#but it's not harming anyone so who cares?

[revelboo]

REVEL! I request some of the lost light starscream story 🙏

Absolutely been obsessed with your writing, i legit have been checking every hour to see if you’ve uploaded anything new. I’ve read probably everything you’ve posted except for the bumble bee stories, you’ve made me fall in love with so many characters, the way you write all of them is absolutely amazing. Also this your reminder to hydrate!

Yeah, Sundays aren’t usually good days

Overdone Pt 3

Starscream x Reader

• Slumping into his chair behind his desk, he leans his chin on a fist as you ramble utter nonsense. Claiming you’d come to just falling to your death. Lies. They have to be, but then you’re turning big eyes his way and thanking him for saving your life and his wings flick. When’s the last time someone thanked him for anything? Shaking himself, he growls. Someone has to have put you up to this. “So I’m to believe you just teleported to Cybertron without meaning to, without even knowing how you accomplished it?”

• Staring up at his scowl, you understand why he doubts your story. It sounds crazy even to you, but you honestly don’t know how you ended up here. The only things you’re sure of? He’d saved you when he hadn’t had to. And that makes you sure he’s good deep down despite how intimidating he is, despite his threats to harm you if you’re a spy. Hands clasped together, you study him as his optics shutter and he presses his servos against them in an all too human gesture like he has a headache. “I swear I’m not a spy. I’m baker.”

• “And I can just take your word for it?” Everyone’s out to get him, to take away what he’s worked so hard for. But he can’t figure out the game here. Maybe you’re not a real human? Just something meant to look like one? Comming Rattrap, he vents when you just stare up at him with wide eyes. Why a human? Thundercracker is the one that cares for the little meat bags, not him. Anyone familiar with him would know that. ‘Bring me a scanner,’ he growls at Rattrap, cutting the connection without waiting for a reply.

• Of course, he doesn’t trust you, but you’re certain you can trust him. And short of him giving you a kitchen and baking supplies, you’re not sure how to prove your claim. You’re also not sure what a scanner is or who he was just talking to. What you are aware of? How massive he is. Alien and strange. His face, his body metal, but malleable. Able to give enough to form expressions and his hands had been warm holding you, making you painfully aware of how cold you are right now. “Why did you save me?” You ask almost against your will and his frown deepens.

• “Would have rather I let you make a very small splatter on the surface?” Growling, he turns toward the door when it opens and holds out a hand in demand. Aware of Rattrap gawking at you as he hands over the scanner. And you flinch when he powers it on and seizes you by the leg to drag you closer when you try to back away. Huffing through his vents at your little squeak when you fall on your butt and he pulls you closer. Your expression almost comically indignant when he scans you. Finding you really are just a human. You don’t even have any hidden tech meant to spy on him and he’s almost disappointed. Almost eager to root out a plot or a conspiracy. Tapping the scanner on the desk beside you to make you flinch, he vents. “Go find Wheeljack,” he mutters to Rattrap. Because you’re still a mystery he means to solve.

Previous

[elene78-blog]

I think Jeremy and Jean are already pretty much in love with each other, if not almost totally in love.

They are great friends, but they are attracted to each other, they care about each other, they want to protect the other, and they want to comfort the other. But "love is not enough." They need to fix themselves a little (I'm not saying completely heal, that will take years) to take a step.

At the moment, I am immensely happy because Jeremy respects Jean so much, adores him and has so much affection for him, that he does not plan to allow him to be just another one of his flirts. It's not just that Jeremy doesn't want to scare Jean. Jeremy himself doesn't want Jean to be "anybody," so he refuses to try anything, too. Jean will never be "anyone."

"Not you, not with you," not when "I'm learning French for you." Not a single one of Jeremy's hookups comes even close to what Jean is to Jeremy. And Jeremy, who sees sex as a mechanism for self-harm, doesn't want that for Jean.

And Jean wants Jeremy to look at it, but he still has a ways to go and he knows it.

Right now, the fact that both of them do not want to move towards physical affection is, precisely, proof that they are falling in love.

Jean and Jeremy know they like each other. They know it. But they also know that they are hurt and they respect and appreciate each other so much that the last thing they want is to take a wrong step and become the other's villain.

They are taking care of each other, hoping that one day the other will be ready to be together.

[slushiedog]

Gonna be real and just say this shit. Fuck anyone who is rude to you because you're in tcc or dislikes you just because you're in it. Don't let people like that get into your head cause as long as you aren't harming others why should they care? You like something then like it why should people give af about what YOU do and like if it ain't hurting anyone. If anything they are going out of their way to harm you mentally by being a dick to you which makes them just as bad as they think you are for liking something that wouldn't be deemed as normal. Don't feed into those mfs either if they wanna say some shit and not acknowledge how you feel then why should you acknowledge how they feel? People like that most likely just wanna say some shit to start an argument most of the people being dickheads are gonna forget about it in a day so don't give af about what they say. At the end of the day its all about you fuck anyone who tells you otherwise. Be as weird as you wannabe or in general just be yourself cause no one should be able to control how you wanna be and what you like.

-

Also I don't understand how people think its okay to be jerks to people in tcc. Were all human and nothing can change us from being that. Its weird that they'll care so much to say something but not realize they're acting like some of the perpetrators bullies.

[transfaguette]

that tiktok is so true. whenever people say stuff like "i care about the global south not the american empire" often times as people who live in the us, i'm wondering, what ways do they show up for the black community around them? the indigenous community? are those people not american? the black people whose ancestors literally built this country, the indigenous people still fighting for their land centuries later. the people of color that exist here, that these people weaponize for every damn issue but toss aside as soon as it's convenient to forget about us. the "collapse of the american empire" will not hurt the most privileged people who live here, it will harm people who are already marginalized and already suffering. and it's a funny way to show you care about human rights when you're quick to discard these communities as though caring about them and the global south is impossible.

Its incredibly tokenizing and performative, too. like their way of “caring” abt the global south is just their apathy towards the US. and that apathy feels powerful in a hyper nationalist society but, like, it doesn’t actually do anything. i don’t think anyones politics is made better by apathy, but it does feel really good to not care.

[embretheworld]

crk fanfic idea

because i do NOT have the motivation or inspiration to write it

affogato cookie is slowly poisoning dark cacao cookie all along and when his son was gonna fight him the first time he began to crumble making choco rethink his descions and catching him off guard.

the idea is i'm forcing them to have a confrontation by someone else attempting to kill his father instead making choco realize 'damn i actually do care about my dad deep down, i really dont want this to happen'

but also since he's the kings son and he know the in's and outs of the castle therefore, knows the secret passages and is able to get his dad to safety. upon therein meeting with the former watcher(Caramel arrow cookie) who he taught how to shoot a bow and a group shes with. they have a brief meeting upon therein gingerbrave and the group begrudingly allow dark choco on their team. it is then they are all force to realize that yeah, while yes, we want to retreat we cannot because they CANNOT under ANY circumstances be allowed to get the soul jam. and so the group trudges on with a king thats slowly sccumbing to the poison, the only thing keeping him from dying being custard the third's healing. they manage to get to the soul jam in time but due to dark cacao's crumbling state he is unable to resist pomegrante cookie's spell, however, it goes wrong. not only does dark cacao cookie do beserek, he goes *rouge*. lashing out against anyone and everyone around him. partly inspired by a tiktok i saw ngl, in this state he's able to recognize his son despite this and is what brings him back to his senses.

and so, with the pomagrante and the others having retreated in the chaos they don't see when the king reverts back into his original form he doesn't wake up. No he isn't dead he is in a coma. thanks to his soul jam he's alive despite the poisoning! however, while custard the third may be a descendant of pure vanilla cookie this is something he cannot heal, he simply doesn't have enough practice for it. but here's the thing, someone needs to stay here and help fight back against the licorice sea and rebuild the kingdom. it is then that dark choco cookie steps up to become prince once more to ensure his father lives.

his first order is that a letter is sent out to pure vanilla cookie inlisting his help to cure his father. and his second is not an order but a request, a favor if you may, that gingerbrave and his friends stay and help the kingdom. while yes custard the third's power isn't as strong as pure vanilla it's still good enough to momentarily tide the affects it'll have on his father's body. and so the group stays and a letter is sent out to pure vanilla.

what is pure vanilla doing you may ask? well feeding the birds. it is upon this lovely afternoon, clear and sunny, the perfect temperature he gets a letter that rocks his world. his lover- though he questions with how long its been if he can even call dark cacao that or deserves to- has slipped into a coma due to a poisoning.

his mind is sent into a whirlwind but he knows he must go, his friend needs him. and so he does. with black rasin cookie by his side they venture to the kingdom but all pure vanilla can think about the last letter he sent to him before all of this happened, before he asked gingerbrave and his friends to give him a note to inlist him into their war effort against dark enchantress. 'do you think of me like i think of you?' was one of the things the letter said. its all he can thing of, that letter. yet before he can spiral he meets the man who poisoned the man he loves in the snow. affogato cookie. pure vanilla is filled with nothing more than rage at that very moment. he wants vengeance and be like “how ***dare*** you,” when it comes to him. he wants him to suffer like dark cacao did. he wants to hurt him. but he knows if dark cacao were here he would not, he would simply banish the man. so despite how he feels he does not harm the man but simply tell him to never come back here if he knows whats good for it.

and so he finally arrives to the kingdom and rushes to his lovers side. yet despite healing him dark cacao doesn't wake up.

so, pure vanilla spends this time by dark cacao side. reading books he found in his room silently mourning the fact he wasn't there to help when he was needed.

it is during this time he has a talk with dark choco cookie who has taken up his fathers crown while he was out. at first the talk is tense, all he can do is ask 'why'. why did he strike his father that day. why come back now. why help now. why why why.

all he can think about is how much his friend suffered during that time, spending day and night searching for a son he didn't even know was alive and now he comes back now as if nothing happens? he saw his friend grieve someone who wasn't even dead and it hurts.

it all hurts.

but it hurts dark choco to. it hurts that the last day he might have had with his father is one where half of it he planned to kill him. it hurts to know his father never truly gave up on him. it hurts what his father said. but it hurts to know that he never got the chance to apologize to him, neither he nor his father got the chance to apologize to each other.

and it hurts.

but the thing is dark cacao doesn't understand why hes woken up to the two people he loves crying. and so he asks, simply:

why?

but he did not expect more tears to be shed upon his awakening.

and thats all i got for now. maybe one day i'll write it. maybe not. who knows.

