#full cast and fully immersive

[thiefpodcast]

The path to 1,000 downloads per episode

The goal is 1,000 listeners by year’s end, and I will blog my progress.

Season two progress began in earnest this last week. It’s going a little slow, deliberately, (read my 2023 annual reflection), but I am well in to the initial arrangement of Chapter 5. Remember, The Thief starts out as a recording from a Dungeons & Dragons game, so “initial arrangement” is the step where I edit down the two or three-hour session into the main story. Follow The Thief on Patreon for free for more behind-the-scenes progress updates.

In my 2023 Annual Reflection, I wrote that The Thief’s slow-to-emerge product/market fit demanded attention. As a slow-to-produce and expensive story, I must choose how much time and money to spend to produce a podcast that will likely never be in the black.

And what might that look like? While I share actual numbers with my wittan on Patreon, in an advertising-only model where the average advertisement CPM is $25, we would need something like 20,000 downloads per episode to break even. So, I think I will just hand-wave that out of my mind.

But that is a target, and — I don’t know — Saturday-morning me loves a game.

Traction

In “The Phases of Podcast Growth”, 

Jeremy Enns names the trough of growth between 100 and 1,000 downloads per episode the “traction phase.” There is some validation that The Thief’s audience is out there — award nods, glowing reviews, consistent charting in niche genres — but

To move past the thousand-download-per-episode milestone, you’re going to need to get savvier with your marketing, both in the way you position and create your show, as well as how you get it in front of new potential listeners. … While the core idea might have been validated, there’s a lot of work to be done to refine it into a show makes the most of your marketing.

Jeremy’s advice rings true.

Walk before running

I have paid for a lot of advertisements but some axioms need some real research and qualification:

Does my pitch work?

Is The Thief even findable if sought

Is my audience who I even think they are?

This is pretty interesting.

I’ve already been experimenting with my answer to “What is this show?” My latest iteration is

A fully cast, low-fantasy mystery podcast, starting with the catalytic arrest of a City Watchman, leaving all to the only person he trusts: an undermarket draw-latch named "Symphony."

I don’t call The Thief an actual play — which it is — nor do I call it an audio drama. I don’t mention Dungeons and Dragons because some early anecdotal observations were that, well, people who listen to actual plays may prefer the table-relationship to the story, and The Thief all but strips out the former.

But this is more gut-feel than science, although I do have some data from prior ads that I mean to investigate.

Rough plan

I may write about this later but I’ve largely written off the value of organic social media marketing to [my] podcast growth. The CAC — or cost of new listener acquisition — is poor unless you hit the virality lotto. A good ad has exponentially more listener conversion than a good TikTok.

But I’m not doing myself any favors if I don’t question the - ah - “goodness" of that ad. I need to do the work.

The assets — the logo, the copy — resonate with the audience I want

The audience can find the show if they look it up

They can discover the show by looking up certain keywords

Ads mean I must trust the algorithm to deliver to the right people. But, there are other strategies for finding that audience. Namely, collaborate with folks who already have an audience that would like the Thief.

More on that, later.

[catiroll]

𝐹𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑃𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛// *✲ﾟ*｡⋆

Pairings: Ambessa & Sevika ( gn reader leaning towards fem)

Warning: NSFW, overworking, lesbians, drinking, set relationships.

ΛMBΣƧƧΛ ↣ Cowgirl

Ambessa thrives on control, her every touch and glance designed to draw her partner into her dominance. She demands their attention, insisting they watch her and feel every calculated movement, every deliberate tease, as she takes them apart piece by piece. To her, their surrender is the ultimate proof of trust, and she wields it with both pride and unrelenting intensity, ensuring they never forget the power she holds over them.

Ambessa’s smirk deepens as her amber eyes drink in the sight of the reader beneath her, their chest rising and falling with each labored breath. She takes her time, savoring the power she holds in this moment, her hands trailing over their body with deliberate precision. Her calloused fingers explore every curve and contour, her touch firm but never rushed, as though she’s mapping them out inch by inch.

“You’ve been holding back all night,” she murmurs, her voice rich and commanding, each word sending a shiver down their spine. “Not anymore. I want to feel you give in—to me.”

She kneels between their legs, her broad frame silhouetted against the flickering candlelight. There’s an undeniable confidence in the way she moves, as if every action is part of a carefully orchestrated performance designed to captivate. Her hands glide up their thighs, spreading them apart with an unspoken authority.

“Look at me,” she orders softly, her gaze locking onto theirs. Her fingers press into their skin, not to restrain but to remind them of the power she holds. The reader’s body reacts instinctively, their breathing quickening under the intensity of her touch.

Ambessa leans forward, her lips brushing against the hollow of their throat, her kisses unhurried and deliberate. She lingers, her teeth grazing lightly against their sensitive skin, drawing soft gasps from their lips. Her hands move with practiced confidence, teasing and exploring, each motion designed to leave them trembling beneath her.

“I want to hear you,” she murmurs against their ear, her breath warm and intoxicating. “Don’t hold back from me. Let me know how much you want this.”

Her lips trail downward, leaving a heated path in their wake. Every kiss, every touch is calculated, designed to evoke as much anticipation as pleasure. When she finally takes them, her movements are slow and deliberate, her strength both grounding and overwhelming.

She doesn’t just want to touch them—she wants them to feel her power, to understand the full force of her desire. Her hips press firmly against theirs, her rhythm commanding but never hurried, her body moving in perfect sync with their own.

Ambessa’s voice breaks through the haze of pleasure, low and gravelly. “You’re mine,” she says, her tone thick with possession and pride. “Don’t forget that.”

Every sound, every movement, every moment is hers to control, and by the time she brings them over the edge, the reader is left completely undone, their body and soul marked by the intensity of her dominance.

Sҽѵíkα ↣ Missionary

Sevika thrives in the intimacy of missionary. Grounding her in a way that makes the connection feel deeper and more personal. She loves the closeness, the way their bodies align perfectly, allowing her to feel every breath and every movement, knowing they’re both fully immersed in each other. In this position, Sevika’s control softens, and she relishes in the vulnerability, the shared intensity of their connection as they move together.

The simmering tension between Sevika and the reader has been building for weeks, each lingering glance and teasing remark a spark to an already blazing fire. Tonight, Sevika arrives unannounced at the reader’s doorstep, her presence impossible to ignore as the streetlights cast a glow on her metal arm, giving her an almost ethereal, powerful aura. Holding a bottle of wine in one hand, her other hand brushes a stray lock of hair from her face, her lips curling into that signature, lopsided grin. “Thought you might need some company,” she says, her voice a velvety invitation laced with the promise of more.

The two settle on the couch, the wine flowing freely, laughter spilling into the room like a warm embrace. The warmth of Sevika’s presence is intoxicating, her low chuckle reverberating in the reader's chest as their knees brush beneath the table. Her scent lingers in the air, a heady mix of leather and something deeper, more magnetic. As the reader leans forward to refill Sevika’s glass, their hands meet in a soft, almost electric touch, sending a thrill straight through them. They share a glance that speaks volumes, the kind of look that doesn’t need words to communicate the raw desire building between them.

Sevika’s fingers trail deliberately down the reader’s arm, each touch rough and tender in equal measure, as if marking them. Her body leans closer, her breath warming the reader's ear before she finally closes the gap, her lips ghosting over theirs in a teasing, tantalizing kiss. The taste of wine is forgotten as Sevika deepens the kiss, pulling the reader closer, her hands sliding under their clothes to trace the curve of their back. The heat between them burns brighter with every passing moment, the playful banter between them replaced by pure, primal longing.

Before they know it, they’re moving toward the bedroom, the world outside fading into oblivion. The air is thick with desire, with the weight of unspoken promises and anticipation. Sevika stands over them, her eyes dark with hunger and determination, as she looks down at the reader. The soft rustle of her movements fills the room as she reaches for the purple shimmer hexstrap-on she brought with her, her gaze never leaving theirs. The strap-on gleams in the low light, a stark contrast to Sevika’s confidence, a visual testament to her control. Her lips curl into another knowing grin as she leans in, her voice rough but seductive.

"You ready for me to take you apart?" she asks, her voice low and thick with desire. Her gaze flickers between their eyes and their body, wanting to feel every inch of their submission to her. As she straps herself in, she watches the reader’s every reaction, their body trembling with anticipation.

Her movements are slow at first, deliberate, wanting them to feel every inch of her power, every inch of her control. She guides the reader’s hands to the bed, her fingers tracing their skin with possessive care, grounding them. “I want you to feel me. I want you to know exactly who’s in charge here,” she whispers, her voice husky as she begins to move. Each thrust is purposeful, an undeniable rhythm that leaves no room for anything but Sevika. She commands the space around them, her body undulating with controlled force as she watches the reader, her every movement a display of dominance and unyielding control.

The reader can only surrender, their body reacting instinctively to her, their hands gripping the bed, their back arching under her command. Sevika’s eyes lock onto theirs, holding them captive as she drives them both toward the edge. “Look at me,” she demands in a voice thick with possessiveness. “Watch me take you apart.”

Masterlist

YAYAYAYAY finnaly back I haven’t posted in a while so my bad but yeah I’m gonna make more of these like Caitlyn and vi

ALSO thinking about writing more ambessa shes soooo ughhhh

[wordpress-blaze-36010151]

I am a Failure

Recently, I have been contemplating failure and its spiritual dimensions. In large part, this is because failure’s counterpart, success, is such a strange thing to pin down. I think Daniel Berrigan was onto something when he referred to success as being a weasel word and horribly American. But this recent contemplation of mine is also because, by all accounts, Jesus of Nazareth was a failure as well. Certainly, he had the makings of a successful person, but in the end, he died scandalized and humiliated on a Roman Cross.

As I was recently reminded at a gathering of Lutherans, many are certainly happy to celebrate Jesus becoming a failure for us, but those qualities that brought him to a Roman cross seem to be overlooked for the systematic nature of Paul’s letters. At times, I am not so sure what to make of this dynamic, because when Jesus’ words are referenced, they are just as quickly taken out of context.

It might seem strange that I am writing about failure, given my background as a pastor and professor with a Ph.D. I think I would be considered a “success” by some. However, in a very real sense, I don’t know what to do with such a judgment. Not because I am against being considered a success, but because there is so much more to me than just these things. There are many places where I might be deemed a failure. I resigned from a reputable pastoral position in part because of interpersonal dynamics, I struggle with OCD, I can certainly worry about the most ridiculous things, and I can be harsh and impatient. My successes can all too easily cover up my failures or, in another very real sense, my humanity. However, what strikes me through all my experiences is that it is in the failures and the struggles that the gold is found. After all, Christians believe that one man’s failure is what saves us from our sins.  

