#its basic decorum

[bacchuschucklefuck]

all ur fh takes are so big brained, does ur neck hurt? from having such a big brain? i hope not but i wouldnt be surprised

thank you that's very kind of u to say! the thing is this is my test tube and everything floating in here is catered to My whims. I am the master of this domain and my takes are automatically good in here bc it's my house

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Four

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, some small time jumps, Lando being the perfect BF, so much fluff (are we surprised?) Amelia’s fixation on Oscar continues.

Notes — I couldn’t fathom not giving you guys an update, so I decided to split this chapter in half, which actually makes it more enjoyable anyway!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

December 2021

Light streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Amelia was sat cross-legged on the floor in one of Lando’s shirts, hair still mussed from sleep, watching him tear through wrapping paper like an overactive toddler.

He held up a pair of novelty socks. “These do not say ‘fastest fiancé’. Did you have these custom made?” He laughed. 

Amelia sipped her coffee. Smiled. “Yes.”

He laughed, leaned over to kiss her temple, and then spotted one last final, wrapped in silver paper with her usual precision. His name in sharp, all-caps handwriting. Pushed all the way at the back of the tree. 

“Wait, what’s that?” He asked, genuinely confused. “I thought we were done.”

“We are,” Amelia said. “That one doesn’t exist, technically. I bought it with my bonus money for winning Max the championship — so it was basically free.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Just open it.” She urged, her stomach fluttering. 

He went at it with a lack of any kind of decorum. 

Inside was a car key, nestled in a velvet-lined box. Lando stared at it. Blinking. Then he saw the envelope beneath. He opened it, slowly, and pulled out a photograph — glossy, high-res, obviously taken without him knowing. A sky-blue Fiat Jolly, sitting on a Monaco street. His dream car. “I’ve always wanted a jolly,” he’d said.

It was his now.

He didn’t say anything.

“Lando,” Amelia urged, eyes narrowing on him. Lando’s mouth opened. Closed. His hands went to his face. “Are you—”

“I’m not crying,” he said instantly, voice breaking, eyes suspiciously wet. “It’s the… sea air.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “We’re inside.”

He launched himself at her instead of arguing, arms wrapping around her waist as he half-tackled her backwards into the couch. “You bought me a Jolly,” he whispered, holding her like she was the one wrapped in a bow. “You got me a blue jolly.”

“It’s a good colour,” she said, tone clipped. “There was a white one, but that would’ve been a pain to keep clean.”

He kissed her, sloppily and repeatedly, laughing into her mouth, nose brushing hers. “You’re ridiculous. A ridiculous genius. I love you so much it might actual be a crime.”

“Lando,” she protested, giggling against his lips. “Merry Christmas.”

He held her tighter. “You’re never allowed to leave me. I’ll keep you tied up in the Jolly.”

“I’ll engineer my escape.” She warned. “And then I’ll run you over with it.” 

“God, you’re so hot.” He breathed, and then he was kissing her again. “I got you a cookbook.” He said, after a beat, sounding all upset. 

“You got me a diamond ring.” She reminded him. “And three Chanel dresses.” 

His eyes brightened again. “Oh yeah! We’re equal then?”

She decided never to tell him how much she’d spent on the car.  

Instead she just nodded and let him kiss her again. 

—

The little Fiat Jolly puttered along the winding road just above the Monaco coastline, its tiny engine buzzing like a contented bee. The sun was dipping low, washing the cliffs and water in warm light. 

Amelia had her bare feet on the dashboard, oversized hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, a half-eaten gingerbread cookie resting in her lap. Her dark hair whipped gently in the wind, and her face was set in that rare, fully relaxed expression Lando had come to love.

He was at the wheel (obviously), winter scarf flapping around his neck. Sunglasses on. Driving like he was in a slow-motion Italian rom-com. He was also butchering Mariah Carey. “AAALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS—IS—YOUUUUUUU—!”

Amelia winced. “Not one since correct tune. Like, you’ve been aggressively wrong for the entire song.”

“It’s called passion, baby,” he shouted over the wind. “You wouldn’t understand. You sing like a metronome.”

“It’s called being in tune.” She argued. 

He reached over to squeeze her knee. “Still love you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” She glared at him. 

He glanced at her, just a quick look, and he was pouting. “I’m adorable.”

She rolled her eyes and let her head loll toward the window. The sea looked endless tonight. Peaceful. “I can't believe you’re allowed to drive this thing on public roads. Feels like a safety hazard. And sounds like a cheap hairdryer.”

“It’s completely safe,” Lando said cheerfully. “A sexy, blue, historic, safe little thing.” A beat passed. Then he added, quieter, “This is gonna be one of those memories, you know?”

She looked at him.

“In ten, twenty years. I’ll remember this. The Jolly. Us, Thelma and Louise’ing on Christmas Day because we were rebels and decided to snub both sets of parents. You, looking all pretty. Wearing a ring that means you’ll be mine forever. Proper core memory, innit?” 

“I’m not very sentimental,” she said, but her voice had gone soft.

“I know.” He said. “Don’t worry. I’ll remember it for both of us.”

She turned her head to him then, something gentle and fond settling in her chest. “You’re such a romantic.”

He leaned over at the next stop sign and kissed her quickly. “Yeah. Whatever. You love it.”

She sighed. “...Yeah. I do.”

And the Jolly carried them on, down the hills of Monaco, all the way home. 

January 2022

The January light filtered in pale and calm, exactly how she liked it. Amelia stirred in bed, already aware that something was… off. Not in a terrible, uncomfortable way. Just different.

Lando was gone. But in his place on the pillow beside her was a small stack of neatly folded paper, warm from the radiator.

Her name was written on the top in his handwriting, big, messy loops, the pen pressed down too hard on the edges.

She picked it up.

Hi, baby. Don’t panic. It’s your birthday so I have a surprise for you, but everything is going to be soft, quiet, and exactly how you like it.

Here’s what’s happening:

Step One: Breakfast. Check the kitchen. Step Two: Follow the yellow thread (yes, I taped it to the walls, no I can’t promise that the paint will survive) Step Three: I love you.

Amelia blinked, then got up slowly, grounding herself with a hand on the dresser. No loud music. No shouting. No sudden “SURPRISE!” the way people sometimes did and she hated. Just a yellow string, trailing from the doorknob like a breadcrumb trail.

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and strawberries. Her usual breakfast, oat toast, berry compote, and the one tea blend she was currently hyper-fixating on, was laid out. Her iPad was already charging on the counter. Her stim toy was beside her mug. Everything… in its place.

The yellow thread led down the hall, looping gently through the apartment. Amelia followed it barefoot, her fresh baby-pink manicure sparkling prettily in the morning sunlight.

The thread ended at the den. Inside, the lights were low. A weighted blanket was spread across a pillow fort made of sofa cushions and chairs. The projector hummed gently, and paused on screen was a playlist of exactly her comfort movies — colour-graded and subtitled, just how she preferred.

Lando was sitting in the middle of it, wearing her favourite hoodie of his, criss-cross applesauce on the floor, nervously picking at the hem of a cushion.

“Hi,” he said softly, standing when she entered. “You okay?”

Her eyes were wide, her expression unreadable at first; and then she moved forward quickly and wrapped her arms around him, face tucked into his chest. He let out a breath, hugging her back tightly. “I just wanted you to feel… like, loved,” he mumbled into her hair. “And safe. Didn’t want to make anything too stressful.”

She didn’t cry. Not quite. But she went very still in his arms. “You did it perfectly,” she whispered. “Everything.”

“Okay, good.” He kissed the top of her head. “There’s also banana bread. And I got your mum to send me the birthday plate. It’s in the kitchen. Please don’t be mad.”

She pulled back, eyes slightly glassy now. “You stole the birthday plate?”

“I borrowed the birthday plate,” he said with a grin. “International shipping, for love.”

Amelia’s laugh was quiet but real.

“I also made you a visual schedule of the day,” Lando said, a bit too proud of himself. “I colour-coded it. I used tabs.”

She stared at him. “You did not.”

“I absolutely did. And there's an hour blocked out for ‘no talking, just decompressing.’ I figured you'd want it.”

She kissed him. Without overthinking it. Without preamble. Just reached up and kissed him full on the mouth, like gratitude in motion.

When she pulled away, she said simply, “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Lando’s grin went a little crooked. “Yeah? Better than the year your dad bought you the model McLaren MP4/4?”

“Marginally,” she said, with a tiny smile. “But only because of the yellow thread.”

February 2022

The office was quiet, save for the dull hum of the heating system and the rhythmic tapping of Amelia’s pen against her notepad. She sat across from Jos and Max, her expression unreadable, jaw set. The sea glimmered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows — too calm for the tension in the room.

Jos leaned forward, hands clasped on the table between them. “Five years,” he said simply. “You’ll have control over every technical arm of Verstappen Co. We’ll build the next era around you. You want to be a legacy name? This is it.”

Max sat beside him, less intense but no less focused. “We want to keep you. You know that. You made me better, helped me win my first championship.”

Amelia blinked, slow and deliberate. “I know what I’m worth.”

“Then stay,” Jos said, voice firm. “Let’s do this long-term. No games.”

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, “I won’t sign anything past this season. Past 2022.”

Max blinked. Jos’s face twitched.

“Why?” Max asked, more confused than angry.

Amelia shifted in her seat, finally setting her pen down. Her voice didn’t waver. “Because. I think, in 2023, I’m going to go to McLaren. Officially.”

Jos exhaled sharply through his nose. “Is this about Lando? Your father? Are they pressuring you—”

“No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “This has nothing to do with Lando. He doesn’t need me to win.” Her tone softened, just a fraction, as she turned to Max. “Neither do you. You’ve already proven that.”

“So what is it, then?” Max asked, frowning. “More money? I can give you more. We can… Anything you want, Amelia. Just name it.” He told her. 

Amelia didn’t look away. “You can’t give me Oscar.”

Jos blinked.

Max furrowed his brows. “Oscar… Piastri? The F2 driver?”

She nodded. “Alpine reserve in 2022. And then…“ She trailed off with a shrug. 

Jos was frowning. “What interest do you have in Piastri?” 

“I want to make him a champion,” Amelia said simply, as if it were already a fact. “I see what he’s capable of, and I want to build something from the ground up. I want to guide it all the way. That’s the only deal I’ll ever sign for five years.”

A long, tense silence fell over the room.

Jos shook his head in disbelief. Max, meanwhile, just leaned back slowly, watching her. There was no bitterness, there never could be between them. There was a quiet understanding though. He’d been there, of course. He’d been the one to drag her to that F3 race in 2020, the first time she set her sights on the Aussie. 

Finally, he smiled. “So,” Max said quietly. “You’re going to do for him what you did for me.”

She nodded. “Yeah. And I want to see it through.”

Jos grunted. “You’ll regret it — leaving Max.” 

She shook her head. Smiled. “No I won’t.” 

—

Their apartment was dimly lit, the soft blue glow of the kitchen light spilling into the living room. Lando sat on the floor, back resting against the couch, legs stretched out, a PlayStation controller loose in his hands. Amelia was curled in the corner of the sofa, barefoot, knees drawn to her chest, fingers tapping rhythmically against the fabric of her — well, his — joggers.

He watched her. She wasn’t avoiding his gaze, but she wasn’t quite meeting it either.

“So,” Lando said eventually, voice quiet, teasing on the surface — but not fully joking. “Why not me?”

Amelia blinked. “As opposed to Oscar?”

He nodded once.

She hesitated. “Because you don’t need me.”

He sat with that, chest rising and falling with a slow breath. “But I want you.”

“I know,” she replied softly. “And you have me. Every day. Every night. For everything that matters.” Her gaze flicked to his then, sharper, steadier. “But if I’m the one calling your tire strategy… watching your telemetry… telling you what lines to take, we cross a boundary we don’t get to come back from.”

Lando’s mouth twisted, like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t. He looked away.

“I want to be your wife,” she added, quieter now. “Not your race engineer.”

Silence stretched between them. Then Lando gave a breathless, slightly bitter laugh. “Lucky bastard.”

Amelia tilted her head. “Who?”

“Oscar.” Lando’s grin was small, lopsided, but genuine. “Kid’s fast. Quiet. Works hard. And now he’s about to get the cheat code of a lifetime.”

“You like him,” she observed.

He nodded. “I do. He’s good. Still figuring himself out, but… I think you’ll make him into something fucking class.”

She studied him for a moment; her Lando, all hoodie and messy curls and ridiculous socks, a little salty from their day at the harbour, skin a little tender from the sun, but entirely hers. And proud of her, even when it stung. “I’m still yours, Lando,” she murmured.

“I know.” He reached up and tugged her hand gently toward him. “Doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be a little jealous that some 20-year-old Prema nerd is going to get your full genius mode while I’m over here fighting you for the last of the ketchup.”

She smiled, then climbed into his lap. He caught her easily, arms slipping around her waist as she tucked herself under his chin. “I’ll save some genius mode for you,” she promised. “You’ll still get the car. I’ve got plans — good plans. Might take a couple years to make them work, get the engineers to actually understand what I’m trying to do, but…” She looked up at him, grinning. “We’ll get there. And when we do, it’s yours.”

“You’re still Max’s for 2022,” Lando reminded her.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed. “Maybe 2023 too. Depends on whether Oscar gets the Alpine seat or not.”

“You’re seriously not willing to come back for me and Daniel?” His voice was quieter, tinged with something close to hurt. “Not this year?”

She leaned in, kissed the freckle under his eye, and said, “No. When I come to McLaren, it’ll be for Oscar. Only Oscar. And everyone will know that. You understand why?”

Lando sighed. He didn’t answer right away. Then, “Yeah. I get it. No whispers. No accusations. No one saying I get preferential treatment because my wife’s in my ear.”

