#and she'd find some joy and peace in it all
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Is it okay if I ask what type of s/o would the Gods be into? I find that really interesting and would like to hear your opinion since I really love your writing <3<3
This request came just right, bc I really want to write but I'm mad busy rn, and this was a lot of fun! so I kinda wrote for ... everyone.
If you're conventionally attractive, you are in Zeus' dating pool. You're exceptionally beautiful? I'm so sorry. Once he has set his eyes on you, you are not safe anywhere. There is no other factor that matters, except maybe if you're exceptionally hospitable and kind to guests, which might attract his attention. Which is not a good thing.
Poseidon would love someone unpredictable, someone who never gets boring and never fails to surprise him or catch him off guard. He'd love the excitement of it all and is generally pulled to exciting and outgoing people, but also people who are more introverted but break out of their shell at unexpected times.
If Hades had a type, it would for sure be someone a little more ... alive than him. He's clearly going for that opposites attract thing, just look at Persephone. Also, I reckon he'd like someone who can stand up for themselves, as standing up to his brothers was always very hard for him and he would admire you greatly for it.
Demeter would like someone who is humble, orderly and respectful and appreciative of the beauties of nature. Someone who finds joy in the little things and never fails to call their grandma for her birthday.
To be honest- you don't have a romantic chance with neither Hera nor Athena, Artemis or Hestia. Though I thought it would be fun to make some platonic headcanons for what kind of mortal they would take interest in in a platonic way.
Hera admires loyalty, it doesn't even have to be to a spouse, it can also be your family or friends. Also, she appreciates people who remain strong even in the face of long term hardships or anguish, and it might earn you her favor. It's not that she pities you, but that she admires your strength to keep fighting. Also, she'd love to talk shit about men with you as much as the next goddess...
Artemis isn't about the whole opposites attract thing. As with Orion, she is likely to make friends with someone who shares her interests, as she also surrounds herself with her huntresses. She loves to talk about hunting and the wild and would like someone who isn't afraid to get themselves dirty. If you're a guy, it's pretty hard to get in her good grades though.
Athena is all in for academic weapons. Critical thinkers, challenging the status quo and earning great archivements. Someone she could have an intellectual conversation with, who offers new points of argument and is able to hold their own in an argument, she is the goddess of warfare after all...
I don't think there is anyone Hestia doesn't like, though she would favor people who spend a lot of time with their family and are kind and hospitable to others. Kindness to strangers is something she very much appreciates.
Apollo doesn't really have a type. His mortal lovers are symbolic for his creative inspirations, so he would not settle for a type but be all over the board. The variety of his lovers concludes that Apollo isn't looking for a specific kind of person. He simply watches or spends time with someone and BAM he's completely and utterly in love. He does love himself an artsy spouse though.
Ares needs someone calm and peaceful- it might seem a little contradictory, but Ares needs someone to ground him, to listen to him and provide the calm for his storm. Actually, he's all for domesticity, though a hot love affair doesn't turn him away either. If his spouse had a strong personality and could stand up for themselves, he would really respect that, but he would also be your guard dog if that wasn't the case. Ares just needs someone to love him unconditionally, quite like the next god on the list.
Not to be disrespectful but Hephaestus does not care who you are, he's just happy with someone who treats him with dignity. Be kind to him and he is putty in your hands. After all his family put him through, he'd also appreciate someone to rant about them to, who can also sit in silent understanding with him at other times. But honestly, he isn't setting the bar very high.
Not to call her vain, but you would have to be insanely beautiful to be on Aphrodites radar. She simply considers herself too good to spend her time on anyone who isn't pleasing to her eye- and that really cuts down the pool of potential lovers. Also, she would only stay around for someone who is ready to give their full attention to her at all times, she is a very demanding lover.
I think Hermes would want someone who is able to keep up with him, but also root him when he overdoes it a little. It would take quite a lot for him to actually stick around, because for him to make time in his busy schedule, he'd have to be head over heels in love.
Dionysus would probably not have a specific type either, simply because he wouldn't want to cut short his dating pool. Though he would like someone who is able to let loose at least sometimes and surrender to his pull of madness and ecstasy.
Extra: Eros would mostly go for someone attractive, but he wouldn't let that be the only factor. Just as the unpredictable and surprising nature of his arrows, Eros could fall for anybody, picking out a trait he loves about them and obsessing over it for the day (I'm thinking 'Someone New' by Hozier if you know what I mean).
#greek mythology#greek gods#greek gods x reader#greek mythology x reader#apollo x reader#zeus x reader#poseidon x reader#hades x reader#hestia x reader#hera x reader#demeter x reader#athena x reader#artemis x reader#aphrodite x reader#eros x reader#hermes x reader#dionysos x reader#dionysus x reader#ares x reader#Hephaestus x reader#apollo#zeus#poseidon#hades#hestia#demeter#hera#hermes#dionysus#dionysos
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I random Idea suddenly appeared in my head (I was about to sleep but this is more important). Originally I had two Ideas but I thought.. Why not combine them? My first idea was a neglected reader who can see ghost.. Like, one day she just developed this abilities. Imagine how it would go if Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne were still in the mansion and looking after the batfam. They can see how Bruce Wayne is threatening his daughter and stuff.
The second Idea was a more realistic neglected reader where she's really neglected and I don't mean birthday is being forgotten or what not.. I mean real neglect where she had to work for money and her own food.. Where she has to learn how to cook for herself and learn how to do things at the very young age. I want to see her actual struggle for survival where there are times she barely makes money so she had to go hungry for some days.. Sometimes she resorts to stealing foods just to eat.
I wanted to combine these two but I'm too sleepy to continue two peace out ✌👉
-🔱
The sudden burst of creativity right as you get in bed is such a serious problem- like pls- I had like 10-12 hours where I could have done all of that- why at 3am?😭😭
When I first read this, it was way so late, and I was like "cooking her own food and working isn't neglect-" and then I realized I am in fact poor, and due to the necessity of my parents needing me to be somewhat independent my view of that point is skewed- also the reader is going to be quite young at the start of being in the family so really, a five or 10 year old shouldn't be operating the stove without supervision or finding jobs to pay for necessities-
Reader is the oldest sibling(I love the forgotten oldest daughter trope) in this for various reasons(angst) and I am so keeping ghost!Thomas and Martha btw-
CW - postpartum mental breakdown/psychosis turned into attempted infanticide via drowning, miscarriage/suicide/drugs mentioned.
My thoughts on how this MC came into Bruce's care come down to three options: Bruce and her mom were actually lovers and married, but after Reader's birth mama either left, had a postpartum breakdown, and is now rotting in Arkham, or she died. I personally prefer the Arkham route, but dying during childbirth is also quite angst filling. (Let's all ignore how I keep fridging Reader's mom, pls)
----
Martha and Thomas were by your mother's side as soon as she walked in with you in her arms, Martha almost crying at the sight of your scrunched up face, still wrinkly and flushed. They were both so happy when Bruce found love, both were so sure he'd die alone in some alley, and when the news of the pregnancy came, they were right there, celebrating with their son as if they were still alive.
But Bruce got busy, too busy with both Wayne Enterprises and being Batman. And while your mom had her friend and Alfred, she needed the reassurance of her husband. Martha was the first to notice the cracks.
They both noticed how you'd look at them as if they were right there, so they'd interact with you. Playing with you, making sure you wouldn't bump into anything when you started crawling five months later- but while Thomas would teasingly crawl after you, Martha couldn't help but keep close to her son's wife.
She tried her best to soothe her, trying to give her some warmth from beyond the veil. She knew what was happening- well... to some degree. Martha, too, went through post-partum depression, however, hers stemmed from losing Bruce's unborn brother. Martha hoped to be there for her daughter-in-law before she tried something she'd regret- The dead woman thought your mom would put herself at risk, try to take herself out. She feels guilty that she hadn't seen it earlier.
Your mom would sometimes stare at you for hours, and while it worried Alfred, he brushed it off as the woman simply admiring the bundle of joy she created. He, like Bruce, had other things to attend to. He was sure everything was fine, your mother simply loved you too much.
None of the living expected what happened, mainly because of their own willingness to ignore the clear changes, but Martha and Thomas did. They stuck around even after nightfall, so when at three in the morning your mom walked in and took you out of your cradle, they were hot on her trail.
Obsessive thoughts about your baby, paranoia, sleep problems, hallucinations, and delusions were all symptoms of postpartum psychosis, easily confused with the similar symptoms of postpartum depression.
It'll be easy that everything went to shit quickly- but it didn't. Martha and Thomas watched with pure confusion as your mom filled the bathtub, the thought that she may harm you not even crossing their mind as she held you close, swaying side to side while humming some lullaby. It was a slow build, but when she did submerge your head under the water and firmly held you there, it sure felt like a hundred years passed right through Martha.
She doesn't know how she did it, but Martha was screaming her lungs out as she and her husband pushed the woman away, making her slump against the opposite wall, but neither could pull the plug out, leaving you fighting to keep your head above the water.
Alfred ran as soon as he heard the yelling, a chill passing through him for a moment as he thinks it sounds way too familiar, and your wailing, pausing just for a second to look at your mom, shaking in the corner as she mutters to herself, before he had you in a tower in his arms. Both of the dead Waynes dropped next to the bathtub, clutching at their unbeating hearts and shaking
Bruce is left depressed, traumatized, and with a baby who keeps crying. This wasn't how it was supposed to go in his mind. They were supposed to be happy, the it couple with a sassy baby to boot, they were supposed to grow old, he was supposed to hand over the Batman mantle to you.
Now the responsibility of caring for you fell on Alfred, Bruce being unable to care for himself, let alone a baby he couldn't look at without bursting into tears. And Alfred did his best... for maybe three years.
As soon as you started walking on your own, Alfred started pulling away, redirecting his attention to his usual work. By the time you were three years old, you barely knew of the existence of Bruce. Not because you actually saw the man, but because his parents tried to tell you about him.
You were a quiet toddler, mainly due to learning that if you cried, only Martha and Thomas would show up, and they really couldn't do much. Hell, they barely taught you to speak, but oh, did they love to hear your little transatlantic accent in the few sentences you could make.
They were indulging themselves, really, especially when you'd call the mama and papa- "No, MArtha! I'm not crying, you are, my dear-" They both were tearing up the first time it happened. They were indulging themselves with you, because if their focus wasn't on you, it would be on Bruce, and both were so disappointed in him.
They tried at first, exhausted themselves trying over and over again to nudge their boy towards his daughter- typing on his laptop, writing in the mirror, leaving her toys where he'll find them- nothing worked.
So they redirected their attention to your education- they were terrible at it, but Alfred sure as hell didn't seem to care- so they did their best. You could read perfectly, however, your writing isn't the best, and your speech was stuttered most of the time as you preferred to be mute. There really wasn't anyone to force you to speak, your father's parents unable to get much out of you, especially if they pushed. Teaching you sign language was the best course of action.
For the early part of your life, Alfred still cooked enough to leave leftovers for you to munch on, but sometime along the way, he stopped. Martha and Thomas were stumped. They were raised with buffets and golden spoons glistening in foods they didn't even think about how they were being made.
There was also the problem of you being too short to reach the stove top. Your newfound diet consisted of toast, sandwiches, salads, and the occasional baked potatoes and meat. As you grew older, you got better at cooking, mainly due to sneakingly searching the internet and quickly writing down recipes.
Sadly, the problems keep piling up. The more you grew, the more you needed new clothes, new shoes, sanitary stuff from pads to toothpaste- Bruce couldn't be bothered to be a presence in your life, so you tried to talk to Alfred. With no avail. The old butler was simply too busy, moving past you with more speed than you could keep up with. But you needed money, so despite Martha's protest and Thomas's worry, you went outside the manor.
At first, you did meager jobs that people gave you out of pity. Washing that, trimming the lawn, throwing away this, helping the old lady with carrying bags. It didn't pay well, honestly, it was mostly trading, some clothes or food for a bit of help. Until a goon of the Penguin stopped you.
