#we’re fighting back against the robot

[jellyskink]

Thank/blame Twitter

[ijustwannabecool]

Rolling, Rolling, Red Bull

Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary… When the Drive to Survive crew shows up to film a behind-the-scenes look at Max Verstappen’s life off track, Y/N is less than thrilled to be in the spotlight. But between sarcastic interviews, soft domestic moments, and a now-viral deleted scene involving a jar of pesto, the world gets a glimpse of a Max they’ve never seen before. Boyfriend-coded. Cat-dad certified. And very, very soft for her.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy! I’ve been kinda M.I.A. & irregular on my posting but I have been out of town for the last two week so I’ve been writing on my phone and it has been a little difficult.

I hope you guys enjoy this story and feel free to donate on my Ko-Fi, maybe that way I can buy a better computer and write more consistently for you guys.

like, comment, reblog, enjoy (:

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Y/N was halfway through brushing her teeth when Max knocked on the bathroom door.

“They’re here,” he said, muffled through the wood. “The Drive to Survive guys.”

She spat into the sink. “Tell them to come back never.”

Max laughed, leaning against the doorframe in joggers and a Red Bull hoodie, his hair still wet from the shower. “You said yes last night.”

“I was half-asleep and you bribed me with stroopwafels.”

He pushed the door open and gave her the most annoyingly charming grin. “And yet, here we are.”

⸻

The Netflix crew had set up in their living room, pretending the chaos of wires and camera angles was “low-key.” Max greeted them like old friends, casual and cool, while Y/N hovered awkwardly behind a kitchen stool, holding her coffee like a shield.

“Just pretend we’re not here,” the producer said, adjusting his headset.

“Impossible,” she muttered.

Max, ever the calm in the storm, slipped a hand around her waist. “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.”

“That is the problem.”

⸻

They followed the couple through a normal day: breakfast on the balcony, Max fiddling with a simulator, Y/N curled up reading a book while their cats tried to chew on a mic cord.

But then they asked for a sit-down interview.

“Can you two just talk about what it’s like being in a relationship during the season?” the director asked, arranging pillows behind Y/N like this was a cozy podcast and not her personal nightmare.

Max shrugged. “It’s good. We don’t really fight.”

Y/N snorted. “You say that because you don’t consider ignoring my texts for six hours a fight.”

“I was driving,” he said, deadpan.

“You were on the simulator.”

“Same thing.”

The crew laughed. Max smiled sideways at her.

Then the director leaned in. “Y/N, how do you handle the pressure of being with someone constantly in the spotlight?”

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t know, but because she hadn’t expected the question to feel so… real.

“I don’t try to handle it,” she said slowly. “I just try to remind him that there’s a world outside of racing. That he’s more than just Max Verstappen the driver.”

Max’s expression softened—one of those rare looks he saved just for her, all warm gaze and relaxed jawline.

“And she’s the only one who gets away with calling me out when I start acting like a robot,” he added, voice lower now.

There was a pause.

“Wow,” the sound guy whispered.

“Keep rolling,” the director whispered back.

⸻

Later, when they were reviewing footage in the trailer, someone asked if they could get a shot of Max hugging Y/N.

“We have the paddock stuff, the Monaco stuff—but we need something soft to end on.”

Max found her sitting on the edge of the Red Bull hospitality couch, phone in hand.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked up, pulled her into his chest, and kissed the top of her head. Cameras or not.

“You’re doing great,” he said.

“You owe me ten stroopwafels and a massage.”

“I’ll give you twelve.”

The camera rolled as she smiled against his hoodie, arms tightening around his waist.

And later, when the season aired, fans clipped that moment. Over and over.

“Who knew Max Verstappen could be soft?”

“Protect this woman at all costs.”

“Relationship goals.”

But to Max, it was just Tuesday.

_______

Deleted Scene

Y/N stood barefoot in the kitchen, struggling with a stubborn jar of pesto. The label peeled at the edge, and the lid refused to budge despite two dish towels and her full body weight.

“Max!” she called, mildly annoyed. “Can you come here?”

Off-camera, you hear footsteps. Then Max appears in the kitchen doorway, looking suspicious. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. Just open this before I yeet it into the sea.”

He walks over, takes the jar, and opens it effortlessly with one twist.

She stares. “Are you serious?”

He grins, proud. “You loosened it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Without missing a beat, he dips a finger into the pesto and sticks it in his mouth.

“Max!” she gasps, swatting him with a tea towel. “That’s for dinner!”

He shrugs. “Taste test.”

A Netflix producer can be heard laughing behind the camera.

“Can we actually keep rolling?” another asks. “This is gold.”

Y/N turns, catching the crew still filming, and mock-glares at the camera.

“I’m going to need hazard pay.”

Max wraps an arm around her waist and plants a pesto-flavored kiss on her cheek.

“No one would believe how domestic you are,” Y/N mutters, smirking.

“Good. Let them think I’m scary.”

⸻

But don’t worry. The pesto jar ended up on eBay “signed by Max,” with a sticky note that read:

“She loosened it.” – M.V.

All proceeds went to cat shelters. Because Max demanded it.

⸻

FAN REACTIONS TO DELETED SCENE

Twitter/X:

@paddockbabie:

MAX OPENED A JAR AND A NATION FELL IN LOVE

#driveToSurvive #maxverstappen #domesticking

@softf1updates:

the way he dipped his finger into the pesto and then kissed her with zero shame?? I’m on the floor.

literally who gave him permission to be this boyfriend-coded

@f1spicypage:

“you loosened it.”

OH OKAY MAX VERSTAPPEN KING OF HUMBLE DOMESTICITY

⸻

Tumblr:

f1blurbs:

It’s not about the pesto.

It’s about her calling him like a husband.

It’s about him walking in like “what did I do?” like he knows he exists to be summoned.

It’s about the quiet love.

It’s about the damn jar.

I’m crying.

netflix-please:

Reblog if you too would risk it all to have Max Verstappen open a jar for you and call it “loosened by you.”

⸻

TikTok Comments (under the leaked scene with 4.8M views):

@formulalover44:

the way she’s like “MAX” and he just comes?? we love an obedient man

@jamgirlie:

petition to release ALL deleted scenes or i riot

@pestoprincess:

me @ my boyfriend: “why can’t you be more like max verstappen opening pesto jars and donating to cat shelters?”

⸻

Instagram Stories:

@f1gossipgrid:

MAX & Y/N: PESTO-GATE

This leaked deleted scene is the best PR Netflix never meant to drop.

Rumors say Red Bull marketing is already printing “You loosened it” merch.

We’ll take 5.

⸻

And yes—someone already made pesto-themed merch on Etsy with:

“You loosened it – M.V.” in sleek Helvetica on tote bags, mugs, and aprons.

⸻

the end.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

i am obsessed with jack yapping to robby so he feels a bit better so could i req a scenario of jack and reader having a nasty argument and reader gets overwhelmed af so she gets some fresh air and he follows soon after and just yaps ur ear off and tries to land some jokes cos hes a loser #please ❤️ i love ur work

"bc he's a loser" LMAO (thankyouu!!)

Don’t Walk Away From Me|Pairing: Jack Abbott x Reader

The door slammed behind you harder than you meant. Not that it mattered.

Your hands were shaking as you leaned on the rusted railing of the hospital's back steps, the chill of Pittsburgh air cutting through your scrubs like paper. You just needed a second. A breath. A break from—

"Okay, wow." Jack’s voice followed seconds later. "So we’re slamming doors now? Cool. Was just wondering where we landed on the maturity scale today."

You didn’t turn around.

"I needed air, Jack. That’s all."

"Right. And you had to get it dramatically. Like mid-argument Broadway walk-off level dramatic."

You clenched your jaw, the tears building against your will. “I’m not doing this right now.”

"No, no, you don’t get to ‘not do this.’ You stormed out after basically accusing me of—what? Caring too much? Being too involved? Forgive me for giving a shit, sweetheart."

"Jack," you snapped, whipping around, "you talk over me constantly when you're mad. You bulldoze every feeling I have until I’m so spun around I start questioning if I’m even making sense."

You looked up at him—storm in your eyes, chaos in your chest. “I needed one thing today. One ounce of support, and instead I got that—whatever that was in there.”

Jack blinked. The words landed harder than you expected. He stepped back, rubbed a hand down his face, then sighed, soft.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I deserved that.”

Silence.

He shifted awkwardly. You knew he wasn’t good at this. Processing feelings that weren’t neatly filed under ‘sarcasm’ or ‘making dumb jokes to defuse tension.’ But he tried. Always tried.

“I’m… not good at being wrong,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Or scared. Especially not both at the same time.”

He glanced over at you, squinting in the streetlight glow.

“But for the record,” he added with a smirk, “I was mostly mad because you looked me in the eye and told me you didn’t need me. That was rude. And honestly? False. You definitely need me. I keep this operation charming.”

You laughed—more like a watery scoff—but he grinned like he’d just won an award.

“There it is,” he said, stepping closer. “The laugh. God, I missed that. Felt like I was arguing with a robot version of you in there. Kind of scary.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

He nodded solemnly. “Certified. But I’m your idiot, and I’m trying here, okay?”

You shook your head, but you didn’t move when he came close. He didn’t touch you, not yet, just stood there breathing beside you, both of you watching your breath cloud in the cold.

After a beat, he nudged you with his elbow. “Want me to sing you a sad song about it? I can do jazz hands.”

“I will push you down these stairs.”

“Romance isn’t dead,” he whispered, mock wounded.

You cracked a smile. Just barely.

And then Jack finally reached for your hand—tentatively, reverently—and laced his fingers with yours.

“I love you,” he said, quiet this time. “Even when we’re fighting. Especially then, actually, because you’re mean as hell when you’re angry and I find it wildly hot. Just FYI.”

You rolled your eyes but squeezed his hand back. “You’re exhausting.”

“Yep. But you keep coming back. Guess that means we’re stuck.”

You leaned into his shoulder. “Guess so.”

And for the first time that day, you finally breathed.

[nereidprinc3ss]

candied pecans

in which uni!reader has to wake up early for a final, and spencer reid is determined to let you get as much rest as possible

fluff (18+ for mildly suggestive remarks) wc <800 warnings/tags: Spencer being a sweetheart, basically sex jokes, he makes you breakfast, gnreader a/n: I MISSED THEM BADDDD!!! this is v v short and based on a dream I had where he brought me breakfast so I could sleep in and I asked him to stay in bed while I was gone LOL

Your alarm goes off and your brow furrows like even in sleep, you’d been bracing for it. Every dream had been sterile—and worse—or potentially better—you’d dreamed about your study material.

Quickly as it started, the robotic blaring ceases. You almost slip back into sleep, but fight tooth and nail for consciousness, propping up on an elbow and rubbing your eyes in the dark grey of the early morning. Already there’s a warm hand on your chest, exerting what is more a suggestion of pressure rather than any actual force. Spencer’s voice is grainy. 

“Hey. Go back to sleep.”

“I have a final,” you slur. 

“In two hours. You can get at least another half hour of sleep.”

“But then I can’t—”

“I know, you can’t use that time to scroll on your phone. I’m terrible for even suggesting it. You were up late, honey. Come back and sleep longer and you’ll do better on your final.”

You’re already falling down. The bed is so warm, and your lids are so heavy. 

“Okay,” you mumble, eyes shut before you even hit the pillow. 

You wake up to fingers in your hair. He’s always so unbelievably gentle with you. Just as effective as an alarm clock—far more pleasant. 

