#SHIT I love when I get female characters that are complex | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

comatosebunny09 · 2 months ago

Text

sparkler | sylus

— summary: quietly, he plucks your glass from betwixt your fingers to set it down. fixes you with a look that’s both fragile and intense, his breath fanning over your inflamed skin. taking up your hand, he gently splays your fingers over his chest where his heart beats a war cadence. his voice is barely above a whisper, lips quivering. “what will it take for me to convince you that this heart races solely for you?” — cw: written with female reader in mind, p-in-v, unprotected sex, fluffy romantic filth, praise, language, alcohol use, i'm half awake rn so forgive me if i miss any warnings, mdni — wc: ~3k — notes: inspired by @leighsartworks216 and the only for love c-drama. thank you so much for reading! — now playing: merry-go-round of life - morunas fade - the driver era

New Year’s is a time for celebration—an occasion to usher in fresh beginnings and bountiful blessings. To reflect on things past and to look forward to the future.

You didn’t want to spend such a significant time alone.

So, naturally, you link up with a friend to herald in the new year over hotpot and cold beers.

The pair of you meander down the moon-laden street toward your apartment, arms linked together. You’re giggling and gossiping, tucked cozy in your coats, shielded from the wintry chill. Bags of ingredients crinkle in your hands, waiting to be cooked and consumed.

You’re indebted to her for sparing some time for you.

Sure, you could’ve easily watched the fireworks from your balcony by yourself. But you’re tired of being alone. You decided to make a change, shedding your reclusive shell. Just because you couldn’t get everything you wanted didn’t mean you had to shut yourself out from living.

Caught up in your thoughts, you hardly notice your friend slowing to a stop. You glance at her, your cheeks aching with a smile.

“What’s up?” you chuckle, studying her stunned expression.

Her lips quiver, eyes widening a fraction. You nudge her with your elbow, trying to draw her out of whatever trance she’s fallen into.

“That your man?” she teases once she’s broken free, a smirk spreading across her face.

“What are you talking about?”

Following her line of sight, you finally understand what has her so shell-shocked.

In the middle of the street, against the sleek outline of a car, sits a familiar shock of white. He commands attention without trying to, a towering presence with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets and a smile rounding his lips. His scarlet gaze is tuned to you. Mirthful as he takes you in, frost adorning his black turtleneck.

You’re rooted to the spot. It is your friend’s turn to chuckle. She gently pats your arm, slipping out of your grasp.

“Looks like you don’t need me anymore.”

With that, she eases out of frame, bidding you goodnight, a shit-eating grin plastered on her face as she walks past the focal point of your evening.

Left to your own devices, you strangle the bags of food in your hands. Gaze falls to the ground, and you awkwardly shift your weight between your feet.

He’s the last person you expected to see tonight. Figured he had more important matters to attend to instead of showing up on your doorstep on New Year’s Eve.

You wanted to spend the night with him more than anything. Hoped you could. But you knew that was wishful thinking. You knew where you stood in his life, knew your place. It was no longer by his side. You more so played the role of a supporting character these days, quietly watching him from the sidelines.

However, you’re pleasantly surprised when the tips of his shoes cut into frame. You peer up at him, your heart racing, your mouth slightly ajar, plumes of frosted breath forming between you. He’s wordless as he brushes your fingers with his, plucking the convenience store bags from your hands.

He motions to the entrance of your complex with a nod. Starts towards the door, not waiting for your response. And you toddle after him once your legs remember the art of movement.

—

Two glasses clink together in a celebratory fashion.

The contents for your hotpot sit unopened on the counter, your beers dripping with condensation alongside them.

Swathed in the moonlight pouring in from your balcony doors and the idle flicker of scented candles littered throughout your living space, you share a bottle of wine with your company. The red and viscous fluid sloshes about in your glass, reminiscent of the idle stir of his irises as he studies you.

“Sorry if I was interrupting,” he says after taking a swig. The rumble of his voice vibrates in your gut. It’s a pleasant feeling, stirring alongside the alcohol warming your veins. “Had I known you made plans, I would’ve made myself scarce.”

You wave your hand dismissively, a soft chuckle in your throat as you prop your cheek against your palm. “She’ll be alright. Pretty sure she was just hanging out with me out of pity, anyway.”

He hums into his wine glass before taking another sip. You watch with bated breath as his Adam’s apple bobs, your throat dry. He mirrors you with an unguarded smile, elbow settled on your couch’s headrest, temple resting on his knuckles.

Silence stretches between you. Comfortable where it was once tense. He sets his glass on your coffee table. Pats your thigh, his palm warm and possessive, moving along your quad.

“I honestly can’t think of a better way to spend my night than with you.” His confession catches you off guard.

You swallow, struggling to find your voice. When it returns to you, you jest to dispel the solemn atmosphere, “Trouble in paradise?”

It’s too easy to put up that playful front. To tuck the anxious little thing you truly are beneath years of built-up facades.

Sylus snorts, brow quirked, eyes shining with intrigue. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You snicker, your glass poised at your lips. “Well, I don’t know. I figured you would have rather spent your time with…someone else.” That someone else, of course, being one pretty and polite Miss Hunter.

Something in his gaze shifts as your voice peters. He has a faraway look in his eyes before he leans in, the couch cushions squeaking beneath his weight.

Quietly, he plucks your glass from betwixt your fingers to set it down. Fixes you with a look that’s both fragile and intense, his breath fanning over your inflamed skin. Taking up your hand, he gently splays your fingers over his chest where his heart beats a war cadence.

His voice is husky, lips quivering. “What will it take for me to convince you that this heart races solely for you?”

Your mouth falls slightly open, a delightful thrill shooting through you. You can’t look away, drawn into the crimson whirlpool of his stare. Unconsciously, you lean closer, his lashes bowing as he glances at your lips. If he means what he says, then—

You’re not thinking when you whisper it. Entwined in the spell that’s befallen you, the warmth he exudes, the sincerity in his tone.

“Kiss me.”

You’ve but a tender hand curving around the nape of your neck and fingers sneaking up into the delicate hairs that reside there as a warning before he acquiesces, luring you into a kiss that sets your chest aflame and siphons the air from your lungs.

His lips are as soft as the petals they resemble, pressing against yours. Warm and insistent, invoking the barest sound from your throat. He draws back slightly, scrutinizing your features. Searching for any signs of discomfort, quietly offering you an out. But you don’t deter him, your fingers tugging at the fabric of his sweater around his chest.

He chuckles something enamored. You kiss away his smirk, drunk off the feel of him. Off his taste, his scent. Wine tastes so much better when it comes from him.

He cautiously pries your mouth open with his tongue, pouring the grittiest sound into you when you grant him the entry he so politely requests.

The air shifts when his tongue finds yours. They ensnare themselves in a lazy, wet waltz. You pull him impossibly closer, the hard planes of his chest pressed against yours. Your arms intuitively twine around his neck. His palms splay on your hips, mooring you to the spot.

You trade quieted groans, greedily sucking down air between the dancing of your mouths. It’s all so much, and yet not enough. You want to burrow under his skin. Take up residence in his heart, living there for all eternity. He breaks away from the tempting suction of your mouth with a soft, sticky click. Your head falls back, lids shuttered, when his lips brand the column of your throat.

His kisses are honey-slow. Warm like a mug of hot cocoa on frigid nights. He tugs the neckline of your shirt to the side, mouth sealing around the slope where shoulder meets neck. You exhale shakily, your fingers sifting through his hair. He grazes your flesh with his teeth, companying it with a suck that’s sure to leave pretty petals of green and blue blooming there come morning.

His name falls from your lips whilst his hands make several expeditions up and down your sides. Map out the contours of your body, stroking over your full thighs. He kisses his way back up to your mouth. Amid the sticky grind of your lips, he rasps,

“You taste so sweet. I knew you would be.”

Your heart flutters. Something pinches in your gut at his praise. His thumbs ease over the outer swell of your breasts. He stokes the embers of desire within you to life, and he hasn’t even taken your clothes off.

Thumbs experimentally graze your pebbled nipples. You jolt, pleasant tingles cresting below the surface of your skin. He bites your lip. Tugs on it, pulling the neediest sound from the dredges of your chest.

“May I?” he husks, artful fingers at the hem of your sweater.

You nod drunkenly. Don’t think you could ever say no to him. Not when he’s looking at you like this. Touching you like this, his fingernails igniting a flurry of goosebumps across your skin as they slide over your stomach. He tears the offending garment from your shoulders. Your hair waterfalls around your neck, eyes shining with ardor, lips parted.

He weighs your breasts in his palms. Kneads them, trapping your nipples beneath the pads of his thumbs. The feeling is amplified through the frailty of your bra. He takes his time, wordlessly appraising you with his hands. Watches you with keen interest, drunk off the moment as well.

“Can I taste you?” he breathes against your lips. How could you deny him when he’s been so considerate thus far? So gentle, handling you like glass?

You nod, anticipation coagulating in your veins. Suck in a breath when the lace of your bra slides down your nipples. He bunches your bra beneath your bosom. And the crisp air that follows is short-lived, replaced by the hot suction of his mouth.

His name flows like the sweetest supplication. You throw your head back, bowing into him, fingers tugging at tufts of white. He fastens a hand to the ridges of your spine, keeping you in place. Plucks your other nipple whilst he feasts, a clever tongue fluttering over your peak. He breaks away with a sticky pop to pay your other breast the same homage. You feel like you could die, subjected to his terribly distracting mouth like this.

You burn hot. Need more. And you’re pulling at the bottom stitching of his turtleneck, trying to pry it off. He chuckles, hearty and full-blooded, leaning back to let you tear it from his shoulders. His mouth is back on your breasts, greedily licking your nipples into the hot cavity of his mouth.

You squirm. Pinch your thighs together to ward off the pleasant pulsing taking place between them. Sylus’ hands roost on your hips. He helps you stand, reluctantly releasing your tit from his mouth. Helps you shimmy out of your jeans, snickering when you stumble to get them off.

Drawing you into his lap by the crooks of your knees, he kisses you anew. Your hands frame his cheeks, your legs bracketing his hips. Your nipples deliciously slide against the rigid pane of his chest. Your cunt drools, slowly staining your panties with arousal, pressed up against the seam of his trousers.

With an arm fastened to your waist and a hand cupping the apple of your ass, he encourages you to grind against him. He guides you into a rhythm. A tortuously slow dance that has you panting, mind reeling, sparkles of white invading your sight.

“Sylus,” you breathe, hips stuttering, panties sticking to your slit.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mouth hinged open, irises glazing over with lust. “Do you want me inside you?”

