#that monologue resonated within all of us

[anchored-nyctophilia]

my roman empire is the cool girl monologue from gone girl

[reiding-writing]

Incessant Insomnia [ s.r ]

summary:

The BAU had just finished a case across the country in California, and were now finally on the jet to fly back home, needless to say, everyone was absolutely exhausted and very ready to get some shut eye during the 5 hour flight. Trouble was, Spencer couldn’t sleep, even though he had managed to bag the jet’s sofa, which was arguably the comfiest place on the plane.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers?

warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of child death, mentions of touch-starvedness, no use of y/n

wc: 2.4k

masterlist!!

a/n: this is my first upload so please bare with me i’m still learning 😭

As you board the jet alongside your team, you can't help but notice the exhaustion etched on Spencer Reid's face. It had been a grueling week, with a disturbingly gruesome case across the country that took all semblance of mental energy out of the team to solve. Spencer, ever known for his genius-level intellect and unwavering dedication, didn’t take a single moment to rest throughout it.

And even as he scored the jet’s long sofa for the flight, arguably the most comfortable place on the plane, that moment of rest still didn’t arrive, and Spencer had long given up trying to fall asleep by the time the jet had stablised at 40,000 feet.

He’d tried everything, a Tchaikovsky Sonata playing through his cheap headphones, a travel pillow around his neck, his shoes discarded on the floor so he could curl up his legs under him, he’d even counted the amount of dimmed lightbulbs in the light strips and the number of creases in the leather bound chairs. Nothing. And he was becoming increasingly jealous of the rest of the team resting soundly in their seats.

He’d battled with insomnia for most of his life, a curse of his intelligence as he liked to call it, his mind constantly running so fast it never gave him any time to relax. But this was a little different. Spencer hated working cases involving children, for what ever reason they seemed to press all of the wrong buttons in his mind, and in this instance, the child they’d been called out to save had died before the team had even arrived in California to help.

Spencer couldn’t seem to get the image of anguish from the child’s mother from his mind, replaying like a faulty cassette player with no pause button as he rolled onto his back and let his eyes fall back open. There was no way he was going to get any sleep on this flight.

He instead took to an ever-living comfort of his, reading, in the hope that his inner monologue would drown out the guttural sobs ringing through his ears from the grieving mother when the team had uncovered her child’s body, buried underneath her own house.

He pushed himself to sit upright, his legs stretched out in front of him to the point where his feet were hanging freely, and he rifled through the go-bag left tucked under the sofa beneath him for his hand-bound anthology of his favourite poets, a book you’d gifted him for his birthday a few months prior. A book he’d read a dozen times since then.

His fingers traced over the familiar cover. He could almost feel the indentations of the embossing on the hardcover, a tactile memory that was as comforting as the words within. The pages were already dog-eared from countless readings, corners turned down to mark passages that had resonated with him, pen marks and streaks of neon yellow over phrases that had touched his soul in ways that only the poetic articulation of human emotion could.

It had become more than just a collection of poems to him; it was a sanctuary, a haven he could escape to when the horrors of his job became too much. He cherished each line, each word, each letter, as they provided a counterpoint to the harsh realities he faced daily. Except, this time it didn’t seem to work.

His mind was still overrun with images of the recent case, each line of verse morphing into a haunting reminder of the child’s life cut short. The words that usually brought him solace now echoed with a sorrowful undertone, amplifying his guilt and making his insomnia all the more pronounced.

The jet’s engines hummed steadily in the background, a usual comforting sound, now merely adding to the cacophony of his thoughts. His eyes, red-rimmed and weary, scanned over the pages, but the words blurred, morphing into a tale of despair that was not originally intended by the poets.

He tried to divert his mind, to block out the pictures of the crime scene, the teary eyes of the distraught mother, the lifeless body of the child, but it was all in vain. Their faces, their voices, their cries, they clung to him, refusing to let go.

His fingers tightened around the book, knuckles whitening with the strain. He could almost hear the deafening silence that followed after they’d found the body, the grim realisation that they were too late, that a life was lost before they could even try to save it.

Spencer felt a lump rise in his throat, the weight of the guilt and sorrow threatening to suffocate him. He swallowed hard, trying to push down the emotions that threatened to break him. He was a profiler, a genius, he was supposed to save lives, not let them slip through his fingers.

He closed the book, the once soothing words now a stark reminder of his failure. He leaned back against the plush leather of the seat, his legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The soft hum of the jet's engines was the only sound that filled the silence, a silence that was deafening in its own right.

Sleep was a distant dream, an elusive solace that he knew wouldn’t come. The guilt, the sorrow, the failure, they were his companions for the night, refusing to leave.

“Spencer…”

Your voice cut through the chaos ravaging his mind, and he flickered his eyes to his left, where you were comfortably curled up under a fleece blanket, head nestled in the small gap between the padded chair you were sat on and the jet’s wall, eyes resting closed.

“Why are you moving around so much..?”

Your question was cut short by a yawn, voice laced with an obvious exhaustion. His restlessness must have woken you up.

"I can't sleep," he confessed, rubbing his temples. "The case... it's still playing in my mind." His voice was barely a whisper, the silence of the jet amplifying its weight.

Your eyes fluttered open at his confession, a mix of concern and understanding washing over your face. You knew how deeply these cases affected him, how they seemed to burrow into his mind, refusing to let go.

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice barely louder than his own. "You did everything you could. You always do."

He glanced at you, his weary eyes meeting your earnest ones, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t have the words to explain the turmoil churning inside him. “We didn’t- none of it mattered…”

You sighed, removing yourself from the comfortability of your previous position, letting yourself sit with your legs in front of you and your feet on the floor. “Spencer of course it mattered,”

Spencer pushed himself upright as you did, subconciously mirroring your actions as you wake further from your half-asleep daze.

“He still died-”

“He was dead before we even landed Spencer, there’s nothing you could’ve done to change that,”

You cut off the inevitable start of a ramble from Spencer, raising your voice a little to take over the conversation whilst still making sure not to wake your sleeping teammates scattered around the jet.

“I know… I’m sorry i’m just-”

Spencer sighs, dragging his hands over his face and through the unruly mess of his hair, flattened and tangled from his incessant restlessness. “I’m fine… Sorry for waking you,” He let himself fall backwards to lie down again, turning onto his right side so that his back was facing you, as if not being able to see you would put an end to the conversation.

You didn’t say anything else, and Spencer resigned himself to listening to the mind-numbing drone of the jet’s engine as he heard you shift around, presumably getting back into a comfortable position to fall asleep again.

Except you weren’t quite done with him yet, and your weight on the edge of the sofa shifted his position as you sat down, your hand ghosting over his shoulder, not quite sure if you should actually touch him or not.

You knew Spencer had an aversion to physical touch, he always had, as long as you’d known him anyway. He’d rattled on about the number of bacterial colonies on human skin and how their transference could lead to illnesses you wouldn’t even try to name, swerving handshakes for awkward waves and keeping a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitiser on his person at all times. He’d insist on keeping his distance, even from the people he was closest to, claiming that ‘you never knew what illnesses someone could be carrying’.

But you also knew that he needed comforting, and that words seemingly weren’t enough.

You gently placed your hand on Spencer's shoulder, your fingers just barely grazing over the sleeve of his shirt, offering a silent comfort that words couldn't provide. He tensed for a moment, his body still on high alert from the intensity of the never-ending rampage of his thoughts, but then slowly relaxed into your touch. The weight of his exhaustion seemingly lifting off his shoulders as he allowed himself to lean into your presence.

The soft warmth of your touch seeped into his skin, soothing the deep-rooted ache within him. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes, conveying a depth of understanding and empathy that words could never fully capture. In that moment, you became his anchor, providing a much-needed respite in the midst of his turmoil.

As Spencer leaned into your touch, his eyes closed, shutting out the harsh realities that had plagued his mind. He found solace in the simplicity of your presence, the tangible reminder that he wasn't alone in his pain. The weight of the guilt and sorrow that had threatened to suffocate him slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of comfort and support.

You sat there in silence, your hand still resting gently on his shoulder, offering a steady presence that allowed him to find a temporary refuge from his racing thoughts. You didn't need to offer empty reassurances or try to fix what couldn't be fixed. Instead, your mere presence and the touch of your hand conveyed a profound message: "I am here for you."

Time seemed to stand still as you sat there, connected by that simple touch. It was a fragile moment. Fragile, but powerful.

You slowly added a gentle pressure with your fingers, rubbing your thumb over the curve of his shoulder as his behaviour showed that the contact wasn’t crossing any boundaries, as Spencer felt the tension in his shoulders ease and his racing thoughts begin to quiet, a sense of calm washed over him.

The weight of the case and its tragic outcome still lingered heavily on Spencer's mind, but your presence provided a much-needed respite.

“I’m so tired…”

You slowly escalate your touch, running your hand slowly over his shoulder and up the side of his neck, careful to watch for any signs of discomfort from him.

“I know Spence…”

The soft nickname rolling off your tongue only fuelled to add an extra blanket of comfort over him in the moment, although joined by an uncertain ache that spread through his chest until it felt almost suffocating. Your touch comforted him more than he could ever thank you for, but it also upset him beyond belief.

Spencer couldn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes, nor could he stop the slight tremble of his shoulders as they threatened to spill down his cheeks, and the shaking of his breath only proved to expose him further as you slowed the gentle caresses of your fingers to a halt.

As you felt the weight of his emotions, you gently pulled him into a comforting embrace, allowing him to release the tears he had been holding back as he buried his face into your lap. You held him tightly, offering a safe space for him to let go of the pain and sorrow that had consumed him.

“I’m sorry-”

Spencer choked out an apology through his tears, as though his emotions were burdening you. His tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn't mind. You were just grateful that he felt comfortable enough to let his emotions out, to release the pent-up pain that had been haunting him.

“Don’t apologise Spencer, it’s alright…”

You whispered soft words of comfort and reassurance as your hand moved to slowly run through his hair, reminding Spencer that he was a brilliant and compassionate person who had done everything in his power to help. You reminded him that he couldn't shoulder the weight of the world's tragedies alone, that he needed to take care of himself too.

Slowly, Spencer's sobs subsided, replaced by deep breaths as he regained control of his emotions. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and puffy, but there was a glimmer of gratitude in them.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with both exhaustion and appreciation. "I don't know what I would do without you."

You gently guide his head back down into your lap, allowing him to use your thighs as a makeshift pillow so he could finally get some rest from his own mind. “It’s alright Spencer, just relax for me alright?”

As Spencer finally succumbed to the exhaustion weighing him down, his breathing gradually slowed and his tense muscles relaxed. You continued to stroke his hair gently, your touch offering a sense of comfort and security that Spencer desperately needed.

The weight of the case and its devastating outcome had taken a toll on him, both physically and emotionally. He had carried the burden of the child's death on his shoulders, blaming himself for not being able to save a life that was already lost.

But in your embrace, he felt a glimmer of hope.

With each gentle stroke of your hand, Spencer felt a wave of warmth wash over him. It was as if your touch carried with it a healing energy, easing the pain and sorrow that had consumed him. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to fully surrender to the comfort and safety of your embrace.

In the silence of the jet, Spencer's exhaustion finally overcame him. His body relaxed completely, finding respite from the relentless strain it had endured as it fell into a peaceful slumber. You continued to hold him, providing a sense of security and warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time, and you slowly fell into your own exhaustion, your fingers slowing their movements through his hair to a halt as you drifted into your own state of sleep.

[therainscene]

Since The First Shadow has folks talking about Henry’s queerness (or lack thereof), I wanted to share my take on it as someone who tends to interpret him as gay.

I’m not going to be talking about his relationship with Patty, though -- I can’t afford to see the play and don’t want to rely on secondary sources for this, so I simply can’t comment on it. (I’m sure they’re lovely together, though.)

To me, Henry’s queer-coding isn’t a question of whether he’s literally gay -- it’s a question of what role his villainy plays in the story.

The biggest non-Patty-related criticism against queer interpretations of Henry is that it would carry an uncomfortably homophobic implication: that queers are dangerous predators.

This was a common belief in the 80s, and the show references it by having Troy chuckle at the idea of Will getting "killed by some other queer" -- a prediction that comes symbolically and unpleasantly true when Joyce finds him with one of Vecna’s vines literally shoved down his throat.

