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formulawolff · 23 hours

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vii. the in-between - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 5.2k

warnings: buckle up y’all cause we go. angst, cursing, size kink, edging, praise kink, FUCKING, LOTS OF FUCKING. toto being a simp, banter, yearning, mentions of divorce, mentions of alcohol use, creampie, teasing, yadayadayada… y’all know what’s about to go down

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“it’s fine, mom. really.”

bringing a hand to your temple, you begin to massage, attempting to alleviate the accumulated pressure.

“i mean, yeah, i’m not in trouble or anything. as far as i know, the fia is letting me race in suzuka. it was my first offense so they dropped the investigation. as long as i publicly apologize for my actions, everything will be cleared up.”

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do you know how many people have asked me about you? baby, people approach me at the goddamn grocery store asking me why you beat up that poor little british boy! he’s built like a twig for god’s sake!

rolling your eyes, you lean back in your chair, keeping the phone pressed against your ear, “mom, his name is george russell. he drives for mercedes. he’s not some little boy.”

all right, all right. well maybe he needs to come over for some dinner or something. get some meat on those bones. anyway, did i tell you that your father has been scouring ebay trying to purchase sports cards with your car on it? well, he’s found ones with you on them too. he wants to make a booklet of his favorite kiddo.

with that discovery, your heart swells, “is he really? tell him to look up topps chrome cards. those are the best ones. since i’m not as popular as max or lewis, they should be pretty cheap. and mom, i’m your only kiddo.”

that’s why we’re so proud of you. even if you get into fist fights, we still love you bunches. when do you think you’ll come home? your dad wants to take you out in his baby. he’s made some modifications to it. he thinks you’ll appreciate it more than i will.

“where is dad? is he asleep?”

yes honey. he’s asleep. snoring away on the couch with the dogs. i wish we could give you a taste of home somehow. maybe i could have a care package sent to japan?

“mom,” you exhale, “that would be so much money. don’t worry about it. were you guys considering flying out for miami?”

oh yes, about that! you perk up in your chair, anticipating your mom’s response. we are going to be there. we can’t wait to see you. we miss you so much. it’s so quiet when you’re not home. will i be able to meet some of your coworkers?

letting you a giggle, you shake your head, “mom. they’re my fellow drivers. we’re not coworkers. but yeah, i could probably introduce you to a few of them. daniel wants to meet you two.”

what about that handsome fellow with the bright blue eyes? he drives for redbull! and yes, i would love to meet daniel.

“max verstappen?” you arch a brow, “we’d have to see about that one. he’s a very busy man.”

okay, okay. the line cuts out briefly. hey honey, i think i need to head to bed. i love you so much. keep in touch, okay? we’ll see you in a few short weeks.

nibbling on your lower lip, you nod, “i love you too, mom. tell dad i love him. i miss you guys. i can’t wait to see you.”

me either. goodnight honey, or good morning or afternoon or whatever time it is over there. i’ll text you when i wake up! love you.

“love you,” your lip trembles, hands clamming up as you the line goes silent.

fuck, were you homesick.

you just had to make it a few more weeks. then, you could finally reunite with your parents in miami. although you knew you would be so fucking busy, you would make time.

you always did when it came to your parents.

also, you had another plan brewing as you scroll through your contact list, searching for a certain dutch assassin. a certain dutch man who happened to be a three-time world champion.

somehow, someway, your mom was going to meet max verstappen.

you had to make that happen.

you had to.

currently, you were sitting on the edge of a bed in a suite in london, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your driver. a decently-sized suitcase sat near the door, a carry-on stacked on top.

this driver was provided specific instructions to transport you from london to brackley, dropping you off at the door of a certain team principal’s home.

yet, you were well aware that it wasn’t going to be just any old home.

this man was billionaire, after all.

buzzing in your grasp, your phone notifies you of a new text.

from none other than toto wolff.

the driver is on the elevator, heading up towards your suite. DO NOT handle your bags. he will do that for you. i don’t want you to fuss over a single thing. from there, he will bring you here, where he will punch in the code for the gate. i will be waiting for you at the door.

i can’t wait to see you, schatzi. i miss your beautiful face and sweet laughter.

oh, and i can’t wait to kiss you.

(and yes, i am pacing around in my office as i type this. i can’t focus on anything else but your arrival)

with sazuka quickly approaching next week, you would only have a couple of days with the team principal before you had to part ways. he would have prep, meetings, press, where he would then fly out to sazuka. meanwhile, you would have to catch a flight, meet with your team, prep, and potentially meet with press, fans, and the other drivers.

additionally, you had to address the incident that occurred last week at the australian grand prix. to your surprise, the fia had dismissed the investigation, finding no substantial evidence that the two of you needed to be punished. due to the nature of the accident, george was not punished, as he did no illegal maneuvers or intentionally attempted to take you out of the race.

on the other hand, the fia was adamant that if this happened again, you were going to face consequences. you would have to shell out a pretty penny for fines, and then you would be immediately disqualified from three future races, deeming you unable to participate.

although they were merciful, the fia made it very clear that since it was your first offense, they were going to be fair..

however, if there was a next time, they would not be so kind.

a crisp knock rang out, startling you.

springing to your feet, you open the door, an older man smiling in greeting.

“you must be golden girl,” sticking out his right hand, he dips his head, “i’m theodore. i’ll be your driver to brackley this evening. i am here to not only be your escort, but to tend to anything you may need. mr. wolff made it very clear that you were not to fret over a single thing.”

“good morning,” the corners of your lips curl into a quaint smile as you shake his hand, “thank you. i’m eager to see the english countryside.”

“i’ll handle your bags ma’am,” theodore clears his throat, “you just take it easy.”

“will do,” you nod, “how long is the drive?”

“about an hour and a half,” theodore responds curtly, slinging your carry-on around his shoulder, “don’t worry, it’s not too boring. follow me this way, my lady. our chariot awaits!”

following him down the hall, he presses the button for the elevator. there’s a silence between you, but not an uncomfortable one. theodore’s presence was warm, inviting even.

upon meeting him, you understood why he was toto’s right-hand driver. once he escorted you to the car, he opens the door for you, ushering you inside. when you settle into the backseat, you notice the glint of a redbull can, along with your favorite snacks and candy.

“mr. wolff wanted to ensure you wouldn’t be hungry,” theodore states as he climbs into the driver’s seat, pressing the button for the ignition, “he told me that you can be a little cranky if you don’t have any snacks.”

“oh? he said that?” a giggle bubbles up in your throat, “did he say anything else about me?”

“oh yes,” theodore chuckles, turning the gear shift, “he’s told me all about you. to be quite frank, he hasn’t shut up about you the last week or so.”

“so you know who i am?”

“of course i do,” theodore nods, flashing you a grin in the rearview mirror, “you’re one of the best formula one drivers on the grid. you drive for williams racing. you’ve only won one grand prix, but i believe you’ll win a few more this season. your hometown is in yuma, arizona. you’re twenty-two years old, and from what toto has shared with me, you have a very bright future ahead.”

