#we love a female character icon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

requiemforthepoets · 5 months ago

Text

you’re such a rollercoaster, some killer queen you are 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: it was a random encounter at a club in miami during lando’s first win and all he has to remind him of you was a polaroid.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i’m now done with my midterms, finally! i’ll be posting the requests soon. for the meantime, pls enjoy this lando oneshot i made. enjoy! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, reader has a full back tattoo, cursing, and no use of y/n

It’s finally the summer break, a month away from all university obligations. As the summer break kicks off, you find yourself in the vibrant heart of Miami, ready to enjoy the nightlife that awaits you with your best friends. The hotel room was filled with laughter and sounds of hurried preparations, with all of your excitement evident. In front of the mirror, you admired yourself in the silk black backless dress that definitely accentuates your figure, the fabric of the dress falling just right to showcase your stunning full Sak Yant tattoo that you had gotten on your last trip to Cambodia. It was a daring choice, but you loved the way it felt, and the dress paired effortlessly with your trusty white low-cut chucks—a perfect blend of style and comfort for the night ahead. Your friends squealed in approval of your whole fit, each one hyping how amazing you looked.

“Are we ready to paint the town red?” One of them chimed, a teasing grin plastered on her face.

“Absolutely! Let’s make the most of this summer!�� You replied, excitement bubbling in your chest.

The first club was already buzzing when you arrived, its lively atmosphere spilling out onto the street. It was packed—it was way more crowded than you had anticipated, and the thumping bass reverberated through your chest, the energy was electric. But as always, you and your friends pushed through the throngs of people, determined to start the night off right. You managed to snag a table near the dance floor, which is also quite close to the DJ booth. You could feel the energy of the crowd surge, especially when the DJ began playing the iconic beats of 2011 club hits.

The moment we found love by Rihanna started playing, you and your friends erupted in cheers, and memories of late-night dance parties flooding back. This song was your jam and you guys won’t let this pass, so you grabbed your friends’ hands and rushed to the dance floor. All the people began to sing along to the song at the top of their lungs, including you, and losing yourself in the infectious energy that surrounded you.

In the midst of your carefree dancing, you suddenly felt a gentle yet firm grip on your waist that made you turn. You found yourself face-to-face with an incredibly handsome man—his curly hair framed a sharp jawline, his aquamarine eyes sparkled under the flashing lights, and a small, charming smile played on his lips. You noticed that he’s a little bit tipsy, evident by his slight sway, but still managed to maintain a charming composure with an air of confidence.

“Your tattoo is incredible.” He leaned down to whisper it in your ears. His voice was low and warm, sending a delightful shiver down your spine. Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks as you blushed, momentarily lost for words.

“Thanks!” You shouted over the loud noise for him to hear you, but not really sure if he heard you or not.

Just then, your friend—the one who always photographs, had tapped your shoulder, her polaroid camera ready. She aimed it at you, and without thinking, you turned to the handsome stranger, flashing a playful smile as your friend pressed the shutter button. The photo was developed quickly, perfectly capturing the moment, and she handed it to you with a knowing look. An idea suddenly sparked in your mind, and you quickly rummaged through your friend’s bag.

“Hey, do you have a pen that I could borrow?” You asked, almost breathless with excitement.

She handed you a sharpie, raising an eyebrow but not questioning your sudden burst of creativity at the moment. You wrote a quick “thank you” on the empty space of the polaroid, signing it with the initial of your first name with a flourish before slipping it into the pocket of the white polo the stranger was wearing. The stranger looked surprised, a mix of confusion and excitement on his face, but he simply smiled back, his eyes lighting up as he reached for you.

“Wait, I didn’t get your name—” before he could finish his sentence, your friend pulled you in your arm, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “time to hit the next club!” She called, pulling you away.

You turned back at the stranger, waving him goodbye, feeling an unexpected pang of regret for leaving him behind. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that this night isn't over yet. You exchanged glances with him one last time, a silent promise hanging in the air, your heart fluttering with the hope that somehow, you’d see him again.

As you and your friends spilled out onto the bustling Miami street, your laughter filled the night as you headed to the next club. However, all you could think about was the brief connection you had felt on the dance floor, a sweet moment that seemed to linger in the air, leaving you yearning for more.

The night had ended in a blur for Lando. After the wild celebration of his first Formula 1 win in Miami, the euphoria was slowly dissipating and replaced by a wave of drunkenness that hit harder than he had expected. By the time the club lights dimmed and the crowd began to thin, Lando could barely stand on his own two feet, let alone string together a coherent sentence.

Max and Carlos had taken one look at him and immediately decided that they needed to step in. “C’mon mate, let’s get you back to the hotel,” Max grunted, slinging Lando’s arm over his shoulder, while Carlos grabbed the other side.

Carlos chuckled, equally amused and exasperated, “he kept pace with everyone at the party. Now he’s paying the price.”

Lando, wasted out of his mind, stumbled along between them, mumbling a mix of incoherent phrases. “She…she was…beautiful,” he slurred, eyes half-closed, as they maneuvered through the hotel lobby. “The tattoo…I need to…find her.”

Max raised an eyebrow, exchanging a knowing look with Carlos. “Who’s he talking about now?” Carlos asked, chuckling under his breath.

“Who knows? Maybe some random girl from the party,” Max shrugged, though the curiosity in his tone was undeniable. “You think he’s talking about some girl he met tonight?”

Carlos nodded, “definitely. He kept disappearing from the group. Bet it’s some girl who caught his eyes.”

They wrestled Lando into the elevator, which was a challenge in itself as Lando kept sagging against the walls. When they finally reached his hotel room, Carlos fumbled with the keycard, managing to get the door open while Max dragged Lando inside.

“Alright, bed time for you, champ.” Max muttered, carefully tossing Lando onto the bed. Lando landed face-first into the pillows, groaning something incomprehensible as he sprawled out, completely out of it.

As they started to leave, Carlos noticed something peeking out of Lando’s polo pocket. “Wait, hold on. What’s this?” He said, pulling out a small polaroid photo. He studied it for a moment before handing it to Max.

Max blinked, holding the picture up to the light. It was a snapshot of Lando at the club, with a girl smiling beside him. They were both smiling and looking like they were having the time of their lives, clearly caught up in the moment. Lando’s arm was around her waist, and she was beaming up at him.

“So this is who he’s been going on about, huh,” Max mused, smirking as he showed it to Carlos.

Carlos grinned, leaning closer to inspect the photo. “It has no name, no number on the back. Just the word thank you and a signature,” he said, pointing at the small initial written on the bottom corner of the polaroid.

Max gave a low whistle, eyes flicking to Lando, who had now turned onto his back, snoring loudly. “The way he’s looking at her, though…” Max said, shaking his head with an amused sigh. “Poor guy. He’ll surely lose his mind trying to find her again.”

“You think he’s going to go all in on this mystery girl?” Carlos asked, already imagining the chaos that could ensue once Lando wakes up.

“Oh, definitely. Look at that face—he’s going to lose his mind trying to find her.” Max chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“If he does, it’ll be entertaining for us. He might actually be serious about someone for once.” Carlos smirked.

Max laughed, tucking the polaroid back into Lando’s pocket. “Well, whatever happens, tomorrow’s going to be interesting for sure. But first, I’m betting his hangover’s going to be the real pain in the ass.”

“I second that.” Carlos clapped Max on the back as they both made their way to the door. “Let him sleep it off. If fate has any say in this, maybe he’ll see her again.”

Once Max and Carlos had managed to leave the room, the soft snores of their friend filled the silence behind them, but they couldn’t help but share one last grin. Lando Norris, hopelessly wasted and smitten, was in for one wild ride the moment he wakes up in the morning.

