#… I’m in crisis mode can you tell
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bobfloydsbabe · 7 days ago
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I need the characters in the books I’m reading to be a little less relatable. First it was Teddy in Lost and Lassoed and now it’s Hazel in The Cinnamon Bun Book Store. I like seeing myself reflected in characters, but not like this. It makes me weepy and anxious.
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fluff-e-boy · 1 year ago
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I carry so hard during family drama you would not believe
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formulawolff · 2 months ago
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"my hero" - m.v.
pairing: social worker!reader x max verstappen
word count: idek tbh (i’m posting this on my lunch break hehe)
warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, max in bf mode, long distance couple, cursing here and there, mentions of mental health, mentions of mental health disorders, mentions of physical health, yada, yada, yada
a/n: i know i said i was working on requests but this idea would not leave my brain all day. i couldn't stop thinking about it so i had to write it. (it's def a little self-indulgent) i hope y'all enjoy!
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"ah! there you are. i can see you now!""
a giggle bubbles up in your throat, your lips forming a wide smile, "hi baby, how are you?"
he shrugs, the image distorted for about a millisecond. he comes into frame once again, slightly pixelated. however, you can make out the sleepy grin plastered across his face, and the twinkle in his eye as he looks into the camera.
max verstappen, three time world driver’s champion, is on facetime with you, donned in nothing but a black cotton tee and his boxers. you can tell from the background that he’s in his motorhome, settled in his room.
his hair is a disheveled mess, sticking up haphazardly. he more than likely just got out of the shower, as the fabric of the tee clung to his toned frame. underneath his eyes were two faint circles, the skin slightly puffy.
yet, here he was, calling you at god knew what hour just to hear the sound of your voice.
"tired. very fucking tired."
"i can imagine so," you nod, typing along at your laptop, "what time is it there?"
he hums, leaning over his phone, "it's about eleven thirty?"
"max!" your eyes widen, "you need to get some sleep. it's qualifying tomorrow!"
"and?" he counters, arching a brow, "i wanted to hear how your day went. from your messages, it seemed like it was quite eventful."
"i'm just wrapping up my notes now," you exhale, your shoulders slumping slightly, "it was a long day."
"i can imagine my baby," he coos, settling underneath the covers, "tell me all about it."
"i can assure you being a case worker is not nearly as riveting as a formula one driver," you snort, shaking your head, "you go first."
"nope," he was not budging, his attention still fixated solely on you, "tell me about your day, and then i'll share about mine. it's only fair."
"well," you wrinkle your nose, glancing over the open document on your laptop screen, "my day started with one of my clients experiencing a small crisis. she was without food so she called me, asking if i could take her to the nearest pantry. while i was with her, another client of mine called asking if i could transport him to his appointment.
i probably could have, but he reached out to me only fifteen minutes before his appointment time. i received my new staffing form today. i have a couple of clients who are in need of housing so i had to make some calls to some local agencies."
"and how did that go?" you can't help but feel heat flourishing into your cheeks at the intrigue laced in his tone, "were you able to make some progress?"
"not really," you inhale sharply, "housing is really difficult to find right now. it's sort of like when your tires are giving out, but you need them to last a few more laps. you have to remain hopeful so that you can keep pushing."
“i like that analogy,” he fights a yawn, but continues regardless, “that’s a good one. i’m going to use that.”
“as long as you credit me,” you muse, clicking your mousepad as you finalize your note, “how was practice today?”
“so-so,” he chirps, “i missed you a lot today. thought about you nearly every second of the practice session. you’re flying out next week, right?”
you nod, shutting your laptop, “yes. i’ll be leaving wednesday evening and catching a late flight. hopefully when i land, there will be this insanely handsome dutch man waiting for me.”
“is that right?” max’s dimples appear, causing your heart to skip a beat, “i’m hoping that my good luck charm arrives safe and sound. i can’t wait to see her.”
“counting down the minutes are we?”
“you have no idea,” carefully, he plucks his phone from his makeshift stand, bringing you closer into the bed with him, “will you stay on till i fall asleep?”
at his request, there’s a tug at your heart. fuck, if only you were with him. then he would have been able to lay on you until he dozed off. his head would have been snuggled into uour collabone, your hands tangled in his hair, playing with it as his chest steadily rose and fell.
if only you were there. if only you were an influencer or a model. if only you could take work with you, dropping everything to fly all over the world. if only you weren’t separated by time zones, where you had to carefully coordinate facetime calls.
if only you weren’t long distance, then maybe you wouldn’t feel like this.
if only.
“hey,” max’s voice is merely a whisper, “are you okay?”
your lower lip trembles, tears welling up, threatening to spill over. there’s a choking sound, as you attempt to suppress a sob.
yet, it was too late. they were streaming down your cheeks now, your hands instinctively shielding your face.
“baby,” max murmurs, “what’s going on?”
“this shit sucks,” you shake your head, the words strained, “i hate that i’m not with you right now. i hate that we’re long distance. i hate that i have to stay here and—“
“but your clients need you,” his tone is delicate, “you’re the one person they can count on when everything else is going to shit. they need you like i need you. i can tell you had a long day baby, but i’m here. i’m here for you, no matter what.”
“i-i love you,” you manage to sputter out, wiping your cheeks, “i love you, max.”
“and i love you more than you’ll ever know,” in the frame, a pillow is held against his chest, “i’m even cuddling this pillow right now pretending that it’s you.”
“i can’t believe you fell in love with some plain girl from the states,” you sigh, resting your head against the couch cushion, “out of everyone in the world, you happened to fall in love with me.”
“you’re not just any girl from the states,” for a moment, you’re shocked at the firmness in his tone, “you’re my girl. it takes someone special to do what you do. you’re my hero baby. i aspire to be as strong as you.”
“i love you,” the corners of your lips curl into a quaint smile, “am i really your hero?”
“of course,” it doesn’t even take him a second to respond, “like i said, you’re the strongest person i know. you inspire me.”
“i can’t wait to see you,” you murmur, taking note of the way his eyes were drooping, “i’ll stay on till you sleep, my love. it seems like you need it.”
“hey,” one eye opens, barely a slit, “i know this shit sucks right now, but we’ll make it. okay? one day you’ll get to come home to me and tell me all about your day rather than calling. it’ll be worth it. i promise.”
“i hope so. i love you, maxie. sleep well, my love. i’ll be there before you know it.”
“try to have a good evening,” you could barely make out the statement, as he was beginning to doze off, “just end the call when i’m asleep. i’ll message you in the morning.”
“i’ll be here,” opening your laptop, you prop it against the screen, “goodnight, maxie.”
“night, night, baby.”
as sleep takes a hold of the dutch driver, you remain on the call, opening youtube. cautiously, you click on one of your favorite videos. it’s a montage of all of max’s wins, starting from the 2016 spanish grand prix.
the video begins to play, the volume carefully adjusted so that it doesn’t wake him.
as your gaze shifts to your phone once again, you can’t help but hear his words ringing in your ears.
one day this would all be worth it.
and one day, max verstappen would be able to be with his hero.
every single day for the rest of his life.
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago
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Hello, Congratulations on the 5k follows!!
I discovered this fandom a few months ago and have been living for your writing ever since.
I was thinking as a drabble of the taskforce gentlemen coming home at the crack of dawn from a long mission and seeing their spouse's hand, limp on the ground peeking out from the side of the couch. All the panic and worry going thru their heads, so much bubbling up, horrible scenarios. They rush over and find you sleeping on the floor. The power had gone out last night and the hardwood floor was the coolest place to be (you didn't want to open the window because you know how they worry), so you were watching stuff on your phone and drifted off. Crisis averted!
Thank you for your time 💜
—Wide-Eyed Panic
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⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ
╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞
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I’ll start by saying all of them would be concerned and immediately go into panic mode—why were you behind the couch? Why was your hand sticking out? Why, in God's name, were you not moving? Cue the horrible thoughts and flashes of what went on in their work lives.
John Price ➺
John entered the house with a sigh, slipping off his boots as the door was closed and deftly locked behind him. Grunting under his breath, the man rubs over his face, the lights off as he calls out with a tired grumble to his voice. 
“I’m back,” his voice echoes, the tone moving through the darkness far louder than it should have. There’s no answer. “Love…?” Pausing, John blinks slowly at the wall, ear twitching to the utter silence of the home. No water in the pipes. No buzzing of electricity. No you. Eyes rising, they dart around quickly as his finger moves out to the light switch. A small push elicits nothing, just as he thought. The power was out. 
Dread slowly creeps into John’s chest.
Hand reaching behind his back, the man’s fingers inch over the smooth metal of a pistol, grasping the weapon before he begins walking forward. He keeps silent, feet moving to where he knows the wood won't creak. 
His mind runs. 
Why was the power off? Where were you? Why didn’t you respond—were you hurt? John’s mind goes to blood and bullets, his jaw clenching tightly as the pistol comes out to rest in front of him; hands shifting the grip as he takes a soothing breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, but it would be pointless to lie about how his heart hammers. 
“Fuck,” he growls, eyes going tight. 
That’s when he sees it. Blue eyes widen sharply. 
“Love!” John shouts, all other concerns about intruders meaningless to him. Your hand was sticking out from behind the couch, a dark shadow in the low light. He rushes over as you jerk, yelling in alarm as he rushes to grab you, pulling you up into his arms and pulling you away into the closet across the room.
“John!” You blink rapidly as you’re set back against the wall. 
“Shush now,” he grunts, eyes panicked. “Keep awake, let me look.” A hand moves all over your body, searching and pulling at clothes to touch the skin for any wounds. “Tell me where it hurts, then. Quickly. We have to move—”
“John, what the hell,” you push at him, moving him back. Your eyes try to adjust to being so rudely awakened at such an hour. “What are you doing?!”
You weren’t hurt. 
The Captain’s face pulls in with confusion, back against the closet door and now in more darkness than ever before. He can barely make out your face before you sigh and put your hands against his arms. 
Things begin to calm down as his hand rests at your hip, nearly tight enough to bruise. In his other is the gun just before you put your hand to it and softly peel the item away from him—putting it on the shelf that you know is to your left. 
Hands find John’s cheeks as he pants.
“John,” you say his name again. “...what happened.”