“are you a formula one fan?” you arch a brow, punching open the can of redbull.

“who isn’t?” he shrugs, “well, ms. golden girl, we are going to begin our journey. if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to speak up. if you’d like, you can tell me a little bit more about yourself. we will have plenty of time.”

as theodore promised, the drive to brackley was painless. yet, as the car pulls up to the gate, your heart skips a beat.

this was no quaint english cottage.

toto’s brackley residence was a sleek and sprawling two-story home, a black and white exterior with massive, thick windows. your jaw almost drops, and theodore notices, letting out a hearty laugh, “don’t act so shocked, golden girl. i’m sure you’re aware toto is a very wealthy man.”

“i thought he would have kept things somewhat simple.”

“oh love,” theodore shakes his head, “you and i both know that toto is anything but simple.”

rolling down the window, theodore punches in a code, the gate sliding open. as the car lurches up the drive, your heart thumps in your rib-cage, blood roaring in your ears.

this was really happening.

you were really staying with toto.

“nervous?” theodore senses the shift in energy, “you have no reason to be nervous. he’s been anticipating your arrival. he’ll be happy to see you.”

“thank you,” you manage to muster a meek smile, “i-i just didn’t think we would get this far.”

“well savor the time together. time flies, especially in our world. one day you’re at a track, the next you’re in another country. he adores you, golden girl. so don’t you fret about that. just relax, and enjoy your time. i will be here in a couple of days to bring you to the airport for your departure to sazuka.”

“thank you,” at his words, you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief, “i look forward to our next drive together!”

“as do i,” shifting the gears, theodore puts the car in park, slipping out of the driver’s seat, “we have arrived. let me get your bags.”

he strolls over to your door, opening it as you clamber out, stretching your sore legs.

no matter how much time you spent in a car, there was always that persisting stiffness.

you’d probably need a double-knee replacement by the time you were forty, but that was the least of your worries.

out of the corner of your eye, you notice a figure strolling towards the car. with the large stature, you knew it could only be one particular individual.

he’s dressed in a royal blue button-up, paired with khaki slacks. on his feet are earth-toned dress shoes. the blue hue of the button-up complements his dark hair, almost brightening his features, giving them a youthful glow. tufts of his hair are all over as the wind blows.

yet, he looks as gorgeous as ever, his toned muscles rippling under the thin fabric of the button-up.

“welcome to brackley schatzi,” the grin enveloping his face is radiant, “i hope the drive wasn’t too bad.”

“not at all,” you shake your head, the team principal nearly sucking the wind out of your lungs as he wraps his arms around you, squishing you against his chest.

“i missed you so much,” tender lips connect with your cheek, “good afternoon, theo! did she behave herself?”

“of course,” theodore promptly places your bag next to the entrance, suitcase in tow, “i have another commitment here soon, mr. wolff. i hope it is all right i placed her bags next to the door?”

“don’t worry about it,” toto’s fingers find yours, intertwining them together, “i’ll get them. please drive safe, theo.”

“i will, mr. wolff,” theodore dips his head, turning to you, he takes your hand, shaking it, “it was lovely to meet you. i look forward to our next meeting, golden girl. enjoy your time together, you two!”

“we will,” toto squeezes your hand, “goodbye, theo.”

“goodbye, mr. wolff!” theodore spins on his heel, making his way to the car, “behave, you two!”

in response, toto gives a thumbs up, theodore slipping back into the driver’s seat. as he peels off, toto shifts his body, facing you.

“charming, isn’t he?”

“he’s great! kept me entertained the whole drive!”

“i told him you have a short attention span so to keep you occupied,” toto shooks you a wink, earning an eye roll.

“i can’t stand you.”

“you’re standing right now, aren’t you?” his chuckle is light, “come, let’s head on in. i have lunch waiting for us.”

“you made me lunch?”

“yes, i’m going to drive you all the way out here just so starve you,” he scoffs, yet his tone says otherwise, “i have food ready. and wine, if you want some.”

“don’t tell me you want to get me drunk so i’ll confess all my secrets.”

“consider that my new goal for the afternoon,” toto grabs your bag, along with your suitcase. pushing open the door, he clears his throat, “welcome to my home away from home.”

as you step in the entrance, your eyes widen, lips parting.

the space was truly a reflection of toto. refined and elegant, with a hints of charm. the marble floors gleam under the soft lighting, rays of sun shining through the vast windows. the walls were covered in a menagerie of decor, from pieces of art to mercedes memorabilia. it was not the typical billionaire’s home, where the air felt sterile and cold.

this place was warm and full of life, coaxing you to stay.

“cat got your tongue?” his breath fans against your ear, a hand gliding along your back, “follow me, schatzi.”

“your home is beautiful.”

glancing over his shoulder, you are met with his gorgeous smile, dimples and all, “thank you, love. i’m glad you like it.”

trailing behind the austrian, you stroll down a long hallway, turning into the last room on the left. toto places your bag and suitcase next to a glass door, “this is my bedroom. you’ll be staying here with me.”

“straight to the bedroom huh?” you fold your arms across your chest, teasing, “you just couldn’t wait–”

“come here,” toto growls, hands grasping your wrists, bringing you in, “no, i can’t wait.”

looking up, you match his gaze, cocking your head, “what are you going to do about it?”

at your rebuttal, toto’s eyes narrow, “what do you think i’m going to do?”

“fuck me.”

“hmmmm,” he hums, leaning in, “you’re right, schatzi. i am going to fuck you. i’m going to fuck you till you’re weeping me for me to stop.”

“weeping?” your hands roam, tugging on his button-up, “i’d like to see you try.”

“oh schatzi,” he tsks, “you don’t know what you’re in for.”

“show me then.”

“i will,” lips ghost over yours, “i’ll show you how badly i missed you baby.”

as he kisses you, it’s tender at first, brimmed with the sweetness of reunion. one of his hands wraps around the base of your neck, tilting your head back as his tongue gains access to your mouth, the tang of redbull tracing your mouth. yet, as you whimper, a fiery hunger sets ablaze.

fuck, he missed you.

he missed you more than he liked to admit.

tension hangs thick, clouding the space as his mouth places sloppy, wet kisses down your jawline, finding your neck. nipping gently, it takes every fiber in his being to resist the urge to just mark you all over. to leave marks where they could see. to make them wonder who was doing this to you.

but he couldn’t. not there.

in response, your hips buck forward, grinding against his. toto groans, his head rolling back.

there was not a single coherent thought in his mind.

only lust. and fuck, was it consuming him whole.

scooping you into his arms, he brings you over to the bed, your back meeting with the plush mattress.

“i can’t wait,” he pants, chest heaving, “i can’t wait any longer. i need you.”

