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asxgard · 3 months ago

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A Lesson in Vulnerability | [1/2]

Resident!Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x resident!f!reader

Second Part: A Lesson in Romantics

Summary: A pregnancy scare forces you both to lay your cards on the table.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: This one took awhile lol, I had it in my head since ep9, but it took forever to get it right (still not thrilled with it), plus it took a backseat once I started Companionship. Not positive how Dr. Robby would behave as a resident, so I drew some inspiration from Noah’s ER character, Dr. John Carter (legal controversy aside, I think both characters might’ve had a similar residency experience before moving in different directions. I love and appreciate both characters separately, as their respective shows are different entities, as are their characters).

This might be inspiring me to make a series, or just jump into some John Carter fics lol

Word Count: 3.3k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, established situationship, foul language, pregnancy scare, anxiety, angst, some fluff, residency stress, hurt/comfort, vague smut, loss of a patient, medical inaccuracies, Robby having a hard time expressing his feelings, it’s the 90’s, those brown eyes oof

not beta read

You forgot how it had started — a lingering touch here and a few flirty comments there. Either way, you had ended up in Michael Robinavitch’s bed all the same. It had started with just a night every so often, but then it was after nearly every shift you had together; and now it was leaving a few extra clothes at his apartment so you could stay the night.

Part of you wondered if there was something unspoken about your relationship, but you did not want to be the one to mess with a good thing, or risk breaking it. All you wanted to focus on was your future; what hospital you might want to work at when your residency was over or if perhaps you would move states. You had worked too hard to get hung up on a guy.

But he made it so hard to focus on much else in his company, with those dark brown eyes looking at you like you were the only person in the room, the memory of his touch on your thighs, your hips seared into your mind. For all the stresses of residency, it was nice to forget in the comfort of his touch.

His lips on your throat, his beard tickling you, hot breathy voice in your ear, the feel of his hands on your skin, exploring down, down, down—

“MVA inbound! Three victims, five minutes out!”

You snapped back to reality, pushing your things into your locker and getting to work. It was easy now to fall into pace with the other residents and attendings, after nearly seven months of hard work of being an R2.

The senior attending of the ER, Dr. James Long, called you over to assist in tending to the first patient wheeled in. You hated the way your eyes searched for Dr. Robby, an R3, before you started working on the patient.

Time passed in a blur after that, intubating the more critical of the MVA victims, while the two others were evaluated and deemed lower risk, all three waiting to be brought up to get imaging. While you kept one eye on the MVA patients, you also stepped in to do a few stitches for a mother who had slipped while making lunch.

There was rarely ever a lull, so you stepped away when you could. You quickly found your way into the staff lounge, looking for a pick-me-up and perhaps a protein bar. It was the perfect place to take a deep breath — the one patient had been touch-and-go for nearly a half hour, and the adrenaline was slowly leaving your system.

“Hey,” Robby greeted, seemingly having the same idea as you.

You smiled back at him, opening the protein bar.

“You want to come by after your shift?”

You were thankful you were chewing so you did not jump at it. You tried to stay casual. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He smiled, and you swore it could light up any room he was in. You hated how rare they were, but in the environment of the ER, you couldn’t say you were surprised.

The rest of your shift did pass quickly, but not easily. Two gunshot victims passed under your care, though only one was serious, but not life-threatening. You heard from one of the nurses that Robby had lost a patient, a thirteen year old boy and your heart constricted. You had gone looking for him after that, finding him with the boy’s parents, their heart-wrenching cries making the ER go silent.

He had brushed you off each time you approached him after that, his once warm demeanor frozen over.

—

You met Michael at his apartment, picking up take-out on your way over, knowing you both barely had time to eat during your shift. Lately, your nerves had invaded you whenever you had gone to his place, and you tried to keep it buried deep. Something that had started out so easy had turned into a situation that turned your stomach into knots.

While he had been expecting you, he still stood stiff in the doorway. His brown hair was in his eyes, he moved a hand through the tousled mess atop his head, but his eyes were tense.

Trying to trade casual conversation over dinner, you kept your eyes on the hockey game on the television. Somehow not looking at him made it all worse — the tension in the room thick while you both stepped around the obvious. At least, until you couldn’t.

“Are you okay? I heard—”

“I’m fine.” He snapped, tossing his fork into the container of his food.

You raised your eyebrows at him. He didn’t shut down all the time, but he was a champion at deflecting, especially after you had gotten to know him. Likely due to the fact that now you knew him outside the ER, it was easier to see his tells: the twitch under his eye, the partial wince in his right cheek, the rubbing his neck. It was all easy enough to see that he was not okay.

“Michael…” I worry about you got stuck in your throat.

He let out a huff of air, “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Your stomach rolled, a small wince crossing your face. To be fair, you never opened up to him very much about your own stresses, or patients lost, but you just told yourself you compartmentalized well. The time at the hospital was completely separate from your personal life — which was why you never called him Robby outside hospital walls.

A rush of faces of the handful of patients you had lost flickered through your mind.

If you were so good at compartmentalizing, then why was emotion constricting your throat?

As if sensing your sudden shift of your mood, he grabbed your hand, “Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

You wanted to accept that, you really did — to keep that status quo, to ensure nothing changed between you.

“You really should.”

He scoffed, withdrawing his hand. “I’m not sure I should be taking advice from Queen ‘I don’t talk about anything personal ever’.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his tone, “That’s not true.”

He rose to his feet, picking up his take-out container, “Right. What about when you lost your last patient? You shut me out for days.”

You got to your feet, pointing a finger at him, “That’s not fair! We’re talking about you right now, not me.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he stalked to the kitchen, “Aren’t we always.”

“Excuse me?” You followed after him, frustrated now.

“Whenever this shit comes up, you deflect—”

“I deflect?” You scoffed, “Watch out everyone, king of deflection is here.”

He went silent, narrowed eyes watching you. “Are you done?”

For whatever reason, that seemed to set you off more — nerves in your belly long forgotten. “I’m just getting started,” you told him. “What? You expect me to care about you and not make sure you’re okay?”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and with so much more meaning.

“I’m not doing this with you tonight.”

You took a step back, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. You felt like your heart had shattered — you knew pushing too hard too soon would fuck everything up.

“Fine.” You told him, moving to get your things. “See you at work, Robinavitch.”

You slammed the door behind you before you could see if he had made a move to protest. You were thankful he did not get to see your tears.

—

After a fitful night’s rest, you woke up feeling queasy. More queasy than any amount of nerves in the past had made you feel — and that was saying something. You nearly threw up on your first day as a first year resident.

You tried to calm your racing thoughts about the night before and Michael, but your heart still felt tight in your chest. You only suffered a bite of your breakfast before you gave up, deciding to just head into the hospital and face your day head on.

The early morning passed slowly, each moment flooded with the anxiety raging through your system. You had no idea what had made it this bad, and part of you wondered if you could convince your attending to send you home so you could try to sleep it off.

While tending to a young woman presenting with UTI symptoms, your stomach rolled uneasily. Your mouth watered, and the nausea did not relent. Quickly assuring the woman that her tests would be back shortly, you dashed to the nearest bathroom, ignoring a look of concern on the charge nurse’s face.

You thankfully made it into one of the stalls before you emptied the confines of your stomach. There was not much in it, and the bile burned your throat.

After a few moments, your stomach settled — just enough that you felt you could get back to work. Hunger ebbed its way in, which you found to be a relief from the queasy onslaught. You figured you would see what was in the staff lounge once you wrapped up with your patient.

Heading back to East 5, you grabbed the test results, eyes quickly scanning over her file. Pregnancy test and urine analysis, the urine coming back positive for e. coli. The pregnancy test also came back positive.

Damn, how were you going to break that to her? Pregnancy tests were more or less routine for most cases brought into the ER, to ensure medications given wouldn’t hurt the fetus.

You wondered if she knew already, or if it would come as a surprise.

When you presented her with the results, she took it well.

“I figured, honestly.” She told you. “My period was late and I’ve been feeling sick. I meant to take a test, but I wanted to figure out the UTI first.”

You smiled at her, “The antibiotics we’re prescribing will be pregnancy safe. Twice a day for seven days, with a meal. Stay hydrated, too. I’m also giving you something to relieve some of your discomfort. It’s a two day prescription, take three a day. I can give you one now, then you can take the next one in six hours.”

When you left, you stood at the charge desk for a few moments. When you spotted Robby writing up his charts, a thought struck through you. You were late, uncomfortably late, and add in the nausea this morning? You felt sick all over again.

You rushed back to the bathroom, but nothing came. You and Robby were always safe, but condoms broke, accidents happened. Fuck. You could feel your residency slipping through your fingers. You were still shaking when you made your way to the staff lounge.

Robby was there, taking in your appearance, “Are you alright?”

“We need to talk. Privately.” Was out of your mouth before you could think about it.

His eyebrows raised, “About last night—”

“No, not that,” though you thought it might be a good idea to discuss that, too. You glanced quickly towards the hall, moving to close the door. You stood still in front of it, words escaping you.

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I think I might be pregnant.” You told him in a whisper. “Possibly. Maybe.”

He blinked owlishly at you, “What?”

You didn’t know if he didn’t hear you or was still processing. “I didn’t even realize, I’m nearly a week late — and I’ve been sick all morning. I think it could be—I could be—” You couldn’t say it again, tears springing in your eyes.

It wasn’t necessarily career ending to have a kid during your residency, but the only person you had known that went off to have a baby as an R4 had not returned. She had told you she planned to come back, but also did not want to wait too long to start her family, tugged simultaneously in both directions. Could you make the sacrifices necessary to make both work? Did you even want both to work? Would Michael—

“We can—we can take a test. Yeah. Tonight, after shift.” He said, his brown eyes avoiding you, hands tucked into his pockets. “We can figure it out then.”

“Figure it out then?” You asked incredulously. “This could end my career! This could—oh god—” You moved to lean against the wall, clearing your throat, “You don’t have to—”

“I’ll be there.” He said, cutting you off, voice soft. “I’ll get a test and meet you at your apartment.”

“My roommate will be home, can we go to yours?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab the test on my way home. I’ll meet you there.”

You nodded your head, “Thank you.”

Part of you just wanted to get it over with, grab a test from the closet and take it right in the bathroom. You could be discreet, you wouldn’t even need to involve Michael, but part of you feared any number of your co-workers catching you with a test and no patient. That, and the fear of knowing crept into your mind.

