#i just needed to vent about it for a second

[yasminawayne]

in case of overload

SYNOPSIS: During a tropical storm, you make the brilliant decision to fix the fusebox alone. It does not go well. One wrong surge and you’re on the floor, half-burned and rattled. Now you're injured and both your boyfriends are absolutely losing it.

TAGS: GN!Reader, Electrocution, Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Protective Boyfriends, Mild Angst, Soft Recovery, Former Valvidian Electrician Reader, Reader Makes Bad Choices, Volt Glows When He’s Mad, An Angry Volt is a Sexy Volt, Slightly Inaccurate Electrical Safety (Sorry Electricians...)

NOTE: please send requests for date everything pls

AO3: yasminwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

"You scared the shit out of us," he muttered. Still working, still checking. "You didn’t just brush a line. That’s an exit burn. You’re lucky it didn’t arc through your ribs."

"You said ten minutes—" you whispered.

"I said ten minutes," Eddie repeated, "not 'go get electrocuted in the closet.'"

THE MUSIC TONIGHT WAS SMOOTH, low, and easy to ignore. Just the way you liked it when you were working. Jazz filtered through the ceiling like warm air through a vent, somewhere between syrupy and sleepy. You figured Volt was the one who queued the playlist. He always had a flair for whatever matched the mood.

The Breaker Box had been packed since noon. A busy crowd, full house. Even Dorian was sitting down with a drink for once. Laughter and conversation echoed against the club’s soft-lit walls. The electricity in the room was both literal and social.

Then thunder rattled through the floorboards.

The dateables jumped slightly at the sudden noise as the lights flickered overhead. You frowned, head turning just in time to see them stabilize again. The lights were steady again, but not confidently so.

Gnawing on your lip, you glanced toward the stage. There was that barely-there wrinkle in Volt’s expression. He was smiling, of course, but something about it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

There’d been a tropical storm hanging over your heads all week. Nothing you could fix, not directly. Power had been temperamental ever since. All anyone could do was ride it out.

Still, your brain wouldn’t stop spiraling. You started running through your mental list, instinctively cataloging all the things you might have to deal with. Hector was still keeping the place warm—bless him. Wyndolyn and Dorian were tucked safely inside, even with the storm. Wallace was holding steady, and you trusted him to keep the foundation solid. Freddy’s pantry stock could last another week if no one got greedy. Everything was holding.

But for how long?

Before you could get too deep into the thought spiral, you felt the press of a familiar thumb smoothing out the worry line between your brows.

"You’ve got that look on your face again," Eddie said, voice low as he slid a glass toward you. Clear soda, fizzy and cold, with a swirly straw already tucked inside. You took it with a sigh, leaning forward to take a sip.

"What look?"

"That look that says you’re about to do something stupid."

"Am not…" you mumbled, but it sounded weak even to you.

The soda was just sweet enough to cut through the buzz of nerves you hadn’t realized were building in your chest. You shifted deeper into your bar stool, knees drawn up against the rung, fingers tapping the condensation on the glass.

The overhead lights flickered again. Barely. But you caught it.

Eddie did too. You could see it in the way his shoulders went tense for just a second before he rolled them back.

The mental checklist flared back to life. The panels in the hallway. The fuse. The fridge temp. Eddie had patched the second-floor lighting loop yesterday but hadn’t looked rested since. Volt hadn’t slept more than four hours in a row all week.

"Don’t," Eddie muttered, like he could hear the thoughts scraping across your brain again.

You didn’t respond.

He leaned in, elbow brushing yours, and reached for the rag in his back pocket like he needed something to do with his hands.

"I didn’t even say anything," you murmured into your straw.

"You don’t need to. I know you." Eddie’s voice softened.

And then—without warning—he leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle, brief, and entirely grounding. You froze, just long enough to feel it. His lips warm against yours, steady in a way that made the air go quiet in your chest.

When he pulled back, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

The jazz was still going, curling through the bar like smoke. Volt had shifted the vibe. It was something lighter now, playful and bright. You could hear his voice from the stage, teasing and smooth, filling the room with practiced ease.

You leaned your cheek into your hand. "I just wanna get ahead of things, that’s all. Check the system, run diagnostics, and tighten the grounding lines. It’s not like I’m gonna climb onto the roof during the storm."

"You say that like I haven’t seen you do worse. Remember that time you tried to clean the roof?"

Your face scrunched. "That was one time."

"You nearly fell into the chimney and down into Dante."

"I didn’t! I—" you paused. "...Okay, yeah, I almost did. But that was months ago."

Eddie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He didn’t argue. Just passed you a coaster and started wiping down the edge of the counter.

"You always think it’s your job to keep this whole place running. Storm or no storm."

You shifted in your seat. The ice in your glass crackled as it settled.

"I mean, I am the homeowner. Kind of comes with the territory, doesn’t it?"

Eddie made a sound—half snort, half sigh—as he leaned both elbows onto the counter beside you. "That doesn’t mean you’ve got to run yourself into the ground every time the lights flicker."

You didn’t answer right away. The soda fizzed gently between your hands, cool against your palms. Somewhere beyond the curtain, you could hear Volt sweet-talking Keyes into playing again. His voice was always so lilting, persuasive, impossible to say no to.

Eddie didn’t press. He never really did. He just waited, steady and present in the way only Eddie could be. After all, he was wired into the house as much as the breaker box was.

After a beat, you shrugged. "I don’t like sitting still when I know something’s off. You know that."

"Yeah," he said, voice low. "I know."

You both fell quiet again, letting the buzz of the bar fill the space between you. The soft glow of the club shimmered off the countertop. Overhead, the lights gave another little twitch, subtle enough that most people wouldn’t have noticed.

But you noticed. And Eddie noticed you noticing.

You caught his eye before he could say anything. "Just let me take a quick look at the panel. Five minutes!"

He frowned, but only for a second. "Ten minutes," he said. "And if you’re late—even by a second, I’m locking you out of the club."

"Har har," you muttered, rolling your eyes as you slid off the barstool.

You were halfway to removing your glasses when Eddie reached out, catching you gently by the wrist and pulling you closer. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was soft, lingering, a silent plea buried in the touch.

"Be careful," he murmured.

"I will," you said, offering a small smile before finally slipping the Dateviators off.

The club vanished in an instant.

Velvet walls dissolved into drywall. Swirling lights became a single flickering bulb overhead. The hum of conversation and jazz cut out like a severed cord, and suddenly you were back in your closet.

You took a breath. Let your eyes adjust.

It always smelled like copper and old detergent in here. Always a little damp, too. It was like the inside of a forgotten washing machine. The fusebox stood open in front of you, wires fanned out like ribs, humming faintly in the quiet.

You knelt and reached for Tony by the handle.

He rattled in protest as you dragged him closer, the sound bouncing off the cramped walls like a warning.