You weren't stupid. You knew the package was drugs, but the amount he was willing to pay was simply too much to refuse. You guessed that was the perk of the public thinking you were dead, no fear of being kidnapped for ransom.
You became a familiar face among them, and while most were ticked off by a kid being involved, there were a few who threw in a few extra bucks. Martha and Thomas hated it. But you started having clothes that fit, food that wasn't burned, and even had a few extra to buy yourself treats, so they held their lips shut. You usually just put the extra money away.
By the time you turned thirteen, you just wrote Bruce off as a man incapable of love. But then Richard "Dick" Grayson came along. And then Jason. And Tim. Despite Martha and Thomas trying to tell you that it wasn't you, that they loved you- Bruce was just-... They couldn't justify it.
The more time passed, the more you thought those two were hallucinations your mind made up to stop you from going insane. You stopped talking to them. You stopped even acknowledging them. By the time Tim fully settled in, you had left.
There was nothing for you there, you took care of yourself for so long, you didn't need Alfred or Bruce- no matter how much you cried at night, wishing for an ounce of the attention they give the boys- and threw yourself into the crime world. There wasn't anything else you could do. You had no school, could barely write, let alone speak- but you were a good mule, and if someone picked you up and decided to train you to be a weapon, you were fine with that.
When John Constantine first set foot in Wayne Manor, the first thing he saw was the bat's dead parents glaring at him. He expected a lot of things when Bruce called him in need of help, angry grandparents who were worried for a runaway granddaughter, who had been missing for years, and that Bruce forgot even existed, wasn't one of them.
----
This took quite a lot of hours to write- kinda rushed towards the end.
Other thoughts:
If Reader did get picked up by a rogue, it'll be funny for them to be either Uncle Two-Face or Slade... It'll even be funny if it were Talia or Ra's after Jason left.
I strongly believe the Reader wasn't even sent to kindergarten.
I also think Martha and Thomas may have lied and told the MC that her mom is dead instead of institutionalized.
If there is supernatural shit, trust, John Constantine will make an appearance.
It'll ALSO be funny if Reader came to terms with her being able to see the undead, so she also becomes a mage/hunter on the side, kinda like the Winchesters. So when John finally connects the dots, he's just like- "Oh. Oh no. We have a bigger problem here."
Dick at first thought Batsis was a helper. So did the others until they were corrected by Alfred. Nobody cared to ask for further info, except for maybe Jason, who asked once why she isn't eating with the family, and it made Alfred pause for so long that Jay just assumed she's mean.
#anon ask#🔱 anon#neglected reader#batfam x neglected reader#female!reader#fem!reader#thomas wayne#martha wayne
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Request!!
Jenna Ortega x Reader
Summary: Jenna and R are like on ldr cuz of her work, after mooonthhss, J surprises R by going back home early to her. J gets so worried cuz R isn't in the house, and she can't contact her. R gets home wasted, J confronts her, R breaks down, rambling about how she just misses Jenna, not knowing it is actually Jenna who she was speaking to... she mistakes her to be Emma..😭🙏🏻
unbearable uncertainty
Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader
Summary: request! ^^
Words: 3.3k
Warnings: slight angst? maybe? bittersweet??
a/n: wrote tara carpenter smut then dipped. oh my god, i truly apologize for going on an unknowingly and unbearable hiatus from writing. but on the bright side, i met someone whos truly so special and i cherish the most on here :] thank you for the request and im sorry if ive been holding it back for months!
(ps. ive forgotten how to write entirely, please be patient with me)
Long goodbyes were never easy.
How could Jenna ever forget the last piece of comfort she felt in your arms as you held her for the final time before she boarded the plane? The warmth and security she found when you whispered "I love you" was something she couldn't find elsewhere.
You hugged her so tightly, Jenna felt as if you were trying to fold her into your very being.
You always did that, always have.
But you held her a little longer. Closer, tighter. As if it'll be the last time Jenna falls in love with you. It felt too surreal when she heard your voice started breaking in tears like there was a cloud over your heart Jenna used to bring life in.
She tried to memorize every detail of your face, every line and shadow, every crease and every feature like you were a past lover she's been searching for, she wanted to hold onto each imperfection and perfection as if capturing this moment in her heart could somehow lessen the pain of parting.
When you reached out, gently brushing a stray tear from her cheek, and she leaned into your touch, savoring the warmth that would soon be gone. It was a gesture so tender, so full of love, that it made her heart ache even more.
Would she have done something differently? Perhaps tell you she got it all wrong, tell the producers and chosen to live in peace with you and frolic in some field of flowers like a coming of age movie.
No, she could only swallow the lump in her throat and urge her heart to stop grieving for something that wasn't even dead but merely distant.
Vermont proved to be a cold comfort, like winter for a thousand nights without somebody to hold on, stark contrast to the warmth she'd known for all these months.
The first night was the hardest—cruel, even. As she unpacked her bags in the apartment paid for b the producers, it was a far cry from the home you had shared. Despite its charm for space, it felt emptier than it should've been. A shell.
Jenna remembers lying awake that night, unable to find solace even in the darkness. Each thought weighed heavier than the last, fearing you would grow to resent the fame she would have declined in a heartbeat if given the choice, that loving her had become more of a chore than a joy.
The frequent overseas flights and constant altering of time zones only added to the strain, affecting even how her heart would beat. Conversations became shorter while days grew longer, and only letters and distant updates from you brought reassurance. She missed the moments of quiet intimacy, the laughter shared, and the smile she could reach up and kiss, the comfort of knowing she was always there for you.
It was a constant routine of staring at the ceiling, desperate to imagine your arounds around her and your warm breath against the neck. The loneliness was a crushing weight, far more realistic than a mere idea it was. Unbearable.
She found herself wanting for the familiar warmth and solace that only your presence could provide her. She would watch herself listening for your voice, remembering how you would tell her if she's been overworking, half-expecting to hear your laughter or even a slight tone or maybe even the sound of your footsteps.
She always found small ways to feel connected to you.
The letters you sent were her lifeline. She would read them over and over as if it were new ink, tracing the words with her fingers that carried your thoughts and reassurances, imagining your voice speaking them. Each letter was a piece of you, a reminder that you were thinking of her, missing her just as much.
The voice calls were both a blessing and a curse.
Hearing your voice brought her comfort, but it also made the distance between you feel even more unbearable. She would stay up late into the night, talking to you, laughing with you, sharing her day and listening to yours. But when the call ended, silence would descend, and the emptiness would return with a vengeance. She would lie in bed, clutching the pillow, trying to replay the sound of your voice.
So it was a huge, pain-in-the-ass problem for her, the amount of calls and thousands of sleepless nights with her arms wrapped around a pillow instead of the love of her life was a step away from insanity. It seemed dramatic, but can you blame a girl!? Love always had a way of making seem things insignificant in comparison.
Another grueling month without the love of your life? She couldn't and wouldn't even bear it, you would have to finally cut the two parts of her brain in half and throw away the other one to endure that kind of torture.
So what started as a joke with her finger hovering over the "book flight" button while on the phone with you turned out to be, surprise surprise, not even close to a silly little joke.
She clicked it impulsively, without a second thought or even a first one.
Her heart raced faster than ever with the thought of seeing you again. Feeling your arms around her, hearing you laugh, smile, and talk was all the motivation she needed. It was like a recurring dream you’d betray another day for to live in.
And here she is now, at your place, luggage in hand in the dead of night, looking like she fled the country, with that familiar airport scent still clinging to her clothes and hair. She smelled like whatever hit-terminal coffee it was that day and recycled air.
Jenna's been muttering to herself all evening, "Pick up, pick up, pick up, oh my God, who leaves their house unlocked!?"
Her phone, balanced on her shoulder, was one slip away from hitting the ground, and she was one missed call away from losing it. She imagine the look on your face when you saw her standing there, unannounced yet so desperately wanted, not like wanting to send out a search party for you!
It was voicemail after voicemail, a ring before a cruel tone that mocked her for seconds, the unknowing certainty that something had happened to you.
You’ve been M.I.A ever since she arrived, and the last text she received from you was a breezy, "I’m going out tonight with co-workers" followed by a thousand kisses. The gesture was sweet, but it’s not helping now that it’s 12 fucking a.m. and you’re nowhere to be found.
She paced back and forth in your living room, the anxiety gnawing at her insides and the sharp pain from her palm to her heart had never been so severe.
Every creak of the floorboards made her thoughts race, hoping it was you finally coming home. The silence of the house was deafening, broken only by her thoughts replaying your voice. She glanced at the clock on the wall that displayed digits she seriously did not want to see.
She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep until she saw you with her own eyes, until she could touch you and confirm that you were truly safe.
Her hands immediately went back to her phone, wondering if your co-workers would even answer a distress actress concerned about her girlfriend if there was a high and 100% chance they were wasted with you. Obviously, each call went straight to voicemail.
Why is being sent on delivered the most humiliating ever!?
"Fuck," Jenna cursed under her breath, her head lowered in defeat as she stared at the countless of messages she sent to your friends, co-workers, shit even your family!
The only thought going through her head is "thank you for birthing Emma Myers."
emma
just said goodbye shes round the corner
sent one attachment
going back to her place
Even light couldn't travel as fast compared to how quickly Jenna reacted when that attachment processed in her brain. It was a photo of you (thank fuck), looking a bit tipsy, sure, maybe knocked in the head, but you were unharmed, waving goodbye to Emma.
The wave of relief that washed over Jenna felt like an overall baptism—a splash of water to commemorate coming back to a harsher reality than she didn't expect, but reality nonetheless.
She almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but she shoved the thought aside. Her focus was on you, and getting to you as fast as possible.
If you weren't going to come back home sooner or later, she'd come to you. Geared up and mentally preparing everything to combat the cold weather, plants of how she would take care of you, and a surprise. Aka, her.
Is what she would've followed through if she didn’t hear the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.
The sound was so abrupt. Too sudden and swift it nearly made her jump out of her skin unlike any scare people tried on her.
Her heart pounded as she turned towards the door, hoping, begging, and nearly willing the universe to grant her at least one moment of sanity. She watched the door creak open, and there you were—alive. You stumbled in, eyes bleary but safe, and Jenna felt the tension drain from her body as if it had never been there.
"Y/n—!" Jenna's sudden movement was a blur, barely having time to embrace yourself before she collided with you, the force of her embrace nearly knocking out the ragged breath you had left.
You could've noticed the slight tremble in her frame, heart pounding against your chest, and a hand clinging onto your shirt that pulled you closer if you weren't drunk.
“Daaamn, girl, you walk faast! I swear we dropped you at your street?? Why are you in—shit—in my house??” Your voice slurred and you stumbled as if the very act required more effort than you could muster, mind sluggish and your sense dulled, voice thick and unsteady.
You were undeniably and completely fucked. To say the least.
Drunk, Intoxicated. Mentally impaired. Right, how could Jenna even forget that?
You barely managed to step inside when your legs gave out, sending you tumbling to the floor.
The world tilted and spun around you as if you were a sun blinded by its own solar system. Your vision blurred and you struggled to make sense of the swirling images and a familiar blobby brunette girl in your home.
To no surprise, Jenna was at your side in an instant, crouching down with her face filled with concern as she looked you over, her arms reaching out to steady you. "Y/n… Why on earth do you have a huge straight bump on your forehead?"
"I…" you mumbled, blinking up at her. Her face looked like one of those spiky and blobbed images you see through a rain-streaked window. "I was—I was watching one of those 'how to be a good girlfriend in an LDR relationship' videos on the way home. And—and well, there was a pole."
Jenna's expression shifted, concern to curiosity. "What… What? What do you mean? Why? Why are you searching those—"
You felt like your chest was closing in on you, your throat mimicked those of a barren wasteland, and embarrassment washed over you like a tidal wave. You wanted to shrug it off, to laugh and tell her you were just curious, that it was nothing. But you couldn't.
