#the contrast for my internal monologue to go from

[forzaferraris]

NOTHING MATTERS — op81

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! engineering intern! reader

summary: the best way to get over someone who broke your heart is to get under someone else and (unintentionally) break theirs. / inspired by nothing matters by the last dinner party, listen on spotify here !

style: primarily written with a single smau element at the end.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, smut, unprotected sex ((p in v) please wrap it before you tap it)), oral (m! receiving) finger sucking, sub/don undertones but nothing serious, i swear on my life oscar piastri is a grunt and groaner but simultaneously considerably vocal during sex (i will die on that rock), afab! reader, readers kinda uncaring about who she hurts because she’s hurt, reader is referred to as she/her, miscommunication trope, oscar piastri has been in love with reader since the beginning of the season and just assumed one-sided pining. authors refusal to write with capitals, you can pry them out of her cold dead hands.

faceclaim: sofia dirado, although feel free to imagine reader as anyone else.

word count: 4.1k +

YOU WERE NO STRANGER TO HEARTACHE.

you fear it followed you around more often than not, like a dark cloud that covered your entire existence in this bubble of heartbreak that nothing ever felt good to you, nothing was ever worth it. from your parents divorcing after years of suffering in a loveless marriage to every single relationship you’d ever been in never making past the first time you sleep together — you’ve genuinely felt about giving up on life, going so far as to consider a life as a celibate nun or maybe not, perhaps just the life of a girl who burns through multiple packs of AA batteries using her rose toy.

however, when you’d met levi, your first year of finally being allowed to leave the mclaren technology centre to shadow tom stalland during the 2023 f1 season. you genuinely thought this man had reshaped your entire perspective of love, he made love easy, made loving him feel less like a sport and more like a hobby you could never get sick of, being with hom felt like you’d been going through all the “firsts” all over again, like a cheesy romance movie monologue.

and yet, here you are, sat in your hotel room after the japan gp, suzuka has always been your favourite gp to watch and unfortunately for some reason, instead of standing in the mclaren garage doing your job, you’re sat clad in your team clothes (a stark contrast to the white bed linen) and sobbing over a text message paragraph explicitly telling you that levi has decided to break up with you after he fell in love with someone else during the summer break, someone who “rewired his brain chemistry in a ways you could never do.” you want to get angry, you wish you were an angry person, instead when you got angry you cried, when you got too happy or even just laughed too hard you cried, you were a crier.

your heart is heavy, as you scroll through the other woman’s posts, she’s gorgeous, and that’s where you begin your myriad of self deprecating comparisons of you to her. you doom scroll for what feels like forever until you spiral even further down the heartbreak rabbit hole, your attention drawn to the fact that levi had both unfollowed and removed you as a follower at some point between when he said goodnight and then broke up with you the next day. you watch as stories of their summer break spent together is shared and your jealousy sends you into a blind rage that you block the both of them; because ultimately you knew that he will hold her life he used to hold you — for levi was boring, a one trick pony you’re only just now coming to terms with.

your disheveled appearance and self imposed seclusion from the events of the day were not left unnoticed, you’d resigned yourself to just stand on the outskirts, occasionally moving to sit down and watch the screens as the friday practice begun, you’re uninterested, unmotivated and trying your dandiest to not cry, for the sole reason of simultaneously not wanting to draw unwanted attention to yourself and the fact that the mascara you’re bought at the duty free at the airport was most definitely not waterproof.

the good thing was that you’d be in japan for the rest of the weekend, the worse thing was you knew not s language lick of the language — sure you could probably call someone an idiot in japanese thanks to the sheer amount of one piece you’d watched eith levi during days he didn’t want to do anything you had planned or suggested; however, the single knowledge of know the word idiot in japanese will not get her very far. you’re almost too zoned out to notice the first free practice had finished, oscar’s team engineer tom standall dismisses you, tells you that whatever happened before you came to track is to be sorted out before it potentially jeopardises a race and without a word or argument against hai decision you shuffle out of the garage and into the paddock.

“name, hey wait — wait up” a voice you’ve only heard considerable muffled by a racing helmet and through large oversized noise cancelling team gear headphones when you got to play pretend engineer whenever it was during his practice laps and his qualifying laps, it sends a shiver up your spine, always has and you’re unknowing if it always will.

“oscar? hey! you did so good today, from what i say, p3 is so awesome how are you not more elated about that!” you’d found yourself smiling, wide across your face and sinking into the gentle rhythm of the conversation with oscar. the smile he returns is equally as wide as if his whole face were smiling, you want to punch him — the cuteness aggression playing devil on your shoulder.

“oh nah, i am actually it just hasn’t like kicked in gully yet, i’m waiting for the full body visceral reaction i’m about to have,” he pauses for a brief moment, hands itchy to fiddling with something snd find solitude in dragging one hand after the other through his tangled and sweaty hair. “like just, honestly, jesus christ and in japan of all places fuckin’ hell” he seems both simultaneously out of breath and ready to compete in a marathon.

had it not been a considerably formal setting you swore you can picture him jumping up and down on the spot whilst trying to contain all of his excitement, you allow him to be excited not wanting your own mood and misery to overshadow his complete and utter elation at his podium win. it’s the first time in the few days you’d been moping about that the smile you give off reaches your eyes and oscar’s always paying attention to these things, unbeknownst to you of course.

“your excitement is infectious, surely the team have planned something celebratory for you! you’ve gotta celebrate this i’m sure lando is!” you can’t help but practically beam, you’re mesmerised by the excitement the unashamed amount of happiness this boy is oozing and the bitter feeling in your stomach over it all is just barely going by unnoticed.

oscar shakes his head, overs a tiny shrugs and barely gets another word into the conversation you teo ate having before he’s whisked away by the team to be dragged off towards the podium, you watch as he shakes the bottle of champagne onto lando and max. any and all brief untouched moments of happiness are immediately replaced when your phones buzzes, a notification alert from your ring door bell and the video supplied of your now ex boyfriend grabbing whatever stuff he’d left at your apartment. the situation just breaks your heart even further than when with the whole of the mclaren team being called upon for s group shot with both the boys and their podium wins you ignore it and decided you’d had enough of it all.

the hotel’s quiet as you tap your keycard against the inside of your hand waiting for the elevator to come back down, the traffic from the track back to the designated hotel meant you’d wound up leaving just as all the other drivers had and whilst you weren’t in the mood to face anymore interactions you were lucky to bypass the small group of fans loitering in the hotel lobby. the elevator itself is slow, like most and the way your stomach drops at the incline is almost akin to how you felt when you’d first received that break up text at the start of the week.

if there was one thing you were thankful for, it was the fact the hotel had a bar just off the lobby, which is where you’d found yourself, skirt a little too short, shoes a little too high and too the perfect amount of booby that you won’t get in too much trouble but also attract someone willing to take away the ache in your chest for the night.

you’d been sat at the bar for just under an hour, occasionally chatting to some of the other patrons but mostly the bartender herself; the paper straw mushy and impossible to drink out of sits on a napkin as you sip on the glass uncaring or the lipstick mark on the rim or the smudging it does to your own lipstick — in fact you’re hoping something else smudges the lipstick further if the night doesn’t continue to progress as slowly as it is.

“can i get a beer, whatever you’ve got in the bottle and another one of what she’s drinking” there it is again, the chill on your spine and the heightened sense of the hand that brushes past your ear to give the bartender a bank card. every single nerve ending in your body is on fire when the stool beside you in moved and a body now begins to occupy it, perhaps you’re a bit drunk, you’d already had two of these and what if the different alcohol consumption laws you’re unsure how much alcohol is actually in the fruity little cocktail you’d ordered.

“oscar piastri, i thought i told you to go celebrate your podium with lando, why are you still at the hotel?” there is is, a tone you’d never thought you’d use with someone who wass essentially your bosses boss, which therefore makes him your boss, and yet here you are — sultry tone and lips loosened by the alcohol in your system, shamelessly flirting with him.

“well, you see, i’m more of a pub person than i am someone who prefers nightclubs and being touched and bumped into by random strangers, i fear that’s more of a lando thing than my own” oscar laughs, the way he’s relaxed and carefree shows signs he did however, get roped into pregaming with lando beforehand, the neck of the beer bottle sits between his index and middle fingers, a comfortable position one you're sure would feel weird if you so much as tried to mimic.

you fear you're done for when it comes to watching the way his throat bobs as he takes a swig of the larger, it's a japanese brand one you've never heard of nor tried and you can tell oscar hasn't by the way his nose scrunches at the taste, he still continues to drink it though. time seems to float by, growing continually more comfortable with one another to the point you'd sauntered away from the bar stools and are sat perhaps not even an inch apart in a booth in the corner.

"favourite race destination, so far?" "monaco. most definitely, melbournes a close second, but that's just because of a personal bias" "personal bias?" "yeah. . . you."

you'd never thought to combine the flavours of japanese beer and strawberry liqueur, and yet here you were, back-pressed and arched up against the wall beside a hotel room that not yours, the elevator ride was one stop too long to have it be that you'd gone back to your hotel room, hands, not your own, are roaming places never thought to be touched, the bluntness of their nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs has your separating from the kiss to lean your head back and full indulge in the simple pleasures received in this moment. arousal builds when soft lips find the pulse point in your neck, your choice signature scent perfume the most aromatic in that area brings a subconscious reaction from oscar, the thigh between your legs juts up and you also convulse right then and there, your own hands ove from holding the back of his neck to drag through his soft, product-free hair, tugging on the last few strands that slip through your fingers.

the beep of the room door unlocking pulls you to your senses, and a hand tight around your waist drags you inside, you cling onto him in the worst way possible, you can see the smudges of lipstick on the corners of his mouth and god, does he look beautiful. you're unsure for a moment, even if the alcohol had loosened you up a little, you still didn't know how to react around oscar, he's looking at you in a way you can't describe, it makes your stomach flip and you're eager, thighs clenching to distribute the friction of your building arousal. you want his lips on yours again, there's zero space between you, you're simply sharing each other's breath.

his hand finds the back of your neck, tangled in your darkened locks and pulls you back in for a kis, is soft, he must moisturise your brain supplies before it fizzes out, the kiss is messy, all teeth, tongues and spit. you whimper into the kiss, knees buckling, your own hands are on a mission sliding under the hem of his shirt to perfectly feel the warmth that radiates off his skin against your cold hands, you can feel the exact moment your cold touch makes him hiss into the kiss and it finally ignites the fire in your stomach. this is what you want.

you two remain lip-locked until your chest hurts and you've traded the same breath back and forth that it's completely died, when you pull away, you finally take notice of the blown-out pupils staring down at you. his a look entirely of lust, desire, arousal and it shows, especially with the bulge in his pants. your bottom lip finds sanctuary in between your teeth when you raise an eyebrow and one of your hands slips out from under his shirt to palm him through the cargo shorts he'd donned to wear.

if oscar's voice sent a shiver down your spine, the way he groaned at your touch against his bulge chilled you from the inside out, the noise rough and gravelly like he'd not uttered a word in weeks, it's deep and low in his chest that you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't practically flush against him. your hand continues to palm him, making riskier moves as your other hand moves to dip your fingers into the waistband of his pants, you don't wait, you don't even need to ask for permission when his own hands are practically shucking off his own clothes for you.

he looks so gorgeous standing right in front of you, the wet patch you can only assume of precum on the front of his boxers has you licking your lips involuntarily, you try to ignore the voices, fight the urgers but you're but a simple girl, eager to please, that you're flicking your gaze up at him as your sink to your knees, the carpet is soft enough against you but you know better and are already seeing the red marks you'll have the next morning.

oscar looks confused for you in the briefest of moments, your nails dragging along his thighs, soft blonde hairs tickle your finger tips and you bite back the sweet giggle you want to let out as you're finally tugging his underwear down. a moment of shock halts your movement, eyes flicking up and down between oscar's gaze and his cock, tip pink, throbbing and leaking — it's a sight to be seen and you're the one who gets to gaze upon it.

your hand wraps around him, fingers barely meeting at the girth and you moan, can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth, your oral fixation working into overdrive, a single flick of your wrist has a louder groan rolling out of oscar's mouth, a quick "fuck" followed after it that as you once again clenching your thighs. your hand sets an easy rhythm, tried and true, one that allows for long strokes at a steady pace and your thumb to swipe between the slit on his tip that has his stomach clenching. his own hand grabs at your hair, both for something to hold onto and to keep it out of our face when you inch closer and allow your tongue to tease his tip with small kitten licks.