“Good morning,” he says, and there’s no sleep in his voice like there was the last time you woke up. You curl into him where he sits on the side of the mattress and he cups your cheek with a warm hand. 

“Time?”

“Don’t get mad at me.”

That really wakes you up.  

“What did you do?”

“I let you sleep for a half hour!” he defends. Your brow furrows and you rub an eye, squinting up at him. That sheepish look on his face is concerning. “… Twice.”

“It’s seven?” You half yell, rocketing upward. He laughs and catches you against his chest. In your half-awake state, you can’t defend yourself, so you end up with your head cradled to his chest. But you’re not as happy about it as you’d normally be. 

“All I did was cut into your phone time, which we came to a consensus on, and your breakfast time. So I made you breakfast.”

You turn your head so you can look up at him from against his chest. 

“… Oh. You did?”

“Yes,” he says simply, picking up the plate you’d missed on the bedside table and presenting it to you. 

Two pieces of toast, each with butter and a different kind of jam because he knows you can never pick. Apple slices. Eggs, exactly the way you like them. Candied pecans, which are supposed to be for salads, and which you sneak handfuls of anyway. 

“Oh,” you murmur again. 

“There’s green tea in the mug, too. Caffeinated, obviously.”

You sit up straighter and take the plate into your lap over the blanket, nibbling on a slice of toast before kissing him. 

“Thank you,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder and studying the frosty day beyond the window, deciding how to dress for the weather as you chew. 

He slips his hand under your shirt to rub circles on your back. 

“Of course. I was actually excited to make you breakfast. How often is it that you’re running out the door and I don’t have anywhere to be?”

“How often is it that you get so badly injured Hotch makes you stay home?”

Too often, is the punchline. 

“He’s being anal,” Spencer scoffs, mood suddenly a wink soured. “A sprained ankle is hardly an injury.”

“Mm,” you hum around another bite of toast. “I’d say a fractured bone is pretty injurious.”

“He’s on your payroll, and you want me home. It’s a plot.”

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t pay him. He’s just scared of me.”

“It is pretty suspicious I got the week off just as we’re heading into your winter break.”

“Mhm. I’m gonna keep you here,” you say earnestly, snapping off half an apple slice with your teeth and offering the rest to him. “And make you watch movies and have sex all week.”

He crunches on the fruit and laughs. 

“Ambitious. I’m pretty sure it’s more likely that we watch movies and sleep all week.”

You look up at him with big eyes. 

“That’s still fun.”

“Oh, that’s exactly my idea of fun,” he says, and while those who don’t know Spencer quite as well as you do would perhaps mistake it for sarcasm, you know better. You settle back on his shoulder. 

“I think you should stay in bed, ’cause I’ll be home by 10:00. And then I’ll get here and you’ll already be all warm and cozy so we can cuddle all day.”

“Or we could have sex,” he says hopefully. 

You throw a pecan at him. 

[demonic0angel]

Can we see more of Jack and Maddie fighting and yelling at Luthor?

Part 1

“This is why you don’t have a wife!!” Jack screamed as he controlled the left arm of his mecha to smash against the face of Lex Luthor’s robot.

“Yeah! Get him honey!” Maddie cheered as she manipulated one of the legs to kick at Lex. She dished out her own insults. “This is why your kid left you for Superman!”

“Ooh, burn!” Jack crowed.

Lex looked absolutely flabbergasted before his expression twisted into rage. He used one of his repulsors to shoot them and yelled back, “Shut up! At least I’m not poor and stupid!”

“At least our kids love us! And we’re not bald!” Jack screamed.

Lex shrieked a cry of outrage but it was useless. Both Jack and Maddie gave a war cry and with the combined power of not being bald and love, they blasted Lex with a combined attack using their Fenton technology.

In the distance, their kids and their friends watched the fight with interest.

“Y’know, remind me to never piss off Danny’s parents again,” Tucker muttered to Sam.

“You’re telling me. Did you see that attack? I think I saw literal hearts and sparkles,” Sam said with a shudder.

Off to the side, Danny and Jazz nodded to themselves seriously as they watched their parents beat down on a billionaire.

Superman stared into the sun, wondering if Batman met these lunatics before. He’d probably love the kids.

[gor3sigil]

I’m Trans and Insane and I’m doing fine.

[TW Psychosis, transphobia, psychophobia, medication, psych ward]

“Are you sure ?” she asked.

I remember looking back at her in disbelief, because that was certainly a question I never asked her when she came out.

“Why do you ask ?” I say.

“Dude, I’ve seen you go into depersonalization so hard you even thought you were a human soul in a robot vessel and now, you want me to trust you when you say that you, too, are trans ?”

That’s the memory that comes back to me as I fold and put in my bag my psychiatrist’s note attesting that I suffer from gender dysphoria, NOT LINKED to any psychotic symptoms. Here it goes in my folder with my prescription note, an increase - again - of my anti depressants and Xan, and my endocrinologist’s HRT prescription, increased too - finally.

I go to two separate pharmacies to pick up each prescription for two reasons:

There is only one in this godforsaken town that always had testosterone in stock.

I can’t explain to you with words the look you can get when you give back to back, to someone who, despite not being a doctor, works in healthcare, a note for trans HRT and then a note for psychiatric meds.

And I’m lucky, because I’m not taking antipsychotics anymore. Contrarily to what you could think, it doesn’t magically makes the voices and the shadowy people disappear, but it can make a mess of your head pretty bad and my doctor and I both agreed that I didn’t need more damage up here than what I already had. And no, it doesn’t make your delusions vanish magically too: in fact, I was still pretty certain that I was talking to my soul family out here in Argentine telepathically about my mission on Earth, the meds just made it more difficult to understand their voices, but the belief was still solid.

Anyways, I’m back home with the Hoy Grail I fought tooth and nails to get: a letter from the Sacred Council of Mental Sanity also known as Psychiatry that I was, indeed, a bit delulu, but also trans, and that both things didn’t play into each other. My transness wasn’t a delusion, my delusions didn’t have anything to do with being trans.

Or did it ?

Chicken or egg, you know the drill. Did I have my selves fractured before and one of the piece that shattered my brain happened to make me trans or was I just trans with a shitload of traumas in the back that made me insane ?

But don’t worry, at least, trans people when we’re together, we have each other’s back ! Right ?

“Transidentity ISN’T a mental illness !! We don’t DESERVE to be FORCIBLY LOCKED UP and MEDICATED and MADE TO CONFORM FOR OTHER’S SENSE OF SECURITY !!”

Neither do I, RIGHT ?

Oh

Or do I ?

Remember what she said, my girlfriend, right at the beginning ?

How I can’t be trusted about myself when sometimes I don’t even have a sense of self anymore or I have too much selves who fight against each other ?

And what do we say to that ?

Get treatment. Get in-patient. Take medication. And for the love of God, shut the fuck up about it, you’re giving us a bad name.

Because being trans and crazy can’t exist. It’s absurd. You have to fix one of these two things. Choose which jacket I’ll wear, and they call it a straitjacket for a reason it seems, so am I queer or am I insane ?

All I know today is there isn’t a universe in which I’m a trans without any mental illnesses, or mentally ill without being trans. And yet, I can’t tell you how many time I got asked “do you think you’d be trans if you never got through [x trauma] ?”. I. Don’t. Know. I’ll never know. And I deserve just as much agency as you get despite being mentally ill. If you don’t believe in that, don’t come yapping about “liberation for all of us”, but “if one of us is crazy they’ll all think I am too and that can’t happen”.

No LGBTQIAA+ person deserves to be told they need to be put away, to be cured, to be allowed out in the open only if they’re deemed “acceptable” by society’s standards. And no mentally ill people deserve to either.

No trans person should be going through years of counseling to have the access to HRT.

And I shouldn’t have had to threaten my own mother’s life to avoid being locked in an adult psych ward at 14.

If you ever think, for one second, that these two things have nothing to do with one another, you are far removed from history.

To hear queer people say “yeah but some mentally ill people are dangerous !” feels like you don’t even know where you come from.

And if I want to say, that me being trans is linked to me being mentally ill, or at least, that both are connected in a way, all hell breaks fucking loose.

So I’ll explain very carefully.

See, when I was young, my mind got shattered into a thousand of pieces I had to try to glue back on. All these pieces of myself broke further more down the line because I couldn’t catch a fucking break. And now, it happens that the final puzzle does not have the same face it had before. It happens that its shape changed over time, for reasons over the control of all of us who tried to build ourselves back. Now there’s a bigger picture, less pieces, a few other shadows, and me. Built from the shatters. With my own needs and afflictions.

And whoever you are, whatever your agenda might be, I will not let anyone take any agency away from me under the false pretext that I can’t know anything for myself. They say that about children, they say that about minorities, about physically disabled people, about the people they want OUT. And my trans siblings, you know that.

I came out for the first time 7 years ago, to my then girlfriend, who was the one asking the question that is the first sentence of this text. I came out a second time 3 years ago. Been on HRT, had top surgery, had psychotic breaks, got my meds changed, switch therapist.

Because I am trans and crazy. And yet, all these choices I made, I made myself. It didn’t have to be that hard to get the basic care I needed. It didn’t need to be. But it WAS. And I’m part of the lucky crowd of people who had access to out-patient treatment, who never have been locked up in ward, who managed to stay alive through meds withdrawals without medical assistance when I had no therapist.

Be very careful of when you start to put conditions on the rights you think you deserve. Be very, very careful about your definition of sanity and of how it warps the way you see people. When you start to say “I have access to that, but there’s people like X or Y who shouldn’t BECAUSE”, pause and ask yourself what led you to think this way. More often than not, you’ll find yourself playing the same mind games as the ones you swore to fight against, and when it gives them the upper hand, they won’t hesitate to come for you after that.

[revelboo]

AAA I absolutely adore how you write the scavengers, gave me a newfound appreciation for Spinister 🥹

He’s an adorable dummy. I wish IDW had gotten into what exactly happened to him, because he has his moments where you can tell he was brilliant at one point

A Lifeless Ordinary Pt 11

Scavengers x Reader

• “No Spin,” you say, twisting so your back is to the screen as you sit in the crook of his arm where he’s sprawled on the floor. “That’s not-well, I mean some people might, but most people don’t drag the delivery guy and the hot neighbor in the house for a threesome.” Trying to figure out how to explain while also trying your hardest to ignore the over the top moans and wet sounds of the video. Hating that you keep looking despite your insistence that it’s filth. And really hating that you’re not helping fight Swindle’s claim that humans are just obsessed with sex by looking. “Porn’s not exactly the best example of human relationships.” And there’s no way to frame this in your head to make it better. You like your guys, especially since being able to understand them. This, though? Their apparent fascination with sex? You don’t get. Maybe it’s like a train wreck to them. Absolutely horrific even as it’s fascinating.

• Head tipping as he divides his attention between the video and you, Spinister rubs the side of his masked face against your shoulder. “But there’s a name for it,” he says. Watching your little face redden, he vents against you. Unbothered when you push against him with a soft hand, aware of the faint change to your scent that he needs to investigate. Knows you’re unhappy with him, if the details are a bit hazy. Things getting confused in his processor sometimes. But it’s a little easier to focus when you’re around, gravitating toward you, the softness of you in his servos, the sound of your voice. “Interfacing is painful for humans?” He asks, optics narrowing when one of the humans screams.

