#{ established backstory };

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 7.3k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 1. Voice kink (mild). Roleplay. Established Relationship. Masturbation. Dirty Talk. Unprotected sex. 

Summary: After much deliberation you finally decide to meet your hero at a meet & greet.  

Author’s Note: Sorry if the ending of this feels a little confusing. I did have an idea for a retrospective Part 3 of this that would cover the events in between Part 1 & 2, clearing up the confusion a little bit, let me know if you'd be interested!

The metal detector beeps, finally letting you through after the hassle of emptying your entire bag and getting a full body scan. You quickly collect your scanned belongings and you scuttle along, almost sprinting across the now-empty hallway. You’re breathing heavily, holding onto the bag over your shoulder as you reach the right door. Panicked and out of breath you show your pass to the man working the door and he just about lets you in grumbling something about it being way past the time slot and how you’re the last one in. You ignore all of it, instead you focus on your breathing and move along. You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to mask just how winded that rush got you. 

You take your place as the last one in the line. Turning around just in time you see the door guy close off the room, not letting anybody else in. Phew. You just about made it. You smooth out your summer dress, adjusting the bag you had over your shoulder as you look around the hall. God, you’ll be waiting forever!

You knew it would be busy but having usually avoided convention centres it still hits you hard with how overwhelmingly packed the hall is. The ventilation and air conditioning could be state-of-the-art and it would still feel stuffy. Looking around you feel like one of the few people who didn’t bother dressing up like their favourite heroes. You see about thirty Queen Maeves at a quick glance, another twenty Black Noirs, a few of the Seven’s new member Starlight but the most prevalent one is easily a sea of Homelander knock-offs. The sea of cheap red, blue and white assaults your vision, making it actually pretty overwhelming to look around.

For once Homelander is actually drowned out in a sea of look-alikes where normally he stands out like a sore thumb in all his primary-coloured glory. Homelander. Just the thought of seeing him here makes you pick at your nails and bite your lips with anxiety. Sure, you’ve met him before. You’ve talked. You even had sex, really good sex, goddammit. You have history. But still, you’ve never done this. Not the in-public meet & greets that you decided to put yourself through today. But still, you’re doing this for him. 

The longer you’re standing at the end of the line the longer being surrounded by fans dressed in Spirit Halloween versions of the Seven’s costumes is becoming less comical and more uncanny valley. You only wonder what it feels like to them.

You slowly move through the line. Sighing impatiently, your nerves are slowly being replaced by irritation as you watch the interactions play out in front of you. You’re now close enough to see and overhear. Thankfully with each step you take forward the people in front of  you get what they came here for and they leave, making the hall a little more breathable. 

You’re now watching Homelander as he tends to each fan, all puffed up and high energy to replicate the vision they all have of him but you see how much he wishes to be anywhere but here. Most of the Seven do. Vought plucks them from what most expected to be their duties, like saving the world, and instead they drop them in front of cameras and paying fans. You watch as Homelander signs each piece of merchandise his fans bring him, one after another with a smile on his face.

Having seen part of his real self, or the extension of himself he doesn’t show the media you see the smile for what it is. Placating, empty, downright forced. Were you none the wiser you wouldn’t have thought to look past the showmanship but now you knew better. It was easy to notice his tells, his jaw ticks anytime he’s irritated, his eye twitches anytime he has to hold a smile for too long or anytime he’s forced to compliment someone. You overhear his booming stage-voice going, ‘you look great buddy, wear it better than I do!’ for about the twentieth time. The crowd eats it up, again, and somehow they’re blind to his tortured expression. Sure, he hides it very well but if any of them cared to look underneath the surface it would be glaringly obvious. Instead they look at him like the hero they want him to be. Flawless, perfect, serving their needs. The more you’re privy to this viewpoint the more it grates on you. He’s so much more than that! And you don’t understand how they don’t see it. More than that, you're angry that they willfully don’t want to see it. Why would they ruin the image of a perfect hero they look up to when they don’t care to know the person behind the suit in the first place. 

You shake your thoughts away, focusing on keeping up with the queue. Thankfully the hall has now almost emptied, few residual fans loiter around taking pictures of themselves in their costumes with the Seven members right behind them. As it’s almost your turn, and with that the end of the event, you clumsily pull out a postcard out of your bag clutching it in your hands getting it ready to be signed.

With each step you hear him clearer and clearer. Your heartbeat picks up and by the time the Homelander female cosplayer in front of you gets her very own, ‘you might as well take my spot, you pull it off better than me’, your heart is pounding so hard that you think it must grate on Homelander’s nerves. You rub the glossy paper of the postcard in between your fingers trying to distract yourself from the impending doom that’s bound to be caused by whatever comes out of your mouth. Even after all that’s happened between you two, all that history, you cannot stop yourself from feeling flustered in a situation like this.

You’re so stuck in your head that you don’t realise that the lady in front of you already left and all who’s left is…well, you.

You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar voice.

“Looky, looky, who's here? I can't believe you actually showed up at one of these.” There he goes, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he quickly looks you up and down. Already his eyes are glittering with excitement. Your heart skips a beat at his smile. It's more genuine. You see the annoyance seep out of him, his posture a little more relaxed. 

