#en talks: writing process
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a little june suit concept i drew 🤭 which was definitely NOT inspired by the rep bodysuit
could've made the red brighter but idk this felt more stealthy. adding the little widow symbols was so fun!
also brainstorming some vigilante names for junebug: Alter (bc she can alter peoples thoughts/feelings) or Ruse (also related to her powers, deceiving/tricking) or maybe Rogue (just think that would be a cool name idk)
it’s so good?? and when you compare it to the suits and gear that liv usually works with, you can see they had two different training intentions. it can also show their training disparities. all things considered, liv has a leg up on june in regards to combat and weapons bc she was with the Red Room longer. i think seeing how liv dresses bs june shows that
liv’s is more combat-focused with knee pads/sleeves, armored plates, supports for her ankles, wrist support, cushioned gloves, utility belt, staff pack, thigh holsters, or even when she transitions to the vest you can tell she prioritizes movement bc she’s a close combat fighter. liv is the typical black widow assassin.
but june is definitely more stealth and shadows. she has weapons but they’re small to keep conflicts quiet. the full mask sets her apart from other widows and when you take into account her exposed hands, yes it’s where her power comes from but it also implies that dreykov doesn’t see WHO SHE IS just WHAT SHE DOES.
whether or not all this was intentional, it’s a fantastic example of how costuming can add depth to the character without saying anything
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방찬 ─── cracks in the mirror
♡ pairing ៸៸ idol!chan x fem!reader genre ៸៸ angst, fluff ៸៸ cw ៸៸ ED behaviors mentioned , body image angst , weight loss mentions , mean girl mina , chan is sweet
♡ synopsis ៸៸ after a girl says something mean about your body at work, chan consoles you. [ part 2 ]
a/n ๑ i messed up the format please don't laugh at me
♡ masterlist
the work dynamic today was strange. you were working with your friends, han, changbin, and chan, helping out with music production and note taking. this was a normal day, or at least, it would have been, without mina present.
mina is.. to put it bluntly, the biggest pick-me-bitch you’d ever met. she was normally assigned to work with itzy on their productions, but this particular day, she needed to fill in for a staff member who couldn’t make it into work. she put on a facade around everyone else, but you saw her for what she really is, an emotional vampire, manipulative snake, and an attention whore. you realized it when she only talked to you when you were around the guys.
you two were hired together, during a group interview process, and she was so nice to you.. until she found out you’d be the one working with stray kids. if you weren’t around the members, she’d be cold to you, never saying more than a few words to you before finding an excuse to get away from you.
the way she acts alone would annoy any sane person, but it annoyed you times ten when you noticed the way she’d flirt with any male in her presence. especially chan, who you weren’t as close with, but you couldn’t help but gain some feelings for him while working for him, and though he almost never reciprocated the flirtation, you felt as though compared to her you stood no chance.
and why is that? she was gorgeous. that, you couldn’t even deny. she was white, and she had blonde hair, striking blue eyes, which were framed by her long eyelashes. not to mention, she was skinny. she was the beauty standard. you had struggled with your weight your whole life. you were always the chubby kid in your class, the chubbiest out of your friends. you became accustomed to feeling inferior to basically any skinnier woman in your proximity.
so, even though you extremely disliked mina, you couldn’t help but envy her. she was beautiful–physically flawless. imagine the disappointment you dealt with everyday knowing nobody else is aware of her wretched personality.
the sad part was that you actually lost a significant amount of weight since then, but you still felt like the same girl you were in high school, extremely overweight and invisible. you weren’t skinny still by any means, but you were healthy, and that’s what’s most important.
you mentally cursed to yourself as you looked at the time on your apple watch. it was only 1pm. at least you only had a good two hours until it was time to go home, since changbin needed to end early for a prior engagement. while you were typing away, mina was sitting on the leather couch next to you, about a foot away, half-way paying attention to what was actually going on.
han was sitting in a chair about two feet away, writing in his journal, and chan and changbin were directing seungmin in the booth, lost in concentration.
you try to focus on the task in front of you, but you can feel her eyes on you, like she’s studying you for some kind of weakness. you glance up, just in time to catch her watching you, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
“hey,” she begins, her voice light and overly sweet, as if she’s sharing a secret. “can i ask you something?”
you sigh, already dreading whatever’s coming next. “what?”
mina shifts slightly on the couch, her tone now casual, like she’s making conversation. “i’ve been meaning to ask, you know… how do you deal with, like... not having to worry about, well, fitness and stuff? like, you’re so relaxed about it. i mean, i can’t imagine just… not caring about how i look all the time.” she tilts her head, her eyes narrowing just enough to show she’s enjoying the discomfort she’s causing.
you feel a pang in your chest, but you try to mask it, pretending like her words don’t bother you. mina leans back on the couch, a mockingly sympathetic expression crossing her face. “it must be so nice not to stress about it like the rest of us. you’re just so… comfortable, right?”
the condescension in her voice is unmistakable, and it’s almost impressive how she manages to turn an innocent comment into another thinly veiled jab. you can practically hear the unspoken “must be nice” ringing in the air.
you try to keep your face neutral, but her words hang in your mind, a reminder of the deep-seated insecurity she knows how to exploit so effortlessly. a part of you was pissed off; not at her high-school attempt to make you feel insecure–but the fact that it actually hurt your feelings. “mina-” you start, but you’re cut off, and she speaks up again. “i mean, more power to you. i’d feel so self conscious with all that extra weight.”
neither you or mina notice han’s eyes subtly watching mina, his attention fixed on your conversation now rather than his writing.
your body heats up in embarrassment, and you try your best to swallow the lump in your throat. you feel your stomach tighten, but you force a smile, doing your best to mask the irritation creeping up your spine. you take a slow breath before responding, making sure your voice comes across calm, maybe even a little amused.
"well, mina," you begin, keeping your tone light, "i guess i'm just lucky. i've always been comfortable with myself, you know?" you glance at her, making sure to meet her eyes with an easy, unbothered look. "not everyone feels the need to be so... obsessed with their appearance."
you let the words hang for a second, watching her expression flicker slightly. you knew that would get under her skin.
"guess it's just one of those things you either have, or you don’t," you add, giving her a half-smile as if it’s no big deal. "but hey, i’m sure we all have our own ways of dealing with things."
you turn your attention back to your work, knowing full well that she won’t push any further—not with the way you just shot her down without even raising your voice. mina forces a smile and a quiet chuckle before adjusting on the couch, facing forward and pulling out her notepad.
as soon as mina turns her attention off you, han turns his off both of you, scribbling in his journal once more. he knew he should have spoken up, but it wasn’t the time or place, and he needed to be professional. you felt the same. as much as you wanted to find a way to reveal mina’s true personality to everyone present, your work and the work of everyone else in the room was so much more important than how you felt about her.
still, her words rang in your head the rest of the session, and you found yourself unable to focus.
you must have zoned out during the rest of the session, because before you knew it, everyone was packing up to leave. as you shoved your laptop in your bag, you heard mina’s insufferable giggle from across the room. you looked over and saw her talking with chan, being flirty as always.
witnessing this along with the emotions you had been holding back for the past two hours became too much. you felt the lump form in your throat again and the tears pricking the back of your eyes. you quickly gathered your things and walked down the hall to the furthest practice room. you sat your bag on the floor and plopped on the couch as you began to let the tears fall. you buried your face in your hands as you let out a few quiet sobs. everytime mina was around, you felt so inferior to her. she was the perfect girl, on the exterior, and she knew how to make herself seem so sweet. but she was so rude to you. for what?
you reached over and grabbed a tissue, blowing your nose. as you sniffled, on the brink of pulling yourself together, the door to the practice room opened. in walked chan, who was equally surprised to see you sitting there. however, his expression turned from shock to concern as he saw you with tear stained cheeks. “y/n?” he turned and closed the door behind him. “what’s wrong?” he set his things down on the desk and sat next to you on the couch, putting his arm around you. this made tears well in your eyes again and you let out another cry, covering your face in embarrassment.
“hey,” he rubbed your arm softly in an attempt to comfort you. “it’s okay,” he cooed, making both your heart flutter and ache at the same time. he reached around you and grabbed the box of tissues, holding them for you. you grabbed another and wiped your eyes as you sniffled, your breathing ragged from how intense your crying was. “i’m sorry,” you said weakly, staring down at the makeup on the tissue. “don’t apologize. what’s wrong?” he was still rubbing your arm gently as you tried to calm yourself and find the right words to say. “i can’t.. i can’t tell you,” you sniffled, fighting back another round of sobs. “why not?”
“it's too embarrassing.” you scoffed at yourself, looking at anything in place of him. “y/n.” he started. “not if you’re this upset over it. you can talk to me, you know that.”
“i just.. i hate my body.” you weeped, shaking your head. “i can’t stand to look at myself.”
“what?” chan asked, pulling away from you, as if he was shocked. “you hate your body?” you nodded sheepishly. “why?” he sounded as if he couldn’t believe it. “because, well, look at me, chan!” you gestured to your body as you sniffled again. “seriously, i don’t even know why you stand to look at me.”
“okay, stop.” chan chuckled, and you finally looked up at him. “there is nothing, and i mean nothing, wrong with your body. what makes you think that?” you sniffled again, debating on if you should tell him your reasoning or just brush it off with just “a lack of self-confidence”. you inhaled deeply before you started to explain. “when i was younger, i was always the bigger girl in my grade. i was always the butt of my classmates’ jokes, i was always the girl nobody would ask out. so, i vowed to lose the weight, no matter what it took. i worked out for hours, restricted my eating down to the bare minimum, and here we are.” you gestured to your body. “over a hundred pounds lost.” you looked down at your hands. “but, everytime i look in the mirror, i still see that overweight girl looking back at me. and everytime i eat a meal, i get terrified of turning back into her.”
a moment of silence passed before you spoke up again. “its stupid, isn’t it?” you chuckled at yourself. “no, it’s not.” he shook his head. “it's not your fault you feel this way. people should have been kinder to you.” he said softly. “im so sorry you went through that. but.. that’s not who i see when i look at you, not at all. i see.. a creative, talented, pretty girl. your weight doesn’t cross my mind, not at all.” he shook his head as he said the last bit. “really?” you looked up at him, your brows furrowing. he nodded and smiled, his gaze still softer than ever. “really.” he hesitantly reached forward and pushed some hair off your face. you blushed and looked down, realizing you must look crazy with all your makeup running down your face.
“thank you.” you dabbed under your eyes again. “no need to thank me,” you could hear the smile in his voice. “i’m just telling the truth.”
you smiled weakly and nodded. “come here.” he turned to face you more and opened his arms for a hug. you smiled and hugged him tightly, your arms wrapped around his neck. he squeezed you into the hug as well, rubbing your back. after a moment of embracing each other, you pulled away more calmed down. “i must look crazy right now.” you laughed, reaching for your hand mirror. he chuckled as well and stood up, going to his bag. “i have something that can help with that,” he said, rummaging through his things. he came back over to you with his makeup wipes. “here.” he sat next to you and pulled one out, handing it to you. “thanks,” you said before wiping off all your makeup. once you were finished, you looked over at him, noticing he was still watching you with an amused smile. “did i miss a spot?” you asked.
he shook his head. “no. i've just.. i've never seen you without makeup before. you look pretty.” you blushed at his compliment and scoffed. “you’re just saying that.”��
“im not! i swear i'm not.” he exclaimed. “you really are pretty, y/n.” his words made you break eye contact briefly. “thank you, channie.” you peeked at him. “mhm,” he hummed in response. you smiled to yourself and walked over to the trash can to throw away your tissues and the makeup wipe. you sat back down after, sighing. “you think im pretty..” you thought you were just thinking to yourself, but you realize you said it out loud, and a blush creeps onto your cheeks, making chan smirk a little. “yeah, i do.” he nodded.
“i also think you’re.. funny, kind, and hard-working.” he complimented you.
your heart flutters at his words, and you can’t help but feel the warmth spread across your chest. “i’m… hard-working?” you chuckle nervously, not quite used to hearing such kind words about yourself.
“of course,” chan grins, his eyes soft. “you’re always giving your best at everything you do. that’s something i admire about you.”
you bite your lip, feeling a mix of emotions. the weight of everything that had been building up throughout the day, all the insecurities, the hurt, it all feels lighter somehow. chan’s presence, his support, the way he’s genuinely here for you, it gives you a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in a long time.
you shift on the couch, your mind racing with thoughts you hadn't been brave enough to say aloud before. “it’s just hard, sometimes, you know? i’ve spent so long thinking that my worth is tied to my appearance… or what people think of me. and hearing you say that… it makes me feel like maybe i’ve been looking at things the wrong way.”
chan leans back slightly, giving you a reassuring smile. “you are so much more than just your appearance, y/n. everyone sees something different in you. but i see you for who you really are–you don’t need to worry about fitting some image of what ‘pretty’ is. you already are, inside and out.”
you’re quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. it’s hard to believe sometimes, but hearing him say it with such sincerity gives you hope.
“thanks, chan,” you say softly, your voice steadying. “for everything. for… just being here.”
he smiles, his expression tender. “anytime, y/n. i’m always here for you.”
you nod, feeling a little more at peace than you had when you first walked into this room. maybe things wouldn't change overnight, but for the first time in a while, you felt like you weren’t alone in this battle. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
after a beat of silence, the door clicked open and you heard a familiar voice. “hey chan, can i-“ han stopped in his tracks when he saw you two sitting on the couch talking. “oh, sorry.. i thought it was only chan in here.” he said awkwardly. “oh, no, it’s okay. i need to get going anyway. i have some work to catch up on.” you reached down to grab your bag.
“wait,” chan stood up as you did. you looked up at him, but he glanced over at han before looking back down at you. “are you gonna be okay taking the subway?” he asked you. you laughed and nodded. “i’ll be fine, chan. i’ll text you when i get home.” you gave him a small smile before walking past him, where han was holding the door open for you. “bye han!” you waved before walking down the hallway.
“is she okay?” han asked chris, closing the door behind him. chris sighed and sat back down on the couch, putting the tissue paper back in the bag where his present was kept. “she’s just going through some stuff.” chris looked up at him. “what did you need?”
“that's.. kind of why i was coming to talk to you. i heard mina talking to her in the studio today. she was.. saying things about her body.” han said nervously, holding onto the back of one of the desk chairs. “what?” chan asked, a hint of frustration coming out in his tone. “what did she say?” his nostrils flared as he looked up at han. “she, uh.. she was just talking about how y/n was so brave for being confident with ‘extra weight’.” he said uncomfortably. repeating something as rude as that felt unnatural to him. especially since you had done nothing for that unwarranted criticism.
chan sighed and shook his head. he was pissed he had missed that happening. he would have definitely nipped it in the bud if he heard it. “i’ll talk to mina tomorrow.” he managed to remain as calm as he could. “thanks for telling me, han.”
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Patience
Alexia putellas x equestrian!reader
Warnings:rushed shitty writing, not proofread
“Vamos!” You shout arms outstretched above your head in relief and excitement as you watch the Spanish girls dance around the pitch hugging one another and thanking their Japanese opponents, your mamí wraps her arms around you tightly pulling you into a hug “Oh, Potro, eso fue increíble” You let out a small laugh hugging her tighter “Conozco a Mamí y esto es solo el principio, VAMOS ESPAÑA”
You smile watching the team happily talk to each other about the match that has just taken place before deciding to call it a night, you had one final training session before you would have to take part in the first round of the eventing on the 27th.
