#so I have no idea if jokes like this are common ^^;

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

What's My Name? - R.B.

Bully!Regulus Black x fem!reader

summary: you’ve befriended the emeralds and few other Slytherin’s. Regulus is drawn to you like a magnet, but knows you have no business associating with them or their families, so he tries to scare you off. It backfires spectacularly.

cw: MDNI 18+ Regulus tries to white fang you. degradation, bullying, toxic relationships and friend groups, future death-eaters, trauma, Black Family Angst, choking, dry-humping, p in v sex

an: Ik everyone has a different marauders!era slytherin group, so here’s a quick breakdown of my personal headcanon:

Inner circle: Regulus Black, Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch Jr., Pandora, and Dorcas Meadowes (the emeralds)

Outer circle: Severus Snape, Avery, Mulciber, Emma Vanity, Charity Burbage, Aurora Sinistra, and Wilkes.

Circle-adjacent: Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, and the Marauders

There is also the much darker group with Rabastan Lestrange, Thorfinn Rowle, and the Carrow’s, who actively prey on some of the others for Voldemort’s Cause.

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No matter how hard Regulus tried, you refused to leave his orbit. You had no business affiliating with him and his friends, and had no idea what that affiliation truly meant. It meant darkness. It meant bloodshed. It met imminent and very real danger. A war was brewing right under your nose.

Regulus had been born and bred for this, as had most of his friends, but you…you were an innocent. Intelligent, witty, trusting. As much as he tried not to care, he couldn’t stand to watch your light be snuffed out for simply existing around them: metaphorically or literally.

But no matter how many times Regulus tried to run you off, spare you from what came next, you would not heed. In fact, you seemed to take his animosity as a challenge, leaving him in the predicament of being your unwitting adversary.

You were in the Slytherin common room now, curled up by the fireplace with Pandora, Evan, Barty and a few others, doing more gossiping than studying despite the piles of books and parchment on the floor around you. The greenish light of the lake contrasted with the glow of the fire against your face, creating an otherworldly halo around you.

You hair was pulled back, revealing the slender curve of your neck, the dip in your v-neck sweater where a silver pendant rested against your clavicle.

You laughed at whatever terrible joke Barty made and Regulus rolled his eyes, turning back to the spell book in his lap. He was studying alone, having told Evan a number of times to fuck off and let him work on his assignments in peace.

“Regulus!” Emma called suddenly, and he cringed, pretending he didn't hear his Quidditch captain. “Reg!” She called again.

He closed his eyes, willing them all to disappear.

“Regulus fucking Black!” She hollered, loud enough for the whole common room to fall silent.

He clapped his book shut and stalked over to where you all were sitting, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other clamped on his book.

“Yes?” He droned, leaning against the arm chair Emma was sitting in.

“Can you help me with this?” Emma asked, holding up her Defense Against the Dark Arts homework.

Annoyance prickled along his skin. “What good is a genius pet if she doesn't help with your work?” He asked, leveling you with his coldest stare.

You tilted your head, eyes flicking from his black, curly hair to his leather shoes, and didn't respond.

“She said she wouldn't help me,” Lucinda pouted.

“I said I wouldn't do it for you,” you corrected.

“Barty, then?”

“No can do, Reg,” Barty responded, coughing up a lungful of pungent smoke, waggling a joint in Regulus’ direction.

Emma waved the smoke from her face. “Will you help, Reg? I have to get a good grade in the class or I could lose my spot on the team. And you know these lot are useless at spells.”

He sighed and took the assignment from her hands, flipping through the pages. It was rudimentary work, things she really should know in order to defend herself.

“Can't help you,” Regulus said, handing it back to her. “If you can't do this, maybe you should be demoted.”

The group ooooh’d at his dig.

“Reg!” Emma whined.

“Ignore him, Em. Not everyone takes to dark magic as easily as the ancient and most bitchy house of Black,” you quipped, narrowing your eyes at him.

Regulus resisted the urge to clench his jaw, feigning the nonchalance you wore like a second skin. The group swiveled to look at him.

“All magic, really. But thank you, darling,” he purred, winking at you.

“You should have seen Sirius in advanced Transfiguration last semester, he's a natural. Truly a gifted wizard,” you continued.

“Hot as fuck, too,” Evan added, just to dig the knife in a little deeper.

Regulus’ blood began to simmer, his temperature rising beneath his dark robes. He tsked under his breath, shaking his head. “I thought you'd be smart enough to not fall for his clown act.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Evidently not.”

“I wouldn't touch a Black with a twenty foot pole,” you replied, leaning back on your hands, stretching your long legs out in front of you, your skirt sitting high on your thighs.

“Who said anything about a pole?” Regulus replied, mimicking your condescending head tilt.

The group snickered, watching your verbal sparring like it was a duel.

“You sound a bit jealous, Reggie. Need a little attention?”

Reggie. His mask nearly slipped, he was so caught off guard by the nickname on your sharp tongue. “May as well, since you give it out so freely.” He glanced down at your shapely legs, punctuating his point.

Your head fell back as you laughed, your chest pressing up and tits bouncing, and he felt an irritating kick in his trouser as the heat of his anger took a new, sinful shape.

“It's the 70’s, love. Are you still so prudish?” You lifted your head, pining him with eyes fierce enough to cleave him in half.

He smirked. “Far from it. Just selective.”

“Don't see much of a selection to chose from,” you chuckled, earning another spike of laughter from the group. “What I see is a spoiled youngest son with nothing better to do than needle the people around him to fill the hole in his chest.” You got to your feet, shouldering your bag.

Regulus felt like he'd been punched clean through the sternum, your words never failing to cut to the quik.

“Spoken by a girl with nothing better to do than fish for a rich husband that might save her from her home in the gutter. Trust me, nothing can fill the hole of inadequacy, y/l/n.”

You stepped over Evan and Barty's tangled limbs and left without another word, leaving Regulus’ cruelty to echo off the glass and stone, the group silent.

Regulus turned on his heel and disappeared into the boys dormitory, guilt dogging every step.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The Quidditch match was in full swing, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the score was neck and neck. It was up to Regulus and the Gryffindor Seeker now, since neither team could get a leg up through the rings.

You sat in the stands sipping hot chocolate with Marlene, Pandora, and Dorcas, Barty pouting to your left because he couldn't sit with Evan in the Slytherin stands.

Regulus hovered a few meters away, his eyes trained upwards, catching every falling leaf and ripple of air around him. You hated how handsome he looked in his Quidditch robes, his lean body relaxed on the broom despite the stakes.

