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blindmagdalena · 1 year

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a prayer in perfect piety (homelander x plus-size reader)

originally written as this prompt here. 18+. 5.2k, f!reader, body image, smut. see AO3 Link for detailed tags.

Homelander invites you, his girlfriend, to your first public event as a couple. He's over the moon to show you off to the world, dressed to the nines and utterly smitten with one another. At some point, he loses track of you in the crowd. Confused, he goes looking for you, only to find you crying your eyes out in a bathroom on an entirely different floor.

Someone hurt you, and he's going to put them in their place.

He couldn't be prouder.

You took his breath away in your formal wear; a sight to behold that had him clapping his delight. "You're gonna knock them dead," he whispered in your ear, savoring the flustered, breathy way you laughed. Strange now that when he looks for you, Homelander doesn't see you on the event floor. You had gone to get drinks while he spoke with this senator—who has officially lost any and all of his interest in the wake of your disappearance—but you've been gone too long. Like an itch at the back of his neck, something doesn't feel right.

"Ah, apologies, senator, I seem to have misplaced my date," he says, flashing his best award winning smile. "Gimme a minute to find her. Make sure she hasn't gotten herself into any trouble," he says, throwing in a wink for good measure. His pleasant expression falls off as soon as his back is turned to the boring little man. When Homelander doesn't find you on the event floor, he steps out. He listens for you, filtering out the music, the chatter, the noise of the world. He seeks what is familiar to him, what he would know from a meter or a mile away, and what he hears puts a lump of ice into his gut. You're crying . Homelander moves swiftly down the hall, finding the women's bathroom in a heartbeat. You've gone far from the event floor, bypassing the nearer bathroom to use one further away. You're hiding, he realizes, but he can't fathom what from. He moves faster, imagining that you're hurt, that someone has you, that— "Babe?!" Homelander calls sharply, slamming open the door. He doesn't mean to scare you, but he can see in your expression that he did. Your eyes are wide and red, tears trailing black mascara down your cheeks. You stand with your hand lingering on the bathroom sink, and as the shock fades, your expression falters. He's never seen you look so... sad. It twists in him like a hot knife, the discomfort he feels at it turning immediately into rage. Anger comes quickly and easily to him. His voice is low when he demands, "Tell me what happened." "It's nothing," you try to dismiss, picking up the tissues you dropped on the floor to toss them into the garbage. "I just got overwhelmed at the party." "You're crying in a bathroom a floor down from the event, it is categorically not nothing," he argues, taking hold of your arms once he's near enough. He pulls you into him, lifting a hand to cup the side of your face. Thanks to plenty of experience with makeup in film and television, he knows better than to smear the blackened tears on your cheeks, though the impulse to wipe them away is there. "C'mon. Tell me." You lean into him as you always do. He is a pillar, just as you have been for him. He can't stand seeing you like this. "I don't belong here. I don't... talk, or dress, or look like these people. They're all..." You lift your hands, gesturing vaguely. Your voice sounds hoarse. He can't bear the sadness in it. "Perfect." "You have to be kidding me," Homelander says, his disbelief genuine. "The gaggle of sycophants and suits back there? They're insipid. Boring as all hell. I can't even tolerate being in the same room as them without you anymore," he says, huffing a laugh in an attempt to ease your mood. Anything to bring back your smile. "Seriously, what brought this on? You've never given a shit about all that pomp before." Your gaze drops. He knows you're hiding something from him. "Hey, c'mon," he coos, using the knuckle of his index finger to tilt your chin back up. "Tell me, and I will make it better." One way or another. With visible reluctance, you take a breath. "I... went to get a drink, like I said," you begin, fidgeting with the zipper on his glove. "When a group of people kind of cornered me at the bar. They seemed nice at first, they were asking questions about me, about us, which I know you said to expect, but then..."

Your eyes prickle, he can see fresh tears well up as you speak. Homelander slips a hand to your back, rubbing it, his brow furrowed. Sounds like someone's going to die. "One of them commented on my dress, she said that... Vought must not be used to dressing women my size," you say, voice falling quieter with every word. New tears fall. Homelander's jaw tenses. He looks away from you, blinking back that familiar crimson burn.

"They all started laughing, and I just wanted to disappear," you say, a tight little sob escaping your throat as Homelander pulls you in against his chest, rubbing your back. "I'm sorry I didn't-"

"No," Homelander interrupts, his anger making the word sound harsher than he intended. "No," he says again, correcting himself to be gentler. This rage isn't for you, after all. "No apologies. Let's get you cleaned up, alright? Get back out there."

Someone is definitely going to die.

You tense up, pushing back from his arms to look up at him. "Please, I'd really like to just go home."

"We will," he assures you, smoothing his hands up and down your arms. "Soon. I want you to show me the group who spoke to you."

"I don't want to cause a scene," you plead, flattening your hands to his chest. "They're not worth it."

"No, they're not. But you are," he says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. He holds you firm until he feels you begin to melt, yielding to the warmth of him. “Let me make this better.”

By the time he draws back, you look sufficiently pliant. "Okay," you say quietly. He bites back a predatory smirk. "Nothing too dramatic, please?" You plea, leveling him with an attempt at a firm look, despite your big watery eyes. He’s never been less intimidated in his life, and never more endeared.

"Me? Dramatic?" He asks, feigning outrage.

"I mean it," you stress, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

There it is, Homelander thinks. There is not a single heinous thing he would not do to see you smile. "Relax," he purrs. "I'll handle this."

When the two of you return to the event floor, it only takes you a moment to point out the offending group. With an arm wrapped securely around your waist, Homelander brazenly guides you to them. He feels you squeeze his hand anxiously, but he isn't the least bit deterred. "Heyyy, what's up!" Homelander greets boisterously, bulldozing into their conversation with the friendliest of tone. Only you are wise enough to recognize the venom dripping from the corners of his mouth. His canines glint sharply in the light, eager for a bloody meal. The air is strange, a mixture of drunken excitement and surprised nervousness. It's not every day Homelander himself steps into your conversation. A few of them look at you before they exchange glances, but clearly enough alcohol has been imbibed that they're feeling brave. They don't see the danger they're in.

Homelander runs his tongue along his teeth. Clueless fucking idiots."Homelander, oh my god! I was hoping to run into you," one of the women announces. He can smell the liquor on her breath when she leans in, putting a bold hand on his arm opposite to the one he holds you with. "I'm such a fan, you have no idea. I've seen every one of your movies," she says, flushed giddy. "Always great to meet such a dedicated fan," he says, lying through his teeth. A glance through the material of her bag gives him exactly what he needs; her Vought security badge. She works in communications. "Kathleen, right? In Communications," he says, pointing a finger at her, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he's just now recalling this information.

"Oh, I-wow, yes! I can't believe you know who I am," she says, glancing back at her companions. "I try to know everyone I work with," he lies smoothly, subtly shrugging her hand off of his shoulder, placing his hand on his hip. Not all of them work for Vought, but all of them have their ID on them. A quick flit of his super powered vision between them is all it takes for him to know each and every one of their names. Homelander cocks his head to the side, giving her a once over. Her dress is richly patterned, a myriad of black, white and red. The belt bears a familiar double C logo.

“Wow, Kathleen, look at you. Chanel, huh? Oh, wait…,” he stops himself, leaning forward to take a better look at the details of the dress. He clicks his tongue, standing straight. “Nooope, I misspoke. Chanel doesn’t bleed. Not a bad knock-off, though,” he says with a brief downturn of his lips, shrugging. Immediately, all eyes fall on Kathleen. There are a couple of stifled giggles and some childish oohh's . The man to her left, seeming eager to play along with Homelander’s little game of Mean Girls, readily chimes in, “Busted.” “I’d be quiet if I were you, Chuck,” Homelander says, rounding on the man so sharply, his laughter falls immediately silent. The shock on his face is understandable. He doesn't work for Vought. Homelander has no right to know his name. “I can smell the red paint on the bottom of those misshapen Johnston & Murphy’s you’re trying to pass off as Louis Vuitton. Now that’s embarrassing.” This time, no one’s laughing. There’s no mirth left in Homelander’s voice, and they've all finally realized it. His gaze is drifting from one potential prey to the next, his mouth set in an unyielding line. He lifts his brows, waiting for them to continue their jeering. “What? No one has anything to say to that? How about you, Jason?” He asks, startling one of the other men. “Why don’t we talk about those fucking ugly veneers of yours? I mean, god damn . I’ve never seen a more square smile in my life. It’s like staring at white slatwall every time you open your mouth.” Homelander begins to laugh. The sound of it is thorned, vicious to behold. “Aww, c’mon, don’t be so fucking sensitive . You wanted to have a laugh at my girl, right? Let’s laugh, then,” he says, lifting a gloved hand to snap his fingers impatiently, demanding, “Laugh!” Like a bark from an obedient dog, a single man amidst the group forces a stilted laugh.

Homelander hones in on him with the precision of a heat seeking missile, dropping his hand. Deadpan, he asks, “Something funny, Jim?”

Jim audibly gulps. “Y-you said-”

"Y'see, that's your problem. You're all just a bunch of fucking sheep, so desperate to be seen as somebody, you end up being no one at all. If you put half the effort you put into kissing ass into a personality, you might be a fraction as interesting as she is," he says, gesturing to you with the hand he doesn't have holding you close. "But instead you prop yourselves up on all this..." Homelander spins his hand loosely through the air before sighing, "Bullshit. It's boring. You're all so fucking boring and miserable with yourselves. You reek of it," he says, lip twitching in a near snarl. "Go. Get the fuck out of my tower,” he rumbles, voice set low. “All of you. Before I throw you off the balcony myself.” There's a pregnant pause before Homelander snaps, "Now!" Like roaches, all of them scatter. Homelander watches them with a sneer. He would have preferred literally tearing them apart, but it's neither the time nor the place.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

Homelander hums quietly, turning to look down at you. Before he can say a word, you grab hold of the back of his neck and kiss him senseless. He grins against your lips, turning to pull you properly into his arms. His ego swells immediately, the kiss speaking volumes. You're pleased. Pleased with him. He greedily soaks up the feeling of your body against his, lips moving against yours, eager to chase away the salty smell of your tears with something a little more salacious.

