#unhinged revelation a bit ago

[cant-think-to-save-my-life]

So what you’re telling me is that ‘The Suckening’ may be a Parent Trap reenactment?

#jrwi #jrwi the suckening #sorry one of my friends had #THE most #unhinged revelation a bit ago #jrwi shilo #jrwi emizel #LOOK AT THEM AND THEIR PARENTS #LOOK AT THEM I SAY

[jealusty--movedaccounts]

Can I Be Him?

PAIRINGS : Lee Felix × fem!reader.

WORD COUNT : 7.9k.

GENRE : Angst, Smut, Fluff.

WARNINGS/CONTENT : multiple pov (reader+felix+author/narrator), reader has a toxic bf and felix wants her, strangers to friends to lovers, nightclub meet cute lmao, drinking, protective!felix, (un)requited love, mutual pining, angst with a happy ending.

A/N : This was supposed to be a quick smut drabble, but I can't live without adding some angst apparently. The more you know.

"Please, angel. You don't know how long I've been wanting this. I want to do this right. I want to worship you like you deserve."

If you could, you might melt into a puddle right then and there, but his dick is just a few centimeters away from your fingertips, and your mind is just a little unhinged.

You click your tongue impatiently, "You know damn well what happened the last time you tried to do this right. You wouldn't want history to repeat, would you?" His fly is undone in a flash.

"Tick tock, baby."

Main Masterlist

Smut warnings under the cut

SMUT WARNINGS : Lots of kissing, nicknames (baby, angel), switch!felix, switch!reader, Felix as a service top halfway through, begging (willingly, not forced lol), marking (once), voice kink(? Idk the reader gets horny over his deep voice), oral (m.+f. recieving), slight voyeurism (alleyway blowjob), deepthroating, body worship, nipple play, praise kink, spitting, dirty talk, unprotected intercourse (do better), squirting, creampie, fucking that turns to lovemaking, revelations about sexual preferences

"He left again?"

Wrapping your shivering arms around yourself in a failed attempt to bring some warmth, you smile "It's okay."

How the fuck could you smile at that?

"It's okay? Nothing is okay here. You're trembling on the street alone in the middle of the night, and it's okay?"

"It's really fine, Lixie, he had something important to take care of."

"And what could be more important than taking his girlfriend home? He couldn't offer you a ride on his way? Or at least get you in a fucking cab?"

You smile at how riled up Felix was getting, he always was the overprotective type, one of the kindest souls you'd met. That was the only reason he was so worried about you. That was why he looked about fit to burst right now. Yeah, he's just kind.

Who you were convincing, you weren't sure.

You had met him about ten months ago, in this very bar, when you'd come in for the first time. He'd been a regular and you'd clicked in an instant. You remember the night distinctly.

Stepping into 'Enigma', you repeated your plan in your head over and over,

I just need to get it out. I'm gonna find some cute guy, flirt with him, fuck him, and be on my merry way.

Only, you hadn't ever done this before. Only, it was your first time being alone in a nightclub. Only, you didn't know how to flirt- all your sexual experiences being with past lovers.

Oh god, this was such a bad idea.

If I just turn around a little bit, just a little, at a distance of like two steps, I can be out and into the confines of my home and wallow in-

No. Stop doing this. Calm the fuck down.

Making your way to the bar before your brain could talk you out of it, you order a Cosmo. You'd rather have your wits about you if you were going to fuck a stranger.

Fuck, am I actually doing this?

You swirl in your bar stool, looking around, and within seconds, lock eyes with a handsome stranger leaning against the wall right on the opposite side of the nightclub.

Oh, I'm doing this, alright.

You offer what you think is a flirtatious smile, and the man smiles so brightly at you, you get whiplash.

Heck yeah, I'm definitely doing this.

The bartender calls over to you to let you know that your drink is ready, promptly ending the little staring contest you'd unknowingly been participating in.

You turn back and accept your drink.

When you look over your shoulder again, the stranger is gone. Looking around, you don't see him again.

I'm not gonna get it today, am I?

Just as you were about to actually physically whine, you feel a light tap on your shoulder.

"Is this seat taken?"

Hah! I'm getting it.

You shake your head a little too eagerly, hoping it doesn't show. If he notices your enthusiasm, he doesn't say anything. Sliding into the stool next to you, he turns to face you,

"I'm Felix."

Now that you have gotten over your little mental victory dance, you hear him, like really hear him.

"What the-"

"That's an interesting name." He chuckles, not at all bothered by your bluntless.

"Sorry, it's just, your- your voice... " You fumble about, not really knowing what to say.

"Is..?" He cocks up an eyebrow.

Oh, he was enjoying this a little too much.

"Really-" You almost said 'turning me on.' It was. It really was. It was so thick, deep and velvety. Like the deepest of hot dark chocolates melting and trickling down the wine glass. Just a lick of your wine tinted lips, and you could get a heavenly mouthful.

Snapping out of the reverie of thirsty thoughts you'd found yourself in, you are suddenly aware that you never completed your earlier thought. He doesn't seem to mind, looking patiently at you with an amused expression, sipping on his whiskey he'd apparently ordered in the time you were thirsting over his voice.

"- uh, really deep." You settle. Your add your name at the last minute. God, he only just came here and your brain was already short circuiting.

"Nice to meet you." He flashes that million watt smile at you again and you fucking melt.

It doesn't make sense, how a criminally handsome man, with voice as deep as a void, had the cutest fucking toothy smile.

Are those freckles I'm seeing!? Lord have mercy, kill me while you're at it, why don't you.

You manage to crack out a smile, and he beams. The rest of the night goes on smoothly. The conversation is natural between you two. No forced topics, no awkward silence. It's almost perfect. Key word : almost.

The only problem being, he hasn't made a move on you once. Heck, he didn't even try to flirt with you, let alone touch you. You waited and waited, but nothing happened.

Does he have a girlfriend?

You carefully manage to slip it into coveration, but he denies it.

Oh, so you're just not interested in me, huh? That's nice to know.

As the night goes on, your hopes keep getting lower and reach an all time low when he guides you out of the club and helps you into the Uber.

"Aren't you getting in?" You ask in a last ditch attempt to get him to see that you very clearly want him.

"Nah, I live around the corner here. I'll be fine walking. Get home safe."

On the ride home, you realise he didn't even ask for your number.

Was I that off putting?

Over the course of the week, you get to know that he didn't need to ask for your number, because you see each other everyday at the same place, same time. You always get a Cosmo, he always gets a whiskey, you talk all night, he keeps his distance.

That last part frustrated you to no end, made you want to pull your hair out.

Does he really just want a friend? That can't be it, right? Who looks to make a friend of the opposite sex at a nightclub?

Felix did, apparently. It became plenty clear what he saw you as, on the sixth day of you both hanging out together.

He had called a cab for you yet again - much like almost every other day - when you drunkenly mumble, "Thanks for always doing this for me."

"Hey, don't mention it. That's what friends are for, right?"

That's enough to sober you up.

As the cab begins moving forward, you feel your heart sieze. You don't know when your need to fuck him turned into this stupid crush you're just coming to terms with. But as the cab ride continues, the pain seeps through and you come to the realisation that it isn't - wasn't - just a stupid crush. It was so much more.

Such a unique flavor of masochism, unrequited love.

You wash the tears away in your shower later that night, only to cry some more.

So really, he's just being kind when he's so worked up about your boyfriend ditching you.

"I'll call you a cab."

"Just like the old days." Your drunken mind muses.

Felix doesn't reply, but you think you see a flick of seriousness on his face. It's gone as soon as it came, leaving you to wonder if your drunk mind was playing games on you.

"Ugh! There are no cabs available."

"I'll just wait around for one to pass by, then."

"While you're drunk this late in the night? Like hell you will."

You just giggle in response and Felix almost coos at the sight. Bringing his attention back to the matter at hand, for a moment - just a moment - he thinks about taking you home with him. It's just a few minutes walk away. But he quickly shuts it down. As pathetic as it sounds, he doesn't really trust himself around you.

Finally deciding on the best game plan that doesn't involve him having to check himself and his little guy down there, he takes your hand and guides you away from the club.

You don't even question him, trailing behind, barely managing to walk straight.

The walk is silent, his hand in yours warm. You both stop in front of an apartment complex about ten minutes later.

"Is this your place?" You wonder out aloud.

"Yeah, just wait here. I'll be back."

You grasp at his sleeve just as he's about to take off "What do you mean wait here? Am I not coming in?"

"Uh, there's no need. I'll be two minutes. I just have to get my car keys and then I'll drop you off."

All the insecurities from months back return with an ugly thump.

"Am I really that unappealing to you?" You find your wobbly voice saying, the alcohol doing the talking for you.

"What?" He's taken aback by the sudden question. Moreso, by the sudden gloss that covers your eyes.

"Even back then, you approached me but never tried anything. Am I that unattractive to you?"

Was that what you had been thinking all this time?

How does he tell you, the reason he didn't make any moves was because he wanted to do it right? He didn't see you as just a fuck. Sure, he approached you with that intention, but as you began to talk, he felt that spark, that connection with you he had never experienced before. Being with you was easy. He wanted to be around you more. He didn't want to screw this up by propositioning you. You would fuck, then what? He wanted you in his life, so he had to play his cards right.

Alas, he had never been much of a card-sharp.

Two months after the cab incident, where he fucked up and called you a friend, you had started dating your now boyfriend.

It had shattered him. Seeing you laughing with someone else, kissing someone else. The chance went right past him.

If only he had known. If only he hadn't been such a coward.

Stepping towards you, he hesitantly holds you at arms length, looking into your eyes. He's not sure what he sees there. Why does it matter to you? Has it bothered you all this time? Why, though? You never gave any signs that you liked him back. That's ridiculous. You wouldn't be dating your current boyfriend if you felt anything at all for him.

He brushes the thought aside, blaming your strange behaviour on alcohol and hormones at having been ditched by your boyfriend.

"Hey, no. You're beautiful, okay? You're- you're.." He feels a lump forming in his throat. How does he go about explaining what he truly thinks of you? If he were to keep talking, he would end up confessing, he's sure.

"Just- just stay, here, okay? I won't take more than a minute." He rushes off.

A part of him feels bad at not reassuring you more, but he just has to get away from you, your warmth. The urge to take you in his arms too strong, he feels his restraint slipping away.

This is exactly why he didn't want to let you stay the night.

Sure enough, within a minute, he's out with a key dangling off his fingers.

You have considerably calmed down by then, despite it being only a minute since you were practically ready to cry.

Just alcohol and hormones. It's okay.

You walk off to his car without looking at him and yank the car door. It doesn't budge, "Are you gonna keep standing there?"

Felix is visibly taken aback at your harsh tone and choice of words, dumbly unlocking the car and getting in with you.

Hormones. Hormones. Alcohol. Hormones.

The entire car ride, you're silent. But it's just the calm before the storm, he can feel it.

When he stops in front of your place - having known your address after calling the cab for you on multiple occasions - you just sit there, unmoving. He can see you simmering away. Whatever's going on in your head, it can't be pleasant.

Contrary to what he'd thought, you reach out for him and rest your hand on his collarbone, half covered by his silk shirt.

"Did I tell you that you look good today? So pretty." Your voice is but a whisper and the drowsy expression on your face has him reeling.

When he doesn't say anything - but doesn't resist your touch either - you slide your hand futher up his clavicle, stopping at the base of his throat, then slowly traveling up and over his adam's apple, across his jawline, to the back of his head. Sinking your fingers into his mullet, you mumble "So soft," eyes glazed over, lips parted. Your thumb pokes out from under his ear and you quickly run it over his bottom lip, "so so soft." Your words feel distant to your own ears, as if they're echoing from somewhere underwater and not your mouth.

He looks into your eyes that are fixed at his lips. Your cheeks are a pretty shade of pink, your lips wet and pillowy. Your pupils are blown wide, and you look... turned on?

The sight of you has blood rushing straight to his cock before he can stop it.

Your eyes find his again, an electricity zings through his nerves and it's all he can do to not give in and sink his teeth into that godforsaken lower lip of yours.

You lean forward, his breath hitches. He can feel your breath right on his lips and honestly, it's turning his brain to mush.

Before things could go any more South, before his dick can get any harder, he latches onto the last bit of sanity he has left.

"Y-you have a boyfriend." Is all he says, finding himself physically incapable of outright denying you.

The simple statement seems to have knocked some sense into you, as you suddenly pull away, eyes wide, that drowsy look wiped clean off your face.

"Sor-rry, I should- I should go. Yeah." You fumble with the seatbelt and next thing he knows, you are out the door.

The air around him feels entirely too cold without your warmth, increasingly too harsh without your sweet scent filling it.

The wind is chilly, goosebumps braking across your skin. Not really surprising considering it's nearing the end of the year.

Not the best idea to wear a sheer bodycon dress, I guess.

Wrapping up on yourself you softly exhale, your breath condensing and curling, dancing away in the cool midnight breeze.

You feel a sudden warmth on your shoulders.. A jacket?

"What is up with you and the whole drunk-stranded-alone-at-midnight thing?"

That deep velvety voice.

You hadn't seen him in the two months since what you've decided to call your 'drunken fuck up'. He didn't show up at the club after, and it's then that you realised you didn't have each other's numbers, still.

"Your boyfriend leave you again?"

"No. I left him."

"What?" He isn't sure he understands.

"I broke up with him." You're not sure why you want him to understand.

It's then that he looks at you fully, his beautiful face iluminated even more beautifully by the full moon that looms over the two of you, silently watching. His raven locks are parted almost in the centre, forehead exposed, bangs reaching his eyes.

Fuck, he's gorgeous.

He watches you intently. You have no idea what's going on in his head, his expression unreadable.

You think back to what went down in his car all those days ago. You definitely picked up on the fact that he was aroused too, that he wanted what you wanted too.

You were sure. But another thing you also were, was drunk. Could you have misread the entire situation?

"How are you getting home?" he disregards your comment altogether.

But of course, rejection at its finest. Just my luck.

"Cab."

He chuckles, "You know how to hail a cab?"

"Had to learn to since you ghosted me." The remark comes off with more of a bite than you had intended.

He falls quite, face turning serious. His attempt at keeping the conversation lighthearted having failed miserably.

Guess it's now or never.

"Hey, the reason I backed off that da-"

"I know. You were right to do that. Thanks. But what I don't know is why you had to ghost me after."

He sighs. Truth be told, he doesn't know himself. He didn't think it through. You have a way of making his head go blank, of making him lose the ability to think rationally and make mature decisions.

"I know it was a dick move, and I-I honestly don't know what I was thinking."

You squint your eyes, waiting.

One look at your face and the word vomit begins, "I-I've wanted you since that day we met last year. I wanted you that day, but then we talked and then I actually began to like you. And I didn't want to mess it up, so- so I didn't do anything about it that day - or the next day - or the next week. God, that was my biggest mistake! I thought I was taking my time, when I was really just being a coward. I... I realised a little too late that I liked you a little too much and by then... By then- you.. " He swallows, looking away.

You take a step forward, reaching out for him much like you did that day, cupping his chin, turning his face towards you.

"Do you still want me?" You whisper, eyes transfixed on those darn pink lips of his that were looking a little too appetizing right about now.

"Ye-"

The word is barely out of his mouth and you're swallowing it, pushing your lips onto his with such force, you both stumble back and his hands fly to grip your waist tightly.

And you love it, you love finally having his hands on you, your lips on his, his breath in your mouth.

You move your lips against his, slowly nibbling, then suking on his bottom lip, biting softly. He yelps a little, but there's no way in heck you're stopping now.

You lick at his lower lip to sooth the ache, your way of saying you're sorry.

And then do it all over again.

You part his lips with yours, tongue slipping in, twirling around his own, exploring his mouth, taking in the taste of him. He groans, breathing hard and goes to pull away, probably to breath, but you don't let him.

Fisting both his collars in your hands, you yank him toward you, your entwined tongues now transferring into your mouth due to the momentum with which he falls forward. You gladly welcome it.

You let him set the pace this time. His hot wet tongue caresses your own, gliding and flicking. He withdraws it, and suddenly sucks borderline violently, and in the next moment, you find that your tongue is in his mouth again, and he's still sucking on it.

A loud honk jolts you apart, both of you panting, a string of saliva still connecting your lips.

It's him who still has the wits to turn around and come face to face with a very annoyed cab driver. How long had he been here?

The tips of his ears burning red, he steps away from your grasp whilst you catch your breath.

You don't register what he does or what he says. In your dazed state, you can only make out the low rumble of his deep voice and the sound of a car taking off.

His hand suddenly grasps your. He looks into your eyes with a questioning look and you know exactly what he's asking for. You quickly nod and he wastes no time tugging you along.

His apartment is only ten minutes away, but the buzzing between your legs is too strong and your willpower is too weak.

You feel desire overtake the rational part of your brain, arousal clouding your judgement.

He isn't faring any better, ducking into an alleyway to take a shortcut.

As if sensing your impatience, he goes "Just another two minutes." His voice is gruff, the octave even lower than what it usually is.

It was no secret that his voice was your weakness, and hearing it take on such a low note, something in you snaps.

Before you know it, you're pushing him against the wall in the alleyway, taking those pillowy lips between yours. There's no time for build up, no time to fool around. You want to inhale him.

He makes a sound at the back of his throat, the kind that lets you know you're doing it right.

Primal need consuming you, your hands hastily go down to his belt, fumbling and unbuckling.

That seems to catch his attention, "W-wait!"

Your reaction is immediate, dropping your hands and pulling back slightly, you pant "What's wrong? You don't want this?"

"No!" He flinches when he yells a little too loud, "I mean, no, I do, I do want it. God knows I want to. Just.. Not here."

You relax at that. Your hands find purchase on his belt again, slowly sliding along towards the buckle. You lean back into him and whisper against his lips, "Can't wait. I've waited enough."

With one clean move his buckle is undone, your hands hovering over his zipper, eyes carefully studying his face. If he's genuinely uncomfortable doing this here, you're not going to force him. But if there's a chance that he might be willing, you're jumping at it.

"Please, angel. You don't know how long I've been wanting this. I want to do this right. I want to worship you like you deserve."

If you could, you might melt into a puddle right then and there, but his dick is just a few centimeters away from your fingertips, and your mind is just a little unhinged.

You click your tongue impatiently, "You know damn well what happened the last time you tried to do this right. You wouldn't want history to repeat, would you?" His fly is undone in a flash. Honestly, you don't know how. You're not controlling your motions or your words right now. It's as if something has come over you, but you're not sure what, "Tick tock, baby."

He still looks uncertain, so you allow yourself to be serious for a moment, for one last moment before caution and all else is thrown out the window, "Just let me blow you, alright? Then we can go back to your place."

He grunts at your choice of dirty words, sounding pained, "Fuck, you want me dead, don't you?"

You're still looking at him and he gives you a nod. That's all the signal you need to deftly pull his entirely unnecessary pants and boxers down, letting his cock spring free.

To be tactful, he's well endowed. To be filthy, he has a fat cock.

You wrap your hand around him, finally finally feeling it in your palm.

You squeeze very slightly, he fucking twitches and you think you might die if he's not in your mouth within the next ten seconds.

