#Biiiiiiiiiiitches what?????
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And to the ones who decided to show up with the random anti black viewpoints just because a white woman got called out……
#Oscars#biopic#95th academy awards#oscars 2023#the oscars#academy awards#oscars#Post#Hews#Black women don’t owe you anything#Not even a smile#And yall expect her to smile when she played in the face?#Biiiiiiiiiiitches what?????#Fuck off!#I didn’t give a damn about what yall clears think since January 6th 2021#Respectability politics is so dead#Be whoever the f you want#Because ain’t nobody gonna like you regardless of who you are
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Want to just put my grain of sand about the deleting fics situation because... IDK it's been rubbing me the wrong way since it started but I exactly didn't know what was causing that. And after seeing the responses of the post where you make the film comparison the reason just snapped at me and it's more anecdotal than factual.
I'm both a writer and a reader. My first fics were poorly written because I was a dumb teenager who saw excessively amounts of popular BL OVAs. After two years of writing in Amor Yaoi I felt... not ashamed, but I didn't want to be associated with the most poorly written fics I did. So I deleted them. No reader came to me asking for them (I actually thought about my readers because it was a tiny rarepair fandom I wrote for —and I feel the "I don't think of the readers" happens in the big fandoms only TBH) so I was at ease.
Ellipse, hiatus were I didn't write shit, I discovered AO3 and started being more interested about archiving and fandom history.
It wasn't 'til last year that my brain clicked and said to me "biiiiiiiiiiitch archive your fics on AO3 what the hell are you waiting for". I opened my Amor Yaoi account and started copy-pasting everything (unfortunately AO3 does the import thing really bad with this damn php site) and something felt off. It wasn't 'til I discovered someone on Wattpad uploaded two of my deleted fics there that I realized what the off feeling was. I don't only feel bad for all the readers that magically found me in recents years and told me "your fics were my faves!!", I don't only feel bad for the archiving fandom history aspect, I also feel bad for myself. I lost record of my own development because I was dumb-dumb enough to not made a offline copy of them (and if I did my computer died without repair nor salvation so yeih! That's a possibility). That and the fact I'd love to make fun of my own shit, I read the ones I imported to AO3 and I was laughing horribly, good job past me.
TBH I suspect I'm not the only one who realized after years what a big oopsie-doo was to delete own fics.
And like... I don't know if it's me (probs are) as I'm really bad reading tones in English, but a lot of responses to the just-sad anons felt... unnecessarily aggressive. Yes, y'all entitled to delete your fics if you want (specially if the reason behind it is harassment but TBH I didn't feel this was the reason people were arguing of) as well as the anon is entitled to feel sad (and somewhat judgy) about the deletion, but the "good thing the fic got deleted just to piss you off anon" alike responses... Man. No, thanks. If I read some parts of the discussion wrong I'd happily accept the corrections since I don't keep track of everything, but some of those responses came off as if the author's point of view is The Truly True Truth of Truths™. I suspect a lot of people didn't have that intention in mind while writing the responses, but that was how I (and probs other) felt them.
IDK, I don't have any conclusions besides the "if you delete your fic you do you, but as a concept and action I'm super against of it (as a reader, as a writer and as someone interested in fandom history who will fight to make a little course at university if possible surrounding the topic) and I'd be better if you orphan them, anonymize them in your own Anonymous collection or put them on a shady hard-to-find website only the Hackers™ will find like some Chinese dōujinshi translators do —it'd also be good to keep this suggestion in consideration: if you put somewhere 'hey I deleted this thing if y'all want a copy just ask me Somewhere™ and I'll pass it to you no problemo' as I've seen it isn't a new way to deal with this situation" one because I'm tired RN.
I expect insults for this ask, so feel free y'all. Oh, and also this is the most interesting (for me at least) discussion that had happened on this blog since the disposable plates one.
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Did you see the rob Lowe propaganda during the ad break ? I spat out my drink I'm serious
BIIIIIIIIIIITCH. YOU KNOW I SAW THAT SHIT.
WHAT WAS THAT.
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Story WIP of my OCs meeting Cookie Run
Star (me) : hey you two :D
Sky and Marco turn to the source of the voice, only to frown almost immediately upon visual contact with the source.
Sky: What do YOU want
Marcos feathers slowing starting puffing up, his wings flaring out to cover Star’s view Sky
Star: Rude >:(… anyway I was wondering if you two would like to go on a small journey-
Marco: when you say small do you mean that we’ll be there for several unbearable weeks until you feel like bringing us back
The pair stair at Star awaiting an answer, only for her to start smiling
Star: Correct my feathery friend… oh would you look at the time, time for you to get going
Sky: Do we get a say in this…
Star: :)…….. Absolutely not!