The two of you break apart before the kiss becomes any more scandalous than it already is, the buzz of the crowd around you dulled by the fervency pulsing between your bodies. "That was... the hottest thing anyone has ever done for me," you whisper, your heart beating heavily in your chest. "Hottest thing so far ,” he says, smiling wolfishly. He gives your plush hips a squeeze, licking his lips. ”Because this dress on your body has been driving me wild . All. Night. Long," he says, punctuating each word with a kiss. “And I cannot wait to tear it off you.” You bite your lip, inhaling a sharp, flustered little breath. "Can we get out of here yet?"

"You're damn right we can," he says, kissing you again.

Homelander slips away from the venue without an ounce of fanfare, half because you’re so eager to be home, and half because he knows Stan Edgar will be pissed that he took off without shaking the hand of every single political figure the man wants a finger in the pie of.

Fuck Stan Edgar, and especially fuck every one of the brownnosing nobodies invited to that sycophantic cesspit.

The only person in the world he cares about right now is you. ~~~ He wasn’t kidding about the dress. The second he has you back in his room, he’s pushing it off your shoulders, trailing kisses from your neck to your chest. He drags the fabric down until it’s pooling around your waist. You gasp so sweetly in his ear when he snaps your bra apart in a single tug, leaving your upper half bare.

Your breasts hang heavy and flawless, soft in his gloved hands as he fondles them. “Love your tits,” he says, sucking your nipple into his mouth, coaxing it with his tongue until it’s hard, and you’re squirming in his arms, panting and pulling at his hair. He comes off of it with a wet pop. He cups your ass in both hands, grinds against your thigh so that you can feel how hard he is. “You’re so fucking soft. Wanna fuck ‘em, wanna fuck your tits.”

Those idiots at the gala had no goddamn clue what they were talking about. They were jealous of you, jealous knowing that it wouldn’t be any of their sorry asses he was going to worship inside and out tonight. They wanted to be you, or they wanted to be him, and they were stained an ugly green in their envy. He should have punched their hearts clean out of their chests for making you feel anything less than perfect.

You–the divine creature you are–nod your assent, breathless and flushed. You’re staring up at him with reverence that runs deeper than the insipid glee he sees in the hoards of livestock he tends to every day: the American populace. You aren’t just awestruck by him, you love him. He wants to devour you for it.

“Okay,” you say, eager and sweet. He lets you take a step back from him. “Do it. I want you to.”

Homelander watches you drop down onto the bed, intently tracks every bounce of your body. He steps towards you, and takes in the sight of you while you work on unbuckling his pants. He touches your hair, cups your cheek. He likes the way your skin looks against the crimson of his gloves, wants to see you stripped down bare and ruined by your hero, your god. Tipping his head back, he stares up at the mirrored ceiling above his bed, lets out a soft groan at the sight of you both.

The suit is carved into the shape of an adonis, rippling muscles that jut and curve. It creates the illusion of the body people expect from a man who can bend steel with his bare hands. It’s everything he should be. He sucks in a sharp breath when you free his cock, but he stops you when you go to push his pants down, grabbing hold of your wrists. “Not yet. Leave ‘em,” he says, distracting you by bringing your hands to your chest.

“Hold ‘em up for me, alright? That’s it, there you go, just like that,” he says, licking his lips. He takes hold of his cock, and takes a step closer, nudging the leaking head of it under your breasts. There’s not enough slip to be comfortable for either of you, so he leans over to the bedside table and pops open the drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. With a brief flash from his laser vision, he warms the bottle.

“Lean your head back,” he says, and you do. You look like a work of art, your breasts heavy in your hands, spilling between your fingers where you’re holding them up, pressed together nice and tight. He drizzles the warm lube all across your chest, watches with perverse hunger as it rolls down the slopes of your body. Admittedly, he goes a little overboard, taken in by the image it paints.

“Too much,” you say, but he gives the bottle an additional cheeky little squeeze anyways.

“Can’t help it,” he says, tossing the bottle back into the drawer. “Y’look like a goddamn porn star.”

He can feel the heat of your flush. Somehow, you look demure, even as you sit naked from the waist up, holding your breasts for him to fuck. “Will you fuck me like one?” You ask, and Christ, he feels your words like punches to the gut.

“Is that what you want?” He puts his hands on yours, and slips his cock between your slick breasts, rocking his hips slowly. They feel unreal, enveloping him, impossibly supple and warm. “Want me to fuck you like the whole world’s watching?”

Your blush deepens, crawls all the way down from your cheeks to your chest, where he can feel the heat of it all around his cock. Holding his gaze, you nod, too flustered to respond verbally, which only drives him wilder.

All the while, he can smell your building arousal. The wetter you get, the more his head spins, focusing on the nuances of it: the damp smell of those pretty silky panties he bought you, the way you’re subtly rocking your hips like he won’t notice, seeking any friction at all to feed your own mounting desire.

He’ll have to resist ripping those panties off you. He wants to keep them as a trophy. The smooth slip of your breasts is sweeter than words, but as he thrusts faster, he aches for more. More tension, more friction, more everything. Homelander groans roughly, and pushes you down onto the bed sharply enough that you yelp, falling back harmlessly onto the plush bedding. He wastes no time in tearing the dress from your body, to which you make a noise of protest.

“But–you got that for me, I-” “I’ll get you another,” he dismisses. “I’ll get you ten of them, twenty. You’ll have everything. You understand me?” He drags his hands down your sides, hooks his fingers on the hips of your panties to slide them off. Those? Those he tucks into his pocket. “You’ll have everything.” He dips his hand between your legs, gloves slick with residual lube, and rubs your wet entrance with the leather clad tip of his middle finger. He pushes it in deep.

“I already do,” you gasp, reaching for him. He leans over you, lets you take hold of his hair, his cheek, obliges you when you pull him in to kiss. His hunger is barely contained, leaving him in sharp little nips to your bottom lip, and the ravenous press of his tongue into your mouth. He slips another finger into you, crooks them wickedly as he rocks them in and out, turning your voice thin and breathy. “You are everything to me.”

“Keep talking,” Homelander tells you, drawing out of your hold. He kneels at the edge of the bed and hikes your legs up over his shoulders, mindful of his pauldrons. He never stops pumping his fingers, keeps his pace steady while he leans in and sucks your clit between his lips. You jerk up, but you’re powerless against his hold.

“You’re so good to me,” you breathe, tangling your fingers in his hair. He’s never fingered you with his gloves on before, but you’re certainly not complaining. You’re moving with him now, pushing into every thrust, moaning. “You’re so beautiful. O-oh, god, I could watch you forever.” Homelander’s gaze flickers up. He realizes you’re not looking at him, but at the mirror above you. He smirks, nuzzling in against you, enjoying that you’re watching him ruin you. You used to hide from that mirror, stay under the covers as much as you could. Now look at you, splayed out beneath it, enraptured by the vision of him swallowing you down. He preens with your words, shakes his head against you. Drags his tongue through the wet mess and fucks you deeper, firmer. He keeps going until your litany of praise and prayer falls off into sharp gasps and wordless euphoria.

He can taste your orgasm when it hits, smell it in the chemistry of your body. Your clit throbs wildly against his tongue, and he sucks it greedily. He doesn’t stop until you’re nearly sobbing from whe overwhelm of sensation, pushing him back with frail, exquisitely delicate efforts. He could hold you down if he wanted to, it would be easy to wring another bursting climax from you, but he relents.

This time.

Standing up, Homelander drags his gloved hand over his mouth, wiping away the majority of the mess. He unzips both gloves, and tosses them to the side. He wants to feel what he’s about to do next.

You look heavenly, sprawled out loose-limbed and spent, but there is such fire in your eyes when he meets your gaze. “I didn’t forget,” you say, to which he quirks a brow. “Like a pornstar,” you remind him, and he grins.

Effortlessly, Homelander flips you onto your stomach. He loves the way you giggle when he manhandles you, moving you as though you weigh nothing at all. To him, you don’t. You’re light as a feather, and he uses that to his every advantage. He lifts you up onto your knees, brings you right to the edge of the bed, and presses in close behind you. He grabs two helping handfuls of your ass, kneads it while he grinds his cock along the line of it. He gives an appreciative little slap.

You moan, resting your head atop your folded arms. Despite your release, there is neediness etched into your every movement: the anticipation in how you spread your legs, impatiently rocking back into his hands, your nails clawing at the bedding. He’s more aware of your body than you ever will be. He drags it out a while longer, finds your clit with the head of his cock and grinds against it.

“Stop teasing me,” you whine, trying to push back against him, but he holds you easily in place. He licks his lips, his own cock achingly hard. “Tell me then, sweetheart,” he says, his voice reduced to a low rasp. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you say without hesitation, twisting your grip in the bedding.

“Specifics,” he pushes, his ego nearly as demanding as his cock.

“Put your cock inside me and pound me until your name is the only one I know,” you say, voice wrung tight and impatient. “Please, please, I want you in me. I need to feel you. You make me feel so good , please–”

Fuck, your voice drives him insane. He’s maddened by the eagerness with which you appeal to him, the sincerity in it even when he’s edging you, toying with you, riling you up to see if you’ll crack, to see if you’ll lose this perfect sweetness in the way you profess your love and your need, but you never do. He aches for it, he never wants to stop digging it out of you.