“Fiancée,” she corrected.

His lips twitched. “You’ll be my wife by the time you’re wearing papaya, baby. Trust me.”

— 

Amelia was halfway through untangling a knot in her headphones when she spoke. “We should tell people we’re engaged.”

Lando, sitting on the floor surrounded by half-open Amazon boxes, looked up from the chaos of bubble wrap and a suspicious number of USB-C cables. “I thought we were telling people.”

She blinked. “We haven’t told anyone.”

He squinted. “Babe, I’ve told, like, fifty people.”

Amelia’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

Lando lifted his hands like it was obvious. “The Quadrant boys! Carlos knows. Daniel definitely knows. Charles asked if he was invited to the wedding even though we didn’t have a venue yet, and I panicked and said yes. Oh, and this girl at the bakery down the road—”

“Okay, okay, stop.” Amelia cut him off, eyes wide. “Then how the fuck has my dad not found out? Or Max? I’d know if they knew. Max would be blowing up my phone and my dad… Oh my god, my dad, Lando. If my dad found out we were engaged through somebody else—.”

Lando froze. “…Wait. Oh no. Oh no.”

“What?” she asked slowly, watching his face fall like a slow-motion disaster.

“I thought you were telling your dad. Like, had already told him! I was trying to be respectful and give him time to process, yanno! I was waiting for the all-clear to go and give him a handshake or something!” 

Amelia blinked at him. “Lando. You’re telling me that the woman at the bakery down the road knows that we’re getting married before my dad. And my mom. Max! Your parents!” 

“I didn’t think!” He flailed. 

She stared at him, slightly horrified. “We need to tell them now. Right now. Everyone.”

“Yes, agreed, immediately.” He scrambled to his feet, stepping over a pile of cardboard like a man preparing for battle. “Do we FaceTime your dad first or Max? Who's the bigger threat? What about my mum? Oh my god…” He moaned. 

“Max,” Amelia said without hesitation. “My dad will probably have a heart attack and pass out, but Max might threaten you with bodily harm.”

“Great,” Lando muttered, already reaching for his phone. “I love that I’m scared of one of my best friends because I want to marry his pseudo sister.” He paused. “Wait—can I not just say it in the group chat?”

“Not before Max knows.” She cried. 

He groaned. “Fine. But I’m posting on Instagram the second your dad gives us the green light. I need it on the record that I landed you.” He said. 

“Landed me,” she repeated. “I’m not a bloody plane, Lando.” 

—

Lando was pacing.

Well, it was more like bouncing, phone in one hand, the other tugging at the collar of his hoodie like it was suddenly too tight. Amelia was still sat on the couch, legs tucked under her. “You don’t have to be this nervous,” she said flatly.

“He’s a very intense guy,” Lando hissed. “He might want to kill me, Amelia.”

She arched an eyebrow. “No. He likes you. I think.”

Lando grimaced. “Great. That makes me feel way better.”

Before she could say anything else, the FaceTime call connected.

Max’s face filled the screen, a close-up angle that immediately suggested he hadn’t meant to answer that way. He grunted, adjusted it, and suddenly there he was, in a too-big t-shirt, hair slightly damp. “Why is Lando calling me? Are you okay?” He asked Amelia, completely ignoring the fact that Lando was holding the phone.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “But he has something to tell you.”

Max’s gaze sharpened. “What did you do.”

Lando blinked. “Why is that your default assumption?!”

“Because when you look that twitchy, you’ve usually done something dumb.”

Amelia sighed. “Max. We’re engaged.”

Max froze. “Like… for real?”

Lando, still holding the phone like it was radioactive, lifted Amelia’s left hand into frame. The ring, clearly chosen with painful care, glinted in the light.

“Oh,” Max said after a beat. His tone was unreadable. “Oh, fuck.” There was silence. Then Max grinned. “You absolute idiots,” he said fondly. “That’s amazing.”

Lando let out a breath that came out halfway to a squeak. “So you’re not going to kill me?”

“No,” Max shrugged. “Not unless you hurt her. Then I will, of course, murder you and ensure that nobody ever finds your body.”

“Okay,” Lando agreed quickly.

“I’m serious,” Max told him. “I’ll make it look like a freak disappearance.” 

Amelia rolled her eyes. “You done?”

Max’s grin widened as he turned his focus back to her. “You’re sure about this? I mean. It’s Lando.”

“I know,” she said dryly. “I picked him out myself.”

Max pointed at her through the screen. “Can I be your maid of honour?” 

“No,” she frowned. “Max, you are not a maid. I don’t understand—“ 

“We’re going to tell the rest of the grid now,” Lando cut her off, giving her leg a squeeze. “You’re officially the first.”

“Good,” Max said. “I can’t wait for you to tell Charles. He will owe me twenty euro.”

Amelia blinked. “You bet on us… getting engaged?”

Max just smiled at her. “Have you told Fernando yet?” 

Lando paled. 

Amelia grinned. “Nando completely slipped my mind! Oh, he’ll be so excited! He loves weddings.” 

Lando just kept getting paler. 

Max started laughing. 

— 

The terrace of a quiet little restaurant tucked above the harbour. Fernando was already halfway through a glass of red wine, sunglasses still perched on his head, even as the sun dipped behind the hills. He looked up as Amelia and Lando approached, his face brightening for her, and cooling a few degrees when he clocked who she was holding hands with.

“Mi niña,” Fernando said, standing to kiss Amelia on both cheeks. “You’re late.”

“She made me change shirts,” Lando muttered. “Four times.”

Fernando didn’t even glance at him. “Good. They were probably ugly.”

Amelia smiled faintly and sat. “We wanted to tell you in person.”

That made Fernando pause. He raised an eyebrow, slowly sitting again, eyes narrowing slightly. “Tell me what?”

Lando rubbed the back of his neck. Amelia glanced at him, then reached into her pocket and quietly placed her hand on the table, the ring catching the low light like a spark.

Fernando blinked once. Then again. “What is that?”

“It’s a ring,” Lando offered.

“Do not start with me.” Fernando’s voice was flat. His gaze snapped back to Amelia. “You are joking.”

“No,” Amelia said simply. “We’re engaged.”

Fernando leaned back in his chair, staring at the two of them like they’d started to speak a foreign language. “Engaged,” he repeated, deadpan. “To him.”

Lando shifted, trying to smile. “Yes. To me.”

There was a long pause.

Then Fernando looked at Amelia and said, with total sincerity, “You are too young. He is too stupid.”

Amelia’s mouth twitched. “He’s not stupid, Nando.”

“Well—”

Lando held up his hands. “I know I’m not, like, the best or anything. But I love her. Like… so much. Sometimes it’s scary, ‘cause, like, I love her more than my job, which is crazy and I didn’t think that would ever happen, but… It did, so.”

Fernando studied him, silent.

“And she loves me,” Lando added, quieter. “So that’s… that’s kind of it, right?”

Another beat passed.

Fernando finally reached for his wine, took a long sip, then exhaled. “Mi niña,” he said softly, turning to Amelia. “If you are happy, then I am happy.”

Amelia gave a little nod, calm and sure.

“But I will still be watching him,” Fernando added, pointing two fingers at his own eyes and then at Lando’s.

“I’d expect nothing less,” Lando exhaled slowly.

“And if he hurts you,” Fernando continued, his voice still mild, but his eyes not. “I will make sure every brake marker disappears before Eau Rouge.”

Lando paled slightly. “Cool. Yeah. Good chat.”

Fernando finally cracked a small smile. “Good. Now. Tell me the story. Did she propose? Of course she did. You would’ve messed up halfway through, I imagine.”

Lando grunted. Amelia beamed.

—

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2022 F1 Grid

Lando N. everyone shut up for a second me and amelia are engaged 😎💍

Checo P. Congratulations! Young love is beautiful! 🥂

Daniel R. For the record I knew before like anyone else also: called it in Bahrain, 2020

Esteban O. CONGRATULATIONS!!!! That’s amazing 💍🥳

Lewis H. I saw the ring. It’s very Amelia. Good job, mate @Lando

Max V. Very happy for you both!

Fernando A. Mi niña deserves only the best, but Lando is the best we have, so I digress.

Carlos S. Is this the part where I pretend to be surprised even though I called this at Silverstone in 2019

Mick S. You guys are adorable 🥺 Happy for you both!

Zhou G. I have so many questions. Mainly… aren’t you both literally 22

George R. Congrats! Big step But seriously, best wishes to you both 🙌

Yuki T. I WANT TO BE FLOWER BOY AND EAT CAKE

Sebastian V. Wishing you both a lifetime of balance, patience, and compostable confetti. 💚 Also Lando: remember marriage is a team sport. 

Pierre G. Wait are we invited

Alex A. Ok but is there an open bar And can Lily and I bring a karaoke machine?

Nicholas L. Congrats guys! Can’t wait to see what kind of ceremony Amelia plans

Valtteri B. Congratulations! Finland approves of this union. Also, Lando: do not mess this up. I’ve seen the way Amelia holds a torque wrench.

Kevin M. Congrats! Hope there’s beer at the reception.

Lance S. Woah wait you’re getting married?? Like… proper married? Omg congrats ig

Fernando A. I am still not convinced of this union. But I will tolerate this if she is happy. Call it… conditional support.

Charles L. I owe Max 20€

Daniel R. Let me officiate the wedding or I’ll cause problems on purpose.

Lando N. You’re all invited Except Fernando. Unless he stops calling me “this boy” in that tone

Fernando A. This boy.

Yuki T. I ALREADY BOUGHT A SUIT IT’S ORANGE

Alex A. you know what I’m so proud. Amelia saw that twitter troll saying "neurodivergent girl getting her himbo" and made it canon

— 

They hadn’t told their families yet.

Lando came in from the balcony, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, curls windblown and face sun-warmed from the morning light. He leaned down to kiss Amelia’s temple, pausing when he saw the tight set of her jaw, the rhythmic tapping of her thumb against her knuckles — not agitated, but bordering on it. “You’re spiralling,” he murmured.

“No, I’m… spiralling-adjacent,” she said flatly.

His brow quirked. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now. I have to call my parents today.”

“Okay,” Lando said gently. “After breakfast.”

She nodded, but didn’t look up.

“And yours too?” she asked, quieter now.

Lando grimaced, but only a little. “Yeah. Them too.”

They didn’t do it together.

Amelia needed quiet. Needed space to rehearse her cadence, choose her words, predict possible emotional responses and prep herself for them. The emotions of others were difficult terrain; especially when hers were already on high alert.

So she took her call into the bedroom, alone.

Lando stepped back onto the balcony, phone already in hand.

— 

She called their home landline, because that was the number saved in muscle memory. Her father answered, voice warm and brisk in that familiar, booming tone. “Hi, sweetheart!”

“Hey, Dad. Is Mom there too?”

A pause. “Let me grab her.”

She could hear his footsteps, the muffled exchange in the background. Then her mother’s softer voice — always a bit more cautious. “What’s going on, love?”

Amelia sat on the bed, toes curled into the edge of the comforter. “I’m engaged,” she said.

No preamble.

Just the truth.

The line was silent for half a second — and then her dad gave a low, choking cough. “To Lando?”

“Yes.” 

Her mother exhaled, not quite a gasp, more of a soft whoosh of air, as if bracing for something. “That’s… fast, Amelia.”

“I know,” she said simply. “But it’s not impulsive. I’m not impulsive. We planned it. We talked about it. We’re sure.”

Her dad spoke again, voice quieter this time. “You… Amelia, you’re both so young—?”

“Yes,” Amelia agreed. “But this is the safest I’ve ever felt with another person, and I love him, and we live together anyway, so… Why not marry him?” 

Another pause. Then, from her mother, gently, “Then we’re happy for you, honey. All we care about is that you’re happy.”

Amelia blinked quickly, her mouth tightening.

“So… You’ll be a Norris soon enough, then,” her dad said, still sounding like he’d had the wind punched out of his lungs. “Wow. Sorry, I think I need a second.” He wheezed, and she heard him stumble away from the phone. 

Her mom sighed. “He’ll be fine, honey.”

“I know,” she nodded, quieter now. “He likes Lando too much to hold a grudge.”

— 

Lando paced the length of the balcony twice before he hit the video call button.

His mum picked up first, her hair pulled back, makeup-free and warm-eyed in her kitchen. “Hi, darling.”

“Hey. Is Dad around too?”

She called for Adam, and a moment later, both parents were onscreen, side by side.

Lando grinned nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, so, um. Big news,” he said. “You ready?”

His mum narrowed her eyes. “You’re not switching teams, are you?”

“No!” he laughed. “No — nothing bad. Just, um… good.”

He lifted his left hand, turning the camera slightly to show Amelia’s engagement ring sitting neatly on the kitchen bench behind him, where she’d left it after taking it off to untangle her headphones.

His parents blinked.

“Me and Amelia,” he said, “we’re engaged.”

His mum covered her mouth with both hands.

Adam blinked, then broke into a tentative smile.

“I KNEW IT,” his mum said, voice muffled behind her palms. “I knew you two were heading that way. I told your grandmother at Christmas! She said you were both too young to be thinking about it, but I knew, Lando! I knew Amelia was the one!”

Lando laughed, loosening with the rush of their joy. “We decided in December, after Abu Dhabi. I just — we didn’t want to tell people too fast.”

“We are so proud of you,” his mum said. “She’s a brilliant girl. We love her.”

“She’s the best,” Lando said, meaning every word.

“And you didn’t cry when you proposed?” Adam added, mock skeptical.

Lando looked away, dramatically defensive. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

— 

Later, after both calls had been made, Amelia found Lando sitting on the couch with a bag of crisps and a smile on his face.

“How’d it go?” she asked, sitting beside him.

“My mum may have screamed. What about yours?”

“She was a bit worried, but happy for us. My dad, uh…”

Lando winced. “Did he go mad?”