Star snaps her fingers, allowing a portal to be created under Marco and Sky.
Marco: oooh you Stupid *falls* BIIIIIIIIIIITCH
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Beanah? Biiiiiiiiiiitch
Quick question. What department are you in?
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Anybody remember this kid?
A confident Rex in Palette 26 for a friend of mine who didn’t ask for him, but I made him anyways as a thank you for recommending the show to me, as well as a congratulations for good things happening in her life :3c
< >
#generator rex#Rex#Does this fandom even exist I have no idea what to tag this#its pretty old so idk if there is really a tag for it on here?#gen rex#palette prompts#i love you bitch#i aint never gonna stop loving you#biiiiiiiiiiitch#GR#rex salazar#fzp
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i loved that hickies post you did where you went thru with all your pairings🥴do you think you’d ever do one with face slapping (i’m so sorry i am a whore)
Omg stop first of all not a whore, never ever secondly I was just digging through my Inbox and found a request about the dynamics of Daddy Steve and Bucky face slapping! Was that you, nonnie?? Either way, let’s get into it, boo. 😎
Steve and Bucky: I don’t think face slapping is really anything that gets Steve hot. I think it’s more of what tends to happen with anything, which is because it’s Bucky Steve is on-board and hot for it. Steve has dabbled in everything, only has a few strong dislikes, but face slapping lies somewhere in the middle on Daddy Steve’s list of things that make him hot. And we know Bucky was pretty inexperienced before he met Steve, thought he had an awesome sex life.
This is something that would come up in the moment but that Steve would want to talk about more before going through with it, almost like the breathplay and choking bit. I think Steve is a confident and in-control enough Dom to work with these new findings in the moment, not necessarily needing to stop things or hold off in full. Maybe it’s a tight grip on Bucky’s chin, a shake and a “Don’t go dumb on me just yet” that makes Bucky have a much more visceral reaction. I can see this as a night where things have been building, a big night for them, an escalation of sorts. As soon as Daddy shakes his chin, his jaw, Bucky is whining out between clenched teeth—
“Slap me.”
Steve almost busts his nut right there, oh baby, Bucky letting Steve have yet another piece of control. He’d ask for a color with fiery eyes, Bucky would spit back, “Green,” and he’d let go of Bucky’s chin to smack a hand across Bucky’s cheek, his jaw, at about half-strength. Looking down at his boy, mouth open and eyes closed as he makes noises like he’s coming, hand back on Bucky’s chin, makes Steve grind his cock harder into what has to be Bucky’s sweet spot. Bucky’s choking on the word, “Daddy!” when Steve loses some control, brings his hand across Bucky’s cheek again, grips his chin tight enough to bruise, and then another smack, and fucking hell, Bucky’s coming.
I don’t think this pair slaps often. Cheek taps and chin grips are frequent fliers but slapping really only occurs when they’re really riled up. Bucky has to initiate it, which is what they agreed to after they discussed this in full, has to tell Daddy what he wants. I think this goes both ways even though it is heavier on Steve slapping Bucky. I can see them getting super riled up one time, Bucky on top and a confident rider now, Daddy’s hand around his throat. He tells Daddy to slap him and he does but then Bucky’s hand is in Daddy’s hair, opposite resting on his cheek. He flexes his fingers as he groans, roughs out, “Color,” and Daddy almost shouts his answer of “Green.”
It’s fun but it doesn’t happen a lot!
James and Stevie: On the other hand…
These two indulge in face slapping quite often and damn near from the get-go. Steve sees those paws one time and immediately imagines what they would feel like wrapped around is throat or making him hurt. James smacks Steve’s ass, his tits, and his face, the inside of his thighs. Big slappers. I imagine the beginning of their relationships much more formal as we are aware, much more Sugar Daddy than anything. I bet James would have them go over kinks and what Steve was comfortable with. They’d get to slapping and Steve gets hot in his tummy but doesn’t have experience with it so he says, “I’m not sure,” to which James asks, “Do you want to find out?”
They’re near the end of the their list and James can see how hard Steve is through his jeans, is feeling quite aroused himself, and Steve bites his lip, nods his head.
“Words.”
“Yes, Daddy. Please.”