“Yeah…about that. I thought I couldn't really call myself a fan otherwise right?” You rattle off some lines and your anxious mess of a gut is slowly unravelling to make room for the coil of excitement replacing it. Sure, you’re nervous. How couldn't you be. But the place is nearly empty and there isn't much he could say that would get you as flustered as he did the first time.

“Here for an autograph? The one I gave you before wasn't good enough?” Right. Scratch that. You blush a bright red as the images flood back into your mind. And he's grinning so widely, clearly pleased with how he can so easily make you into a blubbering mess. Even if someone overheard, there’s technically nothing dirty about his words but the shiver they send down your spine along with the vivid imagery is enough to make you feel indecent in a public space.

“No—no! It was, um, great. I just—uh—wanted something a little more permanent.” You quickly look around seeing if anyone caught that interaction as if they could read your mind. Well, you are in a room full of superheroes, who knows what they can or can’t do. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear like anyone is interested in Homelander signing a photo for yet another fan. The rest of the Seven is slowly filtering out of the room, finally relieved of their duty.

“Alrighty-doo, let me sign that for you.” He takes his hand out prompting you to put the postcard in his palm. You do so, giving him a little timid smile. Your hands shake a little as you retreat them back by your sides. Catching the way his eyes linger on the movement you cover your shakiness by clasping your hands together in front of you.

“Is this all you want me to sign? Did you really wait the entire line for that?” He says his eyes squinting incredulously as he waves the postcard with his likeness in front of you. Without waiting for your answers he still places it in front of him reaching for his marker pen.

“What was I meant to bring?” You scrunch your eyebrows with confusion. Sure, you weren’t used to going to these events but you still brought something he could sign, that’s good enough, is it not?

“For starters, something that my signature won’t cover entirely.” 

“It’s fine if it covers it.” You brush off his concerns. Really you didn’t care about the signature as much as you cared about seeing him. So placement be damned.

You look as he uncaps the pen, turning the card around. It’s a photo of him in his hero pose standing against a very patriotic background. Originally it came in a pack of seven postcards, one for each member of the Seven. You don’t want to admit that you were so anxious over deciding whether you would even turn up or not that when it came to the day you forgot to bring an item to sign. Hence the pack of generic postcards you bought on the way when you realised that you forgot just about the most important item. This also turned out to be the reason for your tardiness, you spent way too long in the shop just angsting over the small selection of items you could even pick from. 

“You know it's a real shame you of all people didn't come dressed up. I'd like to see you as Mrs Homelander.” He says all cheeky and amused at the image in his head, while he’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  

“Oh no no no, I couldn't. I don't think it would be a good look on me. I mean nobody can rock the uniform like you do!” The idea of dressing up as him was ridiculous, you couldn’t just take that away from him. He’s more than a circus animal to you.

“You think I rock it?” He gives you a look, clearly fishing for compliments while he lets his voice rumble. He might not be in your ear but you still feel a shiver dance down your spine. You don’t think you’ll ever get over the effect his voice has on you. He just knows how to pull your strings. And what’s a puppet to do if not follow.

“It looks very good on you. The colour brings out your eyes.” You make an awkward gesture, pointing at your dress and then your eyes, as if it wasn’t obvious that those two had the same colour on him. You cringe internally but he always seems endeared by your awkwardness. You think it probably feeds his ego. You’re always such a mess in front of him and he slurps it up.

“Wowie, heavy on the flattery today are we?” He’s fiddling with his marker pen, trying to start his signature for the third time but the ink has run out.  “Oh for fucks sakes.” He tries another two times, the leather of his glove creaking with pressure around the pen. You expect him to snap it in half at this point but he just sighs and recaps the used marker, placing it down. He looks around, his jaw ticking as he mumbles, “where the fuck is Ashley…” He rolls his eyes, muttering something about being surrounded by incompetent idiots as he stands up. 

“Just, come with me, I think there are some spares in my dressing room.” He waves his hand, still holding the postcard in the other one.

“Are you sure? It’s really no big deal!” You feel guilty at the way his suggestion sends a shiver up your spine. You’re not entitled to it but the fantasy of him fucking you in his dressing room still plays out in your mind. 

“Nope, you waited your turn. You know I’m not one to leave my biggest fans empty handed.” He winks at you before he beckons you to follow him. You give a short nod and you scurry behind him like a little duckling, mesmerized by the sway of his cape swishing with each purposeful step. You feel your heart rate rise with every step, just being in his presence is overwhelming and the closer you get to his dressing room the more vivid your fantasy gets.

“Righty-ho,” Homelander says as he opens the door to his dressing room, fiddling around to pick up a spare marker. He presses the postcard against the wall signing it for you with a silver sharpie. You stand in the half open door a little awkwardly. Rather than focusing on him, you’re looking around making sure nobody sees you standing in Homelander’s dressing room. He tears you away from your paranoid thoughts as he hands the card back to you with a sing-songy, “there you go!” 

Your eyes widen and you gingerly take the postcard with a “oh, thank you,” and you gently put it back into your bag, not wanting to smear the ink. Part of you was disappointed that he genuinely took you here for innocent reasons. 

Like the open book you’ve always been to him he reads your facial expressions for what they are barking a laugh at the dumb-struck look you were sporting. “What? Did you think I brought you here to fuck you?” He leans against the doorframe, his tone a little condescending and mean. 

