#(( id imagine its not bad but not trained

[elegyofthemoon]

😊

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[spectral-honey]

okay so heres the HC about tim sleep/caffine problems. its not necessarily that hes the only one with sleep problems, the batfam is literally made up exclusively of people who spend their time doing highly physically demanding things all night and/or are very traumatized. excess use of caffeine, sleep deprivation, and insomnia are not unique to timmy.

its just that to function at full capacity he usually needs like 10 hours of sleep and a nap in the middle of the day. and if he doesnt have that he just gets so so sleepy. sure, he can push through it, and he does most of the time, but hes more prone than the others to fall asleep spontaneously if hes not 100% focused or Full Of Caffeine.

he is the #1 perpetrator of saying hes just gonna lay down for a minute and immediately falling asleep. and of being woken up, promising that hes awake and totally conscious right now, and then when someone checks back up on him hes dead asleep again and doesnt remember waking up or talking to anyone at all.

[https-milo]

Has anyone requested a Shinso Hitoshi Instagram post yet? I’d love to see one for him, please and thank you!

nope, you're the first! I got you dw!!

DATING HITOSHI SHINSO INSTAGRAM!

details!

Instagram posts w/ comments while dating Hitoshi Shinso!

a/n OBVIOUSLY these are just pictures off of pinterest, reader can be however you imagine!

main m. list / instagram m. list

y/nthebest · 19w

874 likes liked by izuku.mido, ochaco.uru, and minaaaa

y/nthebest training for the sports festival :D

minaaaa youre so cuteeeee marry me <333 y/nthebest minaaaa obvi <333

ochaco.uru LET'S GIVE IT OUR ALL! y/nthebest ochaco.uru YEAH! THATS WHAT I LIKE TO HEAR!

kirishima.eiji 1V1??? y/nthebest kirishima.eiji BET! MEET ME OUTSIDE, EIJI!

shinso.hitoshi you class A students are so arrogant y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi who are you 😭🙏

y/nthebest · 19w

890 likes liked by izuku.mido, ochaco.uru, minaaaa, and kirishima.eiji

y/nthebest yeah he threatened our class, but that guy from the hallway was lowk cute. also, peep the progress!!

kats.bakugo oh nah. ik youre playing. y/nthebest kats.bakugo nope, my new hallway crush. Too bad we stormed off before I got his name 😒😒

shinso.hitoshi youre crazy. y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi OH MY GOD ITS YOU. soooo what'cha think 😙😙 shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest that I want you far away from me. y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi you're the one that keeps commenting on my posts 😁😁

minaaaa you crazy for that one y/nthebest minaaaa no one gets my vision 😓

y/nthebest · 18w

895 likes liked by izuku.mido, ochaco.uru, minaaaa, and kirishima.eiji

y/nthebest didn't think id see him outside of the sports festival... who knew a stray cat would bring us together ;)

shinso.hitoshi youre unbearable y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi is that why you gave me your number and asked me out? shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest yeah

minaaaa not shocked, you've talked about him so much I think you might've manifested this. y/nthebest minaaaa 🕯️ Hitoshi Shinso will come into my life again 🕯️

kats.bakugo you're insane for this y/nthebest kats.bakugo get over it 👎

shinso.hitoshi · 16w

121 likes liked by y/nthebest, monoma.copies, kami.denki

shinso.hitoshi still arrogant, just good company this time

tagged: y/nthebest

y/nthebest just say you like me, cat boy y/nthebest y/nthebest wait. NOT LIKE IN THAT WAY LIKEIN THE SENSEOF HE LIKES CATS. shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest you have such a way with words. y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi you're not denying that you like me 😙😙 shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest there's nothing to deny

y/nthebest · 10w

902 likes liked by shinso.hitoshi, minaaaa, ochaco.uru, and izuku.mido

y/nthebest my sleep-deprived prince watching TikTok with me instead of sleeping (I'm going to throw him down a flight of stairs if he doesn't get a sleep schedule.)

shinso.hitoshi I fell asleep two minutes after your sibling took that picture. y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi doesn't change the fact you don't know how to sleep :/ shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest I always sleep fine when you're with me y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi flirting won't get you out of my concern!! shinso.hitoshi y/nthebest I tried, what can I say... Can I come over and nap? y/nthebest shinso.hitoshi ...yes of course.

kats.bakugo cant believe someone actually puts up with you y/nthebest kats.bakugo 🍅🍅🍅

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[leclsrc]

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath. 

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended. 

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?” 

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned. 

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.” 

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements. 

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.” 

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach. 

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply. 

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway. 

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after. 

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet. 

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff. 

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are. 

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?” 

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy. 

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately. 