Your least favourite event was dressage, you hated how meticulous it was how precise, everything had to be on point, one wrong stride and you would be falling down the table, the bid for a medal slipping further away. But dressage was like a dance, a dance where your dance partner is your horse Once fuertes, you lead and he follows in time to the music.
When it’s over and you see your name sitting in first place and you don’t seem to dislike it as much, you are happy with your dance partner, with the precision of his hooves through the sand his strides perfect, of course it is you who cause the fault only a slight one but still you have raked up 16.00 penalty points.
1.5 penalty points less than your closest opponent but it’s not enough.
“Lo siento, mamá, debería haber sido mejor” you fall into your mothers arms “Potro, it was perfect, parada being so hard on yourself, tienes razón donde necesitas ser un potro, llegarás allí, solo espera.” All you can do is let out a grunt as you push off her and turn to follow your grooming team.
You don’t get a day to relax, to process your recent accomplishments instead your sitting on Once fuertes in a forest in Versailles getting ready to take part in the cross country trail for both Spain and yourself just like yesterday.
Only today is not a dance, today is a race against a nine point two minute clock and twenty eight fences/obstacles in the way. Once fuertes is big at 17.5 hands these obstacles will be nothing for him the time trial a minuscule thought for such a long strided horse like him, but it’s up to you to get him there.
You do so perfectly, you trust in him to leap over every obstacle and land ready to race towards the next and he does it without hesitation yet you don’t stop talking to him pushing him forward edging him to go faster to jump higher and it pays off. You hold your lead. You’re still number one, still in position for gold. Your first gold.
Your happier this time around, your mother can tell just from the way your hunched over Once talking to him happily “ Oh, mi chico, eres increíble, eres perfecto, podríamos hacer esto, yo y tú, once, yo y podrías ganarlo todo, oh, ese es mi sueño para ti y para mí.” Your mother pats Once happily “Bien hecho once, gracias por cuidar de mi potro” you beam down at your mother before swinging your leg over and jumping down from the thoroughbred laughing happily as your mamí pulls you in for another bone crushing hug “Dios mío, mamá I think we might actually have a chance, we might actually place on the podium me and Spain, me and Once.” Tears spring to your mothers eyes, happy tears at your growing excitement, at your accomplishments so far “I don’t think you’ll just place Potro, you will win it all, you and España and Once, you will win the gold.” You shake your head not wanting to get your hopes up just yet “Paciencia, es todo lo que tengo en este deporte.” Your mother squeezed your arms before letting you stand back as you got ready to follow your groomers again “you sound just like your Papá.”
It’s not over, far from it, you still have the eventing show jumping tomorrow, the team final and the individual qualifiers but tonight you can relax, tonight you get to watch La Rojas face off against Nigeria, tonight you get to focus back on a different race for a podium and your happy to get to switch off even just for an hour.
You sit happily in the Olympic village with your team around a table as you watch the girls battle it out, fighting for a point that never seems to come. “Uhh, no van a anotar, quiero decir, vamos, quedan diez minutos.” Your teammate Carlos shakes his head, you simply smile and shake your head “Paciencia Carlos, they will strike when they are good and ready. She will strike when she is good and ready.” The team laugh at your faith in the Spanish girls, your faith in your favourite player La Reina herself, but it is you who is laughing five minutes later when Alexia scores the only goal of the match “Mira, te lo dije, when she is good and ready.”
You look out at the castle the next morning getting ready to walk the course with your teammates insuring you know your route, your strides, when to push Once on more with your leg and when to let off, to losen the reins, this is it, you could win your first gold medal today with Spain, your first gold medal as an individual, you just have to be patient.
You must qualify in the top twenty five to reach the individual qualifiers, you must be in the top twenty five to win, you have to jump a clear round all while staying within the eighty second time period. Once has to stay calm, so you have to stay calm, Once must keep his strides precise, he can’t over stretch, he might knock a pole if he does, he might knock more than one and the penalties you have been working so hard to keep down could wrack up suddenly, but again your against the clock a time trial, you have to do this fast, he has to do this fast, you both have to do this fast and clean together, it’s the only way you will keep your spot.
And you do. You jump last for Spain, you jump clear for Spain, for your self, to qualify for the individual medal, not a single pole rocked within the cups and you stayed five seconds under the time limit, for Spain, for you and Once, you were perfect, he was perfect, now it’s a waiting game as the last five jumpers get ready to try and knock Spain off the gold position.
None of your other teammates scores are as perfect as yours but they aren’t the worst, not even middle, they are comfortably in the top twenty and so you stand in the stands to watch the final rider with bated breath.
Great Britain sit second, France sit third and with Tom McEwans for Great Britain four faults in his round he seals the deal on all three podium spots, you have done it, you’ve won a gold medal, Spain have won a gold medal, Once has won you both a gold medal and now you have to refocus to win your individual one.
Your jumping last out of the twenty five riders, you sit in first and you can’t do anything except watch how the riders ahead of you take this new course, their turns, their leg sheathed it’s on or off, how their horses react, you watch the screen as the names move up and down below the top four, the top four, four faults sit between you all, four faults is all it will take for you to drop off the podium altogether, for this to be all for nothing and as your time comes closer it seems to be the only thing swimming around your head.
But it clears, it clears as you swing your leg over Once and as your mamí squeezes your leg before turning to the thoroughbred “Enciérdala por mí, cuida a mi pequeño potro.”
Sixty seconds till your gold medal, sixty seconds till you hold a gold medal, till you and Once become Olympic champions sixty seconds and a clear round.
You don’t remember the course, you don’t remember starting the course, but the roar as Once touches the ground on the far side of the final fence, clear, two seconds under the time giving, clear, clear, he jumped clear, you jumped clear both of you together jumped clear, your an Olympic champion, Once is an Olympic champion, Spain are Olympic champions and all you can do is look towards the sky and shout.
You arrive back to the village beaming, two gold medals around your neck, a team and an individual, you won’t have time to celebrate it, not yet, the games aren’t over but for now you beam and let out quite thanks you’d as athletes pass you in the village congratulating you as they pass.
You freeze as a certain athlete stands in front of you “Guau, hace tres días y ya tienes dos medallas de oro, debes ser bueno.” Your frozen unable speak, unable to think, unable to breath. She’s gorgeous, she’s breathtaking and she’s standing right in front of you. “No, No not really.” She smiles holding out her hand to you “I’m Alexia.” You look at her hand before taking it gently, scared your hand might pass through hers “I-I am Y/n.” Alexia beams happily holding your hand for far longer than she expected but she thinks you’re gorgeous, that you’re breathtaking and so she doesn’t mind “I was going to get a go coffee, would you like to join me.” You nod before finding your words “Sí, me encantaría.”
You let out a laugh as Alexia tells you of her younger sister Alba stating that the only role she wanted in the Olympics was that of a WAG or singing in the opening ceremony.
You sit happily listening to her talk about her family, talks about them like you have known her and them forever, you want to ask about her father but decide that if she isn’t happy mentioning him to you, a complete stranger she met mere hours ago then you weren’t going to ask.
“I am here for Fútbol.” You nodded “Sí, I-I am a fan.” Alexia doesn’t react like you thought she would, her smile seems to grow “a fan, of Spain?, of Barcelona?, of me?.” You laugh “De todos ustedes, de España, de Barcelona de ustedes, la Reina- I have been in love with fútbol my entire life, I have been a culers my entire life, and I have been a fan of you since you started playing.” Alexia lets out a sigh, a content sigh. “That is good, because I don’t think I could give my phone number to a Real Madrid supporter.” You laugh again this time sliding your phone over to the older girl.
Alexia watch’s you as she types in her number, adding emojis to her name. “So you never told me what sport you’re so great at that you won both of your medals for.” You blush as the conversation turns to you, you were quite content listening to Alexia talk and now she had switched to you. “Ecuestre, this one is from the team eventing so Yo y otros tres ciclistas ganamos este.” You hold out your team gold medal for Alexia to inspect “Y entonces this one is my individual medal, but really I couldn’t have done it without Once.” You hold out your individual medal as Alexia’s eyebrows raise “what is your horses name.” You smile “Once fuertes” Alexia nods approving “eleven is a strong number alright.” You let out a giggle taking back your medals “so what does Once get.” You go to take your phone out to show her pictures of the thoroughbred “he gets a rosette, and carrots, lots of carrots.” Alexia let’s out a small oh “well that’s not fair.” You pause as you go to hand over your phone “what do you mean.” Alexia shrugs “well your job is easy, the horse does all the work, so shouldn’t he get a better prize.” You feel your face heat up and turn bright red from embarrassment, as you smile sheepishly putting your phone back in your pocket, you push your chair to get up from the table and Alexia can tell she’s said the wrong thing “Y/n.” You ignore her as you stand “Good luck for the rest of the games.” You leave immediately as Alexia shakes her head “Joder.”
Alexia tried texting you but your not answering and so she decides to see if you have any social media, with a quick google of your name Alexia feels her guilt increase ten fold “Y/n Ferré Balagueró dedicates her Olympic wins to her father.” “MIERDA”
#woso#woso fanfics#awfc#woso one shot#woso imagine#woso soccer#woso couples#woso appreciation#woso blurbs#woso x reader#woso community#alexia putellas x you#alexia putellas x y/n#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas imagine#alexia x reader#alexia putellas#paris 2024#olympics#equestrian#eventing#show jumping#horse riding#mysunshinetemptress
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Hii, first I just have to say how much I adore your request-format! It makes the whole process so fun, and I can’t wait to read more of your writing😚❤️❤️❤️
For the order, I’m really craving a gluten-free pizza, served by Franco, with some red sauce. But I’d like it kind of both ways, so red sauce from him and red sauce from reader, if you know what I mean. Like they’re fighting for dominance, switch x switch ❤️ and are kinda mean to each other. But for vibe, I’d love sort of a teasing, intense tone, where Franco’s just really teasing, charming and cocky. So rough but not too onesided, you know!❤️
Then for toppings I’d love pepperoni, tomatoes, gorgonzola and gouda, but again sort of evenly between them. I’d love for them both to be kinda mean. ❤️
To drink I’m really craving a diet coke, diet pepsi, red bull, white claw and an Old Fashion to finish it off. (Both crying)
Also dessert would be amazing, thank you!!❤️❤️❤️
For an extra add-on, if that’s okay (otherwise just ignore this part❤️), I’d love it if he spoke some spanish to reader, not really dirty talk but some hot pet names and teasing sentences that reader doesn’t understand. Translate is fine, so don’t worry abt it having to be perfect, but if you’re not comfortable just ignore this!❤️
Thank you, I’m really looking forward to reading your fics!!❤️❤️
Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu
gluten-free rivals red sauce rough sex pepperoni "Be a good girl, and you'll get what you want" tomatoes "Do you enjoy pissing me off?" gorgonzola "Are you always this fucking loud?" gouda “Slow down? You just told me to speed up, make up your mind silly girl” diet coke recording kink diet pepsi biting redbull hickeys white claw crying old fashion drunk sex dessert yes served by Franco Colapinto
Franco x rival! reader
TW - switch x switch, edging, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying, rough, begging, unprotected sex, creampies, GOOGLE TRANSLATED SPANISH - MDNI 18+
WC - TBD
Y/N POV
"Do you guys ever get along?" I hear one of the drivers on the grid ask making Ollie groan and answer before Franco or I can answer.
"They were finding a way to fight each other even when she was promoted to F1," Ollie says making me laugh slightly.
"He just knows how to get under my skin," I saw while shrugging my shoulders not seeing how this was any of their business.
"You mean to tell me when she would be gone and we couldn't find her she was terrorizing him?" George asks. I just smile and nod my head proudly.
When I joined Mercedes at the beginning of the season and became teammates with George I still would pop my head into the F2 paddock to say hi to some of my old teammates while also finding ways to piss the Argentinian off. But when he joined mid season replacing Logan we where finally racing together again which meant messing with one another became so much easier.
As the night out progressed and the drinks kept coming Franco and I found ourselves shoved in a dark corner together.
"God you smell like tequila," I state when he gets close trying to pull me in for a kiss. I just push at his chest pulling a fake disgusted look which only had him roughly grabbing my jaw and placing a kiss on my lips.
"Been thinking about that all night," Franco admits making me pull a disgusted look at him.
"That's prety fucking domestic," I state while pulling him in closer by shirt before I release my grip on his shirt and move my hand to his neck where I gave it a good squeeze while I plant my lips back on his.
"You're a fucking whore," I whisper against his lips when he whimpers at my tight grip.
"Vas a ser la puta en un momento," Franco whispers back against my lips making me pull back slightly giving him a raised brow. He knew I didn't understand much Spanish which made moments like this that much more intense.
"Let's get out of here," Franco says while turning away and walking towards the exit which had me following a few minutes after not trying to look like I was going home with him. I knew damn well the second they realized the 2 of us missing they would put 2 and 2 together rather quickly and Ollie was never shy to expose what we really did when we where alone.
When I finally pull up to Franco's hotel I waste no time in getting up to his room and knocking on the door.
When he opens the door he instantly pulls me into his room and closes the door before he roughly shoves me against it pulling out a loud whimper.
I feel Franco move his hand to my neck choking me in the same manner I had done to him when we where in the club. I whimper when I feel his grip tighten on my neck but quick compose myself and push against his hand so I can move away from the wall where I quick use my strength to push him against the wall and pull him back for a kiss.
Franco still had his hand around my neck but due to his shock of the position change made his grip loosen slightly. But it take Franco little to no time to gather himself and move his hand from my throat to my hair where he pulls me near the bed and push me on the ground so I was on my knees with my back resting against the foot of the bed to trap me in the position.
Franco wastes no time in pulling his pants and briefs off and pushing my head near his hard length. I open my mouth and let Franco start face cum me.
"joder siempre tómalo tan bien," Franco grunts out as he pushes my head against the mattress and uses it to his advantage. With my head not being able to move anymore he pushed his length all the way down my throat making me gag and almost instantly start tearing up.
"Fuck, you're a pathetic slut," Franco grunts when he sees the tears start rolling down my cheek. When he starts fucking into my face and hitting my gag reflex each time he pushes in I start fighting back slightly. I'm pushing at his thighs trying to slow down a bit which only has him going harder.
"Jodida tómalo," Franco grunts out while still fucking my mouth.
Franco pushes my head all the way down his cock making sure I take the fuck length leaving me to gag and tear up around his cock fighting to gain some air. When he finally released my head I pull off his cock and start coughing and gasping for air trying to gather myself before I stand up and push Franco on the bed. I quickly strip out of all my clothes while Franco pulls his shirt off and climb into bed to join him.
When I get into the bed I start teasing Franco's cock with my tongue making him hiss at the stimulation to his sensitive cock. I knew after face fucking me he wouldn't last long but I didn't care, I wasn't planning to let him cum, just wanted him begging under me.
"Fuck, hermosa," Franco hisses when I start pulling his cock into my mouth while still teasing his sensitive tip with my tongue.
While still swirling my tongue around the tip of Franco's cock I move a free hand down to his balls and start squeezing them making Frnaco moan rather loudly.
"Fuck, m'not gonna last long," Franco whines out making me speed up my actions on his balls and start bobbing my head bringing him close to the edge. I could tell Franco was about to fall over the edge which had me instantly moving away from his cock to watch him start bucking his hip and whining at the loss of contact.
"Fuck, no please! I was so close, I fucking need it! Please Hermosa hazme venir," Franco whines.
"Are you always this fucking loud? Begging to cum already? Pathetic little thing," I tell him while slowly stroking his length. I loved watching the way Franco gets exceptionally more desperate and needy when he was this close to cumming.
As I was leaning down to continue my teasing Franco roughly grips into my hair and pulling me up so he can plant a kiss on my lips before flipping us over so he was now the one on top.