"fuck, fuck, name, fuck suck my cock"

the verbalised plea is all you need to finally wrap your lips around the swollen head, the saltiness of his precum mixing with your spit as you moan around him, your tongue swirls around his tip every time you pull back, only to resume bobbing your head and matching the movement of your hand to the pace you set as you take more of him in your mouth, your mouth feels so full and you can practically feel his dick pulse against your tongue when your other hand moves to squeeze his balls.

"holy shit — where did you learn that, fucking hell"

you smile when you pull away, uncaring of the drool that rolls down your chin, oscar seems not to mind either when he's pulling you back up to kiss him, your hand still stroking him slowly. he can taste his pre cum still on your tongue and as someone who'd assumed he wouldn't be fond of the idea, seems more or less enjoying it solely because it's coming from your mouth. his tongue overpowers your own and he's licking in your mouth with such severity that you can feel your own wetness pooling in your panties, had you been horny before you were now basically unbearably horny at this point.

your clothes feel bothersome, and your top and bra come off rather quick once your legs meet the edge of the bed you'd been pushed back against. the cool air of the hotel room meets your nipples and you gasp out once oscar's hot mouth chooses to settle on one and his hand favours the other. it's magic, that's what you can choose to blame it on, with the way oscar's fingers tug and twist one nipple all whilst his mouth and suck away on the other, your back arches up against him when his teeth graze the sensitive bud and you swear you could achieve your first orgasm of the night just from that alone.

his mouth switches to give the same treatment to the other nipple and yours that tug and pull on his hair only urge him on more, whining and desperate and what you want to happen is not happening. you need him, you crave him, you desire him.

"please oscar, fuck me"

there is it, the words oscar had been waiting to hear since you'd kissed him, and who would oscar be if not someone who listened when he was asked to do something. he sits up on his knees, jerks himself a couple of times as he watches you, skirt rugged up to your hips, a perfect picture, a sight for sore eyes, so beautiful, all for him to bare witness too. you back arches, your eager and needy and positively soaked you don't even need to touch yourself to know, your panties are finally pulled off and you hiss at the air that hits your center. you're clenching around nothing, sticky and sweet, eager, he looks up as your and you nods a final confirmation before you supply a weak "please" before his tip is aligning with your entrance and he's sliding in.

the stretch is everything to you, he is perfect, your hand stretching splayed out against the pillow as the tiniest whine falls from your lips, oscar grunts, face and chest flushed, you can hear exactly how we you are just from the squelch when he finally bottoms out and you moan loud enough that if anyone had been walking past the room they would have heard. oscar doesn't move, allowing for your pussy to stretch and get comfortable around him before you nod, rolling your hips to signal him to move and move he does.

"you're so tight, holy shit."

his hips rock back and forth into you, it's slow and sensual something you hadn't expected, your legs shift and wrap around his hips and your body rocks back against his thrusts willing him to move faster. unlike past partners, oscar seems to get the hint almost instantly as he pulls out and shifts slightly, hand holding onto your hips before he's sheathed himself back into you entirely in a singular thrust.

you moan out, toes curling and your legs wrapping around him so tight as if you'd practically become some sex-fueled boa constrictor. you swear his muscles are working overtime as his abdomen flexes with every deep thrust inside you, your body abuzz with electricity, the fire in your stomach scorching as a particular thrust has him hitting your g-spot and your back arching receptively.

in a world where you'd thought this was ever possible, all imaginations and scenarios have proven wrong already as oscar's thumb finds solace on drawing circles on your clit, causing your pussy to clench around him and a hiss to drag itself from his lips. to oscar you feel amazing and the flush on your face perfect evidence of his inability to be shy about telling you so and all you can do is ooh and ahh in return. something pulls in your stomach when he bottoms out in you again, your leg twitches and you're hyperaware that you'd just orgasmed around him, vocalising how it feels and your back arching however, his hips remain relentless only to come to a halt as he pulls out; your words are stopped as you're flipped over with a gentle tap against your thigh.

arms stretched out in front of you and your back arched, give oscar the perfect view to just take a moment to stare at your fluttering pussy, clenching around nothing as you suffer through a partially stunted orgasm. fingers drag through your folds and your body jerks at the sensitivity, the dip between them, pumping in and out similar to the rhythm he kept previous, his middle finger hooks and your face is thrown forward into the pillow as it hits the spongey feel of your g-spot, you gasp out hand white-knuckling the pillow as he focusses his fingers on that one particular spot

"fuck osc – fuck want you back inside me"

you don't bother with caring much about how whiney and desperate you'd begun to sound, throat dry from the gasping and the continuous noises he pulls from you, your tempting him, ass swaying as he chuckles, pulling his fingers out, he coo's at you as you whine to mourn the loss of the feeling, teases you as he slips the tip of his dick through your flushed red folds and bottom out with a quick hard thrust. you scream out, the pleasure perfectly combining with the sudden stretch to make the sweetest mixture of pain and pleasure you'd ever felt and to silence you, the fingers he'd just fucked you with had found the way into your mouth and if there was one thing you were, it was a good girl.

the sounds reverberating around the walls of the hotel room are borderline pornographic, the new pace oscar has set, deep and hard, skin slapping against skin as he practically bounces off you, his free holding your hip steady as your own knees buckle and you can feel the way his dick pulses inside you, the way his movements become sloppy yet still hitting your pleasure spot every time. the fingers in your mouth licked clean of your own arousal now replaced to be covered in your own drool. oscar grunts, his hips snapping against you in a final thurst as he slumps forward to press the most delicate of kisses to the nape of your neck as he feels you up and you cum around him for a second time.

it's messy, whatever hadn't spilt inside you now jerked off onto your back as your knees give out and you slump against the bed. worn out and woozy you're hardly paying attention to oscar cleaning up, the warm washcloth drags along your hot, sticky and sweaty skin in a way that twists your brain and brings out the regret that seeps into your stomach, had your legs not been feeling like they weren't attached to your body you would have scrambled to get dressed and done the walk of shame back to your own hotel room; however, you stay, regretfully.

you don't cuddle, oscar tries not to act hurt about it as you roll over and away from him when he finally climbs in himself. to you this didn't matter, you fucked him, like nothing matters. come the morning you'll be gone before he wakes. because this didn't mean a thing. to you as least.

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oscarpiastri oh.

authors note: please excuse my smut skills, i'm rusty a lil ngl. i love a bittersweet ambiguous ending. if this gets enough recognition and asks, i'll definitely more than likely make a part two or even multiple parts. reminder, if you weren't tagged it means i couldn't find your account.

add yourself to the taglist here !

taglist: @iluminaya @therealcap @marshmummy @@im-an-overthinker @a1leexxa @chasing-liberosis @marauderssworld @nesssywrites @valntynebaby @larastark3107 @justtprachisblog

[melrosing]

so stuff I’ve not liked about the finale and S2 more generally…. unfortunately it’s a lot and i'm thinking i might need to say this in several parts but first and foremost: the pacing really was shit and i don't just mean there weren't enough action scenes i mean the whole season they've had almost nothing to say about these characters and have just been making us think they do by having them repeat the same ham-fisted monologues about power and peace and the cost of war and whatever whilst moving at a glacial pace from one minor plot point to another and by the end of it most of these characters STILL haven't changed, and where they have it feels undeserved, and yes they really are at roughly the place they started so what have they even got to show for these eight hours of TV?? like damn

and I do get that the writer's strike has really effected them here and HBO hacking two eps off their season affected them too and that really can't be helped. but the pacing has been pretty poor from kick off and I can't just put it down to this being a more 'internal' season. i do not care about big battles. it's fine to have a season of a show that’s more about the characters’ interiority rather than plot action. that’s the exact reason why I like AFFC so much.

but these characters barely have interiority like idk what to say. some like Rhaenyra, Jace and Alicent have been spouting the same monologues every episode about wanting peace/wanting agency/wanting peace again etc etc, and the more interesting moments like Alicent's apparent suicide attempts, Rhaenyra's butchering of the dragonseeds etc... I mean where IS the interiority here?? unless they are spelling out a character's thoughts in the most literal way they can (as per Jace's diatribes about the dragonseeds), they leave their audience to do absolutely all the work by showing us nothing, and just leaving us to figure that the characters must be having some kind of thoughts but y'all can decide what they are.

and even Daemon, whose entire ARC was about his interiority.... like look I was so so ready to love this arc. i love fucked up little dream sequences. i love harrenhal. i was really enjoying the angle they took with alys. i was here for it. but now we've seen the whole of his S2 arc, im going to say yes, it was intended as a redemption adjacent kind of arc, and it isn't a very good one. Daemon has a handful of weird dreams, gets shouted at by some Riverlands folk, and he's a changed man.

consider the character everyone compares Daemon to (and who I'm always more than happy to talk about) and that's Jaime. and look at the sheer ground covered in ASOS: Jaime breaks out of a dungeon, Jaime meets a younger version of himself, Jaime gets his hand hacked off, Jaime reveals his anime villain backstory in the bath, Jaime deals with Roose Bolton, Jaime has a weird weirwood dream, Jaime fights a fucking bear - and at this point we're still only about halfway through.

now in contrast, what have they actually managed to do with Daemon this season. where has that finale moment with Rhaenyra been earned. this is not slow pacing for the sake of powerful character development, it's slow because they don't have anything else to say.

and also look at the state of characters like Aemond who seemed really promising in S1, yet in this season he barely reflects on the fact that he hadn't meant to kill Luke, and this war is an accident that he started, etc etc - he's just a killing machine lol. there were some nice touches in there, like i say i enjoyed Helaena telling Aemond how he'll die in the finale. but I no longer trust these writers to do anything with their more inspired ideas because they just consistently fail to do so.

look at Baela!!! like my god, has Baela had the opportunity to do anything except A) what she's told and B) counsel men on their feelings. she has like one moment looking at Daemon and you feel like the series is going to explore how complex it is to be Daemon Targaryen's daughter.... but my god they never do!! so where IS this interiority we've spent eight episodes on! what have they got to show for it!!

and i talked more weeks back about how frustrating i've found the writing of women more generally in this series and as of the finale I am finding it so egregious and so condescending. women want peace. women want to protect their children. women are tired of men. women are tired of war. women are trying to end this war peacefully. women are pacifists. women hate violence. and so on and so on and so on like jesus christ who am i even talking about here. even i don't know. it's so boring. it's so dry. and it requires female characters to always be the paragons of virtue, never do anything truly condemnable, never be unlikeable, never fucking anything except stand around saying how much they hate this. im bored of it and it makes me angry that they would do this in a series that specifically seeks to make everyone grey and everyone complex - they keep suggesting that might extend to the women before abruptly shutting it down again. see Alicent and Rhaenyra even STILL, after EVERYTHING, trying to peacefully shut down the war for the sake of love and friendship in the goddamn finale. I don't believe it anymore!! it's not cute! it's just dull!!!

and finally that just kind of brings me to how shortsighted a lot of the plot developments seem, when you see how the characters fail to reckon with their pasts or shit that just happened. Rhaenyra and Mysaria make out, and then that's never mentioned again and the tone never changes between them. Rhaenyra is done thinking about Luke. Helaena is done thinking about Jaehaerys. Aegon actually didn't mention Jaehaerys in the list of things he's 'lost' in that finale. Alicent's relationship w Viserys was just now condensed to 'we were fond of each other but he always liked your mum better'

like idk it's just. if this season's pacing is all about giving characters the chance to change and grow into the people they'll be when this war REALLY kicks off.... do it. write it. do not just write the same monologue a dozen times and hope it'll hit harder with each. doesn't work like that. sorry.

[3hks]

hiii do you have any tips for writing a genuinely misanthropic, evil person without making them seem cartoonish? i’m finding that the character i’m writing doesn’t feel real, and is more like a caricature

Yeah, of course! I talk about this a bit in my blog, so here's a general overview.

