summer sun, desperation in the air, and your eye trained on the ball, zooming in a neon green blur from left, to right, from left, to right–

on your left, is the man you swore your life to. on your right is the man you loved.

you must admit, maybe it was bad, getting involved with a pair of twins for the better half of about two decades now. but if you had to defend yourself, they were like no one else you've ever met on the court.

and at this moment, it all comes back to you. all those years ago, when the miya twins first stepped onto court with their duffels.

،   の   ✧   後    🌱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

you were 18 then. nine years earlier, you watched as little dots darkened the blue hardcourt underneath you, bent over and supporting yourself with your arms on your knees. you felt the drops of your sweat glide down from your hairline and your temples to your chin and the tip of your nose, finally hitting the plane of blue beneath your sneakers. the racket in your hands was starting to dig into your palm. the summer sun relentlessly prodded at the exposed skin of your shoulders as they heaved up and down as you tried to catch your breath.

24 hours from that moment, you would be in a make-or-break tournament final for your tennis career. if you secured a that win in that ongoing tournament at the time, you were guaranteed to be in the top seed in ranking for the next event you were attending later that summer–when by then, you were hoping, you'd have gone pro.

'it only goes up from there, y/n,' your coach had told you. and that was your dream, ever since you were a child.

your heart was pounding up into your ears, but you knew that was just your body's signal to keep going.

you heard a prolonged creak far off–the gate to the court. thinking it was your coach, the only other person with you at the moment, you glance up and go to straighten up your back before they could scold you for slacking.

but no. past your coach, two boys had entered the court that your coach had previously assured was supposed to be private, just you and her for the afternoon. it was hard to see in the bright sunlight, even with your visor on, but one had a head of dirty blonde hair, and–as the pounding in your head died down–your ears caught on to how he was actually speaking pretty loudly as him and his companion approached. said companion had gray hair, saying very little and not nearly as loudly as his friend.

'gray hair? an old guy? maybe that's the other's coach,' brows knit together, you thought.

but as you squinted to see better against the daylight, you noticed how young–and how good-looking, actually–that "coach" was.

and... wait. same with the blonde guy.

in fact, they were alike in their good looks.

a bit too alike.

'am i seeing double?' you adjusted the wires on your racket while your eyes were trained on the two as they continued their carefree stroll in, slugging their matching black duffels with a certain fox-looking logo on them.

"y/n! what's the hold up? you alright?" your coach shouts out from the opposite side of the net.

just as you were about to say you think you need a drink of water–to hopefully prevent you from hallucinating and seeing more things in twos–the strangers became startled at the sound of your coach and their heads darted in your direction.

the gray-haired one's face seemed unfazed, but you watched as his eyes confusedly dart back and forth between you and your coach. the blonde, visibly surprised with brows raised high, quickly whips his arm around, the shiny watch on his wrist reflecting a brief glare as he flicks it to check the time.

"oh! oh, we're sorry!" he calls out with a chuckle. he grabs a hold of his partner's arm and starts redirecting their path towards the stands, "our reservation for this court isn't for another hour! we can wait, don't mind us!"

they already started climbing up to a place to sit, their toned legs reflecting the sun above. 'wow, those shorts are short'

"hey! who told you that you can–"

"no," you interrupted your coach before she could scare them away from the court, "they can watch. it's only for a little while longer, anyway, yeah?"

with a huff, your coach complied with your reasoning, and your gaze lingered on the strangers for just a bit longer as they sat down, before you pulled a tennis ball out of your pocket and got ready to serve in front of your new audience.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

"alright! that's enough for today. let's get you back to the hotel so you can rest up before your big day tomorrow," your coach announced about an hour of rallies and drills later, clapping you on the back. dragging yourself over to the bench, you ravaged your bag for some water. racket, towel, snacks... shit. you didn't bring your water with you.

as soon as you started to curse yourself under your breath you heard the distant crackle of a plastic bottle filled with the very water you were deprived of. following the noise, you look up–seeing the strangers from earlier, still sitting in the stands. (you had forgotten they were even there, honestly.)

they sat there, still. mouths agape and each holding a water bottle in his hand. they kept that pose for a long moment, and you couldn't help but start to laugh lightly at them. that seemed to snap them out of their trance, though, and suddenly both of them were climbing over rows of chairs in front of them and scrambling to get over the partridge to where you were.

"w-wow that was amazing–"

"how did you manage to return the one that–"

"and this was just your practice? it's incredible how–"

"you're almost, like, faster than the ba–"

"thank you," you interrupted them with a chuckle. the speed at which two quickly shut up the moment you spoke was astonishing, and it was like they were waiting with bated breath for your next sentence, "are you two here for the tournament? you can watch out for me tomorrow if you're so impressed. no use seeing me when i'm not even against an actual opponent."

two water bottles were now outstretched in front of you. you glanced between the bottles and the to boys' faces, expectant and still laced with such awe. (had to admit, spiked your ego a little bit.)

you eventually took the bottle the gray-haired one was offering. your hands grazed slightly when you did, and in the corner of your eye you could see how he gazed down to where your two hands briefly met–

"and you can watch out for us tomorrow!" the blonde quickly interjected. he gave you a toothy grin as his hand holding the other bottle was quickly wrapped around the other's shoulders.

you cracked open the water bottle you picked and took a swig, humming as the refreshing rush of cold water slid down your throat. closing the cap of the bottle you ask, "both of you? you play doubles?"

"yeah we do!" the one grinning at you extended his empty hand this time, "the miya twins. miya atsumu."

the other quickly followed suit with his hand, "miya osamu."

'hm, twins. that explains it.'

amused, you gently shook each one's hand. you shoved the last of your belongings into your duffel and slung it over your shoulder. you gave them a nod, "i'll see you around, then."

"see ya!"

"we'll see you tomorrow."

as you walked away from the court, the gray-haired one's water bottle still in your hand, you took a mental note of highlight reels to look up as you took an ice bath in your hotel room that night.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

the next day arrived. at the venue, the crowds were buzzing and announcers sounded off on the p.a. systems, announcing the lineup for the day–including your match, the first of the day. the tournament final.

all the sounds of the tournament couldn't overcome the pounding in your head, however. you felt the adrenaline in your veins as you made your way to the locker room, duffel slung over your shoulder and sneakers squeaking against the pristine tiles.

you decided to throw your headphones on as you did your warm-ups. despite how prepared you felt for this moment–the one you've been fantasizing about for years–you still couldn't help but feel the subtle tingle of nervousness in your bones.

eventually, it was time to face the crowd, the court, and your opponent. but the moment you stepped out into the sunlight, you were suddenly overcome with a laser-sharp focus.

this was the moment. this was your time to take what you always wanted.

the coin was tossed and your opponent got to serve first. you ready yourself on your side of the court, spinning your racket in anticipation. you observe your opponent, and for a moment you both lock eyes. in that split second it was like a cord snapped and stretched out between you two, connecting the both of you and suddenly putting you both in sync–like you two were the only ones in the stadium.

the very idea of nervousness was foreign to your mind in that moment. your racket melded with your hand and became an extension of you. your feet were just itching to follow that damn tennis ball.

eyes on the ball... eyes on the ball...

in a flash, the neon sphere gets lifted up into the air, and you smile to yourself as you already feel your feet taking you where you need to be on the court before the sound of your opponent's racket crashing with the ball could reverberate around the stands.

an impact on the hardcourt. corner.

you swing your racket and send the ball flying over the net and back to your opponent.

it's in, but your opponent is right there. another hit. to the right.

you feel the air rush past you as you stride over and return the ball to hit the corner farthest from your opponent. just where you wanted it.

hit. middle. hit. center. hit. corner. hit–

the crowd erupts in cheers and applause. the ball had gone flying past the other player across the net and you hear the umpire announce your first point of the match.

win.