"Just help me out," you sighed, giving his lid a fond pat before popping him open with a familiar, quiet click.

Inside was your usual mess of tools and knick-knacks. They were well-loved, slightly disorganized, but reliable. You got to work without hesitation, sleeves rolled to your elbows, fingers moving with the kind of ease that only comes from years of hands-on labor. It was muscle memory by now. Deep in your bones.

Back in Valdivian, when you worked maintenance for the old residential towers, they’d throw you into half-dead substations at two in the morning with nothing but a rusted flashlight and shitty instant coffee. This? This was nothing. No voltage rating too weird. No wiring tangle too impossible. You’d handled worse on four hours of sleep and a vending machine granola bar.

The breaker panel creaked open.

Inside, it was warm.

…Too warm.

You tapped the voltage reader to a grounding line and frowned. That was way too much draw.

"Okay…" you murmured, eyes narrowing. "Where are you bleeding from?"

You isolated the cluster and went in, easing the insulation aside with your pliers. At first glance, the wire looked fine—dusty, maybe a little worn, but intact.

Then you turned it. Just slightly.

It snapped clean through.

There wasn’t even time to react.

The spark hit fast and hard, punching through your glove like it wasn’t even there. Heat shot through your palm and then the pain followed; Tight, bright, and crawling up your arm like it was trying to burrow beneath the skin.

You jerked back with a choked gasp, slamming into the opposite wall of the closet. The impact knocked the breath right out of you.

"FUCK—!"

You crumpled halfway down the wall, hand clutched to your chest, breath coming shallow and fast. The pain pulsed up your arm, hot and deep. Your fingertips were tingling now, and not in a good way.

Something had torn through. Maybe an arc fault, maybe a surge from the backup line. Whatever it was, it hit harder than you’d expected.

Tony rattled behind you in alarm, one of his hinges clicking open like a gasp.

"I’m fine," you muttered automatically, voice too thin to be convincing.

Tony didn’t buy it. A screwdriver rolled out of his open mouth and tapped your ankle.

You exhaled sharply through your nose and shoved yourself upright again, ignoring the sting climbing up your wrist. 

You flexed your fingers. Still moving.

...Eh, that was good enough.

"Right. Just let me finish," you hissed, more to yourself than anyone else.

Tony let out a long creak of protest as you bent back over the panel.

The wire ends blurred slightly as your vision swam, but you blinked it away. You worked one-handed at first. Then both, when you couldn’t reach the fuse clip without your dominant hand. The scorched skin near your knuckles protested every touch, nerves whining under your skin like a frayed cable, but you didn’t stop.

You were in too deep. Literally and figuratively.

The load was unstable, yes—but manageable, if you could redistribute it manually until the storm eased off. You adjusted one of the terminal screws, moving slow and careful to avoid another live burst. Your fingers trembled the whole time, but you forced them steady.

"I’ve got you," you whispered to the wires, not sure if you meant the house or yourself.

Tony squeaked again, louder now.

"Shush," you muttered, not looking back. "I’m already done."

Finally, with a slow exhale, you tightened the last connection. The screw clicked back into place under your trembling fingers, and you reinforced the grounding line with a fresh strip of tape. Your hands weren’t steady, but they were sure. It was done. Stable now.

Or at least as stable as anything could be, with the wind still howling against the siding and the gutters outside wailing.

Looked like the storm had knocked out one of the outdoor subpanels. It sent a surge straight back through the grounding loop. No wonder the readings were jumping earlier. Honestly, it was a miracle the club hadn’t gone dark mid-Volt’s opening.

You sagged back against the wall, letting out a low, shaky breath. "Alright. That should hold. Just need to monitor the current and—"

"Ow!" you yelped when something thwacked you in the shin.

You looked down just in time to see the Dateviators get nudged your way. They scraped across the floor and bumped gently against your foot.

You blinked at them. Then at Tony, whose lid had popped all the way open now, one tiny hinge trembling like a furious eyebrow.

"I know, I know…" you murmured, dragging the glasses toward you with your good hand.

You barely got them to your nose when the space in front of you shimmered. It flickered once and then Tony materialized, right where the fusebox used to be.

"You absolute manic lunatic, what the hell do you think you’re doin’? Huh? This what we’re doin’ now? Fryin’ your fingers like mozzarella sticks on a Tuesday? Do I look like I enjoy seein’ your nervous system light up like Lux!?"

You blinked up at him. "Hi, Tony."

"Don’t 'Hi, Tony' me. Don’t you even start with me right now! You shoulda been toast! I was five seconds away from launching a wrench at your forehead!"

You sat there on the floor, scorched hand cradled carefully in your lap, Tony’s voice ricocheting off the breaker box walls like a one-man riot.

He waggled a finger at you. "Oh-ho-ho, wait till Eddie and Volt sees this. They’re gonna short their whole damn panel—melt the floor—detonate, maybe! I should pop you like a lightbulb myself and save 'em the trouble—"

"Don’t tell them!" you blurted, tugging your jacket sleeve down to cover the burn. "Please, just—just let me fix it before they find out. I can wrap it, I’ll be fine."

Tony stopped mid-stride, arms folding over his strong frame. The look he gave you was somewhere between pity and rage.

"Look, sweetheart. Get your boys to yell at you before I do," he said flatly.

You hesitated. Glanced down at your hand again. The skin was darkened and red, the ache still pulsing from wrist to elbow. 

You looked back at Tony. "...They’re gonna freak out."

He raised a brow. "Good."

The Dateviators sat heavy on your nose. Tony just glared.

You sighed. The long, exhausted kind that came from knowing you were very much not in control anymore.

Then you aimed the glasses at the fusebox.

And the world shifted again.

Velvet walls folded in back around you. Warm golden lights washed over polished wood. The club pulsed with life again. There was laughter, clinking drinks, and a low buzz of energy rising.

You swayed a little on your feet. The warp was sharper than usual. It was like the space hadn’t fully settled around you yet. Or maybe that was just the part where your arm still felt like it was on fire.

Tony was still stepping into the fusebox behind you, muttering something under his breath, but you didn’t wait. You slipped away, moving fast through the side hall, ducking through one of the back passages to avoid the club floor. The last thing you wanted was attention. If you could just make it to the storage room, grab some bandages—

"Live wire?"

Eddie.

His voice cut through the air like a breaker snapping back into place.

He didn’t speak, not right away. His boots scuffed once on the tile, and then he just stood there, staring. Like the air had been sucked out of the room.

His eyes found your wrist—burned, half-wrapped in your sleeve—then tracked slowly up to your face.

For a moment, his expression didn’t shift. It didn’t go soft or angry or worried.

It just… paused.

Then he crossed the distance.

"What the hell," he said, voice quiet and flat, and it was somehow so much worse than shouting. "What the hell is this, huh?"

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The adrenaline had worn off completely now. Your pulse was crawling, the burn was starting to throb in full force, and all the justifications you’d rehearsed in your head suddenly felt stupid and small.