[xxcallmemaryxx]

*gasping for breath*

my liege! a- a letter!! from,, the village!

*cautiously, u take the note, opening it slowly*

scrawled in a hurried hand are two words that chill u to the bone: vampire vessel

u know what u must do

👀🙏

So this is the coolest way anyone has ever requested something and it literally tore me right out of writers block. So thank you!!

Vampire Vessel under the cut ~

Vampire Vessel who spent weeks watching you. Always in the shadows. Always hidden. Always just out of sight. It was a life he was accustomed to. Always getting so close yet never being allowed contact. Ever. He’d been around long enough to know that his safety, and his family’s safety, prioritises all else. No matter how deeply he feels, or how long he’s dreamed of something, if it impacts his safety he can kiss it goodbye. He still remembers the way ii looked at him when he realised where Vessel was going the first time.

“Leave it alone.”

“… leave what alone?”

“You know what, Vessel. We are safe here.”

“I just want to see.”

“… Do not be seen.”

Vessel knows ii has a weak spot for him, he takes advantage of it, but the way ii looked at Vessel before he slipped out the door was pleading. He can’t help his curiosity, he’s been alive for so long that new people tend to make him careless. He was honest when he said all he wanted was to see you. Just a look. To see what you were like. What colour your eyes were. If you had anyone with you. It’s not every day someone new moves into these woods. It’s quite rare. He likes to know things. To know what’s going on outside the manor. To know if he and the guys needed to be more careful than they already were. And truly, that was his intention the first time he came to visit you.

He can’t say the same now. He’d be lying.

It’s been a month. And he never stopped coming to see you.

It’s been a very long time since Vessel has been genuinely interested in someone new. He’s never known his teeth to ache like the way they do when he watches you. He’s never known his throat to close up like the way it does every time you unknowingly meet his eyes in the dark through your kitchen window. He’s never known the urge to run away from a human who wasn’t actively hunting him like the way he feels with you. Because your presence within these woods makes Vessel feel like he is being hunted. And what terrifies him more is that despite that, he can’t stay away from you. He wishes no harm upon you. He wishes no trouble upon you.

But he yearns.

He wants to feel your human skin under his frozen fingertips. He wants to hear your heart race every time he looks at you. He wants to feel the way your breath stops every time he gets close. He sits by your home for hours just watching you live. Watching you exist. He’s beyond fascinated. He’s forgotten a lot about human behaviour, but he’s just obsessed with the way you choose to be. Every time he spends the night with you, he occupies a sturdy tree branch just far enough away to be shrouded by shadows, but close enough for him to still see and hear you.

ii has tried to steer his obvious desire towards something safer. Thinking maybe he’s just hungry and is getting restless. He forces Vessel on hunts with him or sends iii out to mess around with him for a bit, to blow off some steam or get whatever it is out of his system. But every other night the manor is void of Vessel. No matter how recently he’s eaten, or how much like his normal self iii and iv can pull out of him again, he always ends up back up in that tree with his eyes glued to your every move.

Vessel can never just leave it alone. Despite iis warning.

Because long after you’d gone to bed, Vessel couldn’t bare to part with you. He sat up in his tree, with a lap full of sticks and twine he’d made himself. And for hours he worked his long practiced skills and crafted a small gift for you. A dream catcher, in the shape of a heart. It was small, but beautifully put together. He debated leaving it for you the whole time he was making it. Weighing up if it was worth the hell he’d have to pay should any of the guys find out. But as the sun started to peak over the horizon he didn’t think twice. Jumping down from his tree, he hung it off your front door handle and took off back to the safety of the manor.

He tells himself that he technically did keep his word to ii. He hasn’t been seen.

But if ii finds out what he did this morning, Vessel knows ii would find a way to give him human life again just to kill Vessel again himself.

.

.

.

Thank you reading!!

I hope I did this ask justice but just know this isn’t the last of vampire vessel. He will be back.

[jayktoralldaylong]

Their Father: Doffy, I'm sorry.

Doflamingo: You're sorry?

(And in that moment, he remembers their father....taking them from the wealth and privilege they were born into. Telling him to be nice to slaves. Getting their house burnt down by said slaves. So that they were stuck scavenging for food and getting beaten every day by slaves. His mother dies before them without a funeral in a beggars shack. His father begs for the wealthy to save them but they are cast aside. Doffy had to listen to his baby brother cry himself to sleep every night. They lived a life struggling, begging and getting tortured by slaves.)

Rocinate, begs: Doffy wait! He's still our father. He meant no harm. Please Doffy, he's all we have!

Doffy, elder sibling anger boiling in his heart: I don't forgive you.

(He kills their father in front of Rocinate.)

That is the day that Rocinate realises his brother has become a monster, and that he will spend the rest of his life trying to end Doflamingo.

That is the day Doflamingo decides that he will do anything to protect his family. Even if the person he has to shoot down.....is family.

"Doffy was a monster from the start."

I don't believe that. Yes, he was racist and oppressive, he was raised in that environment. When he was taught to be kind, Kindness saw the death and suffering of all the people he loved.

Throughout he asked questions "Why is mother dead? Why am I hungry? Why are we in pain?"

His father never gave a satisfactory answer. He just begged and cried for his children to be spared, but the boys got tortured anyway.

Obviously the moral lesson Doffy would take from that....is that kindness is for suckers. 💀

No I don't support his actions in Dressrosa. He enslaved an entire population of people. He didn't just execute rebels either, he broke them first. 💀 He was a monster. He needed to be stopped. He said Dressrosa was his birthright, it would have been given to him if he'd still been a Celestial Dragon. So either way, Luffy would have eventually beat him up in Dressrosa. 😂💔

But then what would have happened to Law? Doffy was the only one to accept the dying boy. Everyone rejected him cause they thought he was cursed. But not Doffy.

A little boy who tied bombs around his neck. He knew his disease would discourage people so he even offered to be used for a suicidal mission. He didn't care who took him, he just wanted to destroy. Doffy saw the hatred burning in that child's eyes and he smiled.

Doffy took that child and set him at his table, scolding the crew when they feared Law's disease. He gave Law access to everything he could learn on that ship. He let Corazon disappear for weeks in an attempt to cure Law's disease. He found the cure for Law.

Doffy was a tyrant, yes. But he loved his family.

Unfortunately, finding the cure for Law marked the end of the time he would spend....loving that boy. For Law would take his brother from him.

Doffy said he'd kill anyone who dared lay a finger on his brother. Ironic. He ended up killing him with his own hands.

(Every time I remember the Donquixote tragedy I go into a rant.)

Do you think at the end, when they both pointed guns at each other, Doffy knew that Corazon would never be able to pull the trigger? Do you think that made him angry? Knowing his brother was all talk. That he'd joined his crew to kill him and he'd been provided with many opportunities, but he'd never done it. Even though Doffy trusted him more than anyone else. Angry cause he knew his brother could never kill him. Angry cause he knew he was not the same. Angry cause he wished.... Corazon had kept on pretending. Then he wouldn't have to pull that trigger.

Corazon means Heart.

Doflamingo gave him that name.

I shouldn't wish someone as terrible as Doffy got a better life but..... I wish his father's plan had not failed so epically. I wish he'd been able to teach that boy to be kind. He clearly had the capacity for it. 😭😭😭😭

Yet another irony, Doffy's father sought to turn a tyrant into a kind man. Doffy sought to turn a doctor into a tyrant with Law. They both failed.