You nod eagerly, your hips moving of their own volition over his lap. You giggle when he suddenly hefts you into his arms one-handed, his effortless display of strength making you pine for him even more.

Your shadows dance along the walls of your hallway as he carries you to your bedroom. He tenderly deposits you onto your crisp comforter once inside, your panties and bra long discarded, and you watch, propped on your elbows, as he unfastens his belt and trousers. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth when you catch sight of him.

Even beneath the low light of your room, he is impressive. Hot and turgid, slapping intimidatingly against his abs. Your mouth waters as he nears you, to which he smirks, a laugh brewing in his chest.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he teases, notching himself between your legs, his forearms locked in the bends of your knees, splitting you nice and open. “You might stroke my ego a little too well, staring like that.”

You can’t help it. You’ve fantasized about him before, his image hijacking your mind when the ache between your legs became unbearable. But your imagination paled in comparison to the real thing. To his body, burning hot beneath the glide of your fingers. To his voice, smooth as whiskey, as he groans from your attention. To the predatory smolder of his eyes, hair falling from its once perfect coiffure into his face.

He rubs himself against your slit, coating his shaft in your nectar. You share an exhale, a gruff sound out, your thighs quaking. He feels so good when his cock head bumps your clit. Your eyes roll, toes curl.

“So pretty,” he whispers, thumb finding your clit and massaging it with meticulous arcs. “So good for me. Can’t wait to be inside you.”

You clench around nothing, swiveling your hips to chase the feel of his girth gliding along your nether region. To guide it inside you, your entrance puckering and drooling for him. Solely for him.

“Sylus, please. Fuck.”

“Do you want me to stop?” It seems he has no intention of doing so, his thumb still sifting through your sticky folds, hips still moving with delicious friction.

“N-no. Never. Fuck. Need you…inside.”

He takes up your cue, a smile canting his lips. Taps his weighted cock against your sticky cunt a few times before nestling the head into your entrance. And, oh.

“Fuck,” he strains, arms bracketing either side of your head. He slowly eases home, your greedy cunt drawing him in deeper. You cross your ankles at the small of his back, and he props himself on his elbows, watching your face for any signs of discomfort.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full. Stuffed to the brim, his hips notched up against your inner thighs. He pants from the effort of easing into you, from the effort of not losing himself to the hot suction of your body.

You pull him down into a kiss. Undulate your hips, spurring him to move. He thrusts into you, shallow at first, giving you time to adjust to his girth. Your fingernails bite into his shoulder blades, your pants of discomfort traded for pathetic whimpers for more more more.

He fucks you into the bed thereafter, your headboard cracking against the wall, the air punched from your lungs with each stroke. He folds you in half, your knees pressing into your breasts. This angle forces him deeper, where he unravels the pleasant tangle of nerves budding inside you.

“Unngh, you feel so fucking good,” he lauds, his hips creating a rhythm of their own. “Sucking me in like that. So fucking filthy.”

You clench around him, a sparkling feeling erupting in your gut. Tears scorch the sides of your face. A wail swells in your chest. He angles his head down to kiss them away, to stifle those pretty noises you make for him, swallowing them whole. You’re close, so close, your orgasm sinking its claws into the lining of your stomach and oozing down.

“I’m gonna—gonna cum,” you manage, peering into his eyes, and the amount of affection that resides in his gaze shoves you closer toward that slurry slope.

“Yeah? Gonna cum?” he dotes, the lowered pitch of his voice overwhelming. He fucks you harder, the bed squealing, your eyes screwing shut.

Your orgasm creeps through you, spilling like hot liquid. You grit your teeth against the rush. Spasm, a long, broken moan dragged from your body. With a few more thrusts, he staggers into the void with you, spurred by your tongue curling around his name and your cunt surrounding him like a warm embrace.

You both start when a series of explosions erupt outside your window. Peer outside, fireworks igniting across the night sky. He looks down at you. Chuckles, sweeping some errant hair from your face as you drift down. Your cheek gathered in his palm, he swoops in for a tender kiss, still nestled inside you, his thumb cruising over the apple of your cheek.

“Happy New Year,” he croons when he parts, eyes shining boyishly, smile affectionate.

You reach up to pull him down by his nape, his weight heavy yet reassuring atop you. “Happy New Year,” you return, equally as enamored.

As he rests his cheek against yours, the pair of you housed in the safety of each other’s arms, watching the fireworks scatter against the inky sky, you thank whatever higher being had chosen to bless you this New Year’s night.

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus #sylus qin #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus romance #sylus fluff #qin che #x reader #early new year fic

670 notes · View notes

mrsjellymunson · 8 months ago

Text

Start Something

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Eddie helps you generate a new D&D character, but that’s not the only thing that gets started that day

WC: ~2.5k

C/W: 18+, MDNI! NSFW? Physical flirting and teasing, heavy petting, sort of in public (nobody notices). Smut-adjacent? Thigh riding. Swearing. Nothing overly explicit, but it does get heated. Eddie and reader are both over 18. Trope: oh no, there aren’t enough seats, where will you sit? No y/n, one pet name. No physical descriptions of reader other than she wears a skirt (of unspecified appearance).

A/N: Should I be working on parts for my outstanding series? Yes. Would this not leave me alone until I wrote it down? Also yes. I had fun creating a new character in a different RPG and I have no idea whether this is how D&D works, so if it’s not, let’s just pretend, okay? 😆 Text dividers by @strangergraphics Dice dividers by me 🫣☺️

I have a general taglist now, let me know if you’d like to be on it 🖤

My masterlist

Eddie can’t believe his luck. You’re pretty (gorgeous, actually), insanely intelligent and have, for some as yet indecipherable reason, decided that you want to play D&D. With a load of nerdy teens. And him.

You’ve joined in with a couple of short campaigns at school, seeming to enjoy them immensely and fitting in well with the group, bantering with the boys and bonding with Erica over your shared ‘take no shit’ attitudes. At first Eddie wasn't sure how that dynamic would work, but you slipped easily into letting the younger girl show you the ropes, and Erica is clearly enjoying having more female energy around.

Eddie knows that creating a new character is one of your favourite things to do. He’d never admit it, but it’s one of his favourite things to watch, too. He adores the sparkle in your eyes, your creative brain and how excited and animated you get when you come up with new ideas. Sometimes they’re sketchy, or even impossible, which he finds hugely endearing. He also loves how you’ll always check in with him, asking his advice and respecting his opinion.

This weekend he’s running a oneshot at his trailer for the younger members and you. New characters, novel plot, the works. The plan is to create new characters in the morning, and play the game in the afternoon.

This’ll be the first time you’ve been to his home, or seen him anywhere outside of school, and Eddie’s nervous as all fuck.

He couched it as ‘a good opportunity to develop a greater understanding of the game’, but he definitely has an ulterior motive for inviting you here.

So far, he’s taken every opportunity he can to make you laugh, sit near you, even touch you. Creating scenarios where a subtle hug, or even a playful tickle is somehow appropriate. He covers it quickly by immediately doing it to someone else, hoping you won’t spot the bulge in his pants and the fact that he can’t stop looking at you.

He’s not sure for how long he can keep it up. He wants so much more, and it won’t be long before he either loses it, takes it too far, or, worst case scenario, you notice he’s being a total creep and ditch the group because of it.

He’s been trying to muster the balls to ask you out for weeks, practicing lines and imagining scenarios, but he’s found it more difficult to plan than even the most complex of his campaigns.

And although it’s unlikely given the crowd of nerds that’ll be around, he couldn’t miss an opportunity to be in your company. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d manage to get you somewhat alone and do it today.

He’s tidied up the trailer as subtly as he can, doing all the dishes and straightening Wayne’s caps, hoping the others won’t notice and ask him awkward questions. But he’s jittery and anxious, terrified that you’ll take one look at where and how he lives and decide you want nothing more to do with him…

Eddie has no idea that you’re just as nervous as he is.

You’ve enjoyed the Hellfire campaigns so far, but haven’t really managed to get all that close to the Dungeon Master, much to your chagrin. Sure, the game is enormous fun and you love all the members and how welcoming they’ve been. But the DM? Holy hell, he’s hot as sin, and being able to spend time around the larger-than-life metal-lover only adds to your enjoyment of the sessions. But you can’t imagine it’ll ever go any further than that. You doubt that a geeky D&D novice who he’s hardly spoken to is his idea of the perfect girlfriend…

But god, the physical touches? Christ. It’s as much as you can do to hold it together. You’ve shared a few celebratory hugs, and he’s even tickled you a couple of times, all of which you’ve enjoyed far more than you’d let on, and filed away in your memory for retrieval when you’re alone at night in your bed. But you know that he’s like this with everyone, and are under no illusions that you’re special. So you relish each and every contact, wishing there could be more.

What if he looks at you for too long with those gorgeous, huge, chocolate-brown eyes? And what if you forget how to speak? It’s already happened an embarrassing amount of times, but you’ve managed to pass it off as being stumped because you’re a beginner. You don’t know for how much longer that excuse is gonna fly.

And, if all that wasn’t already enough to send your anxiety levels skyrocketing, you’re also acutely aware that you haven't spent time with any of the group outside of school as yet. You’re worried that you’re going to ruin their social dynamic, or mess up the game. Or embarrass yourself with no easy way to exit, having to wallow in your shame until the mums come back later to pick you all up. Your spiralling makes you realise that although it was really kind of Mrs Wheeler to offer you a lift, you’re now really wishing you’d brought your own car…

All kinds of anxious thoughts are running through your mind, from what if your ideas are stupid, to what if everyone (okay, specifically Eddie) dislikes the cookies you’ve baked??

Neither of you should’ve worried.

As you enter his trailer, Eddie seems a little flustered, running a ringed hand through his gorgeous chestnut waves and unnecessarily straightening a pile of magazines on the coffee table. He smooths down his (new) black tee (that he totally didn’t buy especially for this occasion), and you pay it no mind, assuming he’s just always like this with visitors, and is excited for the campaign.

You barely glance around Eddie’s home, smiling softly at the trinkets you spot, and offering to help plate up the snacks in the kitchen area. You don’t look uncomfortable, and you certainly don’t pass judgment. Eddie eyes you as indirectly as he can, noticing the unusual skirt you’ve got on (that you totally totally didn’t choose specifically for today). He likes it.

Just like at school, you slot easily into the melee of pencils, paper, dice and snacks. Everyone loves your home baked cookies, including Eddie, and Erica even badgers you for the recipe.

Eddie thinks you couldn’t be any more perfect.

You think this isn’t so bad after all, and relax a little.

The morning’s character building is going well, the fact that it’s a oneshot not diminishing anyone’s efforts or attention to detail.