"Because!" you burst out, voice trembling as you looked away from her eyes, "How else am I supposed to believe that I'm good enough when Jenna's halfway across the world? When every time she touches me, it's like she thinks I'm everything you've ever wished for in a star, and I—"
You faltered, your breath catching, the words threatened to slip away from you, but the emotions, doubt and fear—they had been building up for too long. You couldn’t stop now, even if you wanted to.
"I don't deserve it, I'm not enough for her. There's something more that i should be doing, something more I could be, because how can I be enough when she's there and I'm here? I can't hold her, I can't comfort her when she's stressed, I cant show her how much I care every day like I want to. How am I supposed to truly feel that I'm doing fine and she's feeling loved? Every time she tells me that I'm enough, I try to believe her, but—but there's this voice in my head that keeps saying, 'What if she's just saying it? What if one day, she realized she was wrong? That I'm not great, that she's just loving a version of me she created in her head, that she finds a fatal flaw in me that keeps her away from loving me? What if I'm not who she thought I was?"
You can't speak anymore, but your mouth persists in words like a machine. Your eyes already welled up, you bit your lip to stop it from trembling and forming a frown.
"I want to be perfect for her. I want her to feel like she's never missing anything from me or feel like she's falling short from the love she gives me and I give her. But I don't know how to do that. I don't know anything. So I watch those stupid videos to hope I'll find a way to be enough, to finally feel like I am. But no matter what I do, it feels like it'll never be. How can I be it when I'm not with her? How can I be enough from so far away?"
Tears blurred your vision as you tried to reach out, "I just miss her, Emma. I just miss her so damn much. I thought I could handle it, you know? That I could be strong, that I could keep it together until the next time I saw her. But it's been too long, I keep feeling like I'm falling apart. That my relationship is falling apart for her. I thought maybe if I just stepped back, she'd find what she needed without me getting in the way."
"I try to keep things feeling normal. I try to tell myself that the distance is temporary, that we’re strong enough to make it through, but what if we’re not? What if the longer this goes on, the more we rip apart? I don’t want to lose her, but I feel like I’m losing pieces of us every day."
"I'm scared, Emma," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared that one day, she'll take all her words back, she'll realize it's not enough. That every text she sends me is in complete dread, that she's just staying for the hell of it. That she finds a better relationship than what we have now."
Your gaze was locked on the floor, but Jenna's eyes were on you, wide and creased with confusion. The words you've thrown at her just echoed in her mind, looping relentlessly until they became the only thing she could hear along with the race of her heart thudding so loudly. She had been silent the whole time, listening to you pour out your fears, insecurities, on how much you've missed her.
She shouldn't have. She wasn't Emma.
Jenna's eyes flickered to you, your eyes was stuck on the floor, your shoulders slumped as if you were carrying the weight of the world. And in that moment, despite the ache in her chest, all she wanted was to hold you. It's the only thing that felt natural for her.
She closed the gap between you two, close enough that her knees brushed yours, and slowly enough as if she were afraid that you might pull away. The contact felt like a connection, barely there, yet it grounded you and your worries. It felt familiar.
Jenna's breath as she looked at you, her eyes searching your face for any sign that you were uncomfortable, that you were still here with her.
Without a word, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around you at last. Her touch was tentative, she was unsure you wanted her there, but as her hand rested on your back, she felt the subtle rise and fall of your breathing. You were relaxed in her arms, you became yourself underneath her hands. She pulled you in closer like she was trying to shield you from the weight of whatever thought you had put on yourself.
"Y/n," she spoke, you knew that voice. it wasn't distant or abstract, it was real, present, and undeniably her. You knew this. The fact that you didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. In fact, the moment her presence reached you, it was as if a piece of you had been anchored to the ground again.
You knew her.
The warmth of her skin, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as you let yourself pull in her, it was familiar, comforting. You hadn't even realized how tightly you've been holding onto your fears and worries. But now, with her, they're no longe the loud and consuming force they had been before.
"Jenna?" you whispered, your voice was barely audible, trembling as it left your lips and hope it gets through with her.
It was the first time you had said her name aloud in her presence. You could feel her heartbeat against her chest, the steady rhythm that took both of you off. You pulled away from her embrace, looking at her as if you saw a ghost.
"I'm back home," she whispered back, her voice soft like it never changed.
Her words settled into your bones, offering a comfort that you didn't realize you've been craving so desperately. And for the first time in what felt like a long time, you allowed yourself to believe them. She wasn’t just saying it—she meant it. Jenna was here, she wasn’t going to leave.
You didn’t care what she had to say; it felt impolite, selfish even, but all you wanted was to crash into her arms like you had before. You were no longer standing at a distance. You didn’t think, you didn’t hesitate, you just moved.
With a sudden rush, you wrapped your arms around her as if she were the only lifeline you had in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control.
You clung to her as you murmured her name over and over again as if it was a prayer the heavens needed to hear. Your fingers gripped the fabric of her shirt and every part of you was aware of her. How her body felt against yours, the way she held you felt like a promise saying she wouldn't let you go in her life.
“I’m so sorry,” you choked out, your voice shaking as you pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, your tears blurring your vision. "I'm sorry for everything. For doubting you, for pushing you away when you clearly didn't want to.
"You’re finally here," you murmured, as you looked up at her, "You’re back with me."
Jenna's grip around you tightened, and you could feel her smile that always made you float in the air, even though you couldn't see it. "I missed you," she said softly, "I was so worried about you and I kept thinking about all the things we used to do together. I missed the way you laugh, the way you always know how to make me feel better. I just wanted to hear your voice again, to feel close to you. Don't worry about falling short, I'm already standing on a mountain of love that you've given me."
It was her, she was the same Jenna you've always loved. How she held you in your arms, how she kissed you after apologizing countless of times, how she feels in your arms, how she moves, how she laughs, how she makes you feel like you're safe and secured. Uncertainty washed away from you.
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Brief explanation on my interpretation of these guys
Cait; an animal, when cornered, begins to roar. It puffs itself up, feathers and fur raised, teeth bared. An animal with its claws out is an animal afraid. Cait does not want to hurt—but she doesn't want to be hurt. A victor is not a victim—a predator, not prey. She had it beaten into her, and beat it into herself so she'd never forget. The claws are always out, teeth always bared, eyes always flicking across the room. But once she starts recovery, she's free to be herself. Cait slows down. She sleeps in when she feels like it. She eats when she has an appetite. She takes the time to bathe, to brush her hair and teeth. Once the loudest, brightest burning fire in the room, she mellows into a match—the potential of explosion is there, but for now, she's only a little light. Her eyes are no less sharp, but Cait only wants to be left with her friends, and enjoy the peace and quiet she can steal away for them. Her ambitions are small and unimpressive, and she appears more like a cat lazing in a sunbeam than any pit dog.
Curie; well meaning, and sweet, but too smart for her own good and she knows and acts like it. She wants the best for you, but she thinks she knows what that is. Sometimes she does, but Curie often forgets that people are more complicated than the biology that comprises them. Curie is bubbly, and social, but struggles with the idea that her perception of things is just that—her perception. It could be a result of her coding, her nature as a preprogrammed robot with set realities, or it could be a sign of her humanity. It's the critical flaw every human has, after all. Her sense of justice is too strong for her body. Her grief is too strong for her body. She examines each sensation—anger is in her cheeks and chest. Joy is a lightness in her head. Sorrow is a bitter lump in her throat, and cold hands. She wants to help everyone and everything. She knows she can't. She will try, anyway, and no one needs to know if it hurts. There is no other fate for someone so kind.
Danse; He once called the thing in his chest Wrath. Righteous connotations, implied justification and the promise of vengeance. Whatever brought this Wrath will meet it. The Wrath was provoked, summoned, and therefore, the summoner is the hand of their own undoing. Danse doesn't think about how this frees him of accountability. What he does is not his fault. The blood is not on his hands. He's a tool of Wrath—not one man of thousands, free to choose for himself. Danse doesn't respect himself enough to believe in his own judgement. He finds himself a stumbling fool, soft in the heart, fragile outside of his armor. Gentleness comes naturally to him. Such a huge man, and his heart is still too big for his body. He is equal parts intelligent and kind, but a soldier has no need for his own mind, and kindness has no place in war. Danse doesn't trust himself. He doesn't trust that his choices, his ideas for the world, are right. He leaves himself in the hands of the Brotherhood. The responsibility is no longer his.
Deacon; You can't change a soul, and Deacon seethes at this. He is the same man he was all those years ago. It's only his body that he can change. Even then, only by so much. His eyes are recognizable. Silvery blue, tired, and paradoxically, as sharp as they are dull. He never looks like he's fully there with you. Always a few steps into some other reality. Deacon wants to be good. He wants to clear his name. It really is Deacon, but no one needs to know. He is the same man. He lies about what he's done, the things he's seen, but he'll never lie about what matters. So, he will always be Deacon, because the important parts never change. He knows and hates this. The synths are what drive him now—people looking to be themselves, to wear their own face. He gets it more than any other human. Sometimes he wishes he was a synth, just so he didn't have to be Deacon. But he's stuck with himself. He keeps himself company through all the faces he wears, and leaves them when he feels to close to a life he could make for himself. A lie left to settle could grow into a truth. He loathes himself but fundamentally, there is a good man in there. Only a good man can want to be better. But he feels that good man isn't good, that being good is what he has to reach for first. He is stuck in a loop of trying, when he doesn't have to try. Deacon is Deacon, and he doesn't know. He isn't unsalvageable. Just buried so deep under attempts he doesn't need to make. The only forgiveness that can save him is his own.
Gage; if Cait is a pit dog, Gage is a bull. This creature is no gentle thing, those horns are not merely regal. But in other life, he could have sat with his field and his herd. He could have watched the clouds roll on by with the wind, and kept watch on the outskirts of his pasture. A gentle thing, lumbering and quiet, but on guard. Always waiting to gore. Even as he circles his farm, he has kept it this long because there is nothing more dangerous than he. But as it stands, he has found what he thinks is a calling in violence. It doesn't come as naturally to him as the stray dogs he runs with. Meat has no place in his flat teeth. But he runs with them nonetheless and keeps pace. He leads the charge whether they admit it or not. Gage is strength and sharpened bone, but they were never meant to initiate. He is meant to stand his ground. He was meant to protect. But no one saw it coming, the bull with the predators, and surprise is a deathblow. It's easier to hunt than be hunted. You eat what you can get even if it fits wrong in your jaws.
Hancock; There is a flavor found in the guilt of the privileged that you can't find anywhere else. He was raised wealthy, well off. When he was younger, he watched others starve, die, suffer, and knew it was an aspect of life. It was nothing to mourn. It was inevitable. Between the exile and his revival of Goodneighbor, Hancock feels his biggest crime is not finding his shame sooner. He will say he has no shame, no embarrassment. Hancock lies awake at night thinking of every meal he's eaten when there was enough to spare for everyone else, but they went hungry. He thinks of people beaten in streets and how quickly he turned around. He thinks of how his own survival is selfish when so many good people die. Hancock is anger given flesh. It's not like Cait's; his is a wailing misery, stalking the ruins and knowing what Graveyard he steps in. Hancock feels too much sympathy for him to handle. He has to numb himself or he will lose it. He'll break under the shame of not knowing better sooner. Hancock finds blood on his hands that isn't there. Most of all, he hates how bad it makes him feel. Hancock thinks he has no right to the shame or the pain. There is worse. His disgust at his inactions is not enough. It's isn't enough that he tries to help now. He didn't help then. Hancock doesn't forgive easily.
MacCready; A quiet boy raising a quiet boy of his own. MacCready seeks peace in a way most people can't. He finds sunbeams filtering through windows, plants creeping through concrete, birdsong on the wind. MacCready is the everyday wastelander; too young to see the things he's seen. But he's different. Robert finds enjoyment in the world around him. He entertains himself, takes pride in his skills, and takes pleasure in good company in such a simple way, he feels almost out of time. In other world, he could have been the one crawling out from a Vault. MacCready is haunted like anyone. His ghost doesn't terrify him. Her memory is a comfort. It hurts and always will, but MacCready wanders on. He finds toys for their child and takes interest in them as if he's still a little boy himself. He feels as much, most days. MacCready is often distrusted, but often very beloved, because he is himself. There is no character, no mask, nothing warping the man you speak to. He is a kid trying to take care of his kid, but he'll take a moment to crack jokes at you and talk about something he read in a magazine. For someone so materially greedy, on a personal level, all he wants from anyone is pleasant conversation. It's refreshingly human in a time where even humans seem more like monsters.