Eddie didn’t wait for an answer.

"Sit down." He was already dragging a bar stool over, one-handed, like it weighed nothing. "Sit back. Don’t argue."

"I wasn’t gonna—"

"Baby, you're always gonna," he muttered, crouching beside you. His hands were already at work, digging behind the breaker cabinet where he always stashed an emergency kit. "You always do this. Can’t leave well enough alone, can you?"

"I had to—"

“You didn’t.” He didn’t snap it, but the sharpness was there—clean and cutting, wrapped in worry. “You just wanted to. Don’t twist it.”

You tried to explain, voice small. “I didn’t want the load to jump to the upper panel. Volt’s been compensating for the storm. If it caught the stage loop—”

“Oh, so now it’s his fault?” Eddie barked, louder now. “That your wrist looks like it brushed up against a goddamn arc weld? That you didn’t call anyone? You think we wouldn’t have dropped everything?”

“I think you’ve both been working yourselves sick for a week straight,” you said, biting back tears. “And the last thing either of you needed was—”

“Eddie? Live wire?”

Volt’s voice broke through the air like a wire snap. There was a pause, and then his footsteps followed.

"I heard something," he said, rounding the corner. "Tony said something was..." His voice faltered, then dropped. 

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

Volt’s eyes landed on your wrist—and he went still. The air around him shifted.

Then his outline flickered.

"What happened."

Blue.

Brilliant, sharp, electric blue. It crawled up his spine in jagged pulses, lighting veins beneath his skin like glass tubing, like lightning caught in a bottle. The whites of his eyes burned.

"Oh. No. No, no, no," he said. But his voice was warping now. It was buzzing at the edges, tinged with a crackle like voltage under strain. He stepped forward, and every step left behind the faintest scorched mark on the floorboards. "You’re joking. You’re—this is a joke, right?"

"Volt—"

"Live wire," he breathed. And your name, on his tongue, was a current. "You’re burned."

"It isn’t—" you started.

"Don’t." His finger pointed at you, trembling with charge. Arcs of light whispered across his knuckles. "Don’t you dare say it wasn’t that bad."

"It was just the panel—"

"Just the panel!?" he echoed.

The lights in the room surged then dipped low. You heard a crack-pop behind the wall. Somewhere behind you, a wire sparked.

You flinched.

Volt was glowing now. His entire form buzzed, casting a ghost-light onto the walls. Blue and unearthly. His voice, when it came, was low and shaking with something barely held back.

"You were working alone," he said, every word echoing, "on a surge panel. In a storm. While both of us were just floors away. And you thought that was fine? That we didn’t need to know?"

You curled in on yourself. His anger wasn’t hot. It was storm-born. Dangerous in the way of lightning you could feel before it hit.

Eddie saw your fear immediately.

"Volt. Calm it," he said tightly. "I let them go. Just didn’t think they’d be this reckless about it."

His voice wasn’t defensive, but it was a grounding wire. Eddie stood firm, and Volt, for all his buzzing edges, met the look and froze. Like he hit resistance.

"They're already hurt," Eddie said again, firm. "Don’t make it worse."

Volt blinked. The light in his skin flickered then dimmed. The hum dropped a few notches, no longer shaking the air.

He exhaled sharply, and the energy recoiled from his hands like it had been shocked. His glow softened to a simmer.

Then he dropped to his knees beside you.

His hand hovered, still faintly glowing. "I’m sorry, live wire," he murmured, voice ragged. "I just—Gods. When I saw your wrist—"

"I know," you whispered. "I just didn’t want to worry you."

Volt made a broken sound and sat down hard beside you.

"Sweetheart," he muttered, dragging his hand down his face. It left a trail of fading light. "That’s the only thing you accomplished."

Eddie didn’t speak right away. He focused on your wrist, peeling your sleeve back carefully.

"Let me see." His voice was back to its steady, quiet steel. "Pulse is fine. No full conduction. Burn’s surface-deep but could’ve been worse. We cool it now."

You hissed when the cold pack hit. Eddie braced your arm gently.

"You scared the shit out of us," he muttered. Still working, still checking. "You didn’t just brush a line. That’s an exit burn. You’re lucky it didn’t arc through your ribs."

"You said ten minutes—" you whispered.

"I said ten minutes," Eddie repeated, "not 'go get electrocuted in the closet.'" His glare wasn’t mean, but the exasperation in it ran deep, richer than sarcasm, heavier than anger. "You could’ve passed out. Alone. We could’ve found you goddamn hours later."

"Tony was with me. And I had it under control," you murmured, guilt crawling up your throat.

You blinked fast, trying to shake it off, but the tears came anyway. You hated crying in front of them. Hated the tight quiver in your chest, the way your breath wouldn’t stay even. But with Eddie bracing your wrist and Volt kneeling beside you, electricity still faintly humming through his skin, you couldn’t stop it.

"I thought I had it," you added, voice cracking.

Volt made a sharp sound and reached up to brush a tear from your cheek with the back of his knuckle.

"I mean, for someone supposedly in control," Volt said slowly, "you did come out looking like a fork that kissed a socket."

He tilted his head. "Oh, dear. If we weren’t the ones fussing over you, Daisuke would’ve had your head."

You let out a weak laugh, rough and wet. Volt’s grin softened, flickering to life again like a current catching.

"There you are," he murmured, tilting your chin up. "You know I can’t function when you cry. My circuits short. I start sparking in weird places."

Eddie rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull away. His thumb pressed softly into the crook of your elbow. "You need to lie down."

Volt nodded. "You've read my mind, darling."

He reached forward, one arm sliding under your knees as Eddie steadied your back. You let them lift you, careful and warm. Your injured arm stayed elevated, the cold pack still pressing against the burn.

"You can yell at us later," Volt said, adjusting you against his chest. "For now, let us take care of you."

"You’re just gonna lock me in your room," you mumbled into his shirt.

"Absolutely," he said, brushing a kiss to your temple. "Fuse privileges officially revoked. Until further notice."

"Indefinitely?" you croaked.

"We’ll renegotiate at the end of the fiscal year," Eddie muttered, brushing the back of your hand. "Assuming you survive your next bright idea."

They moved together, seamlessly syncing their steps. You sagged into their support, letting the last of the panic bleed out of you.

"Spark," Eddie said again, low and just for you. "Let us be scared. Let us be here."

You didn’t have an answer. Just another trembling breath—and a nod.