• “No, it’s-,” you begin, eyes closing because this conversation is painful. “Sex feels good. I guess we’re just vocal?” You mumble, mortified as Spinister tips his head to see you when you weakly shrug and then slides you out of your warm spot to bump his masked jaw against you, rubbing over your legs and belly with his face like an overly affectionate cat while you try to fend him off when he just rumbles at you. And that porn actress is screaming ‘yes!’ over and over. “Pitiful little spikes on them,” Crankcase adds and you look up at him from upside down. Catching your eye, he gestures at the screen. Risking a peek and shivering as some new guy, the pool boy maybe, bends the actress over the edge of the bed and fucks her. Spikes? He can’t be talking about what you think he is. When you frown at him, he traces a shape in the air at his crotch level and, yeah. That’s exactly what he’s talking about. Don’t ask. Don’t. Why would they even need those? Mouth opening and shutting as Crankcase just stares you down like he’s daring you to ask the question. Because your awful little brain is wondering about giant, alien robots fucking.

• “You started without us?” Misfire mutters, watching as Fulcrum stares at the screen, spots you looking at him, and immediately averts his optics in embarrassment as Spinister rumbles at you coaxingly. Striding into the common area, the Seeker sprawls out beside Crankcase, ignoring the other mech’s annoyed rumble to focus on the screen and the humans. Stretching out a ped to tap at Spinister until he turns to frown at him and you look over. “Doing anything for you?” He asks, grinning crookedly as you stiffen and Spin just stares at him blankly. Because teasing you? Too easy, enjoying watching your face redden. “You know, Spin would play medic with you.” Laughing when Spinister looks confusedly from you to him. Hearing him mutter that he is a medic as you put your face in your hands. Venting, he almost laughs. Because, yeah, you’re mortified right now, but you’re also interested, your scent shifting. Something he’s sure they’ve all clued in on in the small space.

• “We have a job. Remember? The job?” Optics narrowing as he’s ignored, Krok vents tiredly and unhooks the datapad to a chorus of complaints and one very small thank you. Glancing at where you’re sprawled on your back almost hidden by Spinister and watching him, he fidgets. That’s going to be a problem sooner or later. Spinister already too clingy and barely understanding boundaries. You’re one of them. An honorary Scavenger, but also so helpless. Knowing you’ll have to stay on the ship alone makes him oddly uneasy. Because if something happens to them? You’ll probably starve to death trapped in the ship or be discovered. Either way? He can’t imagine you’ll survive long without them to take care of you. “Let’s go. You can make the human uncomfortable later.” And your eyes narrow at him as Spinister slowly stands with you and he ignores the way the big medic nuzzles against you. Just like he ignores how protective he feels of you. How much he worries.

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[christopherisfoive]

Lemon Tea & Truce {Request}

Hello my little anon pie, i can't find the request in my inbox. I hope you see this. Order up: #8 sick reader and #14 enemies to lovers!

The dorm usually buzzed with choreography counts and videogame shrieks, but flu season had emptied the halls. You lay marooned on the living‑room sofa beneath three mismatched blankets, throat raw, fever pulsing behind your eyes. Each cough rattled the half‑empty mug of ginger tea on the coffee table.

Only one member remained in the unit: Lee Minho, resident neat freak, arch‑nemesis of your mess. He whistled while folding laundry in perfect squares.

From the hallway you croaked, “Robot Cat, can you keep it down?”

He poked his head out, arms stacked with towels. “You sound like someone swallowed a blender. Whistle’s the least of our issues.”

You meant to retort, but another cough stole the words. He set the towels aside, gaze flicking to the unused cold‑medicine packet. “Have you actually taken anything?”

“Waiting for a miracle,” you rasped.

Minho muttered something about helpless children, then disappeared into the kitchen.

He re‑emerged ten minutes later holding a steaming mug, plus two fever tablets balanced on the rim.

“Take these. Warm water first—don’t fight me.” His dry tone implied you would.

“You poison them?”

“Haven’t had time.” He rolled his eyes. “Swallow.”

You obeyed. The lemon‑honey drink soothed the sandpaper in your throat, surprising you with how good it tasted.

Minho checked your forehead with the back of his hand, frown deepening. “Still burning. Where’s your thermometer?”

“Somewhere in the medicine drawer… maybe.”

He sighed the sigh of a man who labelled every spice jar. “Of course.”

While he searched, you drifted. A crash jolted you awake—Minho had found the cluttered drawer. Bottles clattered; a tape measure flew out.

“Why is there sewing chalk in here?” he called.

“Multifunctional storage,” you croaked.

“More like chaos theory.” A muffled curse followed, then, “Got it.”

He returned, disinfected thermometer in hand. You glared as he tucked it under your tongue.

“For once, silence suits you,” he said.

Your glare intensified; his lips twitched.

When the beep sounded, he read the numbers. “38.9. Great. We’re courting a hospital visit.”

He vanished again. Water ran; cupboards closed. The scent of rice and chicken wafted out—a sign he’d started congee.

Between dozes you recalled last month’s prank war: Minho swapping your instant noodles with uncooked spaghetti; you switching his cat‑ear headband for pink bunny ears before a V‑Live. Neither of you apologised—score‑keeping was half the friendship you never admitted having.

Now that same Minho padded over with a cold compress, gentling it against your temple. The contradiction made your chest ache in a new way.

“Thanks,” you murmured.

He didn’t answer, but his thumb brushed your cheek—just once—before retreating.

Dusk blurred windowpanes when he nudged you awake with a bowl of steaming porridge.

“Eat slowly,” he ordered, handing you a spoon.

The first bite tasted of ginger, chicken, and comfort. “You cook better than you fold laundry,” you whispered.

He raised a brow. “Folding is an art. You’d know if you owned an iron.”

You mustered a smile. “Hit me where it hurts.”

He settled on the floor beside the sofa, arms on his knees. “Serious question—why do you leave lights on in every room?”

Blinking, you shrugged. “Dorm felt empty until I joined. Light makes it look lived‑in.”

He stared, expression unreadable. “It drives me crazy—but maybe I missed it today.”

Heat pooled under your fever. “Maybe you like chaos more than you admit.”

“Maybe.” A ghost of a smile curved his lips.

Later, a thunderclap wrenched you from fevered dreams. Panic clawed; you gasped. Instantly Minho was beside you, steady hands holding your shoulders.

“Hey. It’s just rain.” His voice, low and firm, anchored you.

Your vision cleared to find his face inches away, worry unmasked.

“Why are you… this nice?” you managed.

He swallowed. “Because I don’t actually want to see you suffer.” Pause. “And because you distract me. Loudly.”

“By leaving lights on?”

“By being you.” Nerves flickered in his eyes, quickly hidden by sarcasm. “Don’t let it go to your congested head.”

“Too late.” You smiled, then coughed.

He pressed the mug to your lips. “Small sips.”

Near midnight, fever broken, you shifted to sit up. Minho’s hoodie dwarfed you, smelling faintly of his detergent and citrus body spray. He dozed against the sofa edge, arms folded.

You nudged his shoulder. “Nurse Minho.”

He jerked awake. “Temperature?”

“Down. All thanks to Robot Cat.”

Relief softened his features. He helped you stand, hand warm at your back.

At your bedroom door you teased, “You know this earns you one free mess—you pick the prank, I won’t retaliate.”

He considered. “I’d rather cash it in for dinner when you’re better.”

“Deal.” You stepped inside, but he cleared his throat.

“Y/N—”

You peeked back.

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink. “Bring my hoodie to dinner. No backing out.”

Your laugh—scratchy yet bright—filled the hallway. “Who’s backing out?”

“Guess we’ll both find out.”

You closed the door, pulse steady and warm. On the sofa behind him, lemon tea cooled beside an unfinished prank tally—no longer needed.

[violetflowers55]

Hot & Cold - Chapter 1

(Dr. Phosphorus x fem!reader)

Synopsis: Since there’s not enough alien criminals, you got stuck in the monster section of Belle Reve. And of course Waller put you on Task Force M. To make matters even worse, the guy who landed you in prison in the first place is right there, never leaving you alone. But maybe, he can compensate you in more way than one…

No content warnings needed for this chapter (that I can think of). No Y/N usage

All 8 chapters now posted!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being imprisoned sucked. Being imprisoned in Belle Reve sucked more. Being imprisoned in the monster section sucked the most.

You’d had a good five years to figure out how to, well, not thrive, but do a bit more than just survive. Fight when someone else instigates - not enough to get you thrown into isolation, but enough to scare off everyone else for awhile. Don’t piss of the guards, but also don’t be a suck up, they hate that even more. Don’t make friends because they’ll either die, get transferred, or turn on you. There was only one thing you hadn’t figured out yet. Well, two if you count figuring out how to escape. When Waller pulled you for a super secret special mission, your first thought was that maybe you could figure out at least one of your two remaining problems.

The sun bore down on the six of you as Waller and Flag carted you into a military ship. The feeling of its warmth was one you hadn’t felt in a long time, and it was gone too soon. As you got wedged between two other freaks, you finally looked to see who else was pulled for the super special top secret mission. On you left was Weasel, some freaky rodent you didn’t really know. On the other side was The Bride; you’d never met her before but you figured she was The Bride since she looked like she would be Frankenstein’s bride. Across from her was a robot and across from Weasel was some fish girl. The only person you knew was sitting right across from you. As much as you tried not to, his green glowing skeleton was hard not to look at, and the two of you locked eyes. Or, at least, it felt like you did.

“Wow. After all these years, and we’re finally reunited on a mission to save a princess. Who would’ve thought?” Dr. Phosphorus said, in a tone that you knew meant he was grinning. You scoffed. “I would’ve thought we’d be reunited by you breaking me out of that hellhole.”

“You two… know each other?” the fish girl asked.

“No.” you said firmly, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

Truthfully, you had met before, back in Gotham. You ran into each other while trying to rob the same bank. He threatened to burn your “pretty little face” off, you threatened to break all his bones and leave him an immovable fire. Not exactly love at first sight.

“She just doesn’t want to admit she’s totally in love with me,” he whispered to the girl.

“Don’t think my threat to break your bony ass doesn’t still stand.” Despite your threat, you could still feel him grinning at you. You couldn’t tell if it was his gaze or his literal flames that were heating you up.

When you finally arrived at the castle, breaking free from being squished up against your fellow monsters felt almost as good as being let out of isolation. The castle looming in front of you was shockingly beautiful. You silently cursed yourself for not trying to take it over while you were free.

As the seven of you were escorted inside, Phosphorus slowly drifted over to walk next to you. It took every fiber of your being not to look at him. But being so close to him, you had to admit his warmth felt nice.

Then at dinner, he of course was quick to make sure he sat next to you. When you and the Bride rolled your eyes and his obviousness, he tried to casually explain it away by saying “Us Gotham guys gotta stick together, right?”, but his nervous chuckle gave him away. Soon enough, dinner was served, distracting everyone. It’d been far too long since you’d had real, good food, and just like the others, you scarfed it down. When you finally paused and looked up, you noticed the princess staring at you.

“Forgive me, I do not mean to stare. I was just… I mean no offense, but I thought America had forbidden human criminals from missions such as this one?” Princess Illana asked.

The table went silent, except for Weasel’s aggressive eating noises.

You tried to smile. “I know I look like one, but I’m not human.” It was hard to hold her gaze; you just didn’t have it in you to explain further. She muttered a simple “Oh”, and the previous chatter and eating resumed shortly. Except for you, your appetite was gone.