Dropping to your knees, your spit on your palm, coating his length generously. Then, just for good measure and only partly to put on a show, you spit on his now wet cock.

"Didn't know you were so dirty", he breathes, sounding awed.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it. I don't do clean." You smirk up at him and that's all the warning he gets before you are taking him in your mouth, all the way until he hits your uvula.

"ah, fuck-"

You smile, mouth still full of him and angle your head upwards, so that he can slip into your throat. He does so, and you're concentrating on taking him as deep as your throat will allow. That's when he starts begging,

"A-angel, please. Ah shi- just please."

Oh, how sweet he sounds, you absolutely have to tease him.

You release him with a loud, wet 'pop' "Please, what?"

He's breathless, looking down at you with so much vulnerability that you almost feel bad for teasing him. Almost.

"Please just, ugh, please keep going."

You would like to make him work more for his release, but to be quite frank, you already miss the heavy weight of his cock in your mouth.

Taking him this time is a little easier as your jaw has adjusted to the sheer size of him. Looking right into his eyes, you take him all the way to the back of your throat, and Felix promptly loses it. He's pulling at his own hair, grunting, and panting.

Your don't move or bob your head, instead stay there with him down your throat, and move your tongue along the underside of his shaft, not quite twirling - only because there's no space in your mouth that is stuffed so full - just caressing.

"Oh god, please, please. Angel, please."

You decide to take mercy on the poor guy, deciding not to play with him anymore.

Maybe next time.

Keeping him in your throat you swallow once, twice and then he's cumming, thick white spurts shooting directly down your air column, almost making you gag. But you're nothing if not stubborn. You swallow all of him and pull away when he starts to whine from the sensitivity.

You're panting, he's panting. Life's good.

"C'mere." his voice is hoarse even though it's your throat that has just been abused.

He pulls you into a kiss that's altogether too sweet given what just went down.

"Let's go."

You don't know how you get to his apartment. Hell, you don't even know how you get into the bedroom. All you know is that as soon as you're within the privacy of four walls, it's like a switch flips within him. He's practically tearing your clothes away, your shirt and jeans tossed aside into some corner of the room. His own clothes recieve the same treatment shortly after.

Left only in your bra and underwear, you take in your surroundings. His room is well organised. Minimalistic, yet homey and cozy. A soft yellow light is on in lieu of the tubelight, painting the room in a sombre glo-

Your train of thoughts is cut off by your own yelp.

"Eyes on me, angel." Gone is the sweet guy with doe eyes who was begging you in the dark alleyway. The person in front of you is the man with such deep and velvety a voice, he could pass for a siren.

As he approaches you, the look in his eyes so carnal, you're sure you're about to be thrown onto the bed. You've never been much for manhandling, but you'd be willing to give it a shot for him.

So consider your surprise when - as opposed to the utter hunger in his eyes - he tenderly places one hand on the the small of your back, the other holding your head, securing you in his hold. You are guided onto your back on the bed so gently that it hurts, him coming up to hover over you.

"You're so pretty. So so pretty. My pretty angel." His lips find your cheek, kissing softly and then trail down, across your jaw, to your throat where he leaves butterfly kisses. He moves to work at your collarbones, licking long stripes on each one and moving downwards between the valley of your breasts.

You squirm under him, wanting some sort of relief from the growing heat between your legs. "Felix," you breathe out, not sure where the sentence was going, but it only felt natural to say his name out loud like you've always been wanting too. Far too long than you care to admit.

"Shh, angel. Please let me take my time. I've been wanting to worship you forever." He pulls the cups of your bra down, mouth attaching to one of your nipples.

His tongue swirls around your bud, getting it all nice and wet before sucking the wetness right off it. He continues this game of his for a little while, till both your nipples are hardened and sensitive. Letting up with a lewd pop, he gazes down at them and seemingly satisfied, moves down your body.

He drags his tongue from the base of your sternum to your belly button in one long lick, stopping to suck a hickey just underneath it, on your lower belly.

You tried to indulge him, you really did. Even so, you are but a weak woman when it comes to the object of your desires, that happens to be present right here. So close, yet so far away.

"F-felix. Just..."

"Just what, angel?" He smirks.

Oh, this motherfucker.

You pout up at him, "Is this your way of taking revenge or something?"

The smirk on his face disappears. He crawls up to come to eye level with you, face suddenly earnest.

"No, angel. This is about you, only about you. Tell me what you want. I'll give it to you." His eyes flash with genuine care, "God, I'll give you everything. Just tell me. Please."

You could feel the sincerity coming off him. He wasn't just talking about sex. He really would give you anything, if only you gave him a chance.

In all the years of your sexual experience, you were rendered wordless for the first time. No one had been so thoughtful, so open, so vulnerable with you. Your ex never cared enough to ask what you wanted. He just did what he felt like.

It wasn't just him who did that. All the guys you'd slept with only ever cared about their release.

So, much like all the other worldly things, you'd come to realise that if you wanted something, you'd have to take it. You weren't going to sit around, waiting for someone to be nice enough to throw some empathy your way.

No, you knew what you wanted and took it. You came to terms with the fact, and that was when you built the whole dom persona around yourself. Being snarky and mouthy in bed, trying to overpower, fighting for dominance, setting your pace on your terms.

But now, with Felix looking at you with so much adoration, offering pleasure, your pleasure for nothing in return - requesting you to let him pleasure you, you couldn't help but question,

Why had I done all that?

Sex wasn't a fight. It wasn't about who was on top. It was about mutual gratification, two people satisfying each other.

He could sense the surprise on your face. "Why do you look so taken aback, angel?" He gently asks, brushing your hair off your forehead.

"It's just.. no one's ever.. said that."

"Said what?"

"No one's put my need above theirs. No one's asked me what I want."

His brows furrow at that, "Not even your ex?"

You shake your head no.

"I knew that bastard treated you like shit, but I had no idea he didn't even fuck you right." He looks angry now, "But know this, angel, as long as you'll let me, I'll give you anything you want. So tell me, tell me what you want. Nothing is off limits, okay?"

Nothing?

This sends your brain into overdrive. Here is a drop dead gorgeous man, ready to be at your service, telling you that you could ask anything of him, do anything to him, and he'll... let you?

Your mind is reeling at all the possibilities, yet you can't seem to say much.

He, yet again, perceives your hesitance, understanding that this might be new territory for you, and offers "Can I taste you?"

You can only nod.

Slowly, he descends down until he's face to face with your crotch. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, he removes them in one swift motion, and almost groans at the sight.

Index finger running up and down your slit, he hums, gathering your wetness, only to swirl it in and around your labia, smearing all over.

As he leans forward, you expect him to dive right in, but he does no such thing.

Landing his tongue flat, he licks up your outer lips, the reason for all the smearing abundantly clear now. He goes at it until there's nothing left to lick, and only then does he move onto the inside of your folds.

Using only the tip of his tongue, he slowly traces the inner outline of your inner lips, not sucking, just collecting your juice, pushing it upwards and letting it pool on your clit. Once he's made a nice little puddle there, he closes his lips around the bud and sucks. Hard.

"fuck-"

His enthusiasm escalates at the exclaimation, repeating the action over and over. Your hand flies to his head, gripping his hair and guiding it up and down, pushing him in. He takes a deep breath, as if suddenly breathless.

No shit, he is breathless. How's he supposed to breath down there?

Releasing him, you panic "Oh shit! I'm so so-"

"Shh, it's okay, take what you need. I told you it's about you," He takes your hand, guiding it back to the back of his head, curling his fingers around yours, until you're fisting those silky locks, "suffocate me in your essence. Fucking drown me."

That damn velvety voice saying those vile words does something to you. You feel your resolve crumble, and before you can question yourself, you're pulling his head back between your thighs, moving it around, seeing what feels best.

He doesn't resist. He sticks his tongue out and keeps it there, letting you move his head.

It's when his wet muscle passes your hole that you let out a loud moan. He thought you'd push him in there, but instead your movements turn frantic and you begin to wiggle your hips against his face, seemingly frustrated. It's then that he realises that you don't know what felt good and this is you trying to chase after that feeling that you lost.

"Have you never had your cunt eaten, angel?"

Damn him for sounding so cute while uttering such filth.

"Nobody cared enough to."

"Don't worry, I got you. Just relax for me, okay?"

You nod and let go of his hair, head falling back onto the mattress.

He buries his face back where it belongs, if he were to say so himself, and wastes no time putting his tongue into your hole, deeper than it went last time. And sure enough, he's rewarded with an ever louder moan from you.

Determined to give you the best orgasm of your life, he uses one of his thumb to lift the hood of your clit, the other rubbing up and down the bundle of nerves. That has your back arching. Lost in pleasure you wrap your legs around his neck, pulling him further in.

He grunts, happy to be smothered. Each flick of his thumb has that familiar feeling bubbling in your tummy. It builds and builds and builds.

It's when he starts pumping that damn tongue of his in and out of your hole, that you see white sploches in your vision, mind going blank. You don't realise what's going on. All you know is that you can't feel your legs. It's like you've been brainwashed, like you're fucking levitating.

Slowly, your vision returns, breathing evens out, and your brain reboots. When you come down from your high, you're distinctly aware of the wetness all over your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you.

"Holy fuck, did I just-"

You look beside you where Felix is laying sideways, propped up on an elbow, looking at you with a smug look, clearly proud of himself.

"Yes, you did. I think you took the whole 'drown me' part quite seriously."

You let out an embarassed sound that was almost a squeal, and curl up into his chest.

He laughs at your cute shyness, as if you weren't grinding on his face a moment ago "Aw, it's okay, angel. That was hot."

You peer up at him through your lashes, "Hot?" You ask so cutely, he could take you then and there.

"So hot." He confirms

You give him a lopsided grin.

"But you look so fucked out right now. Was I that good?"

"So good." You reach up to kiss him, and the kiss has only just begun, when you feel his stiffness poking against your thigh.

He's so hard, it must hurt. You want to help him but know for a fact that your pussy is of no use right now, so you do the only other thing you can.

You wrap your hand around him, and start flicking your wrist.

"Ah fuck- angel, you don't h-have to. Take a breather."

"But you've been hard for so long. I want to help."

"It's- ah- it's okay. I came already, remember?"

That flips a switch in you. You swing your leg over both of his, lifting up to hover over him, straddling his hips. "Lee Felix, you're not getting out of this without fucking me."

He laughs at that, "Wouldn't dream of it, angel."

You smile and bend down to kiss him. His lips are still wet with your juices and you lick it off them before sliding your tongue in. The kiss turns frantic. There's nothing sweet about it. It's just a messy exchange of spit, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Condom?" You whisper into his mouth.

His eyes widen, "Shit! I-I don't have one." He looks about fit to cry, like a child whose favourite toy's been snatched right out his hand.

You almost laugh at his big, glassy eyes, "I'm on birth control. And clean. Are you?"

"I am!" He lets out a little too excitedly.

"Then we don't need a condom. Unless you'd rather not. It's okay. We don't have to if you're not comfortable."

He damn near chokes at that, "You- you mean I g-get to do this raw?" His eyes sparkle like the same toy's been returned to him, with an upgrade.

"Yes," you whisper in a low and sultry voice, "You get to do me raw."

His next groan is almost pained.

"You want to, baby?"

"Please."

You reach between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around him again, giving a few pumps for good measure - and maybe to hear him groan, but nobody needs to know that - and guide him to your entrance.

As you begin to sink down on him, he holds you still with his hands on your hips.

"W-wait. Wait, please."

"Everything okay?"

He laughs, "Yeah, yeah, good. Great. Just.. a little too great."

You don't get what he means and tilt your head.

He lets out another embarassed chuckle, "If you keep going, I might blow right now."

You smile, endeared "It's okay. I already finished earlier, just let go."

He suddenly sits up, and with him still sheathed in you, flips the two of you over, so that now you're on your back and he's hovering over you.

"No, I promised that this is about you. You are cumming at least twice."

Before you can protest, he pulls out just enough, and rams back in. The protest dies in your throat as it makes way for a loud moan to slip out.

"Fuck, so tight. You like that, angel?"

You clutch onto his shoulders as you nod, urging him to keep going.

Lucky for you, he's in no mood to stop.

He grinds and rolls his hips against yours, creating that delicious friction, but it's nowhere near enough for either of you. And that's exactly why he's doing it. He wants to draw this out, as much as he can.

"Angel, you're sucking me in. Won't even let me pull out. You want me that much?"

"So much." Your voice is distant now, lost somewhere in the lustful daze. He can feel it too.

Pulling out, he flips you flat on your stomach, and nudges your legs apart ever so slightly.

You're so far gone in the haze that you don't have it in you to try to take control, something you've always been doing.

But that's just the point, isn't it? To let go for once, to not fight and just give in to the moment.

And then, you feel it once again. That sinful stretch, his cock dragging against your walls. You never want him to stop.

"Oh god, I could spend forever between your thighs."

Funny you say that.

He bends over forward, until his chest and abdomen are flush against your back, legs tangled together. He takes both your hands in his, entwining your fingers together, and resting them on either side of your shoulders.

Locked together like this, he begins moving, slowly fucking into you, hips pushing back and forth.

You've never been with anyone like this. Sure, you've had a lot of sex in your life, there was even a time when you went through a 'bad girl' phase where you tried scoring a new guy every week.

Not my finest moment.

But this? This feels a whole new level of intimacy you've never tapped into.

"Feel good, angel?"

Oh, lord. Could he get any more more perfect?

"Yes, baby. You feel so good." You're not normally very vocal in bed. But, as you'd already established, nothing about this situation was normal.

"Me too, angel, me too. Your cunt is heaven."

You moan at that. You were never one for praise either, especially not the dirty kind.

Fuck, am I not rediscovering myself today.

His hips move rhythmically against your ass, grinding, moving in circles, pistoning, trying all sorts of things. But always at the same slow leisurely pace. You reach your hand back and squeeze his ass, nails digging into the flesh and push him further into you.

You don't know why you do that. Perhaps to get him to increase his pace or because you want to finish. Or.. maybe you just want him close. Close to a level you've never been with anyone.

His hips stutter, ass clenching under your palm, "fuck, d-don't- don't do that. I won't last."

"You don't have to. It's okay, we can do this again. We have all the time in the world. Don't hold back."

"We can?"

"Mhm." You say, noticing that this is the third time he's said something about wanting to make this last. Come to think of it, he was on the verge of cumming when he flipped you. Maybe this position helped him keep it together.

Wow, he must really want this. He must really want.. me.

Your thoughts are pulled from you when his hand reaches under you, rubbing you clit, his movements suddenly frantic, "Want you to come first."

You body begins to thrash as he continues his movements, hips not stopping once, pace increasing ever so slightly. You can feel your orgasm approaching, that familiar feeling rumbling in your stomach.

"So good, so beautiful, angel. My angel, aren't you?"

You don't have it in you to respond - a whimper will have to do - and Felix doesn't seem to want an answer either.

"Look so good like this, under me. Always wanna pleasure you, make you feel good."

God, that deep and rich voice whispering right in your ear was doing things to you.

Your body begins to tremble, thighs shaking.

"You close, angel? Gonna cum around my cock? Show me how good it makes you feel?"

You could feel your sanity chipping away, making room in your head not to be filled with anything. For the first time in what felt like forever, your head was empty. No overthinking, no thoughts, just Felix and his pretty cock and deep voice and angeli-

"Ah- Lix, I'm.. I'm-"

"Let go, angel."

With that, you're screaming, gushing all around his dick, body thrashing about, but you still manage to let out, "Inside, Lix, i-inside.. "

Felix lets out a loud grunt, the loudest he's been until now, "fuck, angel. I love you, fuck, fuck, fuck!" And then he's cumming, his arousal mixing with yours, the forbidden cocktail dripping out of you, over both of you, and onto the sheets. There's just that much of it.

He collapses on top of you, breathing heavy, chest heaving against your back.

Your mind tries to process what he just said, trying to make sense of it, understand the gravity of it. But you don't say anything, giving him the time to come down.

You lay there like that for a while, occasionally kissing, breathing, listening to each other's breathing, and kissing some more.

After a while, he pulls out, and chuckles.

You turn to look at him over your shoulder, to see him looking down at where your bodies were just connected.

"We made a mess. Think it might be a better idea to shower."

You nod, letting him pull you off the mattress. Your legs wobble a little, but he easily catches and steadies you. The trip to the bathroom is brief but your mind is restless. It's replaying the last words he said. Even as he carefully sets the temperature of the water just right, rubbing soap on your tired body with his small hands, kneading out the knots in your back, massaging you all over, his words are stuck in your head, swishing around.

He's massaging your shoulder when you suddenly hear the clearing of a throat, "So, about what I said.. "

Thank god he was willing to address it. You're not sure you could have survived the suspense any longer.

".. I, uh, want you to know that I'm sincere. I've been thinking about being with you ever since we met, and not in the way we were together just now. Uhm, I mean, together together."

You don't note the soft smile that takes over your face, "Me too." You turn around to face him, hands lodging on his shoulders, body naturally leaning into him.

That's the word. Natural. Being with him is so natural, as if you've done this a million times.

"You do?"

"I do. Maybe not love yet, but I'm sure if- when I get to know you, falling for you is going to be so natural."

He smiles at that, "Well, we better get to it then. How about a date tomorrow?"

"Excited, are we?"

"Please, if I could, I would take you out right now, but seeing as how I can barely stand, it will have to wait."

You laugh, feeling giddy and lean forward to peck him on the lips.

"So is that a.. yes?"

"Yes Felix, I'd love that."

He hums, moving forward, nuzzling his head in your shoulder, the voice reverberating from his chest to yours.

"God, your voice" slips out of your mouth without your own permission.

How rude.

"I know you have a thing for it."

"What?" Your cheeks heat up. You thought you weren't making it obvious.

"Why do think I was so talkitive towards the end?"

"I thought you just got mouthy when you were about to come."

"No," He laughs, "it's because I noticed how hot and bothered you got whenever I said something. I was just trying to help you finish."

Oh well, so much for being subtle.

"It's okay," He says picking up, yet again, on your embarrassment, "it can be your own exclusive kink."

Main Masterlist

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[agendabymooner]

DIRECTORY: F1 Drivers x Filipino OFCs by AGENDABYMOONER (UPDATED)

AHHH !!! Apparently I made too much Filo OCs (there’s never too much but for some it maybe a lot?). So why not make a little character directory based on the Formula One drivers I’ve written about?

(I am not Filipino baiting I promise 🥲 I make a lot of Filipino OCs because I too am a Filipino)

This is done alphabetically btw. By surnames :) enjoy xx

CHARLES LECLERC (CL16)

LOUELLA LOURDES VILLAR: A Filipino celebrity who met Charles when she moved to Monaco to pursue her masters. Arthur, Charles' brother, calls the two of them "homie hoppers."

"slut", smau: charles' ex trashed his new girlfriend a while ago, but too bad he wasn't really into the thought of making music with anyone but lou villar.

