#so a lot of time and effort has been put in this

[seungfl0wer]

*𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕*

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Super Fluffy Smut

Warnings: Oral (M), Unprotected sex, Creampie, Riding, lots of sweet words. I think that’s really it. Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings.

This was request. Using prompts from my first list 36 “I got this for you” and 58 “Can I sit here?”

-🖤

Hyunjin has been working his ass off. With comeback, promotions and just everyday life of an idol. He still in all the chaos finds time to make you feel loved and appreciated.

You wanted to do something special for him something to show him how well he’s been doing. How much you appreciated everything and all his efforts. So you ordered a pretty lingerie set. It was lacy, with little flowers on it and to top it all off it was his favorite color. You set the mood in the room setting the lights and some soft music. You heard him coming in putting on one of his zip up hoodies on so he couldn’t see at first.

When he walked into the bedroom he smiled letting out a sigh of happiness to be home finally. He kissed you lovingly wrapping his arms around you to hug you tightly. “How’s my beautiful wifie doing today” he said the sweet nickname always making you smile.

“Good, happy to have you home” you said smiling wildly at him. “Come sit” you said leading him to relax on the bed. “I got this for you” you said that wide smile reappearing as you dropped the hoodie to the floor. His mouth dropped staring at you in awe.

“Wow” is all he could get out.

“No touching yeah? Let me take care of you” you said moving your way on the bed. You hooked your fingers through his belt loops ridding him of his pants and boxers. “Can you take your shirt off for me handsome?” You asked.

He nodded quickly taking his shirt off for you. As he did you quickly kissed along his body, kissing over his abdomen and hips. You let smile little nibbles knowing all his sensitive spots. Your hands coming up to slowly stroke his hardening cock. He let out a soft moan gripping the sheets. He wanted to touch you so badly, to run his hands through your hair.

You kissed down his body more kissing his thighs over to the other side before kissing the tip of his cock. His body arched at your touch low whimpers leaving his lips. “Hyune you’ve been doing so well you know that?” You said sweetly looking up at him. “I’m so proud of you”

Before he could respond to your sweet words you slowly took his cock into your mouth. You moved slowly, tongue twirling around his head the whole way down his shaft. Your hands roamed his thighs rubbing them soothingly. His eyes fluttered open and shut, moaning softly as you moved. You moved a bit faster hand coming up to play with his balls massaging them gently.

“Fuck angel- feels s’good” he groaned.

“You deserve it, working so so hard and still making me feel so loved.” You said eyes staring up at him with such love. You moved your body up kissing up his body before softly kissing his lips. Straddling him as you looked down at him with a sweet smile “can I sit here?” You asked.

“Can- fuck yes- can I touch you though?” He asked almost begging.

“Anything for you hyune” you said back.

You moved your hips against him, his cock nestled between your folds as you moved. “Fuck angel- please need you- fuck I need you so badly” he whined hands finally roaming your beautiful body. “You look so pretty, my beautiful wifie.”

You wanted to keep going, teasing him a little more, But you wanted him just as badly. You slowly slipped him into you the lingerie having an opening in the crotch for easy access. Both of you let out loud moans feeling each other so snuggly. His hands flew to your hips holding you there for a second “god- how did I get so lucky- fuck you’re so damn beautiful- so so fucking beautiful” he stammered out.

Your head felt floaty from his compliments and the pleasure. You rocked your hips back and forth before finally moving more. Your hips coming up and down as his cock kissed your cervix with every entry. “Hyune I love you” you spoke breathily.

“Ah- y/n- my- my beautiful angel. I love you. I love you so much. You’re my everything- fuck I couldn’t do this with out you.” He rambled.

His grip on your hips tightened as he matched your pace moving his hips up to meet yours. “Come here, let me kiss those soft lips of yours” he said his voice sounding like honey. You leaned down kissing him passionately. Your legs started to get tired but hyunjin didn’t mind. He took over fucking up into you needly. One of his hands left your hips coming down to play with your clit. He knew all the ways of your body, knowing every little thing that drove you crazy.

His fingers let little circles around your clit as his cock bullied itself against your most sensitive spots. “Angel- I’m close- fuck you drive me so crazy I feel like I’m going insane” he admitted. His words only fueling your desire to please him. Your legs hurt sure but you wanted to drive him over the edge. You quickly moved yourself back before bouncing your hips up and down.

Hyunjin choked on his moans head falling back at the new movements. “Cum for me hyune- please”

“Angel- fuck where?” He asked knowing he was close.

“Inside- cum inside me” you moaned out his fingers still working their magic on your clit.

“Inside? Really? You sure?” He asked.

“Yes- please hyune- I want to- want you to fill me” you babbled out.

His head was spinning at this point. This was the first time you had wanted him to. It drove him over the edge quickly his hand on your hips gripping as he moved his hips up faster. He held you still as he fucked up into you like a mad man. Your words circling his head ‘fill me’ he felt like he was going crazy. “Y/n I love you- my gorgeous angel- I’m- fuck so lucky to have you- I’m- fuck- ah I’m cumming!” He almost screamed out.

His hips snapped up once more before you felt him twitch inside you. The new feeling sending a wave of unfamiliar warmth through your body making you cum hard around his cock. Both of your body’s shook in pleasure you now laying against him. He wrapped his arms around you tightly peppering you with soft kisses.

“You did so well beautiful, thank you for the surprise. I love you so much” he said repeating sweet words as he kissed any inch of your body he could.

“You deserve it hyune. I love you too! So so much” you said looking up at him before kissing him lovingly.

“How about we take a nice warm bath? I’ll light those candles you like and we can just relax?” He offered.

“Sounds perfect”

“Not as perfect as you are Angel” he said smiling brushing some hair from your face.

He lit your favorite candles, running a nice warm bath in the big tub you had. He put some relaxing bath bombs in helping you into the water. He took his place behind you wrapping his arms around you as you both let the warm water sooth your bodies.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget @0omillo0 @jellymochii @stilltrynafuckingtumble @catlove83 @delulkpopstan143

[klysanderelias]

Also like, a lot of those contradictions about whose reproduction is valuable is incredibly mutable and often in complete agreement at the end goal - the white supremacist ideal of an ethnostate doesn't necessarily mean that all other types of people are wiped out, but that they're controlled and funneled. In the example of stripping welfare policies to harm black families, it's not in an effort to reduce the black population, it's in an effort to reduce them to a lower class and deny them any options other than to be exploited.

Basically speaking, there's always a lot of rhetoric about deportations and closing borders, but the US runs - maybe even thrives - on foreign immigrants being put to work in the worst possible conditions. Draconic immigration laws and deportations serve as means of control first and foremost - you can't unionize or report your employer to OSHA or other protective agencies if doing so would expose you and your friends and family to retributive harm. Meat packing, farming, etc, are all jobs that purposefully employ and exploit immigrants specifically because they're dangerous and cutting corners often leads to catastrophic results, and you need SOME kind of outgroup that is unable to find better work in order to keep produce and meat cheap for the ingroup.

And when it comes to valuing having children, the contradictions are clear as day (and easily resolved) by looking at things like the Quiverfull movement vs nonwhite families with a similar number of children - hell, even white families that are lower class, labeled hillbillies, white trash, etc. The idea is both that the preferred type of person should 'spread their genes' but also that preferred type of person is always rich and always, crucially, a minority of the population. Whiteness in specific has always been subject to redesign, for example Italians and Irish immigrants.

And at the end of the day, the end goal is to create a small group of Good people who are served and in return exploit all the other Bad people, who have to be numerous enough to be thrown into the meat grinder of capitalism but not numerous enough (or they have to be divided enough) to be a threat. There are certain groups (like LGBTQ, communist, etc demographics) that present an existential threat to the ideological framework, and so must be eradicated, but also they still serve a use as boogeymen and acceptable targets to direct and manipulate people.

But again I think a lot of the rhetoric around reproduction, and who should and should not reproduce, is just masking the bigger idea that a lot of people don't necessarily recognize, and that other people won't admit to. There's a reason why the Trump administration is both talking about an immigrant crisis and the need to close borders while at the same time pushing the increase of things like h1b visas - because they're both methods of control. Criminalizing immigration isn't meant to stop immigration, it's meant to provide a steady stream of disposable labor. H1B visas are difficult to get, hard to turn into long-term citizenship, and reliant on your employer, so they're great tools to get skilled indentured laborers that can't speak up about any discrimination or harmful work practices, because otherwise they'll get fired and then deported.

Which is to say, "that economic consideration is what creates both the natalist policy meant to encourage [some people's] reproduction, and the exterminatory policy meant to suppress and eradicate [other people's] reproduction" except also that those policies and social ideas are constantly in motion to constantly redefine who fits what category, because on some level even fascist ethnostates require a sizable population of everyone other than their preferred demographic - they just need to be socially, legally, etc disenfranchised so as to remain lower class and subservient. A homophobic Karen at the grocery store is perfectly happy to have a lesbian employee serve her, as long as she's allowed to express her power over that employee with no consequences.

I love your takes, but I feel super, super lost with what you were trying to say about the natalism one. I feel like you're saying that there is no contradiction on wanting more babies, a higher population number and punishing mothers, but can you elaborate on that a bit more, because it does seems contradictory. I'm not disagreeing with you, I just want to understand it better.

alright there's a perennial debate (on here but also in a wider cultural sense) that goes on where people start noticing that some of the ways in which we socially and economically de/value children, parenthood, and specifically motherhood are internally contradictory. how can it be that there is immense social and economic pressure to heterosexually partner and reproduce, and yet most public and social infrastructure is also profoundly hostile to children and their guardians? why is it that this person couldn't find a doctor to perform a voluntary hysterectomy because their bodily preferences were subordinated to the medical valorisation of their fertility, and yet this other person was forcibly sterilised or coerced into using contraception because the prospect of them reproducing is framed as socially destabilising and degenerative? how are 'family values' touted by politicians who openly and explicitly also hate real existing families? do they want people to have more children or fewer? is it more counterculture and rebellious to have children or to not have children? to have sex or to not have sex? to partner off? to be polyam or monogamous?

the answer broadly speaking is that the oppositions people see here are only surface-level. the bourgeois state's interest is in biopower, and this produces competing demands: for some people to partner off and reproduce, and for others to be exterminated. the valorisation of the white middle-class nuclear family is the same as the devalorisation of its negations: racialised people, disabled people, family arrangements other than nuclear and heterosexual, etc. you can't understand the demand that people reproduce if you don't understand it is necessarily also accompanied by the demand that other people don't. these aren't actually contradictory once you understand that what the bourgeois state wants has nothing to do with your individual behaviours and everything to do with how many 'desirable' bodies it has at its disposal. that economic consideration is what creates both the natalist policy meant to encourage [some people's] reproduction, and the exterminatory policy meant to suppress and eradicate [other people's] reproduction.

usually this kind of conversation very quickly devolves into a privilege framework argument, where people are trying to find some kind of social hierarchy that is hegemonically applied top-down and that rewards, universally, certain behaviour choices over others. again, the "people who marry and reproduce are privileged and socially rewarded over me #childfree" versus "actually some people still have to fight tooth and nail to even get medical support / approval to have children, let alone actually get access to the kind of economic and social support necessary to raise them" debate. it's smoke and mirrors because there is no universal privileging of the choice to have children or not have children. what there is, is a privileging of certain people on the basis of the economic assessment of them as biological assets, and the inverse (and mutually constitutive) devaluations of everyone else. really over-discussed examples here but to give them anyway: this is why, for example, french natalist policy and the USA's constant efforts to strip back welfare-net policies in order to harm (primarily) black families are both arising from the same basic impulses of two imperialist nation-states. obviously there are different histories and contextual factors that have resulted in france and the US trying to skin the same cat in different ways. but what they share is an underlying interest in trying to shore up their population in both size and 'fitness', understood here in its full racialised and eugenic meaning.