James would snap his fingers at the floor, point to it before turning to spread his legs a bit there on the couch. Steve would end up between those thighs with his hands behind his back like a good boy, pretty tits on full display, so unbelievably graceful that it takes James’ breath away. Daddy tells Stevie he’s a good boy, give him a kiss on the lips before telling him to take out Daddy’s cock. Steve loves Daddy’s cock, at times makes James wonder if it’s too much, but that love has never steered him wrong in any way. Steve would have both hands on Daddy’s cock, tight around the base making it look so big and ready and yummy, and James would reach forward with his own hands.
“Use your words, your manners, come on, doll,” he would chide, one hand on Steve’s chin and the other resting against his cheek. Steve would get out a. “Daddy, can I—” and James would bring that hand across his cheek hard, would make him take it with a grip on his chin. Steve’s whole body would clench up, is so worried that one roll of his hips up would make him blow his load in his jeans right there. He’s in the middle of shouting when James does is again, arguably harder, tells Steve to spit it out. Steve would be damn near delirious, would be so turned on he would be entirely too close to crying for his liking.
James’ favorite would be slapping at Steve’s face when he’s slurping and choking on his Daddy’s cock. Steve is a loud blower, eats Daddy cock like he’s hungry, makes all those noises that are straight from porn, the gulps and the slurps. Sometimes Daddy will pull him off of his cock to where the head is the only thing there to suckle on and he’ll call Steve a filthy fuckin’ boy, will hold him by the jaw, by the neck, by the hair, will give Steve a few slaps in a rapid pace. Steve will groan, his eyes might go crossed a bit, he might even chuckle around the mouth full.
“Look at you, takin’ this cock and wantin’ to get smacked around for it. Tell Daddy you’re a dirty slutty boy, tell ‘im. Ahh, don’t you take your fuckin’ mouth off’a my cock, you talk with your mouth full, you find’a way.”
(I need a minute, hnnng)
From the face it progresses, which in my brain it’s backwards, but that’s just these two lmao. This moment unlocks the slapping heaven gates for them, helps them realize what they do and do not like. I see this as a common occurrence in their relationship, for pleasure or for punishment, although that’s only spanking and maybe some tit torture. These two are all about it, all the time, no matter the reason. Sometimes, all Steve will want is a slap or two to sate him over until they can actually do something about his pent up sexual energy.
Alpha!Steve and Omega!Bucky: This one is easy for me to answer. I don’t think these two would really engage in face slapping. Steve might give a few cheek taps with a couple of fingers, tight on Bucky’s cheek when he needs to stay focused on taking Steve’s knot, but Steve would never want to bring a hand down across his sweet Omega’s cheek. They can get rough in other ways, lots of hair pulling and love bites with these two, same with moving limbs roughly and chin grips. No face slapping though. Ass slapping? For sure. No face.
Senator Steve and Intern Bucky: Biiiiiiiiiiitch, lord have mercy this pair and slapping, oof. The Senator is mean, here is your second reminder within a week, and I bet he unleased a slap the first time they were together in secret. We remember that tiny tidbit of first time with them? It was super short and didn’t go into a ton of detail but in my head that wasn’t the first time Mr. Rogers had kept Bucky in his office. I bet he had to work on Bucky, work to see if his hunches were correct, that if he were to make a move it would be reciprocated.
And he’s so meeeeeeeaaaaaan he would 100% drag Bucky along, leave him hard and achy multiple times, and I bet the first time Mr. Rogers finally finally gets his hands on Bucky it includes a slap. They’re so riled up and Bucky is so damn desperate that he almost sobs when Mr. Rogers finally presses his lips against Bucky’s. And things get so hot so fucking fast, growls and groans, squeezes, god can you imagine how hard the Senator has Bucky pressed up against that wall or his desk. He’s talking all about Bucky’s sweet little body, all the things Mr. Rogers wants to do to it, thinking out loud about how slutty he could make Bucky. A hand comes up to his cheek, pressed in tight, Bucky knows what it means, and Mr. Rogers purrs, “Y’want it? Huh? You like it a bit rough?” and Bucky just slurs out a long, “Yes, Sir.”
To be honest, I don’t know if Bucky would have any experience with it but in the moment he would want it and would love it. This Bucky learns a lot about himself with this Steve throughout the course of their not-so-serious engagement and this is one of those things. I bet they do it a lot more than the others but still not an every occurrence kind of deal. Mr. Rogers just likes to make sure Bucky is paying attention and still with him and a slap will do that and make Bucky even more desperate so it’s honestly a win-win.
