#i have all of his cards but like. one r card which i'm sure will come eventually

[every-sanji]

[taintandviolent]

Taco Tuesday ; Gambit x reader!

summary: You live across the hall from Wade Wilson, and one Tuesday, he invites you over for tacos. 🌮 And that’s where you meet him. The Gambit. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine. [PART TWO HERE]

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.4K | smut with very little plot, alcohol mention, slightly drunk (but very consenting) reader, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (cher, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk (cos he is a dirty talker, don't argue with me on this), fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, no use of y/n.

a/n: this is based 100% on Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit / Channing's version of Gambit!! sorry for the lack of plot here, he deserves better than this filth, but I am down ASTRONOMICALLY and I needed to get it out. I spent so much time trying to get his accent right, I hope it comes off the way I wanted it to... anyway! i'm not certain if anyone will read this, but if you do - thank you a million times over! as always, requests are open! - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @scintie!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

He’s handsome. Like really handsome. 

Your stomach does a flip as he smiles at you, reaching for the bottle of Jack between your legs — wait. Pause. Rewind. How’d we get here?

Living in the same apartment complex as Wade Wilson was a trip. Even more of a trip was living across the hall from him. The things you heard coming from that apartment... nobody would believe you. So, you never told anyone. 

He’s kind. Albeit, zany but kind. Your interactions have been cordial and nauseatingly neighbourly. But on one regular ol' Tuesday afternoon, Wade invited you inside. He said something about having a party later that night, making tacos and being neighborly. He assured you that it wasn't a sex party... which to be honest, you weren't worried about until he'd mentioned it. Against your better judgement though, you'd agreed, and said you'd bring some liquor.

So, that evening, you opened your door, one bottle of Jack tucked under your arm, and another in your left hand. You shut the door to your apartment and walked straight across to your neighbour’s door. Your fist had rapped against the wood only twice before the door swung open, revealing Wade, and a very… strange and very bald looking dog in his arms. 

"Oh, what the fuck?" You asked, looking down at the creature. "I didn't know you had a dog…?"

Wade’s voice rose an octave or two, in a cutesy tone. "She's a new addition, yes she is!" 

"I brought... well, this. Sorry, it was all I had in my cabinets and to be perfectly honest, I wasn't about to go out and spend money on this. I like… barely know you."

"HA! Brutal honesty. We love to hear it." 

Wade took hold of your shoulder and yanked you inside, harsh enough that you made a small sound as he did. He shut the door with his foot, and towed you towards the table, where everyone was gathered. And that was when you first saw him. He wore all black, save for a tan trench coat with a high collar. He lounged casually on one of the dining chairs, playing with a deck of cards. They fluttered from hand to hand effortlessly, and for a moment, you were stuck, mesmerized by the dexterous way he handled them. You weren't sure what was pulling you towards him harder, your heart or your cunt, but you felt an undeniable draw to the man.

Wade's arm wound itself around your shoulders, guiding you around the room to meet each of his friends. At that point, living next to him, mutants were a forced transition. You were used to the concept of them, so meeting a giant silver man, for example, wasn't unexpected. Vanessa was the most normal - you were pretty sure she was human.

Finally, he got to the one you really wanted to meet. The one that your eyes had been darting back and forth to the entire time, the one that when he briefly met your gaze, your heart thudded in your chest. 

"And this... handsome slice of man, is the Gambit. Good luck understanding him, he's a real mouthful."

I’ll bet he is, you thought. 

He pocketed the cards in a quick motion and stood up from his chair. With a syrup-smooth chuckle, the man laughed and said: "You can call me Remy." He did in fact have a thick Cajun accent and spoke quickly – almost too quickly. You blinked once, focusing hard on his words.

"Remy," you repeated finally, before saying your own name and extending your hand. He took it gently and as he shook it, your palm tingled with what felt like electricity.

"Enchanté." (Enchanted)

Your cheeks burned, and you knew they were flushing. You couldn’t control it. "De même..." (Likewise.)

His brows lifted, surprised. "You speak French, mon ami?" (my friend) 

"Heh, uhh... comme un enfant." (Like a child) You chuckled low, averting your eyes for a millisecond. "I took a few years of it in high school and again in college. I’m by no means an expert."

Wade's eyes were wide, flicking back and forth between the two of you. There was obvious chemistry there, and a knowing smirk drew itself across his lips. Abruptly, he yanked one of the bottles of Jack Daniels from beneath your arm, before leaning against the nearby wall.

"Oh, fuck me. You understand Gumbo here? That’s cute. No idea what either of you are saying though, someone forgot to turn the subtitles on. I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Whatever that meant. You scoffed, but turned your attention back to Gambit, looking at him.

“Sit a while, cher.” 

You happily took the chair that he pulled out, not caring that it was facing away from the others, and plopped down onto it, situating the other bottle of Jack between your legs. You gripped the neck of the bottle tightly, and looked at him with a timid, but a come hither sort of smile. After a moment, you twisted the cap off, and flicked it off somewhere to your right. Wade would find it later, or he wouldn’t. You didn’t really care. 

You two talked for hours, most of which consisted of him telling you about the Void, and how hard it had been, while you pretended to comprehend it. Between words, you passed the bottle back and forth, taking mouthfuls, and inadvertently swapping spit as you did. The thought occurred to you about halfway through the conversation, and your stomach tightened. You shook your head lightly and clenched your thighs together, trying to stave off the arousal that was bubbling in your core. 

There we go. That’s better.

He’s handsome. Like really handsome. 

Your stomach does a flip as he smiles at you, reaching for the bottle, which was still situated between your legs. His fingertips just graze the side of your thigh and his eyes flit to yours. He holds his smile, waiting for you to either protest or move the moment forward, and all you can do is gawk, because your cunt starts throbbing. 

As the evening wears on, though cautious, it’s obvious that Remy feels the same pull that you do. He remains cool on the outside, but internally, he was battling the magnetic tugging he felt from you. He couldn't shake it. He’d compliment you, you’d compliment him. At one point, in between sips, you casually drop that you think his accent is hot and he whispers something underneath his breath, something you don’t understand. Before either of you realized it, you had started to lean closer to each other, your faces inches apart, and you felt the warm rush of his breath over your cheeks.

It was as if you both realized it simultaneously. You rear back, an embarrassed expression plastered on your face. Remy clears his throat. His attraction to you was stifling; something that he rarely felt. He was powerless in his want for you, the draw you had was irresistible.

"Maybe we should... uh..." You murmur, looking deep into his eyes. In a room full of people that were starting to fade away the closer you two got to each other, you were thankful you were still sober enough to suggest a different setting. Any longer and you surely would’ve just straddled him and gone to town. 

Remy moves first. 

"We gon' take a walk." He announces to the others, getting to his feet. 

The conversation stops abruptly, silence hanging heavy. You straighten up, trying your best to avert your gaze, but you still see everyone’s reaction. Someone clears their throat and your heart sinks, feeling like you might die on the spot. The one that had been introduced as Logan, gruff looking dude, raises a single brow at you. In true Wade-character, he ugly cackles, shattering the moment. Your shoulders sink, embarrassed, as you head towards the door, doing the proverbial walk of shame. 

Remy meets you at the door and pulls it open, holding it for you. You duck underneath his arm, looking sheepish and as you exit into the hallway, you think you heard Wade mutter something about a fanfiction but Remy yanks the door shut before you can react. 

“You want to… get some air? Or um… I have… well, no I had liquor, but I brought it to Wade’s.” 

He smiles, and looks down at the floor, before lifting his eyes back to you. “We can do whatever you want, chère. You ain’t gon’ catch me complainin’ eitha’ way.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, considering the options. Your heart was hammering in your chest at the prospect of just being near him without the others around. You two had been close to kissing in Wade’s living room, and now, you had the opportunity to continue that… or take a walk. The latter seemed less appealing. 

“Y’know what, why don’t we… just…” You take a few steps backwards, jerking your head towards your front door. Concerningly, you had forgotten to lock your door. However, it allows you to open it quickly, and walk backwards into the apartment. Gambit follows you in, his attention never leaving you. 

"You sure 'bout dis, mon ami? I can walk away righ' now." His words land heavy, a promise behind them. He was a gentleman at heart, you could tell. Fortunately for him, you were very sure, and wanted every inch of him.

Mon ami - something that in the few hours you'd spent with him, he'd called you often. Among other things. Mon ami meant my friend, but you knew you two weren't just friends. You saw how he acted with others, and the comments he made. Sure, he had a quick wit and a mouth on him, but the flirting... god, the flirting.

He stands in the doorway, his shoulders filling the frame. Silently, you nod and take another step back, giving him some room to enter. He takes one wide step towards you, leaving the door open behind him. He reaches for your hip, and you immediately take to playing with his large hands. Delicately, you pay attention to each long digit, trailing your middle finger along the knuckles, and up and down the length of them. You dip into the spaces between, your fingers barely ghosting over the webbing. 

Was that a shiver? Your eyes flit to his, searching them for a hint.

"You sure do know how to make a man feel good." 

Your heart flutters at his words. With his accent, even the simplest of things sounded charming. At least to you. You felt that he could ask if you wanted coffee or how the weather was and you'd be twirling your hair around your finger like a desperate schoolgirl. Embarrassing. 

You’re about to respond and defend yourself by saying that all you had done was play with his hands, which was hardly considered foreplay, but his fingers come up underneath your chin, gently closing your mouth with a dull click of your teeth. He tilts it upwards to an angle where he could easily kiss you. And kiss you, he does. 

It was the kind of kiss that makes your knees buckle, sends a violent shudder from the nape of your neck down to the base of your spine. It’s the kind of kiss that needs to come with a warning; Danger: Will Result In Sex. As his lips move against yours, you feel the urgency of his need, of his want, and hum into his lips. Remy takes that as a green light and deepens the kiss, moving his body so that it’s pressing flush against yours. The action leaves you immediately breathless and in response, you break the kiss, tucking your chin to your chest. Your hand finds his torso, pressing hard against the muscles underneath the shirt.  

"Ah, don't you be actin' shy now. You been teasin' me for hours."

“I have not!”

“You think I didn’t notice all ‘dem touches an’ looks you were givin’ me? I may ‘ave been born at night, but I wasn’t born last night.” 

He had you there. You couldn’t deny that, at all. Even if you’d wanted to. Which, part of you did. Part of you was very nervous, standing before this very handsome man, with the taste of his mouth still lingering on your lips but another part of you, the louder one, was delighted that he’d noticed. Furthermore, that he’d enjoyed them enough to come to your room.

You lift your hand behind him, pushing the door shut with a harsh shove. With a twist of your fingers, you activate the locking mechanism, sliding the deadbolt into place. Gambit chuckles, grinning down at you. Your heart leaps into your throat, but you press on bravely, lacing your arms around his neck. They trail down the front of his body, feeling the muscles as they twitch with each ragged breath. 

He quirks a brow as if to ask, 'Oh, really?' You simply smirk back at him. The contact is electric, and you find yourself resisting the urge to grind against him immediately. Instead, you focus on his hands again, bringing one of them up to your lips. You press a delicate kiss on the pads, before slipping one into your mouth and sucking gently. Remy makes a deep, husky sound in his throat, and brings his other hand to your hip, where he pulls you roughly against him.

For a man that uses his hands often, the sensations are high. The way your mouth envelops his finger, your tongue writhing around the digit had his jaw clenching, muscles fluttering on the side of his face. When you draw his finger into the confines of your throat, deep-throating it, his eyes roll back in pleasure. He pulls his hand back, shaking it off as if the inside of your mouth was hot to the touch.

"Woo, you nasty, huh? Nevah’ woulda' guessed... you been actin' like a good little girl 'uhround me." 

After that, it all happened very quickly. Gambit takes a step and connects his lips with yours again, pushing them into you in an act of desperation. Without breaking the kiss, he shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby surface. You push against him until his back hits the door with a heavy thud, definitely loud enough for any innocent bystanders to hear. Your fingers undo the button of your jeans, breaking the kiss for only a second to slide them down your legs. 

Once you return to his waiting mouth, the kiss deepens and the coil in your stomach winds tighter, claiming your body in a deep, fiery arousal. His big arms wrap around you, enveloping you in a heated embrace. Just for a moment, it’s tender — but shortly after, his hands drop to your ass, fingers slipping underneath the band of fabric to take greedy fistfuls of each cheek. 

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping the roundness of them to use as leverage. Letting out a little hum, you sweep your hips across his groin, pressing tightly against him. His eyes drift shut, head bumping against the door as he leaned it back, a low growl coming from his throat. Keeping at it, you grind your hips against him, feeling the outline of his length as it hardens.

“You be drivin’ Remy crazy, grindin’ on me like ‘dat.”

“That’s the intention….” You stand on your tiptoes to pepper kisses on his lips, your warm breath fanning over his face, smelling faintly of Jack Daniels. Remy trails his hand carefully up your rib cage until he gets to the side of your breast, where he quickly slips around to the front, his large hand cupping the fullness of it outside of your shirt. Your reaction is visceral; your breath hisses through your teeth at the sensitivity. 

Remy laughs again and with his free hand, pulls your hips back to his. Swiftly, he spins you around, pinning you between his body and the hard surface of the door. He presses himself tightly against you, shifting slightly so that his thigh was between your legs. The sensation of something that close to your core is dangerous and brings a weak, mewling whimper from your mouth.

“We gon’ have ourselves some fun.” His voice is low, tinged with a new sort of lustful tone that you hadn't heard before. Your mind is spinning, growing dizzy with lust. The alcohol had certainly helped your nerves, you were never usually this brazen. Your core burns with desire at his words, silently begging for everything he was about to give you. His lips hover just over yours; you can feel his breath on your skin and the heat that radiates off his body as it presses into yours.

"Oh my god," you whisper into his mouth. "Fuck..."

His teeth nip at your bottom lip before he captures your mouth in a heated, passionate kiss again. His tongue explores the inside, swirling along your own wet muscle. With every passing second, your heart beats faster and his hands grip your hips tighter, thumbs massaging the flesh above your jeans.

“Wrap ‘dem legs around me, mon coeur.” (My heart) Remy’s voice is husky with want; amongst his playful, lilted tone, a possessiveness lingered, and the thought sends a chill down your spine. He nods once, encouraging you into his waiting arms. You jump up, and he catches you effortlessly, gripping your thighs tight and hoisting you up into his grasp. Feeling secure, you wrap both legs around his waist and encircle his neck with your arms. Your gaze meets his and you can see the wanton need mirrored in his own eyes, darkened with desire.

Remy's smirk is dripping with confidence. Your body's response to him was causing his ego to swell within his chest, and his cock to swell within his pants. He leans in close, his lips against your ear, nipping at the lobe softly before pulling back slightly. In one fluid movement, his hips buck up against your center, teasing you over the layers of clothing. You let out a moan, throwing your head back against the door.

He thrusts up into you again, chuckling low against your ear. The hard line of his cock grinds against you, making you stutter out expletives as it presses against you with a needy demand. 

"You like 'dat, cher? Talk t' me..."

You nod, swallowing and wetting your throat. "Y-yeah, fuck... I do... need you – it – so bad."

“Whaddya’ need?”

“N-need you… so bad.” 

“You can do betta’. Tell Remy what you need...” 

He presses you harder against the door, your back sliding against the wood as he kisses a trail down from your mouth to your shoulder, sucking and biting with all the right intensities. As his hips grind against yours, you feel the damp fabric slide across your cunt, alerting you to just how wet he’d made you. Fuck. 

“Need… need you to fuck me. Hard. Need to feel you everywhere.”  

A few hours ago, you’d agreed to Taco Tuesday at Wade’s. Now, you were getting dry humped by a really hot Cajun guy and moaning into the curve between his neck and his shoulder. You were positive that if someone opened their door, they’d hear you. Somewhere in your brain, the thought should have been moderately embarrassing, but you were far too invested in Remy to care. 

Without warning, Gambit lifts you away from the door and carries you to the nearby couch. He never breaks the kiss, still feverishly claiming your mouth as he moves. Your back hits the cushions and before you can process it, his body weight is on top of you. He slots himself in between your legs, and his hard-on bumps into your stomach as his hips rut against you, finding some relief in the friction. But not enough. 

Remy’s hand finds the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to allow his fingers underneath the fabric. You bite down on the pillow of your bottom lip and push your hips up into his. Thick, strong digits sweep across your skin, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake. Every touch brings your temperature up, and it isn’t long before your entire body is consumed in flames. You sigh contentedly, arching up into his touch. 

Abruptly, Remy straightens up, crosses his arms over his torso and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his tan skin and bulky muscles. His stocky stature makes your tummy clench with anticipation. He was fit, as you assumed, but that didn’t stop your jaw from falling open at the sight. 

“Wow,” you finally choke.

Remy grins. “You like what you see?” 