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

third set.

you had won the first one 6 to 3.

you lost the second set 5 to 7 after a long rally with your opponent but you shook it off. you could come back for the final set.

this set has gone on for what seems like forever. this tie break has gone on for what seems like forever. you've already won 7 points, yet your opponent's score has remained hot on your tail.

until now.

"match point," the umpire announces, and the stands fall silent.

you needed to finish this off.

it only takes one point now. one ace can end this match off once and for all.

it's your turn to serve, and you bounce the ball against the hardcourt as you let the thumping in your head die down. it was your signal to keep going, to make that last final push.

you take a deep breath before serving. you think of what it will feel like to lift that trophy.

you gracefully toss the ball in the air, but as your eye follows it as it briefly eclipses the blaring sun above the stadium, you swear you can catch a slight glimpse of two heads of hair in the crowd.

one blonde and one gray, same agape look on their faces from the day before.

it was like they were seeing god.

but no, it was just you...

so same thing.

the sound of your racket and the ball colliding mid-air rips through the silence of the court at that same moment. a gust of air rushes back into the stadium as everyone lets out the breath they had been holding, and you hear the crowd cheer as you let yourself fall to the ground, letting the exhaustion from the match finally take over you because now it was over.

you win.

you feel your chest heave up and down as your arms land to cross over your sweaty, smiling face. you close your eyes, the summer sun trying as hard as ever to blind you through your eyelids, but all you could see behind them was that image of those twins.

you recall how shocked those two always seemed to be as they watched you play, and you couldn't help but start giggling to yourself.

🗒⋆ *. ୨୧⋆｡ taglist (2/30 at the time of publishing) : @zumicho , @liillyliilly (just send me an ask if you’re interested! xx)

[denaliwrites]

Hellbent Looking For A Godsend

Cale Erendreich x GN!Reader

Catch and Release Prompt: "Nerve"

Summary: A certain someone is getting on a certain someone else's nerves.

Soundtrack: Nerve Damage by Lifehouse

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Why do you all want fuckin' Cale Erendreich to kill you so badly --

"Have I struck a nerve?"

Sometimes, you really hated how easy it was for Cale to dig deep under your skin; normally it wasn't a huge issue -- hell, more often than not it led to a good angry fuck, and who didn't love that?

Now, though, your reports were behind schedule and you had deadlines to meet and your nerves were generally frayed and fucked and frazzled and you just didn't have time for your boyfriend's ceaseless teasing.

"Cale, please, for the love of God --"

"Sorry, God's not here right now, but I'd be more than happy to take a message."

You wanted to slap him. Actually, you wanted to deck him. Fully punch his lights out. You wouldn't actually, of course, but you could daydream about it. If he'd stop fucking bothering you -- which he'd do if he was unconscious.

The idea was growing more tempting by the moment.

"Don't you have literally anything better to do right now?" you asked with an aggravated sigh, rubbing your temples to ease a budding headache. "Literally anything at all."

"Fucking all those pointless little worries out of that pretty little head of yours would be better than this."

Admittedly, he was right.

Unfortunately, you needed this job.

"That is not an option at the moment," you told him, shooting him a glance.

"Babe, you've been at this for hours. You have time to take a break."

"If I take a break, I am not going to spend it having sex."

He shrugged. "I could draw you a bath."

Fuck, that was even more tempting than sex.

No, stay strong.

"You can draw me a bath as a reward for a job well done once I finish these fucking reports," you said despondently.

"I could always throw your computer in the bath."

"I will fucking kill you," you growled, shooting him a glare.

Normally, Cale would take that as a threat, and a serious one at that, and punish you mercilessly for it. Now, though, all he did was smirk. "I'd like to see you try."

"Oh, I'll do more than try," you assured him, sticking your tongue out at him. "Fuck with my work and I'll fuck you up."

"Noted," he said with a chuckle, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. "Your work is safe... for now."

He pulled away, retrieved a bottle of water and set it within your reach, then finally, finally wandered off to do... whatever it was he did when you were busy.

When you finally finished your reports, it was well past midnight. You expected Cale to have gone to bed, but instead, you found him reading a book in the living room.

And true to his word, he drew you a hot bath. You happily enjoyed the hot water, the good wine, and his expert massages.

The sex afterwards was pretty good, too.

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

(this is a side-by-side show and book review, now that I've read the books, so there will be book spoilers. Also I'm not good at keeping it short so it will be Long.)

Season 1 episode 2 [... After the Phantoms of Your Former Self] - part 1/3

- Can I start first with a shout out to the music? The soundtrack is gorgeous. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think violins are the main instruments of the opening theme and the music of the "Previously"? If it's the case, that could definitely be a throwback to Nicki, and how the violin music was so important to Lestat when he was still mortal. There's a passage in The Vampire Lestat where he describes the music that Nicki plays that made me shiver:

"He ripped into the song. He tore the notes out of the violin and each note was translucent and throbbing. [...] I had never known music like it, the rawness of it, the intensity, the rapid glittering torrents of notes that came out of the strings as he sawed away."

And then later on:

"Still the sound came. It came rising out of the instrument and cleaving the night as if it were some shining element, other than air and light and matter, that might climb to the very stars. [...] The long vibrant notes, and the chilling glissandos, and the violin singing in its own tongue to make every other form of speech seem false."

Given how important music is for Lestat in the books, it does seem like the show's soundtrack was given its equal importance.

Okay, back to the show.

- Oooooh, we are starting immediately with some Armandaniel! Ahem, sorry, that random guy in the background and Danny boy. Talking about Venetian art. The writers really said "this is a show that has to be seen multiple times at multiple stages of its development to really understand all the layers and all the subtext and all the interpersonal relationships".

*chokes on a cherry pit* "Marius de Romanus"?? Excuse me???!!! Armand has a painting of Marius in his Dubai penthouse? Sorry, I need to be revived, I think I just passed out.

[Daniel] "'Did you always work for him?' [Rashid/Armand] 'I serve a god. It is my honor to serve.'" - Armand you need another hobby than Louis, seriously. Remark: those lenses work really well, at no point can you tell that those are not Armand's real eyes; on the other hand Assad Zaman has really gorgeous brown eyes. Remark: even with the canon change that the sun doesn't make vampires immediately slip into the death sleep as it rises, the fact that Armand is always awake way before Louis does say something of his age.

Love that the mortal servants are wearing masks. Covid ain't no joke, kids.

- [Louis] "'I want to apologize for my outburst earlier. I can assure you it won't happen again.' [Daniel] 'Memory is a monster. We forget. It doesn't'." - firstly, Louis' entrance is eerie. The way he seems to be gliding on the floor, and the total stillness of his face, and the flatness of his voice (once again, in awe of Jacob's accent work). Secondly, hey, the main theme of the first two seasons, hammered in: memory can change, it can reshape itself, it can twist on itself to protect the mind, or to protect itself - can you trust that you remember what happened how it happened? Or is your mind cannibalizing itself, and therefore, do you know who you truly are?

Huh. The music isn't extradiegetic. It's actually playing in the scene.

[Louis] "AB negative, fresh from the farm." - sorry, can I ask, what fucking farm? Is this more of the roleplay, or are non-human animals' blood types also ABO (no, NOT that type, geez), or are we really saying Louis has a human farm...? Excuse me but this cannot be just a throwaway random comment, what the fuck. Too many implications. *five minutes later* Right, so, did a rapid search, apparently some animal blood types also have an A type, and some animals have so much more than the ABO system. In other words, this doesn't tell me anything. "Part of me wants to ask about the farm", yes please Daniel, ASK.