When Lando woke up the next day, it felt like the world had caved in on him. His head pounded relentlessly like a jackhammer, every inch of his body felt heavy, and the sunlight seeping through the curtains are making everything worse. He groaned, pressing a hand to his face as he tried to piece together the events of the previous night. His mouth even felt dry, and every muscle ached—classic hangover. Glancing at the clock, his stomach sank. It was already past one in the afternoon.

“Ah shit.” He muttered, rubbing his temples.

Lando’s memories was a total fucking mess. Fragments of the party slipping in and out of focus. All he remembered is that he was celebrating his first F1 win in a Miami club with a bunch of friends, music, drinks…too many drinks, clearly. But then, there was something, or rather, someone—who stood out in the haze. A girl.

The image of you on the dance floor flickered in his mind. Lando couldn’t quite place every detail of your face, but the memory of your presence lingered, the feeling of being inexplicably drawn to you. It was like trying to recall a dream that was slipping away. He just shook his head, trying to clear the fog.

Struggling out of the bed, he tugged off the polo he had been wearing from the night before. As he did, something fell on the floor. Lando blinked, looking down to see a small polaroid photo lying by his feet. He picked it up and stared, the image hitting him like a bolt of clarity. It was a photo of you and him at the club, your face being illuminated by the flashing lights, both of you are smiling. Suddenly, the blurry memory sharpened. He remembered you—your black backless dress, the intricate back tattoo, the way you turned when he approached you. You had been so close, yet before he could really get to know you, your friends had whisked you away, leaving him standing alone on the dance floor, with only the photo to show for it.

Lando’s heart skipped a beat as he flipped the polaroid over, hoping to find some kind of clue, a way to find you. But the back was just frustratingly blank, except for the written thank you and an initial on the free space of the polaroid. He ran a thumb over the handwritten words, feeling a pang of disappointment. There was basically no number, no name. It was all just a fleeting memory. He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“She’s probably just someone who came and went,” he muttered to himself, but even as he said it, the thought didn’t sit right.

There was something about the brief connection he felt with you that night, something that he couldn’t shake off. It was strange, almost unnerving, how much he remembered the feeling of being with you in that brief moment—like everything else had faded into the background.

Without fully understanding why, Lando grabbed his wallet and carefully tucked the polaroid photo into his wallet, sliding it into the hidden compartment where it could be safe. He wasn’t even sure why he decided to keep the polaroid, especially in such a personal place. It seemed silly, but it felt right to keep it there, like a small piece of that night he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.

Lando sat there for a few moments longer, staring at the closed wallet in his hand. The next race was in a week, and he had the time to get his shit together before flying to Italy for the Imola GP. But now, instead of just focusing on the upcoming race, his mind kept drifting back to you—wondering if you were still out there somewhere, wondering if he would ever get the chance to see you again. He finally stood up to get ready for the day and fly out of Miami, he couldn’t help but smirk at himself.

“Guess I’m going to be thinking about this for a while,” he muttered, the memory of your smile etched into his thoughts.

Miami was fun, and now it’s time to go back to reality. Once you got back home, the vibrant memories of the trip slowly started to fade into the background, already having been replaced by the familiar routine of gearing up for the new university year. This was it—your final year at university, the last stretch before graduation, and you are determined to give it your all. It was time to buckle down and focus on academics. After all, everything you had done in Miami was meant to stay in Miami.

Yet, no matter how hard you tried to immerse yourself in your studies, your mind would always reel back to that night in the club. The memory of the man you had met—his aquamarine eyes, the way he had looked at you like you were the only person in the room had kept replaying in your head, keeping you awake at night. It was frustrating how much he lingered in your thoughts. You had only known him for a brief moment, not even long enough to learn his name, yet you couldn’t forget the instant connection that had sparked between you.

The way he had complimented your tattoo, the way he had smiled when you slipped the polaroid into his polo pocket—it had all felt surreal, like something out of a dream, and then there was the polaroid. You literally had no idea why you had given it to him, that was the only physical memory of that night, the only proof that your paths had crossed. Yet, in the moment, it felt like what you did was the right thing to do. Or maybe it was the excitement, the adrenaline of the night you felt that had pushed you to make such a spontaneous decision. But now, you found yourself wondering if he had even kept it, or if it had ended up crumpled in some corner, forgotten in the blur of a party boy’s life.

You tried to push these lingering and uninvited thoughts aside. After all, he had seemed like the type who enjoyed the party scene, the kind of guy who was probably very used to fleeting moments like the one you had shared. You definitely have no reason to expect anything more from it. It was fun while it lasted—a brief, electric encounter in the middle of a packed club. Still, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if your friend hadn’t pulled you away so soon. Would you have stayed and talked more, gotten to know him beyond that brief moment on the dance floor? Or maybe it was better this way, a perfect memory left untouched by reality.

With a sigh, you snapped yourself back to the present, staring down at the pile of thick college textbooks and notebooks waiting for you. It was time to focus on what was real, what was tangible—your studies, your future. The man from Miami would remain just a distant memory, one that you would tuck away with all the other wild moments from your summer. After all, you had more important things to focus on now.

Still, every now and then, as you walked to your lectures or sat in the library, you would catch yourself thinking about him—wondering if he still had that polaroid tucked away somewhere, just like you secretly hoped he did.

Lando was no better. Ever since that night in Miami, his mind has been drifting more than usual. He found himself distracted during meetings, zoning out during race prep, and even spacing out in the garage most of the time. His usual easy going demeanor was now often replaced by a more serious, almost contemplative expression. It was as if something had taken root in his mind, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it, the memory of you wouldn’t let go.

He had replayed that night over and over again in his mind—the moment he saw you, how he had felt an unexplainable pull towards you, the way you had smiled when he complimented your tattoo, and how effortlessly everything had seemed to click between you in that brief encounter. It was ridiculous, really, how hung up he had become over someone he barely even knew. He hadn’t even caught your name—and yet, the polaroid was still inside his wallet, tucked away like a secret he carried with him everywhere he went.

Whenever he felt particularly lost in thought, he’d pull it out and stare at it, trying to remember every detail of your face, laugh, and the way you looked at him. He was becoming a lovesick fool. But that only made it worse—like he had been shot by cupid, now hopelessly stuck in this strange limbo of longing for someone who felt like a distant memory. The problem was, he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. But now, half of the grid knew about the mysterious girl in the polaroid. It had all started with Oscar.

Lando had been so deep in his dilemma that he couldn’t contain it anymore and had to vent about it, and Oscar, being a good listener, and always the voice of reason, had been the unfortunate recipient of Lando’s endless stream of confusion and longing.

“Mate, I don’t even know where to start looking,” Lando groaned one afternoon, slumping into a chair next to Oscar. They were in the motorhome, waiting for a debrief. “She didn’t even leave her name, no number, nothing. Just…this. I don’t even know why I’m so hung up on this! It was just one night.” He pulled out the polaroid for what felt like the hundredth time, showing it again to Oscar.

“Well, that tends to happen when you let Max and Carlos feed you shots all night. You’re lucky that you remember anything.” Oscar teased, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“That’s not helping.” Lando shot him a look, half amused and half exasperated. “I just—there was something about her, you know? It wasn’t just the drinks. I felt this connection, and then she was gone.”

“You really got hit hard, didn’t you?” Oscar chuckled.

“You have no idea, Osc,” Lando muttered, running a hand through his curly hair in frustration. “I mean, what are the odds, right? A random night in Miami, and now…I can't stop thinking about her. What’s wrong with me?”

Oscar chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Hey, nothing’s wrong with you. You just like her, I guess. A lot.” He glanced at the polaroid again, shaking his head in amusement. “You’ve got the entire grid buzzing about this by now, you know. Everyone’s rooting for you to find her.”

