ㅤ ㅤ 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘦 𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘍𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳 𝘍𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴

ㅤ ㅤ Full lips curl into a little smirk. "Correct." She wags a chastising finger at him. "And that's the thing." Fortune smiles, more genuine. Happy to see him coming so very, very close to grasping the point. Instead of having him guess her angle, though, she gives it to him. "𝑌𝑜𝑢 are not my submissive. So why would I treat you as such, Mm?" Sarah crouches down next to him, keeping a bit of distance. Her hair can often be a tempting target and she wouldn't want him to get wise and make a mistake like that. "Calling me a Faux Domme in a cheap attempt to have me dominate you is a weak, and frankly insulting, form of manipulation. You, Darling, aren't my submissive. You would know it if you were. All you are ..." She grips him by the jaw and angles his face for their eyes to keep locked. Then she whispers, delicate and enticing. "... is insubordinate." Then she releases her grip on his face and stands back to full height. ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ Heads. Heads on Pikes. Pikes with heads on them. ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ "Ah." A single, neutral note. Cold. But Miss Fortune smiles sweetly. "I just wanted to be sure first." She clarifies. "Now kneel." Then her foot whips out lightening fast, striking him between the legs hard enough to make him comply before he can decide himself. "Now how many votes are like yours, I wonder? The kind hoping to get . . . 'Proven Wrong' in some fun, sexy way? Let's try answering honestly this time." ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ 'Yo' what? Full sentences. ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ Sometimes I just want to hurt men. And you know what? That's okay. It's a sacrifice I am willing to make. ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ Oh, so you all do have the capacity to correctly answer an easy question. ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ Oh, no, I knew you'd be voting correctly, Darling. ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ A terribly ... submissive comment, no? At least this dog knows it's place, even if it acts up for a bone. ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ You don't want to start, Forehead. ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ Who has voted this way? Reveal yourselves, Cowards. ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ Do I have to shoot people in the knees? ㅤ ㅤ

// There's no way people actually believe she's a faux domme.

ㅤ ㅤ Ah. I see people are stupid. Wonderful. ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ What am I? ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ Common sense test. What am I? ㅤ ㅤ

// I have an appointment with a psychologist to get some meds for my adhd, which I have been living with untreated since I stopped them in middle school. I suspect I'll be here a lot more consistently with that. I miss writing with all of you. It's just been so hard to lock in.

My Tenno #Warframe

ㅤ ㅤ Sarah came prepared, having already been informed of Leona's whereabouts by her Syrens. She wears gray, flesh- hugging shorts cut off near the top of her thick & powerful thighs along with a midriff baring crop top which tries so desperately to keep her squeezed in. Her long, crimson hair is tied into a neat ponytail and she has on a pair of workout gloves to keep her hands from forming callouses or becoming rough. Sarah approaches and eyes the bar Leona had just been working out like a machine on and thinks about how poor her own form and performance would be by comparison. Despite her own acrobatic abilities, she finds it a bit difficult to do a proper pull-up. She knows there's a chance there to utilize that fact for a bit of fun, though. "Mind keeping an eye on a lady's form? I've always found pull-ups ... frustrating." Given their height difference, the bar is set a bit high. It doesn't help that she's not in her heels, either. A rare sight. Instead of asking Leona to move it down a few notches, she decides to just jump it. Before she does, though, she turns to face Leona for more mischievous reasons than simple conversation. Sarah pulls the gloves more snug on her small hands and then leaps up to grab the bar, feeling her top somewhat limit the dramatic bounce to her heavy chest. At the very least, it makes the reality of those physics less painful to endure. Sarah looks past her beautiful, slender arms to make sure Leona is paying attention. Then she begins. Sarah's form isn't awful, but it certainly falls short of the perfection she so often seeks to accomplish, and it shows in the slight uncertainty in her motions. She repositions her hands constantly, and her rhythm is staggered. She also continues to flick her gaze over to her lover before redirecting her gaze towards the ceiling. She doesn't get very far, needing to rest after ten. "How long should I wait between sets?" Fortune asks, thinking to herself how odd it feels for a question like that to come out of her mouth. ㅤ ㅤ

ㅤ ㅤ "Mmm ... why don't I just spit in your mouth instead, then? Since you're so, 𝑠𝑜 thirsty. I'm not a servant, Siv." Fortune flicks her gaze over at a nearby Syren, enough of a gesture for him to leave the room. "Give him a minute." ㅤ