Nick; A painful period of one man's life, etched into hardware and frozen forever. The man dies but his pain lives, trapped in the agony of grief and betrayal. If Hancock is anger in flesh, Nick is disgust in a jar. Disgust at the injustice, at the trickery of a mastermind, the wasted life of a fine woman. Disgust at himself, fading away into a bitter old man who failed his city and his love. Valentine was a very good man who took a very dark turn after Jenny. Nick is the moment before he fell off that precipice. If Nick knew who Valentine hardened into, he'd have yet another crisis, another thing to brood over. Nick is so loved by Diamond city because he is an inhuman thing, but so capable of love and tenderness. He is all give, and incapable of take. You can't give him anything in return, and you don't need to. He's a robot very good at comforting. A robot doesn't need comfort. Nick convinces himself of this, as well. But people try. Humans get attached to the inhuman. A child hugs his leg and says they're glad he made it back. A guard throws an arm over his shoulder when he can't save someone and tells him he still did good. People hand him patches of fabric for Ellie to sew into his trench coat. Nick is loved. To be loved is to be known. Nick doesn't even know himself.
Piper; The plight of the angry woman rarely leads to a happy ending. The angry woman has her reasons. She is right. However, there are techniques to achieve results. A battering ram doesn't fix a door, it merely opens the path. Piper sees problems, but her solutions forget the complicated world around her. She wants to fix things. Some things can't be fixed, or the problem isn't actually what she thinks it is, or maybe it's just not the right time. Piper sees a problem, and the simplicity of knowing it has to change is enough for her. She barrels at the betterment of the world and doesn't think about it. She is angry that things are wrong. Piper is a young woman scared out of her mind, for herself, her sister, her community. The people around her beg her to be careful, to slow down, to not burn herself in the attempt to set the evils around her on fire. Piper doesn't realize how reckless she is. She doesn't realize that her life has value beyond fixing everything. A reporters job is to report. It is not to be a savior. Piper speaks the truth, but when nothing changes, she thinks her job isn't done. Her job is to spread the word. Piper thinks it is up to her to act on it. Her work will never be enough for her.
Preston; A good man hanging on by a thread. So close to being a monster to the people preying on him and his kin. Preston holds civilians in one arm, and a gun in the next. He has lost much of his mercy, and much of his patience. But he still acts on it. He knows right from wrong even if the wrong seems like it's the only thing that can soothe the fire in his gut. Preston lets people talk about him as if he is a gentle soul, still. As if he's merely a gentle lamb. Preston feels more like a guard dog who can still smell the bloodied wool of all the herds he's failed before. He won't even grace the next pack of wolves with a warning howl. This rage terrifies him, but Preston feels that being scared is how you stay alive, now. If you're not scared, you're not paying attention, you haven't noticed the torches on the hill. He is so angry it makes him sick. Gunshots from Quincy still ring in his ears. He still hears Hollis hit the ground dead. Preston wants to be a good person. He is one. But there is so much fury inside him, that he fears any chance of revenge that he gets will rip that away from him. He just needs one chance, and he'll be a monster like the Commonwealth has never seen before. He'll just be on its side.
X6-88; A robot with human traits, different from other synths. All of them have humanity they hide away, but X6 is exactly what he seems like. There is no internal softness, no tenderness or wanting. He doesn't stare at the sun and ponder his existence. He doesn't count the stars and think about what makes up a soul. Oddly, his disinterest in his humanity is rather human in itself. X6 is not concerned with his rights or his status as a living thing. This frustrates many in the Institute. Synths were made to be adaptable. In many ways, X6 isn't. He's the most inflexible motherfucker they've ever met. There is one way to do things. There is always an answer for a question and if you haven't found it, the question is pointless or you're stupid. Humanity doesn't seem efficient so he doesn't want it. He fascinates many. Most synths will give a long, careful answer about their existence, worded just so they don't get wiped. X6, when asked if he is human, will say no and look vaguely irritated that you could compare him to one. This is not intended. No one programmed in this lack of curiosity. He is so robotic, so one note, that he sticks out like a sore thumb from the other synths. X6 wears his inorganicness like a badge of honor. He is not human. He is better. The Institute argues about him constantly, whether he is an accidental success they didn't know they should strive for, or a black mark against everything they believe.
#did i say brief?#haha. ha.#fallout 4#fo4#paladin danse#nick valentine#preston garvey#x6-88#piper wright#porter gags#robert joseph maccready
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Caught in a Lie
Maxiel x Reader
Genre: Smut
Summary: The reader gets caught in Max's shenanigans and decides to take the blame. Daniel isn't happy she lied for Max, third time WDC or not.
Warnings: BDSM, dom/sub, sub reader, switch Max, dom Daniel, spanking, unprotected PinV, Overstimulation, mild denial if you squint, Max being a menace
Notes: I have a website now! It would mean a lot if Y'all checked it out. I'm still working on it but it's a fun creative project. It's still in the works, so if you have suggestions, I will gladly take them.
Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi
It really wasn't her fault. Max had been the conspirator. She was just the bait. Unknowingly, mind you. The bastard had done this on purpose!
Winning a third title had inflated his ego far too much. They couldn't celebrate properly in Qatar. Alcohol sure, sex had to wait. Not because any of them wanted to, Daniel had made it a point that sex, especially the kind they do, needs to come after races. Thursdays and Fridays can be soft things. Saturdays are an absolute no. Then Sunday comes around, and they are trying to get back to wherever they are staying as fast as possible.
Now, back at home in Monaco, nothing to disturb their peace. They decide to ruin it all by going out. It's one of her least favorite activities. Being in bed with the cat has her name on it. But Max wants to celebrate, and Daniel is social, so she drags herself out of bed.
She should've known something was amiss when Max said he got something for her to wear out. She should've known it was going to end this way when Max whistled at her and laughed, whereas Daniel's eyes had darkened. The familiar look he gets when he wants to absolutely take her apart and build her up piece by euphoric piece.
She'd caught Max's arm on the way out. "What the hell are you playing at?"
"Felt like a show tonight," he shrugs, then winks at her.
The black dress barely covers her ass. It's lacy all over and sheer aside from the important places. She wears stuff like this often since it's something she likes. It doesn't make sense why this would be the thing to drive him insane.
Dancing had been fun. Their other Monaco friends had come out with them to celebrate. Daniel's eyes had burned into her every time she moved. Much to her surprise, he wasn't the only one.
Carlos Sainz is staring at her from the corner. He looks like he's trying desperately not to but failing miserably. He turns away every time she catches him, still exuding confidence.
It's not well known that she's dating Max and Daniel. They've been friends for a long time. Friendship turned into a situationship, which then made them confess. They look like they always do to the outside world. To touchy to simply be platonic but no real announcement that any of the three are taken.
Carlos was staring, Daniel was glaring, Max was smirking, and she was the center of it all. Embarrassment hit her like a train when she realized she'd been played. Max was watching Carlos stare at her and snickering about it.
Feeling insecure, she went to get some air. The joy of feeling nice in a dress Max had picked out now ruined from knowing why he did it. He was playing a game. He could've at least asked first.
Daniel and Max find her outside slumped against the wall. She can still hear Max laughing about something and it's pissing her off.
"Stop laughing at me!" She throws her arms up in defeat and turns her back to them. "I didn't ask to be ogled at by Carlos, Max."
"Then why did you pick that specific dress?" Daniel spins her around and pins her to the wall. A shiver runs up her spine as his breath sticks to her ear. "The exact one Carlos had mentioned wanting to see on a pretty thing like you."
She doesn't know whether to blush or cower. She ends up settling for both at the same time. She debates her options. Either she tells the truth and saves herself, or she takes whatever punishment is coming her way.
Once. She will do this one time for Max since he just won his title.
"I picked it out because I thought it looked nice and you would like it. I swear I didn't know Carlos liked this dress and was going to be here tonight." She's pleading desperately with her voice. Maybe she'll get lucky.
Max has gone oddly silent. She tries not to even look at him, let Daniel figure out she's taking the blame for the Dutch.
Daniel is still staring her down. The silence hanging thick between them until he decides to break it. "Anything to add, Maxy?"
Noticing Daniel's mood, he doesn't answer. A smart move by him. Daniel just hums and grabs her wrist to lead the charge to the car.
None of them speak during the short ride home. She hates every second of it. Daniel is probably mulling over everything he wants to do to her. She feels like a child waiting for their parent to start a lecture.
Daniel waits for them to get their shoes off before turning to face them in the entryway of the apartment. "Where'd you buy the dress from?"
And he'd seen right through it. "I don't remember."
"You don't remember, or you weren't told?"
She winces when his tone goes soft. The one that makes her drop to her knees for him. Well, any tone from Daniel can have that effect on her. This one is just the one that makes her all fuzzy in the head. “I don’t remember,” she whispers.
Daniel sighs heavily. “Alright, if you’re not going to tell me the truth then I guess I’ll have to spank it out of you.” She nearly falls over, but manages to catch herself. “Bedroom, clothes off and on your knees.”
She scrambles to comply. The drop is imminent at this point. She just hopes Max enjoys the show because this will not be happening again. At least, she hopes.
The clothes come off and are folded neatly in a pile. She feels cold, exposed, and bit insecure, and then yet the floaty feeling is threatening to spill over. Her knees digging into the carpet don’t help that.
Max comes into the room silently. Daniel must have said something to him because he kneels next to her. Not a rare occurrence, but is mildly unusual.
“Max.” The stern tone has Max grumbling, but he gets back up off the floor, strips, then kneels again.
Daniel beckons her over to him. Her face is flushed red with embarrassment as she stands between his still covered legs. “You have the choice to tell the truth or not. I’m not mad at you, but I’m sad you felt like you needed to lie about what happened tonight. So, I’m going to keep spanking you until you tell the truth.”
“Yes sir.” It comes out so easily; a second nature now. She lays across his lap, trying to hold back the already threatening tears.
“What are your colors, baby girl?”
“Green is good, yellow is slow down and talk, red is stop.”
“Good, what’s your color?”
“Green.”
She’s probably too far gone already to really say no at this point. She just needs his hands on her in any kind of way.
The first hit shocks her. It’s not the hardest he’s can go by any means, but it still stings. “I’m gonna keep going until I get the truth.” She remains silent and another hit lands to the other side.
The next three have no rhythm and are more towards the tops of her thighs. She whimpers a bit but doesn’t give in. This is for Max. He wanted a show, he won the title, and she’s willing to, unfortunately, provide.
Daniel tugs her hair back and forces her eyes to look at his face. Four more hits and she’s hissing. Each one is harder than the last.
She starts getting hazy around number twenty-five. She's taken more, but the fact that Daniel keeps sweetly telling her she can stop this by telling the truth makes it worse. Like every hit is sending further to the breaking point. Not the good one, mind you, the one where she cries and tells him the whole story.
"Just tell the truth, baby." He lands another five hits in rapid succession. Each one burning more than the last. The tears have started free falling and are making Daniel's leg wet and salty.
"Color baby?"
"Green," She manages to sniffle out. Voice high and cracking. Why is she getting punished again? Oh, right, for Max. It should really be him up here.
The overwhelming urge to do as Daniel says hits somewhere around hit forty. The breaking point has reared its ugly head. She starts bawling her eyes out as the last hit is the hardest she's received thus far. "Yellow!"
Daniel halts any movement. "Did that last one hit too hard?" The softness in his voice only brings more tears.