“Great. So now everyone’s invested in my love life too.” Lando groaned, leaning his head back.

“You did show them the photo,” Oscar pointed out with a grin. “It’s hard not to get curious when you’ve been carrying that thing around like a lovesick fool.”

“I know it’s stupid, but it feels like more than just a random encounter. There was something there, Oscar. I swear.” Lando let out a dramatic sigh, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“So what are you going to do? Just sit around and hope she magically walks into the next race?” Oscar leaned back in his seat.

“I was thinking that maybe, I could hire a private investigator or something, you know.” Lando shrugged.

Oscar’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A private investigator? Tell me you’re joking.” Lando’s expression remained serious. “No, I’m not! Or, I could just post the photo online, let the fans do their thing. They could help me find her—someone has to know who she is.”

Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Lando, mate, listen to me.” He turned to Lando, face serious. “You’re out of your mind. You can’t hire a PI or ask your fans to find this girl. Think about how creepy that sounds.”

“But how else am I supposed to find her! I can’t even stop thinking about her, Oscar. I didn’t even get her name, and now I’m stuck.” Lando groaned again.

“Mate, if you’re meant to find her, you will. You can’t force something like this, and you definitely shouldn’t involve the internet.” Oscar sighed. “Just let it go for now. Focus on the races, and if it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen.” He added.

Lando sat in silence for a moment, staring at the polaroid again. As much as he hated to admit it, Oscar was right. He couldn’t exactly post the photo online and hope for the best—that would be absolute madness and would really violate your privacy. But letting it go? That shit felt realy impossible.

“Yeah, I guess.” Lando muttered.

Lando tucked the polaroid carefully back into his wallet. He knew deep down, he wasn’t really ready to let go of the idea of finding you again. Even if it seemed impossible.

More months passed by, and life had already moved on, but the memory of that night in Miami still lingered in your mind—and in Lando’s too. The connection, however, had left an impression on both of you, though neither expected to cross paths again. You had already given up any hope of seeing him again, and had decided to leave it all to fate. If it’s meant to be, then it’ll be. Besides, life has been busy enough for you. With your final year at university, you had too much on your plate to spend time wondering about a man whose name you still didn’t know. But it seems like fate had other plans in store for the both of you.

It started when you had a week off from university, and you and your best friends decided to go on a trip to Greece over your week off. You have no qualms about it, since you really needed a break as well, and what better way to relax than exploring the beautiful beaches and Acropolis of Athens.

The trip to Greece was everything you had hoped for, but unbeknownst to you, Lando was in Greece too, enjoying his own vacation with his close friends. You were sunbathing on a pristine beach, chatting away with your friends, when Lando walked by just a few meters away. He didn’t notice you, and you didn’t see him either—both of you are too caught up in your own worlds, yet there you were, so close but so far away.

The second time was when you took a trip to Ibiza. Another spontaneous getaway with your best friends. The vibrant nightlife and endless summer energy called your name. As you danced and had the time of your life at a beachside club, oblivious to the fact that Lando was just at a private party down the shore. His friends had dragged him out for the night, hoping to help him unwind after a tough race. You and your friends left just as Lando was arriving, two paths almost crossing once again.

It was starting to become a strange pattern—wherever you were, Lando seemed to be there too. The two of you had shared the same sunsets, wandered the same winding streets, and probably passed by each other without even realizing it.

The third time was in Monaco. A beautiful city, with its glamor and breathtaking views, it was the perfect escape before starting your last semester. You and your friends are strolling down the harbor one afternoon, laughing as you all pointed at the massive yachts that were all lined up, imagining what it would be like to live such a luxurious life.

Inside a nearby café, Lando was sitting by the window, sipping on a coffee and looking out over the same harbor. He had been restless, unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something—or someone. He looked up just as you and your friends passed by outside, laughing and taking selfies by the water, but you did not look his way, and he didn’t get up, assuming it was just another passing group of tourists. Once again, fate brought you together, only to keep you just out of reach.

It was as though the universe was playing a cruel game, constantly bringing you and Lando to the same place at the same time, but never allowing your paths to fully align. You could be randomly walking down the street while he was sitting just a few doors away in a café. Lando could be entering a restaurant as you and your friends exited from a nearby boutique. It was almost laughable how close you came to seeing him again, yet how impossibly far away it felt.

As the months passed, both you and Lando accepted that what had happened in Miami was a beautiful, fleeting moment. Something to be kept, but perhaps never meant to be revisited. But there’s still a small part of you that couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, fate wasn’t done with you yet.

For now, though, it seemed like fate was content with keeping the both of you on the edge—close enough to feel the pull, but never quite close enough to collide.

One night, it seemed like that fate had finally decided it was time to stop playing games. You were in the middle of preparing for your final exams when your cousins called with an unexpected invitation. They will be flying to Singapore for the Gran Prix two months from now, and they have already secured a paddock club pass for you—for all three days of the event. The kicker? They will be paying for everything; flights, accommodations, and even meals. It was definitely a golden opportunity, and although you had no clue what a Grand Prix was or even what Formula 1 is, you couldn’t turn down an all-expenses-paid trip to a place you had been saving up to visit anyway.

“Trust me, it’s going to be amazing,” your cousin assured you over the phone. “You’ll get to be up close to the cars, the drivers, and the entire F1 spectacle. It’s a vibe.”

While you were excited about the trip, the idea of spending three days around race cars didn’t exactly thrill you. You knew nothing about cars or Formula 1, and the most you had ever watched were glimpses of motorsports on TV at home with your father. But a free trip to Singapore was too good to pass up, and maybe, you would find something to enjoy about this whole Grand Prix thing.

Fast forward to your arrival in Singapore. The sweltering heat of Singapore was almost overwhelming, but the excitement in the air was noticeable as you strolled through the paddock area, soaking in the energy of the Grand Prix weekend. You are dressed in a flowing white sundress that caught the breeze just right, paired with chic Prada Monolith Crisscross sandals, a cute beige mini Lady Dior handbag that matches complete your whole outfit, and the paddock club pass hanging around your neck—in all honesty, you looked like you belonged at a chic summer brunch rather than a motorsport event. But you were grateful for your outfit choices, especially given how hot and humid it was in Singapore. You weren’t sure what to expect from the race weekend, but at least you felt prepared for the weather.

The atmosphere was buzzing, with fans eagerly awaiting glimpses of their favorite drivers. You and your cousins meandered around, snapping photos of the three of you to send to your parents for updates, and enjoying the free-flowing drinks and gourmet food available in the exclusive paddock club. Your cousins, die-hard Formula 1 fans, were thrilled to spot drivers walking around, rushing up to get photos with anyone they could.

At one point, they had spotted Oscar Piastri, the young driver who seemed to be gathering a crowd in the paddock. Your cousins were excited and hurried up to him, asking for a quick photo. Instead of joining them, you volunteered to take the photo, your cousin had handed you his phone and took a photo of them with Oscar. As Oscar posed with your cousins, you framed the shot perfectly, capturing their wide smiles and his easygoing grin. After the photo was snapped, you handed the phone back to your cousin, but something odd caught your attention.

Oscar was staring at you, a look of recognition flashing briefly across his face, though he didn’t say anything. His gaze lingered for a second too long, as if he was trying to place where he had seen you before. But before you could ask if something was wrong, he quickly and politely excused himself, saying something about needing to be somewhere else.

“Thank you!” Your cousin beamed, oblivious to the strange moment, as they admired the picture you had taken.

However, you were left feeling slightly unsettled. Why had Oscar looked at you like that? You just shrugged it off, thinking it was probably nothing. After all, he must meet thousands of people all the time, maybe you just had one of those faces.