I feel Franco instantly push his full length into my tight pussy giving me no time to adjust before he was roughly fucking into my pussy making me cry out in a loud moan.
"Now, who's the loud one?" Franco questions back with a smirk while he continues to fuck into my pussy making me loudly moan at the pleasure coursing through me.
"Faster please," I beg which has Franco instantly fucking into my pussy at a faster pace.
"Fuck, the way you clench around me is gonna make me cum," Franco grunts out making me clench around him around.
"More, please," I beg again needing more feeling my orgasm starting to build up.
Franco speeds up into a brutal pace becoming too much almost instantly.
"Fuck Franco," I cry while cumming all over his cock. Franco continues to fuck me through my orgasm at the brutal pace making me start crying in overstimulation while begging him to slow down.
"Franco can't take it. Slow down please!"
“Slow down? You just told me to speed up, make up your mind silly girl,” Franco teases back only going at a faster pace.
I knew I was a crying mess under him again but I didn't care when I felt my orgasm starting to build deep within my pussy once again.
"Fuck, gonna cum for me again?" Franco states when he can feel my pussy throbbing around his cock in anticipation for another orgasm.
"Fuck, Franco," I cry out as I start cumming all over his cock once again. Franco helps me ride my orgasm out finally slowing his pace down to let me catch my breath. Once I've settled down I flip Franco and I over once again climbing off his dick and getting back on my knees so I can pull him into my mouth again.
"I taste amazing on your cock," I say once I've collected some of my slick. I lean up and spit directly into Franco's mouth knowing he would only be able to taste my spit, but not caring because I loved seeing him swallow like a whore.
"Fuck, Hermose, please," Franco begs which has me leaning back down to his cock to pull him deep into my throat and bobbing my head.
"Fuck," Franco manages out while bucking his hips right on the edge of cumming.
I pull back at the last second while squeezing his cock knowing it'll help him from cumming before I was ready to let him.
"Please," Franco cries out making me smirk at him at how desperate he is.
"Shut up," I tell him before pulling him back into my mouth and repeating the same process while he was under me crying and begging for his release.
"I said shut up! Do you enjoy pissing me off?" I snap at him while sending down a harsh slap on his inner thigh making him whimper at the sudden and sharp pain.
"Please! I'll be good! I'm so close, please!" Franco begs while tears start rolling down his face.
"Look like a proper whore! Crying for me like you weren't just doing the same thing to me," I tease before taking Franco back into my mouth and edging him once again.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Franco groans out once again making me pull away from his cock entirely to watch as it bounces against his lower tummy in search of stimulation so it could finally be put out of it's misery.
"Mierda, Please lo necesito tan malo," Franco says so lost in his pleasure he's asking in Spanish. I let Franco start to come down from the edge while I lean down and start kissing his inner thighs before I start taking small little bites of out his sink before I finally sink my teeth in and leave a little hickey on his inner thight while i repeat the process a few times letting his once bare thighs be scattered with hickeys made by me.
"Given, I don't know Spanish I'm gonna take it you want me to do it again!" I say with a smirk only resulting in Franco crying out again while thrashing his body around a bit.
"Quite it!" I say while sending down a hard slap on his inner thigh knowing it'll get him to stop squirming around under me.
I lean back down and pull Franco into my mouth again and start bobbing my head which has Franco instantly gripping at my hair trying to keep me down on his cock, but it didn't work because the second he was about to cum I use all my strength to pull my mouth away.
"No, no, no, no, I can't do it anymore," Franco cries out making me smirk before climbing into his lap and sinking down on his cock making him cum almost instantly.
"Mierda, sentirse tan bien envuelta alrededor de mi polla," Franco chants in Spanish while I ride him through his orgasm.
"Fuck, I need you still Franco please," I beg while riding his cock which had him flipping us back over so he was over me again while he starts pounding into ym pussy as if he hadn't just cum.
"FUck, Franco, not gonna last long," I cry out making him speed up.
"Fucking hold it and be a good girl, and you'll get what you want," Franco grunts back making me whimper.
"PLease, Franco can't hold it back," I whine out making Franco roll his eyes and pull his cock out right before I was about to cum.
"Franco! What the fuck," I try to shout but it comes out more like a whine making Franco smirk at me.
"I'm just giving you the same treatment," Franco replies back before plunging his cock deep into my pussy and fucking me.
“Please!” I beg once again which has Franco speeding up his actions while bringing his head down and biting my neck making me whimper while throwing me over the edge and into another orgasm.
When I finally come down from my high Franco slows his hips down and unleashes another load deep into my pussy to join the first load he gave me.
“Fuck,” Franco groans while pulling out of me slowly and climbing out of bed to clean me up.
“Im not moving from this bed for atleast 12 hours,” I joke while curling into Franco’s side and relaxing into his warm embrace.
“Sounds like 12 hours of free range to fuck you,” Franco jokes back which has me whining and clenching my thighs at the thought.
“You like that idea I see,” Franco further teases with a laugh making me burry my face in his chest and start kissing his skin before making my way to his mouth and pull him in for a kiss.
“Think your teammate would believe it if I said you’re actually pretty sweet to me sometimes,” Franco says making me laugh softly and shake my head.
“No George is convinced Im heartless,” I reply back making both of us giggle softly.
#f1#formula 1#f1 x you#formula one imagines#f1 imagine#f1 smut#formula 1 x you#formula one smut#formula 1 smut#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 fic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 one shot#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 2024#franco colapinto x reader#franco colapinto smau#franco colapinto x you#franco colapinto imagine#franco colapinto fanfic#fc43 x reader#fc43 imagine#fc43 x you#fc43 smut#franco colapinto smut#formula one x reader#formula one fanfiction
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i think what people need to understand is that no amount of essays assuring me of veilguard's strengths, of which i agree there are plenty, is going to change the fact that the emotional experience veilguard prompted within me (and for many others) while i played it was a deeply negative one. discomfort at best, painful at worst. im talking stomach aches. visceral, somatic creeping disappointment and dread that i tried to fight for hours and hours but eventually had no choice but to accept. i stopped wanting to play entirely around 30 hours. i felt vaguely ill. i felt anxious. i could not sleep for a few days. and im not saying i felt sick because it was so bad, but that i felt sick because of the sinking realization that i was about to be terribly, horribly disappointed after so, so long. you could call me dramatic and im sure someone will. idk what to tell you. my emotions manifest physically long before they become decipherable or understandable to me mentally, especially when they're 10 years in the making. probably an autism symptom. regardless, it was genuinely pretty awful, especially because i had immense good faith for this game. i was so hopeful and optimistic and generally thrilled and literally anyone who followed me before october 31 would know that. the emotional whiplash and crash was intense and devastating, and i was reeling for days. you cannot tell me that this experience was "wrong" or "toxic" due to it's negative nature. it was entirely involuntary and outside of my control, as i would expect many people's joy was. emotional reactions are not beholden to fandom discourse.
any post i have made criticizing the game since is attempt to make sense of the emotional roller-coaster of the past 10 years, this summer, and finally this game's release. i do not come on here and write out my criticisms of veilguard because i want YOU to dislike it too. the nature of my essays are not persuasive. if they do persuade you its just because i am a well-trained essayist. sorry. if they dont, great! that wasnt the point. i have no desire to change anyone's mind on the game, in fact i actually would not wish the disappointment i felt on anyone. the fact that i have a lot of followers who agree with what i say and who spread the thoughts i express across tumblr is literally out of my control. when i write out my long-winded criticisms, it is out of a need to express and externalize that sinking, cold feeling i had while playing, in pursuit of understanding exactly why playing that game felt that way to me. identifying, analyzing and verbalizing is the only way i have been able to process my experience. its confessional and therapeutic more than anything. it helps other people understand their own difficult emotional process with the game. its not an attempt to ruin your fun. my negative experience with veilguard does not invalidate anyone else's positive one.
i see so many posts acting like all criticism is an intentional, targeted hate campaign and i dont understand that assumption. to what ends? what would that achieve? why would i bother with such a thing? maybe that is some people's intention in the deep hater corners of this website, and im blissfully unaware. if it is, fuck them. its certainly the intention of annoying grifters, but i feel the distinction between transphobe grifters and devastated fans is pretty clear, so im not sure why the lines are deliberately blurred as if those groups are remotely similar. some of my criticisms come from a more objective place. the writing comes to mind, and it's a consistent criticism from thousands of players. but just because i consider it to be poorly executed, does not make it unlovable. and when i say that i think its poorly done, i am not saying that you cannot or should not love it, or that you are stupid for loving it. maybe someone out there is saying that!!! but i am not. things do not have to be perfect to be enjoyable. they dont even have to be well executed to be enjoyable. "i think x aspect of veilguard is poorly done for yz reasons" is a completely different sentence than "you should not like x aspect of veilguard for yz reasons". these are not the same statements. i see so many posts that are so vitriolic and acting like two experiences of this game cannot coexist, that one has to win and be objectively right, moralizing them on a false axis of positivity = good and negativity = bad, and acting like the existence of one negates the experience of the other. and why? why would that be true? i literally love so many things that other people think are absolute ass. i also love plenty of things that i myself think are actual ass. i love them anyway. this is allowed and really fun. i am not sure who told you that it is not.
however, i have just as much of a right to express my disappointment as you have to express your excitement. i am genuinely happy for everyone who loves the game, i am glad it resonated, or that you saw yourself in its characters, or that it just scratched your hyperfixation itch. but whatever je ne se quoi it had for you, it did not have for me. i have written out so much criticism about so many aspects of the game, but fundamentally what it comes down to and what i cannot express in words is that while i played after waiting 10 years for that moment, it felt wrong. it wasn't that i had specific expectations for game story that were not met, in fact, it exceeded my expectations in a lot of ways. i mean that in terms of how i felt, something was off. it did not resonate. it did not land. it did not hit the right cord with me. i did not have enough moments of joy to outweigh the feeling of emptiness. i did not walk away from it feeling the way that the previous games made me feel. and ive been trying to figure out exactly why that is for three months now by talking about it with people who feel similarly. i am not sure that i will ever be able to analyze my way into figuring it out. it might just have to simply be that it left me bereft.
and so my posts are not anti-veilguard hater propaganda to make you feel like shit for loving the game. rather, they are me verbally processing exactly why i feel like shit so i can hopefully stop feeling like shit. to assume that people who are trying to process these negative feelings are toxic and intentionally malicious is a projection made in bad faith. i love dragon age, and it is because i love it so much that it disappointed me, and it is because disappointed me that i have to verbally process it on tumblr.com so that i dont go absolutely insane. i tag my posts properly. i do not go into tags where i do not belong. i do not rage-bait. i am participating in post-partum dragon age therapy between me and my followers. if it ends up on your dash, sorry. my therapy is popular i guess. so please for the love of god enjoy the game, freely and enthusiastically. i am happy for you. i will sit here and be jealous that it spoke to something in your soul that it unfortunately did not speak to in mine, and nothing i say can take that away from you. please stop interpreting it as an attempt to.
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Maybe something with Valeria as mom to a very talkative baby girl? While reader is just dying of love in a corner*blink blink* (sry I'm ovulating xd)
This was so cute! :(
I love my angst and tension but I never realised how good it feels to write something that's just wholesome. It makes me wonder how Valeria would actually be if she were a mother. I think I can see her being both overprotective and one of those parents that thinks her kid should break a few bones in life. Not what I wrote here, just a little headcannon.
Tags/Warning: Mentions of Pregnancy, WLW, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Unnamed but Loved Baby
Baby Babble
Tranquility is a heavy feeling. Though it's not similar to the heaviness of hopelessness. It isn't cumbersome rather comforting. You feel weightless as you sink into the couch. Cuddled up under three blankets. After many long, serious talks with Valeria, weighing the risks of having children, you finally proceeded with the IVF process. Due to the nature of Valeria's work, she couldn't be the one to carry. It was a lengthy process with needles and vitamins and pills. Almost two years of preparing and failing. It took a while but finally your body accepted her eggs and you carried your baby girl for eight and a half months.
Your daughter was born a little early and a little sickly but made a swift recovery. So energetic and happy. Her conception was difficult, and the beginning wasn't simple, but she turned out to be such an easy baby. Rarely fussing and as healthy as she could be. Valeria didn't carry her, but she's just as invested, if not more than you. Often being the first one to get out of bed and check on her when she cries at night. When handling her baby there is no trace of the violent criminal, instead she's just Valeria. Stripped down of all her complex layers.
A few flickering candles light the clean-living room. A few toys scattered around the open space, stuffed animals and plastic contraptions with cartoonish smiling faces.
"Come here." Valeria coos. Crouched down with her arms spread. Recently, your daughter has begun to start using her legs. Awkwardly stumbling in small bursts before tumbling down onto her knees. Your daughter smiles, her chubby cheeks looking even chubbier and that makes you smile in turn. She pushes herself onto shaky feet and takes cautious, wobbly steps towards her mother.
"Ba! buh." She babbles. A talkative thing, she is. Valeria has taken it upon herself to start teaching her the basics of Spanish. Even before she started to crawl Valeria was dutifully making flash cards. Simple words and grammar. She hasn't said her first word yet, but you believe it will be soon.
"That's right, come here mija."
Your daughter blows raspberries and falls to her knees. Landing soundlessly on the carpet.
She gets back up and continues on. Your persistent little girl. She makes it into Valeria's arms where she's promptly lifted up.
"¡Mi niña fuerte! Estarás corriendo de un lado a otro en poco tiempo." Valeria says, voice high pitched.
"No baby talk." You remind her gently. As hard as it is, the pediatricians discouraged baby talk. It can negatively impact the development of their speech.
Valeria sighs and nuzzles her baby's nose with her own. "I know, I know." Valeria jerks her head away as your baby swings a tiny fist at her. Eliciting an amused chuckle from the both of you.
"Mmm." Your baby hums. "Mma."
"It sounds like she's saying 'ma.''" You remark, lips twitching from how precious she is.
Valeria holds her up and looks at her, smiling warmly.
"it does," She laughs. "'mama', say 'mama.'"
"Am."
"Ma-ma." Valeria walks over and sits down next to you. Adjusting the blankets over her thighs. Your baby sat on her knee with an arm holding her up. You lean against Valeria.
"Mam."
Her little voice makes your heart swell. What will she sound like when she grows into her forever voice? She blinks her big brown eyes, so much like Valeria's.
"My beautiful family." Valeria murmurs softly. Kissing your forehead.
"Mama."
You gasp in excitement. Grabbing Valeria's arm. "She said it!"
Valeria strokes your daughter's cheek.
"You're so smart." She says thickly. "Say 'mama'. Say 'mama' sweetie."
"Mama!" Your baby squeals. Valeria's face lights up. You're overjoyed that both of you can be here for this milestone.
You yawn but fight back sleep. Wishing you could stay in this moment forever. Capture it in a little bottle to carry around with you. To hold and admire in your darkest moments. A reminder of what you have and what you're living for. Your wife, and your daughter. The two most important people in your life.
"She'll be graduating college before we know it." Valeria whispers fondly. Resting her head against yours.
"Shhh." You reply. "Don't say that. She'll be this small forever." You gently trace the curve of her nose. Trying to burn the sight into your memory.
#valeria garza#cod mw2#valeria garza x fem!reader#valeria garza x reader#modern warefare ii#valeria garza cod#cod x reader#cod mwii#cod x you#valeria garza x you
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Quick world lore question; does the game ever specify what kind of potions/poisons exist in twst? Like, since it's technically a fantasy world, would things like health/stamina potions like you'd see in rpg's exist? Or would it be closer to reality, like home remedies and basic pharmaceutical stuff?