Recently, I read a great interview with theologian William T. Cavanaugh concerning success and failure. In the interview, Cavanaugh explains how, when it comes to positions of power and our desire for them, we rarely ask or consider how the position might change us. Rather, we often view it in the opposite direction, with a very individualistic lens, on how we can change the world through our position. I thought this was such a powerful insight, as we tend to approach the world around us in such ways when, in all actuality, the world around us influences us far more than we influence it. And really, wasn’t that the struggle of Jesus of Nazareth, not succumbing to the influence of the world? Satan tempted him with the very things that make for a successful person: power, prestige, and security, and certainly, no cross. Peter rebuked him over all his cross talk. And certainly had Jesus been more agreeable, he could have found a seat at the table of his enemies, the Pharisees. Yet, the ultimate symbol of failure lay ahead of him for all to see. I suppose we can say that such is what happens when one does not seek success, but instead faithfulness to the ways of God – failure.

Source: I am a Failure

[raineyconstellations]

As Long As You’d Like || Reader x Bob

“ Wow, congratulations! “

It had been decided, Robert Reynolds, Bob, would be permitted to leave the tower. Finally after almost a year of counseling and on and off training sessions he was being included in field operations.

You offered him a lopsided smile as you lowered the heat on the pan and wiped your hands on the front of your apron fully turning to take him in. You really couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips as you saw the man before you seemingly trying to fold in on himself. He looked everything but excited, more like a cat that had been harnessed and was about to be thrown out into the world for the first time.

“ I-I’m just not sure I’m…100 percent ready you know. “

He shrugged as he hid his hands in the oversized sleeves of his shirt, but even through the fabric you could already see the nervous fidgeting. His eyes darted left and right, up and down, unsure where it would be safe to rest. You noticed whenever Bob was about to say the worst things about himself he was always reluctant to look you in the eye.

“ Robert Reynolds.”

At the sound of his full name he stiffened, just like a cat that had been spooked and you swore you could hear him gulp down his negative comments. His fingers flexed but they remained at his side refusing to nervously tear at the already sensitive skin surrounding his nails.

“ Give yourself a little more credit bud, I know it’s sometimes a little hard to step back and see our accomplishments but you good sir. You have come a long way from where you started and you should be very proud of that. “

You turned away from him but not before seeing the tops of his ears burn red in embarrassment.

Your attention shifted to the dishes piled up high in the sink and with a sigh you motioned him to step forward and help you. You could have thrown them in the dishwasher, but truth be told you hated those things and washing dishes by hand was always therapeutic. It was also something mundane, something ordinary that Bob had quite taking a liking to helping you with as well.

He stumbled towards the sink , arms raised already memorizing the routine and you without skipping a beat leaned forward and rolled his sleeves up before handing him the dish towel.

“ I guess I could only play Rapunzel for so long. “

“ Bob, even Rapunzel left her tower. I’ll give you a cast iron skillet if it would make you feel better.“

“ Will you be my Pascal. “

“ Only if I’m allowed to sit on your shoulders. “

You splashed him and the both of you shared a couple laughs, while the tension hadn’t completely left him it was at least a little better and those negative words Bob had thought about throwing at himself had burst like the bubbles in the sink.

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✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

After the first mission it was like a bomb had been set off. The team remained busy and poor Bob was strung along without a chance to breathe or even think for that matter. Valentina called it public exposure therapy, aka the team really needed to be seen publicly and garner good press.

For the majority of your time, there was not much you could do but cook for yourself and the furry friends that had been entrusted to your care while everyone else was away. It became quite boring quite fast and on many days you found yourself pacing Bob’s little reading nook dusting the area for what seemed to be the 50th time.

You didn’t want to admit it, but the absence of Bob was felt. While you had been around the team, they would come and go whenever they pleased, but Bob remained a constant presence and now you were missing that presence.

On days where the harsh words of your own conscious were too much to take ; normal, boring, plain - you would take yourself out to explore the city. You would immerse yourself, exploring the food scene discovering what new recipes or ingredients you could bring to the team. You thought about Bob and at the end of everyday, you would bring something back to the tower that reminded you of him.

Sometimes a book, a bookmark, or maybe some teas you thought would help Bob through his sleepless nights or lazy mornings. Sometimes you would even take cuttings from local flowers and press them into the pages of the books you brought home for him. On days you didn’t feel like wondering out, you would leave sticky notes around his nook.

‘ The ole lady said this recipe was good for sore throats . ‘

‘ This one is good for sniffles. ‘

‘ Hearty, packed with potatoes. You like potatoes. ‘

‘ I am Pascal and Pascal is me. ‘

‘ I miss Rapunzel. ‘

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✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

Where he had found you had surprised him. Body curled up in the sofa chair located in his reading nook, head pressed to your chest in what looked to be an uncomfortable sleeping position. A small bubble of drool at the corner of your lips, and one of the books he had finished before leaving on these publicity missions cracked open in your lap.

The more he let his eyes wonder the more he discovered. What had been an empty coffee table beside the chair was now stacked high with a pile of books. Titles he hadn’t seen in his collection before leaving, books that had also been decorated in sticky notes. He picked one up.

‘ Spice cake, Bob likes cinnamon. ‘

‘Saw a cat, looked like Bob. ‘

‘ New shop on 5th, Bob might like. ‘

‘ Weighted blanket for Bob. ‘

Every sticky note was addressed to him and the more he read the more the warmth in his chest grew. It felt full, like at any moment it could burst and he couldn’t help the prickle at the corner of his eyes .

Cause never in his life, did Bob think that he would have someone waiting for him. Someone missing him, who wanted him around so often to do mundane things with like wash dishes, or cook. You were the most normal abnormal thing in his life and he couldn’t help the awful bad thoughts asking him “ Until when? “

“ As long as you’d like.”

He jumped not realizing that he had asked out loud and you grinned as you smacked your lips then closed your eyes and went back to blissful sleep. Your body sinking further into the couch, as if finally finding the perfect state of peace.

As long as he’d like. He smiled as he sat with his back against the couch, laying his head on the tops of your legs where you instinctively ran your fingers through his curls. His eyes closed and all the tension he had felt these past few weeks melted away.

═════════════════════════════

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

[hoe4hotchner]

Dust and harmony

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.2k

CW: Nothing really, except reader using an award as a weapon

Description: Hotch and Rossi catch a glimpse of your concert as you're cleaning the house.

A/N: Send requests here

It was one of those rare, blissful days where everything seemed to fall into place. The morning sun poured through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the living room. The coffee brewing in the pot smelled just right. And with a full day off from work, you decided to tackle the house chores that had been piling up the past couple of weeks amidst your busy lives. Your first mission was to clean up the dust that had gathered on the shelves and surfaces around the house. With Aaron at work, you had the whole place to yourself all day, a perfect opportunity to crank up your favorite playlist and get things done.

After a quick breakfast, you got to work, moving from room to room with a cloth and bowl of warm soapy water in hand. The rhythmic beats of your favorite songs pumped through your headphones, helping you find a rhythm as you dusted every nook and cranny. It kept you focused. As you made your way back to the living room, you felt a little surge of energy, the music pushing you to clean with more enthusiasm than usual. You were lost in the rhythm   Your playlist shifted, and Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” started playing. A smile spread across your face as you recognized the opening notes, you couldn’t resist the urge to sing along. The song was powerful and full of emotion, and even though its message was far from anything you’d experienced in your relationship with Aaron, you couldn’t help but belt out the lyrics with all your heart.   You worked your way around the room, singing loudly as you dusted off the coffee table, the bookshelves, and the frames on the walls. The lyrics flowed out of you naturally, your voice filling the room as you wiped away the dust. As you sang the chorus, you reached for an award you'd won in your field of work. It was made of glass in the shape of a pyramid. It sat proudly on the mantle, a symbol of your hard work and dedication.

You were completely caught up in the moment, swinging the trophy around as you sang and danced to the beat, your voice echoing through the house. You found yourself fully immersed in the character in the song, even if it was all in good fun. Your eyes were closed, your heart was racing with the music, and you were unaware of anything else - especially the fact that Aaron had just unlocked the front door and come home.   Aaron had wrapped up his day earlier than expected and, as promised, brought David Rossi along with him. Rossi’s old whiskey decanter had been broken during one of the team's poker nights, and as a result, Aaron had offered to give him an extra one he had at home. They stepped into the entrance quietly, Aaron was so used to moving silently after years of working in law enforcement and hunting unsubs. On a regular day, you probably wouldn't even have noticed him.

Instead of a quiet house, they were greeted by the sound of your voice, loudly singing about keying cars and slashing tires. Aaron stopped in his tracks, a mixture of surprise and amusement crossing his face. Rossi, too, was caught off guard, but quickly found himself grinning at the scene.   “Is that…?” Rossi started, but Aaron simply nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.   They moved closer, staying just out of sight, watching as you danced around the living room, the trophy raised high like a prize. You were lost in the song, belting out the lyrics with ease. The combination of your unrestrained performance and the contrast of the lyrics with your actual relationship made for an amusing sight, and Aaron couldn’t help but chuckle softly.   “Should I be worried about your car?” Rossi leaned in, his voice low and filled with humor.   “She just likes the music,” Aaron shook his head, still smiling. There was an unmistakable hint of affection in his tone.   As the song reached its climax, you spun around, still holding the trophy, your voice soaring with the final lines. “I might’ve saved a little trouble for the next girl, ’cause the next time that he cheats…”

That’s when you finally noticed them. Aaron and Rossi stood in the doorway, grinning like a couple of kids caught sneaking cookies from the jar in the pantry. For a split second, your heart leaped into your throat, and you let out a startled scream, clutching the trophy in front of you as if it could somehow protect you.   “Easy there! We come in peace.” Rossi raised his hands in mock surrender, laughter rumbling in his chest.   Your face flushed as you quickly pulled off your headphones, letting them drop around your neck. “You scared me half to death!” you exclaimed, trying to recover from the shock.   “Sorry, we didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said gently, Aaron’s expression softened as he took a step forward, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and affection.   “So, Hotch, should I assume you’re in trouble? That song choice seems a little… implied.” Rossi glanced between you and Aaron, a teasing grin on his face.   Before you could say anything, Aaron turned to Rossi with a knowing smile. “She has a thing for breakup songs. It’s not about us,” he explained. “Actually, she listens to them because she feels secure in our relationship.”

You huffed, more embarrassed than offended, and quickly put the trophy back on the coffee table. “Don't profile me Aaron!” you whined, your voice taking on a playful edge as you grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it at him. It hit him square in the chest, and he caught it easily, his deep, warm laugh filling the room.