“You ok?” Phosphorus whispered, noticing you pushing your food around with your fork.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You still couldn’t look at him, but this time it wasn’t because you didn’t want to.

“I know you’re fine,” he teased.

“Shut it,” you snapped before he could ask if you were ok again.

For most of your life, no one knew you weren’t human. You were great at hiding your powers. The only reason the whole world knew you were an alien was because your stupid defense attorney thought that being an alien somehow made you exempt from the law and used it at trial. As you sat there, all you could hear was the gasps of the courtroom when he revealed your secret, and all you could feel was rage spreading throughout your body. Then you remembered how pitifully he cried when you killed him, and that calmed you down enough.

After dinner, everyone poured out into the courtyard, and you reveled in the bright warm sun. The feeling of its heat on your skin was practically euphoric. You laid down on the soft grass, shamelessly sunbathing.

“Trying to get a tan on?”

Opening one eye, you saw Phosphorus standing over you.

Ugh, why can’t he just leave me alone?

“You’re blocking my sunlight.”

Carefully, he laid down next to you, his fingertips dangerously close to yours.

“I get it, you wanna have something to show off to the loser inmates who didn’t get picked when we get back.”

You groaned. “You know nothing.”

“Mmm, maybe. But I want to know everything,” the teasing tone in his voice was gone, replaced with a low, almost seductive tone.

You thanked God you could blame your blushing cheeks on the sun.

“Oh, can it, skelly.”

He chuckled, but let it drop. The two of you laid there together in silence until the sun started to go down. At least your bedroom was sure to be warmer than your prison cell.

[simp4jungwonn]

Break up sex

Pairing: boyfriend niki x black fem reader

Genre: angst and smut

Warning: unprotected sex,crying,vulgar language (mdni)

You and niki have been fighting about everything and anything lately, now niki has had enough he’s packing his bags while you sit there watching him in tears. You sit on the edge of the bed, blanket clutched to your chest, watching as he folds his last hoodie.

Ni-ki won’t look at you. His jaw is tight, eyes down, movements robotic. like packing is easier if he doesn’t think too much about it.

“So that’s it?” you whisper and he pauses.

“You’re just gonna leave?”

His shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t answer. You can’t hold it back anymore. “You said you’d never give up on me.” “I’m not giving up,” he snaps quietly. “I’m letting go before we both break.”

You blink at him, throat burning.

“Speak for yourself,” you bite. “I am breaking.”

He finally turns to look at you. And his expression cracks.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” he whispers. “Do you think I want this?” You don’t say anything. There’s nothing left to say.

But when he sees the tears building in your eyes, something in him fractures.

He crosses the room slowly. Sits beside you.

Reaches out, hesitant and touches your face. His thumb brushes your cheek, catching the tear before it falls. And then he whispers it, low and broken.

“Let me feel you. Just one last time.”

You’re already pulling him closer.

Ni-ki kisses you like a goodbye.

Slow. Lingering. Heavy with everything he won’t say.

He undresses you like a memory his fingers trembling, lips kissing over every inch of skin he used to call home. He whispers your name like a prayer as he lays you back. “You always looked so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, hovering above you. “Laid out for me.”

Your hands find his waist, tugging him down until your bodies align.

“You still want me?” you whisper.

“Always” He answers while kissing you deep, tongue stroking yours, hips grinding against your heat until you’re breathless.

Then he slides in making you both gasp.

It’s too much but it’s not enough.

He fucks you slow at first, eyes never leaving yours. His hands grip your thighs like they’re his anchor.

Your fingers curl into his back. “You feel like home,” you whisper.

He swallows hard. “Don’t say that,” he pleads. “You’ll make me stay.”

Your body arches into his. “Then stay.”

He shakes his head, even as he keeps moving inside you. “You know we’re not good like this.”

“You’re good now. You’re good here.”

He groans and fucks you harder.

“I hate that I still love you,” he growls against your neck. “I love you too,” you breathe, tears slipping down your cheeks.

He wipes them away with shaky fingers, kissing each one like it hurts to see.

“I was supposed to let go.”

You hook your legs around his waist. “Then don’t.”

His rhythm stutters. He drops his head into the crook of your neck, breathing hard.

“Say it again,” he begs. “Don’t leave.”

And something in him breaks.

He pulls out and flips you over then presses you into the mattress and slides back in from behind, one hand on your waist, the other gripping your hair at the base.

“This pussy’s always been mine,” he mutters, breath ragged. “It’s yours,” you cry out, your body trembling from the deep, aching strokes.

“Still feels like you were made for me.” You moan louder, pushing back on him, desperate to hold onto every second.

He leans down, wrapping his arms around you, chest to your back, thrusts never stopping.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chokes out. “Fuck— I can’t go.”

You both fall apart together.

You cum first you’re shaking, crying, sobbing and screaming his name and he follows seconds later, still buried inside you, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’s trying to fuse your bodies into one. You both collapse into the sheets.

For a long time, neither of you speaks. Just breathing. Holding. Finally, he whispers into your shoulder:

“I was halfway out the door… and you still made me stay.”

You smile through your tears. “Because you still love me.”

He nods.

“And maybe… we’re not done yet.”

[andy-15-07]

hello! would it be possible to request a Joel fic where Joel is the readers father? Maybe the reader has some kind of problem at school or goes with Joel to his work or something?

Toolboxes and Troubles

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 996 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

“Get in,” Joel said gruffly, pulling up to the curb in his old Chevy.

You didn’t say a word as you climbed into the passenger seat, backpack slung over one shoulder. The door creaked shut, and the truck rumbled into motion.

Joel glanced sideways. “You wanna tell me why your school called?”

You shrugged.

“Y/N.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Joel let out a slow sigh through his nose. “Well, unfortunately for you, I ain’t leavin’ this truck ‘til I know what’s goin’ on.”

You crossed your arms and looked out the window. “It was stupid.”

“You get in a fight?”

“Not a fight-fight. I mean, I didn’t punch anyone, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

You muttered, “Just told Ashley Timmons she was a piece of garbage for makin’ fun of a kid in our class. Then I knocked her phone outta her hand. She cried. Drama ensued. Principal called you.”

Joel was quiet for a moment. Then, he exhaled and said, “Good.”

Your head whipped toward him. “What?”

“I said good. Someone shoulda told Ashley Timmons she’s a brat a long time ago.”

Your mouth fell open. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad you stood up for someone? Nah.” He shot you a side glance. “Next time, don’t touch her phone. They’re fancy and expensive now. If it’d broke, I’d have to work overtime to pay for it.”

You relaxed in your seat for the first time since you got in. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do,” Joel said, smirking. “Now c’mon. I gotta finish up this job downtown. You can sit in the truck or help me haul lumber like old times.”

“I’ll help,” you said, grinning. “You gonna pay me?”

“I’m feedin’ you dinner, ain’t I?”

“Child labor,” you mumbled.

Joel chuckled. “Tell it to the labor board.”

The construction site was warm with the early Texas sun, and the scent of wood and dust hung thick in the air. Joel grabbed his toolbelt from the back of the truck and handed you a pair of gloves.

“Gloves?” you raised an eyebrow. “Am I gonna be working working?”

“You wanted to get paid, didn’t you?”

You rolled your eyes and followed him onto the site.

Joel pointed to a stack of 2x4s. “Bring me two of those at a time. And no droppin’ ‘em like last time. My knee still ain’t forgiven you.”

“Once!” you shouted. “I dropped them once! And you were in the way!”

He laughed as he knelt to secure a beam, muttering, “Always an excuse with you.”

You hauled the wood over, panting a little. “Your job’s hard.”

“Yeah, well, it ain’t glamorous, but it’s honest. Puts food on the table. And it teaches you stuff. Like math.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Joel looked up. “You still strugglin’ in algebra?”

You sighed. “Mr. Gomez talks like a robot. I don’t get what the hell he’s sayin’ half the time.”

Joel set his drill down and stood. “Watch your language.”

“Sorry.”

He walked over and leaned against the frame, arms crossed. “Alright. Teach me what you’re learnin��.”

“Now?!”

“Sure. Let’s see what I remember. Impress me.”

You groaned and dropped onto an overturned bucket. “We’re doing quadratic equations.”

Joel whistled. “Damn. Alright, go on. Hit me with it.”

You explained, fumbling your way through a messy explanation involving “a’s,” “b’s,” and “the square root of something.”

Joel scratched his head. “That don’t sound like math. That sounds like a headache.”

“Exactly.”

“But you’re tryin’. That counts.”

You smiled. “You think so?”

“Darlin’, I barely graduated. You’re already smarter than I ever was.”

You beamed. “Don’t tell Sarah.”

“She already knows.”

A little later, you were sitting under the shade of the truck’s open tailgate, sipping a Coke Joel had pulled from the cooler.

“I hate school sometimes,” you said. “The people mostly.”

Joel sat beside you, wiping sweat from his brow with a rag. “Yeah. People can suck.”

“Language.”

He smirked. “Smartass.”

You laughed, then fell quiet. “Do you ever wish things were different? Like… that Mom hadn’t left?”

Joel sighed and looked out at the dusty skyline. “All the time.”

“Do you think it was my fault?”

His head snapped toward you. “What? No. No, baby, don’t ever think that.”

“She left right after I started kindergarten. I always wondered if I did something wrong.”

Joel shook his head, eyes soft. “She left ‘cause she wasn’t built for this. For bein’ a parent. For staying put. That’s on her, not you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me. Still are.”

Your throat tightened. “You’re a good dad.”

He smiled. “I try. Don’t always get it right. But I try.”

You rested your head against his shoulder. “Thanks for picking me up. For not being mad.”

“I’ll always pick you up, kiddo.”

On the drive home, the sky was painted in gold and orange streaks. The radio hummed an old country tune Joel mumbled along to.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I’ll be okay? Like… grow up and not be all messed up?"

He glanced at you, serious. “You’re already more grounded than most adults I know. You’ve got heart. That’s what matters.”

You nodded slowly.

"And if you ever get lost," Joel added, "I’ll come find you."

You grinned. “You’d track me down?”

“I’d knock down every damn door in Texas.”

You leaned back against the seat and watched the sunset blur by. “You’re kind of a softie.”

Joel laughed. “Don’t tell the guys at the site.”

That night, you both ate frozen pizza on the couch, watching some dumb movie you’d seen a dozen times. Sarah called from her mom’s place, and Joel passed the phone to you.

When you hung up, he looked over. “You feel better?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I think I just needed a day with you.”

Joel smiled and put an arm around your shoulders.

“You can have a hundred of ‘em if you want.”

[magnificentmiraclenacho]

The sister of the winner

Part 9= mingle

Summary= When gi hun wants to take down the games he faces a lot of problems. But one problem he also has is his relationship with his sister minji ( reader ). Gi hun dosent want to tell her about the games do to her innocent. But what happends when the salesman lores her into the games, and the siblings finds them self fighting for their lifes.

------

The platform rumbled beneath everyones feet, slowly beginning to rotate. A hauntingly cheerful melody echoed through the arena, bouncing off the walls like a cruel taunt. Everyone stood frozen, their eyes darting between the moving carousel and the countless, brightly colored doors encircling the space.

Y/N’s stomach churned. Her breath came uneven as she looked around at the other players, their confusion mirroring her own. The music played on, unnervingly sweet, its rhythm growing louder and more ominous with each second.