“then take me,” your words drip like honey, oh so sweet, “make me yours, toto.”

jesus fucking christ.

he was going to fuck the shit out of you. right here, right now.

there was no going back.

he ached for it. he yearned for it. the fantasy flooded his dreams at night.

the things he wanted to do to you?

downright filthy. sinful, even

he couldn’t lose his inhibitions. not yet. he had to hang on.

however, at this point, toto was hanging on by a thread.

peeling your leggings and panties off, he tosses them to the floor, “sit up.”

you obey, nearly trembling with anticipation as fingertips hook the hem of your crewneck, pulling it over your head. nimbly, he hovers over you, finding the clasps of your bra. he undoes them, a crimson hue dusting his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you completely naked beneath him.

god, you were absolutely breathtaking.

every inch of you was stunning. every scar. every mole. every freckle. every stretch mark.

you were so fucking beautiful.

his hands fly to his button-up, eager for what was to come.

yet, your hands find his, “let me.”

toto bites his tongue as you carefully undo the buttons of his shirt, his cock twitching, aching for your touch as your fingers delve towards his belt. you unbuckle it, tilting your head back, batting your thick lashes.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

could this moment last forever?

“toto.”

“yes?”

“i-i don’t know if i can take it all,” there’s apprehension inflected in your tone, almost as if you were embarrassed, “to be honest, i’ve never–”

oh god.

this was going to ruin him.

just like he was going to ruin you.

“don’t worry,” a tender hand cups your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing your cheekbone, “i’ll go slow. i won’t make you take it all. i’ll take care of you baby, i promise.”

you nod, lips pursed as you tug on his slacks, hooking the hem of his boxers, “you’re just so fucking big. like holy shit.”

pride swells within the austrian for a moment, a chuckle rumbling in his chest, “i promise you that it’s not as big as you think.”

“can i see for myself?” the question is so innocent, so pure.

yeah, he was going to ruin you.

he was going to make a mess out of you.

“lay down schatzi,” he orders, authority oozing into the words.

kicking off his slacks, he curses slightly as his boxers stick around one of his ankles. this wasn’t going to be perfect, but he wanted it to be. for you.

he wanted this to be a moment you remembered for the rest of your life. he wanted this memory to fill your thoughts every second of every day. he wanted you to touch yourself to this, desperate and oh so wet, throbbing for him. yearning for his mouth. for his touch. for him.

carefully, he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you. as you look down, you can feel his gaze searing into you, burning right through.

his cock was far bigger than your fantasies. it was thick, approximately eight or nine inches. you couldn’t tell. his tip was tinged pink, the glisten of precum catching in the light. veins wrapped around the length, throbbing as your hand wrapped around its base.

“fuck,” as he moans, you lick your lips, realizing how much you loved the sound that just filled your ears, “let me feel you, please.”

“please toto.”

swallowing thickly, he inhales sharply as he positions his tip at your entrance. applying pressure, a whimper rings out as he pushes in, your walls stretching.

your pussy was heaven. absolutely perfect as it wrapped around his cock, begging for more as he pushed further and further. you were absolutely drenched, the juices slick and oh so sickeningly sweet. he didn’t even have to taste you to know. he just knew you were sweet. like pure ambrosia.

perhaps he could get a taste.

“toto,” your lashes flutter, his name so perfect from your lips, “you feel–”

“your pussy is perfect,” he finds a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of your tight hole, “absolutely perfect baby. fuck, you’re perfect.”

skin connects with skin, the temperature of the room elevated as his hands found yours, pinning them to the bed. lips collide, the kisses desperate, hungry and bursting with need. as he picks up the pace, moans fill his mouth.

fuck, it felt like he was going to split you into two.

“t-toto,” there it was again, his name. music to his ears.

“yes baby?” a sheen of sweat clings to his forehead, tufts of hair dampened, “what is it? does it hurt? do you need me to slow down?”

“no. fuck me. just fuck me.”

oh god.

oh, fuck.

his cock twitches, the pleasure building in your abdomen as the tip brushes your g-spot, back arching, begging to be closer. closer to him.

could you be any closer to him in this moment? was it even possible?

before you know it, his arms wrap around your frame, picking you up off the mattress. he holds you close to his chest, one hand holding your head, cupping the back of your skull. the other remains on your lower back, gripping you tightly as the new angle sends bliss rippling all throughout your body.

he fucks you, and god there was no holding back. his cock was pounding into you now, showing no mercy. your ass slaps against his thighs, filthy noises flooding the space.

as you bounce, you tense, your walls practically squeezing him, “toto, oh my god, i’m going–”

“good girl,” his coos, “be a good girl, baby. cum for me.”

as you get closer and closer, toto watches. fuck, the way your lips were parted ever so slightly. the way hairs clung to your forehead. the way your lashes fluttered. all he could see was pleasure. pure, intense pleasure.

you unravel, coming undone.

that sight alone was enough to make him cum.

“come here,” toto hisses through gritted teeth, “come here baby.”

the moment his lips mold with yours, you feel his cock throb, pumping threads of cum into your weeping hole. your muscles spasm, shuddering as he pulls out.

the two of you study one another for a moment, catching your breath. fingertips brush stray hairs from your temple.

“i’m sorry.”

“for?” you nuzzle into his collarbone, relishing the way his cologne lingered, mixing with his natural scent.

“going too far.”

“that was not too far.”

tenderly, the austrian pulls you down with him, letting out a sigh as his head hits the pillow. your head remains against his chest, admiring the definition and tone for a moment. he peppers kisses along your forehead, browbone, and cheeks.

“if i ever go too far, let me know.”

“i think we’re both in too deep,” you murmur, “you’re lucky you had the blinds drawn.”

“that would be something,” his chest vibrates as he speaks, “could you imagine? some random mercedes intern witnessing the team principal fucking the most beautiful woman on the planet?”

however, a gleam catches your eye.

on his left ring finger, your heart sinks as you notice the ring.

his wedding band.

toto senses your silence, the way you tensed up against him, “what is it schatzi?”

“why are you still wearing your wedding band?”

oh, so you had noticed.

“it’s complicated.”

“complicated?” your voice falters as you prop yourself up with your elbow so you could meet his gaze, “you’re wearing your fucking wedding ring. it’s not that complicated.”

“yes, i am, wearing my ring,” he exhales, “would you prefer me to take it off? it has no meaning anymore. susie and i are divorced. we finalized it last december. when we signed the papers, we made a mutual agreement to wear our wedding bands when we were in the public eye. it keeps the speculations at bay. it’s mostly for the sake of my children. and for her sake. we respect one another and i would hate for her hard work to be diminished by rumors and gossip.”

although his words were sincere, your heart races still, anxiety a swirling torrent in your stomach, “how long have you been separated?”

“almost three years. we separated in july of 2021.”

“oh,” you suck in a breath, shame washing over you, “i-i’m sorry for the sudden questions. i just–”

“it would complicate your feelings for me. and no one wants too mess around with a married man. i get it baby, i really do.”

although he provided a very base-level explanation of his failed marriage, toto was more than willing to go into more depth. that is, if you wanted. more than anything, he wanted you to know. that aspect was becoming increasingly frustrating, as the team principal tried to maintain that dominant, bold, persona.

you were making him weak. his little soft spot.

well, not so little these days.