Be Careful Regarding Dialogue

We all love a good villain monologue, but keep in mind that just because something sounds good in your mind doesn't mean it'll always sound good on paper. Don't reveal everything through dialogue.

Show Different Emotions

Just because your villain might be wild and crazy (for example), that doesn't mean that's the only emotions they show. What I like to suggest is to show a scene or two when they are going through an emotion opposite of their usual feelings. This way, you can show more internal dimension!

For my previous example of a character, perhaps there's a scene where they hesitate or feel guilty, contrasting their usual impulsiveness and chaos. If your antagonist is cold, then maybe there's an event where they feel surprised, concerned, or even desperate.

Competent

Make your villain competent! Make them someone who is an actual threat to the protagonist. If your audience doesn't take them seriously, that might be because your antagonist seems too underwhelming.

Don't Focus Too Much on Making Them "Bad"

I think that some people are too wrapped up with making their characters seem as evil as possible that they get carried away and end up with an unrealistic character. Keep in mind that no matter how antagonistic your character is, they're still human.

I know you said that your character is misanthropic, so it does make sense for them to appear as a worse person, but don't overdo it!

Show Weaknesses

Your character should be competent, but it's also crucial to reveal some weaknesses to the reader. This could be physical weaknesses, but I also highly recommend hinting at any internal dilemmas/vulnerabilities.

Give a Reason

Why is your character misanthropic? Why do they hate humans so much? A lack of background can make your character seem forced and fake. Their hate should not spawn out of nowhere.

FINAL NOTES

And always remember that an evil character does not mean they should be hated. They might garner dislike from the readers, but an antagonist is not defined by that. There are people who aim to make their villain as hated as possible to verify their "evil-ness", but that doesn't create a genuine antagonist.

Hope this helps! Feel free to reach out if you have any questions!

Happy writing~

3hks <3

[khimkhim]

Small Things

I’ve always found beauty in the quiet changes of life — the way a seedling cracks its shell with imperceptible resolve, growing from unassuming seed to delicate sprout; tightly coiled shoots of verdant flesh unfurling vibrant fronds that glimmer with confident repose.

My lover, Sara, was once a sapling: slender, careful, sharpened by years of self-restraint. But love, I’ve learned, is a greenhouse. Under its humid embrace, even guarded roots swell.

The first sign was her ring. A delicate silver band I’d sized down to fit her slim finger. I told her to wait until she fit the ring but her impatience could not be reasoned with. Within a month of the ring’s resizing, she could no longer fit into it.

She told herself, “it’s probably just hormones, a bit of swelling that’ll go away in a few days.” She left the uncomfortable ring off for a week and tried again after the water weight diminished — sure enough, it fit again! Wait, “oh no” she said to herself. It wasn’t wearable for more than an hour so she hid it away again, concealing a portent she wasn’t willing to accept yet.

A week or two later, I decide to finally ask her why she hadn’t worn her ring, joking that she must’ve lost it. She opened a drawer filled with rings and told me she thinks she’s gained a bit of weight. Almost none of her rings fit her. I feel my skin begin to flush as I look down at the rings. She began showing me how even her big rings no longer passed her knuckle. I looked down at the floor to compose myself before reassuring her that she looks amazing.

I said “Maybe it’s the summer heat that’s causing some swelling in the extremities. The same thing happens to me, especially if I don’t drink enough water.”

It was not a lie; she looked largely the same besides a subtle roundness to her face, hips, and arms, juxtaposing the petite, lithe girl I met a few months ago — but I’d be lying if I said my heart rate wasn’t piqued as I watched her struggle to fit into those rings that fit so recently.

She replied, “You think so? I guess I could be better at my water intake…”

“Of course, it’s not uncommon at all, don’t stress it.”

…

I have a feeling that feeders tend to possess greater powers of observation than most. Voyeurism seems to be an implicit aspect of our kind, except our type of voyeurism is more discrete than its usual form. We’re not watching people undress or have sex through a window; we simply observe people the same way everyone else does.

The contrast lies in our internal monologue:

“Did her side profile always have that little double chin? It seems like she no longer needs a belt for those pants… Am I crazy or have her arms started to get bigger? I know that dress is supposed to be tight but the fabric around the buttons is visibly stretching… Did she always burp this much? Wow, she really enjoys unbuttoning her pants after dinner almost every night now.”

As we progressed into a more exclusive relationship, her shift in eating habits was immediate. She was still a slow eater but a persistent one, leaving her plates empty before asking for my leftovers or another serving. With saucy dishes, she licked the dish clean, savoring every bit of flavor, punctuating a delicious meal with a modest belch.

It’s odd because our form of voyeurism is permissible — Sara’s existence is sensual to me in a way I can’t fully control, which means permissibility can easily drift into exploitation if one’s appetites lean toward excess.

I’m sure some of us relish the surreptitious aspect of this kink more than others; One might encourage a girl to wear clothes a size too small when going out, or arrange her laundry so that her large or athletic clothes are easier to access than her smaller ones, or continuously deny that you notice her weight gain despite your growing attentiveness towards her love handles and tummy while cuddling. Some might even go a step further, an awful, immoral step further, and become shameless servants to her every whim, craving, and fleeting desire.

Is it really so vile to find pleasure in giving pleasure?

To be honest, my convictions were loose from the start. I quickly took note of what her favorite foods were, what she craved when she was on her period, what time she took her lunch breaks, etc. In many ways, I simply wanted to be a loving and attentive partner. In more sincere ways, I couldn’t help myself.

I would make homemade teriyaki bowls and gyoza and take them to her at lunch, defer to what she wanted to eat for dinner whether it was takeout or cooking, never finish my plate and offered her what was left. I’d prepare whatever dessert she craved whether it was cookies, pie, brownies, French toast, etc. She never had to verbalize a craving or desire twice to me. I was and am a willing captive to her appetites, and she an eager patron of indulgence.

The rapture of our relationship concealed the growing number of changes enveloping her. Small changes began to compound. The range of her preferred clothes became noticeably smaller, as did the size of those outfits around her figure. It became a morning ritual to watch her hop and shimmy her growing thighs and ass into pants that were loose a few months ago. Belts were a necessity of a bygone era; in fact, she started to utilize the rubberband trick just to keep her pants closed as she could no longer button them. It was only a few weeks ago that I noticed her consistently unbuttoning her pants after dinner to let her tummy breathe — now her pants were lucky to still be buttoned by the time she got in the door. Large sweatshirts and baggy shirts became a necessity.

She sensed the growing softness of her body, a softness that was once a whisper capable of being shoved into a jewelry box, was now pleading to be emancipated from her strained skims. She stuffed her supple body into them, hiking the hem up below the bottom of her swelling breasts, before glancing in the mirror and realizing she still looks 7 months pregnant. “It’s bloating,” she said to herself as she hurriedly slipped into her technically socially acceptable sweatpants and sports bra (now a majority of her daily outfits).

She hurried into the kitchen, her breasts nearly bouncing out of her bra. I hand her a breakfast burrito which had become her part of her morning ritual, a habit that no doubt assisted in the colonization of her wardrobe by athletic wear. She flurried out the door before stopping and yelling “babe, can you bring me a McFlurry for my lunch today? Please?”

I smile and run to kiss her, “yes, of course, have a good day, baby.”

It’s funny that she even feels the need to ask politely. I suppose even the loveliest flowers practice humility in the morning twilight. Her soft new growth finally cresting over the edge of their stifling pot, ready to bask in the perfumed sunshine they’ve unknowingly sought since the first broadening of their leaves. Her smile was already arresting in its organic beauty; her body could commit excessive force without even touching you. Even small changes on a marmoreal body like hers could spell ruin for an empire, and I’m just a man! Yet in true Hellenistic fashion, I’d gladly follow her muse to the end of history and exalt her with my final breath.

God, I love admiring small changes, the stretch in the seams of her jeans, the steadily growing pile of clothes in our Good Will donation storage bucket, the soft imprint of her breasts spilling over the top of her outgrown bras whenever she wears thin shirts. I tell myself that I’m just a passive observer, a lover without ideology or allegiance. Perhaps this mantra protects me from the truth of my cravings, prolongs the story that I hope never ends. My denial facilitates her denial — if I’m a lover without cause then she’s a piggy without fault.

To her dismay, all of her clothes are starting to feel suffocating. Yet, she’s resistant to buying new ones — wasn’t it only a few months ago that she promised herself to get back down to 120lbs? Is she really on the verge of outgrowing her “chubby” clothes that she never even meant to keep?

At times, it seems as though she’s aware of what is happening, noticing my fascination and attention toward her growing body. She catches me looking at her belly when she leaves the shower before quickly covering herself with a towel. She notices that my hand prefers to rest on her stomach when cuddling, and in response, she’s now gently nudges my hand onto her belly without a word spoken. Sometimes she even openly acknowledges her weight gain, the tightening of her clothes, the swelling of her breasts and hips, while maintaining an almost playful tone.

We were laying in bed one night when she suddenly says, “Remember when this used to be loose?' she whispers, guiding my hands to her hips where her old 'comfy' pajama shorts now cut into her flesh. The elastic waistband had become a demarcation line, creating a soft roll of pudge that spilled over the top. I trace the deep imprints left in her skin, marking where she'd grown too plump for her loungewear. She shivers at my touch, and I pull my hand away, “sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She says “no, it just felt… good. I like when you touch my hips, maybe you could even kiss them…”

I bend down over the roll of soft pudge that was exposed and gently kiss it. She laughs, “sorry, that tickled, maybe bite it a little, like you’re giving a hickey.”

I did as I was told, gripping her soft thigh while aggressively sucking on her love handle. She moaned. She said “Hm, that felt good, maybe you should incorporate that into your bag of tricks for next time.”

She grins and rolls over to sleep, followed shortly by a soft snoring. “Huh” I muse to myself.

A few days later, I walk into the bedroom as she’s struggling to find what fits and what doesn’t. I debate whether I should tell her about my predilections or not. I’ve given most of my self to her already, but there’s still that awkward, unspoken crumb I’ve yet to give her. Small changes go both ways, right?

As she stood in front of the mirror, sighing at the way her sweater clung to her newly rounded hips, I linger in the doorway. “You’re staring again,” she says, not turning around. Her voice was light, but her knuckles whitened on the hem of the fabric.

“Not staring,” I say. “Admiring.”

She meets my eyes in the reflection, a flicker of vulnerability in her gaze. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? If this… bothered you?”

I step closer, my hands hovering at her waist. “Does it bother *you*?”

She hesitates, then leans back into me. “Sometimes. But not when you look at me like that.”

My thumbs traces the curve of her love handles. “Like what?”

“Like I’m something to worship,” she whispers.

I grip her tightly, kissing her gently on her forehead.

“You have no idea how much I worship you, Sara.”

In that moment, I tell her everything, even the voyeuristic aspect of it. I admit that my obsession with pleasing her is both an expression of genuine love and an aspect of my sexuality that I genuinely do not know how to disentangle.

“No matter what, my infatuation is not transient or dependent on a single thing other than you. I have loved you from the beginning and I’ve loved you more every day since.”

She looks up at me and chuckles “You’ve loved me everyday since because I’ve been fatter every day since?”

“Stop, I’m being serious” I say while laughing.

“I know” she whispers as she melts into my arms.

Despite revealing everything to Sara, I did not feel the relief that I hoped to feel. We went about our days as normal, not really acknowledging what had happened. I still cupped her curves when we cuddled and kissed every part of her when intimate, but there was tension that existed where none existed before. I wondered if I had ruined things. If I had ruined us.

In order to reignite our connection, I planned an elaborate date night at home that included her favorite flowers, a sparkling tennis bracelet, her favorite meal, dessert, and a movie. She seemed caught off guard when she came home, followed by gratitude. Around midnight, we lumbered to bed without much energy for sex, just cuddling.

As we laid down, I noticed her shirt rode up as she stretched, revealing a sliver of stomach. My breath caught—not at the softness, but at three faint, parallel lines glowing pink in the lamplight. She followed my gaze and yanked her shirt down. “Bug bites,” she said too quickly.

I said nothing. But that night, I dreamt of roots breaking through soil, of bark splitting to make room for new life.