Smol Steve and Bucky Bear: This one was honestly the hardest for me to figure out and I think I’ve decided that they’re up there with my Alpha and Omega in frequency—it would be rare. I think they’re just really into other things that are shows of force? Even then, I don’t think this is a pair that wants to show any kind of force like that. These two are gentler in their shows, more accepting and less condescending. They’re the lips touching as they talk and make love and slow and long and savory kinds. Like these two can go at it more than any of the others taking into consideration Alpha/Omega though. These two pull hair and bite lips and the bruises Stevie gets are from Bucky’s a bit too eager grip. No face slapping here, really.
Nonnie, bless you love you thank you.
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I love you biiiiitchhh i ain’t never gon stop loving you biiiiiiiiiiitch mwah 😘
You’re a great moot 😁
Tell me what you think about me and I can’t respond
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I actually can’t tell the point of view the show has on Thatcher, yet, but I also know very little about her besides bits of things I’ve picked up from tumblr and the like
The show seems pretty anti-Thatcher. She’s shown to be pretty awful and set in opposition to the Queen and the country often. It’s been interesting, because my mom started watching Season 4 this last week. I asked her what she thought of Thatcher, both from the show and her own personal opinions (since you know, she was an adult in the 80s and I was born partway through that decade). At first she was rather positive and impressed by Thatcher. But I got a text tonight that she’s completely changed her mind and hates her now. I believe this exact exchange was:
“Biiiiiiiiiiitch.”
“Exactly.”
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expanding on the journalist what about you become better friends with Mitch and the producers. They all love how much you know abt music and they all notice H fancies you. They constantly tease him and he finally asks u round again. This time you wear a shorter black dress and he’s like fuck.... you watch a film &his hand goes up a bit further and you smile as if to say okay. He feels the lace panties and automatically gets hard which makes you laugh and he blushes bc no one has had this effect
BIIIIIIIIIIITCH OH MY GOD
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Okay but if there is a season 5 can we have Aida survive this season because holy SHIT can you mine a whole season’s worth of emotional storyline from Fitz reeling from the Framework and Aida coming to grips with becoming humand and wow maybe being a human was not as good as one thought because pesky emotions
#aos spoilers#y'all...what if...we finally see ghost rider use the penannce stare..ON AIDA. BIIIIIIIIIIITCH#;out of homework#GOD THIS POD IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE#HOLY SHIT
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"He was the last person that you wanted to see right now... and also the only person you wanted to see right now." BIIIIIIIIIIITCH !!!!!!!!!!!!! CAN YOU HEAR ME CRYING ?????? SCREAMING ????????????? IM SOOOOOOOO 🥺😭😔 can they jus get their happily ever after (but both yn and miju got serious issues w communication so bruh)
yuuuup ., if jimin nd yn want to be happy together yn needs to have a chat w miju nd tell her what’s going on . there’s no way yn will juss drop miju nd disregard her feelings completely so there’s always going to be that looming hesitation in the back of her mind whenever she’s w him . nd it juss makes it even worse the more time she spends not saying anything
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Because I am a biiiiiiiiiiitch : 25- “Our child is dead.”
I managed not to kill anyone filling this prompt. Last time, Belle thought she was retaining a tiny bit of control over her life, and then Gold tracked her down and turned up at her door at the end of a terrible day
Please send me a prompt from this list or this list if you want me to hurt the babies :)
[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [AO3]
Belle felt as though a cold hand had taken hold of her heart and was squeezing. It was hard to breathe, and she bit her lip to stop it from trembling. There was loud music coming from apartment 5, a throaty, grungy sound with the all-too-familiar overdub of the occupants yelling at each other. A door slammed somewhere along the corridor, making Belle jump. Gold was eyeing her steadily, a flat, unreadable expression on his face, and she was suddenly very aware that she was a mess, soaking wet and with no makeup on, whereas he was his usual contained, perfectly-attired self. How the hell had he found her? Why the hell did he have to look so good? She gestured at him, a weak flail of one hand.
“You - you cut your hair,” she said lamely.
“Observant.”
His voice was cold, and it made her want to shrink back. She clutched at the door frame to steady herself, swallowing hard.
“What are you doing here?”
Gold raised an eyebrow, his mouth twisting.
“Seriously?” he said. “After the somewhat life-changing news you gave me, you really have to ask that?”
“I just meant - I just meant why are you here,” she said, wishing she sounded more coherent than she felt. “I - I wanted us to meet somewhere else. Like - like neutral territory, or something. Like the corner diner.”