You continued walking around with your cousins, admiring the cars as the mechanics prepared for the weekend’s race during the pitlane walk. The energy was contagious, you could feel it in the air—tension and excitement. While you didn’t quite understand the intricacies of the sport, you were starting to get why so many people were hooked.

As Oscar made his way back to the McLaren garage, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just seen someone important. The brief encounter with you lingered in his mind, he considered telling Lando about it, but something held him back. What if he was just mistaken? What if you were just another face in the crowd, one of the many people who flocked to the Grand Prix? He surely didn’t want to get Lando’s hopes up if he was wrong because the boy is already losing his mind of finding you.

But still, there was an undeniable spark of recognition in Oscar’s gut. The way you had smiled at him, the familiarity in your eyes—it was as if you were embedded into his memories, even if he couldn’t quite place you. The thought of Lando obsessing over someone who may not even be worth it felt almost cruel, so he kept quiet as he stepped into the garage.

“Hey Osc!” Lando called out from where he was working on some last-minute adjustments to the car. His energy was infectious, his usual charisma shining through despite the long day ahead.

“Just met some fans,” Oscar replied, casually brushing off the encounter. He knew Lando was too focused on the race to delve into any side stories, so he played it cool. “Pretty excited about the weekend.”

“That’s good! We need that energy. It’s going to be a wild race!” Lando said enthusiastically and grinned.

Lando was really in the zone, and Oscar didn’t want to disrupt that by bringing up something that might end up being inconsequential, but Oscar couldn’t help himself. As he watched Lando tinker with the car, a thought struck him. If he had indeed seen you, and if you were that same girl that Lando had met at the club in Miami, then there was a chance for another confirmation that it really is indeed you. Singapore is a big place, but the paddock? Not so much. People cross paths here all the time. Fate could also work in you and Lando’s favor.

“I have a feeling we’ll meet some interesting people this weekend,” Oscar said, casually testing the waters. “You never know who might show up in the paddock.”

“You think so? Like who?” Lando raised an eyebrow, now intrigued.

“Just a hunch. You know how these events go, a lot of fans and celebrities come through.” Oscar shrugged, playing it cool as he smiled at Lando. Hoping what he said wouldn’t come off too eager.

“Yeah, I guess we’ll see. It’d be nice to connect with some new faces.” Lando grinned.

Oscar just decided to remain quiet, but inside his mind, he had promised himself that if your paths didn’t cross naturally over the course of the race weekend, he would make sure to plan the two of you to meet. It was high time for Lando to get that second chance, and if fate wouldn’t still bring you and Lando together, then Oscar would be more happy to lend a hand.

As you and your cousins walked around the bustling paddock, the excitement of the day washed over you. You were engaged in conversation, pointing out different drivers, when suddenly, your cousins spotted someone they knew and ran off to catch up. You paused, taking a moment to soak in the atmosphere and admire the vibrant energy that surrounded you. You never knew that you’ll be enjoying the Grand Prix with your cousin—it was eventful, but really fun.

Suddenly, your eyes caught sight of someone familiar stepping out of the McLaren motorhome—a head of curly hair, sharp jawline, and those aquamarine eyes that had been burned deep into your memory since that night at the club in Miami. It was him. Most of all, you wouldn’t expect that the man you had met in the club was Lando Norris. You had seen his face all over the paddock, and your cousin telling you who he was.

You froze for a moment, your heart was caught up in your throat. Lando was walking with a group of people, laughing and chatting, completely unaware that you were standing just meters away. It felt like time had slowed down for you. Could this really be happening? After all those months of missed chances and near encounters, fate had finally decided to stop playing games and let your paths cross again—and here you were, in Singapore, of all places.

But just as you gathered your thoughts, Lando turned his head in your direction. His laughter faded, and his eyes locked onto yours. There was a flicker of surprise, then sudden recognition as his face shifted from casual curiosity to something more intense. It was like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, and neither could you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in a strange limbo of disbelief. But as you or cousins called out to you, completely oblivious to the emotional earthquake happening between you and Lando, you snapped back to reality. You offered a nervous smile and a small wave, really unsure of what to do next. Would he even remember you? Should you go over and say something? Or maybe he was just staring at someone behind you.

“Hey! We’re heading over there!” Your cousins shouted, pointing toward another part of the paddock.

You felt a wave of disappointment was over you, knowing that you had no choice but follow and be with them. As you turn to leave, you glance back at Lando one last time, just in time to catch him staring intently at your back. Lando’s expression shifted as his eyes widened, and you realized he had spotted your tattoo—the intricate Sak Yant design that adored your skin.

In that moment, you could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he began connecting the dots. Your heart raced again, a mix of hope and fear. But before you could linger on your thoughts, your cousins tugged at your arm, leading you away. You felt a strange sense of longing, wishing desperately for a chance to bridge the gap. Little did you know, Lando was feeling the same way.

Fate had finally brought you together again. Now, the ball is in Lando’s court.

460 notes · View notes

crowleysgirl56 · 5 months ago

Text

Ok, so I wanted to do a deeper dive into this particular passage of Good Omens:

For context, this is at the climax of the book, they’re at Tadfield airbase, the horsemen have been dispensed with, Aziraphale has his body back, and Satan is about to claw his way out of the pit.

In most of the proceeding chapters involving Crowley it talks a lot about how scared Crowley is. He is very scared of Hell.

One could perhaps say maybe he is scared of them due to The Arrangement, but that is never explicitly stated. I think it has more to do with Hell is bad, and Crowley has spent the majority of the book being yelled at by some entity through the radio or TV telling him how he’s going to be in super amounts of trouble when they get their hands on him. He is just scared of what will happen. When he comes across the book shop burning he doesn’t cry for his lost friend. He curses Aziraphale, and I think it’s because the one person who may have been able to keep him safe and protected from Hell is now gone.

So when he thinks to himself (as shown in the above screen shot) that there is now nothing left for him to lose, this is why I never thought (upon reading the book the first time that is) there were any romantic feelings between him and Aziraphale. I know that technically he had already lost Aziraphale. But by this point he was back again, and back in his body. If there truly were romantic thoughts between them surely the idea of losing him again would come up.

I have read so much fanfiction, some old, some new, and what they all have in common is the detailed inner monologue of Crowley’s turmoil over his feelings for Aziraphale and how he doesn’t feel like he can act on them. In the book we get nothing of the sort, from either character. Even when they’re separated there is hardly ever any description of them thinking of the other except occasionally to frame a short reference to something. Reading the book I never got the impression that there was anything more than two ethereal beings spending time and proximity to each other and doing work for each other for no other reason than they’re essentially a bit lazy.

I think they’re only queer coded for the fact that there’s the line about Aziraphale appearing “gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitric oxide”, and Crowley is, well, very Freddie Mercury coded. Them being seen as gay together and all the gay slurs in the awful racist scenes of Aziraphale body hopping about in culturally indigenous people after the bookshop fire has more to do with the very typical 80’s/90’s trope of “being gay = comedy gold”, than them actually being together romantically.

I think the reason why they were shipped so much after the publication however is for the same reason we ship so many male couples (or female couple) in modern media, why we’ve always shipped them: because of the complete and horrid lack there of, of proper queer representation.

If you’ve ever seen the magnificent Russel T Davies TV series It’s a Sin, there is a wonderful scene where the character Ash starts a job in a school library and the headmaster asks him to go through all the books and find any book that has queer love scenes so they can be removed. Ash then gives a most beautiful and impassioned speech (albeit it turns out the speech is just in his head) of how there is nothing. Absolutely nothing. There is nothing to the point where they are nonexistent. They are invisible. They are not seen. (Or like, something to that effect. I tell you though, it’s bloody brilliant).