That was Regulus, un-fucking-shakeable. And it drove you insane that you could never get a rise out of him, but he managed to needle one out of you time and time again.

He was as relentless as a northern wind, and you couldn't help but be swept away.

His dark curls framed his angular face, those perpetually sleepy eyes the most arresting green. Sure, everyone thought Sirius was hot, but Regulus was beautiful, ethereal almost, and he wrapped around your mind like a constrictor.

You watched as the other Seeker suddenly took off above the Hufflepuff stands, in pursuit of something, and the Gryffindor stands cheered. But Regulus remained motionless, watching his opponent like a cat trailing a mouse. Even as Slytherin urged him to take up the chase, he remained unmoved, bidding his time.

His bottomless patience would be awe-inspiring if it wasn't so damn frustrating.

You wouldn't have an issue with Regulus, maybe even could have been friends with him, if he hadn't taken issue with you first. You had no idea what his fucking problem was, whether it was because your family was poor, you had better grades than him, or what. He loathed you from the moment you showed up in the Slytherin common room, and you've yet to receive an explanation.

You'd been saddled with a one-sided rivalry, but you'd be damned if you let him defeat you now after a full semester of back and forth.

The other Seeker pulled up short, whipping his head around like he'd lost something, and you saw Regulus crack a smirk, his canines white and sharp.

Regulus turned his head suddenly, quick like a bird, and then he was off in a blur of motion. His opponent was all the way across the pitch, entirely too far to get there in time.

A moment later— “Regulus Black has caught the snitch for 150 points! Slytherin wins!”

The Slytherin stands erupted with cheers while every other house booed, including your own. But you knew a Slytherin victory meant a rager in the dungeons, so you kept your lips sealed.

Instead, you watched Regulus land at the center of the pitch, the golden snitch held lazily between his pointer finger and thumb above his head. Any other Seeker would have been parading around the field, or flying in wide circles over the stands, screaming their head off, but Regulus was silent. His victory spoke for him.

Although, you knew he'd still be smug as fuck later.

As soon as the stands began to drain, you, Pandora, and Barty caught up with the rest of your Slytherin friends, all of them buzzing about the victory, even melancholic Severus. By the time you all reached the dungeons, a party was already in full swing.

Music thrummed along the walls, so loud it caused ripples in the Black Lake, making the emerald-tinged moonlight shift and dance along the floor. You happily accepted a shot of gin, then another before letting Evan cajole you out onto the dance floor.

Sweat pooled along your spine as the music wore on, your hair wild and loose down your back as you danced, electric energy flowing through you.

A cheer came up from the entrance and everyone turned towards the commotion. The Slytherin Quidditch team strode into the room, black robes billowing behind them. Regulus stood at the front, of course. Even from several meters away, you could see the confident glimmer in his eyes, the arrogant tilt of his chiseled jaw.

Fucking Black’s.

Like a magnet, his eyes found yours across the room, and you nearly tripped over Evan’s feet at the venom they held. But he looked away as quickly as he found you, getting swept up by the crowd and disappearing from your line of sight.

You tracked down another shot and rejoined Evan and Barty on the dance floor, squished between them in a tangle of limbs. Impossible to tell who’s hands were where, just a mess of sensation and touch. The temperature in the common room was rising expontentially, so you shed your sweater, leaving you in your skirt and a white camisole, sweat making the fabric cling to your skin.

A few songs passed like that, and a blonde guy you barely know, Rowle, you thought, took your friends place when they tapped out to smoke. You rolled your body against his, enjoying the way his thick muscles felt beneath his robes, the hungry way he was staring down at you. But you were about ready to take a break yourself, the musky smell of weed calling your name from across the room, when the hair on the back of your neck suddenly rose.

You looked around, searching for the source of your bodies response, when you locked eyes, once again, with Regulus.

He was sitting in a circle of couches against the glass wall with your shared friends, a halo of smoke around his head, a girl perched on his lap, sucking at his neck while he took a drag off of a cigarette. But his eyes were glued to you, tracking every movement you made with the same intensity he tracked the golden snitch.

Confidence wafted through you, and you wrapped your arms around your dance partners neck, letting him dip you so low your hair pooled on the floor, your tits nearly falling out of your shirt. You rolled back up slowly, articulating every vertebrae in your spine until you were chest to chest with your partner, sharing the same breaths.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Regulus choke on the smoke, dislodging the girl from his skin, and you smirked.

You let your partner turn you, showing every angle of your body, and you dropped low, circling your hips in time with the resinous goth song as you rose back up.

Regulus' cigarette hung limp between his fingers, his perfect jaw a little slack.

Emboldened, you broke away from your partner, letting yourself get lost in the sensuous, thrumming beat. Your arms rose above your head, your shoulders and hips swaying in time. It felt like you were hypnotizing him, his eyes glued to every undulation of your hips, and you couldn't recall a time where you felt more alive.

Too soon, though, the music changed to a more electro-pop vibe, and you slipped reluctantly off the dance floor, the taste of smoke beckoning you across the room.

You sauntered over to the circle, pointedly ignoring Regulus as you approached.

“There she is,” Even cooed, extending an arm to you. “You looked amazing out there.”

You smiled, sliding into his lap and taking a drag from the joint between his fingers. “Thank you, lovely.” You smiled sweetly up at him, and you could have sworn he started drooling.

“Feels even better,” Barty teased, sprawled out on the couch beside Evan, clearly a little too inebriated already.

You winked at him, and he flushed a deep scarlet. Pandora, who was resting on the floor between Dorcas’ legs, chuckled at his expense.

Regulus was quiet, per usual, watching as the group chattered around him, turning the golden snitch he caught over and over in his long fingers.

The smoke made your mind a little hazy, your tired muscles from dancing going loose, and you sagged into Evan’s side, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Regulus’ fingers tightened on the snitch, his jaw feathering, and your stomach swooped with nervous excitement. You’d never been able to rattle him before. Had you finally knocked the monolithic Regulus Black off of his axis?

“Reg, why so quiet?” Evan asked, nudging his leg with his boot.

Regulus raised a brow. “What would you like to talk about, Rosier? Fucking Junior? Or eye-fucking y/l/n?”

“We can talk about eye-fucking y/n.” Evan winked down at you, and you rolled your eyes. Avery barked a laugh from his spot on the other side of Regulus.

“Yes, let's,” Barty added, raking his willowly fingers through your hair draped over Evan’s arm. You hummed under the attention, knowing it was all in good, hedonistic Slytherin fun.

Well, almost all in good fun.