I'm only an EN player and I havent read all the pomfiore student's vignette's so if they answer this there then im sorry for the bother ; ;
Potions aren't talked about in the only Pomefiore students' vignettes! (In fact, if we're talking just strictly Labwear vignettes... Vil and Rook's don't really focus on potions at all; only Epel's sort of does.) There isn't actually a ton of lore about potions, and in the times when they do become relevant, the writing tends to focus more on the ingredients and/or the preparation process rather than what kind of potion would be produced. For example, the entire Labwear series of vignettes frequently brings up rare or dangerous plants that require the application of magic in order to safely harvest, such as the mandrake and the lantern blossom.
I wasn't able to check all vignettes (since that would be like... what, probably a few hundred at this point? If not that, then at least over 100.), but there's definitely mentions of potions with various effects. From all lab vignettes alone and combing through the main story, here's what I could glean:
transformation/transmutation potions (prologue, book 2, Beans Day, book 6, etc; this is probably the most often mentioned type of potion)
voice-changing potions (Leona Labwear vignette)
color-changing potions (Epel Labwear voice line)
plant growth potions (Epel Labwear voice line)
sleeping potions (Silver Labwear vignette)
awakening potions (Silver Labwear vignette)
magic enhancing potions (book 2)
breathing underwater potions (book 3)
a potion that changes one part of your body to that of an animal's (book 3)
itch-relief potion (Lost in the Book with Stitch)
potion that heals burns instantly (Jamil Labwear vignette)
On the subject of poisons, no specific kinds are mentioned as far as I'm aware. There's a Poison Refining class (Cater Labwear vignettes), but we don't really get specifics. When poisons are talked about, it's usually in reference to the Fairest Queen or the Pomefiore dorm leader being skilled in making potent poisons, or it's Kalim talking about the many attempts on his life and unnamed poison antidotes. There may be more mentioned in other places, but at this time I don't have the capacity to check every single event and vignette. If you know of any more that aren’t listed here, please let me know and I can update the list!!
It should also be noted that "potions" can also be used for other purposes. This includes creating special effects for movies (mentioned in Vil's Labwear vignettes) and enhancing the effects of skincare (book 6, Azul Ceremonial Robes, etc.).
You'll notice that the effects of these potions can also be achieved via regular spellcasting. (In fact, we see Adeuce practicing color changing magic in Floyd's Labwear vignettes + Vil using color changing magic to help himself hide from paparazzi, etc., Jack's/Malleus's/Azul's UMs also allow them to do things without the help of potions.) Because of this, I believe that potions are meant to be an alternative way of spellcasting without actually needing to use magic. This makes already prepared potions usable by mages who don't want to expend energy/build blot as well as by NON-MAGES.
Within the world of TWST, there is an occupation known as the “medical mage”, who appear to combine magic and medicine into their practice. Furthermore, what is called “Potionology” in EN is written as 魔��薬学 (literally, "magic pharmaceuticals") in JP, implying that there is, in fact, an intersection between magic and medicine. This is similar to how "technomancy" is described to be the cross between magic and technology.
In terms of a "healing potion", there are instances which show that a magic potion may heal or at least speed up the body's natural healing process. For example, in 7-68 of the main story, Baur gives Lilia something to drink to help him with the dire blow he just took. It doesn't appear to restore him to full health though, as Lilia states he still needs rest afterward. In EN, they use the term "potion" but in JP they use "薬" (kusuri), which is "medicine". Baur qualifies the character with "魔法" (maho), which is "magic", so the term he's using is "magic medicine". This is probably the closest thing to a "healing" potion that we know of in the TWST lore.
So technically, yes, TWST has "healing potions". I wouldn’t say there is one blanket cure-all potion though; based on what we know of potionology and how it’s very similar to irl chemistry classes, we can assume that there are generalized “healing potions” but that there must also be far more specialized and targeted ones, similar to medicine irl or non-enchanted or non-magic infused medicine. This is supported by Riddle mentioning a potion that instantaneously heals burns, implying that there is no “cure-all”.
I would imagine that, like transformation potions, “healing potions” would have to be highly regulated since they’re basically a drug 💀 (There would probably be OTC types too, given proper governmental approval!)
#twst#twisted wonderland#Vil Schoenheit#Epel Felmier#Rook Hunt#Pomefiore#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#notes from the writing raven#question#jp spoilers#book 2 spoilers#Ace Trappola#Deuce Spade#Jack Howl#Azul Ashengrotto#Malleus Draconia#twst theory#twst theories#twisted wonderland theories#twisted wonderland theory#twst resource#twisted wonderland resource#Evil Queen#Kalim Al-Asim#twst en#twisted wodnerland en#book 7 spoilers#Baur Zigvolt#Baal Zigvolt
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“Det Modsatte” (Angst?)
2003!Michelangelo x reader
A/N: Felt like writing another songfic, as I’m honestly having a blast with these. I’ve also been looking at was to add the songs in my post, so you can listen to it, or at least parts of it, but it’s still a working process. So far I’ve started with a snippet from Spotify at the bottom of the post, for those of you that are interested. Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy🧡
Song: “Det Modsatte” by Mumle.
Danish song with English translation provided. "Det modsatte" means "the opposite".
Due to American drinking laws, all characters are at least 21.
Warnings: Horrible girlfriend?, smoking, cheating?
Til nytårsaften / Det første møde med / Dit nye vedhæng og hendes attitude / Hun siger dig ingenting / Så hvorfor skal hun med? / Jeg hader, at hun tror, at du en dag ku' glemme mig.
(At New Year’s Eve / For the first meeting with / Your new pendant and her attitude / She doesn’t tell you anything / So why does she have to come? / I hate that she thinks that you one day could forget me).
After making friends with four mutant turtles, with the youngest of them becoming your best friend shortly afterward, you pretty much expected anything to happen at that point. But even after several years of friendship, with you and Michelangelo pretty much doing everything together, there was one thing you didn’t expect.
But then, as you, the turtles and all your mutual friends were planning a New Year’s party at April and Casey’s place, Mikey dropped the news on you: Mikey had gotten a girlfriend, and he wanted to bring her for the party.
At first you were shocked - more so shocked at the strange pit that was forming inside your stomach. But you pushed it aside, smiling at Mikey, telling that you were excited to meet his new girlfriend. if she made your best friend happy, it was worth getting along with her for him. Especially given the nature of Mikey and his brothers, partners most likely didn’t come easy to them. So you decided to give it your best shot. Who knows, maybe she would be really nice.
New Year finally came around, with fireworks shooting outside the windows of April and Casey’s apartment. Mikey arrived a bit later than the rest, with his new girlfriend following with her arm linked with him. And og boy, she was… something. You didn’t want to judge a book by its cover, but she was… not what you had expected. Especially not for someone like Mikey. She smiled way less than him, and ever once seemed to enjoy any of his jokes. At one point you swore you could hear Mikey whispering to her, asking her what was wrong, to which she gave him a sharp and dragged out “nothing”.
As the night continued on, something became very clear to you regarding Mikey’s girlfriend. She wouldn’t let you and Mikey talk at any point during the party. You really couldn’t help but notice the way she always seemed to place herself between you and Mikey, cutting off your conversations. But when you caught a sharp look from her, it was very clear what she thought of you. She did not want you anywhere near her boyfriend - your best friend.
Og hendes synspunkt er noget for sig selv / Får appetit ude, og så spiser hun hjemme / Er du nu sikker på / At du ka' stole på hende? / Men når kalenderen er fyldt, når det bli'r midnat.
(Her viewpoint is something for itself / Gets an appetite out, and then she eats at home / Are you sure / That you can trust her? / But when the calendar is filled, when it becomes midnight).
As the New Year’s party went on, one thing became very clear - Mikey’s new girlfriend had very different ways of viewing the world from those of Mikey. While Mikey was happy and warm, with a bright smile, and a love for hearing what other people had going on, she was closed of and cold, her resting expression looking like she purposely tried to create something that could best be described as a resting bitch face, and a total disregard for what other people were saying. She even looked like she was bored when she heard you or the others talk, only lighting up ever so slightly when Mikey spoke. But even that wasn’t much.
It got to the point where you and the others shot each other looks, as if you all were thinking the same about her, wondering why Mikey would want to get involved with that. It almost spilled over to outright rage, when you overheard her asking Mikey if he could come and cook for her after the party, while you all ate the dinner April had made for you, with Mikey’s girlfriend not having touched any of it.
Mikey, who was still eating when his girlfriend asked if he could cook for her, seemed slightly confused, yet not catching on to what was happening at the table. He offered to cook for her the next day instead, to which she told him - with a pointed look - that she had other plans. That didn’t go unnoticed by anybody, with a slight awkward tension building around the table. But still Mikey didn’t seem to notice, nor did he seem to notice the irritation the girl as his side was causing you. And just as you found the girl irritating, you found Mikey’s seeming oblivion frustrating.
For du ved ikk' hvor hun er, når hun ikke er derhjemme / Så når du finder ud af hvor, ska' du høre det igen.
(Because you don’t know where she is, when she isn’t at home / So when you find out where, you’re going to hear it again).
You and the others’ first meeting with Mikey’s girlfriend wasn’t much of a success, yet he didn’t seem to notice, or chose not to. Nor did he seem to notice the death stars she gave you, whenever you hung out with him. But with Mikey suddenly wanting to spend time with his girlfriend, during the periods of time she finally declared that she had time for him, you didn’t see your best friend as much as you used to. But that didn’t stop you from hanging out with his brothers in the lair. Just because Mikey was your best friend, it didn’t mean that you weren’t very close with his older brothers.
One day you found yourself in the lair, playing video games with Mikey’s brothers. It was fun. You were laughing and enjoying yourselves, when Mikey suddenly came in, looking confused and somewhat distracted, staring at his phone with an unsure expression.
You asked him what was wrong, watching as Mikey seemed more and more anxious. That was not a common sight for someone like Mikey, and it honestly made you nervous. But then Mikey asked if you or any of his brothers had heard from his girlfriend. He didn’t know where she was, and she wasn’t answering his calls and texts.
“Again?”, Raph asked. “I thought you talked it out with her last week, after she turned that same trick on you”.
“It’s not a trick”, Mikey said, checking his phone again for a text or a call that still hadn’t gone through. “She’s… just hard to reach sometimes”.
“Yeah, she’s just hard to reach”, Donnie mumbled, giving Mikey a flat expression, as if to tell him that he believed very little in that statement. You couldn’t help but feel bad for Mikey when you saw how his expression faltered for a moment, before looking down at his phone, with still no notifications.
Hun er det modsatte af alt, du ku' ha' tænkt dig / For hun skider på principper, som du altid har haft / Så når du tænder sidste smøg, inden I tager hjem / Så skal du huske, at jeg aldrig vænner mig til-.
(She’s the opposite of all, you could have wanted / She shits on principles, that you’ve always had / So when you light your last smoke, before you go home / You should remember, I will never get used to-).
After Mikey got a girlfriend, it was actually quite hard for you to spend time with him like you used to. He was very often busy with plans, with her for some reason only being able to see him, the times you and he would usually hang out. You had little doubt as to why, but Mikey still didn’t seem to notice how his girlfriend purposely tried to make it hard for the two of you to hang out, changing her plans the moment she heard he was going to see you. To everybody else other than Mikey, that she was trying to keep you apart. But she couldn’t always do that.
Once again April had a celebration at her and Casey’s place, meaning that you and the turtles were invited over for a few drinks, good vibes and maybe a few board games. Mikey’s girlfriend couldn’t be there. She had some kind of plans with some of her friends, and that was all she told Mikey.
It was nice. It was fun. You laughed and joked, and you even had a great time with Mikey. But suddenly, Mikey’s phone started ringing. It was her. Mikey excused himself, before walking away from the table you had been playing board games at, picking up the phone. It wasn’t long into the phone conversation, before Mikey stepped out on April and Casey’s fire escape, to continue the phone call. Not a word to you or the others.
After some time, you started to feel worried for Mikey. And so, you decided to go out and check on him. You found him out on the fire escape, elbows on the railing and his shoulders slouching, a lit cigarette between two of his three fingers on his right hand. You stopped for a moment. You have never known Mikey to smoke, so why was he suddenly doing that? Was it something she had gotten him into? You couldn’t find any other explanation. She always smelled of smoke and her voice was harsh, as if she had been smoking 20 a day.
“Is everything okay?”, you asked, leaning against the brick wall.
Mikey hesitated for a moment, taking a drag from the cigarette. You really didn’t like that sight. That was not the Mikey you knew. There was no smile, a strong contrast to the Mikey you had played board games with just moments ago in April and Casey’s apartment. He looked stressed, and you wondered if she was the reason why.
“She had a fight with her friends and is all out of it. When I’m done with this I’ll be heading to her place to make sure everything’s okay”, Mikey said, nodding toward the cigarette in his hand. You nodded, nervously biting your lip. You probably shouldn’t have asked, but you did anyway.
“Did she get you into smoking?”
Mikey froze for a moment, before looking down at the tobacco in his hand. He did not answer you, but gave you a small shrug. You took that as a yes.
Hendes humor og syge energi / Og når du tror på, at hun kunne være min gode veninde / Så når du spørger om, jeg vil hjælpe med at finde en ring / Så skal du huske, at jeg aldrig vænner mig til hende.
(Her humor and sick energy / And when you believe, that she could be my good friend / So when you ask me, if I want to help you find a ring / You should remember, I will never get used to her).
You and Mikey stood in silence on the fire escape, with Mikey’s cigarette only growing shorter and shorter with each drag of it.
“You know”, Mikey suddenly said, breaking the silence. “Maybe you two should hang out one day. Maybe you could become good friends”.
You were shocked at Mikey’s idea. Had he really not noticed the way she looked at you? Had he really not noticed how she would do almost anything, to make sure that you and your best friend wouldn’t spend time alone together? Was Mikey really that blinded by her?
“What makes you say that?”, you asked. But when Mikey started avoiding your eyes, you became worried. “Mikey, what’s going on?”
“I just thought it would be great for you to get to know each other, before…”, Mikey flattered, seeming nervous with what he was about to say.
“Before what?”, you asked, pressing him further.
“Before I ask you to help me find a ring”, Mikey finally let out, still not looking at you.
Hun er det rene vanvid, når I er alene / Den mørke sandhed, for kaos jagter hende / Og starter kappestrid / Som du ikk' kan vinde / Når det ender, ka’ jeg smil’, og sige "hva' sagde jeg?"
(She’s pure madness, when you’re alone / The dark truth, because chaos is hunting her / And starts battles / Which you can not win / When it ends, can I smile, and say “what did I say?”)
It was as if that comment snapped something inside of you. Up until that point you had kept your opinion to yourself, feeling bad for Mikey whenever his brothers would make comments about his girlfriend, thinly wailing what they really thought about her. But now, that last bit of barrier was not enough to stop you anymore.
“You can’t be serious”, you said, sounding quite a bit harsher than what you had intended to.
Mikey looked at you, seeming somewhat shocked by tone, as if he truly hadn’t thought you would react like that. “What do you mean?”
“You’re telling me that you seriously don’t see what she’s doing?”, you asked, feeling your last bits of patience disappear. Mikey frowned, seemling forgetting the cigarette that was halfway up to his mouth. “Mikey, she’s the complete opposite of you”.
“Sometimes opposites attract”, Mikey said, shrugging his shoulders, still seeming confused.