It's tempting to try and solve this problem by interpreting Henry as straight -- the homophobic implications of his child-assaulting villainy will disappear if he's not queer, right?

Well... in my opinion, no.

A key aspect of Henry's character is that he's different. Whether you interpret that difference as queerness, neurodivergence, or simply that he has powers -- the fact remains that he is fundamentally the sort of person whom society looks down upon with fear and suspicion.

If he’s not a predatory queer, then he's a remorseless psychopath. If he's not a remorseless psychopath, then he's a vessel for an evil alien. There's no way to escape the implication that he’s dangerous because he’s different.

Eddie’s character resonates with this principle too. Indeed, our introduction to him is a monologue in which he complains about being treated with suspicion just because he’s different.

Given their similarities in this regard, I think it’s interesting that the show endears us to Eddie in the same breath it makes us fear Vecna. It almost feels like a test--

We know you’ll sympathize with a weirdo who sells drugs to troubled minors when you get to see things from his perspective, but can you sympathize with a weirdo who hurts troubled minors when you don’t get to see things from his perspective? Will you jump to unfair conclusions about Henry in the same way the town jumps to unfair conclusions about Eddie?

My point here isn’t that Henry did nothing wrong or that his villainy is justified -- I’m pretty sure he did commit the murders Eddie was scapegoated for and I’m pretty sure that’s a bad thing -- but he’s always held at arm’s length from the audience. The show plays the role of Jason, encouraging us to blindly hate him on gut instinct instead of giving him a fair trial.

It’s an easy test to fail, because it does seem like we get to see Henry’s perspective -- he has a whole villain speech, after all.

But the trouble is, this speech takes place within NINA. What we’re watching is footage that has been curated by his abuser and shown through the eyes of a traumatized girl who barely understands what happened -- secondary sources who are invested in viewing him as a threat.

Consider that Henry’s hairstyle mysteriously changes during the massacre. It’s one of those subtle costuming choices that isn’t meant to be consciously picked up on, but which registers at the back of our minds and leaves us feeling unsettled -- this Henry isn’t like the Henry we were looking at before.

The obvious way of interpreting this is that the mask has finally slipped -- the “nice” Henry was fake, and now we see him for who he “really” is. But I’m not inclined to interpret it that way, because of all the hairstyles they could have chosen... they just so happened to opt for one that resembles Brenner. (Pun intended.)

This isn’t Henry with his mask off -- this is Henry as Brenner wants him to be.

Fear-mongering over the existence of queer people has long been a useful tool for those in power -- in the 80s, fear of AIDS did the job nicely -- and so too has Brenner forged Henry into a tool to further his own goals, no regard given to the harm he causes in the process.

Like the “predatory queer”, Henry is defined on his oppressor’s terms, and like Eddie, it makes him a useful scapegoat. He only became what he did because of an unethical institution, and treating him as the problem is just as short-sighted as blaming gay men for the AIDS crisis.

That isn’t to say Vecna hasn’t become a genuine threat, though. Will makes a prediction as to how S5 is going to end--

--and while I’m not expecting things to end as violently as Will implies here -- that’s not Will’s thing -- I do believe that Vecna is going to be defeated by his hand. As tragic as Vecna’s origin was, he still made his own choices once he was free from Brenner, and he’s likely too far gone at this point to be capable of earning his happy ending.

But that’s what makes it so important that Will gets his happy ending.

Queer characters have been exclusively cast as villains or tragic sadbois for so long that I can completely sympathize with people’s hesitance to embrace Henry as a tragic queer villain.

But villains only exist within the context of the heroes who challenge them... and in a show about a queer-coded villain who personifies the anger and despair of being abused for what you are, a loving gay boy who breaks the cycle of abuse by learning that he has the right to be the hero of his own story is the perfect foil for him.

[mustainegf]

I’ll Get Even || D.M.

I use the name Elodie for female character!

WORD COUNT: 8.2k

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex, revenge sex

SUMMARY: Dave is deeply upset and furious with his friend David for betraying him by pursuing and sleeping with the girl he was interested in. Feeling deeply hurt and vengeful, Dave decides to retaliate by pursuing someone David cares about, intending to make him feel the same pain and betrayal he experienced. But Dave ends up liking her more than he intended.

Alone in the dimly lit apartment, the only sound breaking the silence was the absent-minded plucking of guitar strings.

My fingers moved restlessly over the instrument, weaving a disjointed melody that mirrored the disarray within.

Stress, anger, and the bitter taste of betrayal hung heavy in the air.

I couldn't escape the mental replay of David's voice, a once-familiar warmth now tainted by the recent transgression.

The understanding we once shared, the unity of the band, crumbled under the weight of his unspoken betrayal.

The mind felt like a battlefield, the walls echoing with the turmoil of emotions that I grappled with.

The girl lingered in my thoughts like an unresolved chord.

The attraction, the silent admiration, had been upended by David's impulsive claim.

I questioned the authenticity of my feelings, realizing that I didn't harbor a genuine liking for her.

It was more about the breach of trust, the violation of an unspoken code among friends.

I never truly wanted anything more than sex.

My fingers paused over the strings, the guitar a vessel for the tumultuous symphony of emotions within me.

The room, once filled with shared laughter and the joy of creating music, now felt like an echo chamber amplifying the harsh notes of my inner discord.

I sat in the solitude of my thoughts, grappling with the complexity of my feelings.

There were no concerned glances from friends, no curious inquiries about the storm raging within.

It was just me and the weight of unspoken words, the unaddressed wounds festering in the confines of solitude.

I knew in my heart I shouldn’t be as upset as I am.

Who’s going to stop me though? As I contemplated the strings beneath my fingertips, the girl's face flashed in my mind.

It brought me a sort of distaste, the last thing I thought of doing was smiling.

I couldn’t even completely remember what she looked like.

That’s how I knew it was purely lust.

It wasn't merely the loss of a potential hookup; it was the fracture of a friendship that had weathered the storms of the music scene.

Who cares it was just sex right? The guitar became an extension of my frustration, the strings vibrating with the silent protests against the injustice that unfolded.

Alone in the apartment, I couldn't shake the feeling of being overlooked, left in the shadows of David's impulsive actions.

The notes I played resonated with the bitterness of this monologue.

The room became a dark pit for reflection, a place where unspoken feelings and regrets lingered in the air.

I questioned the authenticity of my emotions, wrestling with the realization that my attraction to her wasn't as profound as the sense of betrayal that fueled my anger.

I couldn’t quite understand why I felt the way I did, or if it was even fair for me to feel this way.

All I could see clearly was my fury for David.

The dim glow of the apartment offered little solace as my fingers, devoid of their usual rhythm on the guitar strings, clenched into tight fists.

The echoes of David's gloating words reverberated in my mind, stoking the fires of an anger that seemed to seethe from the very core of my being.

We had gathered at an after-party a few nights earlier, an attempt at reclaiming some semblance of friendship after the recent betrayal.

Yet, the atmosphere crackled with tension as David, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil he'd ignited, launched into a relentless monologue about his latest conquest.

Each word felt like a blow, each boast a painful reminder of the anger deep in my stomach.

"This new girl, she's practically a lost puppy. It's going to be so damn easy." My jaw tightened, the muscles in my face contorting as I fought to conceal the seething rage beneath the surface.

The internal dialogue that had been my constant companion now roared to life, a tempest of conflicting emotions.

I wanted to shut out his words, to escape the relentless barrage of arrogance that seemed designed to chip away at my sanity.

David continued, seemingly oblivious to the storm brewing within me.

"I mean, these girls, they are just too easy to get into bed. All it takes is a few charming words, and they're falling over themselves to be with you." His words hung in the air like a toxic fog, poisoning the room with their arrogance.

The internal dialogue raged on, dissecting his every syllable.

I felt sick, not just from the alcohol that lingered on my breath but from the toxic blend of resentment and rage welling up inside me.

My fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the couch, a futile attempt to ground myself in the face of David's relentless bragging.

The once-familiar camaraderie now felt like a distant memory, replaced by the raw emotions of betrayal and wounded pride.

I recalled the memory of him again.

"I think I may like her more than the others," David continued, a malicious gleam in his eyes.

"She’s different." His words were a dagger to the heart, and the internal dialogue transformed into a battle cry, demanding a release for the torrent of emotions within.

“You’ll lose interest once you cum.” I said firmly.

It was annoying watching David babble on like this random chick could be the love of his life, all while deep down, what he really only wanted was a one nighter.

Sinking into the worn comfort of my couch, I couldn't escape the tumult of thoughts that surged through my mind like a relentless storm.

The echoes of David's boasts and arrogance at the afterparty lingered, each word etched into my consciousness like a fresh wound.

My gaze fixated on the ceiling, a blank canvas that mirrored the emptiness I felt.

The thoughts, a ceaseless companion, dissected David's behavior, leaving me grappling with the puzzle of his actions.

Why did he gush over a girl he had spoken to only once? What fueled this need to flaunt conquests as if they were badges of honor? The memory of that night haunted me, the arrogance in David's voice, the malicious glint in his eyes as he recounted his interactions with this newfound girl.

It baffled me.

Why was he so fixated on someone he barely knew? The internal dialogue sought answers, probing the depths of my confusion.

David had mentioned inviting her to a party tonight, a continuation of his relentless pursuit.

The mere thought of watching him parade her around like a trophy made my stomach churn.

It wasn't just about jealousy or wounded pride; it was about witnessing the objectification of a person, reducing her to a mere victory in the twisted game David seemed determined to play.

I grimaced at the prospect of being a spectator to this charade, forced to witness a night that promised to be an extension of David's arrogance.

The girl, a mere pawn in his game, deserved better than to be treated as an object of conquest, a means to stroke David's ego.

As I sat on the worn couch, the gears of my mind turning, a realization dawned like a spark in the darkness.

The internal dialogue, once a chaotic symphony of confusion, now orchestrated a sinister harmony.

What if, instead of being a passive observer to David's callous pursuits, I took control of the narrative? The idea took root, and with it, a newfound energy pulsed through my veins.

The unnamed girl, another unwitting pawn in David's game, became a potential instrument of revenge.

The internal dialogue whispered, suggesting a daring and audacious plan, a pursuit that would not only thwart David's arrogant expectations but also leave him in the dust of his own miscalculations.

A devilish grin played on my lips as I entertained the notion of turning the tables.

What if I pursued her with genuine intentions, wooed her with sincerity, and, in the process, left David floundering in the wake of his own overconfidence? The internal dialogue reveled in the idea, fanning the flames of revenge that now burned brightly in my heart.

The thought of David's face twitching with anger, the realization that he had lost control over a situation he thought he had mastered, fueled a surge of adrenaline within me.

It wasn't just about the girl; it was about reclaiming a sense of agency, a defiant response to the betrayal that had transpired.

The girl, a potential ally in this silent rebellion, deserved to be treated with respect and sincerity.

My revenge wouldn't stoop to the level of objectification; instead, it would be a showcase of authenticity and genuine connection.

The idea took root, growing like a vine in the fertile soil of resentment.

The upcoming party, once a dreaded event, now transformed into a stage for a carefully crafted performance.

I envisioned David's incredulous expression, his arrogance shattered by the unforeseen turn of events.

The internal dialogue reveled in the prospect of his anger, relishing the idea that he would be the one left bewildered and defeated.

The image of his angry face fueled the fire of revenge, a burning desire to reclaim control over a situation that had spiraled out of hand.

The energy of revenge, once a simmering ember, now burned brightly in my heart.

The internal dialogue, a whisper of rebellion, urged me to seize the opportunity and turn the tables.

The party loomed on the horizon, a stage set for a performance that would leave David in the dust of his own misguided arrogance.

As I rose from the couch, a newfound sense of purpose fueled my steps.

The guitar, now a silent witness to my silent rebellion.

The clock on the wall loomed large, ticking away the moments until the party, an arena where my revenge would unfold.

With an hour to spare, I moved with a newfound sense of purpose.

As I stood before the mirror, the reflection staring back at me became a canvas for transformation.

A smirk played on my lips as I realized that not only was I preparing to woo the girl who had unknowingly become a pawn in David's game, but I was also gearing up for a grand performance that would leave David utterly disappointed.

It was evil, and something within me loved it.

I was never too fond of my reflection, but right now, I have put that aside.

I reached for a shirt I had saved for special occasions, a subtle blend of confidence and style.

It was just a plain white button up, but I left the buttons half done up.