“i cannot stand how well you read me,” rolling your eyes, you turn your back to him.

“don’t turn your back on me now,” he tsks, “do you believe me, schatzi?”

“i don’t think you could ever lie to me.”

“i couldn’t,” toto leans over, placing soft kisses all over your shoulders, “i think it would destroy me. the guilt would be too much to bear.”

“if we’re spilling secrets now,” you roll over, face-to-face once again, “i have another question for you.”

“all right.”

“why did you approach james about my contract behind my back?”

for once, the team principal is caught by surprise, his heart skipping a beat.

the hurt plastered across your features is clear, your brows furrowed, eyes narrowed. there’s a glimmer of anguish in their depths, slightly glossy from the threat of tears.

“i wanted to gauge how he felt if you were to leave williams,” that was the truth, really, no other intentions behind it, “he was not too keen to discuss it, but i just wanted to know how upset he would be if you were to sign with another team. i did it for you, to soften the blow.”

“soften the blow?”

“yes,” toto nods, “to soften the blow when you tell him you’re leaving williams and signing with mercedes.”

“you don’t know that for–”

“but i do,” his voice hardens, “i do know. we can’t just lay here and deny that in your heart, you want to be with me at mercedes. you’ve made the decision already. you just haven’t figured out how you’re going to approach james, alex, or your team.”

biting your tongue, you turn your head, averting his gaze.

toto was right. you had made your decision.

it was just a matter of time before you had to face the facts.

“i’m right, aren’t i?”

“you are,” you huff, squeezing your eyes shut, “i-i just don’t know how to tell everyone. i don’t know how to tell my parents. i don’t know how to bring it up to james. it’s just so.. fuck. it’s so fucking overwhelming to think about.”

“then let me help you.”

“how?” you inquire, “how would you possibly do that?”

“i’ll keep my distance from here on out, but i will help you draft up a letter that you can give to james. or, i can help you practice what you’re going to say. just let me help you schatzi,” fingers grasp your chin, turning your head.

“you hear me? i’ll help you.”

“can we just worry about it later?”

“of course,” strong arms envelop your frame, drawing you in against his body, “for now, we can snuggle. would you like that?”

“i would.”

your tough exterior completely crumbles as his mouth hovers by your ear, murmuring words in german. desperately, you ache to know what he said. was it something important? or just sweet nothings?

sometimes he was a difficult man to decipher.

“hey, have you opened that gift yet? the one i brought to you in jeddah?”

“no,” you admit, heat billowing into your cheeks, “i have a hard time accepting gifts.”

“clearly.”

before you can respond, he’s up from the bed, strolling over to your bags. unzipping your carry-on, he searches for that parcel. fishing it out of your bag, he sets in on the bed, sliding on his boxers before plopping it in front of you.

“open it. right now.”

“right now?” you echo, “toto, i–”

“open it.”

“fine,” nimbly, your fingers untie the bow, peeling away the wrapper.

underneath the paper, there is a tiny velvet box. it’s long and slender, rectangular in shape.

“what is this?”

“open it and you’ll know,” toto urges, following your every move, anticipating your reaction.

opening the box, your heart swells at the sight before you.

it’s a bracelet, a dainty figaro chain, complete with a charm. the charm is an outline of the saudi arabian track. picking it up, you inspect it, noticing a date engraved on the backside of the charm.

“how were you able to get this so quickly after the race?”

“i have my ways,” toto bears a sheepish grin, “do you like it?”

“like it? i love it.”

well, you didn’t love it. you fucking adored it. it was perfect, and so you. it was something that you could wear everyday, a constant reminder of the years of effort to get you here. not to mention it was gorgeous, the chain shiny, freshly polished.

a hand reaches out, plucking the chain from the box. his brows are knit together with concentration as he slips the chain around your wrist, ensuring it’s safely clasped.

“i figured it would be something you could always wear. a reminder of when you made history.”

“it’s beautiful,” sitting up, you shift your weight to your knees as you wrap your arms around his neck, “thank you, toto.”

“always, schatzi. don’t worry, i will always spoil you.”

as toto nuzzles into the crook of your neck, he was well aware of one thing.

you had made your decision.

you hadn’t outright said it, but he knew you made your decision.

you would be signing to mercedes for the 2025 season.

you were finally going to be by his side every day.

there was no more in-between. no more will she or won’t she. no more nights of him lying awake, wondering where you stood. no more driving himself insane pondering all of the possibilities that could unravel.

he had you.

you were all his now.

and god, did that leave such a sweet taste in his mouth.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

taglist: @joalslibrary @martwll @prettiest-at-the-party @pucksandpower @kravitzwhore @toldyouitwasamelodrama @annewithaneofthegreengable @persona1lies @zoeyjadetice2010 @whoisss @sinners-98-world

if i missed anyone, please let me know! also, you are more than welcome to be added to the taglist! thank you for reading! <3

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff x you #female driver au #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen

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kyutpudding · 2 days

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FIRSTLY FIRST!

IMAGINE Getting a text from an unknown number saying cringey pickup lines like "do you smell something burning? Smells like my love burning for you" then proceeds to send a bunch of heart emojis but What you do not know is that it's YOUR CRUSH trying to get YOU to fall for him ( He doesnt know you have a crush on him though and he totally did not peek at your phone while its still on when you left it in class the other day) so basically you both like each other but is too oblivious🤓

OKAY BUT IMAGINE THIS BUT GOJO SATORU⁉️

I don't know why this just gave me university/college au Popular!Gojo x Normie!reader. Like imagine Gojo having many fangirls from his own majors combine with girls from other different majors. And then there's just our dear reader, just a normal hooman who harbours a cute little crush on this beautiful being cuz who wouldn't? Well turns out the man himself is head over heels for our dear reader. He'd just be stalking their social media's with atleast 20 different accounts just to check if they're out on a date with some creature or IS in a relationship. At the same time will also fantasise himself on a date with them, be it a romantic cafe/restaurant date or a amusement park date.

SO IMAGINE⁉️💭

Gojo and reader sharing the same physics class, and after the lecture everybody rushed out of the hall including our reader, but reader's phone slipped out of their bag to which they didnt notice at all dropped back on their chair. They then proceeded to sprint of of the lecture hall. Lo and behold there was THE Gojo Satoru who pops out of nowhere and grabbed reader's phone(EXCUSE ME?), blame his curiosity, he turned on reader's phone just to find NO PASSWORD/PATTERN/PIN like NO security AT ALL. There he secretly went to adventure in search for reader's phone number( and maybe sneek a peek to check if they already got a lover) luckily not which leaves him giggling like a highschool girl. Once he got what he needed, low-key just left reader's phone on the desk and left like nothing happened but deep inside her was celebrating and was excited to bombard them(using a entirely new number ofcourse) with love quotes and cute emojis hoping to win their heart.