[tulpanya]

How would everyone react when they have a crush? Are the obvious or good at keeping secret that they have a huge love for the reader?

a crush? on you? haha... yeah.

includes : (mouthwashing) anya, curly, daisuke, swansea.

summary : how they are when they have a crush on you!

warnings : gn! reader.

ANYA

It takes Anya a while to realize she has a crush on you, either because she's pushing her blooming feelings very far down or because she's just a bit oblivious.

When she does finally come to terms with the fact she has a crush on you?

She suddenly gets very clumsy whenever you enter a room, and her thoughts are all askew whenever you send her a smile or ask her a question. It becomes a little obvious that something is up with her.

"Anya?" You call after catching her from almost tripping and landing on her face. "You okay?" She blinks up at you a few times, her brain slowly processing what's happening.

"I- uhm, huh?" Concern is written all over your face. You help her stand upright, though you don't let her scramble away like she was planning.

"Let's get you to the medbay, I'll give you a check up." Her face is flushed, especially when you insist on helping her walk back to medbay, which only makes you more concern for her wellbeing.

In terms of affection, Anya does grow a little detached because she worries that perhaps her previously casual and friend-like affection will make you uncomfortable.

She definitely isn't one to make any moves on you despite her growing feelings. She'll wait until you ask her out- and if that never happens then she'll just try her hardest to put the feelings to rest.

Anya is very patient though, so take your time- but maybe not too long, yeah?

CURLY

TAKES SO, SO LONG for him to realize he has a crush on you. He has a lot of responsibilities so romance isn't necessarily at the top of him mind

He finally realizes he may or may not have giant crush on you when despite himself he finds himself missing your presence. He just wants to sit with you, talk to you, be near you, forever and ever and oh... he has a crush!

As soon as he realizes? He is trying to romance you.

"Flowers? For me?" You're honestly surprised when Curly hands you a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He's got his charming smile that could make anyone swoon, his eyes twinkling with something you can't quite place (love), and he holds up two tickets to a movie you've been dying to go see.

"I- Curly, what is this all about?" He lets out a low hum, leaning against your doorway, his arms crossed and an easy smile on his lips.

"Well I was thinking, if you wanted to, let's go on a date." It seems like it came out of nowhere, but he's been slowly trying to charm you since the moment he realized his feelings. Whether or not you decline is up to you, and Curly will respect your choice, but he oh-so-hopes that you'll join him for a dinner and movie.

He 100% makes his affections known when he has a crush on you. The favoritism is insane, and anyone who points it out will be met with Curly confirming his crush on you.

Of course if it makes you uncomfortable, Curly will take it down a notch, but if you seem to enjoy his affections and cute courting tactics then he'll definitely ramp it up.

Either way, Curly takes action when it comes to having a crush!

DAISUKE

Daisuke realizes he has a crush on you the second he develops one but he won't really saying anything about it.

He's very good at keeping it cool- his feelings only make him want to be an even better friend to you! Honestly, you can't really tell if he has a crush on you or not bc anything he does could be written off as being a good friend!

But there are a few indicators if you look hard enough: Daisuke puts a little extra effort into his appearance, he'll get a little frazzled if you compliment him, his touch will linger a little longer than normal, his playful flirting seeming a little more serious, etc.

Daisuke had messed around with his hair for almost an hour- it just wasn't falling the way he wanted it to, the way he knew you'd compliment him for, so he was stuck messing with it until it was perfect. When he finally glanced over at the time, dread filled his stomach. Good appearance or not, he was definitely late to your meet up!

The whole way to meeting you, he was fussing with his outfit, however in his eyes the stress was definitely worth it as he stepped his way over to where you were waiting. "Hey, sorry, I was-"

"Woah! Daisuke, why do you look so good? Now I feel like I should've dressed up more!" His eyes widened a little at your response, but then a soft smile graces his features and a warmth blossomed on his cheeks.

"No, you look perfect."

Daisuke's affections are so casual yet so romantic that he's definitely the type to make your other friends ask if you two are dating or not already.

Although he has no plans on actually acting on his crush yet, wanting to wait to ask you out until he's certain it's something you want to, he definitely does daydream about it and giggle to himself often.

Daisuke really likes having a crush, the way his heart races and he gets all giddy around you is super addictive to him.

SWANSEA

Dread. The moment Swansea realizes he's developing a crush on you he is filled with dread. He thinks crushes are childish and he can't believe he managed to get one.

Whenever he catches himself being too lenient or sweet with you, he'll immediately do a double take and accidentally be a little rude to you. It's very confusing for you.

Swansea is definitely an acts of service type of guy, so bet that if he has a crush on you that he'll be helping you with anything and everything.

"You did good." Swansea nodded, praising you for your work. You sent him a grin, which had his heart skipping a beat or two. He grunted, suddenly becoming too aware of everything- how his body is heating up, how sweet he was being, how close he was to you- everything.

"Uh, but you also fucked up this part- just lemme do it..." He grumbled as if he was annoyed... and he was, just not at you. He didn't miss the small frown that you gave him, which only made him feel worse. Damn it, why did you have to be so confusing to be around?!

"Don't... Ugh, don't be upset. You did good for your first time, okay?" He mumbled, and he didn't check to see if you heard him or not because either way- a smile or a frown- would have him spiraling.

His crush definitely isn't obvious to the untrained eye- in fact most people actually begin to think he hates you. Those who really pay attention though will catch on to his actions and suspect he likes you though.

Swansea definitely isn't blabbering about his crush either, he's keeping that shit under tight wraps until he's ready.

He'll eventually come to terms with his feelings, and when he does, it won't take him too much longer until he's ready to confess how he feels, but until then... stay strong.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

[lunarlando]

Hi I love ur girl dad lando fics sm they're adorable I was wondering if u could write smth where lando and readers girls invite their friends for a sleepover (like a crossover with carlos,charles, Oscar and max F's kids) cuz they're besties and reader and lando putting in lots of effort for the girls and making it a fun time for them and overall fluff and comedy pls xx

Hope u have a grt day and feel free to ignore this request if u don't want to write it xx 🫶🏼

so so sorry this took me so long to get around to, but thank you for your request! as a quick refresher since it's been ages since i've written for this little universe, we've got estelle and delilah norris, adrien leclerc, teo sainz, maeve and clara piastri, and some new additions—luca and lina fewtrell! hope you enjoy x

feel free to request more :)

“If someone told me I'd be in my thirties blowing up air mattresses for a bunch of children instead of going for a night out, I’d call them mental.” 

“And yet, here you are.” 

Here Lando is indeed, sitting in the middle of the living room floor, blowing up the third of eight child sized air mattresses for the girls’ sleepover tonight. Mattresses one and two have been cast off to the side, ready to go. You’re watching him moan and groan from the kitchen while you prep snacks and drinks for the kids. 

Estelle and Delilah had begged you to have a sleepover with their friends this weekend, and with all of them actually in Monaco for once, how could you refuse? 

“Y’know, you’re making terrible time on those mattresses,” You tease, turning towards the fridge to grab those little smoothie drinks the girls love. You’re all stocked up on their favorite foods, you’ve got their favorite movies queued on the television, and you’re pretty much prepared for anything a group of excited kids would want. 

All you want is for everything to go well tonight, because your girls are your world. 

You’re swept off your feet before you can throw another smart remark Lando’s way, drawn into his chest as his fingers dig into your sides, making you nearly shriek with laughter. You manage to push him away, but not before he’s rendered you breathless with his tickling. 

“When are all the little rascals coming over?” 

You slide your hands up his chest to link around the back of his neck, fingers toying with the curls at his nape. “Should be soon. Carlos is picking up Adrien on his way to bring Teo here, Lily and Oscar are dropping off the twins after gymnastics, and Pietra said she’ll be sending Max over with Luca and Lina pretty soon.” 

“Pietra’s not coming round?” 

“Pietra’s eight months pregnant on bed rest, my love. Have you forgotten, or has all that blowing made you lightheaded?” 

Lando rolls his eyes, squeezing your hip. “Ha ha, very funny, you.” 

“You love me.” 

“Duh. Wouldn’t have let you rope me into this circus otherwise,” He teases. 

“Don’t act like it hasn’t been your life’s dream to host a sleepover with eight kids hopped up on sugar and sweets.” 

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

There’s an undertone there, something more serious in his words that makes you smile warmly.

Lando has always been a family guy. His loved ones are his world, and the little family you’ve been able to create with each other despite all the challenges is one of the few things that take precedence over racing. You still remember the day you told him you were pregnant with Estelle. How he’d gone completely misty eyed and nearly tackled you in a hug before you’d even finished uttering the words. 

He’s told you before, getting to be a father, getting to have a family, it’s a gift he’d never be able to thank you enough for. 

You pull him in closer to kiss him, taking advantage of the girls being busy in their room to have a little time alone to love on your husband. 

“Daddy!!!” Estelle’s loud shriek has you both pulling away from each other in a snap. Lando deflates against you, groaning quietly. 

“Yes, lovebug?” He calls, angling his head towards the direction of her voice. 

“I can’t find my race car pajamas!” 

“That’s ‘cause they’re in the laundry! You got ice cream on them last night, remember?” 

You dig a sharp elbow into Lando’s side, eliciting a high pitched yelp and an incredulous look aimed your way. You raise a brow at your husband. “You gave them ice cream last night?” 

“Shit. Erm, no, ‘course I didn’t,” He says unconvincingly, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t do that, would I? Definitely did not give them—”

“Daddy!” Estelle screeches again, the end of the word long and drawn out. 

“Wow, would you listen to that? I reckon I should go see what I can do for that darling daughter of ours!” He’s wriggled himself free before you can blink, pressing the hastiest of pecks to the corner of your mouth quickly before speeding off to Estelle’s rescue (and away from the trouble he’d been about to get in). 