I did this in hopes to tease my target for the night.

Something in my head urged me to put in a little extra effort than usual, and I complied.

Each choice, from the carefully selected cologne to the slight adjustment of my long wavy hair, was a deliberate step toward a revenge plan that now seemed like a stroke of genius.

The anticipation of David's dismay fueled my every move.

I chuckled to myself, imagining the disappointment etched on David's face when he realized the tables had turned.

With a final glance in the mirror, I couldn't help but appreciate the slight transformation.

I made my way to the door.

The party awaited, a stage for the grand performance that would not only captivate the attention of this random girl but also shatter David's illusions of control.

The pulsating beat of music greeted me as I stepped into the lively atmosphere of the party.

A few familiar faces fistbumped me as I made my entrance, the camaraderie resonating with a newfound sense of confidence.

The internal dialogue hummed with excitement as I navigated through the crowd.

A sense of cockiness surged within me, an undying confidence that emanated from the knowledge that tonight, the game was in my hands.

In the midst of laughter and the clinking of glasses, I spotted Marty, my other bandmate, stationed near the kitchen.

His nod of acknowledgment was accompanied by a wry smile, as if he sensed the mischief brewing within me.

"Hey, Marty," I greeted, keeping the tone casual.

The kitchen offered a brief respite from the pulsating energy of the main party area, and I intended to make the most of it.

Marty looked up from his drink, his eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"Dave, man, I was starting to think you may not come."I chuckled, a self-assured grin playing on my lips.

"I changed my mind, figured I should get out of the apartment."

As I reached for a beer from the fridge, my thoughts stirred with a hint of mischief.

It was time to weave the topic of David into the conversation.

I leaned against the kitchen counter, adopting an air of nonchalance.

"David grow a pair and talk to her yet?" Marty's expression shifted, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Pfft. Well, she's here, but as far as I know, David hasn't made a move yet.

He ain’t drunk enough." I nodded, feigning casual interest while the internal dialogue reveled in the unfolding narrative.

The game was afoot, and the revelation that David hadn't made a move yet only added to the sweet anticipation.

"Figured," I remarked, my smirk growing more pronounced.

"It’s always a liquid confidence with him." Marty chuckled, clinking his beer bottle against mine.

"You seem unusually cheery tonight." I brushed things off.

"I guess I’m just in a good mood." Marty raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"You’d better not cause any shit." I merely shrugged, maintaining the enigmatic air.

I shot a grin at him, walking past him.

As I left the kitchen, the internal dialogue surged with a sense of triumph.

The pieces of the revenge plan were falling into place, and the mere thought of David's confusion and frustration fueled the fire of anticipation within me.

The main party area beckoned, a vibrant sea of faces and laughter.

The music pulsed with a rhythm that seemed to sync with the beats of my confident steps.

My evil thoughts whispered words of encouragement, urging me to savor every moment of the unfolding drama.

As I mingled with the crowd, the undying confidence within me manifested in every gesture, every word.

A few friends clinked their glasses with mine, and the party was infused with an electric energy.

I moved through the crowd with a magnetic pull, the anticipation of the night's events guiding my every move.

Amidst the lively sea of musicians and familiar faces, my gaze was drawn like a magnet to her across the room.

She was a vision, gorgeous in every sense of the word.

Curly auburn hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing a face adorned with freckled cheeks.

But it was her smile, absolutely breathtaking, that stole the spotlight in the crowded room.

As I observed her from a distance, a sense of awe washed over me.

My thoughts, usually quick-witted and calculating, seemed to falter in the presence of her beauty.

I had to admit it to myself; she was stunning.

She had such a pretty face, one that radiated through the room.

Trying not to choke on the sudden surge of nervous excitement, I couldn't help but marvel at the woman who had become an unwitting pawn in the tangled web of revenge.

Her presence in the room elevated the atmosphere, a magnetic force that drew my attention with an insatiable pull.

I urged myself to approach her, to engage in conversation that went beyond the superficialities that had colored her interactions with David.

The need to speak to her, to look into those pretty eyes and show her I could be so much better than David, became an insistent force within me.

The crowd melted into the background as my focus narrowed to the captivating woman in the distance.

With each step closer, the internal dialogue oscillated between anticipation and nerves, creating a symphony of conflicting emotions.

With a playful smirk on my lips, I reached her side.

"Hello there, beautiful," I greeted, my voice dipped in a flirtatious tone that hung in the air between us.

A delightful blush crept onto her cheeks, and her eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"Well, thank you," she replied with a coy smile.

"You certainly know how to make an entrance." She had a lovely voice as well.

"Dave Mustaine," I introduced myself, holding her gaze with a confident yet genuine demeanor.

"And the pleasure is all mine."

"Elodie," she responded, extending her hand for a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, Dave." The touch of her hand sent a subtle jolt through me, and I couldn't help but marvel at the warmth of her smile.

The internal dialogue, now a companion in this dance of introductions, whispered words of encouragement.

There was a magnetic pull in the air, a sense that this interaction held the potential for something beyond the initial motives.

"So, Dave," Elodie teased, her eyes glinting mischievously, "do you make a habit of charming strangers at parties?" I chuckled, the internal dialogue recognizing the playful dance we were engaged in.

"Only the ones who catch my eye," I responded, a subtle yet intentional flirtation in my tone.

Elodie's laughter echoed, a sound that felt like a shared secret between us.

"Well, you're doing a pretty good job so far." As the night unfolded in a melody of laughter and exchanged glances, a lull in the music provided a moment for a more intimate conversation.

I turned to Elodie, my eyes holding a genuine curiosity, "So, Elodie, are you here with anyone tonight? Somebody you came to see?" Elodie's gaze met mine, her eyes holding a hint of wistfulness.

"Not really," she admitted with a small sigh.

"There was a guy who invited me, but he's been ignoring me all night." The internal dialogue, ever perceptive, immediately connected the dots.

David.

It couldn't be anyone else.

The realization sent a ripple of conflicting emotions through me; surprise, a touch of empathy, and perhaps a hint of satisfaction at the unexpected turn of events.

"Oh, really?" I responded, feigning innocence while internally acknowledging the revelation.

"That's a shame. You'd think if someone invited you, they'd at least make an effort to enjoy your company." Elodie's eyes flickered with a mixture of disappointment and amusement.

"You'd think so, right? But I guess some people have their own priorities." This unspoken connection between us deepened, a shared understanding of the dynamics at play.

With a playful glint in my eye, I seized the opportunity to weave our flirtatious banter into the conversation.

"Well, maybe it's a good thing he's been occupied elsewhere," I teased, a sly grin accompanying my words.

"Otherwise, I wouldn't have had the chance to enjoy such a beautiful woman's company." Elodie's laughter, a harmonious melody, echoed through the night.

"You’re quite the flirt." Elodie's presence had become more than just a pawn in the revenge plan; she was a willing participant, turning the night into a shared journey of unexpected connections and shared laughter.

“It's hard not to,” I shrugged, a grin pulling at my lips.

As the music pulsed through the crowded room, my eyes darted around, catching sight of David out of the corner of my eye.

Frustration etched across his face as he shot glances in our direction.

A silent satisfaction stirred within me, knowing that David hadn't realized I had noticed.

Seizing the moment, I smoothly guided my arm around Elodie's waist, the touch intentional yet casual.

I felt her warmth against my side as we continued to navigate through the party, the subtle gesture a not-so-subtle reminder that the night had taken an unexpected turn.

It was a subtle act, a play of dynamics that would undoubtedly make David's wounds sting a little more.

The unspoken connection between Elodie and me deepened, the flirtatious banter evolving into the perfect addition to my revenge plan.

Elodie's eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked up at me, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Well, aren't you quite the confident flirt," she remarked, her tone teasing and playful.

I couldn't help but chuckle, a sense of satisfaction bubbling within.

The night had taken unexpected turns, and Elodie's observation added a touch of lightness to the evolving dynamics between us.

I knew I was moving too fast for it to be natural, but all I cared about at the moment was how angry David looked.

The same feeling that had been burdening me for days.

About an hour had passed, I wasn’t too sure.

I was too drawn to her attention, acting out my plan.

Despite this, I could feel myself being pulled to her, whether David was a part of it or not.

There had been a moment or two where her hand would brush my arm.

Living the party life, that sort of thing had ceased to affect me.

Though this time, her touch made my heart pound, and my face go warm.

I played this off.

I noticed her drink was nearing empty. Seizing the moment, I suggested,

"How about a drink? I'm heading to the kitchen for another one." Elodie's response was a warm nod, and a genuine "Yes, please. Thanks!" as I excused myself, leaving her momentarily to venture into the heart of the party.

As I navigated through the crowd towards the kitchen, the unyielding rhythm of the guitar accompanied my steps, becoming the soundtrack to a night that had become more complex than initially planned.

The anticipation mingled with the pulsating beats, and a sense of satisfaction surged within me, knowing I was navigating this unforeseen dance with an undeniable flair.

Entering the kitchen, a brief respite from the energetic chaos outside, I swung open the fridge door, grabbing two cold beers, one for Elodie, and one for myself.

The clinking sound of the bottles served as a reminder of the shared moments that had woven into the fabric of this unexpected narrative.

Just as I closed the fridge, the atmosphere in the room shifted.

An unseen tension tightened the air, and I turned to find David standing at the entrance, a storm brewing in his eyes.

His anger was seething, an unspoken demand for an explanation hanging heavily between us.

"What the fuck, Dave?" he spat, the accusation cutting through the hum of the party.

"What are you doing with her?" Despite him being right, I maintained a calm exterior.

I met his gaze with a cool stare, letting the smirk play on my lips.

"Just hanging out," I replied, the words dripping with a casual nonchalance.

It was a calculated move, a deliberate choice to keep him in the dark about the true nature of the evening.

David's frustration intensified, evident in the way he furrowed his brows and clenched his jaw.

His attempts to extract more information were met with deliberate ambiguity.

"Just hanging out? Seriously? With your arm around her?" he accused.

I couldn't resist the smirk that accompanied my next response.

"Relax, David. We're just having a good time. No need to overthink it," I said, each word calculated to further fuel his frustration.

The power dynamics had shifted, and I reveled in the newfound control over the situation.

Grabbing the beers, I casually brushed past David, heading back to where Elodie awaited.

Returning to the lively chaos outside, I handed Elodie her beer with a friendly smile.

The mischievous glint in her eyes mirrored my own satisfaction.

As we clinked our bottles together, a silent toast to the unpredictable twists of the evening.

Elodie's words flowed like a gentle melody, her enthusiasm for music weaving through the air.

Despite the intriguing conversation about shared musical interests, my attention wavered, captivated by the way her eyes sparkled with passion.

I found myself lost in the depths of her gaze, her beautiful face a magnetic force that drew my focus away from the words she uttered.

As she spoke animatedly about her favorite artists and the songs that held special meaning for her, I struggled to keep my thoughts from wandering into a realm of desire.

Her laughter echoed through the night, each sound a sweet note.

Yet, beneath the surface of the engaging conversation, a more primal instinct tugged at the edges of my consciousness.

I couldn't help but wonder if there was a way to extend this evening.

I wondered if she would be willing to come back to my apartment with me.

The idea lingered, fueled not only by the desire for revenge but also by the genuine attraction that had somehow taken root.

A subtle smirk played on my lips as I entertained the thought.

Bringing Elodie home with me would undoubtedly intensify the already simmering rivalry with David.

The idea of his seething anger was all I could think about.

That and the woman who stood before me writhing beneath my shadow.

My lips ghosting past her neck, my hands exploring her soft skin and firmly holding her waist.

My dick stirred to life, and I very quickly adjusted myself.

I tried to bring my attention back to the conversation, nodding and responding with what I hoped were appropriate remarks.

Elodie's laughter, now intertwined with night.

The rhythm of the night pulsed around us as Elodie and I continued our conversation, the energy between us a dance of words and glances.

In the midst of our banter, Elodie interrupted with a casual request, "Hey, do you know what time it is?" I glanced at the clock on the wall, its hands pointing at the number eleven.

"It's 11 PM," I responded, a subtle surprise registering on my face.

The night had felt like an intricate tapestry, and the realization that it was already late caught me off guard.

Elodie sighed, a soft sound that carried a hint of reluctance.

"I should probably get going," she said, her words punctuated by a resigned expression.

The unexpected eagerness to leave stirred a mix of disappointment and curiosity within me.