As always, Regulus couldn't let your ego inflate too much. “It's hard not indulge in a little novelty, no matter how ineffectual.”

Ouch. His words landed like barbs on your skin, but you ignored him, leaning into Barty’s attention with light moan.

Regulus shifted a little in his seat, his hands falling over his lap, and you nearly smiled. Regulus may act all high and mighty, but he wasn't impervious.

“Look at you,” Even purred, blowing smoke over your heated skin, your decolletage exposed as you stretched towards Barty. “Prettiest girl at Hogwarts, stretched across my lap.” You flushed, squirming a little in his lap, and Evan groaned. “You're torturing me, baby.”

Barty tugged on your hair, sending a skitter of pleasure down your spine and craning your head back even further. “Oh, keep doing that. He loves being tortured.”

“What a good girl,” Regulus hummed, and your pussy throbbed, soaking through your underwear. It was a rush, being admired by the heirs of some of the most powerful families in the magical world. But hearing those sweet words from Regulus, twisted into degradation, did sick things to your mind. “She's on track to graduate with her perfect, filthy-rich husband, and spend the rest of her days as mindless, fertile eye candy.”

You flinched, not that the boys noticed, and sat up a little, suddenly self-conscious in your barely-there shirt.

“We volunteer,” Avery and Wilkes said at the same time.

Evan’s arm tightened around you. “You'll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands,” he replied.

Claustrophobia clawed at your throat, but you couldn't let Regulus know how thoroughly he'd flipped your night upside down.

Wilkes drew their wand, pointing it at Evan’s head. “That can be arranged.”

“A no-name isn't worth it, children,” Regulus sneered. “Save your Azkaban trips for nobler pursuits than cunt.”

That's it. You swung your legs to the ground and rose, stalking towards Regulus. The group whistled and hooted, excited by the oncoming storm of drama.

You climbed into Regulus’ lap, straddling him and stealing the golden snitch from his hands. He was warm and solid beneath you, his expensive, amber cologne swirling with the smoke to create an addicting combination.

His hands immediately fell to your bare thighs, the cold of his rings biting into your heated flesh. His green eyes darkened, lids growing heavy as he looked up at you, his ebony lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks.

“Regulus Black,” you murmured in his ear while loosening his tie. His hands tensing on your thighs for a split second before he relaxed them. “You will never find someone that can withstand your thorns the way I do.”

He loosed a breath, chin lifting a little closer to your face like a wilted rose tilting towards the sun.

“You will never scare me off.” You brushed your nose along his temple, feeling his heart rate increase, his breath turn shallow. “I will ruin you, and you will thank me for it.”

Before he could respond, you slipped away, taking his prize snitch with you all the way to Ravenclaw Tower. Unreachable, even for the boy that had everything.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Regulus turned your words over and over in his mind, an endless, torturous loop. The others seemed obvious to his torment, prattling on and on while he burned through cigarette after cigarette, his tongue raw and throat scratchy.

Nothing would numb the ache on his chest, the pulsing strain of his cock beneath his robes. He'd already been painfully hard watching you move, watching you stretch across Evan and Barty like a contented kitten, preening under their devoted attention.

But when you climbed into his lap…fuck.

He was a heartbeat away from coming in his pants. One roll of your hips and he would have been done for, and you had no idea.

Or, maybe you did.

I will ruin you.

It was a miracle that you'd climbed off of him and stormed away, because the only thought he could formulate was please.

Eventually, he couldn't fucking take it anymore. He didn't even say goodnight to his friends, just disappeared into the dormitory and locked the door behind him.

He shirked his robe and grabbed a spare Slytherin scarf from his drawer. He flopped onto his bed and freed his aching cock, the head and angry red and shiny. He wrapped the scarf around it, squeezing hard for a semblance of relief.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, pumping his cock slowly as your voice filled his mind again, the feeling of your weight on top of him, your sweet breath on his neck, your perfume rewiring the synopsis in his brain.

His hand started to move quicker, breath coming out in desperate pants. He imagined licking across your dewy chest, tasting the salt on your skin, gin on your tongue. Blowing his cigarette smoke over your naked body, into your open mouth. So eager and flayed open for him to ravage—his innocent lamb to ruin.

“Fuck, y/n!” Your name wrenched itself from his throat as he came hard into his scarf, imaging it was deep inside your greedy cunt. His whole body shuddered with the force of it, his jaw hanging open as he pumped himself through the orgasm until he'd milked every drop from himself, wondering if your pussy, your mouth, would do the same.

He slumped back onto the pillows, completely exhausted, and shoved the scarf under his bed.

You were right, you would fucking ruin him, ruin his plans. And he wasn't sure if he hated or loved you for it.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Regulus avoided you for two weeks after that party, going so far as to skip your shared Potions class entirely. It was for the better really, you still felt a little raw after that night, the dull ache of his words combined with the unresolved arousal has left you out of sorts, to put it mildly.

If you ran into him, you weren’t sure if you’d throttle or fuck him to death.

Your friends were beginning to grow suspicious of his absence, and your squirrely behavior, and, unbeknownst to you, they set a trap to bring this stand-off to a finish once and for all.

Pandora chatted animatedly beside you as you walked together down the stairs to the dungeon, ranting about something Aurora did to piss her off. When you arrived to the dungeon, she suddenly paused to tie her shoelace, waving for you to go on ahead of her into the common room.

You did, and the large green door swung shut behind you.

“No! Fuck, Dora!” Regulus was right there, banging his fist on the door.

You looked around, bewildered, only to find the common room completely deserted. Except for Regulus, of course.

“Move,” you hissed, withdrawing your wand.

“I tried everything,” Regulus huffed, a hand raking through his dark hair.

“I said move,” you repeated, pointing your wand at him.

He rolled his eyes and stepped aside, walking back into the common room. He dropped onto the couch by the fireplace, retrieving his book.

You threw every spell you could think of at the door, but it simply wouldn’t budge. “What the fuck!” You shouted, nearly throwing your wand across the room out of frustration.

“They left us a note,” Regulus said, not looking up from his reading.

You stalked over to him, finding an open piece of parchment on the coffee table. Immediately, you recognized Pandora’s loping hand.

“Just bone already.” You read aloud, and scoffed. “What the fuck does that mean?” You glared at Regulus, as if he was somehow responsible, but he still didn’t look up.

“I suspect they’re tired of our bickering,” he replied, turning the page.

“And what does locking us in the dungeon together accomplish?” You couldn’t believe this was happening. Couldn’t believe they’d lock you in a dungeon with your fucking nemesis. Your school yard bully. The bane of your goddamn existence.