—

The drive to his apartment was agonizing. Your stomach had not once stopped rolling, and you were distracted all day, nearly catching a left hook of a patient in withdrawal. So much for being good at that compartmentalization thing. Perhaps Michael was right — you deflected just as much as he did, or you just flat out ignored your feelings and buried them.

This whole situation was going to force you to vocalize your feelings, wasn’t it?

You waited in your car until Michael pulled in, and you felt like your limbs had grown heavier while you had waited. The weight of what could be awaiting you pushing all the air from your lungs.

Once inside, neither of you spoke. You just took the pharmacy bag from him and went into his bathroom. You stared at the box for what felt like forever, thinking it was funny how lines on a stick were going to determine your future. After using all three in the box — not wanting to risk a false positive or negative — you opened the door.

“Box says fifteen minutes.”

He nodded, checking his watch. He moved closer to you until you were crowded in his tiny bathroom. His eyes flickered to the countertop where all three tests sat on top of some toilet paper, before they met your gaze. You couldn’t hold it, looking back at your hands.

“Whatever it says, I’m not going anywhere.” His breath fanned your face, the scent of antiseptic still clinging to his scrubs. Underneath was the smell of his cologne, sandalwood and vanilla, and something unmistakably him. You missed when that scent of him clung to your skin, too.

You tried to smile, still not meeting his eyes. “It’s okay if you did. You don’t owe me anything.”

He tipped your chin up so you would look at him, “How could you say that after everything?”

“Last night,” you reminded him. “I clearly don’t know you and you don’t know me. Not personally anyways.”

Michael’s brow twitched. “What if I wanted to?”

Your mouth grew dry. “Please don’t. Not if it’s out of some misguided sense of duty over this.”

“It’s not.” He told you, hands moving to hold your face, his fingers finding the back of your head, thumbs on the sides of your cheeks. “I promise it’s not.”

You swallowed, cheeks burning, but you couldn’t find any words. The silence that used to hold the safety of quiet, now stood tense and firm between you.

“I’m shit at talking about my feelings and deflecting, you’re right. But I won’t stand here and pretend I don’t feel something for you. Like I don’t care about you. I—I just figured not talking about it was easier. But last night, it fucked me up; thinking we parted without you knowing how I felt.”

You sputtered a shocked intake of air, “What?”

His dark brown eyes held you steady, slowly absorbing your fears until you reached out to touch his chest. His heart pounded beneath your palm, but it steadied yours.

His gentle smile came easily, “I’ve been trying for weeks. I chickened out every time.”

You exhaled an amused breath of air, “You chickened out? I didn’t want to make this complicated.”

He searched your eyes, flickering between them like he was trying to read you.

“It’s kinda funny.” You said, smiling at him. “I’ve been trying to do the same thing all week.”

He kissed you, lips warm and soft, hands holding your face. His heart thumped below your hand, like an anchor in a storm, your other hand curling around his wrist. After all the anxiety of the day, and the anguish over the night previous, relief finally washed through your system. The familiarity of his beard scratching against your skin, his careful hands enveloping you in a sense of safety.

You moved just enough to speak, “I’m sorry about last night. You were right, too. I just never want to burden you with my problems after I know we both had a tough shift.” You told him, noses touching, breath intermingling.

“I want you to know that you can.” He stressed, thumb caressing your cheek.

“I will if you will.”

He smiled. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” He kissed you again, harder this time…hungry, his mouth taking in your bottom lip.

You lost yourself in the warmth of his body, the soft tendrils of his hair in your hands, the feel of his tongue in your mouth. You clung to him like he was a liferaft. It was easy to forget your troubles like this, worries of the day lifting off your shoulders.

Your blood pressure spiked when you remembered the tests on the countertop. You pulled away, breathing quickly, still wrapped up in his arms.

“What if it’s positive?” came your quiet voice.

“Then I suppose I’d have to marry you.”

You almost thought he was serious, if his tone hadn’t been so light, so close to a jest. You rolled your eyes, pushing him away, but you smiled. “I never took you for a traditionalist. A shotgun wedding, seriously?”

“Be a great way to meet your folks.” He added with a smirk.

“Get real.” You laughed, “As if I’d marry a resident. Are you even a real doctor?”

He mocked offense, but chuckled, bringing you closer to him again, “I’ve got my stethoscope and everything.” After a few beats of his heart, he added, “But seriously, we’d figure it out. Take time off, or…I don’t know. We’d make it work.”

“I don’t want to look.” You admitted to him.

“Whatever it says, we’re in this together.”

It was reassuring to hear him say it again. You nodded, removing your hands from his body and taking a small step back. You took a long breath, staring at him.

“On three?”

Your head bobbed in agreement, swallowing thickly.

“I mean it. Whatever it says, I still care about you. I want you in my life.” He told you earnestly.

“I want you in my life, too, Mike.”

He counted down slowly, holding your gaze. The anxiety returned, but he held you grounded beside him, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

Negative. Negative. Negative.

A singular line on each displaying that you were not pregnant.

You released the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. Thank fuck, echoed in your head. The stress you had been under could explain away the lateness of your period, and the queasiness was explained easily by your anxiety. It seemed like those three little tests tied all your worries up in a neat little bow. You had been honest about your feelings, which took away the gnawing anxiety, Michael reciprocated your feelings and you weren’t pregnant.

He sighed in relief next to you, taking another long breath through his nose. “Well as much as I was looking forward to that shotgun wedding, maybe now we can take our time—”

You looked over at him, eyebrow quirked.

“—take you on a proper date first.”

You grinned at him, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

[ Part Two ]

[ Alternate Ending ]

special shoutout to Dr Robby for getting me off my hiatus, first Companionship and now this lol

current tense fought me the whole way through this, which is weird considering I usually write in past tense. so if you saw a current tense error, no you didn’t.

#michael robinavitch #the pitt #dr robby #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x reader #asxgard writes #resident dr robby #resident michael robinavitch #the pitt fic #the pitt one shot #michael robinavitch one shot #dr robby x reader #im queen of —#i love that lil guy #carter with a beard is just robby #are you gonna look at me and tell me that i’m wrong??#my john carter era is coming #i can feel it

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kinardsboy · 7 months ago

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I’m gonna say something kinda controversial but whatever lol

I am not a fan of the way Buck reacted to the Abby of it all. For him to call Tommy cruel and say that he just can’t understand how he could lie to her like that while being someone who cheated on his girlfriend and then asked her to move in with him out of guilt instead of just being fucking honest and not trapping her without a place to go when she did find out..

Like both situations are objectively shitty, Buck and Tommy both made mistakes but Tommy’s are much more explainable and understandable. Tommy was a closeted gay man with a shit load of trauma, server under DADT and had a homophobic dad and captain. Yes, it wasnt nice what he did but I can understand and sympathize with his situation and his side of things.

I dont get why Buck is so fucking shocked over the idea of queer people being in straight relationships previously, especially long term ones. Like look at Athena and Micheal, Buck has never said a cruel word about him.

There was no reason for Buck to get that upset over it and also just?? Not talk to Tommy about it?? Like for him to react negatively and hide his feelings about it from Tommy and then at the end of the episode ask him to move in and talk about marriage and kids?? Dude??

I hate this fucking episode so much it destroyed so many characters, made a mockery of Eddies grief and overall felt like tiktoks stitched together.

#911 abc #tommy kinard #bucktommy #evan buckley #buck 911 #911 critical #anti bobs #anti buddie #disk horse #icarus rants

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whtepony · 2 months ago

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What are your Rick headcanons?? 🧐

misc. rick headcanons

ft. rick sanchez x mostly gn reader, could be interpreted as fem

warnings: nsfw under the cut so 18+, cnc, drugs and alcohol mentioned, i think that’s it???

notes: i love this old freak so bad. this is kinda short but i hope u like it!!! my rnm fixation is kinda dying again bc im getting back into creepypasta but it’ll probably come back when s8 drops 🙏🏼 im so excited yall have no idea

sfw:

genuinely won’t keep you around if you don’t get along with summer and morty. as much as he says he “couldn’t be bothered” what his grandkids think, he does need someone that’ll mesh well with his family

SOOO unbelievably protective. if you manage to become someone rick really loves, he’ll do anything to keep you safe (and WILL kill anyone who hurts you if it comes to that)

likes taking you on adventures but only if you can handle yourself. obv like i said above he’ll protect you to the best of his ability but he can’t be with someone who can’t also look out for themselves

not super into pda but he likes to be touching you most of the time, whether it be a hand on your lower back, thigh, etc or standing so close to you that you’re touching some way or another

jealous and possessive. gets super insecure if someone flirts with you and has a bad habit of lashing out when he feels that way

he tries to hide it but rick really loves making you laugh. he knows he’s funny but he especially likes when you find him funny

i don’t think he really has preferences based on looks, rick seems like the kind of guy to not have a “type”

when you get close and he realizes he doesn’t want to lose you, he cuts back on his drinking and actually makes an effort to be better for everyone in his life

rick in love starts acting like rickbot and morty gets suspicious at first lol

lets you mess with stuff in the garage but only if he’s there to supervise and definitely hovers over you in case you get hurt

nsfw:

HE’S A FREAKKKK

down for pretty much whatever you wanna do. super open minded and will try almost anything once or twice

switch with a heavy dom lean (doesn’t sub unless he completely trusts you and even then it’s a semi-rare occurrence)

lowkey lazy sometimes bc he’s old lmao (makes you ride him more often than not but his fav is doggy)

probably controversial but he definitely has an intoxication kink that goes hand in hand with a cnc kink… likes getting you drunk/high just to play with you

^^ and definitely knows how to make an aphrodisiac that drives you insaneeee

rick is an ass and thighs guy. argue with the wall

can be kinda mean in bed but would never really hurt you if you didn’t like it. he’ll slap, spank, bite, and manhandle you but it’s out of adoration trust me

not the best with aftercare but if you ask him to do something for you he’ll 100% do it. usually consists of cleaning you up and letting you cuddle up to him unless you specifically ask for something more

hates pulling out sorry 😭 rick looovvvesss to cum inside you and has a number of options to prevent pregnancy if that’s a possibility/concern for you

actually super vocal and talkative in bed. he moans like a slut and the dirty talk is insane idc

has no preference for giving/receiving head bc he loves both!!!!!!

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #x reader #rick sanchez x reader #rick c137 #rick sanchez x reader smut #rick sanchez smut #rick and morty fanfiction #rick x reader #rickfuckers #x reader smut

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sylvieserene · 2 months ago

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Something weird I have noticed in the CRK fandom when it comes to ships ESPECIALLY Purelily

I recently saw a tweet on twitter talking about Elderlily and ShadowVanilla on how people should give new ships a shot instead of shooting down them down instantly which IS a valid point BUT the problem starts when they assert the fact that these two ships hold more "merit" and "intimacy" than "other ships" (which in comment section they directly agree it's aimed at Purelily)

This is a HUGE problem I see both in the Elderlily fanbase + ShadowVanilla fanbase. The sheer hate for Purelily.