You nod furiously, hands snapping to his toned abdomen. He’s warm and his skin is soft, begging to be touched. The muscles flex underneath your fingers as you trace a long stripe from his belly button to his collarbone. Your hands claw at his shoulder, attempting to pull him back down on you, but he resists. 

He spoke with a playfulness, almost a sort of pleading. His thumbs flicks at the hem of your shirt. “Ah, c’mon, ‘dat ain’t fair. Enlève-tout toi, huh?” (Take it all off.)

You thought you understood, but if you didn’t, it didn’t matter. Remy was quick to translate his words, busy undressing you, pulling your worn t-shirt over your head, and reaching around your back to unclasp your bra. Most men would’ve fumbled with the clasp, but not him. His adept fingers make quick work of it, allowing your breasts to fall free. He throws your bra somewhere behind him. 

“Hooo, cher…!” His eyes light up at the visual and you feel heat blooming on your cheeks again, half expecting him to make a lewd comment. Instead, his hands cup your tits, kneading the soft plumpness like dough, thumbs grazing the nipples. He exhales through his mouth, jerking his head to the side. 

Finally, he kisses you again. It’s wet and sloppy and his mouth is consuming you, tasting you hungrily. His hips are still moving, sweeping into yours with a calculated precision. You try to spread your legs but the back of the couch thwarts your attempt. He notices this, watching as you struggle with the space. 

“You got a bed?” He asked in between smearing kisses along your neck and collarbone. 

“Yeah-yeah…. Down the hall.” 

“Remy be needin’ more room for what he wanna’ do t’you.”

His weight is suddenly gone from you, an unwelcome sensation, even though you know he’s about to carry you wedding-style down the hallway. He bends down, one arm sliding underneath your neck, the other in the crook behind your knees. For the second time that night, he lifts you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his warm pectoral muscle, rocking back and forth, as he walks you both down the dark hallway. The only light in the room comes from the window, the city outside alive and humming. Carefully, Remy sets you down on the bed, unmade from this morning, your dark gray sheets cool to the touch. 

In nothing but your underwear, which at this point, are damp to the touch, you’re left feeling very exposed. But you can’t muster up any shame, not when he’s looking at you with such hunger, such want. Your tummy feels tight, and the feeling gets worse when Remy’s hands drop to his waist, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants. They fall loose at the waist, and he shucks them down the rest of the way, leaving him in nothing but a pair of deep purple boxers. Your eyes swing heavy to the outline that’s now presented to you. 

Oh my god. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise; Remy was a big guy, and that proved true downstairs, too. You can barely pull your eyes away from it, but you begrudgingly rip them away, to look up into his gaze. 

“Please,” you beg. “You’re too far away…” Your cunt is aching and nothing but him, his hands, his dick, will sate her. 

He leans forward, flattening both hands on the mattress and walks them back until his face is in front of yours. He sweeps you into another kiss and your heart races. His hands are perfectly positioned on either side of your hips, you feel them graze the flesh. His finger hooks around the elastic of your panties, twisting it around his pointer finger and gradually, he tugs them down over the curve of your hip.

You nod lazily against his mouth, as you feel the warmth of his hand near your core. Your legs drop apart, knees touching the mattress as you allow him access. One hand sweeps across your inner thighs, stroking them, while the other palms your soft mound. His other hand comes to pause at your knee, and pushes his weight into it softly, forcing you to stay spread-eagle for him. No way you could’ve done this on the sofa. 

There’s no hesitation in the way he fingers you; sweeping up through your slick folds, smearing your arousal around until she’s coated in it, splaying your pretty, wet cunt apart with his fingers, looking upon it hungrily. He knows what he’s doing, and how to do it right. You briefly wonder if that’s another mutant power he has… though being an expert at fingering someone seems outlandish. But he’s just so good at it. His middle finger barely touches you, circling the bundle of nerves delicately. Your back arches up towards him, a desperate groan vibrating your vocal chords. Delighted by your reaction, his finger flicks upwards at your swollen, sensitive clit, making your body literally quiver. 

“Uhugh – god…. Shit, oh my god.” 

He continues like this for several minutes, until your cunt is blazing hot and clenching with every moan you give. 

By the time he presses one finger inside, you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm and your voice fills the room with needy, desperate sounds. You let out a shrill whine, and he slips in another finger, feeling the stretch of muscle as he does. His heart is pounding in his chest, overcome with lust. The way you sound, the way your body is moving and writhing on the bed, he can’t wait to sink himself into you. 

Amidst a laugh, he says: “People gon’ think we up in here watchin’ porn.”

Did he just insinuate that you sounded like a pornstar? You lifted your head, wearily, to look at him. Your chest heaves with each breath as you try to formulate a snarky remark to no avail. He looked so good – well, always – but he looked particularly good on top of you, his bright eyes lust blown and hungry. 

“We’re… we’re… porn… it’s…  oh god.” 

He shushes you. “You just lay back and keep moanin’.” 

Defeated, you huff and your head hits the sheets again, but not before you catch a glimpse of the way the muscles in his forearm ripple as it pumps back and forth into your cunt. You can’t help but moan at the sight, feeling a shockwave rupture your core. Your hips meet his fingers, rutting and writhing against the mattress in a needy rhythm.

Your first orgasm claims your body before you can stop it. You’re clenching around his fingers as they move, crooking upwards into your sensitive spots. Your slick coats his fingers and when Gambit pulls his hand back, thick, clear strands string from between them. He smiles down at you. 

Remy raises himself to his knees. “Turn ‘round…” 

You flip over and back yourself towards him, thinking that he’s going to go at it doggy-style, but to your surprise, he pulls you upright, pressing your back against his chest. His dick is hot between your legs, and when he reaches down to line it up, you let your head loll back against his shoulder. Gambit’s mouth finds the side of your neck, streaking it with wet, suckling kisses. He was taking his time with you, savouring you and you hum happily through closed lips, reaching behind you to thread your fingers through his hair.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” Instinctively, your hips undulate and his cock slips between your folds. Remy’s hips buck once, letting out a groan that comes from somewhere deep. 

“You ready, cher?” He asks, sweeping your hair away from your neck. You nod furiously. You’ve been ready – you were ready the moment you laid eyes on him.

Remy reaches down to sweep his fingers along your entrance briefly, before gripping himself and guiding the head of his cock into the slit. You keen at the feeling of his velvet-soft head pressing into your entrance, warm pre-cum leaking from the slit. He murmurs words of encouragement into your ear as you feel his hips press against your ass, urging his thick, veiny shaft inside your cunt. He does it gently, allowing you time to adjust to the girth, but the sting still makes you cry out. “Fffuck!”

He begins to thrust his hips shallowly, your cunt stretching around his cock. The feeling is all-consuming, and your body feels heavy in his grasp. One hand is gripping your waist tightly, the other, fingers splayed out on your stomach just above your cunt. There’s a pressure building in your cunt, and each thrust magnifies it. The sting of his cock fades to an ache, then to a dull throbbing that makes you want more and you lean forward slightly and press your ass into the curves of his hips, meeting his thrusts. 

“Mm, ‘dat’s it, cher…” His voice is hot on your skin. 

His thrusts get deeper, but there’s a lingering tension in his body that makes you feel like he’s not getting what he wants. You’re right; all at once, Remy pulls his cock from you and switches positions. 

You’re suddenly on your back, looking up at him as he looms over you, all muscle. His cockhead nudges your entrance again, but doesn’t penetrate. 

“Say my name, cher… I needa’ hear it leave ‘dat pretty mouth.” 

“Which one? Gambit? Or Remy?” You ask, breathlessly.

The way his eyes rolled back at the second option told you everything you needed to know. A smirk twisted your lips cruelly and you lifted your body slightly, just enough for your mouth to reach his ear. You moan his name over and over again, knowing full well the effect it’s having on the mutant man.

“Remy, Remy, Remy….” Your tone is high-pitched and whiny, but he seems to enjoy the lewdness of it all. He bucks his hips hard into you, and the fullness reaches an all-time high as he bottoms out, his pelvis hitting yours with a slap.

“Huhhh—!” You gasp, breathing ragged. “Fuck!”

“Gonna’ make you cum so hard you ain’t gon’ walk right for days.” His voice is low and filthy and leaves a stain on your mind. Your cunt clenches around him possessively, pulling him somehow deeper inside of you. 

As your head bangs into your headboard, the tip of his cock bumps your cervix over and over again, and your jaw goes slack, literally fucked silent. Remy hears the thudding of your skull and puts a hand between it and the wood, but he doesn’t stop his relentless, deep thrusting. 

The pleasure reaches a peak and your nails dig into his back, leaving crescent moon shaped indentations on his golden skin. Remy’s groaning loud into your ear as he cums, muttering in an almost incoherent melange of French and English. His accent is somehow heavier, and you can barely make out the words as he’s saying them into your skin. It doesn’t matter though, because you feel how full you are, and Remy’s hot, white completion is leaking out the sides and staining your sheets. 

He stays like that for a moment, hovering on top of you. His cock softens inside, completely spent and eventually, he slips it out, rolling over onto your bed.

“Ah, joi de vivre, huh.” (the joy of life), he says drowsily.

You laugh, and nestle underneath his arm, in the space he’s left for you. 

If you had your way, you’d do it all over again. 

Though he doesn’t say it, so would he. 

[love-belle]

every dead end street led you straight to me !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which no one knows how they're both each other's daylight.

or

for when you find the one you were meant to find all along. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // f1 drivers x platonic!driver!fem!reader // milo manheim x fem!reader

warnings - language

author's note - i am SO sorry for leaving u all but i had my finals going on and now i am DONE with school i just have my college entrance exams left and then im free free FREEEEEE !!!! i love u all sm thank you <333 i hope u like this !!

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yourusername me n baby boy

edit : he says it's baby MAN i disagree ☝️‼️

11,528 comments

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username screaming what in the world in this

username y/n soft launching her man wasn't on my bingo card this year like OH KAY

username bf reveal when ‼️‼️‼️

username LMAOOOO THE EDIT

username cannot wait for the grid to be summoned and be Weird

landonorris i thought i was the baby boy

-> yourusername girl u r a problem species

-> yourusername he says u can be his baby boy tho 🫵🫵

-> landonorris no thanks

-> yourusername FUCK UUUU FUCKKKKKK U - the bf

-> username lord what is this

username speechless who is THAT

username milo 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨 did u get lost 🤨🤨🤨🤨

-> milomanheim wdym i'm not even here

-> username gaslighter 🫵🫵

username cannot wait for race weekend it's gonna be sooooooo fun 🤞🗣️🗣️🗣️

alexandrasaintmleux the cutest 💘

-> yourusername no u 🫵🫵🫵

-> charles_leclerc stop trying to steal my girlfriend please

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-> alexandrasaintmleux charles ?

-> charles_leclerc this isn't what it looks like

username y/n casually wrecking homes and stealing her colleagues gfs lile yasssss queen i support it

-> username support women's rights and wrongs 🗣️🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️🤞🤞🤞

username madly obsessed with her this is life altering to me

milomanheim real life angel visited the angel store !!!!!!! employees must've been happy

-> maxverstappen1 biblically accurate angel but sure

-> yourusername i pray on ur downfall every minute

milomanheim "baby boy" wasn't even directed at me and i blushed

-> yourusername homewrecker vibes stay AWAY!!!! 🤺🤺🤺🤺🤺

-> milomanheim wow

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, landonorris, alex_albon and 2,157,816 others

milomanheim ur in her dms i'm on google searching nutrient rich soils i'd keep her in if she was a worm

10,996 comments

username DEAD GONE DECEASED SIX FEET UNDER

username usually i don't get men but like,,,,,,okayyyyshajshsjsjsd haha hi!!!!!!!!!

username HANDS HANDS HANDS HANDS HANDS HANDS HANDS HANDS HANDS

*liked by yourusername*

-> username MISS GIRL WTFFF

-> username no y/n get UPPPPP

username prettiest boy oh my god

username not to alarm anyone but half the grid is here and i am having Thoughts

username Y/N??? LANDO??? ALEX???

-> username my met gala honestly

alex_albon delete the caption before lily sees it 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

-> milomanheim let the queen know she shouldn't settle for less ☝️🗣️

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-> alex_albon oh god

username ALEX AND LILY BEING BSF WITH MILO????? WHAT IS THIS????? WHAT WILL BE NEXT????? LEWIS GIVING HIM FASHION ADVICE????? CHARLES SAYING SOME INCOHERENT SHIT?????

-> username baby breathe

-> username FUCK OFF LUCAS

lewishamilton i see someone's challenging my paddock icon title

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-> lewishamilton i really like you

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yourusername HANDS HANDS HANDS HANSD HSNDS

*this comment was deleted*

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-> milomanheim ty

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-> username russell george i am sorry they are putting u through that😞😞😞

username MILOOOOOOOOOO AND Y/N IM SCREAMING

≡;- ꒰ °instagram stories ꒱

yourusername added to their close friends' stories

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by milomanheim, maxverstappen1, lilymhe and 2,517,986 others

yourusername there are things (inappropriate stuff) i wanna say to u (my BOYFRIEND) but i'll just let u (my COLLEAGUES) live

11,962 comments

username she's so real for this

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landonorris thank you because i saw what you texted him this morning and osc had to physically stop me from bathing with bleach

-> yourusername why are u acting as if u literally didn't just straight up ask us if we "needed a third"

-> landonorris LIES SHE LIES SHE'S A LIAR

-> oscarpiastri mate the entire paddock was there

-> landonorris details but like..........do u

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username mother never misses

username lewis WISHES he was her

-> yourusername RIGHTTTT

-> lewishamilton roscoe's godmother privileges REVOKED

username f1 grid will never fail to make to laugh bc what do u mean lando asked y/n and the bf if he needed a third and what do u MEAN that y/n is roscoe's godmother

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milomanheim before u say anything

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milomanheim i love u

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-> milomanheim ❤️

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-> username crazy about them

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 2,317,637 others

milomanheim something about how taylor swift said every dead end street led u straight to me 💘

tagged yourusername

11,628 comments

username I SCREECHED OH MY GOD

username we knew but OH MY GOD THE REVEAL

username and everyone cheered

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username WHAT THE FUCK THE LEGO FLOWERS IM CRYING

-> username he set the bar so high it's a dash at this point

username in love with both of them honestly

username crying LOOK AT THEM!!!!!

landonorris how you've both grown up! i still remember the first time she saw you and cried to me about how fucking pretty you are :)

-> milomanheim OHHHH ????

-> yourusername im gonna jump u this weekend WATCH UR FUCKING BACK

-> username nah bc y/n is so real for this

username milo with that drawing is so "what if i told u i'm a mastermind"

-> username NAH HONESTLY

-> username bro prophesied his relationship

username if my relationship isn't like this then i don't want it 💔💔💔

username lord i see how kind u have been to others

username and adding onto my 252719262 reasons we have THIS

username all the love songs in the universe are about them fyi !!!!!!

username AHHSHSHSHDHSJJDJDNX 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

yourusername also about how she said i wanna teach u how forever feels

-> milomanheim nah bc u will like where r u gonna go 🤨

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-> milomanheim BABY 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️‼️😬😬😬😬🤞🤞🤞🤞🔥🔥🔥🔥💯💯💯💯

-> charles_leclerc give him some time he's buffering

-> username something tells me that this is a very regular occurrence

-> oscarpiastri it is

yourusername my baby's fit like a daydream

-> milomanheim 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️❤️❤️❤️❤️‼️‼️‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥🔥💯💯💯💯🥰🥰🥰🥰☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️

-> username what is happening

-> oscarpiastri just give him some time

yourusername not to be a hopeful romantic loser on the main but i find u in every love song i listen to so yea

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yourusername love u

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-> milomanheim ilyt

-> username NO HE DID NOT 😭😭😭

-> username bro needs to learn how to hesitate

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by milomanheim, francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux and 2,785,159 others

yourusername if the whole world was watching i'd still dance with u

tagged milomanheim

12,628 comments

username GOODBYE

username this post right here your honour

username the way i teleported to the railway track

username SCREAMING SJSJTRBCUCJ

username pls block me b4 posting happy stuff (im so happy i cry)

landonorris you can't even order on your own sir DOWN

-> yourusername FUCK UUUUU OMG

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username DRIVE HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS TO BE THERE WITH U

-> username OVER AND OVER THE ONLY TRUTH

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username they're literally winning in life BOTH OF THEM

username NOT HIM PEELING ORANGES FOR HER IM GONNA SCREAM

username the orange theory is true and it's real because y/n and milo just proved it argue with air

username is no one gonna talk about how his name is saved as "mylo(ve) <3333"

-> username i had to take SEVERAL deep breaths so as to not break down in front of my family

-> username no one's doing it like them

username IN A WORLD OF BOYS HE'S A GENTLEMAN

*liked by yourusername*

lilymhe with me obviously 🙄

-> yourusername obviously

-> milomanheim 😧

-> alex_albon 😧

username if he doesn't stand outside my window with a sign asking when can he see me HE IS NOT THE ONE

-> username FRRRRR like stop‼️settling‼️for‼️less‼️

username going crazy over these photos like there's SO MUCH content

username y/n feeding us those milo crumbs

-> username nah she gave us whole PLATES with utensils and all ☝️☝️☝️

username i truly cannot wait for milo to be in her garage bc we all know that they're stupidly in love with each other and watching them giggling and smiling and laughing will be much more entertaining than racing

-> username nah bc bro doesn't know how to function with her around

-> username i don't even blame him bc that's Y/N Y/L/N

charles_leclerc how is this relationship gonna work when none of you has the guts to go and say that they got your order wrong

-> yourusername ur saying this as if alex hasn't been the one to go up and say that u asked for no pickles

-> charles_leclerc that was classified information

-> yourusername not anymore 🤗

username i live for y/n terrorizing the grid fueled by nothing but coffee and/or spite

username they're soooooooooooo disgusting im just gonna cry in a corner bc i do not have someone to peel my oranges for me and i have to do it myself like a common peasant

milomanheim i would peel oranges for u forever dw baby i got u 🍊🍊🍊

-> yourusername this is so sweet i cried stfu

milomanheim cannot believe i get to tell everyone ur my gf like OH MY GOD 😭😭😭

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-> landonorris bf AND gf ?