You still haven’t quite got the hang of the dice and numbers parts, always asking for Eddie’s help with that. His help, not any of the others, he muses with a certain amount of pride and delight. (Selfishly, part of him secretly hopes you never get the hang of it, and will always need to seek his input.)

With you now added to the group, there aren’t enough seats at Eddie’s modest dining table. Nobody notices. Initially Dustin and Will are deep in a discussion on Eddie’s battered sofa, and Mike and Lucas are rifling through the fridge, both at that ‘hollow legs’ stage of teen development and constantly ravenous.

Your character’s almost done, and you just want to clarify a few things, so you ask across the table,

“Eddie? Can I bring this over for you to check please?”

He waves you over, putting on a fake English accent and saying,

“Of course you may, my dear. You know I’m always happy to assist my flock.”

You chuckle lightly at his endearing foolishness as you get up from your place next to Erica, taking your character sheet over to Eddie for his perusal. Behind you, the younger players all convene at the table to share their progress, and all the seats become filled.

With no free spots near him, and assuming you won’t be here for long, Eddie pats his leg absentmindedly and says, “Sit here, lemme see.”

You end up on his lap, facing sideways at ninety degrees.

You initially turn towards him and bring your sheet between you, but there’s not enough room for him to properly examine it, so you turn the other way and lay it on the table in front of him, turning so your back is to him, your legs straddling one of his knees. He leans forward and begins to check it over, confirming some details and asking for more particulars on others.

Eddie’s been admiring your enthusiasm and level of engagement all morning, and he’s impressed by the depth of information you’ve already managed to accumulate.

You’re absorbed with your new character, getting excited and gesticulating wildly. Ideas bounce easily between you and Eddie, his face smiling softly and his dimples popping as he gets to see you like this.

It doesn’t escape him, however, that you’re also bouncing on… him. He flushes a little, and hopes you don’t perceive it.

As you gesture at a particularly thorny issue on your paper, it dawns on Eddie exactly what parts of you are in contact with him, albeit through multiple layers of fabric. The softness of your thighs and the heat from your core against his leg fully absorb him for a moment, and he has to ask you to repeat yourself. You don’t seem to mind, assuming it was the general clamour in the room that meant he couldn’t hear you. That same clamour covers the sound of him awkwardly clearing his throat and gulping loudly.

It occurs to him that he’s never experienced anything… like this. Occasional hookups in the woods or after gigs at The Hideout are great and everything, but he’s never before felt like he has a literal, real-life angel sitting on his lap.

And you? You are slowly realising how nice Eddie’s lap feels beneath you. It’s warm and solid, and the denim of his dark jeans feels pleasantly rough on the skin of your legs where your skirt’s ridden up. There’s a pressure against your most intimate areas that’s generating a warm feeling of pleasure in your core. You’re trying to concentrate, but it’s not easy.

It takes a few more moments for you to catch up to where Eddie is, and you register that you’re essentially riding Eddie’s thigh each time you move.

Your lips roll inwards and you swallow deeply, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to compose yourself. It doesn’t help, and only serves to focus your attention even more fully on the delicious sensations beneath your legs. This is the closest you’ve ever been to your Dungeon Master, and for the longest time. And you can’t help how flustered it’s making you.

Embarrassed, you cough and go to stand, but quickly see that there’s nowhere for you to go. Eddie scans the room and notices your predicament, and, in a broken voice that’s almost unbearably soft, tells you, “It’s okay, Princess. You can stay here.”

Fuck. A pet name? You enjoyed that, perhaps a little too much. If you were being rational you could put it down to Eddie referencing your new character, who happens to be an aristocratic mage. But right now? Right now, you’re not feeling particularly rational.

You slowly sit back down, but as you do so Eddie shifts his position, causing you to spread your knees a bit wider than they were and land further up his leg, giving you even more contact with his thigh. You hope he didn’t hear the broken little hum that escaped you.

Eddie leans forward and in a voice that’s far too quiet, and far too close to your ear, he asks, “Are you… okay?”

You can barely breathe, and all you can manage in response is a tiny, squeaked, “Mhm.”

Behind you, Eddie takes a stuttering breath in, letting it out slowly before he resumes discussions with everyone else at the table.

You each become more unfettered as the morning progresses. Further not-so-accidental encounters only serve to increase the tension between you both.

At one point, you lean forwards over the table to get one of the manuals, lifting your butt from his leg. For a moment you hope there won’t be a visible wet patch on your skirt, or on his jeans. But then you wonder whether it would actually be so terrible if there was, and whether it would actually be so terrible if Eddie saw…

Eddie saw. He hums slightly, but it sounds more like a whimper, and he attempts to cover it by clearing his throat for the umpteenth time today.

He wonders whether you’re doing this on purpose, whether you have any idea what you’re doing to him.

As you settle back onto his thigh, one of Eddie’s hands travels to your hip, holding it lightly, just resting it there. A fire travels up that entire side of your body.

You wonder whether he’s doing this on purpose, whether he has any idea what he’s doing to you.

He leans forward to reach for something on the table, and this time brushes his chest against your back for far longer than is necessary. You feel his breathing against your neck speeding up, hot gasps coming from between his lips instead of controlled outbreaths through his nose.

You reach for a die, and as you sit back you half-intentionally push your core down onto Eddie’s leg just a little bit harder. God, he feels so good. And so what if you’ve moved backwards slightly, so your thigh is even further between his legs, and your butt nudges his crotch?

You definitely feel something hard pressing against your ass. The grip on your hip tightens, and Eddie dips his head forward to hide his face and stifle a moan. Christ.

You think you hear him mumble a quiet and stilted, “Sh-it.”

Eddie can barely contain himself, this morning not going at all how he could’ve even dreamed. He had no idea whether you even liked him, and was planning to sound you out and maybe manage to ask if you wanted to do something cheesy like grab milkshakes sometime.

Having you hot and wet on his lap wasn’t even on the edges of the outside of the periphery of his radar. He’s really trying to keep it together, but he’s barely maintaining a grip on his actions.

Attempting to focus, he leans forward again to explain a character point. You turn your head and look into his eyes attentively, whilst simultaneously rocking your hips ever so subtly and chewing on the inside of your bottom lip.

All at once, something shifts. Something big.

Eddie holds your gaze for way too long. Or maybe you hold his.

Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore, as you both silently acknowledge that there’s way more going on here than simple D&D advice.

Simultaneously, you both come to realise that your affections are most definitely reciprocated.

Shit, he likes me.

Fuck, she likes me back.

And then, as your eyes are locked and he sees your pupils blow wide, Eddie loses that tenuous grip.

Suddenly, both of his hands come to your hips, and he presses his forehead against one of your shoulder blades. He grips you tightly and moves you back and forth against him, squeezing, pulling, pushing, dragging. He’s keeping his movements as tiny as possible so as not to rouse the attention of the group, but what he lacks in expansiveness he more than makes up for with strength and intensity.

You think this might genuinely be the most erotic thing you’ve ever done with your clothes on. You’re hot and wet, and you barely care that you’re in a room full of people, supposedly playing a nerdy game.

Eddie keeps moving you. One exquisite movement spreads your sopping folds in your underwear, and your mouth drops open in a gasp, hand gripping the edge of the rickety table. You try to disguise your movements by shoving the end of a pencil into your mouth and hunching over your paperwork.

Eddie totally notices, and stills you. His warm palms continue to press against your hips, his strong fingertips digging into your flesh. Instead of continuing the back and forth movements, he pulls you down as hard as he can onto his lap whilst outwardly retaining his composure, turning the garbled sounds coming from his throat into encouraging noises for the group.

The two of you can barely focus anymore. Eddie hasn’t let his hands travel anywhere above the tabletop, lest his actions be seen by the others, but if your expression is even half as flustered as Eddie’s is red, somebody is going to notice something. And soon.

You take a couple of deep, steadying breaths.

You’ve already completed your character, so you decide to do a faux check in with Eddie, asking, not entirely innocently,

“Eddie? Is there anything else you’d want me to… take off?”

Turning, you add, even less subtly,

“What should I do now, Master?”

Eddie’s face screws up and his jaw clenches, and you feel the rock of his hips as he bucks his hips up underneath you, pressing his hardness into your flesh and muffling a grunt into your shoulder.

His head snaps back up suddenly and his voice becomes clear and piercing, as he inhales quickly and declares to the room, waving a hand,

“Okay, lunchtime! Everybody out!! You guys need some fresh air and I need a break. I don’t wanna see you for at least an hour, and you’d better come back with pizza! Goddit?”

The teens comply, bustling out the door, a few of them eye-rolling and grumbling something about how this is almost like being at home with their parents.

They’re still leaving as Eddie moves his face so close to you that you can feel his breath in your hairline, and his soft, pink lips tickle the edge of your ear.

In a low, velvety voice, he murmurs, in a tone that’s somehow both challenging and pleading,

“Please Princess, turn around and say that to my face...”

You smirk, and reach behind you to pick up a D12.

With all the sultriness you can muster, you raise your eyebrows and indicate for him to take it. He opens his hand, and you place it down, the tips of your fingers lightly skimming the hot, damp skin of his palm.

Looking into his eyes again, you’re relieved to discover that your power of speech remains entirely intact, as you murmur, with more confidence than you thought you possessed,

“Okay, Master. How about this? You roll, and the result is how many kisses you have to give me...”

Eddie swallows and almost chokes, sitting up straight and gently lobbing the die across the mess of paper and writing implements. His chocolate eyes don’t leave yours as it rolls and comes to a stop in the centre crease of one of his manuals. He struggles with the internal conflict of never wanting to break your gaze and a deep desire to check the number.

He has no idea where the rest of today, let alone this, is going, and he’s grateful he has at least the next hour in which to find out. But he does know one thing:

He’s never been so desperate to roll a 12 in his entire fucking life.

Thanks so much for reading!

(This might become part of an anthology of D&D-related adventures - let me know if you’d like to see more!)

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this, it’s honestly like throwing breadcrumbs and roses for your writers 😃🥰

My masterlist

I have a general taglist now, let me know if you’d like to be on it 😃

Tags: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @curlyjoequinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @wonderlanddreamer

438 notes · View notes

unknown-cold · 15 days ago

Text

Omg that's true!!

I'm so tired of these people saying Vi and Caitlyn's relationship is toxic, I mean literally the same thing she said Jinx and her relationship with Ekko wasn't good either and Jayce and Viktor too.

It is natural for problems and disagreements to occur in relationships, but it is not natural to think that a relationship will be peaceful and good all the time. These things only exist in Disney movies.