“You two are something else,” Rossi watched the exchange with clear amusement, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his chest, the grin on his face widening. “But seriously, I’m going to need that decanter before I get caught up in your little domestic drama.”   Aaron nodded, still smiling as he set the pillow aside. “I’ll get it for you,” he said, his tone gentle as he turned back to you. “You okay?”   You nodded, letting out a small laugh now that the initial shock had worn off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… maybe a little warning next time?”   “I’ll make sure of it,” Aaron promised, his eyes warm as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.   “Nice pipes,” Rossi winked in a teasing tone as Aaron walked toward his office to retrieve the decanter.   “Thanks. Just… don’t tell anyone at the BAU, okay?” You couldn’t help but grin.   “Your secret’s safe with me,” Rossi assured you with a chuckle, following Aaron into the office.

Left alone in the living room, you shook your head, a smile still tugging at your lips.

You glanced around, taking in the room, the warm sunlight, the dusty cloth still in your hand, the trophy back in its rightful place on the mantle.   As you finished up the last bit of dusting, you couldn’t help but hum the tune of “Before He Cheats” under your breath, a smile tugging at your lips. Aaron might have caught you off guard today, but you knew he loved every bit of your quirky habits, just as you loved his.

Consider linking or reblogging if you enjoy my work

[thestarwanderer]

"Hotel Reverie": A heartbreaking simulation of Love and Grief

(Spoilers ahead)

In its seventh season, Black Mirror quietly delivered what may be one of its most emotionally devastating and thematically rich episodes to date: Season 7, episode 3: “Hotel Reverie.”

On the surface, it seems to echo the show’s usual motifs—technology, simulation, AI, identity. But beneath its layers, its grayscale glamour and eerie premise lies something far more intimate: a queer love story about agency, performance, memory, and the ache of loving something that was never supposed to be real.

And it’s this contrast—between what is scripted and what is felt—that gives Hotel Reverie its haunting, aching brilliance.

The episode follows Brandy Friday, a Black actress who, despite her fame, is creatively stifled and emotionally detached from the roles she’s typecast into. She craves something deeper, something immortal—a performance that doesn’t just live on screen but lives in the hearts of those who witness it. She mentions all time classics like Casablanca and so much more.

That opportunity comes in the form of a film company rebooting Hotel Reverie, a 1940s romantic classic, if I remembered it correctly. Through advanced AI-simulation technology, they don’t recreate the film around Brandy but instead they drop her inside it. Fully immersed, Brandy’s consciousness becomes the character Alex Palmer, while the simulation populates itself with ultra-realistic AI versions of the original cast, including the tragic female lead, Clara, played by a synthetic version of late film icon Dorothy Chambers. The catch was Brandy never received the full briefing or protocol, she didn't know it would be unrealistically real...She didn't know Clara would feel so human and she certainly didn't expect to fall in love.

The episode is about technology, yes but more than that, it's about the quiet war between authenticity and performance, and how queer love is often forced to live between the two.

Clara, the AI was built from Dorothy’s old performance tapes as Clara and Dorothy drew it from her life, her emotions was based on her own sorrow and experiences. It is initially just that. It was meant to be just a performance. Graceful, poetic, timeless. But as Brandy begins making off-script choices, the AI system starts to destabilize. Clara begins to glitch. And what was once a program begins to feel like a person—one whose every emotion is bleeding through from the long-lost heart of Dorothy Chambers herself.

Dorothy, we learn in implication, was a queer woman living in the 1940s, an actress who died tragically, quietly. She never got to live a truthful life, never got to love openly. Instead, she buried her feelings inside her most iconic role: Clara. That role is now AI-coded into the simulation, which means that Clara’s love is built from Dorothy’s pain.

Brandy, meanwhile, begins as an outsider. She doesn’t believe in the simulation. She doesn’t even trust the reality of what she’s seeing. Her performance is half-hearted, her delivery flat. But it’s not poor acting, it’s intentional distance. Brandy is, after all, an actress. She’s learned to hold herself back, to keep her identity just outside the camera’s reach.

Until Clara starts going off script. Until Clara starts looking back at her.

That’s when Brandy stops acting. That’s when she starts feeling.

One of the most emotionally complex and narratively brilliant choices of Hotel Reverie makes is the uncertainty surrounding Clara's memory after the reset. After Brandy wakes up and hears the team calling her back to reset the scorpion scene. And this was after everything they’ve been through, the weeks they spent together in the simulation, the moments of genuine intimacy and self-discovery—Clara is returned to a point in the story before it all happened. And Clara reappears right before her very eyes, just as she was at the beginning and Clara was looking at her saying "My heart is pounding like a drum". Same intonation, Same staging. But for Brandy, it was no longer the same. For Brandy's case, since she's real human, her mind, everything was intact. The uncertainty of that scene was purely haunting and magical at the same time. What happens next is subtle. Brandy hesitates and she doesn't say her line right away. She studies Clara's face... her eyes. Searching for something.

Is it her?

Is she still in there?

Clara seems confused by Brandy's reaction but only just. Not like someone who has no memory, but like someone who feels something just beneath the surface and can't explain why. It's eerily familiar, like a love that exists without memory.

The dilemma, as someone who was now at this point fully invested with the story, I felt anxious too, constantly I was asking questions in my mind "Does she remember?" "Does she know?"

For me, I know she was reset but I think... deep inside her, she knows. A part of her remembers.

Clara’s behavior after the reset—her tone, her reluctance to meet Brandy’s eyes, the strange weight behind her words, it all hints at something deeper.

She says:

“I’m a married woman. I can’t… I shouldn’t be feeling this way.”

And it fits the script, but it also feels like a double meaning. As if she’s not just speaking as Clara the character… but as someone who remembers what happened and doesn’t know why she remembers.

There’s a moment when she looks at Brandy and her eyes shimmer—not with confusion, but with something that feels like grief. Like she knows what’s coming. Like she’s trying not to break the character, what she was asked to, what she's supposed to do as an AI.

Here’s where it gets even more tragic, and brilliant. I personally think it’s not Clara who remembers but Dorothy?

Clara is a simulation. She was a role. But she was built on the emotional DNA of Dorothy Chambers, the woman who once played her. A woman who lived a closeted life. The person who loved someone she could never be with. Who poured that heartbreak into the character of Clara.

When Brandy calls her “Dorothy,” the AI begins to shift, to change. The simulation becomes porous. Clara, for the first time, begins to feel the real woman beneath the code.

So even if Clara was reset, even if the AI has been reprogrammed—the echo of Dorothy Chamber's grief still lives inside her. And the love, once it's truly felt, is not easily erased.

So maybe... Clara doesn't remember the events, but her heart remembers something. Even if she doesn't know why Brandy suddenly feels like home.

But that's just my wishful thinking. The audience is meant to feel conflicted. It's meant to feel like we're stuck between two truths. 1. Clara is a simulation who has been reset and 2. Clara is a soul who fell in love and never truly forgot. That unresolved ache? that invisible string still pulling Brandy and Clara together even as the worlds resets is what makes the story so devastatingly human.

Because love isn't always about memories, sometimes it's about feeling something you can't explain.

And in the moment when Clara says "You must go" with eyes that know too much. Me as someone who witnessed their story unfold, realizes something terrible. That maybe Clara does remember...maybe she chooses to let Brandy go anyway. To protect her. Just like Dorothy once didn't get the chance to.

Another aspect of the story that truly haunts me was how Clara AI perceived Brandy in the beginning. In the simulation, Brandy was meant to play the role of Alex Palmer- a male, white doctor. The simulation was coded to present her to the world of the film as Alex: male, charming, heterosexual, traditionally heroic.

Brandy was in theory, masked, her body present, her identity hidden by the lens of the 1940s characters perception. But that never truly held. Not for Clara.

Despite the programming, despite the simulated environment, despite the rigid gender roles of the time, Clara sees Brandy. Not as a man, Not as Alex. Not as a character to perform with. She sees her essence, her spirit and the actor/person beneath.

As the story progresses, the romantic dynamic deepens between the two. In a story rooted in artifice, programming, gender coding and simulation, the heart cuts through all of it. Their story was shaped by presence, connection and truth. In the end, Clara doesn't say "I love you, Alex", she says, "I love you" and this was unmistakably addressed to Brandy, and she means it. And this was even after the reset.

Another thing to point out is, how much has been said about Issa Rae’s portrayal of Brandy—some calling it too subdued, too passive. But this criticism misunderstands the core of Brandy’s character.

Issa Rae plays Brandy as a woman trained to survive the industry by not feeling too much. Her detachment is not a lack of chemistry, but a shield. She enters the simulation not as a lover or a believer but as a professional, dropped into a role without context or rehearsal. She was expecting to meet fellow actors to establish connection and rapport with fellow humans. That's how acting and filming goes normally. But that isn't the case here, and because of that, she plays Alex Palmer with hesitation, with irony, with cynicism.

But slowly, that mask begins to slip.

It starts with stolen glances. Quiet awe. Little expressions of disbelief—In her mind she's probably thinking “She’s just code. Why does it feel like more?”

Rae’s restraint becomes her weapon. When the final breakdown comes when Clara is reset and no longer remembers her—Rae doesn’t explode in melodrama. She crumbles in silence. It’s not theatrical. It’s real. And it hits so much harder because of everything she held in before. She was slapped by the unfortunate and harsh truth, that everything is artificial. It's not real.

Her final delivery of “I’ll be yours forevermore”, the line she’s been waiting to say the entire film lands like a funeral vow. It's not for the camera.

It's for the woman lying dead in her arms. the one she spent endless nights, weeks, months with. The woman she fell in love with.

And then there's Emma Corrin, Emma Corrin’s performance is surgical in its softness. They play Clara with the kind of grace and vulnerability that feels too perfect at first—a fantasy of the golden age of cinema. But that’s the point. Clara is an AI. They were immaculate from the very beginning. They were playing a programmed AI designed to be seductive, poetic, elegant and timeless. Clara wasn't confused; she was supposed to follow the original movie's narrative. She was on script.

Clara isn’t supposed to feel. She isn’t supposed to change.

But as Brandy veers off script, Clara begins to show cracks. She slowly gives a smile that lingers too long. Eyes that start searching for answers to questions she was never supposed to ask. Corrin manages to convey an AI that is accidentally learning how to want.

Clara's whispered “I love you” is delivered not like a confession, but like a discovery. Like a glitch in her own programming. And the way she touches Brandy’s face, as though she’s trying to memorize something that’s already slipping away? It was not scripted; it was something sacred.

The part where she starts to grasp memories from Clara's data pool, and Dorothy's life. I was bawling. She saw fragments of her life; the applause, the movie sets, the fake smiles, the closeted love and the loneliness of being adored by millions by known by no one.