-> yourusername STOP ASKING

milomanheim wdym i cannot love u more than life itself 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 lies bc i do love u more than life itself

-> yourusername i would sacrifice max for u

-> milomanheim doesn't mean that much bc i know u would sacrifice him for a juice box

-> maxverstappen1 OH REALLLLLLLLY

milomanheim angel 🍒

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milomanheim u make me feel all golden like daylight

-> yourusername u make me feel all i like shiny things but i'd marry u with paper rings

-> username bye y'all this was fun

-> username brb i need to test if my toaster is waterproof or not

[adventuringblind]

Entitled To You (3.6K words)

Norstaptri x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: An incident with Lance sends the boys into a frenzy. She just wants to do what she loves.

Warnings: Explicit depictions of r@pe, injury descriptions, panic attacks, Oscar plots a murder, Lando throws hands, Car crashes, Author doesn't know legal stuff, Head trauma and blood.

Notes: This one is a request from @Lily234566 I know this wasn't the original pairing but I was struggling to fit the Ferrari boys in there so I had to scale it back... I'm sorry and I hope you still like it! T_T

Side Note: Sorry to the Lance girlies reading this. AND obligatory message of I don't know these people and this is purely FICTION! HEAD THE TAGS! DONT LIKE THEN DONT READ!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

“Max!” She peeks her head into his driver's room. The bright beaming smile she receives in return after their 1-2 nearly kills her. “They want me for a media thing, apparently.” HIs smile drops into a pout. The sad puppy eyes might convince her to stay. 

“Again? Don’t they know we have plans!

“No, and why would they care anyway?” She looks him up and down and whines because he’s standing in front of her with no shirt on. “Just - I’ll meet you guys back at the room. It’s something to do with being a female in F1… again.”

“I’m starting to think they have nothing else to talk about.” 

She shrugs as she walks out of the hospitality, waving to Christian on her way by. The goal is to get past the Mclaren garage without seeing Lando because otherwise she is not going to the interview. His pout is worse (better?) than Max’s. 

To her pleasant surprise, Laura is the one conducting the interview. “I’m sorry about this being last minute! They said they wanted you to do it with someone else next week and I offered to do it now.” 

The interview passes with ease and thankfully doesn’t take long at all. The banter in-between is also entertaining. 

She’s exhausted when they finish. Ready to go back to the hotel and fall into bed with her boys. Hopefully They’ve ordered food - and dessert. 

The paddock is nearly empty as she makes her way through. Maybe, had she been paying more attention and not focussed on her aching body, she would’ve caught on to the footsteps behind her. 

They are heavy, she assumes possibly a mechanic still packing up to continue on their way to the next circuit. That’s what she still thinks when the hand on her bicep yanks her around the corner. 

If she weren’t as exhausted, then fighting would’ve been a possibility. However, that seems out of the cards as he pins her against the nearest wall. Her forehead hitting the surface hard enough to make her dizzy. 

“Not so confident now, huh?” 

The fuck- “Lance? What are you?-” He slams her head again and cages her body against his own. She flails, only to be slammed again. “Would you stop doing that please?” 

“Not after that stupid stunt you pulled today on track.”

“You mean the one where you showed you don’t know what brakes are?-” Again, her head is sent into the hard surface. She can feel her nose starting to bleed. “Must you?!” She decided to shut up when he does it again and everything starts to go fuzzy. 

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of her fireproofs. The cold evening air hits her bare skin and she panics more than before. Her head is too cloudy to fully comprehend what’s happening. 

“I feel like I'm entitled to a bit of compensation after that stunt.” 

“You’re entitled to nothing. You took yourself out!” She hisses through gritted teeth. Still, Lance continues to get her clothes lower. And slams her head again harder - you know - because she wasn’t disoriented enough already.

“Would you shut up?” She doesn’t say anything this time. Her mouth feels numb and her ears are ringing. Her exposed lower half is met with the bare hands of someone she doesn't want touching her. 

It's - well - it hurts. He's groping at her thighs, ass, even her tits which she isn't sure how he's managing. His hands are everywhere they shouldn't be. 

And then nothing. 

A vague awareness of what's happening seeps through her veins and invades her senses. She tries to scream. Attempts despite the sheer pain of the snap of hips she didn't ask for. 

His finger beat her to it. A hand encloses around her throat and cuts off her oxygen. The black spots dance around her vision. She wants them to stop moving; they are making her dizzy. Or was she already dizzy? 

“See, it's not so bad. Don't you feel less guilty for ruining my race now?” No, she doesn't. She wasn't guilty before. 

She blacks out. 

~~~♡~~~

Waking up with sore limbs and a killer headache is not how she pictured this night going. She tries to yell for help, but a mere creaky rasp escapes. 

When did she lose her voice? The thought makes her panic more. The sob she lets out hurts more than there is sound. 

Her face and hair is sticky. At least Lance had done her the courtesy of not finishing inside of her. 

Still - what the fuck even happened? The fragmented memory is trying to come back to her slowly. Each small piece remembered is another broken cry. 

She can't move. 

It's dark again. 

~~~♡~~~

The anxiety between the three boys is certainly not something they are used to. Oscar can pinpoint the exact moment Lando started overthinking and Max had to bear hug him so he didn't pace a hole into the cement of the parking lot. 

The fourth seat in their car remains empty and their messages have gone unanswered. It's getting more concerning with each passing minute. 

“Max, she always responds.” 

“I know Lando.” 

“She always calls if she's going to be longer.” 

“Lando?”

“Yes?”

“Would you feel better if we went and looked around for her?” 

The Brit nods his head in a fashion that might give him whiplash. It's better seeing him feel helpful then sit helplessly. Though Oscar can't help but agree with Max's original point. that they should wait there at the car just in case since that's where they were supposed to meet. 

Granted, it's only been twenty minutes. It's still long enough to be murdered. 

They Methodically peer around corners and wave at the mechanics who give them skeptical looks. They were supposed to be out for post race celebrations by now. 

Oscar freezes when he sees it. The human shaped lump lying on the ground. He rushes over with long strides. The closer he gets, the more familiar the person on the ground becomes. 

“Max! Lando! I found her!” The other two boys come sprinting in his direction. He's on the ground trying to clear her hair from her face only for it to get stuck in the sticky substance coating her features. 

“What the fuck?” 

Her fireproofs are still on, but it's obvious what happened. The handprints on her neck, the blood trickling down the sides of her face. “We need to bring her to a hospital.” 

Max hoists her up in his arms. Mainly because Lando is on the brink of tears and struggling to breathe through his panic. He loves deeply and with his heart on his sleeve. Oscar just hopes he can keep the Brit calm until they find more help. 

“Can we at least clean her up?” Lando pleads with him. Big Hazel eyes brimming with tears. 

It's always a struggle to tell him no. “We can't, not if it can help us figure out who did it.” The tears start right after that. 

“So that’s what happened then? Someone really-” Oscar has to maneuver the puddle of tears that is his boyfriend into the passenger seat of their rental car. Max tosses him the keys, opting to be with her in the back and keep her comfortable. 

The tricky drive to emergency is more because Oscar is too far in his own thoughts to pay attention to the traffic lights. He can hear Max moving her around, attempting to put pressure where blood still flows freely. 

Oscar doesn’t bother with parking. He pulls off into some empty area and helps Max shoulder her weight inside the doors while Lando runs ahead to find help. 

It’s fast after that. They take her away and start patching her up while the three of them are forced to sit in the waiting room. Oscar and Lando are left to their own devices while Max paces about on the phone with Christian. 

He feels like a knife is being driven through his chest each time his mind tries to come up with what could’ve happened. Who would do something like this? Unfortunately, a lot of people. The question is more of who could’ve done it and gotten away. Someone with access to the paddock this late. Security, perhaps? Maybe even a sleazy mechanic? A driver wouldn’t make any sense… right?

“When will they let us see her?”

“When she wakes up, most likely.”

He’s not sure when he falls asleep. The exhaustion finally hit him like a truck despite his persistence. He’s awoken by Max’s constant shaking and aggressive whispering of his name. 

“-She’s asking for us.” 

He’s up faster than Lando when Jon threatens an ice bath. They follow the nurse down the halls with an uneasy anticipation. They creep inside the sterile room and find her staring at the wall. 

Lando doesn’t hesitate to move further into the room. Always having been more in touch with his emotions then the other two boys. “Hey love, can I come closer?” 

She looks at him. The bandages plastered over the sides of her head and around her face now visible to them. She returns Lando’s gaze with glassy eyes. It’s damn near shocking when she tries to pull things off her body in a desperate attempt to reach for Lando. 

Lando gets to her before she can get everything off, specifically the IV, and catch her arms. Oscar and Max finally pull themselves together and manage to get her to lay back down with some coaxing. 

She’s shaking violently. Her grip on Lando’s arm is sure to leave bruises. “Who - who f-found me?”  

“We did, schat. We got worried when you didn’t respond.” Max drags the two chairs in the room closer and pulls Oscar down into one.  Lando, against all odds, manages to wriggle his way into bed with her. 

“I know who it was. I - well - does anyone else know?” 

“Just Christian and us.” Oscar can feel the fight Max is putting up to not ask her more questions. The way he’s grounding himself with a hand on Oscars knee instead. 

“You don’t have to tell us.” He attempts to reassure. Maybe calm her mind by giving her an option. “Just know we’re here, alright?” 

“I don’t want it to be a big story. It’s already going to be since I can’t be in the car for the next four weeks. Oh fuck - everyone is gonna know-” Lando hushes her; gets her to somehow hold him tighter.

“Christian said it’s up to you, whatever happens.” Max nods at her encouragingly. “We go at your pace.” 

“They did a rape kit. They’ll know who it is. It was all over so it couldn’t have been hard to get DNA - oh fuck” 

Her heart rate picks up. The nurses rush in. They send her back to sleep. 

~~~♡~~~

Max wants to know who it was who touched her. The rage simmering underneath her skin is almost too much to keep contained. 

On the more fortunate side, they were allowed to stay since she wouldn’t let go of Lando. Then when he did have to get up, they rotated. 

The doctors and nurses learned to approach her like she’s a scared animal. The heavy footsteps seem to set her off and there is now a sticky note on the door saying to tiptoe when entering. It’s endearing to see her doctors and nurses trying so hard not to startle her. But seeing as they’ve now had several incidents where she’s panicked, they are taking more caution. 

Oscar and Lando have meandered away in search of food. Max opted to stay put and made the promise to bring him back cheat foods. He’s too stressed to not eat something of comfort. 

Her physio is supposed to come by today with the stuff she left at the track and get an update from the doctors themselves instead of Max’s botched attempts at repeating back. It will also be nice to see her comfortable, as the one blanket that travels with her everywhere will also be dropped off. 

“Max?” He tightens his hold to show he’s listening. “It’s not fair… You, Lando, and Oscar make a mistake on track and nobody does that to you. I - It wasn’t my fault.” 

The thing is, Max is smarter than people give him credit for. The only incident on track was with Lance. An incident that was his own fault. “He’s at fault, not you. None of this is your fault.”

“They are going to say I was asking for it or something.” 

“In those fireproofs? The only ones asking for it are me and Oscar… for obvious reasons.” He chuckles proudly at his little self compliment. 

It also manages to get her to crack something of a half smile. “Are you complimenting your own ass?” 

“And what if I am?” 

She doesn’t eat anything despite it being sat in front of her. Soft foods are the only thing she’ll be eating. Her throat, albeit not as bad as it could've been (thank you F1), is still damaged and needs to rest as much as possible. 

They had to keep her for observation due to where the head wounds had been. It’s been a rough thirty-six hours, but they are managing.

Despite the hectic situation, Max has come to learn that the female lying in the hospital bed is a better person then the rest of them. Oscar was detailing a full proof murder plan while she was telling him not to make it a bigger deal then it is. To which Oscar politely put his ten step plan with four contingencies down and told her that it’s ‘what he had coming to him’. 

Max has not had to stop someone from assassinating a rival before, but Oscar seems like a reasonable guy. “Death is too good for him.” 

“Mm, you’re right, I’ll just make sure he doesn’t die then and can’t see my face.” 

“Or, we make his life a series of inconveniences! I feel like daddy’s money could get him good therapy. It can’t solve every minor problem.” Lando has a gleam in his eyes. 

Him and Oscar start pouring over ideas once more. The girl simply shakes her head and goes back to eyeing her pudding like it’s assaulted her. “I don’t want to leave here, Max.”

“Why not? I’d assume you want to go home? Sleep in a comfortable bed?”

“Out there, they can get to us. Here is safe.” 

He considers how to reassure her. Only, there is nothing he can think of. The truth is that outside of this hospital room, there is no guarantee they won’t run into trouble. 

“I can’t promise that we'll never have something bad happen again. But-” He looks to the McLaren duo brainstorming ways to make the Aston Martin garage regret existing. “We’ll be there for each other. We’re here for you. When you want us and when you need us, yes?” 

“Pinky swear?” She extends her pink to him. 

Max accepts and curls his pinks around hers. “Pinky swear.” 

~~~♡~~~

It’s not fair really, that they had to leave to go do things. Lando would prefer he at least stayed with her so she isn’t alone. Alas, they are preparing for her discharge and he had to run around getting things together for their trip back to Monaco.

He comes back to a partially opened door and smiles at the other two boys being able to get back before him. Then again, as he gets closer he can hear the angry tone. One that Max uses when he’s pissed off about something. 

Lando panics and rushes inside. Only to be met with the sight of the last person he wants around right now. 

Now - he wouldn’t say he’s prone to violence. Lando prefers to keep the peace when it comes to conflict unless he’s trying to piss someone off on purpose to get a reaction. This is not one of those times. 

Lando’s knuckles collide with the Canadian’s jaw faster than he can fully become aware of what he’s doing. Lance stumbles backward and holds his jaw, glaring at Lando like he’s the one in the wrong here. 

“Get out!” 

“We were just talking-” 

“I said. Get. Out.” He’s seething. The thudding in his chest becoming louder with each second Lance remains in this room. 

He’s not prone to violence. 

Really, he’s not. 

Yet the second crack of knuckles into Lance's chin gives him some sick satisfaction. Isn’t there something about equilibrium? Can he pin this on restoring the balance or something? Regardless, he isn’t going to dent the fact that it feels good. 

The nurses come running and start asking questions. Max and Oscar have to drag Lando away kicking and screaming. 

Worse is when they try to tell him that there are pictures out on social media. Christian has been calling Max non-stop. Oscar has been dealing with Zak. Their relationship isn’t a secret and neither is their current location.  

“They're sending us a different car to see if we can’t get out discreetly.” 

“What happened with Lance, Lan? Are you alright?”

Everyone is panting. Their eyes trained on the door. “I punched him. I restored the equal-brey-um… thing.” 

“Equilibrium.” 

“Yeah that!” 

He’s not sure how they get on the plane. He’s still amped up about the whole punching thing and running purely off adrenaline. 

They’ve been sitting in silence, mulling over their options. Creating statements they can put out. It’s hectic and they keep trashing them because nothing fits. 

The female has been apathetic. The last thing she wanted was for this to get out and now it has. Seemingly everything is flashing before her eyes. Her career will be gone soon enough, so what’s even the point? 