But apart from all that. Seriously guys hating on Vi or Caitlyn or both is way over the top. Like let's just imagine JUST IMAGINE, if Vi were male, the narrative surrounding her actions and character would change dramatically. She would likely be hailed as a "brother hero," a model of loyalty and kindness despite impossible circumstances. Her trauma, in prison, losing Vander, failing to save Jinx, and so on, would be sympathized with as a testament to her strength and determination.

Her status as the “bad sister” is undoubtedly tied to gender expectations. Women, especially older sisters, are often burdened with the role of caregiver, and are expected to be endlessly compassionate and self-sacrificing. Vi’s moments of anger, guilt, and mistakes, however, conflict with societal stereotypes of women as the natural “fixers” of emotional and familial conflicts. The fact that Vi is pigeonholed as the “bad sister” while Jinx is often seen as the tragic victim reflects deeper gender biases. Vi’s traumas and emotional wounds are ignored or minimized because she is expected to be the “strong one,” while Jinx is given sympathy and a more nuanced lens because her messiness and vulnerability fit into certain stereotypes of women who are broken or in need of saving.

It’s a frustrating double standard, and it underscores just how progressive Arcane is by refusing to fully give into those tropes. Vi’s character still shines as someone strong, flawed, and deeply human, but the criticisms she faces highlight how society treats female characters with such biases.

The misogyny is REAL and don’t think for a second that other women aren’t fully participating in that also. The amount of shit Vi gets for temporarily joining the Enforcers with Caitlyn to stop Jinx is insane. A male Vi would have been seen as a TORTURED HERO for joining up with the EVIL FORCES that took his parents away all so he could do HERO THINGS. But Vi does it? “Wah wah she joined the COPS she’s A TRAITOR THE REAL VI WOULD NEVER”. Like. Watch the show, my friends, and you will see she did what she thought was best and it was a very complex and very emotional decision for her; she hated every second of that uniform. But no, people shit on Vi and then complain like any of them could write a better show. Ugh.

And nobody would have hated a male Vi for having his love scene. Nobody. In fact, it would have been EXPECTED, but because Vi’s a woman, and a lesbian expressing her big gay love for her gorgeous gay lover, some people refuse to see her humanity and her growth as a person in that moment. I'm so tired

And the argument that we hate them because they did bad things is not true, I have seen people hate Caitlyn just because she is lesbian and one of them said if she was a straight woman I would have accepted her character on the show. Seriously this is someone who takes his criticism seriously, he forgot the story and everything in the show and focused on whether the characters are gay or straight or worse when I saw a comment from someone saying why are the main characters on the show female characters? Like is this an idiot or is he drug or what exactly? I think we should also ask, why do men always take the lead roles and when they are evil they are better, and if they are good they are also better, but if a woman comes along who is evil or wants to be evil or does just one mistake everyone hates her and she is the worst person in the world, but men are the only ones who deserve to play the role of evil and do bad things and we will sympathize with them and love them. THIS IS CRAZY!!

To understand what I'm saying more, compare Viktor's character and Caitlyn's character and you will see that Caitlyn was the character who was criticized the most even though she didn't kill anyone innocent and in the end she tried to fix things, while Viktor tried to kill all the people of Piltover and Zaun and didn't care about anyone, even his friend's pleas, he didn't care about them and Viktor thought that this was the solution but to end the conflicts between the two cities. But is there anyone who criticizes this, is there anyone who says that this is a bad act, of course not, yes you will see some people justifying it, as they did with Silco, the person who killed an entire family for control and drowned all of Zaun with shimmer and made the children work in dangerous factories, and there is not a single criticism, and people defend him even after Jinx's condition worsened, no they say that he is better than Caitlyn, my god like what the fuck!?

Then they tell you we don't hate women we don't hate gays or lesbians, just shut the fuck up, everything is clear, Arcane revealed to us that there are still people who are fanatic and traditional to the extreme who still want to see a man as the hero of the story and that all people and women should respect him even if he is evil and cruel he is always better than this bullshit, Arcane proved to us that it is possible for both sexes to appear in an excellent, strong and realistic way without insulting or belittling the other because these things are not useful and will not help in telling the story in any way.

Quick note I don't hate Jinx or Viktor and many of you who follow me know that I love Viktor very much but I will not deny the bad things he did and I am also really tired of the hypocrisy of some people and their constant criticism of other characters and characters. Just bc they say like these characters

Like I don't like Silco but have you ever seen me post every day criticizing Silco and Silco fans all the time or go to Silco fans and tell them if you like Silco then you support child labor and the drug trade and blah blah. Like they do with Caitlyn fans when one of them says he likes Caitlyn they accuse him of supporting collective punishment and corrupt governments and police brutality just because he likes a fictional character. I've never seen such stupidity and backwardness and bullshit in my life, just because I like a fictional character you think I will act like her in real life?? These people need to grow up seriously or find a job

152 notes · View notes

grogwrites · 1 month ago

Text

Stranger - O.P. 81

Part Two

part one • part two • part three

Summary: When someone returns to Oscar’s life after years apart, he has a hard time finding common ground with her to reconcile the feud between them. That is, until she signs on as a driver for the upcoming F1 season. Then he can’t seem to get her out of his mind.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Female OC

CW: Dual POV series, but part two is all in OC’s POV. Please take my warnings seriously before continuing on. This series is not for everyone, as consistent depictions of mental health struggles are conveyed in the writing, primarily PTSD and loss of a loved one. Part two contains swearing, a shit ton of angst, mentions and depictions of PTSD and suicide, suggestive content/brief making out, alcohol consumption, Lando is a bit of a twat in this series, manipulation from OC—OC is a very complex and very hurt character so a lot of her behavior in this part is, erm, not great lol

A/N: this is part two in my three part mini series! Again, I do not use YN on my page so OC is a named character 🩵

Word Count: 5.1k

* DISCLAIMER: I do not know any of the people in this fanfiction personally, these are all just the works of my imagination.

PRESENT DAY

She knew who he was. She had done some extensive research on the current grid, as well as the other rookies for next season so she knew what she was up against. This was how she’s always operated—this is how her dad taught her to compete. She clocked Lando’s weaknesses the second he began flirting with her. For starters, she knew he was self conscious. She had seen him speak out about it in his interviews, but when he began flashing this arrogant side of him, it was tell-tale that he was overcompensating for something that he was lacking in. His boat rocked on the water behind them, and her curiosity was piqued. As she perched her sepia-toned sunglasses on her head, she stared back at him intently.

“Lando Norris,” she smiled, playing in to his behavior. She made sure she raised her voice slightly, to hint at a flirtatious demeanor, “you’ve got a reputation, you know.” Lando smirked, folding his arms across his tan, toned chest. He was attractive, Claire could give him that much at least. He just wasn’t her type, unfortunately for him.

“Remind me again?” He responded with a scoff. He took a step closer to her, leaning in a bit.

“You sleep around,” Claire remarked. She tapped her finger against her chin, as if trying to remember the artificial list that she was referencing. “You don’t call back, you can’t be tied down…tell me why I should go with you?”

“Maybe I want you to be the one to change my reputation?” Lando lowered his voice. “Has anyone ever told you that pink looks really good on you?”

The laugh that escaped her mouth was accidental, but she could care less. This had to be a joke, she thought. He was too corny—too predictable. In a weird way, it was almost endearing how he thought he had her wrapped around his pathetic finger. He didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I’m afraid I won’t meet your expectations,” she sighed as her laughter slowed. “I’m looking for commitment, Norris. Not a plaything.” She watched his cheeks slowly turn red when she referred to him as a ‘plaything’. He cleared his throat, then straightened his posture.

“One date,” Lando proposed, clearly feeling confident in his chances. “If you are still convinced I’m not serious, then you can block me and never call me back.”

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. She smirked, then placed her sunglasses back on the bridge of her nose. Both of them were playing a game, but she was going to win. Losing wasn’t in her book—not now, not ever.

“Fine,” Claire sighed. “But it has to be a real date.”

“Wonderful,” he mimicked her flirtatious drawl from a few moments ago. “What is your name, darling?” Already starting with the pet names? He had no idea who he was about to get involved with. She offered her hand to him innocently.

“I’m Claire Nguyen,” she introduced, keeping her tone playful and airy. Her friends snickered behind her, but they knew how she worked—they knew she was playing him. Still, the driver took her hand in his, then pressed his lips to her knuckles. He pulled away, meeting her gaze again.

“It’s a pleasure,” his smug look was devastating.

Maybe if Claire had met him in high school, he would’ve had her in the palm of his hands. But she was different, now. Her heart was hardened, and her guard was up. Her dad dying was the tip of the iceberg, and leaving Oscar sunk the ship completely. She didn’t care what bridges she had to burn to accomplish her goals in life, and she didn’t care who she hurt to get there—because life hurt her. Life killed her. Sometimes she worried that she was a sociopath, but her therapist reassured her multiple times that she was simply just traumatized. It made her laugh the first time she was diagnosed with PTSD, but now that word felt like a weakness to her: trauma. All she had in this world was herself, now that the Piastri’s were nonexistent.

Claire’s gaze flickered back to the boat, before she looked to Lando again.

“So, are you going to invite me on board,” she tightened the hold on his hand gently, “or are you going to keep gawking at me?”

“You’re quite cheeky, aren’t you?” Lando chuckled, but there was a nervousness to his presentation now. Her plan was already working. She smiled, then looked back over her shoulders at her friends, Edith and Stacy—two girls she met when moving here to Monaco.

“See you back at the apartment?” She asked. The two girls exchanged a mischievous glance, then nodded. She wiggled her fingers goodbye to them, before Lando tugged her forward. As they approached the boat, he let go of her hand briefly to climb on board. He offered his hands to her, but she pushed him out of her way, before gracefully climbing on behind him. His cheeks flushed.

“I can let myself onto a boat,” she clicked her tongue, then eyed him head to toe. “I’m not helpless, you know.” He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly became a sputtering mess. He removed the hat on his head, running a hand through his curls.

“Um, my friend is here, too,” he finally managed to choke out. Claire found it quite amusing how his ‘cool guy’ persona faded rather fast. She watched him hesitate before walking around the driver’s seat towards the cushioned chairs at the front of the boat. She took her time lingering behind him, when she saw a familiar head of blonde hair off to her left—lounging with his eyes closed. Her blood ran cold at the sight of him.

For a few seconds, it felt like everything stopped around her. He looked…different. A good different, but it made her doubt for a moment if that was actually him in front of her. But it was. She’d recognize the speckled moles and freckled face anywhere. She felt her cheeks burn at the sight of his bare chest, and silently thanked God that her sunglasses were tinted. She felt frozen in place—like she couldn’t move or else the world would collapse below her.