Regulus shrugged. “Maybe they think you’ll kill me.”

You let out an exasperated sound and stormed away from him, trying the door to the girls dormitory.

“Locked,” he called a millisecond after you tried the handle.

“Maybe I am going to fucking kill him,” you muttered to yourself. Resigned, you sat on a chair by the glass wall, as far away from him as you could possibly get, and sulked.

You had no clue how much time passed, the only light filtering in through the murky lake. The cold leeched through the glass, chilling you to the bone, but you refused to move closer to him. You’d freeze to death in here if you had to.

“Y/l/n,” Regulus said after the fifth full body chill wracked through you. “Come sit by the fire.”

“Go fuck yourself,” you bit back, and he snorted.

“Fine, freeze.” He returned to his book, not sparing you another glance.

Your hands started to ache from the cold, your jaw sore from your teeth chattering together. With a sigh, you got up and crossed the room. Regulus still didn’t look up, though you could feel his attention shift to you as you sat directly in front of the fire, holding your hands out to it.

“You really think they’ll leave us in here all night?” You asked, staring at the dancing flames.

“Absolutely,” Regulus answered, lowering his book to his lap.

You sighed, resigned. The only way out is through. “I’ll start.”

He tilted his head, dark brows drawing together in suspicion.

You cursed under your breath, and dove headfirst. “I don’t understand why you’re so shitty to me,” you blurted, refusing to look at him. “I’ve never done anything to you.”

He was quiet for so long, you finally caved and glanced over at him, only to find him staring back at you, expression unreadable.

“Regulus,” you huffed, frustrated.

“Y/n,” he mocked, and your stomach flipped despite his attitude. He’d never used your first name before.

“Just fucking talk to me.” You straightened your spine, folding your legs on the ground underneath you, the fire at your side.

He stared at you for a few more moments, his eyes dancing back and forth, before he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book.

“You’re a lot of things, Black, but I didn’t take you for a coward.”

His eyes flickered with anger, but he didn’t bite.

“Reg,” you murmured, softening your voice, and he rolled his eyes, the most unbelievably bored expression on his face. You shifted your weight, placing your hands on the ground, and lifted to your knees. Slowly, you began to crawl to him, being careful to not sway your hips too much, and he broke after only a few seconds.

“On your knees already, darling?” He teased, but the casual tone didn’t match his eyes. The fire in them, the way his hands tightened around the cover of his book, betrayed his true feelings.

Once you were directly in front on him, you sat back on your heels. “Be honest with me, Reggie, did it turn you on seeing me with Evan and Barty?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your question. In his lap, you saw his cock twitch, a small pulse along his right thigh.

Men are so fucking easy.

“What about when I was dancing with them? Sandwiched between their bodies?” You rolled your head on your shoulders, mimicking the way you danced and revealing the fragile plains of your throat, your hair falling around your face. “When Barty pulled my hair? When Evan blew smoke over my tits?”

Regulus swallowed hard, his eyes like melted jade.

“What about when I crawled into your lap?” You took the book from him and set it onto the table. Then, you placed your hands on his lean, muscular thighs and pushed yourself to your feet, straddling him the same way you did that night. His entire body was rigid beneath you, muscles coiled tight with tension. “Did you like when I whispered in your ear, Regulus? When I told you that I’d ruin you?”

“Y/n,” he rasped, breathing hard.

“Tell me the truth.” You were so close, your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. You committed to the contact, brushing your lips along his racing pulse, down his jugular vein. You fought to keep your thighs from clenching together, your own body responding to the feeling him slowly unraveling beneath you. “Do you hate me because you want me?”

“I don't,” he hissed through his teeth.

“If you say so,” you hummed, moving to slide off his lap.

He grabbed your waist, his grip bruising. “Don't you fucking dare."

“I thought you didn't want me?” You taunted, sitting back on his lap to look at him, a hand braced on his sternum.

When you shifted your weight, your pussy accidentally pressed against the hard outline of his cock. You had to force your hips to stay still, your pussy practically begging you to move when you felt him throb against your warm heat.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. All the malice had drained from his voice, his eyes locked on yours.

Then what the fuck did he mean?

You rolled your hips, biting back the moan that crept up your throat as pleasure snaked through you. Regulus was less successful, a broken groan falling from his pretty mouth.

“It would be so much easier to just tell me the truth,” you purred, slowly rocking your hips over his twitching length, allowing a hint of breathlessness to bleed into your voice. “It would feel so good, Reg, to let it all go. To lose control.”

“Shit,” he crushed under his breath. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” He grated, sliding his hands down to feel your thighs flex with each movement, his fingertips dimpling your flesh.

“What did you mean by ‘I don’t’?” You asked, tilting his chin up with a finger.

His jaw went a little slack as he stared up at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and shining. “I don’t hate you,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then why do you say such awful things?” You stopped your movements, and he made a small noise in his throat, nearly a whimper, but didn’t answer. “Regulus,” you prodded, lifting yourself from him entirely.

“N-no, please, fuck y/n,” he stammered, lifting his hips to grind against you. Another moan threatened to spill from you, his body felt so fucking good against yours, but you managed to restrain yourself. “I did it to try and push you away, I—”

You lowered back onto him, your hips grinding in tandem, and his head fell back against the couch, releasing a throaty groan. You couldn’t hold back a small squeak of pleasure when the hard head of his cock grazed your clit just right, and a wave of pleasure crashed through you.

“Why did you want to push me away?” You started undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, lean muscles flexing as he thrusted up against you.

He shook his head, picking it up to look down at where your bodies met, a pool of your slick dampening his trousers. “Getting me all wet, lamb. You like toying with me?” he rasped, moving one of his hands to press a thumb against your clothed clit, his long fingers splayed across your pelvis. “Is that why I couldn’t scare you off?”

You nodded before you could stop yourself, a full moan finally breaking free with the added pressure. You were embarrassingly close to coming, to banter combined with the friction between your bodies was a lethal cocktail, a drug you weren’t sure you’d be able to quit.

You wrapped your hands around his throat, applying enough pressure that he gasped, the sound vibrating your hand. “Why are you trying to push me away?” You leaned closer to his face, his strained pants fanning across your lips. He was so beautiful like this, ravaged by lust and desperate.

“You know why,” he growled, grabbing your wrists. He rolled suddenly, flipping you beneath him and pinning your hands above your head. “What’s my name, y/n?” His free hand slid under your skirt, palming your soaked panties.

“Regulus,” you gasped, arching into his chest.