Amelia leaned into his side. “No. Just, mentioned something about my last name becoming ‘Norris’ and then sent himself into a spiral, I think.”

“Like father like daughter,” he teased. Then leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Amelia Norris. Sounds sexy.” 

She looked up at him, deadpan. “Sexy?”

He smirked, fangs flashing. “Very sexy.”

—

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landonorris my gorgeous fiance 😍 ❤️ by ameliabrown

user29 naurrrrrrrrrr im crashing out im crashing out

user62 MIND YOU THEY ARE 22 YEARS OLD

user82 THIS IS INSANE I CANT BELIEVE THIS IS ACTUALLY HAPPENING ARE THEY INSANE??????!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oscarpiastri Wow! Congratulations

ameliabrown Thank you, Oscar!

maxverstappen1 My biggest congratulations to you both!🤩

user39 IM SO JEALOUS IM ACTUALLY SHAKING BUT ALSO IM SO OBSESSED WITH THEM OTGETHER I DONT KNOW HOW TO HANDLE MYSELF RN AHHBHBHB

user54 oh girlllll same this is a valid crashout bc wtf ?????

fernandoalonso Congratulations!

ameliabrown Thank you!!!!!!!!!!

user81 HARD LAUNCHING YOUR ENGAGEMENT ON YOUR 2ND EVER INSTAGRAM POST AND IT GETTING OVER 2M LIKES IS INSANE

maxfewtrell this is absolute madness but im proper happy for you guys! 🧡

NEXT CHAPTER

[epifaniacintilante]

Women’s impulse toward transcendence is itself the chief subject of women’s Gothic romance, but in ways that implicate the genre in its deepest contradictions. At the most basic level, the desire for transcendence as Gothic plots portray it manifests itself simply as a desire for escape from the house, the prison, the convent, the secret room, the outlaw’s retreat—escape, in other words, from the extraordinary confine- ments of romantic heroines that signify the ordinary confinements of women’s lives. Such escape is fraught with difficulty: the heroine is isolated and weak; she knows too little; she has no place to go if she gets out. But there are other constraints on the heroine’s ability to escape that have nothing to do with the physical circumstances of her imprisonment: the constraints of that ladylike decorum to which female writers pay such devout homage even as they express their indignation at the heroine’s physical constraint.

Eugenia C. DeLamotte, Perils of the Night - A Feminist Study of Nineteenth-Century Gothic

[writeriguess]

Crazy idea for request but the gears are turning in my brain please bare with me! What if Dabi never became a villain and instead he’s just a loser bf who lives with his dad at age 22. You’re endeavors brand new 20 year old rookie sidekick and you and Dabi have fallen madly in love and are dating (which endeavor is mad at Dabi for) and somewhere in the midst of your relationship Hawks joins you two every so often to have insane threesomes.

Well Denki thinks you’re totally hot and when he learns that you live at Shoto’s house he convinces him to let him in on the Friday night sleepover with him, Midoryia and Iida. While they’re over it just so happened to be a threesome night and when they all go to Dabi’s room to ask for an extra game controller they basically walk in on the three of you. Idk I feel like Denki’s reaction would be absolutely hilarious

The Loser

The Todoroki estate is huge, almost too big for a family that barely acts like one, and honestly? You’re still getting used to the sheer size of the place. But it has its perks—like a surprisingly cozy bedroom you practically live in now, since your boyfriend is a loser who still lives with his dad at twenty-two.

Said loser, Dabi, is currently sprawled on his bed, lazily flicking through his phone while Hawks—yes, the pro hero Hawks—leans against the headboard, shirtless and stretching his wings. You’re somewhere between them, already half undressed because, well, it’s Friday.

Friday means three things: Shoto’s sleepover with his dorky friends, Endeavor avoiding Dabi at all costs, and your regularly scheduled debauchery with your two boyfriends.

“You gonna keep staring at me or what?” Dabi drawls, locking eyes with you before a slow smirk spreads across his lips. “C’mon, baby. Don’t get all shy now.”

“You’re an idiot,” you mutter, crawling closer to him.

Hawks laughs, tossing an arm over your waist and pulling you closer. “And yet, you love him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, rolling your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. You do love him, even if he’s a deadbeat who refuses to move out of his dad’s house. Even if he and Hawks constantly corrupt you in ways that would make Endeavor combust if he ever found out.

The moment starts to heat up—Dabi’s hands roam lower, Hawks’ lips graze against your neck—but then there’s a knock at the door. A loud one.

“Dabi! Do you have an extra controller?!”

Your blood runs cold.

Dabi groans against your skin. “Fuckin’ hell—”

Before any of you can react, the door swings open, and in walk four unsuspecting idiots: Midoriya, Iida, Shoto, and worst of all—Denki Kaminari.

There’s a beat of silence.

And then—

“OH MY FUCKING GOD.”

Denki’s scream is so loud it could probably shatter glass. Midoriya, poor innocent Midoriya, looks like he’s about to pass out. Iida’s glasses slide down his nose as his face turns bright red. And Shoto—Shoto just blinks, unimpressed as if he’s seen this coming all along.

Dabi doesn’t even bother covering up, just sighs dramatically and sits up. “Jesus. What’s the matter, Sparky?”

“What’s the—WHAT’S THE MATTER?! DUDE! WHAT—WHO—WHY IS HAWKS HERE?!”

Hawks, being the menace he is, just grins and gives a lazy wave. “Yo.”

Denki’s brain short-circuits. He physically stumbles back, pointing aggressively between you, Dabi, and Hawks. “You—You’re dating Dabi?! And Hawks?! And—you—” He turns to Shoto, betrayal clear on his face. “YOU KNEW?!”

Shoto shrugs. “I assumed.”

Denki looks like he’s about to collapse. “I need to sit down. I need—” He glances around before recoiling in horror. “NOT HERE. NOT—OH MY GOD.”

Midoriya is still buffering, eyes darting between everyone, while Iida is frantically adjusting his tie, clearly trying to maintain some sense of decorum. “This—this is highly inappropriate!” he stammers. “And a breach of—of privacy!”

Hawks just chuckles, completely unbothered. “Well, you’re the ones who barged in. That’s on you, champ.”

Denki groans, burying his face in his hands. “This is not how I wanted to find out you have a boyfriend. Two boyfriends.” He peeks through his fingers. “How the hell did you bag TWO?”

Dabi snorts, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “Jealous?”

Denki glares at him. “YES.”

Midoriya finally finds his voice, albeit weakly. “This…this is a lot to process.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Denki snaps. “I just walked in on—on—” He gestures wildly. “I need bleach. For my brain.”

Shoto sighs and turns to you. “I assume you’ll be staying here tonight?”

You nod, trying not to die of secondhand embarrassment. “Uh… yeah.”

“Figured.” He turns to Denki, Iida, and Midoriya. “We should go.”

Denki opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but then his eyes flicker back to Hawks, who’s now very obviously smirking at him, and he promptly shuts up.

“I need therapy,” he mutters as Shoto drags him out.

Iida follows, muttering something about filing a formal complaint, while Midoriya just gives you a polite, if dazed, nod before stumbling after them.

As soon as the door clicks shut, silence falls over the room before Dabi throws his head back and laughs. “That was fucking gold.”

Hawks shakes his head, amused. “Think we traumatized the kid?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you groan, covering your face.

Dabi just smirks and pulls you back down onto the bed. “Well, that’s their problem. Now, where were we?”

[andersonsgf]

modern roommate!abby

what she was like when you first moved in! series link

if anyone has any suggestions for this series or requests feel free to dive into my inbox

modern roommate!abby who would barely talk to you when you first responded to her ad and moved in. when manny moved out to be with "his latest floozy" -abbys words- abby was so grumpy about it. she thought she had it good, living in seattle with her best mate, a good office job to support her outside of being the star of the city's women rugby team, and a crazy good apartment for what the price was.

begrudgingly she made her first post on facebook -onto a local group- advertising the room to rent. you were the first to respond, and after a quick sleuth, rolling her eyes at how often you posted photos of what seemed to be your childhood dog still going strong and scenery on instagram, she deemed you weren't a muderer so accepted your offer.

when you showed up with your excessive amount of boxes for such a small room, she had rolled her eyes again, listening to you thanking her "so so much" for the opportunity. she already missed manny within the first hour. of course, she offered to help you move the boxes in from the outside of the apartment building and up into your room, especially the heavier pieces. apparently you could only afford the economy movers who basically dump your boxes and scurry away.

when modern roommate!abby poked her head into your room to see how much you had changed once you were fully unpacked, she found herself annoyed when she shouldn't have been. but you had replaced her best friend. you could tell she was very dubious of you. thing is, you were very dubious about her too. she was big and muscley, very intimidating. you simply wanted your new roommate to like you.

you asked multiple times within the first week if she wanted to hang out, have some ice breaker beers and pizza or something. every time she said she was going over to mannys, which was so obviously an excuse with how you could see the cogs turning in her head when you asked.

modern roommate!abby who looked at you with such pity on your fifth attempt in two weeks. she couldn't say no, not with your face looking at her pleadingly as you walked in with the steaming box from the local pizzeria. she cracked some beers to make it bearable for her, after all she still viewed you as the stranger who replaced her best friend.

modern roommate!abby kept moving your knickknacks around the place constantly. it infuriated you to no end. you checked with abby when you first moved in to see if you could put some of your stuff in the communal area too, and she said yes. albeit you could tell that it was a begrudging yes, but still, you wanted to feel like it was your apartment too. if you could recall she said "yeah, whatever. just nothing too big". and you followed that rule. placing a few mini lego things here and there, a movie character funko with abbys dvds, and you had a few cool vehicle figurines made out of cogs and other spare scrap.

all small. not like abbys decor of shelves of cds, posters of various sports teams framed and littering the walls, workout gear storage. it was obvious when she started trying to hide your shit behind photo frames and potted plants. she, without much decorum, said she didn't know what the fuck you were talking about when you picked up your cool motorbike figure and had to wipe a leaf off of it. the girl fumbled. probably one of the only times abby anderson had stammered in her life.

she was persistent. that motorbike commonly had leaves on it. but you were just as persistent. you put that bike back on its shelf like no ones business. a game of cat and mouse. asserting dominance over that tiny spot on the shelf.

abby didnt know, but the one time you didnt pick it back up due to being busy, you spotted her dusting it off as you quietly moved out of the bathroom. your heart warmed a little when she put it on the shelf, where it never moved from again.

modern roommate!abby who eventually realised any aggravation she still felt towards you was a bit of misplaced anger. you were simply someone renting a room out. manny was the one who fucked off for a woman he went and dumped a few weeks later anyway. didn't mean she was particularly fond of hanging out with you still. she was set in her ways, like an old man. she trained, went to practice, went to work, hung out with her pre-established friends. regardless of if she was mad at manny or not, you were a spanner in the works. someone new she had to come home to after a long day of work.

on the topic of work, the first time modern roommate!abby first properly initiated conversation with you other than your first day was when you came home from a long shift looking like a train wreck. "why do you look like someone tried to drown you in the ocean?", she had looked up at you after swallowing part of a pretzel she picked up after work.

"they did". your reply confused her, one of her eyes twitching slightly. you had thought maybe she would have given the slightest chuckle, even cracked a smile. but no. you had turned to face her after hanging up your coat, "it's pouring and i don't have a car". abby clearly did not know this piece of information, the cogs in her brain turning yet again before she simply nodded in acknowledgement before devouring the rest of the pretzel. damn that woman could eat.

it was a week later when the rides to and from work began.

modern roommate!abby ended up enjoying the carpool. it turns out that forced proximity actually works. when she was stuck in the car with you and couldn't bare any more awkward silence she actually started trying to get to know you. asked where you had moved from, what you usually did at work, why you buy a ridiculous amount of shit snacks when you do your weekly food shop. "you really are gonna give yourself diabetes", she'd say before parking curbside and watching you get out of her car. it wasn't like she actually cared or anything, you were just a pesky presence in her life, right?

her gym schedule was incredibly thorough, and sometimes on weekends modern roommate!abby would wake up at the asscrack of dawn if she knew that she had a busy day ahead and needed to find time to work out somewhere. this led to you waking up at 5am on your precious saturday mornings occasionally. usually caused by abbys tired hands dropping her pot of preworkout.

she always looked insanely guilty when a bleary you would shuffle out with the duvet wrapped around yourself to fill up your water bottle. she used to just let manny cope with it. half the reason why he looked so tired when accidentally woken up by her is because he had stayed up until 4am anyway watching anime and getting drunk in his room. but for some reason it struck a chord when she saw your tired little pout. "sorry", she apologised with a bit of a wince before helping you fill up your water and get back into bed.

she could only take about four bouts of waking you up before she really made sure to sneak around like a ninja if she had to be up early. quite literally tiptoeing out of her room and to the kitchen. you had to admit it was bliss to not have your sleep disturbed even if it was every now and then. the streak lasted three months.

"motherfucker, why the fuck was that there!", you woke up to abby hissing and wincing in pain, not being subtle at all. you stepped out with a bit more urgency than before, seeing abby hopping about on one foot, craning her other leg upwards to clutch her other one. she was saying expletives like there was no tomorrow. combinations you hadn't even heard before. "what the hell happened?".

"i smashed my foot into the doorframe whilst trying to let you get your precious beauty sleep", she grunted out whilst rubbing the top of her foot.

"aw that's sweet", you smiled and made your way forward, the freezer with ice packs being your final destination. "yeah well, you need it, you look like a troll", abby deflected slightly and tested her weight on that foot, murmuring a quiet thank you when you handed her an ice pack.

the first time you made modern roommate!abby blush was when you said you needed some muscle moving the furniture around in your room. "wait your like, entire forearm vein pops when you lift that", you looked at her arm in awe and prodded her forearm as if to see it was real. "yeah, what about it?".

