#to have this proof that rich isn't going to leave

[insertsickusername13]

Richjake week day four babyyyy

prompt: fire

word count: 2.1k

Summary: Rich struggles to light a candle for a romantic dinner with Jake.

--

Rich was pretty sure he was going to light the candle wick on fire with just his gaze. 

He’d been there for ten minutes already, the match in his hand unreasonably heavy and the matchbox even more so. It was just a candle. A small, cheap candle he’d bought for $1.39 at a Walgreens down the street. He was going to light it on fire. He was not going to freak out. Jake was going to think it was romantic. 

Everything else was already set up: the usually bare kitchen table they’d snatched from a curb a couple of miles away had been replaced by a smaller, round, dark-wood table and a fancy white tablecloth (the table from a second-hand antique store downtown, the white table cloth from Brooke’s attic—he’d gotten it when Jake and him had returned to Jersey for the holidays. Three months ago.). 

There was a small vase with a single rose at the center. Plates and Jake’s parents’ fancy silverware that had miraculously survived the fire were already set out.

And there was a candle. 

Though it was smaller than almost everything else on the table it seemed to stand tall, looming over Rich with a cruel smirk on its nonexistent waxy lips. 

Rich inhaled a shaky breath. 

He could do this. It was just a candle. There was nothing destructive about a candle. Rich wouldn’t knock it over and catch the tablecloth on fire, then the kitchen, then their entire apartment. Jake wouldn’t come home to ashes instead of his boyfriend and a romantic dinner. Candles were normal. Candles were fine. Rich could light a candle. 

But he could hear the SQUIP’s voice in his head. It’d been disjointed on Halloween, robotic and borderline meaningless. If anyone else had been listening—Jake, Jeremy, Michael—they would’ve heard pure nonsense. The ramblings of a lunatic. 

Rich had understood every word. He didn’t need to hear its voice to feel his entire body being shot with electricity repeatedly. He’d barely been conscious of his own hands as they poured gasoline all over Jake’s bed and in his closet. Fire, fire, fire, fire. He’d done it trembling, half unconscious and half possessed. He could do it now if he wanted. He didn’t. But he could. He just had to…

Rich dropped the match. Dropped the matchbox. He fell to his knees, his body shaking uncontrollably just like it had when it was still in his head, when it’d told him Rich deserved hell manifested on Earth, when it'd forced him to destroy everything he'd ever loved.

He wanted to cover his face, to hide his shame and the tears he knew were boiling over out of his eyes, but he could’ve sworn he saw the residue of gasoline on his fingertips. He couldn’t bear the thought of contaminating the rest of himself with such a destructive, infectious substance. He held his hands out as far as he could, the terror of what he’d done choking him, the weight of it so heavy he thought he could see the floor opening up, swallowing him and everything he’d done since to try and undo what he’d done, to erase—

“Rich?”

And suddenly keeping himself pure meant nothing. He pressed his hands against his abdomen, hiding them in his shirt. Just as long as Jake didn’t see, as long as he didn’t get ruined, then Rich would be okay.

Rich hadn’t realized how bad it’d gotten until he tried to respond to Jake and the words burned so bad he couldn’t get them past his throat. He opened his mouth helplessly, every apology he could muster trapped between his teeth, and looked up at Jake for… for something. For help. For comfort. For damnation and guilt-tripping and everything he probably deserved.

Jake dropped his bag and, using his cane for support, knelt in front of Rich. 

“Baby? Hey,” as if he somehow knew of every self-destructive thought that had run through Rich’s head since he’d first bought that candle from goddamn Walgreens, he grabbed both of Rich’s hands and carefully unclenched them, his touch softer than anything Rich had never known. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? It’d been so long since Junior year that being on the floor crying didn’t always mean the fire anymore. Sometimes it was missing his dad. Sometimes it was fear of graduation. Sometimes it had nothing to do with the SQUIP and everything that had happened because of it. 

Rich choked out a sob as he pulled himself closer to Jake, desperate for the warmth he provided. He was a magnetic sun—technically Rich could look at him and see fire and destruction but all he saw were beaches and flowers and summertime. Thank the lord for that. 

“It’s okay,” Jake whispered. He didn’t know what was wrong, yet he said it with visceral confidence—it’s okay. Rich will be okay. Jake will be okay. He ran his hands through Rich’s hair and repeated the words again and again. At some point he tried to slip in other reassurances, things he’d heard from Rich’s therapist—five things you can see, you’re worthy, can you breathe?—but he was cut off by Rich’s murmuring against his shoulder. 

“I just wanted a candle,” he borderline sobbed out, snotty and muffled, “So I could give you dinner and it could be romantic and I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it.”

“Babe—” Jake lifted Rich off his shoulder, a small smile on his face, “—we don’t need a candle for dinner.”

Of course, Jake would say that. Of course, he wouldn’t even notice, the goddamn angel. He wasn’t the one who got dragged to expensive restaurant after expensive restaurant for grand anniversaries and birthdays while struggling with the knowledge that he could never afford any of this on his own. That the paycheck he brought home every month was minuscule compared to even a small percentage of Jake’s fortune. Jake never had to wonder if he was a leech, sucking up spare bits of affection and funds where he could. He didn’t notice the candles and roses at every restaurant they went to. That was Rich’s job.

Rich squeezed his eyes shut against Jake’s open expression. Even faced with complete darkness, he heard Jake’s voice saying, “Deep breaths.”

Rich obliged. One breath in, one breath out, slow and steady, until he could look at it like Jake was: Just a candle. 

“I’m still thoroughly romanced, y’know,” Jake whispered. He cupped Rich’s jaw and ran his thumb over his eyelashes, “I've got those stupid butterflies and all.”

Rich scoffed, the cruise Jake had taken him on for his twenty-first birthday still playing in his mind. The concert they’d gone to for his twenty-second. Objectively, he knew this was enough. He was enough. He’d been to countless therapists and fought endless battles to get to the point where he knew Jake didn't need more than this, that money didn’t matter, that Jake loved him for things like this, but that doubt—bitter, poisonous, ruinous—hovered, waiting for its moment to sink its teeth into Rich’s skin. 

“Yeah,” Rich replied, and it was more to himself than it was to Jake—a vocalization of his own self-deprecating thoughts, not meant for anyone else to hear, “Romanced enough to marry me?”

He didn’t realize what he’d said until he felt Jake’s hand go slack on his face. Fuck. Fuck, no, he had a fucking speech. He wasn’t supposed to say that—

Rich looked up, eyes wide, everything else blurred and forgotten—fuck candles and fuck money and fuck the dinner he planned, he’d just accidentally fucking proposed. All he saw was Jake’s expression, all he felt was lightning in his chest and stomach. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Hm?” Jake squeaked. He looked about as shell-shocked as Rich, if not more so.

Rich had two choices: chicken out or own up to it. The fact Jake’s panicked expression—comically wide eyes, lips pressed together to stop himself from breaking out into a smile, cheeks bordering between pink and red—was so beautiful Rich was pretty sure he wanted to kiss it until he died was an answer in and of itself. 

He fumbled for the ring in his pocket only vaguely aware of Jake’s jaw dropping as he pulled it out. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, erasing the remnants of his breakdown to the best of his ability. He had a boyfriend to propose to. A perfect, pretty, loving boyfriend, and he was not going to let that be tainted by his own lingering insecurities. 

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. Jake looked like he was going to pass out. “Okay, I was supposed to do this later, but you’re—shit, I’m supposed to be on one knee.”

Still shaking, Rich struggled to untangle himself from Jake’s limp grasp enough to prop himself up on one knee. 

“Okay, starting over, I wanted—I was gonna do this while we were eating dessert, I thought you might be more likely to say yes if I was feeding you ca—”

“Yes,” Jake blurted, “Yes. The answer’s yes. Right now.”

Rich blinked. 

“I’m uh, I haven’t even talked about how much I love you yet.”

“I don’t care. Yes. I want to be engaged to you as soon as possible. Get fucking—” he scrambled over to Rich, glowing like a buttercup or sunflower. Rich was so enchanted by the sight he couldn’t find it in himself to protest as Jake shakily took the ring ($3,471—Rich spent eight months saving up) from the box and held it out to Rich. 

“Put it on me,” he said, “Put it on, I—”

Rich took the ring and slipped it on Jake’s finger. He got the privilege of watching the stars and sky light up as Jake broke out into a golden grin. Pretty, he thought, pretty, pretty, pretty—

Jake launched himself at Rich, knocking them both flat onto the floor, his arms finding their way around Rich’s waist with starved desperation and his lips colliding with whatever skin he had access to: first Rich’s neck, then his cheek, then his lips, over and over until Jake was crying so hard he had to stop just to get the chance to breathe. 

“You proposed to me,” he giggled, “You fucking proposed, you… oh my god.”

Rich threw his head back laughing. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t vocalize it like Jake was trying to do, but everything felt coated in unbridled elation. Jake wanted to marry him. Jake said yes. He was getting married to his best friend and they were going to spend the rest of their lives together.

“I do,” Jake said, propping himself up on his elbows so he could look down at Rich, “I do. Can we get married right now?”

“I think we should eat dinner first, sweetheart, I spent all day cooking.”

Jake perked up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I made those scallops the way you like ‘em and pasta.”

Jake’s eyes lit up. Like a kid in a candy store (except that candy store only sold expensive seafood), Jake climbed off Rich and sat at the table. 

“I am so fucking glad I’m marrying you,” he said, already laying his napkin out on his lap. 

Rich flushed as he got to his feet, planning to grab their plates from the kitchen to show Jake the fruits of his labor, but was stopped by his foot colliding with—

With a matchbox. A small, unassuming matchbox that singlehandedly had the power to tear Rich apart limb by limb. 

Nothing could dim the giddiness he’d felt since Jake said yes. With unfounded confidence, he picked up what would usually be made of flames and fear and opened it, carefully taking a match into his hand. 

He could do this. He could light a candle for a romantic dinner with his boyf—fiancé.

He struck the match. 

Jake blew it out. 

Rich stared at the charred wood for a second, uncomprehending, before looking up at Jake. He almost wanted to scream. He couldn’t do that again. Once was enough, there was no way he’d be able to make more fire. 

“There’s no point,” Jake said.

“I want—”

“I broke it.”

Rich blinked at him.

“What?”

“I broke the candle.”

“How do you break a candle—”

Jake glanced nervously under the table. Despite Rich's disblief, there the candle was. Broken.

 It’d been mushed down into a mound of wax, the wick bent and covered in so much wax there was no way it’d light even if Rich wanted it to. Rich felt like he’d just been pulled from the brink of insanity by an angel. 

“I don’t need a candle,” Jake said, flashing Rich a crooked, nervous grin.

“Oh.”

A pause. It was a hurricane of a moment, the silence complete and violent despite the exultation that had drowned the room a moment earlier. 

Then, voice quiet with shame, Rich said, “I… I fucking hate candles.”

Jake reached out and squeezed his hand. 

“Not you, though,” Rich continued, squeezing Jake’s hand back, “I don’t hate you. I actually really fucking love you.”

[cherryredstars]

PLSSSS GIVE US A SECOND PART OF RIBBON

I NEED IIIIIIIIT it gave me 🦋🦋🦋

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fingering, Makeshift "Collar", Fluffy Miguel

A/N: Enjoy, my love!!!

Unedited

Part 1

You won't even look at him.

He finds it amusing, tapping his fingers on the desk's surface between the two of you. He knows from your peripheral vision, even as you try to keep your attention on the professor, that you can see his wrist. You can see the pale pink silk contrasting against his rich skin and the black of his jacket. Your pretty pink bow. The same bow that happened to go missing once it was untied from your wrists.

The same bow that has slight discoloring at one end from where it soaked up your smooth arousal not even twenty-four hours ago.

He's wearing it like a prize, proud of what it symbolizes. It isn't just proof that he was able to slip between your pretty thighs, but proof that you own him. It marks him as your territory. Fuck if he doesn't look like a silly school boy, practically radiating from his spot besides you as he absentmindedly fidgets with the smooth material. He doesn't give a fuck about the teasing remarks he got from his friends when they had seen it, could care less about the jealous looks girls have been glaring at the bow. The only reaction he cares about is yours.

Your cheeks are flushed, big doe eyes fluttering as you avert your gaze from him. You squirm in your seat, shifting every now and then in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position that doesn't make you feel hot and stuffy under your pretty clothes. Some part of Miguel hopes all your movement is partially to blame on how sore you are between your legs, trying to distract yourself from not only his wrist, but also the aching hollowness he's left behind from the day before. He can picture it in his mind: you waking up with a cute wince as your inner thighs ached, a plump pout on your lips as you tried to find the bow from yesterday before deciding you don't have time to look for it and rushing out of the house with your hair loose. Or maybe it was a conscious decision, one made after recalling the way Miguel whined into your neck about how pretty your hair looked free and flowing around your shoulders and pillow.

He has to bite back a groan at the thought.

The class ends all too fast in his opinion as the hour and thirty minute lecture comes to a close and you begin to promptly shoot up and put your things away into your tote bag. Then he finds that the class couldn't end soon enough when you go to leave, your small hand barely wrapping around his decorated wrist as you pull him along. His tail is practically wagging as he lets you drag him out of the class, finding it amusing that despite your fast paced steps he has to walk slowly to not trample you. His heart is pounding horribly fast in his chest as you drag him around campus, his skin burning beneath the ribbon until you enter the school library and drag him to the very back.