“Regulus what?” He started rubbing the heel of his palm over your clit, electric pleasure burning through you.

“Regulus Black.” You were on the brink of coming, teetering on that torturous edge.

“Tell me then, my clever little Ravenclaw. What does that say about me and mine?” He leaned down and dragged his teeth along your pulse point, pausing to suck a mark under your ear.

“Fuck, Reg, I’m going to come,” you whined, fighting against his hold as the feeling started to overwhelm you.

His hand stopped suddenly, ruining the orgasm you had just begun to crest. You cried out in frustration, tears springing to your eyes as the pleasure bled out of you, leaving you desperate and humming with tension.

“Answer me,” he demanded, grabbing your jaw with his slick covered hand.

“I’m not an idiot,” you snapped, eyes blazing into his. “I know what the fuck it means. And I don’t care.”

He fell still, eyes searching your face. “Then maybe you are an idiot,” he murmured, eyes softening now that the truth was finally out. “But so am I.”

He closed the final inch between you, connecting your lips in a searing, devastating kiss that you felt all the way to your toes. He released your hands and you tangled your fingers into his curls, finally feeling their softness for yourself as you pulled him closer. Your mouth parted for him, his tongue delving in to taste you.

“Reg, please,” you whined against his mouth, pressing your hips to his again.

“Tell me what you want, lamb.” He kissed down your neck, one of his hands sliding down to grip your thigh and draw it over his hip.

“Fuck me, I need you inside of me.” You clawed at his belt, flipping the clasp and tugging down his zipper.

“Merlin, yes.” He finished undoing his pants and freed his cock, pulling aside your panties to glide the head through your slick folds, lubricating himself. He notched the head at your entrance, hissing at the warmth already kissing him, and eased himself in.

Regulus wasn’t overly large, but the stretch was still divine, filling you until you went cross-eyed, an unholy cry ripping from your chest. He drew his hips back and slammed back into you, over and over again until your were in shambles, a moaning, shaking mess, on the precipice of coming for the second time.

“Come for me, love. I want to feel you break.” He cupped your face, kissing you as he finally pushed you over the edge, an orgasm ripping you apart at the seams. You screamed into his mouth, your cunt clenching around him as your body convulsed. “God, I love this fucking cunt. So perfect for me,” he growled, his hips losing their rhythm as your walls bared down on him, sucking him back in every time he pulled out.

“Reg,” you whimpered, sagging against the couch as the strength bled out of of you.

He pulled out suddenly, pumping his cock in his fist, your honey coating him. “Stay just like that, pretty girl. All fucked out and used. All mine—” a guttural groan broke the final word as he came in his hand, spraying ropes of cum over your rumpled skirt and Ravenclaw sweater, his head thrown back. He looked gorgeous milking himself for you, his muscles flexing with the effort, sweat beading along his skin.

He slowly relaxed, chest heaving, and looked down at you, ruined and covered in his cum. You stared back, completely starstruck by what just happened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, draping himself over you and pressing ksises to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. “I’m sorry for everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it, I—”

“Me too,” you interrupted him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I know how hard things are for you, at home, I mean, and I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no. I deserved it. I shouldn’t have brought up your family—”

“But I kept—”

“I never meant too—”

You both exhaled, laughing softly at your rushed confessions, the sudden, giddy nervousness that bloomed between you where there once was glacial wit and razor-sharp banter. He sat you both up, removing your stained sweater and straightening your skirt, then righted himself.

“What now?” You asked when he finished fussing, studying his flushed cheeks, his tousled hair.

He sighed, suddenly looking grim, and your heart gave a nervous thump. “We find a way to keep you safe, lamb,” he said, meeting your eyes. “But until then, we should act like nothing’s changed. Okay?”

Uncertainty coiled in your stomach, but you nodded. “Okay.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thanks for reading!

[alexas-fandom-and-random-blog]

Well it's late night for me and helluva Boss Mastermind episode just dropped and I'm kinda in the mood to do a live reaction to text of first and honest impressions thingie. So let's go!!

------

Awww. Loona hesitating to burn their first job pic was precious❤️

Holy shit okay Satan's design is the first Sin I actually legit adore! Freaking amazing!😳

Can the the rip-off-Elsa brother (won't bother remembering the name) PLEASE stop calling Stella hot? Neither funny, nor character driven just really freaking creepy! Stop!

Vasago first impression. Uuuh okay? Is the gimmick he's simply gonna talk to another language.

STRIKER JUMPSCARE!!!!

Hiiii baby!! Looking good in that suit! Daaaamn! Good to see ya!~🥴

Warning up to the new VA each episode ngl. Doing a sexy job with it😚

I can't decide if I love or hate the "LINE?" joke... Could work as him not giving a fuck to spell the "fancy" word I guess😆 but mostly it makes him look kinda stupid so yeah... not a fan.

Whatever, moving on!

Tone down Moxxie pulling uwu and crying faces please? Just a bit. It's too much is all I'm saying. He's baby but like it's not endearing if you do it constantly 😢

Animation is so gorgeous tho as always. How rip-off-Elsa moves and uses his power is so smooth!

So Striker just made a guest appearance and fucked off with a wicked smile. I can't!😆

I mean good for him for getting that immunity deal but not even a tiny bit of verbal interaction with I.M.P? Moxxie? Anything? No?? You're killing me man. I am robbed and inconsolable 😭

The Sins interactions are mostly annoying but lmao at Mammon's clown noises bahahahah! Love it!

Uuuh Satan's voice might be doing things to me👉👈

Goddamn his design is amazing too!

Fizz!!! He's trying! Bless his heart he cares about his friend a lot imma cry!

Oh wow! Kudos to Blitzo for giving that speech. Dare we see social commentary that actually hits? And he's using it to save his family? Respect!

The guards are threatening af! I love how creepily slow they move and how that one touched Blitzo after the execution announcement was so foreboding. Really good way to convey the imminent danger. Niiice!

Muzzle on Loona just showing how little she's allowed to be. Even lower than the imps basically. This is sad.

Stolas to the rescue! Ye- Song? OhmyGod🤦 nah man just... okay whatever I'm skipping it, it feels really awkward to have in this situation.

Skip skip skip

Okay no back up back up. Satan singing???

That's-

....

No still don't care about it, too awkward sorry.

Skip skip skip

"This is a sturdy door"

Frick that caught me off guard! ���🤣🤣

Oh my god noooo. Via making that sound while crying broke my heart!!! Poor Baby bird!😢

Yeah see having Stella be non abusive and manipulative with her is an amazing idea and I love it but goddamn it, it doesn't work if you present her as absolutely brain-dead and obvious about everything the rest of the time!!!!

