#it does not reach its full potential AT ALL
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kurikurikur1 ¡ 1 day ago
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✦ RED OR BLUE?! — s. gojo, s. ryomen —. 赤か青か?!
჌ small event ! - pick a choice, get served a fic!
sum. red orrrr blue? Who will you choose over, Gojo? Or Sukuna? You're set in a scene towards the heian era, You're a known jujutsu sorcerer who travels across Japan once every year—in this yearly tradition you've obviously made one sided enemies—sorcerers who were a waste of your time and thought of annoying—they unfortunately to be The Six Eyes and The King Of Curses, this year—you happen to stumble upon both—who will you end up with?
each fanfiction does end up with smut. mdni.
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The Nagoya region was quite peaceful—out of all the regions of Japan you had stumbled upon—this might have been your favorite. You're a jujutsu sorcerer from a small family that had practiced jujutsu to strive—crossing Japan from different directions was also one of the family traditions. Unfortunately—for you, you're one of the only ones left of your generation, so you've picked yourself from the ground and continued the tradition for many years.
The experience might have been enjoyable exploring Nagoya if it weren't for (not only the incoming stride of curses that will possibly wipe out Japan,) but—the dangerous double cursed energy you felt from afar when stepping on the dirt of Nagoya. Neither coming from your left side that you swore somehow left a blue taste on your tongue with familiarity with the cursed energy you think is coming from Tokyo. While the other—which you came in conclusion with that it came from the Hida Region had a closer reach to you, you thought the aura felt red.
.
.
And that's when it struck you.
What a dumb, dumb idiot you are—how couldn't you have realized sooner?!
No wonder the energy felt so strange and familiar—It was both the infamous Six Eyes and King Of Curses's cursed energy. You slurped up your green tea at the thought—forgetting its temperature and quickly spitting it out as your hands landed on your burnt tongue.
Across your many years of traveling across the country by foot, you had interactions with these sorcerers.
Not only that—you were fucking screwed because of your history with the two, these two are mortal enemies.
The Six's Eyes affiliation with you started all the way back towards 4 years ago, stepping forward in Tokyo for the first time in a mature age—you didn't remember much of your memories when adventuring during your infant years at the time for obvious reasons—so you were slightly familiar with the city. After discovering not a pinch of the region, you stumbled upon him—Satoru Gojo. He isn't easy to miss—soft white hair with his overwhelming blue eyes glaring at you, his usual haori he would wear. He had shown you around—you without your knowledge, followed one of—if not the strongest jujutsu sorcerer currently, your time spent with him was short—but it was full of affection as he treated you like family, something that could break but had so much potential as a sorcerer. You swore you remember those eyes secretly gazing at yours, ranking your body down from up with desire.
Not until a year later, you found The King Of Curses. Well, he found you. Satoru was all soft—vanilla and all, but compared with your first meeting with Sukuna? Couldn't say less but more of an opposite. His greedy little hands got a hold of you when he infiltrated a village for meat—bored out of his mind, he wanted to take you and simply have a little fun with toying with you. Your week with Sukuna was nothing but a mix of torture but also—infatuation? Sukuna had given you a week, a week to spend time with him—he had given you an option, considering you hesitated to call him a name when you first woke up in his shrine because of your pure heart, his options for you were: tell him he's a horrible monster and leave, or stay till the end of the week and possibly get eaten, during half the week, Sukuna's small affection wasn't hidden as it was obvious, caring for you here and there.
Fortunately for you—somehow, you had escaped his grasp without choosing, staying as far away from The Hida Region—though you felt eyes on you the same after you had left Tokyo.
You reflected, you did have to move from Nagoya—and hell in front of you was The Hida Region or Tokyo, and by the feeling of the energy surging around you, maybe it was a good idea to break the tradition for once. But you really had no choice—the swift of curses were coming and you needed to cross japan immediately.
please remember that the most picked option will be the next fic, which will contain smut. mdni <3
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raaaaghh, options like a dating sim! i wonder which one will yall pick 👀
+edit:; if you wanna get tagged on the next part of "RED OR BLUE?!" comment a red and blue heart if so♡
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indiestsnake ¡ 2 days ago
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okay. for real this time. Major In Stars and Time spoilers for act 3 and beyond. To my wonderful friends playing this masterpiece, to no further. To potential readers, buckle up. This gets long ._.
I thought this game was done with causing me symptoms of emotional exhaustion and stress overload. I was wrong.
Acts 5 and 6 of this game caused the most emotion a video game has ever inflicted on me. Like- the tightness in my chest was an emotion I can only describe as grief. Genuine grief. I felt like I needed to sob for most of act six, for multiple reasons.
Let’s start at the fuckin transition I guess!!!!!!!!!! Siffrin finally thinks they figured it out, and they haven’t. The genuine fear I felt in the cutscene with Euphrasie, the realization that… that this was it, Siffrin was simply stuck. I believed it. I could not find a way to break my suspension of disbelief. I fully, genuinely could not believe that this game had a happy ending. I did not know this game only had one ending, but even if I did, it… I don’t think it would’ve done anything.
The following monologue was the usual terrifying, the game using its informal dialogue to reap horrific subversive effects as usual. Of course it saved some tricks for this moment, like taking away control of when the dialogue progressed. Watching Siffrin snap so thoroughly, lose all his hope and cling to the thought of defeating the king alone because he doesn’t know what else to do, it… it really breaks you.
So. Now that the game has maximized my potential sympathy for Siffrin. And torn my empathetic heart to shreds. It immediately turns on a heel and makes me hate them within three conversations. The things they say to Mira, Odile, Bonnie, Isa, made me so thoroughly angry. I would not blame Odile for actually harming him. I would not blame Mira if she never spoke to him again. I would not blame Bonnie for never wanting to even think about him again. And I would not blame Isa if he no longer loved Siffrin.
I am a person who believes in redemption. In second chances. The readers of my fics know this well. But sadly, actions have to have consequences. And the actions Siffrin takes should have lost him his friends, his family, forever. Even in his circumstances. They had no reason to keep caring.
So then, reeling from the genuine sense of loss and grief and hate and despair, Siffrin nicks the orbs and goes in alone. Through about, what, 20-30 minutes of gameplay, this tension persists. The game didn’t even need to barrage me with monologues, just show those conversations of the family Siffrin left, tear apart the house and the menus and the game till it was barely recognizable. Siffrin. The Lost One, says his profile. Memory of emptiness. Rock, paper, scissors. It’s so dry. So dull. So full of despair and pain and fear and a question of what he could ever do to deserve this hell. He can’t go back. He cannot find the hope or will or anything to go through with it, to follow the script. So even if this does break the loop. What then? He is left with a world where the people he loves most despise him.
Then finally, he reaches the king.
The fight is almost dull. Simplistic. Full of pain. Siffrin does not need a shield to withstand the vision of the future. Because the world they live in cannot get any worse. Nothing scares him more than the hell he now exists in.
Then, he begins to freeze. The king slows him down. And he falls asleep.
The following sequence was just… indescribable. The sadness variant of him, Mal du Pays. French for “homesickness”. Just a simple drawing of Siffrin. The music. The dialogue. The words that come from its mouth. From the party’s mouths. Siffrin tries to say it’s fake. Isabeau’s segment convinces him it’s not.
I didn’t even realize what was happening till it flashed forward and gripped the screen by the face.
He was turning into a sadness.
The frame of his sadness gripping the screen, like many of ISAT’s frames, is something I can’t manage to forget. The cloak and the face and the way it fills the screen so suddenly and finally speaks as itself, not as Siffrin’s party. And he can’t fight it. They just can’t. The universe leads, but he is tired. And now, he can rest. If he just lets go.
In that moment, I was staring at a black screen, begging, pleading for the credits not to roll.
And then he wakes up.
Because his friends are back.
Despite what he said and did, they knew he didn’t mean it. And if he did, they didn’t care. It was clear something was wrong, and they were determined to fix it. Because they were his friends.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a game manage to convey self-hatred so convincingly that I, the player, began to hate my character in a way their friends could not. In fact, I was not aware that was a thing that could happen.
I don’t even know how to express the feelings this give me coherently. It feels like this game snatched away one of my closest moral beliefs only to clothesline me with said belief so I learned it even harder. What Siffrin did was not unforgivable. But it truly convinced me that it was.
So of that when all hope seemed truly, truly lost. It pulled the basic trope of “your friends come help when you thought you were alone”. And it nearly knocked me out of my chair.
First off, get fucked king. Second off, happy for you king.
And then the walk to Euphrasie. I was mixed with giddy glee and unending dread for this whole thing. Isa helps Sif walk while Bonnie holds their hand. Color exists again but only red and oh god the world is ending. Euphrasie is still broken oh god please no don’t send me back don’t take this from me please no no no no WAM REVERSE BOSS FIGHT
Cue that scene. I wasn’t exactly happy that my only option aside from hurting my friends was hurting myself. But it did not take long for me to start groaning in annoyance when Mira healed me.
And then. Against all odds. Siffrin breaks. As does the text formatting as the party literally claws at the text box edges to yell at him.
They fall. Hands clasped together. And he tells them his wish. That he just wants to stay with them.
Of course. That’s all he ever wanted.
And oh god, oh thank every deity, that’s all they want too.
And he finally gets a god-damn motherfucking son of a bitch eye-losing tear-jerking MOTHER FUCKING HUG
and damn it was a good one. poor guy was all squimshed. lost his hat too
the rest of the dialogue is just. amazing. I was gigging and smiling and shaking and vibrating with joy before I even finished Mirabelle’s segment. Walking to Bonnie was when I realized it felt like I wanted to cry. During Bonnie’s dialogue was when I almost did cry. Then Odile. Who I obviously asked for the long version of her theory and she was very helpful for explaining all the stuff. and then.
Isabeau.
oh. my. fucking. god.
the joy I felt when he said it. The leap I leapt, ungracefully dancing over to my bed and mouthing screams of joy. I genuinely just collapsed and writhed around like a fish out of water in happiness. You know how some folk flap their hands to stim? Yeah, imagine that but my whole body. I was so unbelievably happy. I don’t know how a game did this much to me.
The rest of the dialogue was wonderful too. Sif apologized for everything, even the optional events, even admitted the bad touch event. And of course. Isa freaked the fuck out. Because oh my god Sif kissed him. And then when Sif clarifies that it was not a good kiss. He just thinks for a moment like. “…………. Maybe u just need more practice!!! ^^” and it was at that point Siffrin and Isabeau plushies manifested in my hands and I mashed their faces together like barbie dolls
Mira doesn’t want self-spoilers and thats hilarious. Bonnie has no fucken clue what’s going on but she knows Sif was hungry sick and at school so all is well. Odile admits she linguine’s him and yes I fucking love that joke. SIF’S HOME COUNTRY MIFHT APPEAR IN THE DISTANCE????? AND ISA AND SIF ARE GOING ON A FUCKING DATE
and it was at this point I saved my progress, crossed my heart, and prayed Euphrasie would not send me back.