“Don’t post anything. We don’t have an obligation to confirm or deny the rumors. If anything, we can say that you were just driving me to the hospital and being good friends or whatever.” She won’t look at them. Still - Lando can hear how upset she is, the waiver in her voice. “I’m going to be kicked out anyway.” 

“Christian said-”

“Damn what Christian said! He knows this isn’t going to get any better and if I say who it was then Daddy’s Money is just going to pay his way through.” She's hyperventilating now. Her body collapses against her seat and Oscar makes an effort to get her to lean against him. “It’s not fair!”

lando Can’t help but share her feelings.

~~~♡~~~

She stays holed up in the Redbull garage the next weekend. The appearance is hard, people want to ask her questions. Her boys had been caught in the middle of the riptide and haven’t come back to shore yet. 

At least she’s here. She’s trying her hardest to look stronger than she is. On the inside things are falling apart. 

The team knows to give her space and not ask about the ordeal. She takes refuge in Max’s room when things are too much and the other drivers keep their distance. 

They know it was one of them. She’d been adamant on not saying who it was, but it’s obvious there are sixteen who it could have been, given her partners insistence that none of them go near her garage for the time being.  

She just wants this whole thing to blow over. She wants to lay in bed with her lovers and not flinch when they go to touch her. 

She knows, however, that until she deals with things that healing can’t happen like it should. Or at least, that’s what her therapist says. The one she is now required to see. 

Things get worse when she’s back in the car. Her media duties are limited so she can focus on driving and ‘listening to her body’ as her physio likes to say. 

She can’t hear her body over the sound of her mind going staticy as Lance closes in on her. The catalyst for everything. She panics and ends up in the wall. Not the worst crash ever, but certainly hurts her pride more than it has already.

The thing is, it keeps happening. Even as she’s able to let her boys back in. As her podium finishes start to come back. Her fireproofs (which they’d gotten her all new ones) start to feel comfortable again and she doesn’t feel the need to be out of them the second the race is done. Still, Lance is using this to his advantage. 

Finally, after he almost killed her on track (again), she’s had enough.

The trial goes better than she thought it would. Despite the money differences, Lance won’t be able to race anymore. It’s not some grand spectacle either, just an announcement like usual. It’s more the closure she needed versus the publicized drama it could have been. 

She wins the next race. 

“If I ever see him again, it will be too soon.” 

“It’s been over a year now, Lan. I’m getting better.” There is a genuine smile on her face. The car awaits to take them back to the hotel. It was here that it happened. She almost considered not racing because of it.

“Lando got a taste of blood and now he’s feinding for it.” Max has a comforting hand around her waist. A grounding presence. 

“I mean, I never threw away my murder plot…” 

“You’re a genius Oscar!”

She shakes her head. It’s not like any of this has been easy. It never is. Still - her boys are here and they’ve been so patient. 

“There’s her smile.” They all beam at her. 

She smiles back.

[watermelonlovershigh]

Spontaneous Pleasures {part 7.} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

The Rated R Card Game {part 6.} (housemate!harry series)

AN: we're getting so close to them actually having sex. then after that, it'll go back to more mundane things they do in their everyday lives. sorry i keep dragging this on but i'm having fun writing this series. enjoy!!! and make sure to leave your ideas and feedback!!! xoxo

This story contains: fingering (both pussy & ass) blowjob, analingus, aftercare, comfort

{ housemate!harry - friendrry - au!harry - softrry }

word count- 2,159

After Harry spontaneously fingers you during what started out as one of your typical movie nights, you get a wave of dominance come over you, leading you to get on your knees and sucking Harry's cock while also eating and fingering his pretty little ass hole for the first time.

> A few days later

"Har....H..Harry, mhm fuck!" you moan in pleasure as Harry fucks you with his fingers. What started out as a casual movie night, cuddling on the couch, soon turned into more when Harry's hand slipped into your yoga pants. Of course, there were kisses exchanged as well.

Grinning from ear to ear, he dirty talks, "Yeah, feels good baby? M' I makin' you feel so good? Fuckin' you with my, long, thick, fingers? Hmh?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" is all you're able to chant. It's rare for you to get fingered unless someone else fingers you. The angle at which you need to be fingered is something you've always found difficult to do to yourself. So you generally stick to clitoral stimulation or one of your dildos. But on the rare occasion you do get fingered, it feels amazing, when done right of course.

As Harry continues finger blasting you in the middle of his living room, on his sofa, he starts applying pressure to your clit with his palm, enhancing the sensation and causing your body to arch from its reclined position. The moist, squelching sounds reverberate throughout the walls of the house. Overwhelmed by immense pleasure, your mind becomes hazy and your toes begin to curl.

"You gonna come for me? Can feel you clenchin' down on my fingers."

You respond with a nod and out of nowhere, your orgasm hits you like a crashing wave. The intense pleasure you've been holding in your stomach erupts, creating a display of fireworks behind your closed eyelids. Your body trembles, your back stays arched, and your legs quiver as if they might close.

As you begin to come down from your euphoric state, the words "Oh my God!!" instinctively escape your mouth. Harry continues to pleasure you until he notices the signs of overstimulation and gradually withdraws. Now you find yourself lying on the couch, breathing heavily, as you attempt to regain your composure.

Rising to his feet, Harry states, "I'll be right back. Gonna get somethin' to clean you up with." While he's away, your senses begin to awaken again and you become aware of just how horny you still are.

Upon Harry's return, he cleans up the mess between your legs that he created from the spontaneous fingering session. Once he's finished with that, in a display of dominance from your horniness reappearing, you assert yourself by pushing him onto the couch and positioning yourself on the floor between his legs. Before Harry can utter a word of inquiry, you swiftly lower the front of his sweatpants, and he willingly aids in pulling them down even more until he's able to kick them off to the side of the couch.

His penis springs forth, looking as appetizing as ever. You reach forward and encircle his large shaft with your small hand, causing him to recoil slightly due to its sensitivity. Harry remains quiet, allowing you to have your way with him but his mouth is dropped open in an 'o' shape, breaths becoming heavier and more pronounced with each touch you give to him. Finally, you rise to your knees and lean over his lap, taking his dick into your mouth.

Upon feeling the head of his cock touch the back of your throat, he breaks his silence with a quiet curse of, "Shit" You adjust to accommodate to his size by tugging on what doesn't fit in your mouth, making Harry believe he's in heaven. Little does he know though, that what you have planned next will take him beyond the heavenly gates.

While removing your mouth from his cock, you continue to provide consistent strokes with your right hand as your face travels lower. When your mouth grazes over his testicles, Harry assumes you might engage in licking or sucking them, which he'd find incredibly satisfying. However, you exceed his expectations by bypassing his balls and positioning your mouth face to face with his puckering hole.

The act of performing analingus has never been your preference. You have only done it once, and that was with someone you knew very well. You would never entertain the idea of engaging in it with a one-night stand, as you had no way of knowing their level of cleanliness or when they last used the restroom.

However, you feel comfortable doing it for Harry. You're aware that he maintains excellent personal hygiene, especially when it comes to his bum, thanks to his experiences with men. He's well-versed in the practice of keeping his anus clean through regular douching and ensuring it remains free of excessive hair.

After gathering your courage with a deep breath, you plunge headfirst into the task at hand. Your tongue encounters the tense ring of muscles and slowly pushes its way inside. "What r' you doin'?" Harry blurts out. It's not that he dislikes what you're doing, because he fucking loves what you're doing. It's simply surprising, as he never envisioned you as someone who would engage in such activities. Nevertheless, he feels incredibly fortunate to have you in his life.

You pull away quickly with a smirk. Despite feeling a bit nervous about whether or not what you did was acceptable, you can see from his expressions that he thoroughly enjoyed it. "Did you like that? I bet you like having your little ass played with, don't you? I wonder if you'd ever let me fuck it. Would you? Maybe with one of my dildos, or I could purchase a strap-on. If I bought a strap-on, perhaps I could also fuck your throat. Just like you allowed that other woman to do. Make you choke and gag on my fake cock."

Harry has never seen you so confident with your dirty words. It probably has something to do with the orgasm he previously gave you. You're still out of it, he concludes as an explanation. And you referencing something he admitted happened in his past during that card game a week or two ago, he was hoping that by sharing that event, maybe, just maybe you'd get some curiosity and fantasize about trying it out on him. He guesses his plan worked.

Still breathing rather heavy, Harry answers back, "Y/n, you can do whatever you want with me. Anythin'. Nothin' is off limits." And he truly means that. You want to fuck his ass? He'll get on his hands and knees this instant. You want to fuck his throat? He'll open his mouth so wide his jaw threatens to snap. You want to tie him up one day? He'll tie himself up for you, if that's even possible. He'll be your submissive. The only catch is, you've gotta let him do the same things to you.

"Good to know." is all you say before continuing where you left off. You lubricate his tight hole with your tongue before slipping it inside and fucking him with it. Your right hand picks up its speed on his cock. Harry grabs the backs of his thighs to hold his legs open for you, his feet propped up on the edge of the couch, which you greatly appreciate.

After a minute of continuous action, Harry is nearing orgasm. His legs quiver, his breathing becomes strained, and his stomach muscles contract. As soon as you feel his cock twitch in your hand, you remove your mouth from his hole and proceed to place his dick back into your mouth. Although you don't neglect his bum hole. Slowly, you guide your left hand down until it reaches his tightening hole, then smoothly easing inside without any resistance thanks to the lingering saliva left from your mouth..

Just as you insert your fingers, Harry announces, "Y/n, baby, m' gonna come." True to his words, he ejaculates, releasing his warm jizz all over your tongue as you skillfully pleasure him. Simultaneously, you continue to stimulate his anus, ensuring he experiences the utmost pleasure.

Even after his orgasm subsides, you persist in pleasuring him with your mouth and fingers until he physically has to push you away, stating, "Enough, baby. M' too sensitive now." When he uses the endearing term, "baby," it fills you with warmth. Though it's mostly been used during intimate moments. You eagerly anticipate the day when he will use it more frequently and not just during your sexual activities.

With a pop, you release Harry's softening penis from your mouth and retract your fingers from his ass hole. Harry is left on the couch, panting like a dehydrated dog. He's trying to compose himself after what just occurred. You stand up on sore legs, from the hard floor that is, and go to the bathroom to get a damp cloth for cleaning him up with. He deserves aftercare too. While in the bathroom, you also wipe away the arousal that formed between your legs and change into a clean pair of panties.

Upon your return, Harry remains in the same position where you left him. However, there is a slight change as his head now rests against the back of the couch, eyes closed, and he's no longer holding his legs up. You step in between his legs and speak softly, "Let me clean you off" He raises his head slightly, his eyes barely open, and notices that you hold a damp cloth in your hands. Without uttering a word, he spreads his legs to provide you with more space and just silently observes as you lean down and meticulously cleanse his genitals, followed by his wet ass.

Harry's sensitivity causes him to hiss, but he relaxes once you're done. Placing the damp cloth on the coffee table, you stand up and reach for Harry's hands. "Let's go to bed. We're both knackered." Harry takes your hands and stands up with your assistance. Upon standing, he notices something shiny on the floor.

"What's that?" Harry questions looking downwards, prompting you to cast a glance downwards as well, seeking to identify what he's referring to. It's in that moment that you become aware of a small puddle, evidence of your overwhelming arousal while you were pleasuring him. Although you were conscious of your heightened state of arousal, you didn't realize it had reached a point where it leaked onto the FUCKING floor. This situation is unbelievably humiliating.

Stumbling over your words, you reply, "Ohh, um, well doing what I did to you got me wet. Like really wet. I didn't realize it dripped on the floor though. I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be embarrassed, Y/n," Harry says softly, his hands cupping your face. "M' actually flattered that I got you so wet. It's an easy fix, we'll clean it up." With a nod of agreeance, you observe as Harry retrieves the cloth from the coffee table and bends down to eliminate the small puddle. In a matter of seconds, the area is completely cleaned and you both proceed to Harry's room where you'll be staying for the night.

Once in Harry's room, you go to slide under the covers when Harry suddenly asks, "Can we sleep naked?"

"Um, yeah if you want. But why?" Not that you have anything against sleeping naked but normally whenever you've shared a bed with each other, you have some form of clothes on. Typically you in an oversized t-shirt and panties, Harry in just his briefs.

As you both proceed to remove your remaining clothes, Harry answers, "I don't know. Just want to feel close to you, s'all. Your warm and your boobs make great pillows." That garners a laugh from you.

Now fully nude, he turns the one lamp that remained on, off and you each get under the duvet. "Come over here then." you instruct Harry. "Your pillows are waiting for you." He slides across the bed until he's settled by your side and gently places his head on your nearest breast while his top arm is slung across your belly.

In this moment, Harry realizes just how much he loves you. Never in a million years did he think he'd fall in love with the shy, timid girl who accepted his housemate position all those months ago. But gradually, after becoming friends, he realized how much fun you are to be around. How comforting your presence is. How you make him feel safe and warm. How you never judge him for his sexuality and accept him for who he is. He knows in this exact moment he wants to spend the rest of his life with you and you haven't even had sex yet.

But without a shadow of a doubt, he knows you'll be the best sex he's ever had and he has a feeling it's going to happen sooner than you anticipated. Like really soon. He can feel the sexual tension every time you do other sexual things. Tensions that make you just want to scream, "fuck me already." Soon can't come fast enough.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @allthelovehes // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles  // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss  // @kissmyaxe140  // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore97 // @florencepughily  // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom  // @swiftmendeshoran

 // @luv-flor7777  // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown  // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar  // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone //  @goldenkhae // @lntwithhrry  // @shadowygladiatorlight  // @manifestrry  //@mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts  // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghost // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @justlemmeholdyou // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

The Next Morning {part. 8} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

[cdbabymp3]

𐙚bf!ian

notes/warnings: sfw and nfsw portions!! these are just my interpretations based off the vibes i get!

part 1???? i could make thousands of these tbh

― sfw

bf!ian who calls you "ma", "baby/babygirl", "sweetheart", and "princess" and always refers to you as "my girl" in interviews or when he's talking to his friends

bf!ian who lets you watch him from the side of the stage while he performs. he loves seeing you get all giddy and excited bc ur his #1 fan !!!

bf!ian who finishes a show and immediately needs to see you and hear your feedback on how he performed

bf!ian who will order the whole taco bell menu after a show and record a mukbang of you guys eating and making stupid jokes on the tour bus at 2am

bf!ian who loves to cook for you (and feed you) when he gets a free day

bf!ian who catches you singing his lyrics and teases you so bad

bf!ian who does NOT play abt spoiling. anything you want, you got it. even if you try to be polite and tell him no, it's too late. his card is already swiped and his calling for the car to be brought out so you don't have to carry all those bags <33

bf!ian who won't hesitate to tell a guy to fuck off if he's eyeing you

bf!ian who writes soooo many songs about you, most of which never get released but if you ask nicely, he'll play them for you

bf!ian who NEEDS you in the studio while he records. he loves when you bring him food or even just visit for a little bit

bf!ian who knows some of his friends/peers lowkey want you, so he makes sure to always have a hand on your ass or waist at the function

bf!ian who takes you out to the most expensive dinners for every anniversary, bday, and honestly just because

bf!ian who always leaves your pillows smelling like his cologne

bf!ian who tells his mom and grandma you're the one even though he's only 19

― nsfw

bf!ian who rests his glasses on your stomach while he eats you out

bf!ian who fucks you to r&b when you finally get the house to yourself

bf!ian who loves a good bump and grind session

bf!ian who is absolutely obsessed with your ass and tells you all the time. "that perfect lil ass...all mine, too.....damn, i'm lucky."

bf!ian who likes to pull your hair and squeeze your ass when you makeout

bf!ian who gets bricked when you walk around the house in his shirt and a thong

bf!ian who can throw you over his shoulder and toss on on the bed when you want it rough

bf!ian who loves when you soak his thousand dollar sheets

bf!ian trying his hardest not to brag about how much of a secret freak you are to his friends, but he doesn't kiss and tell

bf!ian going absolutely crazy when you wear low-rise jeans or flared leggings and a cute little top

bf!ian who has a thing for long acrylic nails on how they feel grazing his bare chest and back when he fucks you deep and slow

bf!ian who genuinely treats you like a princess in bed, kissing you from head to toe

bf!ian always patting his lap for you to sit bc he wants to feel your ass pressed against him

[f1shart]

i am Hearing you Out on Tankbalt. me and bro when we're traumatized teens forced to carry the curse of being too much like our parents and not enough at the same time. please go on