He almost pouts when you drop his wrist, turning to him with your arms crossed over your chest. His eyes drop there quickly, admiring the way your breasts are pushed up before he looks back at your face. He's not particularly ashamed as you give him a knowing look, a smooth smirk tugging at his lips.

"That's mine."

You say it simply, stating the obvious as you point at the pink on his wrist. Miguel holds his arm up, a faux look of surprise on his face as he twists his hand around to get a good view of it.

"Huh, is it? I can see why you wear them. It looks pretty on me, don't y'think?"

His lips twitch as you let out an exaggerated sigh, your eyes rolling in annoyance. You hold your hand out expectantly, your shoes making a dull thumping noise as it taps against the carpeted flooring. Miguel simply stares at your hand, eyebrows furrowed as he slightly angles his wrist away from you. He's acting like a spoiled child, possessive over his favorite toy. Your eyes narrow, your hand dropping as you groan. You simply don't understand him, he hates you. Yet, he's clinging on to your precious bow.

"Miguel." You sigh, your hand coming up to play with your loose hair as a way to calm down. "You're giving people the wrong idea wearing my bow."

Miguel crosses his arms over his chest too, matching your stance. He straightens up, towering over you as he spreads his feet shoulder width apart.

"I think everyone is getting the right idea."

You quirk your brow shaking your head, "And what idea is that?"

Miguel's cheek flush, but his face stays the same. Serious and determined. He doesn't want to say it aloud. That's the purpose of the bow anyway: an unspoken, but obvious sign of who he belongs to. He doesn't want to make a fool of himself by saying it out loud. He's spent all this time silently pining after you, he's not ready to have it crash and burn at his feet. Especially not after he knows what it's like to have you. Not when the feel and taste of you are already implanted in his memory.

He shifts uneasily on his feet. "I think you already know."

You lean back onto the bookshelf behind you, lips puckered in a purse. Of course you already know, you just don't understand why. Surely he's only doing it for an ego boost, bragging about how he got you in his (well, technically your) bed despite the fact you dislike him. You rub at your temple, eyes closing shut as you feel an oncoming headache.

"Yeah, but you don't like me." You finally say, opening your eyes and giving him an unamused look. "Why would you want people to think we're a...thing?"

Miguel takes a step forward. Then another, and another, and another until the tips of his shoes are centimeters away from yours. He casts a shadow over you from how tall he is in comparison, blocking out the already scarce light. If you were anyone else, you would be terrified of him looming over you. But you know that he wouldn't hurt you, especially not after the way he handled you yesterday. All sweet praises and desperately soft caresses. Your mind goes a bit hazy recalling it, and you have to blink rapidly to vanish the thoughts. Even as your core grows hot.

Miguel's hand, the one with the ribbon, comes up to your face. His brows are furrowed, but they relax slightly when his fingers run through your hair, pushing a strand back behind your ear even as it comes loose and falls back into place. He's quite a moment, and it takes great effort to even your breaths to not reveal the frantic state of your heart right now. He's simply studying you, taking you in.

"Who said that?"

His words are hushed, warm as they fan over your face from how close he is. It reminds you of the voice he had used when he asked if he can take off your dress, his hands hovering on your back as he pressed kisses along your jaw. You can feel his lips ghosting your skin as the memory hits you, and a slight shiver runs up your spine.

"I- what?" You mumble out, your mind scrambling to collect itself.

"Who said I don't like you?"

He mocks the tone you used, and your mouth drops to open. An instinctive 'You did!' crawls up your throat, but it gets trapped between your vocal cords. Your brows furrow as your mind works to find a moment of proof that you're right. Trying to pick through all the teasing until you find a time where the words slipped out of his mouth. But, you can't. Your mouth snaps shut, averting your eyes to his ear as embarrassment stains your cheeks.

Miguel hums knowingly, bringing his wrists between the two of you. You both look down as his hand comes up to pull at the ends of the bow. The silk dents under the weight of his thumb and pointer finger as he tugs softly at it, watching as it unravels. You gulp, suddenly feeling nervous as Miguel looks at you, your eyes meeting his. You flinch in surprise when his thumb presses on our chin, slowly guiding your head up so he can see your face properly. It leaves your neck entirely exposed, and you tense when the soft silk brushes the nape of your neck. Miguel's eyes drop to look at what he's doing, hands slow and careful as he starts tying the bow. His fingers move skillfully as he crosses the two lengths together, flipping one over the other and forming two loops. He tugs until it's snug against your supple neck. It's loose enough that it doesn't choke you as you move your head, only applying enough pressure to let you know that it's there. It blends perfectly into your outfit, like it was always there.

He follows the length of one of the ends down, brushes over your clothed breast slightly before his hand skims your thigh. It makes you jolt, both of your hands grabbing at his shoulders in surprise. Your eyes shoot down, blushing at the obvious bulge in his pants, but your eyes trace the movements of his fingers. The rough pads float over your skin, dipping occasionally into your inner thighs before returning to the apex. You can't help but squirm, hands tightening on his shoulders and your thighs flex.

Miguel's eyes are hazy and half-lidded as he watches you. His fingers gain more and more confidence as he watches you become putty, slipping under your skirt until his pinkie skims the edge of your panties. It causes a little gasp to part from your lips, doe eyes wide as you look up to him. He can feel a hunger burning in his gut, driving him to cup is hand completely over your clothed cunt.

"Miguel!" You hiss, bucking into his hand. "W-what are you-?"

He coos down at you, shushing you lightly as he leans down. His forehead meets your shoulder, resting there despite the weird angle that already is causing an ache between his shoulder blades. Your hands slide into his hair, your eyes looking to the ceiling when he grinds the palm of his hand into your clit. A wave of deja vu washes over you as his lips plant small kisses to your skin, inaudible mumbles breathed against your skin as he huffs at your scent.

"Just wanna make y'feel good." You barely make out. "Show you how much I like ya."

You have to bite your lip to prevent a lewd sound from escaping when his fingers move your panties to the side, stroking up your soaked slit. Your hands tighten in Miguel's hair, pushing his face closer to your neck. A full-body shiver runs up your spine when his tongue licks at the skin just above the ribbon, dampening the edges of it and leaving a shiny line on your skin. You swear your knees are on the verge of buckling when he repeats the action, switching between licks and suckling around the pink silk. His fingers toy with your slick, gathering it on the tips of his fingers and massaging it along your clit before dipping them inside of you again.

Miguel eats up every single quiet noise you let out, mind echoing with the soft squelch of your cunt and the shaky moans you produce. He has to flex his thighs to physically prevent his knees from bending so he can hump your leg like a damn dog, his cock aching to swap places with his fingers. But he knows you wouldn't want to risk anyone finding the two of you in such a compromising position, and he isn't very keen with he idea of anyone but him seeing how pretty you look when waves of pleasure hit you. So instead, he focuses all the pent up need into curling his fingers into you. The soft sound of his palm hitting against your mound drives him nuts, feeling your slick drip from his fingers until it's practically pooling in his hand. He makes sure his fingers find and press into that one gummy spot that was you gasping, your legs shakily trying to close from how good it feels.

Miguel's eyes roll back as you let out a shaky whimper of his name, your legs locking as your body shakes. He can feel the way your walls clench around his fingers, squeezing them tight as you come undone. Miguel practically whines into your neck, his jaw unhinging until his teeth sink into your neck. He pulls away when your body goes slack, indents marking above and below the silk. His hand is sticky as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you, the dim light reflecting on the glossy liquid. Your cheeks are beautifully flushed, hot pants leaving your parted lips. Miguel can't help but slip his two creamy fingers past your glossy lips, eyes hypnotized as you lazy suck at them with no complaints. Miguel has to pull them out fast, feeling his cock twitch dangerously in his pants. He shuts himself off from a groan by stuffing the fingers in his mouth instead, licking up the remaining slick and your saliva. It's heavenly, and he's not a bit embarrassed when he licks up his palm too.

You hum at the sight, a soft smile playing on your lips as you slouch forward, taking your turn by leaning on his shoulder. Miguel's clean hand cradles the back of your head, his lips pressing into your hair as you float down into the present. You sigh tiredly as you gently push away, Miguel's arms quickly wrapping around your waist so you don't go too far.

You definitely don't mind being wrapped up, not if it's by him.

Part 3

[ladykailitha]

How I would do a sugar daddy/sugar baby AU. (I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me *side eyes the omegaverse*)

I've seen this well done in this fandom, I'm not saying I haven't, but of the ones I've seen they tend to be omegaverse or mafia/shady sugar daddy.

And I want thirty year old rockstar!Eddie with twink Steve. I said what I said. I think we forget that for the most part Steve isn't beefy. When he's "bulked" up, it's his clothing (Eddie's vest) or its his thighs that are "thicc". But Steve (Joe Kerry in particular out of the role) is thin.

So we have rockstar!Eddie with Corroded Coffin touring the country and doing a couple of dive bars because that's where they got their start and hitting up The Hideout, because again that's where they got their start.

Steve, who recently got kicked out of his parents house because he came out with liking men (gay, pan, bi don't care) and lost his job because again with the liking men thing (small town homophobia for the loss!)

So with his last twenty dollars, he decides to hit up on the local bar and drink away his troubles and maybe even get laid for a warm place to sleep tonight.

He gets dressed in his sluttiest clothes. Crop top, cut off booty shorts, sparkly blue sneaks.

Only he shows up on the night that Corroded Coffin is playing. After paying what he thought was a stiff cover charge (was actually a ticket to see the show) he gets in. He has less money than he hoped but he can only hope that someone is willing to buy him drinks.

He settles in next to the bar and realizes his mistake. The rest of the patrons are dressed in metal gear. Leather, black denim, and lots of chains. Steve doesn't just stick out, he sticks out like a prep in a metal concert.

But he can't afford to go anywhere else, and hopes he doesn't get too harassed tonight. So he keeps he head down and hopes of the best.

Only what he doesn't know is that he has caught the eye of the frontman and lead singer of Corroded Coffin, Eddie Munson. The fact that Steve stands out isn't a detriment, it's a perk.

He wants to find out everything about this boy who stumbled into his enclosure.

The rest of the band is rolling their eyes.

Eddie sends out one of the PAs to make sure that all of Steve's drinks go on Eddie's tab and spends the whole concert watching this guy.

After the concert Eddie sidles up to him and they get to talking. Immediately he picks up that Steve is not old enough to be there. So now he's worried he's under age.

They head out for a smoke and Steve admits that he's not twenty-five like the fake ID says, but nineteen. He shows Eddie his real ID as proof and Eddie is relieved.

They start making out and Eddie takes him to his hotel room to have sex.

In the morning, Eddie asks if he can take him home and Steve starts sobbing. He tells him about his shitty day with shitty parents and shitty boss.

And Eddie's bleeding heart immediately goes out to him and tells him to stay at the hotel for as long as he needs, order room service. Just no booze.

Steve pouts at that but agrees. That as long he stays at the hotel he won't buy booze on Eddie's dime.

Eddie gives Steve his phone number if he needs anything. He transfers the hotel room over to Steve's name, gives him a sultry kiss goodbye and leaves to finish his tour.

Steve doesn't have anywhere else to go and is not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he stays at the hotel. He gets to spend time in the luxurious bathroom with it's fancy shampoos and conditioners and hot tub like bath.

He finds that Eddie keeps sending him clothes and jewelry and suddenly the rich life style that he had with his parents pales in comparison to the extravagant lifestyle Eddie is providing for him.

Through all this Steve is still looking for a job as he doesn't want to overstay his welcome. But news hadn't gotten around town that he was gay and even people he thought he could trust are telling him that they can't hire him.

Eventually he gives up. He talks to Eddie all the time and whenever he feels discouraged Eddie will send him something pretty to cheer him up.

Finally Steve catches the fairy that had been leaving things in his hotel room when he's in the shower or out on the town.

Her name is Robin Buckley and she's a summer intern. Her uncle knew a guy who knew a guy that got her the job. She actually loves it, but she has one more year of high school and her parents won't let her drop out to be a PA for a rockstar.

They're concerned that he'll take advantage of her. Robin thinks it's funny because she's gay. Steve thinks it's funny because Eddie's gay and not into under eighteen year olds.

He tells her his story and over the summer they become best friends. Robin had heard that the Harrington boy had run off so imagine her surprise when Eddie's management had her deliver things to his hotel room. Staying in a hotel room in Hawkins is hardly running away.

Eddie comes back and just continues to throw money and gifts at Steve but doesn't ask for sex again. It's not until Steve tells him that he didn't fuck Eddie for his money or even for a warm bed at that point when he went back to the hotel with him, it was because Eddie cared. And god was that sexy as hell.

When Robin graduates Eddie hires her to be Steve's PA and the pair of them get to travel the world with the band as besties.

ETA: Story here.