And she didn’t.
oh, god, this game…
welp. this post is two hours in the making. dunno if any of this is coherent but I think if you’ve played isat you get it. thank you to everyone who’s been blowing up my liveposts recently!!! it’s been cool to see the fandom giggle evilly at my suffering :3
tho my contributions to the Isat fandom do not end here. the fic is imminent. I could not stop it if I wanted too. If you couldn’t tell by the essay you just read.
thank you for reading this far if you somehow did!!!! hope you enjoyed my nonsensical babbling. I’m gonna go pass out. have a good day!!!!!!! .3
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tifa-simp ¡ 5 months ago
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Do I have lots of expectations for Tifa in part 3? Absolutely!
Do I have high hope for the game? Nah~
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vancalox ¡ 2 months ago
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i was so set on replaying veilguard for the davrinmance but oh my god im SO attached to my agent-of-fenharel hardingmancer rn i actually think the choice is out of my hands lol
#oc: evander#datv#tay plays datv#datv spoilers#deia's brother btw !!!! very much giving anders vibes if anders was kind of deadbeat oldest son who frequents the club#him having sold out the inquisition on solas's instruction and then falling for one of the scouts who was hurt the most by it#very much a mirror to solavellan except theyre literally just people and ultimately victims of their leader's organizations overarching war#and harding being sympathetic to solas enough to reach evanders conscience even during Peak radicalization#but holding solas accountable enough to potentially sway evanders mind#and then evander learning the truth about solas but also specifically what that means for harding the person hes grown to love#having to reconcile that his own rebel-fantasy is not more important than the very real pain his loved ones have gone thru as a result#and like figuring out what going forward looks like. is he STILL sympathetic but its tempered? or does he go full anti-solas in an act of#redemption which would also probably involve him telling harding to embrace her anger and not her loving side?? which is kind of the invers#of his own arc.#GOD.#AND THEN ITS LIKE. DO I KILL OFF HARDING AT THE END???? THAT WOULD BE SOOOOO CRAZY FOR THE *STORY*#i think she has to live actually bc i hate the fridged wife trope and solas Is ultimately redeemed in this worldstate#and if harding died bc of solas (and evanders varricmancer sister also lost varric) evander WOULD be team kill immediately no exceptions#but still food for thought#god. chat i am fucking COOKING today this is crazy#hes not technically my rook bc he works way better in the story as a ~companion~ to deia (his sister) the actual protag#but both he and matthas (the other pro-inquisition brother) could arguably have been the Rook as well.#all 3 of the mercar siblings were AT the ritual but for different reasons (evander to aid solas. matthas to kill solas. deia to stop him)#so MAYBE I WILL romance harding instead this time...... how are we feeling abt hardings romance babes is it good. do we recommend
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theblob1958 ¡ 5 months ago
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I’m sure you’ve said them but your thoughts on exactly why Grace thought she loved Nick enough to marry him and then only liked her marriage when she could live at home with Frankie and only have to see him periodically? #enabling
The thing you all have to understand is that canonically, the main reason Grace married Nick is because she was fighting with Frankie. A huge fight that led her to think she didn't need Frankie in her life anymore, that Grace may have needed her after the Gay-Divorce event but now that they're both past that, it's time to move on. And Nick saw how sad and angry Grace was after this fight and wanted to cheer her up (his heart was in the right place), so they went and got married, a marriage Grace immediately starts to regret, realizing that she wants Frankie to always have a place in her life, and that place is right at Grace's side. That they make each other the best versions of who they are ("The real me, the me when I'm with you").
Now, this is all canon events, stuff that happens right there on your screen, no extrapolation required. Grace needed someone to fill the Frankie sized hole she thought she was going to have in her life, so she chooses Nick and a husband and knew it was wrong before even 24 hours pass. Because, well, her first person will always be Frankie. And when she tries to put Nick first, it never feels good and never works out and turns her into someone she doesn't want to be. But she tries making marriage work, tries to be a wife again, but then she gets the perfect out. A win-win situation, where she can have her cake and eat it too. She gets to move back in with Frankie, spend 23 hours of the day with her and the other hour she can spend with Nick. It's just what she always wanted; her hour with Nick doesn't interrupt her time with Frankie. It's once again GraceandFrankie, with Nick all the way out of the picture except for regulated, hour long visits deprived of true emotional and physical connection.
This set up is perfect because Grace doesn't have to confront what's staring her in the face just yet, can still hold onto the rules of life she's trying to live by. Where women like her should have a husband, or a boyfriend, or at least a man in their lives. That doesn't work for Grace, though, doesn't give her what she needs, forces her to contort and transform herself in Wife or Girlfriend when all she wants to be is Grace, and maybe GraceandFrankie.
Soon, she'll have to face the music and admit she doesn't want men in her life anymore, that she just wants Frankie. To live with, and spend time with, and love, and be loved back. With Nick in prison, she can still have plausible deniability, still get to live by The Rules, still be in denial about what she wants ("And I like that. Sometimes too much").
It's safe and easy and (now this is where my own interpretations come into play) allows Grace to sit comfortably in her repression. She isn't a lesbian because of course she's not, not when she loves her distant, unavailable husband in prison, all while getting to live with her girl best friend, and work with her, and have the deepest and most meaningful emotional connection with her.
She gets to have Frankie, and she gets to have Nick, and everyone is happy (maybe not Nick but that doesn't matter to Grace). It works perfectly, until Nick comes to live with them and Grace realizes there's no room for Nick in her life anymore, all the roles filled by Frankie. Then Grace's arc culminates into her accepting the only thing that matters is her and Frankie and their relationship that transcends all boundaries of friendship and love and family. That it's her and Frankie until the end, no 3rd party needed. And that's what this show has always been working towards.
Or, short answer: Grace Hanson is a lesbian.
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nimomo-mo ¡ 1 year ago
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vent
#i was hungry today so i think my appetite is coming back despite the pills#and im not sure if thats a good thing#i still cant focus so i mean. lol. lmao even#at least i cant make myself start tasks and my executive dysfunction is as bad as ever#now i have the issue of if i keep getting hungry like before im gonna gain weight again and i dont wanna#look theres nothing wrong with being fat or chubby and god knows im not aiming to be a stick figure but oh my god i dont want to gain weigh#i should work out and get fit like a normal human and that means i should eat right. but i still have that nagging feeling#i love myself. i do. i have the dissociation thing where i cant recognize myself in the mirror tho. and its not good this time.#usually i dont really mind since its like. you know like its not me anyway so what does it matter if that girl is fat or not#but im really self conscious and feel gross and i dont know why it all started back up again#i want to measure it. want to weigh myself. want to count calories and check with measuring tape#but i really shouldnt and i know that if i do i will trigger such a bad episode i might end up in the fucking hospital#i need to hold out until this episode goes away. i need to stand it all until i get my head back together.#i dont wanna get malnutrition or lose weight so fast my skin gets flappy#but every little thing i eat ends up nagging at the back of my head about how if i eat more ill get fat and noone will like me then#its not true. i know its not true. and i know fat people are gorgeous and i am already chubby so what does it matter#but i feel horrible. i dont want to look like this or feel like this or be like this#i want to be the best i can be. i want to reach my full potential. but its not exactly working. i swear to god i wanna love myself#i want to be loved. i want to be adored. i want to be the one someone picks even if the room is full of gorgeous and competent women#i want to be the first choice and for the person to see me as the most beautiful person in the world#to be the first choice and to be everything someone wants and needs. to be the ideal. to be the perfect one even with my flaws#i want someone to look at all the ugly sides of me and look at my fat and my emotional fuckery and my ugly crying and still love me#i want someone to love me so wholeheartedly i wont ever feel like theyd like someone else. that theyd pick someone else. that im not no.1#i want to be that person you do a double take of. to be the one that people get jealous of. to be the spotlight. to be the prettiest one.#its egoistical and selfish and childish and mean and dumb and naive and self absorbed i know. i know that it is#but its still there and its embarrassing . but im not gonna pretend like i dont have these thoughts and feelings.#im not smart or pretty enough to stand out. i dont know what could make me special. i dont know what i do that makes me unique.#what am i? who am i? how do i get better? i want to be better. i want to be better i want to be better i want to be better#i want to reach a new level i want to reach their level i want to be at the top i want to be special i want to be better i want to be proud#i want to be genuinely proud and special and outstanding enough to not feel insecure or inferior anymore
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traumawhomst ¡ 4 months ago
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Ok but adoptive Fae King Dad rotating in my mind like a rotisserie chicken.
(800 words)
At first he thought you were a perfect chance to teach some humans a lesson. Letting a child walk alone in woods where Fae were known to live? Someone was going to learn sooner or later.
He stood dramatically waiting for your attention, ready to launch into a full lecture about how because of your neglectful parents he was going to turn you into some yet undecided woodland creature.
But you surprise him, you’re smart enough to know the potential trouble you’re in but also openly curious about him.
He’s always been a bit vain so when you start asking questions about him, his clothes and his magic, he can’t help himself from giving all the answers you wish.
Before he’s realized it, it’s been an afternoon and you’re politely requesting his help in bringing you home.
All plans of turning you into a bird or a squirrel are forgotten as he walks you to the forest’s edge warning you of the dangers of his domain.
He watches you make your way back to the hovel you call a home and he is already deciding in which wing of his palace you’ll be staying in.
You’re not the first child he’s taken an interest in, you have a few siblings at home you’ve yet to meet. None of which are surprised when their father comes home in a whirlwind already barking orders to his staff about getting rooms ready, clothes made and a ball to formally introduce you to his court as his youngest child.
He’s surprised when you willingly come back to his forest, sure that your parents would forbid it after you’d told them about Him, already four steps deep into a plan on how he was going to lure you back. But now he sees a much simpler path forward.
You started to come to the forest nearly daily and you talk and explore with him for hours at a time. It became a comfortable and solid routine, and you trusted if you came he would be there.
He immediately can tell how starved for attention you are, happily rambling about whatever you wished as you and Him walked together in his forest. The perfect foundation to build his plan on.
One day while you two are relaxing in the forest, you make mention of his more unnatural features, his horns, his wings, his teeth, with a tiny hint of jealousy.
He casually brings up his other children, talking about how they were once human, but now were fully Fae like him. A simple transformation, really. He says pretending not to notice the hunger that grows in your eyes.
He loves to compliment you, about how brave, smart and curious you were. He’d often go on about how proud your family must be of you. How they must’ve showered you in praise. Of course he’s not surprised when you nod and smile along, the smile not reaching your eyes.
He knows that it’s almost time when you bring up his other children, asking about what they were like. Watching you pretend not to care about the answer made him want to forget all his plans and take you home then. But he did not become King through rushed action.
So he talks about them and he’s unable to contain his joy and love when he does. All of them unique and interesting each he loved more than the world its self. He explained how all of his children chose to be with him. All from less than perfect homes, all who saw the life he offered and took it.
Then you and your parents have a fight, you’re spending too much time alone in the forest and now people are gossiping about your family.
Even at your young age, you know that the fact that they care more about people’s gossip than your safety and it escalates to a huge mess. Your parents forbid you from ever going to the forest again and it’s your breaking point.
That night you sneak out running to the forest as quick as possible, and as always he is waiting for you with open arms. He holds you as you cry, everything coming out about how your parents never cared and how you wished to have a parent like him.
Your face is buried in his shirt and so you don’t see the smile that slowly grows over his face. He gently calms you down and says how happy he’d be to have a child like you. And if you wanted, you could become as much of a Fae as he. You even get a family as a bonus.
How could you ever say no?