Your string of adulation is cut short when he finally lines himself up and pulls you back onto his cock, wringing a keening moan from you, a noise of relief and pleasure and agony all at once. He’s only barely breached you with the head of his cock. It isn’t nearly enough to satisfy you. You want more. You want all of him. You want to be fucked by Homelander’s fat cock.

Tipping his head back, he stares up at himself, dressed still in red, white and blue while you’re stripped naked, wearing worship and vulnerability more beautifully than he’s ever seen it. He grabs hold of your hips and steadies you, sinks you back onto his cock in one smooth pull. You make a noise that goes straight to the heat at the core of him, feeding it like kindling to the flames.

“Look at you,” he moans, watching both of your reflections. He alternates between the curves of your body, and meeting his own eye. “So fucking perfect .”

Sliding his hands up your sides, he drops his head to kiss a trail up your spine. He cups your breasts, fondles your nipples with his thumbs. They feel so much better in his bare hands, soft and still slightly slick. He gives a shuddering moan and picks up a steady pace, kneading them against your chest while he starts to fuck you in earnest.

You asked him to make you forget everything but his name. That’s exactly his intent as he pounds into you. Holding you steady against the sharp slap of his hips, he’s moving so relentlessly that you can’t get in enough air to string together any of those pretty words. He doesn’t care anymore, the gasps and half-sobs of pleasure each thrust knocks out of you are music to his ears. He’s already walking the wire’s edge, so hard and sensitive that it almost hurts. Dropping one hand from your chest, he takes those slick fingers and presses the middle to your clit, cradling your belly against his arm, sinking again and again into the sweet, wet softness of you, wanting only to ever be closer, deeper. He moans when the contact makes your pussy tighten up. He barely has to move his finger when he’s fucking you fast and hard enough to jostle you against it. You come again, and this time, you pull him over the edge with you.

Homelander slams in deep, practically growling against you as load after load spills into you in wet pumps. He comes so hard his vision tunnels for a split second. It takes him a full minute to recover, to feel as though his soul has tethered itself back to his body.

Carefully, suspecting you will be tender, he withdraws from you, gentle in the way he helps you sink back down onto the bed. He lets out a long, slow exhale. Christ.

While he had expected you to immediately melt into a pile of goo on the bed, you surprise him by sitting up, adjusting until you’re sitting in front of him. He begins to usher you back, get you comfortable down on the pillows, but as weak and lovely as you are, you refuse it. “Let me undress you now,” you say, unbuttoning the lapel of his suit top. Reflexively, he stops you, hand exceedingly delicate on your wrist.

“Yeah,” he says, still coming down from the high. With it, those complicated feelings from earlier come bubbling back to the surface. “Yeah, in a minute. Lay down.”

Still, you do not.

“You love my body so well,” you say, tone supplicating. He nearly flinches, a part of him hating that you know him well enough to know to speak so tenderly in this moment. “Let me love yours, too. Please.”

Disarmed, Homelander slowly drops his hands to his sides. With a kind smile, you unfasten his top, working it off of his shoulders until it falls to the ground. Up on your knees, you rest your hands on his shoulders, and he begins his hands to your waist. He watches the top of your head as you kiss the center of his chest, then the left side, then the right. You pepper these saccharine touches all over his torso, murmuring sweet nothings against his skin all the while.

Eventually, without his permission, his vision begins to blur. He blinks it back stubbornly, caught off guard by the sudden threat of tears. Why is this happening? He’s happy.

You work his pants off as well, sweeping your hands down his slender thighs. They’re nothing like the carved musculature of his suit. He pets your hair, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck as you kiss your way back up to his chest. Your hands glide down his shoulders, his arms, and you squeeze. He flexes subconsciously, though it does little to make up for the bulk missing from his suit. His heart falls into his stomach when you meet his gaze, and he sees your expression falter.

“I’m fine,” he says reflexively.

“I know,” you say, ever so persistently gentle. “I love you so much. Every part of you–” you say, tracing your hands down his sides, to the sharp jut of his hips. “–is so unbelievably beautiful. Sometimes I can’t believe that it’s mine,” you say wistfully, leaning in to kiss his throat, his jaw.

Closing his eyes, Homelander wraps his arms around you, cradling your head in the crook of his neck. “I love you,” he echoes, voice little more than a low rasp. You coax him under the blankets with you, your body a relief to sink in against. You wrap your arms around his waist, and he tucks your head in under his chin, your legs easily tangling together. There is an ease in the way your bodies slot against one another, as if they were always meant to.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“What for?” He asks, absently stroking your hair.

“Everything. For defending me. For loving me. For seeing me. Just… For all of it. Thank you,” you say, squeezing him as tight as you can. Somehow, despite the disparity in your strength, it’s the most securely held he’s ever felt.

Homelander is rendered speechless by it. He squeezes you in turn, nuzzling in against the top of your head. He feels warm and heavy all over, lost to the steady beat of your heart. Your heart, this precious, bleeding thing that you’ve given him so wholly and freely. He would think it foolish if he was not so painfully aware that you, too, hold his heart in your hands. It is a mangled, ugly thing, battered and discolored from years of misuse, but it is yours nonetheless.

Now more than ever, he thinks that it’s never been safer.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #my writing #i'm in a rush but LOOK I DID IT

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mamawasatesttube · 1 year

Note

👀 timkon “If you killed me, my last words would be ‘I love you.’”

"...Does it bother you?"

Tim's voice is steady, but he knows Kon knows him better than to fall for it. Kon's posture is casual, relaxed, even indolent; his eyes haven't left the computer screen, however, and Tim knows him well enough to know it's because he doesn't want to meet Tim's gaze.

Talking to Kon isn't supposed to feel like a game of chess. A stone of dread sinks in Tim's stomach. This conversation was a gamble, but god, he was really hoping it wouldn't be like this.

"Pfff, nah, man." Kon finally tears his gaze away from the list on Tim's laptop, looks over at him. "Just 'cuz it psyched me out when we were kids doesn't mean I don't get it now. I mean, I'm in good company. You got Kal, Cassie, Bart, Cass... I'd be insulted if I wasn't on here!"

His laugh is forced. Now the dread is a knife, twisting in Tim's gut.

But then Kon's gaze drops again, and he sighs, his broad shoulders slumping. His fingers skim the edge of the laptop's casing before they fall back to his side. When he speaks, this time, his voice is genuine.

"Plus, it's... a good thing. I don't wanna know your plans, I don't wanna have any opportunity to even think about how I'd get around 'em—if you ever think I need to go down, I trust your judgment. Just look at last time."

Alarm bells begin to ring in Tim's mind. That hollow, somber note in Kon's voice. Tim hasn't heard it in over a year, maybe more; he thought Kon was doing better, that he finally realized that the mind control wasn't his fault. He thought being honest about still having backup contingencies would be good for them both. He thought—

And then Kon says it.

"I'd probably be grateful, if things went down so that you had to whip that bad boy out. Hell, if you killed me, my last words would be 'I love you', I bet."

If you killed me. The words ring like a death knell.

Tim whirls on him, furious.

"How could you say that?" he demands, hands clenched into fists in the sleeves of his sweater. His heart pounds a wild, panicked beat. "How could you fucking say that, Conner?"

Kon backpedals instantly, holding both hands up in surrender. "Whoa—hey, sorry, shit, okay, I didn't mean to upset you—"

"I could never!"

He needs to understand. Tim needs him to understand, a frenzied desperation clawing its way up his chest and licking like tongues of flame into his throat. Kon needs to know, he needs to understand, he needs to know—

"I could never kill you," Tim swears. His legs move on their own, closing the distance from the window seat to his desk, and he grabs a fistful of Kon's shirt. "I could never, ever, ever fucking kill you, how could you say—I couldn't, I couldn't—"

"Tim!"

Kon's hands catch his elbows, a gentle thread of TTK running up his arms to his shoulders. Kon's eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted; this close to him, Tim can smell his lip balm (strawberry-scented, lightly glossy, sheer and pink). He wants to kiss him. Knows from experience that that lip balm tastes ever-so-slightly sweet against his mouth when he does. Kon always has a tube in his pocket. He's always trying to get Tim to use it, too, complaining about his lips being chapped from the night wind.

How could he think Tim would ever—how could Tim have ever let him think he'd ever—

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay? You're right, I shouldn't have said that, I was just being stupid like usual." Kon gives his arms a gentle squeeze. His eyes are so cyan-blue, luminous in the afternoon sun, they're nearly painful to look at.

"Do you think I would?" Tim has to know. The answer might break his heart, but he knows with a dull certainty that he has to know. "Do you think I ever could?"

Kon closes his eyes and lets out a long, slow exhale. His eyelashes are thick and dark against his golden-brown cheeks. "...No," Kon finally says, and something loosens in Tim's chest. "And I hope I never fuck up bad enough to put you in that spot."

"You won't." Tim bows his head, heart pounding with relief. His brow rests against Kon's collarbone, and he tucks his face into him, hiding against his chest. "That's why I plan ahead, that's why I think about all the possibilities—I won't ever let anything get to that point. I won't. It's—I have to protect you, don't you get it?"

Kon sucks in a breath.

"Tim," he says; he sounds like someone just sucker-punched the breath from his lungs. "Sunshine."

"I'm not losing you again." Tim's fingers curl into his shirt again, holding on fiercely. "So—so don't go thinking shit like that. This isn't—it has nothing to do with me not trusting you."

"I never said it did," Kon says, his voice soft. One of his hands settles tenderly over the nape of Tim's neck; he caresses a lock of Tim's hair between his thumb and forefinger, and Tim's heart stutters with helpless, poignant fondness.

He lifts his head, looks up at those blue eyes again. Kon quirks his lips in a slight, genuine smile, and the last of the dread in Tim's stomach melts away like snow in the afternoon sun.

"I love you too, though," he says.