You really do your best to recover but your embarrassed blush and the spike in your heart-rate is such a blatant giveaway of your true thoughts. “N-no! I wouldn’t, of course not.” It doesn’t matter what you say in the moment, it’s not wiping the all-knowing smirk off his face.

“Jesus, you’re so easy, you know that?” His gaze is predatory as he looks you up and down again, this time slowly, reaaally taking you in. Before you know what’s happening he yanks you into the room, closing the door behind you. For all his strength he controls it well as you don’t end up with a dislocated shoulder after a move like that.

He cages you in against the door, leaning close to your ear so he can get his voice nice and low and he whispers, “For that kind of slutty behaviour I definitely need to fuck you.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. You love how easily he reads you, there’s nothing you can hide from and you know that these days, you’re his favourite book. In a way it’s liberating, it removes the thoughts behind actions, it removes the second-guessing. You know that he knows what you want. So you don’t have to make propositions and embarrass yourself further, he’s either gonna take you as he pleases or tell you to get lost. So far it’s always been the former. 

His gloved hand grabs the side of your jaw as he leans back and the woodsy, natural scent of leather whiffs past your nose. His other hand is less stationary, he brazenly glides his hand down your dress, generously palming your tits before he slides down further down your waist and back, settling on your ass. “Gotta teach you a lesson that you shouldn't be spreading your legs for men you don't really know that well.” He growls out tilting your head so he’s directly staring into your eyes with his impossibly piercing blues.

“You’re not just a man.” 

“Mhm you got that right.” He purrs all pleased at the obvious stroke to his ego. You’re all flustered, breathy and eager for him and he loves it. The pure adoration and love you give him so easily just flows through him, feeding that black hole starved for affection inside him.

He didn’t wait a second longer to kiss you, one gloved hand still on your jaw, the other quickly moving up to the back of your head pressing you into him. With a moan he kisses you, already acting like you’ve been starving him this entire time. His kisses are feverish, already hot hot hot as his lips ply yours open. You feel his shaky breath hot against your lips while the plush pillows of his lips are pressing against yours in a frenzy.

You wrap your hands around his neck for support more than anything. You know how he gets. Your heart rate has skyrocketed by now, beating hard and loud in his ears as he presses his tongue in between your lips, already wanting to be in you one way or another.

You part your lips for him just like you’d part your legs and you let him kiss you, heavy, hot and wet as he holds you with almost shaky hands trying to get as much as he can out of you.

His ravenous kisses don’t relax you, they make your body feel tight, wound up, always expecting and wanting more. At this moment you need him as much as he needs you. You grind your body against him with each more pressing and needy kiss. You know he can feel you through his suit, even though it’s handily hiding his hard-on. He still moans when you rub against him, clearly just as wound up as you are.

He pulls away, his eyes no longer that bright piercing blue but now his pupils are blown, his gaze lustful and heavy. His breathing is rough and stuttered. Even though he can’t get winded or tired his body is so strained that he pants for you like a thirsty dog.

Homelander takes his time to calm down, wanting to take control of the situation, he wants you to look up at him with those unsuspecting sweet wide doe eyes while he defiles you. And you do, you look up at him, panting out of actual lack of breath and you stare in reverence. 

There he goes, grinning like a shark again and you’re already waiting for the foul words that he’s undoubtedly going to thoroughly wet your panties with.

“Tell me,” he purrs out, seducing you with his dulcet tones. “How many times did you make yourself cum to my voice, huh?” He’s now leaning into your ear again, knowing this is where the occasional brush of his lips makes your body burn bright and hot. “Or to the memory of my cock inside you?” 

You expect him to be filthy and talk with no filter, it’s his specialty behind closed doors, but it still catches you off-guard. It especially does anytime you’re reminded of the time he utterly ruined you for any other man in your home, in your safe space, in your bed.

“I don’t know—many times. I, um, I lost count.” You don’t know exactly what answer he wants from you but you know that he will turn each and every one against you. His hair tickles the side of your face as he nuzzles into you with a small whimper before continuing. 

“Yeah? Maybe you should show me, do it for me. A little performance as a reward for all that I've done for you.” You hear the restraint in his voice. You know he wants nothing more than to just fuck you, have you fall apart on him. For him. But you also know Homelander loves to play. And he doesn’t want the game to be over yet. “You can do that for me, can’t you?” He goads you with that. Homelander knows just as much as he swallows up all your love and affection; you thrive on being reminded of how much you adore and worship him. How much you’d do anything for him. Anything. 

Homelander pulls back from you, his hands now firmly on your waist as if you were a flight risk.

“What do you mean?” You regain some sense of self after he gives your hot and flushed body a little break. 

“I mean you’re gonna sit your pretty ass in that chair, make yourself cum for me, while I watch.” He guides your body towards the further end of the dressing room where he points at a chair in front of a lit vanity table that’s still littered with make-up and brushes from when his team got him ready for today’s event.