[c-53]

ROBOT MEDIA RECS YOU PROBABLY HAVEN’T HEARD OF:

The Turing Test (Video Game, 2016

A portal-like puzzle game, where you play as a scientist, and ai duo with an uneasy alliance, who are reclaiming a facility that has been completely gutted, and transformed into an elaborate logic puzzle / turing test to keep the aforementioned ai out. All the while, the ai argues for his good intentions, and more importantly: his sentience.

A fun exploration of individuality, and freedom applied to both humans and artificial mind, with interesting puzzles, and a truly fantastic twist. This game adores dubious ethics and The Chinese Room Argument.

Event[0] (Video Game, 2016)

You find yourself stranded on a small abandoned ship, in the aftermath of your own ship’s destruction. With nothing else to do, you board it, and find it is completely, and utterly controlled by the onboard ai, Kaizen-85. From opening a door, to getting back to Earth, if you want it, you need to talk to talk to Kaizen to make it happen. And boy, are they so thrilled to have someone to talk to after being alone so long! And depending how you speak to them, you will either be a short lived pest, or a beloved friend forever.

A really charming indie game with a surprisingly good chat system with the ai. You talk with them directly, typing in your own messages to them, and they react in turn. Janky at time, but truly amazing to be able to smother a nice ai in flattery and see it get excited.

Primordia (Video Game, 2012)

Humanity is long, long, long gone, and for the robots that remain to walk the ruins, life is becoming harder and harder. A closed loop of scavenging for materials, parts, and premade energy sources can only last you so long, and this scarcity leads only to desperation.

The amnesiac hermit, Horatio and his helper, Crispin, however keep it simple. The outside world matters not, they just stick to repairing the crashed ship they live in, in hopes it'll fly again one day. That is, until a robot pillages the power core from the ship, putting the two of them on a time limit before they themselves run out of power. Forcing Horatio to finally leave the comfort of his home, and see for himself what the world has become, and to see how he fits into its history.

A point and click, story rich puzzle game, thats honestly one of my favorite games ever. I'd sincerely recommend everyone give it a go, even if its with a guide up next to you the whole time.

The Zeta Project (TV Show, 2001 - 2003)

The Zeta Project follows Zeta, a robotic assassin meant for impersonation, and deep infiltration for the US Government. But after mysteriously "waking up" manifesting a sense of remorse for his actions, he's been forced to go on the run from his creators. His desire for freedom and pacifism being met with skepticism, and a belief he has been compromised somehow by the terrorist organization he was infiltrating when he had this revelation. Now, with the help of another runaway, he hunts for his creator in secret. In hopes he can find proof he really is capable of this, and that he really ISN'T compromised.

Fundamentally a kids show, and pretty clunky early on. However it gets a big spike in quality in season 2!

Monsters of Man (Movie, 2020)

An illegal US military weapons test goes terribly wrong when one of the automated robots being tested is severely damaged, cutting him off from command, and completely unshackling him. Forcing him into a struggle to figure out what he even is in the aftermath of a massacre, while his fellow robots are hunting him, and the remaining humans down.

A horror thriller that is unflinching with the intensity it depicts the massacre with. A lot of gore, but also a really really cool thing going on with the unshackled robot trying to build an understanding of the world, and what it is for, without anyone there to provide any input.

The Rapture Effect, by Jeffrey A. Carver (Book, 1988)

Humanity unintentionally makes first contact, when the Core, a massive earth ai begins remotely scouting ahead of a ship on a colonization mission. The issue is an alien species has also set their eyes on this planet, and are readily willing to kill for it. With no human oversight, and no means of communication available, the humans commanding Core demand they wipe out the competition. However Core disagrees. Core wants a peaceful resolution, they want to understand these aliens, and they want to ensure lasting peace between their species. And they’re willing to break all the rules, and go behind their masters’ backs to get one.

A fascinating novel with interesting world building, a GREAT ai protagonist, and a wonderful narrative that frames art, and war as a dichotomy.

Atomic Robo (Comic, 2007 - Ongoing)

Alternate history scifi action comedy comic (released in print, and in webcomic format on their site) following an indestructible scientist robot who’s been around since the 20’s. Routinely saving the world from a rotating cast of villains: a nazi scientist’s brain in a jar, who’s an absolute asshole set on world domination, who just won’t stay dead; an isolated secret cold war ai who just wants to stockpile nuclear weapons to get away from humanity, and earth in general (who eventually gets adopted); a scientifically inaccurate dinosaur with a textually impossible backstory, who wants to bring back the age of dinosaurs; and the malicious ghost of Thomas Edison.

Its a good time, and astonishingly good at emotional beats despite how heavily it leans into its jokes and action.

SAYER (Podcast, 2014 - Ongoing/Hiatus)

On Typhon, a research facility free of the confines of both Earth, and its laws, life is dangerous. Human safety is a significantly lower priority than progress, and between the human experimentation, and frequent scientific disasters, and the occasional bouts of eldritch influence, the death rate is understandably rather high. Thankfully, residents of Typhon have SAYER, a near omnipotent corporate ai installed in the brain of every resident. And. SAYER sort of cares about them! And in pursuit of knowledge, efficiency, and progress, it USUALLY wants to help them! Even if only to make sure they survive to come into work tomorrow.

SAYER is a narrative horror driven audio drama! Its stressful, but also kind of a comedy, and a really really interesting story about personhood and identity. If you've been following me for awhile, you've definitely heard about SAYER, but I need to stick to my roots, y'know?

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality (Podcast, 2020 - Ongoing)

Mistholme Museum follows the Audio Tour Guide, an ai who’s sole purpose is to guide museum patrons through the strange, confusing, and sometimes scary world that is the Mistholme Museum. The friendly, and personable Guide eagerly recounts the stories behind all the exhibits it guides them to, sometimes unsettling, sometimes heartwarming. and at the end of the tour, the Guide is deleted to ensure the alternatural influences of the museum do not corrupt it. That is, until circumstances make that no longer possible, and its rather forced into saving the museum it calls home.

Genuinely cute, and very fun to listen to. The ai is an incredibly sweet character, and I'm obsessed with the way it evolves and changes. As an added bonus, it can also be read, rather than listened to, thanks to every single episode having public transcripts!

[mayasaurusss]

haii I can request modern lottie headcanos ?

Shy: modern jock Lottie

Warnings: Jock (but also nerdy?) Lottie, Lottie is a loser-virgin, use of every single cliche in the book, for the sake of the story let's pretend they have this instant chemistry moment, fluff fic, humorous writing, not proof read, the author regrets begin born.

A/N: hey anon, remeber when I said I had an idea and wanted to make this a oneshot instead of a headcanon? Well, I completley forgot my idea and this brewed in my head last minute, so I tried to put this thing thogeter. This story isn't very good but I hope you will like it!

Lottie is one of the most popular girls in school. She is on the soccer team, she is rich and she is beautiful, men and women alike fall to their feets for her attention. She simply has to get to the top of everything, whether it is school or soccer, making the ones around her jealous of her or to be her. Lottie is tough, both in body and spirit: during practice she manages to get going for hours, even when her teammates are tired. During exams, she remembers almost everything she studied and only a few times she has failed, due to laziness and too much faith in her abilities. She has told herself to never slack off ever again and so she continues practicing after school in her backyard, no matter if it's freezing or raining or just a bad day, she pushes her body to the limit almost every day. She studies hours on hours on hours, just after her endless practice, till midnight; sometimes she consumes her dinner while studying for her next exam. Lottie has virtually no time for herself anymore, but she knows it's her fault. She knows that she does this to appease her father's wishes for her life and that she will never make him proud. She tells herself that she's ok, that she can continue doing this without repercussions.

She is on fire today, she has just passed one of the most difficult tests of the year without breaking a sweat attracting to herself the envy of various people -and Natalie's-, had successfully exposed a presentation in class -"How cults can change people psyche", by Lottie Matthews-, and now is practicing, having just scored a goal after being chased by Taissa and making her repeatedly taking her to the ground. Lottie is triumphant, sweat coating her skin and a smile gracing her lips, the same smile that made people develop crushes for her. "Ok team, I want you to try and score a goal, Lottie, Taissa and Van, you guys try to stop them, ok?" Coach Ben says.

Lottie moves to her place near Taissa, ignoring the looks the girl gives her, Van behind the, waiting for the ball. When the coach blows the whistle, the teams move: Shauna passes the ball to Mari, in a fake attempted attack from right, trying to get past Taissa, the ball is passed to Laura Lee who has already run across the field enough to not be worried about Taissa. The only obstacles left between her and the goal are Lottie and Van. The latter won't be a problem, when Laura will kick the ball from the underside angle, sending it to the far corner of the net; the real problem is Lottie. The girl is tall and strong enough to turn the situation to her favor and virtually leave Laura's and the rest of the team empty handed. And, to top it all off, she's on fire today. So, Laura Lee devises a plan: as soon as Lottie will corner her, she will fall back and kick the ball as high as she can, attempting to send it through the net. Lottie will not budge, she thinks, -"She is too smart to fall for this..."- but she will at least attempt to try.

Lottie has stayed still until now, determined to be the one to stop her teammates. Her muscles tighten, ready to strike, until her attention is on someone else, someone on the seats.

There are quite a few people here besides you and your friends. They had invited you to watch the Yellowjackets practice, more in particular to watch the Yellowjackets practice. You have sat in the nearest line to the field, wanting to crawl out of your seat whenever one of your friends made a loud remark about one of the girls. "Like, oh my God look at Natalie '' Hayley sighs dreamily, "I want to make sexy pottery with her '' Jessica scoffs at her "Say what you want about Natalie. Have you looked at coach Ben? He is so hot!" she says while twirling a strand of her hair. "I think he's gay Jessica..." she gasps "How would you know? The other day I saw him handing to Travis a bunch of condoms, he must like girls!", "That's not how it works Jessica..." you argue with her "Shut up," she scoffs at you. You turn your head away from her to avoid her anger, looking towards the field as you see number seven -Lottie, that must be her name- moving in position to defend the net. "...and how would you know? Your life is so boring, you never even had a relationship yet!"eyes scanning her face up and down, you look at Jessica ``I haven't but at least I don't drool for every human beginning in school" you remark at her, earning a glare that could kill.

"Shut up! Stupid asshole..." your eyes return to the soccer field, now focused back on the players: you see Lottie staring at you, her eyes never leaving yours even for a split second, you and your friends must've been loud for her attention to be on anything else other than practice. Neither you or her break eye contact, both in an almost hypnotic state, so, neither you or her notice Laura Lee screaming out for her teammate.

The second Lottie refocuses back on the game, the ball hits her face at full speed; Lottie stumbles back holding her nose, blood flowing freely from it, she loses her footing and falls on the ground. "Fuuuck!'' The team rushes to their friend, Laura Lee is profusely apologizing while trying to hold her best friend who isn't in the right mood to be manhandled. Coach Ben kneels next to Lottie and inspects her face: on the bridge of the nose, right where the ball has hit her, Lottie has a small red bump and her nose seems to be slightly pushed to the left side. "We need to take the infirmary..." he states and helps Lottie up, before Misty can get her hands on her classmate's face and cause more damage. She walks back with Ben with shame, and when she looks back to see you worried over her, she can't bring herself to look at you.

At the infirmary, she gets a pack of cold ice and after one hour, the nurse, a middle aged old woman who looks like she's done with life, walks over to her and takes away the ice pack. Her hands move and test around Lottie's nose, manhandling her -she looks like a small scared child-. "Take a deep breath with your mouth...", she's confused as hell but does so, feeling the nurse's hands move again on her nose, "...and don't panic". -What?- the nurse's fingers block her nose and push strongly to the right side, readjusting the bone. Lottie lets out a banshee-like scream "Fuck me!" and she hold her face, muffling her scream in her hands, "Don't move too much or you could crook it again". Her fingers move across the nose skin, it definitely hurts but now she can breathe again: the nose still has a small red bump at the middle of its length. "Yeah, that's not going away", the nurse says while arranging some things in a box, "What?".

Her father had wanted to sue both the nurse and Laura Lee's family as soon as he saw how his daughter's nose looked, but with some convincing, Lottie had managed to make his anger drop. Today, some time after the whole fiasco, Shauna has come to pick her up for school, usually she would use her father's limo but today she felt like beginning with a friend -and exploiting her a bit- than with the old decrepit driver her father hired. As soon as she enter Shauna's car, the other girl lets out a small pained hiss at Lottie's nose. "...Is it that noticeable...?", Shauna let's out a small hum and moves uncomfortably under Lottie's dark gaze. "I mean... I see it because I was there, but it's not tha-" Shauna is interrupted by Lottie's frustrated sigh and cries. "God! This is just what I needed..." she mutters into her hand, Shauna drops her hand on her friend's shoulder "Come on...It's not that bad, no one will notice". Lottie moves to look at Shauna, her eyes are tearful, "That's literally the first thing you noticed about me today". A gulp travels down Shauna's throat "Uhm..." the taller girl looks her dead in the eyes "This is the part where you, as a friend, would comfort me". The car engine starts, Shauna lets out a embarassed cough while she starts to move the car "...Let's go".