The next day, Sara wondered at her body as she washed herself in the shower. With small physical changes comes small psychological changes as well, and both begin to work upon the other, gaining more and more inertia before bursting into a new, spacious expanse. Anxious excitement swelled within her as she examined herself in the mirror as she began to dress herself for the day.

For years, she kept herself closed off and focused on moving forward, occasionally allowing herself to be accompanied by one of the many suitors that buzzed around her. After experiencing abuse in her youth, finding herself warped into an object of desire for another to use, she guarded every part of herself. Beauty, pleasure, desire — these concepts were things she craved, feared, and utilized for her benefit and maturation. Her power over them meant she had power over the way others perceived and treated her.

Then she met someone that had no interest in taking away her control, instead offering himself to her. She was invited to be seen and acknowledged as a whole person and not just a delicate, pretty flower to be admired and discarded. She resisted at first, unaccustomed to being treated with sincerity and reverence. Then, she blinked. She opened her eyes and found herself in a state of abandonment, her world usurped by love — their world.

This was the catalyst that cracked the small, unassuming seed deep inside of her. Their love strengthened as the days passed, providing more nourishment for the budding flesh inside of her. Her self-confidence was rooted in a new foundation defined by security and unconditional love. Had this not been the case, she probably would not have ignored her weight gain for as long as she had. Fears over her body faded whenever loving hands massaged her back, rubbing her knotted insecurities into oblivion as he’d dig into a tense spot with one hand and conspicuously rest his other hand on her love handle, kneading with both hands as she felt herself losing all resistance… slipping away…

*SNAP*

The sound of threading ripping jolted her from her daydream. She looked down just in time to watch the button of her largest jeans shoot across the bathroom like a silver bullet, pinging off the mirror before rolling under the sink. The denim gaped open, revealing the deep creases her softening belly had worn into the fabric's stress points. She ran her fingers over the reddish indent marks stretching across her hips, she held both hands around her paunch, grasping its heft.

“No wonder these pants finally gave up” she thought as she sighed and bent down to get the button…

*RIP*

“Are you kidding me,” she couldn’t help but laugh out loud to herself as leaned up, turned around, and saw a large tear down the middle of her pants revealing her purple panties.

She remembered something I had mentioned the other day about my kink, how she kept acting out his fantasies without even realizing it. She remembered me telling her that I had to hide my erection every time she struggled to put on clothes clearly too small for her. “Hmm,” she thought, before folding the torn pants, placing them on the bathroom counter with the tear facing up, and the button resting right next to it.

She took one of her lipsticks uncapped it, hand hovering near the mirror as butterflies danced in her stomach. Was she really about to do this? The torn pants on the counter seemed to dare her forward. She thought about how his breath caught whenever she complained about her clothes getting tight, how his hands seemed magnetically drawn to her softest parts. The lipstick touched glass and her heart raced as she began to write, each letter a small act of liberation, a reflection traced with crimson streaks like the stretchmarks she’d once resented.

[1moreff-creator]

What are some dynamics (in terms of like, foils/parallels) that you enjoy in DRDT?

you’re staring at a forest and asking me for every tree i like. do you want me to write another 28k word post /lh

I jest, of course, but not about the number of interesting foils in this series. It does a fantastic job tying everyone into several key themes in ways that make their dynamics endlessly enriching for my silly little character parallel-loving brain. So, uh, get ready for a long-ish post?

CW: One mention of self-harm, self-loathing

Teruko-David: I mean, you gotta start at the center, yeah? David’s the closest thing to a “main antag” we have, and it’s no wonder; the guy’s built like a standard DR protag, obviously he’s gonna have a cool dynamic with the actual protagonist. 

These two could breathe a bit weird and somehow parallel each other doing it, that’s how much this foil permeates both their characters. From their fatalistic outlooks on the world (“my luck will always be terrible, I’ll always be betrayed” vs “people can’t change, the world sucks”), the ways they hide their feelings (Teruko was more distrustful than she first presented herself as, but cares about people more than she shows during most of CH2; while David has an entire different persona up to 2-11 and then pretends to be worse than he actually is), the self-loathing (Teruko refuses to think she could be a good person, David has the whole “inhuman” thing going on), down to the oddball sibling figure (Terubro “I know nothing about you” Tawaki vs Diana “I’m not even sure you exist” Chiem).

There’s their feelings about Xander and Min, too, which are all over the place. Obviously we all saw in 2-12 how much the British twink fucked both of them up severely, with Teruko rejecting any positive or yearning feelings she may have had about Xander (you can’t hide the cactus scene from us girl) while David vehemently defended him from any criticism. On the other side, Min is less of a narrative poltergeist (for now; XF-Ture exists), but she still comes up with them, with David calling her pathetic eleven episodes after Min hugs Teruko and Teruko’s internal monologue gives away how much she cares about the Student. 

And these parallels play into their weird-ass dynamic very well, because their beefing is founded on their similarities and their differences, out of projecting their self-loathing to someone similar at the same time they hate each other because of their disagreements on things like Xander. Crazy stuff.

Xander-Min: Mentioning these two second because they’re also Eternal Parallels. There’s almost not a single thing about these two that isn’t somehow reflected on the other. If you projected them onto each other’s direction, you would get no perpendicular component. Get it, ‘cuz they’re completely parallel- That is, by far, the nerdiest joke I’ve ever made, I apologize.

But come on. Their attitudes towards fate (the Rebel fighting it and Min resigning herself to the XF-Ture thing), the whole “holding on to the past vs wanting to move on from the past” thing, the similarities between how they actually feel about the education system (they have issues with it) contrasted with the things they actually do in respects to that (Min is still the Ultimate Student, but Xander dislikes that), their already mentioned contrasting connections to Teruko and David… Just, absolutely everything about them is a meaningful contrast. And it comes into play a lot, with their eternal beef being born largely out of these parallels. They’re awesome.

Teruko-Ace: Pretty topical for post-CH2. Ace’s entire arc is sort of a reflection of Teruko’s, yet taken to the extreme because of one particular point of contrast; Ace feared death, Teruko doesn’t think she can die. But he still basically serves as a demonstration of all the flaws in Teruko’s all mindset; the feeling of unchangeable fate, the complete lack of trust, all the good stuff. It basically allows an exploration of Teruko’s mindset from an outside perspective, which makes it easier to see the flaws in it.

Ace-Nico: Also topical, these recap foils go kinda insane. Their motives for murder, their contrasting talents (love for animals on Nico's side and fear of horses on Ace's), the way they relate to the rest of the cast, Ace's persecution complex vs Nico actively disliking how much Hu defends them, etc., it’s all very fun to see play out. 

Ace-Levi: The one who doesn’t care but protects others and tries his best to be a good person so he can be accepted in society without having issues, vs the guy that acts like an asshole because he’s scared of caring too much and he thinks the only way he can get out alive is by being the only one to survive. This leads to a fundamental misunderstanding between them that causes some of the most doomed yaoi of all time, which is the whole “Levi getting frustrated at not understanding Ace.” 

Arei-David: You’ve presumably watched 2-13, so I don’t think I need to explain all the awesome stuff that’s come from their shared themes of “good people” and self-betterment and all that. Not to mention, David’s little breakdown over Arei trusting the letter of the only friend she had being presumably born from the way he saw Xander as the only friend he had. Shit goes crazy.

Arei-Eden: Recap foils… Good people… The choice to be kind… Etc… Woah :O

Teruko-Charles: Ah, Teru’s recap foil. This one’s basically opposite of Ace’s, where Charles used to be sort of like Teruko acted in CH2, but later became a bit friendlier, if still somewhat prickly. Basically, if Ace highlights Teruko’s character traits from CH2, Charles post CH1 serves as more or less the “end goal” in a way. It goes beyond that, too, with the whole memory issues (prosopagnosia vs childhood amnesia) and, again, mysterious siblings (Terubro and Elliot what are your deals), so it’s always neat to rotate these two in the brain.

Veronika-Levi: We really don’t know too much about Vero, which always makes it a bit harder when analyzing these dynamics, but they already got some interesting points of contrast. Neither of them are particularly concerned about the deaths of the others, at least post-CH2 (Levi doesn’t grieve and Vero actively laughs at Ace’s death), but it comes from almost opposite ends of perspective. Levi doesn’t understand others because he doesn’t feel much empathy (if any at all), while Vero seems to treat the others not as people, but almost as characters to be analyzed (that’s the impression I get, at least), which makes her come off as very good at reading people but also occasionally causes her to see them as sources of entertainment first and foremost. Not to mention there’s also the fact they’re both very different people than they were in the past (Levi was some form of delinquent and now is a good person, Vero used to be outdoorsy and then no longer was). Wow that’s… more than I thought there was- How am I finding more interesting foils just by writing more???

Hu-Levi: I kinda talked about this in my CH2 PT2 analysis so read that ig.

J-Rose: A pair of recap foils who haven’t had too much yet, but a lot of their themes, in particular about fate and privilege and stuff, are pretty noticeable with them, so this is always a fun dynamic to consider.

Levi-Arturo: More recap foils, this one’s fun because of the dead family member :) Also things like their talents being related to aesthetics and both doing the things they do for a better life.

Veronika-Hu: This one’s kinda more hypothetical, since Vero in particular hasn’t had as much direct focus as other characters yet, but that’s part of what makes them fun. Past history of self-harm (even if brought on by very different feelings) is just the first of many parallels they could have, and it’s fun to see the contrast between Hu defending Nico to the ends of the Earth and Vero talking about how much she likes Arturo because of how awful he is. They’re really silly.

David-Whit: All the recap foils are fun, but I've always struggled to see this one in particular. Partly because I feel like I know less about Whit than I know about Mai :v Still, certain things like Whit ignoring anything that upsets him which connects to David constantly lying about his real feelings for his fans, which is probably what leads to David's outburst at Whit in the second trial.

Teruko-MonoTV: Because fate. Really this is here plainly because it’s just a funny as hell dynamic to even consider lol.

Teruko-Mai: Have they interacted? Has Mai had enough screen time to truly determine that this parallel truly exists? Do we even know a single theme that Mai’s character touches on for certain? No and it doesn’t matter! Because these two are clearly connected somehow and the whole “someone dearly loved - someone dearly unloved” thing makes me ill. Mai is getting mentioned in this post and you're not stopping it.

Mai-Whit: Fuck it! “We tend to idolize the dead” dynamic!!! It's very speculative, but this one’s just fun to ponder even if we have even less idea of what could be going on between the two than with Mai-Teruko.

Anyways ready for a few themes that run through a lot of characters?

David-Levi-Nico-Rose: The “feeling disconnected from the rest of humanity’s experiences” gang!!!

Min-Rose-Hu-Veronika-Arturo: The “wants to move on from the past” gang!!!

Min-Arei-Teruko-Ace: The “trying to fix mistakes” gang!!!

Teruko-David-Eden-Arei-Levi-Xander: The “what makes a good person?” gang!!!

Teruko-David-Xander-Min-J-Whit-Ace-Rose-MonoTV-Probably everyone else: Fate!!!!

And there’s more than I’m probably forgetting because I can’t possibly check every conceivable connection between these guys. At least I hope I covered most of the major ones. Thanks for the ask, these dynamics are always fun to think about!

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully moments from s6

finding gibson in episode 1 and doing her best to comfort him- holding him, calling him "sweetheart", and saying that his scars from surgery don’t look that bad

(all while he can hear her thinking that he looks like frankenstein🥲she KNEW he could read minds and still tried to lie and make him feel better!!!!!! because she is so kind!!!)