"i thought that only happened in influencer videos when they like take a shit tonne of steroids".

abby scoffed slightly and moved your tv cabinet with ease. "yeah well, i dont need steroids for that shit".

"can you teach me what you do at the gym to get that?".

"you... want to work out together?", she swallowed a little thickly and almost, very almost bashed the corner of your tv into the wall. "uh huh". she carefully placed it down in the new location and took a big gulp of water, her mouth suddenly dry at that very idea.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Miss Raven! I have a question related abt all the dorms (except Ramshackle) qualifications. Like, what type of person do you need to be and/or what qualities do you need to have in order to get to certain dorms. And also, how does it affect the person when they transferred dorms, like how Rook used to be kind of wild when he's in Savanaclaw but then changed when he transferred to Pomefiore.

I feel like it had been mentioned somewhere in the game, but I don't trust my memories enough to be sure ;v

Thank you and have a nice day!! ^^

🧍‍♂️

Actually, Twst never really does elaborate what qualities get you sorted into which dorm. Students can transfer between dorms (via a tedious process, but it is still possible), and I think it can pretty easily be argued that students from X dorm could fit into Y dorm. There’s flexibility and wiggle room. There may also be a genetic component considered, as we have multiple instances of family members being sorted into the same dorms (Ace and his older brother into Heartslabyul, Jade and Floyd into Octavinelle, Kalim and his relative, the previous Scarabia dorm leader, into Scarabia, etc.).

Qualifications for more specific roles within the dorms are also vague. At best, we are told that Pomefiore’s dorm leader traditionally knows how to make “the most potent poison”, but other than that it’s basically barren. We just know that the dorm leader is someone who is “most befitting” the spirit of their respective dorm, but that’s… still a pretty vague description. Jamil states that the easiest way to determine this is vis a school-sanctioned duel but I don’t think a battle actually shows off your generosity or whatever 💀

Many fans have attempted to decipher what traits are “needed” to get into a specific dorm or have tried their hand at explaining why the characters ended up where they currently are. Honestly though… the core values for each dorm (ie strictness for Heartslabyul, persistence for Savanaclaw, etc.) seem to exist mainly for marketing purposes + easy character identification rather than being an in-universe hard rule to follow.

I don’t know if it’s accurate to say that a dorm (like, the physical place) changes its students? I would say it has less to do with the dorm environment per se and more to do with whoever is in charge.

Heartslabyul's previous dorm leader was very lax, which allowed the students to run rampant and constantly disregard the rules and studying. There was reportedly other wild behaviors and graffiti in the dorm as well. However, once Riddle took over, he started strictly imposing the rules and traditions, maintaining decorum (down to how the students act and dress), and assisting his students with their studies, which ensured that none of the Heartslabyul boys dropped out or got held back a grade (see: Riddle's Dorm Uniform vignettes). This didn't necessarily make the Heratslabyul students stricter with themselves though; we see the mobs complain about Riddle's iron fist and even main characters like Ace and Cater slack or are reluctant to study or to follow the ridiculous rules Riddle insists on. In this case, it's more like the dorm leader's leadership steering the ship without necessarily driving them all to adhere to the dorm value of strictness.

Rook was still his usual Savanaclaw self even when he transferred to Pomefiore. Vil describes him still looking unkempt until they had a conversation about how "the audience plays just as large a role as the performers in plays and concerts". Vil shares that he loves to dress up like those on the stage and suggests that Rook try it out, even helping Rook coordinate his look. Before then, Rook states that he had no interest in dressing up--but with Vil's advice, he found that dressing up actually heightened his experience with the arts. "Ever since then, I've developed an appreciation for personal care."

We could honestly say the same of Epel and his experience in Pomefiore. Prior to (and even during large parts of) book 5, Epel expresses discontent and/or actively rebels against Vil's teachings, even if he is surrounded by Pomefiore peers and the luxurious beauty of the dorm (see: Epel's Ceremonial Robes vignettes). It's not until 5-43 that Epel realizes the "power of beauty" that Vil so often extols to him.

So yeah, until Twst actually makes more of a concerted effort to elaborate on dorm-specific traits or qualifications, I’m just going to assume “it’s all marketing and branding”.

[theogonize]

❤️‍🔥 anon again - sorry two horny thoughts back to back...

but i NEED to sit on wilson's dick while he's in his whole tux get up. i dont care if its 2nd season casino night, 7th season wedding, or 8th season swan song (even if that's rsl not wilson... IDC)!!!!! i want to take him on the balcony of his office with most of our clothes still on. wearing a pretty dress he bought for me in his favorite color and just enough skin showing to make him have a half-hard on all night. him still in his fitted tux and bowtie, just his pants unbuckled and underwear shimmied down just enough for me to take a seat.

he praises me with compliments and dirty words as i bounce on it and the risk that maybe someone will see makes it even more sexy. he cant quit touching every part of me with his hands, taking it all in. he looks both smug and desperate at the same time, looking up with his wide brown eyes soft and warm but full of aching want.

i want it so fervent and needy that we both struggle to make ourselves look presentable afterwards. and he makes me walk around the party without my underwear on all night too, probably full of him still, too...

oh my fucking god btw

he's so beautiful wow what thw fuck.....

and also the kind of messy, rushed sex has been on my mind so heavy. the kind of adolescent rush of lust and hiding and secrecy and just sex in general. slipping away from the function, looking behind to see if you both are being followed. maintaining decorum till you enter the elevator and then, the facade of being mature adults crumbles down as you both just physically cant pry off each other, just making out like there's no tomorrow. like any second the elevator doors open and the world would end. wilson's hands are everywhere, feeling up and down your thighs, slowly creeping inwards. he has to restrain himself from undressing you then and there, middle of the hallway. which, btw, seems to be so endless. wilson tries to seem as inconspicuous as humanly possible, which just makes him look so much more awkward but it doesnt matter, because he feels like he is going to explode the second the two of you walk into his office.

he opens the door, you follow. he doesnt even take a second to make sure the door is locked, no, he latches his lips onto yours with passionate intensity. his hands knead at your ass, under your dress as you wrap your arms around his neck, signaling him to take you to his desk. he complies, lifting you up in one swift motion like you weigh nothing at all. he sweeps the things off his desk, not caring how they fall and make clattering sounds with the floor. it doesn't even matter because you both would probably be making so much more noise.

instantly, he's pawing off your dress. undoing the zip, and flicking open your bra with practiced ease. he's doing everything he can to rid you of your clothes. he frees your tits, intaking a sharp breathe at the mere sight of them. his hands begin groping them, his fingers pinching your hard nipples while you stifle your pleas. if he's going crazy, you're probably worse. he doesn't know where to put his hands or mouth. he wants it all, instantly. he wants to consume you, and he's not in the mood for savoring.

your dress ends up hanging awkwardly on your torso, tits to the air and wilson's already tugging off your panties. his kiss turn needier and needier, kissing down your jaw as you throw your head back for him to make way to your breasts. his cock is poking through his pants. you rub and mewl on his erection, hastily trying to take off his pants. your mouth is basically watering at the sight of his exposed dick; so pretty, so flushed, so eager to be inside you.

and he's barely even inside you before he's stringing out a series of "good god"s and "fucking hell". his palms find the underside of your thighs, hauling them up. he holds one of you legs to his hip and places your calf on his shoulder, trying to get the perfect angle that he knows hits that spot in you. and it works. the head of his cock hits impossibly deep within you, leaving your knees weak and mouth ajar.

and arent you a sight to behold? your stray hair sticks to your forehead, glued by the sheer of sweat that makes you glow. his bites glow red under the faint lamp light. and how your breasts move rhythmically to the beat of his thrusts. your lips are swollen. his lips basically have more lipstick on than yours. wilson's in love, all over again. he makes sure you know. he's probably called you every sappy petname in the book. how are you his? how does he get to fuck you like this? his fingers nudge your clit. you almost scream at the pleasure. it's almost like he wants you to, though. like he wants everyone in that fuckass party to know that you're here, with james wilson, getting fucked so good you're screaming his name. but he's telling you to keep it down. hypocrite.

can't get enough of you. i'm so lucky i get to worship you. i'm so lucky you let me fuck you. i love you. fuck, i love you. you and your pussy.

you're wishing he'd shut the fuck up because every single word goes straight to his favourite parts. you're a mess, he is too. you can feel his dick twitch inside you. you grab him by the neck, pulling his close, asking him to kiss you. and he does. the second your lips contact he's spurring out his seed, hot ropes inside you.

you're fucked out, tired and a mess. definitely in no state to go back to the party, but wilson doesnt think so. he's already dressed again. he's fixing you up, dressing you again like a porcelain doll. he pulls up you're panties after cleaning you up, but his cum is still flowing through your pussy. he doesnt care. you stare at him, perplexed. he combs your hair with his fingers, cleaning up the smudged lipstick and mascara with some tissues.

"there." he says, punctuating it with force on your lower back, getting you off his desk. "they're probably waiting for us down there."

[leonw4nter]

trying to come up with something to write for leon and my mind conjured up this beauty... i remember someone from somewhere asking what job would leon do if he wasn't a cop + caught up in the raccoon city incident... and my first thought was him being an ASMRtist 😭 i discarded the idea though coz he would not be tapping on things near a microphone for a living... but boy do i think he'd look great doing that :3 walk with me now :3

so let's say pre-RE2 leon decides to do something on the side to pay for expenses and a friend (rebecca maybe) recommends doing youtube and he's like "eh..." coz number one: he's batshit at games and number two: he doesn't know how to edit and then she brings up asmr-- now this makes him think. he's watched asmr before: stuff to help him sleep, to help him focus while studying, or if he's sick and wants to listen to something soothing. he's got a mic lying around, an impulsive purchase when he was in that one phase of his life where he wanted to do lowkey thirst traps while playing a basic song on his guitar (he only knows how to play his favorite parts in songs). never got around to using it daily or post the thirst traps he made, he didn't like the way his voice sounded.

he considers the idea and tries it out. he makes an alternate google account to start his youtube channel on and makes a name (highly likely its something like [Insert adjectives synonymous to calm]ASMR. since he doesn't want people around campus or people who know him to recognize him online, he decided to film showing only his neck down. he does simple editing like cutting out parts then posts it with some title like "ASMR for guaranteed relaxation". after doing it for quite some time, he's got a following that's not too big but pretty impressive for him and he actually likes it. he gets the courage to show his channel to rebecca with the promise that she keeps it secret and she giggles because the comments are just

"raw, next question."

"he looks like he whimpers"

"i knew you'd check the comments like a good boy"

"you should join a band called 'being my husband'"

and she shows them to leon and he's just SHOCKED. like majority of his audience are women that are thirsting over him and are asking for WHIMPER AUDIOS 😭😭 [me]. he's flustered and flattered over it, surprised that the reception to this experimental little thing is positive then he posts a video celebrating some milestone like 1.5K subscribers and the comments are flooded with "OIL UP AT 2K" or "pls make a video where you call us good girl" and he's just floored with everyone's lack of decorum at his comments section but he's thankful that he's well-supported.

OH AND THE DAY HE DOES THOSE BODY TAPPING ASMR VIDS WILL BE WORLD-ENDING. like he opts to wear a t-shirt instead of his usual sweatshirts or hoodies and the comments are either about wanting to bite his bicep, gooning, or "i told my parents about us" OR "reject me so i can move on already". might even see an edit of him on YT shorts idk...

okie dokie that's it :D 👍i want asmrtist leon kennedy send tweet

pompompurin dividers by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[lesb0]

the way british people pretend to be sooo polite without being basically good is crazy but it mirrors exactly how democrats are. brits say "Oh I couldn't forget to say please & thank you, I'm british!" and then say "asians can't drive" as if its a fact. democrat politicians go on TV and say " we would NEVER be rude or curse, we are democrats and we uphold decorum!" while saying why palestinians totally deserve to be bombed on msnbc.

[skyrim-forever]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Hello everyone! It's another Wednesday <3 Looking forward to seeing what everyone is working on.

Tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @dirty-bosmer @pocket-vvardvark @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @changelingsandothernonsense

@thequeenofthewinter @firefly-factory @umbracirrus @hircines-hunter @captain-of-silvenar @lucien-lachance @sanza-17

@scholarlyhermit @lillxart @ladytanithia @sulphuricgrin @saltymaplesyrup (you've tagged me in a few so get tagged!)

So today is actually a special wip wednesday imo because it's my birthday and I've decided to be silly and goofy <3 This is a snippet from a modern Theomar spy AU I'm working on (some of you may have seen pieces of this before). It's basically a modern Tamriel because I have no interest in putting them in the real world :P This particular scene is from a few chapters ahead chapter one isn't even done but it's fine in which Ondolemar goes to great lengths to gain Theodora's trust at a nightclub. In the clurb we all fam, see the urban dictionary def for a body shot if you are unaware ;)

Under the cut for ridiculousness and although nothing explicit, fuck this horny XD

��Well, I’m happy I can introduce you to some new experiences.” He wants to quip back, provide some sort of remark on how he had plenty of novel experiences and the very concept of a ‘nightclub’ was culturally beneath him. Talk of how there is no shortage of drunken behaviour in the Isles but there's still a dignity to it. Self-respect that is lacking as he watches the sea of bodies surrounding them, how people of all races of Tamriel dance with each other; a term he uses loosely as it is more gyrating against each other than it is dancing. Whatever the phrase was, died on his tongue as she pulls him into that very sea. The grip on his tie releases as she begins doing those very motions on him. Concerns on whether or not this qualifies as dancing leave as he enjoys watching how she sways, mesmerized by movement of her hips; first in front of him then against him as she turns around and leans into him. Thinking she must feel him growing harder before realizing of course she does, that’s why she’s doing it and he wonders what it is that he is doing. Allowing some foreign woman this close to him, in such a manner, publicly. Sleeping with her in private was a hurdle he had already covered, necessary for his means this time. Perhaps it is arousal that clouds his senses as he rationalizes this too as necessary to earn her trust, make her comfortable around him. It is with firm conviction that leads to his hand grasping her hip. Another act that will go unnoticed. 