You laugh and shake your head, because he's just the same as when you’d first had the privilege of loving him all those years ago. He was younger then, more boyish, maybe even a little naive, but that was who you fell in love with. In some ways, he's the same. In other ways, he's grown tenfold. 

Either way, changed or not, you've loved him all this time and will continue to, even after you inevitably become old and grey together. It won't happen for a long time, but you're looking forward to growing old with Lando. 

—

“My back is killing me,” He grumbles later in the night, as he pads gingerly across the room over to his side of the bed. It’s nearly midnight and all the kids had gone off to bed a few hours ago after a fully action packed evening, so now it’s your turn to wind down. 

The days when you’d stumble home hand in hand, drunk and giggling in the wee hours of the morning are nothing but a distant memory. Now, you can barely stay up past twelve most nights. Right now, you’re both exhausted. But the kids had a blast, and that makes everything worth it. 

You giggle at his over exaggerated steps. “C’mere, I’ll massage you.” That makes him perk up, smirking at you like the massage will lead to other things. “Don’t even think about it, mister. Try again another day when we’re not hosting all of our friends’ kids.” 

“Am I able to get that rain check in writing, or…”

“Uncle Lando?” A small voice from the hallway draws both of your attention. Max’s son, Luca, is peering at the two of you, half shrouded in the darkness of the hallway. 

“Luca! What’re you doing up, buddy?” Lando asks, beckoning him into the room. The boy pads in hesitantly, looking worried.

You pat the covers as a sign for him to take a seat and he does, rubbing at his shoulder the same way his dad always does when something is bothering him. Sometimes you can’t believe how similar Luca is to Max. 

“I couldn’t—I can’t sleep,” He mumbles, little brows furrowed. “I miss my mum.” 

“Oh, honey,” You soothe, scooting closer to put your hand over his smaller one. The seven year old’s bottom lip trembles a touch. 

“You know, there was one time your dad and I had to stay in the same hotel room, and he couldn't sleep either because he missed your mum,” Lando mentions, voice light, like he's recalling something casual. 

“You and dad had a sleepover?” 

Lando looks very much like he wants to explain that no, he and Max, two grown men, did not have a sleepover, but at your subtle shake of the head, doesn't. He nods instead, patting the boy on the back. “Yeah, mate, we had a sleepover. Anyways, your dad just couldn’t fall asleep for hours, and d’you wanna know what eventually did help him?” 

“What, Uncle Lando?” 

“We gave your mum a call, and they talked for a bit, and afterwards, he was able to fall asleep right quick. Shall we do that? Give your parents a ring?” 

Luca nods quickly, sniffling. Lando smiles warmly as he reaches over to swipe his phone off the bedside table. You watch as he shows the boy what to do instead of just ringing Max himself. 

Suddenly you're hit with an overwhelming feeling of what Lando would be like if the two of you ever had a son. You’d had the conversation many times before, whether or not you wanted to have a third child. The timing had just never been right. 

Raising two kids under two whilst Lando was away racing most of the time had been rough enough, but the girls were nearly eight now. And sure, his career is still going strong at the moment, but you've got years of experience under your belt now. 

You wouldn't say no to another kid if Lando felt the same way, especially if it ended up being a boy. Make no mistake, you were a girl mom through and through, but the thought of having a little mini Lando running around with his big sisters made your heart swell.

“Mate, shouldn’t you be—Luca! Hey, big guy!” Max answers on the third ring, teasing demeanor morphing straight into parental as soon as he catches a glimpse of his son on the other side of the screen rather than Lando. “What’s up? You having fun with your friends?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Um, is…” Luca hesitates, casting a nervous glance at Lando, who only nods encouragingly. It seems to help, because he turns his attention back, sounding much more firm when he speaks again. “Can I talk to mum?” 

“Can you talk to mum? Of course you can! Let me go find her. You know your mum, always wandering around these days,” Max jokes, winking. Luca giggles quietly. He already looks like he's feeling much better. “Oi, P! There’s someone special who wants to talk to you.” 

Luca chats with Pietra for a little bit, and you can tell just how much that little boy loves and adores his mother. He’s beaming happily when the call ends, a far cry from the timidness he’d come in with earlier. 

“All good now, mate? You’ll try and get some sleep tonight?” Lando asks, clapping Luca on the shoulder gently. 

“Yep! Thanks, Uncle Lando!” He runs off without another word after that. 

“Well, I think we handled that pretty well, don’t you think?” Lando hums, tossing his phone back on the bedside table. “Hello? Darling?” 

“What would you think about having another baby?” You blurt. 

“Another—babe, what? Where is this coming from?” He splutters, looking utterly bewildered. His eyes go wide a split second later. “Wait, you’re not—are you?” 

“No, no, I’m not—I just—fuck, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to ask so bluntly like that, I was trying to ease into the conversation.” 

“Oh. Okay. That’s…yeah. Sorry, you just caught me off guard is all.” He scrubs a hand over his face.  “I didn’t know you were thinking about it. Last I recall we were on the same page about stopping at two. Did something change, or…?” 

“I don’t know. I guess I was just thinking about, y’know, what if we wind up having a boy? A mini Lando, running around with his big sisters one day?” 

Lando opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, then snaps it shut before inhaling a sharp breath and trying again. “I love our little family more than anything.” 

“I do too.”

“Are we really ready to have three kids?” 

“I think we are. We managed eight of them pretty well tonight.” You shrug, sliding a reassuring hand over Lando’s. “Plus, there’s more than enough love to go around, don’t you think?” 

That seems to solidify the decision, because he brings your joined hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “We got this. Let’s have another baby!” 

[gatorbites-imagines]

Omni-man being defeated in battle and subsequently dominated? Maybe the trophy wife concept you mentioned in the NSFW alphabet for him?? I just love him

Nolan Grayson x Galactus inspired male reader

Headcanons

Imagine a big evil smirk growing on my face when I saw this request. set somewhere after Nolan leaves earth and Mark has taken Oliver back to earth.

Readers inspired by Galactus. Because I go apeshit for extreme size differences. I wanted this to be smutty, but it just ended up getting kinda cracky...

had a lot of fun writing this reader, would love to write him again.

You were an ancient immortal being known for devouring planets for power, feared across the universe and multiverse. You fought many battles with the people of viltrum, mainly because of how powerful you were and how much of a threat you posed. Of course, they never won, which wounded their ego.

But at some point, you guys struck a deal. You would stop attacking them and they would stop attacking you. You guys would stay out of each other’s way and territory. Sometimes they would even offer you planets if your heralds found it worthy of consumption.

How Nolan fell into your lap could happen in many ways, but I find the most interesting being him leaving Andressa and Thraxa. Maybe he travels so far, he succumbs to exhaustion like when he left earth, and he just happens to fall right into your giant palm.

You weren’t mindlessly evil, but you weren’t good either. And the small violent viltrumites had always intrigued you. You had always wanted one of them to be a herald of yours, but you also knew you wouldn’t have their loyalty.

Nolan would wake up well rested and healed, curled up on a hard purple surface which he would later realize is your palm. You had been floating through the universe simply holding him like one would hold a little bird or mouse, or maybe more a small vulnerable flower petal.

Nolan has most likely lived long enough to have fought you before, so he knows who you are, what you can do, and the deals he’s broken by ending up in your territory. Maybe hes just too depressed to care about himself, his people, anything.

To you, hes kind of like a little pathetic creature, like how we see a baby animal missing a leg and coo, wanting to keep it and care for it. well, maybe its more like you want to own him. A being like yourself don’t experience emotions like everyone else, but there’s interest.

It’s a bit sad to see a viltrumite so wilted and weakened. You had expected a fight, and order your heralds to try and goad him into one so you can crush his will yourself. But Nolan just sits on your palm with a blank look in his eyes, even as you devour planets right in front of him.

The whole “wife” process kind of starts up after Nolan and you have shared silence for a while, who knows how long. The universe is vast, and you guys just keep moving from one planet to the next.

Maybe he just starts telling you about his life on earth, his wife, or wives, his sons, how he’s starting to think everything he’s learned maybe isn’t right. How he’s tired and feels like he doesn’t have a purpose.

In the beginning you offer to make him one of your heralds, but being able to enter people’s minds you also pick through his memories, wants and deeper wishes.

A being like yourself has never had much interest in a spouse, at least after ascending into what you are now. There is the fact that you will exist until the universe ends completely, how you travel the dark emptiness of space, and how you are one of the most evil beings in the universe, if others ask.

Sliding the mental image into Nolans head, of being your so called “wife” is the first time you get a major reaction out of him. Maybe its viltrumite instinct or his own pride, but he wont just take it laying down.

Fighting him isn’t a challenge for you, you could have crushed him very easily, but you make it seem like you put in an effort to calm whatever struggles Nolan might have in his mind. It’s only after you’ve defeated him, and there’s literally nothing else he can do that Nolan will shyly agree.

To him theres no life to return to, so why not live out that little fantasy of his. It’s not like you’ll demand him to do more carnal wifely acts… right?

(spoiler, you will, but that comes later when you guys gain a deeper more intense attraction to each other. And when that time comes Nolan agrees very willingly)

In the beginning there isn’t really any change in the relationship you guys already had. Being a literal cosmic being means you normally don’t feel a lot of carnal urges or wants, so it’s all up to Nolan to make a move.

You visiting Herald almost choked when they saw Nolan floating up to your massive face and kiss your lips, even if he only is able to kiss your bottom lip.

The other Heralds also have a similar reaction when you start referring to Nolan as your wife. They can’t question you, and some of them just give Nolan a “good luck” and are on their way.

You don’t really care whatsoever about gendered terms, and as much as Nolan blushes and denies it, your mental bond lets you feel how much he likes being called Wife.

Its digging around Nolans mind that you see his deeper fantasies and start bringing out the things that go along with it. like, materializing a skimpy “slave” outfit for him, in purple and blue of course so he matches you.

When you order him to shave his beard Nolan almost, almost, blows up and starts arguing. But deep down he also knows its what he wants, to disconnect himself completely from who he was before and just allowing himself to be someone new.

At some point you start referring to him as your “viltrum slave” and later just “slave wife” because it gets Nolan really excited, if you know what I mean. Being mentally connected means that Nolans pleasure is your pleasure. You technically could shrink and enjoy the throes of the body with him, but being so much bigger excites both of you.

It does worsen your already horrible image somewhat, and give people stupid ideas. Planets start trying to offer you women, or their species version of it, to try and make you leave their planet. Its always denied though.

When planets realize you don’t want women, they start trying to offer you “wives” that look like Nolan, which just makes Nolan pissed, because he’s as possessive as you. On those planets you let him indulge in his viltrumite urge for destruction, before you devour it.

Nolan will regularly forget just how strong he is when he’s around you and your heralds. They start referring to him as your “pet” or “wife” too, just playing into Nolans little fantasy. And who are you to stop them? Happy wife, happy life.