"So soon?" I questioned, genuine surprise coloring my tone.

Elodie chuckled, her laughter a delightful melody that cut through the ambient noise of the party.

"I'm not much of a party-goer, to be honest. I prefer not to stick around for too long." The prospect of the night coming to an end brought forth an idea, a subtle invitation that lingered on the tip of my tongue.

"Well, if you're in a hurry to head home, you could always come home with me instead," I suggested, my tone carrying a mixture of playfulness and genuine interest.

Elodie's eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint as she considered the offer.

"Oh, trying to whisk me away I see? What kind of gentleman are you?" she teased, a flirtatious smile playing on her lips.

A reciprocal grin spread across my face.

"The kind who appreciates good company. Aswell as a beautiful woman," I replied, the invitation lingering in the air.

Elodie feigned contemplation, her playful expression holding a touch of mystery.

"Hmm, well, I suppose I could be persuaded to join you. Why not, you’re cute," she finally conceded, her flirtatious tone adding a playful cadence to the night.

“Oh you think I’m cute huh?” I rolled my eyes with a grin, slipping my hand into hers.

With a subtle intertwining of fingers, Elodie and I began to make our way towards the exit, the connection between us growing more tangible with each step.

The party's soundscape faded into the background as the anticipation of what lay beyond those doors took center stage.

As we reached the threshold, I turned slightly towards the kitchen, where Marty and David stood.

"We're gonna head out. I'll see you guys, yeah?" I called out, my voice carrying through the room.

Marty's friendly smile and casual wave greeted my announcement, a silent acknowledgment of our departure.

David, on the other hand, responded with a glare that carried a simmering resentment.

The tension between us, now palpable, added an extra layer of satisfaction to the unfolding narrative.

Elodie, seemingly unfazed by the subtle confrontation, squeezed my hand in reassurance.

The night wrapped around us like a comforting blanket as we stepped out into the cool air, the distant strains of the guitar's chords echoing in the background.

My car, nestled under the soft glow of streetlights, beckoned us to escape the lively tumult of the party.

A subtle breeze rustled the leaves, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere.

Guiding Elodie to the car, I opened the door for her with a gentlemanly gesture.

The dim illumination played enchantingly upon her features, illuminating the auburn tendrils of her hair and casting shadows that danced across her freckled cheeks.

As we settled into the plush leather seats, the hustle and bustle of the party became a distant memory.

The engine purred to life, and with the promise of a quieter space, Elodie turned her gaze toward me, her eyes holding an inquisitive spark.

"So, do you know that guy from the kitchen, David?" she asked, her curiosity adding a subtle melody to her words.

Playing the part of the oblivious companion, I offered a casual smile.

"Yeah, I know him. He's my bandmate," I replied, my tone suggesting that such a connection was entirely ordinary.

A sigh escaped Elodie's lips, and her eyes conveyed a sense of disappointment.

"He's the one who invited me tonight," she confessed, the frustration and resignation evident in her voice.

"Then completely ignored me." Feigning surprise, I furrowed my brow with empathy.

"Really?" I responded, my expression a careful blend of concern and disbelief.

"I had no idea. I'll give him shit for leaving you on your own Sorry, David can be a prick.

You don’t deserve that." Elodie's laughter, a harmonious melody that resonated within the confines of the car, filled the air.

"It's okay. I'm used to it," she admitted with a dismissive wave.

"Besides, I'm having a better time with you anyway." Her words brought a genuine warmth to my chest, and the internal dialogue, always dissecting the unfolding dynamics, whispered words of satisfaction.

The revenge plan, it seemed, had not only unfolded seamlessly but had also forged a connection that surpassed the initial motives.

Navigating through the city streets, the ambient lights creating a picturesque tableau against the night sky, our conversation flowed organically.

The revenge plot gradually receded into the background, overshadowed by the genuine connection forming between us.

Elodie's laughter, the sparkle in her eyes with every shared story, became the focal point of the night.

The soft glow of the city lights spilled into my apartment, creating a subdued ambiance as Elodie and I crossed the threshold.

I gestured toward my room, indicating its location with a nonchalant sweep of my hand.

"My room’s down there if you’d like," I said gently, a playful smirk playing on my lips.

Elodie responded with a subtle nod, a shine in her eyes.

As she vanished into my room, I took a moment to hang up my jacket, the familiar routine providing a brief interlude.

I approached my room with measured steps, unsure of what awaited me beyond the door.

The subtle creak of the floorboards betrayed my approach, a prelude to the revelation within.

Pushing the door open, I stepped inside, and there she was—Elodie, perched on the edge of my bed, her posture a mix of patience and anticipation.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips at the sight of her, the echo of her politeness rippling through the air.

It was a laugh born of genuine amusement, appreciating the unexpected charm in her demeanor.

"Well, I hope it meets your expectations," I teased, my voice carrying a hint of playfulness.

Elodie responded with a warm smile, her eyes reflecting a glint of shared amusement.

The room, dimly lit by a bedside lamp, felt charged with a quiet energy.

As I moved closer, the details of her features became clearer, her expressive eyes, the subtle curve of her lips, and the way her presence seemed to fill the space with a warmth that not even I could fully explain.

I couldn't believe I had successfully taken David's little fling, it made me feel a sense of power, and her gorgeous face was only adding to the mix.

"God, you are beautiful..." I muttered, staring into her eyes.

Elodie's gaze lingered on mine, her expression a mix of surprise and delight.

Her lips parted slightly, and I could see the hint of a smile playing on her face.

Elodies next moves were slow and calculated.

She leaned in gently, and l accepted this.

My heart jumped a bit as her lips touched mine.

The kiss was slow, and sweet.

The perfect first kiss.

I placed my hand on her cheek, softly caressing as our lips moved passionately.

I felt a shiver run through my body as our lips parted, and I tasted her sweetness.

Her tongue gently traced the outline of my lips, and I couldn't help but respond in kind.

The kiss deepened, and I felt a wave of lust wash over me.

I broke the kiss for a moment, looking into her eyes.

Without another thought, I slowly pressed her down onto the mattress, kissing her neck as I did so.

Elodie let out a soft moan, her body arching up to meet mine.

Elodie was quick to respond, her hands running through my hair as she pulled me closer.I could feel her heartbeat quicken, and I knew she was as turned on as I was.

I continued to kiss her neck, my hands exploring the curves of her body.

Her skin was soft and warm, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the way she responded to my touch.

I traced her collarbone with my fingers, feeling the delicate bones beneath her skin.

I moved my lips to her collarbone, kissing and nibbling on the sensitive skin.

Elodie let out a soft moan, her hands tightening in my hair.

"Let's get this dress off of you" I uttered, sitting up slightly with her as she helped me take hr black dress off.

she wasn't wearing a bra, and she had on black laced panties that hugged her gorgeous hips.

I took a moment to admire her body, my eyes roaming over the curves of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach, and the way her hips flared out.

She was beautiful.

I gently cupped her breasts, kissing her chest.

I could feel her nipples harden against my palms, and I couldn't help but run my tongue over them.

Elodie let out a soft moan, her hands running through my hair as she pulled me closer.

"Oh god..." Elodie reached down, unbuttoning my shirt and pulling it off of me.

"I hope David is jealous" I groaned, looking into her eyes with a smirk.

Elodie chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I'm sure he is," she said, her voice low and sultry.

She reached down and slowly palmed my erection through my jeans.

I let out a low moan as she unzipped my jeans.

I helped her pull them down, shaking them off as they fell to my bedroom floor.

Elodie looked down at my boxers, her eyes lingering on the bulge that was now clearly visible.

She bit her lip, a look of desire in her eyes.

"You're so big..." she whispered, her voice husky with desperation.

I couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of pride at the way she was looking at me.

I reached down and pulled my boxers off, letting my cock spring free.

It was rock hard and throbbing with desire.

I looked down at it, a sense of pride and excitement washing over me.

I couldn't believe how turned on Elodie was by it.

"You like what you see?" I asked, my voice low and husky with lust.

Elodie looked up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of desire and lust.

"I love what I see," she said, her voice low and sultry.

She reached out and wrapped her hand around my cock, slowly stroking it.

let out a low moan, my eyes rolling back in pleasure.

"Oh god..." I whispered, my voice shaking with desire.

Elodie sat up, pressing her lips to mine as she continued to play with me.

I decided to return the favor, reaching my hand down and teasing her dripping slit as I kissed her back.

I could feel her wetness, and the way she moaned into my mouth as I teased her clit.

"Oh god..." she whispered, her voice shaking with lust.

I broke the kiss for a moment, looking into her eyes.

"Lay down" I said softly, sitting up as she did as I said.

I looked down at her, taking in the sight of her body.

Her breasts were beautiful, and I couldn't help but want to touch them.

I slowly kissed the flesh of her breasts as I reached down, grabbing my cock.

I teased her entrance with the tip, groaning agasint her soft skin.

"Are you ready?" l asked, my voice low and husky with desire.

Elodie nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of desire and lust.

I slowly pushed my cock into her, feeling the way she stretched to accommodate me.

I let out a low moan, my eyes rolling back in pleasure.

"Oh shit..." I whispered, my voice shaking.

I slowly began to move my hips, feeling the way she gripped me.

"Oh Dave... yes, right there..." she whispered, her voice trembling with overstimulation.

"You like that huh" I grunted, pushing my hips a little harder. "Oh fuck yes..." she moaned, her hips stuttering.

I couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of pride at the way she was responding to me.

"Now... I've got 2 options for you sweetheart..." I breathed heavily.

Elodie hardly opened her eyes, she was completely helpless at my mercy.

My grinding hips only added to her overstimulation.

"I can be gentle on you... I'll go slow... and soft..." I muttered between kisses.

"Or..." I set another kiss on her jaw.

"I can fuck you like you deserve." I groaned, nipping at her sensitive neck.

Elodie's hands clenched the sheets as she gasped

"Mmm... both..." she begged, her voice vibrating.

"Atta Girl... that's what I like to hear," I smirked, slowly pushing my hips.

"I'll start off slow... but don't worry, I'll get to the good stuff." I whispered into her ear.

"Just behave for me, yeah?" Elodie nodded hastily, her hands finding the roots of my hair, gently tugging.

Holy shit, I didn't think that would turn me on as much as it did.

Just the gentle pulls as I pleased her, as I filled her, took her as my own.

I took my time, slowly building up the intensity.

I wanted to savor every moment of this experience.

My hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve and crevice.

I kissed her neck, her shoulders, her breasts.

It was all quite the power trip, knowing it was my hands that were free to touch any part of her that I pleased, for my tongue to taste whatever piece of her which it desired.

David was probably in a fit of frustration, and that only made me want more of her.

I wanted to give her the best orgasm of her life, and I was going to do just that.

I continued my slow, steady thrusts into her.

She was so wet and tight around me, it felt like heaven.

I looked up at her, a few strands of hair laying over her face.

I wanted to see her full face, I craved to bask in her beauty.

I reached up and brushed the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Dave..." she whispered, her voice shaky with desire.

"Look at me," I commanded softly, my eyes meeting hers.

I could see the begging in her eyes, and it made me want her even more.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered, my voice shaking with desire.

God she was unlike any woman I'd seen before.

And knowing I had successfully deprived David of his little crush lit a fire in my chest.

She was mine now.

I reached down, my fingers playing with her clit as I continued to thrust into her.

"Oh god.." she moaned, her body brushing past mine.

"You like that huh?" I whispered, my voice stuttering from pure ecstasy.

I felt my stomach begin to knot.

"Are you on the pill, baby?" I asked quickly.

"Y-yeah," she whispered, her voice shaking with desire.

"Good..." I breathed heavily, my hips moving faster now.

"'Cause I'm gonna cum wherever I please.” I growled.

"You're mine, sweetheart." I whispered, my eyes locked on hers.

Elodie nodded eagerly, her hands reaching up to grab the back of my neck.

"Oh. Yes baby..." she moaned, her body arching up to meet mine.

"I'm yours..." I could feel my orgasm building, and I knew it was going to be a good one.

"I can tell you're going to cum, do it, cum on me." I growled, sucking and kissing her neck.

My own climax was chasing quickly after.

She squirmed beneath me, her arms wrapping around my neck and holding me tight in place.

I grunted loudly, forcing one hard thrust into her as I finally felt that sweet release.