“Why were you on the ground?” He forces out firmly, voice a low grunt. “Why were the lights not—”
“The power went out for everyone, okay?” You speak slowly, rubbing your thumbs over his beard. “It was on the news. I didn’t open a window because I knew you would worry about that—the floor was cool and it was getting too hot in here.” 
Your mind tells you to explain quickly and fluently. You move forward and press your forehead into John’s as he sags with a great exhalation of breath—his arms circling you tightly until your spine might crack. 
He doesn’t speak for a long while, just holding you.
“Scared me,” he mutters, missing you deeply on the forehead, speaking into your skin. “Fuck, you scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 
He keeps you to his chest, eyes fluttering shut and his spine hunching over you, fingers splayed over your back. You run your hands through his hair and calm the swelling of your heart.
You can feel his pulse mirroring your own.
Simon Riley ➺
When he sees your hand, he freezes. 
Simon wasn’t a stranger to the lights being off in the home—you opted for lamps and low light more often than not; this wasn’t new. He had only quirked a brow when he came home to the pitch-blackness, off from his recent deployment and eager for a warm bed to fall into. He admits he’d let himself calm down on the car ride home—your home was where he could relax and release tension until it became as unimportant as an ant on the pavement. 
But when he’d closed the door silently behind him and walked the few steps it would take to enter the living room, where he was sure you were still up either reading or watching something on your phone under a blanket, his body had stiffened immediately. 
Your hand sticking out from behind the couch. Limp. 
Lifeless.  
He’d been staring at it for only a few seconds before the memories came back—the ones of gore splattered to the walls and ceiling of an old flat back in Manchester. 
Simon’s thoughts had hit him like a bullet.
Not again.
Rushing forward like a bear, the man slips along the hardwood as his knees go down, shaking the home at the force at which he grabs at your body and flips you from your side to your back. 
You gasp awake and instinctually throw out a fist, connecting with a stone chest as you hiss and blink in panic. 
Fingers ruthlessly dig into your shoulders, wide brown eyes open, and…and afraid. 
“Simon?” You mutter softly, all fear in your heart is squished in an instant. 
The man breathes through wheezes, balaclava fabric moving from the force of his breaths. His fingers are shaking, blinking as his head jerks to look your lying form up and down swiftly. 
You hesitantly put a hand on his cheek and he flinches before nuzzling into it. 
“Don’t…” he takes a quivering breath into his lungs, and after, loosens his grip on your skin. Simon’s hands go to your waist, dragging you up and stapling you to his chest. “Don’t do that again.”
His voice is low. Vulnerable. 
You blink, hands holding him back on the floor. 
“...The power went out,” you try to explain only half of it softly, muffled by his neck. 
He only holds you harder, eyes open and blankly staring at the floor a foot away.
Johnny MacTavish ➺
Johnny hums a song under his breath, hanging his keys on the hook near the door.
“Dearie!” He calls to you loudly, itching at the side of his head and chuckling. “Don’t run too fast to me now, I’m all yours for two w—”
The light switch is moved by his finger, but no light illuminates his path to the living room. Pausing in the entrance, the man’s brows furrow tightly, speech cutting off like scissors to paper. 
“...eeks?” Johnny ends his sentence, turning back around to look at the switch in confusion. “The hell’s going on with that?” He mutters to himself, a frown growing on his face before he refocuses on his mission to find you��now with the added task of figuring out why the power was out in the house. 
“Swear,” the man grumbles, huffing while he runs a hand over his face, “if those kids down the street did something I’ll be livid. Little devils, I swear.” 
Johnny steps farther into the living room, glancing around. 
“Dearie?” He pauses, listening before calling out your name. “Where’s she off to?”
He sighs softly, wanting to hold you now that he’s home to do so—squeeze you in his arms and take in your scent again; he’d missed you immensely while he was away.
Johnny came across your hand sticking out from behind the couch by accident, moving to make his way into your bedroom thinking that you were sleeping. He sees an odd shape in the blackness and pauses, feet slowing to a stop. 
When he notices that it’s a hand—your hand, he doesn’t even realize that he’s completely gripped the side of the couch and wrenched it back until the scratch of the wood floors screams in his ears. 
You wake up to hands on your cheeks, sharp yelling, and your head being shaken up and down until you’re conscious. 
“Dearie, hey! What the fuck,” the last sentence is growled on fast lips. “What the fuck.”
Your hands slap to Johnny’s wrists, nails digging in. 
He breathes out quickly, looking into your eyes to look for dilation as the darkness forces him closer. “There we are, tell me where you’re hurting, now, yeah? Did you hit your head? Let me take a look. It’s okay, I’ll get you all fixed up, there’s no need to worry.”
“Hey!” Your hands push at his, trying to shove the brick wall away from you. “Quit it! Johnny! I’m fine! ”
The man pauses at your animated movements, blinking rapidly before his grip loosens. 
When it’s obvious that you’re perfectly fine, he moves back and groans, thumb and forefinger digging into his nose bridge. 
“Hell’s bells, Hen.” You glare, panting on the floor before you push yourself up. 
“‘Hell’s bells’, me?” Johnny’s head plops to your shoulder. “You just shook me like a fucking rabbit!” 
“Scared the shite out of me, you terror.” The man huffs. “Need to put a heart monitor on you.”
“Piss off,” you sigh, putting a hand to your chest to feel the pace of your pulse and the blood that runs furiously.
Johnny, moments later as he’s still resting on your shoulder, starts…laughing. Low at first, then gaining noise the more it goes unchecked—a deep rumble into chest-jerking amusement. You look down at him, the couch tilted and long scratches over the floor. Pausing, you blink at his shaking shadow before your lungs start quivering. The two of you bend over one another with shared, house-shaking laughter. 
“What the fuck were you doin’ behind the damn couch?” Johnny grabs you close, kissing along your neck as he picks you up, dragging you to your feet. 
“The power went out!” You giggle, chest hurting from the fast gasps of breath as more kisses are spread over your skin. “It was colder down there and I didn’t want to open one of the windows because I knew you’d throw a pouting match about it.”
“Christ, Dearie.” Lips meet your own. “I had half the mind to think you had a heart attack. Nearly gave me one.”
Kyle Garrick ➺
Kyle sighs as he rubs at his jaw, itching the skin and slipping out of his jacket. 
“I’m home, Love!” He says, his voice echoing over the flat. “Want me to start on supper or have you eaten yet?” The man smiles, taking off his cap and putting it on the coat rack, sighing softly. 
It was good to be back. 
Bending down to unlace his boots, he pulls at them until they’re loose enough to slip out of, thumping to their sides on the rug until he reaches out and fixes them. 
“What’s that, then?” He calls into the darkness, not hearing your answer as he quickly checks the time on his phone. “Fuck, it’s late,” Kyle utters to himself. 
Walking into the kitchen, he touches the light switch only to be met with nothing. Pausing, the man’s face pulls in—fingers twitching at his sides as he glances at the window and the moonlight that seeps in to glare along the floor. 
A deep frown takes hold of him, and he looks around once more before backing up.
“...Love?” Kyle wasn’t too concerned—the building wasn’t always the best, and power outages weren’t unheard of. But, damn, if the high of getting off of a deployment didn’t put him in a negative head-space when it came to a change in routine involving you. 
Why weren’t you answering him?
Walking slightly faster into the living room, his hand nearly reaches into his pocket to call your phone if you didn’t end up in any of the rooms—pulse beginning to be infected with a steady injection of adrenaline. 
Brown eyes find your hand behind the couch when they’re about to shift to the open door of your bedroom. A sharp gasp is inhaled instantaneously. 
Kyle races over, grappling to it and pressing his fingers to your neck for a pulse. You softly breathe, none the wiser as you lightly shift and sigh in your sleep; a delicate hum moving out as familiar fingers dig into you. 
It’s through his panic that a thought quickly cuts through the man’s mind. You’d mentioned this before. 
Kyle pauses, just about to loudly wake you. 
‘It gets hot when the power goes out, Kyle, I swear one of these days I’m going to just fall asleep on the floor. At least it’s cool down there.’
Well, the power was out, and, it seemed, you really had fallen asleep on the floor. Now that he thought about it, the flat was running hot—and he also knew that you knew he had gotten nervous of late when you left the windows open at night. 
“Bloody hell,” the man releases a long breath, free hand moving to grip the back of his head. A few seconds later, Kyle chuckles to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. “You are losing it, Mate. Losing it.” 
Without another word, he grips you, and with a grunt, picks you up and takes you to bed, setting you down on the pillows and making sure to leave the sheets off of you so you don’t grow uncomfortable.
A kiss is pressed to your forehead, and you hum in slumber, smiling unconsciously.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Love.” 
He leaves to go make a quick supper of cereal and milk.
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dollishmehrayan · 10 days ago
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BATBOYS HCS ON YOUR PERIOD ── .✦
a/n: so basically this is a request by a anon (here) and anyways I’m gonna try to be very active from now on actually and like try to post 3 times a day too and answer requests too!
Tags: ( batboys x reader)
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DICK GRAYSON ── .✦
The overthinker final boss: Dick keeps a stash of everything you might need pads, tampons, heating pads, chocolate, and tea. He probably Googled “best snacks for periods” and stocked up on all of them.
Mr. Optimism: He tries to cheer you up with jokes or funny stories from his day. If you’re too grumpy, he’ll settle for giving you a massage instead.
Walks it Off with You: If cramps aren’t too bad, he’ll suggest going on a short walk to “get the blood flowing” (pun not intended he swears).
Endless Compliments: “You’re glowing. No, I’m serious. Period or not, you’re stunning.”
JASON TODD ── .✦
Silent Supporter: Jason isn’t the type to fuss over you, but he’ll quietly do everything to make you comfortable like bringing you your favorite snacks, handing you the remote, or lighting a candle in the room.
Cramps Battle Plan: “Heating pad or Tylenol? Pick your weapon.” He’s very no-nonsense about getting rid of your pain.
Comfort Food King: He’ll whip up your favorite comfort meal, and if he doesn’t know how to cook it, he’ll spend hours watching YouTube tutorials to get it right.
Protective Mode Activated: If anyone so much as annoys you while you’re on your period, Jason’s ready to pick a fight. “You’re messing with her today? Leave her the fuck alone.”