(and then she loses her mind when gibson is taken from the hospital!!!)

when she yells at the intern for breaking quarantine protocol in episode 2, and then demands the CDC show up in level 2 OR BETTER anti-contamination suits! 

her terrible lying skills being put to the test when some guy thinks she’s from the FCC... she goes along with it as best as she can and with minimal stuttering

hallucination and/or time warp scully translating german for mulder in episode 3 (the hair… the dress… her telling him to get his nazi paws off of her… yeah💗)

the gunmen showing up at the office to get her help finding mulder: “the walls have ears” “i have ears, will you tell me what’s going on?” (<- i love when she is snippy, bahaha)

yelling at skinner when he refuses to help (“no, sir, YOU’RE out of line!”) and threatening to kill spender to figure out where tf mulder ended up (“i want you to do me a favor. it’s not negotiable. either you do it, or i kill you. you understand?”) (and then mumbling “oh god, oh god” “what am i thinking? what am i thinking?” “stupid, stupid”... i love impulsive and reckless scully so much <3)

(and her apology on the elevator for accidentally smacking that lady as she nervously fidgets... she is still trying to be kind despite the circumstances!!)

she is so overcome with relief when skinner finds out where mulder is that she KISSES HIM ON THE LIPS- and then skinner, who has to pretend to be mad at her when others are around, doesn’t miss a beat and starts yelling at her as SOON as he steps off the elevator… yeah. shoutout to her for being unhinged and him for having the improv skills needed to pull off such a situation

she did NOT want to explore a haunted house in episode 6 because she had holiday cheer to spread!!!! and it might even be a white christmas!!!

a few minutes later, she does an amazing monologue about her fears while investigating- she admits to being afraid, even if she know it is irrational. the best way to fight off fear is by infodumping on human nature!

scully refusing to take lyra’s attempts at analysis at face value- including that barb about their “intimacy through codependency”, yelling that she doesn’t know her!! (a very interesting contrast to mulder, who mostly just accepts the claims)

holding actual ghosts at gunpoint like a badass... and then proceeding to pass out when she sees their very lethal bullet wounds

this interaction with cindy the secretary in episode 8: “i don’t understand… has he… don’t y’all need a warrant or subpoena or something like that?” “we usually just say please” <- LMAO, that is the queen of efficiency!!

confessing her romantic philosophy to a woman she just met, saying that “one day you look at the person, and you see something more than you did the night before. like a switch has been flicked somewhere. and the person who was just a friend is… suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with” (mind you, all this takes place immediately AFTER she denies having any feelings for mulder, lmao)

she didn’t have permission to test skinner’s blood in episode 9, but she took it anyway because she needed to save him, and i deeply respect that about her... rules are mostly to be followed, but there are some very important exceptions!

and then she runs into the operating room and DEMANDS that the doctors listen to her!! therefore saving his life!!! even as the head doctor yells "who is this woman?" <- that's special agent medical doctor motherfucking scully!!!!!

when skinner comes back to, she tells him that she promises they will take good care of him and do absolutely everything they can, even though she knows he is dying 🙁 (and it is only her idea to filter his blood that keeps him alive until krycek strikes with the cure)

kersh tries to make her work with this random agent ritter in episode 10, and she initially INSISTS that she will only take the case with mulder (she is shot down, but the rage in her voice was awe-inspiring)

and then she has so much righteous fury against agent ritter for trying to convict an innocent party (“i thought we were looking for the truth”)

AND when he starts going off, talking bad about mulder and her, saying he'll tell kersh if she messes up "his" case, and calling her “dana”, she declares that she is SCULLY... “and we’re done with this conversation” (not sure if i ever loved her more than at this moment)

leaving the stakeout on felig to just... knock on his door and tell him to explain what the hell is going on. and then joining him for a car ride.

and while doing so, she intervenes when she sees a woman on the street being harassed, because she cannot stand injustice in any capacity (said guy doing the harassment calls her "red", and she smacks him in the face)

going to felig’s apartment- playing hardball and asking why he shouldn’t go to prison, and then listening to his tale of trying to see death’s face. she claims she doesn’t believe him, but he says she does, or why else would she be here?

“how can you have too much life? there’s too much to learn, to experience” she says, having recently come back from death's door. and then she asks felig about love, trying to understand his point of view which is so different from her own

getting in his face insisting that she is NOT going to die when he says she will- she wants to live, she wants a LIFE- and when she is shot, she follows his instructions, looking away from death when it arrives for her

visiting cassandra in episode 11, telling the nurse that she is an old friend and looking for a wheelchair so they can head outside; cassandra is so excited to see her and tell her that she can walk again!

a very angry and wet scully figuring out that her and mulder were probably brought to fort marlene in episode 12, because she knows her secret facilities based on travel time, even as she is locked in a cell with no clean clothes!!!

AND THEN telling diana that her idea of cassandra having a contagious disease that makes you blow up is the most ridiculous thing she has ever heard- before getting so mad she gets up and walks away!!! that is amazing self-control!!

every DIY doctor moment scully had in episode 13: wearing a bandana in lieu of a mask to investigate greer’s wounds; holding tongs over a candle to disinfect them; demanding they get him in the tub NOW; wearing yellow rubber gloves and a chef’s apron as she delivers a baby at gunpoint AND figures out that the octopus beast can be defeated with the power of freshwater… unparalleled!!!!!!

(and her little smile when dales says she is amazing for doing all of that 💗 “if agent scully had not been there with you, i shudder to think what would have happened to you. i’d say you owe her your life” + “if i had someone as savvy as her by my side all those years ago in the x files, i might not have retired” she is so used to not receiving acknowledgement!)

holding mulder’s dying body in her arms over and over again in episode 14, and trying to convince the robber that shot him that he can still do the right thing and let everyone escape... even though it never works 💔

recording their search for clues on a little camcorder as they went undercover in episode 15 (and later she asks if she can pick the names next time, implying that they'll pretend to be married again)

she notices the caduceus on mike <3

JEALOUS scully in episode 16 as mulder explains how he knows karin the canine expert- “oh, so you two are chummy?”- and taking a disliking to her right away (“i don’t think the wolfwoman is here to speak to me on this”, she says, walking away)

telling mulder that karin CLEARLY has a crush on him, which he laughs off...

then sitting her down to diagnose her and accuse her of manipulating mulder, warning karin that she is watching her (and she was right on all counts) (protective scully ❤️❤️❤️)

going detective mode in episode 17- analyzing the placement of bullet shells yet the lack of bullet holes; tracking down the location of june’s missing sister- AND she also knows the hospital code for a c-section, which she finds on a bill and cracks the case open for them

she arrives to meet the gunmen in las vegas in episode 20, the first words she says to them are “where’s agent mulder?” and they scramble to come up with a story as to why he isn’t there

scully snapping on her mask to do her autopsy, cutting the dead guy's ribs open, and then the poor woman getting drugged- she's barely able to form a sentence afterwards (“hi, cutie!” “what killed him?” “my medical opinion? beeeeeeeeeeeep. that’s all i know”)

declaring that she “likes hickey”, petting his face before he drags her away from the 50 men trying to light her cigarette (her laugh…. <3)

despite having a very sad and hurt face when she gets injected with the cure, she sleeps it off in time to go participate in the gunmen’s latest scheme to save the day (and then promises to kick their asses when she learns mulder wasn’t the one who invited her there)

while hallucinating mulder’s funeral in episode 21, she loses control, screaming in skinner’s face “where is mulder? what have you done with him?” (yeah, that is the GOOD angst i signed up for!)

when mulder's in the hospital in episode 22, screaming inconsolably and acting violent, she tries to have the doctor let her speak with him because she is convinced that he would still never be a threat to her, even when he is no longer himself

and then when she realizes something is up with diana and skinner, she calls them both liars right to their faces and heads out to find a cure for him on her own (!!!!!)

[allgirlsareprincesses]

Love At First Sight (2023)

Okay, we’re going to talk about the new Netflix romance directed by Vanessa Caswill, Love At First Sight, because I’m seeing almost no chatter about it and that cannot stand. Full disclosure, I’ve never read the book on which this movie is based, The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight, so I’m reacting only to the film (which I’ve now seen 4.5 times in 2 days).

The Surface Reading

It’s a perfect, tight, adorable little RomCom that’s heavy on the Rom and light on the Com, with a wrenching dash of angst and the most hair-twirling chemistry between two leads that has graced our screens in years. Truly, if all you want is 90 minutes of two actors being saccharine precious cinnamon rolls, look no further!

There are simple takeaways here, like that chance can only take you so far, but in the end you have to choose to love. Or that change and loss are part of life and you can’t run from them. Or that London is a massive labyrinth of eccentric people that probably looks 400% cooler onscreen than it is in reality (I wouldn’t know, I’ve never visited, so this and the 90s Parent Trap are the extent of my knowledge about the city, sorry).

Anyway, I adored how straightforward the story was - that the narrator (played brilliantly by Jameela Jamil) tells you directly in the first two minutes that it’s a story about love, fate, and statistics. She then repeatedly describes every development as it is happening, the characters’ histories and internal monologues, and all the context you need to follow the thin but fast-paced plot. The writing, performances, and production design are all solid, allowing the audience to get lost in the romance as it unfolds.

BUT if you’re slightly unhinged like I am and you’re always looking for more layers in your media, HAVE NO FEAR! There is in fact more going on in this little movie than you might expect.

Color Theory

For starters, the use of red and green in the film is fascinating. Yes, I realize the action of the story takes place a few days before Christmas, so you might assume it was just a seasonal aesthetic choice, but if you look closer, you can see very carefully selected shades of red and green repeating throughout the film. The red is a cool, deep rose color, sometimes pink, while the green is cool and dark, like oxidized bronze rather than emerald. Further, while they appear over and over, these hues are rarely used in a purely decorative or festive way. Instead, they play a role in the separation and coming together of the couple. On a color wheel, red and green are complements, perfect opposites that are never adjacent but always joined in the middle.

The title card during Hadley’s introduction is literally a green stripe over a red stripe, then the hallways of the airport are green, and of course Hadley’s ever-important backpack is a rosy red. As the couple grow closer on their flight, the light turns pink. Once in London, a green van takes Oliver one way while a red taxi takes Hadley the other. At her father’s wedding, Hadley is dressed in red (“the color of a bruise” she calls it), contrasting beautifully against her green jacket. Upon realizing Oliver’s true purpose, she chases after him on an iconic red double-decker bus. Meanwhile at the living memorial, Oliver’s father is dressed in red while his mother wears a faded green, as if to say she is already beginning to fade away. The event is decorated with green drapery and streamers, and there are even stacks of red and green chairs in the stairwell where Oliver begs his mother to receive treatment.

Hadley gifts her red and green bouquet to Tessa, and when she is driven away, a green-clad narrator returns the red backpack to Oliver. Wandering London alone, Hadley exchanges her painful red heels for a pair of green trainers (“sneakers!” she insists), and tries to call her dad first in a red phone booth and then on a phone from a stranger sitting in a cluster of red chairs. Finally, Oliver chooses to pursue Hadley to the wedding reception which is lit in pink, and where they finally share the long-awaited kiss.

There are many more examples, but in general we see that green indicates separation and loss, while red symbolizes joining, intimacy, and (what else?) love! It lends the film a gorgeous, subtle aesthetic without being garishly festive, and shows the lovers’ emotional journey from lonely childhood to vulnerable, loving adulthood.

Death and Rebirth

Speaking of which, there’s plenty of rebirth imagery too! When Hadley and Oliver meet, they are both still children, struggling with the impending loss of parental security through divorce and death. Thus, when they board the plane, it is as if they enter an underworld or womb, separated from their families and remade as new adults. They emerge on the other side into a hallway (read: birth canal), as each must still confront their own dying childhood before they can join as full and equal partners. Hadley journeys to a bright, red-strewn celebration of life, while Oliver must enter a dark green commemoration of death, his fear driving him deeper to hide in another hallway. Here his mother comes to find him, begging him to emerge into life, but Ollie still can’t confront her death alone.

Thankfully, Hadley travels to this underworld to find him, bursting into the memorial like a bright red flower. Even the bruise metaphor works, acknowledging the pain they are both experiencing at the changes in their lives. But Oliver still refuses to face his fears, trying to take a shortcut around death to life with Hadley. Still, she knows he’s not ready (likely because she’s not yet, either), and gently pushes back. And so, Oliver returns to the underworld, and Hadley walks off alone until she descends barefoot through a soggy riverside tunnel (birth canal again!). Finally, she calls her father and admits she is “lost.” When he arrives, Hadley at last gathers the courage to ask why he ended their old life, and to tell him how much it hurt her. But as Oliver predicted, she forgives her dad and even begins to accept his new bride.