“Well, perhaps if you had responded to one of the numerous calls I made instead of resorting to the childish use of the silent treatment, you would have been able to call the shots,” he said dryly. “Alas, we are where we are. Are you going to let me in, or do you want to have this conversation out here on the landing?”
Belle hesitated, unsure how to tell him to fuck off in a way that would work, and Gold glanced back at the stairwell.
“It’s just that there’s a rather strong smell of marijuana coming from up from the second floor,” he said, “and I’d prefer not to have this coat reeking of it, if it’s all the same to you.”
Her brain had gone blank, and she couldn’t think of a good enough reason to refuse, so she stood aside in silence and let him walk past her. He seemed to drag the cold weather in his wake, and she shivered as she closed the door behind them, muting the grunge music to a low-level booming hum. Gold was glancing around her tiny apartment with a look of contempt, and she put her hands on her hips, feeling defensiveness rise within her.
“This is where you live?” he said coldly.
“It’s not that bad.”
“It looks as though it should have been declared unfit for human habitation ten years ago.”
“Yeah, well, not everyone can afford a four-bed Victorian,” said Belle stiffly. “I make minimum wage, okay?”
“The elevator doesn’t work,” he said, and she winced.
“Yeah, it’s - it’s kind of temperamental.”
“There’s damp on the landing walls outside,” he added. “I suspect a faulty air conditioning unit or a leaking pipe. Have you had any problems with mould?”
She folded her arms.
“Did you become the landlord when I wasn’t looking?”
“No,” he said coldly. “If I were landlord the elevator would work and there wouldn’t be fucking damp in the walls.”
“How I live is none of your business!” she snapped.
“It’s my business what environment you plan on bringing my child into,” he retorted. “Who else lives here?”
“No one!” she said, lifting her arms and letting them fall. “Why would you think someone else lives here, the place isn’t big enough to swing a cat!”
“Thank you for proving my point,” he said dryly. “You clearly thought I was someone else when I knocked on the door. A repairman, perhaps? What else is wrong with this hovel?”
He looked her up and down very deliberately, then headed for the bathroom. Belle let out a squawk of protest as he stepped past her, but Gold had wrenched open the door and taken in the scene that awaited him before she could stop him. He nodded to himself as he came back into the lounge area, wiping his shoe on the carpet and looking grim.
“Pack your things,” he said curtly.
“What?”
“You heard me. Pack your things. You’re not staying here.”
“You can’t just turn up and throw me out of my own apartment!” she protested. “You have no right!”
“I have every right!” he snapped. “You think I’m going to allow my child to live here? It’s a fucking death trap!”
“It’s not that bad!”
He stepped forward, right hand clenching on the cane handle. That old moonstone ring still circled his ring finger, the thick band gleaming gold, the blue-grey stone winking in the light.
“The elevator doesn’t work,” he began, ticking off points on the fingers of his left hand. “There is damp in the walls, and probably mould spores in the apartment. The fire exit was blocked by a couch someone hasn’t bothered to take to the dump. The fire escape itself is rusted through and looks as though it’d collapse if anyone stepped on it. Your toilet is leaking, the shower is about to fall apart, and I suspect the appliances haven’t been checked in years. This whole place is a tragic fucking news story waiting to happen!”
“It’s all I could afford!” she shouted.
“Well, things have changed, haven’t they?” he said bluntly. “I have an empty apartment I can give you. Pack your things. You’re moving out tonight.”
“I don’t want your charity!” she said mutinously, knowing she was being unreasonable, and not caring.
“It’s not charity, it’s common sense!” he snapped. “If you want to kill yourself that’s your affair, but you won’t endanger my child, do you hear me?”
“Oh, so you are admitting it’s yours now?” she demanded. “Funny, I thought you had doubts in that area.”
“Are you telling me otherwise?”
“Of course not!”
“Then perhaps we can get past this tedious animosity and at least get you into a safe place,” he said coldly. “Or are you too stubborn to accept my help?”
“I didn’t ask for your help!”
He raised his chin a little, his jaw set. He was angry, and trying not to show it. She knew he was capable of deep emotion, that there was a boiling tide of rage inside him that threatened to rise up and drown the pair of them. She had seen him unleash it only once before, the night their baby had been made. It made her want to poke at him, to push until she got some sort of reaction, some indication that he was still a human being who lived and breathed and felt.
“I don’t want your help!” she added, glaring at him.
Gold pursed his lips, flexing his fingers on the handle of his cane as he seemed to swallow his anger down and snuff it out.