“You can’t be serious”, you said, finally letting your build up frustrations out. “Mikey, she’s not good for you. She’s never been good for you. Hell, she even got you smoking to cope with the stress of being with her! She won’t even let me hang out with you, and you really don’t seem to care or notice! Your brothers see it, and I know if you think about it a little longer, you will see how they have been hinting at it over and over again. So no Mikey, I don’t want to become her friend, and I don’t want to help you look for a ring! And if I have to be absolutely honest, I think she’s mad. I think she’s a horrible human being, and I often wonder why someone as nice and wonderful as you would get with her in the first place!”
Mikey didn’t say a word. Instead he stared at you for a moment, his mouth parted in shock. He looked hurt, yet there was something in his eyes. Something that kept him from getting mad at you, but instead actually thought of what you had told him.
Mikey dropped his cigarette, before turning towards the railing, mumbling something along the lines, that he would go check on his girlfriend.
“Go ask her about it”, you said before Mikey could make his way off the fire escape. “Ask her about it and see what she says”.
Mikey didn’t say anything. Instead he sat on the railing for a moment, before taking a jump, disappearing into the night, heading for her apartment.
For du ved ikk' hvor hun er, når hun ikke er derhjemme / Så den dag hun stikker af, ska' du høre det igen.
(Because you don’t know where she is, when she isn’t at home / So the day she runs away, you’re going to hear it again).
It wasn’t long after that you decided to go home yourself, suddenly feeling very tired after your talk with Mikey. The others seemed very understanding of your sudden departure, having heard your emotional outburst at Michelangelo. Even Leonardo came and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder with a small smile, as a way to say that he understood. You did the thing many of them had been too scared to do.
You got home, feeling absolutely drained, kicking off your shoes before dropping down on the couch, rubbing your forehead with a sigh. You started to wonder if this was it. Was this the end of your friendship with Michelangelo? Would he go home to his girlfriend and decide to cut you out? Would he listen to her and whatever crazy reasons she had for not liking you? That was at least what you feared.
It was there, sitting in your own unsurety and fear, that your phone started ringing, the name of your orange clad friend lighting up your screen. Confused and slightly concerned you picked up the phone, holding it to your ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey…”, Mikey’s voice sounded on the other side, slightly out of breath, wavering a bit. “Can I come over?”
“Why? What happened?”, you asked, feeling worried for your friend.
“I- I tried to talk to her”, Mikey said. “And then she left. Can I please come over?”
Hun er det modsatte af alt, du ku' ha' tænkt dig / For hun skider på principper, som du altid har haft / Så når du tænder sidste smøg, inden I tager hjem / Så skal du huske, at jeg aldrig vænner mig til- / Hendes humor og syge energi / Og når du tror på, at hun kunne være min gode veninde / Så når du spørger om, jeg vil hjælpe med at finde en ring / Så skal du huske, at jeg aldrig vænner mig til hende.
(She’s the opposite of all, you could have wanted / She shits on principles, that you’ve always had / So when you light your last smoke, before you go home / You should remember, I will never get used to- / Her humor and sick energy / And when you believe, that she could be my good friend / So when you ask me, if I want to help you find a ring / You should remember, I will never get used to her).
There was an awkward silence when Mikey entered through your window. He just kind of stood there, his head low, his eyes avoiding you. But the awkward silence didn’t last long before you offered him a seat next to you on the couch. He in turn gave you a weak smile, before heading to sit next to you. Here Mikey sat in silence, staring at his hands, as you asked him what was going on.
“I did as you said”, Mikey finally said, his voice small and low, as if he was scared of what would happen if he spoke.
“And what did she say?”, you asked, keeping your voice soft and low.
“She got… very mad and started screaming”, Mikey said, dragging a hand over his face. “She ended up leaving the apartment. I don’t know where she is right now”.
Du ku' ha' valgt en kassedame eller hjernekirurg / Du ku' ha' valgt en dealer på det store casino / Du ku' ha' sunget hele natten med en sangerinde / Og alligevel valgt' du hende.
(You could have chosen a cashier or brain surgeon / You could have chosen a dealer at the big casino / You could have been singing all night with a singer / And you still chose her).
“I’m sorry to hear that”, you said, honestly feeling bad for your terrapin friend.
“No you aren’t”, Mikey said in a strange chuckle, still not looking at you. “According to you, this is probably the best thing that could happen”.
“Mikey”, you said, turning your whole body towards him. “Just because I don’t like her, it doesn’t mean that I can empathize with you”. Mikey momentarily glanced at you through the corner of his eye. It was not a harsh look, not a side eye by any means, but more of a cautionary look, looking at your body language to make sure that you were speaking the truth. “My frustrations probably got the best of me, and I didn’t say it to you the right way, but what I was meaning to say, is that you can do so much better, Mikey. She isn’t good for you, but you’re amazing Mikey”. You placed a hand on his shoulder, watching the both of them lose their tension. “You could have anyone, Mikey. You could choose anyone, and yet you chose her. And that made me sad. I really don’t understand how or why you got with her in the first place, but it made me sad to watch you with her, seeing how she treated you, me and your brothers. My intention was never to make you feel bad, but to help you. Maybe I should have said something sooner, but it felt wrong, but today I just couldn’t hold it back anymore. I’m so sorry if I hurt your feelings, it was never-”.
Hun er det modsatte af alt, du ku' ha' tænkt dig / For hun skider på principper, som du altid har haft / Så når du tænder sidste smøg, inden I tager hjem / Så skal du huske, at jeg aldrig vender mig til / Hendes humor og syge energi / Og når du tror på, at hun kunne være min gode veninde / Så når du spørger om, jeg vil hjælpe med at finde en ring / Så skal du huske, at jeg aldrig vænner mig til hende.
(She’s the opposite of all, you could have wanted / She shits on principles, that you’ve always had / So when you light your last smoke, before you go home / You should remember, I will never get used to- / Her humor and sick energy / And when you believe, that she could be my good friend / So when you ask me, if I want to help you find a ring / You should remember, I will never get used to her).
You were suddenly cut off by the feeling of Mikey’s soft lips against your, his hands on the sides of your head, titling you ever so slightly. You let out a small startled sound, but found yourself relaxing against him shortly after.
Mikey’s lips were soft and molded against your perfectly. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been wondering about how Mikey’s lips would have felt against yours. In fact, you had done that several times. Yet you had always pushed that thought to the back of your mind, acting like it had never been there in the first place. But now, here you sat with Michelangelo on your couch, your lips connected together, all these hidden thoughts came back in full force.
Your lips moved together in soft motions, the world around you forgotten with your arms wrapped around each other. That was when Mikey’s phone started ringing, causing the two of you to separate.
Mikey pulled out his phone with an annoyed sigh, when he saw the name of the last person he wanted to talk to lighting up on the screen. Yet he picked not, not trying to hide his annoyance in the slightest.
“What do you want?”, he asked annoyed, one of his arms still around you. You tried not to smile, when you saw him roll his eyes at the voice on the other side, as she asked him about something, while complaining about something else. “Yeah, figure that out yourself. We’re done”, Mikey said before hanging up, tossing his phone somewhere on the couch, ignoring it as it started ringing again. You and Mikey soon found that it was easy to ignore a ringing phone when your lips was engaged.
#tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt x reader#tmnt 2003 x reader#tmnt mikey x reader#tmnt michelangelo x reader#tmnt 2003 mikey x reader#tmnt 2003 michelangelo x reader#tmnt michelangelo#tmnt mikey#tmnt 2003#tmnt 2003 mikey#tmnt 2003 michelangelo#tmnt songfic#Spotify
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Hi Guys, I usually don’t post anything, but I wanted to give my thoughts on Tim drake being bisexual.
We all know that Tim drake it’s an super cool Robin, but I feel that the way writers are writing Tim in the comics lately it is just shitty, I fell the way they write about him coming out as bi is not natural and slow, it feels more like forced, they could have just give him his time and write his process to understand himself and his sexuality in a way that it feels more appropriate.
I know many people love it but if I’m completely honest I don’t like it. I don’t mind that his bi I just think now all his character is just him being bisexual.
They just write his bisexual like it is his personality, Tim is more than just a young bisexual men, I feel that dc and marvel en many other company’s want be supportive but this not the way.
LGBT characters have been always be part of the world of comics, but people are getting tired of the “woke” thing and I am a person that’s supports the rights of the community even tho that I’m not part of the community, we just need a good writing, that all I’m asking for.
And I’m nos just talking about Tim drake and I’m talking about Jonathan Kent (Superman son), it happens the same situation with his character. I’m just disappointed that they think this is a good what to write about a character that so importante in the dc comic world and bat-family.
Inclusion is not bad, it’s the way it is portrayed in comics, I know many people associate the word inclusion like it’s something negative or bad, the only bad thing is the way represent things.
Please don’t think that I’m a person that doesn’t like bi o gay people, I just feel the writers just wanted to give fan service but a shitty fan service.
I will like that if you want to share your thoughts on this, please do so. With respect of course.
Thank you.
Xav
#batman#batmom imagines#bruce wayne#batifamily#tim drake#red robin#robin#dc robin#dc comics#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne x batmom#batman x batmom#batmom#batman x reader#batfam x batmom#bruce wayne fanfiction#damian wayne x reader#bruce wayne x fem!reader#batfam x reader#christian bale x reader#dc fanart#dc universe
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Idk if you wrote about it in the past, but thoughts about a potential Stephcass wedding? How it would play out, what they wear etc. With those women it could be interesting lol
I'd like to see you tackle that in a story if you wanted to, considering you write fanfiction and did a really good job imo with this ship.
OK so I actually have a detailed idea in my head of how stephcass plays out in the future that starts with them getting together, breaking up because Cass grows even more intense in her commitment to the mission once she becomes Batman, and then a year or two later Cass showing up in Steph's apartment with a kid being like hey I rescued this kid from being forced to be a child assassin but his parents are dead and idk what to do pls help.
And Steph is like we haven't talked in five months are you fucking kidding me. But she's not a monster and Cass looks way over her head so the two of them start kind of coparenting this kid because Cass understands the assassin aspect but she has no idea what school supplies a 10 year old might need. And then one thing leads to another and it turns out Cass may actually be worse at this adoption addiction than Bruce is because despite her firm belief that she is not capable of being a good mother she is also unwilling to Not help any child assassin she meets. And often that includes adoption because there is no other family uniquely capable of understanding the trauma these kids are going through.
(Cass meets an alarming amount of child assassins. She doesn't adopt ALL of them because they don't all need that specific type of help. Steph is still mildly concerned and not just because her apartment is getting way too full even though all the kids technically live at the manor and Steph is just a family friend.)
So in my mind they do everything backwards. They're exes then they're coparents then they're kind of rekindling things and then five years after Cass adopts the first kid she's like hey do you want to have a baby together because I didn't think I'd be a good mom but I actually really love helping these kids and I really like doing this with you and I think I'm actually ready to be both Batman and the mother of a baby. I get why Bruce was scared but I'm built different so I simply won't die and this kid will grow up happy and loved and I'll teach it everything I know and you can teach it important life stuff like what the settings on the washing machine actually mean and why certain clothes need dry cleaning.
And Steph is like woah that's a lot to process but Cass babe you have to ask me on a date first. And Cass is like have we not already been dating for a few years now? And Steph is like no showing up on my doorstep with a kid who needs a good meal, a shower and medical attention is not actually a date. Neither is attending those little league games together or patrolling together. If you're going to ask me to have a baby I'm going to need a ring on this finger and you're going to have to work for it.
So they date, and then they get married, and they have a bunch more kids most of whom are adopted or fostered. By the time Cass is forty she has five kids, the oldest of whom she adopted as a 10 year old and is now 21. And she and Steph have been married for five years technically but have been coparenting for eleven.
The wedding itself would be pretty straightforward, if more extravagant than normal. Cass wears a suit and is mildly uncomfortable with having to talk about her feelings in front of an entire audience. Steph wears a dress and can't stop smiling because god she loves this woman so much even though she can be a dumbass sometimes. Especially because she can be a dumbass sometimes actually.
The whole family is there. Bruce cries. Crystal makes snide but deserved comments at him the entire time. Tim was asked by both women to be their best man and almost spiraled into another self destructive slump from trying to process all the emotions he felt about that. In the end Cass takes Babs with Bruce walking her up the aisle and Steph takes Tim, who still looks mildly terrified throughout the entire ceremony, like one wrong move from him is going to bring the entire building down on top of them.
Two of Cass's enemies do show up to try and ruin the wedding but unfortunately for them they end up making it so much better instead because Cass gets to kiss her wife AND punch some bad guys in the face all in the same event. She's having the time of her life. What the hell was Bruce so afraid of this marriage thing is EASY.
(It's not easy. Cass is able to balance the mission and her family better than Bruce but that doesn't mean problems don't exist. The kids are used to at least one fight every six months where Steph basically yells at Cass for all the ways she's been letting Batman responsibilities come between them and Cass is like psh I don't know what you're talking about and then gets her act together because she does in fact know what Steph is talking about. She takes Steph to Themyscira on a vacation as an apology. She doesn't repeat her mistakes but she does make new ones because it turns out there are infinite ways you can mess up when raising kids especially when your work is being Batman and you're never going to stop. Steph messes up too although her mistakes are less to do with work life balance and more to do with hurtful comments made during arguments that she regrets. It's never anything bad enough to break them up again, and for the most part they're shockingly the most healthy and well adjusted pairing of the family. Damian takes great joy in reminding Tim of this fact.)
I've basically just written an abridged version of a very long fanfic idea that exists in my head haha but thank you very much for giving me the opportunity to ramble about this!
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pookie your last 2 posts about ocs are too real, like i can NOT watch a show without making up a little oc for it. Like whats the point of watching a show if i can't make up a silly girl in it or read some silly fanfic about it 🙂↕️
also off topic but i just can't stop talking about this but i just ordered some new taylor merch 🙂↕️
everything i watch or read, im over here making up a silly little girl that’s right there with the main characters and then im like “oh im gonna write that! but she needs a name…” and then they become a long winded x reader fic cough cough mag cough cough but now im putting out an actual OC!! even though i literally had one on wattpad years ago! also, yes, you get your merch! i bought some fancy special edition books the other day and i immediately told my mom and my sister and anyone else who was around
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"Not What I Planned." Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader.
Well hello! It is the amazing and fantastic @eggsandbeer birthday so, so soon! But I am meeting Matt and Skeet tomorrow and my brain is gonna be all on Billy and Stu post that, so you get this now! This is my first time writing Rusty, I watched Joy Ride 2 six times while writing this. I love Riri, she is so fucking awesome and I adored doing this. She has a more personalized version but gave the go ahead to post a reader insert version for you all! So let's go!
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Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.7K (I Know.) Rusty Nail X AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Customer Service Work. Asshole Customers. Murder Mentioned. Drinking. Making Out. Man Handling. Fingering. Masturbation. Blow Job. Cum Eating. Vaginal Sex. Riding. Taunting. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Praise. Pet Names.
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You hate your job, it is exhausting, mentally and physically, a total drain, but you do all you can to not let it get you down. You focus on the little things, good customer interactions, great coworkers and the times you are truly able to get away from your work. It isn’t like it’s what you wanted to do for the rest of your life anyway, far from it, in fact one of those vital lifelines that helps keep you sane is a local news internship, it gives you some good experience for what you hope to actually eventually do with your life along with giving you purpose.
Today is not good, though, off to a less than ideal start. This is decidedly not the way you wanted to spend your birthday. Rolling into the grocery store to do a closing shift, apron in your grip and bag over your shoulder, half-hearted waves to co-workers as you strolled through towards the area you could safely stow away your stuff until you are allowed to clock out. You do just that, drop your stuff in the usual place, get your uniform situated and punch in, ready for another day of God knows what bullshit.