“Hey,” Lando’s voice brought her back into reality. He reached forward, shaking Oscar’s leg gently. She saw, now, his eyes opening and looking directly up at her. His face went pale. Lando was seemingly unaware of the situation that was playing out as he continued speaking, “Oscar this is Claire, Claire this is Oscar.”

She quickly flashed her best fake smile as she extended a hand towards him. Push it down, Claire, she reminded herself, push it down with the rest of your emotions. If she allowed herself to be distracted by Oscar, then she would get knocked off her game. He always did that to her. While she knew the weaknesses of all the other drivers, her own weakness was going to be her competition next season—her weakness was Oscar Piastri.

“Hello,” Claire stated plainly. “It’s great to meet you, Oscar.” She made sure to draw out his name only slightly, just so he knew exactly where he stood with her. He had no place in her life anymore, and she wasn’t about to let him crawl his way back in. Oscar hesitated before taking her hand in his. His touch alone could’ve made her knees buckle underneath of her. They’ve held hands on multiple occasions before this, but this felt different. This time, it felt like she was in second grade again, racing remote controlled cars with him in his living room.

“Good to meet you as well, Claire,” he grumbled. When his hand lingered in hers, she made sure she was the first to drop his. Oscar quickly turned his attention to Lando. “Can we get back out on the water, now? I was taking a nap.” Claire drew in a shaky deep breath, praying her nerves weren’t obvious.

“I like that idea,” she commented. “I’ll drive.” As she began walking back to the driver’s seat, Lando grabbed ahold of her waist to stop her.

“Nice try,” he hummed in her ear. She felt the heat of his chest against her back, and his fingertips squeezing her sides gently. She felt the anger in her stomach begin to boil. “Why don’t you let a Formula 1 driver handle that?”

Subconsciously, she dug her elbow into his gut. He retaliated, coughing as the air was briefly knocked out of him. How degrading for him to speak to her like that. Claire faced him, folding her arms. The look in his eyes almost mimicked a lovesick, teenage boy—they were laced with disbelief in what she had just done, and admiration that she had the balls to do it in the first place.

“Someone doesn’t do their research,” she retorted, placing her hand on his cheek. “Lucky for you, a Formula 1 driver will be handling that.” His eyes widened as the gears in his head seemed to begin turning, putting the pieces together.

“You’re a Formula 1 driver?” Oscar was the first to speak as he stood from his chair. Claire was quick to remove her hand from Lando’s face at the sight of her old friend—as if she didn’t want him to see what she was doing. It didn’t matter if he did, and she knew that. They were nothing to each other, but yet she still craved his approval just as much as she did twelve years ago.

“Alpine, next season,” she stated simply, keeping her expression deadpanned as she looked back at him. “They saw me racing at a gig in Seoul—said I had potential, and offered a contract.” Lando laughed in amusement, as if he couldn’t fall more in love with her than the poor thing already was. She could see Oscar’s jaw tighten at the mention that she never quit racing. There was a heavy, unspoken tension between the two of them, so she shifted her gaze back to Lando.

“God, you’re cool,” he swooned. “I mean, minus elbowing me a few seconds ago…”

“Watch where you place your hands next time,” she scolded, pointing her finger at Lando like she was lecturing a child. “And watch what kind of assumptions you make. I told you earlier, I’m not helpless. You don’t know a single thing about me, Norris.”

Claire thought for a moment that she heard Oscar laugh, but that would be impossible. There was too much hatred between the two of them for him to find anything she said amusing. But as she turned to walk to the driver’s seat, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

When the second bottle of wine was being thrown away, Claire knew she needed to cut herself off and go to sleep. She’d been sitting on her apartment balcony for almost four hours, just staring…watching. The busyness of Monaco had now quieted down to a soft hum of the night, with the occasional car passing by below on the street.

She had imagined her reunion with Oscar on several occasions, but none of them involved flirting with his teammate in front of him. She groaned to herself, burying her face in her hands as she leaned against the railing. Her Aunt Mae had told her multiple times that the world would work to bring them back together. Mae was adamant about the idea of karma, but Claire wasn’t too sure. Really, she stopped believing in a lot of things after her dad died. Oscar never stopped believing in her, though. Except, maybe now was different. He looked through her today like she was a ghost of some kind.

There was a light knock on her door, pulling her out of her thoughts. She sighed before grabbing ahold of her wine glass and standing. She tightened the robe around her as she walked inside. When she got to the door, she glanced through the peephole. Lando. Claire took a deep breath before finishing off her drink. She continued to hold her robe closed as she opened the door. The Brit smiled sheepishly back at her, as though he was entertained that she answered. He wore some grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that fit snug against his torso. She leaned against the doorframe, humming lightly.

“Hello,” he finally spoke. “Um, sorry for just stopping by like this. When I dropped you off earlier, I didn’t realize we lived in the same complex.” Claire was really too tipsy and too sad to try and maintain the composure that she held at the beach earlier. So instead, she settled with a smile.

“Don’t apologize,” she replied softly. “I don’t mind. What can I do for you?” Lando stuffed his hands into his pockets, as the corners of his mouth twitched slightly while he gathered his thoughts.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior today,” he explained slowly. Her eyes widened, not expecting this from him. Maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought. “I just, um, haven’t had a serious relationship in a while. Sometimes I get ahead of myself.” Claire wasn’t entirely sure what to do or to say. She hesitated as she eventually stepped off to the side, silently inviting him in to her home.

She watched him closely as he walked inside. She shut the door behind him, as his gaze flickered around her living room. Claire kept things minimalistic, mostly because she couldn’t bother herself to turn anything into a home. She didn’t belong anywhere, and it had been that way since she left Melbourne. She often felt like a stray cat, just bouncing between homes—desperate for shelter, and barely staying alive. If she put decorations up anywhere, then it meant she was tied to that place. She couldn’t be tied down anywhere unless it was back in Melbourne, but she hadn’t healed enough to bring herself back there yet.

“I’m sorry for elbowing you,” she found herself admitting, even though she wasn’t that sorry. Her dad’s voice seemed to haunt her, though, any time she let her emotions get the best of her. It happened when she first met Oscar, too. She almost laughed at the thought, but she pushed it down just as she did with everything else. Lando turned to look at her, when he offered her a comforting smile. She felt her heart stutter, but it could’ve just been the wine.

“I deserved it,” he shrugged, making his way back towards her. “You do intimidate me, though.” She pressed her lips into a thin, tight line as she fought off a smile. She didn’t want to give him the justification, even if his comment was a bit funny.

“I get that a lot,” Claire confessed as she broke off to her right, towards the kitchen. Lando trailed behind. “My dad put me through anger management when I was in second grade. I just feel things very passionately. There isn’t any in-between for me.” She looked over to him again as she set her glass by the sink. She leaned against the counter as he stayed back, observing her.

“Do you, um, already know Oscar?” He asked quietly, as if he were treading on thin ice. He was unsure of the territory he had wandered in, and she saw it reflected in his eyes: careful, cautious…on edge; she was predator, and he was prey.

It was a loaded question that Claire didn’t know how to answer. She used to know Oscar, but now he was as much of a stranger to her as Lando was. She knew he had an entirely new life, but she refused to research him as intently as the other drivers. It just wasn’t something she wanted to venture into. She knew deep down that if she were to see what kind of life he was living without her in it, it would kill her.

“No,” she lied, shaking her head. “He just looked like somebody I used to know, is all.” Lando took a few steps closer. The silence was deafening in her apartment—nothing but the soft buzz of the streetlights outside.

The unfortunate thing for Claire, was that wine brought her guard down. Even though she wasn’t fully drunk yet, she could feel it slowly begin to trickle through her bloodstream. As Lando stood close to her, she felt her cheeks warm. No matter how flustered he was making her right now, he still wasn’t her type. He still wasn’t Oscar. The thought rang through her brain, pathetically reminding her of her long-time infatuation with him. Her heart ached slightly, while she turned her attention to her feet—away from Lando’s gaze.

“Claire?”

She knew seeing Oscar again—regardless of when or where or why or how it happened—would destroy her. He probably didn’t care, which pained her even more. The fact that he still held so much influence over her thoughts was comical. She wanted desperately to move on from him; she needed to force herself to move on.

Claire looked over to the boy next to her, whose eyes were laced with worry. He could tell something was wrong, but he wouldn’t ask. He didn’t think he could, and she preferred that he didn’t. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the reckless decision she was about to make. If she wanted to move on, then there was an opportunity standing just a few inches away from her.

She grabbed a fistful of Lando’s shirt, then pulled him down. She kissed him feverishly, and he wasted no time kissing her back. She could smell his soap still lingering on him—pine and eucalyptus. He brought one hand behind her neck, pulling her closer to him. Her mouth parted momentarily for a breath, when she felt Lando’s tongue lick her bottom lip. He moved his mouth against hers desperately, pleadingly. It was obvious between the two of them that this was nothing more than surface-level kissing. That was all she needed from him was a distraction, and he was happy to give it to her.

Seeing Lando became a regular occurrence for Claire, though they kept it as lowkey as they were able to—no idle chatter, no small talk. Just sex, nothing more. It wasn’t until she went over to his apartment one evening, and Oscar was the one who opened the door. Neither of them said anything, they just stared. Oscar glanced over his shoulder into his friend’s apartment before stepping into the hall with her, closing the door behind him. A few more seconds of silence passed between them, before he finally spoke.

“You’re racing again.”

A simple sentence that felt like a slap across the face. She wasn’t sure what to say in response to that, primarily because she was scared. She couldn’t tell if him making conversation was an olive branch, or pouring more salt into the wound. His tone was unwavering, making it hard to decipher his intentions.

“I never stopped,” Claire finally muttered. Oscar leaned against the door behind him. He was wearing a pair of black exercise shorts, accompanied by a matte black McLaren team shirt. She hated how good he looked—how nice the years have been to him. The silence met them again, but this time it was heavy with uncertainty. Neither one was sure where they stood with the other. It was maddening.

“Now, you’re sleeping with Lando,” he observed. She felt her stomach bubble with the same familiar anger she often felt. He had no right to judge her for this. “That’s a dangerous combination.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Osc…ar?” She was quick to correct her old habit of calling him by his nickname. She kicked herself mentally for the muscle memory. He smiled slightly, which only made the situation worse. “Oscar. I meant Oscar.” He raised his eyebrows slightly before sticking his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

“You’re…” he trailed off at first. He licked his lips before finding his voice again, “you’re like fire and ice. You just don’t go together. You both deal so much damage individually, but together…I dunno.” He shrugged lightly. Claire rolled her eyes.