PATO O'WARD (PO29)

DIWA J. ARELLANO: McLaren F1 team's admin who works to constantly slander and support Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris. Also a bit besotted.

caught 'em lacking, smau: diwa arellano is mclaren f1's social media admin. so what if her constant teasing of oscar bites her in the ass and accidentally posts something that could potentially compromise her job? meanwhile, lando and oscar laugh at her demise while pato finds it endearing.

SERGIO PEREZ (SP11)

CARMELLA AYALA PEREZ: Checo’s Miss Universe wife who represented the Philippines!

she's beauty, she's grace, smau: in which carmella ayala perez, the miss universe 2018 winner, tied the knot with checo after their five years of relationship and the birth of their second child.

DANIEL RICCIARDO

TALA MORAN: Daniel Ricciardo's partner that he accidentally exposed as his to the public.

leaked, smau: daniel ricciardo is a borderline blabbermouth.

OSCAR PIASTRI (OP81)

PALOMA SAN PEDRO: Oscar was a victim of Jollibee obsession introduction because he’s so in love with her. She’s also Carlos Sainz’s cousin-in-law.

jollibee, madrid and all that romantic fiasco, smau: paloma san pedro is carlos sainz's cousin-in-law who also introduced oscar to his newly found filipino fast food chain addiction. safe to say that he bought a ticket last minute just so he can obsess over her, too.

live tweets, japan and all that romance fiasco, smau: how oscar's podium win in the japanese gp led to the revelation of his relationship with carlos sainz's in-law, paloma. lesson learned: just call her "pal" then she'll spill the tea for the both of you easily (f, h)

lucky charms, qatar and all that romance fiasco, smau: oscar is quite a forgetful guy, he forgot to mention to carlos, his future in-law, that paloma was his sprint lucky charm. (f)

long distance, england and all that romance fiasco, smau: paloma moved to england a year after enduring a long distance relationship with oscar.

CARLOS SAINZ (CS55)

MAGDALENA SAN PEDRO SAINZ: Married to a Ferrari driver. A bit unhinged and as equally millennial as Carlos. Apparently her marriage with him calls for reparations lol.

ride home, smau: the ferrari driver accidentally outed himself as a married man, so mona magdalena sainz stepped in to say hi to his loyal fans. (f, g, h) (extra)

dear, smau: nobody loved each other more than magda and carlos sainz. OR a series of tweets in which magda and carlos never took each other seriously. (h)

pag-ibig, traducido (love, translated), fic: no matter what cultural context and backstories, magda and carlos' souls were entwined into one all thanks to the languages of love that they shared. OR times when the spanish and filipino defined their love in many languages. (f) ♡

MICK SCHUMACHER (MS47)

BARBIE BLANCO: Sebastian Vettel’s adoptive daughter that Mick practically grew up with.

she's everything... and he's just mick, smau: barbara 'barbie' blanco is the vettel family's foster child that gradually turned to kimi vettel's nanny and mick's crush? (f, g)

"besties", smau: everyone swore that mick and barbie are more than "babysitting pardners" (f)

who is kenough, smau: mick nearly took the piss from arthur leclerc after the posts that the monegasque had of barbie. too bad, mick was already hers before arthur could even try. (feat. arthur leclerc)

kenergy unfolded, fic: written version of who is kenough OR arthur leclerc was only scheming just so mick could do something about revealing his relationship with barbie. ♡

the vibing allan and the reluctant ken, smau: for mick, there are only two words to describe his girlfriend's best friend arthur: a headache. OR arthur leclerc is a third wheel that mick always get on a fight with. thankfully, barbie had fair experiences with boys who are petulant and childish at times (kimi and seb)

extra - barbie and the schuminis

mick multiplied, socmed snapshot: girl dad!mick that's all

the little schuminis, fic: 4 times when mick showed his devotion + 1 time his devotion paid off

YUKI TSUNODA (YT22)

PIA ELLIS: An indie singer who also happens to be Yuki’s much shorter girlfriend.

line without a hook, smau: pia ellis misses her mystery bf that everyone thought to be her delusions. it turns out he's a formula one driver who definitely misses her too.

chaos family, socmed snapshot: yuki is a dad to the little mini yukis known as hana and shin.

SEBASTIAN VETTEL (SV5)

BEL VETTEL: A socialite from Philippines who’s married to the kindest human to have ever existed. Also a mother to Seb’s kids (including Barbie Blanco).

crazy rich wife, smau: everyone (some twitter account) wonders where the recently retired german driver had gone to after the 2022 season. thank god for bel vettel, his fans now know that he’s still alive and is being spoiled and pampered by his wife. (f, g)

sweet spoiled husband (+ son), smau: mick schumacher is a grown man that both bel and seb treat like their own child. (f, g)

sweet spoiled schatzi, smau: bel and seb introduce the newest addition to their little family, and mick seems to love kimi vettel as much as a godfather loves his godchild. (f)

sweet little similarities, smau: bel and everyone could tell that kimi vettel was becoming more like his father, sebastian's, carbon copy as days went on. (f, g, h)

sebastian and sons (and soufflés), fic: day in the life of a retired sebastian vettel, featuring his kids kimi and barbie (and a nervous mick). (f)

sweetest spoiled sons, smau: sebastian was a father to not only two- but THREE kids. OR stefan vettel is the newest addition in the vettel household after years of trying and it's safe to say that everyone welcomed this news with open arms. (f)

crazy rich and famous, smau: the vettel couple stepped up to address the scrutiny that their children faced OR sebastian activated his instagram account just so he could show his masterpiece: photographs that he took of his wife for their anniversary.

seb's best girl, scenarios (x daughter!ofc)

Summary: Sebastian Vettel understood the downfalls of infertility just by being there for his wife. What he didn’t know, however, was that his life would drastically change when their foster daughter, Barbie Blanco, was put into their care. OR, what made Sebastian the best father figure to a teenager who had nobody but herself. 

one, enter barbie: fifteen-year-old barbie blanco thought that meeting new people was intimidating, and sebastian learned that making her comfortable in her new home was a responsibility he should uphold as her father figure.

two, meeting mick in malaysia: barbie was brought to her first race ever and had met her newest best friends there. it was obvious that she and mick schumacher would get stuck to the hips after their first meeting.

#formula one imagine #formula one fic #formula one x oc #f1 smau #formula one masterlist #f1 masterlist #sebastian vettel x oc #carlos sainz x oc #oscar piastri x oc #mick schumacher x oc #yuki tsunoda x oc #sergio perez x oc #f1 x oc #fic directory #f1 drivers x oc

[rukafais]

one day i will do a grand breakdown essay on Why Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel’s Relationship Makes Me Incredibly Unhinged With Citations but for now you get this abridged version. Spoilers for Lolth’s Warrior/last book in particular but also Generations and other Way of the Drow books a little bit. also this is STILL a long post i’m sorry I am VERY not normal about this

so last trilogy (generations) kimmuriel's all, man i wish i was an illithid. i like illithids. hive mind's great. love those guys.

   But here, in this place, nothing was measured in that manner. In this place, Kimmuriel Oblodra didn’t exist, other than to be a single colligation in the one being that was the whole of illithid society. Here in the hive mind, his fingers caressing the great pulsing brain, the edifice of connection and oneness, thoughts and memories became interchangeable and mingled.  Study in the hive mind was merely a matter of searching what had become your own expansive knowledge and memories rather than hearing or reading the words of a separate being. Kimmuriel often lamented that he should have been born an illithid. The hive mind knew this truth within the drow’s heart, of course, which explained why he was so welcomed here. One could not easily hide insincerity in this place. One could not easily hide anything from the illithids.

A large part of the individual that was Kimmuriel wanted to just stay here. Let Luskan and Bregan D’aerthe be the concerns of another. He could remain at the hive mind and caress knowledge itself, bask in pure thought, revel in memories as visceral as if he had walked those pathways in the lonely and singular drow form he had been forced to wear.

and then in THIS trilogy (way of the drow) kimmuriel has mentioned it's also going to be his afterlife as a way of rejecting the concept of a god-given one/escaping the clutches of Lolth, or any god, entirely

“The multiverse is a matter of divine numbers,” Kimmuriel said. “The particulars of the tyrant gods are merely noise—temporary noise in the ultimate eternity of it all. We are manifestations of pure and singular thought, grains of sand on an endless beach or drops of water in the endless ocean that splashes onto that beach. The hive mind is a conduit into that pure and singular thought. It is my destiny to directly merge, to become less speck and less droplet, and more a viewer of it all. You felt the power when we channeled it from the hive mind to obliterate Demogorgon those years ago. You felt it, the ecstasy.” this kind of description is also imo, implicitly has thematic connections to transcendence; kimmuriel is interested in it, he asks drizzt for his opinions as drizzt has gone through a similar process, he examines the memories of Kane’s own transcendence, etc. It’s not the same but it is similar. Transcendence is a process that is easy to initiate and hard to come back from because you essentially become one with the universe and it's so ecstatic and amazing that you have trouble remembering who you are as an individual, and if you lose that thread enough, you kinda cease to exist as like, yourself. You just get lost in the sauce, forever. but, some kind of strong emotion and focus can bring you back from it, if you go in with a purpose and you manage to maintain that purpose: 'ecstasy' is a key word here because kimmuriel uses it to describe what channeling the power of the hive mind/being tapped into that pure conduit is like, and vitally, to strengthen the connection, transcendence is also described this way:

“The body will not turn back and the mental and emotional discipline needed to deny that call of ecstasy is enormous. When you transcend, you will know such joy, unrelenting, even building as time, which becomes meaningless, passes, yet the time to find the needed discipline, the denial of pure desire, is short, and failure means that you will be forever removed from this existence. Afafrenfere just stared at him, jaw hanging open. “I know not how to put it more clearly or bluntly,” the ancient monk answered that blank stare. “You will not want to come back, and so you, as you are known and as you know yourself, will be no more.” So, i posted all that text, now i'm gonna get into the next bit Several books have established that Kimmuriel is lonely without psionic connection and the hivemind fills an unmet need in him.

 However, as a direct counterpoint to the hive mind and what it is capable of giving him (despite its love for him, and I do believe it’s reasonable to interpret this passage: Arguments came back at him from so many other corners of the hive mind, though. He was unique here, or nearly so. Only this synapse of the hive mind, this being named Kimmuriel, that existed in that drow reality in that world of Faerun, could bring in such expansive experiences and knowledge of that place. He would be limiting the hive mind and thus limiting himself if he lost the balance between recipient and source. as a kind of love, even if it is an ‘alien’ expression of it; Kimmuriel is worth more to them as an individual and not an illithid, even as an outsider, than he is joined and subsumed to them) we have...stuff like this:

Kimmuriel’s work here was done. He offered that thought to Pescatawav, and the Most Endeared excused him to go and tend to the more pressing problems he faced on his home plane, among his own inferior people. There was no sense of gratitude, no thoughts of hope that Kimmuriel would succeed. It just was. There were a few moments like this for Kimmuriel Oblodra, when he almost reconsidered his life’s journey, when he saw so plainly the difference between the sensibilities of the hive mind and those of Jarlaxle. His only friend. we also have jarlaxle getting kinda disassembled and put back together by the hive mind so his memories can be deconstructed and it's kind of funny but also Kimmuriel had been desperately worried about subjecting his dearest friend to the intrusions of the mind flayers. Perhaps he should have been more worried about subjecting the illithids to the sensibilities of Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle is So Much that he’s kind of affected the hive mind. Good job buddy. But it means they now have that connective tissue: Kimmuriel cannot hide anything from the illithids including whatever strong feelings he has for Jarlaxle, and Jarlaxle is also very attached to Kimmuriel: “Kimmuriel is your second.” “He’s the other half of my first. In my part of Bregan D’aerthe, in my, shall we say, personal journeys, you are my partner.”

Like really attached: “Where will you go?” Jarlaxle pleaded when Kimmuriel didn’t answer. “ “You know,” the hulking possessed man replied audibly. “No,” Jarlaxle breathed. “I won’t let you!” Drizzt saw that Jarlaxle was fighting back tears. [...] “There is an emptiness . . . I will miss you, Kimmuriel,” Jarlaxle said, as quiet as Drizzt had ever heard the rogue.

Like, really really attached:

“I am lesser without you, my friend,” Jarlaxle told the image. “Both practically and in my heart.”

I could go on but I’m trying to make this short etc there’s like a fucking billion examples.

So. Kimmuriel is not content with just his mortal body on his own plane, which is a lonely existence, or just feeding his mind which is essentially what the hive mind does for him. He needs friends and people to like...make physical existence worthwhile to actually reach a pleasant equilibrium. His more passive suicidal tendencies actually sort of ebb after Generations, where he is considering mortality carefully but also is like "i'm not sure i actually want to die":

“So, he let you in there and he gave to you his memories of transcending the physical form.” “And now I understand better. But of course, there remain limitations on that understanding, because such an act may or may not be a permanent state of being.” “There’s only one way to find out the truth,” Drizzt admitted. “I am in no hurry to leave this life.”

So he's clearly found some sense of purpose to make being physical work for him , and again! A large part of that is Jarlaxle! He names other friends (especially Gromph) but a LARGE part of that is Jarlaxle.

And then he fucking dies of course I've shrieked enough about that lmao

and when he says goodbye he confirms that yes, he is going to his ideal afterlife, where Drizzt hopes he finds peace similar to transcendence:

“My time is ending,” the voice of Malagdorl repeated. “There is nothing to be done.” “Except to say farewell,” Drizzt said. “I will remember our talks on the road to the monastery, my friend. May you find oneness with the hive mind and peace in eternity.” “And you, warrior. Survive, I beg.”

joining the hive mind, a cluster of individuals swirling into a greater ‘being’ and is also referred to as ecstatic, is compared and contrasted to a process of becoming one with the universe that is hard to come back from as yourself because it feels That Good.

Got all that? Good. Because now we get to the epilogue of Lolth’s Warrior:

Jarlaxle left them, then, and went to his private room. He sat down before a table and pulled a cloth off the circular object resting in a tri-pronged stand atop it. He closed his eyes and reached out, hoping. A familiar image appeared in the ball a long while later, and Jarlaxle breathed a sigh of relief. “I am glad you are floating about this day,” Jarlaxle said. “You miss me.” This day, he heard in his mind, a most familiar voice. And perhaps again, now and then. Jarlaxle understood the unsaid part: Kimmuriel would not come to him at his beckon. Less so, came the thought in his mind. There is so much. So much. “And so much I still need from you.” You will be disappointed.

 [...] “I am lesser without you, my friend,” Jarlaxle told the image. “Both practically and in my heart.” It is the way of things. And that was it, and the spirit of Kimmuriel departed once more. Perhaps for the last time, Jarlaxle knew, though he desperately hoped that wouldn’t be the case. Here he is!  It’s not a summoning circle or a calling spell, it simply just seems to be that Jarlaxle reaches out and hopes that Kimmuriel will be around to answer him, and he does. Taking Jarlaxle's gay little sad thought calls, plural, because they have done this several times already, is worth it to Kimmuriel, enough to tear himself away from his ideal, implied to be VERY GOOD FEELING AFTERLIFE for.

Enough to maintain a sense of self and individuality because he speaks to Jarlaxle like he's the same person, just very distracted and its like WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS. like fucking. Im not even getting into the implications that it's rooted in love, like, the hive mind’s love for kimmuriel as an individual and kimmuriel’s love for jarlaxle and jarlaxle’s love for kimmuriel?? subtextually? becuase jarlaxle is the only one who has consistently treated kimmuriel like a person

To trust Kimmuriel is to trust a creature we cannot begin to decipher. Why Jarlaxle elevated him to lead Bregan D’aerthe, I will never understand.” “Perhaps Jarlaxle believes that he understands Kimmuriel.” “Then Jarlaxle fools himself.”

they are noted by other characters to be extremely close to the point that they have a trust bond that is rare among menzo drow:

Now, though, I witness a much different structure within Bregan D’aerthe, and one very much more powerful. For Jarlaxle has given to his followers something truly special among the Lolth-serving drow: an element of trust. And he does so by example. Jarlaxle has entrusted Kimmuriel Oblodra with the very leadership of the band on those many occasions when he, Jarlaxle, is out on some adventure or other. He has even tasked Kimmuriel with reining in his own worst excesses—with keeping Jarlaxle himself in line!

(also see the other half of my first thing; when Jarlaxle says Zak is his partner Zaknafein immediately rebuts it with “Kimmuriel is your partner”) they go from standoffish and awkward to like calling each other friends and kimmuriel being Totally Fine with jarlaxle just touching him unprompted, a guy whose personal space bubble is Don’t Fucking Touch Me Asshole:

“I hesitate to take Azzudonna, this woman I barely know and know not at all as a friend, and you expect me to subject you to the intrusion of the hive mind?” “Why, Kimmuriel, did you just admit that you love me?” Jarlaxle teased, but the psionicist was having none of it. “Good,” said Jarlaxle, nodding to his drow companions. “Then I want you to cast it now on my dear friend here,” he explained, wrapping his arm about Kimmuriel. and then kimmuriel dies and this literally does not slow him down. and then he dies and, as the epilogue shows, comes back to jarlaxle anyway.

like it's not even thematically inappropriate is what fucking gets me, because kimmuriel has already established he is someone who essentially lives in two worlds and needs both to be happy and the conclusion is that he doesn't have to choose, he can have both, and that mirrors jarlaxle's defiance of having to give things up to be 'good' Jarlalxle doesn't have to abandon everything he was just so he can become Good and Palatable to a surface world that doesn't give a shit about him (drizzt did this only out of desperation, even; his flight and rejection and all of it, for him menzo is a home that he wanted so badly to belong to, it hurts to leave, but he knows he has to because he can’t bear it. that’s a different essay though). he can have all of it, as much as he can carry. he wants all of it. he hates to let go of it. that refusal to let go saves almost three thousand people from menzoberranzan. kimmuriel's refusal to be forced into a choice means he comes back to jarlaxle in some way and form, even with the deck stacked against him to make it incredibly fucking difficult to do so and again, kimmuriel has literally everything he has ever wanted in dying, everything he's ever aspired to, the One Truth he’s been reaching toward, and it is, apparently, still not enough.

In conclusion:

“Look at yourself!” Gromph scolded. “You care. Kimmuriel Oblodra— and how remarkable that any Oblodra or Odran cares! Have you gone soft, then? Have you abandoned your sole goal in life, to find the One Eternal Truth along with those tentacle waggling illithids?” Kimmuriel wanted to deny his words, to deny him, but his responses sounded without conviction. “Have you become enamored of the flesh, Kimmuriel?” Gromph asked more seriously. “Have you found within your emotionless mind a bit of love for that which we mere mortals covet?” idk man look at it its on the ceiling. i dont fucking know. i truly do not know. i am not going to be normal about this for the next five years.

Bonus:

When Kane is talking to Afa about transcendence and Afa’s reasons for transcendence (he wants to find his dead boyfriend again):

“Nothing in the multiverse is more powerful than love, my friend,” Kane said, and he smiled, and moved his hand. 

Like sure okay whatever. Sure. It sure is huh.