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

[seattlesellie]

anything but me; part 1 ♡

pairings: abby anderson x reader, ellie williams x reader

warnings: smut, angst!, mentions of marijuana, secret relationship

synopsis: you, abby, ellie and friends are in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm. what could possibly ever go wrong?

The landscape, once familiar and inviting, transforms into a hostile and treacherous terrain.

It’s rapid, forming deep, unyielding drifts. it was a relentless onslaught, a tempestuous manifestation of nature's fury.

A snowstorm.

And then a warm, messy kiss, tongue pressing right on the pulse of your neck.

“We can’t-“ You whispered. Shallow breaths, your heart was racing like a runaway train. Pounding rhythm echoed in your ears, palms grew clammy, and beads of sweat formed on your forehead.

It was snowing outside.

And you felt like the middle of August.

“Why?” the blonde whispered, her minty breath caressing your temple. Her heart was beating just as fast, you could feel it against your chest. Her arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you closer and closer with every kiss. You had to break it off.

“Because-“ you whispered erratically. Fuck. She sucked the skin on your neck, suctioning it in between her plump lips. Your cunt was pulsing, she would have mocked you if she knew. “Already?” she’d say, a soft smile creeping on her face.

“Abby-“ you whimpered, as she brought her large hand to cup your clothed cunt. Did she just read your mind? She parted two of her fingers on the delicate spot, just like she spread you wide before divulging in with her tongue. Puffy pussy lips spread open, her favorite.

There was no time for teasing, or for mocking. She needed to fuck you right now.

“Ca- I cant- I cant” you whispered. You almost screeched when she softly patted your clothed cunt. You were ready for a slap.

“Yeah you can…” She grabbed your hair and pulled. “My best girl” she whispered, a glint of cockiness in her eyes. She knew what she was doing. Her praises always paralyzed you completely, completely fucking your brain’s capacity of understanding the outer world out of you. Her needy, nasty girl.

But you really couldn’t. Not right now.

It almost hurt when you had to peel her off of you, to slap her hand away from where you needed her the most.

She pouted. Abby pouted.

“I’m sorry… I- Ellie wanted to talk, she practically begged me to. I told her id come to her room at 10, It’s 10:05” you apologized, eyebrows furrowing in anguish.

“No- No-“ Abby kissed your cheek, trying to catch her breath.

“Don’t apologize, It’s okay, I promise.” She gave you a look, a look that said, I trust you. And you’re mine. And I know how bad you need me. Chivalry was alive and thriving. Ellie should take a masterclass, taught by Abby Anderson herself.

“I’ll be right here, yeah?” She whispered softly, planting a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. It drove you truly crazy sometimes, how a rough kiss was followed by a delicate one, a slap by a caress. Her good girl, and then her slut, her princess, and then her bitch.

“Mhm” you nodded, doe eyed. She hypnotized you. Dragging your feet, forcing them to walk away from her seemed like the worst thing you could ever imagine doing.

But you weren’t an asshole. You weren’t Ellie.

The cabin stood tall and sturdy, nestled amidst a winter wonderland, with its wooden exterior contrasting against the pristine white surroundings. You were dragging your feet, and god, the stickiness in your panties didn’t help.

You hesitated before reaching for the doorknob. With a creak, the door swung open.

“Hey” the auburn haired girl said dryly, as if she didn’t fidget with her fingernails while drawing aggressively just five minutes ago. She was trying to contain herself. Be normal. Just talk to her.

She was wearing a white tank top. It was snowing outside.

“Youre not… cold?” you asked, without even greeting her. You, the thoughtful person that you are.

“M’fine, I turned on the heater” She sniffed. She wasn’t fine, and the heater was definitely off. Her nose was red, eyes puffy, and god, that room smelled like Ellie. Your Ellie.

Was your Ellie.

Before entering her room, you decided you weren’t going to let her win this. See, Ellie had a habit of… dancing around important subjects. She was a master of distraction, knew exactly what to tell you, where to touch you, how to get you to crumble beneath her. She wasn’t evil, she never did it on purpose. The weight of her inner demons pressing upon her were a suffocating presence. They suffocated her, at first. Then, they creeped up on you too. She would yell, and demand you to stay quiet, to shut up. She would argue, and then ignore you, and then argue some more. She would scream at you to leave, and then beg you to let her in. You couldn’t do it anymore.

Thats why you left.

You didn’t know whether to sit or not, so you balanced your weight between your feet. You scratched your chin with your shoulder. Abby. Her scent lingered upon your skin. The cologne, like a silent caress, delicate pine, left an indelible mark upon your being. Your face flushed. Maybe Ellie’s room really was hot. Maybe she was right to wear that top.

You fixed your hair. Focus.

“What did you wanna talk to me about?” You questioned. Ellie was stood in front of you, avoiding your gaze. If she looked - she didnt know what she’d do.