“In case you’ve forgotten, you don’t get to give me advice anymore,” she took a few steps closer to him. She tried to maintain her cool, but she felt like there was a storm inside of her right now. Being so close to him, she was hit with the smell of his old cologne: sandalwood, vanilla, home. It almost made her cry, as the feeling of nostalgia was quick to wash over her. “You have no influence over me.”

The second she said it, she knew he saw right through the lie. He only knew it was a lie, because he felt the same way. Thankfully for her, Oscar didn’t push the matter further. Instead, he opened the door to Lando’s apartment once more.

“It’s always good to see you, Bear,” he mumbled so softly that she almost missed it. He stared at her for a few seconds longer, then disappeared inside.

The bass that echoed over the club’s stereo pulsed through the building. Claire, Edith, and Stacy each sat at the bar, observing the crowd before them. Edith and Stacy were the closest thing to best friends that Claire had in her life anymore, but even then, it didn’t feel like she held a very deep connection with them. Any relationship she maintained after Oscar was surface level—she couldn’t keep people as close to her as he used to be. Maybe it was because somewhere deep in her heart, that was still reserved for him and him alone.

Still, the company the girls provided was nice. When Claire made the decision to use her inheritance to move to Monaco, she joined a women’s racing league. Edith and Stacy didn’t race, but they volunteered for the league from time to time. Their worlds collided when Claire punched some douchebag who had Edith cornered at the very bar they were in now. Even if they only kept her around for some form of security, she felt like with them, she could at least pretend her life was semi-normal.

“Soooo,” Stacy sang before taking a drink from whatever combination she decided upon for the night, “what’s up with Lando?”

“Nothing,” Claire told her factually. “Absolutely nothing. It’s nice, really. I don’t think being tied down right now is what’s best for me.” That last part was a lie. Partially, anyways.

“He’s, like, so hot,” Edith chimed in. “What’s going to happen next season, do you think?” Claire couldn’t help but scoff. She took a long drink from the vodka cranberry in her hands before she responded.

“I’m going to win,” it was a simple statement that she believed fully in her heart. “Alpine has some new sponsors. The car is going to be good—not great, really, but better than it has been. I plan to drive that shitbox to its grave.”

Her two friends began chatting about their predictions for the next season, as Claire grew bored. She turned her back to the bar, allowing herself a better view of the crowd dancing behind them. There were a few faces she recognized of other drivers that lived here. A bit strange that so many of them were here tonight, but she supposed it wasn’t totally out of the ordinary. Their summer break didn’t end until next week, so she figured a good lot of them hadn’t left yet for their other commitments.

Then, her eyes landed on Oscar, who was currently staring back at her. This seemed to be their luck of the draw—finding each other when they had no intention or desire of doing so. Even when they first met, they kept finding each other: the race tracks, Christmas at the Piastri’s, Oscar’s first break up, Claire’s first school dance…he was always there.

Her chest felt tight. If she kept meeting him like this, she knew it would more than likely send her into cardiac arrest. She took control of the current situation as she grabbed her drink, and excused herself from her friends. She could see it in his eyes that he thought she’d be coming over to him when she began walking, but instead, she turned left and made her way out of the exit that lead to the back alley of the bar.

When the door closed behind her, she pressed her back to the cold, brick exterior of the building. As she slid down to sit on the ground, she felt tears in the corners of her eyes. Hugging her knees to her chest, she pressed her forehead to them and cried. The emotions from the past few weeks had caught up to her, and she felt like she was drowning. There was a fog in her brain since seeing Oscar again, and she was unaware how much it was really affecting her until now. She didn’t remember hearing the door open beside her, until he sat next to her.

It was like some sick and twisted déjà vu. The last time they sat like this was at the funeral. Claire couldn’t decide how to react right now. Did she scream at him? Was she supposed to just walk away, and keep avoiding him? She heard him sniff quietly, and she knew he was crying, too. So they sat there in their respective silences, each crying and working through the unspoken, unresolved questions that lingered between them. After a few minutes, Oscar’s voice broke through the surface.

“No one stayed in that room after you left,” his voice was hoarse. “Mom wouldn’t even use it for storage. It’s been untouched since…” he trailed off, but Claire didn’t need him to finish. She knew what he was insinuating: the Piastri’s never moved on.

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Not yet, anyways. She didn’t have the words right now to properly communicate how she felt, because she felt so many things all at once. Hurt, anger, disappointment, heart break, love…so much love. But it was the type of yearning that often did more harm than good—the type that got Romeo killed. The type that got Gatsby shot. The type that left the other half broken, and the other half dead. Claire felt dead. She had been dead inside for so long now. How was one supposed to convey such complex feelings into words?

“She still asks about you,” Oscar continued, laughing pathetically—like the absurdity of it all was comical. It was, though. It almost made Claire relieved to know that Nicole still thought they were friends in some capacity; it meant Oscar never told her the truth. “She, um, has been collecting these little gifts for you in case you ever made it back to Australia—“

“Please,” Claire finally choked out through the tears, “I can’t hear anymore, Oscar. It hurts too much.”

He went quiet, obeying her request at first. She knew it hurt him too, but he wanted so desperately to make her feel better. Oscar Piastri: always selfless, always caring, always thinking of others. This time, however, he had no intentions of letting things go unspoken. He couldn’t take another three years without the closure, and neither could she.

“I missed you,” the words left his mouth before he could think. Claire could tell, because he came to a stuttering stop. He wasn’t usually a confrontational person, so the fact he kept talking in general surprised her. “I thought about you every day for a year. I watched you post things online, acting like I never even existed.”

Claire let him talk. She sat next to him listening, as the tears continued to fall down her cheeks. She knew he needed this as much as she did—he just had the words to say right now. She didn’t. Not yet.

“When you stopped returning my calls, it felt like another person I loved was gone,” his voice was now strained as he stopped holding back his own tears. “I was worried about you. I thought that maybe your mental health had caught up to you. You stopped posting, you stopped going online. I had to force myself to forget about you so I couldn’t face the truth that I had created.”

He thought she died. She didn’t need for him to explicitly say the words to understand what he was talking about. His concerns were valid, too. He always looked out for her when she got too deep into her own thoughts. So when he couldn’t do that anymore, he assumed the worst.

“I pushed everyone away,” Claire finally spoke. Her words were slow, calculated. She didn’t want to say anything that might ruin the civility they had right now. “I didn’t think I belonged anywhere when I had to go back to Seoul. I didn’t even want to go to Seoul.”

Her words carried weight with Oscar. She never really spoke to him about her feelings on moving in with her aunt—the only time they ever addressed her leaving was the night he won the F2 championship title. Her demeanor towards it all that night told him that she didn’t care, but she did. God, she cared so much. She spent several weeks leading up to her departure arguing with her aunt about staying in Melbourne, but her dad’s will passed her on to Mae. By the time Claire was legally able to leave on her own accord, they weren’t friends anymore.

“I fought tooth and nail to stay with you,” she continued, finally gaining the courage to look at him. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, but her’s were probably not any better. “When it was unavoidable, I just…pushed everyone away. It already felt like everything I loved was taken from me; pushing people away was easier to deal with it all.”

Oscar couldn’t take it anymore. He brought her into an embrace so quickly that she couldn’t process it at first. After a few moments, she returned the hug, wrapping her arms around him in return. They sat like that for what felt like hours, but neither of them cared. By the time they eventually left, no other word was muttered between them. There was so much more that the other could say, but for now they were content. For now, it felt like maybe—just maybe—they would be okay.

* None of my writing is available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated.

Taglist:

@leclercdream

#f1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #oscar piastri x oc #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x female reader #Spotify

90 notes · View notes

josru · 7 months ago

Text

a little rant:

If you need to understand one thing about the Bear subreddit, here it is.

It's not a supportive place for women, let alone black women/women of colour. (Not surprising, as reddit is male and white dominated.) Sydney gets mad hate for daring to be apart of the main relationship in the show (that is now defunct), something that the writers wrote for her? Regardless if you see Sydcarmy as romantic or not. The whole point of the Bear is their partnership.

And yet the Bear fandom on reddit loves to diminish her role, and act as if Sydney is an uppity black woman who needs to be rid of. They act like it's surprising that people want to talk about her or like her. And they also think Sydcarmy is mad overrated and implausible. They bring it up constantly because it pisses them off that a sizeable portion of us love it.

Probably because Sydney is an actual character we can relate to and root for. But oh no, men don't like that because that means she isn't a perfect little white fantasy, and she has actual problems and ideas and speaks on them, and she's BLACK, god forbid!! And they could never have empathy for someone who wasn't themselves. Sydney is annoying to them because it reminds them they don't care about other people.

It's barely a place for white women too, because they only like you if you're a gf/therapist/not your own person. A flat, 2-D image with no problems. They don't care about Jess or Claire, they just want to fuck them. Even in this post, the respect of relatability and empathy is given to Richie in the title, because he finally "got some", despite the picture being of Jess. Like, great, guys, you diminished a woman (a PERSON) to being a "win" for a man, because that's all that matters, right? Whether or not a woman is a fuckable prize?

Even the writing of the show actually just pushes the whole "if women = gf, = only gf, nothing else" trope. So in a weird way, I guess I know where they're getting it from, but I expected more from adult men? My bad.

Women deserve to be more than someone's fantasy!! I am sick and tired of this misogynistic drivel. I also think it's fucked up how much of these dudes on reddit love Richie this much. Like, we get it, you think he's a self-help sigma alpha chad king now. Just keep ignoring the problems he keeps creating, how irritating he can be sometimes, as well as the fact that men picking up their lives will always have way more support than female characters. Richie is not some underdog character lol. The narrative of the show has made it clear he is very beloved and will have a nice, sweet arc.

Unlike Sydney, and Marcus, and apparently maybe even Tina. But yes, keep talking about how your white male character is the underdog who is being sooo mistreated and finally got something he deserved, even though in actuality, Syd and every other POC got treated like shit this season. It's like they swapped them, the real main characters, and made them the underdogs/tertiary while Richie has become so important. But it's key to reddit's white male victim complex that Richie is finally getting "good treatment" when he never suffered being completely ignored by the writers at all, and he was never at risk of that either.

244 notes · View notes

sephirthoughts · 8 months ago

Text

Vincent’s lingering obsession with Lucrecia is excellent drama, but their story is not a doomed romance.

This is an unpopular opinion, but I don’t think Lucrecia deserves nearly as much pity and excusing of her actions as she gets. This is not character-hate post, it's an analysis of a character I think gets short shrift as a Mother-Mary in a bell jar, and deserves better.

Lucrecia is morally grey. Charcoal grey. I love complex, morally grey characters, particularly when they're women, since usually women are relegated to roles that infantilize and objectify them, particularly in video games, which have historically been a very backward, androcentric medium. I strongly dislike brainless victims, subject to the whims of the male characters, without much agency, and Lucrecia was not such a character.