This also just means that Nolan can shock himself by wiping out entire planets in hours. In the past it might have taken months or weeks, but with the cosmic powers from you as well, nobody really stands a chance.

It will be very fun if rumors get back to earth somehow that you have “kidnapped and enslaved” a rogue viltrumite. I’m not sure they’d send anyone to save Nolan, but they gotta live with that.

Maybe you pull up to earth for one reason or another. Big chance its because your scantily dressed wife has been fantasizing about this one gelato Nolan used to eat on the regular, so of course you have to go get it.

You could have sent your heralds or just teleported maybe Nolan to do it but… you want to go on a date…

So, you shrink from “I swallow planets whole��� size to “im big enough to knock down this skyscraper” size, and just… appear on earth. Cue huge chaos and extreme fear, because you can’t tell me Cecil wouldn’t know of you at least.

Cue guardians of the globe pulling up, and someone, probably Rex, going “hold up… isn’t that your dad?” to Mark, because of course Nolan is sitting all pretty and “enslaved” looking on your shoulder.

The whole “slave” outfit also put these shackle looking things around Nolans wrists and ankles, as well as a collar, to make it look like you were somehow suppressing his powers. Sometimes they actually did that if you wanted them too. Most of the time it was for looks.

Its… very awkward. Nolan would be embarrassed if he hadn’t wiped out an entire planet wearing only a purple bra and panties once. This one is at least more like Leias slave outfit than the almost nonexistent stuff you sometimes had him wear.

Theres a chance its more surprising to see Nolan without his moustache honestly, than it is seeing him in the bra and fabric ensemble.

I have a feeling you would, in your powerful godly cosmic entity voice, booming loud enough for the entire state to hear, tell mark that he may refer to you as stepfather, if he would like.

Someone, Rex, would start wheezing so hard with laughter he would struggle not to pass out. I have a feeling most of the guardians would start snickering, except for the more serious ones like Rudy, who knows you could snuff them all out if you wanted.

For some comedy and crack, Debbie gives you, devourer of planets and immortal cosmic being, the shovel talk. Nolan is impressed that you seem more attentive to her words than entire planets begging for mercy.

Nolan doesn’t return to earth, or to Debbie or anything, but you do offer your stepson (Mark groans and covers his face), that you will help him out if he needs it. you also offer to play baseball with him, or take him to “the game” (you still don’t really understand what that is), for family bonding.

You keep eating planets, Nolan keeps being your little trophy wife, but maybe the ending of this universe won’t be the same as in the comics, since Mark now has his “sigh… step father” on his side. You and Nolan just keep being a happy married couple, in whatever way someone like you two can be.

[covenofagatha]

The Mile High Club

Jennifer Barkley x reader

When flying back to Washington, DC with your boss, Jennifer Barkley, she comes up with an interesting way to relax when there's some turbulence

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: fingering, semi-public sex

“Ugh, why are there so many people here?” your boss, Jennifer Barkley, scoffs when the driver drops you off at the Indianapolis airport. 

After spending the last six weeks in Pawnee, Indiana on Bobby Newport’s campaign for city counsel, you and her are finally getting to go home back to Washington, DC. It’s been the first time in her career that she’s lost a campaign, but even she has to admit that Leslie Knope and Ben Wyatt did a really good job. 

It was the most engaged in a campaign you’ve ever seen Jen, the most challenged, and you’ve been working with her for about a year now. It was exciting to watch her strategize like this, hot even. You’ve always had a thing for powerful, older women, and that was the definition of Jen Barkley. She oozes confidence and she’s not afraid of how good at her job she is. 

The two of you have a pretty good relationship — you’re actually the longest assistant she’s ever had, so clearly you’re doing something right. The easy banter between you is one of your favorite parts of the job. 

You glance at her as you take her suitcase out of the trunk and then yours, putting them on the ground and groaning with the effort. She’s wearing a navy blue blazer over a striped pink and gray button-down, with a gray pencil skirt, her signature string of pearls around her neck. Her brown hair is perfectly fluffed and curly, with makeup accentuating her lips and eyes. She looks good. 

“Well, I offered for us to fly out of the Pawnee airport, but you said, and I quote, ‘I don’t trust Pawnee to have planes that aren’t just tiny steel death in the sky—’”

“‘— that will fall apart if you breathe too loudly,’” Jen finishes with a chuckle at her own joke at the small town’s expense. She’s been making a lot of them the entire trip. “Yeah, I remember. I just still can’t believe the private jet had routine maintenance scheduled for today and now we have to fly with them. God, if only Knope and Wyatt hadn’t insisted on that recount.” 

By “them,” you know she means normal people who don’t run congressional campaigns for some of the most powerful people in the country and don’t just have access to private transportation whenever they want it. 

And without the recount, Jen and you would’ve been done a few days earlier. You still remember her little meltdown where she collapsed on the table, whining about wanting to leave, and it brings a smile to your lips. 

You roll your eyes fondly and grab both of the handles of the suitcase. “Well, we’re still in first class, so you won’t have to sit with all the peasants,” you tease. 

Jen points at you and moves her finger back and forth for emphasis. “That…that was a good one,” she decides and you can’t help but feel warm with her approval. And then she swats at your hand that is holding onto her bag. “I can wheel my own suitcase, sweetheart.” 

You mutter a half-hearted apology and follow her through the doors of the airport and go to the counter to check your luggage. Jen starts digging through her purse and you raise an eyebrow and wait for her to ask you for something. 

It’s always fun to watch your boss go as long as she can without willingly asking for help, even if you have exactly what she needs. Her tenacity and stubbornness often go hand-in-hand. 

She huffs exasperatedly before looking up and giving you a prize-winning smile. “Honey, do you happen to know where I put my—”

You reach into your pocket and pull out her boarding pass, reaching it out with a smirk. 

“Thanks, doll,” she says and snatches it from you before examining it like you may have given her the wrong one. You always keep an extra copy of all her documents on you at all times, just in case situations like this ever arise. “God, I cannot wait to be home and not sleep in sheets that smell like mothballs.” 

Giggling despite yourself, you think back to the small motel rooms the two of you had to sleep in. “It wasn’t all bad. JJ’s Diner was pretty cute.” 

“Yeah, after I bought them that cappuccino maker,” she retorts. “Everyone there was a moron. Did you know one of them told me they voted for Leslie because I said she was a dog murderer? Another thought I was Bobby’s sister. As if he and I could possibly share any of the same genes. Did you see him try to sound out ‘Connecticut’?”

It makes you snort. People in Pawnee were surely not the brightest. 

“I almost pity Leslie,” she sighs as the two of you move up in line. “You could not pay me enough money to trade places with her. I love my life way too much.” 

You laugh. “That’s good to hear, because I need someone to boss me around.” It’s meant to be a light quip, but there’s no mistaking the innuendo and Jen smirks before looking you up and down. You’re wearing leggings and an oversized T-shirt — nothing special, especially compared to her. But you’d rather be comfortable for the flight, rather than look as professional as you usually do. 

“Don’t worry, hon. I’d bring you with me,” she reassures with a wink and your cheeks heat up, breath catching in your throat. She’s just being nice, you think. You are a good assistant. 

After you check your bags, you walk to the gate with Jen next to you, typing something one-handed on her phone and occasionally bumping into you. Boarding is in about thirty minutes, so you tell Jen you’re going to get something to eat. You end up choosing a soft-serve stand and get her a cup too. 

When you get back to her, she’s now reading a newspaper that she must have bought, and doesn’t look up at you until your arm starts to get tired holding out her ice cream. 

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” she purrs and takes it from you, ignoring the spoon and just licking a stripe straight through the swirl. Your eyes widen — you feel a tug in your stomach and you rush to sit down next to her and think about anything else. 

You busy yourself by scrolling on your phone until it’s time to board, and then you settle into your seat in first class next to Jen. You’ve only flown first class a few times, but you’re not sure you could ever go back to sitting in economy. Your seats are spacious and luxurious, with fancy screens in the backs of the chairs in front of you. There’s an armrest between you and your boss, with a piece that could slide up to separate you, but you make no moves toward it and neither does Jen. 

The flight attendant comes around and gets your drink orders, a coffee for Jen and a hot chocolate for you. She snorts when your drink comes back with a mound of whipped cream and you take a long sip, appreciatively humming when the warmth spreads through your body. 

“Oh, honey, you’ve got a little—” Jen says when you turn to look at her, and you scrunch your eyebrows before she cups your chin and swipes her thumb across your upper lip. 

You freeze and your heart rate spikes. 

When she pulls her hand back, there’s a smear of whipped cream on her thumb. She smirks before sucking it into her mouth, never breaking eye contact. You feel your body get warm and you shiver. 

“Are you cold?” she asks. Before you can tell her that you’re fine, she’s waved the flight attendant over and asked for a blanket. It’s touching to have this badass woman you’re always chasing after trying to take care of you. 

The stewardess brings a heated blanket over and Jen helps you tuck it around yourself despite you muttering that you’re really okay. 

And then the safety video plays on the screen and the plane takes off. You’ve never been great with flying and you try to distract your anxious mind with a movie. 

It works until the plane starts to shake. Your hands fly to the armrests and dig your fingers into them as if that will steady it. It doesn’t; if anything, it just gets worse and a small whimper escapes your lips. 

Jen, who is reading a different newspaper now, glances over at you and must see the panic evident on your face, because she lays a hand on top of yours. “Are you okay?” There’s an uncharacteristic gentleness to her voice and you wonder if she’s going soft from the exhaustion of having been in Pawnee for six weeks.  

“Yeah,” you say through clenched teeth. There’s another rough patch and the plane dips and you sharply inhale. You expect her to laugh, maybe make fun of you, but her eyes are understanding and she starts to stroke her fingers up and down your forearm. 

Is she trying to comfort you? You swallow roughly as her warmth seeps through your skin. “It’s okay,” she coos. “It’s going to be fine.” 

You nod and try to repeat the words to yourself until you believe them, but the plane shakes again and you shudder. “Oh, god,” you whisper, feeling a little sick. Jen is frowning next to you and closes the little cabin door on the aisle, essentially hiding the two of you from view of anyone else. 

“Just breathe. Try to relax, honey,” she says soothingly, and then apparently decides she’s being too nice, because she tosses her hair over her shoulder and huffs haughtily. “Don’t let a bit of wind scare you. There’s so many other things to be more afraid of. Like me, if you don’t relax.” 

It makes you smile a little and your muscles loosen ever so slightly. The turbulence stops and you’re able to breathe normally. 

Seemingly satisfied, Jen turns back to her newspaper and removes her hand off your arm. You miss her touch, but brush it off and start scrolling through the screen to find a movie to watch. 