“I don’t know” She said dryly, voice raspier than usual. It smelled like weed. She must have smoked before you entered.

“You don’t know?” you questioned. You tried to avoid rolling your eyes. It was so typical, so Ellie. Of course she didn’t know, she never fucking does.

“I- Can you sit down? Why are you acting like you don’t know me?” Ellie's voice sliced through the air with a tinge of annoyance, her words dripping with frustration. Every syllable carried a distinct edge, as if each letter resented being uttered.

She signaled you to sit on the bed.

You obliged.

She sat next to you, keeping the distance. Funny, how just a month ago, she would have begged you to sit on her lap. She would have pampered you with kisses. That was then, and this is now.

2 strangers.

You felt a lump forming down your throat. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Ellie stared at the floor. She glanced over to you, and then shifted on the bed. The forrest green duvet emitted a soft rustle, like a gentle sigh escaping its fabric embrace.

She took a deep breath.

Thats what those Youtube videos taught her. “Meditation for beginners” was probably the worst one. “How to deal with anger issues”, yeah, she binge watched 7 of those videos.

“I wanted to ask you…”

You glanced at her. She was biting the inside of her lips, blood was forming. The taste of metal washed over her tongue.

“Fuck-“ She whispered.

“I need you to explain. I need to know why you left.”

your gaze froze, breath catching in your throat. Ellie's question pierced through your defenses, demanding an answer.

“I’m not doing this right now” you said, ready to get up and leave. It’s not like you didn’t expect it, but for some reason, you just couldn’t.

Ellie looked at you with disbelief. As you got up, halfway there, Ellie grabbed your hand forcefully. Before you knew it, you were sat back down on the bed. Your breath hitched. You should have walked away.

“I said I’m not doing this with you.” You made eye contact with her for the first time. Her eyebrows were scrunched, jaw clenched. Your Ellie.

“Are you not even going to apologize? I mean, fuck-“ Ellie's eyes narrowed, frustration burning within her. Her gaze intensified, her pupils dilated.

Apologize?

“Fuck- Apologize?” you laughed in disbelief.

“Holy fucking shit- Wow” you glared at her.

“You are un-fucking believable”

[fitgirlfemdom]

Small dick anon here. When I was 185lbs it measured 5 inches, but by the time I was 270 pounds it was only 4 inches with all the fat around it. I never used to have any complaints about my size but once I got bigger it changed. I would only occasionally slip out of someone before and was able to get a good amount of motion. By my biggest weight I had two sexual experiences. The first was with a longtime fwb who loved my dick I was around 260 and my partner likewise. With the extra weight it never stayed hard for as long, and I realized unless I was like totally hard I couldnt stay inside them at all. Theyd guide me in, I’d thrust my heavy overly sweaty body forward and when id motion back it would fall out. I ended up feeling so embarrassed after a few minutes of this that I took my half hard dick and just rubbed it against their clit using my hand and eventually I thrusting my shaft against them. In the end they came a couple times.

The next time I had sex I was even more out of shape at 273 and it was with a girl who was at least 270 herself. I tried fucking them missionary the same as the fwb but our stomachs were both so big. The same thing happened as before but I got hard enough to stay in. I literally couldnt actually thrust it forward it basically was just weight shifting without any friction. This only lasted a minute before she asked me to fuck her from behind. Her ass was huge and I barely got any friction, also had to rest my stomach on her ass to even get inside a little. She put her hands on the wall and rode my dick and that was the only way anything happened. Id never had it happen before but after about a minute i told her I was going to cum. I meant this to mean “slow down” but she started saying “cum for me baby” and pushed her ass into me harder. I came less than 10 seconds later drenched in sweat and completely out of breath. Id barely done anything. I felt so embarrassed I didnt even try fucking her again. She definitely didnt cum and she barely felt it at all.

I also had an online relationship where I showed her my dick and asked if she thought id be big enough to fuck her from behind or if id need a strap and she said “definitely a strap.” Apparently the first time i sent her a video of me touching myself it started with me being flaccid and between how fat my fupa was, you could only see the head and she thought i had a clit until i got harder. I’m 240 now so its still a small dick but i remember at my highest weight when i was flaccid even peeing had to be done sitting down because i didnt have enough length to aim and id have lean over to get the job done and then wipe up after like a girl. I wish I could have stayed that weight for longer, I really wanted to find a thin girl for the first time in my life just so I could see how disappointing I would be. Ive trained myself to cum in under a couple minutes and someday i hope I can get to be over 300 pounds so I can truly be pathetic. I was so close to buried penis syndrome I know with the right guidance and support I could get myself there and be a bit pathetic neutered fuck toy for someone to abuse and humiliate lol

AGHHHHH i've got a lot to say about this.

this reads like a fantasy scenario i'd post on here. the slow degradation of your sexual nature from average dude to sexual degenerate gets me going.