"I'm sorry!" She drops all her body weight over his legs. "Max got the dress. He said he picked it out for me. I didn't know anything about Carlos. Then, right before he left, I asked him what was going on, and he said he wanted a show. I figured he did just win his title, and I didn't want him to get in trouble, so I lied."
"Oh, baby girl." Daniel helps her up and lays back so she can plaster herself on his chest. "I knew what was going on, but I wanted you to tell the truth. I'm not mad at you, okay?" He runs soothing fingers along her spine. It only makes the tears come harder. "That must've been hard! I'm so proud of you for telling me the truth. I know you wanted to do it for Max, but sometimes Maxy needs to learn his own lesson."
Daniel slides out from underneath her and grabs something from the bedside table. "I'm gonna take care of you now, okay? You did so well. I'm not upset. I just needed to hear the truth." She doesn't hold back the tears as Daniel works on getting her cleaned up. "So good for me," He coos to help her calm down.
She's lost all sense of time. She has no idea of how long she's been over Daniel's or how long he's been cleaning her up for.
She's still splayed out on the bed facing, now facing Max and his solemn expression.
"Here's what we're going to do. Max wanted a show, so that's what he's gonna get since we are celebrating his win." He turns towards Max. The Dutch's knees can't be feeling good at all. Daniel leans down and forces his head upwards. A few seconds at the Australian, then holding on her.
Daniel drags over a chair and rips Max up from the floor. "You are going to sit here and watch. You will not move, you will not touch, you will not make a sounds. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, color?"
Max looks oddly and achingly hard from her position. It makes her wonder if this is actually what he wanted or if he's just slipping further. It takes more to put max down, but Daniel is good at getting him there if the occasion calls for it.
"Green."
Daniel, much to her relief, finally gets his clothes off. He leaves on his boxers for the moment, though the outline of his hard on is obvious. It has been since they got in the car to come home. “Baby girl, do you want my fingers or my tongue tonight?”
“Tongue please.” Pleasurable shivers run down her spine. Sometimes, she’s convinced that Daniel was molded by Greek gods and sent to live among the humans solely because his tongue can work miracles.
Her head hangs off the bed giving her an upside-down view of Max. His skin has flushed even more since the last time she saw him.
She doesn't get much time to think about it. Daniel's tongue presses against her and she loses herself. He knows her body like it's his favorite book to read, movie to watch, and song to hear.
Her fingers slip easily into his black curls. His hands are on her waist, absolutely buried in her. She's going to feel the bruises soon, but it only adds the pleasure of it.
Her free hand flies to cover her mouth out of habit. She makes it half-way before Daniel snatches her wrist and pins it to her side so he can grip both her hip and her hand.
The strings of moans and profanities leaving her are not even close to the way she can hear Max whining behind her. High pitched and desperate.
Daniel is lapping at her like she's producing healing waters and he'll die without it. Nose bumping against her just right. The grip on her body only getting strong as she writhes around in ecstasy.
"Sir please - need to - please-" It comes out strangled in panted breaths and heavy moans.
He doesn't stop. Never does to tell them yes. Daniel taps her hip with his index finger three times. She jumps over the edge without any kind of hesitation. Plunging herself in the familiar feeling of warmth overwhelming amounts of dopamine and serotonin.
Her back arches. Daniel holds her in place as her body contorts in every direction in an attempt to push him away. He is unmoving wall. A force she can't do anything but submit her body to.
Daniel leaves her alone for a mere minute. Only to drag Max over, fingers clutched around the back of his neck. He slams Max onto the bed and manhandles him until he's right where Daniel wants him.
He then moves to flip her. In between them and still sopping. "Think you can keep Max in your mouth?"
Of course she can, she's done it enough times. The consent thing still makes her melt either way. "Yes, sir."
"Good, I think we've tortured Max enough. We are still celebrating his win, after all." There is a hint of mischief behind Daniel's eyes that doesn't go unnoticed.
Daniel, mouth still wet with her, kisses Max in the sloppiest manner she's ever seen.
She stares in awe for all of ten seconds. Her ogling is cut short by Daniel gripping her hair and shoving Max's length down her throat. She gags at the suddenness but recovers quickly and gets to work.
She can't see what Daniel is doing anymore. Their positioning is not the most convenient for watching. She can hear it though, and It's driving her insane. Max's body is quivering and it's an effort to stay where she is and not bite down every time he jerks in a different direction.
It takes less time than normal for him to spill down her throat. Daniel is quick to rip her off and get her over Max. Her ass still stings from earlier, but she could care less as Daniel plays puppet master and guides Max into her.
It's a stretch, Max certainly isn't small, but she's well adjusted.
She loses her head again when Daniel sets her pace. Max is wrecked from the lack of stimulation into a constant stream of it. Daniel rips off his boxers and slams into Max's mouth. "Bet you wish you hadn't done all that snickering, huh?" Max is so far down that his eyes are rolling at Daniels tone. The gentle one that is condescending enough to make anyone whimper.
Daniel keeps talking, she's registering his voice, but has no idea what he's saying anymore. She can't even hear past her own moans. She can't feel anything besides the hands on her body and the overwhelming number of endorphins flooding her mind.
Kissing. Daniel is kissing her through another jump off an even larger cliff.
Flipped over again. This time Daniel is slamming into at an unholy pace. Maybe Daniel is a fallen angel. To good with his body to stay in heaven, so he brought heaven to the humans.
Fingers. Max's fingers are everywhere. He shoves them down her throat and coos as she mans around them. Rough calloused hands made for drowning her in whatever this cacophony of feelings is.
Her favorite song on replay. Over and over and over again. Never getting old.
She comes back to herself at some point. Nobody has clothes on still. Daniel and Max are gently coaxing her muscles to still.
"Hey baby, you passed out on us." Max's voice is still fuzzy. She groans in response. Every inch of her is in some state of pain, pleasure, or both.
"We're gonna try a bath, okay? I want to help the bruises as much as possible." She nods against Daniel's chest, agreeing that would be a brilliant idea.
"Before we do that though, I want so apologize." Max sounds timid and unsure of himself. His hands wring together in anxiety. "I shouldn't have set that up. It made you both uncomfortable and I should've just asked."
Daniel pulls Max back on top of their cuddle pile. "I would've happily made this happen and I will happily do it again."
That same mischievous glint comes back to Daniel despite the exhaustion. They end up laughing deliriously all the through their aftercare routine.
Yeah, she'd happily do this again too.
#redbull racing#f1#daniel ricciardo#daniel ricciardo x y/n#daniel ricciardo x you#max verstappen x daniel ricciardo#daniel ricciardo x reader#x reader#f1 fic#formula 1#f1 fanfic#racing#max verstappen#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen f1#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fanfic#daniel ricciardo 3#daniel ricciardo imagine#maxiel#redbull daniel#redbull#redbull f1#dr3 imagine#dr3#mv1 x reader#mv33 x reader#mv33#mv1
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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Relationship Headcanons ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
ft. Robin, Firefly, Kafka.
˚₊‧ I've been writing a lot for my favorite men, even though I would drop all of them for a chance with any of these women, lol. So, here's some thoughts on my favorite women of HSR in relationships ˚₊‧
warnings: none - any mentions of kissing/physical touch are really brief; reader has no specified gender.
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‧₊˚✧ [KAFKA]✧˚₊‧
⇢ Not exactly sure why, but when I think of spending time with Kafka - or being in a relationship with her - my brain automatically pictures a more elegant, sophisticated(?) kind of life with her.
⇢ She's the kind to shower you in gifts (preferably clothing, jewelry, accessories like that) - not in a suffocating manner, but whenever she's out and about, she'll find something that she thinks would be perfect for you.
⇢ Secretly adores just spending quality time with you while some classic music is playing in the back - or any other calm, peaceful background music, though she'd definitely prefer something ''instrumental''.
⇢ While she's not necessarily the ''listener'' in your dynamic, she loves just listening to you tell her about your day, or talk about your interests, etc. When it comes to her being the talkative one, she feels...well, as peaceful and secure as she can around you, something that (to people close to her) even reflects in her expression.
⇢ Definitely compliments you all the time. If it's not a direct and obvious compliment, then its ''subtly hidden'' in a sentence she dropped while walking past you, or while you're both just minding your own business while working.
⇢ And, for the people that are fans of kissing and intimacy and such: She loves having an arm around you (or a hand on your lower back). It's her favorite way of showing affection to you regardless of the setting. Privately, she also enjoys kissing your cheek or the palm of your hands, if not even your shoulders. Plus, she prefers spooning you over being spooned.
‧₊˚✧ [FIREFLY]✧˚₊‧
⇢ I'm struggling a little to put into words what I mean, but I see Firefly as someone who leads a more ''calm'' life when in a relationship, while still being...lively.
⇢ Let me try to explain: I see her as someone who will always love going on ''dates'' with you, just nothing overly ''extreme'', like...rock climbing or something (lol). She loves exploring new places with you, going sightseeing or stargazing, or simply watching a theater performance, etc. More...''casual'' stuff.
⇢ She's always full of energy with you, and she loves going to festivals or events with you - and while she does enjoy being there for the sake of the events/vibes, she more so loves spending time with you doing something that brings you both joy/excitement.
⇢ I see her as someone who, while definitely enjoying to get you gifts, does so more rarely and takes her time to find something that's more...personal. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if she'd do a pottery course just to make you a personalized coffee cup or something.
⇢ Has dozens of pictures of you two, be it selfies during dates or festivals, or just random pictures of you...just existing, basically. There's definitely a whole photo album stashed away in a drawer. And, for special occasions, she definitely gifts you framed pictures of you two.
⇢ And, regarding what kind of kisser/touchy partner she'd be: Definitely more shy and giddy when it comes to it. She's always really excited when kissing you, but her kisses are more on the fleeting/quick end. Definitely more of a little spoon, and adores holding your hand - she'll want to hold it anytime she can.
‧₊˚✧ [ROBIN]✧˚₊‧
⇢ I want to be cliché and say that relationships with her seem like straight out of a romance movie or something, and while it would sound somewhat dramatic, I do believe that she has this...gentle, beautiful, soft vibe to her relationships.
⇢ While it's a little harder to have complete privacy in public given Robin's profession & popularity, I feel like Robin would adore going on picnics. She definitely loves picking flowers, being gifted flowers, or making flower crowns. Also, just walking around the city and going through e.g. craft stores.
⇢ I can also see her enjoy watching the sunset/sunrise together. She's a big fan of spending the morning together with you while you prepare breakfast, dancing and singing together with you - the same counts for dinner in the evening. Big on baking cookies and such! And she loves handing a few batches of cookies out to neighbors, etc.
⇢ Definitely a person that enjoys physical touch and quality time. While she loves being cuddled by you, I believe that she prefers being the one to hold you, playing with your hair while she hums a melody (which often leads to you falling asleep in her lap). She feels an incredible serenity while just existing beside you.
⇢ Robin would love to teach you how to play an instrument, or just take you somewhere for you both to learn new skills. Once again, just spending quality time with you is incredibly important to her. When you do learn something new together, she loves having some decoration or anything to display that achievement/memory at home.
⇢ And, last but not least, how she is when it comes to touchiness & kissing: Robin's definitely the most gentle kisser of the Three, though I think she'd be more on the receiving end of kisses - loves when you kiss her nose, makes her giggle. You'll mostly catch her kiss your lips & your forehead. And, she loves holding onto your arm when you're walking around in public. Also a big on hugs.

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#listening to burnice by boothill unironically while writing this.#i got distracted by balkan bangers. anyways-#god. i love women. please just one chance.#hsr kafka#hsr firefly#hsr robin#kafka#firefly#robin#hsr x reader#robin x reader#firefly x reader#kafka x reader
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OC that I made which was heavily inspired from @jazjelspen's platonic x reader fic "My Angel Baby" cause I love it a lot! if u haven't read it give it a it's soo good!!;;
ok idk more info abt her again below the cut ((it might be long)):
--
After being killed by the one person who she admired, respected, and loved the most, Elise spent her first few years in Heaven feeling miserable as she felt like everything that she'd experienced and lived through with her beloved father was all a lie. It was depressing.