Back at the memorial, Oliver is reminded by Hadley’s red backpack - his unaddressed emotional baggage - to be honest about his pain. In at last openly mourning his mother and his own childhood, Ollie takes a step into adulthood, just enough for his family to nudge him that extra bit to go after Hadley. And so, the family delivers him to his bride, who has meanwhile learned to dance again, even through her heartbreak. With one last confession, the two consummate their love with a kiss, bathed in pink light before an open door.

Happily Ever After

There’s so much more, with the hand-holding, numbers, Shakespeare, Dickens, the music, and beyond, but the point is that this cute, charming little romance is actually very deliberately constructed. It follows timeless patterns and motifs which we instinctively understand through visual and auditory language. And the narration plays a huge role in this as well, not unlike the prologues and epilogues of the Bard’s plays in that they state the story’s lessons plainly: that we cannot always be prepared for unwelcome surprises, but that we can make the choice to love every day.

Anyway, Vanessa Caswill deserves all the flowers and if you haven’t seen her gorgeous adaptation of Little Women (with all due respect to the marvelous Greta Gerwig and Gillian Armstrong), please do yourself a favor and watch that after you finish this!

[fushiglow]

also just wanted to drop some songs that remind me of OTT because I still cannot stop thinking about those two idiots (none of them are necessarily something that would be either of their sounds but the lyrics and moods just remind me of them):

couldn’t make it any harder - sabrina carpenter (from her new deluxe album, I just can’t not listen to it from suguru’s perspective 🥺)

go there with you - victoria monét (because they really use getting on each others’ nerves as foreplay lmao)

picture you - chappell roan (I think this one is Self Explanatory lol)

alone with you - alina baraz (bc they’re truly each others’ safe space away from the chaos of their outer lives as well as their inner doubts)

PDA - jae stephens (honestly I’m just manifesting this for for them because I know they wanna be like this so bad (esp satoru))

also I’m so sorry that I’m just chatting in your inbox now but your fic has just planted a permanent place in my heart in such a short time 💞🙂‍↕️

I was waiting for a moment to sit down and listen to all of these properly before replying, and I'm so glad I did!

God, you didn't miss with even a single one! If it's okay, I'm going to say a bit (a lot) about each of them because I simply can't help myself; I'm bouncing off the walls right now.

But I couldn't make it Any harder to love me Your arms are reachin' And your eager heart is throbbing I know you're frustrated 'Cause I will not let you touch me You say you can take it But you don't know how hard I can make it

Satoru is frustrated with Suguru, I'm frustrated with Suguru, and I know you guys are frustrated with Suguru, too. He is just so perfectly frustrating and I love him with all my heart anyway — just like Satoru.

Oh, what I'd give to be Meeting you as the glass-half-full version of me

This line also stood out for reasons that will probably become clear to you in a couple of chapters! It made me think of @posletsvet's beautiful artwork inspired by the fic (which has, in turn, inspired a scene still to come!), and all the carefree, youthful optimism of that Suguru. @bearhaviour and I have talked a little about what that first meeting in Suguru's studio was like from Satoru's POV, how the contrast between the babyfaced cutiepie Satoru remembers and the tattooed big tittied beefcake he's become probably sent the little guys pulling the levers in his head into meltdown, Inside Out style.

Anyway, I like thinking about another contrast — the contrast with how Suguru likely compares those two versions of himself. The idea of idealised portraits comes up again and again in Over the Threshold. Suguru often looks backwards in the fic, but not very sympathetically and only to a certain point. There's a line somewhere in his past that he won't cross in his internal monologue nor in his conversations with others. I wonder how Suguru feels about his younger self? I wonder if you guys will find out?

"They really use getting on each others’ nerves as foreplay" — a call out, and far from the first one...

I can't help writing them as either deeply flirtatious or deeply exasperating, depending on where you stand. It definitely says something about the real fushiglow's relationships (make of that what you will) but, to paraphrase what I said to the last person who pointed this out, I see it almost as an interpretation of "the strongest duo" — only they can match each other's freak!

They flirt a lot in my work, and not always in appropriate ways. However, that push and pull is part of a comfortable relationship dynamic to me! Being able to push boundaries and know that you'll be forgiven for it, or perhaps knowing exactly where that line is and when it's okay to push it and when it isn't. To be known is to be loved, after all!

Self explanatory and extremely timely, too! Literally this morning, I started working on an accompanying oneshot set during chapter 12 which is, uh, basically this song? I'm not sure whether I'll finish it or whether I'll scale it back to something less explicit or whether I'll even post it at all. Like I said, I could write additional content for this universe endlessly, but I worry about watering down the impact of the main work somewhat...

Regardless, safe to say this is very much a Vibe TM, probably for both of them but mostly for poor Suguru who has endless thirst trap material to torture himself with — see the video I reblogged before this post. Every day I thank the lord for Lulu!

I'm home with you No matter the place

It isn't something that I'm ever really explicit about, but disentangling rigid ideas about "home" is an important underlying theme in Over the Threshold where culture plays such a big role in the story. Though "home is wherever you are" is certainly relevant, I'm also talking about "home" quite literally. I won't expand on this too much here, but it's something I might talk about further in the essays and analysis I've mentioned potentially sharing when the fic is done!

For now, think about the contrasts between Suguru's home and Satoru's apartment, the feelings and memories they attach to home comfort food, the fact that Satoru performs in a foreign language in a foreign country, and even the fact that he was originally going to be a classical pianist if you know anything about the history of the Western instrument in Japan. Also, enjoy this Ask Satoru a little less/more than before...

Did Satoru write this? No other comment.

Thank you so much for sharing these with me! I hope you enjoyed my yapping (and I hope anyone else reading this did, too!) — I told you I could do this all day... ♥

[stardustdiiving]

I would love to hear more about your thoughts regarding Wanderer being trans whenever you find the time to write about it more!

(follow up to this post)

AWESOME. okay. So. This got super long and I keep nitpicking if it clearly says every single thought that goes through my head or not so I’m just going to post it

There’s many interpretations about this headcanon I enjoy, but one particular angle I would find interesting to explore that I’ll pitch here is basically centered on a characterization where Wanderer’s internal relationship with his own transness is very tied with his non-humanness, maybe even more so than his gender.

The appeal of this angle for me is essentially having a character’s queerness tie into genshin��s overarching themes about identity & personhood, especially in regards to the relationship between divinity & humanity—themes that obviously apply to Scaramouche (and also basically every other not human genshin character I can think of that people generally agree are engaging characters)

Scaramouche (which name I use for him is intentional & reflects what era of his life I’m talking about) to me is someone who basically enforces a sense of apathy over his own emotions, especially ones relating to his sense of identity—he seeks godhood in hopes of being able to purge himself clean of experiencing (human) emotions, and therefore the vulnerability & trauma he associates with having them.

Intuitively I can see him feeling a similar conscious apathy about his gender: I see him as viewing gender identity as a “too human” trait and therefore something he’s above, basically—which is really a deeper deflection of his own insecurities with his personhood/identity.

So to Scaramouche, internally, anything about his transition or transness is less about gender and actually far more about his desire to obtain godhood, and this is a mental narrative he really sticks to because it fits in comfortably with his hatred of humans and desire for a purpose/identity for his existence as a non human entity “without a heart”.

If this were a fic I were writing, Scaramouche would undergo a lot of physical/medical transitioning during his time as a Harbringer and he would essentially be narrating & viewing anything gender affirming thing he does as him becoming closer to godhood and further from being human. This would contrast how I’d portray Kabukimono earlier on in his arc—where I imagine Kabukimono took on a lot of social transitions based on observing humans and building a sense for what human things he liked to participate in or mimic.

Kabukimono, in a manner similar to Scaramouche, might sometimes categorize some of his transness as relating to being more of a puppet/nonhuman origin thing than a gender thing, (ie getting gender dysphoria from having long hair but rationalizing it has more to do with not wanting to look like Ei), Kabukimono was more in a position of building towards his transness being a positive thing that affirmed him his sense of personhood & sense of belonging with others. By the time Scaramouche reaches the point of resenting humans, and in turn resenting his own sense of humanity in his arc, he needs to establish all parts of his identity as the farthest thing from human as possible

The irony, however, that I’d highlight in the hypothetical fic of this, is that Scaramouche’s experiences with his transness are narrated as being things no one could ever understand because of how inhuman he is—while in practice you see a lot of his trans experiences are actually pretty common ones many trans people would understand.

So like, Dottore does his canon typical physical experiments/modifications on Scaramouche, and the entire time Scara is undergoing but also gloating the entire time how he’s able to endure this because he’s not as weak as humans are—and this continues when, at Scara’s request, Dottore gives him Evil Mad Scientist Top Surgery, and he’s having this snide internal monologue about how godlike he is because of all the inhuman ways he can physically modify and mold his body to be to his liking, and then suddenly he looks in a mirror and sees himself with a flat chest for the first time and just has… like, a moment of very genuine happiness with feeling more like himself for the first time, and processing all the ways he can exist more comfortably in his body without having to work around dysphoria constantly. He imagines himself existing among humans in these brief thoughts without even realizing it, and the idea is this is written in a way that makes him sound very human—and how he seems happier when he lets himself be.

Meanwhile Dottore in the background is just, very nonchalant about this and makes some bored comment about they ought to not delay more important procedures any further if he wants to ascend to godhood anytime soon. Scaramouche kind of snaps out of it & back into his usual sort of headspace/mindset and kind of sneers at him how this was a far more significant step in ascending to godhood than Dottore could ever understand.

And after he says this he mentally pauses, because he really hadn’t been thinking of it like that before—and then wonders if it was true, because it wasn’t an experiment that made him feel more powerful like the other ones had. What he feels now is something other than more powerful—but there’s not really any other explanation for this reaction. More godly, maybe. It makes him feel not more powerful, but closer to what he wants—which is a god.

So from there my idea is Scaramouche kind of…attributes the joy associated with his top surgery, and other similar major landmarks in his transition, with his pursuit of godhood. It spurs him on to want to be a god even more, because it's solidified in his mind as the one thing he really needs to be himself/truly happy

And then he does finally reach godhood—and is plugged into the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom’s body, he’s just finds himself feeling disappointed.

He has this minor mental crisis about it where he’s not unsatisfied—he’s more exhilarated than he has ever felt in his entire life, because he feels unspeakably powerful in the way he should be. It /is/ everything he wanted, and he savors the sheer triumph and power of the movement, but it’s just not the same. It’s not enough to make him regret what it took to get here but he’s really frustrated, because he doesn’t feel happy. Which is not an emotion Scaramouche really cares about, but even one thing he wants being somewhat out of his reach when he had hoped to suppress all the unpleasantness of having emotions is deeply unpleasant for him.

I think the next time Scaramouche really feels something close to what he’d been missing is post Inversion of Genesis, after he becomes the Wanderer.

In this narrative I think it would be an extra kick in the face that Dottore had helped him with part of his transition while Scaramouche watches Dottore kill Niwa, where Dottore basically affirms Scara’s dehumanization while Niwa insists on affirming his humanity with his dying breath. There’s the obvious violation violation of realizing someone basically sabotaged your support systems to isolate/alienate you from the world, then manipulated and groomed you into joining the fatui so they could experiment on you for their own satisfaction and intrigue, but he also finds himself grappling with recontextualizing alot of his interactions with Dottore, and coming to this conclusion that Dottore was only ever vaguely interested in Scaramouche’s potential for godhood, and doesn’t care about…this other part of why that was important to Scaramouche as a person. (Which is his transness, basically)

It’s not that he ever believed Dottore cared about him or wasn’t pursuing his own interests, but I think recontextualizing how dehumanizing Dottore’s treatment + view of him is, forces him to really pick apart his transness vs desire for godhood, and realize there’s sort of a distinction between the two he hadn’t been making.

Post IoG I think this line of thinking, along with learning Niwa hadn’t betrayed him making him hate humans much less, lets Wanderer start developing a much healthier relationship with his transness, and also just his entire identity in general. He can reconcile with his own humanity, which lets him reflect on himself more, and I think eventually he can come to an answer on why becoming god wasn’t what he needed to be happy with himself + his gender.