i've also heard from multiple pigs in my DMs that sex gets very difficult at the 270+ size, with cowgirl being the only suitable position. i can only imagine how difficult that would be if your female partner was also fat. honestly i'm having trouble understand how that would even work, but i digress. the girl's ass being so fat you couldn't even penetrate? honestly i feel bad for everyone in this situation. her riding you and making you cum in thirty seconds surprised me, as if i was in that situation, there's no way i'm letting a pig cum that quickly. omg i would've rode your face for an hour til you calmed your horny ass down

the last paragraph GOT ME. having such a small, covered dick that girls think you have a vulva is crazy. as a thin woman, i've never seen a dick that small in real life. i think the smallest dick of one of my partners was 4 inches, and it was so unsatisfying i swore off sex for the past year 😭 i can only imagine going out with a loser, giving him a chance, and getting home to seeing a one-inch nub between his legs. would you be able to penetrate anything with that? you'd probably have to just get oral for the rest of your life. i wonder how crazy it would feel to have a way smaller surface area, but the same amount of nerves, as an average sized cock. do you think you'd be sensitive? do you think you'd be able to have a vibrator on your little cockhead for more than a few minutes without shooting ropes? do you think if a pretty girl just sucked on your little cock for a few moments, you'd start moaning like a pathetic gooner? you'd want so bad to just fuck her like you used to be able to, but your dick just isn't good enough. you'll probably just end up humping her ass with your gut on her back while you cum down her thighs.

so helpless at sex that you'd just be reduced to sitting under your girl's desk, eating out her cunt while you jerk off your little nub between your fingers. eventually, you might get quite good at it. she might never even let you fuck her again, binding you up in a custom chastity cage because it's not like you can use it anyway.

aghhh thank you for this message small dick anon. i wish more of my inbox messages were like this

[bloodyneptune]

Sister Sage theory:

I think her plan is to drive Homelander to do something that'll have people turning on Supes and Vought. So she starts pushing him to see himself as superior and humans as something he shouldn't care about killing.

That would feed into Homelanders need for love and approval, because hed only want it from people who are 'worthy'. He already thinks hes better than most supes, so of course the only 'worthy' person is Ryan.

But look what she did by insulting Ryans suit as not being 'unique', it hit Homie in the ego, which caused him to ruin Ryans first foray into Superheroing and turning him away from the only thing Homie has to bond with him, pushing him to Butcher. Which triggered Homelanders need for control, while shes causing uncontrollable chaos in the world around him. The more chaos, the more he has to control, the bigger the chaos the bigger his actions will be

He'll snap, massacre some folks, and everyone will be terrified and vote for all that anti supe legislation, crippling Vought. Which I think is her goal, she clearly doesn't enjoy her powers, and Vought is the reason she's got to lobotomize herself just for a break.

She's based on Lex Luthor, who's whole thing was stopping Superman from taking over the world, and Ozymandias who was cool killing millions to save billions with an incredibly intricate plan involving working with, tricking, and ruining the reputation of his 'Superman' (Manhattans even referred to as 'the Superman' at one point)

But theres more! I think she's working with Neuman, and knew Homelander would go to her if they just put her name in front of him. The most prominent book on her table is 'Beyond Human' almost like she set the scene for him.

Why do I think this? You know what causes strokes? Lack of blood flow to the brain. Do we know any supes that can control blood and would want Hughie distracted from his mission? See, I think his mom is being forced to work with someone, because theres no WAY his dad gave the power to make medical decisions on his behalf to a lady who he cant count on, that he talked to a few times after two decades, over his SON who knows him better than anyone. And no way he didnt know his dad had a DNR.

I think they caused the stroke, changed his will, and planted his mom there to make sure his only option was V. Why would his mom even look in his pocket, know what was in the vial, or how to administer it? It's one of Voughts biggest secrets. So someone had to know he had it and told her (You notice the side eye that Sage gave A Train when Hughie texted? He's one of the most famous people on earth in the middle of filming a blockbuster, theres no reason for a sus side eye if he gets a text...unless she knew)

[POTENTIAL SPOILERS] And most of us know what happens when you give V to someone who's brain dead (lets just say his dads not making it to the Winchester this time). Maybe its a ploy to make Vought look bad, cause chaos, maybe he'll have to take his own dad down and they have plans for Hughie that they need him in a certain mindset for. Idk, Im not the worlds smartest person

I think the whole theme of this season is "nobody is who they seem", and I think Sage is going to do what nobody else could, and bring them down. Id love it if next season was a take on the Mutant Registration Act. Could you imagine Homelander, on the run, thinking supes are superior to humans? Still with his need for love and adoration? Dude, he'd be Magneto (with several personality disorders).