The plane starts to shake violently and a terrified gasp slips out of your lips, hands scrambling for purchase and your legs tensing against the seat in front of you. This is it. 

You can practically hear Jen roll her eyes and she gives you a pointed look. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, breathing heavily. “How are you so calm?” 

Jen shrugs. “I’m exceptional,” she states matter-of-factly. Her fingers reach over to lay on your forearm again and you’re able to feel yourself relax. Just slightly, but she feels it too. “Is that helping?” she murmurs. 

“Yeah,” you rasp and she smirks. 

Her fingers trail up your arm and then back down, and slide into your lap and ghost over your thigh. All the air leaves your lungs. “Do you want some more help?” 

Surely she can’t be offering what you think she is. But there’s not a single hint of jest on her face with her eyebrow arched and her pupils blown out. “Jen—” you swallow, your mouth suddenly so dry. 

“You can say no,” she reminds you. She lifts her hand off the blanket and hovers over it, showing that she’ll accept whatever you say. 

But you couldn’t even dream of rejecting her. “Please,” you say, voice suddenly full of heat, and your boss looks absolutely overjoyed. 

She drags part of the bunched up blanket covering the lower half of your body over herself, so if anyone were to look over the top of the cabin when she sneaks a hand under the cover and rests it on your leg, they wouldn’t be able to see. 

The plane rocks and dips, but you couldn’t care less because Jen has just dipped into the waistband of your leggings, her cold hands making you hiss. 

“Why don’t you put on a movie?” she suggests, her hand moving lower and cupping you over your underwear. You can feel yourself starting to get wet and you nod, tapping on the screen and clicking on the first thing it opens to. The film starts, but Jen’s fingers have found your clit and you can think of very little else. 

She rubs around it for a bit, teasing and feeling the crotch of your panties grow wetter while you squirm and try to get more stimulation. 

“You got to stop being so obvious, honey,” she whispers, ducking her head down to scrape her teeth against the top of your ear before nibbling on your lobe. You can’t stop the small moan that escapes you and she presses down on your clit. “Do you want the flight attendants to come over and see what a slut you’re being?” 

Heat tears through your body and you clench around nothing. You’d like to point out that this was all her idea, but you don’t want to risk her pulling away to teach you a lesson for talking back, which is exactly what Jennifer Barkley would do. 

So you shake your head and try to act like you’re watching the movie, but your eyes keep straying down to the blanket. 

She tuts lowly in your ear before sliding your underwear to the side and you jump when her fingers trace through your folds. “God, you like this a lot, don’t you,” she observes, amusement leaking into her voice. You blush and nod, softly whimpering when she teases your clit without touching it. 

“Jen, please, I need you,” you whine, and she chuckles humorlessly before pushing a finger inside you. She’s met with absolutely no resistance, and your walls bear down around her immediately, drawing a small gasp from her mouth. You’re vaguely aware of the sound of the drink cart coming down the aisle. 

She doesn’t move at first, just enjoying the feeling of you being around her, and it isn’t until you choke out another plea that she starts to slowly withdraw and then thrust back in. 

The flight attendant comes into view over the cabin walls and by the looks of it, she’s about two rows ahead of you. Your head tilts toward Jen, who is already watching you, a wicked glint in her eye. Her thumb expertly rubs at your clit while her one finger fucks you at a leisurely pace. It’s not enough to get you there, but the possibility of being caught and the way Jen’s eyes are burning into your face, watching every little twitch, are helping build the tension in your stomach. 

The stewardess stops at the row in front of yours and if she looked to her right just a little, she would see your knuckles straining as your fingers grip the armrests to try and stop yourself from reacting. 

“Better behave, honey,” Jen whispers dangerously, tongue flicking out against your earlobe. It makes you shiver and clench around her finger. “Don’t want her to know how naughty you’re being right now.” 

She smirks at your muffled whimper and finally gives your clit the direct stimulation you’ve been looking for and you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop any other noises from crawling out. 

The flight attendant pushes the cart forward and pauses, looking at you and Jen over the cabin door with a warm smile. Jen pulls her finger out of you and you bite your lip at the sudden emptiness. 

“Hi ladies, can I get you anything else?” she asks, looking at Jen first. 

“Oh, I’m perfect, thank you,” Jen gushes, and then turns to you. You can feel both Jen and the flight attendant’s eyes on you. 

You nod in agreement and open your mouth to answer, but Jen chooses that exact moment to shove two fingers inside you, and you’ve never heard the sound that comes out of you before. You see her stifle a laugh in your peripheral vision and you plaster what you hope is a convincing smile onto your face, but probably looks more like a grimace. “I’m good,” you squeak. 

Jen’s fingers curl roughly and your hips jolt. 

The flight attendant looks like she wants to say something, but purses her lips tightly and moves on. The second she’s out of earshot, Jen laughs cruelly in your ear. “That was close, honey,” she mocks and scissors her fingers to stretch you out and you hiss. “Do you think she knows that you’re taking my fingers like such a good slut? That this was the only way I could get you to relax?” 

She presses her thumb against your clit and starts to thrust into you fast and you have to bite down on your hand to keep from crying out. The pleasure starts to spread from your pussy to your stomach to all over and you feel your orgasm building. 

“Jen, I — please, fuck,” you groan when she twists her fingers. Your hands are scrambling for purchase on the armrests, hips rolling as much as they can, and you can feel your head start to spin. 

“God, hon, your cunt feels so good around me,” she says conversationally and your head falls back against the seat, clenching violently. “So warm, so wet. Think I might have you ride my fingers while I have to sit in all those boring meetings.” 

Your whimper is one of a wounded animal and she grins, flashing her perfect teeth at you. It turns you on even more, how perfectly composed she is, while you’re a fucking mess in the chair next to her, a few miles above the ground, in a plane where you could get caught at any moment. 

“Please, I’m so close,” you beg quietly, one of your hands clasping onto hers over the blanket. You can feel her muscles move as she thrusts into you and you gasp, heat searing through you. 

Jen leans over and nudges your head to the side with her own before sucking on your neck. You keen softly and your chest rises and falls rapidly, your orgasm steadily approaching. 

You slouch down even further in your seat so that her fingers can reach deeper inside you and it makes your eyes roll back in your head. “So good,” you whisper and Jen huffs in agreement. 

Her thumb speeds up on your clit and her fingers hits the spot that makes sparks erupt in your cunt each time and you’re so fucking close —

“Cum for me, honey,” she rasps, and it’s strangely what makes you finally cum isn’t the way her fingers curl particularly deliciously when your hips meet her thrust perfectly, it’s not the way her thumb presses harder on your clit when she circles it again, it’s not the way her tongue draws a hot stripe up your throat — it’s the flustered, pink tint in her cheeks and her slightly uneven breathing and the way her eyes dart from yours down to your lips and then back up. 

It’s knowing that she’s affected by you falling apart for her: that's the final nail in the coffin, and your pussy walls spasm around her fingers, pleasure erupting through your trembling body while you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying out. 

She fucks you through your orgasm, whispering what a good girl you are, and you finally slump back into your chair, feeling ruined and much more relaxed. 

“Did that help?” Jen asks, wearing a playful smirk. 

You laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of her question. Of course it fucking helped. “Yeah, I’d say so.” And you’d like nothing more than to kiss the smug look right off her face. 

The pilot comes on the intercom and announces that you’ll soon be starting your departure into DC and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” you say, for getting you through your anxiety and fear about the turbulence, and for fucking you. Something you’ve been wanting since you started working for her. 

Jen knows exactly what you mean and she presses a quick kiss to your forehead. “Anytime.” 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly

[korrasera]

There are some misconceptions in this thread.

Before I get started, if you want to read more about this I recommend checking out two books by Gary Taubes, Good Calories, Bad Calories, and Why We Get Fat.

The first is an in-depth summary of the science behind metabolism and why carbs impact it, and the second is a kind of coffee-table reader version that goes over more general history on nutrition.

Ketogenic diets aren't hard to maintain because they're low carb, they're hard to maintain because a ketogenic diet is more expensive and time-consuming. In some cases, a lot more expensive.

Ketogenic diets are not unappetizing. It might suck to cut out carbs, but eggs, dairy, meat, veg, they're all fair game. You can eat really well when you're eating a keto diet.

It's easier to eat to fullness on a ketogenic diet because a high fat intake satiates your body more than high carb intake. If someone is putting you on a diet that's making you feel like you're starving, they're doing it wrong.

Difficulty in maintaining a keto diet is about expense, effort, and access. It's hard to eat a diet that's different from what the food supply provides access to, doesn't have as many processed food products supporting it, and is more expensive than carb-rich food.

Ketogenic diets don't 'barely work', they're actually really effective in terms of promoting bodily health. We didn't evolve in an environment where we had such ready access to carbs, so the human body actually runs better when it's using fat as a primary source of fuel. Lower inflammation, easier control of blood sugar, and less strain on your nephritic system are just some of the benefits.

It's not about incapability. The human body responds to a ketogenic diet really well. It's that we live in a society that makes it exceedingly hard for us to even try.

There are also a couple of great points in this thread that I want to call out too:

Calories in, calories out is fundamentally inaccurate, that's 100% true. Human metabolism doesn't work that way. Your body has basal metabolic rate just like your car has a transmission and it changes depending on your food intake and your energy expenditure.

It's really hard to change weight regardless of diet. The body doesn't want to change and sometimes it's not actually healthy to try to change weight. Starvation is extremely harmful, exercise tones muscle and doesn't reduce weight, and the effort of altering one's diet is a significant effort. Being poor can make it impossible to even consider.

The modern diet is carb-rich, dependent on industrially produced, inexpensive carbs, something that's only been possible in the last couple of hundred years. Before that, diets were lower in carbs than they are now, and staple carbs were more complex carbs instead of cheaply produce sugar.

As a result, diabetes was also much less common in the past, to the point where it was considered a rich person's disease. As a population's overall consumption of simple carbs increases, issues like diabetes become much more common as it impacts overall population health.

And when it comes to controlling diabetes, a ketogenic diet has been a go-to method for controlling blood sugar for far longer than the modern era of medicine. In centuries past it was just part of common knowledge that cutting out grains and focusing on fresh vegetables and meats helped curb poor health due to diet.

In particular, eating keto makes your blood sugar a lot easier to control because your body doesn't have to produce insulin as often or in such large quantities.

The op's point still stands though. Doctors treating it like an individual problem when patients just straight up can't eat a ketogenic diet is part of the problem. We have to fix how society mass produces food in order to make it possible for people to really choose this kind of diet.

Reading a book about the discovery of insulin. Ready to wade through some fatphobic bullshit, of course. This jumped out to me:

"The unwillingness of diabetics to follow diets was and still is the single most difficult problem physicians had to face as they tried to treat the disease."

The author is talking about dietary treatments pre-insulin, that attempted to control blood sugar levels by wildly restricting carbohydrates. And even then, those diets barely work. And it's so interesting that he phrases it as "unwillingness to follow diets", when like...