We're okay, right?, he doesn't say, but Kon hears anyway, because he smiles and leans in to lean their foreheads together, and their noses brush. The smattering of little freckles across his cheeks is beyond endearing.

Yeah, we're okay, that smile says. Tim tips his face up and kisses him, soft and slow; when he draws back, the faintest hint of familiar berry-flavored sweetness lingers on his lips.

50 Prompts About Devotion

#jesus this one got long um. oops?#timkon #tim #kon #rimi writes #blenderfullasarcasm #i might come back and expand this one later tbh i had to rein myself in bc i had THOUGHTS

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definitelynotshouting · 5 months

Note

Ask game #25?

mcytblr writer ask game

25.) What works and/or authors in the fandom do you recommend?

OH MAN..... GODS OKAY well this is about to become me gushing about my friends, but i think everyone and their mother should be reading @raichett, @droidofmay, @good-chimes, @sillyfairygarden, @sisyphean-writes, @renardroi's writing. Like holy shit i know some incredible authors. Grim in particular went and fully changed my brain chemistry with his fic Total Apogee of the Heart, which i do believe i described to him as "like reading an oil painting," and "like you've taken an axe to my chest and deftly split it down the middle to show me the inner workings of my heart," which is truly the palest of terms i can use to describe something that ended up feeling so soul-shocking to me /pos. The skillful way he twists words to layer these rich, saturated themes into his stories makes me INSAAAAAAANE, its pretty much the epitome of how i want to write when it comes to thematic elements and imbuing my narratives with symbolism. I genuinely dont know how to describe it, but the way he crafts sentences and weaves in references to other media is like reading a fairytale, and it leaves me feeling like ive just resurfaced from a dream every time.

And, ofc, my very good and dear friend Raichett with their ACP-verse-- oh my gods what an incredible read. Reincarnation fic with modern minecraft worldbuilding FUCKING SIGN ME UP..... i think this might be my favorite fic in the fandom because truly you can just feel the heart-wrench of how long Grian has been waiting, of all those words left unsaid during his and Scar's initial conversation that we the reader happen to be privy to. AND THE SEQUEL!!! THEE SEQUELLLLL THE ONGOING SEQUEL RAAAAAAAHH okay im normal im normal im normal <- lying. It just manages to hit every fucking trope i love all at once so i start frothing at the mouth whenever it gets updated or they send me snippets. I could read Raichett's writing for hours and hours and just feel so warm within it, truly beautiful prose and characterization :]

And ohhhh Sisyphean my beloved..... if you havent been reading their anonymous scarian fic series then please please do so, especially Bread and Butterflies, a fic they gifted me that made me simultaneously want to cry and also curl up into for the rest of my life. Something about the atmosphere in their fics, along with the juxtaposition of their unique form of humor, really just knocks it out of the park for me. And, of course, the gut-wrenching wing scene-- trust me, you need to read this fic. The reveal is so incredibly well done that it feels like a gauze being lifted from your eyes so you can finally see more than the lurking silhouette of what's been hinted at. Beautiful fic and evocative writing, i dont feel like i can do it justice you're just gonna have to go read it for yourself >:]

Sorry i told you this was gonna be me gushing so i am going to gush can we talk about Droid's fucking fics please. Can we talk about those. I've always been captivated by their writing, worldbuilding, and the way they so deftly weave implications into their prose to present a fic that feels so neatly-woven it practically breathes. Every work i've ever read from them, regardless of fandom, is some of the most engaging writing ive ever read before. Not to promo a fic inspired by hunger au, but im especially enamoured with their gift will the curse be reversed if you say it backwards. Reading that was like getting kicked in the chest a billion times until it ached, and the way they portrayed the two Grian's dynamics brought me perilously close to tears multiple times while reading, which is admittedly very hard to do. Also i think reading that fic is the closest ive ever gotten to what yall experience whenever i upload a new hunger au chapter-- i stg the dread i felt as the fic progressed had me HOLLERING in their dms like "IS THIS WHAT THATS LIKE. OH MY GODS" truly just a phenomenal fic all around

Thello, oh Thello, my beloved friend, her fic you are here to risk your heart had ME heartbroken in the best of ways when i first read it, and every reread since has only solidified it as a stunning cross-section into 3L!scarian's dynamic. Thello's writing in general is always so deeply elegant and refined-- reading it feels a lot like shoving the world's richest, gooiest, most delicately-layered cake into my mouth to melt on my tongue. She just gets intimacy in a way i rarely see done, highlighting the fragile way people can come together while straining to stay apart. Her writing is so deeply, utterly human in the details she chooses to focus on, and that level of groundedness paired with her fantastical prose makes me feel like what im reading is both very real and also the whisps of a beautiful, colourful dream.

And, last but very much not least, my wonderful friend Telk. Telk's writing is so utterly unique, bursting at the seams with both humor and a quiet rawness that punches me right in the ribs every single fucking time. They're also so deeply, insanely skilled at being able to say so so much in a story while dancing around the actual core of it, drawing you into understanding whats really going on below the surface like an event horizon. Their fic A Certain Je Ne Sais What is, in my mind, a particularly good example of the subtle and skillful way they weave implications into their work-- im perpetually in awe of how meticulously they poured Grian's cognitive dissonance between how he really feels about Scar, and how he wants to feel about Scar, into the narrative. That, and their characterization is genuinely flawless, im not sure ive ever read better character voices that capture the inherent humor of their owners than in Telk's writing.

Gods i have so much more to say about so many more of my friends and their fics but i'll stop here otherwise i will never shut up. Local guy loves his friends so fucking much i will shout it to the sky any chance i can take<3

And as a bonus, here's the hermit/trafficshipping collection i run on ao3, affectionately nicknamed The Body Count!! Its chock-full of incredible authors and writing, all of whom are my close friends, and its recently expanded to contain 60+ fics!! 60+!!!! INSANE. MY FRIENDS ARE INSANE AND I LOVE THEM PLEASE GO READ AND COMMENT ON THEIR WORKS BC THEY DESERVE THE ATTENTION :] THANKS FOR THE ASK AAAAAAAAAA OKAY BYE ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#shouting speaks #asks #ask game #fic recs #hermitcraft #traffic series #hermitblr #trafficblr #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #mcyt #this ask is basically me dancing around jingling like a silly little jester while aggressively gesturing to my friends #PLEASE PLEASE GIVE THEM COMMENTS THEY DESERVE IT #EVERYTHJNG THEY WRITE IS PURE GOLD #long post #txt

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clangenrising · 3 months

Note

Razor makes me feel so bad for Scorch even though I don’t particularly like Scorch. So, they’re mates now, against Scorch’s own will. Next thing we know, Razor will want kits. Arrgh, I feel so bad. No offense to you, please don’t take this as an offense, I genuinely love this series. Thank you for making my days better. :)

Well the good news is neither Scorch nor Razor can have kits, they're both fixed. But yeah, he's a terrible guy who does monstrous things. I'm glad that even if Scorch isn't your favorite you still feel empathy for her situation. Makes me feel like I'm doing my writing well!

And of course, no offense taken! Saying something in my writing that is supposed to feel gross and uncomfortable makes you feel gross or uncomfortable is a compliment, not an insult. To paraphrase Dan Olson from his essay A Lukewarm Defence of Fifty Shades of Grey, fiction is a way for us to safely experience situations and emotions that would be terrible to go through in real life. Of course, it's important not to cross your own boundaries while consuming that fiction, but I'm really glad that people are experiencing the gut twisting emotions I intended and coming back for more.

Don't worry though, things will end well for Scorch. I don't intend to write a tragedy where she never escapes Razor's abuse. I hope you all enjoy the twists and turns it will take for us to get there.

#not art #asks and answers #anon asks #Scorchplume #Razor

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katyawriteswhump · 2 months

Text

the power of love, part 14

Sorry about Sunday's empty post ☹️ I must've accidentally put a draft template in my queue because I am basically tired and rubbish and life isn’t the greatest right now. Anyhow.... Whoops and really sorry again!

Alternate ending S4: Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 15

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

Eddie POV

When neither Steve nor Robin show up after ten minutes, Eddie begins to freak out.

He, Hopper and El are still waiting for the car, out of sight among some ferns. Hopper’s getting antsy, muttering beneath his breath, while Eddie’s wriggling like he’s got ants in his pants. Which he genuinely might have, though that’s not what’s bugging him:

“Uuuuh, shall I see what’s taking them so long?”

“You do that,” says Hopper. “What’s going on with that guy? He could barely stand! How the hell could he…”

Eddie tunes out, retracing their journey into the trees, calling Robin’s name then Steve’s. Maybe Steve passed out, and Robin got lost searching? Somehow, he doesn’t buy it. A heaviness slows his feet, and his guts twist sourly.

They wouldn’t just ditch him. Surely? Surely!?!

Fifteen minutes later, he winds up where he started: “They’re not back?”

“What do you reckon?” Hopper’s breathing hard and red in the face. Evidently, he’s been running in circles like Eddie has.

“This is for you.” El nudges Eddie and presses a scrap of paper into his hand. “I think Steve left it.”

“What? Where?” Eddie’s stomach clamps tight again.

Her eyes stretch very wide. “Fell out of your pack.”

Turning the note over in his hands, his fingers stiffen, as if shrinking from the task, bracing for… something. In the event, he gets a literal slap around the face.

“You make me sick,” Steve wrote.

Eddie’s skin burns with the blow. Wow! This is why I never have and never freakin’ will write love songs.

“What does he say?” demands Hopper.

Eddie scans the note one more time, scrunches it in his fist. “I’d hazard a guess he’s gone back to Hawkins.”

“Goddammit! Robin’s gone with him?”

“I think that’s a safe bet.” A wobble in the back of Eddie’s throat finds its way into his voice. Because, boy, is he still processing.

You make me sick.