TIM DRAKE ── .✦
The Researcher: Tim has read every article about periods and cramp relief. He’s got tips you’ve never even heard of, like drinking tart cherry juice or lying in a specific position to ease the pain.
Sleep Enforcer: “You need rest. I’ll handle everything.” He’ll make sure you get enough sleep, even if it means carrying his laptop into the bedroom to work quietly by your side.
Subtle Humor: When you’re cranky, Tim knows how to make you laugh without crossing the line. “I guess Batman didn’t prepare me for this kind of monthly chaos.”
Midnight Run Specialist: If you casually mention craving something like fries or ice cream, he’s already putting on his shoes to go get it.
DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦
Efficient and Direct: Damian doesn’t dance around the topic. “What do you need? Tell me, and I’ll get it.” He’ll ensure you have everything from snacks to painkillers.
A Little Awkward at First: If it’s his first time dealing with your period, he might be slightly flustered but determined to be helpful. Expect a lot of practical solutions.
Healthy Solutions Advocate: He’ll try to make you herbal teas or suggest yoga stretches that can relieve cramps. “This pose is known to improve blood flow. Try it.”
Protective Little Bean: If anyone upsets you while you’re on your period, Damian will glare at them like they’ve personally offended his family. “Apologize to her. Now.”
BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦
Regular guy: Bruce has handled every kind of crisis imaginable and he does have daughters/ female colleagues and close friends so he isn’t truly like clueless, so this is no different to him. He’ll make sure you’re stocked up on everything and keep the Batkids in check so they don’t annoy you.
Comfort King: He’s surprisingly good at creating a calming environment dim lighting, soothing music, and plenty of blankets. (But please never ask him to decorate for the love of god😭 h/j)
Subtle Affection: Bruce isn’t overly emotional, but he’ll quietly make sure you’re okay, checking in on you with a simple, “Do you need anything?”
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pucksandpower · 1 year ago
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grid kids : y/n having super bad periods like bedridden and seb try’s to tell the boys they can’t visit and they go into full like code red crisis mode
Grid Kids: The Best Medicine
Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers
Summary: the grid kids do everything they can think of to make you feel better
Series Masterlist
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Max enters the room gingerly, holding a steaming mug of herbal tea. “I googled it,” he whispers to Charles, who’s setting up a little essential oil diffuser on the bedside table. “This should help.”
Charles nods, looking at the variety of oils he’s brought. “Lavender for relaxation,” he explains.
From the other side of the room, Lando and George carry in an enormous heating pad. “This helped my sister,” Lando mutters, plugging it in, while George adjusts the settings.
Lance, a bit out of his depth but wanting to contribute, tentatively offers a stack of magazines and books. “For ... distractions?”
Mick, who’s been quietly observing, pulls out a small speaker from his bag. “How about some calming music? Always helps to set a soothing environment.”
While this orchestrated chaos unfolds, you, despite your pain, can’t help but be touched by the outpouring of care and concern. You try to sit up but the discomfort is evident.
“Hey,” Sebastian gently admonishes, propping you up with more pillows, “Let them fuss over you. They want to.”
As evening falls, the room is transformed into a comforting sanctuary. The soft glow from fairy lights, the gentle hum of calming tunes, and the subtle scent of lavender fills the room.
Feeling a bit better from all the care, you whisper, “Thank you, boys. But you don’t have to stick around, you know.”
Lando pulls a funny face, “And miss out on a sleepover? No way.”
One by one, the grid kids, following Lando’s lead, find a comfy spot on your enormous bed, cocooning you protectively in the center. Some snuggled at the foot, some propped against the headboard, and others squished in the middle.
With the soft chirping of crickets outside and the rhythmic breathing of your sons on all sides, you drift into a peaceful sleep, pain momentarily forgotten in favor of burrowing deeper into the love and warmth surrounding you.
***
The morning sun peeks through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. you stir, the pain still present but noticeably diminished. As your eyes flutter open, you’re greeted by the endearing sight of the grid kids sprawled all around you, each in varying poses of sleep.
Sebastian, having given up his spot on the bed last night, is asleep in the armchair, a book resting on his chest. George and Lando, squished up at the foot of the bed, are tangled in a mess of limbs, while Charles seems to have created a makeshift fort for himself with every pillow he could find.
The aroma of breakfast wafts into the room, pulling you from your thoughts. Mick, having woken up earlier, stands in the doorway with a tray. “Morning! Thought you might be hungry,” he says, a smile touching his lips.
“Oh, Mick,” you murmur, touched by the gesture. “You didn’t have to.”
He sets the tray on your lap, revealing a spread of toast with bacon and eggs, fresh fruit, and some yogurt. “We all pitched in. Well, mostly Max and Lance. They seem to think they’re on MasterChef or something.”
Laughter ripples through the room as the others start to wake, each stretching and yawning. Max, rubbing his eyes, adds, “Hey, those scrambled eggs were a work of art!”
Lance chimes in, “Don’t forget about the smoothie. That was my masterpiece.”
George, trying to subtly smooth out his bed head, quirks a brow. “If we’re being all domestic, how about a spa day? Right here, right now.”
Charles, still nestled in his pillow fort, chuckles. “In this room? With all of us? I’m sure that will end well.”
Max’s eyes light up, “I’m in! But only if someone does that cucumber thing on my eyes.”
Mick grins, “You mean a cucumber facial? I’ve got you covered.” He dashes out, only to return moments later with a stash of beauty products. “My sister left these the last time she visited. We’ve got masks, scrubs, the works!”
Amused and touched by the turn of events, you announce, “Alright then, let the spa day commence!”
Sebastian, skeptical but game, adds, “I’ve never had a mani-pedi before.”
Lando winks, “There’s a first time for everything, Seb. Give me your hands.”
As Lando starts on Sebastian while Lance gets to work on making more of his famed smoothies for everyone. Meanwhile, George and Charles, having taken over the facial department, start applying face masks, complete with cucumber slices for the eyes.
An hour later, the room is a delightful mess. Mick and Max have somehow managed to get more face mask on their shirts than on their faces. Lando’s meticulous nail painting skills are in high demand, and George is draped over the foot of the bed, a bright green face mask contrasting comically with his hair.
You, through bouts of laughter, look around at the delightful chaos. “Alright, time for the big question. Do you or do you not feel bonita?”
Lance, his fingers spread out to dry the bright pink nail polish Lando chose, grins. “I feel bonita.”
Charles, attempting to peel off his dried mask, replies with a dramatic flair, “I was born bonita but now? I’m radiant!”
Mick chimes in, “Can’t see through these cucumber slices but I’m pretty sure I’m the most bonita of all.”
The room fills with banter, laughter, and the gentle ribbing that only close friends and family can share. As the day turns into evening, the spa treatments wind down and the room settles into a comfortable quiet.
You, heart full, look around at the makeshift spa and the joy it brought. “Thank you, boys. Today was unexpected but absolutely perfect.”
Sebastian, his nails now adorned with a clear glossy finish, adds, “I think we should make this a tradition. Spa day before every race.”
Max raises his own freshly manicured hand. “All in favor?”
A chorus of “Ayes!” fills the room and so a new tradition was born.
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deadsetobsessions · 11 months ago
Text
Her name is Drake, Tim Drake.
Except, unlike Bond, James Bond, she’s not a badass who saves queens and get the girls at the end. Well, no, she did get the very amazing woman at the end, and she had the ring to prove it. But not right now. No, right now, she’s a tiny little girl in the middle of a mental breakdown as her parents cart her away from the bodies of the flying Graysons and their wailing son.
See, Tim Drake wasn’t supposed be a girl. Tim Drake wasn’t supposed to be Theodora Janet Drake, shortened to Timmy because her air headed jackass of a father forgot her name once.
Tim Drake wasn’t supposed to be a woman shoved into a body that wasn’t hers.
By the time Timmy got out her catatonic state of existential crisis, her parental units (faulty parental units) had already left to a dig site a world away. The nanny they’d hired for the three year old had left the slip of a girl in her room, content to just make edible toddler food and spend the day casually checking in on her. The nanny had no concept of stealth, so at least Timmy could hear her thundering footsteps long before she got to Timmy’s room.
She would have been sad, had she not had a full set of memories of a well adjusted adult. In fact, all she felt was relief.
As weird as being comic book character is, Timmy supposed that she should be glad she wasn’t like the original. The dysphoria was already significant, in this tiny body, so pale and white, unlike her calloused and tanned skin she’d come to love. If she was in Tim Drake’s male body…
No, Timmy knew when to count her blessings.
Not that being beholden to Gotham was much of a blessing. Timmy could tell already that whatever had brought her here was going to make sure she stayed. How did she know?
There’s a gamer’s interface hovering on the right of her vision, blaring [WELCOME TO GOTHAM, PLAYER 1!] in annoyingly large white letters.
Timmy sighed and gave in. She tapped the ‘start’ button and the world greyed to a stop.
[ACHIEVEMENT- SO I’M IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE- MET!]
Underneath it, to Timmy’s tired mind, laid the damning and probably helpful:
[TUTORIAL UNLOCKED!]
Timmy tapped the screen again.
[Welcome to Gotham!] The informational screen started. [By now, you’ve realized that you’ve been reincarnated into the lovely and not at all depressing world of Batman!]
Timmy muttered, “Just Batman? Not DC?” She blinked as the informational screen paused its typing before replying to her.
[Right now, you’ve only got the Gotham mode unlocked. Work hard and you can unlock the rest of the world! Maybe even the universe!]
Huh. An interactive interface. Timmy wonders why she’s so calm about this.
[That will all be explained shortly! Please allow for the tutorial to continue and make sure to save your questions for the end!]
Well, Timmy doesn’t want to be rude. She nodded. Interestingly, the interface picked up on both her thoughts and her movements.
[Welcome to Gotham!] It starts again, and Timmy felt a bit of guilt in making it start over. It’s like getting cold called and the caller is just a tired person trying to make their quota for minimum wage and instead of patiently listening to the spiel, Timmy had interrupted so now they had to restart the rehearsed speech. Oof.
[You’ve been reincarnated into the body of our very own Red Robin, Timothy Drake! How exciting! The powers that be, was, and will be has selected your lucky soul to be a beta tester for their relatively new reincarnation roulette!]