Lucrecia was an adult with agency and brains. She was a grown ass adult. She was a brilliant scientist. She made decisions with her eyes open, and even sacrificed her unborn child to her work. She is a very interesting character. The fact that she didn't idolize motherhood as the end-all of female existence, and that her obsession with her work was stronger than her desire to be a 'good mother' makes her far more interesting than otherwise. The fact that she regretted it later and wanted him back doesn’t magically make her a good person, or change the choices she made. It demonstrates guilt and remorse, which are part of character development. The bottom line is that she committed atrocities in the name of science, then felt guilty about it later, once she realized how devastating the consequences were to her personally. To say she didn’t know what she was doing or Hojo manipulated or controlled her is to infantilize and disrespect her character. She’s not some sacrificial angel who was a victim of circumstances; she was a willing participant in her own downfall.

Lucrecia is a tragic character, but she's not a romantic lead. Except in Vincent's head. After all was said and done, she had one of those too-late changes of heart that make tragedy so emotionally impactful. She had a human reaction to Vincent's death and felt terribly guilty for her role in all of it, as she should. That doesn't mean she loved him, it means she wasn't a monster. She lost her son, and gradually, Hojo's callous inhumanity and her inability to escape the net she wove with her own hands closed in on her. Did she deserve to never hold her baby son and never see him even once? No. But she caused it, with her own actions. That's tragedy. She was miserable, bereft, and riddled with guilt, so she made a last-ditch effort to make something right...by doing more insane science shit that turned Vincent into a monster. Seeing that she'd only made everything worse, she tried to kill herself, but was unable to, and thus ran off to become a crystal statue in a cave (this is a trope that I dislike, but that's the story, so that's what we've got).

Vincent is a bad judge of the circumstances. Vincent persists in seeing her as a lost love, and someone from whom he was unjustly separated by circumstances. The fact that he is so blinded by his feelings for her that he places her on this pedestal and can't blame her for what she did is excellent characterization, and I love it, but it's because he’s wrong. He loved her. She didn’t love him (I think she was in love with his father, but that's just icing on the tragedy cake, at this point). His lingering attachment, not to the real Lucrecia, but to the idealized version of her he has in his mind, is a very sad reality that adds so much delicious pain to his character. In the end, he is unable to blame her, because he loved his image of her (and Hojo is a way easier target for anger, because he's literally the worst), which speaks far more to his personal bias in the situation than to her actual role in it. She’s not moustache-twirlingly evil like Hojo but she’s not Vincent's star cross'd soul mate tragically torn away by cruel fate. Lucrecia was her own person.

In summation. Their story is not a doomed romance, it's a complicated, messy, ugly tangle of thorns, and one of the best written tragedies in a game that literally bleeds tragedy from every orifice. It's got one-sided love, obsession, mad science, betrayal, jealousy, fetal experimentation, murder, corpse reanimation, and a guy who can't die, and is left to deal with the consequences of everyone else's actions by himself forever. No one is innocent and no one comes out unscathed…strike that. Vincent is innocent and Hojo comes out unscathed. But still. Lucrecia is not a holy mother, she's not a brainless victim, and she's not Vincent's lost love. She's a person he loved, and who didn't reciprocate. Most importantly, she's a person. A whole-ass, complex, morally grey, fully developed person, who made terrible choices, then made even worse choices, and in the end, couldn't escape the fate she wove for herself.

And then wound up encased in crystal so she could be a pretty statue forever cause the game devs just couldn't help themselves I guess.

#lucrecia crescent #vincent valentine #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #ff7 vincent #professor hojo #warning: hojo #science!#opinion #i wrote this without pre-planning sorry it's rough and scattered #don't burn me at the stake #my opinion may change

278 notes · View notes

da-man-si · 7 months ago

Text

Some people are hating on Li Rong after episode 12, saying she is a vicious and vile woman who deserves to be used by Su Rongqing…and that she doesn’t deserve Pei Wenxuan.

I strongly disagree. In fact, I like her character. She has flaws, many flaws and sometimes I have shouted “girl no” at the screen because she does jump to the wrong conclusions a lot. Her personality has been moulded by the palace environment. She is proud, privileged, a hardcore skeptic and keeps her emotions reserved. Imagine a princess (mind you, she’s an eldest daughter) growing up in a palace where almost every person she’s interacted with is power hungry, even her mother and father. The treachery and bloodshed she must have witnessed. All over power. In her past life, she bent to all that. She would do what the powerful people wanted. She would convince her brother, the crown prince, to do what those people wanted.

She desperately wanted to find a trusted companion in Pei Wenxuan because she thought he is not from the palace and won’t go after power. She thought he will choose her and love her for her, Li Rong and not The Princess Royal. But in comes the trust issues when she sees him with Zhenzhen in his arms. She had taken one step forward in trusting him but then she took three steps back. Because trusting and communicating isn’t her forte. Those who have dared to trust in the palace have met with disappointment leading to death. Did her trust issues come in the way of Pei Wenxuan loving her? Yes. Do I hate her for it? No.

She does not become vicious or vile because she is unable to trust people. It is very tempting and easy it is to follow your fears and overthink shit all the time. She spent 40 years living this way so it will take some time for her to rewire her brain and resist and reject the urges to doubt.

I get that people are mad because Pei Wenxuan has put his heart out to her and she is still doubting him. But, that’s why I like her character. Because when she slams open the doors to herself and lets him in, that would be character development moment.

I don’t know what choice she will make in episode 13 but despite whatever choice she makes, I just want to put it out there that her trust issues come from complex, dark emotions and memories and not because the writer wrote a stupid and cruel female lead. Let’s not let the love for the male lead blind us to the point of hating the female lead because she doesn’t reciprocate his trust and feelings.

#this is li rong defense post #pei wenxuan where are you #people are hating your girl #get behind me princess #the grand princess #cdrama #the princess royal #li rong #zhao jinmai #chinese drama #asian drama

190 notes · View notes

showtoonzfan · 1 year ago

Text

Now that the episode is out officially, here’s my rant review of Oops!

PROS:

- Fizz and Ozzie were adorable and I honestly love them. Despite the sex jokes, you can tell they love each other for who they are OUTSIDE of sex. While I did wish we would have seen more, (like how Ozzie took him in and fell in love) they’re still adorable to watch. They’re the better version of Stolitz, can the show be about them instead?

- Brandon’s voice acting holy shit, he really knows how to sound like he’s in tears or is broken. As much as I hate the character and feel no sympathy, he displayed genuine and broken emotion very well.

- Alex Brightman Alex Brightman

Okay that’s it. Moving on to the Cons. Bear with me, it’s a lot and I go back and forth a bit. 😭

CONS:

So for a quick short summary, this episode:

- Once again puts more focus on the filler plot rather than actually focusing on the relationships between the characters, so all we're left with is a 10 second clip of Fizz being burned while the rest of the episode is surrounded on sex jokes/petty bickering and Stolas and Ozzie sitting around.

- Completely erases what made Blitz and Fizz's dynamic interesting in the first place because it retcons it with a dumb miscommunication trope about how Fizz actually wanted to see Blitz and Blitz tried reaching out to him. Not only does this feel like a cheap attempt to make Blitz out to be sweet/sympathetic and NOT the one in the wrong so Fizz can suck up to him, but this also makes no sense within the narrative.

- Has Fizz forgive Blitz despite him being the last person anyone would think would forgive him. (So honestly ruins Fizz himself because it turned him into a soft boy who's forgiving compared to the asshole he was in Ozzie's) All because Viv would sell her whole soul before she even remotely considers painting characters like Blitz and Stolas out to be the one's in the wrong.

- Takes Stolas out of the hospital completely, erasing all the drama/tension Western Energy had and proves that that episode was utterly pointless.

- Turns Striker from an interesting complex villain to a Saturday morning cartoon goon.

- Proves to us that Crimson is just a flat tool and gives us more prove that the world building rules Viv set up in season 1 legit don't matter.

-Ruins Blitz/Barbie's feud now because now you're making Barbie look like the one in the wrong since the fire was an accident. God forbid a female characters emotions in this show are justified.

But if you want my more in depth rants, it’s under the cut! (There’s a lot so bear with me lol)

- As usual WAAY too many sex jokes and swearing. It gets annoying and repetitive at times and some of them distract from the main plot. There’s a long and I mean LONNG dragged out joke of Fizz talking about Ozzie’s dick, then later saying he’s hard when Striker has a gun to his head, as well as Blitz making a joke about him and Fizz making out once they hug. Again, Viv can’t be serious for 2 seconds without an unfunny shitty gag. I genuinely wonder if Hazbin is ganna be like this, where a character is in a life threatening situation or a deep dark serious scene happens only for the next scene to be sex related.

- This is one of those “shit happens because the plot demands it” and it shows. Crimson and Striker COINCIDENTLY meet up with each other, and Fizz and Blitz just so HAPPEN to be in the same exact area they are. Viv wonders why we call her shit a fanfic and this is what we mean, when she creates wild wacky plots and focuses more on THAT rather than the actual character writing. This entire episode hinges on a useless poorly last minute planned kidnapping plot that didn’t need to happen. Also way to once again make the characters idiots so the plot can happen, cause Fizz KNOWS Ozzie worries for him and that the Greed Ring is dangerous, yet purposefully puts the spotlight on him.

- Stolas did NOT need to be in this episode. The plot completely ignores the fact that he was in the hospital the last time we saw him, and he’s only here for Stolitz banter. You’d think that a character admitting they have feelings for someone would be a big deal but he just flat out says it and it’s so underwhelming and feels half assed with no weight to it. Fan comics have made more dedication to this than Viv has. We're supposed to believe him too despite the show failing to actually SHOW us this. Same for Blitz ranting about how “nice” Stolas has been to him, laughing at his jokes and liking his posts…hey Viv, can we actually SEE that on screen so it’s more believable? Or are you only determined to show them sexually flirting? 😑

- Once again Viv felt the need to shove a B plot into this episode and this one sucks because it’s just two characters sitting and doing fucking nothing. It felt like Viv had no idea what to do with Stolas and Ozzie, and I refuse to believe that Ozzie just sat there knowing Fizz was in danger. If anything he would have said “fuck the paperwork” and went to save Fizz himself. Way to show that gif of Ozzie getting mad as a sneak peak to get fans excited, only to see that Ozzie spends the rest of the episode sitting in a dark room LMAO what a let down.