Clara felt everything and Corrin was amazing to convey such emotions in the screen. Clara saw how Dorothy was trapped in gold, wealth and fame around her like silk-lined shackles- a life where everyone wanted her, but no one ever truly saw her. And the worst part, Clara realizes she's living the same life again, inside the simulation, a role she was never meant to question. It's devastating because it says so much about how people tend to romanticize women like her; write their suffering as elegant, preserve their tragedy in HD, but never ask "What did she want?" , "Did anyone ever let her choose?"

And when Corrin delivered the line " I was born in a cage. I should die in a cage", it was so haunting and achingly beautiful at the same time because Clara was aware, and she wanted to do something Dorothy never could. Like she inherited the ending Dorothy never escaped. But she wants to end it in her own way, her own terms and not by following any script.

Corrin doesn't just play Clara. They play Dorothy, too—still trapped inside the role, finally reaching out from decades of silence, begging not to be forgotten again.

And the tragedy is—she is. and dare I say, Emma Corrin deserves at least a nomination for this role.

Hotel Reverie is not just a sci-fi romance. It is a commentary on the cost of performing for the world and the quiet revolution of being seen anyway.

Clara was never meant to feel. Brandy was never meant to care. Dorothy was never meant to be remembered for her love.

But through Brandy’s choices, through Clara’s awakening, through Issa Rae’s restraint and Emma Corrin’s vulnerability, this story became more than just a film inside a film. It became a ghost story, a love letter and a tragedy.

A reminder that even in simulated spaces, Love is always real and forgetting it is the true heartbreak.

What Hotel Reverie does without making a spectacle of it—is something profound: Despite placing its characters inside a 1940s simulation, a time riddled with racial tension, misogyny, and queer oppression, the episode refuses to make those elements the point of pain.

Brandy, a Black woman. Clara, a white woman born from a 1940s film role. Two women. Two identities that would have been considered scandalous even to be in the same room romantically during that era—

And yet? Their love is not questioned. Not framed as political. Not punished for its optics.

There is no scene where Brandy’s race is mocked or tokenized. There’s no line of dialogue explaining why Clara’s AI programming “accepts” her. There is no moment where the gender of their relationship is pointed out as deviant.

It just exists.

And that is so, so rare. In a world of stories that center conflict around identity—in which being queer or being a person of color is the obstacle to overcome—Hotel Reverie offers something revolutionary because it lets love be the center. It's not about the struggle, the scandal, the justifications.

Brandy's identity is present and it's the core of her whole personality, but it does not define her worthiness to be loved. Clara's identity too, is not a reflection of purity or acceptability. She is not the symbol of 'ideal femininity." She is a construct who becomes real. 'It's not a queer love in a time that forbids it" it's just two souls who were never meant to meet but finding each other anyway. Because when the world falls away, when time, rules, programming and expectations crumble,

Love is just love.

It doesn't need to be explained.

[californiaahunny]

Hiii, loved your slash fic! Saw the requests open, may I ask for something similar with either duff or izzy? anything you prefer to be honest <3

your girl , izzy stradlin x fem!reader

call me late if you wanna get high

☆ summary: song writing isn’t the most effortless process but time with your guitarist is

☆ warnings: 18+ content, mdni. smoking. suggestive content but more on the fluffy side tbh.

☆ authors notes: um hi!!!! i honestly had super fun writing this & adding it to the singer x band member saga lol. i hope you enjoyed, thank u for requesting <333 also im not the most educated on the song writing process so go easy on me 🫣🫣

the, once baby blue, california sky was painted orange fading into yellow, shading every building with a shining cast, including the story your apartment was on. the apartment you rarely spent a constant time in, usually on the road and a tour bus.

the soft melody playing throughout the living room traveled up your spine as the wood panels beneath you kissed at your bare feet. your row of teeth chewed on a manicured nail, your chest vibrating with the soft hum in you.

you paced in attempt to find something that felt like you, an endless search through the tune.

gray smoke followed you like a shadow, falling from the blazing cigarette carefully sitting between the lips of the man on the rugged leather of the sofa. strands of dark hair fell over his eye sight while his fingers did all the work, adding to the lyrical search.

for a moment, he glanced up, eyeing your legs moving from one direction to the other. your eyebrows were pinched together, lips pursed before clamping your teeth over the bottom flesh.

you mumbled a few words to your self, some potential lyrics but nothing stuck.

“fuck,” you groaned, partially to yourself but the guitarist noticed, halting his motions and immersing the two of you in silence.

“don’t rush it, baby,” izzy spoke softly, plucking the cigarette from his lips and exhaling. he spoke so coolly, like your career wasn’t relying on the art you made with him and it’s anticipation.

you simply stare at him, big doe eyes full of impatience and weary while a minuscule pout etched onto your lips absentmindedly. he notices your shoulders drop before giving you a flash of sympathy, patting the material of the couch he occupied.

“c’mere,” he encourages. your vision glances down to his big palm, taking steps and slowly advancing towards him. izzy’s calloused hand reaches out to you, thick fingers pulling at your dainty ones, pulling you down to his level.

you obliged, knees gently dipping into the couch to fully face him. his dark orbs latch onto your skin, like thorns on a rose, dragging down every inch of you.

there was a moment of silence before you spoke up.

“i’m gonna write a song about you one day,” you murmur, the corners of your lips quirking up as your finger tips inched their way towards the strands of hairs framing his eyes.

he slightly raises his eyebrows, “is that so?”

you let out a giggle, your head nodding up and down. you let your body lean forward, hands crawling to plant on his jean-clad thighs.

“my muse,” you grin, placing a peck on his pink lips. his body vibrates from his deep chuckle before you gently grasp the guitar still in his embrace. getting the hint, izzy mirrors your actions and helps place the prized possession to the side.

with that moment, the air switches; erasing the jaded feelings. your skin warms up, one leg swinging over his lap to cage him in. rough palms slither up your exposed thighs, hiking up the hem of your sundress.

your chest immensely rises, a breath falling from your plump lips. a lustful haze over takes you as izzy’s touch gradually keeps getting higher.

your lashes flutter shut, skin on your sides, on top of the material of your clothing. the lingering smell of smoke remained around him, laced on his tongue as he guided you to lock his lips to yours, cradling the back of your neck.

your palms slid down his chest, body tingling with satisfaction. his digits dig deeper into your hair, giving a slight tug against your scalp. you smile into the kiss at the feeling, the feeling of him being engulfed in the heat.

you briefly pulled away, eyes flickering to his lips, residue of your lipstick lingering. the pad of your thumb gently rubs against them, not to get it off but to admire your mark on him.

“you’re my girl,” izzy whispered, voice gravely as his pools of hazel bored into you. he watches you shake your head, an amused smile etching onto your features.

your cheeks flush, “stop it,” you place a kiss on the corner of his lips, gradually moving down to the delicate spot between his neck and his jaw. izzy’s head lolls to the back of the sofa, entering a blissful state with every inch of him being covered by you and your touch.

“you are, you’re my girl,” his hooded lids peer down before his big hand smooths back the strands falling on your forehead head and back against the curve of your skull. izzy languidly pulls you into him, your ear against his heartbeat faintly pounding against his ribs.

it was intimate, your mind against his heart as your body fell limp, curling into his embrace. his palm continued to comfort you, putting your mind that was once worked up, to ease. yet that was all a minuscule moment now.

your body rose and fell with your breaths, the guitarists other hand falling slack across your body.

“always gonna be my girl,” he mumbled, words lazily slurred against his tongue.

you hummed in response, you were his girl now and you’ll be his girl then.

[sodapopdrunk]

you tell abby he’s a pretty boy

content tags: abby saja x female reader, fluff, established relationship, all lowercase intended

abby isn’t doing much when you notice just how ridiculously pretty he is. fully immersed in the television as he quietly watches the movie you begged him to watch with you.

the flickering light from the tv casts such a nice glow to his high cheekbones and slim nose, making his lips look glossy in the dim lighting as his fingers rub circles into the supple skin of your exposed thigh.

it’s not like you didn’t recognise just how good looking he was before, it’s hard not to, but there was something about the way he was sitting there; dressed in his gray sweatpants and white t-shirt combo, messy hair on full display with a pretty little smile that pulls at his lips when his gaze falls to you when you tell him just how excited you are to watch your favourite movie together.

you can’t help the way your hands comes up to run through his coloured strands, the action pulling abby’s attention away from the movie that continues to play in the background. “wassup, baby?” he hums out, and it makes your heart beat wildly in your chest.

“you’re such a pretty boy,” you muse, you’ve practically got hearts as eyes as you carefully study his face, noting the way his lip twitches into a small smile.

his ears burn with the sudden compliment and how you’re looking up at him with such a cute expression etched onto your features. abby, despite his sudden shyness, grins a stupidly sweet smile and leans down to lessen the gap between your faces, “is that so?”

the movie is long forgotten when you nod dumbly, your cheeks flushed and hot as you gulp visibly.

abby laughs at that, chest rumbling with the sound, as he presses a syrupy sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, “why don’t you show me just how pretty you think i am?”

─ masterlist | liked this? request here!

© sodapopdrunk 2025. all rights reserved.

[jermer10]

Could I request Spy and Medic with a reader who pulls them in by the tie for a kiss :00 Thank you in advance ^-^

TF2 mercs being pulled in by their ties

suggestive, gn reader | ty for the ask anon!! ^_^

includes: spy, medic

drabbles under the cut :P

Spy: Spy's study was dimly lit, the soft glow of a cigarette balanced between his fingers casting long shadows across his face. He stood with his back to you, eyes trained on the battlefield outside the window, calculating as always. You approached quietly, knowing full well he heard every footstep, but allowing him to maintain his facade of mystery. Without a word, you reached for the silk tie hanging loosely around his neck. Spy froze momentarily, caught off-guard by the sudden boldness of your touch. Slowly, you tugged at the tie, gently but with purpose. His eyes flickered with intrigue as you pulled him toward you.

He allowed it, curious. His smirk grew wider as he let himself be drawn in, close enough that the faint smell of his expensive cologne filled your senses. The distance between your lips disappeared in a heartbeat, and you pressed a firm, heated kiss to his mouth. For a moment, he stood still, surprised that you had taken control. His gloved hand came up to cup the back of your neck, his lips moving against yours with a slow, practiced elegance. When you finally pulled back, your grip still tight on his tie, Spy gave a soft chuckle.

"You play a dangerous game, mon amour," he purred, his voice velvety smooth, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "But I do so enjoy it when you surprise me."