Your body is buzzing with excitement but part of you is still a little embarrassed by such a blatantly open display. He wants you to sit in that chair, spread your legs and give him a perfectly lit view of the way you get yourself off? Yeah, that’s not the easiest thing you’ve ever done. But again, for him, you’ll do anything. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He pulls the chair out a bit tilting his head towards it. He looks at you, blatantly undressing you with his eyes. Literally, undressing. You may not physically feel his x-ray vision but the look in his eyes and the way he stops at your tits with a leery smile on his face is very telling. He doesn’t bother to hide how much he ogles, he knows how much it turns you on anyway. “Come on, panties off and hop on.” He clicks his tongue impatiently.

You sneak your hands under your dress and pull the hem of your panties down. You slide them down your legs until they pool at your ankles where you step out of them with your shoes still on.

Homelander chuckles to himself as he picks up the undergarment inspecting the damage. “You’re like a faucet, always fucking dripping wet.” He brings them closer to his face, inspecting the pair of Homelander-themed panties. He inhales the scent of your pussy now that it’s long seeped into the fabric. “I didn’t think these would be salvageable after last time.” He speaks as if he was talking about the weather and not pure debauchery while he indulges in the scent of your cunt.

“I got more pairs.” You said with a shrug as you got into the chair. You had to jump up a little as it was set on the highest setting for Homelander’s viewing pleasure.

You watch as he tosses the panties on the vanity table in front of you. “You’re gonna have to spread those legs some more.” He tuts with his tongue. You spread your legs as wide as you can in the chair and he shakes his head. “No, nope that won’t do either. Legs up on the arm rests.” He commands and as much as you want to comply, even you have your limits.

“I’m not that flexible!” You yelp out in amusement. “Wait!” You exclaim again except this time he easily manoeuvres you around in that chair with his stupid strength and you feel like a pretzel as you’re being pushed into the right position.

He ends up hooking just one of your legs over the armrest letting you rest it against the vanity table and giving you a comfortable enough position but more importantly, giving him a great view. “See, there you go. Flexible enough.” He pulls off his gloves one by one, throwing them on the table, out of view. “Come on, show off for me,” He coos in your ear, his bare hands, hot and smooth, sliding up your legs picking up the hem of your dress on the way as he pulls it up.

You gasp at the view in front of yourself. In the lit mirror in front of you you see yourself spread wide, your pussy easily visible and glistening in the bright light. This might as well be a porn shoot with how well lit and visible all your parts are. As you instinctively start closing your legs Homelander presses your thighs down, barely putting any power into it yet you feel the unyielding strength thrumming through his fingertips.

“Don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen it all.” He tucks the skirt of your dress above your waist and behind your back. Your hand slowly slinks down to rest on the bunched up fabric of your dress.

He straightens up properly standing behind you, his hands land on your shoulders, close to your neck, squeezing softly. He watches you in the mirror. He extends his pointer finger pushing your jaw up so you look up and meet his gaze. “Keep going, spread that pretty pussy for me.” He growls in your ear as his eyes are locked on the way your fingers slide down your slit, your pointer and middle finger spreading your pussy open for him to see. “Just as I said, like a fucking faucet.” He chuckles at the sight of you drenched and dripping.

You blush at the way he’s staring so intently at your reflection. Your fingers tentatively run up and down, gathering the wetness on your fingers, bringing it up to your clit where you rub small, shy circles around it. You’re taut as a bow and struggling to relax.

“Stop thinking and start feeling.” Homelander purrs in your ear. “I know you can do this for me, can’t you?” His voice sends a hot flush down your body, and you feel your clit throb under your fingers.

“Yeah… I can.” You breathe you, closing your eyes for a second to take a deep breath. The tension slowly leaves your body as Homelander presses soft kisses down the side of your face as he leans over to your other side. You let your hand go on auto-pilot trusting it to know what to do. You suck in a sharp breath as he sucks on your jaw, giving it a little nip while you still circle your clit with a soft squelch of your slick.

“There’s my girl.” He watches as you breathe deeply, your eyes finally opening to watch as he descends more kisses down your neck. You shiver at the sensation, pressing in your fingers a little harder, at the right pressure in the right spot. You’re just about to dip lower, push a finger inside your wet, needy hole but Homelander speaks up. “Uh uh, nothing but my cock is going inside that pussy today so keep your fingers on your clit.” Your entire body prickles with heat all over at his words. He’s so brazen and upfront and no matter how many times you hear it it always makes your head spin and pussy throb. 

You nod a simple ‘okay’ and only ever slide your fingers down to collect more of your own slick. Homelander is whimpering with you as if just the sight of your pussy was enough to get him off. For him, it’s intoxicating. His senses enhance the way your slick squelches loud to his ears and the scent of your pussy just makes him want to stop this little game and rail you already. Yet, he’s a patient man when he wants to be. And more so, indulging in his own desperate urge isn’t as fun as watching you submit to him first.

“Eyes open.” Homelander interrupts the thoughts and visuals in your head. Your eyes snap open and you meet his sharp gaze in the mirror. You didn’t even realise you had them closed. “What were you thinking about?” He asks, almost testing you. As if saying, you better not be straying too far from the path he wants you on.

“‘M thinking about you fucking me.” You say meekly, your fingers rubbing at a particular rhythm now that you know will get you off. Your clit is already throbbing, aching under your fingers.

“Getting a bit ahead of yourself missy, first you’ll have to cum for me.” He says nonchalantly while he pushes the strap of your dress and bra down your free arm. As much as you’ve gotten more used to functioning around him, his voice still makes you dizzy, especially when he’s a master at saying the most depraved shit. 