“So this is how you spend your free time?” He whispers in her ear. The urge to bite her neck is there, nearly does as to increase the flirtation before remembering he did not have any alcohol to blame it on. Luckily the low silking tone she offers him shows his words alone were enough. 

“I do many things in my free time, Ondolemar.” Hushed is his name, glad she is cautious. 

“Such as?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Her own hand on top of his as she attempts to guide him, a wasted one as he can only justify so much. Let them move in time with each other away from prying eyes, even if everyone around them is deeply engrossed with another as he watches varying levels of debauchery. So much debauchery he fails to respond to her yet again, despite his curiosity at what else she does with her life, he cannot help but address the strange scene of vulgarity on the bar. 

Lying on the counter is a Bosmer woman, already odd enough to lie on the bar top, but the true scandal comes from the Dunmer man who licks the woman’s chest before drinking a shot of liquor and taking the lime wedge from her mouth; all of this without using his hands. So blatant in its degeneracy, the mer must address it. Hoping it to be a bonding moment between the two of them, he calls her attention towards it, whispering once again in her ear. 

“The lack of proper decorum is amusing, I cannot imagine that it is anything more than a spectacle.” He does not get the desired reaction.

“I’m not surprised you think that.” She pulls on his tie again, bringing his lips hovering just above her shoulder. “But it really is quite fun.” 

“You think that’s fun, Theodora?”

“I’ve never had a bad time, though I prefer to have someone do one off me though.” 

“You do, do you?” It’s beyond him why he extends the effort to entertain this. Of course she enjoyed such a thing; she was from the Empire, she frequented establishments such as this one. Sound logic in that she would enjoy that as well. 

“I very much do. The Dunmer is handsome, you think he’d say yes if I asked?” He is quick to steer her away from the idea, all the work he was putting in and she was going to go off with someone else? 

“So you get me here just to abandon me, is that how it is?” 

“Ondolemar, I’m not going to ask you.” 

“Why not?” Playing dumb did not suit him and unfortunately she can already tell that about him, laughing causing vibrations on his chest. 

“I wouldn’t want you to neglect your good mannerisms.” She stands on her own feet now, no longer leaning against him. Almost instantly does his hand go to his chest and touch where the contact had occurred. Turning to look up at him again she repeats his own words back to him, adding in some judgement on his character. “After all it’s nothing more than a spectacle and it’s clear you’re not that type at all.” 

“Is that so?” 

His head spins as he develops a rationale once more. The pieces slide together as he concludes this is a sacrifice he must make. Prove himself to be of the type she seemed to like and she’ll open more to him, unfazed for when his questions start. Still a long while off, this could be the very foundation for the answers he seeks. So that is why he says what he says next, irrelevant is the little voice inside him suggesting such an act could be rather agreeable. 

“You should avoid speaking for me.” Eyes-widen at that statement. Her expression is concerning to the point where he wonders if he miscalculated everything. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“My apologies.” Recovery. “I simply meant that I may be open to the idea.” Thankfully she smirks. 

“Oh you would be, would you? Changing your tune now that you know I’m into it?”

“I was merely seeking to judge your feelings on the concept, did not want to assume anything lest I make you uncomfortable.” It’s a wonderful coverup, turning the situation around. Near genius. 

“Well then, let’s have some fun.”

It’s a blur as she leads him to the bar, the couple that was there prior now gone, lost among the bodies on the dancefloor. She says something to the bartender, whatever it is that enables you to order this… experience. Throwing oneself in the line of duty often entailed doing things one did not want to, debasing oneself for the greater good of the cause. As she lays on the bar, sprinkling salt between the exposed cleavage of her printed dress; Ah that is what he was licking, Ondolemar tells himself that is precisely what he is doing. A shot glass full of a clear liquid, unaware of what that could be, lies on the top of her sternum and a lime wedge in her hand. He has a brief moment of reprieve as he looks around and contends with the truth that yes he was about to do this. 

“What am I doing?”

“Proving me wrong, unless of course I am right about you. Uptight mer who wouldn’t know real fun if it was right in front of him.” Yet it is right in front of him, staring at him with those emerald eyes as he is determined to challenge her expectations. 

“Ah yes, that’s what I was about to do.” She smiles at him, teasing and playful, his efforts already working. Before placing the fruit between her teeth, the flesh exposed, she tells him one rule. 

“Remember, no hands.”

Indeed no hands are used to aid him, aside from one gripping the wood of the counter and the other finding her hip once again. Stabilize him for good reason as he leans over and becomes momentarily distracted at the sight of her breasts confined to the tight clothing. How he would love to trail his fingers up and over the mounds, landing in the center and pulling it down. He loves the idea so much that the one on her hip does move. It stops as quickly as it started though. Remembering a key factor that attempted to elude him. They were only in this position so he could get information in the future, receive it willingly as arresting an Imperial agent would be impossible at this point. There was nothing to suspect anything and he knew they would fight tooth and nail for her freedom and the Dominion would lose any ground covered in the sabotage. He also recalls that it is the salt between them that he is here for. This ritual, as it were, is making him painfully hard that when he does lick the salt he nearly comes as she lets out a content moan. If the point of this was not to do it quickly he would ask her what that was about. Question her as to why it is they barely know each other and it is already apparent she enjoys torturing him. But he doesn’t, instead encircling the perimeter of the glass and throwing his head back to down the liquid before biting into the citrus. The lime after the burn of the alcohol is good, oddly soothing as many sensations run through him. The ache of his erection combined with their lips this close has him faltering, memories of his plan disappearing as he lets their lips meet.

[crosscut-drifter]

Picked up DA: Origins again the other day, because clearly that's the thing to do when I have approximately a gajillion other games to play that I haven't already completed twice over lol. Just finished the Ostagar sequence tonight and two thoughts:

a) Those 1000+ hours of BG3 (and BG1, and other isometric crpgs) in the literal years since I last played DAO (2022 - early 2023) have totally had an effect on just... how I physically play games. I always used to play DAO from over the shoulder view, basically navigating by WASD. Point-and-click or group-select movement was reserved for rare tac-cam moments. That has very much flipped.

b) Man, DAO's opening prologue+prelude sequence just fucking slaps, doesn't it? It is so tight, so compelling, so well done. I'm playing a Cousland this time around, but I've played all the origins and they all do a fantastic job of just shoving you right into the world and story. And then Ostagar... it really is so damn solid. Does a bang-up job of introducing you to a bunch of different things - companions, more of the world, laying down hooks for several major plot threads, takes you through both an open map exploration section (Korcari Wilds) and a dungeon (Tower of Ishal) which hits both the major types of levels you'll play...

And I'm not the greatest at identifying Themes and so on, but there's moments in the prelude where like... it does feel like the story of Origins is kinda making some of its thesis statements, in a way. Different bits jump out at me every time I play it. This time, it was Ser Jory backing away from the Joining, back up against the wall, sword raised defensively, stammering out in despair:

"There is no glory in this!"

Before Duncan grimly guts him.

It just really... yeah. A lot of DAO's story is kind of about that. About glory, and the lack thereof. And it's stating it here, outright. This isn't a story about glory. There is no glory here. There are secrets protected by murder - in this world, it's fantastical secrets of taboo magics, dramatized and exaggerated, but of course, the same thing happens in our world, too. And often against the backdrop of war.

In this same section we get introduced to the fairy-tale king figure of Cailan, literally golden and shining, starry-eyed and proclaiming his romantic desires for glory and triumph while everyone around him looks on. In another story, we can tell right away, he'd be a hero. He'd be, maybe, proven right - ultimately, if not immediately. Another story might lean into his romanticizing. (Not, admittedly, a common trend at the time DAO released.)

And then he dies. Gruesomely, violently. Ignobly. Because all around Cailan, DAO highlights the cruel absurdities of war, the despair, the casual violence. While at the same time - that battle scene? The beats of archers - hounds - for Ferelden!? I get chills, every time. They are, undoubtedly, doing the right thing. They are betrayed. In the setting, those who fall at Ostagar alongside King Cailan become martyrs, of a sort... the "glorious" dead.

But I do think, it does feel, like part of the statement that the whole prologue makes is truly summed up by Jory's line, punctuated by the battle's loss and the golden king's death:

There is no glory in this.

Hell, you know what this makes me think of? The whole sequence from the Joining scene to your MC being ambushed on the tower roof?

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace [...] And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, [...] If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, [...] My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori.

[sleepberries]

Hello!!! How r you doing?

Hear me out on a fic idea =Jason's relationship reveal I'm DYING for something based on that line from last week: "So when Jason had casually dropped during family dinner three nights ago that he was "seeing someone,""

Could you PLEASE write what happened durin dinner? I need to see the family realizing our boy Jason is actually serious about someone!! I'm just imagining Jason getting more annoyed as they keep prying

Hope you have a wonderful day💖💖

hello !! i'm doing well tyy ( ꈍ◡ꈍ) sorry this took so long to get up, i did already have a basic draft but i wanted to make sure it was just right bc i was also super excited to envision this scenario. thank you <3 this takes place soon after the fic "you belong with me" and just before "tim's research project"

The Wayne Manor dining room maintained its usual imposing air, all polished mahogany and gleaming silver, despite the distinctly un-imposing conversation currently taking place around the table.

"—and then he just stands there, covered in purple goo, and says 'Well, at least it's my color.'" Dick concluded, his hands gesturing wildly to illustrate the story.

Damian scoffed, pushing around the vegetables on his plate with studied disinterest. "Grayson, your choice in companions continues to disappoint."

"Come on, Dami. Gar's funny," Dick protested, though his smile never wavered.

"If by 'funny' you mean 'chronically incapable of maintaining dignity in combat situations,' then yes, I suppose he is," Damian retorted.

Tim glanced up from his tablet—positioned just far enough away from his plate to avoid Alfred's disapproval—and smirked. "That's rich coming from someone who spent last Thursday trapped in a billboard advertisement for cheese."

A dangerous glint appeared in Damian's eyes. "Drake, if you value the continued function of that device—"

"Boys." Bruce's voice, though quiet, cut through the brewing argument with practiced efficiency. "Not at dinner."

The room fell silent for approximately three seconds before Stephanie, undeterred as always by Bruce's attempts at decorum, leaned forward with a grin.

"Okay, but can we circle back to the part where Damian got stuck in a giant cheese billboard? Because I need details."

"The adhesive properties of the substance were unexpected," Damian muttered defensively. "It was a tactical miscalculation."

"It was hilarious," Tim corrected, finally setting his tablet aside. "We should have left you there."

"We considered it," Cass confirmed with a small smile, speaking for the first time since they'd sat down. Her eyes danced with amusement as she met Damian's glare.

Jason, who had been unusually quiet throughout dinner, snorted into his wine glass. "Please tell me someone got pictures."

"Oracle has the security cam footage," Dick offered with a grin. "High definition."

"Timothy, I will end you," Damian hissed, but there was less venom in it than usual.

Alfred appeared at Jason's elbow, offering more roast potatoes with a perfectly impassive expression that nonetheless conveyed his opinion on threatening murder at the dinner table.

"Thanks, Alfie," Jason murmured, accepting the serving with a nod.

Bruce, perhaps sensing the imminent descent into another round of bickering, cleared his throat. "How are things in Park Row, Jason?"

It was a transparent attempt to redirect conversation, but Jason allowed it, setting down his fork. "Quiet. Crime stats are down since we shut down the Maroni operation last month."

"And the new community center?" Bruce pressed.

"Opening next week. The foundation's grant came through."

Bruce nodded, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. "Good."

"The kids are excited," Jason added, his voice softening slightly. "They've already signed up forty for the after-school program."

Tim noted the change in tone with interest. Jason rarely let his guard down about anything, but the kids in his neighborhood were a notable exception. For all his hard edges, Jason's protective streak ran bone-deep, especially when it came to children growing up like he had.

"You should bring your new painting class to the manor sometime," Dick suggested. "The grounds would make a good subject."

Jason's eyebrow rose. "What, and expose innocent kids to this circus? I'm trying to keep them out of therapy, Dickhead."

"Speaking of therapy," Stephanie interjected, "how's the anger management going?"

"Fantastic," Jason deadpanned. "I only fantasized about shooting three people at this table today."

"Progress," Bruce muttered into his water glass, startling a laugh out of Dick.

"He made a joke," Stephanie stage-whispered to Tim. "Alert the media."

Alfred reappeared to clear plates, the subtle choreography of dinner at Wayne Manor proceeding with its usual precision. Tim watched as Jason helped stack dishes—a habit from his early days back from the dead, when being useful had seemed like the only way to justify his presence in spaces that once felt like home.

"Desert will be served momentarily," Alfred announced. "Master Timothy, perhaps you might remove your technological appendage from the table entirely."

Tim hastily tucked his tablet away, ignoring Damian's smirk.

"How about you, Tim?" Dick asked, leaning back in his chair. "I heard you've been burning the midnight oil on some new project."

"Just updating security protocols," Tim said vaguely. "Nothing exciting."

"Lies," Stephanie countered. "You've been doing that thing where you forget meals exist. Again."

"Some of us have actual responsibilities, Brown," Damian said, somehow making the statement sound both condescending and defensive of Tim, a paradox only Damian could achieve.

Tim shot him a surprised look. "Was that... support?"

"It was an observation," Damian clarified coldly. "Don't read into it."

"Too late," Dick grinned. "I saw it. You care."