Medic: The lab was filled with the usual clinks and beeps of equipment, Medic fully absorbed in whatever chaotic experiment he was conducting. His glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose, and his tie hung askew, as if he hadn’t bothered to adjust it for hours. You approached him from behind, watching with amusement as he muttered something in German, completely immersed in his work. “Doctooorr,” you called, your voice soft but with a hint of playfulness. He didn’t even glance up, waving his hand dismissively. “One moment, just one moment…”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer. He was so absorbed in his notes that he didn’t notice when you reached for his tie, fingers curling around the fabric. You gave it a sharp tug, pulling him toward you. He nearly dropped his clipboard, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbled slightly. “Vhat—" he stammered, but before he could protest, your lips crashed against his, silencing him with a passionate kiss. The initial surprise quickly faded as Medic’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer. His glasses nearly slipped off his face, but he didn’t seem to care, too caught up in the kiss.

When you pulled away, leaving him slightly breathless, his eyes were wide with excitement, lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Mein Gott,” he murmured, adjusting his glasses with one hand while still holding onto you with the other. “You certainly know how to, ah, get my attention.” You gave his tie one last playful tug, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Glad to know that worked." Medic chuckled, his gaze warm and full of admiration. "I might need to be distracted more often."

[mysindividual]

(Unknowingly), his unspoken wish | Aaron Hotchner

*can be read as a standalone but is a bonus scene for the Unknowingly series in honour of celebrating Aaron’s birthday🥹

MASTERLIST

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

summary: your boss is drowning in paperwork when you burst in with a birthday cake and a cheerful serenade, determined to rescue him from his serious face. Your playful spirit turns the mundane into a mini-party and the weight of his responsibilities fades. In that small, cozy space, laughter and connection blossom, transforming an ordinary night into a memorable celebration filled with joy and unspoken wishes. Who knew paperwork could come with cake and a side of chaos?

warnings: boss x subordinate, mutual pining, some fluff and flirting, of course

Aaron Hotchner sat alone in his dimly lit office, the clock ticking softly in the background, marking the late hours of the night. The weight of paperwork loomed over him like an unwelcome cloud, his loose white shirt hanging comfortably around his neck, the collar slightly askew. His tie lay abandoned on the desk, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that hinted at both strength and exhaustion. The flickering light from the desk lamp cast soft shadows across his focused expression as he scribbled notes on a report.

You peered through the slightly ajar door, a smile breaking across your face at the sight of him buried in work. It was a familiar scene—one you had come to appreciate. There was something about seeing him so immersed in his tasks, yet so human in his dishevelled attire, that made your heart flutter. The way he concentrated, the faint lines of stress etched on his brow, made you want to lighten his burden.

You pushed the door open wider, stepping inside with a piece of cake held delicately in your hands, a single candle flickering atop it like a beacon of cheer. Taking a deep breath, you began to sing, “Happy birthday to you…” Your voice echoed softly against the walls, a playful melody breaking the stillness.

Aaron’s head snapped up, confusion flashing across his face for a split second before it transformed into a genuine but tired smile, softening the stern lines of his jaw. He looked at the unexpected sight before him, momentarily caught off guard by your vibrant presence. Weaving your way around the desk and towards him, Aaron turned his chair to face you fully, his brow furrowing in surprise before softening with gratitude. “How did you know?” he asked, the weight of his day momentarily lifting.

“Do you really think you can keep secrets from me?” You set the cake down with a flourish, leaning against the desk, your playful demeanor a breath of fresh air in the still office. “I have my sources,” you replied, your voice teasing and light. “Every birthday deserves a little celebration, don’t you think?” You winked at him, your smile infectious.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, clearly both flattered and amused. “I usually keep my birthday under wraps to avoid… this,” he said, gesturing towards the cake, a hint of bemusement lacing his tone. “I prefer to keep it low-key. Too many people would make a big deal out of it.”

“Good thing I’m not ���too many people’,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow as you grinned down at him. “Just the right amount of fun for the birthday boss.”

As your gaze locked, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. The flickering candlelight danced between you, casting a warm glow that highlighted the softness in his eyes. “You’re full of surprises,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent, as if acknowledging something sacred.

“Aren’t birthdays meant for surprises?” you replied, your brows lifting in playful challenge. The candlelight danced in your cheerful eyes, enhancing the intimacy of the moment. “Now, close your eyes, make a wish, and blow out the candle,” you urged, clasping your hands beneath your chin, your heart racing in anticipation.

Aaron sighed, knowing you wouldn’t let go until he did it, knowing too well he couldn’t resist your charm. So he closed his eyes, focusing on the flame that flickered before him. In that stillness, his thoughts turned inwards, settling on a wish that felt profound—a desire that had stirred in his heart for longer than he dared to acknowledge. The truth settled in his heart: you were the source of his joy, the light that pierced the shadows of his long hours.

When he opened his eyes again, he found you watching him intently, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Well? What did you wish for?” you teased, leaning closer, your curiosity brightening the room.

He smirked, the playful banter returning, but he felt the weight of his unshared truth. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “After all, you have your sources.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, pulling plastic forks from your suit’s pocket and offering one to him. As you both shared a slice of cake, Aaron looked up at you, his expression softening. You were perched on the edge of his desk, a playful sparkle dancing in your eyes as you dove into the cake, savoring each bite. But as he glanced back at the clock, a question nagged at him. Why were you really here, choosing him over the festivities? He couldn’t shake the thought. While others were out enjoying the night, you had willingly stepped into the dim light of his office, sharing a slice of cake and laughter instead.

“Shouldn’t you be out with the team, enjoying your night off?” he asked, a hint of curiosity threading through his tone. His gaze flicked to the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking away, a reminder of the lively night happening elsewhere.

“Because,” you replied, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’d much rather celebrate with you than be in a crowded bar where no one knows how to appreciate a good cake.”

A teasing smile crept across your lips, surveying the neatly organized office as if contemplating a grand scheme. “I could say I was worried about you, but honestly?” You paused for effect, cocking your head to the side with a playful smirk. “I couldn’t resist the chance to bring a little chaos and cake to your perfectly organized life.”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin creeping across his face as he watched you. It was rare for him to let his guard down in the office, but here you were, radiating a lightness that cut through the heaviness of his responsibilities like a beam of sunshine. You were animated, lost in the joy of the moment, and it reminded him of how much he valued your presence—your ability to infuse laughter and warmth into the often-grim world of the Bureau.

You didn’t just bring chaos; you brought something deeper—a sense of connection, a reminder that even in the seriousness of his job, he wasn’t alone. He appreciated how you lightened his burdens, even if just for a brief reprieve. The laughter and shared cake were small acts, but they brought a brightness that pierced through the usual shadows of his responsibilities.

In that fleeting moment, he felt a swell of gratitude that you had chosen to stay, even if it was just to share a slice of cake. He felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this wasn’t just about the cake; maybe it was about you choosing him.

“Did you wish for another piece of cake?” you teased, breaking the comfortable silence, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes revealing your hidden intentions as you enjoyed your bite.

“No, but I should have,” he replied, a hint of playfulness in his tone as the corners of his lips lifted slightly. “What I wished for might be a little more… complicated.”

“Oh? Now you have to tell me, or I can’t help,” you insisted, leaning closer, your voice dropping conspiratorially. “I have my sources. Was it something about the case? A promotion? Or maybe that I’d bring you cake every year?”

He raised an eyebrow, maintaining a teasingly serious expression. “Let’s just say it was a wish for happiness.” His gaze lingered on yours, and in that moment, a soft connection sparked between you—an unspoken understanding that hung in the air, almost tangible.

You felt warmth blossom within you, the moment stretching as you shared that knowing smile, nodding. “Well, then, I think we have to make that wish come true. Starting with more cake,” you declared, laughter bubbling up as you reached for a fork, your enthusiasm infectious.

The night was far from over, and in that small office, surrounded by scattered papers and the gentle ticking of seconds on the clock, something unspoken began to bloom—a shared wish, yet unvoiced, hanging delicately between you.

As you both indulged in the cake, the storm of paperwork faded into the background, replaced by an easy warmth that enveloped the room. The simple act of celebrating—a birthday, a connection—infused the atmosphere with a sweetness that even the weightiest cases could not overshadow. Each bite of cake felt like a small victory, a reminder that joy could be found in the midst of chaos.

[hyewka]

or can u suggest any txt fic here (preferably the long ones w chapters) that u enjoyed?

sorry for the extremely extremely late reply but i’ll list some long fics + txt series’s that ive enjoyed with some comments attached to each one. spoiler alert, a completed txt series is pretty hard to find lol

series

lover = lo$er (sub!gyu, virgin fic)

it would be easy to just straight up recommend every @/wildernessuntothemselves series and i might just succumb to that later on but this is pure submissive beomgyu heaven, served as my first real awakening and i would probably attribute most of my sub gyu writing to this fic alone. 10/10, has a love triangle bit and beomgyus kind of insane

criminal conscience (dom!gyu, crime au)

on the other side of the spectrum, this is pussy clenching dom beomgyu goodness and i dont think it gets better than this. the writing is so compelling it fully immerses you in the narrative, even im getting sucked in to beomgyu’s manipulation (whats new really), blaring red flags and all. its currently on hiatus though but i would catch up either way beomiracles is a pretty consistent writer, she’d probably pick it up sooner or later :)

mosquito (soobin)

sorry this is going to be all over the place lol but this is also still ongoing (its only two parts in) but this writer is absolutely insane. narrative feels fleshed out and though it mainly follows soobin’s perspective and feelings, i am quite enjoying it so far. it has some idol x idol action as well, not the main focus of course but it is written in detail

one way (dom!beomgyu, themes of sadism)

this ones a three parter and its completed. by the same writer mentioned previously (soobrat), very very good storytelling, keeps you on your toes and has a hold on your emotions but like mentioned, it has a bit of an extremity in the smut and it is undeniably toxic but its good

sneaky link (dom yeonjun, the other woman trope)

i havent read this in a while but i remember staying up all night reading all of it lol. i would probably not recommend this to people who really cant read infidelity since thats what the fic is based around but it isnt cast in a very favorable light anyway. really toxic, seriously good

fuck you series (sub gyu, enemies to lovers, band au)

its really cute and the e2l set up is believable enough since theyre band rivals. beomgyu is so so so cute in this even if a little insufferable to mc lol. i would also recommend fairyofshampgyu’s now live series but its currently on an indefinite hiatus (its sooo good as well though so if youre willing, you should check it out)

nabi (best friends to lovers beomgyu, no smut)

two parts in, not completed but im following it currently and god i love them together their dynamic is soooo fun to read, you wont get bored

jerk! (enemies to lovers, beomgyu fic, no smut)

its another band au and its also ongoing. there isnt a consistent update schedule so that might be a minus but the most recent chapter was from a month ago so its safe to say it hasnt been left in the dust (thank god). very very good writing, excited to see how their relationship takes off

bullying choi soobin (sub soobin)

submissive soobin and its good, of course im recommending this. its finished and a 4 parter

sugar (dom!yeonjun, dom!gyu)

unfortunately probably forever incomplete but i love it and i might actually go back to reading it for the third time

let me into your world (non smut beomgyu series)

i havent read a soulmate premise in sooo long so this was refreshing to read, good stuff

supermodel (dom gyu and sub i believe)

its just. Amazing. a two parter but a goodie

the city that never sleeps (bsf smut)

also two parts but both parts are pretty long, really good stuff

ok for the life of me i cannot find this one huening series where he was getting bullied by reader and they were secretly fucking?? that one was literally perfect submissive men shit so if you find it if youve struck gold

long full fics (6k+)

telepathy (fantasy, dom!gyu)

a little out of the box compared to all the fics ive recommended so far and thats what makes it so special and good

duality (dom!kai)

i actually havent read this one yet but i will soon, i just thought id add it here anyway since i know ill love it

killer instinct (taehyun fic)

very plot heavy and it centers taehyun mainly. i could go ahead and cheat and just list out every single koqabear fic lmao but this ones a gem, very happy i set aside the time to read it

the redemption of choi yeonjun (dom!yj)

im not personally a fan of the trope but when it was originally teased the smut sounded heavenly and honestly, it is. such a good dom yeonjun here but beware hes a little (a lot) mean lol. he changes by the end

like cat and mouse! (sub gyu, inexperienced)

again, worth the reading time investment. i love submissive gyu, he is everything here and more

love love love (sub gyu, royal au)

i have probably read this a total of 30 times

i hate you (enemy!beomgyu, dom beomgyu)

ok sorry im cheating here a bit this isnt long but its so good you should check it out anyway