Like have a look:

Pure Hatred and unwillingness to accept that opinions can co-exist.

Unwilling to see reason when tried to be shown. Only answering in hatred.

Further more...

From starting with generalising Purelily shippers to accusing all Purelily shippers to misinterpret/misrepresent/mischaracterisation PV and WL to accusations of the entire fanbase being bigoted, homophobic, misogynistic or accusing the entire fanbase of being bad including whataboutism posts stating "oh yeah? I wonder which shipper base sent actual death threats and doxxed someone?"

For the record, Im gonna say yes, a few people from specifically the purelily base have done these BUT generalising the entire shipping community as bad and labelling them as problematic is NOT okay.

THE ACTIONS OF ONE HORRIBLE PERSON DOESN'T DEFINE THE ENTIRE FANBASE!

Misrepresentation/Mischaracterisation/Misinterpretation of characters have happened in ALL of CRK shipping communities. That very much includes ShadowVanilla and Elderlily.

So accusing one fanbase of doing those and pretending that it doesn't exist in your space is kinda hypocritical I believe?

No fanbase is exempt from controversy. Every shipping space has had atleast ONE problematic individual (Eg: N*zi ShadowVanilla controversy from Twitter) but now if I start saying "*gasp* I wonder which base drew those horrific things?" Would it make any sense? No. Cuz one person doesn't define an entire fanbase.

So let's make one thing clear, none of the shipping communities are "pure" or "innocent" of anything. All of them have problems and individuals with issues depending on how far you're willing to dig.

So accusing a single shipping community of being horrible while saying others are not is not okay.

Not all ShadowVanilla and Elderlily shippers are good people, same as Purelily shippers.

Which brings me to the point, "It's 2025, grow tf up and stop shipping purelily" mentality which also brings me to my original point lol

These were sent to a purelily artist on Twitter (redbeanyearnin).

Their crime? Shipping purelily.

Look at the civility, ladies and gentlemen! /s

This is also a side of shippers who actually aren't purelily shippers 😊 how naive and innocent messages 😍❤️ /j

But this is the great evidence on how all of these shippers aren't angels. They are the same people accusing Purelily shippers and the ship itself as being horrible.

Im not gonna comment more on this.

But this just proves my point on how no shipping base is angelic. All of them have screwed up individuals.

Anw...

What does year/time have anything to say about what you ship? I see this comment thrown across very frequently in the fandom which does confuse me quite a lot but seriously um why? Is there some sort of subscription that's getting over in these recent years which denies me the right to enjoy something niche? Or I MUST ship what the popular ship is atm?

Just why....? Where does this mentality come from?

More importantly, why does one ship has to be "superior" or have to had more "merit" than the other?

Just why?

Why can't we simply accept our differences in preferences and move on?

Like...I personally don't ship mutual ShadowVanilla, I find the one sided part more compelling but that doesn't mean I will say it's "better" than the mutual one. I can appreciate the mutual one too. Same for Elderlily. I see it as platonic, a familial sort of relationship between a Mentor and Mentee or yes I'm gonna say it Father Daughter.

Personally, I find their age difference extremely uncomfortable which is why the moment I learnt this guy was older than her ancestor's ancestors, I shipped it as platonic. Same for ShadowVanilla cuz age is a factor for me personally but I won't blame others who look past it cuz firstly these are fictional characters and secondly, all of them are immortals so I can understand it although I find it uncomfortable myself.

But even with that, I would NEVER say that Purelily is "superior", has "more merit", better "intimate writing" than said ships irrespective of if they are popular/canon or not.

If you ask for respect towards your shipping preferences, the least you can do is GIVE that respect to others as well. If you don't, then how come you keep the expectation that your opinion will get respected when you can't peacefully co-exist with another part of the fandom who may hold different views than you?

In simpler words, I kinda find it highly disrespectful and hypocritical that some people out here can't keep themselves from attacking others for shipping things differently than them? Like...why?

Why can't we all ship whatever we want instead of shooting down each other's ships and calling one more superior/inferior than the other?

Like for me as an example, I don't like a lot of ships but I either don't share my opinion on it or tend to ignore it instead of going "omg MY ship better! HUH HOW DARE YOU SAY MY SHIP IS BAD"

At the end, Shipping is subjective and we're all here to have fun so instead of playing the blame game on who is worse, who has done more horrible things, why can't we simply focus on the positives?

All ships have merits and demerits. All of them have issues. Heck, even the characters aren't perfect and they also have a plethora of issues.

WL isnt a perfect person, she's morally grey and a highly complex character. PV isn't a baby or a simp who gets jealous everytime someone breaths in WL's direction. EF isn't obsessed with WL as people in the fanbase make him to be. Just like PV, he chose his job over following WL and even when he knew he had a choice to revive her, He didn't instead he kept guarding the tree. SM isn't a good person and has caused several wars, genocides, torture and murder.

NONE of them are as perfect as people make them to be. NONE of the fanbases if considered in majority truly get them.

So it really makes zero sense when ppl say "PV should stay the hell away from WL", "WL is getting between them!"

People really need to stop objectifying these characters just cuz they don't fit their shipping preferences/agendas.

All of these characters and their ships have certain merits and demerits to them so why must we say that one is better than the other?

Why can't we all enjoy what we simply like?

Why can't we just agree to disagree instead of shitting on other's tastes?

Why must ONE particular shipping fandom get the brunt of it?

So tldr, I just wanna say, While it is true, people shouldn't shoot down new things without even giving it a shot but that doesn't mean the new thing is "superior" than the old thing suddenly just cuz one likes it more. If you find it great, that's fine but Idt anyone has the right to say that one thing is more inferior than the other.

Please give the respect to others that you expect. If you get insanely defensive about your own ship but shit on other's shipping preferences then expect to get that back.

You can't be like "Nooooooo don't say bad about my ship! You're a hater" and then be like "damn your taste in shipping SUCKS. This ship is so trash. MY ship is SOOOOO much better :)"

Sorry for this rant. I just find the entire situation of the fandom highly frustrating.

#cookie run kingdom #Crk #pure vanilla cookie #white lily cookie #elder faerie cookie #Shadow Milk Cookie #Purelily #ShadowVanilla #shadownilla #Elderlily #Pureshadow #Im sorry for this rant #I just am finding this extremely frustrating #It's hell being a Purelily shipper rn as is #And at the advent of blatant misinformation on the ship...posts like these only fuel the fire #pure vanilla cookie x white lily cookie #pure vanilla x white lily #pure vanilla x shadow milk #Pure vanilla cookie x shadow milk cookie #white lily cookie x pure vanilla cookie #white lily x pure vanilla #elder faerie x white lily #What I find more upsetting is that they will impose their views on you #Stating your views is a different issue but constantly going “YOU ARE BLIND IF YOU DONT SEE THE ROMANTIC IMPLICATIONS *I* SEE”#But then shitting on other's disagreeing is NOT OKAY #We really need to popularize the concept of “agree to disagree” here #You can RESPECTFULLY share your opinion over something but doing it in a way which doesn't involve actively stating smth else as “lesser”#You don't have to like something but you don't have to call that shit as well just cuz YOU don't enjoy it #If you do criticise smth: accept both the positives and negatives #Added a few extra ss just for a better picture

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not-neverland06 · 10 months ago

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hi!! Given my obsession for Hugh jackman I am CRAVING for some Leopold X reader (from Kate & Leopold)! Maybe with some little angst but happy ending??

I love your blog!! Have a wonderful day 😽💐💓

Leopold Mountbatten x fem!reader a/n: I don’t know how controversial this is going to be and I don’t care. I could never finish the movie because I hated Meg Ryan in it so much. It’s so odd, I’ve loved her in everything else she’s been in but she made it such a hard watch. Maybe it’s because she reminds me of my grandma in the worst way lol, but I finished it for you anon sorry this was a little rushed Anyways, hope you enjoy lovelies Summary: Your neighbor went back in time and dragged someone back with him. He's irritatingly polite and far too interested in your way of life. What are you meant to do when you fall for a man who was never even supposed to meet you?

“Hello, madam, please I need your help!”

You’re used to crazies, it is New York after all. But they’re not usually shouting at you through your window. Especially not when you’re on the sixth floor. You look away from your coffee and glance towards the fire escape.

There’s an oddly dressed man with red eyes waving at you through the dirty glass. You offer him a tentative wave back and he nods aggressively. “Yes, hello, I need your assistance.”

“Um,” you shake your head, “Sorry, I don’t have any drugs dude.”

“No,” he places his hands pathetically on the glass and shakes his head. “Please, I have been kidnapped.” Finally, you take a step closer to him. You can tell now that his eyes aren’t reddened from any medicinal fun, he probably got pepper sprayed.

Your friend did it to you once when you tried to surprise her on her birthday and you’ll never forget just how awful you looked afterwards. You can see him a bit more clearly now. Whatever odd costume he’s got on, it looks good. Genuine and clean.

Not like most of the street performers you see in Times Square. Besides, he doesn’t have that maddened look in his eye that makes you worry he’s going to come inside and kill you. Tentatively, you open the window.

He’s leaping through in a second and you jump back with a yelp. He turns towards you and his eyes widen before he quickly turns away. “My good lady, where are your pants?”

“Uh,” you glance down at the oversized shirt you’re wearing and the tiny shorts underneath. Admittedly, it’s a little skimpy, but you’re not walking around naked. You’ve heard of committing to the bit, but this is a bit much. “On,” you tell him, walking around him and trying to stand close to the phone.

“Ma’am-” He’s cut off as someone slams their fist on your front door. You keep a weary eye on the man while you unlock your door.

“Hey,” Stuart smiles at you. His eyes drift slightly past your shoulder and he goes barging into your apartment. “Leopold! What did I say?”

You huff and glare at Stuart’s frantic back. “This is yours?” Stuart nods and rushes Leopold out the door. You don’t miss the pleading, while slightly scandalized, look he sends you.

You slam the door closed behind them, shaking your head and going back to your morning paper. You doubt you’ll be seeing him around again.

You know, it’s just your luck that your upstairs neighbor is a scientist, one who happens to dabble in the art of time travel. And it’s just your luck that he had to fall down a damn elevator shaft.