"I require Drake's moderate competence for mission success," Damian insisted. "Nothing more."

"Aww, the demon brat has feelings," Jason drawled, but the teasing lacked its usual edge.

Cass tilted her head, studying Jason with that unnerving perception that always made Tim feel like she was reading code directly from his brain. "You're different," she stated simply.

All eyes turned to Jason, who stiffened minutely. "What?"

"Different," Cass repeated, gesturing vaguely toward him. "You seem lighter."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table as Jason's expression shuttered. Tim watched with fascination as his brother's body language shifted—the subtle straightening of his spine, the careful arrangement of his features into practiced nonchalance.

"Good pasta will do that to you," Jason deflected, but the joke fell flat.

Bruce was watching him now too, with that analytical gaze that meant he was cataloging details, filing away observations for later consideration. Even Damian had abandoned his customary scowl in favor of curious attention.

"She's right," Dick said slowly. "You've been... I don't know, less prickly lately?"

"Compared to what, a cactus?" Jason snorted, but there was a tension in his shoulders now, the kind that usually preceded either a fight or a hasty exit.

Tim recognized the signs. Jason was about to bolt, uncomfortable with being the center of scrutiny. Without fully thinking it through, Tim spoke up, providing a potential escape route.

"Maybe he's finally getting enough sleep. Novel concept, I know."

But instead of taking the offered deflection, Jason made a decision. Tim saw it happen—a brief calculation, a measured breath, and then that particular set to his jaw that meant Jason Todd was about to do something even he wasn't entirely sure about.

"Actually," Jason said, and the carefully casual tone sent an immediate ping to Tim's internal alert system, "I've been seeing someone."

The statement dropped like a stone into still water, ripples of surprise expanding outward around the table. Tim froze with his water glass halfway to his mouth, analyzing Jason's delivery—too rehearsed to be impulsive, too offhand to be meaningless.

Dick recovered first, his face breaking into a delighted grin. "Really? That's great, Little Wing!"

"Who is it?" Stephanie demanded, leaning forward with undisguised interest. "Anyone we know?"

"Just someone I met a while back," Jason said with a shrug that was so studiedly indifferent it practically screamed significance. "It's not a big deal."

But it was. Tim could see it in the tension around Jason's eyes, the barely perceptible shift in his posture—defensive but determined, like he was expecting an attack but had decided to stand his ground anyway.

"Do they know about your night job?" Bruce asked, his expression unreadable.

A flash of annoyance crossed Jason's face. "Yes, he does."

The emphasized pronoun wasn't lost on anyone, but nobody reacted beyond Bruce's slight nod. Jason's sexuality had never been a secret or a surprise; it was just another fact about him, like his preference for chocolate over vanilla or guns over batarangs.

"Are they in our... industry?" Tim asked carefully, his mind already running calculations, cross-referencing recent cases where Jason might have encountered another vigilante.

"Something like that," Jason replied, something softening imperceptibly in his expression. "He understands the life."

The evasiveness was typical Jason, but there was something else in his voice—a trace of warmth that Jason rarely allowed himself to display, especially in this house. It made Tim's investigative instincts prickle with interest.

"How long?" Cass asked simply.

Jason hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. "Few months."

"Months?" Dick echoed, looking genuinely surprised. "And you're just telling us now?"

"Not like I need your approval, Dickface," Jason retorted, but there was less bite in it than usual.

"Of course not," Dick said quickly. "I'm just... happy for you."

And he was, Tim realized. Dick's expression had that particular earnest quality that couldn't be faked—genuine pleasure at the idea that Jason had found someone. Bruce, too, seemed satisfied rather than concerned, relaxing slightly in his chair.

"Is he good to you?" Cass asked, direct as always.

The question hung in the air for a moment. Under normal circumstances, Jason would have scoffed at such a query, deflected with sarcasm or outright hostility. But instead, a small, almost involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "He is."

The simple honesty in those two words was more revealing than anything else Jason could have said. Tim filed the information away, noting the unusual vulnerability with growing curiosity.

"Does he have a name, or is that classified?" Stephanie asked, grinning.

"None of your business, Blondie," Jason replied, but it lacked heat.

"How did you meet?" Dick pressed, clearly sensing that Jason was actually willing to talk, a rare enough occurrence to be worth pursuing.

Jason took a sip of his wine, considering. "Ran into each other on a case. Arms dealers, moving product between cities."

"And what? Love at first fight?" Stephanie teased.

"More like mutual irritation," Jason corrected, but there was amusement in his eyes now. "He wouldn't shut up. Just kept making these terrible jokes while taking down guys twice his size."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Bruce murmured, glancing meaningfully at Dick, who clutched his chest in mock offense.

"My jokes are excellent," Dick protested.

Damian sniffed disdainfully. "That you believe this only confirms your poor judgment, Grayson."

"Says the kid who thinks 'tt' is a witty comeback," Tim countered, earning a glare from Damian.

Jason watched the exchange with something that might have been fondness if he'd allow himself to admit it. "Anyway," he continued, drawing attention back to himself, "we kept running into each other. Eventually decided to team up instead of getting in each other's way."

"And then?" Stephanie prompted when Jason fell silent.

Jason shrugged again, but this time the casualness felt less forced. "And then we got takeout. Then coffee. Then..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

"Then horizontal refreshment," Stephanie supplied helpfully.

"Stephanie!" Bruce admonished while Dick choked on his water.

"What? We're all adults here." She paused, glancing at Damian. "Mostly."

"I am not a child, Brown," Damian growled.

"Regardless," Bruce interrupted firmly, "some decorum would be appreciated."

Jason just smirked, apparently enjoying Bruce's discomfort. "What's wrong, old man? Can't handle the idea of your kids having lives?"

"I am perfectly aware that my children have lives," Bruce replied with dignity. "I simply prefer not to discuss certain aspects of those lives over dessert."

As if summoned by the word, Alfred reappeared with a tray bearing a chocolate torte that momentarily distracted everyone from the conversation. Tim watched as Jason visibly relaxed, clearly relieved to have the spotlight shift away from his revelation.

But Tim's mind was already working, processing the new information with methodical precision. Jason had been seeing someone for months—someone in their line of work, someone he'd met during a case involving arms dealers moving between cities. Someone who made jokes during fights, who was strong enough to take down much larger opponents, and who clearly understood the vigilante lifestyle well enough that Jason felt comfortable bringing him up at all.

Most importantly, someone who made Jason's voice soften when he spoke about him, who put that tiny, reluctant smile on his face. Someone who mattered.

As Alfred placed a slice of torte in front of him, Tim made a mental note to start researching as soon as dinner concluded. Not because he didn't trust Jason's judgment (though history suggested some healthy skepticism was warranted), but because if someone had managed to earn not just Jason's attention but his affection—his genuine, unguarded affection—Tim needed to know who they were.

"So," Dick said, breaking into Tim's thoughts, "when do we get to meet him?"

The question was asked casually, but Tim didn't miss the way Jason's shoulders tensed again, how his expression returned to carefully neutral territory.

"You don't," Jason said flatly.

"Oh, come on," Dick cajoled. "Just a quick introduction. I promise to be on my best behavior."

"Your best behavior is exactly what I'm worried about," Jason retorted. "Last thing I need is you trying to show off or, God forbid, sharing childhood stories."

"I would never," Dick gasped in mock outrage, then immediately contradicted himself by turning to Stephanie. "Did I ever tell you about the time Jason got stuck in the chandelier trying to recreate my quadruple somersault?"

"Grayson, I will end you," Jason growled, the threat undermined by the slight flush creeping up his neck.

"See? This is why he's never coming here," Jason added, gesturing around the table with his fork. "You're all disasters."

"Pot, kettle," Tim murmured, earning a glare from Jason.

"Besides," Jason continued, "he's got his own city. His own... family situation. It's complicated."

Another piece of information to file away, Tim noted. Not just any vigilante, but one with territorial responsibilities and family connections—possibly another legacy hero.

"Well, whenever you're ready," Dick said, more gently this time, "we'd love to meet him."

Jason looked momentarily surprised by the sincerity, then covered it with a scoff. "Yeah, we'll see."

But he didn't outright refuse, Tim noticed. Another significant detail.

The conversation gradually shifted to other topics—an upcoming charity gala Bruce was dreading, a new training regimen Dick wanted to implement, Damian's latest artistic project (which he refused to describe in any detail, arousing immediate suspicion). Throughout it all, Tim observed Jason, noting how he seemed both more relaxed and more guarded than usual, the contradiction fitting for someone who had just voluntarily shared something personal but was already calculating how to protect it.

Later, as they moved to the library for coffee, Tim caught Jason alone for a moment near the bookshelves.

"So," Tim said quietly, "serious enough to mention at family dinner?"

Jason's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't start, Replacement."

"I'm not starting anything," Tim assured him, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Just... it's good. Seeing you happy."

Jason studied him for a moment, searching for mockery or ulterior motives. Finding none, he gave a short nod. "Thanks," he said gruffly.

"For what it's worth," Tim added carefully, "whoever he is, he must be pretty special."

A shadow of that same small, involuntary smile crossed Jason's face. "Yeah," he admitted, voice pitched low enough that only Tim could hear. "He is."

The simple admission, freely given without deflection or sarcasm, told Tim everything he needed to know. As Jason moved away to rejoin the others, Tim made a mental note to start his research tonight. Not just basic background checks, but thorough analysis. Because whoever this mysterious vigilante was, he clearly meant something to Jason.

And that meant Tim needed to know everything about him.

Just to be safe.

[siribaes]

IN OUR PAST LIVES ( Part 1 )

Dario Sepúlveda x blackfem!reader (OC — Nina Fuentes)

“During his quest to find Griselda, Dario reunites with an old friend in Miami—”

PARING: Friend/ “Former Client” to Lovers

SUGGESTED TUNES💿: Mack the Knife (cover) by Tito Puente, La Plena Bomba Me Llama by Celia Cruz & Tito Puente, Yerbero Moderno by Celia Cruz, Abayarde by Tego Calderon, Una Noche Mas by Yasmin Levy

CONTENT: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, Cursing, Some racist language/ideologies (reference to La Perra Negra & the story takes place in late 1970s so you know, not the most foward-thinking of times), the main character is a sex worker, use of the Spanish language, star-crossed lovers-esque elements, references to death, drugs, trafficking, Cartel activities, or*l (fem & alluded to male receiving), f*ngering, praise k*nk, Fluff, Dario being lowkey a soft boy, *Unedited/Not Proofread

AUTHORS NOTE: uhmmm who else has seen alberto guerra in griselda??? 👀 it’s a great show highly recommend everyone go watch! alberto being shirtless is just an added bonus, so basically this is slightly AU-ish in this fic dario travels back to miami twice (i think i can’t remember lol) before “finding” griselda—full stop bc spoilers but yeah. the OC is a former sex worker, and Afro-Colombian/Latina (faceclaim is Yaya DaCosta <3), but yeah i hope y’all enjoy :) 💖

Medellín, Colombia - Spring 1976 (The Past)

The weather was in a particularly odd flux. For most of the day, heat raged on like an unrelenting wave, the weatherman reported scorching temperatures, a whopping, almost record breaking 101 degrees. Medellin quickly became a ghost-town, people sought refuge from the unbearable temperatures. The heat trickled its way into the evening, until around 9 or so, storm clouds suddenly swirled the sky, then, boom, a torrential downpour. The rain came down in violent pelts, hitting everything and anything insight. However, as quickly as the storm came, it went. The temperatures went down, the rain aided in crispness in the air. The wind swept through the streets and neighborhoods of Medellin, with coolness and airiness that was necessary, relieving.

Relief was exactly what Nina needed.

With the scorching temperatures, it brought a particular irritation with her clientele. It was like the hotter it became, the meaner they were. One of her regulars, Mr. Moneybags (an older gentleman, who happened to be very, very, generous with his wealth.), who was severely punctual and only wanted oral. He was never rude, impatient or rough with her. Until today. He was late, storming into her room, barking orders for her get on her knees, and when Nina finally did give him what he wanted, all Mr. Moneybags could ramble on about was high rough day at the office and he needed to tame "La Perra Negra". To make matters worse, when Mr. Moneybags orgasmed, he cummed on her shirt (a brand-new halter top, made of fine silk and in the prettiest shade of coral, it wasn't cheap, it cost her 78 pesos.) and in her hair (pillowy-soft coils as someone told her once). That was a complete, no, no.

Mr. Moneybags was the first of her clients to receive a verbal lashing, but he wasn't the last. As the hours rolled by, each man arriving acting more brutish and egregious than the last. Nina handed out her lashings with ease, all for her to be met with the same insult, fuck you, Perra Negra. The heat only fueled her rage, so much that the one customer, who had some semblance of decorum, went soft in her mouth. He quickly scurried out, offering a sympathetic smile, and promised that he'll come back next week, when she felt better.

So, when the storm came, Nina was more than relieved. She got some reprieve from her finnicky clients, even though her room was tucked away on the further corner of the brothel, the rain seemed to drown out the noise from the other end of the compound. She was able to soak her stresses away in her tub, light a candle or two, slip on her favorite mini-silk robe, and actually rest. The raindrops served as a lullaby from Nina as she drifted off to sleep.

Now, at 2 AM, Nina sat in a chair on her small balcony. She people-watched from her small corner, relishing in the cool breeze the generously fanned over her skin. She more than deserved this peace and stillness after the shit she had to deal with. After a while, Nina became engrossed in this older couple blocks away, were dancing in the middle of the street. She was so enraptured with the couple she didn't even hear the door creep open.

A familiar scent drifted through the air, a blend of cinnamon, tobacco, cardamom, and strangely mint. Nina couldn't help the smile the curled onto to her lips, as heavy footsteps inched closer and closer.