The carousel came to a sudden halt, the music cutting off mid-note. The platform trembled slightly as the lights dimmed, the soft glow replaced by a deep red hue that drenched the room in an oppressive, suffocating atmosphere.

The robotic voice crackled overhead:

“Six players.”

Y/N’s heart dropped. Her group froze, the realization hitting them all at once—they had six people.

Before she could even process the announcement, Gi-hun grabbed her wrist. “This way!” he yelled, pulling her toward one of the nearby doors.

The others followed close behind, panic fueling their hurried steps. Jung-beo reached out, keeping a hand on Jun-hee’s shoulder as Deo-ho and Young-il kept pace.

Deo-ho reached the door first, throwing it open. “Get in, now!” he barked, urgency thick in his voice.

Y/N stumbled inside, Gi-hun’s firm grip keeping her steady. The others piled in after her, their movements rushed and frantic. The moment everyone was inside, Deo-ho slammed the door shut.

The group stood in silence, their heavy breathing filling the small, enclosed space. The timer on the door ticked down, the mechanical sound sharp and grating in the oppressive quiet.

Jun-hee leaned against the wall, letting out a shaky breath. “Six,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “We’re lucky…”

No one replied. The air in the room was thick with tension, each of them acutely aware of what was happening outside. Y/N’s heart raced, her palms clammy as her gaze shifted to the timer, then the locked door.

The timer hit zero.

The sound of gunshots exploded outside, shattering the fragile silence. The noise was deafening—relentless bursts of gunfire mingled with the distant screams of players who hadn’t made it.

Y/N flinched, her body trembling as she instinctively covered her ears. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the noise, but it was no use.

Gi-hun moved to the small window in the door, his face grim as he peered outside. His shoulders stiffened, his expression hardening as he saw what was happening.

Jung-beo noticed and quickly stepped forward, blocking Y/N wiew of the window so that even if she tried she would not see enything

“Gi hun Don’t look,” he said firmly now to his friend, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. " you cant help it so its better just to not look" no saying softer. Gi hun lowerd his gaze and sighed.

The gunfire finally stopped, leaving an eerie, suffocating silence in its wake. The robotic voice returned, emotionless and cold:

“Round one complete. Remaining players: 105.”

Y/N didn’t move. She kept her hands over her ears, her breathing shallow as her mind tried to process the horror of what she’d just heard. The weight of the game pressed down on her, heavier than ever before.

Gi-hun turned back to the group, his face pale but resolute. “Stay close,” he said quietly. “We’re going to get through this.”

No one spoke. They simply nodded, the fear in their eyes speaking louder than words ever could.

The door unlocked with a loud click, signaling it was safe to leave. Slowly, Gi-hun pushed the door open, and the group stepped out into the arena.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell on the floor. Blood—thick, dark, and smeared— it was everywhere. It stained the once-clean ground, spreading out in horrifying pools that seemed to go on forever. The metallic smell hit her nose, making her stomach twist.

The others were silent, their faces pale as they surveyed the carnage. They tried to avoid looking too long, but the sheer amount of blood was impossible to ignore.

Jun-hee’s hand gripped Jung-beo’s arm tightly, her eyes wide. Even Young-il, who usually seemed composed, had a clenched jaw and uneasy posture.

Y/N felt like her feet were moving on their own as she began to make her way back to the platform, each step feeling heavier than the last. The blood seemed to follow her, creeping into her vision no matter where she looked.

Then it happened.

Her foot landed in a puddle of blood, the thick, sticky liquid clinging to her shoe. Y/N froze, staring down at the crimson stain with wide, horrified eyes. Her breath came in shallow gasps as her body refused to move. She felt like the blood was consuming her. Sucking every happy feeling lika a pariside.

She lifted her foot slightly but with force, as if trying to shake the blood off, but it wouldn’t go away. Her chest tightened, and her mind raced with fear.

“Y/N.”

Gi-hun’s voice cut through the haze, soft but firm. She didn’t respond, her gaze still locked on the blood beneath her shaking and smushing her leg on the floor.

“Y/N,” he called again, stepping toward her. His voice was calm, but his concern was evident.

When she didn’t answer, Gi-hun placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Don’t look at it,” he said softly, positioning himself slightly in front of her to block her view. “It’s going to be okay. Just keep walking.”

She finally looked up at him, her expression blank but her eyes filled with fear. Gi-hun gave her a small, reassuring nod and a smile.

“You’re okay,” he said again, his voice steady. “Let’s go back to the platform hmm.”

With a shaky breath, Y/N nodded, allowing him to guide her away from the puddle of blood. As they walked, Gi-hun kept a comforting hand on her shoulder, his presence grounding her amidst the chaos.

The group reassembled on the platform, but the tension was palpable. No one spoke, the weight of what had just happened settling heavily over them all.

The platform began to spin again, slower this time, but with fewer people. The same cheerful, haunting song filled the air, clashing cruelly with the growing tension among the players. While the melody trilled happily, the atmosphere on the platform was anything but.

Y/N stood among the others, her body rigid as she tried to calm her racing heart. *It’s okay,* she repeated to herself like a madman *It’s going to be okay. Just stay calm.*

The spinning stopped, and the platform jerked to a halt. The lights dimmed to a sinister red, casting long shadows across the bloodstained floor.

“Eleven players,” the robotic voice announced coldly.

The words hit like a gunshot. Everyone froze, their faces a mix of shock and panic. Whispers and frantic glances swept through the crowd as they began searching for others, their movements hurried and chaotic.

“Five more,” Young-il muttered, scanning the arena. His eyes landed on a group of five people standing near the edge. “There,” he said quickly, pointing.

Without hesitation, the group ran toward them. The six of them joined the five strangers, adrenaline pushing them forward as the seconds ticked down.

One of the strangers, Player 120, spotted an open door and rushed toward it, wrenching it open—only to reveal another group already inside.

“No! This one’s taken!” someone inside yelled, slamming the door shut again.

The stress was palpable now, the timer above the doors counting down relentlessly. People were shouting, pointing, shoving, and running in every direction.

“There!” Young-il shouted, spotting an empty room a few doors away.

They all sprinted toward it, their breaths coming in short gasps. The timer continued to tick down, louder and louder in their minds.

The group reached the room just in time, but chaos erupted behind them. As Player 95 ran toward the door, someone shoved her from the side. She stumbled, hitting the floor hard.

“Come on, 95!” Player 120 yelled desperately from the doorway, holding it open for her. “Get up!”

Y/N stood frozen near the wall, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She watched the scene unfold in horror, the weight of the situation sinking in.

The timer was down to single digits.

Player 95 scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide with terror. She started toward the door, but Player 333 suddenly appeared, shoving Player 120 inside with a forceful push.

“No!” Player 120 screamed, reaching out toward 95.

The door locked with a loud click, sealing the room shut.

“Noooo!” Player 120 screamed, shoving Player 333 aside and rushing to the small window. Her hands slammed against the door as she frantically looked out.

Outside, Player 95 stumbled to the window, tears streaming down her face. “Please!” she cried, her voice cracking. “I.... i don’t want to die! Please, open the door!”

Player 120 sobbed, pounding on the door with trembling fists. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I tried—I tried!” she begged, her words choked by desperation.

The rest of the room stood in stunned silence, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on them. Y/N stood a few steps behind Player 120, her heart racing as she listened to the heartbreaking exchange.

Player 95 clung to the window, her face twisted in terror. “Please,” she whispered one last time, her voice barely audible now.

Then came the sound—sharp and final.

*Boom.* everyone in the room flinched as player 95’s body slid down the door, leaving a streak of blood as she crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

Inside, Player 120 let out an agonizing scream, her voice echoing in the confined space. She collapsed against the door, her hands clawing at the window as she cried uncontrollably.

Y/ns entire body felt like nothing as the weight of the moment hit her. She stared at the door, her chest tight, her hands trembling. A single tear slid down her cheek, silent but heavy.

She turned her gaze to Player 120, still sobbing against the door. The room remained deathly quiet except for her heart-wrenching cries.

No one moved. No one spoke. The sound of the robotic voice announcing the next round will begin shortly seemed impossibly far away, drowned out by the grief that filled the room.

Player 120’s cries turned into guttural screams of anger as she pushed herself off the door. Her tear-streaked face twisted with fury as she turned on Player 333. Without warning, she shoved him against the wall, pinning him there. Y/n flinching and taking a step towards gi hun.

“This is your fault!” she screamed, her voice breaking with raw emotion. “You pushed me in! You left her out there to die!”

Player 333 didn’t fight back. He stood still, his gaze fixed on the floor, his jaw tight but his expression unreadable.

“You didn’t even hesitate!” she continued, shaking him by the collar. “She trusted me! How could you—how could you just—” Her voice cracked, and she dissolved into tears again, pounding weakly on his chest.

The others in the room shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do. No one dared to look directly at Player 120, their gazes fixed on the floor or the walls. The tension was suffocating.

Finally, Player 222 lifyed her head her voice steady but quiet. “If he hadn’t done it, we’d all be dead right now.”

The room fell even more silent. Player 120 froze, her grip on Player 333 loosening as she turned to face Player 222.

“Think about it,” Player 222 continued, her voice growing firmer. “The timer was almost up. There wasn’t enough time for all of us to get inside if he hadn’t pushed someone in. He did what he had to do to keep the rest of us alive.”

A murmur of agreement passed through the room. People nodded hesitantly, avoiding Player 120’s tearful glare.

“But she—” Player 120 stammered, her voice breaking again. “She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t...”

Player 333 remained silent, his eyes still downcast. His face betrayed no emotion, but his hands trembled slightly at his sides.

Player 120 let out a choked sob, releasing him and stumbling back against the wall. She slid to the floor, burying her face in her hands. “She didn’t deserve to die,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

No one responded. The room was heavy with guilt and grief, the silence punctuated only by Player 120’s quiet sobs. Even Y/N, who had been frozen in place, couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Everyone felt the weight of what had happened, but no one could bring themselves to blame Player 333. They all knew the truth: this was the game’s cruel design.

The air in the room was heavy with silence, No one spoke as the timer buzzed and the door unlocked with a hollow click.

Player 333 was the first to step forward, his hand hesitating briefly on the handle before pulling the door open. The sound echoed, but the sight on the other side was far worse. Blood coated the doorframe, a dark crimson smear marking where Player 95 had collapsed. It dripped onto the floor in sickening rivulets, pooling where she had fallen.

Player 120 let out a choked sob, her knees almost buckling as she staggered forward, stepping over the blood without realizing it. Her body moved on autopilot, but her mind was clearly somewhere far away, lost in grief and shock.

Y/N stood frozen, her gaze locked on the blood-streaked floor. It was impossible to look away, the image searing itself into her mind. The blood once belonged to someone—someone who had begged for her life just moments ago. She wanted to move, to follow the others, but her feet felt like they were stuck in place.

Everyone else stepped around or over the blood, their faces pale and grim, but Y/N stayed rooted, trembling.

“Come on, Y/N,” Gi-hun’s voice came softly behind her. He didn’t sound forceful, just quiet and tired. When she didn’t respond, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder and nudged her forward.

Y/N stumbled a little as she took a step, her blank face betraying no emotion except for the silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away; she didn’t even seem to notice them. Her eyes flicked back once to the blood, but Gi-hun’s steady hand guided her away. He said nothing more, his expression as blank as hers.