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bunny-jpeg ¡ 5 months ago
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side switcher
max verstappen
cw: smut/pwp, wolff!reader, driver!max, unprotected sex, rough sex, degrading language, unprotected sex and its consequences, hot stuff (!!!), missionary sex
bunny says: thanks for reading! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! feel free to suggest your own ideas for future fics!!
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you sighed as you walked down the busy monza street the night after the grand prix. you had to calm yourself down, this was just a meeting.
"bärchen." your father had said, his hands on your shoulders, "you talk to verstappen to consider the offer from mercedes. i think he needs to talk to someone who is... closer in age. not some old man like me." he laughed. his voice was tinged with a softness that was only reserved for his daughter.
you looked at him, "i don't know how to negotiate the way you can."
"that is fine, bärchen. we need an unconventional approach to get verstappen to consider. he is too tied up with red bull, a younger face might be just what we need."
you father wasn't pimping you out. god no, he didn't want you to have sex with max verstappen. the idea of a driver like max with a toto's daughter made the head principal sick.
you stood outside the restaurant and adjusted your blouse before you stepped inside. the place was lavish, high ceilings and low lighting. the food smelt delicious even from a distance. it was the kind of place to make a deal like the one your father was attempting to secure.
he was impressed with max verstappen and you were going to help him make sure that max considered his options. the driver was seated near the back and you gave him a little wave.
"ms. wolff." you said as you reached over across the table to shake max's hand, "i'm toto wolff's daughter, he arranged for us to have a little... talk."
"i didn't know that toto was sending his daughter now. i thought he had a team for that kind of stuff."
you smiled, "well, this is just an informal meeting. the real guns will come out when you agree to talk to my father." you sat down across from him.
you tried not being starstruck, you knew that you had to do this for your father. but you couldn't help but feel a little flushed under max's gaze.
"what would mercedes be willing to give me that red bull won't?" max asked as he looked at you, "must be a pretty hefty deal."
you had the wine menu in your hand, "well. more money." you chuckled, "the numbers won't be finalized until your team meets their team. but i think you could do a lot better there. aren't you tired of being under horner's thumb?"
max raised his eyebrows, "what is be the difference between horner and wolff?"
"my father will make sure that you... shine on the track."
max pushed further, "right, right. i've been winning with red bull, why would i change now?"
you replied, "have you? you're slipping between their fingers. you potential is wasted with them. with mercedes you could have it all."
max smirked, "does the head principal's daughter come with the deal too? or does toto keep you under lock and key and out of the paddock?"
"who i am with is not my father's concern." you were trying to deflect, this was about the deal not you basically being used as a tool to entice the driver.
max chuckled, "i'm sure. if you showed up to the paddock with a mclaren boy or worse a red bull one, i'm sure he'd be quite happy."
not if it was you, you thought.
the dinner was alright, the entire time you felt like you were playing a mental chess that you were unable to really enjoy the meal. whatever pieces max put down as he ate and drank wine, you had a comeback.
it wasn't until the check came and he snatched it out of your hands before you could read the full price.
"my treat." he said, "it's impolite for a man to make the woman pay. even if she's trying to manipulate him."
"i'm not trying to manipulate you, i'm showing you options."
he laughed, "right, right. your foot rubbing against my leg and the cute little faces you keep making are only for buisness purposes."
you looked away, not denying him. he found it endearing. he'd give toto wolff credit, using his daughter to seduce him into signing a contract was a bold move. but max was less interested in a mercedes ride, but rather how did the head prinicpal's daughter ride herself.
"do you want to go back to my hotel?" he asked boldly after he paid the hefty bill, "iron out more of the details without so many people possibly hearing us." you weren't going to be doing much talking when you got back to his hotel room.
you smiled and reached across the table for him, you ran a manicured nail down his wrist, "i was just thinking the same thing."
the hotel room was nice, but not as nice as max's hands on you as he unbuttoned your blouse, his lips on your neck. it felt hot being in the room with him.
you got the belt off his pants and pressed yourself further up against him as you stuck your hand down his pants. his lips found yours and you whined into the kiss.
clothes were not an option for the evening, max wanted to see it all. what toto wolff had been hiding this whole time, his precious daughter about to be fucked by a driver for red bull. that would make quite the story.
max undressed you and you in turn undressed him. you got on the large bed and had him pushing you down fully onto it and climbing on top of you. you moaned into the next kiss as you felt max's heavy erection rub against you.
"intimidated?" he asked.
"of you? no." you replied.
he chuckled and got back on his heels between your legs. he grabbed you by the hips quickly and got your bottom half closer to him. his cock threatening to sink into your sweet pussy.
you held onto the bed as he slipped his cock into you. then wrapped your arms around him afterwards when he leaned in for a searing kiss. you wrapped your legs around him and he started to thrust into you. you gasped, "holy shit." close to his ear.
he looked at you once more, those blue eyes clouded with lust as he pulled you in for a hot kiss and moved against you. the heat in the room thickened as the two of you rutted against one another on the bed.
the kisses were sloppy, the sound of fucking was woven in with the sounds of your heavy breathing. max's thrusts took the wind out of you as you held onto him. it felt painfully intimate for a one night stand.
but in the back of your mind, you knew you'd be tumbling in the sheets with max verstappen more than once. his lips trailed down your neck as he held you by the shoulders for leverage, moving you up and down his cock with each heavy thrust.
"you look good." he said.
you chuckled, "you're not too bad yourself. usually drivers i bed are bad at sex."
he smirked, "i guess you do have the full paddock at your disposal." he didn't know if you were saying it to strike jealousy in him. he added, "but i have a feeling that they'll be less than when i'm done with you."
you looked him in the eyes, as you met his pace with the roll of your hips, "don't get a big head there, verstappen. if you do your helmet won't fit anymore."
he pulled you into another hot kiss and continued to move against you. you could feel your heartbeat in your chest as he pushed up against you.
"i bet your father would have a fit if he saw you like this. under me, like a good girl." he remarked when he broke the kiss, "he expected for you to get me drunk and sign some papers. not end up in bed with me, with my cock deep inside of you."
you tangled your fingers in his short hair and lined your mouth up with his. you said to him, "can you shut up about my father?"
"why?" he asked, "want a daddy then."
"calm the ego, verstappen."
he leaned in a little closer, his thrusts were getting sloppier, "can't, not when i'm balls deep in you, wolff." then pressed his lips against yours. he felt a shudder through his body as he felt you tighten around him.
in the kiss you clung onto him and moaned as you came. your thighs tightened around his waist as you felt the rush of euphoria through your body. when you started to come down, you maintained the kiss and kept your grip on him.
when max broke the kiss, you could see the sexual haze in his eyes as he gave you a few more hard thrusts before he shoved every last centimeter inside of you and finished.
it wouldn't dawn on you till the next morning that neither of you used protection.
"good girl." he said between pants.
you looked at him, arm still around his shoulders and your other hand in his hair, "not too bad yourself, max."
he pulled out and kissed you once more. his soaked, softening cock was pressed against your slit. he pulled away from the kiss and held your face for a moment, "will your father be worried if you're back late?"
you looked at him dead in the eyes and said, "i honestly don't care about him right now. i have my eye on the prize and that's to cum again. i need you, max."
"that kind of attitude might make me come to mercedes." he chuckled before he kissed you once more.
-
toto wolff was the type of man to get what he wanted. he was good that way, he knew exactly how to move the pieces. but sometimes the pieces surprised him.
like how his only daughter ended up in bed with max verstappen. and while you claimed that it was a one time thing for the benefit of mercedes! the timelines didn't add up when you told your father over dinner close to four months after that you were four weeks pregnant.
and the father was the current champion.
toto may have spat out his wine during dinner at the news. but little did he know that verstappen was a lot more willing to join mercedes if it meant being closer to his new woman. the head principal of the mercedes team believed that his future grandson would look a lot nicer in a black, silver and white onesie rather than the garish colours of red bull.
maybe the conditions that led to champion signing to a new team were unconventional and most likely to never be repeated. but as he watched you meet max at the paddock and grin as you pressed your forehead against his helmet, toto couldn't be too angry. business is messy and sacrifices had to be made. for toto that meant accepting max as a future son-in-law.
he did however believe he was far too young to be a grandfather. <3
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moonstruckme ¡ 1 year ago
Note
“Wow,” Morgan sighs happily, “I don’t know which one of you is more whipped.” 
i'm so obsessed with this line from one of your recent spencer reid works and i would loooove to see more of this dynamic if you're interested in doing it 💗 maybe more moments of them being soft/whipped for each other and the team noticing it? thank youuu!!
Thank you lovely!
cw: mention of kidnapping/missing girl (that’s the backdrop of the scene so please be careful with yourself), Spencer has some dark/hopeless thoughts about the case
Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 1k words
Spencer really wishes he’d remembered his gloves. The air is biting, fresh powder glistening on the deep green spruces whose boughs stoop under its weight. It’s picturesque, and yet the snowfall couldn’t have come at a worse time. It’s impeded their search party by hours, potentially dooming the kidnapping victim they’re all braving the weather for. Spencer keeps his hands stowed in his coat pockets. 
“Hey.” 
He turns as you and Emily come up behind him. You’re both dressed better than he is, actual winter wear as opposed to the tweed coat he’d worn into the police station that morning. Even so, you look chilled as you smile at him. You carry a disposable coffee cup in each hand. 
“Hi,” Spencer says, taking the one you extend to him. His numb fingers are grateful for the warmth of it. “I thought you guys were interviewing the uncle?” 
Emily’s shaking her head before he’s finished speaking, mouth pulling in discontent. “That was a dead end. He and his sister have been estranged for years. He doesn’t know anything.” 
A frown tugs at your features as Emily talks but you perk up quickly when you feel your boyfriend’s gaze. “We figured we’d be more helpful here,” you say brightly, “and also that you might want some liquid reinforcement.” 
“Thanks.” He does a little toast with his disposable cup and regrets it immediately, but thankfully you smile. Spencer isn’t sure how he got so lucky; it seems like he can get away with any number of weird things and you’ll find them endearing every time. “There hasn’t been much progress here either. If they left any sort of tracks, the snow covered it up. I’m not…” he lowers his voice, angling his head away from the others in his group. “I’m not sure we’ll find her alive in this.” 
“We’ve still got eight hours,” Emily points out. 
She’s right, he tells himself. There are eight hours left in the forty-eight hour window. But that’s also just a statistic. And as someone whose brain is packed full of statistics, Spencer knows that they’re not always reflective of reality. The eight hours his team has left might be more for hope than anything else. 
Emily drifts ahead of you in the group and you bump your shoulder lightly into his, forcibly derailing his train of thought. He looks over at you. Your lips are tipped up, just a little. Not faking anything, but understanding, a quiet promise that regardless of how today turns out, you’ll be in it together. He finds it easier than expected to return your smile. 
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Your hair curtains your face as you look down, unzipping your jacket to dig something out of the interior pocket. “You left your gloves at the station.” 
“Yes.” You laugh at his eagerness as he takes them from you. “I can’t believe I forgot them, thanks so much for bringing them.” 
“Of course, it was no problem.” Your eyes skim the trees. Spencer suspects that your cold face might be warming some now. “I figured you might need them, so.” 
“You were right.” 