"You left the door open,"

Nina smirked. "What if I left it open for you,"

"Hm. That's unlike you,"

Nina turned around meeting those soft, russet-colored eyes, she cared to enjoy so much. She playfully batted her eye lashes.

"Oh, Dario, you mustn't forget, you are my favorite customer," Nina purred. She rose from her seated position, and unabashedly took in Dario's appearance.

He was meticulously dressed, he wore neatly ironed, black slacks with a coordinating black dress shirt. A few buttons were undone, revealing a sliver of warm-tawny skin, and the ink-colored edges of a tattoo. Nina wondered sometimes what the fully tattoo would look like, or better, would she ever get to see it.

From the first night they met, Nina gathered that Dario was someone who took pride in their appearance. He was never sloppy, not a flick of dirt or dust sullied his clothes or shoes. Thick, brown tresses were combed and quaffed with care, while he maintained neatly trimmed facial hair. Even the way Dario carried himself was equally irresistible, he possessed a poise and calmness that was developed, cultivated, even. He was careful with his words, never speaking out of turn or without thought. He charmed his way into people's hearts, both old and young alike.

Dario was a true debonair. It was the perfect distraction from what he truly was, a hit man. El Sicario.

"You look thirsty," Nina strutted past Dario to the small bar along the wall inside, "Would you like a drink?"

''Not tonight,"

Nina tsked, "Where's the fun in that? You can't just humor me, I've had a terrible day and--"

"Enough Nina," She paused to looked over her shoulder at him. His brows were furrowed, as looked intensely at Nina. After a beat, Nina turned a back around, pouring some tequila in a glass. She turned back around, gesturing for Dario to speak. "I'm looking for someone," Dario pulled a photo out of his front pocket.

"Aren't you always," Nina sassed. She couldn't help it, she was enjoying seeing Dario a bit peeved, it was so refreshing to see, even Dario, el sicario himself, could be annoyed.

He shows her the photo, "Vincent Fernandez, you know him?"

Nina scans the picture, taking in the face of the man.

"Yes and no," Dario's eyebrow quirks, "His real name is Vincent, but nobody calls him that. He goes by Chuy,"

"Okay...Chuy, have you seen him?"

"Yeah, a few weeks ago. He was coming out of Carmen's room...now that I think about it, she was leaving with him. She carried a suitcase too. Haven't seen her since,"

Immediately, Dario balled up the picture, flinging at the wall. He began to pace and back forth, his left handed raked through his hair, messing up that of that beautiful handiwork.

Something thrummed inside of Nina as she watched Dario slowly lose composure. Dario’s beautiful features were twisted with frustration, his jaw was clenched, and eyes were blazed. He stopped pacing and stood next to a small coffee table with vase that sat on top. With hesitation, Dario snatched the vase and launched it at the wall. Ceramic shards exploded on impact, pieces flew everywhere in the process.

"FUCK!"

"What the hell is your problem!?" Nina rushed over, she brushed past him, and picked up a broken piece of the vase, "Fuckin' pendejo, this was a gift from a friend," She was seething, gearing up to cuss him out to fullest extent but she paused. On one of the broken pieces with a red speck. Nina's eyes drifted towards the floor, seeing a trail of red spots, the spots grew larger and larger, until there was a small pool of blood underneath Dario's hand. "...You're bleeding,"

"What?" Dario one step but Nina quickly stopped him.

"Stop! Stop, it's getting all on the floor. Go to the bathroom and rinse the cut. When your done there's a first aid kit and a bottle of peroxide in cabinet, grab it, and sit on the couch," Dario just stood there a bit lost in his eyes, "Vete! Go, now!"

Dario disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Nina in the mess he created.

---

"This is going to sting so keep still," The two sat next to each other on the couch. In one hand, Nina gently cradled Dario's hand, his wounded palm facing up. The other hand held a cotton ball soaked in Hydrogen peroxide. She slowly inched the ball towards the cut, when it the skin, Dario instantly hissed, moving his hand slightly. Nina pressed again, trying to be a bit softer than before, but Dario jerked his hand away again. Nina swatted at his stomach. "Ay! Stop moving,"

Dario finally complied, relaxing against her touch, letting her clean the cut. A quietness fell over them as Nina worked in a comfortable rhythm of wiping and dabbing.

"I'll make sure to pay for the vase," Nina stopped, looking up at Dario. There was a sincerity in his eyes, and something else...embarrassment maybe? "The least I could do, since you put up with shit all the time..."

Nina bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling, at Dario's gesture. She said nothing in return, but instead sat the used cotton balls to the side and reached for the roll of bandages. Nina couldn't make heads or tails of how she felt about Dario right. One part of her was agitated with him with how he broke her vase and how edgy he was being towards her all of the sudden. The other part of her was attracted to Dario, something about him losing control like that revved her engine. For once he wasn't so controlled and calculated, he was human, flaws and all.

"I know I'm not supposed to ask, but, why are you looking for Chuy?" Nina asked, slowly wrapped the bandages around Dario's hand.

To Nina's surprise, he answered. "He took something that didn't belong to him,"

"...Oh. Oh," Nina nodded realizing what Dario what he meant. Chuy had to have stolen a kilo or two of coke from them. Everyone in Medellin knew stealing from the Bravo family was a guaranteed death sentence. "Shit, I should've known..."

Dario shook his head. "It's not on you. The sneaky bastard managed to fool all of us, especially me,"

Nina chuckled nervously as she tucked the last strip of the bandage underneath a bottom layer.

"All finished," She slowly let go of Dario's hand to gather and put back her supplies, "I would give it a day before checking the cut to see if its healing. Just try to keep it your hands clean the best you can,"

Dario nodded. "Thank you,"

Nina smiled gently at him. She could feel his eyes on her as she bounced around and out of the room disposing of the trash and putting her supplies back. When she came back into the room, she found Dario relaxed against the couch looking outside. She followed his gaze up to the night sky. The normal starry, ink-colored sky was now filled with stormy clouds.

"It's going to rain again," Nina murmured, she returned to her spot next to Dario.

"How'd you figure?"

Nina pointed to the sky. "The clouds. Plus, the air is getting thick...y'know humidity,"

Dario laughed, flashing those gorgeous pearly whites, making Nina's heart skip a beat. He quickly quieted as a look of curiosity filled his expression.

"Where'd you learn to do that kind of stuff...like patch people up?"

"I guess I got tired of getting rug burns and bruises on my knees from giving head so much. It's bad for business,"

"That's fucked up,"

Nina shrugged. "It's a part of the job. I have to be perfect and presentable at all times. It's what sells the fantasy. So, I had to become my own doctor, learn how to patch myself up. I also learned, that if I was on my knees for too long, all the time, I wasn't doing my job correctly.

Dario tipped his head, scratching at his goatee, "Where the guys always that rough with you?"

"Someone is mighty curious tonight," Nina teased. She twirled a coil round her pointer finger, "but, to answer your question, no. Some tried to, but I was always on guard. I had to be, I'm the only black girl here...La Perra Negra. Before my regulars, most of the guys thought because I’m black, a morenita, that's I wanted. It took some threats and me pulling out my switch blade a couple of times, but they got the picture. Sometimes I feel bad for them...they’re so caught up in fucking me as a conquest, and not for their own pleasure. Typical men,"

Dario's brow quirked. "Typical?"

"You know what I mean. Most men when they have sex are either caught up in some ego thing, or only focus on pleasuring themselves they don't bother in pleasuring their partners, especially if the partner is a woman,"

"I suppose you're right,"

"You suppose? Do you feel the opposite?”

"Not entirely. You do have a point…I guess I’m not most men. I like pleasuring my woman,” Dario rasped. His pink tongue swiped at his bottom lip before continuing, “It turns me on to see her lose..composure ‘cause I’m fuckin’ her so good. I dunno it just gets me there. I could never get hard or cum without doing so,”

From the tops of Nina's ears all the way to the bottoms of her manicured toes, she ran hot. Her mind raced with flashes of images of her and Dario in the nastiest of scenarios. If she wasn't sure about being attracted to Dario, this solidified it. Despite her growing need to literally lunge herself at him, she pulled back. She needed to make him sweat.

"I guess there's some room for exceptions," Nina hummed, she readjusted herself, re-crossing her legs, make sure to give him a quick flash of her lacy panties. She secretly thanked her Orishas, when she saw Dario's eyes wander to her thighs.

"I had customer the other day," Nina continued, "Sweet guy, couldn't fuck to save his life, so I suggested get on top. I thought riding him would be better, but it wasn't. So, in a last-ditch effort, I closed my eyes and imagined it someone else..."

"Who did you imagine?"

"...You. I imagined you underneath me, fucking me. I fantasized about those beautiful brown eyes staring up at me. How it would feel to have your hands on me...all the things those hands could do. Like would you pull my hair, or grip my hips so hard that I would have bruises? Or, would you smack my ass while you stroked, deep inside me...even better would you hold my hands behind my back, while you played with my clit? Then, like magic, I came...I don't think I've cum so hard in my life—”

He cut her off with kiss. It was gentle and sweet. As Dario moved his lips, he gingerly swept his tongue against Nina’s lips savoring her taste. He snaked his arms around Nina’s waist, drawing her closer to him. A small whimper escaped Nina as Dario’s hands roamed her body. She felt her body hum with need as he rubbed and squeezed at her flesh. A smarting slap from Dario caused Nina to mewl breaking the kiss.

“Fuck! Dario,” Nina whined. She leaned her forehead against Dario’s. She pulled back to see Dario’s face fully, her heart rattled against her chest as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Mi hermosa mariposa," Dario murmured, hands drifted up and down the sides of Nina's torso. She felt a wetness begin to pool beneath her, the more Dario caressed her.

“I want you,”

Dario smiled softly. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Nina nodded her hands reaching for Dario’s belt buckle, but he stopped her.

“It’s not about me tonight,” he hoisted her up, wrapping her legs around him as he carried Nina to bed. Dario dropped her softly down the plush sheets. “It’s all about you,”

Nina could tell from the serious yet lustful glint in his eyes that Dario meant every word he said. She sat up on her elbows watching as Dario’s nimble fingers undid the belt of her robe. He pushed the fabric, revealing nothing but soft curves, rich brown skin and lacy fabric. With his pointer finger, Dario traced Nina's collar bone, dragging it down her navel, leaving a trail of goosebumps the further down he went. Nina's breath hitched in her throat as Dario's thumbs rubbed soft circles on the skin above the waistband of her panties.

"I like the way your eyes light up when I touch you, solecita,"

"Please, Dario. Enough games,"

Dario chuckled. He held her hips in place, sinking down to his knees.

"Patience," Dario held his gaze as he inched his head closer to Nina's clothed pussy. The two moaned in unison when Dario licked a stripe at Nina's clothed entrance. He continued on licking, probing, and mouthing her pussy. Moans fell helplessly from Nina's lips as she felt the lacy fabric rub against her clit. Dario relentlessly moved his tongue, spurring Nina on, she felt slick dripping downwards on her thighs.

"More. I need more, baby, please,"

It was like switch went off in Dario. He stopped all movement, as he just stared at Nina. Long eyelashes fluttered as he slowly blinked.

"Baby...say that again," he murmured.

"Baby," Nina cooed. She sat up, reaching for Dario, she cupped his cheek. He nuzzled her cheek, placing a kiss on her palm.

Then like a flash, Dario ripped Nina's panties a part. He skillfully gathered the torn shreds and flung them away. He dove straight for Nina's pussy. Despite his meticulous nature, when it came to pleasure Dario was sloppy. There was no spot or area left unattended. His tongue alternating between swirling and lapping Nina's clit. Dario's pace was so unrelenting, it sent Nina's body into throws of pleasure. Just when she felt the familiar coil in her belly, Dario pulled back, only to blow cooly onto her drenched pussy.

"B-baby, fuck!" Nina yelped aloud, her hands found themselves back into Dario's hair, as he returned back to her core.

He placed a wet kiss, creating a lewd smacking noise that echoed into the air. Dario dove back in, plunging his expertly skilled tongue into her entrance, fucking her. Nina felt like her entire body was on fire, completely blazed with pleasure as Dario relentlessly fucked her pussy. Her mind swirled feeling the familiar coil in her stomach become tighter and tighter.

"I-I'm gonna cum. Oooh shit," Nina panted. She pulled tighter at Dario's hair. "I'm c-cuming, fuckkkk!"

The coil snapped. Nina shakily thrusted her hips towards Dario's mouth, riding out her orgasm. Dario stayed still softly lapping up her cum, he did keep gentle hand on Nina's waist to steady her.

"Mhmmm, so good to me, baby, s'good," Nina loosen her grip on Dario's tresses, letting her arms fall back onto the bed.

Dario hummed appreciatively before pressing soft kisses on Nina's inner thighs. Her fluttered when she saw the slick sheen of her nectar glistening in Dario's mustache and goatee.

"You like when I'm good to you?" Nina could feel his grip on her thighs get tighter as he spoke. When Nina nodded instead replying, Dario slapped her thigh. "Words, Nina, I wanna hear you,"

"Yes!"

"Good. You gonna be good for me this time?" Nina hissed when two of Dario's fingers found her clit, rubbing taut circles.

"Yessss, I'll be good for you, baby!"

He quickly switched his technique, he plunged his fingers into her wetness. Nina whined at the squelching and lewd noises that her pussy made as Dario stroked in and out of her. Dario bent down and gave Nina searing hot kiss, he wedged his tongue inside of Nina's mouth, allowing her to taste herself.

"Please don't stop,"

"I won't mi amor, I can feel you...you close?"

"So close, baby, please,"

Dario slowed his pace down, giving Nina slower strokes, but drove deeper, and deeper every time. Her walls fluttered around his fingers when they met her oh so sweet spot. Nina's orgasm came swiftly as a fast-moving freight train. Her mind went blank, as she screamed out in pleasure. Nina's legs jerked and spasmed as her nectar flowed out in endless droves. Dario slowly slipped his fingers out, kissing the side of Nina's face as she reveled in the planes of ecstasy.