Behind them, Jung Beo lingered at the doorway. He glanced back at the room, his brow furrowing as if he wanted to say something. But he stayed silent, his lips pressing into a thin line before he turned and followed the others.

The team moved back toward the platform, their steps slow and heavy. The carousel loomed ahead, its cheerful lights flickering on once more as if mocking the grim atmosphere. The air was cold, suffocating, and filled with the weight of death.

The carousel began to spin again, its colorful lights casting dizzying patterns around the platform as the cheery, mocking music filled the air once more. Y/N stood motionless, her tears falling silently. The tune was suffocating, worming its way into her head and amplifying every thought, every fear.

*That could have been me,* she thought, her mind spiraling. *Begging at the door... or maybe it could have been Gi-hun... or Jung Beo... or—*

Her chest tightened, her breathing shallow and uneven. Everything around her felt like it was moving in slow motion, the faces of the other players blending into blurred shapes. She clutched at her chest, desperate to focus, desperate to breathe, but the music drowned out everything else.

The carousel slowed and then stopped with a jolt. Y/N blinked, her head snapping up as the haze cleared. Reality crashed back in, and her eyes darted around in panic, her breath quickening as the lights dimmed to a dark, ominous hue.

The robotic voice echoed through the arena, cold and detached.

“Four players.”

Her heart sank.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the situation hitting them all at once. There were six of them. Two too many.

Y/N’s face was streaked with tears, but she didn’t make a sound. Her mind raced, but before she could even process the situation, before she could think about what this meant for their team, she heard Gi-hun’s voice cut through the growing tension.

“Jung Beo,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. “Take her.”

And just like that, the world felt like it stopped again.

Y/N’s breath hitched as Gi-hun’s words sank in. He wasn’t coming with her. He and Young Il were going to find another room, and they didn’t even have enough players yet.

“No… no, no, no,” she whispered, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. “Gi-hun, please, no. Don’t do this!”

Her cries grew louder, more desperate, but Gi-hun didn’t waver. His expression was tense, his eyes darting between her and Jung Beo.

“Jung Beo, take her!” Gi-hun’s voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. “Get her to the room now!”

Jung Beo grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her firmly toward the room where Jun Hee and Deo Ho were already waiting.

“Come on, Y/N,” Jung Beo muttered, his grip strong. But Y/N resisted, digging her heels into the ground as her sobs became uncontrollable. She shook her head, her body trembling.

“No! Gi-hun! You can’t—don’t do this!” she screamed, her words barely coherent through the tears.

Her legs gave way, but Jung Beo tightened his grip, trying to pull her forward. Seeing the struggle, Deo Ho rushed over, grabbing her other arm. Together, they half-carried, half-dragged her toward the room as she cried out for Gi-hun.

“Y/N, stop! They’ll be fine,” Jung Beo said, his voice strained as he tried to steady her. “You need to go to the room. Or you will be dead and will never see him again"

But she couldn’t hear him. Her mind was a blur of panic and grief, the events of the last round and Gi-hun’s sacrifice clouding every thought.

“Gi-hun!” she screamed again, her voice raw, but neither man let go.

Jun Hee stood by the door, her face pale as she quickly stepped aside to let them in. As soon as they dragged Y/N across the threshold, Jun Hee slammed the door shut behind them, the heavy click of the lock sealing their fate.

The timer hit zero.

As the timer hit zero, Y/N screamed, her voice piercing the suffocating silence of the room. She rushed to the small window on the door, frantically searching for any sign of Gi-hun or Young Il. Her hands trembled as she pressed her face against the small hole. trying to see through the dim, blood-spattered arena.

“They’re strong,” Jung Beo said softly, stepping beside her. “They’ll find a room. They always do.” trying to act strong even thought he was also woried for his bestfriend.

But Y/N couldn’t stop the tears streaming down her face. Her knees buckled, and she slid to the floor, her back against the door as her sobs wracked her body. Jung Beo crouched beside her, his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.

When her sobs subsided just enough for her to open her eyes, she froze. The room they were in—its walls, its floor—was streaked with splatters of blood. Dried smears lined the corners, and fresh red stains gleamed under the faint light, making the small space feel even more claustrophobic.

Panic gripped her chest, her breaths turning into shallow gasps. She scrambled to her feet, clawing at the door handle in desperation. “Let me out,” she sobbed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please, I need to get out!” now yelling, pulling and pushing the door.

“Y/N, stop!” Jung Beo’s voice rose slightly, his hands gently pulling her away from the door. “You can’t. It’s locked. You need to breathe—calm down, okay?”

“I can’t,” she cried, shaking her head violently. “I can’t—I can’t be here. I need to get out. Please.”

Her legs gave out again, and she collapsed into a corner, curling in on herself as she broke down. Her cries echoed in the small room, mixing with the faint hum of the carousel outside.

Jung Beo crouched nearby, not saying anything at first, just giving her space to release her fear and anguish. “It’s going to be okay,” he said eventually, his voice steady but quiet. “We’ll make it through this. You will too.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She buried her face in her hands, her sobs muffled but relentless. The metallic smell of blood in the air only made her cry harder, and she couldn’t shake the image of Gi-hun’s face from her mind.

The heavy door clicked open, but Y/N was too far gone in her panic to notice. Her hands gripped her knees tightly as she rocked back and forth, gasping for air through choked sobs. Jung Beo crouched in front of her, trying to get her attention.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice firm but not harsh. “We need to go back to the platform. Come on.” trying to pull her

But she didn’t respond. She didn’t even seem to hear him. The room, the blood, the fear—it all consumed her. Her chest heaved as her breaths came out in shallow, erratic gasps.

Jung Beo’s brow furrowed in worry. “She’s panicking too much,” he muttered to himself, then turned to Deo Ho and jun hee. “Go. Find Gi-hun. Now!”

Without hesitation, Deo Ho and jun hee bolted out of the room, sprinting toward the platform in search of Gi-hun. Jung Beo stayed behind, his hands gently gripping Y/N’s shoulders, trying to ground her.

“Y/N, listen to me,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re safe. You’re okay. Just breathe with me, okay?”

But her gaze remained unfocused, her body trembling as she stayed locked in her fear.

Moments later, frantic footsteps echoed down the hall, and Gi-hun appeared at the doorway, his face pale with worry. His eyes immediately found Y/N, curled up and shaking on the floor.

“Y/N!” he called, rushing to her side and dropping to his knees. The fear in his voice was evident as he gently placed his hands on her arms. “Y/N, look at me. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m okay.”

His voice was calm yet urgent, cutting through the fog in her mind. Slowly, her wide, tear-filled eyes flicked to him, her breaths still uneven but less shallow.

“It’s me,” Gi-hun said, leaning closer so she could focus on his face. “I’m right here. I’m fine. You’re fine. Just breathe with me, okay?”

His presence seemed to anchor her, her trembling starting to subside as she focused on him. “Gi-hun…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“I’m here,” he reassured her, his hand resting gently over hers. “You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

Y/N’s body trembled as she stared at Gi-hun, the tears in her eyes blurring his face. “It’s okay,” Gi-hun whispered, holding her just as tightly. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Before the moment could settle, the metallic clang of boots echoed in the doorway. A guard stood there, his voice cold and sharp. “Return to the platform. Immediately.”

Gi-hun looked up at the guard, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled Y/N closer, his arms steady as he lifted her. “Come on,” he said softly, his voice soothing despite the urgency. “We need to go.”

Y/N didn’t resist, her face buried against his shoulder as he carried her out of the blood-smeared room. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see the carnage they were leaving behind.

As they approached the platform, the atmosphere was suffocating. The remaining players stood in tense silence, their faces pale and drawn as they waited for the next round to begin. Gi-hun gently set Y/N down, keeping a protective arm around her as they took their place among the others.

“Stay with me,” Gi-hun murmured, glancing down at her. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

Y/N nodded weakly, still clinging to his sleeve as she tried to steady her breathing, bracing herself for whatever horrors came next....

----

Ps: i know the ending is such a cliffhanger😔🙏 But i didint want to make it too long okey. And DONT WORRY the next part will be posted soon!!!

If you want to be t@agged say it in the comments❤️

----

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Tag list=

@ashtrosstuff

@sorilyae

@space1crow

@marsyay78

@shadow-tumbler

@demonicangel69

@beebeechaos

@solarpotato

@deepangelpartykid

@sunshiines-world

@ariasfavtshirt

[parkerpeter24]

this is my idea for the spider-man x fangirl thing

so peter and reader are best friends and reader always talks about how much she loves spider-man and peter always rolls his eyes and acts annoyed even though deep down it makes him happy. then one day reader was walking at night when she got like robbed or something and gets saved by spider-man. he swings her to someplace safe and when she calms down she starts freaking out that she met spider-man . you can add more but idk i’m not good at this but that’s jus like an idea??

let’s hope you guys enjoy this.

pairing ➳ peter parker x reader.

masterlist

“so you don’t think it’s like, a fifth date kind of revelation?” you asked peter as the two of you walked on the pavement. when a reply didn’t come out of your best friend, you looked to the side, only to catch him giving you the same look of exasperation, “what? oh, come on. i’m not in love with him!”

“you’re in love with him.” he concluded, “why do you even wanna know who he is?”

“i don’t know, i’m just-”

“in love with him.” peter reiterated, forcing you to give him a glare to shut up.

“curious.” you said, rolling your eyes.

the two of you walked in silence for a while as you made your way towards delmar’s deli. you had decided to go to peter’s for today’s study session and you were ready to eat off his ear again talking about spider-man. and he knew. he’d seen the new video of himself– the link to which you’d sent him– fighting off four guys at the same time.

you kept him updated on spider-man and even though he pursed his lips and rolled his eyes whenever you started getting all giddy about the new news, the only people who knew you had a crush on peter– well, spider-man– were himself and ned.

after getting your favorite sandwiches, you both made your way to peter’s place, a few blocks away. once you were inside, you made a beeline for his room, setting down your backpack on his bed.

“that’s new.” peter pointed, noticing the pop socket stuck to your mobile cover. you looked at it and nodded.

“there was only one left. i had to buy it.” you grinned as you sat down, pulling out your books.

“if you would just admit it, you’re obsessed.” peter chuckled, sitting down beside you.

“am not.” you raised your eyebrows.

“are too.” peter retaliated, making you roll your eyes at him again, “come on, it’s not a bad thing.”

you shrugged, “i just admire him.”

it was pretty late at night when you left his place, may was yet to come back and you missed her trying to make you stay for dinner. putting your hands in either pockets of your jacket, you began your walk to your place.

but just a few blocks down and you spotted a man in dark grey hoodie and torn jeans. you tried to walk past him but got worried when he started following you. as your steps quickened, his did too. just as you were about to run, the guy held your arm, pulling you into an alley.

you were shocked, he had pointed a knife right at your exposed neck. you tried not to move as he gave you an intimidating look, “hand me your money and we’re even.”

you trembled, trying to open your mouth. your mouth came out shakey, “p-please, i have nothing- j-just books.”

you felt the cold metal pressing against your skin, the slightest sting on your neck as you gulped, closing your eyes as tears pooled in them.

the next few seconds were very confusing. you were free, the pressure on your arm and disappearing as you heard a ‘thwip’. the knife was yanked out of the robber’s hand, and he got a kick to the side of his rib, making him fly further into the alley.

you gasped as your saviour landed in front of you, robotic eyes squinting at the guy, “come on, dude! ‘no’ means no.”

he yelled towards the guy before turning to you, noticing the tears in your eyes, “hey... are you okay? ...miss.”

your mouth opened, then closed. then opened. then closed again.