So essentially I’d write present day Wanderer as being more comfortable with his gender than Scaramouche would be. If I were to apply our contemporary English labels/language to his gender I think he’d more or less jsut view himself as a trans guy, but I guess by technicality has a sort of “non binary” gender bc he just doesn’t view himself in terms of human binaries due to being a puppet?? That’s just my own characterization tho. All in all I bend characterizations of characters’ queerness in line with what whatever sort of transformative work I feel like doing so this isn’t even the only way I’d write trans Wanderer. Just usually the one I go off the most when portraying him as a character

[achaotichuman]

Okay i know I just sent an ask but pls HEAR ME OUT🤚🏽

Imagine....Tamlin at his lowest right? Crap has hit the fan, he's feeling awful. He finds this baby toddler, who's parents couldn't afford to take care of her because...the court is in shambles which means 1-economy is crap 2-its not a safe place to live in, without a leader, the country is basically a hazard

He feels bad but like, he can't even take care of himself so how is he going to take care of a TODDLER, which is arguably one of the worst stages for children. So he just decides to feed her, and you know, give her clothes and a shelter. The Manor is literally in shambles and Tamlin is a hermit half the time so he's only going to see her what, once a day to you know, make sure she's alive?

But you know what they say, give a stray food and they'll keep coming back. The girl gets attached and she starts yapping all the time whenever he comes to meet her, at first Tamlin was surprised because he's used to literally everyone treating him like either broken China or the most horrible monster, not a normal male. So little by little they get closer. And she kind of fixes him in a way.

(I'm so sorry If this made no sense my first language isn't English and its so late rn😭. Ily🫶🏾)

Helloo!!

Don't ever hesitate to send me an ask, I love them, send me a thousand a day I will read them all!

Okay, I have to have a moment, because I love this fic idea so much. This is frankly beautiful and has the potential to be so angsty.

I love fics that explore Tamlin's internal monologue and showcase the image he has of himself, and I think this absolutely has the potential to do so. One of my favorite things to write about is the character's internal conflict and showing how what they think of themselves differs from how the world views them.

And this would be so perfectly encapsulated with the fresh perspective of the toddler. A little kid who only sees the kindness of a big adult giving them love and affection when they have just had that removed by their parents abandoning them. They are too young to understand complex ideas, so they don't understand that they have been abandoned or why, they don't understand how Tamlin is the High lord or what he's done before. They just see this parental figure and understand that they are giving them love.

Take that perspective and put it next to Tamlin's image of himself. How he is filled with self-loathing and feelings of unworthiness. Riddled with guilt for what he's done and thinking there is no one in the world who doesn't hate his guts, and you have a beautiful contrast that has the ability to turn into Tamlin slowly seeing that there is more to him that just his past actions and slowly started to rebuild himself, along with that his Court.

This is truly a beautiful idea, I absolutely adore fics that explore Tamlin learning to understand and heal himself. And having dad Tamlin fluff is always a bonus.

Thank you for the ask!! I really enjoyed this one!!

[shoegazingmonad]

Good to see my argument is convincing enough to frustrate but you also unintentionally made it click for me as to why it feels strange that people assume Yiffy is a rage player; it seems to come from the misunderstanding that Yiffy is preoccupied with others doing right rather than the consequences they'll face for doing wrong.

They aren't standing over your shoulder insisting "You're doing that wrong, let me do it." they're the one rolling their eyes mumbling "I told you so." when you fuck up just like they knew you would. It's a small but important distinction. I get why there would be misunderstandings though, right and wrong go hand-in-hand and Yiffy does bring up both during their internal monologues but there's a heavy emphasis that what matters to them the most is that people get what's coming to them.

Yiffy doesn't care that Tavvy wants to do right by them for what's been going on with their families, what they DO care about is that he's left himself unable to open either pepsi can due to his stupidity, and now he must suffer the consequences like the idiot he is (and hopefully learn something from this later while they internally point and laugh in the meanwhile).

Yiffy wasn't all that upset about being held captive when compared to the motherly smoochfest forced upon them because of it. Yiffy wasn't breaking into the vents so they could watch the grown adults work their issues out after keeping quiet for so long; they went in there to watch them tear into eachother with all the emotional build-up that comes with 15 years of unconfronted problems. Yiffy doesn't want everything to fall apart so they can build what's right in it's place, they want everything to fall apart because from the way they see it, everyone involved in creating it fucked up it so bad that they deserve it.

It's reiterated in the flash as well. Yiffy's too busy giving a soldier what he deserves and then they end up glaring at Kanaya for so long that they forget to face reality. Which I should probably mention is a core part of Rage in it's contrast to Hope's fantasy... And I've decided to stop here as this seems to be veering into a Yiffy aspect post.

[bonsoir-tyrelliot]

I know I haven't posted in months but here is your periodic reminder that during Tyrell and Elliot's first meeting, Elliot's actions in order are:

--Willingly shake hands like it's not a big deal --Smile --Glance up and down Tyrell's body --Bite his lower lip --Stare while blinking a lot --Be impressed by Tyrell's tech knowledge --Also please note that at no point during this interaction with Tyrell did Elliot's internal monologue take over. He didn't even look away from Tyrell for the entire conversation. That is not normal Elliot behavior lbr.

And Elliot's actions just after meeting Tyrell were, in order:

--Contemplating his dream of making the world a better place for everyone. Why? This could be interpreted as Elliot recognizing the increased challenge involved in saving the world if it were run by people who know what they're doing like Tyrell, like he's recognizing a worthy opponent. My enemies to lovers heart enjoys this interpretation. --Going home and being overcome by a crying bout over how lonely he is, something that happens every few weeks or so but not every day; why today, Elliot? --Has grudging, drug-induced sex with Shayla. We see this man have sex a total of twice, and the other time is strategic. There is nothing on earth that can stop me from believing that Elliot was thinking about Tyrell's little waistcoat while he had sex with Shayla.

In addition, please recall that moments before Tyrell introduces himself by offering a hand to shake but not forcing it on Elliot, Ollie forced physical contact Elliot didn't want. The contrast is obvious.

[moonsuke]

Episode Nagi 32

I swear every new release is just confirming to me that knsr will go out of his way to line up events in both series just for Nagi’s storyline. I thought I was delusional thinking that's why the pxg/bm match lasted that long but I’m actually full blown believing that now like, don’t underestimate how much Nagi’s his fav and the attention he would give him 🤡

Either way I really like this epinagi chapter, Nagi got called Nagi-chan it’s canon now!!! And it’s not even in a mocking way! It’s genuine! Thank you Otoya!! And Karasu! Suddenly they shot up real high in my favorability ranking lol. Epinagi really is a gift that keeps on giving when it comes to cute Nagi interactions. Like how happy Zantetsu is over their victory and jumping all over Nagi-chan! I just love their relationship so much, they already have such a strong start with their heart to heart in the bath and finding each other cool. Like their relationship is just so nicely set up for such a “small” pair.

Nagi caring for Chigiri is cute too, and I love when Chigiri’s like “yea I just don’t get geniuses” to my whimsical babygirl going “it’s the shape of our dreams” lmao. Chigiri is just so easy going when it comes to Nagi, not in a pampering him sort of way, but like he knows when to just accept Nagi’s eccentricities and genius and when/how to work around his weaknesses. Their boundaries and personalities just click I feel!

Also I swear this is some sorta meta where our biggest Nagi defender himself (Kaneshiro) is hitting back at people calling Nagi manipulative lol:

Broke: Himizu 🤡

Woke: Otoya (and Karasu) 😇

So yey, he got us Nagi fans’ back! (He’s one himself too)

-

But of course nothing beats their talk with Ego! I love that he gave such a philosophical one to them. “To you, who will die someday” is just such a badass and impactful title the way it’s phrased. Its cute that Nagi’s initial answer to his question was “dreams” as contrasted with Barou’s “God” and Kiyora’s “love”, says a lot about their personalities and really further emphasizes Nagi’s pure and idealistic nature. It’s so precious seeing him reflect back on his personal growth and how he sees that as him getting stronger rather than purely using soccer as a metric. Now he can even be on the same wavelength as Ego! Them having a decent conversation, Nagi even managing to answer him correctly with “because death was always close?”, was really cute (And yes it is Nagi, especially for you in the main series).

Nagi really be collecting death flags left and right lol. I want his “death” to be done well please, it’s my biggest fear that it’s not. It’s not even whether he’ll die or not (he should), I just want his story and character to be written well!

Even in bllk 295, ReoNagi mentioned “death” and that’s why I keep saying knsr’s linking up both series just for Nagi’s sake (I think I’ve been saying this since the last epinagi chap lol). Then in latest epinagi too, there’s Karasu commenting how his naïveté regarding duos will plunge him to despair someday, and of course Ego’s whole death speech. Pretty sure an interview mentioned that Ego’s supposed to be the objective narrative voice of the series so yea, amazing how he’s foretelling their (really just Nagi’s) death here, and again shows that knsr’s linking stuff up.

When it comes to Reo, I’m pretty sure he’s meant to be a parallel to Nagi’s journey (knsr loves his parallels) and maybe that’s why they’re never on the same page lol. So if Nagi holds a certain stance/narrative, Reo’ll take the other. Seems like second selection is when Reo hit his lowest point (death and he even got chosen by a demon), while Nagi’s being all excited about soccer and change. Their stance on duos also flipped since initially it was Reo who’s unable to let go of their partnership while Nagi had that internal monologue of needing to be independent from Reo (and Isagi). But now it seems like we’re heading towards Nagi gaining a fondness for partnerships as a result of realising Reo’s hurt feelings and perspective, and how other duos are able to work together yet still be strong? But with Reo, now we have him being the one who’s like I need to get stronger on my own lol.

Knsr really meant it when he said the premise of epinagi is how different situations lead to different paths for different people, and how that can lead to miscommunication. It’s so dramatic. The intention is really obvious in the last page:

I almost feel bad for Reo for this contrast but I feel like as per usual knsr style, it’s done in an exaggerated manner to tone down the severity lol. I think his scenes in this chapter again reinforces that Reo’s character is written by default with a more “macho” trope but many people think otherwise. Like the art style with the intense lines, details and shadings of his expression, plus the whole shower scene and him stoically facing his weaknesses and tears alone there, it’s meant to show a man going through it before regaining his resolve, though it’s definitely very exaggerated here lol.

-

Since Nagi’s death is pretty eminent, I’m wondering if his skull aura will evolve into an angel of sorts after his rebirth, since there’s quite a few instances where he’s associated with them. Initially I was wondering if it’ll become human but that’s kinda lame having a human aura lol. So I think angels are pretty fitting because it symbolised that he “died” but has ascended to heaven/into the light.

I feel like Nagi in general is very suited to creatures that can fly, but animal auras just don’t seem to suit him since he’s so otherwordly? I know he’s currently a babychick but eggs and chicks have often been linked to angels right?

Also in this epinagi chapter, Reo compared Shidou to Nagi but he called Shidou a demon prodigy. So there’s the implication that Nagi’s an angel prodigy then? A lot of people have pointed out the similarities between their “genius acrobatic” playstyle and Shidou always had his devil wings aura when he’s performing his aerial feats. For Nagi, so many of his iconic moves had him midair for seconds to trap and control the ball, it really looks like he can levitate (and control space/time) so I think having wings fit him too. I swear if Blue Lock is a superpower universe, Nagi would have the ability to fly/levitate for sure, and it suits his lazy nature too.

In general from what I think of how knsr views Nagi, he seems to like portraying him as a pure, naive childlike, “white” being which just fits the angel theme. But then he contrasts it with death, skulls, and “black” when he’s locked in and that’s why Nagi’s character colour is grey I suppose. Idk, angels seem to fit right into death, rebirth, black holes, supernovas, babychick, seeking “light/heat” etc symbolisms, but guess we shall see :D

Next chapter’s title is 羽ばたき too but I guess it’s likely referring to Nagi taking flight facing the world five? But again, flight is a theme!

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 13 – A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine

Okay, getting back into writing these reviews before I fall so far behind that catching up is just impossible. Memory is the first book this year that I’ve actually read before; I’m rereading as the first choice for a theoretical book club with some friends. Honestly quite enjoyed the experience, if only because trying to jot down some things to say when discussing it forced me to take it a little slower this time.