...well that was embarrassing 😂

Actually felt more bad about Stolas assuming he'd be sacrificed than the sacrifice itself.

Heroic I know but holy shit 🤣

Really love Satan's entire schtick. Very much a fan! The guy is so entertaining to watch!

Vasago really didn't do much in the end besides fanboy over Stolas did he?😆

"For the next 100 years"

Bahahahahahahahah!!! Get fucked rip-off-Elsa lmaoo!!! That bit was gold!!

And Stolas is common folk now. Okay I guess. I'm very neutral about that.🤷

Ohooo?? Blitzo actually getting support from this whole ordeal?? Oh kudos! Great direction! Very much support it!

More of soft Loona yes!!🥺❤️

(and I'll be willing to pretend the kicking his balls awful nonsense never happened 🙄)

Ah the last scene with Stolas? That was actually so very soft and sweet. Beautiful quiet moment to close off to

----

And that was it🫠

Whelp I didn't think I'd have this many reactions watching the episode.

Overall not bad. I'm going to bed now tho I'm tired🥱

Oh And in conclusion:

Bring Striker back soon!!!!🙏

Goodnight!

[lovebillyhargrove]

I made it longer

***

Steve likes throwing a bone to that loud, obnoxious, attention-guzzling motherfucker.

Who – right on the threshold of Hawkins High – impudently crossed swords with its king himself.

The fucking impostor.

The nerve he possesses. Huh.

Too cocksure.

We'll see.

And it absolutely doesn't matter that Steve gave up the throne on his own volition, and has taken on the role of honourable knight protecting the innocent inhabitants of his quiet town from one horrific death-spewing dragon.

Blood is a complex thing, you can't change the structure, you can't dilute the essence, can't rewrite the biochemistry.

Steve was born

King.

Hargrove? .. The buffoon takes too much upon himself. Trying to bite off more than he can swallow.

That's why Steve isn't above having a little fun, cause Billy just looks like a tirelessly-jumping-around cheeky fleabag that's lost its home. And direction.

A few bones – and the dog, whining and obediently wagging its tail, is going to willingly put itself on a chain.

Watch and learn, kiddos, commoners and the such.

A subtle look, thrown at the best basketball player Hawkins High school gym has seen so far, when they are rubbing at their own armpits after another game of push-and-push on the basketball court,

Catching a glimpse of tiny streams flowing over that smooth Californian-sun-kissed, salt polished skin so mesmerisingly gently, while at it. It's spellbinding, a slightly magical ritual.

Witching.

However, the shower is over-crowded and guys – Tommy, Andy, Bryan, whothefuckever – immediately break this exchange of attraction, disperse the accumulation of colliding particles with a wild guffaw or a dumb joke, or just a loud discussion of the game or the latest/upcoming party.

Harrington doesn't mind.

The look has reached its target, because Hargrove is staring back, for a very long time, Steve's skin feels his starving eyes, they scratch, they claw at it.

Gosh. Let Billy, as best he can, hide his hunger, masking it under insolence or curtaining it with luxurious eyelashes –

Steve is not an ignorant fool.

He is able to read the situation perfectly well.

At times Steve can shamelessly ogle Billy's cranberry lips that promise the imminent arrival of summer and its pleasures,

And generously allow Hargrove to see that he is staring.

For a whole few seconds.

Steve's keeping his eyes on the lips, but not too much, the game must come in moderation, because having just raised a foot over the line, there is always enough common sense to put it back – on solid ground,

And Steve looks away, still having noticed Hargrove's blown out pupils.

His sparkling gaze, bursting in wild fountains,

Scattering like fireworks, falling on Harrington's naked skin, sending a rush of tickling goosebumps, having him on pins and needles.

They burn like laser, these cold-blue eyes.

And it's even a bit tinglingly pleasant, feverishly exciting.

It's there, Steve's not gonna deny it. But.

He doesn't care about the new guy, doesn't want or need anything from him. Billy could disappear the next second, and Steve wouldn't notice.

He's not interested in Hargrove. Nah. The guy just bugs him, that's all. A show off, who should be put back in his place, that's right, at the doghouse.

However, throwing a bone is fun. Why not yield to harmless temptation?

It's never a bad idea to casually slide his tongue over the lower lip when Harrington feels the fiery ice of Billy's eyes on him.

Slightly biting his lip or thoughtfully running his finger over it, reading a textbook or looking at the blackboard in class.

Steve absent-mindedly strokes his shiny, expertly styled hair, casually throwing strands behind his ears.

Smiling at Nicole, flirt levels soaring, raising his eyebrows with interest in response to what the girl, who is simply swooning from talking to him, is saying.

Steve knows that Hargrove is watching them like a hawk, and is scraping the iron of the locker with his claws in helpless anger.

He knows, and smirks to himself, cause the guy is so obvious, it's pathetic.

Then Harrington slightly caresses his chin. Let Billy appreciate – once again – how perfect the cut is, how finely honed his jaw is,

How he, Steve Harrington, is wholly handsome, impeccable. Superb.

He knows all the tricks by heart, has learnt this particular chapter in the textbook word for word. However, most likely, he has a god-given gift, it's not from hard work at all, oh no.

It comes naturally.

An innate talent.

And now is the time to apply these skills to practice. Lately, Steve has become somehow .. discontented with life. He and Nancy broke up, now and then his buried passion tortures him with the sadness of unfulfilled dreams, a new girlfriend is not in sight.

Of course, he communicates with all the prime ladies of Hawkins High, but no one attracts him so .. Well, no-one has been able to send a light electric shock at his frequency yet.

Steve is feeling kinda low, his parents are either absent from home, or they are tirelessly pestering him about future matters, there is no third option.

The Upside Down seems to have fallen inactive for the time being, and the whole city is covered with a cold blanket of snow, everything, including all sounds, has become quieter, more muffled.

Except for Hargrove who never shuts up, always broadcasting some shit in the gym with his loud, thunderous voice,

The dude really gets on Steve's nerves, constantly running his mouth,

Driving his predatory-looking car like he stole it, tires squealing on ice in the school parking lot, breaking the usual, measured silence.

Harrington involuntarily responds to the volume, chooses flashy colors to wear, not too bright, of course, vulgar taste and Steve Harrington are two absolutely incompatible notions.

He wears clothes that make him stand out, make him feel even more confident,

And today a thin jumper of noble red color, which clings to his lean body just right, achieves the goal.

Harrington looks incredibly good.