#long post #legend of drizzt #lolth's warrior #lolth's warrior spoilers #jarlaxle baenre #kimmuriel oblodra

[adamwatchesmovies]

Orphan (2009)

2009’s Orphan might not reinvent the “Demon Seed” genre but as an example of that story, I kind of love it. With plenty of dark humor, an excellent performance by Isabelle Fuhrman - who with a single movie becomes a horror icon - and a demented conclusion, this is one you won’t easily forget.

Kate and John Coleman (Vera Farmiga and Peter Sarsgaard) are recovering from the stillbirth of their third child. They decide to adopt and are immediately taken by Esther (Fuhrman), a 9-year-old Russian girl who behaves with an unexpected maturity and intelligence for her age. A series of incidents soon after makes Kate suspect her new daughter might be psychotic.

You can probably tell what’s going on with Esther from the movie poster alone but let’s not be too harsh. Audiences are going into this movie to see a diabolical 9-year-old. They won’t be disappointed. Esther is a terrific villain because she plays the part of an innocent little girl wonderfully. With her multitude of talents and charisma, who wouldn't want to adopt her? She’s got her share of eccentricities - like insisting on wearing certain outfits - but they aren’t so bizarre to set off any alarms. We learn quickly enough that something is off with the girl but every clue is shown only to one person at a time. You believe how long it takes the Colemans to realize what's going on because the family has a lot on their plate. Kate is a recovering alcoholic bearing a lot of guilt for the death of her unborn daughter and an accident that happened to Max not long ago. Maybe if John wasn’t such a terrible husband he’d help her out but you can tell if he isn’t having an affair now, it’s only a matter of time before he does. Daniel is kind of a bully and a bit of a brat while Max is deaf. When Esther shows an immediate affinity for sign language and essentially becomes Max’s new best friend, it’s no wonder she can a) manipulate the 5-year-old and b) gets on her brother’s nerves. While on paper 123 minutes seems excessive for a movie like this, there’s so much going on here it doesn’t feel like too much.

Maybe Esther would have a more difficult time playing the innocent card if her family wasn’t so dysfunctional but this psychotic little girl is a master manipulator. She’d be considered vicious regardless of her age and easily makes the best of whatever situation she’s in. Some people might say it’s cheap for a movie to put a 5-year-old in peril but the way “Orphan” does it… can I say it’s fun? In one scene, Esther pushes her younger sister on the road to get a car to stop. Either Max will get hit or her plan will work. It’s a win-win and the little demon does that sort of thing so well you kind of  admire her ingenuity.

A few aspects of Orphan strain plausibility and there’s a revelation about Esther’s drawings that while visually effective, is a bit much - even for a movie that gleefully dispenses with good taste like this one. Though much of this film you can categorize under “tried-and-true” (perhaps you might call it cliché) it does these things well and is fully committed to its demented premise. Even if you’re familiar with examples of this genre, from the lame The Good Son to classics like The Omen, Orphan has some surprises and great performances to carry you through the non-horror drama. Isabelle Fuhrman is terrific and the rest of the cast too. They’re given a lot to do and are much more than simply future victims for our pint-sized villain.

The reviews I’ve seen tell me you’re not guaranteed to love Orphan as much as I did. When I sit down to watch a horror movie, I want one of two things: genuinely scares or a story so unhinged it’s “scary” that someone thought of it. That’s what I got and I'm very very glad I did. (September 23, 2022)

#Orphan #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #horror movies #horror films #Jaume Collet-Serra #David Leslie Johnson #ALex Mace #Vera Farmiga #peter sarsgaard #Isabelle Fuhrman #CCH Pounder #Jimmy Bennett #Margo Martindale #2009 movies #2009 films

[brokenrobot2004]

It makes me a little sad that I'm going to be convicted forever by the hate blog my ex best friend made about me years ago now; to her, the drama ended with that blog, but to me, it's going to stay forever as long as it's around, because it's one of the first things anyone is going to see when they look me up; I'd be more accepting of it if it wasn't also loosely comprised of buzzwords (Biphobic and ablest are specifically strange to me because I'm bi and diagnosed with autism, and even back when I was aroace I never said anything about bisexuals? I never said anything about any kind of disability either, I was always very respectful about both of those things and have even considered myself bi before now too, when I was 11) and mildly sexualized assumptions that an adult made of posts I made when I was either 10 or 11 years old in the furby community, just trying to fit in with what other people were saying but not entirely having a grip on what they meant and sounding off, when I never meant to sound the way I did at all; like how "Fetishizing trans women" was a post where I angrily mocked my mom calling me cute or girly things because I was a trans guy and found it upsetting, "disabled furby fetish" was me trying to make a positivity post about helping disabled furbies to be inclusive like everyone else was being, one of the things happened to be me saying I'd help a furby who couldn't walk sit on the toilet because I heard around that people taking care of the elderly would do that, so I included it in my post to seem knowledgeable on real ways of helping, and that was it; I really really wish that even while I was an unhinged young teenager, people would have just gently asked before writing those ever-lasting posts, "Hey, did you mean bla-bla-bla when you said this, or did you mean something else?" and I would've answered honestly, I'm sure; I was a bit of a monstrosity the further back you go into history of how I acted on the internet but I was really, not all that terrible to talk to when there was no perceived threat from the person and asking me a rational question would've been easy, I never ever mean to hurt anybody, but now, that's all people are going to think of me; even in real life, because who wouldn't look up my social media in this digital era? 🙁

And it was mostly, if not entirely, consisting of behaviors and views I've grown out of since the 5+ years ago it happened; I have even been met with backlash in 2022 or 2023, for saying I'm sorry to someone I was mean to back then 😯 (I now think that was unnecessary from me, I was very tired that day) what do the people who've cancelled me want from me? I don't think they want me to apologize, or care that I've gotten so much better since then; I think maybe they just want to revel in that I am a complete recluse now socially, a coward; I cannot even say "Cool fursuit!" or "I like your artstyle!" without feeling like somehow, someone will come forward and be able to twist what I've said into something terrible and use it against me if they don't like me, because that's just how people can be online now; it's terrifying. My ex best friend has shunned me behind my back for being so scared, I remember being shown longer ago; but knowing the things that upset her, she would be absolutely broken if someone did to her, what she did to me online; because that shit can ruin careers, it could ruin my chance of ever making a friend again, even IRL because anyone can look me up online; imagine doing that to somebody who was at the time, not even old enough to drink.

I've been called vile, irredeemable, and anonymously told to kill myself once even; I was a 16 year old; a rather air-headed one too yet. Who would talk that way to a 16 year old who made it clear he was trying to improve and never meant to hurt anyone? Who knew he was in the wrong and was trying his hardest to fix it? For young readers rolling their eyes, how absurd that is will click when you're older and realize how inexperienced most people are at that age.

And that isn't keeping in mind how developmentally delayed I always have been too, which I state as a fact and not as an excuse; I don't let it ever stop me from improving myself either, but I feel like it's probably important that I mention that about myself here; I've always been considerably far behind people my age socially and often, intellectually; it was very visible at School especially where alot of the work I did was far behind everyone else's, and was alot slower than them too, and when I was younger I'd hardly get any work done at all even and was very difficult to deal with as a whole; Autism can be a very unflattering disability, it's not generally pure or wholesome, and it has influenced my bad or otherwise embarrassing behavior alot in the past; which I will still take responsibility for; because my illness isn't some seperate entity from me I'd use as an excuse, I just want it to be understood and recognized that I can't function as well as most other people in the head, I never could, and I genuinely just want that to be understood coming from someone who is seriously, detrimentally autistic to a point I had gotten diagnosed with it at a young age; my past outbursts and socially-inept behaviors helped by it gave the internet ridiculous shitshows to point at, and I'll never be able to take that away; what I can do is hope that I'll be atleast somewhat understood in the end, and left alone for how I was such a long time ago now

I've made a good effort to no longer be that way or act immature and freak out like I did long ago, and I can't stop persuing a social presence at such a young age, over the idea that strangers might not understand that about me.

I have no respect for people who think call-out and purity culture are okay and useful towards youth; this stuff was meant for use against megacorperations and rich celebrities that are getting boycotted for being generally harmful and/or gross on a huge scale that affects many innocent people, not stupid teenagers like I was, or even young adults. People learn, grow, and change; I spend and have spent every second of my life finding ways to grow and improve, and taking information in from people I look up to and admire to do so; and came far enough that I am 100% no longer the petty, angry, and immature person I was at the time, and that makes me very proud. I am no longer going to cower in my little corner, shivering at the thought of complimenting someone's 3D model or uploading a piece of music on YouTube; because people who told a scared and confused autistic kid to end his life and tried to take future careers, friendships, or even love away from him with things he's said and done years and years ago, do not deserve my compliance anymore

#Also did that blog ever mention me making alts? I don't remember but if it did‚ I wanna say that I literally did that because (continued) #my ex best friend showed me that she was doing it in a video call when we were friends and I admired and copied her methods #That's why I also tried to cancel her when I didn't really vibe with her anymore because I thought I had to do that to end a friendship #I didn't know that I could just not vibe with someone anymore‚ that's how our fight started really; because I didn't know how (continued) #to make that decision properly and kept struggling; my to-be girlfriend later on really helped me figure out (continued) #how to handle ending a friendship properly #And SO MANY other things honestly?? I really owe it to my girlfriend; while my ass was getting ripped off‚ she calmly told (continued) #me what I wasn't approaching properly and with understanding and care; I was actually extremely annoying when we were first talking #but she tolerated me so much that I really grew close to her and bonded with her and we eventually became best friends and then #we became girlfriend and boyfriend and uhh.. What was I talking about again sorry- #Back to me learning something bad from my ex best friend though I also want to say that I'm not saying that to condemn her either. #I was just in a bad online space in general at the time because call-out culture and stuff was just getting big and I didn't (continued) #understand what it was or how bad it can be yet; some people don't care or even actively enjoy it though and I can't change them so‚ #I focus on changing myself; like I always do #Or like maybe I can change them but it's not my responsibility- you know what I mean!!

[fandomsareforlife]

Former Dead Princess found in Sad Man home?

What's up, posting the other WWT fic, because I am extra and I like this. It's 11 pm and I am sleepy, so gonna make this quick. Tw are super implied child abandonment, cult mentions, and swearing.

Anyway, Harumi and Shade with implied Ultra Violet/Harumi. Shade' 21 and Harumi is 23, same age as Lloyd and Ultra Violet respectively. Takes place post Crystalized, but no direct mentions beyond Harumi coming back to life.

Read on ao3

Shade rubbed his head as he walked up the steps into his house. His head pounded after spending fuve hours with the other elemental masters, repairing Ninjago City for the umpteenth time after it got destroyed.

Entering the mud room, Shade kicked off his shoes and pushed them to the rack with his foot. He’ll fix them later. It wasn’t like anyone was left to see the mess of his house.

(It was easy and impossible to get used to living in a house of ghosts.)

When he went to the kitchen, he expected to grab a glass of water and some painkillers and lay down on his sofa. If he was lucky, he’ll fall asleep and stay asleep for about six hours.

However, what he got was Princess Harumi of Ninjago City, or whatever the fuck her title was, sitting at his kitchen counter, eating his apple slices.

Shade’s headache got ten times worse. Shade really did not have the energy to deal with this. He just wanted to nap, not deal with a formerly dead princess who he had to save the city from when he was 18.

Repressing the urge to sigh, Shade faded into the shadows and sneaked his way through the hall to the kitchen and in front of Harumi. She didn’t even look up from her phone the whole time.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Shade asked bluntly, his annoyance seeping through his voice. Harumi jerked back in her chair and almost threw her phone, looking up at Shade with wide eyes. Shade simply stared back with his arms crossed.

She recovered quickly, and stood up, her expression steely.

“What are you doing here?” she echoed, her voice betraying her by shaking slightly, revealing that she was spooked. Shade tried to not revel too much in it.

Shade replied curtly, “I live here.” There, shirt and sweet. Harumi blanched at his response, her eyes somehow going even wider. It was clear she didn’t know he lived here.

…if she didn’t know he lived here, why was she here then?

Harumi frowned. “Ultra Violet said she owned this house. Why the heck are you living in her house?”

Shade had to resist the urge to blink. Ultra Violet? Why would she claim to own this house? He had been living here alone for years. And how did she know about it? The only ones who knew it existed were Shade and Vio-

He was an idiot. Violet, his weird older sister by two years who had disappeared shortly after the digital Overlord 7 years ago, claiming she had to take care of things. Who left him alone as a 14 year old in a too big home. Who had gotten increasingly more and more…unhinged in her letters that grew farther apart until they stopped entirely. Who talked about a girl named ‘Rumi’ who she was making big plans with, and she was so madly in love with.

Who was Ultra Violet. Shade had been quick to dismiss the crazy maniac as a cousin of his on his mother’s side, based on their similar appearances and knowledge on his element. However, it now made more sense for her to be his older sister who somehow managed to get into a cult, and was either dating or had dated the head of it.

Harumi cleared her throat, forcing Shade out of her thoughts. “So, dreamboat, what are you doing here in Ultra Violet’s home?” Her teasing tone didn’t match up with the harsh words.

Well, no better way to deal with this than to be upfront.

“Well, I don’t know if you know, but typically you live in your home, not just abandoned your brother in it and not come back in over 7 years.” Shade may have let a bit too much bitterness out in his words, but he honestly couldn’t care. He was bitter, and he was petty.

Harumi gasped slightly in shock. “No, she wouldn’t do that,” she whispered desperately, clearly rattled, “she is loyal to those she loves.”

Shade decided to twist the knife a bit more. “Well, she clearly loves her girlfriend more than she loves her brother.”

A tremble went down Harumi’s body as tears streamed down her face. She shook slightly as she turned to the door. Shade let her walk there in silence, letting it wash over them like drizzling honey.

When she got to the door, she paused as she opened it.

“She loves you, you know.” Harumi’s words were soft. Shade didn’t get a chance to respond as she ran out the door.

Shade finally let out a sigh and went to close the door. He slumped in the previously occupied chair.

He can take a nap here.

#ninjago #ninjago shade #ninjago harumi #ninjago ultra violet #fucked sibling dynamics are my jam

[jefelen-presents]

"Thrust!" (2023)

Saturday, November 25th, 2023 (23:32) JEFELEN revelled in serving as Associate Producer on the super-saturated exploitation epic, "Thrust!", directed with anti-establishment panache by Victor Bonacore, and which was based on the sensitively titled "Shitfucked: A Vile Love Story", written by feminist author, Hannah Neurotica.

Lovers, Aloe and Vera, journey through an uncompromising dystopian urban landscape ruled by rampant girl gangs. The pair are on a quest to kill the last scumbag alive, a disgusting degenerate going by the name "Dirtbag Mike". Along the way, they are pressed to survive a lurid spectrum of horny and unhinged freaks and fiends. All Aloe and Vera need to make it through in this emasculated world is love, a gun, some bullets, working plumbing, and maybe a little bit of the mysterious drug everyone calls "Loud"…

Distributed by Culture Shock Releasing™, the movie released to region-free blu-ray back in January:

http://www.cultureshockreleasing.com/…/thrust-blu-ray…

This comprehensive release features a veritable slew of bonus content, including (but not limited to) a feature-length commentary, "End of Men" (a package of over three hours of behind-the-scenes footage!), "Scary Mary's Sinema" (collecting all of Scary Mary's home movies), "The Music of Thrust", Bonacore's short film, "Triangle" (with commentary), and assorted trailers.

Discs remain available through the following retail outlets:

DiabolikDVD.com: http://www.diabolikdvd.com/…/thrust-limited-slipcover…

Orbit DVD™: http://www.orbitdvd.com/pro…/copy-of-for-the-plasma-w-slip

Videomatica™: http://www.videomatica.com/…/thrust-limited-slipcase…

Grindhouse Video™: http://www.grindhousevideo.com/products/thrust-blu-ray

Not only that, but as of a month ago, the movie was retrospectively issued to Lunchmeat VHS™:

http://www.lunchmeatvhs.com/.../prod.../thrust-vhs-pre-order

Available in 'Atomic Oral Orange' or 'Girl Gang Green' editions, these NTSC format cassettes present the director-approved 'Punk Cut', exclusive to this video release! Stock is strictly limited.

All physical media features slipcovers resplendent in Mike Diana artwork.

http://www.mikedianacomix.com/about

#Thrust #VictorBonacore #TranzientPictures #Shitfucked #TheEndOfMen #YesWe #AvailableNOW

BREAK!!**

Tuesday, December 5th, 2023 (13:31) For those who would like a little further insight into what all this "Thrust!" business might be about, here's the official Culture Shock™ trailer, resplendent in the title card vauntingly proclaiming its success after having taken top honours in last year's Nightmares Film Festival:

http://www.youtube.com/embed/_XuAQ4QR1TU?vq…

This comes from the retail period of the now SOLD OUT Vinegar Syndrome™ home release...

http://www.vinegarsyndrome.com/products/thrust…

Friday, December 15th, 2023 (03:30) There's not much to add with this, really, as it adequately speaks for itself -- the first of two promotional "Thrust!" one sheets, which I feel tastefully presents the tonal flavour of the piece:

#2023

[toomanyfandoms-help]

some of the thoughts, feelings, and emotions ive been experiencing lately. merely needed a place to write this down and get it off my chest, so please feel free to scroll on

not fully sure exactly how to describe. depressive spiral? self-fulfilling prophecy? simply an unhinged, unhealthy person chattering away and scaring those close to them? something along those lines.

cant pinpoint where exactly it started either. i can give guesses, but its definitely something thats been building, rather than something that snapped.

im thinking somewhere in june. too good to be true, too much going right that i got suspicious. or maybe i was picking up on stuff i shouldve picked up on, did pick on earlier, and ignored.

it certainly started to crumble, starting with the trip. havent spoken to one of them since. its been 2 months. never really liked him though, and im quite assured in assuming the feeling's mutual.

then everyone got busy. and work got worse. and more busy. and even worse. hyperbolic, maybe a little. even still.

i dont push. i hate pushing. whenever i do even a little bit i hate myself for it. i take up other's offers gladly, but it gets further between. it feels less like friendship and more like im merely the person these people vent to every few weeks.

the one time (several times, i just stopped asking) i did ask, it got cancelled severely last minute with a half-assed apology. well, no. it was understandable. but still incredibly frustrating.

been spending more time with my family as a result. its familiar, in a tangy, bittersweet way that nostalgia is. we're closer than most, i know that, given the unique circumstances my and my sister grew up in. she knows me well.

everything took a turn when i quit though. on a whim (stressing all week and all day the day-of) setting my key down and leaving with head held high (shaking like a leaf and turning my music up too high on the drive home). combined with the stress of the previous day (shit going wrong with the house and my sister telling me she was probably minutes away from killing herself several years ago (something i already knew but somehow it hit harder (i can guess why))) it all just hurt

i also was with a friend. the day before i quit. kinda.

he helped me, sure. as in he helped with the house issue. but he didnt really talk to me. he tried to show me tiktoks on his phone (i spotted a groupchat with my friends without me in it (the old one with me hasnt been touched since june)) but they were all so. mindless.

we havent hung out since. he tried, twice. the first time i asked how many people he asked before me (its been a reoccurring problem, actually, where i am the last thought of) and he said i was the first. i didnt believe him. he tried again the next day, but i was actually looking forward to hanging out with my family so i declined.

he hasnt reached out since.

i sometimes think about how it makes me upset i cant be angry. im not really allowed to be. which is a weird thing to think about. what do i mean i cant be angry. but i think i mean it in a way like. my anger burns so deep and hot and fast, and its never good. its never for a good reason. being angry feels good, sometimes, but i cant revel in the feeling because i should not have been angry. i did things i regret.

i dunno. anger is a good emotion to have. i know that. it feels good, to feel your blood boiling just a bit and steam clouding your vision. its the one way i can really lose myself.

but its aimless. im usually angry at things i cant counteract or control or do literally anything against. it builds up. i cant release it. and when i do get angry at something i can do something about, well. it usually gets much more than deserved.

but how do you apologize for that. im not sorry for my anger, i was rightful to be angry. but my actions were maybe over the top. maybe i let out too much. maybe im not communicating at all. i dont know

how does one just. stop. not in a suicide way, but also not not in a suicide way.

i cant just go. not right now. my birthdays in 2 fucking days and i cant do that to my family. so maybe after. but we've got a vacation in 2 weeks and i dont want that to be canceled because its supposed to be the last family vacation we have.

but i cant last that long. im in limbo right now, and every single second is tearing at me and i just cant fucking feel anything anymore.

theres things i want to experience and be around for but the price of being a human being is just so fucking high that i cant fucking do it anymore. why do i exist on this miserable mortal coil and drag people down with me. why am i here

can it just stop, please

#personal #vent #suicide mention

[the-priestess-of-dawn]

What's your opinion on Tharja/Grima? I really like it but want to know your ideas on how that dynamic works. (also Chrom's view on them, can be platonic and/or romantic view)

I'm gonna be honest here looking at them I feel like Grima would actually be a pretty good husband to her. "Oh, you want a sacrifice sweetie? I've been saving a town on the eastern border I've been saving just for you!"