- Lestat is a bloody diva, I love him. Not much to say about the graveyard scene (disposal of the bodies), except that I'm dying of laughter. Louis is going through hell while his body dies, meanwhile Lestat is prancing around, throwing punchlines, humming to himself and stashing corpses into graves. This must have been so hilarious and chaotic to film! Note to self, check if there are bloopers and how many takes did this scene take. Pretty sure that's the kind of scene where you burst out laughing at your co-actor's antics at least once or twice.

[Lestat] "There's the spark." - first of all, how is Sam Reid that pretty, jesus. Secondly, I love the way they represent the vampire's sight. It's such a big passage each time, how a vampire sees the world differently, and not in a metaphorical way, in an actual "my eyes work differently now" way, so of course they couldn't just ignore it. Love that Lestat calls it a spark. And the way they each look at each other, Lestat as if he's falling even more in love, and Louis as if he's not only going out of his mind in a "oh this is madness" way but also in a "I am understanding new things about the world" way. Although, as I've said in another post commenting on book IWTV, one thing about Louis is that he often thinks he knows or understands what's happening while in actuality he has no clue and is completely out of touch.

- [Louis] "'Lestat's blood was giggling inside me, teasing my senses, illuminating the district with overwhelming detail, as if I had walked my entire life as a dead man, and now, dead, could finally receive the secrets of existence.' [Daniel] 'You were fucking loaded.' [Louis] 'Beyond articulation.'"

Firstly, moment of silence for Louis' poetic aspirations slammed back down to Earth by Daniel. What happened basically: "*poetic nonsensical rambling* / Dude you were so fucking wasted / LOL dude I was sooooo wasted". Secondly, yeah, don't get too excited, the bad trip's about to start.

"They were your brothers and sisters once, but now they are your savoury inferiors", says Lestat, the guy who falls in love with a different mortal basically every other week. Oh, he's literally describing them as one would talk about wine. Alright.

I find it interesting that Lestat doesn't say anything about "feeding on the evil ones and leaving the innocents alone". Be right back, need to check the books, when does Lestat starts applying that philosophy? *comes back 10 minutes later covered in blood* Couldn't find a relevant passage. Let's table this for later.

[Lestat] "Careful mon cher, you're beginning to frighten the man." - Daniel talks about that in season 2, if I'm correct. But yeah, memory, huh? How could it have been Lestat who says that, knowing that maker and fledgling are mentally cut off from each other? Either Lestat said it out loud but low enough that only Louis could hear, or Louis, to use Daniel's words, went "schizophrenic" since the beginning and was already imagining Lestat as his subconscious voice.

"Just to be clear, gents, we are here to talk abot farm equipments, am I right?" - oh, are you looking for anything else to happen, random victim number one? Is that a hint of gay panic that I'm hearing?

[Lestat] "The neck, bite the neck, Louis. No, you don't bite the blood, you suck it. Yes, yes, that's better." - have I said lately how much I adore Lestat...? No? Well. Lestat cracks me up. Something I love about hm in the books is his dry humor and delivery. He is really funny when he wants to be.

- Aaaah, we're getting to the first major scene. Makes you wonder why I spent so much time on the first 9 minutes, huh? (Yes, we're barely on minute 10 out of 52, I did say I can't do short)

"'I-I gotta go home.' 'This is your home now, Louis. Breathe.' 'I-I gotta collect money from the cribs.' 'I have all the money we need. Breathe.' ' I have to go see Grace and Paul.' 'Oh, dear.' 'You ain't fucking hearin' me! I need to go home.'"

Several things. And actually one of the heart of the constant misunderstanding between Louis and Lestat. Lestat here has no attachment to his home - Louis on the other hand is the main provider of his family, the man of the house. He can't just disappear, the way Lestat seems to want him to. A few changes from the books, in which Lestat firstly is traveling with his old and dying father and thus has to care for him until his death, and secondly lets Louis understand that he has no money and Louis has to provide for him. Also as we learn in The Vampire Lestat, after his own transformation, Lestat continues to take care of his mortal family, sending them money and gifts. So, unless that part has been changed in the show, a bit hypocritical from him to act as if Louis wanting to continue caring for his family is an imposition. Then there's the part where Louis forgets Paul is dead, and Lestat immediately reacts with concern. "Oh, dear, um, how to make you remember gently that your brother is dead actually" or "Oh, dear, are you alright?".

And finally there's the fact that Louis overreacts without hearing anything Lestat tries to say, without letting Lestat say anything actually, physically pushing him away and then accusing him of not listening. I mean, it's not really Louis' fault, baby boy has gone through A LOT in the last 24 hours (Paul's suicide, his funeral, the church's burning and the priests' murders, his transformation and physical death, his first hunting, not even talking about having to hear Horse Rando's ramblings...), he's confused and lost and hurting and hasn't had time to come to terms with anything that's happened. But on the other hand, Lestat's the only one that could help him, and instead of listening to him, giving him 5 more minutes to explain, Louis almost immediately shuts him out and pushes him away. And in return Lestat closes himself up and decides to be as contrary as possible, instead of being patient and helpful. And sometimes it's Lestat who's asking for patience and support and doesn't get it and Louis closing himself up, etc. And thus the main Loustat dynamic for the next several decades is born.

- "You're going to find that very difficult", yep, thanks Lestat. Very constructive. Oh, and look, the sun is up and none of them is sleeping (yeah, that tiny little change actually bothers me, I don't know why yet - maybe I'll find the words later). Really love the visual effect of vampires starting to flake off as ashes as they burn. Hammers in the idea of "undead body". "The sun gives life to everything but us. I should have told you that" - YA THINK. Explain to me why you have a roof window opened letting in the deadly sun (the sun is a deadly laser, free reference for everyone) when you're a vampire. Sounds like structural failure to me. THIS SCENE. First of all Sam Reid's French pronunciation of "New Orleans" and other words, and then Sam Reid's TRAINING ROUTINE holy shit I'm looking respectfully. OH, and his SWAGGER, we need a swagger competition between Sam Reid as Lestat and David Tennant as Crowley, PLEASE. "The perfect setting for a vampire home, a vampire romance" - boy is so THIRSTY lmao. What a slut (affectionate - and also, free gift to non-book readers, Lestat canonically LOVES being called a slut, I am not inventing anything; go mad with it). LOVE that Lestat goes into the coffin fully NAKED and then looks at half-burned Louis and still goes "it's okay, you can go on top", NOTHING will turn him off when it comes to Louis, absolutely nothing. And then Louis' little "gulp", his realisation that, oh, shit, doesn't matter that the guy is an asshole, he wanna tap that.

- Oh, I was going to stop part 1 with this, but Daniel and Louis' exchange is too good to pass.

[Louis] "'Too many firsts for one night.' [Daniel] 'How's sexuality play in that?' [Louis] 'It's a complicated question, Daniel, and we shouldn't conflate it with the salesman's death.' [Daniel] 'Humor me.' [Louis] 'To satisfy your fixation, being transformed by Lestat, being desired by him, bedding down with him, was an overture of sorts to that side of my nature.' [Daniel] 'To the shame of queer theorists everywhere.'"