Day after day, effortlessly, in a breeze.

Red captures attention, Steve knows from his own experience, remembers how Billy's half-unbuttoned dark crimson shirt caught his eye –

That late evening, when he and the team of teenage monster-hunters were freezing the demodog in Joyce's fridge.

He shouldn't have behaved like that at the Byers'. And he's not even talking about outright lies now,

He shouldn't have .. oh god, Harrington could make a whole list of those things.

He shouldn't have playfully put his hand on his hip, with a very strange accompanying line

"Don't cream your pants."

A very unambiguous phrase, why on earth, where from, how did it even escape his mouth ..?

There's nothing but ambiguity between them.

He shouldn't have kept his gaze on Hargrove's lips for so long

Damn, too long. Anyone would have thought that something extremely fishy was going on there.

Oh, and at the same time talk crap of the highest quality.

There was no need for Steve to poke Hargrove's firm chest with his fingers, and do it .. so slowly, so ..

Lustily, with an unidentified current to the gesture,

Spelling it out for the guy

"Get. Out."

Billy was only looking for his underage step-sister that night.

Harrington arranged an all-inclusive ride of hospitality and friendliness for him, right on the spot – a white-threaded lie, so fucking easy to see through, confusing remarks, humiliation, a passionate fight.

After all the fun ended, Steve's head ached for a week.

Fucking asshole with fists that weigh a ton each.

Harrington knows perfectly well that he will not get an apology, and he himself is not going to offer one.

What for?

There is no need for this, cause instead of a dialogue he can

Pull Hargrove, like a taut string,

He's so responsive to Harrington's little manipulations,

Catches fire in a twinkle.

A bit more – and the guy will definitely snap.

Steve is eager to help. He can sprawl on a chair in the classroom, leisurely spreading his legs,

For some reason, Billy fidgets throughout the entire class, drops pencils and notebooks and spends a suspiciously large amount of time under the desk.

No one keeps Harrington from touching his own wrists, pensively twisting the strap of his watch. On the wrists – there is soft skin with blue veins, an erogenous zone, revealing this part of the body, Steve himself gets a bit high and aroused.

His watchful eyes never miss how Hargrove often stares at his neck. Like a vampire. The dude's apparently drawn to tender places.

If Steve is all attention in conversations with the girls, he shows zero interest in Billy, why grace an empty space, that only barks and annoys, with it.

He passes Hargrove in the lunch hall, focused on the contents of his tray, but it is too crowded here,

And no one will notice an accidental light touch

Shoulder to shoulder,

No one – except for the two of them.

It can go two ways – Billy can either push back and snarl something in return, or

Relish.

Sometimes Harrington is not averse to tempting Hargrove with a milk-bone, a too transparent hint – touching his own body so that the guy imagines that he is the one actually doing it –

In the school showers under the pouring water, Steve runs his palm over his chest, deliberately teasingly sliding his fingers over the nipples, the wet skin, collecting droplets,

Billy notices all the little things, reads the signals,

Lingers there, waiting, turning to ash, black with desire.

He is so greedy. So easy. It's fun to see him choke on the tiniest crumb.

A slight alluring smile curving at the corners of Steve's mouth, like a snake, has the power of sending the boy into a fit.

Harrington does hear

A loud growl,

A fist hitting the iron of the locker,

A rude

"Get lost, Hagan! Not fucking now, I'm fucking busy!"

Steve's ears clearly catch

The powerless grinding of the guy's pearly-white teeth.

The sound of him ferociously digging ground with his paws.

When there's an inevitable, but a small confrontation, Harrington is not above playing dirty. Not throwing a bone, but stepping on Hargrove's bones instead, and listening to them crack – just like the guy's thin patience – anticipating the break. The seams are gonna rip, and it will be

Entertaining to watch.

Steve has put Hargrove on survival mode and is indifferently waiting for the moment when Billy can no longer stand it, breaks down, snaps and

Starts to sort things out.

However, not with blind rage, no.

And not by butting heads on the basketball court.

In a different way.

And then, jokingly and not thinking too much about it, Steve will break him over his knee, like a dry branch, throw the useless thing aside.

He will put an end to such a captivating game, and forever forget about it.

***

Only, after everything happens in Starcourt, Steve suddenly can't seem to be quite good at forgetting,

Losing sleep, turning everything in his head, over and over, driving himself insane and

Waiting ..?

For it to be a fairy-tale with a happy ending. The ending he would've written.

[multicolour-ink]

Do you think Mario and Luigi make "twin jokes" to each other?

Something like:

I'm only shorter because Luigi sat on me in the womb!

Well I'm only skinnier because YOU stole all the nutrients!

[gloriousmonsters]

love when you can ask the Narrator why the Princess is a Princess and he's like 'well i uhhhh YOU did that. maybe it's because uh... something something about her being above you... but still approachable... look i don't want to analyze or anthropomorphize your--' my guy. i am a primal being of Order and Eternity and Shaping. You're the one who convinced me I was some dude and were quite willing to take credit for shaping my view on the world through narration five seconds ago. Are you gonna look me in the eye and tell me the desire to interpret something worthy of adoration and more powerful than me as a dommy princess is written in the very nature of the universe or are you going to show me your browser history like a man

[huginsmemory]

Like I get why human-Bill post canon redemption fics for Billford are common because it's fun to put Bill in that situation where he doesn't know whats going on and its a way to 'break' Bill into not being a huge asshole through learning empathy BUT I feel like also a big part of that is also people being COWARDS and not leaning into the monsterfuckery of Ford falling in love and getting it on freaky style with a triangle LIKE HE ALREADY DID.

[twinstxrs]

thinking about kageyama’s “it’s the setter’s job to break the wall in front of the spiker” in reference to how kenma sponsoring hinata while he’s in brazil and onwards is effectively doing that on a financial level. once a setter always a setter.

[veveisveryuncool]

non-binary/gender ambiguous warriors assemble

[fffuckthelaxbros]

alternatively‚

Also if you’ve only read the main comic so far I recommend also checking out the extras tag! There’s a lot more fun stuff in there (like. A lot)

[dykedvonte]

If Ulysses has a million haters, then I'm one of them. If Ulysses has one hater, then I'm THAT ONE. If Ulysses has no haters, that means I'm dead. If the world is with Ulysses than I’m against the world.

[mad-hunts]

it's the fact barton really looks like THIS on a daily basis and still acts like his shit don't stink... like i guess i can kind of admire the confidence, but c'mon now ☠️ JSJSJ (i can just imagine how strong the smell of rot is coming off from him and it's just like — ewww, brother. EW LMAO).