[drdemonprince]

hi! i just wanted to say that as a very traumatised autistic person, your piece An Autistic Social Butterfly's Guide to Making Friends has brought me close to tears. i have faced ostracism my whole life, from early childhood, when my parents were physically abusive, to primary school age, where i was regularly bullied and isolated, to high school where i started dealing with heavy mental health issues as a result of continued ostracism, including suicidality, depression and anxiety. my whole life i’ve been told that whatever i was facing was something of my own creation, and despite my autism diagnosis at 13, my parents never ceased this mantra. when in high school i met a group of queer neurodivergent people at a very vulnerable time in my life (i had just been unceremoniously removed from my turbulent friend group and would spend days at a time at school not speaking to anyone) i immediately decided to shed my more outspoken personality that would complain if someone did something i didn’t like, and allowed these people to cross my boundaries again and again, because to have friends, even if they were awful to me and made me feel like a burden for struggling, was better than being alone again. very long story short, 5 years after meeting them, i completely cut them off in 2024, but as they were my only point of social connection, i found myself becoming far more of a hermit than i ever wanted. but because of my history of constantly being harmed by people i met, i decided that friendship wasn’t worth it and that i didn’t want to get to know people if this was how i was going to be treated over and over again. i’ve been ignoring my own social needs for over half a year, trying to heal from the immense amount of pain caused by being ignored by my ‘friends’ whenever i clearly stated that i needed attention, i needed help that wasn’t going to end with me in the psychiatric ward (i have been forcibly incarcerated in the psychiatric ward and drugged upwards of 10 times). but your article, and my own self exploration with being a trans ? who likes to wear dresses and also loves being hairy and giving head to men is slowly reminding me that i can find people i care about again and who care about me, and your article has given me practical steps to do so. the realisation that i don’t have to orgasm to enjoy sex, or receive mutual physical stimulation from my partner has taken a burden off of my shoulders that i didn’t know was there. from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

wow thank you Anon. I have been through the ringer too and I understand those waves of isolating to protect oneself after having been subsumed by friend groups in the past and how impossible it can feel at times that youll ever find people you can really be open and yourself with. but they are there. oh my god are all the freaks out there each one a unique baffling configuration and you can find them and connect to them and build something for yourself from all those relationships and do your own thing and it can be great.

[bears-sillybasement]

How do Bear and Lyney Meet?

How do they get together?

Do they have any pet names for each other?

OHHH MY TIME HAS COME..(thanks now I'm going to use you to throw out a lot of stupid info..AND WITH SILLY PICTURES. because, uh I like to draw)

this..looks like it's going to be longer than I planned..oopsuwu

can't guarantee that I've written everything correctly...my english is a nightmare.

ACTUALLY (🤓☝🏻), both of them met a few months after Bernadette arrived at Fontaine, however they did not speak to each other.

The two began to cross paths frequently, especially since some children related to Lyney started going to listen to Bernadette's stories. (he's a storyteller)

Lyney was the one who started talking to him, small dialogues and exchanges of words every time he went to pick up the children in his care,, sometimes he just stayed to listen the stories from afar.

Despite Lyney's personality and casual attempts to maintain some sort of bond, it actually took quite a while for Bernadette to begin to reciprocate in any way.

Though his personality seems intense, he has never been a very open person and prefers to avoid unnecessary stuff, like anything that makes him feel too observed...naturally trying to cut the conversations and leave.

Still, Lyney was NEVER pushy about anything in particular, letting things go at their pace. slowly the greetings turned into small talk, then long conversations. then outings together, a little help here and there...and they became friends.

HOW THEY ENDED UP TOGETHER IS A COMPLICATED STORY.

Lyney for his part was very open with his feelings, but at the same time he kept a lot of his personal life secret, afraid of harming him. and Bernadette simply denied feeling anything at all. He's not good at processing intense emotions, so not having anyone to talk about it just isolated him.

Oh, and of course, the

"why should I tell you anything about MY life if YOU won't?"

delayed things a little..

The moment that felt like a confession was in a late night conversation they had in secret. It wasn't formal. In fact, the subject wasn't even broached. But it was intimate enough to create a great silence.

(I'm not going to say what it was because in my head I have a whole comic for that OKAAAY??)

Still, after that there was a formal confession, but it was only as a final confirmation.

(the conversation was started by Lyney, the formal confession was made by Bernadette.) (technically my bear did the easy thing) (He already took it for granted so) (yeah)

After they started dating, the first week was funny to watch..Bernadette was as petrified as a scared goat. (If you don't know how goats look when they get scared, I swear it's funny)

He's not the type of person who reacts extremely SWEET to displays of affection, at least not in a conventional way (he will probably show his affection by making you fall straight to the ground every time you try to walk)

So,, the first few days he looked like a shy kid with his first girlfriend in kindergarten.

That mood didn't last long (though unlike Lyney, Bernadette is much more cheesy in private....Lyney seems to forget when he's in a public space)

(this was just an excuse to draw bro being the cuddly one) (leave me alone)

OH AND THE PETNAMES.........

Lyney seems to have a shotgun full of those, Bernadette responds more to the word sweetheart than to his own name at this point..All the cheesy shit that comes to your mind, whatever you think Lyney probably said it.

and Bernadette..sometimes uses petnames, BUT he has the habit of just calling him Lyney in a softer tone. he loves his name and thinks it sounds cute enough.

(also calls him honey) (haha its fun, because) (he's a bear) (haha) (haha guys why arent you laughing)

and following on from what I said, this also took him quite a few weeks to do it naturally..Lyney can still VIVIDLY remember his boyfriend of 2 weeks staring at him, in silence, after 4 long minutes of preparation to say something like "hey love" and ending up being a "hey dude"

I'm sorry to whoever is reading this, I got carried away LOL

[eternallyordinary]

“He Belongs to You” - Part 9

spotify playlist<3

Part 1<3

Part 2<3

Part 3<3

Part 4<3

Part 5<3

Part 6<3

Part 7<3

Part 8<3

*:・ﾟ✧*:・ﾟ✧✧・ﾟ: *✧・ﾟ:* ˚₊· *:✧*:

Summary: You push Homelander to the brink, and yet… you’re the only one who can save him.

Warnings: violence, smut, yandere, control, age gap relationship, self harm, cutting, knifes, guns, aggressive behavior, harassment, foul language (let me know if i forgot any<3)

*:・ﾟ✧*:・ﾟ✧✧・ﾟ: *✧・ﾟ:* ˚₊· *:・ﾟ✧*:・ﾟ✧✧・ﾟ:

Vaught had given you barely twenty-four hours to breathe before forcing you in front of the cameras. You had to remind yourself you weren’t doing it for them, you were doing it for the people. For Mrs. Lieberman, even if her husband was a piece of shit. Was he even a piece of shit? While you may be one of the good supes, you are a diamond in the rough. You’ve heard stories of supes hurting others, taking and never giving. Maybe he was right in what he said. Maybe he had every right to puncture you so deeply, and you’re not even referring to the stab wound-you’re talking about the puncture it left in your chest, the heavy feeling of sadness it left on your heart. Vought on the other hand had its agenda, and it didn’t include your feelings.

“He was a piece of shit,” Homelander reminds you. “He deserved to die.” You snap out of your trance. Does he fucking read minds too? He gives you a “tsk tsk” look, coming up behind you and grabbing your waist. He can’t read minds, he just already knows you so well.

Homelander insisted on taking you up to your bed and taking care of you. You guys settled into bed and watched another dumb reality show. While yes, the shows are dumb, it’s nice to watch normal people being normal and doing normal things. He watched as you fell asleep - stroking your hair and taking in your scent. The next morning, you could tell he didn’t sleep at all, again. While you understood he didn’t really need sleep to function, you couldn’t help but feel bad he was so restless and you were the reason why.

Your makeup was sprawled out on the counter. One thing that hasn’t changed about you since taking compound V is your lack of organization, your messy side. Sometimes putting stuff away neatly felt to overwhelming. Homelander looked at the mess on the counter and couldn’t help but laugh. Moments like these he was reminded of your age, the youth in you that still exists.

“Why don’t you just have them do your makeup?” He asks. “I like doing it,” you say. You loved zoning out to some music or a good podcast and making up your face. “You don’t even need it,” he says. You roll your eyes. “That’s corny”. He pinches your side and tickles you. “I mean it!” You let out a laugh. It feels good to laugh and forget about the events of yesterday, even if it’s just for a second.

You sit on the bathroom counter, your feet in the sink. You slowly put on your makeup, as if slowing down would help you avoid this god forsaken interview. You examine your neck. A faint raised scar sit on top of it. You were still not used to the way your body healed so quickly. When you first were injected, you wanted to try everything, testing yourself to the brink. You slit your wrists so deep you swore it was the end, but marvelously, you lived. You never told anyone this. A lot of things you have kept to yourself - maybe one day you could tell Homelander. You feel like if anyone, he’d understand.

—

Homelander sat next to you in the sterile, white-lit CNN studio, his presence towering even in stillness. The host, Mark Davidson, was the perfect embodiment of corporate news—polished, rehearsed, the kind of man who probably voted against the Equal Rights Amendment but smiled on camera and called female colleagues “kiddo.” You could tell this was true just based on his appearance, but his demeanor was another story. He addressed Homelander immediately, kissing his ass as if they were longtime pals. Does he know who he’s trying to impress? Like Homelander would give a fuck. He eyed you up and down, sizing you up and taking in every inch of your curves, looking at the way your suit squeezes your ass. Maybe you should’ve got longer shorts like Homelander suggested. You find yourself pulling them down. Homelander doesn’t miss a beat, he notices this exchange and his face falls. Here we go.

The segment started smoothly, fake smiles and empty pleasantries. Until it didn’t.

