#Laura Miller

[woundthatswallows]

introduction to the haunting of hill of house by shirley jackson, by laura miller

[papayadays]

also esteban has the FEMALE RACE ENGINEER!! i feel like this is going under the radar, but she might be the first

[goldieo-gilt]

This will never not send me lmao

[wmiqaqueen]

[bestsistertournament]

[grandhotelabyss]

People are upset about Laura Miller's above review of The Late Americans by Brandon Taylor. She claims claims Taylor's novel is stiffly mannered and lacks the sprezzatura and joie de vivre of his internet presence on both Twitter and Substack. Professional writers and MFAs, on the other hand, argue that she should evaluate the novel in its artistic pureness, separate from the writer's online persona.

I can't weigh in on this particular case. I've never read Taylor's fiction (I mostly won't read corporate literary novels unless, like aforementioned works by Moshfegh or Lin, they escape that tiny world and get themselves read by somebody, anybody other than MFAs and NPR tote-baggers); I've only looked at his Subtack once or twice. In general, however, Miller obviously has a point. Writers can't continue on with standard MFA technique and subject matter—little lives described with suggestive precision à la Chekhov—in a world of online discourse carried out by feverishly enlarged virtual personae. It's like writing blank-verse epics in 1900; the world has changed too much to be rendered in the old style, even in support of Chekhovian values. I'm still reading London Fields, and there the narrator writes:

Writers always lag behind the contemporary formlessness. They write about an old reality, in a language that’s even older. It’s not the words: it’s the rhythm of thought. In this sense all novels are historical novels.

"Touch grass," you will say. I say the man cutting the grass believes five impossible things that originated on the internet even if he doesn't go online himself. He cannot, therefore, be adequately described in a style attentive only to his sensuous experience of phenomenal surfaces or his fleeting awareness of unconscious desires.

To write a novel as if it were a Twitter feed won't work more than once—the media are too different to really make it work except as a gimmick—but to write a novel as if it were a Substack has potential. The Substack essay qua genre has arisen more or less to observe, answer, and in some measure to wrangle Twitter; the new blogging is a meta-discourse of social media. Since social media has replaced social drama as the matrix of social life in general, an essayistic form canvassing this media and its effects can and should form the basis of new narratives. If writers will venture the online-essayistic as a formal innovation in fiction, the realist novel can regain some of its squandered authority by itself becoming the holistic meta-discourse of social media.

[iishtar]

Confession trumps imagination.

Laura Miller, Two Paths for the Novelist

[cordycepspog]

Laura Bailey, the voice of Abby in TLoU2, posing over the dead doctor is peak comedy everybody else go home

[obiwan]

THE LAST OF US - #They’ve stopped looking for a cure. 

[maxbegone]

OG CAST IN THE LAST OF US (HBO)

bonus laura bailey cameo:

[chappellroansdreamgirl]

abby taking care of her gf's hair 4 her <3333333 .

author's note - just took my fuckin' braids out after almost a month and i am daydreaming about abby anderson. (what's new i know...)

content warnings - just fluff, explicit black reader.

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

- on days you're going to get your hair braided, abby sends you off with a lil basket full of your favorite snacks and some essentials that you'll need for the day cause you both know that you're not coming home soon.

- sends u messages throughout the day asking for updates: "Can I see now???" , "babe we're still parting😭" . you don't let her see until you get home and she gets so happy. "you look so pretty, sweet girl." she won't stop telling you that until you fall asleep.

- if you have a sensitive scalp (like me...) , this white girl got that scalp oil STACKED, SHE'S NOT PLAYING. she gave that hair store worker hell, probably was in there for about an hour overanalyzing the ingredients and trying to remember if you were allergic to any of the substances that were in the jar. if you're tapping at your braids, she's so quick to get that shit out, massaging it carefully into your scalp, making sure not to mess anything up that didn't need to be touched. she knows how much effort is put in to having nice hair, and she treats yours with ten times the love she puts into her own.

- definitely learned how to take them out for you so you didn't have to do them all by yourself. by the time they're all out, you both are so tired but she's already getting up to start your shower and laying out your hair products you'll need afterwards. (ABBY BABY I LOVE YOU, MY PRECIOUS GIRL.) if you don't want to do it yourself, she's more than happy to comb out your hair, handling your texture with care as she gets knot after knot out with her skilled fingers.

- scalp massages are a must, she never feels like she's done enough until she's able to bring her hands into your hair and rub the lightest of circles onto your scalp.

- when you're braiding your own hair for maintenance, she'll just sit there and admire you with hearts in her eyes. if you let her, she'll lay in your lap and hand you whatever you need, always happy to be of help.

- abby anderson worships you and the sacredness that comes with your hair. she'll always be honored to be trusted with it, and with you<3 .

[mizzarh]

Joel outing himself

[squilfmybeloved]

grumpy men and the feral child they found on the streets are so special to me

[bestsistertournament]

Propaganda Under Cut:

Laura Miller (Mother of Charlie Calvin + Lucy Miller): Laura tries to ensure that her son maintains a good relationship with her ex-husband. Laura tries to ensure that her son has a good grasp of reality. And finally accepts the truth of what he is saying.