*cackling* Two catty drama queens trying to outcunt each other, this is a feast. I love Jacob's delivery of these lines, as if it's so not interesting and he'd rather talk about anything else, but also, he cannot stop himself from talking about Lestat. There's really the reluctance of talking about something, someone, that meant a lot, still means a lot, but hurts so damn much that it's better to pretend that it doesn't mean anything anymore. I can't help but seeing that last line as a bit of a meta commentary on the history of the books? I'd need to do some research on book reviews in the '70s, see how the homoerotic explicit subtext of the text was received by non-queer audiences, or even what queer readers were saying, if they (the queer theorists) were divided in their interpretation of the text, or if the book was viewed immediately as a gay romance. Because, like, it's been a month since I read IWTV, and in the meantime I read the rest of the series and dived into the few fics I could find, but if memory serves, IWTV the book doesn't outright state that the relationship between Louis and Lestat is a romance. Mmh. Too many things to research, let's table this for now.

episode 1 | part 2 | part 3 | episode 3 | episode 4 | episode 5 | episode 6 | episode 7

[toomanyopinionss]

My thoughts while watching

The Umbrella Academy (S4)

…HUH?!

ummmmm i’m sorry, what the ever loving FUCK did i just have the displeasure of watching?

spoilers btw, this is gonna be very raw and off the chest

i don’t know what to say, this was disappointment after disappointment. i don’t want to dog pile automatically though, so I’ll list out the very few things i liked about this season before i descend into madness:

The first two episodes. well paced and entertaining. although this could easily go on the bad list, cause they gave me false hope for this season.

nick offerman and megan mullally. ALWAYS a treat to see them on my screen.

Klaus’s relationship between Allison and Claire. very sweet.

a couple songs on the soundtrack

the fact that this season was short

i’m not joking that’s literally it. this was sooooo bad, i’m actually shocked.

let’s address the elephant in the room.

the character assassination of five needs to be studied

what the hell happened?! What happened to the guy that genuinely cared about his family? he didn’t abandon his family after FORTY some years in the future, and a jaunt to the past, but all of a sudden, he was ready to give up just like that??

his character this season was unfocused and lame. he looked bored half the time and unconcerned the other half. LUTHER felt more connected to this story than this mf did. remember when he murdered a room full of people? remembered when he kinda comforted klaus, or helped diego out, or had a heart to heart with viktor? this seasons five is like night and day from the old one.

and him and LILA?! barf

BARF. TOMATO TOMATO WHO ASKED FOR THIS?

i refuse to watch this sixty year old man in the body of a literal teenager poorly masquerading as a man get together with the wife of his brother, i won’t do it. the boy looks 18, come on are you fucking serious?!

oh but that’s not my only issue i ASSURE YOU

this season was a half baked, rush job to line netflix’s pockets.

and it could have been sooo good.

what do you mean, no one knows how ben died??

what do you mean the timelines are merging in on each other and people are noticing??

they completely dropped the ball off the face of the planet. this felt like a 10 page paper that was written in an hour. there’s soooo many plot holes, there’s no antagonist, nothing felt like it had meaning. nothing really mattered.

and speaking of not mattering, you know what completely breaks my heart? Ben.

i want someone to look me dead in my eyes and tell me that man was actually a legitimate character and not a plot device. ive never seen a character done so dirty in EVERY SINGLE SEASON ARE YOU JOKING? they never let his character breath. the only tear i shed this season was when he looked at viktor and cried, saying he was scared. that’s when i realized that the writers really don’t give a shit about him… they don’t care about his character arc, HE NEVER EVEN HAD ONE. it felt weird and disgusting.

i’m not gonna talk abt the end.

i’m done, i can’t do this anymore. i feel deceived. i feel like i wasted my time watching this series. the people behind the show clearly didn’t care about it, so why should I?

2/10, fuck this.

[dragonydreams]

Fic: I choose you as my man - BuckTommy

Title: I choose you as my man Fandom: 9-1-1 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Pairings/Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinnard Summary: Buck wants another date with Tommy before the wedding. Timeline: post 7x05 Word Count: 1,382 Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Reamworks, Brad Falchuk Teley-Vision, Ryan Murphy Television, and 20th Century Fox Television. Betas: Thank you to @medieshanachie for looking this over for me. Author's Note: Title from "Take Me As I Am" by Wyclef Jean from Love, Actually soundtrack

Read on AO3

Buck couldn't believe he had as many butterflies in his stomach as he did as he adjusted the placement of the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. He glanced up at the television to where the movie was waiting to be started. 

He grabbed a couple of coasters and set one on either side of the popcorn bowl because he was an adult and didn't want rings on his table from when the beers that were still in the fridge inevitably began to sweat.

He didn't know why he was so nervous. It wasn't like this was the first time that Tommy had been to his loft. Then again, this was the first time he was coming over for a date. 

He felt the smile begin to grow as he thought back to the last time Tommy had been here. To when he'd turned Buck's world upside down with that kiss. The kiss he hasn't been able to stop thinking about since it happened.

He really hoped that they would kiss again tonight. And boy, did he feel fourteen years old again, just hoping for a kiss. 

Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, there was a knock at the door. Buck smoothed down his polo shirt and hurried to the door.

"You're here," Buck said, holding the door open for Tommy. A thrill raced down his spine as Tommy gave him an appreciative once over. One he couldn't stop himself from returning.

"I'm not too early, am I?" Tommy asked, stepping inside. 

"N-No, you're right on time," Buck answered, closing the door. "Go ahead and sit on the couch and I'll grab a couple of beers."

Tommy's rich laughter boomed when he saw the TV. Buck grinned to himself as he hurriedly opened the beers and joined him.

"You've been talking to Howie about me?" Tommy guessed as he accepted the beer Buck held out for him.

Buck dipped his head and looked up at Tommy through his lashes. He heard Tommy's quick intake of breath at the gesture but ignored it. "Well, he has known you the longest."

Tommy's bright eyes dimmed a bit. "Yeah, I was a different man back then," he said.

"Don't worry, he told me that, too," Buck assured him, reaching out to squeeze his - very muscular - arm.

"How'd that conversation go?" Tommy asked, somewhat nervously. 

Buck gestured towards the couch and they sat, both turned to face the other.

"I pulled him aside during a slow period at work and told him that I was bringing you as my date for the wedding," Buck said. 

"I wish I could have seen his expression to that announcement," Tommy said. "I wasn't out to anyone when I was with the 118."

"This was also how he found out that I'm bi, since I'd never been on a date with anyone who wasn't a woman before you," Buck admitted.

"And you chose a fire station as the place to come out to him?" Tommy asked, eyebrows raised. "Howie can't keep a secret to save his life."

"Which is why he was the last one on my team that I told," Buck said. "Not on purpose, but it just kinda ended up happening that way. I was kinda almost hoping that Maddie would let it slip, but unlike her fiance, she can keep a secret." Buck paused, then rushed to say, "Not that I'm keeping  us a secret. I'm not ashamed that I'm bi, or to be going out with you. After all, I'm bringing you to my sister's wedding. To Chimney!"

Tommy reached out and rested a hand on Buck's knee and squeezed. "Relax, I didn't think you were."

Buck took a deep breath. Not just because of how good it felt to have Tommy's hand on his leg, but also to release some of his nervous tension.

"Anyway, once that news sunk in he was so excited that we're going out and couldn't wait to share with me some of your favorite things," Buck said, glancing at the TV. "And I figured that since we missed the movie last time, that we should start with one of your favorites." 

"Have you seen it?" Tommy asked, resituating himself on the couch to better face the TV.

Buck grabbed the popcorn and remote and did the same, scooting closer to Tommy, but with a couple of inches still between them. 

"I used to watch it with Maddie," Buck said. "She loves it, too."

"But you don't? We can watch something else if you don't. I'll have lost some respect for you, though," Tommy teased.

"I do," Buck confirmed. "Who doesn't love a movie about people falling in love and the hope that being in love inspires?"

"Exactly," Tommy agreed, stretching an arm out behind Buck on the couch as he settled more comfortably. 

Buck eyed the arm behind him and just grinned to himself, having pulled that move himself way too often, pleased to be on the receiving end of it. He felt the heat rise on his cheeks. 

He raised the remote and pressed play before setting it on the coffee table.

As he sat back, he spread his legs just a bit so his knee was lightly pressing against Tommy's. The other man didn't say anything, but Buck felt him press his knee a little more into Buck's in acknowledgement. A pleasant shiver ran down Buck's spine as Tommy brushed a thumb against Buck's shoulder.