“First off,” Mark began, leaning slightly toward Homelander, “let me just say—what a remarkable display of heroism from you yesterday. The way you handled the shooter, the way you neutralized the threat—truly, an inspiration,” Mark gestures to you, “This one is lucky to be able to shadow you the way she did yesterday. Not a lot of supes, especially women supes can say they’ve had that experience. Truly once in a lifetime, kiddo.” He gives you a fake smile. Ew.

You stiffened.

Oh. Here we go.

Homelander’s face didn’t change at first. A slow blink. A twitch of his jaw. A subtle shift in energy, but you felt it. That coiled thing beneath the surface.

The interviewer kept going, oblivious. “The people of New York—and the country—owe you their thanks. It’s moments like these that remind us why you’re America’s greatest hero, Homelander.”

Ashley, standing just off-camera, was already rubbing her temples.

And then—

“I wasn’t going to do shit.”

A silence so thick it seemed to suck the air from the studio.

Mark Davidson blinked. “…I’m sorry?”

Homelander leaned forward, his voice deceptively smooth. “Come on Marky Mark. You’re not that old… you have a toupee but your hearing is still intact, right? I said, I. wasn’t. going. to. do. shit.”

The words were sharp, like the edge of a blade being slowly pressed to someone’s throat. He gestured toward you. “I’d like you to apologize for treating her like an idiot. Because she’s the one who ran through the crowd. She’s the one who stopped bullets with her hands. I was simply enjoying the show. I got to say, watching my girl in action like that really made my cock hard.” Homelander grabs his junk, and then gives an evil, smile. Your eyes widen. You’re praying to God your dad isn’t watching this at home.

Mark opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“And what’d she get for all the work she did?” Homelander’s voice darkened, the weight of it pressing into the room. “Some incel with a tiny dick shooting her in the chest. And then an ungrateful prick stabbing her in the fucking neck. And then, you, an old geezer with balls that probably hang down to the floor as soon as your pants drop, treating her like nothing. God bless America, am I right?!”

The camera operator hesitated, looking toward the producers. Should they keep rolling?

Ashley, off to the side, looked like she was about to vomit.

“Cut it! Cut the fucking cameras!” She pleads.

Mark forced a chuckle, shifting slightly in his seat. “Well, of course, we—”

“Oh yeah,” Homelander continued, flashing that too-perfect smile, “I killed him too. Both of them. Didn’t I, baby?” Homelander puts a possessive hand on your leg. “And I’d do it again.”

Ashley squeezed her eyes shut.

The host paled. “Right, but—”

“Say you’re sorry.”

A second of pure, suffocating silence.

“Did I fucking stutter? I said, say you’re sorry.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Now say it like you mean it. And I want you to look into the camera while you say it. So the viewers at home, the wonderful citizens of America know how fucking sorry you are.”

“I….. I’m sorry. I am really sorry.” Mark says.

Ashley frantically gestured to the control room, Cut it. Cut it now. The segment’s lead producer hesitated—Vought wouldn’t like this, but ratings. The feed stayed live.

Mark cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

You exhaled, keeping your posture poised, but the moment was spiraling. You needed to smooth this over before Homelander decided to go completely off the rails.

So you leaned in slightly, brushing your fingers against Homelander’s wrist—a tiny touch, barely noticeable, but he felt it. His muscles twitched, but the edge of his rage dulled just a little. You knew he’d appreciate it.

“Look,” you said, keeping your voice calm, even. “At the end of the day, we’re here to protect people. That’s the priority.” You glanced at Mark. “And I think what Homelander is saying—passionately—is that it’s easy to put people like us on a pedestal. But we’re still…” You hesitated for half a second, choosing your words carefully. “We’re still people. We have families and friends and people who love us. Some of us didn’t even choose to be this way. And yet, we continue to fight for all of you.”

Homelander’s lip twitched, amusement flickering through his irritation. How did you pull that out of your ass? Nice save.

Mark forced a tight smile. “Of course. And on that note, let’s take a quick break.”

The second the cameras cut, Ashley grabbed onto her assistant, also Ashley.

“Oh my God,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Does he ever stop talking?”

Homelander grinned, hearing her. “I don’t appreciate the way he spoke to her.”

Ashley closed her eyes briefly, muttering something that sounded a lot like fucking kill me before inhaling sharply. She approaches the two of you with panicked strides.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever. We have another sit-down with Cameron Coleman, and—”

“No.”

Ashley blinked. “No?”

Homelander smiled. “We’re done.”

She opened her mouth—then shut it. Not worth it.

She turned to you instead. “Can you at least—”

“I’d like to take a day to recover after being stabbed in the neck,” you said simply. “If that’s okay with you, Ashley.”

Ashley groaned, throwing her hands up. “Great. Perfect. Fantastic. I hope you two are very happy together.”

—

The second you stepped out into the crisp New York air, Homelander turned to you with a smirk.

“Dinner tonight?”

The shift was so abrupt you almost laughed.

You raised a brow. “We’re just ignoring all of that?”

“What’s there to ignore?” he said smoothly. “I defended my girl on national television. Very romantic, if you ask me.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest.

“And you… you liked it.” Homelander said.

It’s true. Yesterday, you would’ve torn him a part for claiming you on national television. But this time? It was hot the way he defended you, the way he treated you as an equal and made sure the man said sorry. It turned you on, to be honest.

You give an innocent little smile and decide not to say a word. He knows that look, a naughty girl trying to hide how naughty she really is.

—

Dinner felt… normal. Or at least, as normal as things could be.

You both traded in your suits for something more relaxed. Homelander wasn’t good at wearing “normal clothes”. To be honest, he didn’t really own any. Never had a reason to wear them. While you had other clothes, you didn’t love dressing up. You preferred comfort. You threw on a baggy pair of low rise jeans, a cashmere sweater, and some loafers. You hoped this would be good enough for wherever you two were headed. You had a feeling he would appreciate more skin, but that’s just not who you were. It confused him as during the photoshoot, you had no problem wearing a bikini, sexualizing yourself. But that’s different. That was you taking your power back. Right now, you just wanted to be cozy.

The restaurant was intimate, warm candlelight flickering against polished wood.

Paparazzi lurked outside, but neither of you cared. For the first time in days, you let yourself relax. You figured you’d get home to thousands of tweets criticizing the fact you two went on a date after a mass shooting. You didn’t care. For a moment, you felt like you could finally breathe.

You even caught yourself laughing at something stupid he said. The bill came, but you both wanted to Basque in the normalcy a little bit longer.

And then—

“Let’s get another drink,” you mused.

Homelander smirked. “Is that a request or a command?”

You grinned. “Neither. A suggestion.”

“Then I suggest we do it.”

—

The bar was dim, humming with quiet conversation.

He ordered an old fashioned, you ordered a dirty martini. His fingers drum against his glass, slow and methodical, as he watches the amber liquid swirl inside.

You sip your martini, savoring the briny bite of it as you glance around the bar. The low hum of conversation, the clink of ice in glasses, the faint melody of jazz drifting through the air—it all feels normal. Comforting, even.

For the first time in a long time, you feel at ease. The tension in your shoulders loosens, the ever-present hum of anxiety in the back of your mind dulls. You’re not waiting for something to go wrong. Not looking for a fight.

But then, like clockwork, the universe delivers.

“Homelander, oh my god, it’s really you.” Two girls your age swarm him like he’s some kind of messiah. They’re draped in tight dresses, teetering on sky-high heels, cleavage spilling out as if they’re on display. It’s obvious they pregamed before heading to the club—something you’ve never had the slightest interest in.

“Hi, ladies,” Homelander greets them, his voice dripping with amusement. Forty-eight hours ago, he would’ve dragged one of them into the bathroom, fucked her raw, and left Ashley to clean up the PR mess. Now, he actually tries to feel something—lust, arousal, that primal hunger that used to come so naturally. But it’s gone. That doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun, though—just enough to get under your skin.

One of the girls clings to his arm, eyes wide with curiosity. “Where’s your suit?” she asks in that unmistakable Kardashian-esque drawl. Homelander places a hand on her lower back.

You fume. Electricity crackles through your veins, invisible to the naked eye. Jealousy. Fantastic.

“Well, you see, this one here is a little too humble—made me come out in Tom Ford,” he smirks.

You swirl the olives in your martini, forcing a smirk of your own as you glance up at the group. You don’t want him to know this is getting to you, though he doesn’t need to hear your heartbeat twice to know it is.

“Well, this is pretty hot too, I won’t lie.” The girl giggles, flipping her hair, and Homelander humors her with a charming smile, pretending to care.

“Isn’t it?” you chime in, standing from your chair. “Told you it would turn you into a looker. I was right.” You turn to the bartender, raising a finger. “Hey, when you get a minute, how about a round of shots for everyone in the bar? On Homelander. America’s hero!”

The girls cheer, mistaking your pettiness for generosity. Homelander’s smirk falters. He started this to make you jealous, to get you hot and bothered. But in true stubborn fashion, you had to take it a step further, didn’t you?

“Can you take a picture of us?!” the ringleader chirps, holding out her phone.

“Oh my gosh. Of course! I would love to.” You take the phone, pretending to snap a hundred pictures. In reality, you’ve just wiped it clean with a factory reset, just to make her life difficult. I mean, it’s better than lasering her face off.