See, none of that sounds particularly… “good” for Timmy. Timmy hums as she settled back on the greyed out floor, eyes fixed onto the screen.
[As such, to be the first player deposited in this universe-]
And oh, doesn’t that have some interesting implications.
[The powers that be have decided to grant you a boon! The Gamer’s Exclusive Ultra Package!]
The interface exploded with holographic confetti.
Timmy thought her wife would have loved this… had she not died months before Timmy did.
[Included is the exclusive Gamer’s Mind and Body passive status! You won’t be as traumatized by traumatizing things! A boon, in the hellscape that is Gotham!]
Timmy’s calling it. Whoever wrote this was a total troll. And had a sense of humor she could appreciate. That explained why she’s so… not freaking out about this entire thing.
[It also includes ten lucky draw tickets, with guaranteed five star skills/abilities per ticket! Wow! It’s almost worth getting killed and isekai’ed!]
Timmy snorted and tapped accept.
[And two revival tickets! These can bring any Schmuck dumb enough to get killed, right back to life, with zero drawbacks! To be used on anyone you wish, post tutorial.]
Timmy tilted her head. Useful. She tapped accept.
[Now, you might wonder: ah, why would the de oh so awesome and all powerful gods make me reincarnate here instead of allowing me to enjoy my afterlife with my beautiful wife?]
Timmy stilled, heart in her throat. That’s right… why?
The screen turned red. Ominously, smoke starts to steam out from the side.
[You’ve got blood on your hands, Timmy. That’s hard to wash away.]
The screen blinked back to its neutral blueish-white color.
[That, and it’s because the Powers that be made an oopsie and messed up this world so bad, we needed a soul from a different universe to replace Tim Drake’s. He kept dying! Which meant Batman kept dying! Which meant the entire universe went to shit! But we can’t just cut it off, it’s a main Universe! But nooo, does anyone listen to the admins? Noooo. Of course not! What does the literal administrator know in the face of an all powerful god-!]
Timmy blinked, sympathy welling for this person. This administrator. That sounded rough.
[Ahem. My apologies.] The admin apologized, somehow conveying sheepishness through a screen. Timmy got a notification.
[ACHIEVEMENT- COMMISERATING WITH A CO-WORKER- MET!]
[1,000 Shop Points Granted. Message: You’ve worked under tyrannical bosses too! Kindred Soul!]
“Yeah, it be like that. I’m sorry you had to clean up their messes.” Timmy said.
[I, too, am sorry you were dragged from your afterlife for it.]
The two overworked employees shared a solemn moment.
[Well, then! This brings us to your goal! Keep Batman from killing himself, and fulfill Timothy Drake’s Destiny!]
“And what is his destiny, exactly?”
[To keep Batman from dying, becoming a crime-fighter, get beat up by Jason Todd, and destroy Ra’s al Ghul’s work with explosions!]
“That’s… really specific. I just have to fulfill those?”
[Yes! Not in any particular order, of course. And in any way you see fit!]
That last part was italicized, like the admin knew what was brewing in Timmy’s brain. They probably did.
[And now, please direct your attention to the screen to the right. ]
Four boxes popped up.
SHOP
LUCKY DRAW
QUESTS
PROFILE
[Underneath “Quest” is all of your current objectives! For now, the Tutorial is selected and can not be put on hold!]
Timmy obligingly tapped “QUEST.”
Main Quest: Get Your Shit Together, Batman!
Main Quest: Jason Todd and His “E is rated for Everyone” Hands!
Main Quest: No Crime Under My Watch!
Main Quest: Play Bomberman With A Bunch Of Ninja Assassins Led By A Borderline Immortal Cult Leader!
Main Quest: Tutorial!
Side Quest: Level Up!
Side Quest: Learn a Skill!
Side Quest: Nanny Bye-Bye!
And so on, and so on.
“Woah. Nanny Nye-Bye?” Timmy tapped, clicking away at the reminder that Tutorial could not be paused.
[Side Quest: Nanny Bye-Bye.]
[Your nanny has been embezzling the allowance your parents gave her to feed you! Since your bourgeoisie parents have no sense of how much things should actually cost to eat, you’re stuck eating boxed food and unhealthy things while your nanny goes out for hotpot every other week! The injustice! Get her fired before the month ends!]
[Rewards: 1000 EXP. An approving nod from the scary Draconic Janet Drake. $800 per month.]
[Failure: -2 (permanent) to Health. Your status will be [Malnourished] until 17 years old. A disproving glance from the scary Draconic Janet Drake.]
“What the ****?”
[Language filters are unlocked at level five.]
Timmy grumbled.
“What if I need to curse to complete my missions?” She asked.
[Then Player One needs to buy herself a sense of creativity.]
Timmy scowled but moved on. She perused the shop, window shopping as one might say, while asking the Admin some more questions.
“Does the Keep Batman Alive quest have a time limit?”
[Until Damian Wayne has had at least four years of being Robin.]
Timmy nodded, brain whirring with plans.
“Hey, admin?”
[Yes, Player One?]
“If I’m player one, does that mean there will be other players?”
[Yes, Player One. There will be more! But unlike you, their abilities will be based on your feedback of the reincarnation system. Not to mention, they will not be reborn as a predetermined Main Character like yourself. This is because your existence was a result of a cosmic oopsie that had better never happen again or I’m going to rip their star-riddled hides from their cosmic bodies. Does that answer your question, Player One?]
Timmy leaned away from the screen. Intimidating.
“Yep. Thanks.”
[Anytime. Would you like to play the Lucky Draw?]
“Yes, please.”
The Luck Draw Menu was pulled up again. Timmy looked at the amount of tickets she had and shrugged. She tapped the “DRAW ONE” option.
The gacha machine spun and spun until:
[DING! DING! DING! Congratulations! You got a five star skill! Eloquence Beyond Measure!]
Timmy checked it out.
Eloquence Beyond Measure!
[As expected of a true Bristol elite (and not one of those snotty snobs of children running afoot with their parent’s money), you’ve gained the ability to spit fire and ice out of your mouth! What you want to say will always come out of your in a way that benefits you most! Diplomats kneel to your eloquence! Socialites dare not provoke you in fear of your barbed words! You’ll never sound like you don’t know what you’re doing ever again!]
Huh. Timmy grinned.
“Thanks, Administrator. Is the tutorial done? I just had an idea about that Nanny Side-Quest.”
[The last task is to check your profile, Player One.]
“Thanks. You can call me Timmy, you know? We’re in this together now.” Timmy grimaced. She just wanted to rest. Chances are, so did Admin.
[Timmy, then.]
Timmy tapped PROFILE.
Theodora “Timmy” Janet Drake
Level 1 (EXP to Next Level: 500)
Status: Healthy. Alive. Uninjured.
SKILLS: Eloquence Beyond Measure
[STATS]
Timmy sighed and exited out of the window to finish the tutorial. She could peruse the stats later. She’s kind of hungry.
[Now that you’ve finished the basics, the powers that be encourages you to try your best to live out this life and fulfill your destiny! The Prize at the completion of Tim Drake’s destiny will be a reunion! With your beloved wife! Work hard, and she’ll be placed on this earth once more!]
Timmy sat up, throat burning. She could see her wife again? To tell her how she missed her and how much she loved her?
Timmy’s heart burned once more since the death of her wife.
Determination filled her now small body. She’ll wrangle the Bats to therapy kicking and screaming if that’s what it took to meet her beloved wife again.
[CONGRATULATIONS! YOU’VE FINISHED THE TUTORIAL! LEVEL UP! (1000 EXP TO LEVEL THREE)]
[REWARD: A PHONE! 100 SHOP POINTS!]
Timmy dialed the first contact she saw in the phone.
“Hello, this is Theodora Drake. Might I speak to my mother?” Her three year old voice smoothed out, suddenly eloquent and powerful in a way it simply wasn’t before. Eloquence Beyond Measure was proving useful already.
“Yes, of- of course, Miss Drake. Please hold.”
She waited.
“Theodora. What is it, daughter? You know better than to interrupt our digs.”
“Mother, it has come to my attention that my nanny is embezzling money from you. I have been eating boxed mac n’ cheese and only that for the past three days. They cost four dollars each. I would hate for my growth to be stunted.”
Two days later, Janet Drake and Jack Drake stormed into the mansion and threw out the nanny. Janet gives her an approving nod at her sudden eloquence (wow, these people had no idea what children were supposed to be like) and gave her a credit card to use freely.
Rich people. Honestly.
Timmy’s sly gaze was highlighted by the invisible glow of the congratulations banner.
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floralpascal · 1 year ago
Text
Taking Care of You
Summary: You've been stressed out and working like crazy lately. John finally has enough and devises a plan to take care of you and make you forget all about your work.
Pairing: John Price x f!reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 2.9k
Rating: Explicit (18+ only, minors do not interact)
Warnings: stressed reader, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), orgasm denial, praise
A/N: This one goes out to all my stressed and busy babes out there! This is 100% self indulgent since I've been working day and night recently. We all need us some Price to take that stress away
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You knew that you had been distant for a while. Work had been piling up on you, responsibilities pressing in from all sides. It seemed like all you did was work, work, work these days. 
Your husband, John Price, was as supportive as he always was. He, of all people, understood that sometimes you just had to put your head down and get work done. When he was home with you, he always made sure that you ate and stayed hydrated. He limited your caffeine intake. He made sure you took breaks. In all, he was the most supportive, understanding man on the planet. 
…which was why his reaction now was so surprising. 
You saw him approach the makeshift office that you had set up at your kitchen table from over your laptop screen. In a soft, even voice he ordered, “Close the computer, love.”
Continuing to type, you spared him a questioning glance as you shook your head. “I just took a break like… an hour ago.”
“Three,” he corrected. “It’s almost eleven at night.”
You whipped your head up to look at the clock that hung on the wall behind him. Sure enough, he was right. Dread spread through you, your brain already kicking into crisis mode. “Shit. God, I’ve got to get this done.”
“It’ll be there tomorrow,” he countered. “You’ve been workin’ like mad all weekend long. I’m not gonna let you run yourself into the ground. So. Shut. The. Laptop.”