Ohhhh, I actually love them! I mean, I do prefer them platonically (now, to be fair, I ship Tharja with so many people that experts warn that this polyamorous relationship could expand to cover all of Ylisse by 2023, so it's not like I'd leave her romantically pining after someone unavailable, at least not forever) but honestly they make for such an interesting dynamic in any case. Tharja puts on airs to make herself look harsh and disinterested when in reality she cares a lot about people and tries to help them from afar, so I think she would be able to see through Grima's "it's the world that wants me to be evil" thing and understand that Grima really wants meaningful companionship...

Also, I really enjoy my headcanon of Tharja being the reincarnation of whoever Grima originally entered a blood pact with (assuming that Grima did in fact voluntarily do that, and that the Grimleal didn't just like... steal their god's blood... which does kind of feel like something they'd do, but I much prefer to think that Grima once trusted SOMEBODY). Robin/Grima is thus her "fated one" because they already bound themselves together long ago.

I imagine Chrom would be glad to see Tharja hanging out with Grima, especially when the relationship progresses to the point that she isn't hiding so much and watching from afar. I'm sure he'd want to get closer to her himself as well, which is a lot easier when she isn't shying away in some dark and creepy corner.

Ultimately, I think the Chrom-Robin/Grima-Tharja dynamic I like the best is something I touched on a little in one of my fics before (though it was just a tiny bit, because while I gave Tharja a significant scene, she wasn't a major character in the fic overall). It's like... Tharja is Robin/Grima's shadow, and Chrom is Robin/Grima's light. Both relationships are important, they're just different.

Oh, but in worlds where Tharja and Grima ARE married, I can definitely see them getting into some absolutely unhinged flirting. They do dark rituals together and call it date night. They renew their blood pact every anniversary. They revel in being the world's scariest power couple, for sure.

#ask

[violetrainbow412-blog]

I was meant to be yours [A. C]

Adrian Chase x reader

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: this is literally something I wrote because I'm obsessed with that song and wanted to indulge myself. I'll leave you the clip below (I think she had a good time on tiktok, maybe you know it) it's very good and I can imagine Adrian singing it. I hope you like it!

Meant to be yours

"I'm home, my love!" you said to nothing. It was late and surely he would already be home, since he had promised you not to do patrols that night and instead spend time with you "Adrian?" you insisted, without hearing any answer. You had begun to resign yourself to the idea that surely one of his friends had an emergency and had asked for his help, as usual, when suddenly you heard music coming from your shared room. You knew what song it was, the same one he had been listening to for almost the past week.

You chucked me out like I was trash,

For that you should be dead—

You could hear in the distance. They were the opening lines of the Heathers musical song 'Meant to be yours'. Adrian and you had gone to the theater to see him a few days ago and he seemed to have become obsessed with the songs, something you didn't imagine could interest him. He regularly put them in the background when he was busy doing other things, but this time it was different. You sneaked up the hall and saw the door to your room ajar, so you peeked inside a bit and you could see the boy in a long trench coat that surely belonged to you. You smiled slightly as you understood what was happening.

But! But! But!

Then it hit me like a flash, the boy moved with both hands, deftly opening them to resemble the flash of a camera and you tried to contain your laughter.

What if high school went away instead' he continued, taking a dramatic turn and facing you. He wasn't wearing his glasses, looking younger.

You suddenly froze, afraid that he would be upset that you were spying on him, but instead he grinned and pointed one of his fingers at you as if he had just had a revelation.

Those assholes are the key!

They're keeping you away from me! carefully he walked up to you and pulled you by the hand, to take you into the room, without ever leaving his role.

They made you blind, messed up your mind

But I can set you free! he promised you. You had begun to understand where things were going and had already smiled in anticipation. You had only seen the musical once, but you remembered very well the development of the scene.

You left me and I fell apart,

I punched the wall and cried—

Bam! Bam! Bam! the volume of his yelling made you jump in place a bit and you didn't notice how steady his voice was until this moment.

You liked that side of him, he was a little... unhinged. More than normal.

Then I found you changed my heart and set loose all that truthful shit inside!

And so I built a bomb

Tonight our school is Vietnam!

Let's guarantee they'll never see their senior prom!

The chorus was coming, you knew, and when he started to sing, he took you by the hand again and looked at you with his eyes shining, completely in love.

I was meant to be yours!

We were meant to be one!

Don't give up on me now!

Finish what we've begun!

I was mean to be yours!

So when the high school gym goes boom with everyone inside—

Pchw! Pchw! Pchw! he had already released you and did a little dance accompanying this that made you laugh.

In the rubble of their tomb

We'll plant this note explaining why they died!

Adrian gave the speech of what those students were supposed to have written in the petition they had signed, perfectly remembering the words and with a lost look. You started to get a little scared because he really sounded like a murderer, although you knew perfectly well that it was your boyfriend. I mean, he was a killer, but he seemed a little more psychotic.

We'll watch the poor smoke out the doors.

bring marshmallows,

We'll make s'mores!

We can smile and cuddle while the fire roars!

Again he sang the chorus, with the same passion and love as before, but this time when he took your hand you felt how he pressed it harder than it should, almost hurting you. Then he pulled you roughly towards his chest and this scared you away because his breathing was heavy and his eyes were a darker green.

You were meant to be mine!

I am all that you need! in this second verse you tried to let go, but he didn't let you.

You open my heart!

Can't just leave me to bleed!

After this, you finally broke free and ran to the bathroom to lock yourself in there. You still didn't know if it was to keep letting him do his little act or because you were seriously scared.

You felt how he hit the door, hard, and again you jumped in fright.

Y/N, open the—open the door, please' he began, voice strong and demanding. But soon it faded to a gentle voice.

Y/N, open the door.

Y/N, can we not fight anymore, please he sang, almost in a groan. When you had seen the musical, you had sworn that you would never have let JD in, but now that it was Adrian who was begging behind that door the situation was completely different.

Can we not fight anymore'

Y/N, sure, you're scared,

I've been there. I can set you free!

Y/N, don't make me come in there!

I'm gonna count to three! he had gone back to that serious and angry voice as if you really refused to let him in.

One! Two! Fuck it!

You thought maybe he would be more dramatic, but it was enough for him to slide the goatee in his hand and he could meet you. You were there, standing in front of him, but when he saw you, he put his hands over his lips as if he were looking at a corpse. Though of course it was supposed to be.

Oh my God! Do not! Y/N!

Please don’t leave me alone’ he sobbed, while he came closer and tenderly held your face with his hands. It looked like he was about to cry.

You were all I could trust

I can't do this alone… he whispered, his voice broken and pleading. You had really forgotten that it was all about one of Adrian's antics, you were feeling like Veronica herself under his desperate touch.

Probably if Adrian had asked you to go with him to bomb a school, you would have thought twice before saying no.

Still I will if I must! he broke away again and sang the last line, barely missing the notes. Then you heard him sharpen his voice considerably.

Y/N! he said, making you smile at his imitation of the female voice 

I brought you a snack… Y/N? he asked. He then pretended to scream while the soundtrack did and finally it all ended, leading to another song that he had put on Youtube autoplay.

You didn't want to say anything, because you were stunned. You never thought you would see such a show.

“You know, I expected to see a lot of things when I got home, but this definitely wasn't on the list” you managed to say, while he laughed and picked up his glasses from the table where he had left them “I didn't know you could sing so well"

"I have many talents that you don't know about yet," he said coquettishly, as he approached you and took your waist with both hands. Now he wasn't rough anymore, he was just tender like always.

“Have you ever thought about being an actor? Trust me you're convincing” you complimented him, making him blush “For a moment I freaked out. You looked really… crazy”

"I am. I'm crazy about you” he smiled at you, leaning closer to steal a kiss from you. It was different from his normal kisses, this one was a bit more mischievous and deeper. You felt him bite your lip, hard, and you bit back a groan. A little pleasure, a little pain “You're so pretty when you humor me,” he said, affectionately.

"You almost always look cute when you do stupid things, so I can't help it" you replied, in the same way "By the way, is that coat mine?"

“Maybe,” he murmured, innocently, “But that doesn't matter now. Let's go outside, you must be tired from your day. I will cook you dinner and in the meantime you can tell me how it went”

“By ‘cook’ do you mean heating something from the refrigerator in the microwave?”

"Yes, but it sounds more romantic when I say I'll cook you dinner, don't ruin the moment" he snorted, as he took your hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it.

“My cute little psycho,” you told him lovingly, while you kissed his nose.

“I'm not a psycho” he answered, almost offended “I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research”

“That's from Sherlock, I know. I will never leave you the television again, nor take you to any play. You absorb the personality of every character you see” you laughed, kissing him again and then being led into the kitchen for him to pamper you.

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#adrian chase x reader #vigilante #adrian chase gif #peacemaker #hbo peacemaker #dc comics #vigilante fluff #adrian chase fluff #vigilante fanfic #vigilante x reader #heathers the musical #Jason Dean #veronica sawyer

[novoaa1writes]

candles

image source

pairing(s): dark!wanda maximoff x reader

summary:

you’ve been feeling strange for the past month, particularly when it comes to dating. 

you do your best to ignore it, thinking it’ll resolve itself on its own—given time, that is.

it doesn’t. 

(and it’s got everything to do with wanda.)

[also available on ao3]

word count: ~5,300

rating: mature

warnings: dark!wanda, NON-CON spanking (with a belt), NON-CON BDSM play, mental manipulation, partial mind control, emotional manipulation, mental coercion, trauma bonding, toxic dynamics, drinking, possessive!wanda, non-con mind-reading, vandalism, adultery (not in reference to you or wanda), brief instances of slut-shaming

notes: [requested by anon] reader’s sexuality isn’t explicitly stated, but ex-partners of different genders are referenced/mentioned

— —

wanda uses a couple bulgarian terms of endearment for reader here, so below is a lil’ list in the order of which they appear.

принцеса | printsesa | princess [feminine term of endearment] мила | mila | honey [feminine term of endearment] любима | lubima | sweetheart [feminine term of endearment]

*note: all of these are exactly one letter away from being precise matches to synonymous terms in russian. HOWEVER, the bulgarian alphabet and the russian alphabet are different—granted, in fairly minor ways. for one, while both are comprised of cyrillic lettering, russian has 33 while bulgarian only has 30.  

— —

You have no fucking clue what’d gotten into you. 

One moment, things were fine—good, even. And the next… well. 

You’ll explain. 

It was something like 11:30 on a Saturday night, and you were drunk. 

Well, not drunk. More like buzzed. 

But whatever, right? Considering the week you’d had, you deserved to let loose, even if only for a night. 

Monday night saw a very angry and decidedly unhinged soccer mom banging on your door, screeching vehemently about the ‘two-faced slut’ who ruined her marriage and demanding to be let in so that she could ‘make her sorry.’ Turns out, the older guy your roommate had been sleeping with as of late was married—not that he’d bothered to share that particular bit of information with her, obviously. 

The two of you spent the better part of the evening barricaded inside, passing a bottle of cheap wine back and forth while trying to explain to the 911 operator that you weren’t messing around, that there really was an angry soccer mom on your doorstep and you were actively fearing for your safety. 

She eventually left around 10:00pm—no thanks to the police, since the 911 operator hadn’t even bothered to give them a call. It wasn’t until the next morning when you left for work that you saw the woman’s parting gift to the pair of you: the word ‘HOMEWRECKER’ spray-painted across the front door in obnoxious red lettering. 

Bye-bye, security deposit. 

That same night, you made your roommate promise to start dating people in a similar age range—because really, the both of you were stressed enough as it was without worrying about coming in between yet another middle-aged couple’s dying marriage. 

The rest of the week wasn’t much better. 

On Thursday, your balding creep of a boss had made yet another blatant pass at you in the workplace, making you seriously consider (and not for the first time) the prospect of just quitting and being done with it. 

Then, at shit o’clock on a Friday morning, you awoke to an urgent phone call informing you that an ex of yours (one you were actually on semi-decent terms with) had gotten into a fairly serious car accident, and still had you marked down as her emergency contact. 

30 minutes later found you showing up at the hospital just moments after your ex’s current girlfriend had arrived, which then prompted the whole ‘you still being your ex’s emergency contact’ revelation when the current girlfriend demanded to know what you were doing there, which ended up being… well, you’ll just say it wasn’t pretty, and leave it at that. 

And your ex was going to be completely fine, anyways. She just had some minor cuts and abrasions, and would need to undergo a fairly minor (read: minimally invasive) surgery over the next couple days. 

Before leaving, you instigated a quick check-in with the doctors to ensure they had everything they needed—which then turned into you providing a list of allergies, as your ex wouldn’t likely be conscious for another couple of hours, and apparently the current girlfriend didn’t know of her sensitivities to penicillin and phenobarbital… which the current girlfriend was less than happy about, if the daggers she glared at you were any indication. 

Whatever. You were just trying to help. 

You thanked the doctors, told them to feel free to call you if anything went awry, then asked if they might tell your ex to call you when she awoke. You thought about offering some words of comfort to the current girlfriend as she sat vigil at your ex’s bedside, but the murderous glower she shot you the moment you got within ten feet of her was more than enough to make you think better of it. 

With that, you left. 

So… yeah. It’d been a shitty week. 

And now, here you were: a girls’ night out at the lively nightclub you and your roommate had scoped out just last weekend, tossing back $12 cocktails and letting the trashy EDM beat blaring over the speakers drown out the rest of your thoughts. 

You’d been feeling a little weird all week—all month, really. 

As far as you were concerned, this was exactly what the doctor had ordered.

 So, when a cute guy wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that was at least a couple sizes too big yet did well to compliment his well-muscled torso came up to you and started chatting you up at the bar, you didn’t blow him off.

The exact opposite, in fact.

He was nice, and funny, and had a gorgeous smile that made your chest feel warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. When he flirted with you, you flirted right back. 

You felt a little guilty for doing so, though you couldn’t exactly put a finger on why that was. Either way, you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it for very long. 

After all, you’d been feeling hints of that for the past month, if not longer. It seemed to happen whenever you flirted with a cute guy, or went out on another Tinder date with a pretty girl, or even hugged one of your close friends. 

You’d get this painful tightening sensation in your gut, nausea roiling in your abdomen… a distant, lofty voice in your head telling you that this was wrong, that you already belonged to someone else. 

Which was pointless, really. Stupid. 

You were single. 

Your last serious relationship (barring the one with your now-hospitalized ex-girlfriend) had been over seven months ago with an eccentric guy named Lukas. He was kind, well-meaning… a bit of a dork at his very core, but you always found that more endearing than anything else. You’d dated him for four and a half months before deciding to break it off; because as much as you cared for him and enjoyed being around him, you didn’t love him, and you knew by then that you never would. 

You thought about him, from time to time—even missed him now and again.

And yet, the strangest thing about the shameful feeling you’d get whenever your roommate so much as brushed a friendly kiss up against your cheek—it had absolutely nothing to do with Lukas. 

You didn’t know how you knew that, but you did. 

Whatever.

This guy was not Lukas. 

His name was Des—short for Desmond, you learned over your fourth sugary-sweet cocktail of the night. He was charming and slightly foul-mouthed, but conscientious and passably polite where it mattered. He didn’t grope your ass or stare at your tits, nor did he make any lewd commentary about your body in any capacity. 

He also smelled… really good, like Old Spice and spearmint gum and the barest hint of cigarette smoke. 

That was more than enough for you. 

(Whatever, alright? Decent guys were in short supply these days.)

You smiled and let him buy you another drink, even after you’d insisted that he really, really didn’t have to. And when an obnoxious pop song with a beat that was far more catchy than you’d have liked to admit came over the speakers, you let him coax you out to the dance floor with minimal resistance. 

It was… fun. You liked the way his hands rested on either of your hips—gentle, almost careful; holding you like he understood he didn’t have a right to your body, like he was more than content that you allowed him this to even think of demanding any more.

Despite the twinges of guilt flaring in your gut, you let yourself get a little more comfortable… dancing closer and closer to him amidst a packed crowd of writhing bodies, letting your breasts graze up against his chest. 

It was teasing—provocative, even. A test, of sorts—one that Des passed with flying colors. 

He didn’t do a thing to rush you, just kept dancing across from you with his hands on your hips and his darkened gaze on yours—seeming fully content to let you set the pace for the moment. And God, but the way he was looking at you… patient but eager, like he wanted nothing more than to crush your body against his own and grind himself into you like an animal—and yet, still, he held himself back. 

You couldn’t help but find that attractive as hell. 

Looping your arms around his neck, you let your body to press flush against his as you swayed to the beat of the song, not shying away from the slight stiffness you could feel growing against your hip. 

That guilty, nauseous feeling in your gut pulled tighter. 

You ignored it, and, when he leaned a little closer to shout over the deafening music, “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”... well. 

You wasted absolutely no time in lunging up on the tips of your toes to capture his lips in a messy open-mouthed kiss, the strobe lights of the club fading into obscurity around you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours—tentative, at first, until you pressed a little harder and traced the seam of his lips with your tongue… and, yeah; that did the trick. 

A moment later, his lips parted to let out a quiet groan directly into your mouth as he began to reciprocate in earnest, setting every nerve ending on your body alight with electrifying want. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a twisted sort of clarity hit you square in the chest—slowly, and then all at once. 

The next bits were something of a blur. 