“it’s okay. i think you’re star-struck.” he tried to ease the tension. you noticed he moved his hands a lot.

“um... thank you for... knocking that guy out.” you wiped away your face and touched your neck, feeling the smallest cut, “i wasn’t planning on getting killed tonight.”

“you should clean that up.” you noticed he moved his hands a lot when he talked. it made your heart flutter a little. on the same night, the superhero had managed to save your life and make you feel all warm just by being the way you’d imagined him from the youtube videos.

you nodded at him, “i will...”

“you can call me spider-man.” he shrugged and you liked the idea that he might have been smiling at you under the mask. you noticed that he was making his voice sound thicker, putting on a heavy accent, but you tried to ignore it, following that he was in a full body spandex suit.

“i will, spider-man.” you smiled back.

“i... could walk you to the home.” he offered, almost immediately adding, “just to make sure you’re safe!”

you nodded your head, “well, unless you have to go save someone else...”

“i’m free for now.” he chuckled as as started leading the way.

as the two of you walked, a silence overtook the atmosphere. you tried to scan your brain for something, just so you could avoid the awkwardness, “i’m a big fan, by the way.”

peter wanted to laugh at your giddy voice. he’d never heard you be this shy around him– which, now that he thought, was making him a bit jealous of his alter ego, “thanks! just doing my job as the friendly neighborhood spider-man.”

once the two of you had reached your apartment complex, you faced the superhero, “thank you, spider-man.”

he did a little salute with two of his fingers, “glad to help.” and with that he took off, swinging away from you.

you sighed softly, feeling a little disappointed at his departure. you went inside and texted peter immediately– characters mismatched and all caps as you typed– ‘THETES NO WAY YPURE GONNA BELIEVE EHAT HAPPED!!!’

peter chuckled, watching the texts come through on his screen as he sat atop your building.

the brunette sighed softly, “man, tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

[turtlevariabilis]

When Time Looks Back

A ROTTMNT ANGST FANFIC ABOUT AFTERMATH, INEVITABILITY, AND THE FRAGILE BALANCE BETWEEN CHAOS AND TIME.

1.

Six figures stumbled down the underground tunnel. They were covered in dust, blood, and a silence far too heavy to be normal. The lair was close—but not close enough.

Raph was panting as he carried Leo in his arms.

“Leo’s getting worse! Hurry!” he shouted, not slowing down.

Leo’s eyes were half-lidded. He hadn’t cracked a joke in minutes. His breathing was weak—barely there. Raph clenched his jaw. The blurred vision in his injured eye made every step harder, but he didn’t let up.

Mikey was trembling, his voice shattered.

“This… this can’t be happening. Not after we saved him…”

“Medical bay! Now!” April ordered, rushing ahead.

“Do you have trauma gear? Monitors, respirator, anything?” Casey asked quickly, scanning their surroundings.

“Upstairs. In the med bay,” Donnie answered, quickening his pace despite how hard it was to breathe. “S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., Red Protocol.”

A firm digital voice responded:

“Protocol activated. Preparing surgical table and vital scan.”

The doors to the medical bay slid open. Bright white lights flared on, and an automated stretcher descended from the ceiling with a precise hum. Casey stared, wide-eyed.

“That robot’s real?”

“Very real,” Donnie replied flatly. “And very useful. I built him.”

Raph gently placed Leo on the stretcher. His hands were shaking as he let go. He stayed right there beside him, unmoving.

“Come on, little bro… don’t you dare give up,” he whispered.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. began scanning.

“Multiple fractures. Abdominal trauma. Active internal bleeding. Initiating automated stabilization.”

Casey, instincts kicking in, jumped in to assist with the emergency procedures.

Mikey covered his face with his injured hands.

“This can’t be real… We saved him, didn’t we? He was supposed to be safe now…”

Then Splinter appeared, silent as ever. His deep voice cut through the air:

“He fought for all of you today. He saved us. Now we must fight for him.”

He placed a firm hand on Mikey’s shoulder. When he noticed the deep wounds in his arms—almost like cracks—his gaze turned concerned.

“Let me see that, son. Your arms look bad.”

“They hurt…” Mikey murmured, sinking into a chair. “It was from opening the portal. So Leo could come back…”

April crouched beside him.

“You did it. Now it’s time to heal.”

She turned toward Donnie.

“Donnie, help us with—” She stopped. Donnie was standing in a corner, completely still, eyes locked on the monitor.

“Donnie!” she called again, louder.

He snapped out of it.

“I’m fine. I need to stay here. In case Leo needs me. That’s all that matters.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. reported:

“Stabilization complete. Patient is critical, but stable.”

“That’s… something,” Casey exhaled.

Splinter frowned.

“But not enough.”

Donnie leaned subtly against the wall. His breathing was fast, shallow.

Mikey, now with his arms bandaged, noticed a small pool of blood not far from him. He frowned, alarmed.

“Donnie… are you…?”

“It’s nothing,” Donnie replied reflexively.

“April! Donnie’s bleeding!” Mikey cried in panic.

April rushed over with Mikey. They forced Donnie to sit down. They pulled away part of the battle shell. Deep wounds, almost like punctures, were bleeding steadily.

Splinter approached with a voice firm but calm.

“No more secrets, Donatello.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad…” Donnie murmured, eyes down. “I was more worried about Leo.”

“We’re going to be okay. All of us,” Raph said from across the room. He paused. “But that means you have to be okay too. Got it?”

April glanced at him sideways.

“And you’re next. That eye can’t wait any longer.”

Then, from the stretcher, a weak voice broke the silence:

“Yeah, Raph… your eye looks… awful.”

Leo had barely opened his eyes. Raph let out a shaky laugh, full of relief and tears.

“Look who’s talking…” he whispered.

A nervous chuckle spread through the room, catching on between them all.

They were still covered in blood, battered, exhausted… but alive.

Splinter looked at them with wet eyes.

“My sons… are going to be alright.”

2 ➡️

Inspired by some of the ideas from the fan comic Cass Apocalyptic.

[aliteralsemicolon]

honestly, the whole ai fight or disagreement thing is kinda insane. we’re seeing the same pattern that happened when the first advanced computers and laptops came out. people went on the theory that they’d replace humans, but in the end, they just became tools. the same thing happened in the arts. writing, whether through books or handwritten texts, has survived countless technological revolutions from ancient civilizations to our modern world.

you’re writing and sharing your work through a phone, so being against ai sounds a little hypocritical. you might as well quit technology altogether and go 100 percent analog. it’s a never ending cycle. every time there’s a new tech revolution, people act like we’re living in the terminator movies even though we don’t even have flying cars yet. ai is just ai and it’s crappy. people assume the worst but like everything before it it will probably just end up being another tool because people is now going to believe anything, nowadays.

Okay so...no. It's never that black and white. Otherwise I could argue that you might as well go 100% technological and never touch grass again. Which sounds just as silly. There are many problems with AI and it's more than just 'robots taking over'. It's actually a deeper conversation about equity, ethics, environmentalism, corruption and capitalism. That's an essay I'm not sure a lot of people are willing to read, otherwise they would be doing their own research on this. I'll sum it up the best I can.

DISCLAIMER As usual I am not responsible for my grammar errors, this was written and posted in one go and I did not look back even once. I'm not a professional source. I just want to explain this and put this discussion to rest on my blog. Please do your own research as well.

There's helpful advancement tools and there's harmful advancement tools. I would argue that AI falls into the latter for a few of reasons.

It's not 'just AI', it's a tool weaponised for more harm than good: Obvious examples include deep fakes and scamming, but here's more incase you're interested.

A more common nuisance is that humans now have to prove that they are not AI. More specifically, writers and students are at risk of being accused of using AI when their work reads more advance that basic writing criteria. I dealt with this just last year actually. I had to prove that the essay I dedicated weeks of my time researching, writing and gathering citations for was actually mine.

I have mutuals that have been accused of using AI because their writing seems 'too advanced' or whatever bs. Personally, I feel that an AI accusation is more valid when the words are more hollow and lack feeling (as AI ≠ emotional intelligence), not when a writer 'sounds too smart'.

"You're being biased."

Okay, here is an unbiased article for you. Please don't forget to take note of the fact that the negative is all stuff that can genuinely ruin lives and the positive is stuff that makes tasks more convenient. This is the trend in every article I've read.

Equity, ethics, corruption, environmentalism and capitalism:

Maybe there could be a world where AI is able to improve and truly help humans, but in this capitalistic world I don't see it being a reality. AI is not the actual problem in my eyes, this is. Resources are finite and lacking amongst humans. The wealthy hoard them for personal comfort and selfish innovations leading to more financial gain, instead of sharing them according to need. Capitalism is another topic of its own and I want to keep my focus on AI specifically so here are some sources on this topic. I highly recommend skimming through them at least.

> Artificial Intelligence and the Black Hole of Capitalism: A More-than-Human Political Ethology > Exploiting the margin: How capitalism fuels AI at the expense of minoritized groups > Rethinking of Marxist perspectives on big data, artificial intelligence (AI) and capitalist economic development

I want to circle back to your first paragraph and just dissect it really quick.

"we’re seeing the same pattern that happened when the first advanced computers and laptops came out. people went on the theory that they’d replace humans, but in the end, they just became tools."

One quick google search gives you many articles explaining that and deeming this statement irrelevant to this discussion. I think this was more a case of inexperience with the internet and online data. The generations since are more experienced/familiar with this sort of technology. You may have heard of 'once it's out there it can never be deleted' pertaining to how nothing can be deleted off the internet. I do not think you're stupid anon, I think you understand this and how dangerous it truly is. Especially with the rise in weaponisation of AI. I'm going to link some quora and reddit posts (horrible journalism ik but luckily I'm not a journalist), because taking personal opinions from people who experienced that era feels important.

> Quora | When the internet came out, were people afraid of it to a similar degree that people are afraid of AI? > Reddit | Were people as scared of computers when they were a new thing, as they are about AI now? > Reddit | Was there hysteria surrounding the introduction of computers and potential job losses?

"the same thing happened in the arts. writing, whether through books or handwritten texts, has survived countless technological revolutions from ancient civilizations to our modern world."

I think this is a logical guess based on pattern recognition. I cannot find any sources to back this up. Either that or you mean to say that artists and writers are not being harmed by AI. Which would be a really ignorant statement.

We know about stolen content from creatives (writers, artists, musicians, etc) to train AI. Everybody knows exactly why this is wrong even if they're not willing to admit it to themselves.

Let's use writers for example. The work writers put out there is used without their consent to train AI for improvement. This is stealing. Remember the very recent issue of writer having to state that they do not consent to their work being uploaded or shared anywhere else because of those apps stealing it and putting it behind a paywall?

I shouldn't have to expand further on why this is a problem. Everybody knows exactly why this is wrong even if they're not willing to admit it to themselves. If you're still wanting to argue it's not going to be with me, here are some sources to help you out.

> AI, Inspiration, and Content Stealing > ‘Biggest act of copyright theft in history’: thousands of Australian books allegedly used to train AI model > AI Detectors Get It Wrong. Writers Are Being Fired Anyway

"you’re writing and sharing your work through a phone, so being against ai sounds a little hypocritical. you might as well quit technology altogether and go 100 percent analog."

...

"it’s a never ending cycle. every time there’s a new tech revolution, people act like we’re living in the terminator movies even though we don’t even have flying cars yet."