“Then I know how to proceed, don’t I?” he said, his voice deadly calm.
“What does that mean?”
“Simple,” he said. “It means that the life you are living poses a risk that someone will call me one day to tell me our child is dead. It means that you clearly have no intention of putting its best interests before your own foolish pride. It means, my dear, that I will sue for full custody.”
Belle felt her mouth fall open, a finger of ice sliding down her back as the worst of all her fears was spoken to the air and given life.
“You’d - you’d take my baby?” she whispered, horrified.
“Our baby,” he corrected. “And if you can’t satisfy me that you’d care for it sufficiently when not in my presence, then yes. Without question. Without remorse.”
He was watching her impassively, his eyes flat and black, and she shook her head vigorously.
“You can’t do that!”
“Oh, you know I can,” he growled, and for a moment his eyes flashed, hinting at the fury she knew he kept buried deep. “Just fucking try me.”
Belle shook her head again, pressing her hands over her belly protectively, and he nodded curtly and stepped back.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” he said, striding to the door.
“No, wait!”
She had reached out to him, and he turned slowly to face her. Belle swallowed hard, hating that she had let him back her into a corner. Hating that he was right.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay, I’ll - I’ll take the apartment.”
“Good,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
Belle glowered at him, but he merely nodded.
“Be ready in three hours with whatever you need to get through the next few days,” he said. “I’ll send a team to collect the rest of your things later. Don’t bother cleaning the place up.” He ran his eyes over the room, and curled his lip. “Just carry on as you have been, in other words.”
She wanted to grind her teeth.
“I’ll pick you up at ten,” he added, and wrenched open the door, striding out and taking the last of her self-respect with him.
x
Belle used the three hours he had given her to wash and dry a load of laundry, leaving it running in the laundry room while she packed the rest of her things. At least she would be able to change out of her drenched outfit and into something clean. She packed up her laptop and college books, an overnight bag with toiletries, makeup and accessories, and a few novels. Once the laundry was dry, she packed it into another case before stripping off her now damp clothing and changing it for thick tights and a soft grey jersey dress over the top.
His threat to take the baby had terrified her, her worst fears coming to life before her eyes and delivered in the same calm, measured tone he used to order coffee. She knew he would follow through on his threats, if it came to it, and she hated that she was dependent on him, that she needed his help.
For a moment it was all too much, and she sat down on the battered couch with a thump, burying her face in her hands and breathing deeply. It was that or cry, and she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing she had wept more tears over him. It wasn’t as though he had ever cried over her, after all. He didn’t care about her beyond the fact that she was carrying his child. She wished she had never told him. Would it have been so terrible to raise the baby alone?
Guess I’ll never know, she thought despondently. God, I’m tied to him forever. Tied to a man who doesn’t give a crap about me. Great job, Belle. Great job at ruining your life.
She sat forward, wrapping her arms around her growing belly and hugging as she rocked back and forth. The past was done, and there was no undoing it. It was unfair to keep her child from its father, and she had more important things to worry about than her own broken heart. At least it seemed like Gold wanted to be involved in raising the baby. She wondered what sort of father he would be. Would he be cold and distant? Would he be indulgent and shower the child with presents when it was his turn to care for it, making her look mean and strict by comparison? She wasn’t sure either of those personas made sense for him, but then she had never seen him interact with children. For all she knew he couldn’t stand them, and was only back in her life because he never saw a right of his he didn’t want to enforce.
Still, at least their child would have a father, she supposed. She had been disowned by hers as soon as she insisted on keeping the baby, although she thought that Moe would come around in time. Perhaps once the baby was born. He would want to get to know his grandchild, surely? She wondered what Gold’s childhood had been like, whether he had family out there somewhere, and realised she had no idea. She knew almost nothing about him, except that he was rich and solitary and way better in bed than he had any right to be. What basis was that for a relationship? What basis was that for anything?
Thinking about it was depressing, and so she sat up, running her hands over her face and getting to her feet. It was almost ten, and he would be right on time: he always was. She glanced around herself, checking that she had everything she needed. A knock at the door made her heart sink, but she squared her shoulders, pulled on her coat, hat and scarf and shouldered her overnight bag.
Gold had the same flat, impassive look on his face when she opened the door. She wondered what he had been up to for the past three hours, and decided she didn’t care. He nodded to the bag on her shoulder.
“Is that all you’re bringing?”
“Oh - no, I have a case.”
“I’ll take that.”