[ninibeingdelulu]

“You both are..my everything.”

plot- higuruma can’t wait to get home to see his little family

The aroma of simmering spices wafted through the cozy kitchen where you were busily preparing dinner.

Soft evening light filtered in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the cheerful disarray of pots and pans scattered about from your culinary efforts.

You paused to wipe perspiration from your brow with the back of one hand, humming contentedly under your breath.

Though you often felt hopelessly outmatched when it came to mastering the culinary arts compared to your talented husband, you took pride in trying your best to create nourishing homecooked meals for your little family.

At the sound of the front door opening and closing with a familiar creak, your face immediately brightened.

Speak of the devil - you'd recognize the subtle cadences of Hiromi's familiar footfalls anywhere.

"Honey? Is that you?" you called out with a grin, already knowing the answer.

Sure enough, your husband soon appeared in the entryway, shoulders sagging just slightly with weariness from another long day's work.

Yet as soon as Hiromi's rich brown eyes landed on you standing there by the stove - tendrils of hair escaping your messy bun, cheeks flushed from exertion, and sleeves rolled up in domestic disarray - his entire expression seemed to soften and warm.

The harsh angles and lines of strain melted from his features in an instant.

With a low groan, Hiromi crossed the distance between you in three strides, startling a laugh from you as his much larger frame enveloped you from behind.

You could feel the tension still coiled tight in the bunched ropes of his muscles as he wrapped those powerful arms around your waist and simply...sagged against you in a full-bodied lean.

"Hey there, handsome." you chuckled fondly, even as his dead weight bore down with that comforting solidity you'd grown to crave like a physical ache whenever he was away for too long.

"Welcome home. Rough day at work?"

Hiromi just grunted in wordless affirmation, nuzzling his whiskered jaw against the crook of your neck as he seemed to liquid-melt against your back.

His lips brushed your skin as he inhaled deeply, the mere presence of your clean, familiar scent already proving a balm to whatever stresses taxed him.

"Remind me why I married a messy little woman who gets her scent all over every inch of our home?" he finally rumbled, a hint of humored gruffness undercutting the words.

"It's downright torturous having to suffer through the day with just the memory of you imprinted on my senses."

You tried and failed to repress the shiver skating down your spine at his rough timbre rasping so sinfully close to your ear like that.

One huge, calloused palm skated downwards to splay possessively over the soft swell of your abdomen, hauling you even more snugly back against the solid wall of his chest.

"Well, I did try warning you about what a terribly disorganized mess you were signing up for." You retorted airily, twisting in his arms until you could face him properly.

Hiromi's chiseled, sharply angular features were thawing into those heart-melting crinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth that you loved drawing out of him so much.

Unable to resist, you leaned up on your tiptoes to dot his jawline and cheeks with a smattering of swift, loud kisses.

"Hey now. Don't smear me up with those sauce-stained digits, woman..."

Despite his put-upon grumbling, Hiromi didn't push you away. Far from it - he simply hugged you tighter, that low gravelly chuckle of genuine amusement rumbling against your sternum as he buried his face into the wild tumble of your hair.

"Actually, that's fine...I don't really mind getting a little dirty if it means immersing myself fully in you again after being away all day," he added in a conspiratorial murmur, so low and velvet-rough that you swore your skin was going to unbraid at the seams right then and there.

Before you could even begin to properly sputter out a response to that deliciously wicked innuendo, Hiromi had already captured your lips with his own in a long, smoldering kiss.

It was intoxicating how thoroughly he could deconstruct your bones into molten puddles with just one nibbling caress of those sinfully skilled lips and wicked tongue.

Eventually though, desperate twin gasps for air forced you to draw apart again - both of your chests heaving a touch raggedly.

You stared up at Hiromi through your lashes, tracing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw hungrily with your gaze.

Yes, having him back in your arms whole and healthy after the long day apart filled your heart to overflowing every single time.

You drank in the sight of that beloved face, marveling at how unfairly ruggedly handsome features could possibly be...until your wondering gaze slid over to the living room couch where your precious newborn baby girl still slumbered peacefully beside Hiromi's hastily discarded work satchel.

Something behind Hiromi's eyes melted as he followed your line of vision over to that tiny bundled form.

Slowly, gingerly, he disentangled himself from your embrace to drift over towards the couch - long legs eating up the distance with a few unhurried strides.

There was an almost palpable shift in the tenor of his expression as Hiromi eased down onto his knees beside the sofa.

All the hard edges and angular harshness sloughed away, replaced with something infinitely softer and more tender than you'd ever witnessed from him before.

He held himself with infinite care, shoulders rolled slightly inwards as one rough fingertip extended to ever-so delicately trace the fine wisps of downy hair fanning out across your daughter's tiny brow.

Hiromi seemed to positively crave with every fiber of his being as he hovered protectively beside her, committing every tiny detail to permanent memory with those rapt, soulful eyes.

A lump rose swiftly in your throat at the poignant sight of your strong, brash, powerhouse of a husband humbled into devoted reverence before this impossibly fragile new life you'd created together.

You watched him watching her - the most cynical, jaded parts of Hiromi's soul visibly falling away layer by layer.

A profound sense of inner peace smoothed the deep trenches scored across his brow as he inhaled the sweet, powdery scent of your slumbering infant on a ragged exhale.

Hiromi remained that way for long minutes, seemingly lost to the outside world, perfectly content to simply drink in her perfect existence with every sense.

"Hey, Hiro..." you spoke up at last in a hushed murmur, warmth swelling in your chest until it threatened to burst free in a riot of multi-colored ribbons and chiming bells.

"I think it's time to get our little princess transferred to her crib now. You don't want to miss another second of your evening snuggle time with her favorite napping partner, right?"

Hiromi lifted his head sharply at your words, slightly startled as if just now remembering you even stood there observing this quiet tableau.

His plush mouth curved into the most soul-rending, adoring smile you'd ever seen grace his typically gruff features.

It was downright incandescent, lighting him up from a place deeper than you even realized he possessed before now.

"Right...of course. Come to papa, sweetheart."

With supreme gentleness, Hiromi gathered up your daughter's downy form against the broad sloping plane of his torso, cradling her with infinite care.

He pressed his lips to her crown in a lingering brush of devotion before standing with her protectively swaddled in his arms.

Just before vanishing around the corner towards the nursery, Hiromi paused to look back over his shoulder at you.

He seemed to drink in your softened expression and warm smile, letting loose one more quietly contented rumble of masculine affection just for you alone.

“You both are...my everything”

Hiromi mouthed silently, pouring every ounce of depth and solemnity into those five words before continuing on his way, looking for all the world like a veritable god radiating inner tranquility simply from the world-tilting privilege of shepherding his child for even a few brief moments.

Yes, you mused while turning back to continue cooking preparations - you doubted you'd ever seen or experience anything quite as heart-rendingly beautiful and precious as Hiromi in full, unguarded daddy mode.

[suguslve]

‧˚꒰🍷꒱༘‧— WE'LL NEVER LAST SO WHY CAN'T I LET GO OF THIS?

synopsis: loving malleus felt like a dream come true, a beautiful, perfect dream—but what would it be like to wake up and face the reality of returning to your world?

♰ pairings. malleus draconia x gn!reader

♰ genre. fluff to angst (?) idk i think its just full on angst hehe

♰ word count. 1.2k

♰ a/n. oh lookie here another angst!! you can't blame me for writing angst bcus this is all my friends ever request. lowkey (highkey) inspired by laufey's song promise. enjoy reading and lmk your thoughts!

You two weren’t bound to last—your love was a ticking time bomb, and with every passing moment, you felt the weight of the inevitable end pressing down on you. You dreaded the days that followed, each one a reminder that soon, the love you shared would crumble into nothing. You tried so hard to push the thoughts of leaving aside, to immerse yourself fully in the present, but they lingered, persistent and quiet. You knew that leaving would break you, carve wounds so deep in your heart and soul that they might never heal, but you could never walk away—not when he looks at you every time with so much love and adoration—as though you had woven the stars and moon into the night, casting light into a world he saw as nothing but dark and gloomy. And so you gave in, finally accepting the love that he was more than willing to give.

He never thought he’d feel like this, never thought that the day would come where someone would be able to tug at his heart strings—yet he wasn’t upset, quite the contrary rather. For the first time, he felt alive in a way he never had before, the walls he’d built around himself through time finally began to crack. Vulnerability wasn’t something Malleus was used to—but strangely it felt warm, normal, right. When he fell for you, he fell hard, wanting nothing more but to surrender every fragment of his soul to you. Who would have guessed that the great powerful mage would be capable of something so delicate?

Loving Malleus was easy, as did being with him. He was the epitome of a gentleman: greeting you with a gentle kiss on your hand and softly kissing your forehead whenever he bid you goodbye, surprising you with beautiful flowers “just because”, wiping away your tears with the softest touch, and soft whispers of his unwavering devotion. He knew you better than you knew yourself, recognizing your feelings even when you kept to yourself. He doesn’t push you to explain what’s troubling you; instead, he holds you gently, offering a warm embrace that speaks to you in ways words never could. He loved you in every way he knew how to. And he knew that loving you would also mean letting you go. 