Buck glanced at Tommy from the corner of his eye and he was smiling. Whether that was because of Buck's reaction or the movie, Buck wasn't entirely sure.

He grabbed a small handful of popcorn and tossed it in his mouth. As he automatically began to lick the lingering butter and salt from the palm of his hand, he suddenly realized that he'd forgotten napkins. He leapt to his feet to find Tommy staring hungrily at him. 

"I-I forgot napkins. For the popcorn," Buck stuttered. 

Tommy looked from Buck's buttery lips to his fingers. "I think I can help with that," Tommy suggested, reaching out for Buck's right hand; the left still holding the popcorn bowl. 

Buck blindly set the popcorn on the table as Tommy pulled Buck back down next to him, much closer than before. 

Keeping his eyes on Buck's, Tommy sucked one of Buck's fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around each one until it was cleaned of butter and salt. 

Buck could barely catch his breath as he watched Tommy suck each of his fingers clean. His dick took an interest as well, suddenly wishing for Tommy to suck that appendage as well. It took all of Buck's effort to not glance down to see if Tommy was enjoying this as much as Buck was.

"That was so hot," Buck breathed when Tommy finished. 

"Oh, I'm not done yet," Tommy promised. 

He reached out with the same two fingers as last time and pulled Buck into a kiss.

Buck whined with relief to be kissing Tommy again, letting himself rest the hand that had just been in Tommy's mouth in his shoulder, his fingers digging in as Tommy's tongue flicked against his lips. He parted his lips and they both moaned as Tommy's tongue brushed against Buck's.

When they pulled apart a few minutes later, Buck panted, "This isn't why I invited you over tonight."

"You sure about that?" Tommy teased.

"Well, not the only reason," Buck admitted. "I hoped. I really hoped. But I also just want to spend more time with you."

"You don't hear me complaining, do you?" Tommy asked, running his fingertips along Buck's shoulders and upper back.

"N-n-noo," Buck said with a shuddering breath. "How do you do that to me?" he muttered quietly.

Tommy chuckled. "I remember what it was like when I first admitted that I was attracted to men."

Buck's wide eyes met Tommy's smiling ones, his fingers running down Tommy's arm. "Is it like this for everyone?"

"I can only speak for myself," Tommy said. "But in my experience, when you click with the right person, yes."

As if to prove his point, Tommy leaned back in and captured Buck's mouth again. 

It was a good thing that they'd both seen the movie before.

The End

[meiusoo-twistedtwst]

Twst as Lana Del Rey Songs

I tried my best…so many different choices, please keep in mind that probably all of them would likely have multiple songs that represent them well or even share songs, either way this is all just for fun so yeah!!

🐉: the whole song is apparently about death & love coming together, sleep=death, love= his relationships with the other characters

🦇: his whole life changed once he met Silver & Malleus

⚔️: it’s a song abt going/finding home

🐊: rlly difficult choice but this feels right- cherished every memory w/ his found fam (mostly) as his life is on the line during chapter 7, seems to carry bits & pieces of them to stay strong

💀: in the name + the verses are abt the way things were with someone (the way things rlly were w/ Ortho) & the chorus was all thinking abt how things could’ve gone (Idia wishes Ortho had never overblotted)

🤖: Idia almost always says yes to him, hence the lyrics. He watches over Idia & is his heaven😔

👑: he literally fears turning old + it’s apart of a movie soundtrack.

🏹: he loves everything & everyone, wants to live in the moment

🍎: similar to Ride, but seems to be abt how you can choose whether to be happy or sad, Epel could have overpowered his stubbornness if he originally tried adapting into Pomefiore

☀️: his money protects him, sure, but the world’s problems will eventually catch up to him-displays his naivety

🐍: lyrics kinda sound like he’d be lamenting over his losses right before Azul turns his “live stream” on)

🐙: he seems all nice & genuine until you realize he’s a mafia boss-

🍄: abt desire, longing, hedonism, the allure of the unknown- the lyrics themselves just straightforward, it’s all Jade-coded

🦈: his constant pursuit of hedonism

🦁: he was actually happy in Savanaclaw this whole time, but kept chasing aft the crown even tho happiness was right beside him

🍩: bec of that 1 verse that’s like “we don’t need money, we can make it all work” but the guy leaves to go make money anyways

🐺: the song is abt self-expression, self-assurance, & inner power- very Jack mentality

🌹: it describes his relationship w/ his mom & how he wants ppl to comfort him

☘️: he feels trapped w/ defending Riddle, also the revealer of his evil mom, lyrics show a hint of his sadist side, & he turned a blind eye to Riddle’s early tyranny, hence the storyline that goes w/ all the lyrics

♦️: abt living in the moment, appreciating ppl ard him. Love vs. ambitions, kinda sounds like someone trying to fit in

♥️: bec he’s no good for me:p + I feel the lyrics could literally describe his way of life & some of his morals

♠️: literally Deuce’s song😭😭!! Song abt starting over & self-discovery

[the-bitter-ocean]

oceaaaannn hiii! let's go with 3, 5, and 15 for the isat ask game c:

(MAJOR A6SE / 2HATS SPOILERS + FULL GAME SPOILERS AHOY) Thank you for the questions @dekupalace ! Since I’m going to be talking more in depth about the game for one of these questions I’m going to put my responses under a read more:

3- favorite soundtrack?

Oh god that’s such a hard question the whole game has certified bangers. The musicians at Studio Thumpy Puppy were not messing around or pulling any punches. The soundtrack of the game elevates literally every emotional beat. If I was forced to choose only one song out of the soundtrack my favorite track in the whole game has to be “How Can You Help Me, Stardust?” aka the theme that plays when you fight Loop at the Favor tree during act six. Hearing that for the first time while getting the full context of loop’s backstory made me go crazy. It was so fucking emotional and well done. That and it’s just objectively a super intense high energy song that makes me wanna dance around. If anyone deserves the coolest fight theme in the game, it’s Loop.

5- favorite optional event?

Ooh this is also a hard one! I adore a lot of the optional story events because each of them really shed light on Siffrin’s mental state /characterization, as well as gives depth to other aspects like the other character of the world building as a whole which strengthens the themes of the story. Aside from the obvious choice (2Hats Ending/ Act six loop encounter) I think my favorite optional event would have to be the “Who Was Phone” achievement (Change God event). There’s something so fascinating about learning about the Change God. Someone who clearly adores their certified little guy (Mirabelle) and is willing to offer words of kindness and assurance in her identity even if it knows she won’t remember in one instance..and then in the very same breath tell Siffrin that they enjoy watching Siffrin in the timeloop torment nexus because they’re curious to see how they change in a situation where everything is forced to stagnate. It was so genuinely fucked. I will think about it always forever.

15- anything you’d change about the game? be it game mechanics, a new feature, a change in plot, etc

Overall I’m pretty satisfied with the game both in story and gameplay actually. I think Adrienne did a good job writing and expanding on the characters and story that was set up in the prologue. The quality of life in terms of gameplay got improved since the previous game as well ( those who played the prologue can attest to this) . The fact that it was a in universe story reason as to why makes it all the more satisfying (if you want to know what I mean by that please read my mutuals @felikatze analysis about it here.)

I just am happy that Siffrin got to be happy in the end and stay with their family, to be able to talk things out and escape the loops. I know some people didn’t like that or expected a more darker/sadder ending or wanted the gameplay to be more challenging … my response to that is Literally Just Play Start Again: A Prologue. To me it would be extremely reductive to have Siffrin just suffer with no reprieve or escape from the loops (because that’s just a repeat of what happened in its predecessor) or have the group just split off from each other immediately after everything happened. It would have been extremely unsatisfying and ultimately missing the point of the themes of the game as a whole gonna be real lol.