EVERYTHING TANKBALT HAS IN COMMON

rambling under the cut. aha

both the oldest brother with two younger siblings and are the strongest out of them (IGNORING TANK'S 0 BODY POINTS) - you could say they take on the protector role

The Anger

both cover their faces

neurodivergent coded. one camouflages and the other masks come the fuck ON

they have one signature color (which are complementary fyi 💚❤️)

both involved in family feuds though the grunt-smith one is much smaller in scale. also they both have a really gay obsession with a boy from their opposing clan

dead moms that are a key factor in their unbridled Rage

on the topic of family, they both also have a male parental figure that has both a heavy overall influence on them and encourages them to partake in the feud (in consort's case you could argue he doesnt actually encourage tybalt to beat the shit out of the monty brothers every day, but he also doesn't effectively stop him or even make an effort to. i say "effectively" as a reference to the scene in r&j where capulet calls him a saucy boy for wanting to deal with romeoSORRY IM SO OBSESSED WITH THAT)

going back to the color thing can i also say how both their colors relate heavily to their family/expectations... tank's green is obviously representative of how buzz expects him to pursue a career in the military and center his whole life around it; meanwhile tybalt's red, often the "Capulet color" in many r&j adaptations, represents his very strong allegiance to his clan and how he's like. the only teen in that town to actually give a fuck about the feud

both are fanonically associated with an animal aka angry pussy and perrito encerrado <3 not to mention that the kitty x puppy type ship dynamic is very popular

both technically come from wealthy families? i'm just being logical here - i KNOW the grunts dont have a super mega amount of cash in their bank like the capps (and those guys are a whole different breed of rich..) but generals make a fuckton of money irl so just imagine the accumulated wealth of wholeass generations of them!! plus, buzz often gets this one chance card that, if you choose correctly, he brings home §50,000. if u get that one make sure to choose to launch a missile at the thingy (asteroid?) btw

what if we dove into fanon real quick..you could sayyy they both have physical signs of their trauma ^_^ for tybalt, it's his burn scars from escaping the fire that killed his parents when he was young and additionally having to save his even younger sisters. for tankernaut there's a couple of things you could argue: 1. his ptosis. i typically depict it as a congenital thing mysef but perhaps it's stress-induced? from my 5-second google search i've concluded that this isn't possible as a permanent affliction but first of all Fuck Realism, secondly it could be a thing that just appears every once in a while when he's reeeally going through it. and 2. his funny bone injury mentioned in gba/ds, presumably obtained on the battlefield. i've also seen tank depicted with more intense scarring (shoutout to my boy mash) but yap yap NEXT POINT?!??

hmmmmm ah. i think my brain juice's all fixzled oit.... hm. both are whi..te...???

both reeeaalllyy gay like fag asf. quite possibly the gayest boys of the sim franchise

TANKBALT GALLERY

[ca-suffit]

im sorry your takes are generally pretty great and i appreciate the space you make in fandom but i find the dismissal around lestat's queerness to be diminishing.

louis is a fantastic gay character and u r right about how he represents his queerness which is fabulously. he is mother he is fashion he is wife, a lot, and lestat is a lot more masc in aspects of their dynamic. louis also struggles with it, had internalized homophobia, and his relationship to his sexuality is fraught. now you can have that complexity and still be a "gay icon" sure but what i see here is a gay man existing. not every gay man existing has to be ~iconic~. louis is working on himself.

lestat is a different person and is going out there to make a mark on culture actively, regardless of why. he's not putting on a dress for five seconds (which btw was still pretty impactful in context but ok), he is being meaningfully gnc and making art. this is what queer culture is. it's frustrating to see this element diminished like it's just a meme or a bunch of people being thirsty.

im all for critiquing fandom being weirdos about it but i think the showrunners are doing something spectacular and pretending like fans are making lestat into something he is not just isn't the vibe.

reading this made me realize that I left out a sentence in this ask, so it did come off differently than I intended. I'd meant to say there's already been a lot of exploration of characters / ppl like lestat, but there's never been a character like louis before. I wasn't rly ever talking about lestat's queerness itself, I was talking about how he's prioritized bcuz he's white.

if u personally identity with him in this then that's ur right to, obviously. no group is a monolith and I was never trying to say one way is more "right" than the other. I rly do apologize if it came across like that, cuz I can see why it did.

"he's not putting on a dress for five seconds (which btw was still pretty impactful in context but ok)"

I don't rly know what u mean here bcuz within the show, nobody comments on the dress. ppl react to the baby but everything we know of the dress otherwise was only revealed by carol cutshall bts. I don't know what impact ur meaning here. to the tv audience, sure, but the NOLA audience?? or is it the fact he designed it in the first place.

tbh the thing I most noticed was that once again a white, european immigrant got to be center stage in an event that louis, as a black, louisiana native, isn't (like the card game lestat already had a place at more favored than louis earlier in S1). he also was able to wear that dress in public without public scorn (being european prbly helped here too, he's "other'd" but not the same way as louis is "other'd" for being black), which is something louis could never have done and actually survived at all. it's not that lestat doesn't experience homophobia otherwise, but he's still got a lot more room to confront it than louis, claudia, or armand would have, as ppl who would be confronting homophobia *and* racism with no access to white privilege (claudia literally dies in the same hour we see lestat confront a homophobe otherwise on his and louis' behalf and "win").

idk what they're going to explore for S3 yet, but what we've seen so far is....not that deep tbh. it's not even especially "queer." we're aware he is so we know it is, but straight men have worn makeup and flashy outfits and done homoerotic shit as musicians before too. very often. nothing we've seen from lestat so far has been pushing any boundary as a queer artist or making any kind of statement. I'm not trying to sound like a total bitch here, but a lot of what ur saying is pushing this white fandom agenda of the "importance" of so much that any white, queer character does that....just isn't. lestat's image and sound is taking a lot from other ppl in real music history who *were* doing groundbreaking things at the time, straight or not, but what he's doing is just wearing it as a costume rn. his lyrics even say "I'm an actor / in my makeup." like I said, S3 in full will bring more to the table, obviously, but for what we've seen so far....this hasn't said anything in any objective way that's "deep." u can still like it and identity with it, but idk how u'd argue that it's doing anything tbh. ur welcome to do it tho, I'm not trying to shut down the conversation here. I'm just giving my perspective. I *do* actually think this is stuff we should talk about exactly *bcuz* fandom rides so hard for it all the time. it should be explored why that is, what's the logic behind it. I rly am interested.

edit: wanted to add too that p much everyone we see in this show is queer and creative so literally why is nobody ever saying all this about louis' photography, claudia's acting and interest in fashion (or her general observations on the world thru so many diaries that are referenced in multiple ways as she's not around anymore to speak otherwise), armand's theatre work, madeleine's dressmaking. that's usually why ppl comment on lestat, bcuz he's the most noticed and praised but he's literally not the only one doing it at all.

[an-actual-attack-helicopter]

Book 6, Episode 1: Startouched Analysis/Commentary

Gotta love how it opens with Ripples in the water reflecting the stars. Go read the short stories if you don't know what I'm talking about.

Aaravos hesitates before crumbling Viren which is the funniest shit to me. This hurts more though, having seen the whole season.

Gotta love how Terry basically said Viren just ran away to go die like an angsty teen.

He got a new son to orphan les goooo

I find the framing of this pretty interesting. Viren is still in the dark while Claudia is standing in the light. You'd think it'd be the other way around. Perhaps it symbolizes how he has come to terms with his dark side, and is going to face it. While he leaves Claudia who, hopefully, can still be redeemed. Because ultimately this isn't her fault, it's his. He's the dark one.

At first I thought it was cruel for Viren to leave Claudia, but I've come to a realization. Claudia is better off without him. He is the reason she's done all this, and nothing will change if she keeps having to save him. She needs to let go. I'm not sure if this was intentional on Viren's part, but he made the right choice nonetheless.

Man, what is it with this show and blindfolds? So far they have showed up in Harrow's little flashback speech, on the Celestial elves, and here. Is this anything??

I was expecting to be annoyed by the baitlings' presence in this season, but they didn't actually get in the way much. Glad the writers read the room. They were mostly just used to fill the comic relief void that soren has left.

Also, I love how Jason Simpson still managed to weasel his way into the High Council through Barius, since Viren isn't exactly, yk, in that position.

DESTROY IT? CALLUM, HAVE YOU EVEN LISTENED TO THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES?

THE TABLE, CALLUM. THE TABLE!!!! Bro really be like "it's remarkably easy to buy a Novablade in central Starscraper."

Also, the way Rayla says "pearl" sounds like "peril."

They play Aaravos's little motif-melody-thingy throughout this scene. Yk, from I See You and Follow my Lead. Glad to cross that off my bingo card.

You can't see it here but the eye-movements in this scene are great. I think the animation and lighting really shine in this season. Pun intended.

Barius doing some casual baking at like 1 AM or something. Bro got insomnia /j. I mean, who are these for? They don't have fridges so they can't save em for long. Maybe Callum got him some sorta magical fridge. Or- wait- maybe they do have, like, a primitive fridge. Was that a thing? Oh actually, maybe Callum and Rayla just go to bed early. Lmfao

And there we have it, the first Viren-Callum parallel of the season. Just like episode 1 of season 1, he barges into the King's bedroom.

Alright, so. Other than this line being hilarious, I'm thinking the frustrating switcharoo that turns the latter half of the season into a bloodbath happened here. Was pretty foolish of Callum to think the pearl would be safe with him on his way out.

Ezran is saddened by everyone's departure. I'm not sure why, but it's worth noting.

They pretty much have her say "my dad is gone" just so that using this clip as a trailer wouldn't spoil anything lmao. I've been waiting to say that since Wondercon.

And now Claudia is the one leaving, as she steps out of the purifying light of the setting sun. Everyone, please give Terry a round of applause for continuing to love her despite this.

And now for the credits:

These are similar. Opeli is from the credits of this episode, and Harrow, from the credits of one from Season 2.

We need this to be a shirt.

Ahhh so Aaravos isn't the only Startouch elf with a star on their chest. I might be a little late to noticing that. Idk.

WHY THE HELL IS TERRY THE ONLY ONE CRYING FOR SIR SPARKLEPUFF? WHAT THE FUCK?

One last thing. Is it just me or is the outro song a little different? Music people, help me. I must know.

But yeah, banger episode, banger season, banger show. Imma be doin' these for all the season 6 episodes. At this rate, they will all have more words than Fallout Equestria. /j

Alright, time to take my meds. 💀

[socheckitout-mikey]

Hey! How r u? Uhm- I totally loved "cuddling with brett" because I'm seriously in love with him..but I was hoping if you can do a "cuddling with Jordan Parrish"? It's totally okay if you can't! Btw I love ur writing sm :)

heeey! thanks for requesting. i have never written for jordan before, so i hope that these live up to his character. i hope that you also enjoy what i came up with. it makes me really happy that you enjoy my writing! :') - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Cuddling with Jordan Parrish Hc's:

° Jordan loves cuddling with you. Showing love through physical affection is something he enjoys, but he never wants to overwhelm you.

° He's always gentle with his touches. He enjoys playing with your hair, rubbing your back and drawing little patterns into your skin. This is a sure way for you to fall asleep, and he just softly gazes at you every once in a while before pressing tender kisses to your temple or forehead.

° Jordan never wants to leave once you've both started cuddling, especially when it's in the morning. Everything is so relaxing in this space when the sun is just coming up and peeking through the curtains. Nothing is better than being in his arms. However, if it's not a weekend, the important duties of being a deputy keep nagging him.

° You're half asleep yourself, trying to savor his presence and touch. He doesn't mind if you fall back asleep, but you're stubborn and want to be somewhat coherent as you snuggle into his chest.

° He laughs into your hair when you mumble about something strange from one of your dreams. It's muffled so he can't exactly hear it, but it greatly amuses him. He's wide awake and you're not.

° He prefers it when you fall asleep so he can slip away and leave a cute little note on his nightstand, but a lot of the time you wake up the second he's made the move to slip out of bed.

° "Where are you going? I was comfy!" You pout sleepily, your weary eyes peeking over the puffy comforter.

° "I know you were, but duty calls, sweetheart." He grins at you, somewhat saddened to go.

° "Five more minutes," you counter with those sweet eyes begging him to stay.

° "Five more minutes was fifteen minutes ago. I still have to shower and I've got to leave soon." He tries to reason with you.

° But you always win.

° "Fine, but it's only for five more minutes," he sighs, lifting up the blanket to settle down next to you.

° You make a pleasant noise, laying on top of him as if that could ever prevent him from leaving. He just laughs, wondering what type of excuse will warrant lateness to Sheriff Stilinski.

° Cuddling after long shifts of work is something you both love to do, especially when you're watching your favourite TV shows or movies. Sometimes you chat and other times you are quiet as you snack.

° Wholesome vibes all around!

° Jordan likes to cuddle when he's had a hard day. It starts when you're just fixing up a quick dinner in the kitchen when he's just gotten home. He engulfs you from behind, burying his face into the crook of your neck and sighing. Taking in your familiar scent, you know the tight hold he has on you is the way he lets you know he needs you.

° "Hey sweetheart, how was your day?" Jordan never fails to check in with you first like the true gentleman he is.

° "I'm okay. Are you doing alright there?" You ask, which provokes another sigh from him.

° Jordan likes to rest his head on your chest, right over your heart on these types of days and just listens to your heartbeat. It's the most soothing sound in the world that's accompanied by your fingers carding through his dark short hair. He falls asleep this way or just waits up, which depends on how hard of a day he's had. Being a deputy is not easy.

° Sometimes he likes to sneak up on you when you're busy and pick you up to take you to the couch or bed. You protest with laughter the entire way, but relent because he uses those gorgeous green eyes to his advantage. He calls the latter payback for making him late to work three times this week.

° He likes to rest his head on your belly when you're reading. He's always asking you to read out loud to him, even if it's right in the middle of a book. Sometimes he's annoying though because he wants you to give him a rundown of characters and the plot so far so he can understand what's going on.

° You just softly bonk him on the head.

° Jordan is like a radiator, so it gets really warm fast. It's good when it's autumn and winter, tolerable in spring, but in the summer it's way too hot for you to handle. You're then forced to swat him away when he advances for cuddles.

° "Get! You're like an active volcano with your heat." You protest, trying to worm your way out of his hold.

° "That's not very fair you know. You put your cold feet on my shins all winter! Summer is my time for payback." Jordan teases you.

° "That's different! I'm a humble human who needs extra warmth during the colder months." You retort with your nose stuck in the air.

° "And I'm an overheated Hellhound that needs to cool down in the hotter months." He counters.

° "Stick yourself in the fridge then," you giggle, but it's too late because he's got you locked in his strong hold.

° Being the big and small spoon interchanges in your relationship. Whatever is most comfortable for you both.

° Cuddling with him feels like home. His scents, sounds and touches are nothing short of pleasant. You're familiar with him and he's your soulmate. He loves you deeply and in these sweet moments you both can really feel each other's love.

° On the scale of wholesomeness ya'll are 1,000,000/10! <3

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more! 

requests: open!

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚢𝚎

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ P l o t ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ Leon and the reader get separated after the events of the RE2 remake.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ N o t e ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ I don't know where I'm going with this so bear with me lmao. I was thinking of turning this into a series, with some time skips to RE4, RE6, and so on. For now, I'm scheduling this for two chapters, but if you like it and want more I can extend the story. I don't write for Leon often, so please tell me if I did it right. Your feedback is really appreciated!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ P a i r ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ Leon Kennedy x Reader;

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨T a g s ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ fluff, angst, and a bit steamy at the end.

Ko-fi || Patreon

The train finally stopped at the end of the line after a long and silent ride. Claire and Sherry fell asleep on the bench while you spent the ride in Leon's arms. None of you talked about what happened; you were just happy to be alive.

When you reached your final stop, everyone was eager to exit the train to breathe the fresh air. The morning sun was too strong for your sensitive eyes, which got used to the darkness. Still, all of you were grateful for the warming sensation that caressed your sore bodies.

After a very long walk filled with Sherry's silly and funny questions, you managed to find a gas station. The cashier was weirdly watching all of you, and who could blame him? Everyone was dirty and bloody, with an expression of sorrow and regret on their faces. The only one who seemed relatively normal was Sherry, but maybe she was just good at hiding her pain.

All of you walked around the store under the judgmental eyes of the cashier, trying to find some affordable supplies.

"Do you have any money on you?" Leon was a bit concerned.

"Yeah, I think I can cover the water."

"Good."

A soft smile appeared on his face. It wasn't because of you; no, it was just a simple thing that made him happy. Still, that smile warmed you, and you wished you could've stayed and watched him a few seconds longer, just to make sure you'd never forget it.