Of course she wouldn't show her pitiful state with the others, why would she? They're in heaven, it should be the happiest place anyone could possibly be in! No need to be a bother.
Emily, being the seraphim who's job is to bring joy to all of heaven, saw through Elise's front.
Having dealt with some poor mortal souls similar to her before, Emily zeroes in on Elise and does her best to keep her from being left on her own thoughts, always including Elise to anything she thinks she would like and find fun. (Elise initially didn’t want to, though she also couldn’t say no. Emily was so sweet and kind, and that makes her guilty.)
It somewhat helped as Elise’s focus shifted on Emily’s efforts, something that she’ll eventually grow fond of. This kept up until they became best friends! …somehow.
Elise seeing what Emily does daily as a Seraphim? Very admirable. But also Elise decided that she wanted to help Emily with bringing happiness and peace to others, making them both always together almost everyday.
It was taxing, but knowing that Emily does this all on her own, Elise would keep on helping her as Emily has helped her before. Plus, doing this with Emily helped her meet interesting people! Like St.Peter! Or maybe Ruth– or Troy! (the guy who dutifully keeps heaven’s dog park clean, bless you Troy)
Or… Adam? He leaves a lot to be desired.
She also met this really pretty, and sweet, older woman that kind of makes her feel somewhat nostalgic. Elise likes her a lot, and the woman also seems to feel likewise! She’d often invite the younger girl over for tea and such, something she’s always happy to attend to. Unfortunately it was an occasional thing as she’d dedicated herself to assisting Emily with her duties.
That was how her (after)life went by as decades passed in Heaven.
Though… Elise sometimes still thinks of him, her father. He’s down in hell, damned for eternity for all the sins and deceit that he’s committed. Deserving for Alastor, fitting for the monster that he truly was.
They both will never meet ever again, and she strongly believed in that.
…
Oh…
How much she misses her beloved father.
#my art#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel oc#hazbin hotel emily#emily x oc#emily x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#oc#elise
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Wednesday 100: Who By Fire
Denial
Jamie's letter is only upstairs, his familiar handwriting bringing not only the terrible, expected news of his brother's passing, but assurances of his own return. Sailing in two weeks' time, he had promised, and Jamie does not break his promises to her. Better, worse, sickness, health, name, clan, body, blood, spirit...All of those he had sworn and all delivered, just as he will surely deliver himself safely to Philadelphia and back to her arms.
She battles against the pooling tears: foolish, obviously, to cry over a mistake, a fate that is not theirs, despite that same handwriting on the manifest.
Anger
Jack Randall died at forty. If there was any fairness to Jamie's god, each of those days would have been given to her husband instead: Jamie living a century, slipping away peaceful at her side. Instead there is this shearing of his life and hers, while others, less worthy, go on.
Jamie would not like her cursing God, but he is not here to stop her, not here to remind her of the joys they've had alongside their sorrows, to be a reminder of that joy.
Alone, she can only think bitterly that she had thought they had suffered enough.
Bargaining
She would trade anything for him, she thinks, but what does she even have? Her own life for his would only leave him tortured as she, as he already was for too long without her. Her eyes and hands, facilitators of her healing, are dormant and useless now, worth nothing when she cannot imagine reclaiming the scalpel. Brianna, Roger, the children...She chokes slightly on the thought, and the rush of emotion is too much, like rich food after a fast.
They are gone, regardless. She hasn't them to exchange. She would give everything, but every part of her is empty.
Depression
What hurts the most is that she thought them safe, that she had been fooled into complacency having avoided their predicted death.
What hurts the most is that she knows too well how to grieve him. She'd done it for twenty years, after all. She knows what it will be like to continue on heartless, and this time without even their daughter.
What hurts the most is the unbelievable knifing twist of it: not Ian's slow, evident decline, but Jamie, fierce and alive, abruptly taken.
What hurts the most is everything, the simple agony of continuing each second without him.
Depression
Would she have a drop more peace if it had happened some other way? If it had been surrounded by love at Lallybroch, if it had been his warrior's death in battle, if it had been anywhere but on the sea that so pained him?
She can picture him ignoring his illness to aid the crew, reassuring fellow passengers or trying to shelter them, but she will never truly know his last moments. She wishes she did. To know for certain, she would have needed to have been there, would have been with him, would be dead by his side.
Depression
The cobblestones below. The drapery cords, or a sheet twisted tight. The letter opener in the drawer against the veins in her wrists. Ignoring the food and water Mrs. Figg sends.
She has spent years coaxing bodies away from death, knows precisely what it would take to bring hers there, yet simply can't make herself. After the sobs, the memories, the blade-burn of every breath, there is simply nothing left in her — no vitality or desire to live, of course, but no drive to heal or find Brianna through the stones.
Without him, she hasn't even the energy to die.
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eithne's card pull
so i was just going to pull things and then probably take a nap, haha, but then i got way too into this sooooooo... i also pulled these with the idea of the spread being 'past present future' mostly because the internet said that was an easy beginner spread but as kate mentioned in her comment, these could really interestingly be interpreted in so many other spread intentions! additionally, pretty sure i was just terrible at shuffling which is why there is a progression of numbers w/ the cups cards so... i am just deciding not to read into that TOO much ;) though i do love that the ten of cups was reversed so maybe it DOES mean something! IX CUPS wishes coming true, contentment, satisfaction, success, achievements, recognition, pleasure The emotional journey of the cups is starting to come to a close after the volatile ups and downs you faced in the earlier numbers of this suit... This is also referred as the wish card, which means that the things that you desire for, or your most perfect dream is bound to happen. The Nine of Cups is normally associated with extreme happiness and satisfaction. Pulling this as Eithne's 'past' card feels so correct because before her father's death/Roderick, even with Valentina in the house now, she was still on track for getting everything she wanted! She was going to be the lady of one of the most important counties in Astaira, she'd be working alongside two of her besties as the queen and lady of calleary... honestly everything was TOO perfect!! even though she'd lost her mother, there was still this high happening in her life when she saw this bright future and knew her path was set... until it all came crashing down. X CUPS REVERSED unhappy home, separation, domestic conflict, disharmony, isolation honestly i feel like this description from labyrinthos is just... perfection in terms of what is going on in house malconaire at present re: the wedding, her relationships with her step family, and also with how its affecting her sisters as well! The Ten of Cups is truly the most 'happily ever after' card, but somehow this idealized image of domestic peace and comfort is broken, or was unrealistic all along. Instead of connections, you may find distance. Instead of coming together, you may be pulling apart. this feels SO real! eithne herself is realizing that the hope/vision she had of possibly having SOME sort of decent life marrying cassimir is crumbling and that everyone was most likely right about how things would be if she married him! (side note: in @forgottencassimir 's defense-- correct me if i'm wrong lizzy!-- but i don't think it was his intention to deceive her! and maybe he's not even doing the best he could but... i really don't feel like he has as malicious intentions as some people would believe?) i think this also plays in with the relationships with her sisters & friends bc she HAS been pulling away/distancing herself from everyone because of the stress of both everyone (rightly) telling her what a terrible idea this is AND somehow feeling like she's failing them by making this choice. More from labyrinthos... As the Ten of Cups reveals itself, you should focus on redefining your personal happiness and emotional fulfillment. This card indicates a disconnect in relationships or unmet expectations, urging you to reassess what truly brings you joy.
This is DEFINITELY something Eithne should do/possibly will start doing soon! going back to the ever present theme of burden of duty, smth that she really needs to evaluate is if being the lady of malconaire is what would make her truly happy OR is there a way to still be fulfilled (by serving malconaire) but not at the expense of her own life/happiness! X PENTACLES REVERSED family disputes, bankruptcy, debt, fleeting success, conflict over money, instability, breaking traditions
In the presence of the reversed Ten of Pentacles, you are encouraged to reassess your values and priorities regarding family and legacy. This card indicates a need to break free from traditional expectations or material concerns that may be holding you back.
so kind of like i had mentioned above, eithne will obvs haved to start facing/evaluating a lot of her priorities regarding malconaire/her family, etc! the mention of breaking free from traditional expectations sort of hits the nail on the head-- she has this vision of how to care for malconaire as lady m in a very established and traditional way but both because of cassimir/valentina having so much control now PLUS the inevitable need to flee into the woods after the whole witch thing... she' going to have to figure out a different way to fulfill being lady m/not letting down her father. X showing up again def could indicate that there's an ending to her previous vision of her life (as lady m specifically, but also i think just her life in general) and this new life both on the run & without her home that has been such an important part of her life/security.
also the symbols of family (legacy, heritage, tradition) and dogs (loyalty, companionship) in this card definitely play into a lot of what she is/will be grappling with!
#ooc#about#i STILL don't know what this is#but honestly digging into these cards for individual characters#is a really interesting way to get a handle on the different cards!
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Honestly thank goodness you, your work and your writings have been feeding me especially with your Burningcheese and redemption au ((your alternate reality with Pepper Jack is also very good poor boy going through it dealing with the worst versions of his parents))
I’ve only recently gotten more into crk and I’ve quickly learned some things 1.) become a multipshipper you just enjoy an abundance of dynamics that are interesting and 2.) people need to learn to respect eachother more and understand said dynamics between characters and situation ((TikTok and Twitter I’ve seen the worse of this))
So checking on tumblr and seeing your work and writings and explaining your reasons have been such a thankful breath of fresh air. Keep up the good work
Come on now, flattery won't get you anywhere! Seriously though, thank you ❤️ I say it all the time, it brings me a lot of joy to see and know my dorky gibberish actually interests people lol. I know I'm not the greatest writer in the world, nor will I ever be, but as long as people actually find joy and merit in my work then that means I'm doing something right!
(And the alternate reality with Pepper Jack... You mean me barging into cuppajj's Beast Ancients AU and shoving Jack in there? 😅 It's a creative writing exercise I kind of imposed on myself for funsies, really. It's an interesting AU and I found myself wondering how he'd fare in a place like that (him and not his sister, because unfortunately, she'd probably get herself in serious trouble immediately. She wouldn't be able to pretend to be happy or ignorant around Celestial Cheese, nor could she stand to see a bitter, mean, selfish husk that dares to look like her father (BAAU Spice). It would be Game Over for her in a day). I'm basically looking at that AU and my own reflection and going "GUARDS!!! PUT THE BLOND BOY IN A SITUATION!!!" as silly as that is haha)
And yeah hoes be mad about shipping as usual lol. I can't stress this enough, shipping is just playing dollhouse. Play with yours the way you want and extend that courtesy to everyone else. Sure, you don't have to like which dolls other people make kiss lord knows I'd throw 🔺🥛 into an active volcano if I could but there's really no need to get so bent out of shape about it, you know? Just focus on what you like and leave others in peace. Multiship, ship casually, become demonically possessed by a certain ship and allow them to dictate all of your creative decisions for the foreseeable future, just have fun! They're cookies, who cares
Anyway. Thank you for your kind words and support!!! I hope I can keep entertaining you with my stuff for as long as I can! (Also, I hope you're enjoying the game so far!)
#sorry to cuppajj and everyone else for inflicting BAAU Pepper Jack on them. it will happen again 😔#i am a FREE AGENT if I want to put my little bird grandson in situations then i WILL! 🫵💥#burningcheese#goldenspice#pepper jack cookie#might as well tag him ig I talk about him here lol. stay cool bird boy 🐦#merchant asks
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i finally finished the CR3 finale and I just 😭😭😭
it was really good. I loved it & I'm vehemently avoiding any other opinions bc I refuse to let the fandom ruin this for me.
but I already know people are going to complain abt the Vax/Keyleth resolution. and the only thing I can think about is how upset I've been for years, that of all the CR PCs, Keyleth alone was the only one that never had any control over the things that happened to her, how her own narrative was completely overshadowed by Vax, how cruel the fandom was to Marisha, & how this is clearly something that has upset Marisha for YEARS.
and Liam has said multiple times that he was in a bad place during much of CR1, he was grieving, and idk. he's a different person than he was when he played Vax. and I may be making assumptions, but I get the sense that he & Matt both have regrets about some of the choices they made in CR1.
like i think it would cause some sort of feelings to see your very close friend grieve your fictional OC for YEARS. and maybe after playing Caleb & seeing him heal and find closure he regretted that Vax never got the same, and he regretted the effect it had on not just Vax's friends in game, but his IRL friends.