The only things I’d maybe change or add is like it would’ve been cute to see Euphrasie and Claude be together/ reunite on screen in act 6. They should kiss. Lol. (That and just I would’ve personally loved to see Euphrasie in canon expanded on a little more but that’s not necessarily needed she serves her purpose in the narrative. I just like analyzing her and giving her more depth and I like when others do too, but that’s what fanart/ fics and aus are for so I’m not fussed.) 

I don’t mind that the game is sort of open ended and doesn’t answer all the questions. I think that gives artists, fanfic writers, Au makers and people who like to analyze the game more freedom to come up with their own interpretations for things that happened in pre canon and post canon which to me is more interesting. I know Loop disappearing at the end of the game in both endings is sad/ bittersweet but I wouldn’t necessarily change the way that was structured either. I like that their fate was ambiguous because it leads the viewer to come up with their own theories as to where they went. ( personally I love seeing stuff where loop gets to travel on their own and form a new life and identity outside of the loops and learn to heal, as well as post game getting to meet back up with the party and learn to navigate this new life/ change one step at a time. )

[galaxythreads]

I've seen so many posts talking about all the bad things about s2 of Loki, so things that ARE good about season 2 so far:

The mystery of episode 1 was, once you got into it, really compelling and sucked you into it

the pacing is much better in s2 than it was in s1

We're at the midway point and thus far Sylvie has barely had 5 minutes of screen time. She's not taking over the story. She's barely in the story. And though I do want to see her story come to a satisfying conclusion, it's been nice to not have her overpower the narrative

What wasn't working with Mobius and Loki in s1 IS working in s2. In s1 I couldn't believe they were friends if you forced me to, in S2 it is clear that they actually care about each other

The TVA is a lot more gray than it was in s1. In season 1 they tried really hard to make it Secretly We're the Victims, but in s2 they're adding a lot more nuance to what's going on

The cinematography has been amazing

The soundtrack of s2 is really good as well

Loki has been much more in character of OG loki than he was in s1. He doesn't fidget as much, he's not dismissive of things, he seems a lot more assure of himself in s2 than he did in s1. Like he's not constantly trying to prove something to Mobius. And this is because he and Mobius are actually friends in s2, so Loki feels secure in his presence and it's easy to show

Mobius has respect for Loki's abilties in s2. He lets Loki use magic and actually frequently encourages him to. Mobius doesn't see him as a stupid little "pussy cat" he actually sees Loki as a threat and lets him be a threat

Loki's use of magic feels a lot more like it's something he's been doing his entire life and less like a OH YEAH! HE HAS MAGIC QUICK USE THAT TO SHOW OFF FOR A MOMENT!! :DD like no. Loki braces for fights with magic. It's just really nice to see.

Loki hunting down Brad (?) in the opening of s2 and completely owning him. I have nothing else to say. That scene was THE scene to me.

Mobius and Loki are actually trying to take care of each other

Mobius has a lot more depth in this season because of how dark the TVA is

Ravonna's speech about how the TVA was held together by the skin of her teeth and how the moment she left it all fell apart. It was a really powerful moment that showcased how much depth there is the Ravonna.

Ravonna and Victor's sorta romance. I didn't love it, but it actually worked really well in the context of epi 3, and I love that they subverted your expectations by having it be Miss Minutes who was actually the insane lover

I didn't love most of episode 3, but I did think it was an interesting direction to take the series, adding in Victor. He's more sympathetic than HWR was so we feel more for him.

Loki vs Brad.

Episode 2

Have I mentioned that I love episode 2?

No push toward a sylki agenda. No push toward Lokius. Loki's relationships with everyone is purely platonic and it's clearly written as platonic and it's nice that Loki is just getting support from his friends, not being shoved into a romance box. While they've talked about Sylki, there has been exactly 0 moves to make it canon again. They're kind of ignoring it happened, which is probably for the best.

[turneradora]

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO Emma Jones for the article in the Telegraph

🌹❤️💋

The Telegrah

Judith Woods

27 September 2024 2:30pm

Here I am, avidly watching the first few episodes of Rivals, the sizzling new Disney+ treatment of Dame Jilly Cooper’s raunchy blockbuster, before my interview with dreamboat-y Aidan Turner, when my 22-year-old daughter walks into the room.

‘What the actual?’ she cries, open-mouthed in horror. ‘Oh my God! What are they doing?’

I chide her prudishness. ‘Well, if you must know, Rupert Campbell-Black and a woman he probably just met have reached a shuddering climax on Concorde,’ I explain. ‘Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know, darling – the Mile High Club has been around for…’ but it turns out that’s not what’s triggered her.

‘These people are SMOKING! On. A. Plane. Who even does that?’

Everybody, that’s who. Welcome to the sassy, sexy 1980s, Missy. Double-breasted suits and taffeta skirts, booze, bonking, endless ciggies and hairstyles so fugly (the mullet, for pity’s sake?) as to have recently crept back into fashion.

It’s all there: rampant sexism, social climbing and conspicuous consumption, to a banging soundtrack of Eurythmics, Hall & Oates, Haircut 100 and the rest – no idea how The Birdie Song got in there though. Did people really...? Yes, we did. Now run along.

From the moment the opening credits roll on Rivals, it’s fair to say we are immersed in a very different, instantly recognisable universe.

I lapped up every transgressive minute. Why, dear readers, the last time I enjoyed a pleasure quite so guilty was when Aidan Turner took off his shirt in…

‘I’m not here to talk about Poldark,’ says Turner very politely, with a fabulously winning white smile, when we meet. So we don’t. At least for a bit. We are here, after all, to discuss his new role in this very different literary classic – and no, ladies, he’s not been cast as the libidinous blaggard Campbell-Black. As if.

County Dublin-born Turner, 41, was a shoo-in for dashing Declan O’Hara, the saturnine Irish journalist turned reluctant chat-show host who finds himself at the epicentre of a battle royale in the cut-throat world of independent television.

David Tennant plays Corinium TV boss Lord Baddingham, and Alex Hassell’s Rupert Campbell-Black has ascended to the lofty heights of Tory Minister for Sport.

I could try to explain, but that’s about all the primer you need – rest assured that with this high-budget adaptation, even the most loyal of Cooper’s fans will find themselves safe in its (wandering) hands.

‘Rivals is about the three things that fascinate all of us: sex, power and money,’ says Turner. ‘That trifecta is especially potent when there’s a clash of status and class. Class informs all sorts of things, including the sex, which is sometimes completely transactional on both sides. From the very top to the very bottom of the ladder, everyone’s slightly on the make.’

Speaking of the top and indeed the bottom, the eight-part series employed not one but two intimacy coaches. ‘They had a lot of intimacy to coach,’ confirms Turner breezily. ‘I think they really improve sex scenes because they encourage creativity and it all looks so much more authentic. There’s a lot of bonking. I want to say I did a lot of bonking – I can’t quite remember how much.’

Declan is very much the dark-eyed, watchful outsider, his integrity as deep-rooted as his humongous moustache – ‘artist’s own’, remarks Turner. (He speaks in mellifluous Irish tones and uses his own accent to play Declan.) Amid the jostling for supremacy in the first few episodes, Declan’s only crime appears to be wearing mustard socks on air and having sensuous congress with his own wife (played with exquisite brittleness by Victoria Smurfit).

Such uxoriousness appears borderline scandalous in Dame Jilly’s masterfully constructed world of egos, oneupmanship and serial adultery, which signals that despite being a workaholic, Declan is clearly a good ’un – although, to be fair, I have only seen the first three episodes.