[om0000]

⚠️ sorta longass post

i like the characterization of Peepers' n Wander's dynamic where Peepers fucking hates Wander's guts n wants him dead i think its funny asf but also like. what if he doesnt. cuz Wander is a lot of things to Peepers, his boss' most hated enemy (that he needs to capture but doesn't half of the time cuz he sees it as a waste of time), an inconvenience to account for in his brilliant plans (which he doesnt do at first, ex. The Brainstorm, but later even incorporates Wander into his plans sometimes, ex. The Showstoppers, My Fair Hatey), the idiot friend of his Esteemed Rival, a tactical weakness("pure unadulterated love") that he needs to train the watchdogs out of, ect ect, but that's all through the lens of either his job or other people. i dont think Peepers actually personally hates Wander. if they existed in a vacuum bro would have no beef with him at all. and i don't think he does? id even say Peepers barely knows him enough to form a personal opinion abt him. i might even dare to say Peepers didn't even actually begin to acknowledge Wanders intelligence n the purposefulness behind his actions in The Prisoner. the fact that he continues to disregard n underestimate Wander (again ex. The Brainstorm n more) could suggest that him admitting that Wander is a "cunning, sly and crafty genius" back then was only to convince Hater to deactivate the self-destruct. n u could argue that his disregard of him is pretty reasonable especially compared to how outrageous Hater's concerns w him sound even if theyre real (ex. The Axe, The It, The Brainstorm n more) but i feel like it goes beyond that sometimes. Peepers refuses to acknowledge him as a real threat, refuses to see his strengths and, i feel like, refuses to actually get to know him. even from an enemy standpoint, yk keep ur friends close n ur enemies closer, n it probably has its roots in his shaky pride in his own intellect n hence self worth(i think its so fucking funny n also kinda pathetic how during That's how we'll get her when him n Sylvia were striking poses in the last chorus he pointed at his fucking head, oh he wants to be the brains to her brawn soooooo bad) that would falter if he admits to himself that WANDER of all ppl is a genius, n that's smth that comes to bite him in the ass often — but imagine if he did. imagine him starting to realize stuff abt Wander, begin to understand him, willingly or not. imagine him getting to know Wander, without the lense of everything else they got going on. i think that just has so much potential for enhancing their dynamic n is so interesting... n ill probably never actually do anything abt it but its rlly fun to think abt. like imagine. imagine that

[lesbianralzarek]

gonna be honest, lucy never struck me as that naive. not yet acclimated to the wasteland? absolutely. but naive? ehhhh, id say shes reasonable. the most ridiculous thing shes done is give that weird speech to cooper when they first meet in episode 2, but that made sense. shed been trained to think that that would work (i imagine that pointing a gun at someone in vault 33 is an extremely effective intimidation strategy), and quickly retrains herself to know it wont on wastelanders. she tends to not make the same mistakes twice

also, as someone who knows shes in a dangerous environment, its probably a good instinct to try and not let things come to blows. even if you win, getting injured in a fight with no one who would dress your wounds is, um, bad. its not even just her hopeful disposition that makes her reluctant to hurt people, its also just... best practice half the time. shes not cooper

[wolftozier]

16 + 24 for eddie k!

16. dynamics with the other losers

this is all dynamics as kids apologies...

bill: very much hero worship/little brother energy as kids... bc thats bill! hes brave! hes big and strong (at least moreso than eddie). hes the sorta man eddie wants to grow into, even if hes only like. a few months older than eddie.

bev: i do think eddies a little scared of bev. like. just because shes a girl. i think it mentions this in the book? but eddies built up this sort of pedestal about girls and how they should act around him that when bev joins in, sometimes hes a little unsure of how to respond in turn. is he allowed to be a little bit mean like he is to the other boys? hes a little gentleman, offering bev seats and everything.

ben: these guys are like. brainstorming pals. theyre both a little mechanically minded. like eddie helps ben build little lean-tos made from sticks and leaves as a roof and ben helps eddie identify whats going on with their beaten up old bikes. these two can think through any problem if you let them think together.

stan: these two are my sporting friends... stan in baseball and eddie in track... going to each others meets/games. sitting in the grandstands. cheering (id like to think stan makes a little sign to hold instead of cheering). stan covering for eddie whenever sonia thinks hes doing too much running practice or whatever by saying eddie was at his place instead of training.

mike: i LOVE that in the 2017 movie, eddie identifies mikes bike. makes me imagine them talking awkwardly before properly meeting whenever mike is delivering meat. like. 'hey eddie.' 'hey mike.' 'well see you later' type of conversations. after meeting though i think eddie goes to mike to decompress. like mike doesnt have any expectations for eddie for hanging out, and just lets him sit and watch mike do farmwork. although eventually he asks eddie to join in, which ends up with eddie getting himself a little dirty and being okay with it!! especially since mike will offer to launder anything that gets a little dirty, or offer his clothes to wear during, etc.

richie: eddie very much uses richie as an excuse, in my mind. like obviously eddie is a polite little boy. but if richies annoying him, its okay if he blows up a little. if richies making fun of him, its okay to make fun of him back. if richies hogging the fucking hammock, its okay if eddie crawls in there and teaches him a lesson. its less so that richie is a bad influence (although he can be) and more of just. being a sounding board for all of the thoughts and impulses he can't share with anyone else.