Now, according to him, you have to care for someone from a different century so he can make it back to his time portal in, well, in time. This is fucking ridiculous. “I’m going to kill you, Stuart.”

“Look, they’re going to take my phone but he really cannot-”

It goes silent on the other end. You shout his name a few times but hear nothing in response. You assume the hospital staff has finally gotten sick of his shenanigans and has taken his phone. You slam your handset down with a huff and look towards the living room. Leopold hasn’t sat down since you walked in and it’s unsettling.

“So,” you start and his attention snaps towards you. “1876, huh?”

He nods and you roll your eyes with a scoff. “Oh, this is insane. This is insane,” you mutter to yourself, walking towards Stuart’s door. Leopold gives you a concerned look before quickly following after you. There’s a part of you, and you hate that part, that actually believes some of this.

Stuart is a brilliant, though flawed, scientist. You don’t doubt that he might have actually unlocked the secret to traveling back to the past, but it’s such an insane idea to try and wrap your head around.

“Come on, we’re leaving.” You know that Stuart doesn’t want him out of the house. Tough. You’re not going to just stay inside and wait until he can supposedly go back to the past. You don’t give Leopold any time to process your answer, already out the door and heading towards the stairs.

“You know,” he starts as he catches up to you. “You are quite rude.” Your first instinct is to snap back at him. But you take a breath and stop yourself.

You’re desensitized, ridiculously used to just how awful New Yorkers can be to each other. And whether this man is truly from the past or not is up for debate. But he is polite and earnest, and you have no reason to be a bitch to him.

“I’m,” the words are hard to come by but you force them out anyway, “I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely surprised by the apology and it only makes you feel worse. “This is just an insane idea to try and grasp.”

He chuckles softly, smiling as he glances down at his feet. “Yes, how do you think I feel?”

You’re sure it’s not his intention, but you only feel like more of an ass. If this is hard for you, whatever he's going through is a hundred times worse. You weren’t forcefully ripped out of your own time and shoved into another you don’t understand. He’s still trying to comprehend the television.

Though, you’re sure being a scientist has helped him in marginally understanding how all of this is possible. “How do you like the future?” It sounds awkward and stiff, but you haven’t had to talk to anyone in a really long time.

Your interactions are pretty limited at the book shop considering no one ever comes in. They all order online nowadays and all you really have to worry about is organizing shelves. You’re embarrassingly rusty when it comes to conversing.

And his propensity towards eloquence only makes you feel worse. “I must admit, some of your inventions have been quite fascinating. I’m especially fond of your showers.”

Your face scrunches slightly at the mention of hygiene and you nod, “I bet.” Before either of you can attempt to salvage this horrible attempt at conversation your phone starts ringing. “Hold on one second,” you tell him. You walk a few feet away from him but you can still feel his eyes boring into your back as you move away.

“Hello?”

There’s a frantic shout of your name down the line and then the distinct jingling of keys. “I need you to cover the shop. Marcy just went into labor and I’ve got to go!” Paul doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he hangs up.

Your jaw gapes and you stare down at your phone with shock. You know Paul and his wife had been expecting, but had it really already been nine months? Has your life become so monotonous and dull that nine months doesn’t even register for you?

It’s a depressing thought. One you’d rather not linger on. “What was that?”

You scream, though the people passing by don’t pay you any mind, and jump away from Leopold. “Jesus, where the hell did you come from?”

Leopold flinches away from you and his face is just as aghast as yours. “Good heavens, what is the matter with you? Do you respond to anything as a sensible woman might?”

“I resent that.” You tell him bitterly. Though, he does make a good point. You’ve been on edge constantly. You always seem to be more anxious than you are happy. It’s not a good state to perpetually exist in. “I need to go into work.”

You don’t want to outright say that he needs to go back to the apartment. It feels a little mean, but you’re hoping he’ll catch onto your tone of voice.

His entire demeanor perks up and he smiles at you. “Wonderful, I am dreadfully curious as to what you do.”

You open your mouth to correct him, let him know he’s not coming. But he’s staring at you with such hopeful eyes that you cannot find it in yourself to turn him down. He seems so excited, you’re sure he won’t be when he gets to your cluttered little bookshop. You let out a weary sigh, “Fine. Okay.”

You walk towards the curb, hoping to hail a cab. But Leopold’s hand gently wraps around your elbow and tugs you in the opposite direction. Your eyes widen in response to his boldness. You thought touching a woman he wasn’t courting would cause someone like him to combust. Seems he didn’t mind breaking the rules sometimes.

You make a mental note of that for later. You don’t know what you’re going to do with the information, but you find it intriguing. Maybe the modern world was rubbing off on him more than he’d like to admit.

“We should take this,” he stops you in front of a horse-drawn carriage and you immediately begin to shake your head.

“No, Leopold, these are just tourist traps-”

He doesn’t let you finish, opening the carriage’s door and gently nudging you inside. “Nonsense! This is far more enjoyable than those yellow monstrosities.”

“Taxi,” you correct. You turn towards the carriage driver and give him directions to your bookshop. “Ink and Tea on Fifth.” He nods and the carriage rolls forward with a lurch. You grip the cushioned seats and pray you don’t get motion sickness.

“Ink and Tea?” Leopold inquires. “Are you a journalist?”

You smile and shake your head. “No, nothing so fancy. I just help take care of an old bookshop. They were supposed to extend the shop when it first opened. They were going to build a space for people to get pastries or drink tea, but it never happened and the owner was too lazy to change the name.”

It feels a little humiliating to be talking about your minimum-wage job to a renowned scientist. He’s invented or is going to, elevators. He doesn’t care about your stupid shop. But he doesn’t look particularly judgy of you. If anything he seems to be endeared to you the more you talk.

Normally, you’re oblivious to these sorts of things. But it’s nearly impossible for him to hide. He’s not shy with his attraction, never taking his eyes off of you and hanging onto your every word. You’re not used to such outward attention.

You look out of the carriage, pretending to take in views you’ve already seen a thousand times. “This city is incredible,” he wonders aloud. His awe is palpable.

Your nose wrinkles and you shrug. “It’s dirty and the people are intolerable.”

“Must you always be so pessimistic?” You snap your mouth shut and feel embarrassment creeping around you. You’ve never had someone point out when you’re being negative, but he has a point.

You used to view the city through the same rose-colored glasses. Something’s broken inside you in recent years that has just taken the joy out of life. Everything is grey to you now, until Leopold, nothing spectacular has ever really happened to you.

The carriage comes to a stop outside the shop before you can respond to him. You want to deny what he says, but you can’t. Your attitude is almost always unnecessary. You think sometimes you might just be trying to see if everyone feels as miserable as you do or if there’s just something wrong with you.

“Come on,” you tell him, getting out and paying the driver. He wanders towards the shop, eyeing the displays in the window curiously.

“These are wonderful,” he tells you, pointing to the way you’d made the books look like they’re floating above the shelves. It was just some silly little thing you’d tried to get more people in the shop. It’d worked for about a month.

“I did that,” you unlock the door to the shop and open it for him. But he doesn’t walk in immediately, instead, he lingers in the doorway. He offers you a soft smile and you can’t help but return it.

“You’re more creative than you give yourself credit for.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him walk inside. He keeps making these oddly astute observations about you and it’s throwing you off your game. You barely know this man and you’ve always been good at keeping yourself aloof and vague. Yet, he seems to read you like you’re wearing your heart on your sleeve.

“Feel free to…” he’s already made himself comfortable somewhere in the back and you trail off. “Look around,” you finish lamely. His form is lost somewhere in stacks of books and cluttered shelves.

You know most of the classics and history books are kept towards the back. You wonder if he’s reminiscing or getting a headstart before he gets back to his time. You smile at the thought and walk behind the counter, sitting on the stool and preparing to finish off the rest of the day.

Leopold is still somewhere lost to you an hour later. Occasionally you’ll hear a page flip or the clatter of a book being reshelved, but there are no other signs of life. Not until the bell above the door rings.

“Clark,” you smile, sitting up straighter as your friend walks through the door. “What’re you doing here?”

He gives you a crooked grin and shrugs. Just over his shoulder, you can see Leopold’s head pop over a shelf, he looks between you both, eyes narrowing with disdain. “Paul told me you’d be here, figured you might want some company.”

“Actually-” you start, but another voice cuts you off.

“Leopold Mountbatten,” he comes around the corner, hand outstretched as he comes in between you and Clark. “And who might you be?”

Your brows furrow in confusion at the interaction. Leopold seems oddly hostile and Clark looks strangely caught off guard. “Um, Clark. Nice to meet you, man.” He shakes Leopold’s hand but his grip is weak and it only lasts for one awkward half-second.

It’s uncomfortable to watch them try and interact and it only gets worse when they turn towards you. Clearly, they want you to tell them who the hell the other guy is. But you feel like that might just make the situation worse.

Besides, you were pretty content with it just being you and Leopold, you don’t need Clark coming in here and riling things up. “You know, Clark, I’m set here. You can just go home.” Your tone leaves no room for argument but you know he wants to.

“Alright, I’ll just call you later, I guess.” He throws one last skeptical look at Leopold before finally slinking back out of the shop.

“Neither of you should be alone without a chaperone present.” Leopold bluntly scolds you without even waiting a second before Clark is gone. It catches you off guard and you scoff.

You motion between the two of you, “We don’t have a chaperone.”

Leopold shrugs, “Yes, well, I’m not courting you.” It shouldn’t, because he’s right, but that stings. He is attractive, surprisingly so. You have this odd belief that anyone from his century had to be at least a little ugly. But he’s near perfect.

Hearing him tell you so bluntly that you’re not courting hurts a little. Though, you can’t blame him. You must be dramatically different than the women he’s used to. From your manners to how you dress, you’re practically an alien.

You stand up from behind the counter and walk towards the cart of books that need to be shelved. “Clark is a friend. Nothing more.” You’ve never once been romantically interested in your friend. He’s attractive, but he’s not really your type.

Apparently, British men from the nineteenth century are. Which does not bode well for your romantic prospects once Leopold is back home. “It is plain for anyone to see how he wants you. Don’t let yourself be blinded by naivete.”

“Naivete?” you scoff and turn around to glare at him. “Don’t pretend to know anything about me, alright? I’m not some maiden in a frilly dress who needs a chaperone.” You can see that your words affect him. He looks a little taken aback by your anger and so are you.

It’s misplaced. You’re not mad at him, just mad that you even like him. “Just go read or something, Leopold.” You dismiss him more rudely than necessary and hide yourself behind a few shelves. The rest of your workday is spent in a tense silence that makes your stomach churn.