જ⁀➴ drop requests babe! this is my first date everything fic released to the fandom

[nnmnllsndwch]

Honestly, I need to physically vent about Piastri penalty at Silverstone GP/2025. First of all, it was harsh. Russell did a similar action at Montreal, but he didn't get such penalty. I of course, understand that Piastri's action was risky and dangerous, mostly because we had rain, but 10 seconds was too much for that. Even Vestappen said at an interview later on that it was to hash of FIA to do so. Maybe 5 seconds or positions at the next GP would be more suitable. Also, McLaren waiting to spend the 10 seconds at a pit stop was a bit... stupid? Honestly, if he got a great distance from Norris after changing tires and taking the 10 s at the end of the race, like the last lap, would be more rational. But McLaren would win, anyway. Hulk was not a danger for the orange team, and making a British win at Silverstone would be great. Norris didn't **really** deserved that 1st place at the podium, because the only thing he did was not making a stupid and irrational mistake at the last laps, so his win was just "luck", without the penalty Piastri would still be the 1st at the end. I wouldn't say FIA did not give advantage to a British man in this case. Though, I need to congratulate Piastri for his attitude after a more than 2 hours of an exhausting race and an outrageous penalty for keeping his cool. Obviously, he was mad, down mad, but who wouldn't? He was extremely mature at the interviews, although he did not need to hide his frustration with himself and FIA while he was in the presence of Hulk and Norris. (Shout-out for the 3rd place to Hulk, IT WAS SO DESERVED). If it was Norris or Vestappen, even Alonso, at Oscar's position, they would have made a big deal out of it in the interview and later on. I saw some old men saying Piastri attitude was childish, but you can't really get so much information about the incident from the little we saw, mistakes happens, and Lando already lost poles for simply hitting the wall, and you say he was just perfect?? Honestly, this whole situation is awful. I was down mad too, and I understood why soccer fans cry from sadness and angry at the games because I felt that when Piastri was slipping after putting the new slick tires. But for now, our number 81 in F1 should focus on the next race and keep his consistency on the races, that's the difference between the driver he is and Norris.

(English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes, I did my best)

all jokes aside like…. Oscar being livid at a penalty and him being a good teammate aren’t mutually exclusive. Drivers get angry they get sad they get EMOTIONAL it’s what makes this sport HUMAN and AWFUL and PERFECT

[bewitched-hours]

Sigma idea alert

Chance x Jerk Reader( who low-key hates Chance but can somewhat tolerate Chance)

Ok so Reader is a jerk simply said, don't like people, and has absolutely no filter when it comes to stating opinion But chance, their on the top of Reader's PMO list, like we can't stand him( probably cos we have a big fat crush on them WHO SAID THAT!!)

Anyways any physical contact with Chance will lead to them basically mentally exploding and Chance K.Oed on the floor . So Chance sees that if other people touch reader no crashout occurs, so chance being the gambler he is decides to fuck around and find out, so during intermissions He decides to do a sneak hug from the back and reader well, Brain black out, goes Bright red and a blushing mess before having a Crashout and Chance is K.Oed on the floor in Peter Griffin form

Cue Shedletsky telling them that they really need to regulate their feelings better while Reader is a blushing crashing out cos they just bodied their crush dawg

... That ain't jerk(at least not fully)- That's the tsundere trope- ANON YOU'RE ASKING FOR- Ahem- I love tsunderes of any type when done right so I shall do them justice-

Reader gets She/They pronouns~

You've never been good with feelings.

Most people just saw you as a jerk. You didn't care.

Even when you've grown to enjoy someone's company like a friend, you weren't the type to show it easily.

But when you were dragged into this endless game of cat and mouse, you've had to slowly open up to other survivors and help them more. You were a healer after all.

You'd consider few of them actual friends though. 007n7, Shedletsky, maybe Dusekkar. The pumpkin guy was pretty cool in your opinion.

And then there was Chance. Annoying at first but you figured he wasn't too bad after he saved you a couple times.

But you quickly grew a crush on him and everything just seemed more annoying about him. You'd get weirdly warm inside near him and his stupid remarks left you wanting to punch his face. And if he touched you? He'd be on the floor in seconds.

It was a surprise you weren't a sentinel instead-

But unfortunately for you, Chance liked seeing you as a challenge. Not that he didn't like you but he saw you as as a fun partner to tease because of your reactions and the fact you were physically stronger than him.

But he saw you take touch from the others without issue so he thought it was just dumb luck hat you happened to attack him of all people... Even though that wasn't it at all...

And being the gambler he is, he took his chances whenever he could. Just that today, he decided to take a different approach.

Today you had been pretty sore from running around for so many rounds in a row and began stretching to ease the tension in your muscles. Chance looked on with a mischievous sparkle under his shades as he approached, silently begging Shedletsky not to alert you as the chicken man was letting you vent out your frustrations.

"It's not like I've got anything against the kid but with the amount of times I almo-" You choked on your words as you suddenly found yourself trapped in a bear hug and wiggled sideways to see Chance's face WAY too close to yours as your face flared up like a tomato.

You became a stuttering mess, demanding to be let go immediately before managing to knock Chance off and get him to the ground like you were one of the killers. Just that Chance luckily wasn't dead.

Shedletsky could only watch awkwardly before you attempted to rush off and he stopped you on the way to your cabin.

"[Reader], I think we should talk about what's going on with you and Chance." He stated, holding your wrist to prevent you from going further as you seemed pretty pissed.

You tried to pull your arm back but he didn't let you, showing he was being serious. And that didn't happen a lot with you. "... Fine. But it's not my fault he makes me feel all warm inside and pissing me off with that damn smile of his!" You blurted those words out like it was the most frustrating thing ever but Shed couldn't help but stare blankly for a while until...

"[Reader]... Do you have a crush on Chance?" His words made your face turn beet red as you slowly realized he might be right. "NO- NONONONONONO- I am NOT crushing on him! If anything I would crush his head between my hands and-" Your words died out as your mind had wandered to more romantic topics and you stomped the ground in anger.

Shedletsky couldn't help but laugh at your realization, taking your half-hearted hits as you whined. "Nooo~! I can't fall in love with someone like him!" You protested, groaning and whining until a voice reached out behind Shedletsky.

"Someone like who~?" Chance was quick to recover apparently and had secretly snuck up to eavesdrop. Though you quickly threw a rock at him with incredible aim and had him holding his forehead. "O-okay... That one was deserved-" He chuckled lightly, watching Shedletsky let go of your wrist and instead give you a stern look before sighing.

"You two. Talk it out. I'll go back and grab a medkit just in case." He headed off, ignoring your stuttering protests as you reached out to stop him in a slight panic.

You waited in stunned silence until he was out of sight and Chance started getting his cocky grin again. "No need to hide your true feelings from me, [Reader]~ You know I love you just the same!" He made your face heat up again and although you wanted to give into the urge to punch him again, you just huffed instead and looked to the side bashfully.

"S-so what...?" You stammered out quietly, closing your eyes as you tried your best to keep up your stubborn toughness. But Chance was actually surprised by the honesty.

"Wait- wait- wait- FOR REAL??? You're not joking???" He asked, hesitating to grab your hands for once as he noticed your hesitation to punch him again. He seemed almost excited as you peeked open an eye to look at him.