Your mind was at least slightly occupied, where you work is en route to the Burning Man festival which meant that you were busy as fuck with people loading up on supplies before they arrive to their final destination, it kept you busy. As for what kept your brain whirring, your internship had tasked you with writing a piece on the crowd that is rolling through on their way, meaning you are watching and listening intently. It looks like you aren’t from the outside, hands stacking a fruit display, but ears open, all sorts of talk about events the Burners were amped up for, how much further they had to travel, what snacks were the best and would keep in the desert heat.
You did some actual work naturally, finding yourself crouched and cleaning out a stubborn drain, the process thoroughly annoying and honestly degrading, and not in the fun way you usually liked. It was your fucking birthday, for Christ’s sake, you should be indulging in the fun kind of calve burning, not the bent over and unclogging kind. Still, you try to stay in higher spirits and certainly not show it outwardly, if someone squinted hard enough, they might be able to pick up on it.
Later on, you had just finished making a new display, standing back and looking at the gorgeous display of apples you’d spent longer than you cared to mention on, hands on your hips. The first genuine smile that had graced your face since clocking in and wasn’t tinged with a single hint of perfectly practised customer service fakeness. This is one of those moments you felt genuine pride in your work, a glimmer of nicety in all the bullshit.
It lasted for two whole seconds.
A customer’s cart hits you in the hip and wrist simultaneously because of how you were standing, the action both painful and shocking, completely unexpected. It makes you step to the side, grip your wrist with your other hand, the pain is throbbing and dull, it isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but it still sucks and should have never happened in the first place. The customer doesn’t apologize. Worse still, they stride forward, pick a single apple from the middle of the display, causing half of it to tumble over. The customer scoffs with a roll of their eyes, they drop the apple into their cart to look around, seeming to notice you just now for the first time, only then acknowledging you. They give a pointed look from you to over their shoulder, a motion of their head as they criticized your work, “Not very sturdy.”
Your mouth falls open, and they tut as they walk away, leaving you dumbfounded with fifteen some odd apples scattered on the ground that you had to clean up and a display you had to rebuild.
Later still, you are sweeping, trying to get these damn onion skins up, but they aren’t moving. You are half focused, conversing with one of the Burners, they are asking for your opinion on what kombucha is best, and you are humouring them and getting a few questions answered along the way.
Throughout all the regular work crap, you’d been having small conversations with people, writing brief notes for your project, and it was nice getting some serious stuff down about it, served as a half decent distraction too.
His initial thought is that it was reminiscent of a zoo, upon greater thought while attempting to park the Peterbilt he decided swiftly that it was worse than that, a fucking circus. He manages to park and decides that getting in and out as fast as possible would be vital to maintaining his sanity. He was aware that Burning man was happening, naturally, but still the place was crowded as all Hell, more than he had been anticipating. Rusty didn’t like large crowds of people, but he needs some supplies, he needs to eat.
It isn’t any better inside.
He is making his way around, hat pulled low, basket in his grip, grabbing a few drinks, some favoured snacks that he knew kept well, he was passing by the produce, almost ready to get the fuck out. He goes into your department, he is grabbing bananas and thinking about getting some of those pre-cut carrot and celery sticks. Rusty is trying to be a tad more health minded, not like it would do much with how much he enjoys a good smoke but better to do something than nothing he supposed.
His train of thought is broken when he hears a loud exclamation of, “I can’t believe how fucking stupid you are!”
Rusty’s head turns, he catches sight of you, standing there, trying to look apologetic as some older lady is verbally ripping into you, “I’m making lemon chicken LEEK stroganoff, right?”
She is looking at you expectantly, your eyes wide, and with that half customer service forced smile you nod and say through gritted teeth, “Right.”
“So tell me, how. Am I. Supposed. To make. Lemon, chicken LEEK stroganoff without LEEKS?” The way she said it was infuriating, the halting, pausing way of it, so condensing, as if you were the cross between an idiot and a child all rolled into one.
“I don’t know, ma’am. I guess you can’t. I’m very sorry.” You admit it reluctantly, knowing she won’t like your response, and she does not. She goes off on you, “Well I’ve had this menu planned for WEEKS, I have company coming tonight! You have to make this right!”
Rusty was listening in, brow pinching, this woman was off her rocker, what a complete bitch. You were trying to calm her, smooth over the situation, and she was being worse and worse to you. No matter what you say, she wouldn’t stop freaking out.
“I really am very sorry. I could call another store nearby and ask if they have any leeks?” You offer up, and she scoffed with a laugh, “So I can make ANOTHER stop? Do you not remember? I am hosting a dinner party tonight, I’m busy! I have other places to go, I can’t be here fighting with you over this all night!”
And yet she was still here, doing just that.
He had turned, wasn’t watching quite as subtly as he was previous. You were doing your best and none of it was measuring up to this crazy, impossible standard that was being set out. He was looking at you, and he could see that you were taking it hard, your customer service face and voice were holding strong, but your eyes? They looked so sad.
You reminded him of a kicked puppy, as the woman finally had enough of being a raging cunt and stormed off. Right after that, someone else in uniform walked by, a manager? And on their way, they said, “Happy birthday.”
You gave a small, “Thanks.” along with half a wave as they strode past. You were not only working on, but getting treated like that, on your birthday?
It got to him, hit him square in the chest, shot to the heart. A sigh and he looks over, he makes a note of the asshole who mistreated you so, he has a little time before they check out before he can go dispose of them in the parking lot for being so unreasonable and rude to you. It might be too far for some people but not for him, people like that, there is no changing them, not at her age, some people don’t deserve to live.
First things, first though, he saunters over to you, a small clearing of his throat before he asks, “Got a date tonight, there a drink you’d recommend?”
You turn towards the low and smooth voice, you have to turn your head up to look at him properly, he was taller than you. The way he was standing, the angle, and how he wore his hat you couldn’t see his face, brim pulled too low, standing a few feet away.
A small inhale and your smile turned more genuine before you reply, “Oh, our Pink Champagne is my favourite. I get that on special occasions.”
Well, how fucking perfect a find were you? Kind, respectful, hardworking, and you have good taste.
“Thank you.” He said it easily with a wave of his hand in acknowledgement and broke away. You watch him go and think to yourself that he is cute, in that particular way that strikes you when an older guy catches your eye just so. The interaction doesn’t stick with you however, you turned and saw more fucking onion skins that needed sweeping up.
Hours later, you finally get off of work, messed up apron in one hand and looking forward to getting the hell home. You had two days off ahead, you were intent on a bath and partaking in some drinks in your fridge with a good record on when you get home. You are walking through the dark and now very empty parking lot, your mind only focused on reaching your car, sliding behind the wheel and getting home as soon as possible, when you hear a voice calling out. Your car keys are in one hand, the keys between your fingers, sticking out and ready to punch a would be attacking if you need to.
Hearing the voice makes you put your head on a swivel, initially scared, you look and then see it is that older gentlemen you helped out earlier. You pause, and he comes a little closer, again in the dark and with that hat you can’t make out much except for the orange glow of the end of his cigarette, partially illuminating the lower half of his face. He calls out your name, following it with a question of, "-right?”
“Hi, yeah it is.” You were still sightly on edge until he is holding up the very same bottle you suggested earlier, “Wanted to say thank you for your recommendation, properly.”
Your brows raise up, you saw him in the store hours ago, meaning he should in theory be long gone, and you ask, “I thought you had a date?”
“I do. I was just waitin’ for her to get off work.” Even though you couldn’t see it fully, you could hear the smile in his tone, and it makes one spread to your own face. “Oh, my apologies, I didn’t realize that was you asking me out.”
The tone you said it in was very light, and he seemed equally amused, “Sorry bout that, terrible manners on my part, truly.”
There is a beat of silence, and you say, “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”
“So you’d be willing to join me?” He asks, you nod, you felt endeared to him very quickly, the confidence he displayed, the boldness, you were charmed and figured why not? You had the time tonight, nothing wrong with enjoying a birthday drink bought by a courteous man.
“Where are we going to go?” You ask, and he gestured over to the large shiny black Piterbilt towards the back of the lot. “Was thinking my truck, if that’s alright with you?”
When he asks in that delicious tone of voice, you think that yes, it is very alright with you. “Lead the way.” You prompt, and he does, you fall into step beside him, apron is thrown over your shoulder, and you asked, “So you’re a truck driver?”
“How’d you ever guess?” He asked on an exhalation of his cigarette with a glance over to you. Now you can catch the half smirk on his face, unable to make out his eyes completely, but it didn’t bother you, honestly you kind of dug the mysterious kind of thing, not even fully knowing what he looked like. If anything that communicated how into him, you were, hadn’t even seen his whole face but his voice and how he carried himself was more than enough to convince you to this odd kind of unexpected date.
“I’m real intuitive. Call it a gift.” You mused, and he liked you, even in how you joked, there was no real meanness to it, could tell that it was all in fun and that inherent niceness shone through. “Giving me gifts when it’s your birthday? Isn’t that what M’ supposed to be doing?”
That gives you some slight pause, how in the fuck did he know that it was your birthday? Before any serious question could be made, you were next to his truck on the passenger side. You look it over and say honestly, “Nice truck.”
“Thanks, do my best to take real good care of it, s’ seen some rough times.” You look a little closer, scrutinizing, if it had, you couldn’t tell, the thing looked clean and not a scratch on it. You turn and lean against it, you realize he had gotten some cups that were also sold at your work, he holds them out, “Mind holding these while I open this?”
You nod and take them out of his outstretched hand and watch as the last remainder of his cigarette was dropped and ground under the heel of his boot. He uncorks the bottle with ease, doesn’t spill any or cause it to overflow, which mildly impresses, you hold out the cups and he fills them. The bottle is set aside on the ground and after passing him his cup he asked “Any words to share?”
“Here’s to the weekend?” You offered up after a moment’s thought, and he said, “I’ll drink to that.” He knocks yours and his cups together, and you take a sip of the sweet and familiar fizzy alcoholic drink.
“Seriously the shift I had today was rough, so this is really nice, thank you-” Then you realize you don’t know his name, he clearly picks up on this and says, “Name’s Rusty. Rusty Nail.”
Immediately you figure it must be his CB handle, you wonder if Rusty is his real name, but also you don’t think it matters much, you don’t press, “Well thank you, Rusty, really.”
“S’ my pleasure. Heard how that woman was going off on you earlier, some people can be so rude.” Is that what prompted this? The total bitch who was freaking over leeks? If so, you think that maybe her being such a raging cunt wasn’t such a bad thing if it led to this.
Little did you know that Rusty had taken care of her, she was currently stuffed in the trunk of her own car, way, way on the other side of the lot, body long since gone cold.
The conversation then turned to you both complaining about a shared distaste for rude and unreasonable people, he let you vent about your day and previous horrible customers at your job. As the conversation went on, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more. You also find yourself standing closer to him, half the bottle gone, he’s had another smoke, and you are leaning on him much more than the truck, he doesn’t mind, you sigh to him, “I cannot believe the crap you have to put up with, it’s so unfair!”
“Some people have some really unsavoury and outdated views on people in my line of work.” He admits with a nod, and from what he’d shared it seemed like. There are people who say the meanest shit, make horrible assumptions, treat him like dirt or worse, a feeling you know all too well at your own job. You relate to Rusty.
You’d been talking for an hour, and it was even later, darker, and a shiver unexpectedly ran up your spine, “You cold?”
You were a little, you were in a t-shirt and after standing in one spot for so long this late the chill had somehow set in. “Yeah, surprisingly I am a bit.”
Then he made an interesting offer. “You want to get in my truck, warm up?”
You think you really did want that. “Yeah, that’d be great, actually.”
He moved back then and so did you, he opened the door for you, and you looked up, Christ it was big, how were you supposed to get in while in your slightly buzzed state without looking like a total clown? You feel him against your back, he asks, “Need some help?”
You nod, unsure of what he means or how he is going to help but trusting him all the same, it’s then that you feel his hands on you. He turns you, and then those same hands find your waist with ease and grip. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you realize to him, you probably do, as he helps hoist you into the passenger side of the truck. Rusty sits you on your ass in the seat and your face feels much hotter, he just scooped you up and set you down so fast, one simple and fluid motion as he stepped one foot up on the running board, and then there you were. You are side-saddle, legs dangling down and far off of the ground. His hands leave you quicker than you’d like, sliding off your waist and stepping back down. You are a bit dazed, his hand touches your ankle, and you jump, he laughs at your surprised, “What?”
“You wanna get your legs in, so I can close the door?” You nod and do so, swinging your legs in, and he shuts the door. Your hand, that had been clutching your bag and apron, dropped them on the floor by your feet. You look down into your cup, you hadn’t spilled any even when he picked you up, the cup is raised, you tip it back and swallow down the remainder. A sigh and you pull the cup back, hand still clutching it, comes to rest on your thigh as your thumb on your opposite hand swipes a stray drop from the corner of your mouth. He had come around to the other side, he has the door open and is sliding in beside you into the driver's seat, he’d picked up the bottle on the way, and you were contemplating asking for more.
As if reading your mind he gestures for your cup, you lean over, holding it out, and he pours you some more, you asked him, “So before, you were talking about all the bad stuff about truck driving, but what about the stuff you do like?”
The question seems to surprise him if his tone is any indication, “The stuff I do like?”
He has pulled the bottle back, he isn’t pouring more for himself, you respond to his question with another of your own, “Yeah, what makes the job worth it? Other than the money.”
Rusty considers the question for a moment before he says, “I like seein’ the country, like being by myself most of the time but most of all? Probably seems obvious, but the freedom of it.”
You nodded, it made sense and asked, “Can go anywhere, do anything?”
“S’actly.”
The silence is as surprisingly comfortable as the passenger seat of this truck is. The thought hits, and you say it without thinking, “I dunno how you do it.”
“What? Truck drivin’?” He asks, and you say with a turn to him, “Yeah! Like, the actual driving it.”
He laughs, and you press on, one hand holding your cup and the other making like you are gripping a steering wheel that was comically large, pretending to turn it, “Seriously! This thing is massive, it’s a beast! How can you control it?”
“Ain’t that hard really, just gotta be the right mix of careful and confident.” He assures, and you laugh, “You make it sound so easy, I’ve never driven anything this big, that-” You point out the window to your much less impressive ride, “-is my car over there.”
“Yeah, don’t quite measure up, does it?” He teases and you grin, “Nope. But I don’t think I could drive anything like this.”
“I think you could.” A small pause before he asks the big question, “Wanna try?”
You nearly choke on your sip and pull the cup back, wiping at your mouth, “What? Me? Drive the behemoth? You want to write it off that bad, Rusty?”
“You cannot be that bad a driver.” He scoffs.
“Rusty, you barely know me, I dunno-” He insists, “C’mon, I’ll help.”
“Help?”
You were curious enough to allow it to happen, you’d not counted on his idea of help being putting you in his lap. He’d moved the seat back enough and encouraged you to climb on, emboldened by both the drink and his encouragement, you slide on into the space he made. He moves the seat forward enough to do the pedals, and he places your hands on the wheel, his hands covering yours. “You sure this is a good idea?”
Nerves were setting in, you’d been drinking, not a lot but also all the close contact with him was getting to you, his attractiveness was apparent during your brief meeting earlier but now that you'd’ been getting to know him? He was becoming even more appealing, being sat in his lap, your back to his chest, his hands on yours, you felt flustered. Sounded by him in both touch and scent, it could be enough to make your head swim if you let it. In your current position, his voice is over your shoulder, “Positive. You’ll be fine.”