You pause to help him get out of the other set of straps and when your arm goes up to slip out of the strap he gives your slicked fingers a little suck, tasting you with a pleased grin making you flush hot.

While you go back to rubbing your clit Homelander unclasps your bra from behind your back dropping it on the floor and he pushes your dress down, already groaning at the sight of your tits free for his eyes to feast on. He presses his hands against your tits from either side, groaning at the sensation of the plush pillows underneath his hands.

“That's a good girl, keep rubbing that clit.” He growls out an order, yet somehow he looks more frazzled than you while he's not even the one performing. “Open up,” he whispers, his voice frayed at the edges as he presses two fingers against your lips. Obediently, you open up giving them a suck and laving them with your saliva while you keep eye contact with his reflection. He moans at the raunchy display, his eyes glazing over as he pulls his fingers out. With both his hands back on your tits he pinches your nipples, overwhelming you with the different sensation of one being rubbed wet and the other dry. You whine at the sensation, your pussy throbbing with each hot breath you feel against your neck as he tucks his head against it.

He listens to your heart beat like a drum in his ear, while he gives your nipples all his love and attention. He whispers and moans sweet nothings into your ear whilst watching you rub harder and faster finding the perfect rhythm that has cascading heat climb up your spine. “Thaaat’s it, come on—fuuck—come on, you can cum for me. I know you can.” Homelander watches as your muscles tense, seeing your body just ready to snap. What really does you in is the way he’s whimpering like he’s the one getting off. It’s like he’s sharing all the pleasure you're feeling with you.  

You cum with Homelander’s lips whispering against your ear as you hold your breath, your body tense until it finally gives in and you feel the wave of heat and tingling pleasure wash over you from your core to your limbs. “Ohhh god.” You finally release your breath, your chest heaving with the release.

Homelander is less impressed. Clicking his tongue again against the roof of his mouth.

“Mhm that won’t do, you can do better than that. I’ve seen you cum better than that.” 

You barely have the strength to counteract his claim. This was easily one of your strongest orgasms and he’s trying to say that it was weak? Oh please. You shake your head. You know he’s just playing his little game of ‘I can do whatever the fuck I want’ so you let him.

“Come on, up you go,” He says as he pulls you up on your feet all wobbly and numb from the way you were sitting on the chair. He pushes the chair out of the way with enough force that it topples over with a bang. He bends you over the vanity table where you’re up close and personal with the mirror, watching Homelander’s reflection as he hurriedly unzips his pants pushing them halfway down his thighs. 

You can’t see his cock from this angle but you’re sure it’s rock fucking hard and leaking precum with the way he’s panting like a dog in heat. He’s not even in you and he looks about three strokes away from finishing.

“God, fffuck!” He grits out through his teeth before parting his lips letting a long groan out as the tip of his cock parts your folds, immediately finding your soaked hole and pushing inside with one long slide. He huffs and puffs, his head tilted back as he keeps his eyes shut with restraint. His cock is hot and hard inside you, giving your pussy something to quiver around. 

You’re overstimulated, your nerves totally fried and your body has still nowhere recovered from your performance of a lifetime but you still take him in. You push your ass towards him, whimpering yourself as you feel his hands land on your hips, holding you there. “Look at how your pussy just opens up for me. Taking me riiiight in.” Homelander’s voice is strangled and raspy as he hisses air through his teeth.

You whimper at the way his words leave you buzzing and mindless with pleasure. You prop your elbows against the table as he starts fucking you, dragging his cock agonisingly slowly at first as if he was so sensitive he was about to bust. 

Thankfully that gives you some time to recover and your pussy is no longer screaming at you that it’s too much. He gives you more and more with each thrust, letting out a breathy soft moan each time he hits home. Tip to hilt on every slide. 

His boots kick your legs together giving him a tighter, more pronounced feel. That’s where he really starts to pick up speed. He moves his hands up, gripping where the fabric of your dress is still bunched up as he wholeheartedly fucks into you, minding his strength of course, he gives you what you can take and not a drop more.

You’re so deliciously taken in by him that you barely remember where you are and that you reaaally shouldn’t be screaming and moaning at the top of your lungs. Against all odds, your body is still so wired up and wound up that you feel the climbing sensation prickle at your nerves, your legs quivering with each stroke.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Homelander pulls out of you unceremoniously and you whine.

“I was so close!” You pull a displeased face in the mirror, looking at his reflection.

“I know. And so does everyone on the other side of that door.” He mumbles as he picks up the panties he tossed earlier on the table except this time he balls them up stuffing them in your mouth. You protest around them, your eyes widening in shock and your body flushing with indecent heat when you get a remnant of your taste from the soaked fabric.

“I don’t need people barging in to see who’s screaming bloody fucking murder.”

He turns you around, swiftly picking you up and plopping you on top of the vanity table where you’re nicely lit from behind. “Now behave, the door’s not locked. I’d rather not have anyone see you like this. Capiche?” You nod fervently, at this point just doing anything to get him back in you. 