That glint of genuine care and admiration behind his glasses shone out brighter to you than any sun could and it only made you huff again. "I... Guess you're... Cute... And kinda funny... And sweet..." You choked out slight praises that seemed to only make him happier. You both liked and hated the warmth spreading in your chest especially with that dumb attitude of his that made you feel soft...

Before you knew it, he was checking around and cupping your face with his hands with an excited grin. A genuine one, rather than the usually playful one you were used to. "Please let me kiss you!" He exclaimed with such confidence that it almost startled you.

After some stammering though, you quickly leaned against him and kissed him first to shock him for once.

... Unlucky for you, it only made him more giddy as he dragged you off towards his cabin feeling like he won the jackpot...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[ticktockmyclockworkhart]

Okay starving dorky Hector enjoyer fluff nation, I’m like halfway through my current fic but I’m SUPER rusty on fic writing, college put all of that on hold for like four years so talk to me babes, tell me what you think my darlins, I will continue chipping away at this beast of a fic that doesn’t need to be such a beast <3

Btw this fic is intended to be for a male reader, as I am a gay man. I’m sorry girlies. The boys hunger for content </3

FIC PREVIEW BELOW!! IT IS NOT DONE YET!!

At the start of spring, you’d received the Dateviators.

Everything flew by in a blur after that, all season long. Love, friendship… maybe a bit of hate… somehow all culminating in at least 100 people moving out of your house (you had no idea they’d even been living there) to go live their best human lives.

All but one, that is.

You can hear the steady sound of pacing from upstairs as you sit at your desk. You sigh and smile to yourself, looking at the vent on the wall.

There was no longer a mysterious, husky-voiced stranger with soft hands and even softer eyes who would appear behind the grate. Only a week ago you were holding his hands through the grate, listening to him talk about what he would do with his new human life when he was Realized, while you silently prepared for the possibility that he might leave and never come back when it happened.

Another set of footsteps from upstairs.

You don’t know why you were worried. Why would the man who pined in the shadows with all his heart as he watched you exist on a plane he should have never been able to reach himself ever leave you behind? No, Hector had indeed begun to live his own human life like all the other household items did—but he had been determined to spend it with you.

Things had been going well for the last week. Hector was very hesitantly leaving the house, almost always with you, but on the rare occasions he wandered out alone he often came back with a spark in his eye and a hundred new creative ideas he was ready to tell you about. Just the other day, he’d discovered a small, local costume shop in town and had been absolutely taken by the ornate, handmade masks he’d found there. He was telling you all about wanting to make one of his own, how he loved the idea of what a mask like that could do for his own self-expression…

Then the summer heat set in, and Hector had seemingly forgotten all his creative pursuits.

You can hear him pace the floor upstairs yet again. It’s a clear pattern he has. The bedroom. Four minutes. The bathroom. Four minutes. The gym. Four minutes. The attic. Nine minutes. Back to the bedroom again, and the cycle begins anew. He’s been at it for nearly two hours. Occasionally, between the attic and the bedroom, he’d end up downstairs and stare at the thermostat like he wanted to burn a hole through it.

The AC was very steadily driving him batty.

It was hard to tell what the inner life of any object was like, and what it was like doing… object things, if those tasks were difficult, or perhaps just second nature. But in Hector’s case, he apparently ran a very tight ship. If heating and cooling were natural or simple functions, there was some kind of art to doing them correctly—an art which the now very inanimate HVAC unit had no respect for.

You hadn’t anticipated it being that big of a deal to him, but when he passed by the living room and saw you fanning yourself with a magazine after merely moving the laundry basket downstairs, he looked like he was about to cry.

Even when you’d tried to stop him and get him to talk about what had him so antsy, he wouldn’t pause. That was when you’d realized it was serious—when did Hector not have something to say, good with words as he was?

You tried asking him what had him so bothered. You got a half-answer: “Oh, my love, it’s just too hot, I need to…” and then he scurried off.

You followed him around for a while to see what he was looking at, if there was anything you could help him with. He’d just go from vent to vent, then the central machine in the attic, all of which looked nothing but normal to you. But clearly he was something you weren’t, and he was growing uncharacteristically agitated until he noticed you shadowing him, and he immediately turned meek before he shooed you away. “Go sit down, my love, p-please! Take things easy!”

You asked again—this time, direct, about what was wrong with the AC to him. If last time was a half answer, what you got next was a quarter-answer. Hector just shook his head, running a hand through his hair and mumbled: “don’t worry, I’m—I’m taking care of it…” before wandering off again.

You’re beginning to worry the only thing that could stop this is physically grabbing him and forcing him to sit down and relax , but that option seems far too risky. Poor Hector wouldn’t appreciate being manhandled; he might even spiral harder if you have to hold him down like that.

You glance over to the foyer when you hear him coming down the stairs. His shirt is off now. Oh Hector.

“Hector,” you begin, standing up from the couch. “Baby, why’d you take your shirt off?”

Hector looks at you, his face blotchy and red. “I-Isn’t it… isn’t it hot in here?” he panted.

You furrow your brow. “I mean, it feels pretty normal. It is summer, so it’s a bit toasty, but not—“

“You don’t need to spare my feelings!” he snaps. “It’s bad, I know it’s unbearable! I-I’m trying to fix it, I really am!”

He stares back at the thermostat, uselessly tapping at it before he lets out a gurgly little sob that’s trying to be a growl.

“Hey! Hey,” you hurry over to him and put your hands on his shoulders, ignoring how slick with sweat his skin is. “Hector, stop. Really. Come sit down with me.”

It seems like he wants to protest, but that thought dies before he can verbalize it. Instead, he just hangs his head and lets you walk him over to the couch. You briefly consider grabbing a towel to clean him up a bit, but as insistent as he’s been about monitoring the AC, you aren’t sure if he’ll go right back to it when you turn away. You take his hands, just like you did when they were the only things you knew him by. Even if he isn’t looking at you, you know he likes this. You’ve figured out a tell of his, when he’s enjoying himself. He ever so subtly leans forward, and he’s doing it now. You wonder if it’s a carry-over from the vents, if he ever pressed himself up to the grates to try and get closer to you when you held his hands then, and you just never noticed at the time.

”Really, Hector,” you say firmly, and don’t continue until you can see him peering at you as he tries to keep his head down. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He stays silent, and you try not to let your frustration show—it’s just hard, seeing him worry himself sick and stay close-lipped about it all the while. But you remind yourself he’s not being difficult on purpose, that he’s trying, that learning to accept others’ care, not just provide it himself, is hard.

Provide it himself.

Something clicks. It seems obvious now. “Hector? Is not providing the AC anymore stressing you out?”

”What?” he immediately looks up at you. “I—no, I mean…”

He trails off and looks to the side. He does that, you’ve noticed, when he’s looking for something to say. It would be cute, if he wasn’t so stressed.