So I think that’s rather the point really. You have two iconic characters, albeit supporting bit characters practically, and I think a lot of our minds automatically get drawn to wanting to put them together because of the sheer lack of queer couples. People have been doing it for years from Frodo and Sam, to Harry Potter and Draco (or Ron I guess), to Sherlock and Watson (even before the Benedict Cumberbatch show. Also as an aside let’s not get into how obsessed people got about Sherlock Holmes back in the day when those books were first published. The obsession was the reason Doyle killed the character off the in first place, then after getting letters from people telling him they were literally going to kill themselves, the reasons why he resurrected him again. Don’t tell us that modern day nerds are weird and obsessive. We’ve ALWAYS been like this).

It’s for this reason why queer representation is so god damn important. Why I still support the idea of Good Omens season 3. Because regardless of how the characters were originally intending to be represented in the book, it’s very clear now that they are so much more than “Just friends”. And we NEED that! Whether you subscribe to the idea that they will be physically intimate with each other, the fact remains is they love each other. They love each other immensely. And that comes from years of Terry Pratchett (and the other guy) accepting that canon and telling fans that it’s true. Because Michael Sheen made a choice and held a belief about how he saw his character and then David Tennant followed suit. That literally tens of thousands of fanfiction writers have decided the same.

So that’s my take. I don’t think loving each other was ever intended that way in the book, but in the last 35 years their story has morphed into the ineffable husbands that we now know.

What are your thoughts? Have I rambled on long enough to make any sense? Do you agree? Have I missed something completely obvious and gotten it all wrong? Keen to hear thoughts.

#good omens #book omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens fandom #crowley x arizaphale #david tennant #Michael Sheen #Terry Pratchett #fire neil gaiman #good omens discussions

273 notes · View notes

i-smoke-chapstick · 8 months ago

Note

Can I just have a small bit of headcanons or a Drabble on your pick of multi Gotham boys and their hands? Like I dunno if this is weird or not but kinda like just a dive down on what their hands feel like, who’s are soft and who’s are rough, who has vein hands, who has calloused hands. Just that kind of stuff please?🙏🤭🥺 (reason being of a specific hand edit I saw on tiktok 💀, also don’t feel obligated to do this if you don’t wanna. I completely understand.)

'FLESH, [hand! hcs]

-GOTHAM!VILLAINS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Victor Zsasz, Jonathan Crane

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; gotham villains and how they use their hands on reader ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. Not pure porn but smut. Suggestive. Might be the most vanilla thing i've written? but I love this request so much and I AM A SLUT for these men. Canon typical violence for Victor, Oswald getting a little rough ;)

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “This is just my way of unleashing the feelings deep inside of me.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

I know what you're thinking.

Oswald's hands? Out of every Gotham man I could've chosen???

YES. YES OSWALD'S HANDS. Have you seen this mans HANDS? Whether they are on a knife, or in those red gloves, or if he's leaning forward on them? All predatory like...

Not to mention...the VEINS. In almost every scene I've seen of this man? His hands are VEINY. Skinny bird man is not living up to that penguin stereotype, especially not in the earlier seasons.

God- just the way he stirs the wine glass or glass of brandy. Yeah. He's thinking and wishing it was your thighs he was holding, staring into the golden swirls.

The man has some issues with being nervous during sex, but when he lets loose he lets LOOSE. And he becomes feral, desperate, grinding and PAWING for every part of you he can kiss and hold and worship.

C'mon. We see the way he grips that cane of his. The way he holds the custom made knife. The way he gets his knuckles all bloody from hitting Fish or doing his own dirty work in season 1.

Also...going back to those red gloves of his. Could you imagine? Him making you grind yourself into the palm of his hand, watching you, mesmerized at the feeling of skin on leather.

He just wants to watch you writhe from pleasure. His little true love all needy for him and his hands. Gah.

He's so flustered, by the way, if you tell him you like his hands. He's sputtering, and asking why, but that little cheeky (and villainous mastermind) part of him is making a note to use them even more.

"You-," He says with a bit of an unbelieving smile, brows furrowed, voice wavering before his face turns to a look of complete shock, "You want me to what?"

Don't get him wrong, he's listening intently to your wishes, he just looks like he's seen a ghost at your vulgarity. He's not used to being wanted.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “You can dominate the game 'cause I'm tough / This spark of black that I seem to love.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

This man might have the most iconic hands out of EVERYONE on this list.

I mean, c'mon now. When you think of leather-clad knuckle-less gloves, who do you think of?

The man, the myth, the legend himself. Victor Zsasz has the hands of a working man and he likes to use them.

These are the same hands he carries his guns in, the same trigger finger that will pump inside you while you mewl around him.

In all seriousness, though, he LOVES his hands too. They are his favorite part of his body. Without his hands, what would he be able to do? He's skilled with them. Pleasuring you with them is no different.

They are slightly calloused from the sharp edges of the guns he holds, but he's learned to use his gloves to protect them. Regardless, the old scars and marks from when he was just a boy playing with a tec-9 still remain.

Also, he canonically wears rings when we first see him in the show. Yeah, he's using that to his advantage.

You'll feel the cold metal as he drags a finger along your spine, watching you shiver. He'll do that lazy side-smirk, breathing heavily as he watches you arch up into him just from a touch.

Don't tell him you love his hands. Please, for the sake of the zsaszettes having to suffer a total EGO trip. He's taking it in stride.

But if you do happen to mention it...he's bragging about it.

Every time he gets complimented on a nice shot, he's bring you up.

I can imagine him holding someone hostage, whether its Jim or someone else. He notices them staring at the gun in his hand, full of fear, and he'll look flattered.

"Oh? Are you staring at my hands? Sorry, I'm taken." He's mentioning, off-hand, to the rando he's kidnapped. It doesn't matter if the hostage is a full on 50 year old man. "My girlfriend says she loves my hands. Y'know, life's work, and all that."

𝐽𝛰𝑁𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑁 𝐶𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “This is not the way into my heart, into my head. / Into my brain, into none of the above.” Flesh by Simon Curtis

Okay, maybe i’m just a monster fucker, but HEAR ME OUT!!

Uncut nails behind those talons of his on his costume. On or off.

Sometimes, he’ll be fully clothed, drawing scratch-marks into your skin, lowly humming in pleasure. That little spark of fear in your eyes when he draaaaaags down just right makes him go crazy.

He can’t help it. You’re his armeggedon, his muse, his savior all in one. The remedy to his madness…and you get all worked up from just a touch. It strokes his ego, like Victor, but he’s quieter about it.

Dirt beneath his fingernails, callouses and blisters from working with those damned poisons. He’s suffered a chemical burn or two, and you’ll see the small circle scars on his knuckles.

You’re like his personal test subject. He likes to study you- watch your expressions when he glides his nails down your skin, almost touching you- but not quite.

Surprisingly a tease when he finds out. He’s nonchalant. He won’t let you see the sheer arousal simmering beneath the surface.

But boy, it’s there. His heavy breathing. It affects him just as much as it effects you. The chill down your back, the shivers left in his wake. He takes his time edging playing with you.

You might need to ask him to cut them lowkey because they can be kinda painful when he’s fingering you. Or…if you’re into that little sting of pain while his tongue massages your clit through his mask.

He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s filthy.

“There you go, little mouse. You like it, don’t you?” He pauses, in thought, while you grind for friction like a cat in heat against his finger tips. “I wonder…where I should sink my claws into you next?”

That damned deep voice of his…the subtle curl of his fingers inside you. Before you know it, he’s pumping in and out, trying to elicit the most vulgar reactions from you. He can’t help it. For a man who prides himself on control…he looses it all when he’s with you.