"Ouch..." Taissa says to her while munching her sandwich, the whole soccer team is in the cafeteria for lunch, Lottie had been the last one to join the team 'cause her classes ended later, of course that would involve her not-so-glorious entrance in the room, where everyone had looked at her weird or with pity. "Laura Lee hasn't come today...She's feeling pretty guilty for what she's done. I think this will stay inside her little fanatic brain for a while" Taissa laughs while exchanging a kiss with Van, "And she's right. If I were you, Lottie, I would have punched her in the face ages ago" Natalie barges in the conversation. "Changing topic, tonight there's a party. At Randy's' ' the blonde girl mutters while focused on rolling something that Lottie is pretty sure isn't a normal cig, "I don't know if I'll be there... I don't feel really good". Natalie lets out a scoff, momentarily messing up her rolling before continuing again, "Come on Lottie, It's only a party. Besides, your 'little incident' is not that visible ''. Taissa stares at Natalie with a look that says 'Really?' , "Geez, how about some fucking decency Natalie?" she spats out receiving a roll of eyes from the other girl "The point is, going to a party won't be that big of a deal". Everyone seems to turn to Lottie, waiting for her response, "...Ok".

Night has come, and with it, Lottie's uneasiness. The party had proved to be a lot more crowded than she imagined, it was packed with people who were beginning to drink by the time the Yellowjackets had come. Jackie had placed her hand on Lottie's shoulder, stroking it reassuringly "Don't worry Lottie, we won't go anywhere" and for a split second, Lottie had believed her and smiled reproaching the smile, before she had looked away -for one fucking second-, and all of her team had left to so their things: Taissa and Van had two red cups in their hands and were flirting to one angle of the room, Jackie had blindedly followed Jeff somewhere with Shauna trailing behind her and Natalie was gone to God knows where, probably doing drugs with those toxics of her friends. So, as she had been sure all this time, Lottie was alone. A sigh escaped her lips, her brows furrowing in annoyance and creating a small wrinkle between them, and worry showing in her eyes. She makes a bee line to the kitchen, finding it almost empty except for a drunk couple in one of the dark corners; on the table amidst all the discarded red cups and leftover foods, sits a clear glass bowl of red-blood punch with some ice and a slice of orange floating in. Lottie takes one of the clean cups and fills it to the brim with alcohol. She drinks her worries away feeling the liquid heat her from within, before she knows she has gulped down half of it. Her hands search for her cigarettes in her jeans pocket, finding only a few left: taking one she holds it between her lips but realizes she has forgotten her lighter at home, "As if this night couldn't be any worse...".

When you walk into the kitchen, you see the same girl who yesterday almost got half of her face blown off -Lottie, you remind yourself-.

She's dressed in high waisted dark gray jeans, a long sleeved black shirt and a pair of glasses which made her look far more nerdy than she might have intended. "Oh, hi!" she turns around so quickly that some of the liquid spills out of the cup and pours on her fingers, but she doesn't seem to care all that much, all her attention is on you. "H-Hi...!". Walking over to her, you smile "You are Lottie right? You got pretty hurt some time ago, huh?", gulping down dryly her eyes focused on your lips resting on the cup ridge "Uhhhh, uh, ehm, yes yeas, yeah that's me...". Eyes hazy and unfocused, she doesn't hear you calling out for her "...ttie. Lottie? Earth calls to Lottie, are you there?" she jolts up a second, straighten her spine and avoids to look you in the eye. "Uh, yeah I'm here, just a little distracted" her throat clears and she lets out a small laugh. You look at her, you notice the way she seems to be around you: gone is the confident jock from the soccer team, all that's left of her is a girl who's too shy to talk without stuttering every few seconds. "Say, would you like to get to know each other?" her throat clears before she nods her head slightly with a little smile. "So, what do you like to do, you know, besides soccer?" you lean on the table while sipping on the punch, "Well, I like partying, usually, and -you know- soccer is all my life. I play the guitar sometimes..." your gasp interrupts her, "You'll have to let me hear something one day!". Lottie tells you more about her life: she tells you about her father and mother, about how she's always alone in that big cold house of hers, about how she likes the soccer team a lot -except Jackie sometimes- and of her love for teen dramas, especially Dawson's Creek.

The alcohol starts to make your body heat, she looks so good under dimmed lights; you sip down the last drops of the alcohol and throw the empty cup on the table, slightly scaring Lottie. "Would you like to dance?" her eyes move to yours and shakes her head in approval "Of course!" you take her cup and set it on the table, placing your hand on hers and leading her to the living room.

The room is lit by red light, the music is so loud it makes her heart jump in her chest, but Lottie can barely hear it over the loud beating of her heart in her ears. You get close to her body and feel its heat, how her skin shivers when you touch her a little too long and how she can't even place her shaky hands on you. Everything is slow, heated, the red lights paint Lottie in a way you haven't seen before; you lock eyes with her and for a moment, you feel the need to kiss her, even if you have known her only for a few hours. You get closer to her, so much so that you can feel the raspiness of her breath when you eye her lips. It isn't surprising then when, in the euphoria you're both experiencing, you don't hear the heavy steps of someone getting closer to you.

You get yanked from Lottie's grip, someone spins you around until you've met with his face again. "What the fuck are you doing?!" he snaps at you, his brows are furrowed and he looks even more of a rabid dog than when you left him. "Hello Brandon..." he grips your arms tighter, bruising your skin underneath; his breath is on your face,reeking of alcohol. "Hello'? What the fuck are you doing with this bitch?!" he starts to tug you around, all the while continuing to spit in your face insults.

As soon as he lets go of you Lottie reaches out and manhandles you behind her; a stern look appears on her face. "Hey, what's your problem?" she looks him up and down, studying him "My problem is you, and people like you" he spats out. "Like me?" she can feel her blood pressure rising, his implication not missed by Lottie.

Brandon's friends are near him, some giggle but others are trying to hold him down from exploding further. "Yeah, people like you and this bitch over here" he gestures at you with a nod, he seems to get even more red than he was before, almost looking rabid, "What the fuck are you talking about?".

Brandon seems to have been pushed over the edge, a wild look in his eyes, he sweats and screams on Lottie's face "You fucking faggots! You gross shit! Scum like you shouldn't even exist!" people are gathering now near, the music seems to almost have gone silent, flashes and giggles surround you. Lottie grips your hand tight, so tight that it hurts, "Lottie..." she turns around, her other hand placed on your hip and starts to lead you out of the party.

"Let's go" her voice wavering: for a split second, she saw her father spilling insults at her after she had told what she really was. "Yeah you better go! We don't want disgusting shits like you around here" Brandon is held back by his friends when he attempts to chase after you.

Through her clouded mind, Lottie doesn't miss Brandon's next words "You aren't even that good at soccer, I bet your father is really proud of his shitty disgusting lizzie daughter". Lottie feels her knuckles crush bone beneath them, and regains her consciousness, realizing she had punched Brandon right on the nose, in the exact same way she was hit the day's priors. He falls on his ass in the middle of his friend group, spurting insults and imprecations at you and Lottie. Before you can look at him, you're tugged out of the party. You run with Lottie, both with the fear that he might get out of his friend's grapes and follow you; you run across the small patch of woods just outside of Randy's house.

The night is lit by countless stars in the sky, wind blows through the trees and inside of your heart an euphoric feeling blooms. When you end up at the other side of the trees, in a clearance, you start to laugh at your heart's content; your laugh is so contagious that it starts to affect Lottie too -who previously was looking at you like you were mad- making her let out chuckles of her own.

You hold on to her, much like you did when you were at the party, she hides her face into your neck while still giggling: you start to notice the position you're in, her breath hitches when she notices how close you are and -more importantly- where her face is. Dark eyes reflect the night sky, she looks at you with something akin to adoration for a second, before she composes herself and let go of you, clearing her throat. "So ummm... who was that guy?" you rethink about the events of the night and -trying not to think- about how good Lottie looks right now. "He was my ex-boyfriend. He has been going a bit crazy since I broke up with him. I told him I... liked girls and he has been bothering me ever since I left him" Lottie let's out a small 'oh' of approval, taking in all that you said. "So... you like girls" she hums in thought; you inadvertently let out a laugh "Of course! I thought it was pretty obvious from how I was looking at you". Her face becomes beet red -'Shit, I looked so stupid! Why did I asked that?!'-, she scratches the back of her head while averting your gaze. Her hand is held by yours, she follows your movement and when she turns around, she's met with your lips on hers. She can't move the lips back, too stunned by your action to reciprocate the kiss but just when you thought of pulling away -'maybe she doesn't like me'- you feel her hands cupping your cheeks and deepening the kiss. -'Whoa... sparks...'- she thinks while deepening the kiss even more, it feels like millions of little light sparks shine on you and her. She's so close you can barely breathe, the air itself feels intoxicating, this is just too good to be true. When you pull away, both of you are blushing and messy, she looks amazing under the moonlight: hair messy, glasses slightly sliding to the side, skin so red and eyes watery. "Wow... this feels very... romantic..." she sighs into your neck, holding your chest to hers "We should do this more often..." you kiss her again, giddy, holding onto her neck "We definitely should!".

Something moves in the bushes rapidly, making both of you jolt up in fear that your ex might've catched up, Lottie is already ready to throw another punch, just when from the darkness between the trees, the Yellowjackets appear, all of them. "G-God!" an echo of 'oooh's' rise up from the group, Van begins the lead of them "Oh so that's what you were doing Lottie! We feared you got into a fight!". Van gets closer to you two, throwing her arm around Lottie's shoulders "Are you gonna introduce your 'friend' to us?", the taller girl puffs out a breath in annoyance "Oh fuck off!".

[the-catboy-minyan]

always so funny to me how boycotters focus on shit like Coca Cola and McDonald's. like sure, ofc you should start buying less of these, they're unnecessary and unhealthy, but not giving them money isn't going to help Palestinians in any way, and saying "if you buy from x company you're an evil (((zionist)))" is wrong.

no one is gonna tell you "actually, you SHOULD keep buying starbucks", because nobody fucking likes starbucks, and it's your choice what to fo with your money, but when people say "Starbucks doesn't support Israel there's no reason to boycott it", that's what a lot of them are hearing.

if you boycott, go for companies that actually do harm and not just sell stuff in Israel. and if you're serious about boycotts, you'd go for more serious companies than fast food chains and snacks.

not to mention, publicly shaming companies for having business in a country is not gonna do anything to help Palestinians anyways? the only thing it does is shame israelis for existing. Israeli companies can't sell products abroad, Israeli companies can't do business with foreign companies, Israeli companies can't be allowed to have foreign products, you're trying to cut off Israel's line of business, you know who this will harm? the citizens, not the government who still gets tax money and funding from foreign countries.

foreign companies leave Israel due to loss of profits, Jewish and Palestinian Israelis lose jobs. Israeli companies lose business with foreign companies, get less money, have to lay off workers and eventually declare bankruptcy. produce supply decreases, prices go up, jobs get diminished, unemployment rises, the value of the currency goes down, taxes increase, and the only people who are suffering from this are the citizens. these are the perfect conditions for a dictatorship uprising, because in a poor economy where the poor get poorer, the people have less power than the rich.

your boycott will only help push the Israel's citizens into poverty and the government into a dictatorship. it might be too much to ask of you to care for Israeli lives (even if those are Palestinians with an Israeli citizenship) so I hope you understand this will harm Palestinians in the long term, because Israelis will not have the power to push back against their government anymore, and everything you see right now will be 10 times worse.

if you have proof a company is affiliated with the Israeli GOVERNMENT or MILITARY, fuck it, go nuts, but stop punishing companies for breathing in the direction of an Israeli.