‘I hadn’t read Rivals before. It seemed very British so it wasn’t really on my radar, but it’s really fun – although later on it descends into something much murkier. I just read the scripts initially and then was really struck by how faithful they were to the book,’ says Turner, who is married to the American Succession actor Caitlin FitzGerald, 41. ‘You get a real sense of the characters in the first 15 or 20 pages and it’s a mark of excellent writing that you feel you already know these people.’

Whether or not you like them is up to you, but it’s absolutely gripping and Turner’s character is right at the heart of the story.

‘Rivals is a really truthful depiction of an era that in a great many ways was hugely problematic,’ says Turner. ‘It’s not being refracted through a modern lens and some of it is quite shocking, particularly the way women are treated. There’s also endless back-stabbing; Declan is detached, the one who sees what’s going on, and because he’s not from this class-bound world [he] struggles to understand the playbook – but he’s married to a woman who does and that causes tension.’

To research the role of a broadcasting homme sérieux, Turner trawled YouTube to watch hours of Firing Line, the US current-affairs talk show presented by conservative pundit William F Buckley Jr for 33 years. From 1966 to 1999, he verbally sparred with leading figures of the age.

‘I felt it was important to look to older shows, the way they were presented and the communication style,’ says Turner. ‘The interviewee would be given time and space to answer questions in full. These days it’s very different; the nearest we have to that now would be podcasts.

“Once filming started, to be honest I was channelling my dad the whole time. He’s an electrician not a journalist, but Declan is very like him – the way he carries himself, the tone of his voice, his passion. He feels very Irish and so does Declan.’

For Alexander Lamb, an executive producer on Rivals, finding the right fit for the pivotal character of Declan was crucial. ‘The very first person we thought about – the very first person we cast – for Rivals was Aidan. He was the lynchpin because he just felt so right; he’s got depth but also such charm and that was exactly what we wanted. A lot of the cast was built around him.’

That cast also includes EastEnder Danny Dyer, Katherine Parkinson, best known for The IT Crowd, Emily Atack of Inbetweeners fame, and Claire Rushbrook, who was in the first series of Sherwood. When it came to Turner, Lamb had been impressed by his previous standout roles as a vampire in the supernatural series Being Human and a clinical psychologist in police procedural The Suspect.

‘Aidan hadn’t played sexy-dad-with-teenagers or an intellectual journalist before, so that gave the whole thing a freshness. I think there’s a lot to be gained from getting actors out of their comfort zones,’ observes Lamb. ‘I’ve never really worked with an actor before who was so conscious of his performance. He would come back behind the camera to see if he could improve on what he’d done.’

Dame Jilly, adds Lamb, needed no persuasion in casting Turner. ‘It did not escape her just how good-looking Mr Aidan Turner was. Let’s just say she became quite the fan.’ Turner responds in kind, with unalloyed admiration. ‘Jilly is so sharp, perceptive and really funny – she’s very kind, but as she was seeing the daily and the weekly rushes I am quite certain that if she hadn’t liked what any of us were doing, she would have told us very swiftly.’

Later, he quietly relates a telling conversation with Cooper at a garden party held at her Gloucestershire gaff (to call it a pile would be too excessive, to call it a house too modest), one summer evening last year, after filming.

‘I remember a surreal moment when she took me by the arm and led me around the garden, pointing out the place where she would write and how she would look over the valley,’ he says. ‘And then she pointed out the houses where her nearest neighbours and friends lived and said, “This is Declan O’Hara’s house, and that one’s Tony’s house,” and explained how she would visualise the world of Rivals. It was a very special moment.’

How magical, I say. He nods very slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching, eyes crinkling at the preciousness of the memory. He’s so unabashedly soulful, I almost have to look away. And so to business: is Turner really as handsome as they say? Hmm. Maybe that’s what strikes you first but, in truth, it’s the least interesting thing about him.

Born in Clondalkin, a town outside Dublin, before the family moved to a suburb of the city, Turner admits he was never academically inclined. With a low boredom threshold, he struggled to concentrate at school, but when his accountant mother took him along to dance classes, he excelled; he went on to compete in ballroom dancing at national level, but lost momentum.

There was a stint working as an electrician with his father, but it was a job at the local cinema that sparked his interest in acting, entering the Gaiety School of Acting, Ireland’s national theatre school, where he graduated in 2004. After appearing in several theatre productions, including Seán O’Casey’s Easter Rising play The Plough and the Stars, he got his first major television gig in 2008 in the Irish hospital drama The Clinic.

‘I was a lowly receptionist and Victoria Smurfit, who is my wife in Rivals, was a consultant,’ he smiles. ‘Let’s just say we didn’t have a huge number of scenes together back then, so it’s great to catch up now.’ Soon the BBC beckoned and he was cast as Dante Gabriel Rossetti in the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood drama Desperate Romantics.

The six-parter failed to make a mark, but led to a critically acclaimed role in the comedy-drama Being Human, where he caught the eye of director Sir Peter Jackson, who cast Turner as the dwarf Kili in The Hobbit trilogy between 2012 and 2014.

Various other parts followed, culminating in his award-winning portrayal of Captain Ross Poldark in the 2015 revival of the BBC classic, which ran for five series and made him both a household name and a pin-up among ladies (and interviewers) d’un certain age.

After he was shown scything a field shirtless, a sheen of sweat on his ripped – sorry – torso, the Sunday-night concupiscence became so pronounced that media commentators called out the reverse sexism and denounced the reductive way in which Turner was being treated as a piece of prime meat. A decade on, he still seems mildly baffled, but not ungrateful, for the attention, if loathe to dwell on it. ‘There are worse things to be known for than having a nice physique,’ he says, philosophically. ‘But that was a long time ago and I’ve done a lot of fully clothed work since.’

Hilariously, in Rivals, Declan finds himself sharing a schedule with a series called Four Men Went To Mow, featuring a quartet of topless hunks – with scythes. Turner almost leaps off the sofa when I bring it up. ‘I know! I was reading the script and when I saw the Four Men Went To Mow reference, I assumed someone was deliberately winding me up. Then I realised it was actually in the original book, so I took a deep breath and let it go.’

I can confirm he’s fully dressed for our interview, wearing a mustard top by British menswear brand Oliver Spencer, which he dryly describes as ‘drab chic’, Levi’s 501s, and a pair of trainers. He points out they are classic white Reeboks with a natural gum sole. I admit I didn’t know that was A Thing. ‘To be honest, neither did I,’ he shrugs in good-natured agreement. ‘They were a present from a mate of mine – he’s a musician so far cooler than me, obviously – and he was very emphatic that the soles were a big deal.’

On his wrist is a 1969 Omega Seamaster. ‘It cost less than £2,000, it was an anniversary gift and the only watch I own,’ he offers, pre-emptively. ‘Oh and I’m not sponsored by Omega, none of that.’ Would he like to be? I ask mischievously. ‘Ah well, I’d certainly take the phone call. You always like to have options.’ This is all the more interesting because later I ask if there’s any truth in tabloid rumours that he has variously been earmarked as the new Bergerac and the next James Bond. He denies both charges.

‘But you’d take the calls presumably?’ I suggest. A pregnant pause follows. ‘You know, I don’t think I would. I have to say I think I’d pass on those.’ Bergerac I can understand – but intimations of 007 are, like talk of knighthoods, not to be trifled with, much less dismissed out of hand, however cat’s-chance unlikely.

Turner just pulls a slightly apologetic face (possibly for the benefit of his aghast agent reading this). But really it should come as no surprise; Turner has built up a reputation as a protean performer, moving seamlessly between television, film and the stage in a variety of markedly different roles.

Last year he appeared opposite Jenna Coleman in a minimalist two-hander, the West End revival of Sam Steiner’s 2015 fringe hit Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons, about love and language. Director Josie Rourke says she cast Turner not just because he is ‘brilliant’, but because he has an ability to connect with his character and with the audience.