They are horribly, horribly hard to maintain. They're unappetizing, with not a great deal of results. He goes on to mention some patients had to be locked up for this diet protocol to be applied.

That's not unwillingness. That's incapability. If humans consistently, frequently, overwhelmingly, fail to do something, that's not us not wanting to do it, it's that we cannot fucking do it.

[kelliealtogether]

So I can't get enough of the fanart of Adam with a beard that @try-set-me-on-fire has been blessing us with, and I wrote a little something inspired by this art of theirs because we love a beardy, unkempt, mysterious Adam Parrish.

Adam Parrish never anticipated growing a beard would itch.

Before averting the end of the world, he always shaved before his facial hair made it past the stage of stubble. Unlike Gansey, Adam had the capacity to grow something other than a scraggly tuft on his chin, but — as evidenced by Ronan when he lowered himself to show up for classes prior to dropping out — scruff took the dignity of the Aglionby uniform down a peg. Dignity being an aspect of the school uniform he needed most, Adam lathered up every morning with dollar store shaving cream and used a dollar store razor to clear his jaw, cheeks, upper lip, and chin of the faint blond fuzz that appeared overnight. It was the last step of the perfunctory routine he’d crafted to get ready with minimal effort and time, a step that often left his face dotted with bloody bits of toilet paper, the quantity driven by how much sleep he’d stolen the night before.

That routine followed him to Harvard, moving from his tiny, antiquated bathroom in his apartment above St. Agnes to a shared dormitory bathroom, where it stuck around until Adam returned to campus after a two week leave of absence because reacclimating his soul with his body was a lot more difficult than he initially planned. 

Not to mention with Ronan back from the sweetmetal sea, and with every ley line everywhere awake, Adam wasn't exactly rushing to return to classes.

But when he did, the Adam Parrish who returned to Harvard wasn't the same Adam Parrish who had left campus one evening to scry and find his boyfriend. The Adam Parrish who returned to Cambridge for his final semester in the Ivy League aligned closer with the Adam Parrish he'd been the past summer at the Barns. An Adam Parrish who didn't have to perform, not because it didn't matter, and not because he didn't care, but because he didn't want to. He didn't have to. The past few weeks had given him some perspective on what really mattered, on the fragility of not just his own body and mind, but the whole world, and as soon as he admitted that he didn't want to stay at Harvard and that he didn't want to keep acting like a cut-rate Gansey, he reached a level he'd learned about in his first semester psychology class but never personally experienced. 

The morning he returned to campus, Adam put the picture-perfect student who looked like he belonged on brick-paved walkways and around stacks of leatherbound library books on a shelf behind his closet door. He donned flannel instead of tweed. Jeans instead of slacks. He shoved his feet in old, scuffed sneakers instead of pristinely polished secondhand brogues, and he wore an old oversized Harvard sweatshirt Blue had found him in a thrift store after he’d gotten his acceptance letter instead of plain, drab sweaters Adam bought because he thought they looked academic. 

In the end, he returned to wearing all the clothes he’d initially left behind at the Barns when he’d driven away in August because they didn’t match who he’d wanted to become at Harvard. 

He’d really been such a fool not all that long ago. 

Without cuffed sleeves and cuffed hems, he became almost unrecognizable. Unimpressive. Unremarkable. The dorm proctor stopped him and asked him who had signed him in as a guest before realizing she was talking to Adam. Professors did a double take when he stopped by during office hours to turn in make-up assignments. Classmates who always asked him to study with them hardly looked his way. Just a change in wardrobe alone — from classic to comfort — stripped away so much of the false front he’d put up for months, enough that the Crying Club didn't notice him waiting for them when he asked them to meet him in Thayer's basement so he could provide an explanation and attempt an apology.

Then Adam’s already-perfunctory morning routine became impossibly more perfunctory when, first, he ran out of the styling paste he used to wrangle his self-cut hair into something presentable, and then — a few days later — ran out of shaving cream. 

Unless he looked closely at himself in the mirror — steam swiped away to make a lopsided circle large enough for his shower-pinked face — Adam couldn’t tell he hadn’t shaven. In the thin, sickly gray of the bathroom, he had to tilt his head one way and lift his chin before the coarse, fair hair on his jaw caught a little bit of light. Straight on, he looked the same as he always had: feather boned, gaunt cheeked, thin lipped, wary eyed. 

Except those wary eyes had recently lost their dark circles. 

That first morning, Adam told himself he’d stop by a drugstore and pick up more shaving cream, but he didn’t. And he didn’t the next day. And he didn’t the next day either. By the fourth morning, he finally began looking slightly scruffy. Or maybe slightly rugged. Nothing like Ronan — who grew a five o’clock shadow by noon — but when Adam ran his hand across his jaw, rough hairs scraped his palm, and he didn’t have to move his head a certain way to see the stubble on his face. A distinct coating of fair hair covered most of the bottom half of his face, a subtle shadow Adam didn’t totally hate, and if he left it alone, he’d save himself five to ten minutes every morning. 

So he left it alone. 

But then it started itching. 

“The fuck is that sound?” Ronan asked during one of their nightly phone calls. 

While Adam sat on his bed in his Harvard dorm, Ronan sat in a hotel room somewhere in the Great Smoky Mountains, priming to track down a dreamer he’d been encountering in dreamspace the past few days. In an effort to help, Adam had flipped some tarot cards onto his comforter, and while figuring out their meaning, he’d started absently scratching his jaw right by where he held his phone to his right ear. 

“What?” Adam replied, hearing Ronan’s question but not picking up its meaning, too absorbed in figuring out how Temperance fit into any kind of reading involving Ronan. 

“That sound,” Ronan said. “It’s like I’m in a damn cabin in the woods and the monster of the week’s trying to get through the door.” 

Adam furrowed his eyebrows, still focused on the wispy figure pouring smoke-like water from one cup into another. “The monster of the…” Slowly, Ronan’s words sank in and Adam stilled his fingertips on his face before dropping his hand into his lap. “Oh.” 

“Oh?”

“I was scratching my face.” 

“Why? Do they have fleas at Harvard? Bed bugs? Magical mosquitos?” 

“No,” Adam said flatly. “I ran out of shaving cream and haven’t shaved in a few days and my — beard? I guess it’s a beard. My beard itches.” 

Silence stretched across the phone line for so long Adam checked to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected because Ronan’s phone died, but the time still ticked upward on the screen of his phone. He’d simply rendered Ronan speechless for a few moments because he hadn’t picked up a razor in a week. 

“You have a beard,” Ronan said when he finally got his wits back about him. 

“It’s not really a—” 

“Don’t tell me it’s like that little soul patch thing Dick tries to grow everytime he has ideas about being manly.” 

Laughing dryly, Adam gave up on interpreting Temperance and laid back on his bed, rubbing his hand over his cheek to ease the itch instead of scratching as he replied, “It’s not like that. But it’s not a beard beard. I said it’s only been a few days.” 

“Send me a picture.” 

“I’m not sending a picture.” 

“Because it’s coming in uneven. I bet you look mangy.” 

“I do not look mangy.” 

“I bet you do. That’s why you won’t send me a picture.” 

“I do not look mangy,” Adam repeated. “Jesus, Ronan. If I send you one, will you quit saying that?” 

“I make no promises, Parrish.” 

A half hour later, after they finished their call, Adam did take a photo of himself. Mostly because when he sent a rare selfie to Ronan, Ronan sent one back, even if it was only one side of his face or a close up of an eye. And because it was for Ronan, Adam put a little effort into the photo, shifting his head on his navy pillowcase until he found a good angle and smiled a little when he hit the shutter button. He looked at the photo briefly before he sent it to Ronan, and it surprised him that his facial hair wasn’t growing unevenly at all. One spot near his left ear was a little thinner than everywhere else, but his facial hair was an otherwise perfectly even layer half a shade lighter than the hair on his head.

Yet this did not stop Ronan from sending Adam a picture of a mangy dog instead of a selfie, followed by a single-worded message moments later. 

Shave. 

Usually, Adam left contrariness to Ronan, who had perfected the art of antagonism a long, long time ago. But something about the single-word reply irked Adam. It came across as a directive, an order, even though Ronan would never mean it that way, and it tightened Adam’s jaw, making it ache as well as itch. He closed out of the message and willfully ignored it the rest of the night and into the following morning, when he found himself in Walgreens to pick up a new tube of toothpaste. 

On his way through the store to the register, Adam didn’t avoid the shaving aisle and instead paused in front of the cans of shaving cream for a long minute. He stared down the red, white, and blue cans of Barbasol, and leered at the far fancier cream-and-navy Aveeno Therapeutic Shave Gel. 

Shave. 

It seemed like only yesterday they’d made up in the sweetmetal sea, where the two of them had intertwined and recounted their rights and wrongs, made their admissions and their apologies. And Adam wasn’t mad at Ronan. A year or two ago, he would have been, and receiving a photo of a scabby, patchy-haired dog would have sent them straight into a fight. Now, Adam well understood it was Ronan being Ronan, which meant he was being a dick despite the fact he loved Adam. So Adam wasn’t mad, but he was a little peeved. 

Just peeved enough to be petty. 

He turned away from the myriad shaving creams and shaving balms and aftershaves and headed to the front of the store to buy his single tube of toothpaste. Then he walked back to campus, let himself into his dorm, and — wastefully — threw away the last of his razors. 

The next few weeks, neither of them brought up the beard thing. Once, Ronan asked if Adam got shaving cream and Adam indirectly answered that he’d gone to the drugstore. However Ronan interpreted that was up to him, but he didn’t ask about it again, leaving Adam to assume he’d interpreted the response as a positive toward Team Shave. They exchanged photos but no selfies, simply snapshots of tangled roots obstructing a ley line or reawakened Rockefeller beetles crossing Harvard Square in a tidy single-file. And when they talked, Adam did everything he could to keep his hands away from his face, even going so far as sitting on his hands after putting Ronan on speaker. 

Finally, in the fourth week of not shaving, the itching waned, and when Adam looked in the mirror, the hair on his face had definitively turned into a beard. Thick, blond hair covered his jawline and chin and it crept toward his cheeks and down his neck. A full mustache crossed his upper lip, and the space between his bottom lip and chin had filled in almost completely without bare spots beneath the corners of his lips he’d seen on other men. All together, it served to make him look far older than nineteen. Wiser. A little mysterious. Rough and rugged and a little unkempt — something he’d never been before — like he’d been put through the wringer. 

In a lot of ways, he had. 

And the worst — but probably easiest and most bearable — wringer was yet to come, because as spring break loomed ever closer, Ronan reminded Adam of the plans they’d made long before Adam had returned to Cambridge. “You’re still coming to the Barns, right?” 