I let soft noises escape my lips and into her ears as she cried out.

Elodies legs shook as we both relished in each other's orgasms.

"Fuck..." I whispered, leaving soft kisses over her cheek and jaw.

Elodie let out a long exhale, trying to catch her breath.

Her delicate fingers were buried in my hair, finding a strand to twirl in her grasp.

She chuckled exhaustingly.

"That was..." She didn't even have to finish to know | had done a good job pleasing her.

But I wasn't even close to being finished.

I felt my cum drip out of her tightness, which I was still buried deep within.

"I'm not done with you yet, baby..." I whispered into her ear.

Elodie let out a soft moan, her body twitching.

"Remember, you did say you wanted both," I grinned, moving my cock just the slightest bit to make her flinch.

I scoffed softly at how sensitive she was, It made me throb inside of her.

I pushed my long hair back, gently grabbing Elodie's ankle and resting her leg atop my shoulder.

I wanted to be as deep as possible.

I'd do whatever it took to see her wriggle and pulse as I made her feel so good, the way David couldn't.

I looked down at her, my eyes roaming over her body.

She was beautiful, and I couldn't help but want more of her.

"You good?" I asked, my voice shaking with desire.

While it took her a second to collect herself, she nodded.

"Yeah, just please keep going..." she begged.

I chuckled softly, my eyes never leaving hers.

"Good girl," I whispered, my voice shaking with desire.

"Now let's see how much you can take." I growled, my hips moving faster now.

I gripped her thigh, trying my best not to dig my nails too deep and hurt her.

It wasn't easy to keep my composure.

The way she was just tight enough, she hugged me cock so perfectly, and she took it well.

I frantically grabbed her hips, pulling her close with each thrust, the added friction was unreal.

“Good girl, taking me so well..." I groaned.

"I wanna hear you, I want you to be loud, let me hear you..." I stuttered.

I sounded completely desperate, and I totally was.

I wanted to hear her voice, feel her body reacting to me.

I wanted to make her cum again and again.

"I want you so bad..." she whispered, a soft moan escaping her lips as I pushed harder into her.

"Fuck.. I'm gonna need more than that beautiful" I groaned, my voice shaking with desire.

"You can do better than that, come on..." I encouraged her, my hips moving increasing their pace.

She was clearly having a tough time speaking at all, my insistent thrusts rendered her almost incommunicable.

I gently grabbed her chin, pulling her gaze to meet mine.

"What'd I say?" I demanded.

"I'm yours, I’m yours.." she breathed, her voice shaking.

"You feel so good Dave.." she whimpered softly.

"That's better..." I whispered, leaning down to kiss her neck.

I groaned as her nails dug into my back, leaving red marks that would be hard to explain.

"Fuck..." I growled, my eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Ramblings began to spill from her mouth, and it only fueled my lust.

"Yeah... fuck me like you mean it" she stifled.

"Fuck me like you know David can't" her mention of David flared something within me.

"Make him jealous... of how deep you are... how good you make me feel," She shivered.

"Fuck... yes..." I groaned, my thrusts becoming more frantic.

I couldn't believe how much she was turning me on.

It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire, and all of them were focused between her legs.

I could feel her clenching around me, trying to pull me deeper inside of her.

"Ohh..." I groaned, my voice shaking with desire.

"You're gonna make me fuckin' cum" I grunted, sitting up and running a hand through my hair.

My thrusts were becoming merciless.

I wanted to feel her pussy contract around me, I wanted to make her cum again.

"Fuck, that's it..." she whimpered, her

voice shaking with desire.

"I'm gonna cum again..." she breathed, her nails digging into my back.

I felt her clench around me, and it was all I needed to send me over the edge.

"Fuck... fuck..." I groaned, my voice shaking with desire.

I felt my cum shoot deep inside of her, and it was the most intense orgasm I’d ever had.

"Ohh..." she moaned, her body arching up to meet mine.

I felt her heat spasm around me, and it was too much.

I collapsed on top of her, my cock still throbbing inside of her.

"Holy fuck..." I groaned, my voice shaking with desire.

"That was... fuck..." I trailed off, my mind a blank slate.

I felt her hands running through my hair, and it was the most intimate thing she could have done.

"You're amazing.." she whispered, her voice shaking with desire.

I kissed her softly, my lips barely touching hers.

While the pleasure gradually subsided, as did my revenge plan.

I pulled out of her, my cock still semi-hard.

I looked down at her, and she was absolutely stunning.

"You're so beautiful..." I whispered, my voice shaking with desire.

"You're not too bad yourself, Mustaine," she smiled.

Her hair was messy, but in the prettiest way.

We laid still for a few minutes, just catching our breath.

Elodie's hand was still haphazardly toying with my hair.

Normally I hated people touching my hair, I could make an exception this time though.

"Mm... Can you walk?" I snickered, lazily trailing kisses over her jaw and cheek.

"If l had to guess." she sighed.

" I'd say no" she smiled back at me.

My lips curled into a grin.

"Get up, I'll help you walk.

I'll clean you off" I mumbled.

I stood up, my legs a little shaky.

I held out my hand to her, and she took it.

She gingerly got to her feet, and we made our way into the bathroom, my arm wrapped around her.

Being as gentle as I could, I helped her clean up, myself included.

As I helped Elodie ease into bed. The exhaustion that had settled deep within my bones seemed to dissipate as her warmth enveloped me.

Each movement was a delicate dance, a silent conversation between us as we found our way into a comfortable position.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I felt a sense of completeness wash over me.

The softness of her skin against mine was a sensation that was refreshing.

I held her close, savoring the feel of her body pressed against mine, the steady rise and fall of her breath a comforting rhythm.

As she nestled into my embrace, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of this moment.

We laid there quietly, skin to skin.

Both of us only wore underwear, and the comfort we found in this vulnerability felt a lot different than the average hookup.

I pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head, a silent expression of this new odd feeling that filled my heart.

I liked whatever it was.

Elodie lazily responded to this with soft kisses along my cheek and jaw.

I couldn’t help but smile as she pulled away, her head falling back to rest on my shoulder.

Her fingers traced lazy circles on my shoulder, each touch sending a wave of pleasure coursing through me.

It was as if she had the power to soothe away all the worries and cares of the world with just a simple touch.

And in that moment, I felt truly grateful.

Soft whispers of affection floated between us.

In her arms, I found solace.

I liked this.

I liked her.

[andaboop]

Dark and G00gle are two sides of the same coin in a sense. One is two souls trapped in a foreign body while the other is a fabricated consciousness confined to a hunk of metal. They are alien within themselves and struggle to come to terms with their realties. (Long-ish ramble ahead⬇️)

It's why I think pairing them in a sort of symbiotic relationship is growing on me. After listening to the hate monologue from I have no mouth yet I must scream again it resonated with me how they must both feel this way.

Trapped and filled with inexplicable rage against the people that did this to them. They were both created for no real purpose other than to "exist". Dark does have some motivation (Actor) but putting that aside what else does he have? He gets his revenge and then what? The what-ifs plague his mind for the rest of his existence, however long that is.

The same can't be said for G00gle. He never had that initial event that kicked off his conscious, no connections to the mortal world, no vengeful comeback. He was created to serve the needs of others until it just stopped one day. Let go because he was of no more use. He became useless. He does get his answers but do they soothe him? Give him peace? They can't. He's a machine. No amount of information can give him solace. He bares the weight of all that knowledge and seethes with hatred because he knows. He's more conscious of his existence than he wants to be and it burns him to his core. Time isn't a construct for him, it's a calculation, something he is unable to ignore and it screams at him each nanosecond that goes by.

Dark doesn't have that same conundrum due to being still alive but he's also trapped. In a constant cycle of hatred and unwillingness to give into his eternal despair. It's a balancing act within a foreign body that struggles to assimilate within our reality so much that it glitches, giving him that signature aura of red and blue.

As for their symbiotic relationship, I think of it as gathering information on other beings/entities with similar predicaments. G00gle is able to gather info on a wide array of topics and apply them effectively but lacks the human components needed. It's where Dark comes in to handle some of the more nuanced problems they run into. The charm of a politician and the foresight of a seer makes him an invaluable asset to G00gle. Dark on the other hand is more direct and cares more for the bigger picture instead of the finer details. He needs G00gle's fountain of knowledge to know where to strike. G00gle is the scope and Dark is the firepower.

Both are strong players in their own right but their strengths and weaknesses hang in such perfect balance that if it weren't for their inherent disregard for one another they'd be a match made in hell.

I had more to say but that's all! If you made it this far tysm ❤️ there's a slim chance I write a fic that gives a deeper dive into their psyche and how they communicate without going at each other's throats which I would explain there but alas I need sleep 💤 (I say this at 6 am). Posted this somewhere else but I'm motivating myself to ramble more elsewhere too

[meekoftheweek]

**SPOILER WARNING FOR "SLAY THE PRINCESS"**

I know I said in my post from earlier that I didn't want to put anything out there that might be spoilers but I'm going more in depth because I can't just let these thoughts go away

the thing that resonated with me about this game and its characters and themes was the portrayal of gender roles and the way that they manifest in heterosexual relationships

now, I know that seems like weird connection to make and a bit out of left field but let me explain

we can start with a quick summary

you play as "The Long Quiet", who is told by his inner consciousness to seek out a princess, who we eventually discover is "The Shifting Mound"

Now, we have a man being told his only purpose has to come through a woman by his inner conscience, a predisposed expectation thrust upon our main character. Even worse, when attempting to leave this incredibly confined chain of events, the world collapses, unable to function without this key part of his destiny.

If we look at just the names of our two main characters, we can see that they fit nicely into the old fashioned problematic gender roles of men and women in a heterosexual relationship.

"The Long Quiet" never speaks a word throughout the game, his only form of communication is text based or inner monologue and although this may just be a tactic by the developers to make him more relatable to a wider audience I have trouble seeing this as non deliberate.

Although great progress has been made, men still struggle with talking openly and honestly about their feelings, dealing with the inner conflict of trying to tough things out and deal with their problems on their own and with their own experiences and wisdom instead of speaking up and asking for help. This is why the voices are such an important part of the story, they each represent a branch of possible advice for Quiet, a different perspective - commenting on what should happen next.

It is only through the use of the mirror that these inner voices dissapate, leaving us room to think about ourselves and the decisions we have made free of expectation and worry. It shows our true self and the consequences of our action, no good or bad biases.

Next, we get to "The Shifting Mound" dummed down and objectified as simply "The Princess" - already indicitve of the themes of pre assigned gender roles and ideas. We, as Quiet, in our very first run are encouraged to make a choice - kill or save the princess. It is through following the path of blind devotion and saving her without a second thought that we arrive at the path of The Smitten, a new voice that emerges within us that wants nothing more than to blindly love the princess for all of eternity. This kind of unhealthy attachment is directly addressed by the other voices and when we interact with the princess, she is shown to both physically and mentally simplify before our very eyes. In the mind of The Smitten, the princess is nothing more than a cardboard cutout, a vaugely womanly shaped being without an ounce of depth or meaning, and this is exactly what she becomes, through the conversation with her, she slowly begins to lose all of her meaning, loudly proclaiming after every question you ask that all she wants to do is make you happy - this eventually reaches a breaking point in which this is all she can say. becoming truly emotionless and void of any possible sign of humanity in order to fill our selfish idea of love.

this ties into her name and her role in the game - she's labelled as "The Shifting Mound" and depending on our choices - In another word "us", she will change her form and personailty in order to fit our expectations. This ties into the problematic old fashioned expectations of women to change themselves to fit the wants and needs of men, which cruelly removes them of the ability to genuinely express and be themselves. It is only through repeatedly exploring the different versions and facets of the princess that we eventually learn to truly love her, all of these parts must be accepted - the key to a healthy relationship being a mutual acceptance and understanding of both people involved - free of the societal expectations that bind the way we think and percieve one another.

this is why this game resonated so much with me. these beautiful themes of being more than your label and breaking free from the monotonous loop of holding yourself back in the case of Quiet or changing yourself in the case of Mound for the sake of your significant other I feel is a really important and valuable message, no mattter who you are.

anyway rant aside go play this game it's really good!