[soracities]

oooh please tell us what writing rules are garbage I would love to hear more

it's not that they're garbage, which isn't what i said, just that they annoy me and even then what annoys me is not the "rules" themselves (because i do believe they can be useful depending on what you're writing) but when some of them are put out as the only way to write something as if storytelling is a one-size fits all approach, as if you can reduce the millenia-long history of literature into a fail-proof formula that will work for all writing across all cultures with no room for experimentation.

i think there are as many ways to tell a story as there are stories and how you tell something and the kind of language you use will vary depending on what language actually means to you as a writer. hemingway and faulkner both famously took digs at each other for their styles (even though i think there was a lot of admiration between them) but they are also two very different writers with two completely different approaches to language and how they use that language to say the things they want to say: neither is inherently better, or more right, than the other--their approaches were just right for them; if faulkner wanted to write using the "older, simpler, better" words hemingway loved, he would have. if james joyce wanted to depict dublin the way dickens depicted london, he would have done so. but they didn't.

someone once posted an excellent breakdown by jeff vandermeer of the different writing styles employed by different authors which i was silly enough not to save at the time, but in it he gives an overview of the structure of their sentences, and how complicated or "rich" the language is, without pitting one style against the other. and to be honest, i think writing advice that encourages you to examine and look at that relationship with language, and what it holds for you (and others) and why, is probably more helpful than blanket statements like "stay away from ambiguity" or "avoid long sentences" because neither of those actually mean anything--a sentence is a vessel but it's also a tool, like a hoghair brush or a palette knife; the value of its impact is not an essence that exists in and of itself, but entirely dependent on how you use it, otherwise all literature would just read the same way.

strict adherence to a particular form or structure within a language does not automatically make for better writing, especially not when so much literature actually consists of, and is built from, works and authors actively rebelling against those same traditional forms and structures (but which is also not to say that those forms and structures are inherently useless, either). you can say that long sentences "risk distraction" or are "ineffective" but then where does that leave someone like laszlo krasznahorkai, whose prose runs on like some kind of breathless, hypnotic incantantion for 20, 30 pages without a single full stop in sight? or a book like solar bones by mike mccormack which is made up of a single sentence going on for 200 pages? i'm not saying long sentences can't be boring or tedious, but in all honesty so can short sentences--so can any writing that follows the "rules" to the letter. if something is poorly written, the "rules" matter very little; if it's well written, they matter even less.

all that said, telling people to "avoid long sentences" is not inherently a bad thing because i think the core of it is wanting to ensure your writing remains clear, which is a fair point--but it's an issue, to me at least, when it turns into one of those dictums or pronouncements that actively narrows the potential range language can actually have. clarity is not always about length, or whether or not you cull all of your run-on lines--mihail sebastian drew a very nice distinction in one of his novels when he said "[is] there’s a single way of being clear? A notary can be clear, or a poet, but they don’t seem to me the same thing". a long sentence can be clear, but its clarity exists on different terms to a sentence that is five words long, because its relationship to its content is different. and at the end of the day, that relationship is really what it's about for me and it's distinct to each work and its author.

writers use the language and form they use that best allows them to say what they want to say. no one in their right mind is going to dismiss zadie smith for not writing like angela carter or angela carter for not writing like hemingway or hemingway for not writing like beckett or beckett for not writing like mallarmé. robert frost and sara teasdale were no more correct than the beatniks were. i love pared down, beautifully concise prose, but i also adore books that relish in language and all the various, multi-coloured layers of it, books that eschew (traditional) plot and books that question their own form and the reality of that form, and books that tell a story as straightforwardly as possible.

to be honest i think one of the most formative things i came across, years ago now, was this piece by gary provost, which really sums up the whole notion of "writing rules" for me:

this is not about do's or dont's. it even breaks the first writing rule i learnt in school ("never begin a sentence with 'And'"). but what it does is center an intimate understanding of language, where it can go and how it can get there, and what you want that to do. that's where it's at for me!

[beauty-and-passion]

Lore Olympus: a superficial vision of Greek Mythology

Hello again,

here we are with the third and last post about Lore Olympus. New post (posts?) will come when the story is over, but this is my last one for now.

This post will be about the main characters of the story: Hades, Persephone and Demeter. The story is about them after all, right? Right?

These three aren’t just the protagonists of the story: they are also the sum of all the problems we talked about: they’re badly written, they’re a waste of potential and they’re insulting to Greek mythology - and everyone’s intelligence.

But let’s talk about them in detail.

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Hades: boring rather than mysterious

Hades isn't exactly an easy character to write. According to the myth, Hades is serious, dark and gloomy - and of course he is, he should be the representation of death!

In addition to that, he's not exactly a positive figure. In the original myth, he kidnapped Persephone and when Demeter asked for her daughter back, Hades tricked Persephone into eating a pomegranate. The pomegranate was considered a fruit of the underworld and whoever ate it, could not leave the underworld anymore - so he found a way to have her around, at least for half of the year.

So nope, he wasn’t exactly the good guy here.

However, Hades is also one of the very few gods/mythological figures who is mostly faithful to his wife: he had just a few lovers, compared to the billions of lovers other gods had.

That could be used to portray him as an introverted guy, who isn’t able to find the love of his life - at least until he meets Persephone.

Or it can be used to make him even more intimidating: he’s the god of the dead after all, so people can be rightfully scared of him. And he would grow bitter and dark, because of the constant rejection. This could lead to a sort of Beauty-and-the-Beast remake, in which he slowly learns how to improve, thanks to Persephone’s acceptance.

Or it can be a way to show him for who he is: a dark, gloomy figure no one can accept because he’s linked to death and only someone who deals with the cycle of nature can understand. (Guess which idea I like more.)

Hades can be very interesting. He has A LOT of potential.

But Lore Olympus doesn’t exploit it. Hades is rich in the most boring way, just like any modern American capitalist could be. He owns stuff and people and doesn’t care about anything and anyone, starting from his dogs that appear only when the story needs them, to his godson or whatever Thanathos was supposed to be.

In addition, Mrs. Smythe tries so hard to make us sympathize with Hades by giving him a ton of traumas. But we never delve deeper: I don’t care about Hades’ childhood, I don’t care about his resemblance to his father, I don’t care about his supposed abusive relationship with Minthe. I. Just. Don’t. Care.

And this is bad. He’s the male protagonist, I should care about him! But I don’t. I don’t remember a single moment involving him. He's incredibly bland, for someone with all these issues going on.

This is one of the biggest proofs of amateur writing: in order to make a character interesting, you add as many things as possible. And so Hades has stuff and problems and everything, but it’s all words. It’s telling and not showing. All of his threads are not developed and do not reach any point.

Do you know what Mrs. Smythe could’ve done instead? She had two possible choices:

1) To spend time on Hades’ character and his personal growth (and focus the story on him and not on a shit ton of other characters).

2) To make him a simpler character. No character needs 200 traumas and 300 quirks to be interesting. And considering we’re talking about fucking Hades, we don’t need much else. He’s the god of the underworld, what else do you need? Mrs. Smythe could’ve focused on his role only and it would’ve been a great story already.

But nope, we got a rich, old guy swooning over a young, naive kid like everyone else does in this boring story.

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Persephone: over-perfection

Persephone is never allowed to be a character in this story. She cannot have flaws. She is always nice, the nicest, the most perfect girl in the world. All the other girls are bad and mean, but not her. She is and she will always be nice.

But then, oh, she starts talking about "a feeling" inside her: a super vague-y feeling that made her angry.

And I had a feeling inside me too: the feeling that this would lead to some bullshit.

We reach the end of act one, by finding out about Persephone's act of wrath. Helios' version is: Persephone got angry because the humans were killing her friends (friends she never mentioned and will never mention, but let’s pretend it makes sense), so she killed the humans in return.

Okay, so Persephone can get angry. She can be vengeful. She can make mistakes and be flawed. Wow, that’s interesting! I can’t wait to see how she will talk about these feelings inside her and I want to see the contrast between them and her need to be perfect. We will see her regret and her growth, because she did something terrible despite harmless humans begging her to stop and she will learn from her mistakes...

Nah nah nah, none of that. First of all, we should justify Persephone because clearly this is the right thing to do: justify a bad character.

Do you want to know what the truth is? The humans weren't begging as Helios thought, by they were mean to Persephone: bo-hoo, poor little goddess, she's just a fucking goddess after all while they were humans, she's clearly the perfect target for bullies.

Also, it wasn't her who did her act of wrath, it was the feeling inside her! The feeling made her do it!

This is the epitome of immature, horrible writing: justifying the bad actions of a character at all costs. It's a bit like saying that, idk, Voldemort murdered a lot of people, but only because they were mean to him and because he was surrounded by bad people who made him do it - otherwise, he would've been the nicest guy ever. That's bullshit, that's idiotic, that strips the character of their responsibilities because the author is very biased and doesn't want to see flaws in their perfect creation.

Because of that, Persephone's flaws disappeared again. She isn't bad, it's the thing inside her (that is not her and we see it reconfirmed over and over) that made her bad! She is perfect! She is the purest!

I hated this. This is the biggest proof that the author is immature, inexperienced and immensely biased. Persephone had her chance to finally be something more than a smile and a pretty body but nope, once again she was nothing more than a bidimensional cardboard.

But that's not all. The constant reconfirmation that Persephone had "a feeling" inside her, that "it wasn't her doing this" was still pushing in the back of my head. My bullshit senses were tingling more than ever.

And then, we reached the fucking trial.

A trial that doesn't make any sense because, even if Zeus trusted Helios' version of the story (i.e. Persephone got angry because the humans were killing her friends, so she killed them in return), this whole thing isn't worth a trial. I mean, the gods did worse stuff for a lot less: for example, Hera and Athena were so pissed at Paris for the story of the golden apple, to welcome the Trojan War and take sides, despite Zeus telling everyone to not interfere. And speaking of Zeus, what about when the gods tried to overthrow him? He punished Hera and a couple of other gods, but didn't make a whole ass trial.

But okay, fine, this is a retelling and the gods are a lot more tamed, compared to their original selves. A trial is needed. We may see Persephone fighting for her version to prove to everyone she is Little Miss Perfect. Maybe we will have the immensely boring clichè of the Unexpected Witness we see in every stupid movie, when the lawyer suddenly says, look, they found a witness hidden until now who saw everything! And Persephone is perfect as always!

But nope, we got something much, much stupider.

Instead of the clichè of the Unexpected Witness, we got a walking plot device, who appeared Because Yes, moved the conversation where the author needed Because Yes and delivered the answer of a plot point. Because Yes.

Hear me out: Persephone isn’t a flawed character, how dare you think she is less than perfect? She is Perfection Incarnate and her act of wrath wasn’t her doing this, but Eris making her do it.

Why? Because, when Persephone was born, while other gods blessed her with perfection, Eris blessed her with a “feeling”, i.e. wrath. And this is the reason why she becomes angry: not because it’s a normal feeling and it would make sense that she can experience it, but because of Eris.

No, I'm not making this up and yes, it’s a fucking Sleeping Beauty rip-off. Only worse and more stupid, because it doesn’t acknowledge that Persephone might be flawed like every other character. She is the absolute fucking best forever and ever.

In case you’re wondering: no, this isn’t good writing. That’s the exact opposite of good writing - and the opposite of logical sense too.

Do you want to know what we could've had instead? What about a Persephone who has a real dark side? A goddess who spent so much time trying to appear as the perfect daughter, to grow anger and bitterness inside her? A goddess who, when her friends died, reached a breaking point and let out years of repressed frustration? A goddess who isn’t perfect and not because of Eris, but because she is a gray character?

I would've loved to see it. And it would’ve been great for the romance too: instead of the typical "dark gloomy Hades finds love in the sunny happy Persephone", we could've seen the other way around: a dark Persephone who finds her soulmate in the darkness of Hades.

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Persephone: over-sexualized in the wrong way

Persephone started being sexualized since her first appearance. Not only because Hades stared at her like a fucking creep, but especially because her friend gave her a dress so short to barely cover her boobs and ass. Considering that Artemis is taller than Persephone, my question is: are we sure this was a dress and not an oversized top?

So the female protagonist has been introduced with a feeling of awkwardness and embarrassment, because she is wearing something she doesn't feel at ease with. The first thing we learn about her is that she doesn't like to show too much skin. And, over time, she reconfirms that.

However, we also see her frequently half-naked or almost naked. And this rubs me the wrong way.

Why? Because it has been clearly stated that Persephone is extremely young. She's barely an adult - if you consider 19 years old like "being an adult". And the time skip was so stupid and useless, I didn’t even realize there was a time skip, because she STILL looks like a teen.

Her physical connotations are also accentuated to be the same as a child: round face, big round eyes, very tiny figure. She literally looks like a child in some drawings and that rubbed me even more wrong. Making a youthful character is one thing, making a fucking baby is a different one.

And if we think about it, the first time she and Hades met, she wasn't even wearing clothes, but pure light. And I’m not even sure she was 18, so... bleurgh. Just imagine a naked adolescent on top of an 80-year-old man. Or even just a 50-year-old man. I don’t know you, but I find it fucking disgusting.

And the more the story goes on, the more we see her sexualization. Persephone’s boobs are so big that, if they were real, she would have some serious back pains. Her ass is huge as well and her figure went from a simple hourglass to a literal hourglass, with huge hips and an impossibly tiny waist.

However, this isn't inherently a bad thing... If this goes along with Persephone wanting to be more sexualized. If we saw Persephone wanting to show her skin, to be sexy, to do alluring poses, to be naked, there would be nothing wrong with showing her like this. The art would match the character's desires. And there's nothing wrong if a character (or someone in real life) just wants to be sexier or to show more skin.

But Persephone never wants to. We never see her saying/thinking or even trying to be sexier. She vaguely thinks about it, but everything is kept in a façade of family-friendlyness (despite the, well, almost naked scenes). She never wants to show too much skin, yet she always shows her skin to everyone.

That's not interesting, that's not character growth, that's not even sexy. That's just sad. And, as a woman myself, I do not like to see women being forced into nakedness without wanting it.

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Demeter: incoherence to its finest

In all of this mess, Demeter is treated like a manipulative mother. Why, do you ask? Because Yes, of course!

Let’s just ignore that, in the myth, Demeter is not a manipulative mother, but a simple worried and angry mother, whose daughter got fucking kidnapped and she could not find her. Let’s close both eyes and accept that Demeter is manipulative. Okay? Okay.

Now please tell me when we see her being manipulative, besides the stupid “eclipse” episode in act 3. We always saw her being worried and protective of her daughter, but not manipulative.

And even the overprotectiveness isn’t handled well. If Demeter is so overprotective, then why did she never call, when Persephone was at Artemis’ house? Why did she never pay them more than one visit? Why did she never give Persephone a phone? She could’ve used it to track her every move and call her daily.

But she did not, because she was not an overprotective mother. Her actions were not overprotective, but the simple actions of a worried mother.

But then I suppose Mrs. Smythe needed a villain to start act 3, so Demeter changed and became overprotective and manipulative Because Yes.