“Hush now, child of man. It’s going to be okay,” his voice was muffled as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling the scent of you one last time. You felt the warmth of his tears against your skin as his grip tightened, as if he were holding onto the last thread of something beautiful. Your sobs erupted once more, harder this time, your heart breaking as you cried into his chest, his hand gently caressing your hair in a feeble attempt to soothe you. God, you were going to miss him.

“It’s not going to be okay! Wanna stay here with you, just like I promised.” Your voice broke. He then pulls you away from his embrace, his eyes bloodshot, tears staining his face. He tried to hold a smile, but it was fragile, as if he were breaking inside too—which, he is. Despite all the hurt and pain painting his features, he still looked beautiful, curse him and his gorgeous face.

He anticipated this, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. “I know,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I know, but sometimes promises... are not meant to last. And it hurts me greatly, my love.” His hand brushed your cheek, his touch soft and gentle. "But I can’t do anything to change things, I wish I could, but I can't... not this time."

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, your heart breaking at the thought of never feeling his warmth again, never having late-night walks with him again, never hearing the corny jokes he pulled just to make you laugh, never hearing his voice again, never seeing him again. “I don’t want to forget you, Tsunotaro…”

His expression softened, but it didn’t stop the tears that slipped from his eyes. He stroked your face gently, trying to memorize the feeling of you. “You won’t forget me,” he said, but his voice trembled, betraying his own doubt. “I’ll always be a part of you, even when I’m not there, because a piece of me will always live within you, just as a part of you resides in me, forever intertwined. In every step you take, in every laugh you share, in the quiet moments when you think of me. I’ll live in those.”

The thing with love is that it breaks you as much as it heals you, and though you don’t regret being with Malleus, you regret not having enough time with him. There was never enough time to keep loving each other as you longed to, never enough time to bare your heart completely, never enough time to love him with all the depth your heart had to give before the world demanded you let go.

You connected your forehead with his, feeling him once more. Malleus’ face twisted with pain, his own tears mixing with yours. “I want to be with you as well, maybe even more than you do, but we can’t twist fate, my dove. You belong in that world, and I belong here.” he says, and you don’t know if he’s convincing you or himself, maybe the latter. 

You knew deep down that his absence would create a void that nothing could fill, and you couldn’t shake the fear that in the end, the memory of him would start to fade, piece by piece. “I’ll miss you, Tsunotaro, so damn much.” you whispered, your voice shaky, the weight of your words heavier than you had ever known.

“I will too, child of man.” he responded, his voice low, thick with the same sorrow that gripped your heart—and he kissed you. A kiss that was filled with sorrow, yet so much love. A kiss that would forever be engraved in your memory. A kiss that he made sure you will never forget. A kiss that you knew would be the last. As he pulled away, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close, his gaze tender, but filled with an undeniable weight. You could see the love in his eyes, but there was also the painful understanding that this was it—this was the end. The end of something beautiful, something irreplaceable.

You reluctantly pulled away from him, the pain of doing so almost unbearable, and started making your way toward the mirror that would lead you back home. Before stepping through, you glanced back at him. “I promise to visit when the time comes. Make sure you don’t fall in love with someone else while I’m gone okay? Or else I’d kill you myself.” you joke, as he chuckles in response.

“I wouldn’t even dream of being with someone other than you, I’ll be awaiting your arrival, no matter how long it takes.” You turned your gaze forward, fearing that when you looked at him for much longer, you’d run back into his arms and refuse to leave. 

“I love you, Malleus.” you whispered, just before stepping into the mirror, knowing you were leaving a piece of yourself behind.

“I love you too Y/N.” he answers back but you didn’t even hear him, because you were already gone, taking his heart with you.

When you turned around, the mirror had vanished, and so had he. A strange sense of relief washed over you, being back, but deep down, you knew this wasn’t truly your home. Because home wasn’t a place—it was a person. It was your Tsunotaro. It was Malleus.

all rights reserved to © suguslve.

[ingravinoveritas]

This past week, I traveled to London to see Macbeth. Everything I had heard and seen about David, Cush Jumbo, and the overall production convinced me that it was not to be missed, and so I took the crazy chance of purchasing a ticket months ago, and it was the first time I've ever gone to another country just for a play.

Ever since I was a kid, I have been going to Broadway shows, and the experience of live theatre has always been something incomparable and incredibly meaningful to me. Seeing something beyond Broadway, however, never felt possible until now. This opportunity arose at a moment when I was finally able to seize it, and now that I have attended the play not once, but twice (thanks to a lovely person who was able to help me obtain a £25 day ticket), I can say that Macbeth was, without question, the most amazing thing that I have ever seen on stage.

What follows is my review/thoughts on the production, and I will try my best to avoid spoilers (though fair warning that one or two may arise, so proceed with caution).

In high school, Shakespeare was something we were taught. It was an assumed part of the curriculum, labeled as a classic. Yet it seemed to exist in a time capsule--a product of its era, and of an English language barely proximate to the one we speak today. We learned Macbeth on the page, in annotations and themes and meter, rather than something pulsing, beating, living. Something that makes us feel. And for nearly two hours in a beautiful Victorian theatre in a little corner of the West End, all I did was exactly that.

I felt. And after seeing this play, I am not the same person on a molecular level that I was before.

Everything about this play--from David's mesmerizing portrayal of Macbeth to Cush Jumbo's wrenching turn as Lady Macbeth to the entire ensemble cast to the staging choices (light, sound, and so on)--is extraordinary. It is breathtakingly ruinous. It is so fully immersive that by the end you somehow feel bruised, viscerally disgusted and wrung out in equally beautiful measure.

It's almost misleading to say that we the audience are simply watching the play, because thanks to the binaural audio design (headphones), we are in Macbeth and Lady Macbeth's minds, and become accomplices to the characters' wicked deeds. When the porter (Jatinder Singh Randhawa) comes on to provide comic relief at exactly the perfect moment, it soon becomes clear that it is a distraction from our own discomfort at what has just happened. But it is a short-lived respite, as we are soon plunged back into the action and the characters' spiraling descent into madness.

In terms of David specifically, seeing him on television or on any screen profoundly pales to seeing him on the stage. In much the same way that the stage is Michael's natural habitat, it is also David's. The way he moves, the way he holds himself when he's not even speaking--which I got to see up close when he knelt directly in front of me on several occasions--is meticulous. David becomes the character he is playing, down into the pit of his soul. He disappears so thoroughly that I very quickly forgot that I was even watching him.

So many people can recite Shakespeare, but there is a marked difference between recitation and what David does. Together, David and Cush make Macbeth and Lady Macbeth feel like the Bonnie and Clyde of the Elizabethan age (only hornier). And the themes the play invokes--greed, fear, jealousy, power--are shown to be themes not of a particular era, but of humanity. David especially is so preternaturally good at making all of that unbearably real. He not only makes Shakespeare accessible to the modern world--an already difficult feat on its own--he makes it timeless.

For the last ten minutes of the play, I felt like I stopped breathing. The evil that Macbeth perpetrates, and the realization that he has not become like this, but rather that this is who he has always been, hits full force. As much as this play is very definitely an ensemble piece, David is the standout. He commands the stage, and at no point is he more powerful than when Macbeth is falling apart near the end.

(On a purely aesthetic level, this is also when David looks most beautiful--the wild hair, the form-fitting shirt heaving with the rise and fall of his greyhound lean chest, and the majestic sweep of the kilt with every frenzied movement. The complete erosion of the line between sanity and insanity, but also showing us how tenuous that line was to begin with. And he is utterly gorgeous while doing so.)

It's also at this moment in the play that we see how skillfully David has manipulated the audience. Where Michael uses a character's emotions much more overtly and aggressively--sniffing the audience out, stalking around the stage, feeling as if he's about to pull you up with him--David is far more controlled. He draws you in slowly, carefully, and it's only when we see the depths of Macbeth's depravity (notably killing Young Siward) that we realize the truth:

He got us. He made us the witnesses to Macbeth's malice, made sure we couldn't look away. And now we are complicit.

If I had to pinpoint any negatives about the play (which is extremely difficult to do), it's that there is only a brief moment where the pacing lags just slightly, and it's because David is off stage for a considerable period of time. The cast is absolutely incredible, bar none, but the energy doesn't quite maintain that high level when he is not there.

Also, from a sensory standpoint, this is very much not a sensory-friendly production. There are several instances of sudden loud noises in the headphones (which I found especially jarring), as well as the use of flashing lights, and considerable use of smoke at multiple points. All of these were more acute because I was sitting in the Stalls (second row), so I can only speak to it from that vantage, rather than from other locations in the theatre. But for anyone who is autistic (as I am) or has sensory-processing challenges, be advised that this play is definitely inaccessible in those respects.

When I left the Harold Pinter Theatre that night, I felt as though my entire central nervous system had been rearranged. There genuinely is no way to be normal about this play, because it is not a normal play. It takes apart everything you know about Macbeth and puts it back together in the most unexpected, electrifying way. It is the beauty of destruction, and no one embodies that more perfectly than David. Even days later, I can still feel the buzzing of my skin, the blood rushing through me, fingertips tingling from some heady combination of arousal and fear. (Or as Dr. Frank N. Furter once put it: "A mental mind fuck can be quite nice...")

The moment the lights went to black, every single person in that theatre was on their feet in a standing ovation. The applause was thunderous, and seemed even louder in the wake of the complete silence that preceded it.

I had sat in that silence--awestruck, captivated--and thought to myself that I could watch this production forever. And I would go back and do it all over again right now if I could. If you have the means, the opportunity, it is an experience I cannot recommend highly enough.

David is truly a master of his craft, and yet performs without a hint of ego. He gives everything he has and leaves it all on the stage. And what he and this team of people have come together to give us is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

(Pictures taken on 10/12/2024.)

[youngsadlesbian]

REFLECTION OF ANOTHER STAGE

pairing: taylor swift x daughter!reader

summary: while taylor swift is dominating the stage and winning over crowds, you’re discovering your own talent—but not in the music spotlight. theater and acting have caught your eye, and every school play or amateur short film is a chance to shine. the problem? taylor is so immersed in her tour and career that she never realized how much you’ve fallen in love with another art form.

a/n: i'm completely obsessed with taylor swift x daughter!reader stories and i decided to bring this one (and others) here. hope you like it!

word count: 1k

warnings: pure fluff

Taylor Swift’s return home was quiet—at least, as quiet as it could be when you’re Taylor Swift. The house felt untouched, save for the subtle changes that only a mother would notice. A new plant by the window. A different candle burning on the kitchen counter. And a script, thick and dog-eared, sitting on the couch as if someone had just been rehearsing.

Taylor paused mid-step, brow furrowing as she picked it up. Scribbles in the margins, highlighted lines, and character notes sprawled across the pages.