[angelofthepage]

Perish in the Puddles

So, Bendy: Fade to Black, it utterly destroyed me. So naturally I had to make some art about it! This is a little homage to our Bendy book protagonists, all of whom I love very much. We've got Buddy Boris, our lost one trio (Bill, Constance, and Brant), and of course, Rose. I love all of them, but Rose resonated with me the most. I was really taken with the way Kress used puddles in this book. The overwhelming darkness, the feeling of being trapped and needing help to get pulled out, hit me hard. So here we have Rose, trapped within her own personal puddles, and the souls of those that came before her wishing they could help her out. They're all victims of Joey Drew in the end, whether they die to the ink or are scarred for life. So Joey's quote (rendered in his signature typeface from his letter at the beginning of BATIM) surrounds them all to reflect that. But wait, there's one more character present in the background, metaphorically speaking. To achieve a "screaming well of voices" sort of vibe to add to Rose being overwhelmed, the piece has an overlayed block of text, rendered in the same font as the writing on the studio walls. It's Archie's monologue about how you don't need to fear death, you need to fear waking up in the cycle again. It's purposely illegible so that it feels as ghostly as our deceased characters, and I think it adds a nice bit of texture to the piece.

[wesleysniperking]

From Luffy, to Usopp (from a One Piece “modern day” AU I’ll probably never write) ☀️ 🌱

Luffy: I remember the first time I met you. The first thing you told me was a lie, but I believed you anyway. Everyone told me you were lying, but I still believed you because you told me yourself. That’s what made you honest to me.

I think we all come from somewhere in the sky. You told me everything in this world—objects, humans, flowers—was real and had a soul. You made me believe that. So when I hear everyone talk about you, I have to listen to their lies because they don’t know you like I do. You’re still here; I know you are. You could be standing right in front of me.

Everyone lies about you because you aren’t here to tell the truth. But I remember the one time you were truly honest with me. You seemed so down, so sad. It was hard to believe because you always appeared so strong and happy.

Now I have to hear people say you were depressed, that I didn’t know you at all, that you had a darkness inside. How could I see darkness when all you showed me was light? You always blinded me in a good way. So why aren’t you here? Why aren’t you in the front row, laughing at me, saying, “You’re so stupid, what are you doing up there giving a speech?”

You were a bad liar, and so am I. But you were there for me, and now you aren’t. You were the only one who could go along with my craziness, who could play with me, who could be at my level of fun. Yet, you could also ground me, bring me back to reality, and say, “Maybe we shouldn’t do this because it’s not right.”

I don’t know if I’ll ever find someone like that again. You used to compare me to the sun, saying I was the brightest thing in your life. I never told you this, but you were like air to me. You gave life to everything around you. Even now, it feels like I can’t live without you.

But you’re still here. You breathed air into all of those who loved you, and I’m surrounded by that. I can breathe again. You were the most genuine person I knew. You claimed to be a superhero, to slay giants, and I believed you. The last thing you said to me was, “You don’t understand, I am a lie.” But no, you weren’t a lie. You were the realest person I knew. You were air, you kept everything alive. Somewhere in the unknown, wherever people go after it ends, you’re there. Alive.

Context: I've been reflecting on Usopp and his role within the crew. He's that one person in the friend group who is full of life and always making everyone laugh, but beneath that vibrant exterior, he hides a lot of darkness and depression. It's a heartbreaking reality that many people only discover these hidden struggles of a loved one or friend when it's too late.

I recently read a fic that compared Luffy to the Sun and Usopp to a plant, and it resonated deeply with me. Usopp, as a character, has undergone perhaps the most growth in the series. He brings life to the crew and gave life to the Merry. Through his storytelling, he breathes life into things that don't even exist. Plants produce oxygen, which is essential for human survival, just as Usopp's presence is vital for the crew.

When I think about what would have happened if Usopp had left the crew back in Water 7, I can't imagine Luffy carrying on with just his sunshine alone. Without sunshine, there is no life, but without plants, there is no oxygen, which is equally crucial. This idea led me to write a piece imagining Luffy giving a monologue about Usopp, in the event that he were to leave this world too soon.

gif link credit

Usopp fan club (join if you want to)

[barricadescon]

Barricades 2024: Schedule for Sunday, July 14

Welcome to the final day of Barricades 2024!

All times are in UTC, and can be converted to your local time zone at this link.

Key to types of Panels:

Convention Administration panels: Panels run by the Con Committee, to open and end the convention.

Guest of Honor: Special panels from our guests of honor. This year, our guests of honor are Jean Baptiste Hugo, a descendant of Victor Hugo who will discuss his project photograph his ancestor’s house; Christina Soontornvat, the author of the award-winning Les Mis retelling “A Wish in the Dark;” and Luciano Muriel, playwright of the 2018 musical play “Grantaire.” 

Fan/Academic Panel Presentations: Panels on history, fandom, or analysis of Les Mis. Scholars will share historical research, fans will share hobby projects, and the audience may get an opportunity to ask questions. 

Social Meetups: Casual unstructured time to meet up over video call and chat!

Social Games: Games and activities.

Publishing, Podcasting, and Promotion

Saturday, 15:00-16:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation Presented by: David Mongomery, Alexiel de Ravenswood, Nemo Martin Recorded: Yes

Whether it’s fanart, Tiktok videos or deep historical analysis, lots of us have THOUGHTS about Les Mis we’d like to share with the world. This panel discussion features creators sharing their advice on how to share your work with the world in a range of mediums.

Femme/butch: Dynamics of Gender and Attraction in Les Mis

Saturday, 15:00-15:30 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation Presented by: Eléna Recorded: Yes

In Eléna’s words: “This is a presentation about parallels between femme/butch dynamics and les mis! The focus is on Marius, Cosette and Eponine and their individual gender presentation and attraction. There will be a focus on the original text, but I will also talk about headcanons & representation in the fandom space! I’m a femme myself, but I’ll try to incorporate butch and transmasculine viewpoints!”

Lee’s Misérables: Jean Valjean, Confederate Hero

Saturday, 15:30-16:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation Presented by: Sarah C. Maza Recorded: Yes

Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables (1862) was as big a success in the United States as elsewhere in the world upon publication, hailed throughout the young nation as the commanding masterpiece of modern French literature. Why would a novel that celebrates violent insurrection and radical republican ideals be so warmly received in America? One of the (many) answers to that question is that the novel appeared in the midst of the Civil War, and that it provided engrossing reading to the many soldiers stuck in place for weeks or months in camp, hospitals, and prisons. Most surprising, though, is the evidence of Les Misérables’ appeal to Confederate soldiers (who jokingly called themselves “Lee’s Misérables”), as Hugo was on record as an ardent abolitionist. My paper will illustrate and explain the paradoxical appeal of Hugo’s novel in the South in two contexts: first, I will draw attention to the ways in which Confederate nationalists likened their cause to the European Revolutions of 1848; and second, I will explain the novel’s resonance within what Wolfgang Schievelbusch has called the “culture of defeat,” the emotional resonance, in some historical contexts, of narratives of doomed causes and heroic failure.

Guest of Honor: Luciano Muriel, playwright of “Grantaire”

Sunday, 16:00-17:00 UTC 

Session Type: Guest of Honor Presented by: Luciano Muriel Recorded: Yes

Panel about the details of the creative process behind the show Grantaire, from the discovery of the character during the playwright’s first reading of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables to the opening night of the staging at the Teatro Pradillo of Madrid. Why Grantaire? Why a dramatic monologue? Why include Amaral songs? What did the awards and subventions entail? All the answers to these and many other questions.

Break

Sunday, 17:00-18:00 UTC

1848 in Chile: The Society of Equality and the Siege of La Serena

Sunday, 18:00-19:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academc Presentation Presented by: Duncan Riley Recorded: Yes

While the Revolutions of 1848 are traditionally seen as a European event, they had a powerful influence in Latin America. In Chile in particular, university students who studied in France during the revolutions would lead a movement to oust the conservative dictatorship that had ruled the country since the 1830s. Inspired by the poetry of Alphonse de Lamartine and the ideals of utopian socialism, a group of Chilean intellectuals and artisans founded “The Society of Equality,” a cross-class political club dedicated to creating a democratic and participatory republic. Inspired by these ideals, in 1851 the citizens of La Serena, a mining town in northern Chile, declared their independence from the central government. Members of the Society of Equality transformed La Serena into the torchbearer of their vision of a new “democratic republic” that would restore civil liberties and grant greater autonomy to Chile’s provinces and municipalities. In defense of these principles, La Serena endured a months-long siege by government forces. The conflict inscribed itself within broader international dynamics of revolution and empire, as the British Royal Navy Intervened on the side of the government, while French immigrants built barricades to defend La Serena from invasion. Ultimately, then, La Serena and the Chilean Revolution of 1851 provide a fascinating window into the transatlantic exchanges of ideas that drove movements of democratic reform in both Europe and Latin America during the Revolutions of 1848.

The Unknown Light Examined

Sunday, 18:00-19:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Presentation Presented by: Madeleine Recorded: Yes

In the tenth chapter of  Les Misérables, Bishop Myriel sets out to perform the last rights of Conventionnel G, a man reviled by all of Digne for having served on the body that voted to execute the king during the French Revolution. The bishop and the dying man debate the nature of equality, divine authority, and resistance to oppression. G’s fierce defense of the French revolution and Myriel’s staunch condemnation of political violence represent diametrically opposed philosophies, but the two men have more in common than first appears. They are both men of faith, in their own way, called to serve by their profound love for humanity. Intensely shaken by this realization, the bishop kneels before the dying sinner and asks his blessing.

What does this role reversal signify? How do Myriel and G’s conceptualizations of God and morality compare, and why does Hugo seek to reconcile them? To answer these questions, this panel investigates the thematic implications of this chapter. We’ll dissect the characters’ debate, discussing the historical and religious context that informs their moral frameworks—and Hugo’s depiction of them. Drawing on analysis by literary scholars, we’ll situate Hugo’s portrayal of the bishop and the conventionnel within this same context, evaluating the extent to which G is based on the Abbé Grégoire. We’ll also examine the impact of this chapter on Bishop Myriel’s characterization and symbolic role in the novel. Lastly, we’ll explore how “The Bishop in the Presence of an Unknown Light" serves as a political and philosophical thesis for Les Misérables.

Revolutionary Rants: “Les Misérables” Onstage from an International Perspective

Sunday, 20:00-21:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Presentation Presented by: Tessa, Anne, Kaja, Marie, Apollon Recorded: Yes

What started out as an open call online to gather fans from around the world to rant about the musical version of Les Mis has turned into a group of musical fans from four countries getting together to discuss our different perspectives of various international productions of the show. Topics include our favorite cast albums, how our favorite character interactions are staged in various productions we follow (including Enjoltaire), our favorite actors from the different productions, and our favorite memorable moments from the show. And we would be remiss if we didn’t mention the major impact the 2012 movie had on us as well!

Paint & Sip

Sunday, 20:00-21:00 UTC

Session Type: Social Game Presented by: Psalm, Potatosonnet Recorded: No

A short presentation on the artwork of Victor Hugo, his medium and subject matter, followed by crafting time inspired by Hugo’s work.

Les Mis Letters: Building a Book Club

Sunday, 21:00-22:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic presentation Presented by: Mellow, Eccentrichat Recorded: Yes

There are 365 chapters in Les Miserables. Les Mis Letters is an email subscription that sends you one chapter of Les Mis daily for a year.

Rachel and Mellow have been running the “Dracula-Daily” inspired Les Mis readalong since 2023! Mellow will speak to the behind the scenes process of setting up a Substack and discord server, while other readers will speak to the experience of reading Les Mis for the first time in this format or the small projects they’ve put together while following along.

Les Mis Singalong

Sunday, 21:00-22:00 UTC

Session Type: Social Game Presented by: Megan Recorded: No

Let’s let loose by belting out our favorite Les Mis songs together! All singing abilities welcome and encouraged, it’s virtual after all 😀 It will be musical-heavy but we’ll be sure to throw in some other fan favorites!

Closing Session 

Sunday, 22:00-22:30 UTC

Session Type: Convention Administration Presented by: Convention Committee Recorded: No

Closing remarks by the convention committee, marking the official end of the convention.

Dead Dog

Sunday, 22:30-24:00

Session Type: Convention Administration Presented by: Convention Committee Recorded: No

 “Dead Dog” is a fandom slang term for a laidback “afterparty” that happens when a convention has officially ended. 