The tone of voice he says it in, the conviction, he makes you believe it.
One of his hands leaves yours briefly to start her up, the truck rumbles to life, and it makes you jump slightly, Christ it was loud and is vibrating like all Hell. “We’ll just do a lil’ loop, alright? M’ doing the pedals, you just steer her real easy.”
He had to speak louder to be heard over the hum of the truck, and you pitch your own volume up to be heard, “Yeah, real easy, can do.”
His foot comes down slowly, and he eases it forward, you grip the wheel tightly and let him lead. He talks you through the process, and it helps, you focus your eyes forward and your ears on listening to his smooth voice praising you, “Uh-huh, around the pole, use it as a guide.” You swallowed and nodded, brows knit together as he keeps talking, “Oh good job, see? You’re doing it.”
His hands squeeze yours reassuringly, your mouth feels dry, you nod and say quieter than you should, “Thanks.”
“No need to thank me, you’re doing most of the work.” You feel that isn’t truthful but again, he talks, you believe.
“Almost all the way around, a little further-” Both his hands leave yours, sliding down your arms and choosing to come to rest on your waist again, letting you fully be in control. It makes you tense, rushing out, “Rusty, wait-”
Another flex of his hands, another show of comfort, he says easily, drawling out, “Calm down, you’re doing it all yourself.”
You aren’t fully convinced until you’ve made the full loop, and he lets off the gas, he turns off the car and your shoulders slump, what he says next, makes you melt, “I told you. You’re perfect.”
That does something, makes a particular part of you break, or is it wake up? Either way, a certain section of you, somewhere aside, comes alive, and instead of wanting to run from it, you chose to grab onto the live wire of sensation with both hands. The truck has stopped, but you keep moving, the urge overcomes, and you turn in your seat and in his lap, one hand comes up, meets his cheek, feeling the rough stubble. He’d already gotten you the champagne, but you think you want more still, and you ask, “Can I be selfish?”
“S’ your birthday, be as selfish as you want to.” You take that is more than enough of an invitation. You lean up and in, push the brim of his hat up enough to give yourself the appropriate access, and you kiss him.
He had a feeling it was going this way, but thinking and experiencing are two different things. You choosing to take the lead was better than he could have been hoping for, though. Your mouth was so fucking soft, you felt warm, he tried to take it easy, but this is the kind of thing he can’t help getting swept up in. Chances like this don’t come around often, the urge to rush is present, he manages to ignore it, preferring to savour it, or rather, savour you. He lets himself relax further into the seat, returning your affection immediately.
The scratch of his facial hair against your skin feels better than you’d hoped it would, you let out a soft exhale, a sound on the precipice of a moan while still falling just short. His hands are still on your waist, he nudges you closer, you lean in more, your head tilts, his lips part, and he tastes more like cigarettes than he does the champagne, but it’s there. Your tongue makes the first exploration and sticky sweet fruit is unearthed from below smoke and ash.
One of his hands slides down, a brief pass over your thigh, and you wonder where it’s going, you realize in short order when the seat you are both on moves back, giving you more space, making it, so you aren’t quite as locked up against the steering wheel. Heat is sparking inside, your hand moves from his face, slipping to rest on his neck, your other hand comes up to his shoulder, fingers grip the jacket he has on and the want becomes too much. You grind down on him.
The shifting and adjusting allows you to feel how hard he was growing, a harsher inhale, and you begin to scramble, you want more contact, you move to be fully straddling him, no more twisting partially around like you currently were. You are seated just right soon enough, ass firmly planted, and you think fleetingly God he had some solid thighs, strong, you felt very well-supported.
The making out was only paused briefly while you changed position, you’d gotten right back into it, your mouth slotting back against his with a hum that sounded like his name. You grind again and this time he returns it, rutting up into you, and the friction makes you actually moan this time. The taste, the feeling, and two minutes more of making out is all it takes for you to break, pulling back once his touch had gotten bolder, one having slid up your body, palming one of your tits through your work shirt easily with how large his hands were. You arch into him, breaking the kiss you beg, “Fuck, Rusty, more.”
You are close enough now that you can see his smile as opposed to just hear it, his hand moves and starts to go under your shirt, rough fingers on bare skin and steadily moving up, brushing the edge of your bra. Not quite a laugh but more than an amused releasing of air, he asks, “More?”
A frantic nod, another squirm of your hips and he asks, “How much more? C’mon, tell me.”
He wants you to say it and you want it desperately enough that it’s no issue, far from it, if anything him making you say it, makes you want it more, makes you feel hotter. “Fuck me?”
“I like your directness.” Thank God for that. “Just have a lil more patience with me, alright?”
When he asks in that tone, you think you’d do just about anything. A small nod and he needs to get his fill of you just a hair more. Hands explore, groping, feeling, it teases both of you, trying to get a sense of your body before the clothes come off, mind running over just how you’ll feel with nothing in the way. You remain good, you let him feel, minimal squirming on your part, even when he starts kissing your neck as the hand that isn’t up your shirt kneads your ass. Only when you feel your underwear literally plastered to you and your cunt ache incessantly do you whine his name again.
He mercifully acquiesces, “Okay, okay, I hear you.”
He eases up, a gesture of his head for you to move to the passenger's seat, “Gonna need you out of those clothes for what you really want.”
You rush to comply. Once in the passenger's seat, sitting sideways, still facing him, looking at him, your hands catch the bottom hem of your shirt and as if anticipating that you intended to frantically tear it off, he stops you. One hand out and that sweet but firm tone, commanding, "Do it slowly."
Your face feels hot, and you do as instructed, slowing your movements right down, pulling the shirt up, exposing your stomach and then your bra. Higher and higher until you have taken it off, tossing it in the direction of your bag and apron. Next you have your thumbs hooked in the waist of your pants, arching your hips you start to slide them down, you watch him, try to gauge his reaction, but it’s hard in the low lighting. He gives a nod to show he’s pleased so far, encouraging you verbally too, “Go on.”
Shoes removed, pants follow, soon you are in just your underwear, and he speaks, a small gesture of your body, up and down, “S’ a good start but keep going.”
You reach behind yourself, start to unhook your bra, and he is still talking, “Dying to see the rest.”
You swear you can feel his eyes raking over every exposed inch of your skin. A small thought strikes, you follow it, slipping your arms out of the straps but holding the cups to your chest, an indulgent smile, a rise of your eyebrows, and he clicks his tongue, you play dumb and ask, “What?”
“You’re being a tease.” He states, and you ask in a tone of mock innocence, “Am I?”
He says more seriously. “Drop it.”
Unsure if he means your bra or the act, you chose to abandon both. You let the padded fabric slip out of your hands, a spread of your legs, you wonder if he can tell how wet you are from here. He moves too now, you weren’t expecting it, he falls to his knees in the space between your seat and his. Hands come to your hips and the sudden contact makes you jerk with a sharp inhale. His mouth catches yours in another kiss, you return it and moan, his mouth doesn’t stay on yours for long, trails down, jaw and neck, one on your shoulder and lower.
He is confident, he’s taking what he wants and you more than let him, you enjoy every rough scrape of his well worked hands, pass of his lips and nip of his teeth. His warm breath fanning over your chest is welcome, one hand has moved again, over your hip and now on your inner thigh, his thumb is close enough, and he runs it up you, swipes up your clothed slit. You sigh, eyes falling closed, relishing the contact, you are sure now he can feel how wet you are. He runs it back down and then up again, a press just right, and you moan between the friction on your clit and his mouth now on your chest.
He found it so easily and judging by the smile you can feel against the curve of your breast, he is just as pleased. Rusty abandons the current pleasant task, fingers hooking in your underwear, “I got a feelin’ it’d be a fight to get these off you too, an’ I just can’t wait.”
You couldn’t either, not anymore.
Assisting with a move of your ass up, he gets them off, and now you are naked in his semi-truck. You want to jump him, but he is holding you down by your thighs, taking in the view of you unobstructed, totally bare. “Fucking gorgeous.”
A hand reaches out, catches his jacket, and you tug as you tell him, “I feel really exposed right now, you wanna lose some of these?”
“S’ only fair.” He agrees, he removes his jacket and asks, “Wanna give me a little show while I fix myself?”
It is a request, but you take it like it’s an order. Hand between your spread legs, fingers trace up, catching ample wetness and spreading it up, circling sensitive tissue, making your thighs tense and a small moan fall from your lips. “There you go.”
The praise helps, you increase the pressure, and he hums in approval. Shirt is gone, belt is opened more and more revealed until he is in a similar state of undress. The view of him stripping all for you is insanely helpful. Pleasure is filling you easily and once he is ready he asks, “You mind if I-?”
“However you want me, please.” It leaves you needy and breathless. He steps in, he moves your hands away from yourself, and starts to adjust you to his liking. You like it, you think he can be rougher honestly, you are put on your knees, facing the passenger window, a hand on your back, adjusting you more, hips tilted up, and you feel him against you. The bump of his shaft between your thighs and over your clit is already very good. “Ready, yeah?”
A shaky nod, “Please Rusty-”
The one word and his name is all you are able to get out before he is lining up just right, you hold your breath in anticipation, he spits into his own hand, strokes himself, the extra lube as courtesy is appreciated. He slides in, and you let out a gasp, he doesn’t do it easily, taking you in one firm stroke, hand on your hips as his come to rest against your ass. He revels in you, the tight, soaked heat of you, his head tips back slightly as he soaks it before he starts to move. Pulling out halfway before driving forward, your hands scrabble for the window’s edge, you hold onto it like a lifeline as you gear up for what is already promising to be the ride of a lifetime.
His thrusting is firm, just like him, steady and sure, a good and even pace. It leaves breathless, not caring about being overheard, not like anyone could in the empty parking lot. A heavy breath from him, “Fucks sake, you’re soaked.”
You were moaning, incoherent pleas, along with his name, you were more than warmed up, each drag of his thick shaft in and out increasing the feeling. Fingers dig into the meat of your hips, he pulls you back as he drives forward, and you move too, rocking backwards to meet him. “Tight as Hell, can barely fit myself in here.”
“Keep talking, never, ever stop talking.” Is the one thought in your brain as you moan dumbly. You aren’t thinking much, unable, but you are feeling. Rusty was so kind to you, was totally turning your birthday around, making you feel incredible, spoiling you, and you want to do the same. His hands are roaming and that won’t do, you need to stop him before you are fucked into total submission and wrecked. Another minute, just another minute, you tell yourself, eyes are half open and brain hazy. The glass is so fogged up you can’t see out of it, could write your name but if he asked you doubted your hands would be steady enough. Could you even spell your name right now with what he was doing to you?
Finally, you reach back, hands on his hips, “Ru-Rusty, please, stop-”
“Something the matter?” He asked, holding deep, all the way to the hilt inside you. His hands smooth up your sides, fingers trace the curves of your chest before coming back down again, and you shiver, clenching on his shaft.
“Gotta, fuck, do something. Pull out?” He listens, he does so, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
The pet names, fucking Christ the pet names, you are forcing yourself to move. It happens quickly. You turn, and then you push him, so his back is against the seat of the driver's side. He takes the hint, sits up on the seat sideways, and then you are the one on your knees. Between his spread thighs, you lean down, a hand locks around the base of his shaft and you lick. He lets out a surprised groan, soft and sounding too good. You start to blow him in earnest, careful of your gag reflex as you work. Your hand slips up and down his slick shaft as you suck on the head, his hand comes down to your head, fingers twist in your hair, “Like tasting yourself?”
A nod as you moan against him, tongue swirls around the tip, and he watches enraptured, his hips buck slightly, and you gag almost immediately. He inhales through his teeth, “Sorry there.”
You brush him off, a gesture that it is fine, as you redouble your efforts. He seems to be enjoying it immensely, he is encouraging you further but soon asks, “Can you handle some more?”
For him, you want to try. You nod, and he guides you, does it slowly and easily, “Breathe through it-”
You do and the pace, his voice, it somehow works, and you’re able to take him deeper, “Pretty birthday girl. Takin’ it so well.”
All you wanted to do was please him, you continue the work for only a minute more, however because then he tells you, “I want you back up here.”
You jump at the chance. Same as before, you climb up him and straddle him, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see where this is going. “You didn’t have to do that.” He comments, and you have your hands on his biceps, currently sucking a hickey into his neck and teasing your dripping hole with the tip of his dick, “I know. I wanted to.”
“Could tell you were into it. You always wanna taste yourself like that?”
“Not always but it is-” You move your hips down, start to slide him inside with a moan, once he is buried inside of you again you finish the thought, “-a favourite.”
“Dirty girl.” He coos it like a compliment, and it hits you just like one, too. You start to ride, his hands on you help along with upward rocks of his hips. You bite and suck along his throat in between broken moans, the salt of his skin is a tad too addicting, as is the stretch of him inside and the way he brushes all the right spots inside of you at this angle.
Apparently it still isn’t good enough for him.
He tugs you closer, presses you so that way your clit is getting friction and ground with every thrust and bounce, your moans increase in volume in pitch along with the sensation. You had no clue this is how your day would shake out, if you did, maybe your shift would have been more bearable.
His hands are on your back, holding you close, fucking up into you as you are slamming down, and on a particularly good hit you are gasping. For two people fucking for the first time and relative strangers, you’d found a frighteningly good rhythm. Your body is moving on instinct, just chasing what feels good but still, thoughtlessly tinged with doing your best to please him, thankful for the moment that what seems to be getting him off is feeling incredible for you. It isn’t quite enough, though, and he seems to pick up on that.
“Lean back.” His voice snaps you out of your pleasure induced stupor, and you nod, separating yourself from him, the one point of contact still remaining your ass on his thighs and him stuffed deep inside. He directs you further, his hands help, and you find yourself with one hand on his knee, the other braced on the roof of the truck, feet on the seat on either side of him and with a confident nod you start moving again.
It’s good, you are able to hit spots inside yourself that are even deeper, using all your leg muscles as well as your hands it becomes more of a full body effort, minute adjustments can be made so too much strain is never on one part of your sweat slick frame. Soon as you are just right in the groove of it, he surprises you, why he wanted the change in position becomes all too clear. His hand is between your bodies and his thumb presses down, swirling over your clit, and it makes your pace falter, “Oh my fucking God-”
“Don’t stop now.” The way he says it makes a shiver run up your spine and again makes you clench down on him. He says it in the dominant tone of voice, but it’s light, that smug fucking half grin on his face, unable to tear his eyes away from your body. You shake your head, choking out, “Wo-won’t stop.”
“No, course you won’t, you’re so good at listening.” The praise washes over you with another sharp jolt of ecstasy. His hand that wasn’t working your nerves into a frenzy was on your thigh, sliding up, gripping your hip, “This workin’ for you?”
Fuck, was it ever. You nod frantically, focusing on breathing and not stopping riding him, but in short order, your movements were getting increasingly sloppy. It was like he didn’t have to ask, didn’t rush it, just let you work it out and helped carry you along. You were getting dangerously close, the edge creeping up at a blinding pace, everything you’d experienced so far this night was piling up and threatening to make you break apart at the seams. There were no real words, just hurried breathing and pitched moans, head back, nails digging into the fabric of the truck cab’s roof, the sound of skin on skin and his encouragement.
A soft call of your name, his hips moving up, grinding into you as his hand works and him asking in a mind meltingly hot tone, “I wanna see it, give it to me.”
And something about that, whether it is what he said or how he said it, causes the reaction inside to finally make it happen, like it clicks into place just right, and you go from a weak and barely audible strained whisper of, “I’m almost there!” To holy fucking shit, I’m, “-cumming!”