What does that even mean? To be fair, Eddie did make Steve sick. More than once. But why the heck write… that. Would suck less to be dumped without a word.

Thanks for the overkill, man.

“Don’t you even think about scooting off,” growls Hopper. “Your uncle would never forgive me.”

Oh yeah. Wayne. The only person who ever actually cared about him.

Eddie plonks his butt down on the ground and waits for the car.

…

Steve POV

“C’mon, giddy up,” says Steve. He and Robin make their way along the muddy bank of the stream towards home.

“Is this some kind of race?” she asks. “While I’d forgotten your former life as a douchebag jock, you’re doing a stunning job of reminding me, and… Uuuuugh!”

“Jesus Christ, what’s wrong this time?” He spirals about, plants his hands on his hips—he’d ditched the sling a while ago.

She scrubs madly at her lips. “I swallowed a bug! Ugh, ugh, ugh, mega-gross. Eeeeurgh!”

“Maybe if you weren’t complaining, like, constantly, there’d be less opportunities for bugs to get in.”

“You shut up, shit-bird! I could die of malaria.” She spits into the stream. “Ew! EEEEEEEW!”

“Ssssh! Hop said the military will be crawling everywhere soon, or—”

“Eddie might hear?” His heart heaves a loaded thud. She looks back sharply, purses her lips. “You know, he could be lost in the wilderness, all alone. Being hunted by evil army thugs. Or bears! Did you think of that when you sauntered off?”

“I did, yeah. I left him a message saying not to follow.” He shades his face from the afternoon sunlight, which shafts between the trees. Also, he can’t look her straight on and say this: “It was kinda brutal, I guess. It was for his own good, right?”

“Oh. Riiiight.”

“You done spewing insects?” he snaps.

“Still heavily grossed-out here. Gimme a minute, ’kay?” She plonks herself on a rock, crumpling forward.

He mops his brow, strips his sweater, and takes the opportunity to check in on his bat bites. They’re still sore, the bandages a bit bloody. Nothing too fresh, though. For the billionth time, his thoughts fly back to Eddie. He hopes Eddie doesn’t get hurt and need healing while they’re apart, and… Holy shit, will he ever see him again? He ties his sweater around his hips, trying to make fumbling hands look casual.

“Steve? You okay?”

“Other than the fact I’m modelling a ‘shoot-me-now-why don’t-you?’ Hellfire Club t-shirt,”—and that I want to punch myself in the face about that moronic note—“I’m good, Robin.”

“You know what? I don’t doubt it.” She brushes her flyaway hair from suspicious eyes. “You’ve gone from death’s door to super-human speed in, oh, I don’t know—feels to me that we’ve been marching for a week. I think it’s been barely an hour.”

“Yeah? We got a long way to go then.” He starts off along the stream’s edge, forcibly slowing his pace. He senses her puffing, panting, then following on his heels.

“Look, Steve, this water goddess who’s pulling you back, whispering in your ear—”

“I can’t actually tell if they’re male or female. Does that matter?”

“Not in the slightest. So, your water… deity. Have they, by any chance, enlightened you as to some kind of divine plan? Or told you exactly where you’re heading?”

“I got an idea where I’m going, yeah.” To the second place he died, swept away on that blood-red tide—even now, he sees it in his head, like a few frames of a horror VHS stuck on eternal repeat. “Where’s the best place for army generals with dodgy agendas to hang out in Hawkins? There’s never been an army base, apart from—”

“You’re kidding me?” She grabs his elbow, jerking him back. “The Soviet tunnels?” He nods, and her obvious dread has her dropping him like a stone. “No way! I don’t think I can go anywhere near without a major panic attack."

“I’m not gonna march straight in.” He’s already wandering on. Trouble is, now he’s said the idea out loud, it’s become real and terrible. And he’s gotta pretend like his blood’s not congealing to ice. “I don’t know how I’m gonna get in anyhow. I mean, the Starcourt lift is buried under a ton of rubble. I think Hop might’ve know other ways—”

“Oooh, I got a great idea. Let’s go back and ask him.”

“Yeah, real subtle.”

“Steve!” She seizes him again, twisting him around with a furious force. “I know you want to help El, but what can you ACTUALLY DO?” He shrugs before he can stop himself. “Rain? Lightning? How does that benefit us—especially in underground tunnels? Plus you’ve had literally zero time for practice. If we don’t slow down and come up with a decent plan, this is tantamount to suicide.”

“We? Seriously, Robin, I…” His teeth clamp his lower lip. Any moment now, he’ll tell her how terrified he is, how he really, really doesn’t want to get tortured again, let alone die; how the idea of anything bad happening to her is as frightening as any of it. “I don’t think I have much choice.”

“Steve,” she says, gentler now, though her grip gouges into his flesh. “It’s screamingly obvious you’re not thinking straight. You’ve been ill for days and now you’re in a funk, beating yourself up over Eddie.”

He yanks himself free, glares. “That doesn’t make any dif—"

“Bullshit! Trust me, however ‘mean boy’ your literary masterpiece got, Eddie won’t want you to do anything this dumb. Oh, and your resident gender-fluid angel saved your life. They’re not gonna want you to sacrifice it pointlessly.”

He opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it again. He laughs—not a particularly happy laugh, but not totally miserable either. “You win,” he says, kinda sagging with relief. “You got a plan, smarty-pants?”

She laughs with him, equally edgy. “I say we go to Lover’s Lake, wait till it’s dark. If that’s too dangerous, we find some hidden pool where you can practise whatever badass moves you think you got. Hopefully without the puking. It’ll be a bit like Band Camp. But for Magic. Magic Camp. Okay?”

“You really aren’t gonna be happy until I’m a bigger nerd that any of… Shit!”

He’s been considering hugging her. Instead, he seizes her sleeve, dragging her down into a deep, wet gully. They land with a splash, crouching low, close. She doesn’t complain, because she’s heard what he has.

The distant sound of barking dogs. Likely, army search dogs.

“Dog barks travel for miles, huh?” he whispers.

“Possibly.” She sucks in a scared breath. “One thing for sure—those sniffy wet snouts can pick up a human scent from the next county.”

“We’re in a stream, Robin. They can’t pick up our scent here, right?”

She crinkles her nose, dubious. “Dogs’ sense of smell is pretty amazing.”

“Yeah? Let’s hope this bunch caught colds or something.”

He’s now the one clutching her way too tight, and he half-wishes he’d ditched her with a bitchy note too. Though, not quite. She smart; he needs her, and she’s really has gotten him thinking clearer:

“We head for Lover’s Lake. C’mon.”

…

Eddie POV

When the sound of the car engine finally reaches his hearing, Eddie feels almost nothing.

“Don’t move.” Hopper pitches Eddie a forbidding look and grabs El, keeping them low behind the ferns.

An owl hoots. Despite the hollowness in his chest, Eddie silently cracks up. Seriously? Top secret government goons can’t think of a better signal than me and Robin?

Hopper’s grip slides to the firearm at his side. He rises slowly. “Over here.”

Peeping between the foliage, Eddie can make out a limo-style saloon with blacked-out windows. A severe-faced woman in lethal stilettos climbs out. “Chief Hopper, I presume? I apologise for the delay. O’Sullivan’s got men everywhere. We must leave right away.”

Hopper, nevertheless, remains stood well off the road with Eleven, not rushing for the car. And Eddie?

You make me sick.

Steve’s made it simple for him. He should cut his losses and take this chance of escape. Wayne would want him to. Apart from… Eddie literally can’t. What was it that Steve said? Oh yeah. That he was being stretched in the wrong direction. Or something along those lines.

Yeah, I’m feelin’ it, Stevie.

Nothing supernatural, nothing hinky. You kill me that bad, Babe—even after you turned meanie-King-Steve and dumped me. Oh, and went back to goddamn Mordor without me!

Gonna trust you had your reasons, and I’m coming anyway.

He turns on his dirt-clotted heels and flees as fast as he can.

Part 15

...

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology @finntheehumaneater (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 15

#steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #stobin #platonic stobin #stobin friendship

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myreygn · 6 months

Text

Joker headcanons because Book of Circus is just on my mind

taglist: @rachi-roo, @saddishhh

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

insomniac af, frequent nightmares and night terrors, he often spends hours wandering around outside because the shadows in his tent won't leave him alone

lets the others sleep in his tent tho when they have nightmares and usually stays awake to watch over them

has never cried in front of his friends and would give his second arm to keep it that way

doesn’t like winter because Doll and Dagger can't manage to put on warm clothes and he's always running after them so they don't get sick

only gets sick once in a blue moon himself but when he does it's BAD, we're talking 'can't inhale without coughing my lungs out' bad

will try and pretend like everything is normal and he's doing just fine until either Jumbo grabs him and carries him to bed against his will or he passes out (usually both happens)

not much of a sweet tooth but absolutely weak for licorice (Dagger calls him a weirdo for it and honestly i agree but he likes what he likes)

had a near death experience once when he nearly choked on a juggling ball and laughed it off

does little magic tricks all the time to cheer up the younger circus members and the older ones won't admit it but they like to watch too

has the absolute craziest and spookiest stories for campfires and then always puts in a goofy twist at the end, always apologizes if he actually ends up scaring someone

it's very hard to make him laugh, most of his laughs are fake and you know it's genuine when he snorts because he would never do that on purpose (he hates it, he's so embarrassed and it's everyone's favorite sound in the world, Dagger especially will do anything to get it out of him)

hums lullabies to himself when he thinks he's alone

picked up reading and writing quickly when Kelvin took them in and is really good at it but has the ugliest effing handwriting you have ever seen

"Joker, what's the plan?" - "I wrote it down in here." - "Yeah I know, what's the plan?"