336 notes · View notes

pynkhues · 6 months ago

Note

I would LOVE to read your analysis of louis as byronic hero as apposed to his reading as gothic heroine. lots of the latter and zero of the former in the fandom.

Sure! Mmm, okay, so –

What are we talking about when we talk about Gothic Heroes?

When we talk about gothic heroes, we’re really talking about three pretty different character archetypes. All three are vital to the genre, but some are more popular in certain subgenres i.e. your Prometheus Hero may be more common in gothic horror, whereas your Byronic Hero might be more likely to be found in gothic romance. That’s not to say they’re exclusive to those subgenres at all, and there is an argument that these archetypes themselves are gendered (in many ways, I think people confuse Anne being an author of the female gothic with Louis being a gothic heroine, but I’ll get into that later), but this is also not necessarily something that’s exclusive.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself, haha, so the three gothic hero archetypes are:

Milton’s Satan who is the classic gothic hero-villain. You can probably guess from the name, but he was originated in John Milton’s 1667 poem, Paradise Lost. He is God’s favourite angel, but God is forced to cast him out of heaven when he rebels against him. As an archetype, he’s a man pretty much defined by his pride, vanity and self-love, usually fucks his way through whatever book or poem he’s in, has a perverted, incestuous family, and a desire to corrupt other people. He’s also defined as being “too weak to choose what is moral and right, and instead chooses what is pleasurable only to him” and his greatest character flaw, in spite of all The Horrors, is that he’s usually easily misguided or led astray. (I would argue that Lestat fits into this archetype pretty neatly, but that’s a whole other post.)

Prometheus who was established as a gothic archetype by Mary Shelley with Frankenstein in 1818. Your Prometheus Hero is basically represented by the quest for knowledge and the overreach of that quest to bring on unintended consequences. He’s tied, of course, to the Prometheus of Greek myth, so you can get elements of that in this character design too in that he can be devious or a trickster, but the most important part of him is that he is split between his extreme intelligence and his sense of rebellion, and that his sense of rebellion and boundary pushing overtakes his intelligence and basically leads to All The Gothic Horrors.

And the Byronic Hero, who as the name implies, was both created by and inspired by the romantic poet, Lord Byron in his semi-autobiographical poem, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage which was published between 1812-1818. The archetype is kind of an idealized version of himself, and as historian and critic Lord Macaulay wrote, the character is “a man proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on his brow and misery in his heart, a scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection.” Adding to that, he’s often called ‘the gloomy egoist’ as a protagonist type, hates society, is often self-destructive and lives either exiled or in a self-exile, and is a stalwart of gothic literature, but especially gothic romance. Interestingly too, in his most iconic depictions he’s often a) darkly featured and/or not white (Heathcliff being the most obvious example of this given Emily Bronte clearly writes him as either Black or South Asian), and b) is often used to explore queer identity, with Byron himself having been bisexual.

Okay, but what about the Gothic Heroine?

Gothic heroines are less delineated and have had more of an evolution over time, which makes sense, given women have consistently been the main audience of gothic literature and have frequently been the most influential writers of the genre too. The gothic genre sort of ‘officially’ started with Horace Walpole’s 1764 novel, The Castle of Otranto and Isabella is largely regarded as the first gothic heroine and the foundation of the archetype, and the book opens even with one of the key defining traits – an innocent, chaste woman without the protection of a family being pursued and persecuted by a man on the rampage.

The gothic heroine was, for years, defined by her lack of agency. She was innocent, chaste, beautiful, curious, plagued by tragedy and often, ultimately, tragic. Isabella survives in The Castle of Otranto, but she’s one of the lucky ones – Cathy dies in Wuthering Heights, Sybil dies in The Picture of Dorian Gray, Justine and Elizabeth both die in Frankenstein, Mina survives in Dracula, but Lucy doesn’t. There’s an argument frequently posited that the gothic genre was, and is, about dead women and the men who mourn them, and Interview with the Vampire certainly lends itself to that pretty neatly.

Of course, the genre has evolved, and in particular by the late 1800s, there was a notable shift in how the Gothic Heroine was depicted. The house became a place of imprisonment where they were further constrained and disempowered, she was infantilized and pathologized and diagnosed as hysterical, and as Avril Horner puts it in her excellent paper, Women, Power and Conflict: the Gothic heroine and ‘Chocolate-box Gothic’, gothic literature of this era “explores “the constraints enforced [by] a patriarchal society that is becoming increasingly nervous about the demands of the ‘New Woman’.”

This was an era where marriage was increasingly understood in feminist circles to be a civil death where women were further subjugated and became the property of their husbands. This was explored through gothic literature as the domestic space evolved into a symbol of patriarchal control in the Female Gothic.

Female Gothic vs Male Gothic

Because here’s the thing – the female gothic and the male gothic are generally understood to be two different subgenres of gothic literature.

While there are plenty of arguments as to what this entails, the basics is that the male gothic is written by men, and usually features graphic horror, rape and the masculine domination of women and often utilises the invasion of women’s spaces as a symbol of further penetrating their bodies, while the female gothic is written by women, and usually features graphic terror, as opposed to horror, while delving more specifically into gender politics. More than that though, its heroines are usually victimized, virginial and powerless while being pursued by villainous men.

The Female Gothic as a genre is also specifically interested in the passage from girlhood to female maturity, and does view the house as a place of entrapment, but she is usually suddenly “threatened with imprisonment in a castle or a great house under the control of a powerful male figure who gave her no chance to escape.”

That’s not Louis’ arc, that’s Claudia’s arc twice over, first with the house at Rue Royale, then with the Paris Coven, and Lestat and Armand aren’t the only powerful male figures who imprison her.

Claudia as the Gothic Heroine

Claudia in many ways is the absolute embodiment of the classic gothic heroine. Even the moment of their meeting is a product of Louis’ Byronic heroism – his act of implacable revenge against the Alderman Fenwick which prompts the rioting that almost kills her. She’s a victim of Louis’ monstrousness before they’ve even met, and while he saves her, he arguably does something worse in trapping her in the house with both himself and Lestat, holding her in an ever-virginal, ever-chaste eternal girlhood, playing into Lestat’s Milton-Satan by enhancing the perversion of family and ultimately infantilizing her out of his own desire for familial closeness.

Claudia has no family protection before Louis and Lestat – a staple of the gothic heroine – she is completely dependent on them in her actual girlhood, and again in adulthood, never developing the strength to be able to turn a companion, to say nothing about the sly lines here and there that further diminish and pathologise her (Lestat calling her histrionic, Louis making her out to be a burden, etc.). This is all further compounded again with the Coven, and when the tragedy of her life ultimately leads to the tragedy of her death.

Louis as the Byronic Hero

Not to start with a quote, but here’s one from The Literary Icon of the Byronic Hero and its Reincarnation in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights:

“Generally speaking, the Byronic hero exhibits several particular characteristics. He does not possess heroic virtues in the usual, traditional sense. He is a well-educated, intelligent and sophisticated young man, sometimes a nobleman by birth, who at the same time manifests signs of rebellion against all fundamental values and moral codes of the society. Despite his obvious charm and attractiveness, the Byronic hero often shows a great deal of disrespect for any figure of authority. He was considered "the supreme embodiment [...] standing not only against a dehumanized system of labor but also against traditionally repressive religious, social, and familial institutions" (Moglen, 1976: 28).