“Y’all have so much fun,” you say sweetly, handing it back. “I’m gonna see if one of those Columbia boys over there wants to fuck me.”

The glass in Homelander’s hand shatters. One of the girls shrieks.

“We’re leaving,” he growls, grabbing your arm in a vice grip. That’ll leave a bruise.

—

He drags you outside, around the corner, into the shadows. He towers over you, chest heaving, eyes searing into yours. His hand twitches, moving toward your throat—but then he remembers your voice from the other night.

“You choked me,” you had whispered, wide-eyed and fragile.

He clenches his jaw, then slams his fist into the brick beside your head, cracking it. He wouldn’t hurt you. But he has to release the monster somehow. Why did you have to pull it out of him?

“What the fuck was that?” he demands.

You tilt your head, lips curling. “Me playing your game.”

His nostrils flare. “You want to be fucked by some young college kid? Someone your age? They won’t know how to touch you. They won’t know how to make you feel the way I do. How many times do I have to tell you that you’re mine?”

“Oh, come on. I was just trying to piss you off. You knew what you were doing, flirting with those girls in front of me. I thought tonight was supposed to be normal. Just me and you. But there’s always a game. Always some fucking twist.”

His fists loosen against the brick, his gaze softening—just a fraction.

“You’re jealous,” he murmurs.

“No, I’m not. I just think it’s really fucking immature to—”

“You’re jealous. Just admit it.”

“I’m not fucking jealous,” you snap, shoving him with more force than you knew you had. Blame it on the martini.

A low growl rumbles in his chest. His cock throbs. Oh, how he wants to take you—hard, rough, make you feel it. He thought you were too fragile. Maybe you’re not.

You stare at each other, the tension thick enough to snap, and then—you collide.

Mouths crash, hands claw, bodies tangle. Your legs wrap around him as he lifts you effortlessly, lips dragging over your throat, nipping, teasing.

“My sweet, jealous girl,” he taunts against your skin, voice dark and dripping with intent. “Daddy has to punish you now.”

Before you can react, you’re airborne, the wind rushing past you. Minutes later, you crash through the balcony doors, swallowed by the dim glow of the room, breathless, wild.

“Turn around,” he orders, rough, commanding. “Hands and knees.”

You obey without hesitation. Fabric tears. His grip on you tightens.

“I told you I had to punish you,” he murmurs, kneeling behind you. His palm comes down—hard. A sharp gasp escapes you, your body jerking forward at the sting. It hurts. It burns. But fuck, it feels so good.

Then he stills.

His hands remain on you, warm and trembling. His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven movements.

And that’s when it hits him.

You’re innocent. His sweet girl. His delicate thing.

He had forgotten. Again.

A violent war rages inside him. The instinct to take, to claim, to devour you whole—it burns like an inferno. But you—you aren’t meant for that. You’re trusting him with something no one else ever has.

And that trust? It’s both his salvation and his undoing.

His hands, once gripping your hips like a vice, loosen. He exhales sharply, like he’s forcing himself back into his body, back into control.

Then, gently—so gently—he turns you over, onto your back, caging you beneath him. His forehead presses to yours, his fingers trembling as they trace your jaw. His touch is different now. Not punishing. Not possessive. Just… reverent.

“I—” He stops himself, shaking his head, struggling for air. He needs a second. He needs to reel himself in.

Your hands slide up his arms, fingers curling at his shoulders. Your pulse is fast, but not with fear. With something else.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “I can’t.”

You reach up, brushing his hair back from his face, grounding him. Soft. Slow. Steady.

“You won’t,” you whisper.

His chest tightens. His jaw clenches. He wants to believe you, but God help him, he knows himself too well.

“You don’t know that,” he grits out, still hovering over you like he’s afraid to lay his full weight down, afraid to lose himself in you completely. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

Your fingers skim his jaw, tilting his face toward yours. “I know you.”

That stops him cold.

You should be afraid. You should run. He wants you to. It would make this easier.

But you don’t. And you won’t.

“Let me have you,” you whisper, voice shaky but sure.

His breath stutters. His eyes—those impossibly blue, piercing eyes—search yours, looking for hesitation, for uncertainty. But there’s none.

“Baby…” he exhales, shaking his head like he’s still trying to fight it.

“I want you,” you say, firmer now, fingers tightening in his hair.

A low, pained groan rumbles in his throat. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his grip on you ironclad as he breathes through the chaos in his head.

Then—finally—he lets go.

He kisses you slow, deep, like he’s surrendering to something greater than himself. His hands map out your body, skimming your waist, your thighs, treating you like something precious, something he’s never deserved.

And for the first time in his life, he’s careful.

His lips linger on yours, moving with aching slowness, memorizing the taste of you. His touch softens, no longer gripping, no longer taking.

Because this isn’t about him. It’s about you.

His forehead presses to yours as he exhales, trying to settle the wildfire raging inside him. He should be the one in control—he always is. But now? You’re the one keeping him steady.

Your fingers skim up his back, tracing the hard lines of muscle. “I trust you,” you whisper.

Three simple words. But they hit him harder than anything ever has.

His hands still. His breathing stops. He wants to say you shouldn’t. He wants to say he doesn’t deserve it.

But he can’t.

Because he needs to believe you.

His lips brush against your temple, his hands skimming lower, resting on your thighs. He spreads them slowly, carefully, settling between them.

“Tell me you still want this,” he murmurs, voice rough, unsteady.

You nod, but he shakes his head. “No. Say it.”

“I want this,” you breathe, cheeks flushed. “I want you.”

His restraint nearly snaps in half.

A strangled groan escapes his throat, his fingers digging into the sheets instead of your skin. He drops his forehead to your stomach, inhaling sharply before pressing a lingering kiss there.

“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing to me.”

But you do.

And you love it.

Homelander drags his lips back up your body, trailing slow, soft kisses along your skin. Taking his time. Worshipping you. Letting this be more than just a claim.

His hands frame your face again, his thumbs stroking over your cheeks as he leans in. “I’ll go slow,” he murmurs against your lips.

It’s not a question.

It’s a promise.

You nod, exhaling shakily as he positions himself at your entrance, teasing, just barely pushing inside.

Your body tenses instinctively, nerves curling tight in your stomach. But instead of pushing further, he stops. Waits.

His lips ghost over yours. “Relax, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice warm, steady. “I’ve got you.”

You let out a slow breath, unclenching, willing your body to trust him the way your heart does.

And when he feels you loosen beneath him, he pushes in just a little more, watching your face, searching for any flicker of discomfort.

The stretch is overwhelming. The heat. The way he’s everywhere all at once.

He stills, barely halfway in, his jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might crack. “So fucking tight,” he breathes, gripping the sheets beside your head.

You shift slightly, adjusting, and a strangled groan leaves his throat. His hands fly to your hips, holding you still.

“Don’t move,” he grits out.

You bite your lip, looking up at him. His pupils are blown wide, his expression wrecked, desperate.

You lift a hand to his face, brushing your fingers over his cheek, grounding him. “It’s okay. I trust you,” you whisper again.

His breath shudders.

And then, with one slow, deliberate motion, he finally pushes in completely.

A gasp rips from your lips, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, your body stretching to take him. He stills again, pressing kisses to your jaw, your throat, whispering something soft, something only you can hear.

“Are you okay?” His voice is tight, strained.

You nod, swallowing hard as you breathe through the sensation, letting yourself adjust.

Then, after a moment, you shift, a silent invitation.

His fingers tighten on your waist.

“Fuck,” he mutters, dropping his forehead against yours. “You were made for me.”

And then, slowly, carefully, he starts to move.

And for the first time in his life, he doesn’t take.

He gives.

His movements are slow at first—achingly slow—like he’s still holding onto the last thread of his control, afraid to push too hard, afraid to lose himself completely in the heat of you. His hands grip your hips, not to claim, not to take, but to anchor himself, to keep from unraveling.

He watches your face, his eyes searching—always searching—for any flicker of discomfort, any sign of hesitation. But all he sees is you, lips parted, cheeks flushed, your breath coming in soft, uneven pants.

And fuck, you’re so beautiful like this.

A low groan rumbles in his chest, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhales sharply. “You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs, his voice strained, wrecked. “I don’t—baby I—I don’t deserve this.”

You whimper softly, shifting beneath him, testing the way he fits, the way your body stretches around him. The sensation is foreign, intense, overwhelming in the best way possible. It aches, but not in a way that makes you want to stop. If anything, it makes you want more.

You reach up, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer. “You can go harder baby,” you whisper, breathless. “Just take me.”

His body shudders against yours, and for a moment, he just looks at you—like he’s trying to burn this into his memory, like he knows he’ll never feel anything as real as this again.

And then, finally, his control snaps.

His hips roll forward, slow but deep, pushing in just a little further, dragging a soft, breathy moan from your lips. He groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he starts to move, a steady rhythm that sends warmth curling deep in your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathes, dropping his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re so—so wet for daddy.”

Your fingers dig into his back, nails dragging over the hard lines of muscle as you arch into him, inviting him deeper. He obliges, sinking into you fully, groaning at the way you squeeze around him.