Your gaze flits to his as you grin, then falls to where he has his gloves held bunched with his coffee cup. “Oh, do you want me to take that so you can put them on?” 
“That’d be great,” he says, relieved. 
He holds the cup out to you. You reach for it, but when your fingers brush his in the transfer, you gasp, covering his hand with yours. 
“Spence,” you say softly, remonstrance gentled. “Your hands are freezing!” 
“They’re not as bad as they were before. What are you doing?” 
You’ve taken one of his hands in yours and appear to be inspecting it closely. “Checking if your fingernails are blue.” 
“They’re not,” he laughs, though he lets you finish your perusal until you’re satisfied. “I would know if I had frostbite. I’d be able to identify the symptoms early on.” 
“They’re just so cold,” you fret. “I’ve never felt skin that cold before.” 
The backs of his hands are still freezing, but his palms and the pads his fingers have warmed from the coffee cup. “I’m not sure they’re colder than your face,” he says, pressing his free hand to one of your cheeks. 
Unsurprisingly, your skin is cool to the touch, but you smile warmly as you push your cheek into his palm. 
“Okay, you two,” Emily says without turning around, “less fraternizing on the job. 
You straighten immediately. “We were just—”
“Being cute and coupley?” Uncannily, Morgan appears on Spencer’s other side. He has no idea when his nosiest coworker had drifted back from the front of the group. “We know. But could you save it for the hotel later? Even all the sparks flying off you two can’t melt all this snow, and I want to get out of here sometime before dark.” 
Spencer suspects his face is pinker than can be explained by the chill as he looks down to pull on his gloves. Morgan relishes in it, raising an eyebrow at you. 
“And don’t think I didn’t notice that you brought pretty boy here a coffee and not me.” He tsks. “I didn’t expect such blatant favoritism from you, sweetheart. I’m disappointed.” 
“I was carrying yours,” Emily says, her tone conveying an eyeroll so effectively she doesn’t need to follow through with the action. She pushes a disposable coffee cup into Morgan’s chest. 
He doesn’t look one bit sheepish as he takes it, though Spencer notices you trying to repress a grin that’s bordering upon smug. 
“This has lipstick on the lid.” 
Emily shrugs. “I finished mine in the car.” 
“So you started on mine?” 
“I sampled.” 
“You’re lucky I exhibit such blatant favoritism,” you say quietly to Spencer under their bickering. “I finished mine in the car too.” 
He raises his eyebrows, and you shake your empty cup as proof. Spencer takes your hand, wrapping it around his coffee cup. “We’ll share.”
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infiniteimaginings ¡ 8 months ago
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Omg your amazing at writing Anthony bridgerton angst. Pls write more😫😫😫💋
You caused this? (Anthony Bridgerton x GN!Reader)
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Summary: You are complaining to your dearest friend Anthony about your lack of luck through the seasons but he is terribly silent. His silence brings answers that you never expected from him. Pronouns: You/Yours Warnings: Angst Word Count: 3.4k A/N: Thank youuu!! Here's more for you my love! (Also for the new thing below this, tagging, you guys can be asked to be tagged in any sort of fics lol!) Tagging: @etherynn
A stunning afternoon shone on the walking paths families decided to take for eloquent bonding times. Children were laughing, mothers were sending their daughters off to promenade with one another, and the men were keeping watchful eyes out. It was a perfect day for the courting season to bloom in its full beauty and potential.
It was lively around the grassy green parks where people conversated with each other, it was a lovely day.
Two of the people taking advantage of the wondrous day to promenade together were you and Anthony Bridgerton, the most inseparable friends in all of London. The two of you had been great friends ever since you were children, you had been there for him through the easy and the rough patches, and he had done the same for you. Neither of you questioned your roles in the other's life, you just fit together.
Anthony loved you dearly, you knew that. He treated you like his own sibling, sometimes you appreciated it, other times you had to give him a good wack for him to stop scaring the poor guests at parties you attended.
There was no need for that during this moment, no. There were only warm smiles, sweet treats, pleasant conversation, and why was that? It was because it was only the two of you, no one to interrupt, or drag you away.
Anthony walked with you along the path, holding his hand out when he reached the stony steps to the dock. You raised a brow and rolled your eyes, taking his hand with a playfully distasteful look on your face, causing him to chuckle ever so slightly.
You walked down the wooden planks of the dock, noticing how there were no boats out. “I wonder why there are no boats out when it’s such a beautiful day.” You hummed aloud, not really expecting any response to your comment.
Anthony looked around and shrugged, hands behind his back, “Would you care to go out on the water?”
“Oh, heavens no!” You answered a little loudly, a sheepish smile finding itself onto your face as you turned to face him. “I was simply expressing my passing curiosity.”
The Bridgerton shook his head and stood quietly, admiring how the waves rocked with one another. He thought of the water like a ball, each drop with its own partner to create a beautiful array of movement within the water, to create a somehow roaring image of tranquility.
You, on the other hand, adjusted your clothing and sat upon the wooden planks, smoothing out the fabric as you did so. You carefully took off your shoes and set them to the side.
“What are you doing?”
The sudden comment caused you to look up with fluttering eyes, “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Anthony walked a bit to you, looking down, “It looks as if you’re on the brink of putting your feet into the water.”
"A remarkable observation indeed," You responded sarcastically, a playful glint in your eyes. “I shall have to inform your mother that we have discovered you possess the brilliance of a prodigy.” You spoke, removing the last of any clothing surrounding your feet to enter the cold water. Once you made contact, you left out a soft sigh, your hands falling to the wood behind you, leaving you in a relaxed position.
Anthony sucked his teeth at your remark, but no one could mistake his mischievous grin for anything other than delight. “Let us not raise her expectations.” He mumbled to you with a shake of his head, kneeling to take off his own shoes, “She’s already enthusiastic enough about Daphne.”
You hummed, tilting your head over to him, squinting your eyes due to the bright sun. “Pray tell, how is the new Duchess of Hastings?”
The man rolled his neck a bit and sat next to you, dipping his feet into the water. His body blocked the sunlight so you had no need to squint as you gazed upon him, his eyes falling to yours. 
He let out a huff with a toothy smile, “She’s gone away with Simon.” Anthony informed you, looking out to the water now. He adjusted the collars of his wrist as he took a deep breath, “She swore she’d write letters so…”
“You’re looking forward to them, do not deny it.” You told him, scrunching your nose as you bumped your shoulder with his.
He chuckled and nodded, “Indeed, I eagerly await her thought filled letters.” He told you before biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes still looking forward, but they were further than ever. “I never imagined I’d miss her presence so much,” He confessed, blinking rapidly, “her ceaseless ramblings about finding her soulmate are over now.” He whispered, clearing his throat, adjusting himself once more, “My little sister is now gone, and I won’t be able to protect her anymore.” His voice with loss, his fingers clasped together as if he was grasping for something.
You placed your head on his shoulder, “She’s still your sister Anthony, she will visit.” You reminded him, placing one of your hands on his thigh. 
You felt the man take a sharp inhale of breath before letting it go slowly, “I know…” He nodded against you, placing his head over yours.
There was a moment of silence, the two of you kicking your feet in the water, enjoying the cool splashing against the warmth the sun brought.
You moved your head, looking to the families across the way, “Besides, there are plenty of others for you to protect, people still rely on you.” You reassured him with a supportive smile, remembering his other siblings, specifically his three younger sisters.
Anthony was not thinking the same as you though, he took his hand and placed it over yours, which hadn’t moved from his thigh. “Right, like you.” He smiled, rubbing his thumb along the edge of your hand.
You looked to your lap, laughing a bit, “I require little protection.” You muttered out, playing with a small string on your clothing.
Your friend furrowed his brows and scoffed, “There are dogs out there.”
“I mean, because no one approaches me anymore.” You spoke suddenly, looking at the water solemnly, lips in a frown. 
Anthony's smile dropped, and he turned his head to you, “Pardon?”
You scratched your head with a breathy laugh, “No one wishes to marry me.” You said, tone in a light song, but you knew it wasn’t a light hearted moment. It was a harsh truth you never wanted to face, but you had no choice as the season continued on.
The Bridgerton shook his head though, turning himself to you, his leg propped onto the wood, only one foot in the water. “That is not true, many do.” He assured you, but you shook your head in response.
You turned your body to him, feet still in the water, “Then why has no one called for me in weeks?” You asked, shoulders dropping in defeat. “Why has no one proposed?” You asked another unanswerable question as you looked back to the water.
Anthony felt an uncomfortable feeling bubble up in his stomach as you spoke. His blood grew cold, his heart beat faster than ever, his throat felt dry as if all the saliva in his mouth suddenly disappeared. He was suddenly aware of everything around him, all the sounds, the feeling of the wood on his calf, the water rushing around his foot, how hot the sun was.
You didn’t notice his sudden silence, you didn’t notice his expression, you were lost in your own mind. “I just feel as if I’ll never find someone.” You muttered, looking out to the empty body of water, “It’s as if I’m being avoided, and everyone knows to do so.” You continued, feeling pricks from the wood in your fingers. “I wish I knew why I was being avoided, because I swear,” You sighed, “I would change what they don’t like about me.” 
Anthony stayed silent but his eyes were filled with a deep sadness, his lips parted slightly, his hands clenching. He could feel his nails embedding themselves into his palms, leaving crescent shaped marks, his palms now red. 
You looked back over to him, wiping your eyes that began to water, “I didn’t mean to ramble on…” You trailed off as you caught sight of his expression. “What is it?” You asked, concerned as he had never looked at you so…upset before.
He shook his head, snapping himself out of his thoughts, “Nothing.”
“Anthony, what is it?”
The tone of your voice was heartbreaking to him, you were really worried about him after telling him your concerns. He slowly turned his head to you, almost reluctantly, and looked into your eyes that shine with sunlight. He could see the reflection of the clouds in your eyes, and it made him feel worse than he already did. When he looked into your eyes, he knew he could not lie to you. So he took a shaky breath and whispered out the words, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” You answered immediately, confused by the sudden change in mood. You wished you had not spoken, perhaps if you kept quiet the two of you would be laughing and splashing each other. 
There was silence. 
“Anthony, for what?” You persisted, searching his expression for answers.
“I’m so sorry…” He continued to shake his head, gulping down his own breaths as if the world would run out of oxygen just for him. As if he was being tortured and couldn’t breath on his own. His grip on your hand was tighter than it had been, “I was just… I’m so sorry…”
His panic conveyed through his action, through his expression, through his words. You just couldn't understand why he was so anxious, why he was so scared. 
Until you realized, he didn’t seem scared over whatever he did, he seemed scared for how you would respond. His eyes kept snapping to you before looking down, he continued to clasp onto your hand, he closed his eyes as if he was silently praying for a better outcome.
Your brows knitted together and your lips pursed, “Sorry?” You repeated his apology, trying to think of what he was so apologetic about.
Suddenly, all of the memories flashed through your mind, quick as ever. The balls, the sitting rooms, the lack of dresses you needed to buy… it was because Anthony had never left your side. You thought he was being supportive, letting you know who would be better than the other for your bright future, but no. He wasn’t helping weed out those who weren’t good for you, he was clearing the field completely, so there was nothing left. No weeds, nor even blossoming flowers that you would’ve loved to pick.
Until there was no one left.