He stressed each word, and suddenly you felt what it must’ve been like to have John as a Captain, calm but commanding. Your eyes met his, your mouth open to fight him on the matter, but you found him ready for it, a testing eyebrow raised. It was rare that he would ever tell you what to do, but it always came when he was worried about you and trying to take care of you. Any time you had gotten a significant injury, he had made sure that you stuck to every word of the doctor’s orders. 
You huffed and leaned back, already sensing defeat. Instead, you tried to plead with him, “John, I won’t be able to sleep unless I get this done. I’ll just keep thinking about it.”
He put one hand on the table, leaned toward you, and pushed the laptop closed with the other hand. With his face barely a breath from yours and his eyes darkening, he rumbled, “I can fix that.”
Your body reacted to his sultry insinuation immediately, your heart rate jumping in an instant. You couldn’t help but drop your gaze to his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “And how’s that?”
“I’ll make it so that you can barely even think anymore. I’ll wear you out so much you’ll fall asleep without even a thought about this,” he said, tapping the closed lid of your laptop. 
At times like this, you hated how easy it was for him to get you riled up. He knew exactly how to play you, exactly how to make his gravelly voice even more enticing, exactly what to say to get you squirming in your seat for him like you were now. 
You pressed your lips together, thinking for a moment. You couldn’t pretend that you didn’t want this. You were so tired of all the work and John knew exactly how to play you. But if he was going to have some fun, then so were you. With a provocative flit to your voice, you challenged, “Then prove it, Captain.”
For a moment, all he did was let a sultry smile pull at his lips. Then he was on you, his hands guiding you up from your chair and his lips finding yours. It was all fire and passion, but yet not too rushed. No, John never rushed this early. He loved to work you up slowly and leave you begging for him to just touch you already. He followed that playbook now, walking you backwards to press you up against the wall, his hand guarding your head from hitting it. 
As he tilted your head to give his lips access to your neck, he rasped against your burning skin, “Never too stressed to tease me, are you?”
Your breath hitched as he found the sensitive part of your neck, your hands clawing at his back and tangling in his short hair. After a moment, he moved back up to kiss you, his tongue dancing with yours for a long while. 
Eventually, his hands on your hips guided you to walk with him towards your shared bedroom. You took turns pulling at the other’s clothes, leaving a trail haphazardly in your wake. By the time you both passed through the doorway, John was only in his boxers and you in your plain black bra and panties. As he laid you back onto the bed, he eyed you as hungrily as he did when you wore lingerie for him. 
“D’ya know how fuckin’ sexy you are, love?” His hands pressed against your stomach before roaming up, up, up as slowly as possible. Your eyes fluttered shut as he ghosted his hands over your bra, arching shamelessly into his touch. Still drinking the sight of you in, he rasped, “Gotta take care of you. Gotta make sure I get rid of all that stress, all those worries.”
“John…” you whined, already needy and falling for his plan. One side of his mustache raised in a smile, clearly understanding that he already had you right how he wanted you. “Just touch me, please.”
John chuckled, giving your breasts a quick squeeze before placing a kiss just over your heart. “I am touchin’ you, baby.”
“Fuck, John, you know what I mean.”
He pressed the faintest of kisses up your chest and to your neck. Against the skin of your neck, he teased, “Maybe I don’t. Tell me. Use your words, love.”
Despite his insistence, he gave you no time to answer. Instead, his lips found the sensitive column of your neck, the touch no longer feather-light like it had been before. Now, he kissed and nipped with a passion that had you gasping beneath him. 
“Hhm? I didn’t catch that. Gotta speak up,” he mumbled next to your ear, the heavy timber of it sending shivers down your spine. But you could feel the curve of his lips against your soft skin, his beard prickling you as he did. 
“Don’t be a tease,” you grumbled halfheartedly. Even now, though, you couldn’t resist him. Giving in, you begged, “God, just fuck me, John.”
He made a sound of appreciation, deep and reverberating, the kind you could feel in your own chest. Leaning up over you, his icy blue eyes came to meet yours. “Now, was that really that hard?”
You rolled your eyes, suppressing your own smile as you grabbed his neck and leaned up to give him a bruising kiss. Returning the heat immediately, he dropped the act for a moment. Lips moving in tandem with yours, urgency lacing every movement, you felt him get lost in it. Surely enough, as he adjusted over top of you, you felt his hard-on graze your lower stomach. You chased him, hooking a leg over his hip to roll your hips against him. He groaned into your mouth, eyes squeezed shut. 
“So impatient today,” John chided. He pulled away and sat up, his hands coming to unhook and discard your bra on the floor. As he went to do the same with your underwear, you breathed a sigh of relief thinking that the torture of his teasing was finally over. 
Settling between your thighs, a man in heaven, he brought his mouth close to where you needed him. However, at the last second, his breath dusting your sensitive skin, he turned and brought his lips to the inside of your thigh instead. He still couldn’t hide his smile when you groaned in frustration. 
You were in for a hell of a ride. When he got in a teasing mood like this, there was no stopping him. 
Beard and mustache picking deliciously against you, he kissed up one thigh. Then, when he almost reached your center again, your breath hitching, he switched to the other thigh. There were some days when he did this that it felt like heaven — days when you were already losing yourself to the feel of him before he even got going. While you tried to conjure up that more present, more patient version of yourself, it didn’t seem possible now. You needed him so badly it ached. 
When your fingers found their way into his hair and gave him a light tug in the direction you needed him, he finally let you have your way. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, a small chuckle shaking the broad plane of his back. As he lowered his head, his hooded eyes meeting yours, he purred, “If tha’s really what you want, love. Have it your way.”
With that, he finally brought his tongue to you. Ever so slowly, he licked into you, drawing a gasp from your chest. Sliding his hands up from your hips to hold the sides of your stomach, his tongue made a twin journey up to your clit. He flicked his tongue a few times, slowly testing you.
Though it was all too slow for your liking, he steadily built up the pace. The scrape of his beard. The flick of his tongue. The reverb of his moan as you tugged on his strands. It was a delicious cycle, speeding up each time through. 
You let your head tip back into the pillow as you finally felt that tension in your stomach — a coil winding tighter and tighter. Your breath was ragged now, your legs already bracing around John’s head. 
“Yes,” you panted, eyes squeezed shut. “Just like that. I’m so- I’m so clo-”
Right as you were about to crest that hill, John pulled away all at once. Your orgasm dissipated like a wave against the beach — there one moment and gone the next. 
You whipped your head up to look at him, disbelief and righteous fury in your eyes. You were met only with a hungry, conniving smirk from the infuriatingly sexy man between your thighs. In this moment, even with his beard and the signs of age on his face, he didn’t seem a day older than the first time you had seen this smirk. The John Price that smirked in triumph at you now was the same as the John Price who had done it for the first time nearly a decade earlier. Had you not just had euphoria ripped away from you, you probably would’ve been more sentimental about this revelation. 
“Jonathan Price, I swear to god-”
You were cut off by another one of his chuckles. He licked his lips slowly, making sure you watched as he tasted you. “Still too stressed, love. Don’t think you’re ready yet.”
“You teasing asshole,” you huffed, but the edge was lost to it. 
It only made him smirk even more. “Fine,” he acquiesced, leaning back down. “Let’s try this again.”
At the same time that his mouth found your clit again, one of his hands traveled down to slip a finger into your dripping entrance. A small moan escaped you at the new sensation. As he started to build you back up again, his mouth and finger moving in tandem, you couldn’t help but forget his past transgressions. All that mattered now was the buildup leading to the big drop, the wonder that John could work between your thighs. 
Suddenly, he slipped a second finger into you, drawing a surprised whine from your lips. “Ohh… oh, fuck…”
He groaned in approval, the vibrations of his mouth against you only upping the unbearable pleasure. 
You were there again, so close to the edge that you could practically see it. Your body tensed in anticipation of the drop like a rollercoaster. It was just-
John pulled away again, shattering the buildup to your orgasm for the second time.
You let out a pained hybrid of a groan and a whine. Now, rather than annoyance coursing its way through you, all you had was desperation. “Fuck! John, please!”
“Hmmm, there we go,” he mused. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”
“Please let me come, baby,” you pleaded. “I need it so bad.”
Pushing himself up, your heart sunk at the thought that he might keep teasing you and leave you hanging. Though he was never, ever one to leave you wanting, you were too far out of it to think straight anymore. All you knew was that you needed him and he was holding that just out of reach. 
Instead, he climbed up to lean over you. With a gentle hand, he cradled your jaw, making you look at him. Your slick glistened on his chin and beard. His pupils were blown wide, the icy blue of them nearly lost to it. With how much self control he had, his eyes and the tent in his boxers were the only indications that he was as affected by this as you were. 
“D’ya think you’re ready for me, beautiful? Think you can take me?”
You nodded immediately, still breathless. “Need you so bad, baby. Please. I can take it.”
He searched your eyes for a moment before nodding. “That’s my girl.”
Finally, he stripped off his boxers, revealing his red, leaking cock. You couldn’t stop the small whine you made at the sight, your need for him overriding any coherent thought.
John pushed into you in one swift stroke, drawing your nails to scrape across his back. The stretch was delicious, tearing you apart and soothing the insatiable ache in your core at the same time.
“Feel so fuckin’ perfect. So fuckin’ perfect for me,” he praised. If the feeling of him seated inside you wasn’t already enough to set you ablaze, his praise was. It always was. 
His arms came to rest by either side of your head as he leaned down and stole a heated kiss from your lips. Then, he drew himself slowly out of you before sharply driving back into you again. Your body shook with the force of it, forcing you to break from his lips as you let out the most lewd moan of the night. 
But, of course, that was just the beginning. John continued like that, fucking you harder with every quick snap of his hips until the only sound in your bedroom was the slap of skin on skin and both of your grunts and moans of pleasure.
“This what you needed, baby?” John asked, voice gravelly and breathy. “You needed to get fucked this good?”
Your voice caught in your throat, a strangled sound coming out in place of an affirmation.
He sped up his pace, his cock hitting so deep within you that you had to squeeze your eyes shut. He groaned, “My good girl. Always workin’ so bloody hard. You deserve this — deserve to just let me take care of you.”
Your pussy clenched around him at his praise, drawing groans from you both. You clawed at his back, searching for some sort of tether in the tidal wave of pleasure you were trapped in now. For the third time tonight, you could see the salvation of your orgasm on the horizon. Having been denied it so many times, its immensity and force was almost alarming. 