“You’re taking me so well,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your jaw, down to your throat, where he lingers, breathing you in. “Didn’t think I’d be able to do this—be gentle—but fuck—”

He cuts himself off with another roll of his hips, just enough to make your breath hitch. You grip his shoulders, gasping softly, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him, the way he stretches you open, fills you completely.

“You okay?” he rasps, his voice edged with restraint, but there’s something else beneath it—something almost soft.

You nod, swallowing hard, your chest heaving. “Yes,” you whisper. “I—I just… I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

His lips curl into something like a smirk, but there’s no arrogance behind it, only warmth. “Yeah?” he murmurs, rolling his hips again, slower this time, dragging out the friction. “How does it feel, baby?”

You don’t have the words. All you can do is whimper, gasping as pleasure starts to curl through you, replacing the ache, melting the last remnants of tension from your body.

His smirk falters, his breath catching at the sound. “Such a good girl,” he mutters, but he’s barely holding on.

His pace quickens just a fraction, his hips pressing deeper, moving with purpose now, with intent. His mouth finds yours, swallowing your moans as he thrusts into you, each roll of his hips measured, precise.

“You really were made for me,” he groans against your lips. “Look at you—taking me so fucking perfectly. You are such a good girl, waiting for daddy for so long.”

You shudder, back arching, heat coiling tight in your stomach. You don’t know if it’s his words or the way he’s moving inside you, but it’s building, growing stronger, a pleasure so intense you don’t know what to do with it.

He feels it. Sees it. The way your body trembles beneath him, the way your fingers tighten in his hair.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice low, coaxing. “Let me feel it. Cum for me baby.”

And you do.

The pleasure crashes over you like a wave, white-hot and blinding. You cry out, clutching at him as your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper, drowning him in you.

He groans, burying his face in your neck, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own release. His hips snap forward, thrusts turning erratic, desperate, until finally, with a rough, shuddering breath, he breaks.

His body goes taut, a deep growl tearing from his throat as he spills into you, holding you tight, as if letting go would shatter him completely.

For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound in the room is your uneven breathing, the steady pound of your heart in your ears. His weight settles against you, warm, grounding, his forehead still pressed against your shoulder.

Then, slowly, gently, he lifts his head, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip.

His eyes find yours, something unreadable flickering in their depths. He swallows hard, his jaw tightening.

“Mine,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You smile sleepily, still dazed, your fingers brushing over his cheek. “Yours,” you whisper.

His lips press against yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s grounding himself in the feeling of you.

He always thought he was a god—but there must be another one who brought you to him. Maybe he’s human after all.

*:・ﾟ✧*:・ﾟ✧✧・ﾟ: *✧・ﾟ:* ˚₊· *:・ﾟ✧*:・ﾟ✧✧・ﾟ:

[nick-writes-stuff]

Devotion

Thanos/Choi Su-bong x injured!gn!reader

summary: After the glass stepping stones, there's only you, Thanos, and Nam-gyu left in the games. Tensions are high, and you are trying to stay alive with a serious injury. Luckily, Thanos is there to help you. (aka, a rewrite of the ending of the first season but with team thanos) ~ 2.7k words

warnings: canon-typical violence, reader is injured, talk of reader dying, mentions of drug use

a/n: i wanted to make this longer and include more lead up, but i have a different idea brewing that would overlap with it, so i figured it would be its own fic. i love writing with thanos, and i have another idea for him, and that will be the next one. i'm so excited about it. hope you enjoy!

You felt your ears ringing after the explosion of the glass bridges. You couldn't really think straight at the moment. You were still reeling over the fact you just witnessed Nam-gyu shoving Min-su into the last tile and to his subsequent death. He just killed your friend. A man who you thought was also his friend. But lately, you were questioning how much Nam-gyu actually cared about any of you. He did that with no hesitation. You hardly recognized him anymore.

The three of you were escorted through the complex stairwells in silence. Thanos and you were quiet due to shock, but Nam-gyu was silent because he didn't feel the need to defend his actions.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the dorms that you felt the dull ache radiating from your side. It throbbed with every step you took. The adrenaline was leaving your system, and as it did, the pain only grew. You didn't even try to see what was wrong yet. You didn't want to draw attention to it in front of the others.

The dorms were almost entirely empty, save for three beds against each of the walls other than the one with the main door.

“Dude, what the fuck were you thinking?” Thanos yelled, getting into Nam-gyu's face.

Nam-gyu shoved him back. “What? Did you want to die?” He yelled with just as much venom.

“There could have been another way.” Thanos insisted. It was weird to hear Thanos trying to save other people's lives in the games. During the first few games, he had been so willing to throw others into harm's way for his own gain.

But he changed a lot. Maybe it was partially because the lump sum he was going to receive was enough to cover his debt and then some. But he changed a lot because of you too. You made him feel a way he hadn't in a long time. With you, he found a genuine connection. A real friend. Maybe when you get out of here, he could find a chance for something more.

Nam-gyu scoffed at him. “The only other way was joining the rest of them at the bottom. We were going to run out of time.” He said. Thanos started to walk off to the other side of the room. Nam-gyu rolled his eyes. “You're welcome for saving your life, by the way!” He snapped.

Thanos whipped around, readying himself to confront him. “Are you fucking serious?”

You finally spoke up. “Can you two just stop?” You shouted, your voice cracking into a sob. That shut them up for a moment as they turned to you. Thanos's eyes were full of concern and Nam-gyu's hate. You were just overwhelmed. You just watched your friend die, your other two friends were in a screaming match, and you were beginning to feel the effect of your injury.

Before anyone else could speak, someone's voice rang out in the room. “Attention Players.”

You all turned to see a square guard alongside a few circle guards. Three of them were holding out a black box with a red ribbon. They were designed to look just like the coffins that eliminated players were thrown into. You didn't show how disgusted that made you.

“We would like to congratulate you for completing the penultimate game. We have new outfits for you to celebrate the occasion. Please change into them while we prepare for your dinner.” He said.

You exchanged glances with Thanos while Nam-gyu stepped forward to grab his outfit and head toward the bathrooms.

“We should probably take turns changing in the women's bathroom while the other keeps watch.” You suggested. You were nervous about Nam-gyu trying to harm either of you.

Thanos made a face. “You want me to go into the girls bathroom?” He asked, exaggerating his concern at the prospect.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, stop acting like a 12-year-old. It's just a room.” You said. Your tone was joking, but there was a sharpness that he hadn't expected. You made your way into the hall.

Thanos went in to change first. He figured it would be best to go first while Nam-gyu was also changing. That way he would likely take your place by the time Nam-gyu was leaving.

Nothing could have prepared you for seeing what was causing the pain in your stomach. A significant shard of glass was protruding from your abdomen. It wasn't bleeding that badly, but it had started to stain your sweatpants. You gasped at the sight, both out of pain and shock.

You didn't dare to move the glass. You knew it was likely stopping the bleeding somewhat. Luckily, they were having you change into black suits, so any bleeding would likely go unseen by the others. You changed as quickly as you could. You packed your old t-shirt around the glass and tied the drawstring of the sweatpants around your waist. You hoped it would maintain some pressure. You tried hard to muffle any sounds of pain that you made. You couldn't let them know about this. While you trusted Thanos, you were just too scared to let Nam-gyu know about it.

You left the bathroom without drawing attention to your injury. Thanos was waiting for you, and you tried to be discreet as you admired how he looked in a suit. How did you mess up this badly? This was no place to catch feelings.

You didn't know what you expected to walk back into, but an elaborate dinner table wasn't it. It was a luxury like none you all had ever seen before. There were three place settings at three tables arranged in a large triangle.

You'd never had a more tense meal than this. Nam-gyu was silent, but his glare toward you spoke volumes. You weren't even hungry. Your injury was too painful for you to even have an appetite. You ate what you could force down, knowing you hadn't eaten anything substantial in days.

You watched the guards come to clear the tables while you still sat there. Then you realized they left the steak knives sitting in front of each of you. Your blood turned to ice in your veins. Your breathing quickened, trying not to hyperventilate as you realized the amount of danger you were in.

You looked over to Thanos, locking eyes with him. You tried to mask your fear, but any facade you had was shattered when you saw the smirk on Nam-gyu's face as he picked up the knife. You grabbed your own knife with shaking hands and moved back to the bed closest to you.

You didn't want to take your eyes off of him, scared he would take any opportunity to kill you. Because he definitely would. You knew he didn't like you. He hated you. You changed Thanos. You made him soft. You took his eyes off the prize money. You made him think about leaving the drugs and the fame behind, and Nam-gyu despised you for it.

You saw through him. Nam-gyu only saw Thanos as a paycheck and a drug supplier. That's all. So when you got close to Thanos, you were threatening Nam-gyu's future. You were ruining his investment. He needed to get rid of you at all costs.

You don't know how long you sat on the bed in silence. Your back was against the headboard. You pulled your knees toward your chest. The hand opposite to your wound was pushing against your makeshift bandage to keep some pressure on it. Your other hand was gripping the steak knife tight enough that your knuckles were white. You squeezed the knife as a way to make sure you stayed awake. You couldn't risk falling asleep. You stared ahead of you, watching the man across from you intently.

You hadn't noticed that Thanos had made his way toward you since he had been in the bed out of your line of sight. “Hey, Y/N?” He said softly.