To which the reader later on found a bit adorable, giggling at the silly pickuplines but decided not to remind in fear of getting hack(LETS NOT UNDERESTIMATE TECHNOLOGY ALRIGHT FOLKS) Reader would probably be the type to have NEVER been In a relationship because of their parents or is genuinely just not interested in having one. BUT they would also be the type to NOT confess when they have a crush on somebody. They would just quietly let the feelings fade as time goes by, their crush would most likely not be interested or already has a partner so why risk getting rejected (so slay) After going back to the lecture hall after noticing they lost their phone, to which they're glad was on their desk. What they didn't expect is to have an Unknown number text them, sending pickup lines and love quotes which they're sure are from Google but its still cute so it's fine. Occasionally would get spammed by heart emojis and love stickers. Reader did not expect to have a passionate secret admirer but they absolutely did not expect that the said admirer was her very own crush.

WHAT WOULD HAPPEN AFTER THEY FIND OUT THOUGH⁉️😱

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crumblinggothicarchitecture · 3 days

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“And the relative simplicity of her music works with people who just want something mindlessly play in the background. It's also really easy for average people- who have no musical background- to sing along with. The lines are simple rhymes, and she never really uses any specialized vocal techniques like Vibrato. Basically, it's music for bland people who think salt is a spice.”

Some of your takes are valid and it’s healthy to critique anything that amasses such a large following in pop culture. However I would argue there is a way to do this without coming across as a pretentious undergraduate who read a few required and recommended readings from the syllabus and now sips their tea with a pinkie protruding. Let’s remember that tumblr is not inherently full of academics and defining anyone who hasn’t got a certain level of education as average or bland is such an Americanised, my way or the highway way of thinking.

It is possible to have differing opinions to others without insulting their intelligence or falsely presenting them in a certain way. Average people as a term in general, is quite elitist and classist. For example, I have a PHD in literature and am a classical musician. I work in publishing and academia.

That said, I still enjoy pop music, sometimes something can just be enjoyable and it’s not that deep.

Criticising Taylor Swift is low hanging fruit for a lit major who claims to be allied with as many causes as yourself. Or, if you do decide to continue with it, I hope you do it in a more articulated manner that focuses more on the quality of your arguments, and not just an assumption that those who oppose you are stupid or “bland” when I suspect the truth is much more complex than that, as it always is.

Best of luck with further studies. I hope to see more diverse content from you in the future, maybe some literary analysis of contemporary texts, or other artists who you deem intellectual enough to enjoy, or some recommendations.

Honestly- I do not know with which tone I should address this anon. I cannot tell if you are being hostile- but I certainly feel that you are being condescending.

Thanks for at least direct quoting my words with which you draw issue. I appreciate it- some people send me critiques but fail to outline which of my posts is the problem.

I can capitulate to exactly one of your points- and admit it is a good point- that I am overly sassy on occasion. The post you are angry about is just me chitchatting with someone about Swift’s live shows- it wasn’t a literary analysis. I cannot do an academic analysis of her live shows- but that does not mean I don’t have an opinion of them.

Again- it was opinion not argument or analysis. Not a serious post. This is not a blog where I am going to speak like an academic all of the time. I’m here to have a little fun- and try to remind myself why I actually do love what I do for a living.

Generally speaking- I will try to make a more obvious, clear difference between what is just an opinion and what is a researched, literary argument on Taylor Swift in my future posting. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.

There are some other things about your ask that I want to address, because it struck me as a bit unnecessary.

You say that I’m “coming across as a pretentious undergraduate who read a few required and recommended readings from the syllabus and now sips their tea with a pinkie protruding” (para. 1). This is condescending. No, I did not simply “read a few required and recommended readings” to complete my education. You say you’ve got a PHd in the same discipline- and yet you want to tell me all I did for my degree was read a couple of books? You should know the kind of intellectual work that goes into real literary study. I am trying to show people with this blog, at least in some small way, that while literary study is not so straightforwardly quantifiably valuable like, for instance, physics- it is still a real discipline. With real requirements on argumentation and logic. It takes intellectual skill to wrestle with concepts in literary theory – but more so to apply them in synthesis and interpretation of textual evidence.

SO, why are you essentially patting my head and saying “aw-cute she read some books and now thinks she’s smart?”

To be clear- I am not in undergrad. I have finished two different degrees and am currently working on my third.

Why would you accuse me of classism and elitism predicated solely on a bad joke in a post wherein I am not even doing any real literary analysis? What prompted that? I made no effort to even pretend the post in question was little more than opinion- my real posts however, about literary analysis, I take great pains to research and edit those together with care.

Also, “Americanized” what? Are you American? Because people ‘round here don’t care about what level of education you’ve got? The access to education varies remarkably state to state- and down into Latin American too- and we all know it. So, there is very much a culture of “help each other out when struggling” and not a culture of thinking that everyone of Earth needs to go through American University in order to matter. What are you talking about? Do you think American’s hold the monopoly on having Dogmatic views or “my way or the highway” thinking? That’s obviously not true- so what are you trying to say here?

Did you miss the part of my Bio where I talk about being a teacher? I am a teacher in one of the poorest- most unfunded places in the country. My friend- I am repulsed by the idea of classism- I take my position in my community very seriously. Knowledge is not a stick with which I attempt to beat others down- Please understand that.

Next, you say it is possible to critique without insulting people’s intelligence (para. 2). um, I did not insult anyone’s intelligence? I said their taste in music was bland, which does not correlate to an assumption on their intelligence. Um- I have also said many times that I like simple pop- music. Am I calling myself stupid because I’ve been listening to “Espresso” by Sabrina Carpenter on repeat? NOpe. It’s just a silly little song- and dancing to it makes me feel cute, young and free- but it’s still a bland song with no literary or moral value. What exactly is the problem here?

Okay, within this same point you draw issue with my use of the word average, saying that “average people, as a term...is quite elitist and classist” (para.3). Okay, you misinterpreted my use of the word “average” here- as I was not referring to people as “average” because they have no education, or a different education compared to my own. I was only using the term in the most colloquial sense- meaning “in general” or “on average” as in the median percentage of people have no musical background- therefore they find simplistic pop music the easiest to digest and the simplest thing to play in the background or sing to on car trips. It’s pleasing to the ear because we don’t have too much “work” into understanding it- that's what I mean when I say it’s bland.

If oatmeal was a type of music- it would be pop music. bland filler- but you know it can still be good.

Okay, let’s talk about your final point “Taylor Swift is Low Hanging Fruit” (para. Whatever I can’t be bothered to count). Ummm? A billionaire musician who has massive worldwide acclaim and social impact is “low-hanging” to you? I mean yeah- she's clearly not worth study through the lens of poetical semiotics, or God forbid- Linguistic Morphology; however, there are several different ways a good analysis of her work could function- through feminist, Marxists, Post-colonialist, or anything under the umbrella of cultural studies. I also intend to do a rhetorical analysis on her use of “lower class” aesthetics and how that attracts the audience she wants. And, I’ve done a couple of syntactical analyses. However, I had to prop those up with a dichotomization of her work to someone with more impressive literary value, like Kendrick Lamar, because her work alone is not strong enough for that type of analysis.