Though you were too lost in John to think clearly, you were able to gasp out one plea. “Don’t stop! Baby, don’t- don’t stop!”
Rhythm growing sloppy, John assured, “Not gonna stop this time. Been so fuckin’ good for me. Come for me, love.”
That’s all it took to have you falling apart on his cock, the tension in your stomach snapping in an overwhelming flood of euphoria. Breath catching in your chest as you rode out the high, John continued to fuck you through it, murmuring deep praises all the while. 
Just as you were coming back down to earth, your body finally feeling like it was yours again, John was nearing his high. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He groaned, head lowered by your ear. With a few more sloppy thrusts, he was burying himself to the hilt in you, his warm cum coating your walls. You gasped at the feeling as he ground his hips into yours a little.
Still propped on his arms, he sagged down over you, his breath ragged like yours. You dragged a hand up from his shoulder blade and into his hair, letting your fingers card through the soft strands as John came back to you and pulled out. Then, he lifted up enough to meet your gaze again. He took you in for a moment before leaning down and giving you one last heated kiss. 
The two of you clearly spent, he leaned his forehead against yours after he broke away. He brought a large, calloused hand to brush against your cheek. 
“You’re so bloody gorgeous,” he mused. “I love you.”
You smiled, leaning into his touch. “I love you.”
“Feelin’ better?”
“So much better,” you answered. The stress and pressure you had felt for days was gone now, replaced only with the feeling of John. For the first time in a long time, you truly felt relaxed. 
“I told you I could fix it,” he said triumphantly, wiggling an eyebrow at you.
After taking a moment to clean you both up, John crawled back into bed and shifted to spoon you from behind. With his strong arm over your stomach and your legs intertwined, you let him envelop you. As sleep slowly pulled you under, the only thought on your mind was him.
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saphronethaleph · 6 months ago
Text
Counting Noses
“This is an interesting document,” Palpatine said, looking up from it at Senator Amidala. “But you must understand… at this critical time in the war, to change the means by which it is being waged would be a terrible mistake.”
“I must understand no such thing, Chancellor,” Padme replied. “The argument for your emergency powers was that they were necessary to cut through the gridlock of Senatorial factions. No such gridlock now exists. The Grand Army of the Republic exists and has been winning victories. The powers you have are emergency powers, and it is no longer an emergency.”
Palpatine gave her an odd look. “I was kidnapped yesterday, Senator.”
“We are quite aware,” Bail Organa agreed. “However, a move like that is…”
“Similar to what I did, during the Naboo crisis,” Padme said. “A desperation move – and one that failed. The Confederation would not have launched an attack of that nature if they were confident in bringing about a successful conclusion to the war.”
She clasped her hands. “Chancellor – this is a request, out of friendship, that you give back your emergency powers before it becomes necessary to force the issue.”
“Are you threatening me?” Palpatine asked. “Senator, I realize that your past may have given you an exaggerated view of how easy it is to replace a Chancellor, but this is a time of crisis.”
“I think our views on the crisis are different to yours, Chancellor,” Mon Mothma stated.
“Chancellor, you don’t appear to remember one of the core principles of the Republic,” Sweitt Concorkill added. “That principle is democracy. You have been taking all kinds of actions based on a single vote from the start of the war, and you are refusing the clearly expressed will of the Senate.”
“What?” Palpatine snapped. “I am doing no such thing! You don’t speak for the Senate!”
“Read the title of the document,” Padme said. “None of us would have come here to make empty threats, Chancellor. We represent two thousand Senators who are of like minds on this matter.”
“That’s eighty percent of the Senate,” Mon Mothma provided, helpfully. “Indeed, this is the most unified that the Senate has ever been on anything.”
Palpatine scowled.
“I disagree with your assessment,” he said, shortly. “And you will not use weight of numbers to bully me into doing the wrong thing.”
“Isn’t that literally the definition of democracy?” Meena Tills asked, quietly.
“Well, that could have gone better,” Bail muttered, as they left the Supreme Chancellor’s office.
“I know,” Padme replied, already on her comlink. “Hey, Ani! Just to tell you, we met with the Chancellor…”
There was a pause, during which Bail Organa leaned in to Mon Mothma.
“You know it’s not quite eighty percent?” he asked. “Thirty-six columns, seventy-two rows, it’s actually seventy-seven percent. Seventy-three if you account for junior reps.”
“I was accounting for the Senators and Representatives who’ve left their positions during the war,” Mon replied. “It’s actually eighty point five if you do that. Does Padme really think she’s being subtle?”
“All I know indicates that she’s the subtle one of their relationship,” Bail shrugged. “Maybe she should have had some body doubles pretend to be in a relationship instead.”
Padme shook her head. “...yeah, he refused because he didn’t believe he should give up the powers, like the war might still go the wrong way,” she said. “Like you guys would just stop fighting if he lost emergency powers! It’s weird… yeah, I’ll probably have to no-confidence him… I know, I know, but it’s the principle of the thing, he could get voted back in again but that would reset the emergency powers and that’s what actually matters… love you too!”
She turned the comlink off. “I intend to call a vote of no confidence in the next session tomorrow morning.”
“Wow,” Chi said, blinking. “Padme, do… do you understand that people can overhear com calls?”
“No, I’m not using speaker mode,” Padme replied, with a shrug.
“Just let it go,” Bail advised the Pantoran senator.
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pansy-picnics · 8 months ago
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A vat7k related question.
What do you think is Hugo's gender identity? Cus I want to hear what you think Hugo's gender is and the story behind it.
EHEHEHE personally i think she’s genderfluid and uses he/she/they pronouns…….I think he was kind of an uncracked egg up until the trials though. like, he’s been in survival mode for so long that he’s never had the time or luxury to really think about himself or his identity….i think he’s had a lot of different disguises over his career though, and those personas are either male or female depending on what the situation calls for so he’s not a stranger to dressing femininely either.
but yeah…i think for a long time hugo just identified as male by default cuz like…what else would he be LOL. if he had any doubts at all they weren’t significantly hindering him or anything so he just buried them with all the other of the emotions he doesn’t want to feel. but like the closet is made of GLASS and this becomes especially obvious when she teams up with 3 other teenagers who are also transgender so sometimes she’ll just Say Shit and they all turn around and look at her like “…….🤨”
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i have this very vivid scene in my head where varian comes out to the gang as trans and hes clearly really uneasy abt it. and hugo doesn’t know what to say so he just tries to relate by saying the first thing that comes to mind and goes “oh yeah i get it i mean. sometimes i wish i was a girl but like not all the time yk” and nuru and varian both just stop and stare at him
hugo, getting nervous: …Sorry that’s probably not the same thing forget i said anything
nuru: No i think we should talk about this?
anyways yeah….other than her traveling party giving her some weird looks nothing actually really came of these conversations bc hugo would refuse to think about herself even if you put a gun to her head
fast forward to post-trials though, and hugo’s been living in the castle with varian for about six months…it was REALLY messy for both of them while she was adjusting, but at this point shes finally started to let her guard down a little, and all of a sudden she has SO much free time and she has no idea what to do with any of it. she’s stealing collecting things, tinkering with all kinds of useless little gadgets, rapunzel is teaching her tons of little arts and crafts projects. overall shes pretty content despite everything. So anyways then the gender crisis hits them like a fucking freight train
honestly i’m like half joking when i say i think it started bc they just kept forgetting to cut their hair. like one day they looked in the mirror and they’re like “wow my hairs getting so long i kinda look like a girl lol. Wait”
AND AS FUNNY AS IT IS ITS SO. WILDLY UNFAMILIAR TO THEM. like all of a sudden theyre SO insecure for as far as they can tell, NO reason and it drives them CRAZY. i dont even think that hugo dislikes their masculine features after coming out, i think they embrace them if anything but its just like…going from 0 to 100 so fast and suddenly being so hyper aware of themselves in a way that they NEVER were before…having to realize that they’re definitely Not cis. it’s fucking TERRIFYING!!!
not to mention it hits him all at once during a time when he’s still frankly really paranoid about him and varian’s relationship, and he’s kinda walking on eggshells bc deep down he’s convinced that var’s just gonna get tired of him eventually and kick him out. its like he’s just waiting for the final nail in the coffin despite the fact that there is literally no coffin.
All that being said i think it takes him a while to work up the courage to talk to varian about it. and he knows he won’t like. hate him for being trans or anything (I sure hope he wouldn’t, at least, seeing as he is literally also trans) but varian’s already done SO much for him and helped him through literally everything already….he doesn’t want to burden him any more than he already has. he also cant comprehend that someone can just Like him, like, as a person, so he’s convinced himself that varian must see something specific in him right now and he’s afraid that if he changes himself drastically in any way then whatever varian saw in him just. won’t be there anymore. If that makes sense
as for who he actually goes to first- honestly i think it’d have to be lance. at least in my head lance was the first person hugo really started to bond with aside from varian….he didn’t start letting his guard down with rapunzel until quite a while after that. also i think he’s worried that if he tells rapunzel she’d end up accidentally spilling something to varian (which is like. Valid bc she’s a horrible liar) he’d definitely write a letter to nuru, too, but nuru is also in another kingdom, and that message takes a while to get to her, so it’s more something they talk about after the fact
when he finally does get a letter back after dumping this revelation on her it’s just like
“dearest hugo. upon reading your letter i desperately wanted to tell you that i told you so, but i realize that would be in poor taste, seeing as you are clearly struggling right now. Moreover,-“ /j
regardless of who she tells first, they obviously all support her and encourage her to talk to varian as well…And ofc varian hypes her up to no end when she finally does. i wanna say it’s a sweet emotional scene but i feel like varian was also under the assumption that she figured out the gender thing like a year ago /j
hugo: ,,,,so like. i don’t think i’m a guy
varian: . yeah?
hugo:
hugo: TFYM “YEAH”?????!!!!???
varian: D. DID WE NOT ALREADY KNOW THIS?
hugo: ,???? NO???!!???!
jokes aside though as soon as hugo does decide he wants to explore his presentation more varian immediately consults rapunzel who gets WAY too excited about it and it kind of scares hugo a little bit. /j like Do you want to cut your hair? Dye it? Do you want new piercings? TATTOOS????
they eventually just settle on getting her a few new pieces to add to her wardrobe and that works out fine. varian sees his girlfriend in a dress and loses his mind etc etc. All is right in the world
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strangelittlestories · 1 month ago
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My teammates tell me I’m gonna to croak on the job.