The Byronic hero is usually a social outcast, a wanderer, or is in exile of some kind, one imposed upon him by some external forces or self-imposed. He also shows an obvious tendency to be arrogant, cunning, cynical, and unrepentant for his faults. He often indulges himself in self destructive activities that bring him to the point of nihilism resulting in his rebellion against life itself. He is hypersensitive, melancholic, introspective, emotionally conflicted, but at the same time mysterious, charismatic, seductive and sexually attractive.”

Louis as he exists in the show to me is pretty much all of those things, and I think to argue that he’s a gothic heroine not only diminishes Claudia’s arc, but robs Louis of his agency within his own story. Louis chooses Lestat, over and over again, he’s not imprisoned by the monster in the domestic sphere, he is one of the monsters who’s controlling the household, including making decisions of when they bring a child into it and when Lestat gets to live in it – he wanted to be turned, he wanted to live with Lestat in Rue Royale, and while there are certainly arguments to be made about their power dynamic within the household in the NOLA era, importantly Louis actually gained social power through his marriage to Lestat, particularly through The Azaelia, he didn’t lose it in the way that’s vital to the story of the gothic heroine.

Daniel Hart even said it in a recent twitter thread about Long Face, but there is an element of Lestat and Louis’ relationship that is transactional, and to me, for that to exist, they both have to have a degree of control over their circumstances and choices in order to negotiate those transactions. Claudia is the one who can’t, she’s the one who’s treated effectively as property, and she’s the one who lacks control over her circumstances.

While you could perhaps argue the constraints of the apartment in Dubai lend more to the gothic heroine archetype, I’d argue it as furthering the Byronic trope again by being representative both of Louis’ self-destruction and self-imposed exile. As Jacob has said a few times, Louis does seem to have known to a degree that Armand was involved in Claudia’s death on some level, and it’s that guilt and misery that has him allowing Armand his degree of control. The fact that Louis was able to leave Armand as easily and as definitively as he was I think demonstrates that distinction too – after all, to compare that ending to Claudia’s multiple attempts to leave the confines of the patriarchal house, both in Rue Royale and Paris, which were punished at every turn – first by her rape, then by Lestat dragging her back off the train, and then by the Coven orchestrating her murder.

Louis gets to leave because Louis can leave, he has both the social and narrative power to, and the fact that he does is, to me, completely at odds with the gothic heroine. Louis can, and does advocate for himself, Louis is proud, moody, cynical. Defiance is a key part of his character, just as his exile from NOLA society due to his race, and his chosen rejection of vampire society in Paris, is. He’s intelligent and sophisticated, travels the world, and has misery in his heart, guilt that eats him up, and self-destructive tendencies. That’s a Byronic Hero, baby!

#i also agree with jacob when he says he has a lot more power in his relationship with lestat than he'd admit to #i also think the house in rue royale is both constraining AND liberating for louis #as he's able to live with a sort of honesty he couldn't in his mother's house #lestat wields a lot of power in it of course but louis does too #i could keep talking about this but i think that's probably enough for this morning haha #louis de pointe du lac #amc interview with the vampire #iwtv asks #claudia de pointe du lac #welcome to my ama

264 notes · View notes

victimsofyaoipoll · 1 year ago

Text

Finals

Propaganda Under Cut

Sakura Haruno

Her husband is gay and her author doesn't know how to write women. So many people say she's the worst but she. DESERVES. BETTER!!! Save her from this franchise.

My baby girl my bestie my best friend. She committed the crime of um being written by kishimoto who both doesn’t know how to write women and somehow writes men in the gayest way possible specifically naruto and sasuke. Like the thing is naruto and sasuke ARE gay and also she gets so much hate for the crime of kishimoto writing her one dimensionally in love with sasuke. I know her personally she is a butch lesbian to me just trust me she’s in love with Ino and has a lesbian thing going on with Karin okay just trust me. My everything. She needs to divorce the loveless lavender marriage she’s in

What is there to say, even? The OG Threat to my 90s anime brain, the only woman I've ever hated with such a passion she made me turn away from the color pink. I used to write fics with my friend where she got left behind on purpose so our OCs could join the Naruto and Sasuke team instead. I loathed this bitch until I was 16 and realized the author simply couldnt write women and decided it was time to make peace with Sakura. It is not her fault she's vaguely written and obsessive over Sasuke. She deserves better. Sasuke and Naruto still should be together and Sakura shouldnt be with Sasuke but I no longer believe this because I hate Sakura, it is because I love her. She deserves a spouse who will actually put in the time to treat her like the hero she is.

Misa Amane

she gets treated in-canon the way fandoms treat female characters that Threaten an m/m ship. it's like, "oh why don't you go sit in the corner and be pretty, misa, while the Men have intelligent conversation and pretend they aren't ten seconds from fucking each other, doesn't that sound nice?" it's infuriating. and MAYBE it's better now but i remember her getting treated the same way in fanfiction too, like we all need to do just as badly by our female secondary characters as fucking tsugumi ohba, but with the added insult of making her be alternately oblivious of the relationship between light and L or actively trying to sabotage it—incompetently, of course, because god forbid misa be allowed dignity or moments of cleverness.

she's one of the first characters I think of when I consider old school fandom misogyny. The annoying bitch and clingy crazy gf allegations were AFTER HER ASS. She's also a lot more intelligent than people gave her credit for, but most seem inclined to take the Very Biased word of our unreliable, narcissistic narrator and his homoerotic arch nemesis and claim that just because she's bubbly and into romance that she's also a complete moron. Which is blatantly untrue. Everyone was afraid of Misa girlbossing too hard. Killing people and devoting yourself to the deranged twink of your dreams even though you know he'll never love you back??? Having a hardcore goth aesthetic and being so Hot even literal Death Gods are into you?? God forbid women do ANYTHING!

Not only is she the victim of yaoi culture, she is the victim of early 2000s misogyny by an author that wanted to introduce a girl character because he knew his male rivals were getting too homoerotic. She is a goth bimbo icon who portrays what I think is one of the few callouts for stan culture and what parasocial relationships can do to both the stan and the idol. The fact that she is a toxic fan of Kira and also hot, funny, sociable is tragic in its own way, which I think the author did try to touch on but was too misogynistic too really get through. Of course, she was reduced to villain status by the fandom and anime alike because she got in the way of the supposed romance in their psychological horror anime

#poll #finals #sakura haruno #naruto #misa amane #misa misa #death note

742 notes · View notes

beifong-brainrot · 11 months ago

Text

I think the reason I'm a bit iffy about most zutara shippers who call themesleves "pro Katara" (and lets be honest the tags pro katara/katara deserved better are mainly people building themselves a moral highground of "if you disagree with me, you clearly dilslike Katara and want her to suffer") is just the hypocrisy of it all.

Katara's consent was violated by Aang, yes. But Zuko threatening her and being a fucking creep in the "I'll save you from the pirates" scene was sexy and not at all the nightmare of any sane woman.

Katara's role as a healer is treated as her acting subservient and her loosing her feminist icon status. Unless she's healing/offering to heal Zuko.

Aang is immature and childish. But we will handily ignore Zuko, a whole ass 16 year old who's heir to a country throwing a temper tantrum because his girlfriend dared to speak to another man. [Frankly, in my opinion, Zuko isn't really ready for a serious romantic relationship, but yall arent ready for that conversation]

Aang is supposedly misogynistic, but Zuko's many instances of actual misogyny are swept under the rug. Aang is shown in canon to be incredibly supportive of Katara defying the patriarchy.

Supposedly Aang makes Katara do all the housework. Despite there being evidence to the contrary. Zuko has just recently learnt to brew tea.

Katara being the Avatar's wife is supposedly degrading. But if she were Zuko's wife, I'm sure she wouldn't be just a baby maker. (What a horribke thing to call a woman btw. Tall call your own mothers baby makers too???) Despite the fact that Izumi's mother hasn't even been mentioned by name in tlok. But yeah. She'd be afforded the respect she deserves I'm certain.