“Good girl.” He coos as he pulls your legs up wrapping his forearms underneath your thighs, his hands gripping the sides for easy control. And just like that he slides back into you. You give muffled little sighs into the fabric of your panties as he fucks you hard against the table, making it rattle on its legs. The littered makeup and brushes were now rolling off and in some cases breaking on impact.

“You’re always so fucking worked up. Just need someone to fuck you don’t you. Poor little fangirl, so obsessed with me she doesn’t even have time to date anyone else.” He gives you a sharp grin, his canines sharp like a predator’s would be. You body flushes with embarrassment at the almost degrading comment and with the way you’re gagged and fucked you feel like Homelander’s personal toy. 

He fucks you until your legs tremble in his hold and your eyes flutter shut with each press of his cock deep inside you.

He slows down with the literally mind-melting grinds of his pelvis against yours and instead he looks you straight in the eyes getting your attention. “Did you learn? Will you be good?” You nod. He takes the panties out of your mouth, leaving the now even more damp fabric back on the table. 

You keep your promise and you keep mainly quiet, biting your lips shut and only letting the occasional whimper out as he strokes a particularly good spot inside you. Instead you let your body do the screaming for you. You shake and tremble around him, all tense and hot and Homelander doesn’t need to hear you scream to know that you’re close.

With your lips free again he captures them, as if he’s been starved this entire time without them. He kisses you deep and wet while he bucks into you, slowly losing his impeccable rhythm as he’s so strung out for an orgasm it’s bound to happen any second.

“Ah—I’m, uh, close…” You nearly whisper out, all strangled and needy. Homelander nods, clearly just as far gone. He lets one of your legs go, instead letting you wrap it around his waist as he places his fingers on your clit, giving you the extra push to the finish line.

He doesn’t wait for you as he cums in the next, one, two, three, strokes. But he pushes through still fucking into you while his cock pumps you full of his load. You cum immediately after, it’s more the thought than the faint feeling of him finishing inside you that just pushes you over the edge. A burst of buzzing fireworks sparks behind your eyelids as you close your eyes shut through the euphoria sinking into your bones. 

You’re panting, catching your breath, moaning your residual finish in small whimpers. “Wow, that was—”

There’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Sir, you’re needed on stage in 10 minutes.” Ashley’s panicked shrill can be heard on the other side of the door and your heart stops for a second before realising it’s her. Ashley knows better than to barge into any rooms ever since Homelander’s shown interest in you. 

“Oh well, there goes the afterglow.” You mumble with a tired laugh. Homelander nods quietly as he tucks himself back in, finally spent and satisfied—for the time being at least.

Homelander looks at you with fond hunger, leaning in for a soft kiss. “Yeah. Sorry I have to cut it short.” He grumbles, displeased, as he nuzzles his face in the junction of your neck.

He pulls away, reaching for your bra and passing it to you so you could make yourself presentable again.

“Tell me, did you actually leave the door unlocked?” You ask. 

“No! I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this. Well. I want you out there with me, just not when you’re freshly fucked. That’s all for me.” He gives you a wide grin, unable to stop himself from peppering you with kisses, capturing your lips again hungry for them as if you’re constantly denying him air. 

“Thank you for today.” He breathes hotly against your lips. “You know how to indulge me, I really didn’t think you’d turn up.” He smiles against you, caving in for another kiss.

“What wouldn’t I do for you?” You say with an amused roll to your eyes, but it’s all light-hearted. He knows you really would do anything for him. 

“I haven’t found that out yet.” He rumbles all pleased as he helps you make sense of the mess he made of your dress.

“And you never will,” You beam at him, your heart pounding again but this time it’s just from that overwhelming love you have for him, the butterflies that don’t seem to ever calm down in his presence. Even though you’ve been secretly together for a couple of months ever since the fated phone call, the excitement hasn’t even begun waning yet. 

“Hey, you know, you’re a really great actress. Had me sold quite a few times. Maybe I should get Vought to cast you in a movie alongside me, huh?” He grins as he picks up his gloves, pulling them over his hands again. 

You have to laugh. Sure, you’ve enjoyed role-playing as the obsessed fan that you were a few months ago but it wasn’t all acting. 

“I wasn’t acting! Well, obviously I did with the ‘I don’t know what’s gonna happen’ part but beyond that I was really nervous to be with you like that in a public place. You know how I get. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you publically, it’s just a huge adjustment. So… baby steps.” You finally adjust your dress though you still very much look like you just got railed. 

“Come ooon, let me make you mine officially. Fuck this sneaking around. The people who need to know, know. The rest is not important.” He presents you with his sweet honeyed voice, and he’s cheating really, he knows how much it affects you.

In a way, he’s right. The people who matter at Vought know about you seeing as you’re up at his place every other day but there was something terrifying about announcing to the entire world that you were Homelander’s girlfriend. That’s nothing easy to get used to. He’s not just a celebrity. He is the celebrity. You will have to say bye-bye to the comforts of a private life. But maybe that’s all worth it for him. 

“Okay. How about you go do your job and I go do mine and when you see me for dinner we can talk about it again. Sounds good?” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for another sweet kiss.

“Sounds good." He repeats before continuing with a fond, "I love you,” which always comes out a little strained. He’s never been able to say it without letting himself drown in the endless pool of emotions that are just swirling around inside him. 