You’re nearly ready for bed when something slips under your door with a slight whoosh. You turn towards it, frowning when you see a little envelope with a wax seal on the ground. You pick it up and let your finger slip under the paper, opening it to find a letter with your name on it inside.

The handwriting is impeccable, with a gracefulness to it that you’ve never seen before. You don’t have to read for very long to know who it's from. Leopold writes poetry about the color of your eyes and the way your lips curl when you smile. And then he ends it with a vague, nearly ominous, invitation to dinner.

You can’t help but smile to yourself, changing out of your pajamas and slipping into something a little nicer. A few minutes later you’re climbing out your window and taking the stairs up the fire escape to the roof.

You don’t believe your ears at first, thinking the music must be coming from another apartment. But when you make it up to the roof there’s a violin player there waiting for you. He smiles happily at you as you approach.

You spin in a slow circle, taking in the sheer amount of flowers littered around the roof. You don’t know how he managed to afford all of this. He transformed the barren and empty rooftop into your own little paradise. Candles lit and a live musician playing for you.

You’ve never had anyone do something like this for you, ever. It’s a little hard to accept that someone would be willing to put this much effort in for you. “I wasn’t entirely sure you would come.”

You turn around and Leopold is waiting behind you, that familiar smile playing on his lips. You aren’t aware of the grin forming on your face in response. You don’t have much control over that when you’re with him.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He looks like he wants to respond but at the last moment thinks better of it. He instead pulls your chair out for you, helping you into your seat. “This is nice,” that feels too underwhelming a word for such an incredible gesture.

You sigh and frown as you try and find the right words. You don’t notice him sitting down across from you. You only look up when you feel him placing his hand on your own. “It’s alright,” he assures you.

It’s still so odd how he can know you so well after such little time. “This is incredible,” you tell him, undeterred by his attempts to soothe you. “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

He looks like he takes personal offense to that and it makes you laugh. “You deserve far more than this. Sadly, it seems Stuart’s pockets do have limits and I’m afraid I would have put him into debt if I’d gone any further.”

You have the perfect mental image of Stuart coming back from the hospital only to find his science project has robbed him. It makes you laugh and you squeeze his hand once before drawing it back into your lap. He lets his touch linger on you for a long moment, seemingly reluctant to pull away.

“No,” you tell him, “this is perfect.”

You fall into a comfortable silence for a little while. Conversation mostly drifting toward what his life was like as a duke. You don’t have much to say about your own life. It’s been incredibly normal and you’re a little sad to find that you don’t have one good thing to share with him.

Nothing comes to the front of your mind.

Inevitably, you drift into the topic you’d both been so adamantly avoiding. “Has Stuart said when you’d need to return?”

Leopold’s grip on the fork tightens and for a moment he refuses to meet your eye. “Monday, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” your eyes widen and you feel something burning at the back of your throat. Monday, the same Monday that’s two days away.

“Dance with me,” the suddenness of the demand catchers you so off guard that you forget the tears. He stands, holding out his hand to you. You almost say no, you can’t remember the last time you danced and you doubt it’s going to be pretty.

But he whispers your name and something about his tone tells you to take the chance while you have it. You slip your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn’t sweep you off your feet and dance the night away.

Instead, he holds you close and you sway together. Like moving even an inch away from each other would hurt. “You could come with me,” he tells you. And you know immediately what he’s talking about.

You also know it could never happen. Going to the nineteenth century is insane. Even considering it should be enough to have you sent to a psych ward somewhere. Especially not for a man you’ve known for less than a month.

You try and tell him that you can’t, but he stops you. “I know, a preposterous idea. I just wanted to think about it.” You look up at him and find that you can’t take that away from him. There’s nothing wrong with imagining what it could be like with him. Even when you know it can never happen.

You dance like that for a little while longer, swaying against each other while the violin plays in the background. He whispers your name and when you gaze up at him this time, there’s a certain look in his eye that you know is reflected in your own.

He dips down, lips caressing yours gently before he’s pushing more firmly against your own. The world stops. Cliche, you’re aware. For the first time in years, though, you’re alive. You feel something other than the dull monotony of life. You feel excited and terrified all at once. Because you know you can never have this feeling again.

You will never meet another man like Leopold who ignites this spark of life and passion within you. Never has a man been able to make you doubt every decision you’ve ever made with just a kiss, but here he is.

Your arms lift like you might try and draw him in closer. His hands come up, taking yours in his gentle hold and squeezing. He pulls away from you and reality comes crashing back down. You’re not in love, you can’t be. You’ve only just met him a few days ago.

Yet, here you are, wondering if you might actually want to leave everything behind to be with him like the great romances authors write about. He smiles at you and there’s a bittersweetness to it, a final farewell that you know will break whatever is left of your heart.

He lifts your knuckles to his lips, pressing his lips against them like he never wants to part. “Goodnight,” he whispers your name and backs away from you. You watch him go, watch him leave, unable to muster up any words for him.

You can’t think of anything that would ease this gnawing ache inside of you. Nothing to soothe the pain for either of you. You let him go because you know if you asked him to stay he would. And how selfish of you would it be to let history unravel simply because you fell in love?

Monday. It is Monday. You’ve been coming to terms with that all weekend. You don't want to think about the fact that Leopold will be gone tonight. Your time together was so brief but you feel like you’re never going to get over losing him.

Before the night was over on Sunday, a note was slipped under your door. This handwriting was messy, it made you think someone other than Leopold had written it down, but you don’t know who it could have been.

It was a date and time, jump off the Brooklyn Bridge at this time on Monday night. Only an idiot would jump off a bridge because of an ominous note slipped under her door. But you haven’t been able to take your eyes off of it, not since you first picked it up.

Leopold had invited you to go with him. And while you might not have said no, the insinuation was clear. Your eyes dart to your clock. If you left now, you could still make it in time. What an absolutely ridiculous thought.

So, why are you running out the door without locking it? Why do you not care who slips into your home now? There’s this sense of finality within you that lets you know you’re never going to see that place again and that’s okay.

You never truly felt comfortable in your life. You always thought a part of yourself was missing. Or that you were always running late for something. You think you understand what you were feeling now.

The thing you’ve been searching for your whole life wasn’t halfway across the world, a hundred thousand miles from you. He was on the wrong side of time, or you were, at least.

You manage to snag a taxi to get to the bridge but there’s a traffic jam. You’re forced to jump out of the car and run through the different lanes of blocked traffic. People shout at you. Your cab driver screaming after you about your fare. You don’t care, the only thing you can think about is the note crumpled in your hands and the clock counting down how long you have to jump.

You’ll either be on the news tomorrow as an unfortunate suicide. An idiot who accidentally threw herself off the wrong side of the bridge. Or, you’ll see Leopold again.

You reach the ledge and you can’t hesitate. If you do, you won’t jump in time. You close your eyes, holding your breath like you’re jumping into your neighbor’s pool. Air rushes around you, whipping at your hair and skin violently.

It’s not until you hear someone shouting down at you that you realize you’re not dead. You’re lying in the middle of a dirt road, a group of people staring down at you with concern in their eyes.

You only have to take in the clothes they’re wearing to know you’ve made it. Before they can react you’re leaping to your feet and running off. You know you’re near the Brooklyn Bridge, or where it’s supposed to be at least. You know enough about the area to remember where Leopold’s house is supposed to be.

You’re covered in sweat and red mud. The people you pass by in the streets hide behind their hands and whisper about you. You’re not making a good impression on your future neighbors, that’s for sure. But, honestly, all you care about is making it back to him.

You see people congregating outside his uncle’s home. You know there’s a party inside, that he’s supposed to be announcing who his wife will be. You barrel through the people outside, shoving through the crowd and running up the steps of the house.

You can hear Leopold’s voice as you run, “The woman I’m going to take as my wife is-”

There’s a loud gasp as you come panting into the room. You can’t catch your breath long enough to speak but it doesn’t matter. The crowd is parting around you and Leopold is smiling down at you. He says your name and there’s nothing else that matters about the world around you. Not when you finally found each other.

#leopold mountbatten x reader #leopold mountbatten x you #kate and leopold #I just know this is going to flop lol #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #anon

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rafesangelita · 2 months ago

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♡ RAFEANGELITA’S 11k CELEBRATION

i’ll keep this very short and simple because if not i know i could go on forever lol. but wow!! i can’t believe we’ve made it this far. if someone told me that i’d have a blog that reached heights like this when i was only a reader, i would’ve never believed them. i’ve gone through so much on and off of this site but talking to my mooties @nemesyaaa and @rafesheaven along with seeing the endless amounts of support and love on my work has truly made me so happy. the good outweighs the bad on here, and for that i’m so thankful. please know that i don’t take any of you for granted, and i appreciate every single one of you immensely. i hope all of you can take this celebration and perceive it as a token of my appreciation <3 keep reading below for further details!

NOTE : this celebration officially starts on may 1st, and ends may 31st. you can send in your requests starting now up until the end date! i will most likely be posting multiple times a day so that i could try my best in getting out everyone’s requests. please keep in mind that my inbox will most likely be flooded, so while i will try my absolute best to answer every request, i might miss a few so all i ask is that you have patience with me as i do this. my celebration posts might extend past the end date period, but only to get out the last bit of requests!

RULES : while i am comfortable writing dark content, the only thing i will not write is incest. it’s a very controversial topic and i would much rather write my content peacefully than getting backlash and/or hate! i also do not write anything having to do with scat and vomit so please keep that in mind as well <3

GUIDELINES : you can send multiple requests! when you send in a request please be sure to follow the layout guide i provided in the ‘example’ section underneath each option you could choose from! and please send in the corresponding emoji so i know what kind of request you’re making! please know that rafe, john b, pope, and jj are all eligible for your requests!