Yes there is usually a general fear of the unknown. Take covid for example and how people were mass buying toilet paper. The reason this statement cannot be applied here is due to evidence of it being an actual issue. You can see AI's effects every single day. Think about AI generated videos on facebook (from harmless hope core videos to proaganda) that older generations easily fall for. With recent developments, it's actually becoming harder for experienced technology users to differentiate between the real and fake content too. Do I really need to explain why this is a major, major problem?

> AI-generated images already fool people. Why experts say they'll only get harder to detect. > Q&A: The increasing difficulty of detecting AI- versus human-generated text > New results in AI research: Humans barely able to recognize AI-generated media

"ai is just ai and it’s crappy. people assume the worst but like everything before it it will probably just end up being another tool because people is now going to believe anything, nowadays."

AI is man-made. It only knows what it has been fed from us. Its intelligence is currently limited to what humans know. And it's definitely not as intelligent as humans because of the lack of emotional intelligence (which is a lot harder to program because it's more than math, repetition and coding). At this stage, I don't think AI is going to replace humans. Truthfully I don't know if it ever can. What I do know is that even if you don’t agree with everything else, you can’t disagree with the environmental factor. We can't really have AI without the resources to help run it.

Which leads us back to: finite number of resources. I'm not sure if you're aware of how much water and energy go into running even generative AI, but I can tell you that it's not sustainable. This is important because we're already in an irrevocable stage of the climate crisis and scientists are unsure if Earth as we know it can last another decade, let alone century. AI does not help in the slightest. It actually adds to the crisis, we're just uncertain to what degree at this point. It's not looking good though.

I am not against AI being used as a tool if it was sustainable. You can refute all my other arguments, but you can't refute this. It's a fact and your denial or lack of care won't change the outcome.

My final and probably the most insignificant reason on this list but it matters to me: It’s contributing to humans becoming dumber and lazier.

It's no secret that humans are declining in intelligence. What makes AI so attractive is its ability to provide quick solutions. It gathers the information we're looking for at record speed and saves us the time of having to do the work ourselves.

And I suppose that is the point of invention, to make human life easier. I am of the belief that too much is of anything is every good, though. Too much hardship is not good but neither is everything being too easy. Problem solving pushes intellectual growth, but it can't happen if we never solver our own problems.

Allowing humans to believe that they can stop learning to do even basic tasks (such as writing an email, learning to cite sources, etc) because 'AI can do it for you' is not helping us. This is really just more of a personal grievance and therefore does not matter. I just wanted to say it.

"What about an argument for instances where AI is more helpful than harmful?"

I would love for you to write about it and show me because unfortunately in all my research on this topic, the statistics do not lean in favour of that question. Of course there's always pros and cons to everything. Including phones, computers, the internet, etc. There are definitely instances of AI being helpful. Just not to the scale or same level of impact of all the negatives. And when the bad outweighs the good it's not something worst keeping around in my opinion.

In a perfect world, AI would take over the boring corporate tasks and stuff so that humans can enjoy life– recreation, art and music– as we were meant to. However in this capitalist world, that is not a possiblility and AI is killing joy and abolish AI and AI users DNI and I will probably not be talking about this anymore and if you want to send hate to my inbox on this don't bother because I'll block your anon and you won't get a response to feed your eristicism and you can never send anything anonymous again💙

[lanaslovelyletters]

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 ³

𝐑𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬...

Anakin x Princess!Reader

Part 3

Previous chapter: Part 2

Overall series warning: 18+ content (smut), mature themes, swearing

Warnings: Light swearing (but who cares about this)

Last chapter recap: “The dark lord completely ignored your question, letting himself calm down before backing off and walking towards the door. Before he left, he got a final word in, “We’re to wed in a week. You’ll stay here until then.” What..?”

Summary: He continues to fend off your questions until you decide to be bold, to which he retaliates…

Word Count: 1.5K+

Author’s note: So many people asked to be on the taglist and ily guys ugh❤️ Also, sorry for going AWOL. Had a lot of stuff on my plate<3 Btw, for everyone on the taglist, don’t worry if you change your username. If I tagged you before, I can tag you again<3

Taglist: @blackthorngirl @formula1mount @bby-imasociopath @anakinsbaee @darthgloris @tatumrileyslover @itzmeme @lunalitva @marvellover98 @rorysbrainrot @moonlight-dreamer04 @kittyrumbl3r @itsoneofusworld

“You’re not being serious.” You scoffed, almost grinning, but when you saw the look on his face— everything melted into dread and disappointment. He stared at you with stern-looking eyes before shutting the door behind him. You heard sharp noises emerge from the door, meaning he locked it.

“You’ve got to be joking.” You laughed dryly before your body hit the bed. It was fluffy and felt like a warm hug. A stark contrast to the situation you found yourself stuck in. It was unbelievable, really. You were seriously to marry a Sith Lord. A slave to the dark side. Sure, he was handsome, but only as handsome as an apple could be.

Alas, you were far too tired to think about the whole ordeal. Your eyes grew heavy and it was becoming increasingly harder not to nod off… and finally, it grew all black.

(Break)

You woke up to the darkness of space creeping in through the single window you had in the room. It was impossible to tell how long you’d slept and how long you’d be staying there. Nobody would tell you a thing, and the Dark Lord would certainly never give you any answers.

A sudden knock pulled you out of your little trance, and the door burst open. In walked two troopers. They marched in, picking you up from the bed with a strong force. Didn’t Vader mention I’d stay here for a week? What’s going on? Ironically enough, you decided not to struggle or fight back. It’s not as if going back home was a choice anymore. You knew the dark side wasn’t forgiving anyway. 

“I’m not a rag doll. I know how to walk,” you complained, as you felt your body sliding across the cold, polished floor. When there was no response, you scoffed. It was loud enough for them to hear, but it wasn’t like they cared. They were simply following orders like mindless robots. It was as if it was their input.

After passing through several corridors and riding multiple elevators, you finally found yourself being dragged along to a dimly lit dining room. The layout was nothing fancy. A large table and chairs to go along with it. On one end sat Vader. He still donned his pitch-black suit, with his eyes trained on you. The way his hair fell around his face and the way his Adam’s Apple bopped as he gazed at you— it was to swoon over. You were made to sit opposite him. You didn’t dare move. You knew he could end me with the flick of his fingers.

“I hope you have an appetite.” Maker, his voice. It was rough yet smooth, velvety yet rigid… you were drowning in the octaves.

“Not much of an appetite when I’ve just been taken hostage.” No, you couldn’t give in. He was handsome to be sure, but he was still a ruthless sith.

“Hostage? You’re not a hostage, love.” Love. What was he playing at?

“I’m… not?” Your eyebrows were furrowed along with a scrunch of your nose.

“Hostage implies you’re here against your will and that I await someone to negotiate for you… I plan to keep you.” Though his words seemed daring and almost devious, his facial expression and tone told you a different story. He was a wall. Cold and without feeling. He seemed serious and determined.

“Why me? How did you know my father? Why did you want my family killed?” You furrowed your eyebrows. His gaze remained fixed on you, as he breathed heavily and got up from his seat. His boots hit the floor in a threatening manner. When he stopped in front of you, his gloved hand held your chin softly. So soft that you almost felt comfortable in his presence.

“Curiosity killed the cat, princess.” As you let your head be lifted ever so gently, you saw the stark contrast between his touch and his demeanour. His stare was blank and icy. It was as if no life existed behind his eyes. Eyes that were otherwise so… never mind. 

“Luckily, I’m not a cat,” Bold. Quite bold. Did you care? No. You had about as much control over him as he did you. He wasn’t going to kill you. No, if he wanted to, he would’ve done so in a heartbeat. He wanted to wed you. To have you as his bride. As sickening as the idea of that was, at least you wouldn’t die anytime soon. 

“You’re quite carefree for someone who’s lost her entire family and been taken against her will.” You could’ve sworn you saw a faint smirk swiftly make an appearance before being washed out by his brooding expression.

Oh, but there was something about his face. It did seem familiar. You couldn’t place your finger on it. There wasn’t anything that stood out in particular, but oh there was something about his face.

“I’m talking to you,” he spoke in a rough voice, before tightening his grip on your face, burying his fingers into your cheeks

“I’m not scared of you, Sith.” A grin. His lips contorted into a wide smile as he let out a scoff,

“You’ve got moxie. I’ll give you that.” Your eyes met his. Force, if I had ever seen a man—

“Moxie? I beg to differ. Why would I be scared of a lowly Sith Lord like you? You’re not even the emperor. Are you even strong enough to—”

“Princess,” he breathed as he snaked his hand tightly around your neck, the pads of his fingers snuggled themselves into your soft skin. The tension was palpable. It could be cut with a knife. The way you continued to defy him and resist him…he hated it. You were such a pretty little thing, but so stubborn too. Too set in your ways.

“We all have our… limits. You’re starting to test mine, your highness.” Something about him addressing you as ‘highness’ clashed so hard with the circumstances you found yourself in; it gave you whiplash.

“I want answers…” your whisper came out shaky. Not because you were starting to lose your footing. No, it was his grip on your throat. If anything, you almost found him humorous. He was creating a paradox and running around in circles; essentially embarrassing himself.

“I don’t want to give you any.” You didn’t understand. You couldn’t. His logic was deeply flawed and there was no wrapping your head around where it started or ended. It was a mess. A tangled mystery for you to sit and braid together to form a clear path.

“I don’t want to marry you, but here we are.”

“Let me rephrase. I can’t.” His gaze diverted to the floor. He was clearly struggling. Either to recall or decide whether or not to do so.

“I don’t understand.” Your throat was slowly released, as he walked towards the door to the room.

“Can you at least tell me why you chose me? Out of all the women in this galaxy… Why me?” Your feet had somehow carried you off to go after him. He walked with purpose through several corridors, taking swings and turns to try and throw you and the question off.

“Please?” Admittedly, you were getting impatient. Desperate. 

“Say, would you like to know how I went about ending your father’s life?” He suddenly turned around with a menacing look on his face. It wasn’t maniacal. It was as if you were staring into a blank wall.

“Excuse me?” What the hell is wrong with him? Your eyes darted to the floor before you lifted your head back up to meet his.

“I asked you if you wanted to know how I killed your father. How I—“

“No, I heard you the first time. How does that have anything to do with my question?” He smirked for a moment before his smile faltered,

“You’re completely unphased. Didn’t think the king was that much of a horrible father.” How could he address your father like that? With that knowledge? How did he know your father like that?

“Yeah, well… he was. So give me an answer to my question. Why me?” The two of you stopped in front of a large white door. It had a face recognition lock on it.

“Because… I know you.” His voice dropped an octave as he stared at your reaction. You weren’t shocked, just confused.

He scanned his face and the entrance to a dark room was revealed. You were just about to follow him before he turned around,

“Do you wish to retire with me for the night?” What? Your brow bunched up together and you lightly shook your head,

“No… of course not.”

“Then I suggest you stop following me.” A grin was apparent on his lips.

“Evening, princess.” The door closed behind him and you were left standing there; completely dumbfounded. However, this unlocked a window for you to walk around freely, trying to find a way to escape. There didn’t seem to be any stormtroopers around. Marrying a Sith was that of nightmare fuel. It didn’t matter how gorgeously his hair fell around his face and how his scar elevated his overall appearance. He was a Sith Lord.

You needed to find a way out. By all means necessary.

To be continued…

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