She let him step past her and grab the case on wheels, and she picked up her laptop bag and purse, waiting for him to stride out before locking the door behind them.
They went down the stairs in silence, and she glowered at his back as he sauntered out of the building. His old black Cadillac was parked on the street, looking very out of place, and she let him take the bags from her and stow them in the trunk before getting into the passenger seat. Gold got in on his side, shutting the car door with a thump that made her start, and pulling away without a word.
The silence between them was heavy and uncomfortable. Belle didn’t know what to say, her heart still full of pain and anger from the threats he had made, and so she stared out of the window so she didn’t have to look at him. It was strange being in the car again, and she was reminded of the hours she had spent there in happier times, when he had driven her out to the cabin with his hand on her thigh and his fingers stroking her bare skin. She chanced a look at him, eyes dropping to where his hand rested on the gear lever, the old ring gleaming in the pale glow of the streetlights. The tendons in his hand tugged and pulled as he changed gear, and she felt a lurch in her belly as she remembered the pleasure of his touch. She looked out of the window again.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“I own several apartments in the city,” he said stiffly. “One of them happens to have been vacated recently, and is ready to move into. It’s closer to the university.”
“Oh.”
He didn’t expand, and she didn’t feel like asking him anything further. It wasn’t as though she had a choice in where she would live.
They passed into a more affluent area of the city, the apartment blocks on tree-lined avenues, alongside cafes and small independent shops. Gold eventually pulled up outside a five storey building with gleaming stone steps and shining glass doors with the number 112 in large gilt letters. He got out, walking around to open the door for Belle and offering a hand to pull her to her feet. Even when he was being a bastard he never forgot his manners, she had to give him that. He took her case from the trunk, handing the laptop bag to her, and nodded to the door.
“Let’s go, then.”
As soon as Belle entered the lobby, she was made very aware of how different Gold’s apartment would likely be compared to her old one. There was a shining wooden desk in one corner, and a concierge in a crisp suit. He had grey hair and a neat beard, and gave them a warm smile, his eyes twinkling.
“Good evening, Mr Gold,” he said, his voice accented and a little gravelly. “The apartment is ready. My boy August took up the groceries, and has assured me that the hot water is working.”
“Thank you, Marco.” Gold gestured at Belle. “This is Miss French. Please give her whatever she requires.”
“Of course, of course!” Marco’s eyes merely flicked to Belle’s belly and back up again, but it still made her want to sigh. “Whatever she needs.”
“Thank you. Miss French?”
Gold walked towards the elevators, and Belle squared her jaw as she followed him. He pressed the button for the top floor, and the elevator doors closed with a gentle thump.
“Stop calling me that,” she said, and his eyes flicked towards her.
“What?”
“Miss French,” she said sourly. “I have a name. You’ve used it. You’ve shouted it while fucking me in your bed enough times, we’re not exactly strangers.”
“We’re not exactly friends, either.”
“Do you even have friends?”
He was silent, and she smirked to herself, feeling as though she had scored a point. She imagined there would be few enough of those in the months ahead, so she would take her small victories where she could.
The elevator stopped with a soft ping, the doors opening to reveal a wide, well-lit corridor carpeted in dark grey, the walls a lighter grey edged with white. Gold led her to the door at the end, reaching into the pocket of his overcoat for a key and letting her inside without a word. Belle wandered in, blinking as he flicked on the lights. The apartment was larger than the whole of her father’s house in Storybrooke, the lounge area spacious, surrounded by high windows hung with soft grey curtains. Wooden floors ran throughout, with thick rugs over the top in muted shades of white and grey. A leather corner couch and chair surrounded a glass coffee table, a flat-screen TV on the wall. The kitchen contained shining appliances, a large fridge that made its own ice cubes, and a waste disposal in the sink. There was a dining area with a table to seat six, and going to the windows, Belle could see that it looked out on the park. She imagined it would be beautiful on a sunny day.
“There are three bedrooms,” said Gold, from behind her. “I had them get in some groceries. Have you eaten?”
She shook her head.
“Do you want me to make you something?”
“No, I’ll do it myself.”
“As you wish.”
She put her bag on the table, heading for the bathroom. A glass and chrome cube held the shower, and there was a white porcelain bath next to it. The thought of having a bubble bath was heavenly, but she merely nodded to Gold when she came back out.
“It’s fine,” she said listlessly.
“Well, it’s yours.”
“Thank you.”
Her tone was flat as she took the keys from him, and he nodded, his jaw working a little as his fingers opened and closed on the handle of his cane.