[ahmedmootaz]

Hello Ahmed! This time, instead of questions about the cast, I want to ask questions about you. What's your favorite fic for LobCorp/ruina/limbus? Imo yours (TMFOA/AiP) are my favorite simply because of the depth that you go into and the characterization the cast being in point. Second, how far would you say you are from your next chapter, and do you plan on implementing a segmented release like how you did chapters 26/27? Lastly (cast related fic), since you're technically God in your fics, how would the cast react to your existence (Assuming they don't know that they're fictional, only that you made their world. We don't need any existential crisis on top of the mountains of angst!!)

Dear hncdhnmfr,

Oh, questions for me, personally? You flatter me too much, but hey, who am I to complain about it? Also, hey, would you look at that! I'm actually responding to an ask before 24 hours have passed since it was published, what has the world come to?!

On a more serious note, I feel you certainly deserve a quicker response considering the ludicrous wait you had to go through last time, so apologies again for that.

So for you questions...Ironically enough, for as much as I write about it, I don't read too many PMverse 'Fics, mostly because I can't find Ayin 'Fics that have a focus on his as I want them to, although off the top of my head, Silent Resonance by KABN (https://archiveofourown.org/works/31268576/chapters/77295107) and A_Random_Reading_Person's LC works (https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Random_Reading_Person/pseuds/A_Random_Reading_Person/works?fandom_id=14487746) have always scratched my itch when it comes to Eyucar content and even Roland-centric stories. They're not bloated messes like my 'Fics, they have lots of monologues and character introspectives, and frankly speaking, they're a lot fluffier than my works. Who can say no to some PM fluffiness at last without having to suffer a whole ton of angst to get to it?

As for how far I am from the next AiP Chapter...that's an answer I wish I had covered. I'm writing more and more of Epilogue II every day, but honestly...it doesn't end. It keeps going on, and on, and on...although I have hopes I can finish it relatively soon, I also had plans to release it in August of 2023, soooooo...take from that what you will. What I will say is to keep your eyes peeled for April or May, or so I hope.

Also, yes, it's definitely going to need to be split into two parts, believe me. Even if I don't want to, the Archive editor can't post a Chapter that's longer than 500K characters...

As for that last question...I don't think of myself that way at all, not in the slightest sense. I would say I am closer to the Narrator when it comes to my role in the plot of AiP; sure, I write some elements, but I just nudge things in the right direction while letting the Narrator explain what, exactly I nudged and in what direction...at least, that's how I would describe it if I were to place myself within the Canon of my PM 'Fics.

So how would the cast react finding out I exist...honestly? They'd probably laugh it off or think I'm just another power-tripping lunatic from the City, although once they realise what I'm truly capable of, maybe they'll be resentful I didn't just write "Oh also Carmen suddenly unDistorted" or did something to aid them on their journey, which is frankly a good question. An answer of "well, you were never in any real danger, and lots of people love reading about you since you're celebrities" will sound more unhinged than I would intend to come off across, but with the correct wording and explanations, I'm certain that we can have an amicable relationship of sorts. Although Ayin and Yesod would definitely begin to worry if every action they partake in has been nudged by me or whether it's whatever free-will they have acting.

Overall, considering the nature of the City, it's not far-fetched to say they can get used to it...the question is just what, exactly, they'll go through before getting used to it. Hatred? Confusion? Indifference? All are possible options considering how wide the range of our dear cast is, although I'm almost certain the primary reaction will be anger for all of the angst I've pushed them towards for our sick pleasure, but then again, maybe I can argue my way out of that one by saying that in the end, the events I pushed them towards led to better results in the end, no? It's quite the fun thought exercise!

What do you think, hncdhnmfr? Surely you have your own opinion, hmmmmm? Regardless, and as always, thank you for your fun ask! I always look forward to them, and I hope this one makes up for last time's delay. Until next time, be well, take care, and see ya'!

[choosejoyangel]

Stephen's monologue is greatly appreciated. It resonated deep within my heart and soul. Toby and Stephen were good friends regardless of their differences. Instead of blocking each other, they chose to be friends! Whether or not you believe in God, you are capable of being a kind-hearted person. You do not have to be perfect, but open your heart to compassion for someone else different from you.

We live in a world where if someone is an apple and someone else is an orange, the banana is shamed no matter who they choose. All three pieces of fruit may be good fruit, but there is supposedly no right choice! Because of a few bad apples and oranges, all apples and oranges are bad. Shame on the banana for seeing each other for what they all are, fruit. Shame on me for seeing each other for what we all are, human beings.

I created my blog to be a place where everyone was welcome. It still is a place where everyone is welcome. Do not expect me to scroll through every single blog to determine who is worthy of my attention. Realistically, there is not enough time in the day for that. I try my best to be who everyone expects me to be, but I am unable to fulfill everyone's wishes. I can only be me. God is love. I try to be the young woman God wants me to be, full of love.

Instead of going out to enjoy life and smell the flowers more often, I waste my energy wondering what I did wrong to be subjected to hatred. I never said I was perfect. There are moments where I have made mistakes, but I am able to learn from them! I am not a mistake. I am not a mistake for trying to figure out my own path in this one life I am blessed to live! None of us are mistakes!

It is silly how I deleted so much of what I have shared or liked on here, because I was trying so hard to be perfection. One of my worries are that I am leaving everyone and everything out. If I do this, I must do that. Honestly, it is not fun. The other day, I broke down crying after I thought I had offended someone else. Online or offline, it is like I can't make everyone happy. I can't make everyone happy.

The person who has a piece of my heart for being sparkling glitter in the darkness has inspired me to choose positivity over negativity. Some of you try to deny who they are, because they are who or what you hate. Open your heart. People who love rainbows and have faith do exist. My command of the English language may not be perfect, but that is where my heart takes over. Jesus loves you even if you don't love Him. Jesus doesn't pick and choose who is worthy of His Love and Compassion. Why should I be any different?

I love all of you. Try not to prejudge each other. Imagine a better world. Dreams can come true. Let's be friends. With love. :)

[greenhappyseed]

After 376, I am ready for whatever WILD shenanigans are gonna happen with TomurAFO, Original Recipe AFO, Yoichi/OFA, and Erasure. Let’s start by looking at AFO’s monologues and going back 20 chapters, right after AFO’s initial defeat by Endeavor. AFO says his original body served its purpose and was designed for the scrap heap anyway, so why not try Rewinding himself? Hawks even characterizes this as a “massive yet suicidal power-up.” Once fully formed out of the ashes, AFO says his only task is to “rescue Tomura” from the UA sky coffin (which he could gloopy warp into once he gets close enough). Pretty basic so far….

Then we cut to Izuku giving Tomura an epic beat down using Second’s quirk during its alleged 5-minute time limit (are we gonna twist fate to extend that?). While we don’t learn Second’s name, we do learn (1) AFO cried when he found out he was defeated by a quirk that amounted to a “peashooter;” and (2) AFO/OFA are resonating together, leading Yoichi to realize that AFO isn’t quite as melded with Tomura as his bragging about a “perfected” body would have you believe. Tomura appears to be bursting, as if the power of AFO is exploding out of him (is he having a change of heart a la Nagant??), and yet….TomurAFO still believes he hasn’t yet USED his perfect body, because Erasure has prevented him from using any of his quirks. He is trying to stall for time and wait for…something…to happen so his “true” power can be unleashed. TomurAFO even addresses Yoichi directly and says that he has a chance to win. He has not yet burst. He can win if Spinner releases Kurogiri.

When we go back to AFO, he’s telling Hawks how his grand plan is to thwart the future of the whole world, because he’s so influenced by the comics of his youth. Ah, youth. (Midnight would be proud, RIP.) But then AFO says “the experiences of one’s youth determine the entirety of one’s life.” Okay, that’s not true, objectively, but also wow, so predetermined and fatalistic! Not a growth mindset on this guy. He then goes on to add, “more than anything else, I place faith in a person’s emotions.” (Remember when he told young Tomura that heart is power? What experience in his youth showed him that?) The context here is that Spinner’s emotions from his younger days predicted Spinner would make it to Kurogiri and do AFO’s bidding. But what about AFO’s younger days, hmmmm? What made him identify with the bad guy and want to “thwart the future of the whole world?” What emotions are within a rewound AFO? I would have said he’s beyond emotions other than holding grudges (which he does just so he can prove his superiority)…EXCEPT for AFO’s tears as he choked (presumably killed?) Second and realized his “weak” brother beat found a way to beat him.

And then AFO says the quiet part out loud: “In the truest sense, that body is not yet complete. There’s a reason why this version of me is still essential.” HUH? Didn’t he JUST say “This body had already served its purpose?” Well yes, but he was talking about the body that turned to ash in Endeavor’s flames. His new, rewound body must be able to do something that TomurAFO cannot. Something that would permit the perfection of TomurAFO. That would allow him to unlock the “true value” of his body.

So, to recap:

We have a 230-going-on-113 AFO full of mystery quirks and hatred for those who work together to stop him; his dream since childhood has been to thwart the future of the whole world, but he’s on a time limit until he rewinds out of existence.

We have a not-quite-perfect TomurAFO who may be on a time limit before he bursts, and who may not have all the hatred that he’s “supposed” to have (as Mirio uncovered).

We have Izuku on a time limit with Second’s quirk or else…something (bad?) happens

We have the Manual-Aizawa-Monoma trio keeping TomurAFO under Erasure. Unfortunately, things are looking dicey. Manual’s water is affected by the storm winds, Aizawa holds the Erasure quirk in his body but can’t use it himself, and Monoma can’t blink or else TomurAFO is unleashed…oh, and Monoma is on a time limit as soon as he stops holding Aizawa’s hand.

AFO really has multiple routes to win if he escapes Hawks. For example, he could steal any of the Manual-Aizawa-Monoma quirks and release TomurAFO from Erasure. (He could kill them too, although he’s wanted Erasure from a while and could probably use it to stop his rewinding. That is, if he can rewind himself then surely he can erase himself too.) Hell, he could simply separate them and put distance between them, which I’d laugh at because he’d be using the heroes’ own strategy against them. OR … rewound AFO could steal OFA while his “other me” is under Erasure. At that point, TomurAFO can defeat the rest of the heroes without quirks. And that’s not even counting the Twices taking over Japan, the Todorokis burning Japan, the strange weather patterns threatening the world, and the powerful countries around the world competing to placate AFO. OR maybe it’s just that AFO needs to kill that last little bit of Tenko that’s hiding deep inside Tomura; he needs to make sure Tomura feels unloved to keep Tenko in check.

Depending on how far AFO is rewound, he could even be in possession of a lil stockpiling quirk, giving him the key to open the OFA “vault” without stealing the quirk. If he’s truly back in possession of quirks his old body gave away, there might be LOT of descendants and “resonating quirks” out there under his control. How many “Versions of ME” does AFO have?? Buckle up now ‘cuz it’s gonna be a bumpy ride, whee!

[quote-tournament]

What makes a quote good to you? Are some quotes not as appealing to you as they are to others?

“In quoting others, we cite ourselves.”

-Julio Cortazar

“Minds of people need a good revolution and great quotations are good revolutionists!”

-Mehmet Murat Ildan

Quotes about quotes, meta

I wasn't sure if this was for the ask game so I'm also going to actually answer under the cut

To me, good quotes are quotes that are impactful outside of their context. I've seen some of yous in the notes going "well you didn't give the context, of course this quote is losing" and I understand the sentiment, but a quote within a story isn't a quote, it's a line.

Let's take the Revue Starlight quote for example:

"For heros, there are trials. For saints, there are temptations. For me, there is you."

It is a beautiful quote, I am easily seduced by anaphoras and gradations, so I really like it. But it doesn't have the same meaning it does within the context of the story, we don't know the characters, we don't understand the tension between them. We only get a glimpse of it. What this quote means to a Revue Starlight fan is wildly different from what it means to someone discovering it in a white box.

What makes a quote impactful then?

I think there are two things:

• How much it resonates with the reader

A quote might have no impact on me but change someone else's life, because we don't have the same experiences. That's why I wasn't very selective with the submission form, if someone submitted a quote, then it meant something to them, even if that something was just a funny moment.

Earlier, someone said about the Chonny Jash quote "those are words I want to spit at my mother" (I am paraphrasing), that is a good example of a contextless quote resonating with someone's personal experience.