Apologies if I have written a return, you did not expect or want- perhaps, I should be less sensitive on the internet. I do often brush off people's condescension, especially when I notice that they are extremely young or just do not know anything at all about my field of study. Because why worry about uninformed opinions? I wanted to speak with you, however, because you do care. It is obvious, and I am glad that people do care. I admire you for caring about the integrity of the discipline- but I really wasn’t doing what you thought I was doing.

I admire anyone who also studies Literature, and you say you’re a classical musician, I think that’s so impressive! I love classical music! Rachmaninoff makes me feel insane! I love it! You know that one O’Hara poem? The one that is an ode to Rachmaninoff’s birthday that ends “you’ll never be mentally sober” because I feel that line in my bones. And don’t even get me started on Tchaikovsky- Truly, you might never hear the end of it. (CAnnoNS!!!!??? what a guy)

I just wanted to clear up anything that you found offensive- but I also defended myself because you do know what I’m talking about when it comes to literary study- and so the conversation took priority over the other meaningless “hate” messages I get. And- boy howdy- I've been getting hate messages pretty much daily.

Promise to no longer be condescending to me and I think we ought to be friends and not fight- let me start- what did you concentrate on for your PHd?

I, myself, focus on post-colonialism, feminist theory, and post-modernist thought in American Literature. I work mainly within US Multi-ethnic literature, though, outside of school, I have an intense fascination with medieval or ancient Literature- primarily, these days, classical Sanskrit poetry. Last year it was an obsession with old Norse literature- lol I like to switch things up. Have you ever read the Heliand? It’s about Viking Jesus- so cool and written in old Saxon! But, anyway, I think the unique prosody of Sanskrit is so neat-o. My other obsession is this one old french poem called "le roman de silence" what a crazy little gender-bending 13th century thing that is (haha). And this doesn't even get into my philosophical preoccupations- though I believe I will discuss those on my blog, too, at some point.

Anyway- perhaps I will talk about my more niche interests on this blog- all good things in time. I have no interest in solely focusing on Taylor Swift forever- but I do want to finish saying all the things I’ve been holding back for years. I think it’s important- because Swift holds such a massive influence over people. It’s healthy, as you said, to critique people like that.

Okay- Sorry I talked soo long. Peace Out :)

#anti taylor swift #ex swiftie #linguistics #literary criticism #literary theory #literary analysis #academia #english lit student

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mixelation · 1 day

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okay. weirdly i keep seeing solutions for the problem where copying a google doc to ao3 creates huge gaps between lines, but NONE of these solutions are as easy as what i do. okay here goes

in the google doc, click the "line & paragraph spacing" button (the one with the double arrow and three lines)

next, from the drop down, select "add space after paragraph." bam! now whenever you hit return, google docs will automatically add a double space between lines without you having to hit return twice. it will copy and paste into ao3's rich text editor without adding more space, and the formatting will be readable in google docs.

unfortunately you cannot retroactively add this into a document you've already written because it will double the space you already have, in which case i will direct you to a script to fix formatting issues for you. (i've never used this script so i can't vouch for it.) although sometimes i forget to set up my doc for a few paragraphs, and it's not hard to change the setting and then manually delete the extra spaces.

another tip: sometimes for italic script, ao3 inserts a rando space before punctuation, so it looks like this:

Huh, that's weird !

The key to fixing this oddity is that the punctuation also has to be italicized. So it needs to be:

Huh, that's weird!

(I picked an exclamation mark because the difference is easier to see what I'm talking about, but his happens to me most often with periods because there's no visual difference between an italicized period and a non-italicized one until ao3 has randomly inserted a space.)

#ao3

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chainslobber · 2 days

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There's this one lady at the post office who is the MEANEST bitch on the planet and I hate whenever she's working the front. Idk if you've ever shipped things but there's a sticker you get where you fill out info. I always fill out the info but it's never correct in her eyes.

I had to ship something today to Australia and it asked what it was. I put 'toy', since it's a little keychain thing. She went 'but what KIND of toy? Go refill it out'.

So I went to the back of the line and filled it out as 'plastic toy'. I came back and she went 'no, I need to know EXACTLY what it is'. So I went 'okay :)' and wrote down the entire item name from the website, and it was one of those things like 'small rabbit keychain figure figurine hello kitty plastic girl's toy' kinda names? So I filled that out. And she went 'honey-' and I SHOWED HER THE FUCKING WEBSITE on my phone and went 'you asked for the name specifically. I cannot be any more specific' and she just smiles and goes 'but you didn't fill out if it has batteries or not' and I said 'no it doesn't and she went 'well go fill out the form again'.

WELL since I don't have my walker with me and I'm fainting, I text my husband if he can come finish it for me and she made him go to the back of the line despite seeing me sitting on the floor and god I HATE her.

She does this shit for my art prints too. "What KIND of art print?"

Ma'am it's art, it's a print, do you want to see the ballsack too??

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siancore · 2 days

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Rating: T

Written for the @sambuckylibrary Summer Bingo.

Square fill: Long, Separate Vacations.

Words: 1.2K

Content: Language

It was silly, Bucky realizes now, the little spat he and Sam had had. Something childish that they, at the ripe old age of sixteen and seventeen, were too old to be acting like. Summer was too long to be wasted on being upset with one another because of childish, silly things. Still, Bucky is nervous about reaching out to Sam. He is afraid to even look at Sam's social media for fear that the other boy has unfollowed, unfriended, and blocked him.

Sam had said he was glad that they were going on long, separate vacations -- and even though Bucky had tearfully agreed with him, it was breaking his heart day-by-day, piece-by-piece.

His vacation is three days in. Three long days without hearing from his best friend. Bucky cannot enjoy the time spent with his family because he is fretting for Sam. Longing for Sam.

He chances a look at Instagram and sees that Sam has not blocked him. He scrolls through the pictures that his friend has posted. Sam is there hugged up with Sarah, Maria R, and Rhodey. He is wearing a bright smile. The Louisiana sun reflects in his pretty brown eyes, causing flecks of amber to shine through.

He is stunning. Bucky is so gone on him. He wishes they hadn't have had their stupid fight before Bucky and his family left for New York. There is so much he wants to say to Sam. So much more than what his stupid mouth will form; more than his heart will allow.

Just then, he is drawn from his pining by a notification on his phone. He follows the notification, opens his messages, and feels a familiar fluttering in his tummy: Sam has sent him a DM.

Sam has reverted to their old ways of being playful, it seems, and Bucky is happy for it. A little teasing and flirting between friends might be just what he needs.

Fuck it, Bucky muses. What harm can it do to just be real with Sam in this moment?

Bucky feels like his heart is going to leap out of his chest. They often flirt with one another; they often engage in playful banter. But Bucky feels a shift in their friendship right now, even though there are so many miles between them, and there is still a lot left to be said. Without giving it too much thought, Bucky closes the message thread and then calls Sam. He answers on two rings.