“We obviously need to have a serious conversation about the future,” he said. “But I think we’re both too angry right now.”
“I think I’m entitled.”
“As am I,” he said coldly. “So I suggest we try to get over it and talk tomorrow, agreed?”
“I have class.”
“Then I shall return in the evening.”
“I have work.”
His jaw tightened.
“You can’t avoid me forever, Belle.”
“I’m not trying to…”
“And do you really think you should be working in your condition?”
“I’m pregnant, I’m not sick!” she snapped. “And I need the money!”
“No, you don’t,” he said shortly. “Not anymore. But perhaps that’s something to discuss tomorrow.”
“Fine,” she sighed, a wave of tiredness washing over her. “Fine. Eight o’clock?”
“Eight o’clock.”
He nodded curtly, and turned on his heel, heading for the door. Belle licked her lips.
“Did you mean it?” she asked, and he paused with his back to her.
“What?”
“That you’d take the baby?”
Gold turned slowly to face her.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “If I had to. But I’d prefer not to, if that’s any comfort. A child should know its parents, don’t you think?”
Belle swallowed.
“Yes.”
“All the more reason for us to come to a satisfactory agreement, then, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
There was silence. She couldn’t think of how to fill it, and so she looked at the keys in her hand, two pieces of bright steel on a brass fob with a square tag.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said, and she heard him go, leaving nothing but a heavy atmosphere and the brooding aftermath of hurt and anger to mix with her own.
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7, 12, 19, 26, 34, 37, 49
thanks for sending so many! this’ll hold off the boredom a bit longer :)
do you prefer poems or love letters: anon I’m going to be honest with you I’ve never received either,,, but taking a wild guess, poems
favorite flowers: biiiiiiiiiiitch it’s those fucking flowers with the acid inside that catch the bugs and then digest them! those are just top tier plants
snow, rain, or sun: snow and rain are aesthetic as fuck but they get in the way so! sun
do you believe in soulmates: kind of? I don’t believe there’s one person specifically meant for everyone but I do believe it’s possible to find a perfect match for you. there are probably a lot of them. you could walk through some crowded area and they could be there and you might not even know. there might be like fourteen of them in said crowd. who knows
opinion on valentines day decorations: idk mate do what makes you happy
do you like to dance: fuck yeah I do!! I might not be the best but I have energy! tapping is fun as hell and I’m good at it but I don’t think that’s what this meant
hand kisses or nose kisses: hand kisses,,,,,,,,,,, as an overly romantic gay who learned seduction from various incarnations of the addams family how could I not
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if everyone could Venmo me a $1 then I would be able to by my lord of the rings hot Cheeto for $5,000. I really feel like this will help the fill the void in my soul. UMMMMMMM lmao hold up, it currently has 91 people viewing it for bids lmao what is happening 😩 this post is changing my mind now that I know there 91 people out there willing to spend $5k for a fucking Cheeto. Biiiiiiiiiiitch 91 views need to be closing that mother fuckin eBay tab and click the google and typity type type in “what organizations can I give to for preventing the deforestion of the amazon” or whatever and you find where you can make a lil donation, the donations also help the ingenious to keep fighting for their lands. Paying 5,000 for a Cheeto that I do not think even looks like Gandalf his little wizard hat crumbling off omg my love for Cheetos did this to me, made me mad that not enough pwople are donating!!! Except my main man of the day, Leo DiCaprio, donating a swift $5 million dollars. Guys we need to save the planet and I think Leo should be Captain Planet and Disney should unveil this at the expo right now, you’re welcome everyone. If you were going to give a $1 for my Cheeto nonsense then you can give it to this instead
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✵ {lmao Delphine}
Their first impression of your muse: “Who’s sassy, lost brat is this?”
Current impression: “I SWEAR TO FUCK I’M GONNA TEAR YOU AND SMASH YOU AND GRIND YOU INTO LITTLE FUCKING PIECES INTO THE FUCKING GROUND!”
Are they attracted to your muse?: “My fists are attracted to your face”
Something they find frightening about your muse: “What the fuck could I possibly be frightened about?”
Something they find adorable about your muse: “Abso-fuckin’-lutely Nothing”
Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?: “I’d shove her right into it”
Would my muse go on a date with yours? platonic/romantic: “HELL TO THE NO”
One word my muse would use to describe yours: “BIIIIIIIIIIITCH”
Would my muse slap yours if they could?: “I mean I’ve already punched her”
Would my muse hug/kiss yours?: “EWW”
@delphicc
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