CR3 is about looking back at our past mistakes and choosing to walk a different path. And I feel like the entire cast has grown as storytellers & people, they've matured & lived through ten years of grief, love, joy, & sorrow. I wonder if looking back, they realized that they no longer agreed with the choices they made in CR1 or its themes, and they realized they hadn't just hurt Keyleth the character, but also Marisha the player.
imo CR1 was unfair to both Marisha & Keyleth in so many ways, from the fandom, to her own story, to the decisions the other players made that hurt her. like. Marisha has grown so much as an actor & a creator, but I don't think any of us can imagine what it was like to be in her position during CR1. no one expected CR to blow up like it did, the cast & G&S were in no way prepared to handle the fandom. Like Marisha was relatively unknown before CR, unlike Laura & Ashley who were both critically acclaimed actors (which is part of the reason the fandom hated her). I doubt she'd dealt with internet backlash before and suddenly overnight she had the entire internet watching her. She didn't sign onto CR expecting the attention she received & unlike everyone else, her first introduction to fans was absolutely brutal. like to go from a quiet home game with your friends, to having your OC absolutely eviscerated and torn apart must've been awful.
People criticized her acting, said Keyleth was a self-insert, claimed that any good thing Keyleth achieved or any gifts she received was bc she was dating the DM, Keyleth was boring/whiny/uninteresting, she was getting in the way of Vaxilmore, etc etc. It's not like having your role in a game or movie criticized. Keyleth is HER character; every critique of Keyleth's design or story or decisions in-game is a criticism of Marisha as a creator. I don't think any of us can imagine how awful that was, to watch all of your friends receive praise and have fun with fans, but have to swallow constant vitriol and misogyny in order to join them, to be completely unprotected by any sort of manager. the other women received plenty of hate too, don't get me wrong, but she was by far the most hated and the only one without any pre-existing fanbase. to have that be your first exposure to fandom?
to go through all of that & then have it end the way it did? with Vax choosing to leave her without putting up a fight while everyone else gets their happy ending? to be the one left grieving while Vax gets to be at peace? to be the only one alone in every CR one-shot afterwards? to have to relive that experience again recording TLOVM?
this is something I keep coming back to when it comes to CR, how in some ways I feel like the fandom feels like we're entitled to ownership of these characters, and entitled to the cast's suffering for the sake of artistic integrity. and to be clear, there's some merit to that, given that CR is a multimillion dollar media franchise. but I also think that Keyleth & CR1 are always going to be special in that regard because they were never made for an audience. When the cast signed up for CR2 and CR3, they knew what they were getting into, they made characters knowing they were going to be shared with the world & held to a higher standard. but Keyleth was Marisha's first, and when the cast agreed to start filming CR, they had no idea that they were relinquishing some of their creative freedom in order to align with the audience's expectations. I'm sure they would never go back on that choice, given everything that came afterwards, but I'm sure if they could go back, they would approach it differently.
anyway. my point is just that CR1 is by no means perfect & infallible. I don't think Matt would write the story he did for CR3 and make the choices he made if he didn't regret some of his decisions from CR1. I don't think Liam would have agreed to bring Vax back if he didn't also feel dissatisfied in retrospect. and the choices the cast made back in CR1, both in & out of game, caused Marisha a lot of pain nearly a decade later. and as the DM and her friends, I think they did the right thing by giving her a chance to correct the mistakes they made in CR1. I don't think it's right to suggest Marisha should just be sad forever for the sake of preserving CR1’s narrative. I don't think it's right to say that it's been too long to make up for or correct the mistakes of the past.
I'd have to make a whole other post about this, but the fandom seems to expect the cast to care about & be invested in their characters, but they're not allowed to prioritize their enjoyment and what they want out of the game. again there's definitely some merit to this, but. I have too much empathy. I don't want the cast to suffer for my enjoyment. Marisha & Keyleth have more than earned this.
#cr3 spoilers#cr3 finale#i lowkey feel like im stepping on a landmine#ngl it kinda frustrates me that like#most people seem to think the most interesting thing about keyleth is her suffering#and this like. idea that death is a better or more interesting ending#ive said multiple times how much i hate vax's death#how i thought it was selfish & stifled his growth as a character#honestly i think it shows an immense amount of growth on liam's part to allow this ending for vax#also like i've been the player in a game with a person who thinks character death makes for better stories#and i just hate that mentality#i hate it in all fiction but i especially hate it in ttrpgs#where one player is actively making the choice to inflict a tremendous loss on the rest of the group#this is one hundred percent mg abandonment issues speaking#but its extremely easy to be the player that decides to make a heroic sacrifice#its much harder to be the player that has to grieve afterwards
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Together: Eloise x Cressida. 🦢🕊️
Warnings: None? Just mad fluff?
Description: Cressida and Eloise share a private moment at home.
Paring: Eloise Bridgerton x Cressida Cowper
"Sweetheart?" Eloise called as she ascended the stairwell. Her shoes removed and in hand, the navy silk of her skirts creased and displaced beneath her loose corset. "Cressida?" The brunette tried again gracing her hand along the bannister at the bottom of the stairs.
Cressida's house was always so quiet compared to her own, there were no siblings, nieces, nephews causing fuss or throwing tantrums, no annoying cheery music musing from within the drawing room nor her sister's bashful interpretation of said music ; just pure unadulterated peace.
Edging further down the familiar hall Eloise entered the master bedroom, classical music faded towards her from the en-suite bathroom; smirking slightly she removed her shirt placing it carelessly on the bed aside a pile of another's previously discarded clothes.
Her bare feet graced the bathroom tile as the sight of the blonde came into view, arms spread to either side of the bathtub, hair tied on top of her head and water just meeting her collar bone. Eloise stared silently for longer than she'd like to admit, longer than 5 years of dating would suggest; but sometimes she found it hard to believe her own luck.
"Are you just going to stand there and watch me all night?" The other woman rasped, eyes still closed as she faced away from the brunette, there was no way for her to have known that Eloise was there other than blind presence.
Smiling Eloise bent beside the tub, stroking Cressida's hair. "How was your day?"
"Tedious, not as remotely interesting as my morning with you" she mused, shifting slightly to press her face against the palm of Eloise's hand.
"I see" the brunette murmured back as Cressida kissed her hand. Following across the lines of her cheek with the backs of her fingers, the bone smooth, sharp and sturdy beneath her touch.
"How's your mother?"
"As boastful as ever, ranting on and on about the impending arrival of Colin and Penelope’s third child.”
“I was sorry to have missed them.” Cressida mused basking in the joy of her lover's nose grazing against her own. A hand reaching round to support the other woman’s head, teasing gently at the hair at the back of her neck.
“They understood, you had work. Mother did however send me away with some of those apple tarts you love.” the brunette replied idly, pacing her hand down Cressida's arm in a soothing manner. Her mouth finds purchase upon her flesh, not moving yet, merely speaking against her. Breathing in the familiar scent of gardenia, which always did wonders to sooth her heart after a long day.
"Ah and you wonder why she is my favourite Bridgerton" Eloise rolled her eyes and pinched the other woman’s arm "Ouch stop that you beast" Cressida moaned withdrawing her arm into the water. Ripples of soap foaming around her, Eloise refusing to allow the space, her lips now pressed a path of kisses from temple to the corner of her mouth.
"Enough of that ''Eloise ordered resting on her heels and drawing Cressida to turn towards her, "I seem to recall you telling me I was your favourite Bridgerton" pouting slightly as Cressida sat sideways within the bath to face her lover.
"You're my favourite person, there's a difference" Eloise smiled slightly as Cressida's wet hand touched her cheek, "now are you getting in or are you going to just sit there sulking?"
Eloise scoffed, rising from the floor to remove her clothing, familiar wet hands raising to idly untie her corset, "I don't sulk" she argued before climbing into the bath beside Cressida. Resting against the blondes chest as they hummed along to the music that for a time had been forgotten, Eloise became at ease. Cressida's finger tangled within her hair and the heat of the water consumed her body.
"You know I don't have to be a Bridgerton" The brunette whispered, sinking further into the water in fear of her own words, wanting nothing more than to forget them the moment they left her mouth. However the blonde wouldn't allow it as the grip on her waist tightened and raised Eloise from the water and onto her chest.
"But I want to be," the blonde whispered, pressing her face against the other woman’s neck "so that is what we will be together, do you understand?"
"Bridgertons?" Eloise quizzed slightly as Cressida's lips feathered against the shell of her ear.
"I think Mrs Cressida Bridgerton, has quite a ring to it; don't you?"
Eloise turned to face Cressida and smiled brightly "I think it sounds perfect" kissing Cressida gently, their tongues seeking refuge together. The most precious movement and expression of their affection for one another. Eloise could no longer count how many times they had done that, nor predict how many times they would. Though neither of them could imagine a moment where they’d stop.
Cressida would never grow tired of having Eloise so close. Each freckle, indentation and expression etched into her face perfectly transparent as Cressida kissed her chin. The small groove of a scar, aged and delicious beneath her lips.
Eloise meticulously worked at mapping the palms of Cressida’s hands as the blonde menstruations continued across her neck.
“I love you.” The brunette whispered gently against the flesh, her tongue sticking out to swipe at the skin between Cressida’s ring and index finger. Her lips finally settled to suck at the place a ring would soon be placed.
They may not be married in the eyes of the church, accepted by the ton nor openly within society. However they’d wear the rings as a commitment to one another, just as any man and woman would. They’d know, their chosen family would know and they’d be together.
Cressida smiled gently, it wasn’t often Eloise uttered such things even in private moments between them. The brunette had voiced on many occasions that she found the sentiment tedious. How could such words ever hold meaning if people insisted on using them as frequently as possible? The blonde however knew, there was no moment of her day, or plaques in memory which Cressida Cowper had ever felt anything less than enamoured, consumed, seen and beloved by Miss Eloise Bridgerton.
“I cannot wait to be your wife.” Cressida grinned, her hold suddenly tightened as if to savour the moment a second longer.
The blondes hand soon reached to guide her future wife from the the increasingly cold bath water, each taking turns drying the other in admiration as their content smiles continued to grow; they failed to find an issue in that moment as they fell asleep in each other's arms with the peaceful reminder that one day they would be Bridgertons together.
#fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#cressida cowper x eloise bridgerton#eloise x cressida#eloise bridgerton#cressida bridgerton#cressida cowper#creloise#fluff#bridgerton fanfiction#Bridgerton
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Cozy Birthday (Clara Oswald x fem reader)
Summary: you spend a cozy day in celebrating your birthday with Clara
Warnings: tooth rotting birthday fluff <3
A/N: this is my birthday gift to the fabulous star anon! I hope you enjoy it and I hope your birthday's as wonderful as you are 🥰
Birthdays were always something you sort of dreaded. Not other people's birthdays per say, but rather yours specifically. You hated having all of that scrutinizing attention on you during what was supposed to be a happy and fun filled day.
Luckily, Clara understood that perfectly. She suggested that perhaps for your birthday this year the two of you could just stay in and enjoy some time together rather than having a big party full of people who'd only make you feel nervous.
While you'd never done anything like that before, you had to admit it sounded pretty enticing and naturally agreed. The morning of your birthday, you woke up to her softly humming while watching you with a gentle gaze.
"Good morning, my love. Happy birthday," she murmured affectionately before giving you a loving kiss.
Already you felt relaxed and comfortable. No large groups of people, no unrealistic expectations, no feeling of extensional dread. Everything was calm and peaceful, just the way you wanted it to be.
"I'm going to make us some hot chocolate, then we can find something on the telly to watch," she told you while getting up, clearly just as excited as you were (if not more so).