24. hair

eddie having three billion hair products is so important to me. he has special shampoos. he has hair oil he rubs on his scalp to prevent dandruff. sleeps with a silk pillowcase to prevent breakage.

and then proceeds to put so much gel in his hair every morning that there's a little hollow noise if you tap it. absolutely destroys all his hard work

[thesadboisguidetolife]

My sweet angel @iamanimaginarybeing tagged me to post a selfie and answers some questions so here we go!!

Had to pull the shirt down because these trunks leave NOTHING to the imagination lol also because this shirt is one of my favorites

Are you named after anybody? I was actually given my name BECAUSE my mom didnt want me to have the "family name" lol

Do you have any kids? i do! i dont talk about it much though because its not my place to put out my kids info like that unless they're comfortable with it.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Nooooooooooooooo. Not at aaaalllllll.

When was the last time you cried? Oh babe, i cry a good amount lol. there was a post i reblogged about the guy who went back to retake this picture in this old timey place that had me misty eyed. If we're talkin like haaaard cry..... a couple of weeks ago my depresso got kinda bad and i had me a little cry in the shower. but im good now 🥰

Whats the first thing you notice about people? oh God im gonna come across SUPER LA but, the vibes. Whether someones timid, loud, how they talk, body language, just the whole thing.

Eye Color? Brownish?!?! Ive been told i have little bits of green in them but please don't look into my eyes. I get embarrassed and feel uncomfortable in a comforting way if that makes ANY sense at all

What sports do you/have you played? Soccer and Basketball in teams growing up. Nothing much other than that lol

Any Special Talents? I can knit, crotchet, play guitar, bass, ukulele, im decent with a sewing machine, i can cook, i would like to think that im getting better at photography, i can pop my left shoulder out of my socket (?) haha this ones hard for me.

Where were you born? In the Antelope Valley, Southern California.

Scary Movies or happy endings? Scary Movies WITH Happy Endings. FUCK The Strangers. I love/hate that movie so much and i know it goes against my answer because it has one of thee most fucked up endings but.....damn lol

Do you have any pets? 2 cats

How Tall are you? a humble 5'6". lol

Favorite subject in school? Cooking, followed by French, followed by Weight Training lol

Dream Job? Cook at the Queer Commune lol honestly, i think im currently working on something id LOVE to do till the end of time but we'll see. I dont want to jinx it

Imma tag @sucker-for--anything-acoustic @campcrow2 @adamsmasher @floofiest-doof @beast-0f-lavendertown @circle-of-power @odeada-nightspawn @jambos6 @spider-boy1989 @skiingcows @snikt-yip @penismage @traumadumpling @chibi-masshuu @kaleidoscope-cosmic-power for now 🥰

[socksandbuttons]

I keep forgetting my Unhinged Solar lover tag but anyway, yeah, I think this family needs to work on more with their communication. They could've talked to Lunar nice and slow about Eclipse being back and after him. Like the six of them as a group, so that if Lunar does get a panic attack, his family is right there to comfort him. I feel like that would've been best instead of not telling Lunar.

If Eclipse successfully disguised himself as Solar, can you imagine how traumatizing it would be to Lunar? He might have trouble trusting Solar in the future if that happens or be scared of him again 😭

I don't recall Earth saying I love you to Solar yet. She did hug him in that episode when Lunar came home exhausted from training, and Solar sounded so unsure about receiving the physical affection. He was like "Mm, nice..." HE'S TOUCH STARVED!!

- Unhinged Solar lover

BDJKDS its okay somehow i knew it was you anyway dfbksj YEAH LIKE... THEY KNOW HE HAS TO KNOW EVENTUALLY. Esp if hes like... threatening to take lunar.... as a battery??? Like??? A group fam making sure he can get thru knowing so they can make an easier plan like.. YALL ALMOST GOT UR COMMUNICATIONS WORKED THEN- cmon. SOLAR WOULD HATE THAT SO MUCH. Another reason to hate himself we cant have that AGAIN. Esp consdiering he KNOWS, he's also protective of lunar he doesnt WANT anything bad to happen. to find out your whole likenesss was used AGAIN to hurt Lunar. devastating.... and i can see the show going with this too. Id be heartbroken. I.... i just wasnt sure if she did or not cause she seems like she would be the first to say it. But if Lunars the first thatd BE SO ITd MEAN A LOT TO SOLAR ID THINK. Man needs more hugs.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

Cities

I know Remus is technically a Cardiff boy, okay? But humour me and let me make him from tiny little Llanwrtyd Wells please??