"Shit, if I knew that we'd end up here, I would've robbed a few cash registers on the way," Leon said as he picked some sandwiches.

You giggled as you picked up some protein bars.

"That would've come in handy right now."

All of you placed the products on the counter and waited for the cashier to finish scanning. You watched anxiously as the sum increased, exceeding the number you had in your pockets. The total felt heavy, and everyone began to empty their pockets.

"It's all we have, sir." Claire said, after he counted the money and realized it was not enough. He gave you a long stare, but before he would say anything, Leon intervened.

"C'mon, man, we had a rough night."

"Please, mister," Sherry added.

The guy looked at all of them again and let them go.

"Now we need a ride." You said as you walked out.

A random man just came in and passed by you, ignoring your presence completely. He had his convertible outside, probably with a full tank.

"He won't notice it's missing," Claire said as she boldly approached the vehicle. "Sherry, keep an eye."

"Wait, what are you doing?" Leon asked, worried.

"What does it seem I'm doing? I'm getting us a ride."

"Claire no."

"Do you want to walk to the next city?" She asked, ready to hotwire the car.

"I don't know. No, of course not, but stealing is not okay."

You couldn't help but smile because of how cute Leon was at that moment. Even after he went through hell last night, he still maintained some of that rookie innocence.

"Guys, hurry; I think he is coming," Sherry said, alarmed.

"Come one." Leon scoffed as everyone got in the car. Before the man realized it, the car was long gone. His wallet was in there. Maybe luck was starting to be on your side.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　

Sadly, when you got to the nearest town, Claire had to go on her own to find her brother, Chris, leaving you, Leon, and Sherry in a hotel. She took the car but left you the cash and cards you found.

"Are you sure you want to do this on your own?" You were a bit concerned. After all, you three destroyed an Umbrella facility and survived the mess they created. That will backfire at some point.

"I'm sure. It's my brother; I've got to do this on my own." You hugged her and held her tight for a few seconds. Claire was an amazing person, and you didn't know if you were ever going to see her again.

"Take care," Leon said as he hugged her too. He didn't want her to go, but he couldn't force her to stay either. To be honest, he thought that all of you would stay together to figure out the next move. Claire's leave saddened him a little.

The most affected was Sherry. She glued herself tightly to Claire's body and hardly let go.

"Take care of them for me, ok?" She said it in a brittle voice.

Sherry nodded and joined you and Leon, watching Claire go in the car and drive far away in the distance.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　

Leon thought it would be best to have separate rooms, one for you and Sherry and one for him. He wanted some time alone to cope with everything that happened: the outbreak, the countless deaths, the loss of Ada, and Claire's departure. He didn't know about the destruction of Raccoon City yet.

Leon locked the door behind him and sighed. The room was modest, with orange and yellow tones, a small TV on a table in front of a queen-sized bed, a bathroom next to the entrance, and a cloth hanger. The first thing he did was close the curtains. He wasn't there for the view.

Leon knew he should get some rest, but the events of the previous night kept hunting his mind. The screams, the lies, the blood, and the monsters took their turn to torment the young rookie, who was fidgeting around the room.

Suddenly, a powerful smell hit him and almost made him puke. After a few sniffs, he realized he was the source of the reek, and hurried into the bathroom to take a hot shower. The warm water was a blessing on his beaten skin, and he lingered there hoping that the water would also wash away his memories and guilt. Sadly, it didn't have the desired effect, but at least he smelled nice.

Leon didn't have any clean clothes around but a white bathrobe. Feeling tired he lay on the bed trying to get some sleep. Frustration begins to build up the more he kept squirming in bed.

"God damn it," he said, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. He kept fidgeting until he found a comfortable decision, but his relief was short-lived when his mind started to play with him once more. He needed answers—lots of answers. Who was behind all of this? Why was Umbrella developing all those monsters? And most importantly, what happened to Raccoon City?

Defeated, he got up from the bed and went to the minibar to search for alcohol. A gentle knock on the door got his attention.

"Come in," he said, and a smile appeared on his face when he saw you standing in the doorframe, waiting for him to invite you inside. You wore a bathrobe too.

"Thanks," you said as you closed the door behind you. "How are you holding up?"

"I had better days," he confessed. "How's Sherry?"

"Well, we didn't talk much about what happened. We washed then we watched some cartoons. After that, she fell asleep. The kid was exhausted. I wanted to sleep but I couldn’t…because of…” you paused, trying to ignore all the flashbacks that came to you.

“Yeah, I know…” Leon added gloomily.

“Anyway, I decided to check on you. Figured you weren’t sleeping.”

"How kind of you," he said while opening the small door of the fridge.

"They don't have any alcohol. I checked first thing when I came in the room."

"Damn it. Then why do they have it on the menu?"

You shrugged.

"Beats me. It’s what we get for the money we paid. I mean, the rooms are pretty cheap; it's not like we will get quality service." You said.

"Damn, and I really thought we'd get top services here. I really wanted a valet to park my Lamborghini."

"If a valet is an old security guard sleeping on duty, then you're halfway there."

"Yeah, all I need now is a Lambo."

You both laughed, but the moment lasted shortly, and Leon dragged himself to the bed, where he sat on the edge. Then he rested his head on his palms and sighed.

This drastic and sudden change in his demeanor scared you a little because you knew it was becoming harder and harder for him to hide his pain behind silly jokes. In front of you, there was a broken man who suffered terribly after what happened in Raccoon City and who was now carrying the burden of being one of the few survivors. You sat next to him, and you began to gently caress his back.

"Why did they allow this to happen? Why didn't I come sooner?" He said it in a brittle voice.

"If you came early, then you would've been long dead. And you wouldn't have met me, Claire, and Sherry."

"Yeah, but still..."

"Leon, there is nothing you could've done to prevent this. Please stop torturing yourself." You pressed your body against his and held him tight. One of your arms slid across his chest, while the other went over his back. Leon grabbed your hand and held it tightly.

"I'm sorry; I just don't wanna lose you too."

"Leon..."

He rose, and now you were on the same level. His blue eyes were staring at you, expressing both need and sorrow. He needed you to be there for him.

His palms fell to his knees, and your right hand was still in his gentle and warm grip. You raised your left arm, your delicate fingers brushing away some strands of blond hair from his forehead. Once you started to gently caress his temples with your fingertips, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the pleasure that a gentle touch brought him after so many hours of hell.

"I'm here, Leon, and I'm not going anywhere."

"That sounds so good."

You locked eyes again. His grip tightened, and your palm was resting on his face now, your big thumb caressing his bruised cheek.

"Promise you'll be here for me too."

"Promise."

He closed the space between you, and soon your lips touched. It was a delicate, shy kiss in which you kept pressing your lips over and over onto each other. His hand let go of yours just to move to your waist and join the other one. You cupped his face and kept him close as the kiss became more and more passionate.

Tag list: @shadow-wolf510 @skylar-todd @lunarastrobabe @ravenrune @alewesker @rokurodokuro (if you want to be added dm me🤗).

Oh and on a small note, the next chapter will be steamy :)

[6okuto]

idk if ur reqs are open but I would love to hear your thoughts on Vere 👁️👁️ hes literally dominated my entire headspace I can’t go ten minutes w/o thinking ab how I want to bite his forearm

GENERAL VERE HCS

gn!reader | back 2 knocking these guys out of the park. also i realized these are shorter than my hq bf hcs so. if anyone wants a pt.2 for anybody.. u know what to do

i think u Should bite his arm. For Fun. vere w bite-y partner who he bites back. 'gently' considering he has fangs though

congratulations on being one of 2 people he'd let touch and brush his tail. sometimes he swishes it against your face and then pretends he didn't. "i have no idea what you're talking about," he says before making direct eye contact and doing it again

he likes drawing. ok. have we considered him drawing you. you ask him about it and he says he won't show you. you tease him and ask "what? did you draw sparkles and hearts surrounding me?" and he plays along, "yes, i even checked what i'd look like with your last name and drew us kissing."

It's actually quite a nice sketch of you though. like of you smiling or asleep or something because you fell aslep near him. oh man...

vere knows all the ins and outs of the city which means he can give you a personalized tour that caters to all your interests!! you can ask him to take you to his favourite spots too of course but he feels very accomplished watching you grin in the store he purposely walked by

shocked if you get him a gift. acts nonchalant and is good enough at accepting things but internally, especially if it's something he's been eyeing for a while or has sentimental value,, he . He....

like yeah okay vere...act all cool...as if your eyes don't flicker over whenever you walk past it...as if you don't catch yourself smiling subconsciously...whatever

definitely tries cooking your favourite meal. doesn't go very well, especially if it's something he's never had, but he'll keep practicing until he makes something decent. don't ask how many attempts he did because he won't tell you unless he somehow started a fire and even Then the truth is debatable

if YOU know how to cook it Please for the love of god teach him, or write down the recipe for both your sakes. for the kitchen. plea

everyone tells him/the both of you to shut the hell up whenever you start flirting back and forth/competing to see how many innuendos you can feasibly say. the both of you team up only to bully everyone else for being single before continuing

asshole if you played uno. i'm not competitive nor do i give two shits if i lose at uno but even i would lose it watching vere push for whatever stacking rule he needs to get someone a +20. watch your cards or he'll manage to look over at them. do not trust a single deal he tries. watch his ears and tail i'm sure he has a tell

really good at helping build confidence . what ais said about him being honest but also not trusting anything he says yeah well this is when he'd be completely honest. easily reminds you how capable you are of something, knows what makes you confident, etc etc. and you just ? know you can trust him? it's the vibe. how he says it so plainly as if it's obvious

don't try to lie to him about things. like if you're upset about something it is So obvious to him no matter how hard you try and he'd really appreciate it if you would tell him why or ask to talk about it later when you're ready.

^ as someone who wants to piss her pants at the thought of being direct or whatever,, he'd also be very good at knowing when to push or not. if you respond better to a lighter/gentle reminder i'm sure he would do so :heart:

i have a feeling this guy would be incredibly incredibly incredibly into you asking to post him on any socmed. do you want his face in it. do you want it to be a little spicy. should he pose. actually he probably pouts a little if you want a faceless pose but bro why does it matter if there is not a cm of space between us. why is your hand around my neck rn /lh You know the poses

[steviewashere]

The Sound of Silence

Rating: General CW: Internalized Ableism, Quick Mention of the 'R' Word (It's Not Written, Quite Literally as 'R' Word)Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute Steve Harrington, Negative Self Talk, Miscommunication, Mean Eddie Munson (For a Split Second It's Part of the Miscommunication and the Plot), Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Neurodivergent Steve Harrington (Implied), Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Sweetheart

I should say before this that a lot of Steve's thinking here, a lot of the metaphors and such used, are from personal experience. They are things I think about myself when I'm mute. So be civil and kind about this piece.

💛—————💛

Steve Harrington is a man of few words on most days. He does talk, he loves talking sometimes, has so many things to share. But on a lot of occasions, Steve can’t muster the strength to say hello. Can only make sounds, hums and gasps and subtle clicks. And often times, he hides away when he gets to that point. He’s been like this for as long as he can remember. Though, the first time it happened, he’s not sure what really caused it. Just that something was too much, or he was too little and then it all began. There had been therapists and specialists and urgent care doctors. A lot of conversations between him and his parents that often ended in him being yelled at. Something about him too far left of ‘normal’. And he knew, when the bad stuff came, that part of him may just be this way.

Now, years later, he can put some recognition to what silences him. Sometimes it’s the lack of comfortable sleep the night before. Or it’s the social energy completely drained out of him. Or it’s a particular jab that somebody makes. The raised voice that pushes him over the edge. A nightmare so harsh it rips him of not only the ability to mutter whole sentences, but also the ability to crawl out of bed.

He’s only clarified this with a select handful of people. The people in his life that were closest to him or that would understand. Robin was the second. Words written on a steno pad in the middle of the night, three days in a row where he hadn’t been sleeping properly, nightmares of a cold bunker and rough hands. Notes passed in quiet lulls, pencil scratches the only sound. She only looked at him with a sort of empathy he’s never been privy to. Her eyebrows scrunched in concentration as she focused solely on conversation in written text. He didn’t have to beg with her, which he thanked whatever god gave him her presence in the first place. Then, it was Nancy before their breakup. She could just tell. Her notes accommodated him. Space he took up was always welcoming. And her voice carried softly to his ears, gossip and pet names and gentle praise. Even if she broke his heart some time later, he would always remember her better than alcohol stained and too tipsy to make sense. Max was most recent. She, surprisingly, didn’t tease him for it. Didn’t make him feel bad. More sad than anything. Her voice was raspy in her hospital bed, “I’ll be your voice, Steve. You can be my eyes.” He could see the white, nearly iridescent glaze that permanently altered the blue color underneath. There were no words exchanged after that, but he placed his hand in hers and squeezed.

The others either didn’t notice or were too intimidating to tell. It’s not that they’re scary. But they can be harsh about certain things. And he just wasn’t ready. His voice, the absence of his words, have always been a soft, insecure, and vulnerable part to him. Laying out his cards face up on the table was too much.

But he probably should’ve considered Eddie to be one of those people that he can trust. Especially since Steve lets him move in, take up space in a spare bedroom, rummage through his cupboards. Maybe because they’re roommates. Maybe because they’re friends. Maybe because Steve wants more.

———— It was a bad night. An even worse day.

The images flashed under his eyelids every time he blinked. Blood and loose skin and wet muscles. Echoing screeches of those creatures that ruined his nearly blank torso. That sadness rippling from Dustin. His wobbling lip, wet eyes, the snotty nose, and strained yells for help. Steve’s stomach turns with every subtle movement of his body. Every single time he stretches, the scars moving with him. 

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have gone to work. Not when he woke up, throat scratchy and the seizing of his chest overwhelmingly intense with every sobbing gasp. Or when he realized, the energy somewhere else, that mustering words was the heaviest burden to bear. He shouldn’t have gone to work, where he gets yelled at for not communicating. For not counting out the change. For not selling the new movies. Where he’s called things he’s heard since he was a little boy, ‘Dumb’ and ‘Stupid’ and the infamous ‘R’ word.

He’s out of it by the time he’s able to sit down in the driver’s seat of the car. Part of him wants to bang the softest parts of his palms on the harsh, stiff leather of the steering wheel. Another piece of him wants to lean down into those same hands, pressed into the sockets of his eyes hard enough to speckle his sight with black spots, and cry until there’s nothing else to do but go home. There’s the encroaching need to scream, to hum behind his lips, wiggle his arms until they’re too tired to move, too heavy to lift, a worse burden than speaking. But he knows that it’s too open to break down in Family Video’s parking lot. So his drive home is ninety percent heaving breaths and squeezing the steering wheel to remind him he’s nearly back to his bed; his safety away from the world, somewhere where he can recharge, power through this, get back on track.

Though, he’s drained when he goes home. Exhausted. Beaten down to just a bag of meat and blood and bones. The Beemer is parked in the driveway. And he jiggles his keys in the door. And slips his shoes off, hangs up his jacket, places his wallet in the little dish in the foyer. Each step of shedding his work skin like tiptoeing on a bed of nails. Barely even makes it two steps before he’s bombarded by Eddie’s constant, erratic, and chaotic nature.

“Hey, Stevie!” he crows. “I made dinner while you were on your way back. It’s on the stovetop, covered it in foil so that it retains the heat. Oh, and I did the laundry, cleaned up our bathrooms a little bit. Made progress with the physical therapist on my bad leg and I—“

Steve sighs heavily through his nose, blinks sluggishly, and places his palm out to stop Eddie. He tries to say anything, something. But all he does is open his mouth, squeak in the back of his throat, promptly close back up, and sag. Shakes his head, sidesteps, and clambers to his bedroom.

Undressing himself like wrestling with bears. Climbing under his covers as if his comforter is a taut iron sheet. He can already sense it, the shift from charismatic Steve Harrington to odd Steve Harrington. Can’t even suppress the aching, sizzling pang that shoots through. Naked skin to his cold bedsheets. Blanket heavy. The darkness of his bedroom will coddle and consume him, he’s sure. 

Tomorrow is another day to try again. And maybe he’ll finally be able to explain himself.

But of course it’s not that simple. Of course his eyes are crusted over and burning like he spent the entire night crying. His whole body aches. And, unsurprisingly, there’s no way to conjure words from deep in his chest. Just whistled little breaths. Coming short and strained from his nose. He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Blearily, he wonders how Eddie’s doing. If the dinner from last night made it to the fridge. Wonders if the phone has rung at all, because he should be going to work.

He tries it. Tries speaking to the lonely, cold, inky blackness of his room. As if seeking for a light. The sounds strain and garble. Like his emotions are honey and he’s gargling. Choking on it. It hurts. He wonders if speaking should be like death, like a demobat tail wrapped around his tender skin, squeezing with razor blade spikes, tugging on him as stiff and thick ropes. Wonders if Eddie can hear him struggling.