"Hello?" says Sam.

Bucky's tummy does a little somersault when he hears his friend's voice.

"Hey, Sammy," he replies. "I'm sorry about our fight."

"Me, too," Sam replies. "It was silly."

"Yeah, it was," Bucky agrees. "Let's not fight again, okay?"

"Sure, if you stop bein' annoying," says Sam, but Bucky can hear the smile in his voice.

He grins back and says, "Well, only if you do."

They both share a little laugh and then the line goes silent for a moment. Bucky speaks once more.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Buck?"

His heart feels like it's in his throat, but he continues to speak. He is determined to tell Sam how he feels.

"I meant it, y'know," he starts. "What I texted you. I do miss you. I miss you so much."

"I know," Sam replies softly. "I miss you, too."

Bucky smiles widely and then lies down on his bed before he says, "I wish you were here."

"Yeah?" asks Sam, and it sounds as if he is getting comfortable, too.

"Yes."

"What would we do if I was there?" Sam asks, and Bucky has to tell himself to calm down.

"Well, I'd take you wherever you'd wanna go. My treat."

"Sounds nice."

"I'd introduce you to my family," Bucky adds. "My Grandma would love you."

"All grandmas love me," Sam proffers with a grin and Bucky can hear it.

"True, but my Grandma would love you most."

"How do you know that?" asks Sam, and his voice is sincere.

Bucky clears his throat and then says, "She keeps sayin' so. I mean, she says she's gonna love you when she meets you."

"How does she know about me?"

"I talk about you all the time," Bucky admits.

"It's been three days," Sam reminds him. "You couldn't have spoken about me to your grandma that much in three days."

Bucky lets out a small laugh and says, "Maybe I talk about you all the time when I FaceTime with her. Maybe she asks about you, too. Maybe you're all I wanna talk about."

"Oh," says Sam and Bucky can practically feel Sam's blush through the phone. "That's, umm. That's cool, but probably not necessary."

"I can't help it. I like you, okay?" Bucky blurts out, not being able to stop himself. "I like you so much, Sam.

Bucky cannot stop now once he has admitted that to Sam.

"That's why I talk about you all the time to my Grandma," he offers. "That's why it's only been three days away from you but I feel like I'm losin' my mind here without you. That's why I wish I we could spend the summer together instead of apart. It's because I like you. I like you, y'know, more than a friend should like another friend. I like you more than I've ever liked anyone else in my whole life."

His heart is threatening to leap from his chest. His face is warm. His palms are sweating. He finally said it out loud. He finally said it to Sam. In that brief moment, Bucky feels panic rise up inside. He doesn't get the chance to wallow in it because Sam is saying his name softly on the other end of the line.

"Buck?" Sam whispers.

"Yeah?" Bucky replies.

"I umm, I like you, too," says Sam with such earnestness that Bucky thinks he might cry.

"For real?"

"Yeah," Sam replies. "For really real."

Bucky lets out a nervous little laugh and says, "Cool. That's uh that's so cool."

"Yeah," Sam replies after a little nervous chuckle of his own. "So, what does this - what do we do now?"

"Count the days until we see each other again and make out about it?" asks Bucky with all of the hope and bravery his seventeen year old heart can muster.

"Damn, okay," Sam replies with a giggle, sounding somewhat flustered. "I'm down for that."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Bucky feels like he just might float away. He feels like his chest is full and there are a thousand little butterflies inside of his tummy. He feels like everything is right in the world. He wants to kick about and giggle and tell Sam how pretty he is and how badly he wants to kiss him. He wants to run out into the living room of his Grandma's house and tell her that his Sammy likes him back. Instead, a realization comes to him.

"Crap!" says Bucky as he covers his face with his hand. "This really is gonna be a long ass separate vacation."

#sambucky #sambucky teen au #sambucky social media au #sbsummer2024

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rapha-reads · 18 hours

Text

I tried to resist the urge but at the end of the day ranting about Romeo and Juliet is my most favourite thing to do, and ranting about vampires is also in my top 10 regular hobbies, so...

Louis, Lestat, Armand and Balthasar, or, a R&J x IWTV unplanned rant.

Under the "read more" because it got long.

Balthasar is introduced in the play as "Romeo's man", often modernised in various adaptations as his valet or his page. The footnote in The Arden Shakespeare 2012 edition states that:

"Shakespeare introduced the name for the part in the play, though it is not, of course, his invention. The name, which is also found in Comedy Of Errors, Merchant of Venice and Much Ado, occurs only once in the text of R&J, even though the character speaks nearly 30 lines in the final act."

Three things from that only: it's a common enough name, at least in Shakespearian texts, that the character could be switched for another one; he's so inconsequential that he barely even managed to make his name known ; yet despite his apparent unimportance, his role at the end is extremely crucial in closing in the tragedy.

What lines does Balthasar speaks and whom does he speak to throughout the play?

Man waits until Act III scene 1 to make his entrance. Given his function as Romeo's man, you'd think he'd be a bit more present before that point, but no, Balthy waits until everything's gone bad to arrive like "Grandma, it's me".

Romeo asks him "How doth my Juliet? That I ask again, / For nothing can be ill if she is well." The beginning of his answer could lead you to think that he's about to lie so that Romeo can still be "all well", but, naaaah, sike, he's here to deliver news and he's going to do his job. And the way he does it doesn't leave any details to the imagination:

"Then she is well and nothing can be ill. Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal soul part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it to you. O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir."

"Her immortal soul"... We'll come back to that point when we'll get to the vampires. Interesting to note that he says he saw with his own eyes Jules' laid down in the Capulet's tomb, but there's no indication in the text prior to that line that he really did. Some stage adaptations have Balthasar lurking around as Capulet and Cie put her in it, most movies totally ignore Balthasar's entire role - which I will come back to in the second part too. In a way, one could think that Balthy didn't see anything, he just heard the news like any other Veronese people, and didn't wait for more information or even actual confirmation and hurried on ("took post") to tell his master. Which, he does say it himself, that's his job, to keep Romeo informed of the going-ons of Verona in general and Juliet in particular. But, man, what are your sources, actually? Whose your informant? What authenticity does your information have, except from "source: myself"?

And then homeboy has the audacity to tell a desperate and ready to commit all kinds of violence Romeo to "have patience. / Your looks are pale and wild, and do import / Some misadventure." You think?? After this we lose track of Balthy while Romeo goes soliloquising looking for his cuppa poison. ... I don't want to tell you how to do your job, Balthy, but aren't you supposed to always follow your master closely...? How are you losing him so easily? Well, to be fair to him, Romeo does send him to "hire those horses", but that's a really thin excuse.