Imagine living on the end of the earth.

Take that and combine it with the terrestrial rain every other day, and it’s Remus Lupin’s home. A small, hidden Welsh town called Llanwrtyd Wells.

Living in buttfuck nowhere meant that you knew everybody and everybody knew you.

Everybody.

When Remus had his first kiss, old ass Mrs Davies nudged him and said ‘well done’ the next day.

Still, it had its perks. Like not having to come out to his mum, because there were approximately two other gay guys in town, and while Osian wasn’t a bad kisser, he wasn’t quite prepared to date someone who went on and on about how much he loved his small town and basically didn’t say anything else. Also, the nights being quiet. If they happened to have a heatwave (once in a millennia) he could sleep with the window wide open, without worrying about cars speeding past, or getting robbed. Bar the few teenagers in Remus’ classes that liked to shoplift (until one of them got a slap around the head from Arwen for robbing her mum) or vandalise a building from time to time, people were too close for there to be much criminal activity.

It also meant that when Hope finally kicked Lyall out, there was no way he could stay in town. The people had made it clear that he wasn’t welcome back.

Yeah, Remus loved the town, and the people in it.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t excited when he got into Oxford on a full scholarship. A big fuck off English city and a prestigious ass university! Also, a chance to live in a big city, finally.

He wasn’t expecting to find the first 5 minutes so hard. The moment he got off the bus, he realised that in Oxford, people barged into each other without a sniff of an apology, just walking quickly through one another. Also, why was it so big? Remus could blink in the wrong place and he’d be lost! Eventually, he gave up on trying to navigate the overwhelming maze of buildings and roads, getting a ridiculously expensive Uber instead.

Checking in was stressful, getting his key and his ID and finding his flat was stressful.

He had an awful start to a city life.

Everything smelled like petrol fumes, he could hear the cars through the window, everything was grey. Remus had almost thought he had made a mistake.

The first perk of Oxford? His roommates.

James Potter was essentially a big ball of energy who somehow knew the city like the back of his hand, even though he wasn’t from Oxford, so he didn’t have to worry about getting lost. He would smile and talk and somehow make sure everybody felt included at the same time. He had stopped Remus from snapping at everybody and breaking down on his first day.

Peter Pettigrew was from a smaller town in Devon, Clovelly, so he and Remus had plenty of time to complain about the differences between towns and cities. Peter kept Remus sane, making him feel like he wasn’t really odd for not being able to sleep in the city, with all of it’s noise, or exchanging an amused glance at the fact that every building was identical.

Sirius Black was…

Sirius Black deserved an entirely separate perk dedicated to him.

He was the example of a hot Londoner. Christ, with his long, flowing black hair and silver eyes… Remus figured out very early on that he was falling for him, that much was obvious.

Still, he had never really been around someone he fancied before, not when he was falling so hard and fast. Tripping and stumbling from liking him to loving him before he had a chance to catch his balance. Honestly, the last thing he had expected was to fall in love with a Londoner who could sleep through aggressive evening construction, had a posh as shit accent and could look at a train map and just… understand it.

He was well and truly fucked.

Until he realised that Sirius got jealous when other people flirted with him. The revelation that came at the third perk of a big city: a lot of places to get drunk. As it turned out, Remus was the right kind of tall and broad shouldered to be considered desirable to city people. Specifically, to city men, which wasn't something that Remus was at all used to. He had never had to learn to put on a charm, a filter.

More specifically, he couldn't flirt to save his fucking life. That meant he essentially just had to stand and nod while guys talked at him.

Well, until Sirius swooped in one day and snogged him senseless in the middle of the dance floor in a gay club. Then he didn't have to worry about flirting, he was Sirius', nothing but Sirius'.

The city was the fucking best. Without the city, he wouldn't have met Sirius.

Still, his small town was perfect for making his city boyfriend visit over the summer. It was pretty much the highlight of his life.

Sirius was the perk of every city he was in.

[pineappleparfaitie]

Regarding recent events

Alright im in a better mental state so i want to clear some things up

1. My "callout" posts ir whatever the fuck  had sfw vore community tags on it I never should have  put on there . Im genuinely sorry to everyone ive hurt with that decision for causing anything triggering or anything along those lines. I was 100% in the wrong and i may have even caused some people to do bad stuff to themselves. I am sorry.I am so sorry.

2.I am in contact with someone trying to clear this up, i saw this person make a post trying to prove i sentthrm BOMB threats. I want a vide recording of this proof sent to me as this is a) a lie on the part of their friend b) i have hd to provide video evidence so i believe it's only fair. If this person is reading this I want your friend to record them doing that as i feel its the best way for us to see the truth.