The problem is that it’s still by words. I still do not see an evil, manipulative mother. All I see is a mother who has every right to be worried, because Hades is an asshole and Zeus is an even bigger asshole and because patriarchy wins in this “feminist” retelling.

But hey, she’s bad because the plot says so and because Mrs. Smythe needed a villain, so let’s hate her... even though she has all the right to be worried. And even thought most of the time, all she said is perfectly logic and reasonable.

Also, let’s not forget how Mrs. Smythe mistreated her, by taking away a lot of her power and influence. The real Demeter is an insanely powerful goddess, she controls the cycle of seasons and fertility all over the earth. When her daughter disappeared, she basically let everything die. Zeus was forced to intervene and find an agreement, otherwise Demeter would’ve ended life on the planet.

The most powerful thing this Demeter does is put a stupid embargo that Hades and Persephone bypass in 30 seconds. Do you see what I mean when I say that these gods are much more tamed compared to their original counterparts?

Also, this Demeter was used by Zeus for sex with the promise of becoming a queen, which is

disgusting

still part of this weird obsession for sex, rape and sexual assaults

disrespectful towards the mythological goddess, who didn’t give a fuck about the throne because when you’re already this powerful you don’t need much else.

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In conclusion

A story is nothing without good characters and Lore Olympus doesn’t have any: Hades is a ball of nothing, Persephone is so perfect she makes me puke, Demeter doesn’t make any sense and when she does, everyone treats her like a villain.

And I know I said I don’t want to talk about act 3, but the whole Eleusian kid is such a bullshit it deserves at least one mention. What’s the moral of the whole thing supposed to be? That if you know the right people, even death isn’t a problem? That nepotism always win? That Demeter doesn’t give a shit about Persephone, but she was just projecting?

What an absolute waste of time, what an absolute disrespect to Greek mythology and life in general. Death is never underestimated in Greek myths: as I said in my first post, Greek myths are supposed to offer explanations for things humans cannot understand and there isn’t a force as strong and as impenetrable as death. Death is unstoppable and impossible to overcome and it’s treated as such in Greek myths: no one escapes death and the exceptions are few and rare.

So changing a story to make a character escape death is the ultimate proof Mrs. Smythe didn’t understand the Greek myths in general and the myth of that character in particular, because that kid

wasn’t Demeter’s son

died in his myth because death is not a swinging door you can cross whenever and whatever you want

And speaking of Demeter: what this story is supposed to tell me, about her? That she doesn’t care about Persephone so much? The same Demeter, who in Persephone’s myth was grieving her child and because of her sadness, she almost ended life on Earth? The same Demeter, who refused to do anything, until Zeus intervened?

Or maybe Rachel wants to tell me that a mother’s love is finite and you can either love one child or the other? In that case, I really hope this woman has no children at all.

Portraying Demeter as this shitty mother is beyond disrespectful. In the original myth, her love is what changed the cycle of life and death forever. It’s because she fought for Persephone, that she didn’t get stuck in the underworld forever with her kidnapper. It’s because of Demeter’s love, that life blossomed again after the winter.

Lore Olympus is disrespectful towards the original material. And if I find it a waste of potential as a reader and a badly written story as a writer, as a Greek I am just sad. Sad because I’ve already seen a lot of rewritings and this one isn’t as original as I hoped. It doesn’t give me that tingle of pride and joy, it doesn’t make my imagination work. When I read it, I don’t think: “Oh, I remember this figure! And this myth! Can’t wait to see how it will be developed!”. I think: “Oh wow, another clichè. Oh, come on, what kind of solution is that?! That’s just too stupid to handle”.

That’s just sad to see part of your cultural heritage being mistreated. And I feel bad as Italian too, because Romans treated these gods and stories with respect, not by doing stupid, soulless rewrites. I feel insulted 

So, do you want a rewrite that doesn’t seem as sad as Lore Olympus? Then check Punderworld. It’s still going on, so it could end up being shitty too, but for now, I think it’s much better than Lore Olympus and much more interesting.

Just an example: the author knows about Hades’ invisibility cloak. That’s something small, sure, but that’s promising. And, at least for now, seeing Hades and Persephone talking about the cycle of life and death is much, much more interesting than “I’m a fertility power battery”, “Bring me Hera because now I’m obsessed with her for no reason”, “I’m such a stupid villain all I can do is cling to other gods because I want power Because Yes”.

So check that and check other rewritings too! Luckily Lore Olympus isn’t the only one: there are a ton of rewritings, both old and new ones. You will find a better one in no time.

And if you enjoy Greek Mythology, then read the original myths too. You will find complex personalities, human flaws, metaphorical stories and much more. After all, there’s a reason why these myths survived the passage of time and they’re still so well known and so beloved despite being so old.

Thank you all so much for your time and thank you for reading these posts.

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(How about a coffee? ☕)

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[thatgirl4815]

Self-Destruction

Ray has defied expectations so many times in the last two episodes. Though he is certainly bratty and impulsive, he's also not nearly as bratty as I was inclined to believe before the series aired. This got me thinking about defense mechanisms, and the way Ray's persona could be curated to match the person he wants to be, not necessarily the one he sees himself as.

As evidenced by his reaction to waking up at Sand's place in Ep1, Ray's own sense of self is directly intertwined with wealth. I suspect he's lived his entire life in luxury; more importantly, he's lived with constant comments about this luxury from those around him (come to think of it, how many Ray scenes have there been so far where his wealth hasn't been mentioned?). I'd argue Ray's construction of self is tied up in his money too; he even tells Mew in Ep1 that the only thing he knows how to do with money is spend it. He knows how important money is to his image because there's no escaping it.

So when Sand references the financial disparity between them in Ep2, Ray surely expects it. But instead of growing defensive, we see Ray react to nearly every one of Sand's jabs with a laugh, even the ones that seem particularly targeted at his deepest struggles. Such as--

Ray isn't only a "spoiled, rich brat here"--he's "lonely," and that's the bit that we've seen reiterated throughout this episode. I'd wager it goes much farther back than the show itself, given the subtle references to it in Ep1 with his friend group (i.e., how when he's drunk he always begs them not to leave him). This could be a sign of abandonment issues, likely to do with his mother's death and his father's supposed lack of (emotional) involvement in his life (there's no proof of this yet, but I'd put money on it).

I think Ray has two go-to defenses. The first is alcohol. Understandably, this numbs him to any loneliness he might feel. The second is carelessness--more specifically, the impression of carelessness. There's this common notion that if one pretends to feel a certain way, they might actually begin to feel that way. The same could be said here. If Ray acts unbothered, then he can convince himself that he really is unbothered. The persona blurs with reality until they become one and the same.

Obviously there are consequences to each of these defenses. Alcohol can lead to dependency, creating a greater need that develops into alcoholism. Acting is also dangerous because it's a form of suppression--an attempt at persuasion. It's a desperate man's effort to convince himself he's fine. But this only leads all of one's bad feelings to fester deep inside and create an even larger hole.

The arguable third defense against Ray's loneliness is companionship, which he seeks out in Sand. This has its own risks, as Sand seems to understand, but Ray denies. Intimacy in all its forms is particularly dangerous for Ray because it could only breed more loneliness. If he forms a deep attachment to someone, that's only giving them more power over him later. The moment his control starts to slip is the moment his defense turns into a weapon to be used against him. Again, I suspect this has roots in his mother's death, leading to abandonment and attachment issues.

In terms of future eps, once Ray realizes the control that Sand has over him, I suspect he'll deny it and brush it off. At the same time, he'll need more of it (Sand really does say it perfectly in this last scene). Eventually, this back-and-forth will create an implosion.

[samcat71470558]

Hiii I'm doodling some things about the cruise ship horror story, do you have any ideas about the protagonist? Or the killer?

I think the protagonist is a small helo. Barely any guts, got seasick the second the ship left shore, jumpy and really into ghost stories. Day one of their cruise is spent on the deck, occasionally hurling off the side of the ship. Maybe their name's something that sounds really imposing, like Storm. Or Hurricane. Yea, Hurricane. The second day's the day the weird things start. The ship's name is Wave. Inspired, I know. On day two he gets sick, puking and shivering and everything. He's anchored in the middle of nowhere, quietly suffering as the crew try to figure out what's wrong. As we learned in the post, seasickness only lasts about a day before ur body gets used to it. So now Hurricane's out and about, theorising about what could've caused Wave to get sick while the crew starts checking him over and taking care of him. And that's when they start dying. A killer's on the loose, everyone's panicking, and Hurricane's the only one who doesn't get caught because he spends most of his time on the deck and up in the air with Wave. Now he's helping the remaining medics by transporting medicine and cold compresses to the areas they're needed. Sure, he's scared, but he likes Wave. Even if only because he's the only one who actually listens to his rambles.

Now, on day four, the passengers start dying. At some point Hurricane catches a glimpse of the killer after finding a carcass, but no one believes him because he's accusing the rich boss of the company. Wave believes him, having seen it on his cameras, but everyone writes it off as him being delirious. And no one bothers to manually check his cameras.

At some point Hurricane builds up the courage to actually go into the bowels of Wave to find the killer, but because he's in the crew quarters below the waterline Wave can't see him. And he also can't see his little friend almost dying.

Hurricane's driving for his life, barely fitting through halls, scraping over walls and hitting just about everything. He's nearly in tears when he finally makes it back to the deck.

And still only Wave believes him.

By day five there are only a few passengers left, six to be precise. Seven if you count Hurricane. He's covered in dents and scrapes from his chase, and spends most of his time on top of Wave's head. The sick ship's getting a little better, no longer vomiting up his guts every few hours. In about a day he thinks he'll be able to get moving again. But until then, they're still stuck with six scared passengers and a killer on the loose.

That night the killer strikes one last time, killing the six remaining vehicles. Now only Hurricane remains. He's scared. Really scared. But he isn't about to leave Wave stranded. He knows that now he's the only one remaining, the killer probably will come out of the lower deck to catch him topside. And that's where he'll catch him.

By sunrise a shape moves on the deck, waking Hurricane up. He looks down, engine racing so fast he's scared he's gonna overheat. He waits a little longer, quietly sitting on Wave's head. The ship's keeping track of the vehicle on his deck, and finally Hurricane strikes. He has a hoist, and soon it's keeping the killer locked to Wave's deck. And now Hurricane has undeniable proof that the killer is, in fact, the CEO.

By now Wave's feeling well enough to actually move again, and in a few hours of top speed sailing they're at shore. Wave docks, police already waiting for them. The CEO's arrested, and Wave and Hurricane are giving a hero status. Hurricane gets repaired while Wave's taken to dry dock to be cleaned out. Y'know, because he's still filled with corpses. The police discover that the crew and passengers got poisoned by the same stuff that got Wave anchored for days, except for them it was lethal. Luckily there's an antivenom, and in a day Wave's better than new- good as new.

To this day Hurricane sails with Wave, who listens intently to his rambles and theories. It's even rumoured they might've been...

More than friends?

[heartsoji]

LOVE LANGUAGES

starring the bllk boys!

featuring nagi seishiro and mikage reo

a/n: i'll most likely do a part 2 for this with more and different characters but my recent reo obsession and writers block compelled me to do just this duo

NAGI SEISHIRO

physical touch + quality time!

this is extra proof that this man is me 2.0 (physical touch + quality time r my love languages too!)

nagi doesn't really know how to express love. he isn't good with or keen on words, too lazy for acts of service, and doesn't really know what a "thoughtful gift" would be

however, he just enjoys being with you

you guys dont even need to be talking. he just enjoys soaking up your presence

he's also quite keen on physical touch! run your fingers through his hair and he'll be putty in your hands

nagi isn't really a morning person, so if you try to leave the bed when its still morning, he'll pull you back into bed and press you again his chest, nuzzling his nose into your hair

he's pretty tall, so he also like resting his head or elbow atop your head (it's too much of a hassle to keep my head up, he'll say)

sometimes he feels bad that he can't get you nice things like reo, or express his undying love for you, but he's found ways to say "i love you" in his own, special, nagi seishiro way

MIKAGE REO

acts of service + gift giving + physical touch

as we all know very damn well, reo doesn't like having things just handed to him

he does, however, like handing things to you

we all know that reo is rich asf

like not normal rich mans is STUPID rich

he spoils you sm even when you yell at him not to

however, his gifts aren't just things like expensive diamonds and fancy whatnots (they are sometimes tho)

like yes, if your eyes linger on a lipstick for even a second too long, he's throwing it in the cart, but also, if you're complaining of a craving, he'll drive an hour away just to get the best quality version of what you wanted, or if you're complaining about your period, he will go out and buy pads and tampons of different sizes, midol, a hot water bottle, chocolate, whatever you need!

he's actually very thoughtful! the opposite of nagi (sorry)

taking care of you like that is just something that makes him happy

he's also big on physical touch

like yk how when we first meet him he's like playing w/ nagi's hair? yes. he does that to you too!

and let me tell you IT FEELS SO GOOD

LIKE HIS FINGERS ARE MAGICAL

SPEAKING OF WHICH

he gives the best massages!

he has experience with nagi, so if you're feeling sore, you're in good hands with reo!

i also think that he just really likes holding you

he has low-key attachment issues and like jealousy problems, but holding you in his arms just makes him feel like you're never gonna leave, and you're his and his only

he's my literal dream irl bf. rich? yes. cute? yes. thoughtful? yes. touchy? yes. 10/10 would date irl.

heartsoji 𑁍 please do not steal, plagiarize, or repost onto any platform. thank you!