‘Aidan is a very technical and focused actor who really works hard to prepare – in that respect he’s not dissimilar to David Tennant. That might make him sound dour or serious, but he’s very personable and funny,’ says Rourke, a former artistic director of the Donmar Warehouse in London. ‘He’s acutely aware, in a lovely way, of every single person in the room. There’s something fundamentally unselfish about his performances.’

Off stage, Turner leads a quiet life with his family in an 18th-century house in east London, which he famously furnished with the table and chairs from the Poldark set in Cornwall. He looks amused when I wonder aloud if he hangs out – virtually or actually – with the slew of young Irish actors, like Paul Mescal and Barry Keoghan, who have made a name for themselves.

‘It sounds boring but I work, and then when a project is finished I start reading scripts again,’ he says. ‘I’m not on social media, I don’t get wrapped [up] comparing myself to anyone else. Frankly, it’s hard enough keeping track of my own career. Since the birth of our son, my wife and I have agreed that only one of us will take a job away from home at any given time; we’ve not [had] a clash yet but we’ll have to see what happens when the time comes.’

They did, however, both have plays on in the West End at one point last year; he was appearing in Lemons while she was in The Crucible.‘It worked out really well, we headed out in different directions during the day, catching up with friends and getting stuff done, far too busy to see each other,’ he recalls. ‘Each of us did our show then we would meet up afterwards and share a cab home. It was really fun, but that sort of synchronicity is quite rare.’

Like a lot of actors, Turner is guarded when it comes to discussing his personal life. Although frenzied interest from the paparazzi has calmed down post-Poldark, every so often pictures do appear in the tabloids – and Rivals will no doubt increase his bankability. It is something he accepts with equanimity.

‘If I do get snapped, I don’t make a fuss or get angry, but I try to stay out of the way.’ I remind him of a very striking photo of him putting the rubbish out in a frankly extraordinary receptacle. ‘Ah yes, maybe I should get rid of the fluorescent pink wheelie bin, a bit of an own goal,’ he sighs.

I bet he doesn’t. Far too much of a compromise. I do manage to winkle a few details out of him by playing my fellow Irishwoman card and discover that he’s a ‘serious’ pool player – just this week he settled down in front of a recording of Steve Davis and his teammates taking the 2002 Mosconi Cup in Bethnal Green.

He plays golf, enjoys music, and is an avowed Nick Cave fan.

‘I’d have to say my favourite downtime is having friends round for good banter and food in the garden, weather allowing. I’m trying to perfect the manly art of beef brisket in my [Big] Green Egg barbecue. I think one of the reasons Rivals was such a happy show to work on was because so many of the scenes were us all together at parties. Then at the end of the day we’d kick back and half of us would still be in character.’

And what characters they are, all dressed up in their ’80s finery, jockeying for position, angling for seduction as Tears for Fears belt out Everybody Wants to Rule the World. Gen Z won’t understand, much less approve (lock up your 22-year-olds), but as a snapshot of a bygone age, Rivals promises to be TV gold, and at its glittering epicentre, Declan O’Hara, legendary brooding broadcaster with the biggest ’tache in town.

All episodes of Rivals are available on Disney+ from 18 October

[invisibleraven]

silent fury - willie and anyone?

"Movie night!" Reggie declared as they entered the Blockbuster.

"One of these das they are going to kick you out for doing that every time we come here," Alex remarked.

Willie glanced over to the practically catatonic employee and smirked. "I don't think that dude would notice or care if Reg came in here naked, covered in hot sauce and dancing the Macarena."

"I don't even know how to do the macarena!" Reggie protested.

Alex rubbed his temples and wondered if it was too late to skip out on movie night and third wheel on Julie and Luke's date. "Let's just...pick our choices and go."

"We're getting snacks too right?" Reggie asked.

"Yes Sparky, we're getting snacks," Willie assured him. "You know I can't enjoy my flicks without Milk Duds and popcorn."

They all split up then-the first rule of movie night was that they all picked their own film, checked them out, and they were played in a random order until they finished them or fell asleep-whichever happened first.

Soon enough they were situated on the couch, snacks in hand, and Willie got the honour of pressing play on the remote.

"Yes!" he exclaimed as the credits started. "This was my pick! Silent Fury: Revenge of the Samurai!"

"Ninja movie?' Reggie asked as he bounced.

"Only the best!' Willie exclaimed. "There's no dialogue, but the action is amazing!"

"So he's silent but deadly?' Reggie asked, a huge grin on his face.

Alex groaned at that. "Reg, seriously? Fart jokes?"

Reggie shrugged, but he couldn't stop smiling, especially as Willie cracked up beside him.

"Oh man, now we need to add a soundtrack to the movie!"

Thus the ninja movie was interrupted by them trying to outdo each other's fart noises-until Alex let out the best one, and they agreed there was no topping that. However they had also missed a lot of the movie, and rather than rewinding, went onto the next movie.

"Dirty Dancing? Again?" Reggie asked, glaring at Alex.

"Hey, at least I didn't get Star Wars for the hundredth time!"

"I got Ghostbusters!" Reggie retorted. "And Star Wars!"

"Hey, we agreed one movie each!" Willie complained.

"It's for me to watch tomorrow by myself-unless Carlos wants to watch it with me," Reggie replied. "Plus I actually got Empire."

"Well now I kinda wanna watch that," Willie admitted.

"No Star Wars!" Alex argued. "We agreed, Reggie only gets to pick Star Wars once a month, and he already made us watch all three for May 4'th."

"Then I propose we only get one iteration of Dirty Dancing a month," Reggie retorted. "It's only fair."

"Yeah Alex," Willie teased.

Alex stuck his tongue out at them both, but let his shoulders sag. "Fine. Put on Ghostbusters then."

Reggie did a fist pump before rushing over to put on the movie, then coming back to snuggle between Alex and Willie.

"Hey Alex?" he asked as the ads before the movie played.

"What Reg?"

"Who ya gonna call?"

Alex groaned and smacked him with a pillow, not even caring that Willie decided that this was the start of a pillow fight. They might not have gotten through any movies in full that night, but they all agreed it was one of the best movie nights ever.

[stormyoceans]

what is your header from? 👀

hello, anon!!!!

my header is from the bl series 'first note of love', which is a taiwanese and thai co-production. the story follows xiao hai, a young composer known by the name 'sea' who one day is unexpectedly invited to work with his childhood idol, neil. neil used to be part of the band 'magnet' alongside his brother, matt, but after the latter's death neil withdrew from the spotlight. now, six years later, xiao hai might be the only one able to help neil save his career, and himself too

okay as you can see writing summaries is not really my forte, sorry ;;;;;;; but the two characters in my header are indeed the main ones, neil and xiao hai!!!! and forehead touch is kind of a Thing™ in the show

fair warning: some blabbering ahead ;;;;;; (but no spoilers, don't worry!!!!)

i personally LOVE this show, and if it doesn't somehow mess up on the last episode it's definitely gonna be one of my favorites of the year, but i know most people wouldn't agree with me, which i understand. this isn't an overly romantic show, in the sense that the romance, while obviously there, is only a part of the story, and when it happens they do not wallow in it for long, they don't spell things out step by step, which can be both boring and frustrating considering the short run-time of the episodes

however there are just SO MANY great things about it: it's a BL about music that actually puts the music front and center (the soundtrack is AMAZING), the characters are all memorable and incredibly likeable, the multilingualism is very realistic, there’s no unnecessary drama, and above all the show is just so..tender. i really can't find another word to describe the way it deals with grief and love, it just feels like a warm and comforting hug assuring you that everything is gonna be alright

ANYWAY. if my blabbering didn’t scare you off, the show is actually ending on monday and the episodes are only 25/30 minutes long, so it would be the perfect time to do a binge watch JUST SAYING