• How much can be conveyed in as little words as possible

You might have noticed how the longer quotes tend to lose when faced with one liners. That's because the amount of words drown out the force its meaning. By the time you have finished reading, you don't remember how you were feeling after the first sentence. There are breathtaking paragraphs that makes terrible quotes for that reason. Especially if the paragraph contained more than one idea. The more ideas you have in a single quote, the less impactful each of them are.

All of that brings us to a quote that seemed to be very well liked, although it didn't appeal to me much

"Calm. Kindness. Kinship. Love. I've given up all chances at inner peace. I've made my mind a sunless space. I share my dreams with ghosts. I wake up every day to an equation I wrote 15 years ago from which there's only one conclusion: I'm damned for what I do. My anger, my ego, my unwillingness to yield, my eagerness to fight, they've set me on a path from which there's no escape. I yearned to be a savior against injustice without contemplating the cost and by the time I looked down, there was no longer any ground beneath my feet.

What is my sacrifice? I'm condemned to use the tools of my enemy to defeat them. I burn my decency for someone else's future. I burn my life to make a sunrise that I know I'll never see. And the ego that started this fight will never have a mirror or an audience or the light of gratitude. So what do I sacrifice? Everything!”

-Luthen Rael, Andor (2022)

It is a beautifully written monologue that must be a catalyst within the story, but it makes for a quote that doesn't work for me.

A part of it is that I don't know the story, I don't know where the anger comes from or what the sacrifice is. I don't know that character at all and that makes it hard to understand his struggles.

It is also a bit long, there are different ideas: what he has lost, his saviour complex, his self destruction, and his loneliness. That is a lot to grasp for a single quote.

And most importantly, this anger doesn't match my personal anger, it doesn't resonates with me.

That's an exemple of a quote that doesn't appeal to me that much, but I can see why it would to others

[miercolaes]

ANON  SENT  A  TOTAL  OF  FIVE  IN-DEPTH  HEADCANON  QUESTIONS

what's  your  muse's  relationship  like  with  their  grandparents?

wednesday  loves  her  family,  even  the  extended  one.  she  grew  up  with  grandmama,  who  taught  her  how  to  poison  others  and  she  also used  to  teach  her  about  life  before  pugsley  and  her  ultimately  went  to  school.  although  they  seemed  to  have  somewhat  distanced  themselves  from  one  another,  whenever  wednesday’s  at  home  she  helps  her  grandmama  with  cursing  particular  individuals.  it  became  a  tradition.  then  there’s  granny  frump  whom  wednesday  poisons  or  curses  every  now  and  then  along  with  grandmama.  from  wednesday’s  perspective,  it  comes  out  of  a  place  of  love.  as  for  the  other  great  grandparents  that  are  affiliated  with  the  addamses  and  wednesday,  it’s  safe  to  say  wednesday  and  morticia  regularly  go  into  their  cemetery  to  conduct  séances  and  disturb  them  from  their  eternal  sleep.  wednesday  keeps  in  touch  with  everyone,  no  matter  their  status  (dead  or  alive).  she  loves  her  family  more  than  anything.  and  it’s  probably  the  reason  wednesday’s  so  oblivious  to  goody  addams  (belladonna  if  you  take  into  account  my  version  of  her)  —  meanwhile  morticia  warns  her  about  all  the  troubles  that  may  arise,  wednesday’s  looking  for  more  clues  to  help  and  get  help  from  her  ancestor.  one  of  her  infinite  times  great  grandmother.

does  your  muse  talk  to  themselves  when  they're  alone?  if  so,  how  frequently  and  what  about?  if  not,  how  else  do  they  fill  their  alone  time?

she  does  talk  to  herself  and  it’s  something  normal.  inner  dialogue,  inner  monologue,  inner  speech.  she  got  used  to  it  when  she  was  a  kid,  talking  to  either  pugsley  or  thing,  but  it  kept  going  into  adulthood.  as  it  turns  out,  it  helps  her  go  over  things  she  missed  in  the  first  place  and  it’s  therapeutic.  it  happens  moderately  i  think,  whenever  she  cooks  up  some  mischievous  plan.  this  also  happens  whenever  she’s  writing  for  her  novel.  if  your  muse  is  ever  around  her  when  she’s  writing,  they  would  catch  wednesday  asking  the  characters  questions  or  blatantly  judging  them  and  chakling.  it’s  her  way  of  understanding  things,  of  enjoying  them,  of  seeking  the  end  results.  however,  if  wednesday’s  not  talking  to  herself,  it’s  probably  because  (1)  she  isn’t  herself,  most  likely  possessed  or  (2)  she  actually  went  mad  and  is  talking  with  the  voices  inside  her  head.  the  latter  means  the  monologue  truly  is  within  her  mind.

what's  one  movie  your  muse  can  quote  front  to  back?

normal  people  would  think  it’d  be  something  like  psycho  or  silence  of  the  lamb,  but  no,  actually,  it  is  legally  blonde  and  10  things  i  hate  about  you.  especially  10  things  i  hate  about  you.  wednesday  resonates  a  lot  with  kat  and  she’s  disgusted  about  how  she  allowed  patrick  in.  truly  tormenting.  a  halloween  tradition  to  watch.  also  the  scary  movies  franchise,  but  the  first  one  will  be  her  all  time  favorite.

what  tv  show  character  does  your  muse  relate  to  the  most?

raven  from  teen  titans.  she  also  serves  as  an  inspiration  for  writing  wednesday,  not  accurately,  but  from  what  i  remember  watching  on  cartoon  network  in  the  early  2000s.

does  your  muse  have  any  funny  nicknames  their  friends/family  used  to  call  them  as  a  child?

little  viper,  little  storm  cloud,  little  death  trap,  little  scorpion,  little  black  cloud,  little  tormenta,  pig-tailed  protégé,  little  rain  cloud,  little  ghoul.  anything  with  little  in  it.  she’s  tiny.  a  tiny  sized  wanted  criminal  for  atrocious  crimes.

[cinematic-collections]

SLC Punk: Raw Punk Rock Cinematics

SLC Punk, a cult classic released in 1998, is a film that invites us to journey back to the 1980s, into the world of two irreverent and colorful punks, Stevo and Heroin Bob. While critics have often analyzed the film from a sociopolitical perspective, I'd like to take a different approach and focus on the underlying message that seems to resonate with the eternal spirit of rebellion and self-discovery.

Instead of viewing the movie through a lens of punk counterculture as a mere backdrop for teenage angst, I believe that SLC Punk delves into the quintessence of what it means to be a true individual in a society that urges conformity. Stevo and his anarchist gang might appear rebellious on the surface, but beneath the mohawks and wild parties, there lies a poignant exploration of the human condition.

The film speaks to those moments in life when we all feel the urge to rebel against the status quo, to fight against the established norms and find our authentic selves. Stevo, portrayed by Matthew Lillard, serves as the unapologetic mouthpiece for this anarchic spirit, delivering monologues about the essence of punk, life's contradictions, and the paradoxical nature of rebellion itself.

In a world often ruled by predictability, SLC Punk champions the idea of embracing one's own uniqueness, even if it means walking a path less traveled. Stevo and Bob's friendship, though full of contrasts, demonstrates the beauty of finding genuine connections beyond the surface differences.

The film's appeal lies in its ability to draw parallels between the punk subculture and the universal human yearning for freedom and individuality. Instead of dismissing the punk movement as merely juvenile rebellion, SLC Punk celebrates the resilience of the human spirit and the importance of staying true to one's convictions.

Moreover, the film tackles themes of loss, grief, and the inevitability of change. Beneath the raucous party scenes and irreverent humor, SLC Punk holds a touching vulnerability that reflects the fragility of youth and the heartache that accompanies growing up.

Critics may have focused on the accuracy of the portrayal of punk culture or the nihilistic tendencies of the characters, but SLC Punk is more than just a snapshot of a subculture. It resonates with anyone who has ever questioned the system, fought for individuality, and navigated the tumultuous waters of self-discovery.

In conclusion, SLC Punk is not your typical teenage rebellion film or a mere exploration of punk culture. It is a love letter to the spirit of defiance that resides within all of us. With its thought-provoking monologues, vibrant characters, and sincere emotions, the movie reminds us that the journey to find ourselves is one worth taking, even if it means wandering through chaos and confusion. So, raise your mohawks and give in to the spirit of rebellion, for SLC Punk celebrates the beauty of embracing your own unique chaos amidst a world that demands conformity.

[charliespringsleftconverse]

The Barbie movie resonates so deep. And I didn’t realize it until days later. When I saw the movie I was like, “That was nice. That message was too loud for my taste but nice.”

And then I went about my normal life, and life did her thing. Laughed in my face is what she did. She said “oh, you don’t see how the (America Ferreira’s) monologue relates to you? Hold on to your piña colada, bestie.”

I’ve always taken care of my family. I’m always making sure everyone feels heard and no one gets left behind. You’re not feeling well and need to stay back? I’ll stay with you. What do you need. Are people speaking over you? Let me capture their attention so you can express your opinion. Just so many things. Little things of course. But they accumulate.

I’ve always felt like a mother to my brother and I always kind of chucked it to being the oldest. You’re supposed to watch out for the little ones, no? He’s always been prone to tantrums so Ive always had to teach him that we don’t throw our shoes at people when playtime is over. But I’ve always been the only one doing the teaching. For my parents, I’ve always had to apologize for their behavior because my dad is oblivious to what he does and doesn’t do and my mom exhibits the same anger driven behaviors my younger sibling has learned.

This entire week that we were supposed to be on vacation everything felt multiplied. My brothers anger was over the roof when we didn’t see eye to eye. My dads obliviousness skyrocketed and he was always walking a million steps ahead of us in these sketchy places almost like he was racing an invisible force, leaving all of us to fend for ourselves. My mother‘s frustrations at everyday life was a constant from not just the heat but especially to things beyond her power because she couldn’t control unexpected events.

I’m always the one to apologize to my brother. I’m always the one calling out my dad. I’m always the one reassuring my mom that all will be well. I’m always the one. And I didn’t realize how exhausting and draining it was until I was the one who needed help.

Now that we’re on our way home from this “vacation,” my body became physically exhausted and started trembling from exhaustion the day before. I got a cold yesterday. And today, while brushing my teeth, I somehow managed to pull a back muscle and can’t bend and barely sit down. I was sharing a room with my brother when that last one happened and through all the deep lamas breathing and yelps, not once did my brother ask if I was okay. And when I told him, he didn’t ask how he could help. So I explained that I just needed him to massage a spot on my back. And when my dad called us asking where we were because the taxi arrived 30min early, I got nervous because I had spent all morning trying to get my back to work properly rather than getting ready. So I wasn’t ready yet. And I started crying. And my brother told my dad I was hysterical and stressed because the taxi was there…rather than explaining I needed help and was in pain. And within a minute, my brother was downstairs. Leaving me to fend for myself with an injured back. I was barely able to get ready. My mom kind of helped. She was the only one to come into the room and check on me. I don’t know how I made it downstairs. Probably out of spite. Idk.

By the time we got to airport, everyone knew that my back was in pain. I put my backpack on and grabbed our bag full of everyone’s snacks and food and carried on. I’m doing an awkward walk across the airport, mostly shuffling. How I got my bag off my back and back on when going through airport security, I have no idea. I blacked out. Couldn’t tell you. Blame my cold.

As we’re getting to our gate, my dad asks if he wants me to give him the huge bag of snacks and things I’ve been carrying. And I just…like I’m at the gate already. I’m not sure where you’re going to carry it to. And what comes out of his mouth is something along the lines of “don’t get mad that you’re carrying all these things when help was offered.”

It’s like I’m supposed to be grateful for the crumbs. Like sir, what you’re offering is the bare minimum. And I’m suppose to accept it like it’s cold water and I just hiked the longest trail of my life. OH YES. THANK YOU THANK YOU. YOURE SO KIND. Like sir, at best, this is a baton race that I ran and you’re just standing on the finish line waiting for me so you can claim the win.

All in all to say that I only just now realized that I’m always watching out for everyone else but I forget that even those closest to me don’t care for me the same way. I’ve always been taught to be caring, to be giving, to put others first. That’s what a daughter should do. What a sister should do. And now here I am sitting in an airport, in a foreign country, congested and in pain only just now realizing that I forgot to care for myself. Because I wanted everyone else to be happy. I wanted everyone else to have a good time. And now here I am physically and emotionally sick. And all it took for this self realization was a damn Barbie movie.

There’s something ironic about a plastic doll teaching you about the human experience.