Riding as much became not an option, legs almost giving out, but he takes over, grip on your hip is bruising, hip strength impressive, and he drives up into you over and over. Your hand isn’t able to stay on the roof, caught midair, body tense as your climax rockets through your body, you think your hand on his knee might be drawing blood with your nails, but you can’t stop it nor can you care.
You jerk as it peaks, and he slips out, his fingers don’t stop until you are crying out and pushing him away, still trembling through the aftershocks. Your eyes were closed, you were panting and not even remotely down from his high when you feel the hot splatter on your tits and stomach with your name staining his tongue. Peaking back open, you see him, hand around himself, and he’d cum all over your torso. The pretty pearly white is sliding down, and his own breathing is very laboured. Your hand trails down, still shaky, skating through the mess he left, and then you're bringing those same fingers back up to taste him.
Your body relaxes against him, you get into a more comfortable position, and after you stop shuddering so much you are telling him, “That was pretty fucking great.”
“Oh, are you all done?” He asked as he looks up at you, hands are resting lazily on your thighs, tracing patterns absentmindedly. “I mean I thought we were but are we not?”
“We don’t gotta be. I’m in no rush.” The thought of that is extremely pleasant.
“Another drink till you’re ready to go again, old man?” You asked with a smile, and he laughs as he reaches over to where the bottle was left on the floor of his side of the truck. Thankfully it hadn’t been knocked over, “You get that one and only cuz you were so good.”
“Only one old man joke or one joke overall? Because I was gonna make one hoping that you aren’t passingly along tetanus to me Rusty, but if you’re planning to be a buzzkill-” He shuts you up with a hand on the back of your neck and a kiss that you end up humming into. Yeah, you think this has been a pretty solid birthday.
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Liveblog: Wakfu Season 2 (episodes 13-16)
Episode 13 - The Night of the Thirsters
Proof Amalia and Joris are not close friends number 829342345: if she knew the alcohol he drinks and what he considers "a clean environment to live in" she'd get scared.
WoT twitter would kill Amalia.
I know it's more likely that both alcoholic and non-alcoholic bamboo milk exists, but the thought of everyone being a-ok with Yugo underage drinking makes me giggle for some reason. Ruel would fucking do that.
Are your villains 1. indestructible, 2. want to consume something that could theoretically fix them, 3. in the process, inflict a fate worse than death upon their victim, who 4. becomes one of them?
...Necromes were a missed opportunity. Shoulda called them Wakfu Thirsters instead.
Episode 14 - The Voice Thief
It's always sad to see the way the world has been devastated by Ogrest's Chaos.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
...This says:
Her singing is so cute!
She is now fully bamboo milk-pilled. GOOD.
New Krosmoz music lore: We already know that vinyls and their players exist, as well as the fact that rock music exists (due to the fact that The Blues of a Hypermage (parody of the IRL song The Blues of a Buisinessman) exists).
Now we have the confirmation that metal bands are real.
Also, electric guitars are also real.
Mics are also real. (I am totally not noting all of this down because I want to write a "Joris, Kerubim, and Atcham go to karaoke" scene in one of my fics in the future, nuh-uh...)
Hummina hummina hummina bazooooooooing! eyes pop out AROOOOOOOOGA! jaw drops tongue rolls out WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF.
It's very rare to see, within the show, characters who differ from their usual class skin and hair colours, which is a shame. (I am 99% sure this is an iop due to his clothes and his hair pointing upwards)
Text behind Eva: rien ne sert de payer il faut en fuir / there is no point in paying, you have to run away
Text behind Amalia is too shielded to transcribe fully.
This is written in Brakmarian. It says:
This means that, metal music is stereotypically a Brakmarian form of music (big news: spoon found in kitchen)
I usually don't point this sort of stuff out but, man, this tavern is really well off. Not only is there a lot of food, there are also huge hot baths...
Also, once again, canalization and running water are real in this setting.
I choose to believe that this bubble thing is the Krosmoz equivalent of vaping because it's funny.
[blushing] Would!
Jpop is real in this setting, and someday, I will be able to prove to you, that Joris is a fan of it, using some proof besides "well ecaflips are kind of japanese-coded sometimes" and "it just makes sense."
Good rooms in taverns like these not only have hot baths but also fruit, candles, and drinks... [starts writing down "Joris, Kerubim and Atcham go to an expensive tavern and start talking about some convoluted topic, with vivid descriptions of delicious fruit-eating, how good the wine is, and how soft the bubbles in the bath are" in my fic self-indulgent scene ideas document. I can live my vacation fantasies vicariously through those three men]
Of course metal music from Brakmar is about the fact that the apocalypse caused inflation and that it's Good.
This says:
ourse
olle
m al
venu
Episode 15 - Wabbit Island
Hhh she is a very good artist.
[guy who is insane voice] This means that if I ever want to use the expression "canary in a coalmine" in a fic it'll be "tofu in a coalmine" instead.
The word Sayonara exists in Krosmoz which implies that some sort of fantasy Japanese is real. Big win.
Episode 16 - The Cursed Fountain
:(
While I usually talk a lot about character parallels between Yugo and Joris (these men who had to grow up far too fast will someday commit acts which no human being can be forgiven for in the name of goodness—-) there is a lot to be said about parallels betwen Eva and Joris.
They're both artistic, kind people who try to appear logic-driven (and sadly, they are both basically the wranglers/babysitters of their entire adventuring groups).
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My rough thoughts/interpretation/reflection of Solas and his relationship with Mythal after a first playthrough. It's subject to change on future playthroughs, but probably by inches (if I can ever get my audio fixed). Note that while I am trying to base all of this on canon, there is reinterpretation involved, as I do feel Mythal/Flemythal/Morrimythal was neutered somewhat in the writing process.
Spoilers for the whole of DA: The Veilguard.
When I roleplayed Solas I mostly played the relationship as benign, in large part due to her being another character whose role in Solas's life was gestured at but never defined. Which in some ways, is still true, but I think at this point it's impossible to deny she had a negative impact on him (to say the least). Since moving into fic writing I started to lean into the darker implications of their relationship, and while for the sake of rp I'm adaptable, I do still want to talk about my feelings regarding them.
I believe Solas, by aiding her, is culpable in many of the crimes they committed together- make no mistake of that, but he is also a victim of her. She says at the end she used his wisdom as a weapon, but she also used her benevolence as a tool to manipulate him, appealing to his knowledge of her nature to get what she wanted.
Her coaxing him to take a body after he states outright that "he has no wish to live as humans do" (I'm going to ignore the confusing implication that humans were around) is but the first betrayal she subjects him to, and imo the greatest crime she commits against him, specifically. At least in canon, the game skirts around the issue of vallaslin, but if the "he didn't want a body but she asked him to come" is true, then it would follow that the follow-up, "he left a scar when he burned her off her face" would also be true.
The second would be rising to the heights of the gods, and calling him the traitor for rebellion. Morrigan calls Mythal corrupted 'Retribution,' and that may be true of Mythal after her murder, but I believe long before that her benevolence had gone awry. From what I can tell, we have no concrete timeline for Elvhenan and what the gods did before and after her death, and therefore no idea what Mythal even means by tempering the other evanuris. Slavery almost certainly existed, which honestly is enough for me to say she was doing a bad job. Past codices indicate that her punishments were not just so much as exact:
"Mythal, in her wisdom, interceded in an argument between Elgar'nan and Falon'Din. With clever words, she convinced them to settle their grievance through a battle of their champions. Elgar'nan and Falon'Din agreed, and set their champions against each other rather than declare war among the gods. May those knights long be remembered, and Mythal's wisdom be praised." (x)
This and the codex describing Mythal's judgment characterise her tenure as a god as being far from bloodless.
There are also indications that not all had as much faith in Mythal's ability to see reason or cede power:
"Solas always thought" is the key phrase for me in this note. Not "we," but "Solas."
What this all means for Solas is that Mythal someone he has a deep, ancient connection to, but also someone who has hurt him deeply, violated him, used him.
And he doesn't want to face that.
Solas is quite capable of admitting his mistakes, even as he is moving onto the next one literally in the same breath... but Mythal's mistakes are never addressed by him, even at the finish, when he is holding the pommel of the knife out for her taking.
I think Solas navigates around the wrongs committed against him throughout the course of their knowing each other. His rage against the mages who forced Wisdom to take a body, to kill, may lead him to murdering them, but he never directs such anger at Mythal. He can't. The regrets he has about her literally flake and dry upon the walls of the Lighthouse because he can't. He can't face her remnant in the FadeAnd it's only at the end where he receives any catharsis in the matter, any admittance of wrongdoing against him (albeit without apology).
So in most interactions with Mythal, Solas will be very close with her, at best brushing up against the sides of where there relationship chafes. Always willing to believe the best of her, and her death granting him the mercy of being able to persist in that belief.
I do also believe their relationship was entirely platonic, albeit at such an intensity (on his part at least) that I'm certain there was talk. Luckily, I've spent ten years with Thora and Solas doing the ground work for Solas having deeply intense platonic relationships that match his romantic ones for their dedication and devotion.
#she stood above the rest ( mythal )#( headcanons )#v; gods will fall but we will rise ( elvhenan )#he calls himself Pride ( about )#[ i want to write a more in depth version one day but for now you get this ]#abuse cw
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Fic-to-Art #38: Ozai carries Azula to the physicians' wing
This has been done for A WHILE now, but I didn't post it because the past days have been chaotic and not just on a personal level. For one thing, I really wasn't eager to drop this when people were losing their shit massively over the liveaction and its recontextualization of Azula and Ozai's dynamics, I didn't look forward to releasing this just to be told that whatever I've done in my story is somehow wrong, sooooooooo... that held me back, for a few days.
Then? The AI-Tumblr deal started to be talked about and I may or may not have freaked out about that too. Sooo... this is the first glazed and nightshaded piece of my creation, as consequence. The original, clean and proper version is available in my Patreon. Is this me being a dick to Tumblr-only people? Unfortunately, it very much isn't, I'm not trying to say that if you want the best iterations of my art, you should pay me for it... this is squarely, entirely, at staff/the CEO's feet. Obviously, there's the insecure side of me that goes "what makes you think they'd steal YOUR art when there are so many better artists out there!" but ultimately? AI is about taking everything en masse. It isn't a matter of developing a criteria about who makes the better art... it's just taking EVERYTHING and trying to repurpose it in whatever twisted way it needs to. Therefore? I think my choice is more of a matter of caution than anything else. Once AI bullshit dies out (and I really hope it does), we may just return to the same level of quality across all my accounts. For now, it is what it is.
ANYWAY! Point is this artwork is very much what my Patrons happened to vote for this month, a very shocking scene where Ozai reacted in the least foreseen way to Azula being attacked. Azula's confusion/terror comes from a place of not knowing what to do and being powerless to stop her father even if she doesn't feel comfortable with his help... but for once, Ozai isn't making a dreadful choice that will only devastate his daughter. He's actually worried about her health... and feeling genuine guilt over what landed her in the situation where she was in danger in the first place. Yes. I like me my complex Ozai who finally learned actions have consequences. He bores me to death otherwise :') if anyone STILL doesn't know that this whole situation is Gladiator-specific, then I shall clarify fully: this is artwork based on my fic. It's about a story that has been developing these characters for ALMOST ELEVEN YEARS now. It has nothing to do with whatever's going on in canon or in the liveaction, the scene in question was written almost two years ago and the artwork proposed and voted for several days before the liveaction aired. Ergo: there is no connection between this and that. Nor am I saying through this piece that Ozai is a good father. He is not. He can still be an interesting character to work with on a narrative level anyway :')
Alright. With that out of the way, hope you guys like this piece! The big one I haven't posted is ALSO finished, also glazed and nightshaded, but I think I might just end up posting it on the 26th if I don't have time to do anything big for our eleventh anniversary... yep, I'm so busy I don't even have a huge project in mind this time. Also? I have a lot to write and I'm finally happily writing it, and I would like to continue doing that...
Anyway! If you would like to be part of the creative process behind this piece, as well as see it in its proper, OG, less color-bleeding clunky version? A $1 Patreon pledge gives you the chance to join in suggesting prompts, voting for them and reading Gladiator snippets 6 days before a new chapter is released!
#fic-to-art project#ozai#azula#obviously this was the February piece#and I'm very sorry for the long time it took me to post it but#god I hate it every time there's any “new” thing going on in this franchise#has nothing to do with me and yet it's always a pain because people with the STALEST takes#start to spring out and start trying to police what's going on in the fandom#even people with sense are saying things that blow my mind lately#... so yeah I don't feel entirely safe posting anything to do with my work lately#but hopefully that will change :')#for now enjoy this one
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the magus situation, or, "ak remembers log horizon exists and it exacerbates the brainrot"
(gonna be a long one)
so to the surprise of absolutely nobody i did in fact watch log horizon at one point in the past, and also tried reading the light novel but never ended up finishing it. my opinion on it is mostly "solid and had good potential, with some unfortunate quirks to how it's written". the anime is better than sao's, but the novel is worse
this isn't what this post is about
it's instead about a certain *spinoff manga*
the fuckign west wind brigade manga in all its janky beauty. it's a story that takes place in parallel with (and overlaps with) the main story while focusing on different parts of the world and a completely different cast of main characters. it tends to be somewhat more light-hearted than the main story (but not by a lot)
it's also technically a harem story, but in the same way UQ holder is, which is to say that soujirou seta has that touta konoe charm that makes me go "yeah i fully get it this guy is impossible to hate"; he's more the guild dog than the guild leader half the time (affectionate)
*anyway*
spoilers for the west wind brigade manga incoming
so the afformentioned soujirou seta (middle character on the manga cover) is in fact the very first person to die after the catastrophe, and in the process he proved that even after the world became real, *respawning was still a thing*
which suddenly made the prospect of pk'ing much less ethically daunting, leading to a massive explosion in guilds of bored disillusioned trapped people with nothing better to do starting to kill and loot en masse, as was already a massive plotpoint in log horizon proper. some are big guilds, some are smaller
and some are technically solo
which brings us, finally, to magus
*fucking magus* (affectionate?)
edgelord in a longcoat with the cringy speeches
but it's not exactly sincere is it? it's all forced, constantly like he's talking as much to himself as to his "audience"
like he really *wants* to believe what he's saying
"it's all a game anyway, i can do whatever i want! definitely! right? RIGHT?"
it is, in fact, a coping mechanism
because to admit it's real would mean it matters. would mean you're not actually hidden away anymore. no walls to hide behind. no mask
because it's all mask
it was the whole time
because it's easier that way
the persona and the longcoat an the fancy explanations for why it's totally correct and real, trust me! definitely not fucking desperate over here, no sirree!
it's the beater again. there's a beater in log horizon but you never meet them in the main story. because for this beater, the game doesn't end because it's over. but because they finally admit to themself it was never a game to begin with. which was of course the only way out, because log horizon doesn't have a win condition
if you can't "win", you need to stop playing
but that's not quite the whole story, is it?
because you know how it is with beaters
there's always a little footnote at the end
this funny little common thread that all examples ive found so far seem to share
yeah there's a massive very explicit gender angle to all of this because it's just part of the package at this point
and that is how magus' redemption arc also has her turning into a girl
it's frankly amazing, the thematic parallels write themselves, it's so delightfully on the nose!
this whole thing is in fact one giant transgender allegory that's barely an allegory at all
the "edgy longcoat-wearer with terrible coping mechanisms" to "cute akward goth girl" pipeline is real
#ak goes insane#long post#log horizon#beater theory#brainrot is real#magus log horizon#soujirou seta#west wind brigade
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