You blinked rapidly as you thought about this, finally making eye contact, “You didn’t.” You breathed out quietly.
You were met with silence and Anthony's sorrowful gaze, already begging for forgiveness.
You tried to remove your hand from his grip, but he wouldn't let up. Once you finally pulled yourself away, you stood quickly, not caring for the water dripping to your clothing from your quick movements. 
Your feet were wet, causing a dark spot to form onto the wooden dock. “Anthony, how could you?” You asked, exasperated, hands going to your face as you began to pace. 
Anthony scrambled up himself, trying to grasp your hands, but you continuously pulled away, making him face your back. “I just wanted to protect you!”
His words caused you to seethe, protect you? How was he protecting you? 
You turned to him, feet stomping once you were face to face with him, “You’re not protecting me!” You yelled, your volume caused him to fall back a bit, unused to your yells. “You’re labeling me as a…” You paused, taking a few small breaths, “bad contender.” You mumbled, clutching your chest, feeling your eyes begin to sting. You began to shake your head as you backed away, “At this rate I will not be married.” 
“What is the fault in that?”
“What is-?” You laughed, honestly not believing that this situation was happening. Your hands were up to your head, clutching at your ears, pinching, praying that this wasn’t really happening.
Anthony Bridgerton, the man of the Bridgerton home, the man who almost forced Daphne to marry a man who wanted nothing good for her. Anthony Bridgerton who was to duel a man for his sisters honor. Anthony Bridgerton, the man who took the responsibilities of his father for his family, because he knew how important it was for women to be married in this world.
You stood straight, face contorted in anger, “You are well aware, as I am, that our society revolves around marriage.” You spoke slowly, “My family wishes for me to be married or I will be a disgrace.” You reminded him, tilting your head, mouth opened in another sense of disbelief. “How is it that you now fail to comprehend such a thing?”
Anthony nodded with your words, but it seemed as if he wasn’t hearing you at all, he was being so frustrating. “I merely believe that you should pursue your own desires.”
“You did not consult me on what I desire!” You yelled, drawing the attention of passersby. You looked down, frown on your face as Anthony waved them off with a smile. You looked back to him with a harsh, cold glare, “You acted according to your own desires, but for what purpose?” 
He ran a hand through his hair before unbuttoning his vest and taking it off. Anthony felt like he was suffocating, and nothing was helping him breathe properly at the moment. “It’s because I hold deep regards for your well-being.”
You scoffed, “No one who truly cares about the other would do that.”
“I-”
You stopped him, holding up your finger, “No, you would never do this to Daphne.” You told him, causing him to fall silent. You could hear the harsh gulp he took as you continued. “You endeavored to secure a match for her, so why must you subject me to this treatment?…” You trailed off, turning away once again before turning right back to him, “You repelled every potential partner.”
Anthony didn’t make eye contact, he just mumbled out, “I have my reasons.”
“Please, list them.” You ordered, trying to meet his gaze, “For it appears that you do not wish the best for me.” 
That sentence brought him out of his thoughts, that sentence made him realize how you didn’t realize the true intentions of his actions. “I care deeply for you!” He spoke a bit loudly, “It is inexplicable, I can not put into words my concern for your future.” He continued to speak, and you were quiet, waiting for any valid reason, because you wanted to forgive him, you did. “I truly believe that none among the ton is truly suitable for you.”
You blinked at him, “No one of the…” You just stared at him, “You…what?”
“Please understand.”
Oh, you understood just fine. You crossed your arms with a raised brow, “No one but you, I assume?”
His eyes widened and he shook his head quickly, “That is not what I mean.” He spoke, breaths quickening as his thoughts swirled through his mind.
“So you harbor no romantic sentiments towards me?”
“If that is what I implied, I apologize.” 
You nodded, poking your cheek with your tongue, “Then why do all this?”
You were met with no response, so you continued, walking forward, poking his chest with your finger. “If you do not love me,” You began, “also being you do not wish to court me,” you clarified, tilting your head with a blank expression, “then your actions are malicious.”
Anthony shook his head, cupping your hand in his, “They are not, they are in good health.” He tried to convince you, but you wouldn’t budge. 
You pulled your hand from his grasp, “Is the idea of courting me so revolting to you that you must scare off all contenders with your jealousy,” You backed away, hands up, “and leave me as a spinster for the entire court to laugh at?”
“It was not my intention.” Is that all he could say, it was not his intention? 
“Then what was your intention?”
He sputtered and babbled out a response, but it was stutters of the beginning of sentences he would never finish. The only thing his pieces of words could convince you of, was that he had no idea why he would do such a thing. 
“Was it your intention to prompt me to recognize deeper emotions for you?” You asked him, and he continued to knock his brain for some sort of response that he couldn’t give you. “Well?”
The Bridgerton man put his head down, hands over his face before they went to the back of his neck, “I thought,” He spoke, dropping his hands to his sides, “if we spent more time together as if we were courting-”
“But we are not.” You interrupted with an obvious stare, “You are not courting me, you do not wish to court me Anthony.”
He nodded and clapped, eyes wide with promise as he strode towards you in a sudden burst of excitement. “But perhaps, if we acted as such, we could discover the wisdom in such an action.” He spoke, nodding along with his own words, “It is smart, surely, you see it through my perspective!”
You chuckled because, what else were you supposed to do at the sudden idiocy that escapes a man's mouth? “Anthony, this is not business.”
“I understand that,” He told you confidently, “but, consider the mutual benefits it could offer us.”
You chuckled once more, taking a step back with a shocked smile, “I don’t care if marrying you would take the trouble from my family for thousands of generations, Anthony.” You explained, waving your hands in a large ‘no’ motion. “I would never marry you!” You told him harshly, the words engraved in the air as a promise.
Anthony's eyes dimmed, his breath pausing as his shoulders began to droop, “Why not?”
“For the same reason you will not court me.” You answered, rolling your eyes a bit.
He didn’t understand so he stared at you expectantly, “Which is?”
You couldn’t believe he wasn’t aware of why he wasn’t courting you, why your marriage would never work. Since he couldn’t understand such a simple answer, you stepped forward, staring him into his eyes. His brown eyes looked at you, searching for answers.
You shook your head lightly, “ Anthony, I feel nothing when I look at you.”
Time has stopped completely for Anthony Bridgerton. You spoke the words so easily. He felt everything move so slowly, to the point he didn’t even realize that he stopped breathing. He didn’t stop staring at you until you waved your hand in his face to capture his attention. 
“Is that why you think I won’t court you?” He whispered to you, face falling.
You scoffed, again, at how he wasn’t understanding the conversation. “Wake up, Mr. Bridgerton!” You yelled, the first time you’ve ever used the title. “You just tried to propose a business deal with me, knowing that I have a better chance with any man over you.” You explained, hands falling to your sides as you paced across the doc, the man standing still, facing the same direction he was before you moved. “Yet, you still sabotaged any chance for me this season, and I will end up alone due to your selfish actions!” You spoke angrily, nostrils flaring once you finally looked at him again.
His eyes were the only thing that followed you, “I..I don’t…. I wasn’t thinking of-”
“You’re right!” You told him, clapping at his realization. “You were not thinking, which is exactly why you ruined everything for me!” You yelled, voice feeling strained due to the emotions you were currently feeling. “You ruin everything because you do not think.”
Anthony wiped his coming tears, opening his mouth for another apology.
You stopped him immediately, “I am utterly sick of every apology that leaves your mouth, because you do not mean it.” You spoke, not letting him speak any further.
You walked to the steps that separated the dock from the walking paths, “Goodbye Mr. Bridgerton.” were your final words before you left Anthony near the water.
He couldn’t say anything else, his gaze was trapped on the wooden flooring of the dock. What had he done? Why does he feel his heart squeezing every time he takes a deep breath in? Why was everything spinning?
More importantly, why did he do something so stupid, and push you away?
870 notes ¡ View notes
bat-mom-writer ¡ 2 months ago
Text
Impulses
Bruce Wayne(Husband) X Reader(Wife)
Summery: you can be very quick to act on your impulse, usually being done with a kind heart. But can sometimes lead to you and some others being hurt.
Note: Something tells me Bruce wouldn't go to therapy, but this isn't real so...
Rate: Loving Bruce, the very small almost of angst
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"So, tell me Bruce, are you happily married?"
"Of course."
"Then why are you here?"
"Well," Bruce pauses, thinking over his words carefully, "it's not exactly that simple."
The therapist's office was quiet, the kind of silence that felt like it was holding its breath. Bruce Wayne sat in a chair that was a little too small for his broad shoulders, his eyes darting to the clock on the wall. It was a simple room, with a few plants scattered around and a faint scent of lavender in the air, but it was the last place he ever thought he'd be. He was a man who dealt with Gotham's problems from the shadows, not one who talked about his own in a well-lit space with a box of tissues within arm's reach.
"How so?" the therapist asked again, her voice gentle but firm, bringing Bruce back to the present.
He sighed. "Well, my wife… she's incredible. She's kind and she's the glue that holds our family together."
The therapist nodded, her expression neutral. "But?"
Bruce leaned back, rubbing his temples. "But she's… impulsive. She does things without considering the consequences, especially when it comes to the boys."
The therapist made a note in her pad. "Could you give me an example?"
Bruce sighed heavily, his mind racing with instances. "Once we went hiking, and she found a baby wolf, injured and alone. She insisted on bringing it back to the manor to care for it herself. Most of my sons thought it would be a great idea—until we realized it had a pack out there looking for it, and suddenly we had a bunch of very unhappy wolves on our backs."
The therapist looked up, raising an eyebrow. "I see. And how did that situation resolve?"
Bruce chuckled, a bit nervously. "Let's just say there were a lot of stitches involved. And I haven't heard anyone wanting to go camping again ever since."
The therapist's eyes widened, but she remained calm. "It seems she has a heart of gold, but maybe a bit of an overactive sense of adventure."
Bruce nodded. "Exactly. And it's not just with animals. She once tried to organize a surprise street carnival in the middle of Gotham because she thought the city needed more joy. You can imagine the chaos that ensued with all the traffic rerouting and permits she didn't bother to get."
The therapist's pen stopped mid-stroke. "Ah, so her intentions are good, but the execution could use some work."
Bruce nodded emphatically. "You have no idea. She's the love of my life, but sometimes I worry she's going to get us all into trouble. The boys look up to her, especially Dick and Damian."
The therapist leaned in slightly. "How do Dick and Damian react to her impulsive nature?"
"Dick tries to be the voice of reason, but he's young and still learning the ropes of being a responsible older brother. And Damian," Bruce sighed, "he's more like me—he's intrigued by the chaos she creates, but he's also the one who ends up getting hurt when things go awry."
The therapist nodded understandingly. "It's natural for children to look up to their parents, especially when they see the love and good intentions behind their actions. But it's also important for them to learn about boundaries and the potential consequences of impulsivity. How does your wife react when you bring this up with her?"
Bruce leaned forward, his expression a mix of affection and exasperation. "She's… well, she's stubborn. She sees the world as a place full of possibilities, and she wants to experience all of them. I get that, I do. But we can't live our lives on the edge like that, especially with the kind of enemies I've made over the years."
The therapist nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It's a delicate balance, isn't it? Wanting to keep your family safe and also allowing them the freedom to live their lives fully. How have you been managing this?"