Wonders if Eddie can sense him as a shadow in his own darkness, half of a man, barely a person. Thinks that there’s a million ways to explain himself, the words on paper as he did with Robin, or if Eddie will pick him up like dead star fragments and piece him back together as Nancy did, if he’ll just have to wait this out and whisper it in the fragile, sterile, fluorescent light of his childhood home—it’s a hospital in a way, maybe Eddie can perform the role of Max. Steve would offer his legs to take over for Eddie’s bad one, if he’ll be the boisterous noise that should be croaking from him any moment.

Futile, however much he wants it to work. Steve curls himself tighter in his blanket and goes back to sleep. 

Tomorrow will be another day. And he’ll be a full person again, tomorrow.

Some day, surely, he thinks on day three.

And the same on day four.

And when he can smell his skin like molded vegetables in the drawer of his fridge, only then does he stand on doe like legs, awkwardly ambling to the shower. He is twenty years old, mute as the day he was born—breathless and making noise if only to mark his presence; he thinks of himself as the stain on his bedspread, that is his presence, he’s sure. Twenty years old, moving like the toddler his mother was worried about. Crawling backwards. Unable to lift his head on his own for too long. He wonders a lot in the silence of his own existence. It doesn’t end now, in the shower with steam clearing his nasal passages. Ponders, Will I always be this way?

Surely.

The dirt swirls in invisible tornadoes down the drain. Those are his words. Still gone. Through the pipes and out to the sewer. He stands on the plush rug protecting the warm soles of his feet from the cold tile. An overly used towel, threadbare and rough, wrapped around his waist. He slips into pajamas easily enough. Hair sopping and wilted into his eyes.

Tentative creaks down the stairs. Shuffling if only to take up space. Frozen to his spot in the kitchen doorway. There, in the kitchen, shrouded in amber light with a warm mug of what appears to be hot chocolate, is Eddie. He looks up from the pale brown liquid in his cup. His eyes are richer than that of what he drinks. And Steve is startled by how sad, though ferociously angry they are.

“I know this is your house and you’re allowed to do whatever the fuck you want, but you can’t just be a piece of shit to me,” Eddie rasps. His voice is nearly hollow. Penetrated by shrapnel between his teeth. And Steve also wonders if that’s what he’ll sound like after this. This limbo he can’t control. “Seriously, Steve. I thought you were, like, changed or something. Thought you were supposed to be this good guy now. Not a douchebag, remember?”

‘Douchebag’ spits from him like acid. Steve is burning. He is sizzling. Can’t help the trembling in his hands. Or the subtle, missed by Eddie, flinch that forces him back a step.

He looks away from those molten eyes of Eddie’s. Towards the floor. At his bare feet. Going cold against the hardwood. Wants to throw it all up. The explanation. His thoughts. Every little other thing about him that’s always made him some sort of spectacle in his parent’s marriage. Am I the cold, he asks to nobody in particular, or am I the body drowning in it?

Eddie sniffles. Clears his throat. Sighs disappointingly.

Steve is five years old. His dad is sitting at the table. He is being scolded for not speaking up. Steve is eight years old, covered in mud and pink lines from being scuffed on the concrete. He is being scolded for not speaking up. Steve is eighteen years old, bloodied, beaten blue, sweaty, and soot on his new shoes. He is being scolded for not speaking up.

He is traumatized. And he is tired. And he can’t explain, no matter how much he wants.

“Maybe I should’ve expected this,” Eddie mutters, “being friends with Steve Harrington was always a sort of fantasy anyway, right? Who could like a freak?”

It’s not loud, though it disrupts the quiet Steve thought could never be broken again. He sobs. Wretched and screeching. The tears like a flash flood. His chest caving in. All the sounds escaping him, garbled and messy and drowning. He is drowning. He is different. He’s a freak. And Eddie must know, but not like Nancy does. Or he must have found something, the steno pad. Must’ve talked to Max, something.

He collapses into one of the dining chairs. A heaping mess of blood and skin and bones and meat. Just this. He is this with nothing to explain for it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, though blurry, he sees Eddie stand from his chair. Making some sort of aborted movement. And, without much thinking, Steve scrambles his hands forward, wrapping them tight on Eddie’s forearms, tugging him in too close. Forcing him to stumble into his knobby knees. Fingers still squeezing, fingernails biting into Eddie’s soft skin.

“Hey, whoa, whoa,” Eddie’s whispering, “Stevie, hey.” He crouches down, arms encased in Steve’s terrible hold. It’s almost hard to picture, the space and positions between them. Eddie’s wobbling on his own feet, probably sore and aching on his bad leg. Though, there’s a palm warm on Steve’s cheek. Wiping away at the tears. Trying to, at least; more keep streaming. Fingers carefully scooting into his hairline. Massaging on his scalp, pruning with the cold water in his hair. “Steve,” he murmurs, “hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry. That was—I’m sorry, Steve. I really am. That wasn’t okay.”

He doesn’t know what comes from him next to cause Eddie’s eyes to widen in both surprise and horror, but it must be something awful. A scream. Loud and piercing and high pitched. Shooting from him like a bullet, shattering everything between them. Shrapnel from between his teeth.

Eddie frees from Steve’s grasp, wrapping his arms around his shaking back, bringing him in gently. Rocking him from side to side until he’s only whimpering. Petting down Steve’s hiccuping back. “You’ll be okay,” he whispers against Steve’s ear. “I was being mean. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

Eventually, he pulls back some. Putting a small amount of space between their bodies. Steve is shaking from it all. Unable to do much. Eddie soothes a hand down his left arm. “Tell me what’s going on? How come you’ve been pulling away?”

Steve shakes his head. Placing a tired and limp hand on his throat.

“You lose your voice? Are you sick?” Again, Steve shakes his head. And Eddie goes quiet for a few slow moments. Until, a lightbulb seems to shine bright and shatter over his hair, amber light still causing him to glow, despite it all. He scrambles up off the floor. Squeezes Steve’s shoulders. Lightly says, “Stay here, okay? I’m gonna go find a pen and some paper. Be right back.”

When he’s back at Steve’s chair, the both of them significantly calmer, a brand new steno pad is in his hands. He hands it off with a chewed up ballpoint pen. “Tell me by writing it down.”

And so Steve does. Gives it back. Lets Eddie read his chicken scratch scrawl.

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ is the first thing. Followed by, ‘I’ve been like this since I was a little kid. When things get bad or I just don’t have the energy, it’s like my body forgets how to talk.’

“Oh,” Eddie whispers. He blinks at the paper and looks up to Steve. A sad little smile flashes on his face. “Okay, Steve. I—I think I get it. Kind of like when my day gets really busy and then when I go home, I just shut myself in my room and listen to music until I fall asleep. Kinda like that?”

Steve shrugs and reaches for the paper again. Writing, ‘Sort of. But it’s for a long time. Like…You know now. Sometimes I don’t talk for weeks. Sometimes it’s a few hours. But I get like this a lot.’ When he’s finished and Eddie goes to speak again, Steve immediately writes some more. Eddie’s mouth shuts with the soft click of his teeth.

‘Am I really a freak?’ Is what Eddie reads next.

His head shoots up from the paper. Eyes impossibly wider than they’ve ever been. Startled and desperate and unbearably sad. “No,” he murmurs quickly. “No, Steve, you’re not a freak. What makes you think that?”

The pad trembles in Steve’s grasp. He doesn’t want to write it, wouldn’t even want to speak it. But still, he sketches, ’You asked me, “Who could like a freak?”’ He tilts his head at his own words. Ducks back in, his hands shaking too much and his eyes moist. ‘It’s okay if you think so. I’m kind of used to it.’

Eddie snatches the paper from Steve’s offered grip. He swallows heavily and locks eyes with him, they’re still so sad. He wonders if that’s what Eddie’s seeing, too. “Stevie, no,” he whispers. “No, I was talking about myself. I thought you were mad at me. Thought you didn’t like me. I don’t think of you that way.”

Steve nods, sagging with relief. And with it a few tears spring loose from his eyes. A hand softly cups his jaw, thumbing at his fat hot tears. He closes his eyes and sighs. “Not mad,” he forces, his voice like raw, out of the box grits. It hurts, but he swallows. “You are my friend,” he musters before falling silent again.

A soft, sad hum emanates from Eddie. His hand tenses on Steve’s skin, but it holds to him gently, like he never wants to let go. “You’re mine, too, you know that? I’m genuinely sorry for what I said,” Eddie says. The apology sweet and drenching. “That wasn’t okay of me. I’m sorry.”

There’s no words Steve can press from within him. He lays his hand over Eddie’s and squeezes. Eyes now open and darting between Eddie’s own. He pushes their joined hands further into his cheek, sighing with it. Boneless in his chair.

“Okay,” Eddie mutters, “I understand, sweetheart. I get you now.” His thumb soothes more. Petting—caressing Steve in a way that makes his stomach flutter. “We’ll get you through this,” he promises, “I won’t go anywhere.”

💛—————💛

[neverwalka1one]

Magnus Archives 29 - Something something skeleton key

Yes I didn't do one for 28, last week was a series of unutterable stupid and mostly my reaction was YELLING, so.

CELIA? Come get your boy. Before he drowns.

Unironically unimpressed by the phone in the puddle not dying because it's in a puddle, good job spyphone.

Nooooooooo not the breakroom I caaaaaan't fine I'm getting the transcripts.

... His excuse for going outside was to see the car? But he's not a car guy that I remember? Like? Am I forgetting something here? MP (who is still Trevor I just CANNOT) drives a fancy car and... yes?

How is Sam so sure this [Error]/Archivist is the same as Gwen's [Error]/Archivist? No one else from the office has seen one - Alice has heard a story about one, and Gwen saw one, but not Celia and Sam. Again, did I miss something, or?

Celia being the calm rational one is a) weird and b) not on my bingo card.

Also she's right, this is a crap idea.

Heeee kinda love Chester popping up out of no-where with a story. Chester's just like HEY! Want a story about betrayal? No? TOO BAD.

T e x t o b s c u r e d b y b l o o d s t a i n

Pack a bag for somewhere cold. Definitely not an ominous statement in this particular fandom.

Odemknout své srdce - unlock your heart. Written the day of the anniversary/day of the drowning. Who wrote this?

Then a whole year and change goes by with nothing. What happened during that year? Because her next comment is about being alone on Christmas, but she was alone the previous Christmas and wrote nothing, so why write something this year?

Is it because the previous Christmas was normal and 2020 was in the middle of a pandemic? Did this 'verse have a pandemic? What happened??

So a year and a third later and she's writing out this whole thing in detail. Sus.

He's gonna get a new lock 'come hell or high water'. I mean, be careful what you wish for.

Skeleton key skeleton key skeleton key

So she wrote what was on the lock? In her travel diary right after ALL THIS happens? Whut.

WHAT is with all these people putting things inside......... you know, no, I'm not going to finish that question, but I just want to say that key is not any more sanitary than the coral and UGH IT'S MORE PLANT PEOPLE.

Teddy and Alice are online buddies.

Teddy a) definitely doesn't have a job and b) is 100% going to die. Maybe be a plant person, idk, seems to be going around.

Saw something in another post that pointed out that from where Alice would have been standing, the [Error]/Archivist would need to be either in the conductor's booth or on top of the train. I don't know which mental image I love more.

Also was the skeleton doctor from last week what happens when you shove a skeleton key inside you just asking for my mental health a friend.

[mysaldate]

Vil's agency and my worries for the upcoming event

Alright, time for another analysis, once again centered on Vil. Disclaimer to start with because people love to take what I said out of context: This post will have my worries about the upcoming Halloween event (Playfulland) which comes out in two days. It is entirely possible that I am wrong about what I'm going to say here but as I will hopefully explain in this post, there is a disturbing pattern regarding Vil and his agency as a character going on in the game which makes me worried this event will fall into the same routine. I am not claiming this event will absolutely 100% do what I outline here and I am not saying the event is bad before it even came out.

Side note before we delve into this, I already do not like this event visually, I find the style tacky and cheap and all over the place. However, I recognize some people enjoy it. This post is not about that, I will not be trying to make you dislike the event, and I expect the same respect back. Now, onto the analysis.

When seeing the previews and plot synopsis for the new event, something felt off to me, uncomfortably so. As some of you may already know, I am fairly sensitive to loss of agency in canon, especially for characters I relate to, because it reminds me of my own history of abuse. "Turning the characters into puppets" seems like a premise ripe with loss of agency and the wording of the synopsis as well as the promo video did little to elevate these concerns. Specifically when it came to Vil.

Now, I probably don't have to explain why the idea of Vil getting indulgent and forgetting about the real world and ending up a puppet of his desires goes against his entire character. Then again, the event isn't out yet so I can't tell for sure if that is what's going to happen. The synopsis seems to hint at it and given twst's past events, the ones to snap out of it will most likely be the SSRs or, at most, the story sr, which is Floyd. Then I began to think back on other events and cards Vil has and I came to a very disturbing realization: Vil gets punished for showing agency and rewarded for not having any. Allow me to elaborate.

In many of the stories Vil shows up in, we see a strange push to punish Vil for being active and taking charge of events or we see Vil being passive and reactive and getting rewarded for that. In the Sunset Savannah event, Vil doesn't want to go originally but is convinced and dragged along by Leona. He doesn't join the event because he wants to but because he's bribed to. During the event, he shows more agency and begins to be more active – which then results in him getting his ankle twisted. This isn't a one-off situation either. In Beans Day, Vil is very active and shows off his leadership skills as well as his amazing planning and prediction abilities. How does this pay off? Rook shows up out of nowhere and captures him, putting him out of the game. Once again, Vil had agency and then got punished for it. During Vargas Camp, Vil is once again on top of things. He is a leader, he is a wonderful outdoorsman, and he shows lots of agency. How does the game treat this? He is forced to forfeit his agency for weeks to Azul because we are meant to believe Vil and Trey – two of the most competent mages at NRC – would not be able to get by without Azul's help. Azul is the R in this event.

But it's not event SRs either. I have already talked about Vil's labcoat story previously but looking at it from the perspective of Vil's agency reveals something I didn't realize at first. By the time the game came out, Vil's foundation of the Film Research club was one of his biggest acts of agency we were directly confronted with. In Vil's labcoat story, he exercises further agency by going out of his way to prepare for an important shooting. How does the game treat this? He is gaslit and made to feel insecure by Rook to the point where he begins to skip meals. And how does he get out of this state? Does he do an introspection and realize Rook was just trying to manipulate and control him? Does he ask someone for a second opinion? No. He is approached by Trey who then convinces him to eat cake with him. Vil is not only punished for showing agency but also rewarded for giving his agency up and just doing what people tell him to.

Well, maybe that's just his SRs though. Surely in his SSRs where he is meant to be the main star, this isn't the case, right? Well... His dorm uniform story is about a magazine wanting an interview with him. Right off the bat, Vil is the reactive element here. Vil then puts together new schedules and begins to get his dorm in an even better shape – which gets him complaints and grumbles from everyone. He is punished for showing agency even though it is to the other students' benefit. Vil doesn't let up and exercises further agency by adjusting the meal and exercise plans to be personalized – and he gets Rook telling him that nobody cares anyway and he is just wasting his time. Yes, the dorm members quietly change their opinion of Vil but they never tell him. The only feedback Vil has is from Rook who is, once again, punishing him for having agency.

Vil's Scalding Sands SSR card doesn't have a story but that doesn't stop it from taking away any agency Vil might've had. Not only did he not actually visit Scalding Sands, he wasn't even the one to obtain the outfit. Rather, Trey brought it to him as a gift because Kalim's parents just gave it away. Mind you, this note was completely unnecessary. The only purpose it serves for Vil is making sure he doesn't have any agency at all after already taking away what could've been an interesting story.

And then we get to Halloween. The first Halloween event was a huge breath of fresh air for Vil. He is very active and shows tons of agency. Vil is part of the Halloween committee, he oversees costume themes and makeup, he is one of the key pieces of the plan to scare away the Magicamonsters, he shows more agency than he did in the rest of the stories altogether. What is the outcome of all this? Well, he is promptly kidnapped the following night, possessed by a ghost, and made to act shamefully in front of his friends. Wow. Complete mind-control and erasure of any hint of agency specifically for the reason of him having agency in the first event.

But I hear you, all of these are just events or cards, someone else might be writing them. There's no way this is how he's meant to be seen in the main story, right? Well... Not exactly. And to make one thing clear, I am not caught up on every single tweet Yana Toboso makes. I know people have been saying for months now that Vil is Yana's favorite character but I have yet to see any proof of the claim. It started around the time Vil's Scalding Sands SSR dropped and most of it back then read as jealousy. Whether or not that was the case, I cannot tell. If this is the treatment Vil gets as a favorite character, I just hope Yana never takes a liking to me (this is a joke).

The first time we really meet and interact with Vil in the main story in any sort of meaningful way and without him just being lumped up with the rest of the dorm leaders is in Book 2, and he is quickly ridiculed and mocked for showing agency in caring how he will look during the Magift tournament. And yes, I know the novel made tweaks to this set of scenes, the novel isn't canon to the game and it showed so on multiple occasions. So right off the bat, not a great start for Vil's agency as a character.