“Yeah,” Adam told him. It wouldn’t be like last summer, when the Lynch family farm had been paradise for Adam and Ronan. Mór Ó Corra and the New Fenian would probably be there if Ronan didn’t force them out of the place for a few days — for entirely selfish reasons, Adam hoped he would — but Adam would never turn down the chance to go back to the Barns. To go home, though that location constantly changed depending on where Ronan was any given day. “My last midterm is Thursday and I’ll ride down Friday.”

“You’re taking the bike instead of the shitbox? Are you gonna return the favor?” 

“I’m planning on it.” 

Adam could hear the devil of Ronan’s smirk when he said, “Good.” 

Midterms raced by despite long nights, long papers, and long exams, and Adam cleanly survived them. He even thought about leaving for the Barns on Thursday night until he remembered his journey back from Virginia on his dreamt motorcycle. Exhaustion on that ride had done him no favors despite having a lot to think about, and he’d rather get to the Barns in one piece than be scraped off the road somewhere in New Jersey. Catching up on sleep could wait until the Barns though, and Friday he woke with the sun so his wheels hit the road before rush hour, his new facial hair adding some padding and warmth beneath his helmet that hadn’t been there before. 

Nine hours later, when he turned up the Barns’ rutted driveway, Adam knew he’d find Ronan waiting for him on the farmhouse’s front porch. Probably leaning against the same pillar he’d leaned against the night of his birthday when Adam joined him outside and they’d kissed for the second time. Thoughts of that night, of getting his hands on Ronan again, of kissing him again carried Adam down the driveway, and when the woods opened up into the rolling fields of the farm, the first thing Adam saw was Ronan, a dark silhouette against the whitewashed house, leaning against the exact same pillar. 

Only the BMW occupied the gravel parking area in front of the house — Mór Ó Corra and the New Fenian presumably made to temporarily flee — and as Adam nuzzled his motorcycle next to Ronan’s recovered car, Ronan started his slow descent from the porch. 

The reckoning came as Adam slowly unbuckled the strap beneath his chin and lifted his helmet from his head, and he hadn’t fully freed himself of it when the crunch of gravel beneath Ronan’s boots stopped and Ronan said, “You shitbag. You said you got shaving cream.” 

“I said,” Adam started, pulling his helmet all the way off and setting it on the motorcycle’s seat before he looked at Ronan, “that I went to Walgreens.” 

Ten feet away, Ronan stood with his arms crossed over the front of his black zip-up hoodie, his pale blue eyes narrowed to slits as he looked at Adam. He looked no more indignant than normal with his lips pressed together in a thin line and the fingers of both hands curled into the sleeves of his sweatshirt, but for a long minute, he just looked, and Adam looked back. He wanted to close that ten feet between them — badly — and throw his arms around Ronan, get him close again, but Adam had lobbed the ball over the net by not picking up a razor in six weeks. It was Ronan’s turn to volley. 

And volley Ronan did. 

Throwing his arms down at his sides, he stalked across the gravel left between them and instead of pulling Adam into a hug, he took hold of Adam’s cheeks. “What the fuck, Parrish?” he growled, thumbs beginning to brush over Adam’s beard, from his cheeks down to his jaw, over and over again. 

For the first time in his life, Adam understood why cats and dogs liked being pet. All the tension from nine hours on a bike melted from his muscles as Ronan’s thumbs skimmed across his beard, and Adam almost closed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t, because he wanted to watch Ronan as his gaze traveled over Adam’s face, assessing his sideburns and mustache and neck line. Finally, Adam replied, “I thought it’d be funny. You pissed me off. With shave.” 

“You asshole,” Ronan said, thumbs stopping but still holding onto Adam’s face. “I didn’t mean it.” 

“I know.” Adam had always known. Things weren’t like that between them, except for when Ronan wanted them to be. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah,” Ronan replied, nodding as a slow smile crept across his lips. “Yeah, I think I do.” 

“It’s not mangy.” 

Ronan laughed loud enough it echoed off the farmhouse and startled Chainsaw — perched on the porch railing — into flight, and as she soared circles overhead, Adam and Ronan wrapped their arms around one another and pulled each other close. 

“No, it’s not mangy, Parrish,” Ronan said, and just before he put his lips to Adams, he added, “It’s a damn nice beard.” 

[heyyoungbloods]

Buckle up, babes, because I'm about to talk about Valentino a lot.

I've been thinking about Val a lot since me and @starfallisle started writing "Go to Hell for the Company" and I have Opinions about him, because I actually ended up finding him a lot more interesting and fun to write than I expected.

First I'd like to draw attention to this post that @potionorchard wrote about Val and his emotional intelligence, because I definitely agree with it. To summarize it, Valentino is not exactly a smart guy, but he's very emotionally intelligent and knows how to play people based on their emotions and connections to him, which is likely a big factor in how he became an Overlord in the first place.

Valentino is a mean guy, but he's capable of being nice, being kind. He can give people what they want from him, if he thinks it's worth his time and effort to do so. I think a great example of the two major sides of Valentino are his relationship with Angel versus with Vox.

With Angel Dust: Val knows he doesn't have to try with Angel, because he's got him under contract. He doesn't have to put effort into Angel if he doesn't want to, so he's willing to let himself get fed up with Angel and lash out at him. He'll put on his sweeter side when it suits him, but it's not necessary. The Val that Angel knows is likely the Val most people know in the long term. But I think before he was chained down, Angel knew a whole different Valentino. A kind, sweet, maybe even loving Val.

With Vox: I think Vox is one of the few people Val doesn't see as below him, same with Velvette. They are his business partners after all. More than that, it's clear that Val and Vox have a relationship beyond business, and have had it for a while probably. With Vox, Val has to play the game a little more strategically. @potionorchard pointed this out in her post that when Val doesn't get the results of Vox's attention that he wanted, he immediately turns around and plays Vox, riling him up by mentioning Alastor and then teasing him about it. Val knew what he was doing for that whole exchange. But, outside of these kind of instances, I think it's easy to see that Val has genuine feelings of some kind for Vox. He keeps the photo of them, and the whole dance between him and Vox in the finale speaks for itself I think. Val doesn't have as tight a hold on his temper as he could (or maybe even wishes he did) but he reins it in for Vox when he knows it won't benefit him to use it, or redirects it as needed so Vox isn't the direct subject of it.

I think Valentino uses kindness and affection as a weapon. He knows emotions are powerful motivators and uses them as his primary tools for predation pre: contracts and with those he knows he can't overpower. This is a major factor behind how I choose to write Val in my RPs and fics, why I make him kind when he's trying to achieve long term results, and why he's overall nicer to Vox than anyone else in the day-to-day.

Val is mean, Val is abusive, but he has the capability of being good for the people he has genuine affection for. However, his handle on his temper isn't good enough, and he'll lash out at anyone when he gets worked up enough. I personally think Valentino has some kind of feelings for Angel, but because Angel is under contract and not his perceived equal, he doesn't make the effort to be what Angel would want him to be, the person that Vox gets more often than not. Val is selfish with Angel and puts his own needs and desires above Angel's unless he can figure out how to also benefit from them.

I think Valentino wants to love people, but he struggles with perception (ironic given his eyesight.) I think Val builds his idea of a person in his mind, and when they do something that goes against what he expects of them based on that idea, he reacts poorly. His selfishness battles against this deep down want-- a want that is often overtaken by lust and pride and is therefore easy to miss, even by him.

This post is getting pretty long so I will stop it here. tl;dr: I think Valentino is messy and complicated and I like him for that reason. Am I reading too much into him? Maybe! But he's more interesting this way, don't you think?

[rochenn]

hiii hi ^_^ wanted to drop in and see if you have any ideas for Dooku and Cody interactions because those 2 guys have been floating around inside my brain a lot lately (if not, maybe Dooku and Fox?)

OH HI! Wonderful ask because I have been thinking about that A Lot!!!

I'm working on a little fic where Dooku and the 212th are stranded on a faraway planet, and the 212th captures him. This puts Cody in a position of power, which is GREAT, because now I can get them in a room together without Cody being instant toast <3

The way he would constantly be tied between treating his prisoner lawfully and just punching him in the face. Repeatedly. And CAN you even contain a highly flighty Sith without breaking some bones Space Geneva Conventions? Especially in field conditions where you have little more than a tent and some basic implements to restrain him?

Imagine Dooku trying to pull every trick in the book to get himself out of this. Brute force, bargaining, manipulation, threats, cryptic statements, you name it. None of it really works. They'd be spending a lot of time together while Cody tries to get information out of him somewhat ethically (and sometimes not), and over time, Dooku grows some semblance of respect for him. Maybe he eventually pulls the same "join me" shit on Cody that he already tried with Obi-Wan lol

Yeagh... they are also floating around my brain... so much...

Generally, I think Dooku is a great tool for testing Cody's morality. And tbh the reverse is also true? Dooku is looking right at the result of his and Sifo-Dyas' efforts here. Seeing that shit show culminate in such a competent, stalwart person has got to make Dooku feel some type of way deep down. Knowing that there's a chip in his brain. Being aware that this guy is specifically designed to take down Jedi (and Dooku himself, by extension). It's CRAZY to me

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi! I'm trying to get into writing twst fanfiction, but I'm having some trouble with keeping the boys in-character. What do you think are their base traits? Like, what's the foundation of their personalities?

Hello! I spent a long time debating about whether to respond to this ask or not. Ultimately, a lot of the thoughts I would include in my response are the same as what I have already expressed here. However, I've noticed that this has become sort of a recurring issue, so I'd like to address this more seriously.

I've recently been getting a lot of people requesting that I basically tell them how to write the Twst characters. Tens and tens of them, in fact (too many to include all in one post). Sometimes it's an ask like, "please list out strengths/weaknesses or a summary of their character traits", and sometimes it's more specific like, "here is a prompt I am working on; how do you think [character] would act in this situation?" I'm NOT comfortable with either type of ask and refuse to answer asks of this nature.

I want to be clear: this is NOT the same as asking for general writing advice; this is literally just asking to be spoon-fed the answers. There is a difference between seeking advice on how to overcome writer's block or asking what are techniques to show, don't tell (which is general writing advice) versus asking someone to specifically instruct them on how to write Leona Kingscholar from the hit Disney mobile game Twisted Wonderland. The former is okay with me, while the latter is not.

While I am flattered that people care about my opinion and hold it in high regard, I am not here to be a cheat sheet, and nor are my opinions the "most correct". There is no single "correct" way to write a character, and even if there was, it's certainly not mine. Only the Twst devs themselves are the "most correct", as whatever they produce is what ends up as canon.