lowkey scared of the snakes, always scolding Snake when they get out and slither around freely

also scared of heights, Doll persuaded him to come up to the high wire once and he was petrified, she cooked something nice as an apology and never told anyone about it

met Snake on one of his nightly strolls once who got super freaked out because he had never seen Joker with his hair down

doesn't really like letting his hair down or taking his make up off around other people, it makes him feel vulnerable

addresses everyone as love when he lies and everyone has seen through it but no one has the guts to confront him about it so they always just kinda glance at each other when he does it

super observant to details and changes in his surroundings but really oblivious to subtle interactions between people that don't involve him directly (glances, hand signs, slight changes in facial expression as a reaction to something etc)

can't swim

makes really nice flower crowns and likes gifting them to the others, calls everyone who wears theirs blossom prince/blossom princess

Dagger beats him at arm wrestling and it's the bane of his existence (Dagger won't shut up about it)

gets beaten a lot actually: Dagger and Jumbo are stronger, Snake, Wendy and Peter outrun him and Doll and Beast are better at balancing (whenever it gets brought up he's just like "well yeah but i got all the brain cells" and then he gets ganged up on and tickled by everyone until he has to tap out)

he always had an ear for music and was really happy that he could learn an instrument after getting a second hand, Peter and Wendy carved his flute for him and he carries it everywhere

makes up nicknames for everyone and they all think it's because he likes giving them but most of the time he just can't remember people's actual names (he wanted the circus troupe to have names connected to their acts so he wouldn't forget them as easily)

the younger circus members bring him a lot of gifts, things they made from scratch or stuff like rocks and snail houses they find outside, and he keeps every single gift in a locked box

#brainrot #i love him so much #rey writes #headcanons #black butler headcanons #black butler (book of circus)#book of circus #joker #joker black butler #joker book of circus

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soob1nn · 4 months

Text

INTERVIEWS - ADULT FAME DR

REMINDER! I haven’t shifted yet, so all these is just my imagination 🤍

masterlist - main mastelist

Interviews, a dynamic form of communication, serve as a gateway to understanding individuals, their experiences, and their perspectives. Whether conducted for journalistic purposes, research, or casual conversation, interviews unravel stories, insights, and the diverse tapestry of human narratives. Through questions and answers, interviews facilitate connection, exploration, and the exchange of knowledge, offering a platform to explore the depth and richness of the human experience.

THE TONIGHT SHOW - JIMMY FALLON

2019

Appearing on "The Tonight Show" with Jimmy Fallon was an absolute blast. We sat down to discuss my upcoming film, "Knives Out," diving into the intriguing details of the project. The conversation seamlessly flowed from the movie to my recent photoshoot, which evidently left everyone with their mouths agape. Jimmy, true to his playful style, explored various facets of my life, including my marriage with Penn, a topic we hadn't openly discussed before. The atmosphere was light and enjoyable as we delved into a range of topics, spiced up by games that had us both laughing. The entire experience was a perfect blend of fun, genuine conversation, and a touch of Jimmy's signature humor, making it a memorable night on "The Tonight Show."

HOT ONES - SEAN EVANS

2021

Appearing on "Hot Ones" was an exhilarating experience that blended spice, humor, and insightful conversations. While I might not have aced the wing challenge, the intense flavors added a unique element to the interview. Adorned with plenty of jewelry, devouring wings proved to be a slight challenge, adding an amusing twist to the fiery ordeal. Sean Evans skillfully steered the conversation through my future projects, providing a platform to discuss everything from quarantine experiences to the unexpected hobbies I explored in my free time. The entire encounter was a flavorful journey, where the heat of the wings mirrored the warmth of engaging discussions on "Hot Ones."

WIRED AUTOCOMPLETE INTERVIEW

2021

The Wired Autocomplete Interview was a solo adventure filled with fun, especially after just wrapping up filming for the new sequel "Top Gun: Maverick." As I navigated through the most searched questions about me on the internet, the queries ranged from the infamous kiss between Andrew Garfield and Ryan Reynolds at the Golden Globes (an event I attended) to unraveling the story behind a song I wrote five years ago. Exploring topics like my transition from medicine school to acting, the interview provided a platform to address lingering curiosities. The experience was not only informative but incredibly enjoyable, and I left with the feeling that I'd gladly dive into it again.

SPILL YOUR GUTS - JAMES CORDEN

2022

Stepping into the "Spill Your Guts" segment with James Corden alongside Miles Teller was quite the adventure, especially as we discussed our latest film, "Top Gun: Maverick." Rocking a green suit and a white T-shirt, topped off with green nails, I brought a colorful vibe to the interview. Things got personal when they probed about my marriage with Penn, a topic we had kept private since our separation. The questions delved into the reasons behind our divorce, shedding light on a part of my life rarely discussed in the press. To add a twist, there was even a question about revisiting a relationship reminiscent of our (miles and I) teenage years. The segment blended humor, revelation, and a touch of nostalgia, giving viewers a unique peek into the unexpected turns of celebrity interviews.

73 QUESTIONS - VOUGE

2022

Vogue's 73 Questions interviews not only offer a rapid-fire insight into the lives of celebrities but also grant fans an unprecedented peek into their homes. As I navigated through the questions, my fans got to explore various corners of my house, creating a more intimate connection. The inquiries ranged from my hobbies to a tour of my extensive library, where I shared books I've read, those waiting to be explored, and even recommended some favorites. Responding to the curiosity about my culinary skills, I discussed what I enjoy eating and whether I possess any culinary prowess. To add a musical note, they asked me to play the piano, a personal touch that added an extra layer to the interview. Vogue's 73 Questions not only captures the essence of celebrities' lives but also establishes a direct and engaging connection with the audience.

VANITY FAIR LIE DETECTOR

2023

Participating in Vanity Fair's Lie Detector interview alongside Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively was an absolute riot, made even more memorable by the fact that I wore an entire pink outfit that drew compliments. The atmosphere was lively and playful throughout, and we had an incredible amount of fun. In a particularly memorable moment, Ryan turned the tables on me, asking about a quirky incident during quarantine when his beloved Canadian maple syrup mysteriously disappeared. Despite my denial, the lie detector hilariously exposed the truth, and Ryan, who has a deep love for that syrup, was genuinely offended. The revelation left us all in fits of laughter, and Ryan playfully expressed his dismay, sharing that he had to wait a whopping two years to go back to Canada and buy his cherished maple syrup again. The Lie Detector interview, with its blend of humor, fashion flair, and unexpected revelations, became a delightful and beautiful experience.

THE TONIGHT SHOW - JIMMY FALLON

2023

During my recent appearance on "The Tonight Show" with Jimmy Fallon, we delved into the exciting details of my upcoming film, "The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo." Jimmy expressed his admiration for the character and my performance, playfully saying "I think the academy is calling Winter!" Our conversation extended to the source material, the book, where we shared our favorite scenes and discussed the nuanced differences between the film adaptation and the literary masterpiece. I revealed that I was already a devoted fan of the book before the film was announced, and my audition was fueled by a genuine love for the character of Evelyn Hugo. Expressing how the role had elevated my craft, I shared with Jimmy that stepping into Evelyn's shoes was not just acting; it was a transformative experience. At the premiere, I found myself feeling more like Evelyn Hugo than Winter Jackman, a testament to the immersive joy that this role brought to my journey as an actress.

#jimmy fallon #the tonight show #shifting realities #desire reality #shifting #adult fame dr #fame dr #fame dr shifting #actress #actress dr #actress shifting #ryan reynolds #blake lively #taron egerton

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mangoshorthand · 7 months

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“can’t you blink out of here?”

“no.”

“why?”

“plot convenience.”

"what do you mean, plot convenience?"

"You mean you don't know?"

He looked at you, genuinely shocked. The line between his eyebrows deepened as he realised you really were being honest with him.

"Five, you're scaring me."

He flopped down on top of a crate and studied his shoes for a moment.

"I thought everybody knew."

You shook your head, feeling the fear build and twist in your guts. He let out a long breath and looked up at you from tired, green eyes.

"None of this is real. None of it. This entire universe, everything about us is fiction. So I can't blink us out of here. The Author forbids it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I' sorry to tell you, but we're fictional characters. Notice how weird it was that we'd suddenly get locked in here? What the fuck are we even doing in the basement of a JC Penneys, right? Yeah, none of that was by chance. The Author planned it all."

"Five, this isn't funny."

"No. It isn't. We're perpetually trapped at the end of the pen of a sexually frustrated megalomaniac who retreats into the world of fiction as an escape from the fundamental disappointment of her own life." he said, like an asshole upon whom I shall have my revenge.

Five sighed again, knowing he had just secured himself a beating but squaring his shoulders nevertheless, taking control of the situation for the sake of others, despite his own despair. That's one of the things I like about him.

"We seem to be in a classic 'locked in' scenario right now," he said, "so I'd estimate there are roughly three roads we could go down."

He held up one finger on his right hand to illustrate.

"Number one: we have an argument, make up and come out of the experience knowing and respecting each other better. That is the best case scenario, but it's risky because it can also lead to scenario two-"

He lifted a second finger, grimly.

"The sexual tension ramps up, perhaps it's through the argument we started in scenerio one, or perhaps not but, essentially, before we escape we at least have to confess our love for one another, but almost certainly have hot sweaty sex.-"

"Five-"

"And Three: we're actually in the horror genre and one of us murders the other after a terrifying game of cat and mouse."

You stared at him, mouth agape. Hot sweaty sex? A game of cat and mouse? What on earth was happening here?

"I know this is hard to hear," he continued, "but you gotta accept it. It's easier for me, She has me drinking a lot as a coping mechanism for the terrible things She makes happen to me. It's bad writing but it does dull everything."

He looked down at his shoes again, considering how unwise it was to point out the clumsiness of My one-note attempts to portray dysfunctional coping mechanisms but, having already thoroughly incurred My wrath, found that he didn't care.