“That’s part of it, I suppose.”

You see his chest slowly fall, and his shoulders slump with it. Some realization flickers behind his tired eyes, as if taking his first real deep breath all day finally lets his jumble of thoughts fall into place.

”Nothing feels… right…” he pulls his hands away from yours and hugs himself. “The temperature is wrong, you’re hot—“

”I am hot,” you grin at him, trying to lighten the mood.

Hector blushes powerfully and tries to hide his head in his shoulders. “Not what I meant—I mean, you are, I-I just—“

You touch his cheek and feel him shudder. He savors your touches like a man starved. “Sorry. That was a bad time to make that joke.”

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

Hi! Could you write a Transformers Prime headcanon featuring Optimus, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Arcee, with a reader (male or female) who resembles Jinx from Arcane? In the past, the reader was once part of the Decepticons—lured in by their propaganda but later disillusioned. Eventually, they left after growing tired of Megatron’s mistreatment and Starscream’s schemes. Like Jinx, the reader unintentionally caused the deaths of their own friends and was 'abandoned' by the one they loved most

♡|☆ [TFP] "JINXED" BOTS w/ someone similar to Jinx from Arcane

im begginf you guys pls mention platonic or romantic otherwise im going to burst a fuse here. i'm taking this in a more romantic direction cause you haven't mentioned anything. BUT SHE'S MY FAVORITE ARCANE CHARACTER THOUGH EHHEHE also Soundwave is your Silico in this

scenario: disillusioned from your irrational hatred of the Autobots, you live to make amends and swear to assist their Cause while facing your own demons.

including: Optimus, Ratchet, Wheeljack & Arcee

warning: reader has episodes and panic attacks. this is based off of Jinx. readers chose the gender because i write in second person.

Optimus:

— Optimus has tried his hardest to dissuade you from the Decepticon Cause, it was always in his nature to try talking it out first. He remembers when he first saw you in the battlefield, he wasn't sure why you were here. You seemed displeased with Megatron and fed-up with Starscream... were you like Dreadwing? A bot who truly believed in what the Decepticons once stood for? He isn't sure.

— Because you were a nightmare to deal with on the battlefield. Quick and deadly, if one his soldiers had their optics off of you a moment, they were done for. You fought with the exact same rage & hate Megatron fought with, its proof that you feel something— and you may not be as arrogant as Megatron, hence why he thought he could make you see the truth behind the Decepticons and how it serves as nothing more than a guise for Megatron to lord over Cybertron.

— One day, you just... surrender and say that you want to join the Autobots. He's surprised but its not an unwelcome surprise, he had the warmest smile flashing in your direction at your change of spark and he knows you still have a long way to go but he's more than willing to help you through every step of it; if you need his help, that is.

— "Why do you wish to join the Autobots?" He would ask and there's always that pause from you, like you were looking back at everything you've done. "I realized the Decepticons were playing all its followers like a fiddle. So why play with 'em anymore?" There isn't anger in your tone but an obvious mask of resignation & a shrug, like it didn't matter anymore. He suspects there's a deeper reason behind it. Like everyone bot, you too must have a story.

— He notices how you seem hesitant to come to battle sometimes, or how you... talk to yourself like you're seeing something he can't and it's confusing him. He can see how your servos dig into your helm while you look like you might combust, venting hard and optics blown wide. Optimus will confront you about it. Perhaps you might be unwell?

— "Are you okay, soldier?" He keeps it simple and clear yet his tone is full of concern, its etched across his faceplates as well that he can see something is wrong. He's got a small frown and everything.

— Seeing the boss bot come up to you like that with so much care and concern is going to once again, makes you wonder why you were so stupid enough to fall for all that dumb Decepticon propaganda. Life might've not been easy on the streets of Kaon and the rampant corruption of the law didn't make it easier— its why you became a Decepticon. The establishment, the council, the law; it was all rotten to the core. But now, really, were the Decepticons any different? Optimus Prime was a wake up call slapped right into your face.

— You're look at him and proccess what he just asked you as you're lost in your thoughts but the moment you snap back to reality, you're quick to deny his assistance and just turn your back on him with an almost quiet "I'm fine". It does upset him, his frown deepens and he gets more concerned.

— He just hopes you open up to him or anymore for that matter, whatever it may be... Optimus does not want you to suffer alone. You may avoid it but it won't stop Optimus from reminding you to take care of yourself and be careful out on the field.

— Speaking of the field, your recklessness is making him somewhat... agitated. He is concerned but somehow you're surviving. Optimus is always giving you 'the talk' (telling you to be considerate of your own well-being).

Ratchet:

— Oh, he does not like you one bit... initially at least. When Optimus first announced that you were reformed, Ratchet didn't believe it. You? The psychotic bomber? Reformed? The old medic kept an optic on you ALWAYS. Primus knows if you were crazy enough to be a suicide bomber!

— He's trying his best not to make that obvious but unfortunately, his glare is a lot easier for you to pick up on given you'd been spending your time alongside treacherous psychos who'd probably offline you for an energon-shake back when you were a Decepticon. So you're quick to point out to him, right at it face about how he doesn't trust you.

— Your audacity catches him off-guard but he knows he shouldn't be surprised, Decepticons aren't really known for their manners and as far as he's concerned, you've probably still got some 'Con in you.

— When Optimus says that you might be unwell, he isn't sure what to make of it. Given how you don't really like him and he doesn't really like you either, its difficult to start up a conversation for the old medic. But you're quick to tease him and Ratchet does not like being teased. He is not one for banter, especially from you.

— But you're practically a professional ragebaiter. Ratchet is helpless when it comes to responding to one of your quips against him. It's out of line to talk to the CMO like that! Besides, you don't want to make enemies with your medic, that's like being sworn enemies with your heart surgeon...

— And you're still extremely reckless when it comes to combat so he's spending a lot of time he wishes he didn't have to on repairing you after each fight. He notices how you sit out certain battles and it confuses him but he's beginning to pick up that it might have something to do with Soundwave because everytime he's mentioned, you go rigid and nothing is fun and games anymore.

— At some point, the banter becomes a part of Ratchet's day-to-day life and he wishes he did not get used to it but he did while you've got a slag-eating grin on your face.

— The first time he opened you systems up, he was appalled to see the utter state of your internals. He may not like you a whole lot yet but he still has a duty as a medic! So Ratchet proceeded to scold the ever loving spark out of you about proper frame maintenance and how neglecting your frame is bad.

— Optimus discusses with Ratchet about your 'episodes' and how it really concerns him. Ratchet takes the matter seriously and decides maybe he's been too hard on you. The war was never kind. Of course you'd be affected by it, whether you're a Decepticon or not.

— Soon enough, he's the one easing you through your panic attacks. His servo on your back attempting to soothe you, his voice is softer than it usually is. Ratchet is understanding, the moment he senses that you're going to have another episode, he's bringing you somewhere private to calm you down and not overwhelm you.