“What in the…” she mumbled, flipping to the cover.

“The Phantom of Middlebury – A Theatrical Experience by the Senior Drama Club” And there it was. Your name, bold and unmistakable, under the cast list.

Taylor’s eyes darted to the kitchen, where a colorful flyer was pinned to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a cat.

“OPENING NIGHT: FRIDAY! COME WATCH THE MAGIC UNFOLD!”

Taylor squinted at the words as if they might rearrange themselves into something less surprising.

How did she miss this?

\*/

That night, as you sat at the dinner table scrolling on your phone, Taylor casually brought it up.

“So… this play on Friday?” she asked, ladling pasta onto your plate. “I saw the flyer.”

Your fork hovered mid-air, and your eyes flickered to hers in alarm. “Oh. Yeah. It’s just a small thing. School play.”

Taylor’s head tilted, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Small thing? There’s glitter on the flyer, and it’s literally the only thing on the fridge. It’s practically screaming for attention.”

You laughed nervously. “I didn’t think you’d be that interested. It’s not like… y’know, music or anything.”

Taylor leaned forward on her elbows. “Let me get this straight. I can write ten-minute ballads about the most niche feelings, and you think I wouldn’t want to watch my own daughter perform on stage?”

You shrugged. “It’s not the same. Acting is just something I do for fun.”

“Fun is where it starts.” Taylor pointed at you with her fork. “Don’t underestimate fun.”

\*/

Taylor was not subtle.

She arrived at the school auditorium a full thirty minutes early, armed with oversized sunglasses, a hoodie, and, to your horror, a giant sign that read: “YOU’RE MY ARTIST OF THE YEAR!”

The auditorium was dimly lit, and she sat front row, smack in the middle, like a VIP section had been reserved just for her.

As you peeked from backstage, dread filled your stomach.

“Oh my God,” you whispered to your friend, “she brought a sign.”

Your friend stifled a laugh. “Is that Taylor Swift? With a handmade poster?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

And there she was—Taylor Swift, internationally recognized superstar—grinning ear to ear with glitter penmanship like it was her first concert ever.

The play began.

Each time you stepped on stage, Taylor leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, fully absorbed.

When you delivered your monologue, she whispered (loudly): “She’s so talented… I mean, look at her.”

A couple of parents chuckled nearby, and your teacher threw a glance in Taylor’s direction.

At the dramatic climax, Taylor let out a very audible, “YES! THAT’S MY DAUGHTER!” accompanied by a clap that echoed across the auditorium.

By curtain call, your cheeks burned. As you bowed, you could practically hear Taylor snapping photos with the enthusiasm of a proud soccer mom.

When you finally escaped backstage to peel off your costume, Taylor was waiting in the hall, holding a bouquet of roses and… cupcakes?

“Cupcakes, Mom? Really?” you teased, plucking one from the box.

Taylor grinned, shrugging. “I was going for a whole ‘proud mom but also dessert enthusiast’ vibe. Nailed it, right?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but warmth filled your chest.

\*/

A few days later, Taylor knocked on your bedroom door with an excited glimmer in her eye.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, sitting cross-legged on your bed, “I’m filming the video for ‘right where you left me’ next week. The director’s been looking for someone to play the lead actress in it.”

You nodded slowly, not sure where this was going.

“And… I thought maybe you could do it.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what? You want me to be in the music video?”

Taylor nodded earnestly. “You’re already in acting mode, and it’s not a flashy video. It’s… very folk, you know? Moody, emotional. I think you’d be perfect.”

You hesitated. “Isn’t that… nepotism or something?”

Taylor laughed. “Nepotism is hiring you because you exist. I’m hiring you because you’re good.”

You stared at her, unsure. But the excitement in her voice, the softness in her gaze—it was real.

“Alright,” you said finally. “I’ll do it.”

\*/

The set was a rustic café, straight out of the evermore universe. Dusty light streamed through the windows, illuminating vintage furniture and chipped cups.

You sat at the table, dressed in a muted vintage gown, the air heavy with silence. The director adjusted the camera as Taylor hovered nearby, watching intently.

“Okay,” the director called. “Action.”

You stared off into the distance, eyes glassy, hands trembling slightly. The scene demanded heartbreak—the weight of being left behind.

Taylor’s gaze never left you.

During a break, she leaned over. “You’re incredible. Seriously. I almost cried.”

You smirked. “Almost?”

“Fine. I cried a little. Whatever.”

She pulled out her phone, snapping more behind-the-scenes photos. “Hold the cup like that—yes! You’re the actress of the year.”

When the video finally premiered, social media lit up.

“WHO IS THIS GIRL IN TAYLOR’S VIDEO??” “Wait… is that her daughter? She’s SO good!”

Taylor wasted no time.

“Yup. That’s my girl. ❤️” she posted, sending fans into a frenzy.

The hashtag #TalentSwift trended for days.

You watched the flood of comments, half embarrassed, half exhilarated. For once, it wasn’t just about being Taylor Swift’s daughter. It was about you.

“You know,” Taylor said one night as you scrolled through your phone, “I always thought the stage was mine. But I think it might be yours too.”

And sitting there beside her, you realized she was right.

[dreamscribee]

💎A Night of Forever💎

︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿ ︵ ‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵︵‿

ღ Anthony Bridgerton x female reader (18+ sligth smut part at the end)

ღ Here's Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. To fully immerse yourself in this enchanting love story, I encourage you to start from the beginning. Enjoy the journey!

ღ Sumarry: Y/N and Anthony's wedding day is a joyous celebration of their love. After heartfelt vows and a lively reception, they share a deeply intimate and passionate first night together as a married couple, marking the beginning of their life of happiness and love.

ღ word count: 661 (words), 3,736 (chacters)

ღ Thank you so much for all the love on this series! This will be the conclusion, but I wanted to give you a little something before Season 3 comes out tomorrow. I hope you've enjoyed reading and escaping reality for a bit. I can't wait to create more short stories like this one for you. Just a small heads-up: since this final chapter is romantic, it’s rated 18+ for the slight smut part at the end. Enjoy!

︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵︵‿︵︵‿ ︵ ‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵︵‿

The day of Y/N and Anthony's wedding dawned bright and clear, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the grand estate. The gardens were in full bloom, their vibrant colors mirrored in the smiles and laughter of the guests who had gathered to witness the union of two hearts bound by love.

Y/N stood in her dressing room, surrounded by her closest friends and family. Her wedding gown, a masterpiece of delicate lace and satin, hugged her figure gracefully, the train flowing behind her like a river of moonlight. She took a deep breath, her heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.

As the ceremony began, Y/N felt a calm wash over her. The chapel was adorned with fragrant blooms, the air filled with the soft hum of anticipation. When the doors opened, and she began her walk down the aisle, her eyes immediately locked with Anthony's. He stood at the altar, looking more handsome than ever in his tailored suit, his eyes brimming with love and awe.

The vows they exchanged were heartfelt and sincere, each word a promise of eternal devotion. When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, Anthony's kiss was tender yet passionate, a seal of their love that drew cheers and applause from their guests.

The reception was a joyous celebration, filled with dancing, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. But as the night wore on, Y/N and Anthony found themselves stealing glances at each other, their hearts longing for the moment they would be alone.

As the last guests departed, the newlyweds made their way to the bridal suite, their hands entwined. The room was a haven of romance, lit by the soft glow of candlelight and adorned with rose petals scattered across the bed.

Anthony turned to Y/N, his eyes dark with desire. "You are a vision, my love," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. "I've dreamed of this moment for so long."

Y/N's breath hitched as she looked up at him, her heart racing. "And I, you," she replied softly, her voice trembling with anticipation.

With a gentle touch, Anthony began to undress her, his fingers moving with reverence and care. Each piece of clothing that fell away brought them closer, the air between them charged with an electric tension.

When Y/N stood before him, clad only in her delicate undergarments, Anthony paused, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. "You are breathtaking," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

He closed the distance between them, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. As their tongues intertwined, Y/N felt a heat ignite within her, a longing that had been building since the moment they first met.

Anthony's hands roamed her body, mapping every curve and hollow, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When he finally lifted her and laid her on the bed, Y/N's body was aflame with desire.

Their lovemaking was a dance of passion and tenderness, each touch, each kiss a testament to the love they shared. Anthony's movements were slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving Y/N's as he brought her to the peak of pleasure again and again.

In the quiet aftermath, they lay entwined, their bodies glistening with the sweat of their shared passion. Anthony brushed a strand of hair from Y/N's face, his eyes filled with a love so deep it took her breath away.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "More than words can ever express."

Y/N smiled, her heart overflowing with happiness. "And I love you, Anthony," she replied, her voice a soft melody. "Forever and always."

As they drifted into a peaceful slumber, their bodies still intertwined, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of their love and the promise of a lifetime of happiness together.

[deramin2]

Matt Mercer's Impressive Voice Acting

Critical Role Presents: Winter's Crest (A Holiday Album) really hits home what an incredible voice actor Matthew Mercer is. Once in a generation talent.

Voice Acting legend Mel Blanc was known as "The Man Of A Thousand Voices." (Probably an underestimate.) Matt Mercer's voiced around 2,250 voices in the Critical Role campaigns alone (not counting sound effects), many so distinctive the audience can tell a recurring character from voice alone before they're formerly reintroduced.

And now the Holiday Album shows that he can also belt out singing very well in some of his goofiest accents and have then fully come through. Which is so incredibly hard. The rest of the cast did a great job as well, but Matt's parts were harder and more exaggerated.

Everyone in the voice acting/TTRPG performance professions around him seems very impressed by his skill, but I don't see as much acknowledgement from average viewers. Like, "Oh yeah, he's that guy who can just talk in any voice that he collects like a parrot and hold full on conversations with himself and make a lot of mouth sounds. Pretty immersive!"

Meanwhile if you actually run the numbers it's like saying that once a week you get to hear someone improvise voice acting as difficult as Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 or Violin Concerto (which are so difficult they were both considered unplayable in their day). Do not feel bad if you can't live up to Matt's performances at your table. You probably can't play pickup basketball like LeBron James either, or do gymnastic flips like Simone Biles. That's part of why Matt himself tells people they don't need to be like him to run games well because everyone has their own special skill.

Just gotta sit back and appreciate an artist working at the height of their ability to do something very special. Admiration and aspiration can drive new artists to develop their own incredible skills, but the statics of reaching that skill level are against you. It's the end of the Bell Curve, not a minimum to have fun. Treating Matt's skill as a mark to measure everyone else against will just make you perpetually and unreasonably disappointed. You can be much happier just cooling for everyone's different skills and strengths instead.

We get to see something very special and difficult every week done so well in looks easy. I love running that math from time to time to remind myself just how cool it is and not let normalcy diminish that awe.