Looking at him warily, you ventured to comment once more.

"Five, are you...are you prescribed any meds?"

"The Author will decide, I have no control over Her. Now listen, I vote we just try to make one of the plots happen. It might get us out of here faster. I'll start by calling you a cunt and then you argue back, okay? It's the only way to appease The Author."

Partly to give yourself a break from this madness, you took your eyes off Five and looked slowly around the basement. Your eyes stopped on a particular item, hanging on the opposite wall. One that made everything fall into place.

You were locked in a basement with a trained killer suffering from psychotic delusions. And over there on the wall...?

Why, there was a fire axe of course.

#number 5 imagine #number five imagine #umbrella academy x reader #He will never escape my hellscape #You reading the tags u lil shit? This means at least witnessing the murder of one of your siblings.#Say goodbye to Klaus

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blindmagdalena · 1 year

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First I’m literally obsessed with the way you write homie it’s literally so in character.

Second, how do you think he would react to having a thicker gf and seeing them being verbally harassed bc of it? I feel like he would lose his mind

this fic has been rewritten and given a smutty follow up! check it out here. ;)

Tonight's gala is a significant one. Not only does Homelander have about a dozen deals to grease with a firm handshake and some oily promises, it's your first time attending one of these events at his side. He couldn't be prouder. You took his breath away in your formal wear; a sight to behold that had him clapping his delight. "You're gonna knock them dead," he whispered in your ear, savoring the flustered, breathy way you laughed.

Strange now that when he looks for you, Homelander doesn't see you on the event floor. You had gone to get drinks while he spoke with this senator—who has officially lost any and all of his interest in the wake of your disappearance—but you've been gone too long. Like an itch at the back of his neck, something doesn't feel right. "Ah, apologies, senator, I seem to have misplaced my date," he says, flashing his best award winning smile. "Gimme a minute to find her. Make sure she hasn't gotten herself into any trouble," he says, throwing in a wink for good measure. His pleasant expression falls off as soon as his back is turned to the boring little man. When Homelander doesn't find you on the event floor, he steps out. He listens for you, filtering out the music, the chatter, the noise of the world. He seeks what is familiar to him, what he would know from a meter or a mile away, and what he hears puts a lump of ice into his gut. You're crying.

Homelander moves swiftly down the hall, finding the women's bathroom in a heartbeat. You've gone far from the event floor, bypassing the nearer bathroom to use one further away. You're hiding, he realizes, but he can't fathom what from. He moves faster, imagining that you're hurt, that someone has you, that— "Babe?!" Homelander calls sharply, slamming open the door. He doesn't mean to scare you, but he can see in your expression that he did. Your eyes are wide and red, tears trailing black mascara down your cheeks. You stand with your hand lingering on the bathroom sink, and as the shock fades, your expression falters.

He's never seen you look so... sad. It twists in him like a hot knife, the discomfort he feels at it turning immediately into rage. Anger comes quick and easy to him. His voice is low when he demands, "Tell me what happened." "It's nothing," you try to dismiss, picking up the tissues you dropped on the floor to toss them into the garbage. "I just got overwhelmed at the party." "You're crying in a bathroom a floor down from the event, it is categorically not nothing," he argues, taking hold of your arms once he's near enough. He pulls you into him, lifting a hand to cup the side of your face. Thanks to plenty of experience with makeup in film and television, he knows better than to smear the blackened tears on your cheeks, though the impulse to wipe them away is there. "C'mon. Tell me."

You lean into him as you always do. He is a pillar, just as you have been for him. He can't fucking stand seeing you like this. "I don't belong here. I don't... talk, or dress, or look like these people. They're all..." You lift your hands, gesturing vaguely. Your voice sounds hoarse. He can't bear the sadness in it. "Perfect." "You have to be kidding me," Homelander says, his disbelief genuine. "The gaggle of sycophants and suits back there? They're insipid. Boring as all hell. I can't even tolerate being in the same room as them without you anymore," he says, huffing a laugh in an attempt to ease your mood. Anything to bring back your smile. "Seriously, what brought this on? You've never given a shit about all that pomp before." Your gaze drops. He knows you're hiding something from him. "Hey, c'mon," he coos, using the knuckle of his index finger to tilt your chin back up. "Tell me, and I will make it better."

One way or another.

With visible reluctance, you take a breath. "I... went to get the drink, like I said," you begin, fidgeting with the zipper on his glove. "When a group of people kind of cornered me at the bar. They seemed nice at first, they were asking questions about me, about us, which I know you said to expect, but then..." Your eyes prickle, he can see fresh tears well up as you speak. Homelander slips a hand to your back, rubbing it, his brow furrowed.

Sounds like someone's going to die tonight.

"One of them commented on my dress, she said that... Vought must not be used to dressing women my size," you say, voice falling quieter with every word. New tears fall. Homelander's jaw tenses. He looks away from you, blinking back that familiar crimson burn. "They all started laughing, and I just wanted to disappear," you say, a tight little sob escaping your throat as Homelander pulls you in against his chest, rubbing your back. "I'm sorry I didn't-" "No," Homelander interrupts, his anger making the word sound harsher than he intended. "No," he says again, correcting himself to be gentler. This rage isn't for you, after all. "No apologies. Let's get you cleaned up, alright? Get back out there." Someone is definitely going to die tonight. You tense up, pushing back from his arms to look up at him. "Please, I'd really like to just go home." "We will," he assures you, smoothing his hands up and down your arms. "Soon. I want you to show me the group who spoke to you."

"I don't want to cause a scene," you plead, flattening your hands to his chest. "They're not worth it." "No, they're not. But you are," he says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. He holds you firm until he feels you begin to melt, yielding to the warmth of him. By the time he draws back, you look sufficiently pliant. "Okay," you say quietly. He bites back a predatory smirk. "Nothing too dramatic, please?" You plea, leveling him with an attempt at a firm look, despite your big teary eyes. "Me? Dramatic?" He asks, feigning outrage. "I mean it," you stress, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There it is, Homelander thinks. There is not a single heinous thing he would not do to see you smile. "Relax," he purrs. "I'll handle this."

When the two of you return to the event floor, it only takes you a moment to point out the offending group. With a hand wrapped securely around your waist, Homelander brazenly guides you to them. He feels you squeeze his hand anxiously, but he isn't the least bit deterred.

"Heyyy, what's up!" Homelander greets boisterously, bulldozing into their conversation with the friendliest of tone. Only you are wise enough to recognize the venom dripping from the corners of his mouth. His canines glint sharply in the light, as if eager for a bloody meal.

The air is strange, a mixture of drunken excitement and surprised nervousness. It's not every day Homelander himself steps into your conversation. A few of them look at you before they exchange glances, but clearly enough alcohol has been imbibed that they're feeling brave. They don't see the danger they're in. Homelander runs his tongue along his teeth. You clueless fucking idiots.

"Homelander, oh my god! I was hoping to run into you," one of the women announces. He can smell the liquor on her breath when she leans in, putting a bold hand on his arm opposite to the one he holds you with. "I'm such a fan, you have no idea. I've seen every one of your movies," she says, flushed giddy.

"Always great to meet such a dedicated fan," he says, lying through his teeth. A glance through her bag gives him exactly what he needs; her Vought security badge. She works in communications. "Kathleen, right? In Communications," he says, pointing a finger at her, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he's just now recalling this information. "Oh, I-wow, yes! I can't believe you know who I am," she says, glancing back at her companions.

"I try to know everyone I work with," he lies smoothly, subtly shrugging her hand off of his shoulder, placing his hand on his hip. Not all of them work for Vought, but each of them has their ID on them. A quick flit of his super powered vision between them is all it takes for him to know each and every one of them.

Homelander cocks his head to the side, giving her a once over. Her dress is richly patterned, a myriad of black, white and red. The belt bears a familiar double C logo.

“What? No one has anything to say to that? How about you, Jason?” He asks, startling one of the other men. “Why don’t we talk about those fucking ugly veneers of yours? I mean, god damn. I’ve never seen a more square smile in my life. It’s like staring at white slatwall every time you open your mouth.” Homelander begins to laugh. The sound of it is thorned, vicious to behold. “Aww, c’mon, don’t be so fucking sensitive. You wanted to have a laugh at my girl, right? Let’s laugh, then,” he says, lifting a gloved hand to snap his fingers impatiently, demanding, “Laugh!” Like a bark from an obedient dog, a single man amidst the group forces a stilted laugh. Homelander hones in on him with the precision of a seeking missile, dropping his hand. Deadpan, he asks, “Something funny, Jim?” Jim audibly gulps. “Y-you said-” "Y'see, that's your problem. You're all just a bunch of fucking sheep, so desperate to be seen as somebody, you end up being no one at all. If you put half the effort you put into kissing ass into a personality, you might be a fraction as interesting as she is," he says, gesturing to you with the hand he doesn't have holding you close.

"But instead you prop yourselves up on all this..." Homelander spins his hand loosely through the air before sighing, "Bullshit. It's boring. You're all so fucking boring and miserable with yourselves. You reek of it," he says, lip twitching in a near snarl. "Go. Get the fuck out of my tower,” he rumbles, voice set low. “All of you. Before I throw you off the balcony myself.”

There's a pregnant pause before Homelander snaps, "Now!" Like roaches, the lot of them scatter. Homelander watches them with a sneer. He would have preferred literally tearing them apart, but it's neither the time nor the place. "Holy shit," you whisper. Homelander hums quietly, turning to look down at you. Before he can say a word, you grab hold of the back of his neck and kiss him absolutely senseless. He grins against your lips, turning to pull you properly into his arms. His ego swells immediately, the kiss speaking volumes. You're pleased. Pleased with him. He greedily soaks up the feeling of your body against his, lips moving against yours, eager to chase away the salt smell of your tears with something a little more salacious. The two of you break apart before the kiss becomes any more scandalous than it already was, the buzz of the crowd around you dulled by the fervency pulsing between your bodies. "That was... the hottest thing anyone has ever done for me," you whisper, your heart beating heavily in your chest.