[despair-ninja-everything-agency]

People at Wihuwte either ship him with Kemakka, simping at him (I mean... I do too ngl dude's a snacc XD), or already predicting him being a bad guy (I... somehow though he's a double agent at worst), meanwhile I am in awe with how similar he looks with Avenel (the Timid Trader/Bandit from DT Phys. Ranged Role Quest).

Like...

(Stole that Wihuwte screenshot from @demilypyro cuz I didn't take any MSQ screenshot of him rip OTL)

It got to the point where I actually made them twin brothers separated by circumstance (Avenel's Turali birth name being Awetihwe) in Cole's storyline.

The story is that, when they were kids (around 8-10 at most), they tried to escape their increasingly unhinged outlaw Da not long after their Ma died from unnamed illness. Only Avenel made it across the salt while Wihuwte unfortunately got caught by the Da's underlings.

Avenel got found by an Ul'dahn merchant and grew up under their tutorage, though since he refused to talk about himself - not even his name - as a sort of defense mechanism in fear of being found by mercenaries sent by his Da, he's christened with his current name by said merchant and he himself claimed to strangers that he's born and raised in Ul'dah from then on. When his parent figure died, he took over their business but either not as savvy as them as a merchant or oversaturation in market that he had a hard time keeping up (leaning towards the latter atm) to the point of struggling financially, leading to him being taken by Chalteaufite's lies and participating in the Elezen's criminal activities in order to make ends meet.

Wihuwte meanwhile had to grow up under the Da and his gang's suffocatingly watchful eyes until he managed to sneak out from the Da's grasp many years later and went to where Hhusatahwi is now to sign up as a Duskwatch (or proto-Duskwatch, I forgot how long had Duskwatch exist) so that he could stifle down criminals like his Da was. Though with how stretched thin the Duskwatch were despite their best efforts, he got disillusioned and Zekowa's gang forming sort of made him snap to the point where he took control over the Daybreaker with the intention of starting a gang war against both his Da (for the mistreatment he done) and the Duskwatch (for, in his eyes, not doing enough), only resorting to stealing and selling stuff in the Black Market due to needing the funds and equipment first before doing so.

I know Patch quests could throw a wrench on their entire background story but like... Idk I just went crazy for these 2. I can understand Avenel being confined within Role Quests stuff but by God do I find Wihuwte utterly underutilized. Maybe cuz I have high expectation coming into the Shaaloani part after watching so many RDR2 clips and playthrough, but I feel like there's more to him than meets the eyes (Zekowa and Kemakka probably too but I felt this strongly on Wihuwte).

Bonus: Have the twins' family photo when they were kids and after both got released from jail (and Avenel finally has the courage to sail back home) :D

[dazzelmethat]

*reaches out my hand and grabs you* I have the power to subject non vocaloid people to pinop..

TW: for flashing lights

Mushroom mother analysis in my tags. ..

[ladyseidr]

okay unrelated to anything but what are our opinions on like. meta/drabbles/me writing my portrayals of muses together and calling it rp-related. like. if i were to, hypothetically, write short snippet scenes that aren't enough to be considered fanfic but are technically good insights into how i view my muses and their default/linked connections. would we vibe with this?

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

I love demo so fuckin much but i wish there was more both canon and fanon content for him that isnt just "haha funni alcoholism " like. Idk it super fucking bothers me as a kid of an alcoholic (now recovering and about 2 years sober!!!) like. I would love to rec the game to my dad bc i know he would loce the style and humor but hes also really proud of being scottish and i khow that the main characterization pf demo would probably bother him.

Anyway demo beating alcoholism arc when.

I actually have a ton of posts abt this (u can probably dig thru "#demoman tf2" asks to find them lol) but yeah I rlly think abt this a lot. I'm also the kid of an alcoholic (actually a pretty long line of them, I'm actually pretty predisposed to it myself because I also inherited all the same anxiety/neurodivergency/etc. problems) and I'm also aware of a lot of politics surrounding addiction and am invested in harm reduction n stuff like that, so my feelings abt it are actually kinda complicated. I don't like the idea that Demo being an alcoholic is, like, a "mistake" made on Valve's end that needs to be "fixed" in fan content - it's not inherently wrong to have a character who is an alcoholic or even really a comedic character who is one. I think there's a big trend in fans (especially white people lol) totally overstepping and "fixing him" by just, never mentioning it even in places it would actually be appropriate and just pretending he was never written to have an addiction. I think that's just another way of showing that you think someone can't be a Good Person(tm) and an addict. The other side of the coin, of course, is the INSANE prevalence of people who make it his one defining personality trait and often completely mischaracterize him by giving him traits they associate with alcoholism but that he doesn't have (laziness, aggression, stupidity etc.). I actually find the way he's written in canon to be. pretty okay? There's definitely times where it's Bad but most of the time I think it's alright. Even the "short, violent temper" thing (a trait he's apparently supposed to have? But tbh he doesn't really have in any of the supplemental material lmao) feels less like a stereotype of alcoholism (as fans will make it) and more like an ethnic/nationality-based stereotype (which everyone in tf2 is, so it doesn't feel specifically targeted) (although you can also argue that him being an alcoholic is also a nationality stereotype which like. yeah). Smth I think a lot of people forget but is actually pretty present in most iterations of his lore and also in a lot of his game/intro video dialogue is that he has some kinda trauma and his self-esteem is completely in the toilet. This, in my opinion, adds another layer to his addiction that while maybe not really explored in canon (because it's not that kind of media, no one really gets their serious backstories explored they're just established and then dropped for more jokes) can definitely be expanded upon in fan stuff. I know yall like angst! Stop fucking writing "angst" where you conflate alcoholism with domestic violence and stupidity and start treating him like a human being lol. Write about Demo dealing with or beating alcoholism, but don't write it like it's his entire personality or pretend it doesn't exist. It's a part of him, but not all there is to him. Sorry for the SUPER long response anon omg I love talking and this is a topic I specifically have a ton of thoughts on. Sorry if this isn't rlly coherent, like I said I have a lot of posts abt this topic. I might go rb some now just to clarify my opinions

[trans-leek-cookie]

as a certified Aromantic Asexual (I should make myself a certificate) I genuinely don't Believe there is systemic oppression that specifically targets Aromantic or Asexual people.

I do however believe that people Cannot be normal about ppl who don't have sex or romantic relationships, and that can Really Impact Aromantic And Asexual People.

Also like. Aros n aces are still. Experiences Other forms of oppression that can interact with the aro and/or ace-ness