- Ozzie is weirdly chill and cool with Stolas and it’s something I don’t get. While he did say that Stolas had the real “spirit of Lust” in S1E7, it still gave you the impression that he was also more poking fun at Stolas rather than respecting him. The whole point of House of Asmodeous was that Ozzie outs him and publicly embarrassed him. Stolas literally was intimidated just by Asmodeous’s mere name, and hid his face around him. It seemed like Stolas certainly didn’t want someone like Ozzie to know about his private life especially since they’re both part of the Ars Goetia. Now here Ozzie is just cool with him and it feels like a missed opportunity for their dynamic.

- Stolas confessing his feelings about Blitz also makes…no sense narrative wise. I thought the whole point of The Circus and the ending to Western Energy was that he was realizing that Blitz didn’t like him that way and was finally waking up. I thought that’s why he was doing this whole crystal deal in the first place, so he can let Blitz go, yet the show keeps flip flopping and insisting that these two love each other and are good for each other. It’s really making you realize how this season and the previous stuff set up is becoming nonsense because the writers retcon EVERY damn episode. Also….why the hell is Stolas telling Ozzie his feelings for Blitz? Out of all people, why is it Ozzie, the person who outed Stolas and embarrassed him. Why is Stolas even respectful of Ozzie? He has no reason to, and he’s not under the impression that he’s dating Fizz either. I get that he needs the crystal but mentioning his love for Blitz makes no sense.

- Striker and Crimson teaming up to kidnap Blitz and Fizz was such an ass puller last minute decision. It feels overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time, more because it feels like Viv has no idea what to do with these two villain characters other than give them something evil to do to start the plot. Also…why…are they working together? It feels so random.

- Striker’s character especially is all over the place. First he’s working for Stella, then he’s painted as the best assassin in hell, and now he’s…looking for more work I guess and working for Crimson? Why? Does this guy even have a motive anymore? It feels like his character is just dangling around until Viv wants to use him for another wattpad kidnap plot and it ESPECIALLY shows when Striker escapes for the THIRD fucking time. Can this character/storyline actually GO somewhere or are you just going to keep introducing him and have him run away. 🤦🏽‍♀️

— How did Crimson not know who Striker is despite him being labeled as “the most popular assassin in hell”, and how the hell does Crimson know Ozzie and know all the information about him being in a relationship with Fizz?? Oh right because we needed the plot to happen somehow. Still, even if Crimson did know that Ozzie was the "weakest" and loved Fizz, (which….what about Beezlebub?)) he still should have known he was playing with fire. I get that he's supposed to be evil and intimidating but how could he have predicted that Ozzie would actually stand down and fill out the paperwork? He could have immediately came there and killed Crimson for all he knew. It's just distracting how..not planned this shit was.

- Fuck this episode for calling Striker a supremacist. It makes no sense?? Viv is trying SO hard to villainize him despite him being the one in the right and it pisses me off. He has every right to be mad at the upper class, he’s part of the lower class that we’re said Hell takes advantage of, but god forbid we call out Rich and powerful Stolas because that would mean he’s a b-bad person and we can’t have that complex morality! This is so not a “eat the rich” story and it shows bc Vivzie is rich as hell. Striker as a character deserves so much better man. Congrats writers, you had an interesting character and motive set up for him, now he’s nothing but a silly goon that you might as well kill off already cause you clearly don’t care about him. Crimson meanwhile is just a piece of paper, a boring plot device I could give less of a shit about. I thought his motive was to go after Moxxie, now he’s just doing fuck whatever because this show desperately wants a bad guy for their filler fanfic plots.

- We get more world building issues, Ozzie and Fizz are so determined to hide their relationship for obvious reasons, but then at the end of the episode just say “fuck it, no one would dare tell anyway”. So now they’re being open about their relationship and lmao I told y’all the newspaper scene of Ozzie being called out for being a hypocrite wouldn’t go anywhere. Even if Ozzie did threaten his workers to not tell, they can’t be so sure that someone wouldn’t see or snitch, it’s kinda a retcon too cause they were pretty lovey dovey in Ozzie’s. Still, it makes the characters look dumb and it makes the rules Viv set up for Hell once again not mean anything.

- We finally get to see Fizz’s backstory in action and it’s executed in the most underwhelming way possible. It’s literally a fucking 10 second clip of what went down, and rather than experiencing the event for ourselves, it’s in flashback mode but with Fizz’s voice talking over it. That’s it. I’ve seen fan comics/fanart that built this shit up better than Viv did, that actually took the slow time and dedication it needed, and here it feels like such an afterthought, like Viv could care less. Maybe if this actually was a character driven show like Viv claims, Stolas, Striker, and Crimson would be taken out of the picture and then that would leave us with PLENTY time to actually explore and develop Blitz/Fizz, bc most of this episode is just them pettily bickering and Stolas and Ozzie sitting around. But nah, we gatta have our fanfic kidnapping plot. Same goes for the reveal of Blitzo’s mom dying in the same fire. Glad to know that she got the same treatment Moxxie’s mom did, where we don’t even know her and yet we’re supposed to feel moved and care about her death. You nailed that one Viv. 👍

- I predicted that this episode would victimize Blitz and have the fire incident be an accident, (because Viv is a pussy writer and can’t make her characters actually do bad things like god forbid) but I never thought they’d actually have the balls to have Fizz forgive Blitz immediately in the same episode and pull the “actually turns out that horrible thing you did to me helped me in a way”- trope. Biggest flaw of the episode, fuck you Viv. I was actually going to applaud Blitz for taking accountability, but then the dialogue reminds you that an abuser wrote this, and he shifts his apology to “okay but I lost something too see so it’s not all about you” as if he’s fucking dismissing Fizz’s trauma and making it about himself. “I love flawed characters” my fucking ass. I would have smacked a bitch if I was Fizz because Blitzo loosing his mother in the fire too isn’t an excuse?? Fizz lost his fucking ARMS AND LEGS, and at the end of the day Blitzo STILL KNEW HE WAS HELPLESS IN THE FIRE BUT LEFT HIM BEHIND. He could have gotten help and came back, but didn’t. If this were a good show Fizz would have threw that apology back in Blitzo’s face and said “I don’t care if it was an accident or not, you still left me there and then proceeded to loathe me for years”. This is why Helluva will never be Bojack cause at least characters in that show who got treated horribly by him knew when to say “no, fuck you.”

- The episode retcons again, this time they make it out to be that Blitz TRIED contacting Fizz the years they were apart but no one would let him see him. Then they say that Fizz actually WANTED to see Blitz but assumed he didn’t want to, so their entire feud was solely because of miscommunication?? Number one, show don’t fucking tell omg. And number two, that makes ZERO sense. Blitz talked badly about Fizz in Loo Loo Land, and when they finally reunited in Ozzie’s, it was clear they fucking loathed each other. You got the impression that Blitz was petty and jealous just because Fizz was more popular, and Fizz not only loathed him for the accident, but liked to rub in his face about how much of a big shot he was. They literally do that in this episode too, so the episode is literally contradicting itself. Blitz and Fizz had multiple chances to meet up with each other, you can’t just say “oh they couldn’t because no one would let them”- So which is it? Did they hate each other because of bad blood, petty drama, or that they thought the other didn’t want to see them? Pick ONE Viv and stick to it, but she never does. Their feud was interesting and now you ruined it just to have some sweet happy ending. “Adult mature show” my ass lol.

-Bottom line is Fizz shouldn’t have forgave Blitz so easily, or forgave him period. I find it funny how he says “it’s hard to just forgive you” and then he literally does lol. I feel so bad for Fizz fans, him and Blitz’s feud was honestly interesting, so to see all of this go down in a half-assed piss poor way as if this was Care Bears is….wow. The fan interpretations had more thought and care put into this storyline but what else is new lol.

- I’m really tired of these shitty annoying songs. If you’re going to get Broadway actors, please put effort into your songwriting and actually have them sing something good, not something that’s literally nonsense. This Fizz song sounds like it took less than a minute to write and Sam Haft was just thinking of anything he could think of at the top of his head. Also Why the fuck are Striker and Crimson just STANDING there while Fizz sings. They look like idiots, just SHOOT them omg. If this were a funny show, Fizz would have started his first note and Crimson just rolls his eyes and pulls his gun out.

- Fizz and Ozzie kill the lawyer but not…Crimson? Despite Fizz knowing what ring he’s in and even Ozzie knowing what he looks like? Same for Blitz, he doesn’t try to make sure Striker is dead. I get that the plot demands for these two to still be around, but there’s a way to keep them alive without making the main characters look like fucking idiots. Also Stolas just leaves without doing or contributing anything to the plot yay.

- Fizz: “Let him have it, you could say he’s earned it”— Uhm….Nope. Blitz did NOT earn shit. He didn’t even earn Fizz’s forgiveness. Last time I checked, the moment Blitz cried and said it was an accident, Fizz forgave him, knowing he didn’t mean it. What effort did Blitz do to “earn” that as well as the crystal? Because he saved Fizz and didn’t leave him behind for the SECOND time near the end?? Cause if so than the bar is extremely low. That’s the bare minimum, just because Blitz cried and felt bad about it doesn’t mean he should be let off the hook Viv. I hate this so much, what a shitty conclusion, it feels forced just so Blitz can have the crystal and just so the writers can once again paint him as the one in the right. It’s almost insulting that they make it seem like Fizz was in the wrong for assuming Blitz starting the fire too, same for Barbie.

God what a shitty day it is to be a Fizz fan, I’m sorry. The episode did NOT do him justice. Fizzarolli deserved better than that half assed gaslighting apology for someone who lost their arms and legs man, and I’m tired of the show letting every character suck up to Blitz and Stolas for their horrible treatment just because they feel bad. Not only that but the episode (as most recent HB episodes) was a huge time waster. Everyone was really hoping for an in depth walkthrough of his character/backstory but again, when he’s not with Ozzie, the rest/most of his screen time is dedicated to him being helpless and pointlessly arguing with Blitz, plus a long dragged out nonsense song that didn’t need to happen. It felt like SO much time was wasted when we could have used the runtime we have to dive deeper and see more, like….again it would have been nice to see Fizz’s life AFTER the accident and how he became well known as well as how he fell in love with Ozzie, but his backstory is briefly scratched upon in a single scene and that’s it, all because Viv wanted this filler plot and wanted to dedicate more time to THAT rather than actual character expansion/development, something we could have got had you took out Stolas and Ozzie’s B plot and Striker and Crimson.

Viv is so on her way to murder/ruin every character that isn’t Blitz and Stolas and I won’t be here to watch further. I’ll check out the Mammon music video thing but that’s it man, this show is going off the rails, Adding Fizz to the character adoption list!

#vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva critical #anti vivziepop #helluva boss #fizzaroiii #fizzaroli helluva boss #helluva boss oops #helluva boss review #vivziepop criticism

828 notes · View notes