You tore yourself away from Des, turned to forcibly elbow your way through a floor of grinding bodies. You thought you heard him call out your name, and more than a couple people on the dancefloor turned to glare at you as you rudely brushed past them without care—but, whatever. 

You texted… someone, telling them you were headed back to the apartment, so they shouldn’t bother waiting up. The group chat, maybe? 

And now… Now. 

Before you can blink, the past crashes into the present, and you find yourself back outside in the pitch-black night. 

It’s dark… chilly. A brisk wind catches you the moment you stumble out onto the sidewalk, assaulting every inch of your exposed skin like scores of needles piercing your flesh. You whimper, shudder, and hug your arms around your body—trying to warm yourself back up like a scared little kid who forgot their jacket. 

For the first time that night, you regret the tiny black babydoll dress you’d chosen to wear for the evening—and that’s not even to mention the four-inch heels. 

It’s miserable, to be sure, but you can hardly focus on it for very long. 

No, you have to go somewhere. You feel sick, and cold, and wrong in a way you’re loath to even begin explaining to anyone else. 

And your head… you’re positively aching for something—someone to make this better.

You need… Wanda. 

Yes, Wanda is the person you’re looking for. She can make all of this better. 

You don’t know why, but you’re sure of it. You just need to find her. Hopefully she’s spending the night in her apartment on that super cozy sofa of hers, drinking hot chocolate and binge-watching something on Netflix like the two of you did a couple weeks back. 

A fond grin curves your lips at the recollection as you stumble off down the sidewalk, headed for the nearest subway station. 

Another wintry gust of wind hits you square in the chest, and you pinch your forearm hard, silently willing yourself to focus. 

The station should be less than a block down, if you’re remembering correctly. 

At the next street corner, you manage to brandish your pepper spray in one hand while you rummage around in your purse for your MetroCard with the other. 

It’s cold as hell, and you’re probably a little too drunk to be walking through the City streets alone right now, but you don’t much care. 

All you gotta do is find Wanda. That’s all. 

She’ll make everything better again. 

— —

Where everything else is confusing, there’s one part that seems to make sense—Wanda. 

You nearly pick a fight with the card reader at the subway entrance when it makes you swipe your card three times to let you through, and even the stairs leading down to the lower tracks are more of a challenge than they probably should be… and yet, somehow, the rest of it is blessedly simple. A no-brainer, really.  

You know which train you need to take… the blue one that arrives in four minutes. You know you need to stay on it for five stops before getting off. 

Once you’re up at ground level, you’ll have a short walk ahead of you—one that you know like the back of your hand despite only ever having been to Wanda’s a couple of times. 

You’ll enter Wanda’s apartment building, take the elevator right up to floor four, and boom! Home free. 

You do exactly that.

It takes a short time (thankfully) and there’s not an ounce of uncertainty within you all the while, like you’ve done this 100 times before.  

In seemingly no time at all, you’re there—standing on Wanda’s doorstep, knocking a couple times just beneath the burnished bronze ‘4A’ nailed into her door. 

Your head feels all light and dizzy; you’re still shuddering from the time you spent out in the cold; but—

“One sec!” Wanda’s muffled voice comes from inside, the mere sound of it washing over you like a soothing balm—promising relief. 

You’re safe now. 

You made it.  

— —

The moment the door swings open to reveal a bleary-eyed Wanda Maximoff dressed in tiny grey pajama shorts, an oversized Star Trek T-shirt, and nothing else, it’s like everything falls back into place. 

It’s like… like you can breathe again.

You’re still drunk, and shivering, and more than a bit confused; but now that Wanda’s awake and here and smirking like she knows exactly what’s happening even if you don’t, you feel… better, somehow. Not nearly so lost as you were before. 

“Y/N,” Wanda greets, stepping aside and offering out a hand to help you inside. You’re quick to take it. “I was not expecting you,” she drawls, though everything about her demeanor is saying the opposite as she shuts and locks the door behind you. 

You pay it little mind. “Yeah, I... ” you trail off, turning to face her even as an embarrassed flush warms your cheeks. All of a sudden, you can’t help but feel rather ridiculous for knocking on her door and barging in so late—especially without calling first. “I’m so sorry, I...  I don’t know why I’m here.”

Wanda just tilts her head, appraising you curiously even as the ghost of a knowing smile curves her lips. “Are you sure about that?”

The heat in your cheeks seems to intensify tenfold at that. “I… I need to tell you something,” you hear yourself say, and the moment it’s registered, you realize that it’s true. 

You feel… guilty, all of a sudden. Nauseous, too. Scared. 

You danced with that guy—Des. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… You kissed him. Why would you do that?

In the present moment, Wanda nods, like that makes perfect sense. Like all of this makes perfect sense. 

“Okay,” she acquiesces lightly, flares of crimson flitting through her measured gaze. “Is it something I’ll have to punish you for?”

‘Punish’ me? What—?

You feel Wanda’s presence in your head… inconspicuous tendrils sifting through your thoughts, worming their way through your scattered memories. 

No point in lying. 

“Y-Yes,” you hear yourself say. Much like earlier, it isn’t until the moment you’ve confirmed it aloud that you know it to be true. You danced with someone else. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… kiss you. “I… I’m so sorry, Wanda; I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You see the moment Wanda finds it—your memories of the nightclub. Meeting Des at the bar. Flirting with him… Kissing him. 

The look on her pretty features goes from bemused to disbelieving to absolutely murderous in zero seconds flat, and the realization hits like a freight train that you’re really in for it now. 

Fuck. 

“Go to the bedroom,” she snarls, her typically blue-green eyes burning with scarlet light. “Then take off that slutty dress. I want you on the bed, face down, naked. Do you understand?”

Your head is spinning; confusion rears its ugly head in your gut even as every ounce of your being screams at you to just obey—‘cause if you can just do that, the rest of it will start to make sense. (Maybe.) “O-Okay.”

— — 

You don’t know how you know the way to Wanda’s bedroom, but you do. 

You slip inside a room shrouded in darkness, and no matter how it strains your eyes to look around, you don’t dare turn on the light. 

It’s a modestly-sized bedroom with hardwood flooring, fairy lights along one wall, and an adjoining bathroom just opposite the entrance. There’s a tall, wooden dresser pressed up against the wall directly across from a large, king-sized bed. That’s pretty much all the detail you can manage to make out in the darkness.

Well, either way, you suppose it isn’t really your business. 

Wanda gave you specific instructions, and you intend to follow them. 

Not for the first time tonight, you’re quite happy about the babydoll dress you’re wearing—particularly for how easy it is to pull it up over your head and off, leaving you in panties and a strapless bra in a matter of moments. 

You fold the dress neatly in your hands, then leave it atop the dresser. Your panties and bra come next. In seconds, you’ve formed a small, tidy pile. 

As you step out of your heels and approach the neatly-made bed, you’re struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu… like you’ve done this before.

It lingers in the forefront of your mind as you crawl up onto the bed, biting back a groan at how easily the plush mattress gives way under your hands and knees. 

God, you’d kill to have a nice nap in this absolute cloud of a bed.

You shake the thought off, simultaneously willing the haze of intoxication fogging up your brain to abate.

You’re not here to nap. 

You settle face-down onto the bed, just like Wanda said. You’re careful not to rest your face on the pillows, though, since you have the distinct feeling that’s not something Wanda would want you doing without permission.

Instead, you fold your arms and rest your head atop your forearm, staring straight down into nothing. You scrunch up your features and let out a quiet huff as the black duvet tickles the tip of your nose. 

It smells like her—all of it does. Cinnamon, vanilla, and something indefinable; something that belongs to Wanda, and Wanda alone. 

You feel your body stiffen as a familiar set of footsteps draw near, approaching the room where you lie—naked and vulnerable atop Wanda’s bed.

The patter of Wanda’s gait becomes almost soundless as she enters, circling around the bed over towards the nightstand. You don’t dare to turn your head and watch as she pulls out one of the drawers, rummaging through it until she finds… well, whatever it is she’s looking for, you suppose. 

A moment later, there’s the telltale chk! of a match being struck, and a hiss as the phosphorous tip lights itself aflame. 

It’s quiet for a minute... then two. The only sounds you can hear are your breathing and the strike of a match every time Wanda lights another. 

Gradually, gentle flares of light grow in your periphery, bathing the room in a dim, yellow-y glow. She’s lighting candles—a lot of them. 

You’ve always loved candles. 

A couple minutes later, she’s finished, and she returns to tuck the matchbox safely back in the drawer. 

You lose track of her as she retreats once more, and your mounting curiosity is more than piqued when you hear her rummaging through the dresser near the foot of the bed; still, you don’t dare turn and look. 

Instead, you wait, fetid nausea churning low in your gut, pinpricks of apprehension dancing across every inch of exposed skin. Your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage as she takes something out from the dresser drawer, then shuts it with an audible thud!

You swallow the lump in your throat and urge yourself to focus on your breathing. 

In, out. 

In, out. 

In… out.

“I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” Wanda’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, genuine hurt coloring her hushed tone. 

You have to fight the urge to shudder as a chill runs down your spine. “I… I’m sorry, Wanda,” you say meekly, pathetically, cheeks hot with shame. 

And the worst part? You’re not lying. 

You listen carefully for the sounds of her bare feet padding across the floor as she circles the bed once more, crouching down right beside you in the very corner of your periphery. 

“Look at me,” she orders, gentle yet firm. 

You do. 

The moment you meet her gaze, you can’t help the errant thought entering your mind that she looks so pretty like this—face bare of makeup; long brown hair piled into a messy bun atop her head; dainty features cast into darkened shadows by the low, yellow light of burning candles clustered together atop the nightstand. 

The muted light seems to soften her anger, her pain… allowing her to really look her age for the very first time since you’ve known her. 

“You think too loudly, Y/N.” Wanda’s words are dry, almost teasing as they jolt you back into reality. “Focus on me, please.”

You do. 

“You belong to me,” she asserts after a beat of silence, an uncharacteristically intent and almost solemn look splayed across her dimly-lit features. “I thought you understood that.”

The words confuse you even as they seem to resonate poignantly with some fundamental part of you… a part of you that categorically refuses to be ignored. 

“Wanda…” you trail off, bewilderment and contrition warring violently within your chest until it aches to draw breath. “I’m confused, Wanda,” you whimper out finally, overwhelmed tears burning in your eyes. “I-I-I don’t understand what’s happening—” 

Wanda cuts you off with a derisive snort. “Yes, clearly,” she agrees, her tone ripe with sardonic ire. “You’ve forgotten yourself. You’ve forgotten who owns you.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, desperately trying to make sense of it all. “Is that why…” You search Wanda’s eyes intently. “... I-I felt sick, an-and… guilty about dancing with Des.”

Something like anger flares in her gaze, hot and bitter, and you have to resist the urge to shrivel beneath it. “That boy had no right to touch what’s rightfully mine.”

“B-But then… why didn’t I remember?” you ask, utterly forlorn. “I-I felt it last weekend, too, but I… I didn’t—” 

“Last weekend?” Wanda repeats, features hardening.

Oh, shit. You feel your cheeks get hot again. “I… I shouldn’t have brought it up, Wan’, I’m sorry—”

“What happened last weekend?” she interjects, her tone cold and hard like a double-edged blade. “You can tell me yourself, or I can start looking.”

You shiver. “I… I went on a-a… a date with a girl that I met online,” you admit, tears welling in your eyes even as Wanda’s jaw visibly tightens. “I-It was just the one time! A-And nothing happened; we didn’t even k-kiss! I just… I didn’t… I didn’t know—”

“Yes. You’re right; you didn’t know.” Wanda stands abruptly, then, and it’s at that moment that you see the folded belt in her hands—thick, worn leather with a sterling silver buckle. 

An icy sense of dread blossoms in your chest, chilling you from the inside out. 

Is she going to—? 

“I was indulgent before… I let you get away with far too much. I will not make the same mistake again.”

With that, she turns to circle back around the bed, the belt buckle audibly jangling in her hands with every step. 

“I have to punish you, принцеса,” she continues, her voice scarcely more than a whisper as she comes to stand near the foot of the bed—and somehow, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s no convincing her otherwise. 

She’s going to punish you, and it’s going to hurt. Bad. 

All at once, panic seizes you. You squirm, writhing in an effort to get up and off the bed—

Only to be stopped by tendrils of lurid crimson curling around either wrist, forcing them together just over your head like magic—glowing crimson cuffs holding both arms fast to the headboard. On a whim, you test your legs—tensing and pulling, only to be met with iron-clad resistance encircling either ankle in a tight, unrelenting grip. 

Well, fuck.

“W-Wanda,” you plead, hardly paying any mind to the way your voice trembles. “Please, I—I don’t want—”

“I do not enjoy punishing you, мила,” she laments, almost sounding genuinely apologetic. It tugs at your heartstrings in a curious way—something you really don’t have time to examine right now. “But you did something bad. And when you do bad things, there are consequences. You understand that, don’t you?”

A tear trickles down your cheek, warm and wet as you steel yourself for the first hit. “Y-Yes.”

“Good girl,” Wanda lauds, and you can’t help the surge of warmth that washes over you at the simple praise—the pride that blooms in your chest at knowing you’ve finally done something right. “Now—try and relax, принцеса, okay?”

It’s all the warning you get before the first blow comes down upon your bare arse with a resounding Crack!

White-hot pain flares across your bottom, racing up your spine like wildfire and tearing a strangled whimper from your throat. 

Jesus fucking Christ, that hurt—

Crack!

Crack!

Holy fuck. 

The impact of the leather against your naked cheeks leaves strips of fire burning in its wake, expelling all the air from your lungs in a choked-out rush. 

“P-Please, no, Wan’,” you beg breathlessly, struggling in vain even as coils of vibrant scarlet hold you fast, “it hurts, please—”

Crack!

“This is for your own good, baby,” Wanda coos, sounding for all the world as though she truly believes every word of it. 

Crack! This one lands directly across your sit spot, ripping a shriek from your lips as molten agony rocks you to your core. 

“Wan’—Fuck, please, no—”

Crack!

“G—God, fuck, pleasestop, please—”

Crack!

“P—Please, hurtssobad, I’m—”

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

“FUCK !”

Tears stream down your cheeks, wetting the black duvet beneath your face. You’re absolutely beside yourself with torment, your bare ass aflame with a pain unlike any you’ve ever known. 

Crack!

Crack!

… And the hits just keep coming—raining down stripes of blistering heat across your sore, bruised buttocks; pummeling your throbbing, exposed rear until it feels as though the entire area has just become one puffy, pulsating bruise. 

Crack!

All the fight has completely gone out of you; now, your body completely slack—devoid of any resistance even as every hit seems to sear itself into your impossibly tender bottom like a third-degree burn… The pain is absolutely incredible, unlike any else you’ve ever known.

You’ll do anything—and you really do mean anything—to make it stop. 

“P-P-Please, stop it, Wanda, PLEASE—”

Crack! Another hit directly across your burning sit spot rips a watery sob from your throat, followed by—  

Crack!

Crack!

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating until you pass out. 

Crack!

Agony blackens the edge of your vision, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks as you await another strike… 

But it doesn’t come. 

Wh—?

“Have you learned your lesson, мила?” Wanda asks, and this time, her voice comes from closer… like she’s right beside you. 

You don’t have it in you to be startled when a feather-light kiss lands itself between your shoulder blades, nor when one hand begins stroking up and down your heaving torso in soothing motions. 

“Y-Yes! I—please, God, yes,” you babble, overwhelmed by the sensation of unadulterated pain branding every inch of your battered arse. “I promise I’ll never, ever, ever do it again, Wan’—Won’t ever be with anyone else—jus-just please stop hurting me—I’ll be so good, please—”

“Shh,” Wanda shushes you tenderly. You feel yourself twitch as the mattress suddenly dips beside you. “It’s okay, любима,” she soothes, coming to rest beside you. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

‘Breathe’...

Your pulse thunders in your ears; your ass is on fire with an anguish far beyond your years; and yet, there’s something undoubtedly soothing about her words as they wash over you in gentle waves… something that tells you you’re safe.  

Were you a little more lucid, you might’ve found that quite the nonsensical paradox—this feeling of safety and security with the woman who’d just beaten your arse raw without mercy no matter how you wailed and sobbed and begged for her to stop. 

But as it is, you’re not. 

Instead, you’re just broken and teary-eyed and in pain, and Wanda’s tenderness is a most welcome respite to alleviate that excruciating ache. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath, even if it burns your lungs something awful, and force yourself to let it out slowly. 

In, out. 

In, out.

In… out.

“That’s it, мила,” Wanda praises gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re doing so well… Just like that.” Her fingers come to rest beneath your chin, urging you to turn and face her…

And you do, far too exhausted to even think of doing anything other than what she tells you to. Your lungs burn; your nose runs; and the pain in your bottom hasn’t abated any—if anything, it’s intensified.

You’re more than happy to be given something else to focus on.  

When you look at her, her blue-green eyes are wet—glossy with tears.

“Wanda?” you manage weakly, feeling your brow crease with worry. “You ‘kay?”

Wanda sniffles, huffs out a watery-sounding laugh. “Yes, Y/N, I’m alright,” she whispers, then leans forth to plant a gentle kiss upon the tip of your nose. “I’m just so very, very proud of you.”

Despite yourself, you feel a pleased flush spread throughout your body at that. “Really?” you mumble, exhaustion drooping your eyelids until it’s a challenge just to keep them open. 

Wanda nods, a tear sliding out of her eye that you yearn to reach forth and catch with your thumb—but alas, you’re far too weak. “Really.” 

You hum, burrowing your face further into the duvet beneath your cheek—even if it is still damp with your tears. “‘M sorry I was bad, Wan’,” you murmur, feeling darkness near on every side. “Didn’t mean’ta make you upset.”

“I don’t like punishing you, принцеса,” she says once more, and this time, you have no reason to doubt that she means it. Honestly, you don’t know how you ever could. “It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

You hum again. Your eyelids feel too heavy to open. “‘M sorry,” you say. “Gonna do better… make you proud… I promise.”

Wanda chuckles. The sound of it makes your chest feel loose and warm and happy. “You already do, darling girl,” she murmurs. You don’t know if it’s because she’s whispering, or you’re fading into sleep, but you can barely hear her when she repeats it once more: “You already do.”

Sleep descends upon you, then, and you succumb to it willingly, feeling safer and more at peace than you have in a very long time. 

— —

tagging:

[marvel]: @normanijauregui​

— —

end notes: yeah i don’t know what this is either. i was only aiming for maybe 1,000 words or something, but things happened and...

look. i haven’t been to therapy in a hot minute, ok?

link to masterlist

#stuff i wrote #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #f!reader #dark!wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff x f!reader #dark fic #mcu fic #marvel fic #scarlet witch x reader #dark!scarlet witch x reader #dark!scarlet witch #reader-insert #requested

[persepholline]

I've read that article about the romanticization of the Darkling and while I absolutely understand people who are pissed off/sad and I agree that it's shitty, I find LB's attitude towards Darkles stans very funny in a "girl what are you doing" sort of way because it's so petty like I've never heard of a bestselling author writing a portion of their fans into their books as a crazy cult before, it clearly hit a nerve

I'm new to the fandom but the feeling I get is she wrote something problematic ten years ago and became very embarrassed about it afterwards so she turned on the fans that liked it as a way to absolve herself. Especially since fandoms in general have become a lot more focused on discussion of what constitutes healthy/acceptable relationships to write about. And in a way I get it I had a huge Twilight phase in high school and afterwards I was super embarassed about it because of how problematic and cringe it was. But now with distance and more maturity I'm able to both still see why it was problematic and also why I was drawn to it (mostly the very unhinged representation of female desire) and like...it's really not the end of the world and no it never made me believe that breaking into somebody's room at night to watch them sleep was actually ok in real life lmao. This feels so obvious to me but apparently it needs to be said.