Sarah Connor (Mother of John): Recommended by Elmaxlys. Upon finding out about her son's fate she chose to train and learn so she could be a suitable mentor for her future son. Upon the birth of her son Sarah Connon taught her son to fight and prepare for the coming War.

[esqueletosgays]

MULHOLLAND DRIVE (2001)

Director: David Lynch Cinematography: Peter Deming

[hopefullhearts]

Spin You Around. [Scott Miller x f!reader]

summary: Could be read as a prequel to 'Sickeningly Sweet' or as a standalone fic! Reader is Tyler's childhood best friend and marketing guru, and she is a total southern belle ray of sunshine. Scott is Scott. The tension goes crazy. Especially, when dancing is involved.

content warnings: only one use of y/n (it was unavoidable forgive me pls), very bad writing because it's 1 am and I barely proofread this. alcohol consumption and lots of dancing!

word count: 1.9k

a/n: I have other fics in my drafts with other characters but Scott is just so easy to write for me that the words pour out. so here ya go!

--

The storms that you and the team had come out to chase had ended up dying out, but it was far too late in the afternoon to head back to Arkansas. This left you all with a free Saturday night in a small town in the middle of the Kansas, and you had hatched a great plan on how to spend it.

"Hey Tyler!" You approached him with your phone in hand. "I found this bar about 10 minutes from here. Says online they have a dance floor. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

His smile immediately mirrors yours. "Absolutely, darling."

You squealed with excitement. "It's been forever since we went dancing! And, I already know what I'm going to wear. I had a hunch about us having a night off so I brought this one dress that-"

Your rant was cut off by the roar of several white trucks pulling into the motel parking lot. Storm Par, of course, always seeming to follow you, meaning they would likely have the night off as well.

Tyler could see the wheels in your head turning. "You think they would even want to come? I think they're incapable of having fun."

Your head snapped toward him. "How did you know I was going to invite them?"

"Intuition maybe?" He shrugged with a smirk.

"Whatever." You shoved his shoulder with yours. "I'm sure they have nothing to do anyways, and it would be polite to invite them."

Tyler gasped, mocking you. "And God forbid we not be polite."

You walked away, approaching Javi as he got out of his truck, flipping Tyler off as you did so, which was met with a hearty laugh from him.

"Javi!" You caught the man's attention. "Shame that these storms died out, huh?"

"Yeah. Hurts our data collection but I'm happy to have a night off."

"Well, I am just so glad you said that." Your grin spreading from ear to ear.

"Uh-oh. That smile is a little scary. What you got planned?" Javi joked with you.

"Me and the gang are going dancing at-" You looked at your phone again to check out the place's info. "Silver Saddle Saloon. Any chance you and your boys would be interested in joining us?"

"That sounds like a good time, honestly." He smiled, genuinely charmed by your invitation. "I'll ask around and see if anyone is down. But count me in for sure."

"Count you in for what?" You heard a deeper voice ask from behind you, and you didn't have to turn around to see who it was.

You chose to ignore how the tone of his voice sent a chill down your spine and caused a flutter in your stomach.

"(Y/n) was just inviting us to join her and her friends at a saloon nearby for some dancing." Javi filled him in. "You interested?"

"No. I've got work to do tonight." He said coldly and you finally looked him in his eyes.

"Oh, c'mon, you can take one night off." You insisted, unsure of why you wanted him to come so badly.

"Maybe that's how it works in hillbilly land, but I actually have real work to do." He responded quickly, his witty remark clearly intending to hurt you.

However, you refused to let him break your spirit. It was your way of not backing down from the fight. But, you figured it wouldn't hurt to try out a new tactic.

"Is that so?" You challenged. He gave you a nod in response, urging you on. He could see in your eyes you had something else to say. "No, no, no. I don't think that's it. I think that you can't dance."

Scott scoffed. It was the most reaction you think you had ever gotten out of him. "I can dance."

"I don't believe you." You teased, enjoying how his cheeks turned even just a tiny shade of pink. "I think you have two left feet and you're too scared to show us."

"I can dance. I just have better things to do tonight." Scott insisted, hating that he was too distracted by how cute you looked to come up with a smartass response.

"Sure." You dragged out the 'e', exposing the delightful southern charm in your voice that made his heart thump. "Well, Javi, I'll see you there. Save me a dance okay?"

And with that, you sauntered off. You carried a new spring in your step from the fact that you got under Scott's skin without being rude. It felt like a victory.

--

That earlier victory felt a lot less meaningful when you were only a beer deep at the bar and already viciously fighting off the urge to glance at the door every five seconds. Thankfully, you were able to ignore your very conflicting feelings with a tequila shot, offered to you by none other than Boone.

You took it quickly with a salt and a lime, slammed the shot glass on the counter, and grabbed his arm.

"Dance with me?" You asked, a gleam in your eyes that made you impossible to say no to (not that Boone wanted to anyways).