Balthasar reappears then in the Comedy of Situations that is "everybody and their mothers come visit Juliet's body" (you know, Warm Bodies did have a point; the zombies and necrophilia jokes do write themselves). First he enters with Romeo, and then for once shows some working brain cells when Romeo tells him to peace out and he tells himself "For all the same, I'll hide me hereabout. / His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt." Yes, thank you Balthy, maybe stay inside the crypt itself... Nope, okay, I don't know where he hid but Paris "14yo is perfectly acceptable to marry when I'm 30" Escalus makes his own appearance unbothered and unstopped. Great scouting skills there. Granted, he was the first on the scene actually, but if Balthy really hid close by, he should have witnessed the altercation and maaaaybe stop it. But no. I think he's having a drink with Paris' page. Current body count: 3 (yeah, Juliet's not dead yet, for those following).

Then Friar Laurence arrives on the scene. Oh, hello, Friar My-Ideas-Will-Definitely-Work-Trust-Me-Bro. Balthy emerges from the shadows (from where? Who knows, not me and certainly not Willie the Bard himself; homeboy was lurking, planning the best moment to reappear to create maximum chaos I guess). Their discussion goes something like this:

Laurie: who're you? Balthy: come on bro, you know me. Laurie: oh, hey Balth, so nice to see you? But what the heck are you doing here? Balthy: yeah I'm here with Romeo that fail emo lord lol. Laurie: Romeo? Whaaaat? How long has he been here? Balthy: eeh, 30 minutes? Maybe 45? Dunno but it's been a while. Laurie: Jesus fucking H Christ, okay, let's get into the fucking crypt. Balthy: no thanks, without me. I told Romeo I was leaving and if he sees me still here he's going to break my neck. Laurie: ugh, fine, you coward. I'll go alone and I'm not even afraid. Actually I lied I'm scared out of my mind but I'm better than you so nah! I'm going in. Balthy, walking away: oh yeah, another thing, I was napping, ahem, keeping watch, and I think I dreamed, I mean, hallucinated Romeo killing another dude. But I don't think that's real. Anyway, hasta la vista, losers! [Exit] (sadly not pursued by a bear)

I paraphrased, naturally. And... That's Balthasar's last lines. So to recap: he's supposedly Romeo's man, hence, by his job's function, supposed to always be with him and protect him; he only appears at the end of the story to make sure that no one else can get to Romeo first and maybe tell him about Laurence's plot. He always says he's going to keep an eye on Romeo, or tries to get him to stop, but actually never does anything. Literally, by his own admission, while he's supposed to make sure Romeo doesn't do anything drastic visiting Juliet's tomb, he took a nap: "As I did sleep under this yew tree here"! And the only two people he speaks to are Romeo, whose sole purpose at this point is to die, and Friar Laurence, whose role is to fake-kill Juliet, which leads to both of them dying.

Given all of those elements, one could then consider Balthasar's role in the play as an agent of Death. Death being a character in Her own right in the play, according to some readings (I admit, the idea of Death being the one pulling the strings as Fate would do is something I very much like but is very much inspired by the French musical).

So. Balthasar, agent of Death, purposefully or accidentally, but undeniably, leading the main character to his own death and carefully not stopping nor even interacting with characters who could stop the final act.

And that's who Louis-as-Lestat compares HIMSELF to. Yeah, Louis calls himself Balthasar, let that sink in. So, spoiler alert for those like me who haven't read the books, but Armand later on is going to lie and tell Louis that Lestat died in the fire that burned down the theatre, lie that Louis will totally believe and that will certainly influence the decades of his relationship with Armand. We know Louis is absolutely not over Lestat, we know Lestat is weak at this point, and wants to scare Louis but also get him back, and we know Armand is a lying liar who lies and twist the truth to better serves him. And we know Armand was jilted by Lestat and while he (genuinely?) loves Louis, he's also bitter that Louis got what he himself couldn't get. We also know that Louis is extremely conflicted by his vampiric nature, that he's a stone cold killer but he's also constantly trying to get away from it, that he hates himself and all vampires but also hates humans and all of humanity. We know Louis feels immense guilt at what he thinks is Lestat's murder, and that this guilt is weighing on him enought hat he conjures up a mental Lestat to follow him around and sass, bitch, moan, comment and critique for him.

So, why is it interesting that Dreamstat calls Louis a Balthasar?

Let's go back to two points already evoked earlier. Balthasar makes a point of mentioning Juliet's immortal soul - in the text, it's evident enough, they're Catholics, Heaven, Hell, bla bla bla. Transposed to the idea of vampires, it does lead one to question first if vampires have souls, secondly, what are the limits of immortality. It links to Louis' questioning of his faith, the morals that he fiercely defends but abandons rather quickly when they don't suit him anymore, and his survivor's guilt vis-à-vis his brother first and Lestat secondly.

The second thing is the way Balthasar is generally erased from the known Romeo and Juliet narrative. From an intradiegetic POV, Louis could mean it as "I'm Balthasar because this story is not my story, I barely even appear, only at the very end, and even then, I'm not important, and I certainly do not want to be the focus of attention" (which could also be linked to the coven complaining that Louis hunts sloppily and will expose them all, and that's actually a point in the Death's emissary column, huh). From an extradiegetic POV, the writers might have chosen to compare Louis to Balthasar because in most screen adaptations, the first part of his role is given to Benvolio (announcing Juliet's death) and the second part (talking with Laurie) is totally erased. Which means that people who haven't read the play (or have but aren't totally obsessed with it *cough cough*) and only know the story through the movies or the musical, would have NO idea who Balthasar is. And that's what Louis tries to be: a nobody, a Monsieur-Tout-Le-Monde, unimportant, invisible, unknown. The way Balthasar is for everybody. Quasi inexisting.

And the final part of the parallel, and that one is definitely extradiegetic, is that Louis brings Death wherever he goes (although maybe in a way, after Lestat and the woman vampire in Romania, Louis thinks that of himself too, but let's not go there just yet). His arrival in Paris is what disturbs the equilibrium of the coven, makes Armand questions what he's doing here and how long he can keep going like this, drives Claudia even more away from him, and intensifies the resentment and inner conflicts of the coven. Which will all lead to the theatre burning dow, the coven dying, Claudia dying, Lestat presumed dead and 70 years of toxic married Loumand. Unintentionally, the way Balthasar seemingly unintentionally too, doesn't protect Romeo, which leads to not only his and Juliet's but also Tybalt and Mercutio's deaths (and Paris too). Unintenionally, but who's pulling Balthasar's strings, Death, Fate itself? Who's pulling Louis' strings? Armand? Lestat? Or is he such an unreliable narrator that he's passing himself as a victim of circumstances while the reality is that he's fully aware of what he's doing...? To be determined.

If you've made it to here, thank you so much and don't hesitate to tell me what you think! You can find my Tybalt/Mercutio fic here, and my essay on adaptations of Tybalt and Mercutio on screen here.

#romeo and juliet #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #r&j #iwtv #interview with the vampire season 2 #iwtv s2 #iwtv spoilers #shakespeare #balthasar montague #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #armand de romanus #meta #iwtv meta #r&j analysis #rapha talks #rapha writes #that was fun!!

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