"That so? Might not be for long. This dress on your body has been driving me positively wild. All. Night. Long," he says, punctuating each word with a kiss. You bite your lip, inhaling a sharp, flustered little breath. "Can we get out of here yet?"

"You're damn right we can," he says, kissing you again.

That night, Homelander fucks you in and out of the dress. The truth of it is that whether you're dressed to the nines or laid completely bare, he will always be wild for you. You're beautiful, you're his through and through, and he's going to make sure every inch of you knows it.

He can deep fry those morons another night.

#thank you so much for the lovely words and the prompt!!! i hope this works for you #homelander x reader #homelander x you #plus size reader #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #my writing #fatphobia cw #very mild dw #i'm sorry it's late i will proof read in the morning haha #i wrote this as a palate cleanser #i feel much better

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columbocorners · 9 months

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hola! I loved your little nightmares Otto ramble! Like you can tell that the world they live in is already messed up the patients being so separate stuff like that. Giving the adults more sympathy and them also being victims in both tson world and the world of nowhere is just so much nuanced then kids good adults bad! But anyway I’d love to hear your Otto ,noone or any ln hc

you have!

HONESTLY THATS WHY I KEEP GOING ' I just don't see otto as a bad person ' because in spite of every little thing that this man has done it is rooted in the fact he couldn't get over a trauma and he has to live with that daily. to me, there is obviously a lot of characters in the games who've displayed signs that they're not all entirely good, but then moments where none are entirely bad either. mind you I feel like I'm one of the few people who also think about six's betrayal and go ' in her perspective, it was understandable ' because no one ever really thinks about how she saw mono's face, in spite of the fact that her being transformed into a monster was as horrible as it was, she was comfortable and safe for one of the few times in the game beyond the start, it was an imprisonment that she could at least respect, so mono " saving " her from becoming a monster, and then seeing his face and knowing he was ultimately just the thin man all along was really a gut punch of her having her world crashing down, and in general I feel like to some degree a lot of the people who become monsters within the realm of TSON / LN really become DIFFERENT people, they always have, so not only was six vengeful but, she wasn't entirely herself after that. you could chalk up the monsters like the teacher as being potentially at one point normal, because she still engages with a lot of the habits a teacher does but then it's like, is she? because she still is very aggressive, in ways a teacher shouldn't be, she morphs, all of that, and it's just odd. this world not only brings about nightmares but it twists people the longer they stay there and it has always been the adults in some means but it just as much the children, because to put it bluntly : all of them have the capacity to become worse people, within any time of their lives.

it's just those who haven't are likely the most lucky ones, and to me otto is probably the BEST person we could ever get who genuinely is just good who isn't a child, and I feel like people need to understand, he is so shitty, but he is nuanced in what he does. his comfort to noone is as much projecting as it is he genuinely cares for her and he can't help but project in my eyes because he sees' someone experiencing that all and just does not want to go through it again. noone and otto are kind of trauma bonded like that to me. but otto goes so far, he mixes his own desires of wanting things for himself between wanting to help noone and it shows. going, " he is your tormentor " in ways whereas noone is and isn't tormented. she is not afraid of the ferryman / the candleman. otto is, he always has been, and he just merges that idea into one. all of his actions are attempts to try and do better, and honestly like : one of the things I genuinely always thought of as like ' otto just wants to try and do better ' is the fact he did not tell noone about her tumor. yes, she did need to know but after all was said and done, they'd been arguing and he had no real way to bring it up and he still wanted to find out what was going on with the nightmares, with cece, so how could he? and also it's like, that is something that ultimately needed to be looked into because it was a spiral-like eye tumor in her BRAIN, like dude. yeah, I do think that's cause for concern, and he doesn't have this sort of ' oh I win ' attitude when she finds out, he's as cold as he is really upset to me. and it's why after all is said and done, he tried to at least still do an experiment while she was asleep at least to figure out for himself what was going on and honestly idea because I think of it : the flesh eyes from little nightmares 2 which are connected to the thin man, I feel like they're infecting noone's brain because it is so SPECIFIC to have noone getting a tumor as a result of the constant nightmares like the flesh is literally taking over her body from the inside the more she has them and doesn't allow the ferryman to take her. so, it's like, I feel like something will happen to otto but I feel like something WAY WORSE is going to happen to noone. because it kind of adds up especially with the way otto had an interaction with an eye on that monitor and freaking out the way he did and the thin man's soundtrack song lightly playing in the background of that.

part two of this because I wrote a lot

#little nightmares #the sounds of nightmares #rambles #tson #tson rambles

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frenchgremlim1808 · 10 months

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Hello. In the Homestuck YTTD art collection you have posted you added "(EW)" after Gashu's name. Could you please explain why you dislike him? I like Gashu a lot, and I genuinely don't get why people dislike him, as I find him really cool and a very interesting character.

Hello !

Thanks for the ask. I will try to explain why I put EW after gashu name and also the gashu hate in a few point. First off, I think you are completely right gashu is a very interesting character that deserve more analysis made of him. I think he's oddly realistic and very well written for a character that we do not see that much of. So yeah I like gashu character..... And that's the problem, I like the character but hate the person. But I think the fandom misterpret the character a lot so I will go on a gashu analysis on why first he's great character but an imunforgivable man.

Also for any gashu liker who wants to understand the perspective of the fandom her it is.

FIRST READONS FOR THE GASHU HATE:

His actions are unforgivable and caused major trauma and pain to multiple people

Gashu is a terrible dad, no need to fight over this. But even before milfdori went to tell him to sacrifice his son he still sucked ass. He created to both Kai and sei major inferiority complex and fear of being forgetten. Kai was always fearful that his dad would be disappointed of him and Sei oh god sei suffered my guy, after his dad died he was brought into a family just to be a rival to Kai , to make Kai better and then disposed like trash . He acted big and wanted to win so that he be loved but in the end he knew that he was just a pawn to asunaro. Even though gashu took a liking to Sei and strated being "nicer" to Kai that does not escuse the rest. I mean Kai was raised as a weapon his entire life, he never got to have a normal life. Also like the fact that he was so happy for cake means clearly that he doesn't get any compassion or love from his dad. Gashu is emotionally distant to Kai from his very young childhood. That put irreparable damage on Kai Psyche. Someone might have the argument that he tried to do "the best" for his children, but no, he tried to do "the best" for him. If he truly loved Kai and Sei more than asunaro he would have tried anything to save his son's, but he didn't, he accepted it and continued on. Even if it failed a true loving father would've done anything to save his kids, even if it mean fighting against asunaro his whole life. Also that's not talking about the death game like what he did to ranger is even more cruel because of Sei and also he fucking caused nao death so like I'm pretty sure that's the reason the fandom hate his guts hard ☠️But I have a theory that I'm almost certain of, on why gashu is hated too

SECOND REASON FOR THE GASHU HATE

he's realistic which hits closer to home.

Gashu is realistic and that's the thing, forgetting about the dolls and asunaro, who hasn't met a emotionally negligent father who puts immense pressure on his children which cause extreme difficulty for the child to create fulfilling relationship with anyone in the future. Like if you twist it around this story works for alot of us. A emotionally closed off dad who prefer to be cold and not show his emotions, who focus more on work than you, who work seems to prioritise you. And that's the point that's why I think gashu gets such hate, the relatability !Because let's compare him to like sue and Midori. They have way more fans why, because first sue Miley is hot af and Midori is..... I don't know how people find him attractive but people do. But also because sue and Midori are over the top, especially sue Miley. She's just an evil crazy lady who mean, and Midori is literal incarnation of the devil so like what do you want. But even a character like Midori is like in way relatable sadly to lot of people experience with narcissist like him, one day if I have the time i'll go over Midori and shin relationship metaphor in real life. But back to gashu, sue and Midori have less chance to be relatable to the general audience than gashu, in the world their must be like 10 Midori ( yeah I'm sure people like him exist) but a million gashu . The point of the mini episode for me was to nuance gashu character, because even with all the bad action he did we see that he's destroyed after Sei death. It... Feal real. He an horrible man but still a man after all. While Midori is Satan you know. Also there is a also a clear difference. Gashu does the things he does due to his loyalty to asunaro, and by the way it's presented it's very much some kind of cult enterprise. The only time he betrayed the rules was for sending the sacrifice to nao to make sure she doesn't survive, which in his head he did for the organisation. He killed himself for the organisation. He sacrificed his son for the organisation. Everything he did because of his immense loyalty to the organisation even when he didn't want to do it. His loyalty came first and his feelings second. While let's say Midori really isn't that loyal and just wishes to have what he wants whatever the cost. So gashu feels more Real more human for his actions. He really seems like a man who could die at any point in time and was truly trapped. But after all it's his fault right? He was the one that became apart of the organisation after all. His suffering was in the end caused by his loyalty.But like why did he join the organisation, or better why did any of them join I have so many questions about asunaro it's insane.

THIRD REASON FOR THE GASHU HATE

It also became kinda of a meme in-between me and my friend

"Like oh it's GASHU fuck that guy" you know. I should have maybe started with that.

Anyway closing point fuck milfdori she's such a dick.

#yttd #your turn to die #kai satou #sei satou #rio ranger #gashu satou #yttd analysis #yttd theory #sou hyori #sue Miley #Also like I'm still pissed off by nao death #I will forever be mad #Closing point it's not objective it's personal and also GASHU hater hate the person most of the time #I hate GASHU as a person just like I fucking hate that disgusting cabbage moronic ass hole Midori #Even though I like Midori as a character I honestly think he's one of the most well written character

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