"Lead the way, sugar." He replied, letting you drag him along onto the hardwood floor.

You two-stepped around the floor for a few songs, and you thought you were being sneaky by taking peeks at the entrance over Boone's shoulder. But Boone unfortunately knew you better.

No one knew you as well as Tyler did, but Boone was a close second, and you were cursing his ability to read you in this moment.

"You wanna tell me who you're looking for?" Boone snapped you out of your train of thought and caught you red-handed. "Or do I need to guess?"

"I'm not looking for anyone." You lied.

You had always been a horrible liar. It was one of Boone's favorite traits of yours. If he wanted an honest opinion, he could always count on you.

He glared at you, and you sighed in defeat. "Well, I invited the Storm Par guys and none of them have showed up yet."

"And?" He goaded you on.

"And Javi said he would come. And it would be rude of them not to come."

"So you want Javi to show up?"

"Sure." You nodded, hoping Boone would drop it, but timing was not in your favor. All of the sudden, you and Boone saw the door open. Javi walked inside with Scott and a few other Storm Par guys trailing behind him.

Boone studied your reaction as you took in all of them, following your gaze until it clicked, the revelation coming to him almost too easily.

"You wanted Scott to show up, huh?" Boone teased. "And here I thought you liked cowboys."

Your face heated instantly. "I don't like Scott!"

"I never said you did, sweetheart."

"Well-"

"Why did you want Scott to come?" He cut off what he knew would be a long-winded rant of explanations, none of them real.

"I don't know!" You buried your face in his chest in embarrassment. "I told him I didn't think he could dance. A small part of me wanted him to show up and prove me wrong."

Boone audibly laughed, much to your dismay. "Oh that's cute, sugar, real cute."

You groaned even louder, wishing you would melt away into a puddle on the floor.

"I mean, that's like rom-com cute." Boone howled.

After a moment, you pulled away from his chest to look at him, your eyes pleading with him to leave it alone. He saw the helplessness on your face and relented quickly.

He sighed, caving to your puppy dog eyes . "Alright, I'm done."

You breathed out in relief. "Thank you."

The song began to fade out, and Boone brought you out of your spiraling thoughts with a rub up and down your arm. "More tequila?"

Nothing sounded better to you. "Yes, please."

While waiting for your shots at the bar, you were met by Javi and Scott.

"You came!" You smiled at Javi, giving him a hug.

"Had to show you how Storm Par gets down." He hugged you back.

"And how is that?" Boone asked from behind you.

"Like true southern gentlemen." Javi smiled, turning back to you. "Would you like to dance, darling?"

You outright giggled at his overdramatic southern accent, matching it with your own. Ignoring Scott's presence entirely, you replied: "Why I would love to."

And that's how the rest of the night went. You danced with Javi, and then had a drink or two. You took a spin with Tyler and then did another shot with Lily. You did a line dance with Boone and then chugged two waters to stop all the sweating.

Meanwhile, Scott watched you through it all. He felt a little like a creep with the way he was staring at you, but it was physically impossible to not watch you out on the floor with all your friends. A slight bead of sweat running down your neck from the heat of the lights, the brightest smile on your face, and that goddamn dress twirling around you as you spun.

You danced with everyone else, and he tried to ignore the twinge of jealously he felt when Tyler's hand slotted right onto your lower back.

However, he felt less like a creep and a whole lot less jealous when he occasionally caught your eyes over Tyler's shoulder.

You tried not to look at him all night. You knew he was looking at you. You could feel his eyes burning into you everywhere you went, and it lit you on fire. He was wearing a button down that clung to his arms, brown cowboy boots, and Levi's that fit him perfectly. He looked good, and you knew that he knew it.

Finally, with enough liquid courage in your system, small glances across the room stopped being enough, so you chose to approach him.

"So," You slid up next to where he leaned against the bar, beer in hand. "What happened to all those 'better things' you had to do tonight?"

Scott shrugged. "Figured I'd take the night off."

"I haven't seen you on that dance floor all night." You challenged. "Starting to think I was right about my theory."

"Been waiting for the right dance partner." He pushed off the bar and turned to face you, and you physically felt the tension in the air thicken.

"And that's supposed to be me?" You spoke back confidently, hoping he didn't notice how nervous he made you.

"If you want." He said, ever so nonchalantly. "Seems like you've been holding your own with everyone else."

"You been watching me, Miller?" You took the opportunity to strike, already knowing the answer, only because you had been watching him too.

For once, Scott was speechless, and you laughed in response. He hated how much he loved the sound of it, even when you were laughing at him.

"So, you going to dance with me or what?" You raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to make a move.

Scott finished the last sip of his beer, set the glass on the counter, and offered you his hand. You took it and followed his lead out to the dance floor.

Your skin burned red hot as he placed his large hand on your lower back and guided you through the steps. You weren't the smallest of girls, but the way that he lead you on the floor made you feel fully consumed by him, like putty in his hands.

You audibly gasped when he used his hand to lead you into a spin, pulling you back in and dipping you low, pausing to look in your eyes as he held you up.

"I told you, princess. I can dance."