As I have said in my previous post on this topic, having someone else tell you how to write does little to help you. Writing is a skill, and skills are not inherent. They are something you train in, practice, and learn. Looking at a bunch of adjectives will not help you write or understand the characters any better than you currently do. If anything, it just means you don’t develop or practice your critical analysis skills. In a worse-case scenario, it devalues what a writer does, as it places the burden on them to condense what they know into a laundry list of characterization--as if it doesn't take us tons of time to hone those writing skills. The only real way to get the results you want is to do your own research, develop your own interpretations, and practice, practice, practice. There is no magic pill or shortcut or streamlining or easy way to do it and come out with a quality result. You have to be willing to put in the time and the effort to learn a skill, and that extends to writing, be it for this fandom, another fandom, or even for non-fandom writing. Think about it like this: when you're writing a good research paper, do you go and ask a single other source to gather all your data and summarize it for you? Of course not. You have to go out and manually collect the resources, do the reading, take notes, and gain an understanding of those resources. Then you use your newfound knowledge to summarize and to synthesize your own conclusions in your research paper. The same logic applies for writing in fandom.

I'm not sure why there is this sudden interest in shortcuts. Is it social media shortening our attention spans? Is it the rise of A.I. like ChatGPT making people more reliant on and more comfortable with summaries? Is it that people are concerned with nailing characterization or instant success the first time around? Is it that the internet's so much crueler with comments + feedback that we want to avoid OOC-ness as much as possible? Is it that I just so happen to like talking about character analysis so people think I must know everything? It could be any of these reasons or a combination of them--but whatever the reasoning is, it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It's concerning to me that it seems like people are becoming less and less interested in thinking for themselves and instead are increasingly reliant on others telling them how to create. You NEED to fail and get stuff wrong. You NEED to be able to have the courage to try things on your own. Don't be afraid of failure--failure isn't inherently a bad thing, it is how we learn, grow, and shape our own styles and ways of thinking! I definitely was not perfect when I first started out. I had to fail and stumble and struggle to get my craft to where it is today. So did every single one of your favorite creators. Artists had stick figures, writers had their first words. No artist or writer started off making masterpieces. Arguably, they still don't. Every creator is continuously learning and trying to improve their craft. It's not as though they hit perfection one day and decided to stay stagnant. I feel that it devalues what we make when we try to boil down all the skill we've developed into easy "answer keys" for others to digest. Again, you can ask all you want and seek out as many shortcuts as you like, but that's not going to be properly absorbed into your brain unless you walk the walk for yourself. You can't assume that learning these things will be as easy as reading a summary, memorizing a tutorial, figuring out what brush someone uses, etc.--it wasn't for the people you're asking for this advice from either. Failing is normal and expected. You will also never be able to create something that pleases everyone or something that everyone agrees with--so instead of trying to appeal to an unseen audience, please focus on creating what makes you happy. You have your own creative journeys ahead of you, so don't be scared to walk that road! It can be tough and you'll hit roadblocks and challenges--but overcome them, and you'll become even stronger and more skilled than you were before.

Best of luck!

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Hey FA I know you like Jaune a lot so is it weird that their might be possible parallels between him and Ironwood? I mean you don't loose limbs without a reason and James gave away what is possibly thousands in lien in the form of Yang's Arm. We know Jaune himself is incredibly caring through the mountains of small scenes of comforting weiss, pyrrha, ruby, the milfs, etc. They also broke, James with the Atlas Shitshow and Jaune having his RUSTED experience. Thoughts?

James being a good person has never been a question to me, I royally hate anyone who assumes he's a bad person. Like dude is in the only Military in all of their world, had 40% of the political power and all it's military in Atlas.

If James was a bad guy he could've put a real effort into taking over Remnant. Literally the only reason James broke was because he was trying to reconnect the world's communications while a new terrorist group where attacking his efforts (Fucking Happy Huntresses)

And then learned RWBY had been lying to him, then back stabbed him... All while he was having to overly on his semblance Mettle which legitimately turns him less humane mentally.

Like No Shit He Would Turn Bad! But Not Evil! Never Evil, James was trying to save Remnant and then when he couldn't because he got fucked over by Team Mary Sue he tried to at least save who he could.

Like James personality from what we've glimpse is literally like my grandpa who was Airforce. But without the moments of levity or time to unwind.

Let's be clear I like Ozpin and all but I can conceive and write a evil one, I cannot write a bad James.

Also side note I loved Qrow until Vol 8 where he turns on Ironwood when Clover Death is on his and Tyrian's hands. Likw motherfucker you've known Ironwood probably since your Beacon Days! What The Actual Fuck Was Wrong With You That You Weren't Able To Recognize How Fucked In The Head James Was When You Saw Him Again!

MOTHERFUCKER HUGGED YOU, THAT SHOULD'VE BEEN THE REDDIST OF FLAGS TO GET HIM HELP!!!

[starfxkrinc]

pope smells good he smells kinda briny from helping his dad but also like coast soap and aloe vera jergans. in a way he smells the most stereotypically like a clean guy like he puts effort into his appearence so nobody has a reason to say anything to him but he still smells like a man who has to work for a living and has been working forever.

jj and jb dont stink but theyre smelly. like the water be shut off sometimes because theyre #neglected and #poor but they still find ways to wash up its just they dont take lots of showers so when they do shower they always smell like themselves like. the bo is still there but its not stinky its just the body smell. jj smells like weed and old spice and john b has this sorta vague warm smell to him. like a sweater he smells like a sweater

cleo has this sorta medicinal smell? like theres sand, theres sea water, something musky and sweet like fresh fruit...she smells like your hands after eating fruit and you wash them but they still smell sweet but the medicinal part comes from like apothecary-esque like turpentine and palo santo and stuff? like you smell her and get a weird sensory flashback to being 7 years old

sarah smells like the paper strip at a perfume counter...or a hotel lobby. kook world is weird its odorless and yet fragranced. they dont smell like people theres no real body smell bc its instilled in them that thats a poor thing and with the camerons being the newest of new money ward instilled hygiene in the very very very early so they assimilate. the last time she smelled human was when she was 5 and smelled like applesauce. she takes multiple showers and wears lotions more than perfumes bc too much is seen as offensive but like. she doesnt smell like a person she smells like notebook paper.

rafe like sarah doesnt smell human but for a different reason its all the drugs. but rafe also kind of reeks of stress sweat. but since he has all the luxuries of running water and air conditioning its not too too bad but like its noticeable. and he smells metallic because of all the coke. its weird rafe doesnt smell human but he smells like an animal.

kie is also a weird one because like. she smells like a person, but like a clean one, but not in the way pope does. like she smells like lotion combined with that body smell but she doesnt ever really smell like shes worked? tends the absorb the smell of her surroundings it attaches to her clothes....

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Homepage Lines - 8th Anniversary

graphics and proofreading by myuntachis!

text version under the cut!

Spring Troupe

Sakuya: Director, the seasons have passed again. Will you continue to walk through these changes together with us?

Masumi: No matter what happens, I will keep loving you. These feelings of mine… are like flowers that will never wither.

Tsuzuru: I’ve created many precious treasures once again. I want to continue doing so, right here!

Itaru: I wasn’t exactly willing to take part in the race, but I came back stronger for it. Level Up, Great Success.

Citron: Ever since I met you, the world has been sparkling! I am sure everyone feels the same!

Chikage: The things we’ve got to do are nowhere near over. I’ll continue doing all I can in this place.

Summer Troupe

Tenma: No matter how high these walls are, as long as I’m with you and these guys, I can get over them… Right?

Yuki: I want to continue creating costumes for everyone here. Look forward to what I’ll make from now on too.

Muku: I’ve become who I am because I met you, Director. I’ll continue doing my best in theater!

Misumi: I want to show how fun acting is to more and mooore people! So keep watching over me, Director-san!

Kazunari: This world is still full of things I don’t know a thing about! That just means I can keep evolving!

Kumon: I’ve come to like acting even, EVEN more! That’s thanks to you and everyone!

Autumn Troupe

Banri: There’s always a wall standin’ in front of us no matter how many times we get past it. Let’s keep overcomin’ it, putting our everything into acting.

Juza: I’ve realized that our acting still has room to grow. I wanna keep doin’ my best, never forgettin’ how I felt when I started out.

Taichi: This is the only place where we can keep earnestly butting heads. I’m going to protect it with my own two hands!

Omi: There’s something I realize every time I flip through my albums. Right now, I’m truly happy… I’ll be in your care from now on.

Sakyo: You want to aim for even higher places, don’t you, Director-san? I feel the same. I’ll keep doin’ just that, together with you…

Azami: I’ll master both acting and makeup. That’ll become a strength for our company from now on.

Winter Troupe

Tsumugi: I’ve reached a turning point, and can now face theater once again. Please look forward to our future performances as well.

Tasuku: I'll continue living on top of the stage. I'll put on the best play I can for everyone that comes to watch me.

Hisoka: The company will keep moving forward if I work hard as an actor? I’ll put in all the effort I can, then.

Homare: Do keep those eyes of yours on me, for I have far from shown you all I have to offer as an actor and a poet.

Azuma: This place where I get to be with everyone is a treasure to me. Thank you for allowing me to meet theater. 

Guy: Theater is endless, and its turmoils are everlasting. And yet, I believe I find even that side of it to be fun.

Backstage

Matsukawa: I feel like I can go anywhere as long as I’m with you, Director! I’ll continue following you FOREEEVER!

Tetsuro: I hope to be… of even more help than before… As part of… this company…

Akashi: I’ll continue shining my lights on the company’s still unseen future because I believe in all of you.

Rento: Your sound’s still got many places to reach. Lemme help ya soar out into the wider world.

Sakoda: Supportin’ this troupe is my reason for being! I’ll keep doin’ so from now on too!

Kamekichi: You lot are a lost cause without me, right? That’s why I’ll keep staying by your side.

Mizuno: I want to show MANKAI Company’s plays to as many people as possible. I will do my best to help with that.

Yuzo: We can’t lose to you young lot. I’ll show ya that us Fuurinkazan can still bloom, too.

GOD-za

Haruto: GOD-za can’t lose to you either. Just you wait, the Fleur Award will be ours for the taking.

Shift: There sure are many styles of acting out there! I gotta study up more, too!

Madoka: I still haven’t written enough. There are so many more things I want to write. …What do I do? I’m conflicted, but I’m still so happy.

Reni: You gave me a bit of a scare during the Fleur Award preliminaries… But I am glad you qualified. I am looking forward to the finals.

First Generation

Kasumi: The current MANKAI Company just makes me want to blindly support them. I stan them all!

Hiiro: They’ve got some presence now. Well, they’re still a bunch of newbies in my eyes, though.

Zen: As long as you’re the General Director, I’ve got no reason to worry about y’all.

Syu: You’ll be takin’ on more and more challenges, right? Make sure to treasure both the changing and unchanging things in your life.

[thunderc1an]

Warriors: The Prophecies Begin (Redraw: 2023, 2022, 2021, 2020) 

[mr-urple]

phenomenon i've noticed about my speech