(More under the break this is turning into an essay, I've been thinking of this a lot recently)

And of course it's good to have these discussions about how historically romance tropes have echoed social dynamics of men's shitty behavior being romanticized and excused. But these days they often are so simplistic and focused on chasing clout that they become this weird new puritanism and moral panic about oh now women are reading novels it's going to make them hysterical or something

So you have these weird assumptions that you can't like a character and also be critical of their actions, or enjoy certain parts of a character and not others, or wish they were written differently and like them more for their potential (which I'm sure stings a bit for an author lol) - it assumes that if you like a character it means you would approve of their actions in real life, or that people just stupidly reproduce whatever they see on TV. That tendency to treat fictional characters like real people is the thing that actually worries me, to be honest, because it indicates a lack of distance and critical capacities regarding how stories are used and received. But people - fans and authors - are so scared of being called out as problematic and harassed for it that they're going to shy away from any nuance.

And yeah I think that it's good that standards of what constitutes an ideal relationship are evolving and becoming more feminist and communicative and all that and we definitely need more of that. But not all fiction has to be aspirational! Sometimes you just want to read about fucked up shit, because it's cathartic or fascinating, even healing at times because with fiction you are absolutely in control and can choose when to close the book. Toxic relationships in fiction can have an appeal specifically because they go to extremes of feeling that we don't want to go to in reality, in exactly the same way as horror movies or very violent action movies - which I don't see a lot of people besides fundamentalist Christians argue that they turn you into violent psychopaths (and that feels very obviously sexist). And for women, who are often taught growing up that love is the purpose of life, the "saving someone with your ability to love" can be a power fantasy in the same way that being a buff superhero who saves the day with their capacity for incredible violence can be a power fantasy for men. Still doesn't mean those women are going to fall in love with actual murderers or that those men are going to start beating up people at night. And love is scary, and weird, and weirdly close to horror at times, with all the potential for loss of self and being vulnerable and overwhelming feelings and potential for being horribly hurt and it should be possible for stories to explore that without anybody screaming about how this is going to Corrupt the Youth or something

And I mean I get it LB wanted to write a cautionary tale for teenagers, but it just did not work for reasons a lot of people have already written about - the fact that the Darkling is the leader of an oppressed minority and is the only one with a real political agenda to end that oppression in the first trilogy, the fact that he helps Alina come into her own power while her endgame LI is someone she keeps herself small for, that she's shamed for wanting power after growing up without any, a generally very wonky conception of privilege, and a lot of other stuff with yucky regressive implications to the point where stanning the villain actually feels liberating and empowering which is a surefire sign that the narrative is broken (unless it's a villain focused story lmao). But of course that Fanside article makes almost no mention of the political dynamics, it's all about interpersonal stuff which is an annoying trend in YA, there are those massive events happening in the background but it's made all about the feelings of the hero(ine) ; war as a self-development quest (which is kind of gross). Helnik is kind of an example of this too - I like them, I think they're fun ! But Matthias spends a big part of the story wanting to brutally murder Nina and her kind, and he mostly changes his mind because he finds her hot. Like you don't feel there is some sort of big revelation that his entire moral system and political framework is completely rotten ; it's all better because of feelings now.

As a teenager that kind of sanctimonious bullshit would have annoyed the hell out of me ; I read those books in my early twenties and I found the ending so stupid I wouldn't have trusted any message or life lessons coming from them. And I liked reading/watching dark stuff as a teenager, as a way to deal with the very intense inner turmoil I was dealing with - and I turned out fine ! Meanwhile I've seen several times women in very shitty relationships being obsessed with positive energies and stories ; they were so terrified of their life not being perfectly wholesome they ended up being delusional about their own situations.

Like personally I think the Darkling is a compelling, interesting, alluring character and also a manipulative, murderous piece of shit and that Alina should get to punish him (like in a sexy way) - but he's also the end result of centuries of war, oppression and trauma and reducing that to "toxic wounded boy" feels kind of offensive ngl ESPECIALLY since the books don't offer any kind of systemic analysis or response to oppression beyond "the bad guy should die" and "now the king/queen is a good guy our problems are solved!!!!"

In Lives of the Saints, we see how Yuri is abused extremely badly and almost killed by his father, and so when his father dies when the Fold swallows Novokribirsk, he thinks the Starless Saint has saved him. Later in KoS/RoW he's turned into this fanatic who explains away all the Darkling's crimes. The other followers talk about how the Starless Saint will bring equality for all men. Then the Darkling comes back and actually thinks his followers are pathetic, which feels again like a very pointed message to his IRL stans. Which is absolutely hilarious to me. Like oh no, if he was real he would not like you and think you're pathetic ! Yeah ...but he's not. Real. Damn right he would not like the fics where Alina puts him on a leash. I'm still going to read them. What is he going to do about it, jump out of the page ? Jfjfjjdhfgfjfj

Anyway I think the intended message is "assholes will use noble political causes for their own gain and to manipulate people" and "being abused/oppressed is not an excuse to behave badly." Which. Sure. But that's kind of like...a tired take, honestly ? A big number of villains nowadays are like this ; either they've been bullied as kids, or they're part of an oppressed group, or they have "good ideals but too extreme". This is not surprising because a lot of mainstream heroic narratives present clinging to the status quo as Good and change as chaotic and dangerous. And like sure in real life people often do bad shit because they're wounded and in danger. But if you want to do a story like that, you have to do it with nuance, talk about cycles of violence, about how society creates vulnerable people to be exploited, about how privilege gives you more choices and the luxury of morals, etc. The Grishaverse does not have this level of nuance (maybe in SoC a little bit but definitely not in TGT). So it kind of comes off as "trauma makes you evil" and "egalitarianism is dangerous" and "if you're abused/oppressed you're not allowed to fight back". And ignores the fact that historically, evil generally comes from unchecked privilege.

I guess my point is that there are many things I like about LB's writing, she knows how to create these really exciting character dynamics, and the world she has created is fascinating. But these stories are not a great starting point for imparting moral lessons. And her best characters tend to be, at least in canon, the morally grey ones. I hope one day she'll be at peace with the fact that she wrote the Darkling the way she did and leave his fans alone but in the meantime I'm just not going to take this whole thing seriously I'm sorry

#darklina #the darkling #alina starkov #aleksander morozova

[dallonm-archive]

[image description: a cropped image of a pink sky. on the right hand side is a bunch of darker pink clouds. Just left of the centre is a full moon. In the centre, in a white serif font reads "writing update" /end id]

july writing update

Hi friends! This writing update is me pretending I did Camp Nano and didn't kinda give up a week in! I had a proper goal and everything, but a lot of things got in the way that I'm not gonna talk about here because I already ranted about it in another update I'm drafting rn. Lets just say it's Disability Pride Month and being not neurotypical or able bodied in writing communities and their inherent focus on productivity is Hard.

But I did get some writing done and wanted to do a little Camp wrap up post regardless. And I'm doing it now because I'm cancelling the last week of July for some rest/self care and I do not want to think about writing for that time and if I write a tumblr post about July Nano being over my brain will think it's actually over <3 I will probably do updates like these for most months tho! Depends on how much I write lol! This one is not too long (by my standards) and has some Revelations, Revelations, Life Cycle of Massive Stars, Nocturne for the Holy and a new wip idea 👁️

excerpts under the cut!

general taglist ; ask to be + or - ; i only have one! ; @childhoodlovers @svpphicwrites @abiandwriting @kowlazovdi @avi-why @ryns-ramblings @kitblogsthings @bijouxs @bookphobe @moonhungers @alicewestwater @bookpacking @shaelinwrites @onlyganymede @theelectricfactory @write-like-babs @oceancold @sidhewrites @wolf-oak @oasis-of-you @coffeeandcalligraphy @cecilsstorycorner @howdywrites @keira-is-writing @flip-phones @piyawrites @avakrahn @goose-books @finch-goes-write @ziyin @aphaimaniis @isherwoodj @laughtracksonata

I'm also editing this in to say I only just realised that July is my writeblr birthday month and that is very weird to me! A year and a couple days ago I impulsively turned an old blog into a place to document writing for me and ended up meeting people who now mean the world to me and my writing blossoming in a way I never thought it would. And the funny part is it doesn't feel like it's been a year, ever since I joined it's just felt like life has Always been this way and I cannot fathom that it hasn't. I'm sappy bc it's 4am lol but ultimately the friends I made (you know who you are) and the community I found is what retaught me the value of writing and helped me unlearn toxic ideas and whilst the last year was tough I wish I could tell July 2020 Dallon (who did not realise he was Dallon yet </3) what July 2021 would look like.

revelations, revelations ;

Oh the absolute state of affairs with this book rn. Nothing bad but I don't know when I'm gonna update y'all because sometimes I do not know where to start when talking about this wip lol! Currently on a break with it (but also my thesis work is on late 20th century queer lit/history rn so am ever really free of RR? <3) but had a lot of fun with it at the end of June/start of July. Anyway here's Dorothy finally revealing more of herself to me after a year. Dorothy as a character is like, I truly believe she is capable of killing a man but the story she is in just does not allow that so I am trying to grow her unhinged side a little bit in other ways bc I know she has it in her but I also really cannot deal with the plot repercussions of her actually killing a man! I'm sorry Dotty but this'll have to do!

(cw for groping/a man being creepy as hell, death/funeral mention, drug mention, drowning imagery kinda)

There’s too much to tell Felix. That his sister lives on the fringe of Castro and has attended three funerals since September; that it’s January 11th and she’s already attended one this year. That his sister drives through sunsets and imagines parties: the amber dusk, warm mosaic tiles, platters of Greek salad skewers and shrimp tostadas, and sometimes Jolie joins her and they share a blunt on the hill. That his sister bought an aquamarine body-length dress for six bucks in a thrift store sale bin, so when her and Jolie broke up for the second time, she waltzed into a sunset party, locked arms with a CEO’s son and gave him a fake number and plucked strawberries out of champagne and blended so well nobody noticed when she left. That during the summer of ’83, his sister walked a neighbour’s Golden Retriever on Wednesdays, and on the sixth Wednesday he gave her a wad of tens with one hand and palmed the back of her neck with the other, so she walked his dog to the beach and stole another hundred from his wallet. That his sister bombed an interview for a Nursing school and didn’t get home until night and missed their monthly call, and Jolie heard the phone ring and didn’t take a message, so his sister snuck into the CEO’s son’s villa and floated in the centre of their heated pool like a cloud. A pause, a breath, an Opheliean threat.

life cycle of massive stars ;

Switched to LCOMS this month because I was burnt out with RR and it made such the difference! I really love working on two novels at once because it keeps me consistently creative but also both of these books are so different so its always refreshing to bounce back into one from another. I have a whole update in the drafts rn for this so keeping this part brief but still love this book, still the best thing that has ever happened to me, me and this book will have a glorious summer wedding etc etc. These excerpts are from chapters that summarise the first semester of each character's first year and have to say it. has been Very Fun to get into the mindset of Freshers Melodrama. Here's Junie having a crisis and an unhealthy relationship with her hetero flatmate :( (alcohol cw for both excerpts)

In October you are drinking double espresso and trying to breathe normally in lectures and you are trying to figure out your favourite colour because Fleur asked and you stumbled out an answer (Purple, I think. Violet? Lavender? Indigo?) and it didn’t match hers (I like yellow. I like sunlight). You buy mugs from IKEA to paint you paint cats and fireworks and constellations and moon phases and daisies. You try to scratch paint stains off your desk. You do laundry at 2am. In October you colour code your notes with pastel highlighters. You go to the library at 3am. You paint your nails sunlight and hate it. You finish an essay that’s due in December. You knock on Fleur’s door at 8am so she makes her 9am. You wear off the shoulder tops and you let a girl dab glitter on your collarbones and you are watching Fleur kiss a boy from the neighbouring hall. You bite your sunlight nails. You break the handle off your IKEA constellation mug. You leave your keys in a lecture hall and stand at the reception for forty minutes waiting for them to realise that the keys on the desk have the moon chain you mentioned - or, you are waiting to say it yourself. You are watching the rain trail down your window. In October you get a halo headband tangled in your hair you are sipping a vampire themed cocktail that tastes like acetone you rip your heels off and you go home early and do laundry at 2am and you are waiting for the courage to tell Fleur you don’t like clubbing - or, you are waiting for her to ask where you are. In October you are many things / a good student a dancer a painter an angel a big sister an alarm clock you are nocturnal and a lucid dreamer and confused about your sexuality / and it’s still October but it’s not because it’s November now and you are still Junie but not because you don’t know who Junie is. It’s November, it’s September October November December. It’s 2016 2017 2018 2019. You are fragments and you don’t know if you are a kaleidoscope or shattered glass.

And here's first year Tomas being like I Moved Countries For University And All I Got Was Homesickness And A Crush On My Flatmate And Resurging Autistic Symptoms And This Lousy T Shirt (cw: vomit mention, injection mention, parental death mention)

Kristen is seven months younger and five inches taller than you. He’s the last flatmate you met and the only one you talk to beyond kitchen greetings and passive aggressive texts about dirty dishes. He is too quiet and too loud and not the type of person you befriend. The first night, he lost Ring of Fire and downed the concoction of Echo Falls, Dark Fruits, Jack Daniels and coke, vodka and lemonade alongside a cigarette and said he’d let God figure out the rest. He held your hair back when you threw up amaretto and held onto your knee when you first self-injected testosterone. He taught you Yorkshire dialect and you pretended to understand the Yorkshire dialect. He told you he got diagnosed at four and you told him you didn’t get past the first assessment but sometimes you flick the bathroom light on and it’s fire: the orange on the orange towel is louder, the white on the white tiles are louder, the colours and light and sink and showerhead are prickly and all you can do is blink and breathe until it fizzles out. You reminded him to take his meds and asked if you were weak for wanting to drop out and hop on the first Eurostar to Rotterdam. He reminded you to take off your binder and asked if he was robotic for not grieving his mother. You spent inky nights on the kitchen floor, counting the dead flies in the lights and scooping crumbly coconut ice cream out of a maker you got for half price in TK Maxx. You spent dusk-dusted afternoons at the global street food markets, at the vegan markets. Spent student loans on raspberry lemonade in recycled cups, veggie burgers in beetroot buns, got him hooked on poffertjes and advocaat and could’ve cried when the vendor spoke to you in Dutch. Sometimes you didn’t buy anything. Just liked hovering at stalls ambered with fairy lights, writing down Etsy stores on your notes app; just liked Kristen’s impulse to trek forty minutes into the city for a market he didn’t know existed until five minutes before; just liked how he always invited only you, cancelling your other plans last minute, the feeling of being ambushed; just liked how he stopped to take photos of dogs and the sunset; just liked how he looked haloed under lampposts waiting for Ubers, golden on golden.

This is also nearing creative nonfiction because Sheffield truly is a haven for just. vegan markets and cafes lol! I experimented with veganism there and never struggled to find something and at this point I call myself a fake vegan because it's too easy to be vegan in Sheffield and too difficult to be vegan in my actual hometown. And the global street food markets!!! SO GOOD! I miss pre pandemic days

nocturne for the holy ;

Giving her a little shout out because she does exist actually! I've figured out a really good system for working on two novels at a time, so my plan is maybe to start properly on this after I finish either RR or LCOMS. Idk I got 3 novels to pick from haha oops! I did do some free drafting back in April though and found it recently and I Like It! And I edited it so it counts as Something I Did This Month :) Also have decided that I loathe this working title <3 Okay see you with an update for this novel in like a year, sorry for the absolute zero context for this excerpt hehe

The morning I was due back, I hadn’t yet decided that this would be my last visit. I wandered between rooms like an overstayed guest, like I didn’t know which crockery lived in which cabinet and which bedroom had the best view of the overlapped hills. Dad would wake for his run in an hour, plastered to his twenty-year-old routine. Mum would pretend to be asleep until breakfast. Until then, it was myself and the house, hazed by sleepy sunrise. Downstairs. The peeling paisley wallpaper in the lounge, the lilies in the middle of the kitchen table, the vases of candy floss pink peonies wilting on every windowsill, the desolate double swing-set in the garden. The mist-clogged mornings. I stood outside in my dressing-gown until my fingertips felt numb. Upstairs. The sage coloured bathroom. The bathtub I’d laze in with my clothes on and no water because it was the quietest room in the house. The dusty dance trophies on the top of my wardrobe. Wine-flushed Jeanette in my teenage bedroom. The stale grey mum painted my teenage bedroom after I moved out. Minus their room, I stalked the layout of the house three times before settling back into bed - teenage Nora’s bed. Nora who cared for peonies and pushed her brother on the swing set and flung her ceramic ballerina at the wall and jogged with her father and collected wine bottles and acorns and kisses from girls who were supposed to visit for dance practice. Before I left, I’d have cycled each room another three times. And in every room he was there, hovered in the corner like black mould.

love this update bc it's like i've got my third person, my second person, my first person! collecting all the POVs like chaos emeralds :)

eulogy for our burnings ;

-looks away-

girl help I did it AGAIN!!!! Apparently Camp Nano is just the perfect time for me to get novel ideas. I made this post specifically to talk a bit about this because I have no idea when I'll draft it but it's certainly not soon. This is not me trying to doubt my own skill but I feel like I am not in the place I'd like to be as a writer to tackle this project with the zest it needs, however I am v excited by the prospect of it! Don't know how I feel about the working title bc I'm like "that doesn't sound right but I don't know enough about this wip to dispute it" but the only purpose my working titles serve is to sound pretty lol! But here's the tea:

1991, UK.

2nd person present + past. Very flexible form. I can't decipher how yet but I'm feeling interviews, newspaper articles, receipts, grocery store lists weaved with actual narrative, that kinda vibe.

Best summary is we follow our nameless narrator, a stealth trans man, as he becomes unhealthily obsessed with a man who "hires" him to photograph the buildings he burns

Very,,, isolated? Minimal settings, minimal characters, minimal prose etc. Almost claustrophobic

There's basically only two characters and they are probably the most morally deplorable, indefensible characters I've created which just means most of you are gonna LOVE this /lh I do too I do too

Only comp title I can give is it has the vibes/tone of Boy Parts by Eliza Clark (just with none of the nsfw content lol if you've read the book you know what I'm talking about) (also that book is great for morally deplorable women protagonists but omg look up the content warnings because it caught me off guard! enjoyed it tho gave it 4 stars)

The pinterest board is the best visualisation of the Vibes also follow me on pinterest lol

And that's all I've got today! A bigger Life Cycle of Massive Stars update coming in the next few weeks. Might do a proper intro post for Eulogy For Our Burnings but idk!!! It's a surprise :) Thank you for reading this far!