They don’t mean soon. They’re not, y’know, assholes about it. They don’t mean I’mma get myself ended because I’m not good enough. They don’t even mean I’ll bite off more than I can chew. I can chew a lot, metaphorically speaking.
(And, like, sure I’ve snuffed it once or twice in the course of a mission - but it never *sticks*. And, sure, my team would probs suggest I add ‘so far’ to that sentence. But ‘hell never sticks … so far’ is grammatically weird, I think, so I reckon I’m morally in the right.)
What they mean is: I’ll never let myself leave the job, so of course I’ll lose myself to it.
Which. Y’know. Fair.
A lot of folks in the profession have this issue, of course. When you’re in the world-saving game, it can be tough to justify quitting and letting someone else take a turn.
I call it the Heroic Paradox. The ‘Heradox’, if you will.
Paradox part 1: an apocalypse demands a ‘hero’ or ‘heroes’. If it does not find one, a hero must be created. This is rough for the hero, ‘cos they’re a normie with a normal life and the process of going hero mode will take that life away from them.
(I’m actually not a huge fan of the term ‘hero’, but ‘designated end-of-days preventer’ is lengthy.)
Paradox part 2: if an apocalypse begins and the hero(es) already exists, then job’s a good’un, just crack on with business and de-apoc the lypse.
Paradox part 3: if the hero(es) are a few apocalypses deep and now pondering retirement on a nice little island/farm/wizard tower/public office, you hit that awkward moment where a hero is called for, but not yet present. Best case scenario: some poor schmuck gets their life ruined by ‘destiny’.
Worst case? The hero refuses the call or gets snuffed out early or *there just isn’t anyone appropriate* and that situation really puts the ‘scat’ in ‘eschatology’.
So … yeah, I don’t see myself retiring.
But if I’m honest - if I peer really intensely at the squirming pile of neuroses that lurk beneath the justifications - I was this way *before* the stakes got this high. I’ve always been a ‘crisis mode’ kinda jerk.
Lurching from mission to disaster to disastrous mission has always been where I feel most *myself*.
Now you (or my team) might say: that’s no way to live. Everyone needs downtime. Rest. Enrichment.
It’s been the downfall of many a hero that they hit crisis mode so hard, they don’t bother going to *therapy*.
My answer to this is simple: if you treat self-care and self-maintenance as being *really fricking urgent*, you can roll that work into your *existing* crisis pattern.
This is actually pretty sustainable. Because first: that stuff *is* urgent and you’re a bilge-organist if you don’t realise it. And second: the best kind of therapy is always the one you’ll *actually do*.
So yeah: I’ll pass away on the job. Because even the soft fuzzy nonsense I do … it’s all for the job.
And you know what? If it means I’ll exit this world knowing who I am? I’m okay with that.
---
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bestworstcase · 9 months ago
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Fingers crossed on the 'Yang's dad reconsiders about her' thing, mainly 'cuz it seems like an effortless failure mode for their particular dynamic (and one she's super likely to keep internalizing) would be 'huh, guess you're finally using the ol' noggin for more than headbutts, proud of ya sport'. And that's IF both parties aren't too swept up (or unalived in Taiyang's case) by Events for such fine-tuned cognitive script-flipping. Plus, 'we all pedestalized Ruby into a breakdown' does strike me as a higher-priority family crisis if there is any breathing room.
i’m not sure how much i buy the reading that yang internalizes what tai tells her about herself, in all honesty, ’cause like
everything tai says is a generalization from her vytal tournament fights, which:
team rwby won on the strength of their superior tactics and teamwork
yang fired burn because those two were being assholes after her teammate got (possibly, as far as yang knew) seriously injured, then used the power her semblance gave her to take control of the battlefield and turn her opponents’ advantages against them; she wins by applying her strength very tactically.
yang and mercury are very evenly matched, the whole fight is a nail-biter, and yang uses burn to tank mercury’s big finisher, then wins because he assumes he’s won before the match is called. (<- which is merc’s plan, but tai didn’t know that when he formed these impressions.)
tai’s takeaway is:
burn is “basically a temper tantrum”
yang relies on it because she’s “predictable, and stubborn, and maybe a little bone-headed”
yang uses her semblance to make herself strong so she can brute force her way through problems.
except that doesn’t line up with what yang does in either of the fights where she uses her semblance! in the 2v2, she’s angry and she uses that anger to juice her semblance, but she’s not lashing out or blowing things up at random, she’s disrupting the terrain so her roller-blading opponent can’t maneuver; in the 1v1, her use of burn is defensive—she activates it to strengthen herself enough to outlast a volley she couldn’t dodge or otherwise avoid, and she stays focused.
yang, of course, knows this. she’s the one who was in her head when she made the decision to fire her semblance in those fights. she pushes back on the idea that burn is any different from any other semblance, but she’s also able to filter out tai’s specific bias against her semblance to extract some actually good advice, specifically “make sure you’re not getting yourself stuck in a rut, think outside the box.”
which is what we see her doing with burn after v4; she uses her semblance more, in more varied ways. she completely ignores the advice tai gave her to stop “relying” on her semblance because she knows she hasn’t ever been someone who thinks raw strength is the only thing that matters in a fight.
and then when adam taunts her, he doesn’t make jabs about her strength—he says “do you think you’re faster than you were at beacon?”—because he knows, and yang knows, that the reason yang lost her arm is she underestimated how fast he could strike. strength had fuck all to do with it; he hit her before she could reach him.
the thing about that is… sword. fists. adam will always be able to hit yang before yang gets close enough to hit him back, not because he’s a better fighter or faster or stronger but simply because his weapon gives him way more reach. yang is faster than she was at beacon, but is she fast enough to eliminate his mechanical advantage?
adam doesn’t think so. yang doesn’t either. so she doesn’t try—she stands her ground and lets adam come at HER, because she’s been feeling out his semblance the whole fight and she’s confident she can catch his blade. this is why she tells him she’s “smarter;” adam expects a repeat of their last confrontation whereas yang uses what she knows about him to trick him into overextending.
his advantage is superior range, which yang isn’t fast enough to overcome. (sword. fists.) her advantage is strength. being smart, in this case, means using her strength instead of letting adam sting her into a contest of speed she knows she can’t win.
yang is a very agile, precise fighter who’s smart enough to know when to plant her feet and use her strength. she took a risk that she could catch that sword, but 1. that was really her best option, and 2. she spent the whole fight prior testing his limits and her own to prepare herself as much as possible. and in reverse, there have been times—like at haven—where yang decided speed was the most important thing and took the risk of literally disarming herself to get down to the vault as fast as possible.
did she really internalize that she’s a dum-dum who tries to hulk smash her way through every problem, or did she go “well i’m not going to stop using my semblance because that’s bullshit, but maybe i can get more out of it than i have been,” cue experimenting with things like different intensities.
i do think—if there’s a moment of reevaluation from tai—it’ll probably incited by blake or yang or ruby? because, returning to the salem comparison: salem understands who cinder is but doesn’t know what cinder really wants, so when cinder defies her she is able to immediately grasp why. whereas tai generally knows what yang wants (protect her sister, find her mother) but doesn’t understand who she is, so when he tries to explain why she does something he’s likely to be wrong every time. “you’ve fought your whole life unwaveringly for what you want, and here i am holding you back” vs “your semblance is a temper tantrum and you’re a little boneheaded”—salem gets cinder whereas tai probably needs to be told he doesn’t get yang.
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slaaverin · 4 months ago
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Morning! Watching Jimin embrace and feel safe/protected/confident to live his truth over the past couple of years; but now seeing his military pics that come from other Soldiers, and his sad (subjective) face, do you think it will take long for him to decompress in June and find his light again? I wonder if this serving time doesn’t take a piece of their souls. SJ seems to be fine from outward appearances, but we may never know internal turmoil. Also (and sheesh this is a huge non sequitur, but I’m here, in the asking place LOL), in the Suchwita episodes, the members expressed how they couldn’t wait to be together in 2025, except RM. He was a bit vague and non-commital. Did you interpret it that way? Thoughts Thanks.
Hey anon,
Thank you for sharing your thoughts.
I think it's true that Jimin's face in the pic could be interpreted as sad, but not necessarily. We know Jimin has always been very responsible so he could be "in military mode" and decided to make a more serious face, it doesn't mean he feels sad.
But anyone would feel uncomfortable with constraints such as military. I don't think - any of the members - are really having a good time either.
I think Jimin like everything he does will do his maximum to fulfill his duties. But yeah it doesn't mean he must happy about it lol
The positive thing is that he is now with Jungkook, his anchor, so while he may not be having the time of his life he still has support with him that in my opinion will help him keep his sanity.
I think unlike Jin both Jimin&Jungkook will disappear for a while when they are discharged. Idk how long, but a while.
They need to get back to their lives, to their selves as they want to show it to the world, also to their relationship. It will be a lot.
But I think they both will bounce back, after some time-off when they return.
I can even imagine them doing another are you sure trip, possibly. Not right away, but some time after. I think they loved the first season so far.
As for Namjoon, since a long time, the running "gag" in my GC is "Can someone check on Namjoon?" God this man is not doing well. It started a long time before military.
I think he had a sort of identity crisis, a creativity crisis? You know how much Namjoon thinks A LOT.
I think Namjoon got burned out by BTS.
So maybe before military he really couldn't tell how this would go after they return.
Of course they will all be back together, because they said so, because they WANT TO WANT TO. But the truth is, for how long?
Military can surely change a person. Some of the members will go through it better than others. Maybe some will gain inspiration from it. When you are away from your craft for a long time, you tend to miss it, the spark might come back (that's what I hope for Namjoon)
But truth is they might get back together for a while but then maybe several of them will want to do other stuff, separately or simultaneously. No way to know for now.
I think the opinions they had before about reuniting, could certainly change with military.
They will do it - because they have a duty to us.
But maybe their hearts will want other things too.
(And that's also good?)
I hope people will be here to support their choices even if new.