Aang is, on most accounts, supportive and respectful of Katara's opinions, even when he disagrees with them. Zuko openly mocks people who oppose him. I am going to make a longer post on the Southern Raiders episodes and how all of you watched that episode blindfolded or smth.

Aang comparing Appa being kidnapped (his last connection to his genocided people, the last vestige of his happy past) to Katara's anger over her mother is bad. But Zuko comparing mommy leaving his ass to Katara's mother getting brutally slaughtered in front of her ? Silence.

Aang supposedly needs Katara to mother him and that's a bad thing. But Azula, Mai and Ty Lee having to gentle parent Zuko almost everytime they interact is never talked about, despite the uncalled for verbal abuse that trio goes through from him.

Aang and Katara's 2 year age gap is creepy. But Zuko and Katara's 2 year age gap is fine. My bigest gripe with Zutara lovers is them completely erasing Katara's childishness and immaturity, in order for her and Zuko to have this mature, sexy relationship. She's 14, guys. 14.

This post really isn't meant to decry Zutara. I just want people who ship Zutara to get off their high horse of feminism and to accept that they're no better than the rest of us ship loving freaks. Wanting the main girl to bump uglies with the broody emo twink doesn't make you a modern day suffragette. Disliking a main canon pairing isn't a measure of your love for a female character.

Grow up.

Enjoy your ship like a normal person.

#caring for zutara doesn't equal caring for katara sit down #anti zutara #pro kataang #pro aang #pro katara #<this is the stupudest tag known to man #anti zuko #i didn't mean for it to come off like that but oh well #avatar #katara #aang #zuko

347 notes · View notes

signedkoko · 1 year ago

Note

Hello!

Could you write some romantic headcanons for Valentino with a fem reader who's an overlord, and is either equally as powerful as him or more? I would love to see the dynamic, because we know how he treats his employees, but I'm interested in how he would act with someone who's "higher class" (would he see her as equal, treat her with more respect ect.).

Btw, I love your works. Your writing style is amazing.

Have a nice day/night <3

Valentino X Reader [Romantic]

In which you are one of the strongest overlords, and you far outpower all the V's combined. Reader is female.

When you first met, it was a very back-and-forth relationship

Always nitpicking each other, bickering a ton, and making jokes at the others expense

This was mostly at meetings or at public events, but for the most part, Valentino never bothered to know more about you

Vox was a good friend of yours, though, so he always saw you in a positive light on social media or television

Slowly, Valentino had to come to terms with the fact that you were extremely well known, as you'd taken down many overlords who crossed you without so much as a scratch

In all honesty, he's quite the coward, so he tries to avoid you as much as Vox and Velvette invite you into their lives

The fact that anyone, let alone a woman, is more powerful than him? Its infruiating

Mostly because it hurts his masculinity, what little is left of it

While normally your strength would be worth exploiting, Velvette and Vox being so attached meant he was forced to respect you

Forced is the key word because he never respects anyone besides himself, which makes it way harder to be around you, though his awkwardness is what really reels you in

You two have a lot in common: you get what you want when you want it; the only difference is that you are independent and do everything on your own

Valentino preferred to have others do the dirty work for him, so you always laughed at how prissy he was

He probably smokes a lot more after being around you because it stresses him out

He's not worried about you, no, mostly himself; you are certainly a handful, and wherever you go, you take over the whole room

Valentino is influenced by your presence, which is noticeable to everyone around him

He is less hot-headed, less likely to lash out, and less likely to manipulate anyone into doing his bidding

It is almost as if he is trying to impress you further by being independent himself, as hard as it is for him

You know this; it's very blatant, but honestly, it's so cute seeing him try to act so big and bad when he's like a mutt next to you

Valentino idolizes you in your relationship; you are an icon that he must protect

He will go to extreme lengths for you

This stupid overlord will still bicker with you, but he will leave any prods towards you out of it and will only get huffy if you start insulting him too much

Author's Note - Honestly surprised I got requested Valentino but also excited! He is such a dynamic character, defo one of my hardest to write. I also can't wait to do Velvette! Thank you for requenting 🖤

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #valentino #valentino x reader

506 notes · View notes

hotvintagepoll · 11 months ago

Text

Propaganda

Barbara Stanwyck (Ball of Fire, The Lady Eve, Double Indemnity)—I hope someone else has submitted better propaganda than I because I don't want my girl's prospects to rest on me just yelling PLEASE VOTE FOR MY TERRIBLE HOT GIRLFRIEND. She is a delight in everything! She is often a sexy jerk! (It's most of the plot of Baby Face!) Even when she plays a "good girl" (as an example, Christmas in Connecticut, which more people should see) she's still kind of a jerk and I love her for it! She won't take men's shit and she sure wouldn't take mine!

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

Linked gifset 2

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

Barbara Stanwyck:

"THE leading lady of the golden age of hollywood. One of the only actresses to work independent of a studio, making short-term contracts that enabled her to make movies wherever she wanted. She had so much range, and could act in basically any genre. She's been rumored to be a lesbian literally since she was active in Hollywood; most notable is the rumor that she had a long time on-and-off relationship with famously bi Joan Crawford, her "best friend" for decades (They lived right next door to one another). She also lived with Helen Ferguson, her "live-in publicist" for many years. She was the quintessential femme fatale in Double Indemnity, and really pushed sexual boundaries in her pre-code films like Baby Face, and the famous screwball The Lady Eve, where she plays basically a downlow domme. Allegedly, when a journalist asked her if she was a lesbian, she straight up threw him out of her house. She even played a lesbian in Walk on the Wild Side"

"THE queen of screwball comedies. I adore her, I'd kill for her, I will cry if she's not gonna win this poll."

"listen ok she had awful politics she was a mccarthyist right wing wacko BUT she's so incredibly hot that i've deluded myself into believing i could fix her. if you see her onscreen she carries herself in a way that's just so effortlessly sexy AND she has just a stunning face. imo she was at her hottest in the 1940s but even as early as the late 1920s she had a rly captivating screen presence and just a beautiful face, and then post-1950 she was just irresistibly milfy so really she was just always incredibly hot. she was also an incredibly talented actress who was equally stellar in melodrama, film noir, and unhinged screwball comedy. the blonde wig they made her wear in double indemnity is notoriously silly looking but she still looks sexy in it so that's gotta count for something. i've watched so many terrible movies just for a chance at seeing her that i think her estate should be paying me damages."

"Not often thought of for her sultriness, Barbara Stanwyck was incredible in that she could actually choose to be hot if the role called for it, and then have a glow-down to look ordinary for another role. She wasn't the most beautiful or effervescent, but damn did she have rizz. Watch her with Gary Cooper in Ball of Fire teaching him about "yum-yum" or with Henry Fonda in The Lady Eve whispering huskily into his ear."

youtube

"She is always the smartest woman in the room. Watching her play Henry Fonda like a befuddled fiddle in The Lady Eve was a highlight of my life. Femme fatale in Double Indemnity, comedy queen in Ball of Fire. She can do anything."

"She was part of my gay awakening"

"SHE'S A PRE-CODE QUEEN. She did everything, drama, comedy. The most beautiful woman in the world to watch weep. Beg for to step on you with those legs. Fun Babs story: Ginger Rogers was offered the role in Ball of Fire but said, “Oh, I would never play that part, she’s too common.” So they called Barbara Stanwyck and they said “We offered this to Ginger Rogers but she’s turned it down, would you be interested?” And she read the script and she said; “You bet! I LOVE playing common broads. [link]"

#barbara stanwyck #setsuko hara #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4 #Youtube

302 notes · View notes