#also i have LOTS to catch up on so if u tagged me in anything im gonna do a big queue of rb's soon! #promise im not ignoring anybody! #just barely functioning <3 #atlastracking #writing update #revelations revelations #life cycle of massive stars #nocturne for the holy #eulogy for our burnings

[jadoue1999]

Wanda and the life she deserved (she’ll make sure of it) Chapter 8

Summary: In honor of the amazing bob that is ¨Agatha all along¨, this chapter is from Agatha’s point of view! Find out how this century old witch deals with the event of Westview and how Peter ended up wearing the damn necklace in the first place! (Still pissed we never got an explanation for that) Please enjoy!

Previous parts: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, epilogue

Chapter 8: Agatha all along

Agatha had felt it in the air, a disturbance. A pulling force seemingly ripping through anything that should normally stop it. Similar to what created Westview, but this one was more contained, and a lot further. She did what any sane witch would do in her situation and rerouted the spell. A classic. Not interfering with anything, just taking what’s already there and changing the landing point. She didn’t have to wait long, soon, a young man with silver hair dropped on the stone floor. Agatha looked at the newcomer with amusement, Wanda couldn’t have done that, could she? Had the witch been so lost in grief that she ripped away a version of her brother? As the stranger stirred, she quickly hid in the shadows, first impressions were important after all. He cracked his eyes open and gripped his head in pain, the landing had to have been rough. She let him look around her dark dungeons, it was all about timing. She walked forward, slowly coming into view of the man.

“Well,” she started, amusement coloring her voice, “I see Wanda is getting desperate.”

The stranger eyed her with suspicion, slowly trying to get up to his feet. “Where am I?”

“I didn’t bring you here if that’s what you mean. Your unhinged sister did.”

“Lorna?” Agatha felt that the stranger had wanted to say another name, but it was apparently painful. Good, she could play with that.

“No dear, your twin,” she paused, reveling in his surprise and shock, followed by anger. She scoffed, “well, not technically, but details, details.” 

The man rose up to his feet quicker than anyone should be able to. Check for superspeed, definitely Wanda’s brother. He was still a little disoriented, so it wasn’t hard for Agatha to pluck him mid-step and bind him to the walls. The magic in the vines would be enough to contain him. She smirked as a series of curse words left his lips as he fought his bonds. Knowing there was no need for show now, she quickly casted a mind control spell on the man. 

Only for it to dissipate as soon as it reached him.

The witch frowned and tried again, to no avail. She tried reaching into his mind, only to find his thoughts flying at a thousand miles. She couldn’t get a grip, no matter how hard she concentrated. She opened her eyes to find that a migraine was now piercing through her skull. She tried her best to ignore it as she smirked. “Well, aren’t you a little problem?”

“My life’s purpose,” snarked the man.

Oh, he had spirit. She loved when they fought back, it made it all worthwhile when they finally broke. 

“Now, Pietro-“

“Name’s Peter.”

“Peter, you get to be the lucky guest star of the show,” Agatha announced, smugness in her voice. “Not only that, but I’m also going to give you a very secret mission.” The speedster glared at her, clearly not interested in her proposition. Tough crowd, I see. Nevertheless, she continued. “You see, I need information about a certain someone, you’ll be my eyes and ears.”

Peter scoffed at her plan, “not gonna happen, lady. You see, I’m part of a team, and they’ll notice I’m gone and when they do, they’ll-“

Agatha quickly casted a spell to stop his rambling. She found great satisfaction in seeing the man trying to talk. The panicked look on his face when he realized that no sound was coming out would definitely be a precious memory to look back upon. She walked over to the altar and opened the Darkhold. The spell book had to be containing tips or tricks to deal with speedsters. After a bit of looking, she found the few pages concerning this special type of power. She quickly read through the many tips and warning before finding what she was looking for.

“Hm,” scoffed Agatha, narrowing her eyes at the mutant as she closed the book. “I think the thing you need, is something much more tangible than a simple spell. Your brain is too fast, I need something real to make it last.” 

With a wave of her hand, a necklace appeared in her hand. It looked simple enough, there was about a dozen wooden beads with white shells. Agatha plucked a hair out of Peter’s head and began chanting in a language he couldn’t understand. The jewelry began to glow purple, Peter stared at it, uncertain of what was happening. Then, the witch took a step forward and that’s when he started struggling. Panicking is more accurate. All she could see was a moving blur, but it didn’t matter. She tightened the vine’s hold on him, the pain momentarily immobilizing the speedster. Those few seconds was all she needed to hook the necklace around his neck. She let his voice return as the memories of Wanda’s brother assaulted his mind, his screams echoing off the walls. It didn’t take long for the spell to take over him, Agatha released his bonds and led him upstairs. As they walked up the stairs, his clothes changed from a silver jacket and a band shirt to a black jacket with a purple Hawaiian shirt. 

She walked him outside, in front of Wanda’s house and nudged him forward with her magic; giving him the autonomy to fulfill his role. 

Agatha smirked as she watched Wanda welcome him into her home, her plan would work; she would get her answers.

...

 The contact had been lost. Ever since Halloween night, Agatha had lost her eyes and ears into Wanda’s house. She assumed she had casted him out or returned him to his dimension.

Imagine her surprise when he appeared out of nowhere, literally. She had been there for the twins, but the game had just become much more interesting. She eyed him carefully, noting how the necklace was still in place. Even though she couldn’t understand how he was still there, she acted like nothing was wrong. “Well, hello! I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” she held out a hand, “I’m Agnes, your neighbor to the right, my right not yours!”

The speedster didn’t seem to recognize her, which she was ever so thankful for. The memory spell she had casted back when he arrived was still doing its job. She had originally come for Wanda’s children, but getting her brother too was quite tempting. She quickly made her choice and turned to Wanda, faking worry. She proposed taking Tommy and Billy to give her a break, something Wanda seemed to find scandalous. Agatha reassured her; it wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, she could use her brother for repairs. 

She quickly got what she came here for, but the speedster refused to come. A flash of anger flared through her, she needed Wanda at her most vulnerable, how dare he try to foil her plan? 

Still, benevolent as she was, she let it slip. She had the boys anyway; she’d take care of him later. 

...

 Saying the twins were worried about their mom was an understatement, she could hear their worried thoughts all the way in the kitchen. Agatha was fixing them sandwiches, her neighbors were still at risk of suddenly joining her, she had to keep up the facade a little longer. Screaming from the outside distracted her from the boys. Not that they needed a caretaker; they were sitting on her couch, watching TV while eating the food she had just given them. 

“I’ll go check up on your mom, alright? I’ll be right back.”

Wanda was with the woman she had banished a few days ago. The screaming she had heard had now seemed to turn into a heartfelt conversation. Not good. She quickly shooed away the lady, leading Wanda to her house, she beamed on the inside. Finally, she would learn her secret, finally she’ll get her powers. She’ll drain her of everything she got, yes and once that would be done, she’d-

“Thanks Agnes, I don’t know what was up with her,” said Pietro. 

Oh, that simply wouldn’t do. How did he keep appearing at the most inconvenient times? She put up her friendly neighbor facade, but inside she was fuming. When asked about the twins, she assured them that they were fine. For now. Knowing she wouldn’t get Wanda at the moment; she reminded the troublesome speedster of the tasks she needed him for. She glared at them as she watched them walk away. Still, not everything was lost; she still had the Minimoffs in her grip. Time to get to work.

“How’s the show going boys?” Agatha cheerily asked. She didn’t listen to their answers as she placed a hand behind each of the boy’s head. She quietly muttered her spell, smirking as the twin’s bodies slowly relaxed and their eyes closed. Once she was sure they were fully asleep, she took each of them in her basement, shoving them into a cell. A noise upstairs startled her, but she grinned when the newcomer spoke.

“Agnes, I’m here!” Pietro’s voice echoed. She quickly walked up the stairs. 

“Oh! You arrived just in time; I just discovered a leaky pipe in the basement. I really don’t want mold growing down there!” She laughed and gestured at the man to follow her. Excitement building in her stomach as all the pieces slowly fell into place. After him, she’d only need Wanda. 

As they ventured down the stairs, she could feel his anxiety growing. She assumed his subconscious also remembered his previous incursion in the basement, but she couldn’t be sure about it. Still, Agatha could feel his senses on high alert as they reached her lair. 

At that, Pietro spoke up. “Where are my nephews?” he asked, slowly getting more aggressive after each word. 

“Indisposed, at the moment I’m afraid,” Agatha replied. With a flick of her hand, he was levitating in the air, restrains on his hands and feet. The lack of contact with any surface made his struggling useless. She approached him, eyeing him curiously. He was definitely still under a spell, there was no Peter present, only Pietro. Nothing he was wearing seemed out of the ordinary. Agatha looked at the necklace on his neck with suspicion, something was... different. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The jewelry was the same original piece, nothing had been changed. Then why did she lose contact? She wondered. Then it clicked.

“Oh, that little witch,” smirked Agatha. “She changed the spell. Well, we can fix that.”

She went to remove the necklace, but a burning sensation made her gasp. She looked at her hand in shock, there was no bruise, but it was definitely hurting. When did Wanda learn to protect her spells like that? She brushed her hand against her shirt, trying to get rid of the sensation before looking at her neighbor’s not brother. He seemed oblivious to what had just happened, the necklace apparently wasn’t hurting him. That meant that Wanda probably discovered his real identity, but why keep him around if he was a fake? That could only mean one thing: she was so lost in grief that she had kept him at her side even knowing it was a trick. 

“Now Pietro, your nephews might be here,” she started, catching the man’s attention, “but that doesn’t mean they’re safe.” Agatha approached the speedster and gripped his chin. “That depends entirely on you. You see, I need a lookout, someone to make sure that I will not be disturbed when your sister gets here. You happen to fit the part nicely, with your superspeed. No one can run from you.”

The man scoffed, “how do you know I won’t just tell Wanda and she’ll take care of you?”

“Your sister might protect you from my magic, but that doesn’t apply to her children. One wrong move on your part and they pay the price.” 

She let him consider her offer, already knowing his answer. It’s not like he had much of a choice. Either he played sentinel, or she would keep him here and make things even worse for Wanda. Shutting his eyes, he reluctantly agreed. Agatha smiled as she released him, he was about to leave but she spoke up. “If you happen to catch anyone, you take them in the attic. You stay with them. I might not have control over your person, but you’ll find it impossible to leave this house unless I want you to.” 

The speedster was gone in a flash. She wished she could have taunted him with the truth, but she was fairly certain his sister’s magic wouldn’t have let it. With the power she possessed, she doubts he’d even remember if she told him he was from a different universe. 

The sound of her doorbell pulled her from her thoughts. Wanda was here. Time to get this show on the run.

...

Notes: Agatha is very fun to write and since I only wanted one chapter in her point of view, you get a chapter that double the usual lenght! Thank you for reading, reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

#wandavision #wanda maximoff #wandavision spoilers #wanda and pietro #pietro maximoff #Pietro #peter maximoff #Elizabeth Olsen #Evan Peters #x men #x men universe #x men quicksilver #quicksilver #scarlet witch #agatha harkness #agatha all along #kathryn hahn #wandavision agatha harkness #wandavision agnes #tommy maximoff #billy maximoff #Vision #marvel #marvel fanfiction #wandavision fanfic #wandavision fix it

[legionofpotatoes]

we decided to watch all story cutscenes from the new resident evil village videogame on a whim, since it’s not really our cup of tea gameplay-wise but seems to be this massive zeitgeist moment that made us morbidly curious. And I know how much everyone cares about my thoughts on things I know very little about, so. let’s get into it huh gamers. and yeah spoilers?

for context, I’ve only played resident evil 4 and a small portion of 5. I also read the wikipedia entry for 7’s plot recently. all this to say I was only vaguely aware of how tonally wacky the series was going in

I also completely gave up following the plot of the mutagens’ soap opera, so that paid off in spades here as you might imagine

anyway so that baby in the intro. that baby’s head is just massive. humongous toddlerdome. when ethan finds the baby’s head in a jar later on. there is no way that head would fit into that jar. bad game design. no not even game design. basic stuff. one hundred years in prison for jar modeler

if I see a single functional hetero marriage in video games I will cry tears of joy. I understand their misery is kind of The Point irt them badly working through the hillbilly romp trauma but like. sheesh. at least set that up as an emotional story goal the plot will help resolve. but nope they start off miserable and it goes nowhere

I know I know the mia thing has a huge wrinkle in it but like. not really in terms of dramatic function?? set up a happy end to the re7 nightmare (miranda can keep up appearances for all she cares) and then take that all away from angry griffin mcelroy for manpain. it will still absolutely work to set up the dramatic forward momentum. why throw in this cliche Hollywood Tension in their marriage if you’re not going to address it oh maybe because it’s normalized as automatically interesting because nuclear families are a self-propagating pit of a very narrow chance at emotional happiness relying on social stigma to preserve their empty function oops my baggage slipped in yikes abort mission

I called him griffin mcelroy because I saw his face on twitter and. yeah. I will continue to do this occasionally. my house my rules

... fuck the reason I’m hung up on this is specifically because the rest of the game is so tonally dexterous (which is a shining point to me! more on that later!), and yet they felt weirdly compelled to create the aesthetic trapping of a family-at-odds trope without following it through too well. a sign of both the good and the bad stuff to come

but listen the real reason why I wanted to talk about any of this is to nitpick the fascinating backwards-engineered nucleus of the entire thing; in that this game essentially creates a melting pot of just SO many disparate horror tropes and then makes a no-holds-barred unhinged effort at weaving thick lore to piece them all together. it is truly a sight to behold. like straight up you got your backwoods fright night situation, your gothic castle vampires, your rural-industrial werewolves, and don’t forget your bloated swamp monsters over there, with then a hard left turn into robotic body horror, and the entire ass subgenre of Creepy Doll writ large, and the bloodborne tentacle monsters, and a hellboy angel bossfight, which rides on the coattails of a mech-on-mech pacific rim bonanza, and just jesus henry christ slow down

almost all of these are textural hijack jobs that don’t really get into the metaphor plain of any of those settings but the game sort-of makes an argument that the texture IS the point and revels in it. It is kind of admirable almost. The same reason why the intro felt boxed in and unmotivated is also why the rest of the game just blasts off of its hinges to the point of complete and self-indulgent tonal abandon. I kinda loved that about it. lady dimitrescu made sure to hold her hat down as she bent forward in mahogany doorways and then suddenly she’s a giant gore dragon and you settle in your temp role as dark souls man with Gun to take her ass down. Excellent??

this rhino rampage impulse to gobble up every horror aesthetic known to man comes to head when the game wrestles with its FPS trappings in what is the most hilarious solution in creating visceral player damage moments. Since most cinematics and the entire game is in first person, that leaves precious little real estate for the devs to work with if they really want to sell griffin’s physical crucible. To wit. This dude’s forearms. Specifically just the forearms. They are MASSACRED throughout the story. The poor man lives out the silent hill dimension of a hand model. by the end cutscene he looks like a neatly dressed desk clerk who had decided to stick both his grabbers into garbage disposal grinders just a few hours prior. like in addition to everything else it manages to rope in that tinge of slapstick violence into its general grievous genre collection except this time it IS for a lack of trying! truly incredible

but wait his miracle clawbacks from everything his poor paws go through are retroactively explained away, yes, but far too vaguely and far too late to console me as I sat and watched everyone’s favorite baby brother reattach an entirely severed hand to his wrist stump by just. placing it on there. and giving it a lil twist ‘n pop terminator-style. and then willing his fingers back into motion right in front of my bulging eyes. this game just does not care. it does not give a shit. and boy howdy will it work to make that into one of its strongest suits

cause generally speaking resident evil was THE premiere vanilla zombie content destinaysh for like a decade, right? and as the rest of the world and mainstream media started encroaching and bloodying its blue ocean it went and just exploded in every single conceivable horror trope direction like a smilodon on catnip. truly, genuinely fascinating franchise moves

yeah the big vampire milf is hot. other news; grass... green. although I do love the implication that her closet is just identical white dresses on a rack. cartoon network-level queen shit

apropos of nothing I’ve said there’s also this hobo dante-devimaycry-magneto man, and I can’t believe this sentence makes sense. anyway he made that “boulder-punching asshole” joke referring to chris redfield and it was probably the only easter egg that really landed for me and boy did it land hard. I have not seen him punch the boulder in re5, mind. I had only heard about how funny it is from friends. and here this dude was, probably in the same exact mindset as me, trying to grapple with that insane mental image. with you on that ian mckellen, loud and clear

I advocate vehemently against the shallow pursuit of hyper photorealism in art direction but I gotta admit it works really in favor of immersive horror like this. the european village shacks especially gave me super unchill flashbacks to my rural countryside retreat in western georgia. I could smell the linoleum dude. not cool

faces are weird in this game. can’t place it. nice textures, good animation, but the modeling template is... uuh strange? and the hair. it has that clustered-flat-clumpy look that harkens to something very specific and unpleasant but I just don’t know what. sue me

griffin’s mental aptitude to take all this shit in stride and end every seemingly traumatizing bossfight involving some fucking eldritch being yet unseen through mortal eyes by essentially throwing out an MCU quip is just. What the fuck dude? I mean that was funny how you casually yelled the f-word at a god damn werewolf that you considered a fairy tale an hour ago but are you like, all right?? it was swinging a sledgehammer the size of a bus at you, ethan

oh oh the vampires are afraid of cold and your last name is winters. I get it haha

Pro Gamer Nitpick: boss fights seemed a bit unnecessarily long?? idk why the youtuber we picked decided the ENTIRE propeller man fight counted towards the vital story scenes he was stitching together, but man mr big daddy lite there really had some get up and go huh??

why are they saying dimitrescu.. like that. is it really how you say that word or is the english language relapsing into its fetish for ending every single word with a consonant at all costs

I’m not saying it’s a dramatic miss of a twist in context of all that’s going on, but the “you died in the last game actually and have been DC’s clayface ever since” revelation is low-key. it’s. it’s just funny to me, I dont know what to say. century-old god-witch fails her evil plan after she mistakenly removes heart from what was definitely NOT just some white guy with eight fingers after all

chris realizing he’s about to become the player character and immediately swapping out his tsundere trenchcoat for the muscletight sex haver sweater

the little bluetooth speaker-sized pipe bomb he taped to his knife was nuclear?? really??? I must have missed something because that is just too good. I buy it though I totally buy it. chris just got them fun-sized nukes in his car trunk for, you guessed it, Situations

anyway this is all for now just wanted to briefly touch on how unexpectedly funny and tonally irreverent this seemingly serious game turned out to be. did not articulate any cathartic story beats whatsoever but my god it had fun connecting those plot points. he just fucking put his severed hand back on his stump and it Just Worked todd howard get in here

#text #another one in my bulleted review series with no rhyme or reason #sorry resident evil fans this could be a painful read pls turn away #i know almost nothing about it but i am gonna be super fake familiar and critical of this one hey ho