To get the technical details out of the way – the book won the Hugo, and did basically deserve it. The writing’s lovely and occasionally downright poetics, the two leads are both insanely compelling, and the court intrigue is appropriately convoluted and byzantine for what is obviously Constantinople IN SPACE. It’s just overall a joyous read.

So Martine’s clearly very fascinated by the experience of having your standards of aesthetics, and sophistication, and civilization defined by a culture which has never even bothered to notice your existence. The simultaneous rapture at being in the heart of the universe that you’ve read about your entire life, and deep alienation knowing you’ll never actually be a part of it. How ever most of the people trying to be friendly and compliment you don’t even notice how patronizing they’re being. And so on and etc. Mahit’s internal monologue does a really good job of selling the ambivalence of it, especially in the party scene.

The book does an excellent job of actually selling the palace district as a site of imperial grandeur, too, every building buried in symbolic aesthetics and ritual significance. But also just, like, actually impressive and grand to read about. All the contrasts between the oveflowing abundance in the city and life on Lsel are fascinating too – Martine makes really good use of the little worldbuilding quotes at the start of chapters to sell the difference. The one that really stuck in my head was a quote from a tourism

guide explaining all the myriad fine dining choices for tourists visiting the City followed directly by a Lseli agricultural report about how new hydrophonic techniques had increased rice yield sufficiently to support a whole hundred non-replacement births in the next generation (it helps that all the Teixicalaanli food legitimately sounds pretty amazing). Though the time where Mahit’s internal monologue short circuited over the idea of carrying a pregnancy to term in your own body – wasteful! Depriving the station of a necessary laborer for months and months when perfectly good artificial wombs are right there! So decadent – is a close second.

Martine is, as I understand it, a Byzantinist, and oh boy can you tell. The city’s a little bit Tenochtitlan in the aesthetics and the religion, but it really is overwhelmingly space Constantinople. The theoretically absolute emperor dealing with mobs in the streets willing and potentially able to acclaim a usurper, the constant risk of legions doing the same, the basic fact that there’s a vast empire which is viewed as nothing but an adjunct or extension of the capital city which is the entirety of all political life and the place everyone whose anyone needs to be, and so on.

In a way, the obvious Byzantine-ness of the Teixicalaanli makes them seem less imperialist than just imperial, at least from Mahit’s perspective. Which is to say, well, first of all that ‘empire’ has far too many meanings and distinguishing them is hard, but the Teixicalaanli don’t expand like the British or French, in constant competition over captive markets and strategic locations, they don’t feel some glorious burden of manifest destination or a mission civilisatrice that requires universal dominion. They already are the universe, or at least everything worthwhile in it, they go to war like medieval kings or Roman princeps – to win glorious victories and so show the empire they have the right to rule it.

The relation between Lsel and Teixicalaan – well, if suffers from the standard space opera lack of scale, first of all. The stationers number in the tens of thousands – the empire must be in the hundreds of billions, minimum. ‘Realistically’ Six Directions would never have found out about the imago device because relations with them would have been handled by some mid-ranking provincial governor, only showing up in travelogues and fanciful ethnographies. But leaving that aside, Teixicalaanli myopia also means that the cultural imperialism that the book’s so fascinated by is oddly...blameless? Teixicalaan presumably has brutal campaigns dedicated to stamping out native cultures and integrating them into the empire, but there’s hardly one directed at Lsel. The general sense you get is one of vaguely tragic inevitability – that the mismatch in size and wealth is such that of course any sort of even slightly free exchange of media and ideas will lead to Stationer culture being overwhelmed. Makes me think about arguments around CanCon regulations.

(The whole Roman, medieval feel of the empire means it all kind of calls to mind various Germanic elites actively reaching for Roman iconography and institutions to legitimize themselves as much as anything, though of course that’s not really right.)

The book’s politics are, I think, a bit limited by the degree it’s laser-focused on the very uppermost tip of imperial society – the book seems to know this too, given the thirty page digression into cyberpunk two thirds of the way through (speaking of which, I absolutely adore the fact that the elegant, ritually harmonious and utterly aesthetic architecture lasts about three metro stops away from the palace before everything starts turning into economical concrete blocks). Which isn’t really a knock on the book, but I do think some of the praise of it does get a bit overblown; there’s a limit to how much insight you can really have on imperialism when you’re so focused on the stories an empire tells about itself in its most rarified and luxurious heart.

In much the same way there’s something very, I don’t know, ‘written in America in the late 2010s’ about the political imagination the book allows itself. There are people who don’t want the world to be the world, and maybe they can help a bit, but the actual players in the game of thrones are corrupt oligarchs and populist warmongers, you know?

All that said, the book sure does portray a city that views itself as synonymous with civilization. I only realized there was a Teixicalaanli word for foreigner that wasn’t ‘barbarian’ when one of the probably-terrorists made a point of using it during the whole cyberpunk interlude. Which retroactively makes, like, every single other Teixicalaanli character in the book waaaaay more of an asshole. (fanfic thought - Teixicalaanli attempts to talk even vaguely respectfully to/about foreigners as analogous to people trying to be gender neutral or talk about nonbinary people in really strongly genedered languages, right down to the awkward neologisms that the ‘average citizens’ rolls their eyes at. What’s the Teixicalaanli term for ‘the woke plague.’?)

Also – not really a better place to put this in, but something I really do like about the worldbuilding is that no one has anything like the same ideas of what constitutes political legitimacy as the contemporary liberal default? Lsel is a corporatist state, where political power is divided between what are basically guilds who seem to have wide remit to make policy within their jurisdiction, with only one seat on the council seeming to have any sort of election. And Teixicalaan is, of course, a bureacratic-verging-on-stratocratic monarchy, with a strong sense of popular involvement in government, but through demonstrations and rioting instead of any formal process. It’s enjoyable that neither place is actually, like, familiar.

The motor of the book’s plot is byzantine (or Byzantine, I suppose) court intrigue, and as someone who loves polite conversations and poetic allusions followed directly by assassination attempts, I adored it. That said, I’m going to be a slob demanding everything be hand fed to me for a minute and saying that it all got positively opaque by the end. Which is, I suppose, entirely realistic, given Mahit’s position and role in everything, but still I wanted an Agathe Christie drawing room denouncement so bad. Was Ten Pearl actively backing the coup? If not, what was up with the Sunlit? And the Cityshocks? Why was the Information Ministry so politically passive and uninvolved in a literal coup attempt? How was Eight Loop involved in the whole final resolution, given it was her people keeping the emperor safe but it was Nineteen Adze who was with him on camera? All these questions and more, unanswered and, probably, irrelevant! But like, inquiring minds want to know.

Though speaking of the coup, I really did absolutely adore how, like,incompetent and amateurish both coup attempts were? Which seems like it would be a plot hole, but actually it’s probably the strongest argument the book can make for Six Direction’s immortality plan – the empire has been peaceful for so long no one remembers how to do a coup.

Anyway, yes! Extremely good book, Mahit and Seagrass are absolutely great protagonists. Not at all sorry I’m peer pressuring people into reading it.

[greycappedjester]

Doing my kinda annual rewatch of Haikyuu. Just finished season 1. Some thoughts:

-i love so much that you have all these characters doing some dramatic soliloquy about volleyball and other background characters will just be normal about it. Love the contrast. Bonus points to the game with the neighborhood association where they flat out mock the dramatics to their face

-Those first year junior high kids Hinata conned into joining the first episode gotta be vaguely scarred by that game. They just joined for a good time and their captain is flat out running for the ball so hard he slams head first into a wall before giving terrifying one-liners. They then maybe see him give tear streaked declarations of rivalry with the opponent. They gotta have gone home after that, been asked how the game went, and just gone "ummmm?!?!"

-I miss Bokuto and Yachi

-we really sleep on that dialogue in one of the earlier episodes where Hinata is talking about volleyball and Kageyama is internally repeating basically every ending word and Hinata goes "like gwah" and Kageyama goes "gwah" in the most serious melodramatic way ever. Hilarious. 10 out of 10. Also love, at another time, Hinata telling Suga he practiced in tons of places like hallways and an eavesdropping Kageyama is like "hallways". He chose the craziest things for internal monologue

-They've grown so much 😢

-Season 1 Asahi hair is best Asahi hair

-I do really love that the only team to beat Karasuno at an official match when both teams are at 100% (ie no one collapses on ground mid-game) is Aoba Johsai. Yeah Oikawa never got to go to nationals but he is the only captain to be shown officially winning against the team with both teams at their (at the time) best.

-I miss the later seasons where everyone pretty much knows to be wary of Hinata but I do love the absolute shock of going from "who's that grade schooler with the team" to "Oh shit!". Also kiss the flightless crow imagery that was so satisfying to overcome

-Tsuki is such an asshole. Love him.

[coraniaid]

Kendra shows up for the first time in What's My Line? and delivers several speeches about her past and her training to (maybe!) one day become a Slayer that boil down to:

"I don't really remember my parents except as pictures I've been shown, but I do know [somehow?] that they took slaying really seriously and they sent me to be trained as a Potential Slayer when I was very young. I know that if you want to be a good Slayer it's important not to be distracted by things like boys or friends or school or family, and I really want to be a good Slayer. And I know that a Slayer has to work in secret, and she musn't tell anybody else about vampires or being a Slayer (but again, my parents -- yeah, the ones I'm not allowed to talk to -- they really knew I was a Potential Slayer and they definitely approved of me being raised by my Watcher and never seeing them again ... No, I don't know their last names). You shouldn't feel sorry for me, though: I definitely don't feel sad or angry about this at all. My Watcher -- he's pretty much the only person I'm allowed to talk to, I guess -- he says that emotions are a weakness. I am a good Slayer. I definitely don't feel sad at all."

If you take Kendra seriously as a character for even a second, I'm not sure how you can hear all that and not think that something suspicious is going on. I'm not saying the Council had Kendra abducted or had her parents killed -- it doesn't seem quite their style -- but ... if her parents or her extended family (her "people", as the show puts it) know about Slaying and take it very seriously, why would the Council want them to send their daughter somewhere away from them where she isn't allowed to talk to anybody apart from her Watcher about being a Slayer? Was she going to be "distracted" by being brought up by people who were definitely 100% in favour of her being a Slayer? What real evidence does Kendra have that her Watcher can be trusted about anything he tells her about her parents? Why does this sound like the internal monologue of a character in the first third of a horror novel who doesn't quite yet realize they've been raised by a cult?

And so, you might think, this is where Kendra's arc is going to go. Next season is, after all, all about Buffy losing confidence in her own Watcher and the system of Watchers in general. Maybe Kendra will start to suspect she's been lied to. Maybe she'll try to track down her parents. Maybe they've been looking for her all this time; maybe they died in an accident and the Council decided it would be simpler to train Kendra as a Slayer if she didn't have anything else in her life to "distract" her. Maybe this is another Ampata situation, and Kendra's family really did give her up, and when she has some space away from her Watcher to think about it she realizes she's pretty angry about that. Maybe she'll go through the Cruciamentum, and lose her powers for a bit, and ask herself what would have happened to her if she'd waited and trained and gotten older and never been Called as a Slayer at all.

But instead the show means all this to be taken entirely at face value. Everything Kendra says is just supposed to stand in contrast with Buffy's own experience of becoming a Slayer, even though you can't really just reverse "Buffy's parents don't know anything about Slaying" and "Buffy lives with her Mom and has to try to hide her patrolling activites from her" and "Buffy never knew anything about the supernatural or vampire slayers until she was told she was one" and "Buffy still tries to go to school and socialize and date and have as much of a normal life as she can" and "Buffy isn't always perfect at keeping her Slaying secret from the people in her life" and hope to create anything coherent.

The next time we see or hear about Kendra it's literally just for about fifteen minutes so she can be killed off and written out of the show forever. And then pretty much nobody ever talks about her again (except for a brief mention the episode after she dies and a final fleeting reference early the next season. And then in Season 7 we meet Kennedy, the only other Potential with any real screen time who the Council seem to have trained from a young age, who definitely does remember her family and tells Willow about growing up as a relatively normal (if slightly spoiled) child and doesn't seem to have gone through anything like this.