You flinched, moving away from him and holding the knife toward him momentarily. His eyes widened, and he put his hands up instinctively. “It's just me. Chill out.” He said, keeping his usual demeanor despite how odd it would seem to others. He knew he probably just startled you, but there was also a deep-seated fear that you actually thought he would hurt you.

You took a deep breath, ignoring the burning pain in your abdomen from the action. “Sorry.” You murmured, letting your grip on the knife relax. As a sign of good faith, he took his knife out of his pocket and dropped it at the foot of the bed. You looked over at him before doing the same.

“Mind if I sit with you?” He asked. You shook your head, moving to the side so he could sit next to you. Luckily he wasn't on the same side as your wound, so you didn't have to worry about him noticing it.

He sat beside you, fidgeting with the button on his suit jacket. After sitting in silence for a moment, you spoke. “I think he's gonna kill me.” You said quietly, keeping your eyes on Nam-gyu from across the room.

Thanos laughed, but you could hear the anger behind it. “I'd like to see him try.” He said. You didn't react positively to his attempt to lighten the mood.

You continued. “Right now we would have a majority to leave. If he gets rid of one of us, the game has to continue. He hates my guts, so it'll probably be me.” You said, voice hardly above a whisper.

He nudged you with his elbow, getting you to look up at him. “I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay? I promise.” He said. The sincerity before his words would normally give you butterflies, but now there was just a bitter irony knowing that you were already badly injured.

He sighed, staring at the man who he once considered a friend. “Honestly, I should just go and kill him now. That fucker deserves it.” He said, lowering his volume as he reached for the knife.

You grabbed his wrist before he could grab it. He looked over to you, trying to ignore the sparks he felt where you touched him. “Don't.” You said with a shake of your head. “Don't stoop to his level. You'll be no worse than him.”

He didn't think he cared about the moral justification, but he couldn't get himself to go against your plea. He leaned back again with a sigh.

You both sat in silence. You were starting to not feel well. You felt a bit queasy and lightheaded. But you just felt this overwhelming sense of dread. How were you going to continue the game? If you had to wait until tomorrow, who knows how much blood you would lose. Would you even be able to play most of the games?

You finally spoke again, keeping your voice low. “If I don't make it out of here-”

“Don't say that.” He interrupted, looking down at you with a stern gaze.

You shook your head. “No, just listen to me. I-”

“We're making it out of here together, okay? There's no need to talk like that.” He said.

You just looked up at him, trying to stop the tears from forming. “You don't understand, I-”

He rolled his eyes. “What else is there to understand? It's not going to happen.” He tried not to be short-tempered with you. He wasn't annoyed or angry with you. He was just scared. So scared at the prospect of losing you that he didn't want to even acknowledge the fact it could happen. You dying was out of the question entirely. Even if he had to die in your place.

You whimpered slightly as you took your hand off the wound on your side, showing him the crimson in the dim light. You couldn't form any words at the moment. What would you even say?

You could see the faintest hint of fear flicker across his face. “How? When, but-” He stammered, voice louder than he intended.

You shushed him harshly, looking back over to Nam-gyu who perked up at the noise. You turned back to Thanos. “He can't know.” You mouthed.

He seemed to disagree with you, but ultimately nodded in defeat. He knew it too. Nam-gyu would definitely take you out if he knew you were weak. “What happened?” He asked, keeping his voice at a whisper.

You placed your hand back into the wound with a grimace before speaking. “It's a shard of glass. From when the tiles exploded.” You whispered.

He looked shocked. “You mean it's still in there?” He asked in disbelief. The idea of it made him so uncomfortable.

You nodded. “It's keeping me alive right now. If I took it out, I would probably bleed out by morning.” Your voice trembled as you started to cry. The idea of talking about your own death was harrowing. You had done everything right here, but you were so close to dying like the rest. This wasn't supposed to happen. You won that game. Winners don't get hurt.

He noticed your anxiety spiking and wrapped his arm around you, hand gripping your forearm gently. “It's gonna be okay. All we have to do is make it through the night. Tomorrow we'll give them hell until they let us vote.” He said.

You shook your head. “I don't think there's gonna be another vote. They don't want this to end peacefully. They want a show.” You said, trying to keep your voice calm but your panic was showing through.

He shushed you softly, his thumb drawing gentle circles into your skin. “We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, okay? For right now, you should get some rest.” He said.

You shook your head. “But what if he-”

“I'll keep watch. I won't let anything happen to you. I swear on my entire rap career.” He said, clearly playing up his bravado to make you laugh. Which you did laugh weakly.

He was entirely serious, though. He didn't think he even wanted to continue playing the part anymore. He was really only doing it for attention. He did have a passion for writing raps, but the whole stage act of Thanos and all the drugs were just to get people to like him. It worked for a time, but it was never fulfilling in the long-term because it wasn't real. They didn't really give a shit about him.

With you, though, it was different. He didn't have to fake anything when he was around you. He could drop the facade and be himself again. He didn't need to be something he wasn't. And the feeling of being accepted for himself was so addictive.

You looked up at him. “Can you talk about something? Anything really. I just need to calm down a bit.” You asked sheepishly, almost embarrassed for asking at all.

That flustered him more than he let on. People usually found him anything but calming, and the fact you felt so comfortable around him made him feel things he hadn't in a long time.

He started telling you about the place where he grew up. He glossed over the bad parts, focusing on telling you the places he would want to take you. He would take you to the diner that was the area's traditional first date location since it was nice but decently priced. There was the bar where he won his first rap battle. You could even go to meet his mother if you wanted. Surely she'd be happy he found someone like you. He finally wouldn't feel ashamed to visit her.

He eventually noticed your breathing had deepened, drifting off into sleep by his side. He watched you for a while, mesmerized by the fact that someone could trust him so much. He wanted to commit this to memory in case something would happen to you. He didn't want to accept that you could die, but he also wanted to make sure he would be able to have something if these godforsaken games took you away from him.

He kept himself awake by thinking up rap lyrics in his mind. About the situation, about his hatred of Nam-gyu, but mostly about you. How hard he fell for you. How beautiful he thought your smile was. How you brought back a piece of him he hadn't noticed was missing. Every rhyme was a display of his devotion to you. He was going to do right by you. He failed so many other people, but he refused to fail you. You both were making it out of here no matter what.

[donamasu]

"My child, how you've grown!"

Is a parent someone who teaches you to hold a spoon? Who apologizes when they hurt you? Who takes care of your body? Who's just glad you're here?

[silly-moth-123]

My younger sibling literally blocked my phone number because we got into an argument over capitalism ???

Wow I reached the tag limit on this post

Beware a long vent in the tags lmao

[jangmi-latte]

as an advocate for the prosperity and welfare of children, this hurts me so bad. it's like i'm being gutted so deeply. it hurts to learn and just watch what's currently going on in the world and not being able to provide assistance from seas and lands away. we need to stand for humanitarian aid. this is not about politics anymore. genocide was never a solution nor an answer. it's just ruthlessness and inhumane. educate yourselves and let everyone hear about the palestinians. you can take a break from social media if it gets overwhelming but for the love of everything above DO NOT IGNORE THEIR SITUATION. from the rivers to the sea, palestine will be free. THEY WILL SURVIVE.

[ecos-syscourse]

hey btw you can change your user flair if you've been branded as a faker in that reddit.

(source: im quite sure we are now muted or banned in that reddit because we have a Tumblr community. we do not want our Tumblr community to be posted; there are minors who do not list their age. systemscringe and fdc have rules prohibiting posts of people under 15, but do not care if the person posted does not have their age listed. so if there's no evidence the person is under 15, it doesn't matter.

...nobody in our community should have to deal with being posted. so we made comments on each posts with screenshots that this person was taking that they should delete them. did not listen. we got that stupid '->check user history' flair, and i was like "no thanks, don't stalk our account :|." changed our flair to no flair. after our community was posted, we got stalked and our posts were all sent to fdc. after reporting the harassment, they ACTUALLY RESPONDED! but said that since our profile didn't list we were a minor, they may have misunderstood and posted us anyway. i dont think there was any reason to comment on every post we made or stalk our account either way but whatever. r/systemscringe deleted the post with everyone posted once we reached out, but said nothing.)

(it happened again later... systemscringe has not deleted the post even after we have stated that there are people posted under their age limit. it is unsafe to have ages public (esp. as a minor), so these rules are extremely... bad. uh, people in our community requested not to have who's who age shared, so we just said "one of the people posted was under 15. also its in our rules not to share our posts externally, we'd appreciate if this could be taken down" pretty much. we weren't lying. the post is... still up!)

^ all of this happened a long time ago. before our syscourse blog

(systemscringe no longer seems to care about the rule about minors under 15, and has not deleted posts saying that they are an age that is under 15.)

[sarroth]

I had this similar talk with my wife not too long ago. She hates Trump and MAGA but was appalled when I suggested that I was unsure how much compromise was left, how much bipartisanship could happen.

But just look at the examples. When there is little fact to political decisions, just ‘Democrats liked this so it must stop,’ what middle ground is there?

- Where’s the compromise between ‘Abortion is sometimes proper medical care and is thus an individual right to be decided between a person and their doctors’ and ‘Abortion is murder.’