Bruce's smile grew a bit wistful. "Well, my wife is also the lively part of our lives. Without her, the manor would be just a fortress, not a home. She brings laughter and light to every room she enters. She's the one who convinced me to let Tim build a skateboard ramp in the garage, and even though it's a hazard to my cars, I can't help but smile when I hear them all out there, having fun."
The therapist nodded, understanding the complexity of the situation. "It sounds like you appreciate her spirit, but it's important to establish boundaries to ensure everyone's safety. Have you tried discussing the potential dangers with her?"
Bruce leaned back, his eyes drifting to the floor. "I've tried," he admitted. "But she's… she's like a tornado of love and enthusiasm. It's hard to say no to her."
The therapist nodded, her expression understanding. "It's clear you care deeply for her and the boys. Perhaps it's time to find a way to channel that enthusiasm into safer outlets."
"I know," Bruce said, running a hand through his hair. "But she's so… so alive. It's like trying to cage a butterfly."
The therapist nodded. "It's not about caging her, Bruce. It's about guiding her. Teaching her and the boys to weigh risks and rewards. To channel their energy into something positive without endangering themselves or others."
Bruce sat in silence, contemplating her words. He knew she was right, but it was easier said than done when it came to his vibrant wife. Her zest for life was both infectious and overwhelming at times. He thought back to the street carnival she had organized. The look of joy on the citizens' faces as they played games and ate cotton candy was something he hadn't seen in Gotham in a long time.
"There not all bad," he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "Her impulses have led to some amazing moments, too."
"Like what?" the therapist prompted, her curiosity piqued.
Bruce's smile grew as he recalled a recent incident. "Last week, she found out about a fundraising event for an underfunded children's hospital. Without asking, she decided to host a masquerade ball at the manor. She convinced Alfred to help, and together they transformed the place into a fairy tale. The kids had the time of their lives, and we ended up raising a fortune for those kids."
The therapist returned his smile. "That does sound wonderful. It seems her spontaneity has its benefits."
Bruce nodded. "It does. But it's also a double-edged sword. I want to support her, but I also need to keep everyone safe."
The therapist leaned back in her chair. "Communication is key, Bruce. It's about expressing your concerns without squashing her spirit. Have you tried talking to her about how her impulsiveness affects you?"
Bruce sighed, his eyes reflecting the weight of his words. "I've tried, but she takes it personally. She thinks I'm trying to control her."
The therapist nodded, her expression empathetic. "It's a common misconception. Setting boundaries isn't about control; it's about care and safety. Have you framed it that way?"
Bruce furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure. I've usually approached it from the perspective of the danger it could pose to the boys."
"It's important to express your feelings," the therapist said. "Tell her how her actions affect you and why you worry. It might help her understand your perspective better."
Bruce nodded slowly, considering her advice. It was true; he hadn't shared his own fears with her, only the potential risks to the boys. Perhaps that was where he was going wrong.
"Thank you, doctor," he said, rising from his chair. "I'll think about what you've said."
The therapist stood and offered a warm smile. "Remember, Bruce, it's about balance. And sometimes, that means taking a risk to find it."
Bruce nodded, her words echoing in his mind as he left the office and stepped into the Gotham night. The city was alive with the pulse of its inhabitants, a stark contrast to the calmness he'd just left behind. His thoughts were racing, trying to find a way to bridge the gap between his need for security and his wife's boundless spirit.
As he drove back to Wayne Manor, the grandeur of the estate came into view, the gothic architecture a stark contrast to the chaos of the city beyond its gates. The manor was more than just a home; it was a bastion of hope in a city that desperately needed it. The lights were on in the windows, a warm glow that promised sanctuary from the cold outside.
When he walked in, the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air. You was in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you pulled a tray out of the oven. You turned to him, your face lighting up with a smile that never failed to melt his heart. "Hi, honey! How was your day?"
Bruce took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he knew he had to have. "It was… interesting," he said, trying to keep his tone light. "How about yours?"
"Oh, you know," you replied with a shrug, placing the cookies on a rack to cool. "Just the usual—keeping the boys out of trouble, planning the next big surprise for them." you winked at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Bruce felt a twinge of both fondness and dread. He knew that look all too well. It was the look you got when she had another harebrained scheme up your sleeve. He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into an embrace. "How about we talk about these surprises together from now on?"
You tilted your head back, your smile fading a bit. "What do you mean?"
Bruce took a deep breath. "I mean, I know you love surprising the boys, and I love that about you. But sometimes, your surprises have… unintended consequences. I want to be there to support you, but I also need to make sure everyone is safe."
You leaned back, looking up at him with a slightly defensive expression. "Not all of my surprises turn out bad," you said, your voice a bit softer than before.
Bruce felt his heart squeeze at the sight of you, flour smudged on your cheek and apron, looking so earnest. He gave a tight smile, trying to ease the tension. But his face was screaming, "Are you sure?"
You took a step back, "Okay, okay, maybe most of them," you conceded. "But the good ones make up for it, right?"
Bruce sighed, his arms dropping to his sides. "They do," he agreed. "But it's the potential for danger that I can't ignore. And not just for the boys, but for you too."
You rolled your eyes, brushing off the flour on your apron. "Me? I'm fine. I can handle myself."
Bruce's grip on your shoulders tightened slightly. "You know what I mean," he said, his voice serious. "How many times have you ended up in the hospital because of one of your… adventures?"
You winced, remembering the last time you had tried to rescue a cat stuck in a tree, only to end up with a broken arm and a bruised ego. "Okay, okay," you repeated, holding up your hands in surrender. "I get it. I can be a bit… much."
Bruce's expression softened, his eyes searching yours. "You're not 'much', you're amazing. I just don't want to lose you."
You took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling in. "I know," you said, your voice small. "But what about you? You're not much different, Bruce. Maybe even worse. You go out every night as Batman, risking your life."
He stepped back, his expression unreadable. "That's different," he said firmly. "That's for the city."
"Is it?" you asked, looking up at him with a hint of challenge in your eyes. "Or is it because you've convinced yourself that it's your duty? That you're the only one who can do it?"
Bruce's jaw tightened at your question. It was a fair point, one he'd wrestled with in the quiet moments of his life. He knew that his crusade as Batman was driven by his own fears and the need to keep the city that had taken his parents safe. But he also knew that the stakes were higher for him than they were for you.
"I've been trained for that," he said finally. "You… you have the biggest heart in the world, but sometimes you don't think about the risks."
You nodded, looking down at the cookies cooling on the rack. "I know," you murmured. "But it's just so hard to resist when I see something that could bring joy to people, especially the boys."
Bruce stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. "I know your heart's in the right place," he said. "But we can't keep playing Russian roulette with our lives, not when we have so much to lose. I don't want to lose you. Or see you get hurt. I'm just asking, please, consider the risks before you act. And come to me, talk to me, let's find a way to make this work."
You searched his eyes, the gravity of his words sinking in. You knew he wasn't trying to stifle you; he was just worried. "Okay," you whispered, leaning into his touch. "I'll try."
Bruce's expression relaxed a bit, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Thank you," he said softly. "Now, how about we sit down and talk about what's been on your mind? Maybe we can come up with some ideas together."
You nodded, swiping a strand of hair from your forehead. "Alright, I'll finish up on the cookies and then we can talk. Until then, want to help? Just to make sure I don't hurt myself?"
Bruce couldn't help but chuckle at your attempt to lighten the mood. "Sure," he said, taking the spatula from your hand. "Let's do this together."
As you both worked side by side in the kitchen, the tension began to ease. You chatted about the different flavors of cookies and which ones the boys would like best, while Bruce carefully placed the finished ones on a plate. The rhythm of your conversation was soothing, and it reminded him of the first time he had met you—how your laugh had filled a room and made him feel alive again.
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theguyinthemathexamples ¡ 7 months ago
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Guns and... Aeons?
May Aventurine grant his luck upon everyone's Boothill pulls!!!
— C/W : spoilers?, set at the end of the 2.2 quest, boothill is boothill ft. argenti, i forgot what his lore is so take anything i say with a grain of salt, LOTS of yapping, guns and roses sneak, very self-indulgent :3
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Boothill never really had much faith in Aeons, much less worshipped any. He already lost it all when he gained the information, that darned rain of fire that destroyed everything, was deployed by a zealot.
Don't get him wrong, he still knew they existed. But he internally wished that maybe, if any Aeon took pity on him on that day, maybe he could have changed the outcome of it all.
Well, that was all in the past now. He'd be a rusted out piece of metal by now if he let himself wallow in bygone events.
A low sigh didn't fail to make itself known, inadvertently catching the attention of the knight just at the other end of the room. Boothill even forgot he was there due to how quiet he was.
"A rose for your thoughts, friend?" The knight inquired, sitting at the other end of the couch. He nearly jumped at the sudden question but was just as quick to regain his composure.
"Nothin' much, just thinkin' and all," he replied, only tilting his head to look at this eccentric friend of his.
Ironic that Argenti was a man quite devoted to an Aeon, especially to a long deceased one, when Boothill was borderline detesting a good amount of them.
"This dadgum pull I've been feelin'... D'you know somethin' about it, knight?"
It was something he'd been feeling for a while now but it's been getting stronger as of late. And the voices... He'll leave those out till Argenti mentions something about it.
To put it frankly, he was worried. Quite more so if nothing else.
"Does it make you feel like wanting to visit the Astral Express, friend?" Argenti inquired shortly after,
Boothill simply nodded, curious as to how this Knight of Beauty knew of such. Sensing his curiosity, said knight certainly wouldn't mind going into the further details.
In fact, he was more than enthusiastic to do so.
"As Idrila's reason to have ascended into Aeonhood, it is only natural that I give high praises to the Aeon of Creation for such magnificence— that THEIR creations have inspired my Goddess to reach THEIR most pinnacle potential."
If this was how he talked about his Aeon and this... well, other Aeon, the two would be here till his batteries run out. And he was just about done recharging to full a few hours ago.
It wasn't till a good amount of minutes into the topic that Boothill kinda got a little impatient. No offense to Argenti, of course.
"And it wasn't till recently that their wondrous consciousness graced the unive—"
"Alright, alright, I get it, knight. Don't mean to offend ya, but can ya get straight to why I felt the pull earlier?" Boothill interjected, looking straight at his companion,
He swore that the way this man shone brightened up even more.
"My apologies if I overwhelmed you, dear friend," Argenti said, giving the cowboy an apologetic bow while he was sitting.
"Simply put, this pull you feel is but the manifestations of the Aeon of Creation! Perhaps your brilliant self captured THEIR attention when you were conversing with the Trailblazer," he continued, yapping up another storm as Boothill thought to himself.
"Seriously? This ol' hunk of metal? Catchin' an Aeon's attention? Colour me fudgin' surprised."
"Ah, this is certainly a moment worth celebrating, don't you think so, friend?" Argenti's voice spoke out, bringing his attention back to the knight.
Yet, before this interstellar cyborg cowboy could even agree or otherwise, a black envelope materialized in front of him, the edges lined with red and gold designs.
One surprise after another, huh?
The knight was quick to encourage him to open it up, taking out a letter opener from who knows where. Well now he's starting to get excited.