She returned not long after with two cups of hot chocolate, yours made exactly the way you liked it to be. Slipping back under the covers, she turned on the television while you cuddled up close. It was cold outside, but the blankets you were under and the heat coming from your girlfriend kept you nice and warm.
The two of you laid there for a bit, just enjoying each other's presence as you drank your hot chocolate and watched TV before Clara got up from the bed for a second time, a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
"Hey, come back," you whined like a petulant child, crossing your arms while sticking out your bottom lip in a displeased pout.
"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," she commanded while exiting the bedroom. When she walked back in a few minutes later, her hands were behind her back, as if she had something she was trying to hide from you.
"What's that?" You questioned curiously while sitting up some, your previously pouty demeanor caused by her leaving forgotten by this point.
"Just a few things I decided to pick up for you," she said with a grin as she moved her hands out from behind her back to reveal a gift bag in one hand and a plate containing a cupcake with a lit candle stuck on top in the other. "I know you said you didn't want a cake, so I thought a cupcake would be a bit more appropriate."
"Honey, you shouldn't have," you spoke with a voice full of genuine gratitude as you gingerly took the plate from her.
Sitting down next to you on the bed, she watched you with a gleeful expression. "Blow out the candle and make a wish."
You did as she said and blew it out, moving the candle from the cupcake once it was no longer lit and setting it down on the plate before peeling back the wrapper so you could take a bite. She'd gotten your favorite cake and icing flavor combination, meaning it was delicious.
"Are you going to tell me what you wished for?" She asked after a moment or so, to which you merely shook your head in response.
"Nope, but I can tell you that my wish already came true," you replied with a soft and grateful smile.
That made the corners of her lips turn upwards in an expression matching yours, and she leaned in to press a tender kiss to your lips. "I love you," she muttered affectionately, her chocolate brown eyes staring at you with a gentle gaze once she finally pulled away again.
"I love you, too." Your heart felt like it was bursting full of joy at just how thoughtful she was. "Can I open my gift now?"
She let out an amused laugh at the question while grabbing the gift bag from where it had been placed off to the side, holding it out in your direction. "Of course, darling. Here you go."
You were delighted with what she got you, it being something that only a person who truly knew you would get. It really showed just how much she cared, and you expressed your gratitude by giving her another kiss, one that quickly led to many as the gift and half eaten cupcake were shortly forgotten.
Maybe your birthday wasn't something to dread after all.
End notes: I know this is a little late and I'm so sorry about that star anon, the holiday stress got to me 💔 but I hope you enjoyed it regardless 💞
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all I do is rattle around AU ideas in my head like a couple of coins in a tin can..... so anyway a runaway AU where Kayleigh gets a bad feeling about Tetsuji and the Moriyamas. Nothing definitive. She doesn't really have proof for this bad feeling, other than the calculating way Tetsuji observes her son as he plays with Riko in the rare times they're both in the States. She's noticed a rift between them, something so slight she'd be called crazy if she were to ever bring it up. Female intuition, her mam would call it. More like a Day woman's curse, she'd think as she slips off into the night, Kevin in tow with only what could be stuffed into a couple bags. Kevin is asleep in the back of this old beat up Jeep she'd bought on a whim. A grumpy old man had a For Sale sign in his yard, and she'd managed to get him to crack a smile over tea, and before she knew it, the car was hers. Tetsuji thought it was an abomination, that how could she be caught driving such a thing with her status, but she hadn't minded a bit. Lover of old things, as she was.
So they run. They settle into a small mountain town in East Tennessee because as much as she would love to go back home, back to Ireland and raise Kevin there, that same damning intuition keeps her rooted in the States.
They live, they adapt. The people there are kind and don't ask too many questions about a lady with a different accent and her son that show up out of the blue, that pay in cash, and take as many odd jobs as she can until she settles into working as a waitress. It's a slow life, completely different from the way she used to live, the exhilaration of exy, the high life of professional sports. She misses it, like a clipped bird misses the sky, like a piece of her has been ripped away from her. In some ways, it has. This is her sport, her life. She teaches the kids in town exy, delights in their success, in their joy. She delights in Kevin's joy the most, who takes her word as law, who works so hard to show her the new skills he's learned, to master them with more intensity than most 9 year olds have.
This wasn't the way she had envisioned her life going, not after exy took off. But it's theirs and it's peaceful.
And perhaps she should've known better- that nothing good can last forever. A Day woman's curse indeed, she thinks, when the Moriyamas find them, when she spits curses at Tetsuji, when he calmly tells her that Kevin has already agreed to go, when Kevin won't look her in the eye as he packs a bag, but promises to visit, promises he'll complete their dream of being Court, when she can't find the words to explain that she doesn't care about Court, that she only cares about Kevin and his safety because the bad feeling is no longer a bad feeling, but a wretched awful thing that tears through her lungs as the sleek black car pulls away, when later, long after Kevin is gone, she is looking down the barrel of a gun held by a man dressed in all black.
A Day woman's curse is to lose everything, despite holding onto it as tight as you can.
#kevin day#kayleigh day#tetsuji moriyama#aftg#aftg au#runaway au that is a little more fleshed out#really loving the idea of Kayleigh getting to raise Kevin longer and how Kevin would be different because of that#suspend reality and live in the world of AUs with me im BEGGING
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30y old Toby headcanons?
this is all written under the assumption that nobody is dead or in prison, also written for my AU in which slenderman and the operator are opposing forces, with slenderman taking the operators victims as proxies
at this point tim and brian would have completely gotten away from slenderman/the operator, being well into their 40s. probably moved all the way to the west coast, maybe even out of the country.
which means there'd only be kate and toby left. they'd both be exhausted. the operator and slenderman wouldve been 'fighting' for ~25+ years by now, so they have longer periods of going dormant - but they are still immortal entities, so there is no quitting. kate would've moved full time into the proxy cabin, rather than the mines, so they'd be spending a lot of time together.
clocky is the closest to toby, but by now she'd have a nice little apartment and is working full time. her time under the operators influence is completely over. maybe toby would move in with her, but she'd be hesitant. loves him to death but she's trying to get away from the shit that toby would always come back to. she wants to find peace
he'd still have to be working in places that dont require a background check. or even an ID. or be willing to pay in cash. he still gets angry to the point of tears knowing he'll never be able to move freely through the world since his name, DNA, fingerprints all link him back to his dad. even 13 years later he cant get away from his dad
he misses tim and brian. they were awful to him half the time, but sometimes they were like father figures - tim taught toby how to drive, brian patched toby up countless times, they've all sat and had a few drinks together and watched some movies, they were all toby had for a year after his dads death. but they completely cut toby off, probably completely cut eachother off too - toby couldnt find them even if he tried. which he did, for a while
toby would stop trying to visit his mom, but he'd still visit lyras grave. he used to drop flowers off mothers day, birthday, christmas - he'd find some train that'll take him as far as possible and just leave them out for his mom. usually he found gloves, jackets, blankets laying out on the porch he left them on. he stopped when his mom inevitably moved out of her sisters house, he has no idea where she went.
maybe there would be new proxies to take in. some kid who just killed their best friend and finds themself constantly waking up in random areas with blood on their hands, throwing up black liquid and seeing weird faceless men all around - and toby would have to take on tim and brians role, and try to help this kid, and try to be better, and try not to beat their ass everytime they piss him off. try not to treat them the way he was treated. it would suck ass watching that happen to someone else, but part of him would think maybe that means it's time him and kate can finally escape - but there is something about toby and kate that cant seem to shake slenderman, not the way the others did
i think 30 year old toby would be pretty somber all around. any initial rage that fueled him, or excitement that motivated him, or joy he found in the freaks around him would've worn off by now
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Moment of Tranquility
(Wrote another thing late last night that I forgot to post lol. AU belongs to @cuppajj!)
Small fireflies flew about, gracing the darkness with their small yellow lights. The moon shone down, its light softly blanketing the lands beneath. The leaves rustled in the gentle winds, providing a soothing ambiance amidst this quiet night. The sky above was clear, and the bright twinkling stars were lustrous.
It was late in the night, around 11 pm to be exact. Well... it wasn't too late, but it certainly was for the little wanderer. Normally she'd have been in bed hours ago, if there was someone to tuck her in. She was fairly sleepy, but she had to keep going on. She wasn't safe just yet.
Vanilla Creme Cookie slowly walked through the forest, wading through the grasses and vibrant flowers. her beloved cotton candy lamb plush was held close to her chest. She looked around at all of the fireflies who accompanied her... they made her feel less alone. The large looming trees and thick forestation seemed to have cleared up a bit, allowing her to see more of the night sky, and for the moon to light her path just a bit more.
...tonight felt very peaceful. Perhaps nature pitied the little girl and her situation. It was about time she had a moment of peace.
As Vanilla Creme looked around at all of the bugs and stars above, she spotted a small pond not too far away from her. There were more trees, and some fireflies around the pond. She giggled as she looked at the tiny flying bugs, they looked like they were having a little sky dance!
She moved toward the pond, her pace slightly faster. The water looked still, cold, and... slightly glowy? Vanilla Creme bended down, and swished her hand in the water. Upon her moving the water, the pond began to light up a bright blue!
Excited and curious, she swished her hand around more, making the pond glow even brighter. Ah, she remembered learning about this from her father! She couldn't quite remember the name, but it was one of the most fascinating things in the world to her!
..It seems that her childish wonder and amusement has yet to die, despite the dire situation she was in. Despite her hardships, she was still quite skilled at finding joy in the every day things around her.
Vanilla Creme quietly took off her boots, setting them to the side. She sat on the ledge of the pond, dipping her legs into the cooling luminescent water. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath in. For once, she felt... calm. No fear... no sadness... no panic. For but a moment, things felt like the way they used to be.
Surely it would be alright for her to stay here for just a few moments... to stay here with all of the little bug friends, and the cool glowing water.
Vanilla Creme opened her eyes, and looked down at her lamb plush. Despite everything... the plush was still in perfect condition. Its big button eyes and silly smile were just as perfect as the day it was handed to her.
A bitter feeling soon began to swell up in her chest.
Now that she thought about it... this plush was the only thing she had left of her father, or the way he used to be at least. This plush had been with her since she was freshly baked, lovingly made by her father's own hands.. Those hands that used to hug her, hold her, comfort her... now all they do is take innocent lives, under the delusion of purity.
....
She set her plush to the side, underneath the tree that was nearby.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. She can't be thinking about all of this now.
Vanilla Creme swished her legs back and forth in the cold water, aiding in bringing her back to reality. She let out a tired sigh.
Vanilla Creme took her legs out of the water, the movement making the water glow once more. It was about time she got moving again... that, and this area probably wasn't the safest place to rest.
She began to put on her socks and boots once more, before pausing. Fear quickly set in, a chill running down her spine.
A faint hum could be heard in the distance... it was a lullaby. the leaves and grass rustled, but... it was as if something were moving them out of the way. It was as if something, or someone, were moving right towards her, wading through the grass.
The humming grew louder by the minute.
In a panic, Vanilla Creme hastily finished putting on her boots, grabbed her satchel, and ran off as fast as her little legs could manage. Unfortunately, in her state of panic, she had left her dearest possession behind.
The plush lay there in the grass, facing the starry sky above.
A figure emerged from the dark bushes and trees, still gently humming the lullaby.
His gaze immediately fixated on the little soft plush. He walked towards it, carefully setting his staff against the tree. The plush was gently picked up, looking back at him with that same silly expression he had sewn on.
Tears fell down onto the little lamb.
Ah... how he enjoyed making this plush... all of his love and care put into it...
This poor little lamb seems to have been left behind... but there was nothing to worry about.
He knew exactly who the owner of this beloved plush was.
How couldn't he know? He was the one who made this for her.
He was her father, after all.
#teeheehee#oc#original character#cookie run oc#vanilla creme cookie#fanfic#fanfiction#beast ancients au#beast ancients au fic#writing#not my au
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