— On Earth, you're really helpful when it comes to ground-bridge work. You're definitely an amazing engineer and he can see why the Decepticons kept you around despite all the attitude.

— He doesn't want to admit it but he's slowly warming up to you and its infectious. Your sadistically gleeful smile whenever he's lost it at you has become strangely charming in a way. May Primus save him from this punishment.

Wheeljack:

— Since he was in his spaceship, looking out at the cosmos and trying to locate more Wreckers, he's pretty much missed out on your character arc. So when he saw you with the Autobots for the first time, he made a face and his optics went wide there for a moment. His servos instinctively twitched to reach out for his dual blades. But then Bulkhead explained what was going on. The big guy was pretty concerned about having you onboard as well but Bulkhead knows that they need all the help they can get.

— He doesn't have the greatest relationship with you initially given you are quite literally one of the most deadliest Decepticon demolitions bot anyone could ever run into and you'd given the Wreckers a run for their money in the past with assistance from your own cronies. You're trying to get along with him only because he has a functioning spaceship.

— One time, he comes to the Autobase just to hang around with Bulkhead. Surprisingly, you offer to help him out with the Jackhammer and he hesitantly agrees but makes sure to appear confident about it. And he's happy to say that he's got no regrets because sparkdamn, you really know your mechanics. You're making his ship better with each modification! He's watching you in awe as you work.

— You've officially caught his attention and now he's a lot more invested in you. He's talking a lot more to you, warming up to you in a way which is not very typical of him. Despite his cool demeanor, he's a reserved and closed off personality. He just has a good sense of humour and charisma to make up for it.

— At some point, you take interest in his bombs. Now, he shouldn't be hesitant to let you see them and their workings because you're a good guy now. You're an Autobot. But that Wrecker in him is still sort of... skeptical about handing over an explosive device to you. You especially. However, he's grown to trust you.

— Once again, not left disappointed. You've clearly grown a lot as an Autobot because now, your bombs no longer devastate entire city-blocks like they used back when you were a Decepticon. Its tamer but tamer in the sense that its good for doing heavy damage on any bot in a 75 meter radius and not the typical decimating entire buildings.

— He's really enjoying your personality. The humour sarcastic cynicism is something he actually likes. You're honest about it and it contrasts his own more teasing nature in a way. You're laid-back in a way which makes him relieved because the last the Autobots need is another stick-in-the-mud.

— Not to mention, you've got some juicy information about Decepticon High-Command for him. Starscream's more secretive schemes, Megatron's covered-up failures... there is so much to go off on. But you never really bring up anything about Soundwave, its like you zone out whenever he's mentioned. Wheeljack notes it too but he doesn't want to really ask, yet.

— Wheeljack typically hates rules, just as much as you do so he's falling slow but hard. At some point, he even considers asking if you wanna be with him in at the Jackhammer or stay back at the Autobase... though, he isn't sure if you'd want to. Doesn't mean he can't try and shoot his shot though. Until then, expect a few more visits from the mech.

— He just knows you would've made a damn good Wrecker.

Arcee:

— When she first walked out of that spacebridge with Cliffjumper and managed to find the remaining Autobots, she really didn't think much of you. Mostly because she's never had to deal with you back when you were a Decepticon.

— So she treats you like she would any other Autobot initially. No distrust, no skepticism. Of course, she's naturally just cold & closed-off so you don't really feel like you're missing out on anything. The two of you get along with each other very well.

— Her dry humor is making you snort, she's sarcastic, in a more flat manner than cynical or teasing. Arcee would be lying if she said she didn't like it when you have a smile from one of her witty comebacks or snaps.

— Hence why when Cliffjumper was killed by Starscream, you're one of the only bots she's opening up to and you're really not the one to give any sort of advice about moving on... given you joined the Decepticons right before the whole... accident. It triggers some of your own memories.

— The two of you are bonding over similar trauma. Not being able to save the ones you care about is something the two of you have in common. She's somewhat like an older sister figure (if you're looking at this platonically).

— Arcee is afraid to grow attached to you though. Even if she was close with you when Cliff was still online, she tries to distance herself from you afterward but you're not so easy to get rid of and she learnt that the hard way.

— She's definitely the first person who's ever going to hear your story back on Cybertron before the war. How you lived homeless on Kaon, surviving by stealing, and how one bad day with law enforcement completely changed it all; how the abandonment and resentment towards the law influenced you to join the Decepticons. Its... a story which she can see is something you're hesitant to share yourself and she understands it so well. She remembers the helplessness when Arachnid... killed Tailgate. The pain. She couldn't even explain it to a bot when it happened so it just stayed in her spark forever.

— She's typically not one for any display of affection but she's giving you a comforting embrace at that moment. This war hasn't been kind to either of you...

— You've got so much dirt on Decepticon High-Command that Optimus could easily run the galaxy's most effective smear campaign if he wanted to. And Arcee is the one usually getting the exclusive scoops given how close the two of you are. She's got her optics wide at some points of your stories about working with Megatron and she's also getting a good laugh about the times Starscream messes up, the ones she's never heard of because it was confined to the Decepticon ranks.

— Imagine her bringing it up to Starscream as trash talk on the battlefield and he's caught off-guard, so surprised and he just shrieks out a defensive "HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?" while you're grinning like a maniac in the background.

— Quite possibly the most deadliest duo on the battlefield. Probably. Because you're covering her and the two of you specialize in mainly long range weaponry, with you having explosives as an area of expertise.

— Your recklessness does concern her because you're just throwing yourself into the battlefield without a second thought.

GUYS PLEASE MENTION PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC OTHERWISE I WILL LOSE IT I SWERA. :((

[letsyapthenightaway]

Peter Parker x PlusSize!Reader 🕷️

I can't even look at myself in the mirror, I just don't understand it. I know I'm pretty but why can't I feel it? Peter will be here any minute and I'm barely fighting a breakdown. Just put on the lip gloss and walk away Y/N...but I can't. Something feels weird, I feel too weird in this but I've worn it many times before.

Then my bedroom door opens "Hey! Y/N are you ready-...what's wrong" Peter stands in my door reading me quicker than anyone. I try to speak but words don't come out of my mouth. All my mind says maybe I shouldn't have had that treat earlier. My eyes get glossy and I take a shaky breath, "hey hey hey you don't need to say anything! It's okay" Peter panics for a second before he rushes over and kneels in front of me.

"don't cry...well you can cry if you need to but umm yeah" I can't help but chuckle "Thanks, pete..." He gives me his usual soft smile as I wipe away a tear. He shakes his head "so...why are you crying?" I can't help but sigh "I don't wanna talk about it... Let's just say the minds not being so nice" he nods like he understands. "Well you look beautiful, I know that cheers girls up" he says then his eyes widen "not that I'm saying your beautiful just because! I think your gorgeous actually! And I love when you wear outfits like this" he starts to random as a slight blush comes to his cheeks and I chuckle.