A golden Star Rail Pass was the first to get taken out of it, its colour shining in the midst of the room's lights. Next was a neatly folded paper that was probably penned by the Astral Express' Conductor. (Somehow; I mean, look at their itty bitty hands) It reads as follows:
—————————✧—————————
Hello, future Astral Express member, Boothill! This letter has been written by Pom-pom to formally invite you to join the Trailblaze.
By all means, this doesn't mean that you should abandon your faith for any Aeon(s) you may believe in, so long as it doesn't prohibit the other members of the Astral Express from going about their days.
As you may have guessed, yes, the golden ticket provided inside is a very formal way for Pom-pom to ask you to join us, as well as a sign that the Aeon of Creation has taken a liking to you!
To compensate for any forms of distress or trouble their consciousness has caused you, the Astral Express will be willing to offer a living space, electricity, wifi, food, water(gasoline?), as well as any other necessities and wants you may have.
Though if you truly want to seek trouble with the IPC, as the Aeon commented, please leave the Astral Express out of association for any crime you may commit in the future.
If you're ready to take on this journey with the Nameless, as well as many others, please use the ticket once the thought of doing so so much as suggests the notion.
• P.S. : Unfortunately, you don't have much time to mull it over, much less get another letter in this envelope to choose who to cover for you instead.
• The Aeon of Creation awaits your presence. •
—————————✧—————————
As Argenti finished reading the letter aloud, the expectant lilt on his face that he looks at Boothill with catches his attention the most.
"I nearly forgot to mention, dear friend, as a faithful believer of this Aeon, one can assure you that THEY don't mean any harm," he spoke, a smile gracing his lips as he continued. "The blessings THEY give to ones that they favour are quite abundant, and your captivating self truly made its impact on THEM."
"Even THEY couldn't help but praise you endlessly for your courage and demeanor!" Argenti proclaimed, almost making the cowboy in front of him want to tune him out again. ... That last part was a lie.
With a reluctant sigh, finally agreeing with the knight, the golden Star Rail Pass and the envelope in hand, Boothill stood up from his seat and went over to exit his friend's ship— to which Argenti quickly stopped him, hand outstretched for him.
"Need me to lead you there, friend?" He asks, head tilting to his left as his eyes brightened up with that usual glow.
"... Yeah, sure. Ya won't stop botherin' this ol' piece of metal to give ya updates if I said otherwise," Boothill laughed at the end of his reply, taking the knight's hand and letting him lead the way.
Maybe making a decision with a third party beside him won't be so bad.
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Note : ong this took WAY TOO LONGGGGG TO MAKEEEEEEE 😭😭
My most sincere apologies to anyone whose patience ran out while waiting for this fic to come out 💔
BUT IT'S OUT NOW SO REJOICE EVERYONE ‼️‼️
Anyways, have a lovely day to all of you !! (disappears for another month)
And yes dw my interp of sahsr/sahsrau will come out maybe around late june once my recognition finally comes to pass
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor ¡ 4 months ago
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Mission Control 5
Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Captain Hydra
Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
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The man walks you straight through a yard and into the thicket of trees behind. If he wasn’t so confident, you would think he had no idea where he’s going. His hand stays locked around your arm as he has you staggering over peat and leaves.  
You come out on the other side of the trees to the open highway. A car zooms by but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, the force of the cars whipping by blowing around you, horns honking. He pushes you towards the cement barrier. Before you can lift your leg, he lifts you. 
He puts you on the other side and follows. He doesn’t miss a step. On and on, across another three lanes and down into a ditch. Across the field. You look back and he yanks you, nearly taking you of your feet. 
A chill creeps through you, numbing you to the terror boiling in your gut. Your legs tremble but don’t stop either. You’re too scared to resist. 
The sky darkens and the moon peeks out from behind another line of pines. On and on. At last, your body gives out. 
Your legs burn as the fold. He catches you. He puts you over his shoulder and presses on. That’s when it really sets in. It’s happening. You don’t know what just that it isn’t good. Your body wracks as your tears flow free, rolling down to your hairline as you hang upside down. 
When he stops, you’re in a clearing. He puts you down. You sit on the dirt as he squats in front of you. The moonlight barely limns his figure. He reaches to his belt. He pulls out a pair of thick cuffs and dangles them. He tilts his head.  
You sniffle, “please, I won’t go.” 
He stares then slowly hooks them back on his belt. He stands and looks around. You hear him in the dark, twigs snapping, leaves rustling. You catch a glimpse of his shadow now and again. The crickets hum and dampness rises from the ground. 
A spark, then a full bloom of flame goes up. The fire casts a light over the barrier built with large rocks and the pile of thick sticks broken to fuel it. The night flickers with the cinder and he approaches you again. He moves you to sit closer to the heat. 
He lowers himself next to you, legs bent, arms resting on his knees. He just sits and watches the flames. You look down and slump. You’re exhausted. 
You flinch as he grips your shoulder. He lowers his legs, crosses them, and pulls you down until you’re on your side. He guides your head onto his thigh. He holds you there. He doesn’t need to give the order. 
The adrenaline never quite evaporates, merely recedes. Your eyes close on their own. You plummet into a pit of darkness. Your head and body ache with the sheer senseless sleep. 
You wake with a chatter. The man still sits. He hasn’t moved. You flutter your lashes at the lightening horizon. 
His hand drifts from your shoulder and crawls up your neck. He brushes along your cheek and over your hair. You hold your breath. Your scalp aches as you brace for another cruel yank. He retracts and pokes your shoulder instead. 
You sit up and stand only when he does. He reaches for you and you cower. He rips your knapsack from your arms as he spins you. He hurls it away into the trees. Then, it’s back to walking. 
You’re stiff from a night sleeping on the ground. Your clothes are damp from the dew and a frigidness lingers in your skin. He keeps you moving until the sun meets its apex. 
You come to a lot in the middle of another highway. It’s empty but for a black motorcycle. He marches you to it and guides you onto the back. He straddles the front and flips up the kickstand. You’re too tired to be confused, to wonder about how and why and what. 
He taps his shoulders. You hesitate but grab onto them. It might not be so bad to fly off but you’re still human. You still have that need to survive. 
He takes off with a roar of the motor. You yipe and squeeze tight. You fight against the wind and lean forward, hooking your arms around him as you feel your grasp slipping. He doesn’t seem to mind as you cling to him. He has a heart. You can hear it through his back. 
You close your eyes as the wind tunnels around you, whipping around the bike and your bodies. He’s a barrier to the brunt of it.  
He rides through the night and beyond. You have to keep awake to stay latched on. He keeps on and on, into another crowd of trees, one so dense that it darkens the daytime.  
When at last you are still, you as good as fall off the motorcycle. You stumble until he grabs onto you. He moves you in front of him and puts his hands on your shoulders. He leads you from behind. Twisting and turning you in a deliberate path.  
You look up at the faded planks on the side of the reclusive house. You clatter up the steps beside him. He stops and tugs the back of your jacket. You think he wants you to stay still. There’s a beep and something clicks. Then something else. 
You look around in confusion. He flicks your cheek. Hard. You wince and hiss and look forward. He points over your shoulder. You follow the gesture to the door as the latch rolls back on its own. 
You stop before the door and just stare. Where the walls are covered in wooden siding, it is metal. You gulp. He reaches around you, stepping flush to you. He pushes the handle down and shoves the door inward. His other hand nudges your lower back. 
You enter and automatic lights flash on. You gape at the room before you. It’s like any other cabin you’ve seen. On television, you were never rich enough for vacation homes. There’s a floral couch and a matching armchair on a round area rug, right before a fireplace, a table with a lamp by the chair. It’s all startlingly normal. Not like him. 
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mysaintkitten ¡ 10 months ago
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I just read Between Shoots again and I am on my hands and knees BEGGING for more dumbification😭🙏🏻 (as for who, I’m not super picky lol but preferably Cillian, Tommy, Robert, or Crane <<<3)
dumbification is 100% my weakness thank u for requesting this (& it’s been a little while since i’ve written dumbification so I’m a bit rusty but i would love to start writing it more often!)
Mindless | Robert Fischer x fem!reader
prompt: Robert does not take your teasing lightly lol
WARNINGS: SMUT (18+ MDNI) dom!robert, degradation, dumbification, size kink if you squint, brief misogyny, creampie
*not proofread*
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“Get inside. Now.” Robert snarled as his nails dug into your arm, shoving you inside entrance of your shared penthouse. Your cheeks burned with excitement and anticipation, you knew Robert was going to punish you, but you weren’t sure if this was going to be a punishment or a ‘punishment.’
“Ow, Robert,” you giggle with a small smirk, partially playing it up for your own entertainment , “you’re hurting me.”
After slamming the door shut and locking it, It was clear that Robert was fuming after you interrupted one of his important meetings with a slew of lewd gestures, which started to become dirtier and dirtier as time went on.
First it was a wink, then it was a subtle grope to one of your tits, followed by sucking one of your fingers into your mouth. While eyeing Robert down, you slowly brought the digit between your legs.
It didn’t take long for Robert’s annoyance and arousal to reach its peak, leading him to call off the meeting early.
“All I ask is for you to sit there and look pretty while I work, is that too fucking difficult for you? Huh?” Roberts asking you rhetorically. You bite your lip, you know it isn’t nice to push his buttons, but he’s just so sexy when he’s angry.
“You looked so handsome up there,” you coo while running your hands along the front of his suit jacket, “I couldn’t help myself.”
His eyes are dark, pooling with anger and desire. With a strong hand he grabs your hips and turns you around, promptly forcing the front of your body against the wall, pushing some air out of your lungs in the process.
“Wanna act like a dumb whore? You’re gonna get treated like one,” Robert decided, purring into your ear as he hurriedly unzipped his trousers, pulling up the end of your skirt as soon as his hard cock was free.
You gasp quietly when you feel his hot member pressed against your ass. You sneak a hand behind you and pull your panties to the side, not caring enough to fully discard them.
With a groan, Robert thrusts his full length inside, causing your mouth to fall open with whiney moan. No matter how many times you took him, he still stretched you out like it was your first time. He barely gave you a second to get used to the sensation before he was snapping his hips out and slamming them back in, his pace and depth already being deliciously intoxicating.
“Fu-uck-“ you whine, reaching behind you to grip Robert’s suit jacket. His balls teasing your clit with each thrust, taunting you with the potential friction.
“Is this what you wanted?” Robert growled into your ear, his strong hands gripping your hips painfully tight as he fucked you harshly against the wall. “Pretty little thing just wants to be daddy’s come dump, huh?”
Your eyes rolled back and you mewled in response, your back involuntarily arching towards him while standing on your tiptoes. The sensation of him forcing his thick cock inside you left you speechless and you could feel your brain becoming cloudier.
“What a filthy whore,” He teased, nipping at the shell of your ear and sending a chill down your spine, “disrupts my important meetings just so I’ll pay attention to her needy fuckin’ cunt.”
You swallowed and huffed out a shaky breath, your body becoming far too overwhelmed with the pleasure that robert was giving to you. He dips his head down to watch his cock slam into you, and to see your ass recoil with each hypnotic thrust.
“F-fuck,” you pant again while your legs shake and nearly give out from beneath you. As Robert’s pounding into you, your feet are barely on the ground, he’s holding your hips up and slamming into you like you’re nothing more than a warm hole for him to use.