⋆˙⟡♡ 🍡┊request any obx boy + kink

[ example : frat!rafe + daddy kink ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🐇┊ request an au with an obx boy and !reader of your choice (the !reader you request could be a new !reader and not one that i have an introduction for already)

[ example : criminal!rafe x spoiledgf!reader au ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🍥┊send in a prompt of your choice and which au or pairing of mine you want me to write the fic for (and please specify if you want it to be smutty, fluffy, or angsty)

[ example : “we aren’t supposed to be doing this.” + bbf!rafe + smut ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🍵┊media! request a moodboard for any !reader, au, or any visualization you may be curious about! (this could be a week of outfits, ootd’s, what the !readers would be if they were ___ )

[ examples : bitchy!kook!reader moodboard, sheriff!rafe x farmer’s!daughter!reader moodboard, what is pogue!sweetheart!reader wearing today?, a week of outfits for bambi!reader, what would the !readers be if they were foods/desserts? ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🥞┊send in a p!link and i’ll write a drabble for it (only x links please, i will not be opening any third party porn sites, thank you! also please specify which obx boy you want me to write the drabble for)

[ example: *link* + bsf!rafe ]

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quinnstinct · 4 months ago

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♱ baby, patience is a virtue. 🔞

pairing: victoria neuman x fem!reader ⚢

⌗⠀ warnings: nsfw (sesbian lex!!!!), mommy kink ahaha…. minor ??? orgasm denial/control, semi-exhibitionism, affectionate degradation, controversial age difference (reader is in their early twenties), power imbalance-ish (boss x assistant)

word count: 3.8k .ᐟ

synopsis: you poor, pathetic thing. you just couldn’t bear to keep your hands to yourself until vicky was finished with her work for the night, could you? and during a zoom meeting no less. oh well; you’re lucky the congresswoman is never one to deny you, so you better not regret being such an impatient brat later.‎

part 2: tba ↩︎

✍︎ author’s note: unfortunately a repost from my other account that i’ve waited nearly two weeks to be unshadowbanned from ): i’m too impatient to wait longer so lol! here’s this again i guess enjoy victoria fans sorry it’s not something new

work is dreadfully boring. a fact victoria finds herself reminded of far too often these long days she spends cooped up inside her spacious home office, the recent pandemic keeping her restricted to the confines of her admittedly peaceful, cape cod-style house. as much as the congresswoman relishes her time off in the comfortability and familiarity of one of her few safe spaces (god knows how busy her schedule typically is and how rare it is for her to be out of the public eye), she can’t help but feel like she’s going stir crazy. victoria is so used to being on the move, or at the very least absorbed into her duties at the fbsa; always busy.

she could, in theory, go to the building anyway and resume her work as usual—being the supe she is, victoria has no need to worry about illnesses, diseases, viruses and the like. that’s knowledge a very select few are privy to however, and so, she has to keep up appearances. it wouldn’t look good for a congresswoman of her standing to be going against the mandated quarantine anyway. she needed to set an example as a government figure.

now it’s all paperwork… paperwork, a zoom meeting or two, and so on. it’s dull, tedious—victoria is convinced that if she has to do this for much longer, she might pop her own head. she hates how… unfulfilling her routine has become. aside from you, of course; her girl—sweet little thing. you’d taken it upon yourself to all but move in at this point, much to zoe’s satisfaction (and victoria’s own). you’d been together long enough that it was going to happen sooner rather than later anyhow. the pandemic simply sped things along somewhat. victoria can see a silver lining in that.

you provide the congresswoman with a spark she likely wouldn’t survive being stuck indoors without. eager to please, whenever you can—even if it’s simply bringing a smile to victoria’s face or rousing a laugh from her when she’s had to listen to her insufferable colleagues speak down on her for three hours straight. like now.

the congressmen, who have been bickering back and forth over a new bill that’s been drafted for the last six hours, are finally taking a break from their oh-so productive discussion. for how long? victoria isn’t sure, but she’s grateful for the reprieve regardless. after turning off her camera and muting her microphone on her laptop, she leans back in her plush office chair with a hefty sigh. victoria brings a hand to her hair as she lets her eyelids fall shut, gingerly stroking her fingers through the already semi-tousled strands of her dark brown locks.

a few moments later, the soft click of the door opening rouses victoria’s attention. she lifts her weary head with a silent breath, tired expression softening when her vision lands on you. a ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of victoria’s lips, dark brown eyes—now having a somewhat possessive glimmer, narrowing at you playfully when they sweep over your nightwear. an old, baggy sweater of her’s from her columbia days—thighs bare to her subtly ravenous gaze. victoria usually wasn’t one for such little pieces of nostalgia, but, the sweater was an article of clothing that she’s never found herself willing to retire, no matter how wash-worn the logo at the center has become. the fabric remains soft.

it seems she’s not the only one who’s fond of it either. victoria tilts her head a fraction and lifts a thick, sculpted brow at you, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth before she speaks. her voice is clearly teasing, but having a husky edge to it that lets you know she appreciates the view you’ve given her. “lose your pants on the way down here, sweetheart? can’t say i’m complaining.”

you look adorable, and absolutely edible—the sweater hangs off of you, but not to the point that she can’t catch a glimpse of your panties beneath the hem when you shift. victoria swallows imperceptibly, and adjusts her posture slightly, sitting taller in your presence, legs moving to manspread. her little jab results in a somewhat indignant huff from you, which the congresswoman expected. she’s already surmised that you’ve come to chastise her, given how late her meetings have been keeping her up for the last couple of weeks; you must be feeling needy. victoria would be lying if she said she wasn’t pent up herself.

“how much longer do you have to listen to them argue like chickens with their heads cut off?” you ask, tone mildly impatient. you lean against the doorframe, your head pressing into the wood as you hold victoria’s gaze. “you said you’d be done by ten,” you point out as your arms cross over your chest, nails tapping against your forearms. victoria can already feel the attitude rolling off of you in waves. normally, she’d efficiently put you in your place for your testiness with a promise to edge you until you learned your lesson. guilt, weighing somewhat heavily on her shoulders however, stops her this time around. you were right—she’d told you to expect her in bed nearly two hours ago now.

“i know,” victoria exhales quietly, offering you an apologetic frown before properly apologizing for her absence. “i know, baby, i’m sorry. i can’t help it though—you know how work is for me, especially right now. i’ll make it up to you tomorrow night, alright? i promise.”

there she goes again, looking at you with those bambi eyes and making you honey-dipped promises. god, usually that’s all it takes to get you to fold to her every whim—after all, how could you possibly do anything else when she looks at you so sweetly? but tonight isn’t usual. no, not in the slightest. your girlfriend hasn’t touched you in nearly two weeks, an (incredibly) active sex life taking a downward spiral to stagnancy. you’re horny, and tonight was supposed to be the night the both of you were finally going to get some much needed time for intimacy.

you’ll be damned if you let some old, white bastards who can’t decide if the fucking sky is blue deprive you of what you deserve. they get vicky far too much. you’re the one that deserves her attention, and you’re going to get it. so, you move away from the doorframe, and close the door to victoria’s home office behind you, turning the lock, just in case. the implication isn’t lost on the congresswoman, who’s jaw tightens as you take several strides forward until you’re standing between her legs.

a low drawl of your name from victoria’s lips is her weak attempt at a warning; she has no time to indulge in your desires right now, or her own for that matter, regardless of how terribly tempted she is to have you bent over her desk so she can fill and drill into your pussy from behind with her fingers, her meeting be damned. life is not so fair, though, you aren’t deterred from getting what you want despite your girlfriend’s disapproving mumble, and you slide into her lap as you have so many times before, thighs bracketing her own as you bring your arms around her neck.

“just for a little bit?” you hum, batting your eyelashes slightly as you trace your nails along the curve of victoria’s jaw. the congresswoman’s cheeks burn red, both out of desire, and embarrassment for just how aroused that simple motion of yours, combined with the pleading lilt to your voice makes her. fuck. victoria doesn’t like to rush—taking her time with you is her favorite thing to do. for example, she could spend hours between your thighs ravaging you, drawing out those mewls and whines of yours that she loves so much; giving you what you want now will start something the both of you surely won’t be able to stop, and with her meeting, she has no leeway for that.

but then you lean in, lips brushing against the shell of victoria’s ear, voice like silk. “please?” you whisper, making sure your tone is a sweet as it can be, without laying it on too thick.

to seal the deal, you nip at victoria’s ear once. a wave of something wholly unholy washes over her, making the brunette shiver, and the fraying ends of her restraint snap. victoria grasps the nape of your neck, roughly forcing your head back with a tug to meet her gaze. she leans forward with an almost patronizing sigh, but the heat in her dark brown pools is unmistakable. “tsk. such a needy brat…”

that said, victoria pulls you down to close the remaining gap between your lips, kissing you feverishly, her free hand cradling one of your cheeks. you melt into her immediately, a soft moan making your lips part, which the older woman takes advantage of. her tongue briefly brushes across your lips before slipping into your mouth, her own slanting. a satisfied sound rumbles in the back of victoria’s throat, and you press forward greedily, encouraged by her response. lifting your hands, you tangle them in her hair, holding onto the strands as you pull victoria forwards, like the two of you could possibly get any closer in your position.

a few minutes of making out, and you’re already whimpering and whining in her lap, which you’ve started to squirm against, your hips just barely rolling down. god, you must need this more than she thought. victoria pulls you away to break the deep kiss you’re currently sharing, the both of you letting out ragged breaths. a string of saliva still connects you, until she speaks after a beat passes that the two of you use to catch your breath. “you’re getting too worked up, doll,” victoria chuckles, her voice airy and almost mocking, “are you really that desperate for it right now?”

before you get the chance to respond, victoria is cupping you through your panties, her thumb pressing down against the outline of your swollen clit. whatever words you’d started to speak breaking off into a sharp whine, arching back making your chest push towards the congresswoman’s own. victoria coos in response, the hand on your nape sliding away to grasp your chin, forcing you to look at her again whenever your head starts to fall backward. “you poooor thing,” she croons, the pad of her thumb stroking over your moistened lips. “mommy would love to take care of you, but she’s busy right now. can’t you see that, baby?”

you can only reply with a pitiful whine—the word mommy falling from victoria’s lips spiking your arousal. victoria coos again, her other thumb rubbing in slow, languid circles against your bud. “i know, pretty girl,” she murmurs, gripping your chin a bit more firmly as she pulls you down to her eye level. “do you have any idea what you do to me? the audacity you have, to walk in here while i’m having a meeting, looking like that… wearing my shirt…” her voice lowers to a husky grumble.

of course you know. that was the whole reason you’d chosen to don just her sweater and a pair of panties—a little attempt at seduction, and while victoria has always been the more charming and devious out of you, your efforts seem to have worked. you won’t admit such a thing, however. so instead, you opt to change the subject, playing into victoria’s arousal in a bid to get more stimulation from her. “vicky…” you start, your voice shaky. the feeling of victoria’s breath, still fanning gently across your lips makes your head swim. “can’t you feel how wet i am for you?” you whine, “don’t torture me, please.”