“I love you too. Now go before Ashley has a heart attack. You’re already late.” You kiss him sweetly, adjusting his hair, making it look more purposefully-tousled, less ‘sex-hair’. You let him go, smoothing your hand down his suit. 

“Oh please, I’m the Homelander. Does the party really even start without me there?” He blows a raspberry into the air with a scoff.

“Sure doesn’t, babe.” You shake your head, amused as you watch him wave you off and shut the door behind himself.

You took the time to make yourself look more presentable but you couldn’t leave the room in the state you both left it in. So you collected the things that fell, you wiped the surfaces clean and you trashed whatever broke on the way. It’s the least you could do.

You looked into the mirror, almost not recognising the woman you’ve become over the past few months. Being someone who feeds off your endless adoration has done wonders for your confidence. You no longer feel crazy and obsessive. You’ve finally found someone who’s never gonna have enough of you. Someone who inhales your love like the oxygen he needs to breathe.

You revere Homelander less as an icon and more as a person, as a partner, these days. You know so much more of who he is now and strangely, while he scares others, you’ve never felt safer in his presence. Something about you two just clicks. It’s no wonder he wants to show you to the rest of the world. He wants to lock you in, have people forever associate with him.

And soon enough, there will be no way out.

[Part 3]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @morishitoshi

[littlefankingdom]

DC must not want money because if they did, they would have made a Batman & Robin movie or show centered on Bruce getting Dick. Currently, people are all about "disgruntled man suddenly has a child he is not blood related too and becomes a father", if DC just use the recipe with Bruce and Dick, people would eat that shit up. Especially because Batman's story is about hope, and what better way to deliver that than by giving him a kid?! Especially as it is the goal of the recipe, to give hope to the disgruntled man! Instead of trying again and again to sell Batman had this "misery 4ever" story (which it is not supposed to be) to please the edgelords.

I don't know wtf DC is doing, don't they have people analysing the market??? How can they miss that???

[panharmonium]

i am not usually interested in dramatically canon-divergent scenarios because the canon story is what compels me, but i've been obsessed with this moment ever since i re-heard it during my second viewing. from the perspective of someone who already finished the story once and now knows the truth - this was wild.

WHAT IF?

[whumpty-dumpty-doo]

Late night mush-brained I-really-need-to-edit-this-draft-because-this-is-probably-all-way-too-much-irrelevant-information late night thoughts

[labotor]

"Envy is never satisfied."

[mcsiggy]

Hey those anons were kind of unhinged and low-key disturbing. Hope you're doing alright. I think your art's really nice

I'm doing fine! Honestly it's a riot because after 10 years of dealing w/ people like this, i don't have a reason to defend myself because i'm so honest w/ what i draw, and these anons obviously don't know what i draw where they can't even insult me properly.

[astal-art]

It’s actually a daturma… datura- nevermind

[erros429]

gonna start a bake sale so i can eventually buy rwby from warner bros yall i’m gonna save us don’t worry

[broken-glowsticks]

What Once was Mine

Chapter 1 - When he was hers

Genre: Childhood friends, Eventual Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Love corner/love triangle, love rivals, Series. Not all chapters will be proofread!!

Warnings: 18+, mdni, mentions of sex and alcohol consumption, additional warnings will be added to individual chapters as needed.

Main • Next

Everyone knew Hwang Hyunjin. Of course they did, he was arguably one of the most gorgeous guys in town, and growing up with such a pretty face caused people to almost instinctively gravitate towards him. Instead of shrinking back from unwanted attention, this caused Hyunjin to flourish in charisma. He became a magnet, dazzling anyone and everyone with his sweet, effortless smile and crescent eyes. He was friendly, knowledgeable about every party in town, and casually flirty without somehow gaining any kind of negative reputation.

Everybody knew Hwang Hyunjin. But nobody knew him like you did.

The plush of his lips, the curve of his neck, the softness of his hair, how his frame is slender yet strong, how his arms felt wrapped around you. Sure, you weren’t the only girl to feel these things in general, but you didn't know of a single girl to feel these things twice, let alone the number of times you have.

You knew Hyunjin for a long time. Both your dad and his had hit it off at work and decided together to leave their company and start up their very own business together being painters.

It was just them two at first and money was tight, so to save themselves from having to hire babysitters they would instead drag Hyunjin and yourself along to help out whenever a no-school day landed on a secular work day.

It was awkward at first, two pre-teens with no previous painting experience being thrust together to paint fences or low house trimmings. But as time went on, the two of you began to grow used to each other and bonded over your shared fate of forced labor while your classmates got to stay home.

Eventually, your friendship would grow beyond your moments of labor and spill over to weekends and evenings. Your families would often share meals together and whenever the summers of your older years rolled around the two of you would often spend your days at eachothers houses, watching movies, hanging out in the backyard, swimming in the local creek or painting on canvases instead of walls in his bedroom.

You grew comfortable in each other's homes, rummaging through the fridge whether it was your own or not, lounging casually on the furniture, often climbing into each other's bed when one or both of you were tired and in need of a nap. Summers were your favorite time of year because summers were when you got Hyunjin all to yourself. Until high school started.

Suddenly, Hyunjin wasn't all yours anymore. His weekends and even some evenings were often filled with dates and parties. You never shared a class with him in school, so it wasn't odd not seeing him through the day - save for the friendly “hi” in passing between classes - but he would often walk you part of the way home every day.