Robert laughed weakly, he can see every single rational thought slip out of your head as he pounds into you, he’ll never get sick of watching you get cock drunk. You choke out a moan, twitching as your core clenches around him.
“Hm,” Robert hums as he snakes a hand down the front of your body, gently circling your clit with the tip of his middle finger while his member tears into you. “So well behaved once she’s got a cock in her, you like being treated like a dumb little toy, baby?”
The degradation made your stomach burn with an added layer of eroticism, a needy whimper falling from your lips as your pussy got wetter around him. All that could be heard around you was panting and skin slapping skin, mixed in with some filthy little comments.
Robert moaned when he felt you get slicker around him, unintentionally showing him how much you liked this rough and demeaning treatment. You felt the knot in your stomach begin to wind up tighter and tighter and you knew it won’t take much more to push you over.
You try to respond to his comments, only for a few incoherent babbles to come out. Robert only clicks his tongue at your attempts, poorly feigning sympathy.
He holds his hips still, forcing his entire length painfully deep inside you. It’s nearly too much, but addictive fullness of his cock leaves you needing more.
“Look at that,” he cooes, roughly grabbing your cheeks and cranking your neck to get a better look at your face while still rubbing your clit. His dick twitches at your smeared lipstick and smudged mascara, he’s always thought you looked prettier like that anyway. “Ruined by my cock already, poor thing can barely think. ‘S alright, baby, you don’t gotta think. Daddy knows best, right?”
You swallow harshly before whimpering, “y-yes mmh …”followed by a few curses and pants, Robert slowly begins to thrust himself in and out again.
“That’s right, daddy knows you’ve got no thoughts in that pretty head, all you care about is getting this wet little pussy stuffed. Don’t care how, or when, just need to be full, don’t you?”
You nod as best you can while he’s still grabbing your cheeks, his other hand sliding up from your clit back to your hip. He releases his grip on your cheeks and smacks your ass, your brain and body turning into putty all for him. He owns you entirely, mind, body, and soul. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I bet you’d let me use you in front of my colleagues,” Robert hissed, the thought of ruining you in front of his peers brought him closer to his already approaching orgasm. “Bend you over the table, show them what a brainless little cockslut you are. Maybe I’d even let them take turns on you, would you do that for me baby? Let them use whichever holes they’d like?”
You knew this was purely hypothetical, Robert was far too possessive to let anyone else actually touch you. But the idea still got you hot, being passed around like a cheap whore all for Robert’s enjoyment.
“Y-yes, yes!” You cry out as you arch your back again, you and him both know that you’re mere moments away from your orgasm. He laughs thinly, he knew you got off on this but he didn’t know it was to this degree.
“That’s what I love about you, sweetheart. Pretty face ‘n pretty pussy, no fuckin’ brain. How all good girls should be.”
That was all it took, a bit of praise sprinkled in a mix of ignominy. With a broken sob, you came for him, your wetness spilling down onto his balls and undoubtedly staining the expensive material of his trousers. He groans out a few praises while thrusting into you, his own climax trailing close behind.
“Thats it, baby, fuck-“ Robert groans as he tips his head back and screws his eyes shut, your pulsing core just begging him for his come. With a few more pumps, he’s spilling into you, huffing and growling as your velvety walls milk him dry.
Once he starts to go soft, he begins to pull himself out, you wince quietly and Robert shushes you before spreading your lips apart with his fingers. With attentive eyes he watches your ruined hole drool and clench around nothing.
He brings his eyes back up to your face and sees your reaction as he smacks your ass, “next time you pull some shit like that during a meeting, I’m fucking you right then and there, got it?”
Through heavy lids, you smile back at him before nodding weakly, already getting ideas for what you’ll do at his next meeting.
—
sorry this isn’t very long </3 i really reaaaaally want to get back into writing, i think i’m going to write something a bit fluffy/angsty next. we’ll see!
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taffywabbit ¡ 4 months ago
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"why not just make your own website?"
with the announcement of cohost's death and amidst all the other tumultuous shit currently going on with social media as a concept (i am AMAZED twitter has survived this long given the circumstances), one suggestion that i've been hearing a lot is "we should just go back to the good old days of personal websites. let's all just make neocities pages!!"
(this is gonna be a long one sorry)
and like. idk! it's certainly something i've considered, i think it would be a fun thing to have, but it also feels like the equivalent of "capitalism sucks so let's all just run off into the woods and live in a cabin outside of society" to me. like it would be nice, it would be fun, but it doesn't ultimately solve the actual problems that are present with the modern internet, it just evades them. more importantly in my case and many others, it does not really help people who rely on the modern internet and the connections they're able to make there for their income. sure i can make a website and host my art and blog posts there, but who's going to see it? i can't build a consistent audience and make a living off of random passersby who peek at my website once, say "huh, neat!" and MAYBE add it to an RSS feed or whatever if they really like it. there's minimal potential for meeting and impressing new people outside my existing circles if i don't ALSO still have some manner of social media platform to promote the website on.
a lot of the "solutions" i see people proposing for the slow, painful decline of social media as a user experience keep coming back to old-fashioned, more isolated/insular systems. we miss forums, we miss personal webpages, we miss newsletters, etc etc. but like... those things were ideal in the "old web" because the old web was more about sharing hobbies and interests with whoever happened to pass by and check them out, and even just USING the internet was a niche hobby in and of itself for a lot of people. if you wanna be kinda cynical about it (and not unjustifiably so), web 2.0 is much more blatantly business-oriented, and its algorithms and carefully crafted UX's are primarily meant to funnel you towards viewing ads and spending money on products. looking at it that way, it sure does suck and Everything Was Better Before! but the modern web is ALSO more powerful than anything before it for just like. connecting people. spreading information and news. showing your art/music/writing/thoughts/etc to strangers who never knew you existed an hour ago. putting the tools to reach out to someone and tell them you think they're cool right there on the same website where their art is hosted, just a comment or a message away.
if you're able to avoid patterns of engagement-bait and obsessing over follower counts as a measure of self-worth (a big "if", i realize, but i view it like installing an adblocker - it's just kind of a basic prerequisite for modern internet safety and survival), a lot of these systems can genuinely be really positive and life-changing in ways that were simply not possible 20 years ago! almost all of my current closest friends are people I met through sharing our art on platforms like Twitter who were complete strangers at the time. all of the art clients that regularly pay my bills and support my work came from places like that too! the "social" part of "social media" is really what makes it ultimately worth keeping around in any form, and makes the pursuit of a Good social media platform still valuable.
there's a lot to love about the old web - its aesthetics, simplicity and freedom for personal expression - but every time someone says "just delete your socials and make a personal website" i am forced to confront the fact that i could never do what i currently do or be the person i am on the old web. if i was stuck hanging out in my own little space and only ever interacting with people who openly and loudly share my interests, i couldn't support myself with art full-time, i probably would never have met the kind and quiet strangers who are now my best friends and have made me who i am, and i'd just generally get a lot less insight into the vast range of experiences and perspectives that exist outside of my own. my life would be on a fundamentally different trajectory in countless ways without the advent of web 2.0.
and that's not to say "well twitter and facebook and tumblr all suck but you kinda still have to hand it to them" cuz you don't, obviously. they're corporations, and their job is to take the personalities and thoughts and art of the people who use their products and try to scrunch it all into something uninform and marketable that generates profit and pleases their shareholders. but like, you CAN still make a good thing out of them! these websites are tools just as much as geocities or myspace or IRC used to be. and the one thing these newer tools are pretty much all REALLY good at is discoverability. if you're just a hobbyist at the things you wanna share on the internet, then you likely don't have a lot of use for those tools, and perhaps you WOULD genuinely be happier just keeping a personal blog site or hanging out in private groupchats or sticking to specialized federated Mastodon instances or whatever. it just isn't feasible for me, and there are a LOT of people in my same situation. my entire industry of online freelance artists barely existed 20 years ago, and the web culture of that era is largely incompatible with my continued survival in the mid-2020s. i would LOVE to run off and live in the woods in concept, but all my survival skills are adapted for city living and i would just eat the wrong berry and die out there. i want- i NEED people to try and improve the spaces we're in, and support better forms of social media (like what cohost was trying and largely succeeding to do!) instead of just complaining that it all sucks, everything was better when we were kids, and digging ourselves little holes to hide in. much like all the other problems and frustrations and systemic issues of the world we live in, the modern web isn't going to go away if you just ignore it, so we may as well try to make it better for everyone.
anyways tl;dr i probably WILL make a neocities at some point. it could be fun, even if it doesn't help my career stability or whatever. but i do also need ALL THE SOCIAL PLATFORMS I USE FOR MY JOB TO STOP EXPLODING PRETTY PLEASE, and failing that, some actual half-decent alternatives that aren't going to fizzle out in a month would also be great thanks ✌
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thewistlingbadger ¡ 2 years ago
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Is Spider-Gwen trans: An analysis
After leaving the theater yesterday for Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse, one thought sat in my mind: could Gwen be trans? This may seem like a reach, but just hear me out.
1. Trans Flags
There are two trans flags that I spotted in the movie, both of them are in Gwen's home. In Gwen's room, a small trans flags with the phrase "Protect trans kids" hangs above her doorway. Now, if Gwen isn't trans, then why would she have a trans flag in her room? Most ally's wouldn't have a trans flag in their room. Maybe someone she's close to is trans? There's only 3 people Gwen has in her life. Her father, her dead best friend, and Miles. There isn't any evidence to suggest that any of them are trans. Especially her dad and Peter, since they didn't have much screen time. The phrase is an important clue too. If she was just an ally, why the phrase "Protect trans kids"? Why not "trans rights are human rights"? That phrase is equally as popular and it's more general. Protect trans kids is personal and usually refers to anti trans legislation that affects minors. Gwen is a minor, so is it really too unbelievable to suggest that she has the flag because she's trans?
The second flag is a patch on Gwen's dad's police jacket. Does this flag mean that her dad is trans? Or, is this a dad wearing a trans flag in support of his daughter?
2. Color theory
This is a weak point, but I'm going to include it anyway. Gwen's world is full of pastels. In fact, in most scenes with Gwen in her dimension, the colors light blue, light pink, and white are in the background. Those are literally the colors of the trans flag
3. Spiderman as a trans allegory.
Now, it's no secret that a lot of trans people like the character/concept of Spiderman. For a long time, I, as a fellow trans person, didn't understand the obsession until seeing this movie. A main theme of this movie, if not Mile's franchise, is that anyone can be Spiderman. Anyone can wear the mask, each Spiderperson is unique. Spiderman isn't really a person, it's a concept, and that's why its so applicable to everyone, regardless of who they are. Spiderman is a good person with a "secret" identity who goes trough struggles and also lives a "double life". And when you look at the story like that, the trans allegory becomes clear. Across the spiderverese is a brilliant movie with an abundance of representation. To black spiderpeople, Indian spiderpeople, disabled spiderpeople, hijabi spiderpeople, even spiderpeople who are cowboys and all sorts of other different variants. If all these different people can be Spiderman at the same time, then who's to say there isn't a trans spider person? And who's to say that person isn't Gwen?
So, is Gwen Stacy trans? I don't know, and I'm not saying she is. But I think it's entirely possible and the fact that it is, the fact that any spiderperson could potentially be queer, is something to be celebrated because it opens more doors for representation.
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