“torture?” victoria echoes with a lighthearted scoff, moving the hand on your chin to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing against the skin of your cheekbone. “i’m not torturing you, babygirl… you’re the one who took it upon yourself to sit in my lap. i’m only giving you what you asked for.”

you let out a growl of frustration when victoria speeds up her circling thumb just to bring it down to an agonizingly slow pace that leaves you wanting, her other fingers stroking over the damp patch that’s formed on your panties all while your clit throbs incessantly for victoria’s proper attention. you start to make a witty retort to bring to light your discontent, but the voices of the congressmen return on victoria’s laptop and she tuts. “that’s too bad, i was thinking about giving you a little more too…” victoria leans back slightly, taking in the pout that grows on your face. victoria frowns condescendingly, patting your cheek out of pity. “baby, patience is a virtue.”

no, no, no! you let out a petulant whine of utter agitation, or perhaps disbelief, and victoria gives a downright cruel laugh in response, her eyes crinkling at you in amusement. oh, you’re going to wipe that look off of her face if it’s the last fucking thing you do—give her a taste of her own medicine. with a grunt you quickly dismount from victoria’s lap, and for a moment, the congresswoman looks shocked—she hadn’t expected you to get up so willingly, but it’s mere moments later that she realizes your true intentions.

really, she should’ve anticipated this. she knows just how insatiable you can be when you get all hot and bothered.

you drop down to your knees in one smooth motion, tugging victoria forward in her chair by her legs to bring her closer to her desk. you’re glad she’d decided to wear a skirt today, and that she was still in it. “baby, wait a minute—” victoria begins to interject, but you don’t allow her to finish.

you hike up victoria’s skirt and pull her panties down her legs with a surprising amount of force, enough that it manages to rouse a rare squeak from the brunette, which you can’t help but smirk at. leaning forward, you waste no time, not wanting to give victoria’s more professional tendencies the chance to interrupt. you press the flat of your tongue against the warm petals of her cunt, spreading them apart to lick up the wetness that had gathered between them before dragging your tongue up to her clit. you find her gaze, watching her expression contort between frustration, affection, and lust through your lashes. the sight of you on your knees, tucked beneath her desk like this and that damn look in your eyes…

victoria surrenders and buries her fingers in your hair, curling around the strands tightly with a hiss. “god you’re insufferable sometimes, i swear… ah- fuck, you’re pathetic, can’t even wait a bit longer…” she trails off and within the same sentence, pushes your head closer to her. you moan into her pussy, the vibration managing to get a soft moan out of the congresswoman. you lap at her more earnestly, working your whole jaw hoping she’ll appreciate your efforts (she does), and that it’ll lessen your punishment for being so impatient later (it won’t).

with a shaky sigh victoria tugs you off of her, a gentle pop of your lips removed from her clit following, and you look up with a confused whimper, a glistening strand of her sticky wetness still attaching you to her dripping warmth. fuck, you’re too cute for your own good. victoria’s heart throbs, and she tucks some of your hair behind your ear then brushes her thumb over your glossy lips. “can you be good and manage to be quiet for me, baby?” and of course, you nod, just like she thought you would. victoria hums in approval at your obedience, “that’s my girl,” she murmurs tenderly, and promptly brings your opening mouth to her cunt again. “get busy then. mommy needs this just as much as you do.”

victoria turns her camera and microphone back on and immerses herself in her meeting; this time, she has something to fall back on when they inevitably begin to argue again. only you and victoria can hear the soft, faint squelches of your warm, pillowy, and sinfully wet mouth devouring her like you haven’t gotten to in ages. you’re so eager, so eager that victoria has to tug on your hair a few times to get you to slow down, otherwise half of congress would be hearing her cry out your name.

gradually victoria relaxes further in her chair, letting out a content sigh as you suckle on her clit, your tongue tracing gentle patterns against the bundle of nerves at the same time. victoria really did need this just as much as you did; it wasn’t going to be long before she came, and you’d only been at it for ten minutes now. you seem to sense this too, as you double your efforts, eating her out like a woman starved. victoria’s eyes widen at your renewed fervor, and her thighs reflexively squeeze around your head.

“fuck—” victoria lets out a moan which she quickly covers with a cough as she yanks at your hair in a gesture for you to slow your pace. none of her colleagues notice, thankfully, too caught up in their bickering. but like a fucking brat, you choose now to be difficult. feeling you smirk against her pussy, victoria shifts her gaze down to you with the intention to give you a warning glare, but you just eye up at her cheekily, and start to focus all of your attention to her clit, your slick, hot tongue flicking across the swollen bud quickly. the wrath in victoria’s dark brown eyes fades away rapidly, and her features slacken from pleasure, her lips parting as she sucks in a large breath.

victoria can’t handle it—she’s been on edge for too long, and you both know it. a little whimper crawls out of her throat, and she props her elbow up on her desk, balling a fist before she brings her arm up, pressing her curled fingers against her mouth to mask her arousal. god, she could only imagine what her co-workers would say if they knew what was going on behind the screen they can see her on. here they are, bickering over some meaningless government spending bill, and she has you slurping at her drenched cunt underneath her desk while she tunes them out. victoria can’t help the way the direction of her thoughts begins to stroke her ego, and she starts to rock her hips against you, her carefully sculpted composure cracking.

the gratified whimper you reward her with spurs her on as she mushes your face entirely against her pussy—she glances down at you briefly, a sight for sore eyes you are, eyes closed; chin and mouth covered in spit and victoria’s wetness. what would they think of her if they knew she had her thighs wrapped around such a sweet, pretty little thing like yourself? a girl nearly a decade younger than her, and her assistant of all things (she’d admittedly hired you at the fbsa early into your relationship due to your dreadful job at vought-a-burger, a small abuse of her powers).

oh, they’d scorn her without a second thought, despite their own mistresses and midnight rendezvous. half of them are old enough to be grandfather’s too. victoria nearly scoffs, but she finds her eyes drawn to you again. you working between her thighs is enough to quell any real unrest within her.

she’s pleasantly surprised to see that at some point, you’ve dipped a hand beneath your panties to touch yourself, and she feels the coil in her stomach start to tighten, knowing that you’re so turned on just from having your face shoved into her cunt like this. victoria is willing to bet that her colleagues never get a view such as this either—like you, and pride flares to life in her chest.

“fuck, look at you…” victoria murmurs adoringly under her breath with a low growl, fingers stroking through your hair before she grips your locks tightly again. “you love this, don’t you? all wet and whimper-y just from the taste of me… fucking slut— ah—no one else besides me would put up with that damn mouth of yours, but you already know that. and you love being mommy’s slut, don’t you?” she all but demands an answer.

you nod with a whine, and as if to prove yourself, you start to lap at her with as much vigor as you can muster. victoria chuckles breathlessly and barely swallows down a moan of your name, and she rocks harder against your mouth. “stick out your tongue, brat,” she hisses out the command, her voice barely above a whisper, and you obey, opening your mouth wider so victoria can use the fleshy appendage to get herself off. each pass of her hips makes your nose bump against her clit, and the congresswoman clenches her teeth.

“vic…” you manage to hoarse out between mouthfuls—your voice trembling. victoria shushes you quietly, and murmurs her approval, knowing that you’re close just like she is. “mmn— fuck, don’t stop,” and you don’t. a couple more rolls of victoria’s hips, and her body stiffens, thighs clamping down around your head and the insides flexing as she bites down on her knuckles to prevent herself from crying out at the force of her orgasm. your own hits not long after, the movements your slick fingers, which had been furiously rubbing at your clit growing jerky. you aren’t as in control of yourself as your girlfriend, however, and are unable to stop yourself from mewling and whimpering.

with your face still buried in her cunt, slurping up her juices and licking her clean, the sound is muffled, so victoria doesn’t feel the need to chastise you. once the brunette’s legs around your head and the grip she has on your hair relax, you pull away with a heavy pant. victoria turns her camera and microphone off, and grips you by the collar of your sweater seconds later, tugging you up into a wet and messy kiss so she can taste herself on your lips. you moan appreciatively in response, but before you have the chance to kiss back, victoria shoves you away, making your back hit the edge of her desk.

“upstairs, now,” victoria says while she smooths herself out, talking as if you hadn’t just ate her out like a wild animal. her tone brooks no argument, the low, raspy timbre of her voice making you shudder from anticipation. “i want you naked; on your hands and knees in our bed, and your ass up. i’ll be up in ten minutes.” she then waves a somewhat shaky, dismissive hand at you, which tells you just how frazzled you’ve left her. you swallow hard and rush to do as you’re told, all but sprinting out of victoria’s home office to head to your shared bedroom. you had a feeling that the older woman wasn’t going to be as kind as she had been just now once she joins you.

that’s fine. you’re a glutton for her punishment.

#victoria neuman #victoria neuman x reader #victoria neuman x you #victoria neuman smut #the boys x reader #needherskbadlol #repostunfortunately #hope i don’t get shadowbanned again #☆ ͡ ݂ my works .ᐟ

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queenofwands89 · 10 months ago

Note

Do you do fanfic requests? If so I was hoping for maybe an angsty enemies to lovers with Tyler Owens, like they are rivals and just got off on a bad start that spiraled into them hating each other but slowly seeing there's more there but being in denial until maybe like Reader gets injured in a chase or helping someone and Tyler realized how he truly feels? Idk lol. Just need some good angst and hurt comfort.

Stormfront Showdown (Part 1)

Tyler Owens x fem!Stormchaser!reader

Summary: Y/N and Tyler have been longstanding rivals, their past filled with unresolved conflicts and clashing opinions on storm chasing. With vastly different approaches to tracking and studying storms, their heated debates have become legendary. Now, with the upcoming storm chasing convention on the horizon, tensions are set to skyrocket. You know Tyler will be there, and the question is: will this be another explosive encounter, or will the storm finally bring them together in unexpected ways?

Word count: 2262

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers, verbal sparring, competition, dumb blonde joke, teasing, a little angsty idk.

Notes: Thank you so much for your request! I apologize for the delay; I recently started school and things have been hectic. I took a bit of creative liberty with your request and turned it into a short series. I hope you don't mind! If anyone wants me to make a taglist, just let me know. I hope you enjoy it—bye! 💜

The storm chaser convention is your annual pilgrimage as a weather enthusiast or professional. The ballroom of the Kansas City Grand Hotel buzzes with anticipation. As you stand at the entrance, your eyes sweep the room with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. You don't particularly enjoy these crowded events, preferring the solitude and precision of your solo chases, but your presence here is a necessary evil—an opportunity to share your findings and emphasize the importance of safety and scientific rigor.