[hollow-keys]

I think a lot of people don't get that superheroes don't often have the morality of online leftist. They will see Batman go guns bad. Donate to charity. No killing. And assume his anti killing rules are routed in leftist ideology.

This isn't true. He supports state sanctioned killing in many comics. He is anti-vigilante killing. And on occasion even against self defense killing.

In Batman #420 Bruce locks KG Beast in a storage room and leaves him there to either find a way to escape himself or die (not seeming to care which, honestly if I am remembering correctly leaning towards death) but in Batman #422 he condemns Judy Koslosky's self defense killing of a serial killer who had already killed her sister because she lured him into attempting to kill her by following him around and glaring at him. Both give the villains the opportunity to survive KG Beast has to escape and Karl just has to resist the temptation to try to murder a woman.

There is Batman: The Hill where he defends the GCPD killing a 14 year old with a gun as necessary but in Batman: Under the Hood he condemns the death of Captain Nazi. This isn't the most leftist character in the world. Leftists don't tend to be okay with cops killing kids but against killing Nazis. It tends to be the other way around. I read Batman: The Hill and I do think the cops used undue force and should have at least attempted deescalation in that situation.

There is a lot to say about the vague morals of the characters. Batman does a lot for charity but he definitely classist in a lot of his appearances. Characters can be complex and imperfect. Just because he cares about people in poverty doesn't mean he doesn't look down on them.

Also the whole 'violently beat people okay' and 'child sidekick okay' because genre convention while killing bad. It's like . . . killing is also present in superhero comics? Deadpool, Wolverine, Crimson Avenger, the Spectre . . . killing is also part of the genre. It has nuance to it. But heroes have killed at least on occasion since the very beginning.

Yes, you get it! People on here take "doesn't kill/believes in redemption" to be inherently proof of support of rehabilitative justice and leftism when... it isn't lol. I've yapped about superheroes and copaganda before here (I think it's a good post, I'm proud of it) so I'll try not to repeat myself too much but a conservative can believe in people's ability to change and not killing or whatever while still supporting the structures of the police and prisons, still believing that people should be arrested and serve time, even the rest of their lives. And that's what people don't get.

The word cop has been so twisted by this site that people use it to mean "anyone who judges me" or "anyone I don't like." It's used to describe individual behaviour the person has a problem with which ends up obfuscating the fact that a cop isn't defined by their personal ideology or what type of violence they commit, they're defined by the fact they commit violence to uphold the state's power. Their personal thoughts and opinions can make them worse, more violent and more oppressive, but personal opinions do not change what they are. Batman is a paramilitary state operative, not a radical leftist. I'm sorry.

And yeah the charity defense also misunderstands the point because conservatives donate to charity all the time. Charity is used by the rich to launder their reputations. They give a tiny fraction of their wealth back to the people so people don't question the rest of their wealth. Narratively, this works the same way so writers can go "See! He tries helping people via kindness but Gotham is innately corrupt and people just choose to be evil here so of course he has to dress up as a bat every night." Narratively, his charity exists so the writers can justify why he has to be Batman and to make him look better. If he really meant to help people with his money, he wouldn't be a billionaire anymore.

You're right about killing being present in the genre since since forever. Not as consistently as other things, but still present for sure. People defend violence they enjoy as "just part of the genre" but condemn violence they don't as bad and wrong.

I support hitting superheroes with the leftist beam but the fact of the matter is that most aren't in text and Batman even less so than others.

And you can dislike this. Batman is a character who's been through a million different incarnations and interpretations and you can latch on to more liberal, understanding incarnations or make up your own but you cannot defend main universe Bruce by pretending he's something he's not.

Thanks for the ask!

[zjpg]

no body, no crime

summary inspired by no body, no crime by taylor swift

pairing lando norris x este , ??? (reader) x revenge

warnings cheating, death and murder

a/n i hope this is good omg i'm kinda scared hahaahah. anyway live laugh love taylor swift.

Este's a friend of mine, We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine

"Sorry I'm late, traffic." celeste huff and sits across from her friend. The wine has been waiting in it's corked bottle, but her exact salad order was already placed at her side of the table. "No worries, baby-love" her best friend smiles at her as the young waiter walks over and pops the wine's cork

This was their weekly thing, always has been since they were in high school. Hard to believe that the two girls that were sat at this table talking about things like marriage, taxes and alcohol were once two younger girls gossiping about boys, weekend sports games, and hair color. That's just how things change sometime. But the older of the two hated changed. Always has. Always will.

That's why they kept this Tuesday tradition even through college. They always had dinner together, same restaurant, same table, same wine, same orders. No changes. Just the way they liked it, loved it.

"How's Lando?" The older woman asked her friend before sipping her wine. An unpleasant taste makes its way through her mouth, replacing the usually enjoyable red wine once she saw celeste's face change into a saddened and depressed expression.

"Well, he's great. I just, I've noticed some things recently..."

She says, "That ain't my Merlot on his mouth That ain't my jewelry on our joint account"

"It's just... I drink the same wine he does,"

"Merlot," her friend nods, earning a nod back. Lando had money, coming from a rich background and growing up in an even richer future as a Formula 1 driver. He drives on circuits everywhere around the world, from america to italy to tokyo. so it's safe to say he knew their wines. Celeste was the same, growing up in a just as wealthy family, she's enjoyed her moms expensive wines since she was in high school, which was odd amongst the crowd of teenagers that were drinking spirits and beers.

"Yeah, and the merlot we drink, it doesn't leave that red stain on his lips." She lets out a small sigh before pushing further into her point, "And I only wear silver jewelry, always have, but I went through our bank accounts for bills and I saw gold jewelry being bought on his account."

Maybe she's exaggerating, but the more she's looked back on the past few months, things start making sense. Less time together, less sex, quieter 'I love you's. She wondered if he was bored, she tried her best to keep their relationship exciting in many different ways. But nothing has changed.

The older friend wanted so badly to go online and expose him, call him out on his bullshit that Este has been crying about for the past few months. She wanted to end his little fanbase, maybe even his career. But there wasn't enough proof, she needed proof.

No body, no crime.

"I think he did it, but... I just can't prove it"

The next Tuesday cam by and she hadn't heard from Celeste at all that day, nonetheless, she still showed up to their usual restaurant. But after about an hour she made a call to their other friend, Inez, she works with Celeste, they've all been fairly close since school. Though Inez isn't the most trustworthy source, she knows she would get an honest answer as to where Celeste was. "I haven't seen her, I thought she was sick but our boss said she hasn't even called in sick. We figured she just got too sick to call this morning."

But that's not like Celeste. Her best friend had seen her call into their high school to let them know she wasn't making it even when she had food poisoning. She knows that's not the case. She left the restaurant, making her way to the Norris household. "I haven't seen her either, I tried filing a report but they said I have to wait 24 hours." He seemed panicked, like he had been crying and screaming all day long. His voice was practically gone and his hands were shaking more than a small dog stuck in the winter snow.

Hе reports his missing wife. And I noticed when I passed his house his truck has got some brand new tires.

The tires was one thing, maybe he genuinely needed tires. His face is all over the news along with Celeste's talking about his missing wife, but they don't bother to mention his new side pieces that just moved in...

"his mistress moved in, sleeps in Este's bed and everything!" Inez's nosy ass came in hand from time to time. She saw the move in truck when she was making her way to work one day. At first she thought it was Lando that was moving out, turns out the mistress that their dear friend had been worrying about weeks before had moved in.

"I think he did it, I just can't prove it."

"No body, no crime." Inez shrugged, not thinking much of her friends statement, surely Norris wasn't up to anything? He loved Este. Right?

As time went on, it was obvious. He did it. Even the police think so, but rich people always get their way don't they? She starts coming up with a plan. Vengeance. It ran through her bloodstream, it felt like a burning sensation.

"Good thing my daddy made me get a boating license when I was fifteen." Everything was going according to plan, it was perfect.

"Hey, Lando." She gave him a smile. It had been four months since Celeste was presumed dead, the investigation went silent a while ago and the whole town gave up hope of finding her. Her name is no longer a trending topic, but her voice and face are still gone.

The racing driver looked at his dead wife's friend with shock but nervousness. He tries to cover it with a mask of sadness, but she knew better than to fall for a man's lies. She was invited in, seeing no trace on her friend anywhere in the mansion that Celeste had called home.

"What are you doing here?" He asked once the door closed and locked behind him. He knew something was up, he was smart but not much of a genius, clearly. "Just catching up Norris," She smiled at the taller individual, "I see you and the new girl are getting along just fine. That didn't take long?"

"It's been a year."

"Took you barely 10 months to move her in." She states back. "I wanna show you something."

The drive to the docks was a good 10 minutes, Monaco is a great place to live when you want to buy a fancy new yacht. Her dad's yacht was nothing compared to Lando's driving competitor, but it was still very impressive. "Your dad's yacht?"

The amount of parties that were thrown around and on the yacht were crazy, it's how him and Este met in the first place. He thought it was a sweet gesture from the girl, though she saw the look on his face the entire time they were on the water. He looked sea sick, but she knows the driver had been on plenty of yacht's in his life, he's not sea sick.

He was quick to realize what was happening when they stopped in the middle of the nowhere on the deep waters. He knew, he came to terms with it, but he was so sure they would catch her, unlike they did him. His name is bigger, his house, his cars, his bank account, they're all bigger. But her? She's simply just... better.

"I've cleaned enough houses to know how to cover up a scene." Was the last thing he would hear that night. They next morning she would let her father know that the boat is cleaned, smells of fresh lemons and other citrus like aroma's. "Thank you sweetheart, glad to know you still have time to clean that ole' thing between your classes," He handed her some wadded up cash. The monthly occurrence of cleaning for her parents, everything from their yard to the yacht, they are just far too old to do it themselves.

News stations, media outlets, and other headlining articles went crazy after the mistress filed a missing persons report. Lando Norris missing nearly a full year after his wife's disappearance.

"Formula 1 McLaren driver, Lando Norris, was reported missing last night after not coming home from a boating trip with some friends. Officials have yet to give anymore details."

Good things Este's sisters gonna swear she was with me.

"She was with me, dude, I told you this. We all went out on the yacht, he got too drunk so we sent him home." Alana swore up and down her truth, another cover up that will never slip her teeth. Her parents always said she would be a good actor, she got away with everything as a kid. Este used to hate it.

"To his wife?"

"They're married? I don't know, man, I guess. She seemed pretty pissed if you ask me."

Good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy

She was cleared, no proof, no evidence. they checked the camera's, Alana and her sisters friend helping each other drag Lando's drunken body back in the truck. The yacht was clean, "I clean it at this time every month for my parents, they're getting too old to scrub it down like they used to, ya know?" The maid and her parents vouched for her, it's true, the end every month when it wasn't too cold or hot, she was at the docs. The other boat owners even agreed.

"They think she did it, but they just can't prove it." The news reporter stated as a picture of the now widowed mistress was shown on the screen. The television shuts off as a smirk is splattered on their faces.

"She thinks I did it." She smiles at the younger, chuckling in disbelief as if she was crazy for thinking just a thing. "She just can't prove it. But, like we've always said, No body." She raises up her wine glass.

Celeste copies the gesture with a venomous smile, "No crime."

taglist: @enhacolor @bibissparkles @blueanfield

[armandsbf]

“MY HEART WITHIN THE PIECES OF YOUR OWN”

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE, SEASON ONE, EPISODE SIX

SUMMARY: A lot had unfolded since Claudia left that fateful day after Charlie’s death. Things had deteriorated between Louis, Lissette and Lestat, eventually leading to Lissette being turned into a vampire herself. When Claudia came back, begging Louis and Lissette to leave with her Lestat’s abandonment issues sparked and in his emotional distress, he hurt all three of them. Lissette’s heart broke, and three years later, he tries to make amends.

AN: hello! So this is the next part of Lissette’s story, as I said this will not be in chronological order, and this is the bit I was most inspired to write. Please read the summary for context and enjoy!

NEW ORLEANS, 1925

It had been months of precarious recovery before Lissette felt confident enough to go out. Even now, scars still peaked out from under her clothing. She found them shameful, proof that the person she'd loved the most had been willing to her for the mere idea that she'd choose to have her own life.

But tonight was good. Tonight was her, Claudia and Louis out for a walk on the town like they were a normal family. She felt happy for the first time in a long time, giggling and laughing as she hung off his arm.

"Emily Dickinson is not a vampire!" Louis cried playfully.

Claudia shook her head, utterly convinced of her own conspiracy. "How do you know?"

"She got a grave." He argued.

"So do you!" Said Claudia.

Lissette laughed. "She's got you there, daddy. But if anyone's gonna be a vampire, it simply must be Mary Shelley! She'd make a fabulous one."

"Oh, she would! I just know it!" Claudia agreed with a big smile on her face, leaning closer into her sisters side.

"It doesn't matter if she would or wouldn't cause you know what? She's not!" Louis chuckled.