Ahhh I wish for the best. Fingers crossed.
Thx for sharing your thoughts on this.
I think worry is valid - and should be discussed.
Take care 💜
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pheonixkenny · 10 months ago
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How do you think other characters would react if they found out about Kenny’s immortality? I kinda go back and forth on this. I have many different ideas on how they’d react depending on how I’m feeling or information I have or w/e. I’m not sure how they would react canonically but I have some of my own ideas. (Ideas listed under the cut.)
Kyle: Given that he was the only one to give him the benefit of the doubt when Kenny mentioned it in “Coon Vs Coon and Friends.” (“Ok, let’s say you’re not crazy and it’s true.”) He would be one of the best at handling it. He does still think it’s kinda cool, but he knows better now than to tell Kenny that. He’s the one who asks him the most questions. (Like, “What’s it like to die? What’s the afterlife like? Do you think you’ll live forever?, etc.) He does feel kinda guilty for not knowing/believing him earlier, thinking he’s a bad friend. He enters big brother protection mode (previously reserved for Ike) around Kenny afterwards to try and keep him from dying so much. Kenny cycles back and forth between being flattered and annoyed about this. He also becomes determined to break Kenny’s curse, researching everything he can about the cult of cthulhu and immortality. The guy has a full on conspiracy board about this within a week.
Cartman: I know a lot of people have the theory that he already knows, it’s a solid theory that holds up logically but I don’t personally believe it because Cartman would absolutely take advantage of Kenny’s little power for his own gain. Anyone else who finds out about it tries to keep it from Cartman for this very reason.
Butters: Butters is a sweetheart so he apologizes profusely and gives Kenny a hug when he finds out. He also hugs Kenny whenever he comes back from a death and tries to comfort him, with varying degrees of success. I also feel like Butters would just believe him without any proof. Given how many of Cartman’s schemes he’s fallen for over the years I think it’s safe to say that he’s pretty gullible. He will believe pretty much anything you tell him. It’s just in this case it happens to be true.
Tweek: I saw a headcanon on here that Tweek would also believe Kenny because, thanks to the Underpants Gnomes, he knows how frustrating it is not to be believed. I love that and am stealing it. He wouldn’t exactly handle the information well though, because that is WAY too much pressure.
Craig: Craig didn’t give a shit when fucking lasers came out of his eyes so it’s safe to say he doesn’t give a shit about this either. He’ll say a sarcastic remark about it once in a while, but that’s about it.
Stan: Hoo boy, Stan. I know that I just recently wrote a fanfiction where Stan is patient and understanding about the whole thing but I changed my mind. So, in “The Cissy” when people around him start experimenting with gender for various reasons Stan gets worried and confused. He reacts similarly during the Tweek and Craig/Yaoi situation in “Tweek x Craig”. And who could forget the time when he didn’t go visit Kenny in the hospital because he couldn’t deal with the situation? (I’m making him sound like a bad kid, he’s not, he’s just sensitive and doesn’t know how to handle some things in the best way.) So now I’m thinking that when he finds out he’ll have another Stan Marsh Existential Crisis (patent pending) and just kinda avoid Kenny for a while. That’s not a good way to handle it but he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know what to say to the guy. It feels like everything has changed between them. Kyle has to intervene and goes up to Stan like “dude, quit being an idiot and go talk to Kenny. He thinks you hate him now.” (Because I can’t imagine a world where Stan knows and Kyle doesn’t or vice versa.) And he feels bad because he never meant to give him that impression. He still likes him just as much as before, he just needed some time to process everything. So he takes Kyle’s advice and they talk things out. Kenny understands how the information can be a shock and Stan promises not to withdraw like that again when his friends need him. Eventually he gets used to it and it just becomes another quirk that one of his friends has. (Thinking of writing a fic about this scenario but, like I said, I already wrote a fic focusing on Stan and Kenny’s relationship. I should probably use one of my Kyle and Kenny fic ideas first.)
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weebsinstash · 1 year ago
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So we agree, the Spot is just as fuckable as Miguel. These two are both incredible, just both at INSANELY opposite ends of the spectrum. Like I want Miguel to breed me, where as I feel like I want the same with Spot just where I’m more the dom? Idk tho, Spot at the end of the movie def would go back to his s/o’s apartment while waiting for Miles, def would be hate fuckin you con or noncon style, but would also def be so apologetic after he had cum a couple times
Spot who hates Miles Morales so fucking much because he not only caused him to mutate in the collider incident but the accident killed his s/o/crush (you) and now it's like "oh, hey, this is funny but, would you believe me if I said we used to date? Ha ha anyways i was thinkin we could pick up where we left off :)" And maybe he's either telling the truth or he's full on delusional, thinking you two were in love and "sending all kinds of passionate signals" when in reality you were just like, being a respectful coworker and being polite to him and shit you'd be pretty uh in danger if his original you survived and became some sort of multiverse jumping being as well because then he's, you know, CHASING YOU, he thought you had been gone forever, he thought he had lost everything in his life important to him, literally everything, his own physical body becoming unrecognizable, unable to have love, respect, even just a normal life, truly becoming a broken man, but here you are, still left behind, maybe even just as he remembers you visually
I saw a post saying he has Sans energy and it's like. Yeah actually. Funny Little Man Energy. Except The Spot is kind of a poor little wet cat out in the rain who's a lil pathetic tbh and Sans is like a sarcastic troll in a non serious well intentioned way but, the Energy is similar kwim.
Jonathan just being like half apologetic half self indulgent freak the whole time
God. Fucking. Just picture this. The whole thing happens to him, you know, the movie stuff, he's out for revenge, constantly disrespected by Miles, other villains, he lost his entire way of living a normal life, literally, he doesn't even have the peace of having a normal body anymore, AND he lost his beloved "fiance" in the accident and he's just absolutely going insane and he finds you again, YOU you, HIS you, somehow survived, and he goes to you to speak to you AND YOURE JUST LIKE "WAIT WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU" he was just projecting the whole time and you're confused and it just shatters his fantasy but you know what he decides he should get whatever he wants now, take whatever he wants, his powers open all kinds of doors, and he'll make this universe the one where he has you
Also if Spot doesn't have genitals or maybe you're using like, the Wookie rule I think is rhe term for it, he could literally get you any kind of toy or anything from anywhere. He could do ANYTHING to you, watch anything happen to you, use Any kind of gadget on you that he wanted in place of whatever he may be missing. Since he only has so many physical capabilities, he might as well get his pleasure in the satisfaction and pride of bringing you to, like, orgasmic insanity
Miguel just. God I have a draft for him, right, based off of the concept of Reader slowly kind of being pushed to a mental breaking point by Miguel pushing them to do a specific job in the Spider Society only THEY can do, and he's pushing you and telling you its for the greater good because it does legitimately hold the multiverse together, it keeps people from breaking canon, it's a memory wiping thing, but it's emotionally and mentally taxing on you and the nature of the job makes you a social pariah and, it's a struggle of wanting to hate and refuse him for pressuring you into all this when you actually WANT to trust him as your friend and leader and even want to love him vs also he's lowkey taking advantage of the stress the job causes on you so he can be the only one there to support you when you're in crisis mode cause, yeah its for the greater good, and gosh he hates seeing you cry such big fat tears, but it IS so nice to get to be the one to hold you when you're so desperate for some kind of anchor and support that you hug him. God I bet hugs from him are something else....
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blueikeproductions · 10 months ago
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Y’know the more I think about it, if EarthSpark has such an infatuation with the Decepticons, why aren’t they using Decepticons better suited to the story it’s trying to tell.
To me the Decepticons’ role really should’ve been a mix of IDW and RiD15. Most are left rudderless, cranky and confused, still willing to continue the cause and hurt people in an attempt to conquer. Some meanwhile are willing to work with humans in some capacity, good or bad.
Like where’s Sky-Byte, Knock Out, Clobber and Drift?
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Never mind Drift’s Husbando thing with Ratchet, shouldn’t Megatron, as a GHOST operative, have his own little group of turn coat Decepticons who willingly followed him to the Autobots (and that it’s specifically ones who willingly became Autobots in past series helps this make sense). I get the intended idea was to make Megatron something of a fish out of water among the Autobots, but technically speaking, shouldn’t a few reasonable Decepticons have tagged along with him?
For that matter, where’s guys like Lugnut and Demolisher having an existential crisis over their leader abandoning them?
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That’s gotta be fertile ground for shenanigans and character work with Megatron and the Terrans. I know they kinda toyed with it with the ‘Waves, but boy did they not commit to the bit.
I can also buy that there’s a few Decepticons that are trying to make due on Earth and even work jobs with humans, we’ve seen that before.
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Not to mention Decepticons working with the human criminal element (or at least morally dubious types).
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And of course there’s my personal favorite, the Decepticons doing whatever it takes to get off Earth.
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Like really, the RiD15 Decepticons were able to build/repair ships using comparable human hardware, what in the ever loving skrud was preventing the ES Decepticons from doing the same. And don’t say GHOST, they’re too stupid to be a problem on their own without the Autobots. Maybe the Arachnamechs, but even so what’s stopping an opportunistic Decepticon from capturing and reprogramming them for their own ends?
The writers have such a fixation on the Decepticons, why NOT have this more nuanced take on them that ISN’T just purely making them into giant teddy bears. Fun aside, but they actually had those via Brickbear.
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Hey ES writers, I know some of you are reading this, on the off chance you guys continue to write for TF in the future, I triple dog dare you to make a Brickbear Decepticon canon in-show. I don’t care what you have to t’do, you want teddy bear Decepticons? Make this work. The blue print is right here. Basically make him or her the Peter Puppy (Earthworm Jim) of the Decepticons: cutesy in beast mode, a monstrous Hibernation Sandy Cheeks in robot mode. You’re welcome.
The point remains that modern writers NEED to stop sympathizing with the Decepticons and stop writing them as misunderstood Millennials and Zoomers who need a hug. I’M a bi-slagging-sexual Millennial from the 90’s and I’m among those telling you to knock it off, most of us want fun villains who revel in being murderous gearshafts, stealing Energon from refineries and drop kicking cassettes cats. Not everyone needs to reform like it’s Dragonball or Steven Universe, and I say that liking Vegeta and Beerus.
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