We barely see him after that up until Book 5. Now, I have a whole post about the meaning of Vil's overblot that you can read here but this time, I want to focus on something else about this chapter. This chapter is a masterclass on how to punish a character for showing agency. Vil is painted as unreasonable and over the top from the start, be it in providing legitimate criticism to the VDC tryouts or in getting upset at his agent for violating his boundaries and signing him up for roles he explicitly doesn't want to play. Both of these are treated by the story as flaws and issues when neither of them really is. Vil being strict with the other VDC group members is for their good as well as his own. And Vil setting up boundaries over which roles he is and isn't willing to take stems from his history of being typecasted and dehumanized for his casting (I go deeper into this in the other Vil analysis post). Both of these are healthy displays of agency, yet the main story frames them in a way that makes Vil seem unreasonable for doing these things.

Vil's agency brings him a temporary reward but that is immediately taken away when during the preliminary tryout performances, he is overtaken by an objectively mediocre performance. All his hard work, all his agency, is immediately thrown out the window for the sole purpose of making him feel miserable. Once again, he is punished for exercising his agency. What he does next and his overblot are exceptions to this as Vil used his agency to do something objectively bad and the resulting overblot is more of a natural consequence than a punishment (albeit I have my gripes with how the overblot was handled as well). The final nail in the coffin in book 5 came after the overblot when Vil, once more, exercised his agency to push through his pain and still perform. Not only was he punished for his efforts by losing the competition but he was then further berated for the overblot yet again (as well as being gaslit once again by Rook, this is nothing new).

I've heard some people say that Book 6 is good in this regard, that it gives characters agency and character development. I disagree with this claim. Vil, together with the other overblotees, is kidnapped and locked up, then used as test subjects. This is about as far removed from them having agency as can be, except perhaps the ghost possession plot earlier. There is some vague talk about having to sign a consent slip but 1) this is already ridiculous after having abducted them with the use of excessive force, and 2) we are never given any reason to believe signing was their choice and not something forced out of them. They are then experimented on and that's a whole mess that removes any and all agency from everyone present. The issue with Vil specifically is that in Vil's case, this has been a pattern for a while at this point. And then we get to the Shroud brothers overblotting... Saving the world because you would be one of the people dying if it ended is not agency and it is not character development. I know the chapter tried to give Vil and everyone else a "reason" to stop the overblot but that doesn't erase the fact that if they didn't, they would die. This isn't agency, this is having a sense of self-preservation. Even if some other version of them would get to live happily and get everything they ever wanted handed to them on a silver platter, it would not be them, and they would still be either dead or erased from existence altogether (this is a side note but how exactly would resetting the universe even work? Nothing else anywhere in the franchise suggests this is even an actual possibility. Even Malleus, one of the top five mages in the world could only lock away one island by using so much magic he overblotted. Book 6's plot breaks the worldbuilding in so many ways- but that's a tangent for another time).

The one and only moment of Vil having agency in book 6 comes when he jumps in to save Idia's life. And while Idia, who has been under the influence of Tartaros for way longer and spent so much more time in it, is perfectly fine, Vil gets "aged up" a hundred years. This is not only bad writing which makes no sense but also a tremendous punishment for Vil as someone who relies on his looks for several of his jobs as well as being someone who puts so much effort into his appearance. Of course, that is not even mentioning that the supposedly older version of him looks nothing at all like Vil, has a completely different body type and face structure, and is a nod to magical transformation and not aging. Vil showcased his agency and immediately got punished for it in the most horrendous way for the character. How does Vil get out of this situation? Does he utilize his vast knowledge of potions and magic to revert himself back? Does he figure out a way to curse himself to turn back to normal? Does he seek council with a powerful or knowledgable mage, perhaps a teacher? No. He cries at the beach and doesn't do anything and then Malleus comes around, snaps his fingers, and returns everything back. Vil is not only punished for showing agency, but he is once again actively rewarded for not having any.

So, why do I believe this event will involve loss of agency for at least some of the characters? Because Vil is involved and twst has made it a pattern to rid Vil of agency. Why am I worried about this event? Because every time Vil becomes active, he gets a slap in the face for his efforts and sometimes is even rewarded for just sitting there and looking pretty. This is not what I want from a character like Vil, or from any character really. At this point, Cinderella and Snow White from the original Disney movies had better agency than Vil because when they showed agency and took active hold of their parts in the story, they were adequately rewarded, not slapped in the face for it.

Now, I am sure this leaves you with some questions, so I will try to answer those I could come up with myself here. Why do I only mention Vil when other overblotees lost their agency in book 6 and had their agency treated as wrong in their books? Because none of them were quite like Vil. None of them got punished in a twist of bad writing for saving someone's life. And their negative agency was things that were actively harmful to others such as Riddle being an unreasonable tyrant kicking people out to sleep outside, Leona trying to murder people, Azul enslaving others, etc. Vil's negative agency throughout the chapter was setting boundaries for himself and expecting people to work for the money they hoped to win.

Why am I not talking about the other characters who got possessed? Because, for the most part, it was a once-and-done deal. Yes, some of them are now showing up in Playfulland (Cater, Jade, etc.) but these characters don't have a pattern of having their agency taken away or punished at nearly every opportunity.

Why do I harp on Rook so much? Because he's the textbook definition of a gaslighter, he constantly puts Vil down, he's often used as a tool to punish Vil's agency, he actively tries to isolate Vil from other people and make him doubt his own perception, and because he thinks it is his place and his place only to judge and punish Vil for whatever he deems incorrect. And just in case I need to stress this, which I shouldn't, I am an abuse victim. I went through literal decades of gaslighting paired with other types of mental and physical abuse. Rook's wording, actions, and general patterns of behavior, are all things that hit so close to what I experienced that he used to be a legitimate trigger for me, and still makes me incredibly uncomfortable. This is, of course, not to say you cannot like the character. But denying what he does and mocking abuse victims for speaking out about their experiences isn't the same as enjoying a problematic character. The way Rook is brings active harm both to Vil as a person and to his agency, which is to be expected of a character like this.

I would like to close this up by saying that I am aware these may be conscious choices to showcase how resilient Vil can be, how he never gives up in the face of adversity, and how he perseveres in spite of all these horrific things happening to him. But at some point, it gets tiring to see your comfort character get beaten down on every turn. It gets depressing to see him never succeeding and always getting hurt or abused for just being active and taking charge of his own life. There are ways to show resilience that don't involve punishing every time a character shows agency. There is also no reason to punish that but then reward loss of agency. When Vil gives up and stops trying, that should not be the moment things start going well. Malleus shouldn't have to swoop in and magically restore Vil's youth when Vil just passively accepted that he is just going to look like this now and, if the accident truly aged him and didn't just transform his body (which would make a lot more sense), possibly die within the next few weeks or months.

Ultimately, I do not like how twst treats Vil. I hope to see this improve but I wouldn't count on it. It's not so bad that I want to leave the game over it but it is a part of what worries me about the stories to come, especially with the new event and book 7 and what they probably have in store. For now, I will remain cautiously optimistic and hope it at the very least won't be as bad as book 6.

If you've read this far, thank you so much, I appreciate you, feel free to let me know your thoughts, preferably in a polite and civilized manner. I'm down to discuss many parts of this but there are also a few that I don't see myself budging on (such as gaslighter Rook). For the most part tho, I am always happy to talk to people about my analyses and takes on things pertaining to my fandoms. Thank you again for your attention and I'll see you next time something gives me this much of a brainrot.

[plscallmeeren]

C A U S E F O R A H O W L E R

Hermione Jean Granger x Reader

Request: yes @JulzLovDraco4Eva

Summary: you've been friends with the trio since first year (You, being Draco's twin sister, sorted into Gryffindor...... ouch) and obvs ur parents don't approve. You've been hiding the fact that you've been dating Hermione for two years now. It's the day before battling Voldemort lol

Warnings: Swearing; allusions to sex; family disowns child

Word Count: 1.9K+

You stared at Draco, groaning when he wouldn't back down. "Oh, come on!"

"Father said I should keep an eye on you, so I will."

"Well, since you like taking his words literally so much - he said an eye. Not both, at all times, relentlessly and to the point of murder with motive."

"You're so dramatic," he scoffed, crossing his legs formerly on the bench opposite you. Beside him, Blaise snickered, nibbling absently on his jacket potato.

"Priss," you spat back. "Don't know why father thinks your 'keeping an eye on me' will do any good, anyway..."

"I don't know, to protect you?" he deadpanned, as if this were blatantly obvious.

"You're a pussy, Draco. And I'm three times as good as you at Charms and DADA."

"That, my dear friend, is definitely true," Blaise added helpfully, smiling at Draco as he glared.

"Okay, well, on that note, I'm off," you announced, standing up briskly.

"Well, I suppose that means I'm off, too," your twin replied, trying to stuff as many beans down his throat as possible before he had to go.

"Don't be stupid. You're not finished, and I need to go to the bathroom, anyway."

"Yeah, but-"

"What are you gonna do? Guard the door? Or are you going to join me? We can go to the haunted one, if you want. I know Myrtle loves you-"

"Fine! Okay! I'll meet you at the courtyard after, alright?" he retracted quickly, throwing up his hands.

You only grinned, taking even prouder strides when you heard him mutter 'I'm never finding her again, am I?' to Blaise.

Walking the corridors, you could feel your shoulders sagging, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your robe. It had been a long week. A long month. Maybe a long year. You felt like crashing into bed, Hermione in your arms, doing nothing for days and only really getting up to cook something for her.

You could picture it perfectly: A bed the size of a small room, the two of you surrounded by books that you'd read to each other as the record player lazily hums 'San Tropez' by Pink Floyd. A week spent fucking, eating home-cooked, Mediterranean food, reading, talking, fucking again.

But that was a dream for another life. Maybe there was still hope for it sometime else - a time far removed from war, from exams, from your goddamn father.

"Password?" the fat lady asked coldly.

"Flobberworm," you murmured, stepping through the round door immediately after she swung open.

"There you are!" Harry's voice surprised you inside. "We were wondering whether you had relocated to the dungeons for good now, given Malfoy's insistence on-"

"Oh, shut up," Ron interrupted, slapping his shoulder. "She's tryna get away from him, not meet his fan club."

"Right. Glad to have you back."

"I've missed you," Hermione said sweetly, throwing a leg over your own as soon as you sat down.

"Get a room," Ron complained, grimacing. He had dealt a deck of Exploding Snap and was looking very unhappy about his own cards.

"And here I was thinking you'd turned over a new leaf of empathy," you sighed, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulders.

"Yeah, right. Ever since Hermione called me a teaspoon, I thought I'd give up."

"Room for improvement is no reason to forgo emotion entirely. In fact, I'd argue the fact that it bothers you shows that you already have."

He scowled, making a ridiculously bad move to top things off. Harry grinned, giving you a thumbs up.

"Hey, you okay?" your girlfriend asked after a moment, in which your sprightly face must have slacked. "You look a bit... worse for wear."

"I'm fine. Just tired of my bodyguard, that's all. Pretty sure he has less muscle mass than me, though, so I should probably come up with a new title."

"'Tis true," she agreed. "But still... you wanna go for a walk? Just the two of us? We can steal Harry's cloak until we're out of your brother's way?"

"You can what?" Harry piped up, failing glaring at you because of how miserable he was making Ron.

"Well, can't we?" Hermione asked testily, looking unimpressed.

"Of course, I just wish you'd ask first."

"Well, here I am, asking."

"Yes, you're welcome to take the sole material inheritance I have received from my father, also my insurance for survival should one Dark Lord choose to search for me this fine afternoon-"

"In that case," Hermione smiled, "I'll be glad to take it off your hands." The two friends stared at each other momentarily before she took your hand, dragging you up to the boys' dormitories.

Twenty minutes later you were walking by the lake, feet dangerously close to the dark water.

"So, what is it?"

"What's what?"

"Whatever is ruining your mood."

"Oh, so you're saying I'm not delightful? Uncalled for, that is."

"Oh, come on, just tell me," she said impatiently, glaring at you.

You smiled, swinging your arms restlessly. "Well, as I said, I'm not too chuffed my brother is following me around everywhere, making me live in fear."

Hermione only stared at you, unimpressed, waiting.

"Yeah, I guess I just feel guilty still, in a weird way. Not that there's anything remotely wrong with dating you, it's just... it's our two-year anniversary and all I could think about while planning was how to celebrate incognito. It's kinda... tiring, I suppose." You looked back at her, chewing on your tongue. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

"No, I understand. And there's nothing to feel guilty about. If my family were so district, if they would disown me if I told them who I loved, I know I would... well, I don't know what I'd do, but I know it would be hard to handle." She smiled at you, the kind that made the skin around her eyes crinkle and her freckles catch a different ray of sunlight. "Let's just make today special."

"I wholeheartedly agree," you said firmly, placing a hand on her waist and stopping her. "Which is why I'd like to give you this."

You pulled out a small, indeterminate box with a ribbon around it. The size and shape didn't hint at what was within, so that you could watch as Hermione's brow furrowed, clever eyes searching for clues.

"Can I open it?" she asked timidly, quickly untying the ribbon when you nodded. Inside lay a multitude of things: A necklace with 'Hermione' spelt in Japanese characters (へみおね), a small line drawing you had created of the two of you, and a folded list of book recommendations, each addressed to a certain aspect of her. (For example, to her expression when she is in 'survival mode': The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. To her fast-paced wit and love of puzzles: The Collected Stories of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.)

"(Y/n), I-"

Before she could thank you, you slid off one of your rings from your index finger, one that you wore every day, placing it on her middle finger instead. She stared at it, as if it were a legendary artifact that might still surprise her.

Hermione looked around then, but there was no one. No one to stop her kissing you like her life depended on it.

"Hermione," you murmured, detaching herself from her mouth, ignoring the surprising turn, "you sure you wanna do this here..."

"Thank you," she whispered instead, slinging herself against you. "Thank you so, so, so much."

"I'm glad you like it, darling," you managed between kisses, lips colliding in waves. Your other hand leaped to her waist, holding her impossibly close to your body. Hers travelled the muscles of your back, reaching for the plane of your nape where her fingers surpassed your hairline.

"'Mione," you groaned, hardly gaining her attention.

"Dorm?" she managed.

"Yeah," you panted, reluctantly breaking away.

"Right."

The way up to and through the castle under the cloak was hard, even while walking past your brother. Hermione kept whispering 'thank you's and 'you're perfect's and kissing you, anywhere, everywhere, and it took a ridiculous amount of willpower not to rail her next to the Hogswatch team.

Your shared dorm was mercifully empty, and the cloak was quickly discarded. You pulled her down onto the bed by her hips, groaning as she grinded against your lap, face connected to yours.

She slipped off her jacket with the box inside the front pocket, followed by her jumper, the heat within you now deafening.

"Are you sure?" she asked, pained to have jeopardized the mood. "I know we haven't done anything since your brother's been following you around and I understand if you're worried he'll find out somehow-"

"I'm sure. I have you, don't I?"

Hermione's lips were on yours again, hungry, insatiable, moaning your name-

A sharp cry emanated from the door, some sort of terrified surprise.

You jumped up, one hand still on your girlfriend's thigh, but Draco was already leaving, running away - his job was done, and it had not been to protect. You loved your brother, but you knew just as well that he would do anything to feel more secure in his own home.

You knew that that home would no longer be yours.

"I can see him in the Owlery right now, trying to understand how this could've happened under his watch," You laughed dryly, staring at the open door. Hermione stepped before you, closing it.

"I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

And yet, mere hours later your father's owl arrived - a grey one, shivers of green down the spines of his feathers. The letter was easy to remove from his leg and you knew before opening it that it would be loud. Hermione cast a silencing charm on the room wordlessly, because even she knew.

And the letter lived up to its namesake, a howling cacophony of your father's disappointment. It tore itself apart with the knowledge that it had forbidden you from returning to your childhood home. You did not move to clean the remnants away. You didn't dare look at Hermione, who you could picture with a hand over her mouth and a look of pity in her eyes that made you want to disappear completely.

"You have me," Hermione said eventually, meekly, as if she wasn't sure how much that was worth. "You can stay with me and my family. You know you'll never be alone. I mean, if you want to. I know so far I've already been cause for a howler."

"Yeah," you whispered. You didn't know whether you could manage more in that moment.

"Yes?" she asked, seeking confirmation, but you didn't miss the hint of betrayal in her voice.

"Yeah, that would be great," you stuttered, trying to sound sure of yourself. "Merlyn knows I'll need a new bodyguard with less muscle than me."

She smiled, even though it was watery, and gently leaned in for another kiss.

You knew you had chosen right. You knew this might someday lead to heaven on earth. You knew Hermione was forever for you.