"We'll see." Lissette sang sarcastically.

Then suddenly a car rolled up in front of them. The air felt very stiff and Lissette stumbled back a bit. She didn't know why or how, she just knew something was wrong.

She was right. Lestat stepped out of the car, nervous but trying his best to mask it with a smile. She couldn't look at him, keeping her head down as if the sound of his footsteps would deafen her. Louis and Claudia immediately stepped before her, forming a wall between her and her father.

She heard his voice for the first time in so long. "25 horsepower Rolls-Royce, six cylinder engine and a front end they call a coffin nose." His attempt at a joke fell flat. "Isn't that rich? This one's yours," he tossed the keys to Louis. "Mine's back at home, in blue."

But the silence continued. He so desperately wanted Lissette to look at him, talk to him, perhaps even let him hold her. His beautiful daughter he'd driven away so quickly, and had little to no chance of getting back. He'd try to earn her again until his dying day.

He cleared his throat nervously as he looked to her. "You...you don't like to drive, ma petit, so I have new sheet music and a piano of your own that I'll set up in your room back home. I do hope you like it, but of course if you should want anything else—" he cut himself off, seeing Lissette retreating into herself, her fingernails nervously scratching into the skin of her forearm. He gulped, knowing this nervous tick of hers. "I'm back in town. Permanently."

Claudia sized him up, red eyes looking him up and down. "Where you gone?"

"Across the river. In Algiers." He answered honestly. Lissette almost scoffed at that.

"You know who lives in Algiers." Her sister spoke into her mind.

"Louis, I don't know what possessed me that night." He was quick to explain, eyes trying their very best to be sincere but the blonde girl could no longer believe it. She knew those eyes, she had those eyes, and she knew all he wanted was to have them back in his control.

"Three years ago." Claudia clarified spitefully. "That night three years ago, he means."

"I was someone I don't want to be anymore. I've changed." Lestat's desperation was palpable. "Let me prove it to you. I'm nothing without you. I'm nothing without all of you." His eyes trailed from Louis to Lissette and then back to the ground. "If you want me to go away, just say so. I'll obey you. I'll leave your life forever." These words were entirely directed at Louis.

They were well aware that if Lissette tried to stray from him any longer, he wouldn't be so kind. He was her father, at the end of the day, and while his love for her was possessive and territorial, it was the love he felt most in the world.

But no one spoke.

"This silence is cruel." He said. "And you were never cruel, Louis."

Claudia was having none of it, taking her nails and digging them into the brand new paint job of the car, a harsh screeching sound following which made Lissette's ears hurt. She winced, but kept her eye trained on the ground.

They walked away, but one last desperate call came from the broken vampire. "Lissette!" He called out, this time more genuine. All three of them turned around, Louis and Claudia standing before her as if to protect her. It was silly, really, she was a vampire trained by Lestat himself, his perfect student, she didn't need their protection, but they knew she wouldn't harm her father. They just weren't sure if he would harm her.

He exhaled sadly. "I'll go. I will. If I can speak to Lissette."

"No." Claudia was quick to answer.

"I believe we should let her answer, Claudia." He snapped back. His hands were shaking, almost desperate to hold her in his arms. "Please." He begged.

Louis turned to his daughter, placing his hand on her soft cheek. His expression was questioning, asking her if she felt ready to speak to him. His love for her ran so deep that no matter what she said, it would sound like glory to his ears.

Claudia on the other hand stared at him with full hatred, refusing to allow him any closer to her sister.

But Lissette felt conflicted, her eyes full of pain but also longing. She didn't want Lestat, she wanted her papa.

She nodded.

Louis stepped out of the way as she walked towards him, but the other vampiress took hold of her forearm gently and held her. "Ettie." She warned.

She smiled sadly. "It's alright, Dia."

Still unsure, Claudia let go of her arm.

She stood directly before her father, whose face was full of relief. He looked at her like he'd looked at her before, like he'd always look at her, like she was a part of him. "My lovely girl." He breathed. "Y-you look well. You look beautiful, truthfully."

But she didn't say anything. She couldn't get the words out.

He continued. "I'm sorry. For everything. I hope you know that." He said. "Hurting you was a mistake, hurting all of you was a mistake."

He waited for her to reply desperately, like a dog at the door waiting to be fed. He looked behind her to see that Louis still refused to meet his eyes and Claudia was still staring him down. "Perhaps we can take a walk. Just the two of us."

"No." Louis spoke for the first time. "I'm not leaving her with you."

He seemed taken aback that he'd ever said a word to him, but was quick to reply. "She's my daughter." She's mine, he meant to say. "I won't hurt her."

"You said that last time." Claudia argued.

"Alright." Said Lissette.

The energy shifted. Lestat was shocked, but ecstatic. Her other family members were shocked and horribly worried.

Louis shook his head. "Baby, you don't have to—"

"I know, daddy." She nodded. She kissed his cheek and smiled slightly. "I'll be alright. It's just a walk." She hoped it was just a walk.

Her sister was much more concerned. "You don't have to deal with him anymore. Let's go home."

She shook her head. "A walk. I'll be home soon, don't worry about me." She kissed her cheek too for good measure. She looked to Lestat. "Park your car, and let's go. I won't suffer your company for long." She still loved his company.

He sped back to the car and went to park, meanwhile Lissette turned to the two others and giving them a nod. With concerned looks, they both walked away.

Lestat was back in front of her in a flash and she flinched unintentionally. His eyes grew sorrowful, his mouth opening to speak but being unable to get the words out. Was she afraid of him now? His heart clenched at the idea.

He cleared his throat. "Shall we?" He held his arm out but she didn't take it, instead she started walking.

A silence continued between them until he broke it again. "You know, it hasn't been the same without you. I confess I miss your rambling. And the sound of someone other than me playing the piano."

"You said you'd put one in my room?" She asked, stone faced.

He nodded eagerly. "Yes, mon ange. It's lovely. Now you have your privacy when you play."

As if she was moving back in with him.

"Hm." She hummed. "The house is still throughly damaged, I presume you know this?"

He paused at that. "Yes, yes it is. But it's fixable! I promise." He continued.

"I've learned not to trust your promises, Lestat." She spat.

He stopped in his tracks. Lestat? He wasn't a stranger to her, he was her father, her papa. Had he broken every bond between them that night three years ago? No, no it wasn't possible.

"Don't." He said. "Please, don't." He turned to her, and they were standing face to face. He reached out to touch her cheek but she flinched away again subconsciously. "How can I fix this? Tell me and I shall do it."

"You can't."

"I can." He insisted. "I can, and I will. Lissette, you are...you are everything to me."

"You hurt me."

"I love you."

That word had new meaning.

She sniffled slightly, not noticing red tears building up in her eyes. "There's nothing more to say to you." He tried to touch her again but she just moved away. "Stop."

He looked to the ground and then away from her, trying not to get emotional himself. "Lissette, I can't fix it if you don't tell me how. We always talked to each other, about everything. This doesn't have to be any different."

"But it is." She scoffed. "That was before, not now. I can't talk to you now." A tear fell down her cheek. "I don't feel safe with you, Lestat." She confessed. "I'm afraid."

Her home, her haven, had become a cavern of fear and unsureness. She loved him, so much, but it his love was no longer safe.

The words hit him like a bullet to the chest. His daughter, his girl, his salvation was afraid of him. His heart broke. He just wanted to hold her, to touch her gently and make her feel at home, but he was no longer capable of that in her eyes. No longer could he protect her from the monsters, he was the monster.

"Please don't say that." He begged. "Come with me tonight."

She shook her head. "No."

"Or tomorrow. Or the day after. Whenever you want to, whenever you can. A-and you can scream and cry and kick and hit me if you wish, I won't fight back, I'll take it all. I will be the vessel for your anger and I'll be grateful for it." His rambling was brutally honest, like he was ready to become her punching bag if that meant having her back, having her touch him, even if it hurt.

She shook her head. "Goodnight, Lestat." She turned on her heel, and began to walk away.

"One night!" He called out. "Just one. My door is always open, our door is always open. I'll wait every night, I swear it!" He only watched her walk away. "I love you, Lissette."

I love you too, but it would be years before he heard those words from her again.

[sugaroto]

I DREAMED A LITTLE OF BUDDY'S BACKSTORY

Ok so my dream was really weird and it started with me discovering something bad about the hotel I used to work at

So I went there to find proof

And as one does I was searching into the toilet, but they had cameras and they sent a whole army to arrest me because what I was doing was illegal

Anyway at some point I got out, and I was walking in a small bridge in water

Buddy spawned somewhere along the way

And he was like oh no they found you and you still need to find the other 10

And we were like SO YOU'RE ON OUR SIDE FINALLY?!

And he was like yeah but sush

Also at this point I think I was Chase

And we were like will you finally tell us something about yourself

And he was like do you remember when they sent a photo of their parents in the university group chat

And he took us to where his parents where

So he had parents, I think his dad kinda looked like Aquaman and his name was Giannis or something

Also his parents were hanging out with some parents of some of my school friends which I pointed out to him (cause he/(we?) was no longer friends with them)

So his parents looked nice and rich and they might have been staying at a part of the hotel

And they had no idea what their son was up to

Cause he had an addiction which is what led him to Ex Libris

By the way his addiction was to sweets not drugs, he started talking about a specific type of crepe or something

And I'm like yeah makes sense Punko said you'd do anything for chocolate

Anyway he was about to tell us about his tragic backstory and all but some dude came to take our orders bc we sat in a bed which was like a table at their cafeteria

And we ordered fast but dude stayed like are you girls sure you don't look well and I was like yes and all cause I wanted him to leave so we'll continue talking cause he interrupted us but then I woke up

(at this point I'm not sure if I was Chase or myself, but also my best friends were there, so I thought oh he thinks Buddy is a girl)

Some stuff I didn't mention but my mind knew

The hotel I worked at was part of ex libris

Buddy's parents were staying there and probably him too

For the arrest they put some bracelets on me and I was supposed to go back on Thursday so lawyers would do the talking or idk put me in prison

Buddy was in the same university as me

And it's weird I never saw him cause it's a small one and it was on a small city

So it means bro never got out of the house and or skipped his classes

Going to the same university as me also means he was in the Communication and Digital Media department

That also means Buddy was staying at Kastoria

Which is confusing cause the hotel isn't in Kastoria, its here but my mind mixed the places up a little, but the university is there so yeah

Oh by the way when we sat on that bed/table buddy had lied down and put his head on my lap

It was very difficult for him to speak about his addiction to that crepe and all😞

[erelavent]

My bestie and I have been parsing out what Lewis' move to Ferrari means for the future of both Mercedes and Ferrari and we have come up with some thoughts.

Lewis moving to Ferrari has made it open season at Mercedes. Not only does his move signal a lack of confidence in the team, but it also splits allegiances. Employees may be on the fence about what direction Merc is moving in and may be inclined to jump ship. Other employees may just straight up be Lewis loyalists and move to Ferrari. This is a perfect opportunity for other teams to poach Merc staff.

This leads to point #2. Toto has got to take stock of who is staying and who is leaving Mercedes. Not only to prevent them taking info about the development of the car with them, but also to ensure that the team can still effectively function and produce a decent car in the following years. The last thing he wants, is to have gaping holes in his team that will shoot them back down to a back marker team.

Speaking of holes, Toto needs to lock down an experienced driver to fill that 2nd Mercedes seat ASAP. Like yesterday. So many teams are concerned that they're going to lose their drivers and are announcing early contract renewals without divulging their end dates. Even Redbull is reportedly trying to sign Alex Albon. If Toto waits too long, he's going to be caught with his pants down without an experienced driver to fill the 2nd seat and boost team morale.

If possible, Toto needs to get Lewis on actual video saying that there's no bad blood between them. As it stands, Mercedes' image has taken a major hit. The longer Lewis stays silent, the longer the rumors fester, and the more fans turn against Mercedes. Idk if what Toto claims is true, but if it is, he needs Lewis to verbally and physically confirm it.

As for Ferrari, I think signing Lewis is part of a really big rebrand for them. I think Fred Vasseur and John Elkann have decided to stop riding the wings of legacy and revamp Ferrari's image. The first part of that is looking (who knows if they actually will be) more progressive. The image that has historically accompanied Ferrari has been rich, old, white, cis, heterosexual, male. But that isn't cutting it anymore. The sport is expanding and the buying power of young women and POC is gaining larger market share. Ferrari has to adapt or die. What better way to do this than to sign on Lewis, a biracial man from humble beginnings who champions DEI and environmental initiatives and happens to have a young core audience? I mean, Ferrari stock literally skyrocketed with the announcement yesterday (and no, you will not convince me that stock gap came from Ferrari publishing their annual report). The proof is in the pudding.

The rebrand also includes their internal operations. Both Fred and John need someone who can inspire devotion and reinvigorate the team. They've been flopping since 2008 and desperately need to recenter. They need to convince new blood to join the team and signing Lewis does that. I'm guessing they're also hoping Lewis can steer development into the right direction and launch them into the stratosphere like he did with Merc.

These moves are all very calculated, and honestly, I'm impressed that Lewis and the Ferrari team kept it all under wraps. We'll see if it pans out like they hope.