You smooth the front of your blazer, double-checking your notes for the panel discussion. It’s then that you spot him: Tyler Owens. The Tornado Wrangler himself stands surrounded by a throng of fans and admirers, his laughter loud and infectious. His rugged appearance, complete with cowboy boots and a well-worn hat, seems to dominate the room. Boone is there too, camera in hand, capturing every moment for Tyler's YouTube channel. Lily, Dexter, and Dani mingle nearby, each in their element.

You inhale deeply, trying to steady your nerves. The name Tyler Owens epitomizes everything you abhor in storm chasing—recklessness, unchecked bravado, and an insatiable thirst for sensationalism. To you, he is the living antithesis of diligent scientific inquiry and responsible journalism.

Your last encounter with Tyler was nothing short of disastrous. What began as a simple disagreement escalated into a full-blown public feud, broadcasted for the world to see via social media and various news outlets. You had penned a scathing article, meticulously criticizing his methods as dangerous and irresponsible. Your words were sharp, intended to signal a wake-up call not just to him but to the entire community of storm chasers.

Tyler, never one to retreat from controversy, responded with an incendiary video. Filled with passionate retorts and dismissive gestures, his rebuttal ignited a firestorm of reactions, polarizing the storm-chasing community and capturing the attention of a captivated audience.

The bitter memory of this exchange still lingers in your mind, a festering wound that has yet to heal. Now, as you anticipate another face-to-face meeting with him, you feel the weight of that unresolved animosity. You brace yourself for the confrontation that seems as inevitable as the approaching storm you both intend to chase.

The panel is called to order, and the moderator introduces the speakers with a flourish. You take your seat, your heart pounding in your chest. Tyler settles into the chair next to you, flashing a charming smile that belies the tension crackling between you.

"Welcome, everyone," the moderator begins. "Today, we have a diverse panel of storm chasers who will share their unique perspectives on this thrilling and dangerous field. Let's start with you, Y/N. Can you tell us about your approach to storm chasing?"

You take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking. "I believe storm chasing is an essential tool for advancing our understanding of severe weather phenomena. My approach focuses on meticulous planning, data collection, and public safety. The goal is to minimize risk while maximizing scientific value."

Tyler leans forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he addresses the room. "You know, while I truly appreciate Y/N's unwavering commitment to safety," he begins, his voice smooth and confident, "we sometimes overlook the bigger picture. Storm chasing isn't just about data and caution—it's about raising awareness and capturing the awe-inspiring power of nature."

He pauses for effect, letting his words sink in before flashing a charismatic smile at the crowd. "My team and I, we're not just scientists; we're storytellers. We bring these magnificent storms to the world, showing people a side of nature they rarely see."

His smile widens, eyes sparkling with excitement. "We have a saying in our crew: 'If you feel it, chase it.' Because in those moments of raw, untamed nature, we find our stories, our inspiration."

The room erupts in appreciative murmurs and nods of agreement, some even breaking into applause. Tyler's infectious enthusiasm and charm work their magic, swaying the audience to his perspective, if only for the moment.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "Raising awareness is important, Tyler, but not at the expense of safety. Your methods put not just you and your team at risk but also the communities you travel through."

"And your methods," Tyler shoots back, "might yield scientifically valuable data, but they often lack the human element. People need to see the raw, unfiltered power of these storms to understand what we're dealing with."

The panel has been raging on for twenty minutes, each of you firing verbal volleys that keep the audience captivated. The tension is palpable, and it’s clear that you and Tyler aren’t on good terms.

Tyler leans forward, a cocky grin spreading across his face. He’s baiting you, and he knows exactly which buttons to push. "You know, ever since that article you wrote, questioning my methods, I've been wondering. Maybe you're just not a fan of a little excitement? Gotta admit, though, it did spark quite the public feud."

The hint of satisfaction in his voice is unmistakable—he’s reveling in the attention, the controversy, and most of all, the fact that he’s gotten under your skin.

You snap back, your tone fiery and unapologetic. "And with good reason. Your methods are reckless, Tyler. Capturing nature is one thing, but ensuring the safety of our team and the community is paramount. Data collection can be done without playing Russian roulette with our lives."

Tyler smirks, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah, but without taking risks, we miss out on the most stunning phenomena. The beauty of a storm isn't just in its data points—it's in the visceral experience."

Your eyes narrow, voice sharp and unyielding. "Visceral experiences are meaningless if they end in tragedy. We need to strike a balance—pushing limits, yes, but with calculated caution. Not reckless abandonment just to feed your adrenaline addiction."

Leaning in slightly, his voice drops to a teasing whisper, "Careful. If you play it too safe, you might end up in a cozy weather office instead of out there chasing the real action."

You raise an eyebrow, your smile icy. "Better a cozy office than a hospital bed, Tyler. Besides, in the office, I can keep an eye on your antics, making sure you don’t turn yourself into a cautionary tale."

Tyler chuckles, clearly unfazed. "Touché. But admit it, you'd miss our epic sparring sessions out in the field."

You smirk back, your tone dripping with sarcasm, "Maybe. But I'd miss watching you lose a battle of wits with a breeze. It's like a real-life dumb blonde joke, but without the punchline."

Boone, with his characteristic enthusiasm, interjects, "You both have valid points! The thrill and the data—can't we find a middle ground here that marries both perspectives?"

Tyler grins at Boone's comment, "Maybe, Boone. But finding that middle ground is easier said than done."

The moderator, sensing the escalating tension and the need to maintain decorum, finally calls for a break. Their calm yet authoritative voice cuts through the cacophony of arguments, bringing a temporary ceasefire.

"Let's take a ten-minute break to gather our thoughts," the moderator says, brokering no argument. "This will give everyone a chance to cool off and reflect."

The announcement is met with a collective exhale from the audience. You can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you step away from the podium, your mind racing with the flurry of ideas and rebuttals. Tyler shoots you a confident smirk, clearly reveling in the public sparring.

As the room buzzes with low conversations and people stretch their legs, you glance towards Boone, Lily, Dexter, and Dani. Boone gives you a thumbs-up, his eyes sparkling with excitement for the next round. Lily offers a supportive nod, while Dexter's contemplative gaze meets yours, as if silently urging you to remain steadfast. Dani approaches you quietly, her concern evident.

"Take a moment to breathe," she advises softly. "You’re doing great, but don’t let him get under your skin."

You nod, appreciating the support as you resolve to keep your composure for the next part of the debate. Tyler may have won the crowd for now, but the debate is far from over.

You step away from the panel, finding solace in a quiet corner of the room. You sip your water, your mind racing with a mix of frustration and determination. A voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Y/N," Tyler says, his tone unusually soft. "Can we talk?"

You turn to face him, your eyes narrowing. "There's not much to say, Tyler. We clearly have different philosophies that will never align."

He sighs, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Look, I know we've had our differences, but we're both here for a reason. We're passionate about what we do. Maybe... just maybe, there's a middle ground we haven't considered."

Before you can respond, a group of Tyler's ardent fans—mostly attractive young women whose adoration for him is barely concealed—swarm in, interrupting your conversation. Their laughter and excited voices fill the air as they clamor for his attention, each holding out their phones for selfies.

"Tyler, can we get a picture with you?"

"You're amazing, Tyler, can you sign this?"

Their voices form a cacophony of admiration and eagerness. Tyler gives you a fleeting look, a glimmer of regret in his eyes. As he turns to handle the eager fans, you seize the moment. You walk away quickly, your strides purposeful and filled with resolve.

By the time Tyler manages to take a few pictures and sign a couple of autographs, he looks up to continue the conversation, but you're already gone. He scans the room, his expression shifting from hope to dejection as he realizes you're nowhere to be seen.

His shoulders slump slightly, and a look of displeasure shadows his face. The admiring fans around him continue their cheerful chatter, but his thoughts are elsewhere. He looks in the direction you went, frustration evident as he contemplates the vanished opportunity to bridge the chasm between you.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

The second day of the storm chaser convention dawns with a swirl of excitement and anticipation. Yesterday had been a whirlwind, with Tyler and you continuing your intense, verbal sparring match during your panel. As soon as it ended, you purposely avoided Tyler for the rest of the day, determined to keep your distance and focus on the upcoming events.

Today, however, is different. You feel a surge of excitement as you head towards the sign-up area for the competition on advanced research—a competition you have won every year. You stride confidently through the bustling convention hall, ready to claim your victory once more.

Approaching the registration table, you're taken aback to see Tyler there, pen in hand, scribbling his name onto the sign-up sheet. Your eyebrows knit together in a mixture of surprise and annoyance as you walk up to him.

"What are you doing here, Tyler?" you ask, folding your arms across your chest. "This competition has strict rules that you couldn't follow even if they were spelled out in neon lights."

Tyler smirks and meets your gaze. "Decided to sign up this year. Thought I'd give you some real competition."

You lock eyes, each ready for a verbal duel. The air between you crackles with tension.

"If you think you can handle it, by all means, try," you retort, your voice tinged with sarcasm. "Just know that this isn't your usual chaotic escapade. This requires precision and knowledge—qualities that, frankly, I don't think you possess."

Tyler chuckles softly. "We'll see about that. Underestimating me might be your biggest mistake."

Before you can continue your exchange, the host of the panel steps up to a microphone, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. The host, a renowned meteorologist named Dr. Sandra Jacobs, greets the crowd with a warm smile and a practiced ease.

"Good morning, everyone! I'm Dr. Sandra Jacobs, and it's my pleasure to welcome you to this year's storm chaser convention!" Dr. Jacobs begins, her voice carrying effortlessly through the room. "As many of you know, this convention is a celebration of the fascinating and often dangerous world of storm chasing. It's a place for experts and enthusiasts alike to share their passion and knowledge."

A murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd as Dr. Jacobs continues.

"One of the highlights of our convention is the competition on advanced research. It's a chance for storm chasers to showcase their findings, methodologies, and innovations in storm tracking and prediction."

Your eyes shift back to Tyler momentarily, a competitive fire igniting within you.

"This year, however, we’ve decided to change things up," Dr. Jacobs announces, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "There will be no rules and no limits! The stakes are higher than ever, with $100,000 in research funding and a special feature on Discovery Plus for the winner!"

A collective gasp and murmurs of surprise and excitement ripple through the crowd. Your eyes widen slightly, processing the unexpected twist. Tyler glances at you, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

"No rules, huh?" he teases, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Looks like your little rule-book speech just got thrown out the window."

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, both frustrated and fueled by the sudden turn of events. You watch him go, your mind already strategizing how to adapt to the new, unpredictable landscape of the competition. The game had just changed, and you are more determined than ever to come out on top.

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