The two fell back into the bed. Nina snuggled up close to Dario's side, her fingers still tingly, traced the ink of his half-covered up tattoo. She looked out to the balcony. It was raining.

"I think we knew each other in our past lives..." Dario trailed, he kept his eyes towards the ceiling as spoke.

"As what? Enemies?" Nina teased.

"No," He sighed deeply, turning to meet her eyes. His face was open, vulnerable, Nina felt her heart flutter. "We were...something to each other, I know it..."

For the second time this night a quietness fell over them. They stared wordlessly at one another, as the raindrops lightly pelted outside. Nina didn't know what to make of Dario's sudden confession, or revelation. She did know that the way he looked at her in this moment, made her feel all mushy and gooey inside. Nina leaned in capturing Dario's lips into a passionate kiss.

"You know what I know," Nina purred parting from Dario's lips. She straddled him, reaching for his belt buckle, this time Dario didn't stop her. "Reciprocity...Can I have some more, baby?"

"Yes. Mi amor, in every lifetime."

[rewritingcanon]

rate how freaky the marauders ships are

lmfaooo im crying is this my legacy, like what do you mean rate, rate out of 10? 😭

nsfw under cut ig 💀🙏

wolfstar: i cant really see them being that freaky in hogwarts years just because i dont think sirius’ libido is that crazy high and i bet remus had a bunch of body perception issues…. but after PoA….. the make up sex about to go crazy. 7/10.

jily: i dont think theres a million kinks in this one but i could say much that’s basically summed up by: lily got knocked up at 19. thats all imma say. like getting married at 18 just shows they were in loveeee in love, but getting pregnant at 19 shows they had the freakiness to back it. 10/10 freaky as hell, not even wartime could stop the nut.

dorlene: yeahhhh they were freaky they were disgusting idk if i want to go into more detail because digital footprint but yeahhhh. they call her marlene mcfreakinnon and dofreak meadowes. 9.5/10.

rosekiller: i dont think they were ravaging each other every second of the day, they’re the couple to take baths with each other without feeling the need to do anything, they just want to be close. but when they would have sex they would be SO freaky. theyre such weirdos they deserve jailtime for what they do together. 9/10. FREAKS.

tedromeda: i bet their only freaky experiences with each other were during their hogwarts years because they had to sneak around to not be found out. so they couldnt go to their respective dorms, they’d get caught. soooo. what did they use? empty classroom? broom closet? room of requirement? either way, FREAKY. 7/10 (they chill out once they get older).

nobleflower: ngl these two are not freaky. in fact theyre too not-freaky. im begging for them to get their freak on UGHH. 2/10 (two points for sexual repression on narcissa’s side).

quillkiller: its bellatrix lestrange, what do you think? 10/10 freakiness by default.

lucissa: ngl i feel like theres a rough start to this one but as soon as draco is born, i think they find their way. like the opposite of breeding kink (they had no idea there were other ways! 🤯). 7/10.

fralice: nahhh not freaky theyre too lovey dovey. but hey at least theyre enjoying themselves. also i think they’re a bit obsessed with each other so 4/10.

emmary: mid-freaky tbh. theyre not gonna do it just anywhere, they have decorum. but some days…. 5/10

marthur: they had SEVEN CHILDREN. 10/10 not hearing any arguments. that d was good.

[rayroseu]

Azul was freaking SCARY during this part Ngl lmAO imagine blasting this guy with your most powerful spell and he starts laughing like a maniac with hollow eyes and SHOTS you unexpectedly with an even more POWERFUL spell😂😂😂

I would love more insane Azul ✨✨✨✨ being businessman prim doesnt suit him as much as this lol

Also I FELT this part lol its really nice seeing Rollo get beaten up after his nonsense 💥💥👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻 Go get him board game club‼️‼️

I love the buildup towards this part. Malleus was written as if he was intimated by Rollo during the fight, but then his mask of being "weak" falls off and its actually revealed that he is not intimidated by Rollo at all, in fact the way this scene's vibes gives off??? He was looking down at him, with his 'plans' and his stupid delusion about antagonizing him.

I love when TWST reminds us that Malleus is a king. ✨✨

He hides off this personality that he truly believes he's too superior than anything, that he's undefeatable.

Not gonna lie y'all, I think Malleus won't be defeated by the flowers, he emphasized this from the start, that he's fighting Rollo because the flowers will be problematic for Briar Valley, but not him yk.

Plus, this is Meleanor's kid😂 Mother didn't birth a weak dragon‼️

I think this part also mirrors in Book 7 where the Silver Owls was convinced they caught Meleanor but she just laughed at them and declared that they'll decimate every human in her sight for being insulting as to think they can ravage her land and defeat her lol.

Also the fact that Henry basically narrates her as if she's the villain of humanity by calling her a witch... It parallels to Rollo seeing Malleus (even though he didn't do anything) as the root of all evil yk.

Also possible theory for the Kind Bellringer and the Just Judge??? We all know that their story is written more peaceful here than the Disney movie.

But one thing that's strange is that No one knows what the Bellringer was fighting for even if he's considered a hero of Fleur City-- at the same time, we don't know how Rollo even got the flowers (aside from studying ancient flora)--- Basically, Fleur City lore has many plotholes and no one knows what it is and why is that-- Its like Briar Valley history...

We know the crimson flowers are a reference to the scene where Quasimodo released lava around the Notre Dame to prevent Frollo from entering....

What if in Fleur City as well,,,, Quasimodo (as the Kind Bellringer here) rebelled as well against the Just Judge (Frollo) as well?? But the Just Judge is instead credited as "the saviour of Fleur City" because the evidence of the Bellringer acrually being the saviour is burned up or smth, thats why Fleur City's history has many gaps in them...

Also the Just Judge being the actual villain in the history but remembered as a hero now because of misinformation.... It matches Rollo's punishment that he'll forever be complimented by the actions he didn't do, and its up to his guilt whether he can stand living as a fraud who actually harmed the same people thats highly regarding him rn.

LMFAO GRIM????? DONT BULLY GRANPA TREIN??? YOU SILLY 😭😭😭😭 I wanna hug Grim he's so cute in this event.... My unruly son 💖💓💖💓🥹

The gargoyles are so cool🥹🥹🥹💖💓💖 How does Malleus differentiate them... 💥

Also this makes me wonder.... Why Briar Valley doesn't have talking gargoyles??? Isn't Briar Valley a magical nation??? Talking non living things should be a norm for them lol

but Malleus feels like its his first time ever with a talking gargoyle lol

ISNWIHBDHIWHID HE REFERRED TO HIMSELF AS "MAL" .... CAN YOU BE MORE CUTER THAN YOU ALREADY ARE 😭😭✨✨🫶🏻✨🫶🏻💓💖💖💖💖

he really loves nicknames rather than "titles" because people who gives him nicknames isnt shackled by the expected decorum of meeting him-- therefore these people are not acting and they are sincere with talking with him, it helps with the connection and feeling like he belongs 🥹🥹💞💞💞

I COULDN'T RESIST COMPLIMENTING GRIM AAGHHH MY CUTE AND ADORABLE AND HANDSOME SON YOU ARE MOST PRECIOUS THE ADORABLE HERO OF FLOWER CITY 💓💞💖💓💞💖

I love how Grim ran the moment he heard that someone is doing a celebratory toss lol The goofy running sfx lol 😂😂

I love how teasing Silver and Sebek was here lol Threatening to toss Idia in the air omg.. He's traumatized already from walking the stairs lol The way Sebek and Silver can be unexpectedly playful... it feels so... "Lilia taught this to them didnt he..." 😂😂😂

WAAAAHHH YUU CENTER ATTENTION YAY YAY 💖💓💞💖💞💖💓 i love how he used his sultry smile here though lol .... He knows we waiting for his undivided attention yiiiee✨✨✨💞💞💞

Also i hate this translation part.... In the twst JP Malleus dialogue shows the specific lyrics of "Make a Wish" hes singing rn but in TWST EN IT DOWNGRADED TO JUST " *SINGING* "l

also on the twistune, twst JP shows the lyrics but on twst en, theres none.... I don't get why they arent translating it... This game is for people who dont understand Japanese?? So its natural youre going to translate everything for us non japanese to yk... Atleast understand without googling for translations???

YEAAA PHOTOGRAPHER YUU HERE THEY SHINE 📸📸📸📸📸😎😎😎😎 be proud your mages still have magic crowley lmfao 💥💥💥

Also i hit the image limit now... But i love the Cinderella reference from Trein's dialogue ✨✨✨ that Yuu taking pictures of the ball can make the other uninvited students more jealous lol

Its a reference to how Lady Tremaine plotted against Cinderella just for her to never attend the ball... ✨

I like this event ngl, but I feel like Rollo's story was kind of rushed ngll jdnfiind we never found out why he's so angry at Malleus, how did he even come to the conclusion that killing Malleus is killing magic, bruh...🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️ Malleus is not even the top 1 strongest mage??? 😂😂

Also i feel like this event was made for Idia instead, it felt like Idia was the main character imo...

I just feel like the event couldve given their dynamic more light because its so intriguing that they went to similar trauma but have different outcomes...

In a way Rollo is what Idia wouldve become if he continued tormenting himself for Ortho's death alone...

He said to Rollo that "is removing magic what your brother wouldve wish?" I think thats very telling that even if its tragic that Robot Ortho's creation was fuelled by Idia's grief and defiance that Ortho is forever gone, it was suitable for Idia's pain to remind himself that Ortho wouldve wished he goes on... as is very telling of Book 6's ending about Ortho's refusal on Idia's suicide by going with him on the Underworld...

also because I think Rollo would need some person like Idia whos blunt for regular reality checks just so he wouldn't blinded by his delusion again and ransack the world 😭😭

[bearloonz]

What Is Wolf 359 anyway ? Is it like a podcast ? And could you tell me all your favorite parts about it in great detail because it sounds really interesting and I trust your opinion :]

sits down across the table from you and slams a briefcase on the table so heavy it breaks it in half. Hey.

Wolf 359 is an audio podcast that came out in 2014. It opens up by asking the question “Would that be fucked up or what?” and its answers are really funny until they aren’t. Classic case of the funny story slowly becoming painfully real and dangerous for the protagonists.

The basics of the plot is a crew of three people plus their space station’s AI are sent to orbit a star lightyears away from earth by some totally suspicious corporation. The show introduces you right in the middle of the mission, when everyone’s already been out there for months, so they’ve sort of abandoned decorum for gassing each other with chemicals as a solution for workplace discourse. I will put my in depth thoughts under a cut because frankly, I would very very much like you to check out this podcast, because I like it a lot and want to see more people talking about it. Stick through at least season one and the beginning of season 2, it’s about a dozen episodes and it’s a quick listen to help you decide if you want to keep checking it out.

ok so my favorite things about it (non spoilers edition.)

-Really solidly written female characters. Like it’s genuinely enjoyable how much they share the same narrative weight as the male characters especially for a 2014 podcast.

-Character focused podcast 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 I love a story that is first and foremost about dissecting characters and their actions and I think Wolf 359 excels in this section of its writing. Doug Eiffel is a wonderful adventure in finding out what happens when a comedic relief character is confronted with being more than just his archetype.

-Ai storyline. Do you like robots? You should like my friend Hera. Everything happens to her. She sees everything all of the time, she knows so much more than you do, and she is physically unable to insult you to your face but I think she should do it anyways. I like. Her. She gets to get up to weird gay people stuff with a character that shows up later on and it leaves her changed in so many ways.

-Fucked up little scientist that I like. He’s Russian and you should listen to the podcast for the sole experience of comparing his voice in ep 1 to any ep in season 3. It’s funny.

ok specifics under the cut if you dare to hear my detailed thoughts before listening to the podcast

-Doug Eiffel’s character is genuinely one of the most interesting things to me. I talked about it in an older textpost but I love how Wolf 359 is a media not unfamiliar with immoral and nuanced characters and chooses to make sure that applies to not just its antagonists. The reveal in season 3 that he was a dad? And he like? Brutally impacted his kids life forever because of His Own shitty mistakes? And now he has to deal with that forever? Big. Massive even. Also part of the reason I have such a gripe with the finale of the show but it’s okay I think the show itself is still really worth it in spite of my mixed feelings on season 4.

-Isabel. ISABEEEEEEL. Isabel Lovelace is really good and the entirety of minisode 4 (I believe it’s 4?) kills me dead. She’s died not once, but twice! And lived! She’s tormented! She’s miserable! She’s the final girl! she’s a clone! She’s the original! I need to finish my relisten so I can get as weird about her as possible because fuck me does she have a fascinating storyline.

-That fuckass scientist. Hilbert. Heart. I can and have gone into depth about him before because I hate him. He’s like, peak for me vis a vis Wolf 359 and character dissection. Hes a horrible horrible man but the way he justifies his actions and how he views himself and what exactly his apathy is driven by fascinates me. This man died at 6 years old and has spent the rest of his life dragging the dead weight of his own corpse around while he works toward his unreasonable goals. I love him.

-Lovelace and Hilbert have a shared connection from before canon that makes me insane in a way I literally cannot describe. Type of dynamic that makes you so fucking nuts that I don’t just need you to hear me I need someone to grab at my brain and match my freak. I need more people to talk about them. They were friends and then they were enemies and also they understand each other more than anyone else. He killed her entire crew, but he’s the only member of her crew that’s left. He’s everything she lost and he’s all she has. She came back to tell him he isn’t allowed to forget what he did this time. They haunt each other. Blow them up now.

-Marcus Cutter is a deeply unsettling little man and I find him fascinating.