- Where’s the compromise between ‘All people should have equal rights’ and ‘Religion should not be forced on anyone’ and arguments like ‘Homosexuals and transgender people are sinners and our religion prevents us from treating them like equals and requires us to force other people to treat them as subhuman’ or ‘All people should have rights’ and ‘People who come here illegally are presumed guilty of everything and no legal protections should be allowed cover them, even the plain language of our constitution, and we don’t even need to make efforts to keep kids in contact with their parents; it’s their fault we orphaned them.’

- Where’s the compromise between ‘Our country spent most of the last 250 years protecting the rights of just white men and steps must be done to even the playing field’ and ‘Any minority hire is suspect unless they are a registered Republican voter and we cannot even look at whether there is still discriminatory outcomes because to just ask the question is racist.’ I know this last one isn’t said like that out loud but it’s frankly the meaning behind their actions.

- Where’s the compromise between ‘American’s rights to guns should come with required training and other protections for people’s safety’ and ‘Even domestically violent people who are threats of harm to others should be allowed to have guns with no conditions.’ Currently the compromise is that at least these people can’t have explosives I guess, which I worry about even mentioning because there are fucking psychos out there who think the 2nd Amendment should prevent any restrictions on even military weaponry. Like wtf.

Compromise requires agreeing on facts. Democrats can agree on some tax relief for some businesses, but Republicans so often don’t compromise on that, as they want full on Trickle Down Economics with just the occasional sprinkle of help for the working class to feel cared for. Democrats wanted to compromise on border security, but Republicans wanted it done their way, so no meaningful change occurred. You mentioned Roe v Wade as a compromise; that seems absolutely right. Then you get politicians claiming democrats want to abort newborns - abortion by definition is of unborn children, so they are just lying. The Affordable Care Act was a compromise between what other countries do and many Americans want and what wasn’t working in our country and we got the death panels lies you mention; and today, with a majority of Americans now in support of the ACA, you still get Republicans focusing on the minority who don’t like it and threatening to dismantle it without any alternative plan. We can barely compromise to just keep the government open. We can’t even compromise on a vaccine created under Trump because one of his few good accomplishments got turned on by his fanatical, science-hating base, and so he stopped shouting about getting that done and he loves to talk about how good he thinks he is.

So I guess we compromise on infrastructure at least, maybe? That then republican politicians who were actually against it claim to have made happen once the projects impact their community? That Republican voters will probably think Trump made happen because voters think

On Consequences: What About Fuck Around And Find Out Don't You Get?

As anyone with two functioning brain cells could have predicted, people who voted for Trump and those who sat out the last election because “both sides are equally bad,” are experiencing the “Find Out” portion of “Fuck Around, Find Out.”

From MAGA farmers in the Heartland whining about losing their livelihoods, to “Latinos For Trump” voters crying about their abuela being deported, to people who voted for Trump who are finding out they are losing their government jobs due to DOGE, the Find Out Portion of Trump’s second administration is just getting started.

Am I surprised? Fuck no! What would happen if he won again was blatantly obvious to anyone with a brain, moral compass, and basic understanding of…well…just about anything.

Do I care? Fuck no! It isn’t the fault of those of us who threw up warning flags, shot off flares, and screamed until we were hoarse that the things we said were going to happen if he got reelected, happened. That burden of responsibility is not on us, no matter how hard some try to make it so.

Should I care? According to those “Finding Out,” the media, and the moral scolds on the left, I’m supposed to care. Their arguments for caring come in three different forms: Compassion, Sympathy, and Non-Alienation.

I’m supposed to be compassionate towards those who are suffering, regardless of the reasons for their pain.

Really? The people who have spent the past twenty years bitching about participation trophies want one now because they are on the losing end of their play and want me to comfort them with orange slices, a big trophy that has “We Are Not Losers,” engraved on it, and a hug? Hell, even if I believed in a participation trophy culture, I wouldn’t extend it to those who voted for Trump or didn’t vote in 2024.

A soccer team of kids who get beat 20-0 at least tried their best. They put in the work at practices, played the best game they could, and lost. MAGA voters didn’t’ do jack. They didn’t put forth any effort to understand any issues. They walked onto the field of play, handed in their lineup, and didn’t do another damn thing. The people who sat out the election did even less.

What do I mean by, “they didn’t do another damn thing”? All the information about the Democratic Party’s agenda, Kamala Harris’ record, and policies were readily available for anyone to see. So too, were Trump’s. All the things Trump is doing were things he, or those close to him, said they were going to do. EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING!

Why in the fuck would I be compassionate to anyone who willfully denied and/or ignored this?

Fuck them! My compassion goes to the people who are going to suffer from Trump’s policies who did the right things, made the right choices, and actually put forth an effort. That’s who deserves my compassion. Not some farmer in Iowa who put a fifty-foot billboard of “Trump 2024” on his land who is now scrambling to save the farm that has been in his family for generations. Actions, choices, and elections have consequences. Hence the “Find Out” part of FOFA.

Along the same lines, I don’t have sympathy for these people for what they are going through.

Do I wish these terrible things to happen to people who made bad choices? Not really. But, that is the only way they might (very heavy emphasis on “might,”) learn. Until the consequences of their actions are severe enough, and maybe not even then, people are not going to learn. If they keep getting bailed out, financially, emotionally, culturally… there is no incentive for them to learn.

How many times do Republican policies have to fuck over rural America before they learn a lesson? It’s been almost all of my sixty-four years and they not only haven’t learned a lesson, they’ve doubled, tripled, and quadrupled down on their loyalty to the GOP.

How many times do Democratic policies have to bail out these same people before they get any credit for it? Obama and Biden not only saved the US auto and energy sectors but helped make them better. Their reward for this? Having areas dominated by these industries vote Republican. This is just one of hundreds of examples like this I could give.

Am I supposed to have compassion and sympathy for these people? Fuck that!

I’m pretty sure the people pushing the “compassion and sympathy” arguments know they are pushing garbage which is why many of them have shifted to the more nuanced, though equally garbage, “let’s not alienate the Find Out crowd because that won’t get them on your side.”

This argument might sound reasonable except those touting it never can give examples of it working. Obama bent over backward to accommodate Republicans. The Affordable Care Act was more Republican-based than Democratic. What was his reward for this? Being called a Marxist socialist who was creating death panels that would end Pappy’s and Memaw’s lives, to provide on-demand abortion to drug-using moochers from San Francisco.

I have yet to see anyone provide a real example of a Democratic statement, position, or policy that actually changed a MAGA’s mind. The argument being made is basically:

1-Bad things are happening to Republicans because of their choices. 2-Dems should not point this out because it will alienate Republicans. 3-If Democrats don’t point this out, then Republicans will learn the error of their ways.

The faulty logic is in believing what Dems do or not do has any influence over Republicans. There is no causation here.

It is understandable, on some level, why people might believe this argument. Hundreds, if not thousands, of articles and even more media hot takes have been put forth pushing the causation between what Dems say/do and Republicans’ choices.

It’s not the Republicans’ fault they support a racist, misogynist, criminal. The Dems made them by (fill in the blank.)

The paradigm of this causation argument is whenever a Republican comes out and says something blatantly racist the justification they give for doing so and the excuse given for them by the media is, “If Dems hadn’t called them “racist,” they wouldn’t have said/done something racist.”

No ownership of their actions. No personal responsibility from The Party Of Personal Responsibility. They flip the causation completely around to justify their actions. It wasn’t what they said or did that led to someone calling them a “racist,” it was someone calling them a “racist,” that did it. It is Bizarro World Logic.

Today’s Republicans don’t want compromise. That concept has been beaten out of them through years of Newt Gingrich tactics, Rush Limbaugh talking points, and FOX News. As long as this is the mindset of conservatives, there is NOTHING Democrats can do or say that will not alienate them.

Everything the Democratic Party stands for would have to be abandoned, to partially satisfy MAGA. As the Democratic Party, whose rights are we willing to sacrifice, to win the vote of the farmer in Iowa who is upset Trump’s policies are going to cost him his farm?

I don’t fucking negotiate with terrorists. I especially don’t negotiate with white supremacist domestic terrorists. Once you do this, they will ALWAYS demand more. Roe v Wade WAS the compromise when it comes to abortion. How did that turn out? Were the right satisfied? Did they accept it and move the fuck on? Nope. Now that SCOTUS has said that abortion is up to the states, do you think the right is happy? Nope. Until they get 100% of what they want, they will never satiated.

If you understand the nature of modern-day American conservatism and its ties to Evangelical Christianity, then you know, without a doubt, they cannot be reasoned with, no amount of evidence, compassion, or sympathy, is going to get them to change their minds, at least not on any meaningful level.

This is why there are no fucks left in my basket to hand out to anyone, no matter how much they are suffering, for the choices they made on November 5th, 2024.

All my fucks are reserved for those who made the right choices but are going to suffer anyway.

The pragmatist, realist, and ethicist in me are fine with this. As my mom used to tell me, “You can’t change people who don’t want to change and until they hit bottom, they will never change.” Applying this to anyone, especially people who care about isn’t easy. Applying it to a good chunk of your fellow citizens is perhaps more difficult, but more important.