3.I am most likely leaving the community due to this. Never in my 16 and a half years that I have walked this planet have i been called a neo-n@zi, have i been called a straight up nazi, have i bee called scum and have i had someone so publicly wish harm upon me. I have been threw hell in the last 12+ hours ,i havent slept, my heart aches and I am unable to breath normally.My menstrual cycle wil probably be late due to stress alone even though i should have gotten it a few days ago.

I have RUINED,TAINTED and DESTROYEE discourse around this topic in the community and im so sorry.Im sorry people will wat to speak up on this and fewr theyll be a moron like me.Im sorry people will look at me and never want to bring this issue up because they dont want to end up like me-pathetic and unable to talk without bring so confusing people cant even understand what Im saying.So bad at emphasazing a point I have peple thinking im a nazi or even nazj SYMPATHISER God forbid.

Im sorry to anyone and everyone ive hurt , to anyone and everyone who saw my posts and felt hurt because they had every right to be.

Im so sorry.Im sorry.

4.

This mext bit is directed at this individual.

Read if you wish but if I see or hear people sending threats to this person,sending insults,sending death threats or anything under thr Sun along those lines you are DIRT to me.

.

.

. Im sorry. I have tried apologising where I went wrong. I apologised to you when we cut ties and I reiterated stuff wasnt your fault. You have called me names,misgendered me ,claimed it wasnt a gendered term and later said you thought jt said she/her in my bio when it wasone of the first things on my blog.But i can forgive that. It makes me salty but its a simple mistake .

However

Im sorry. I am so sorry I hurt you. I am sorry you think id even IMAGINE makin bomb threats to you, had you told me to the extent these people were going I would have tried tracking them down myself.  I thought all they did was call you a Zio which I dont even believe you to be. Im sorry if you ever felt belittled ,hurt  ect and weather or not anything comes to light You have the right to FEEL hurt. To FEEL that i wronged you in every way. No one should insult your feelings over this tyoe of stuff. But all I ask is a GRAIN,  not even an ounce, a GRAIN of sympathy after being told to get hit by a train ,then publicly being called a nazi with no proof. The things you listed by definition wouldnt make me a nzi. You have misinterpreted and misunderstood my words and I am SORRY I couldnt be more understanble and word myself better.it was MY FAULT. not you It was ME But I have never insulted you ,called you what you have called me, called you a bitch ,said you were yapping whe you wanted to disprove anything,  gave you desth threats. I am angry amd I am devestated but I will never even call you a zionist. The only issue I ever had after we cut dtuff off was you calling me a neo nazi publicly via vauge post. You could have hated my GUTS and it wouldn't have bothered me cause you have the right to feel hurt

Please. Send me video evidence. Because you andyour friend are making me out to be a antisemitic nazi monster who sends bomb and starvation threats to random 16 year old online. Im the same age as you. I am leaving a community i adored because of this if not 100% then considering I hope you can be happy when or if im gone.Maybe it would bring you closure cause you said everyone agrees im wrong. I may have misread your words here - but I believe you said it would be better if i left. The post isfone now tough.

Im not claiming you did i may have misremembered. But if so I hope you can finnaly get closure and be happy when im gone.

I hope you can finnaly be happy .All i ask is ehen I leave to not do this to anyone else. You have destroyedme from the inside out.

Im sorry I wasnt better , im sorry i made you feel like shit, im sorry me not thinking may have or HAS caused you mental or even physical pain.

Im sorry. Im not asking for forgiveness, because no one decides that but you. Amd you habe every right to not even think about it

I want you to know Im sorry

-Pine

[dc-polls]

"That Really Happened?!" DC Comics Tournament Entry #44

Hallucinagenic Party Balloons (for your own good)

[ID: Comic panel showing a dark figure with brimmed hat and trench coat with an arm out towards the titans who are silhouetted and holding balloons that look like planets. The figure says, "Remember, the very next door you enter, your secret self waits on its other side!" One of the titans says, "He's a laugh from an old horror movie, but his balloons are definitely today!" /END ID]

What Happened?

Mr Jupiter, the Teen Titans mentor at the time, decides they need to face their fears in order to grow, so he does the only obvious thing: he dresses up as a creepy old man and gives the titans free balloons (they're definitely today!) which turn out to be full of hallucinagenic gas that makes them wildly hallucinate the worst things they can imagine.

Wondergirl's 'worst thing' is a cute boy thinking she has bad hair. Then they find out what Mr Jupiter did, and all just accept it as a totally normal part of superhero training, and there are zero consequences.

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Tournament polls will be posted after all entries are up. As always you can find all posts related to the tournament using #dc-polls-trh