Leave it to peter to cutely embarrass himself. "It's alright peter I understand...thanks" I sniffle. "Maybe we should skip our outside plan for today?" He stands up "we can use Mr.Starks movie room. Watch that movie you've been talking about or rewatch Star Wars commentary by yours truly included" he ends his suggestion by pretending to wipe off his clothes with a smug smile. I can't help but laugh and nod. "Fine, yeah..." I stand up with him.

"look...um I don't wanna be that guy that just assumes why you feel bad." He nervously shifted around "But I really do think you look pretty...really pretty, like insanely gorgeous." He smiles "I think you're amazing and I love when you hug me, getting to feel you. Not just look wise but also your personality-" He cuts off his own rambling then clears his throat. "Anyways ...I also know you like to watch movies comfortably and I happen to have my hoodie that you love" he digs into his backpack and pulls it out to hand it to me. "You don't need to say anything, just meet me in the movie room in 10"

He gives me one last smile before he's rushing out of my room. I can't help but smile as I hold his hoodie close. Those mean thoughts are not so loud now and I knew Peter Parker would make sure they stay silent.

This really was random writing.

If I write more MCU I'm going to try and make it 2016 Clint in the vents style

[hcm92fandom]

just watched Renegade Nell and absolutely loved it - it's witty, amusing, delightful! hilarious, exhilarating, provocative? complex, dark (iykyk)

what i didn't love was finding out that a second season was being written, and only a few months after the first season's release it was cancelled "based on various metrics"

absolute bollocks

(rant under the cut to spare those not interested)

disney does not want for money, or views, or whatever other metrics they're measuring by, and they didn't even give it a chance - nor did they even fucking advertise it much, because the first my terminally-online-and-overwhelmed-by-ads ass heard about it was when my mum started watching it on itvX

why can nothing be made just for the love of making a story?

here was an amazing, unique and underappreciated piece of media and it's been thrown away because the idiots at disney didn't think it was doing as well as it could've been in THREE FUCKING MONTHS to line their pockets

i personally don't know if it needed a second season as it's pretty damn near perfect as it is (there were a few questions i would've liked answered, but i'm fairly certain they were left like that because they were planning to answer them in season 2), but that's not the point - the point is that a second season was in the works by the creators and that was stopped by the higher ups (which, by the way, is pretty similar to some of the injustices that Nell was bloody fighting against! it's laughable how often we see this happening these days!)

i don't really have a closing point for this and, frankly, i shouldn't really have been watching it until 4 in the morning, but i was hooked and couldn't stop watching and then had to look up as much information about it as i could because i'm likely autistic and should probably ask my dr about it... and that's when i found out about the whole cancellation shite and got so upset i had to vent about it

and now i've done that, so i'm gonna try to go to sleep but i'll probably just stay awake seething about this instead

goodnight

or, goodmorning, i guess

[silverjirachi]

It just completely sucks because like after years of giving them the benefit of a doubt and like “yeah they’re super religious but they aren’t HATEFUL” but feeling totally disconnected from them and like I’d never be accepted by them, i go out a limb and REALLY give them that benefit and go “well they’re not hateful so this could go better than i think:)” and it went exactly the way i thought it would, and worse, because i got harassed by my father for two months while my mother still has not said anything. I completely went out on a limb and was open and honest and even afterwards, after their initial bad reaction (they didn’t say I love you or goodbye after I left or anything, by the way) I wrote this really open and honest and heartfelt letter where I STILL tried to give them the benefit of a doubt and think “surely they will understand me” and you know what I got back? The most insane dog pile of shit you could imagine. Plus the two months’ harassment. Taught me my whole life’s assumptions were correct and I could never be open and honest with my parents about serious things and things that are important to me ever because they would ALWAYS vilify and misconstrue them. The plus side to this is that now I know that warning them ahead of time about big things doesn’t work, if I ever get into a visibly queer relationship I’m not telling. I’m just showing up to Christmas with them. Since forewarning doesn’t work you know. Surprise!!

[catboythanatos]

ok hear me out????

things that i think stone had to do to nurse robotnik back to health after the end of sonic 2:

-physically dig him out of the rubble and carry him in his arms to safety

-cut his clothes off of him to access his injuries without bending or pulling on anything

-clean, stitch, and bandage wounds

-set broken/dislocated bones

-procure (steal) hospital-grade painkillers and medical equipment

-surgically remove shrapnel embedded in him

-hook him up to an intravenous line to administer (stolen) fluids and nutrients

-build or procure some kind of machine to monitor his vitals and alert him immediately of any changes

-carefully bathe and dress him

-monitor him 24/7 for days, barely sleeping, meticulously cataloging every detail of his injuries to keep track of any slight change in his condition

-kiss him on the forehead (this is what actually made him better he didnt need to do all that other shit)

[ysaefinn]

Starting tmr i will interract more with the moots

[passionfruitmango]

Kinda fucked up how corporations make people put up with death threats, being called slurs, and other general bullshittery without the customer being told "do not come back"

But the instant a burnt out employee reacts and tells someone they don't care if you dont like them? Fired.

[damixo]

Shifting out of here to get away from all forms of radicalization guys please the horseshoe theory of politics is right there

[pidgeonlaguz]

howdy!! it's been a minute but i'm still around. fair warning-- i have been lurking the whole time and have about. 100+ posts drafted 😵‍ you'll be seeing these shortly, i'll try my best to space them out as i get around to tagging them

[onionishere]

Realized my huge childhood trauma just now!!

Realized my huge childhood trauma just now...

[call-me-copycat]

I just need to be told "You Can Do It" right now.

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid I definitely didn't edit and cut this comp up myself I definitely didn't add the stupid ass music myself stupid stupid stupid I definitely found this online and just took it from there dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb I want to banish him to sitting in a corner permenatly he doesn't. Shouldn't. Get. Take him OUT of the driver seat of my brain he doesn't need to be there he d9esnt get a say in this take away his seat at the table gone removed out of this he doesn't get rent free, in fact he has to pay the most massive fee conceivable and I know that if I said this out loud I'd probably sound exasperated and a little breathless and fumble my words and groan and sigh and huff and make incoherent things to where I almost sounded upset but really with each muttering and long sigh there'd be a hint of .nof. of ....mfif8fifuidis soossssssssom.ssson.mthibg. something.mor.e.more. something more. Than that. The way someone sighs when walking past the bakery section of the grocery store and trying to pretend and act like they don't want it. They sigh and mutter that they don't need it but you can hear it and see it in their expression. Alas. This is over TEXT. And clearly I. Have been nothing but oh so the upmost convincing in my endeavors that. Scrolls back up. Scrolls back down quickly. Blankley stares at my keyboard. I want to slam a plank of wood sideways horizontal-motion across the back of his head.