Now, he would only hang out in the hallways or at the bus station with his clique. And while you stayed on with the painting business, becoming an official part-timer to earn some money, the company had grown enough that Hyunjin wasn't needed anymore. The only times you ever saw Hyunjin now were the occasional dinners your family and his would share together, assuming he even showed up, or when he would come visit your room in the middle of the night.

He would tap gently at your window, but you would always wake up. Hyunjin grew a little reckless before his final year of high school, often telling his parents he was at a friend's house when he was out partying or hooking up with a girl instead. And every time he was done, he would come to your room to sleep in your bed. The first time he ever did that, it startled you.

○●☆♡☆●○

“I can't go back home. Come on Y/N let me stay here just this once? Please?” He begged, his eyes sparkling. How could you say no to that?

You figured you'd just toss him a pillow and a blanket, and he'd sleep on the floor, so you let him in. Your heart almost stopped when he clambered into your bed, kicking off his shoes and yanking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?” You hiss, closing your window to avoid staring at his abs, when did he get abs?

“Getting comfortable so I can sleep? What are you doing just standing there?” He asked, pulling back the comforter.

“I… I thought you were going to sleep on the floor or something.”

“Why would I do that when there's a perfectly good bed right here?” He replied, lounging back onto the mattress, giving you an incredulous look. “What are you waiting for? Get over here. I'm freezing.”

“Hyunjin I can't-!” You began, turning to face him when he cut you off.

“What's the big deal, Y/N?” He asked, “we used to nap together all the time when we were kids.”

“Yeah, but this - this is different.” You stammer out.

“How?” He asked, holding eye contact with you. You couldn't come up with an answer.

‘Because you're different,’ you wanted to say, but the words died before they could pass your lips. Instead, you silently made your way back to your bed, sliding in once Hyunjin made room for you on the mattresses. The moment you made yourself comfortable, he pulled the comforter tightly around the two of you, pulling you close against him. You shuttered the moment your bodies met, he really was cold and he physically relaxed as he wrapped himself around you.

You couldn't help but be aware of how small your bed was and how you two would be pressed against each other all night. The thought made your heart hammer in your chest.

“I can feel how tense you are.” He murmured against your hair.

You didn’t know what to say to that. After all, why wouldn't you be tense? The boy who was once your closest friend, who you hadn't really gotten to spend any quality time with since you couldn’t remember when, suddenly shows up at your window in the middle of the night, asking to sleep here in your bed, and you're supposed to just be fine with that?

“Why? It's just me, Y/N.” Something about how he said this irked you. It irked you enough to make you say something.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean Hyunjin? ‘It's just you’?” You snapped, making him pull back in surprise, the emotion clear on his face. “Hyunjin, I don't know who you are anymore. I never see you anymore. And now you want to show up out of the blue and just act like nothing’s changed between us? Like you haven't been ignoring me basically since we started high school?”

“What do you mean I've been ignoring you? When have I ever ignored you?” He asked defensively.

“Oh come on, Hyunjin,” you say exasperated, sitting up and looking down at him. “You never say hi to me at school anymore, you stopped walking me home, you never spend any time with me! You're always with your friends or your girlfriend!” Part of you was worried you were being too loud, that your parents would come in and get the wrong idea from the scene they would encounter. Miraculously, nobody came.

“Why?” You asked after a beat of silence, your throat getting tight with the tears that had begun to well up. “Why did you just abandon me? Is it… Is it cause I'm not popular enough? Your girlfriend doesn’t like me? Cause I'm not pretty?” Your voice choked out as you began to cry, your hands coming to your mouth to stifle your sobs.

Hyunjin laid there stunned. He couldn't believe himself. Did he really make you feel so abandoned? From his point of view, he wasn't going out of his way to ignore you or anything like that. To him, the two of you just didn't have any classes together. He never saw you in the halls, you never shared the same group of friends, and you two didn't work together anymore. Sure, he would hang out with his friends a lot, but he always made it a point to make it to the weekly dinners his and your families would have.

Well… maybe he's missed the last two… or three… okay, maybe four?

Oh god, he has been neglecting you. What an asshole.

Running his hands over his face before sitting up, Hyunjin only now realized exactly how badly he fucked up. Hesitantly reaching out, he first placed a hand on your shoulder to gage your reaction. You slightly jumped at the sudden contact but when he saw how you didn’t pull away he slowly wrapped his arms around your slightly trembling frame, once again pulling you close to hold you gently as you cry.

“I'm sorry…” he whispered, rubbing your shoulder gently. “I didn't realize I had pulled away so much. I didn't mean to, I just- I got so wrapped up in my own thing and just kind of took for granted that you'd always be there.”

Gingerly he moved his arms from around you and took your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “It wasn't because you're not popular, or because of some girlfriend- which i don't have, by the way. I just thought you were okay because you had your friends at school and your job and your family. I… I figured you were just as busy as I was, so I didn't need to reach out cause we would see each other whenever our parents all got together. But that wasn't fair of me to do to you.”

“I missed you.” You managed between sobs.

“I know that now, I'm sorry.” He said gently, placing his forehead against yours. “I'm so, so sorry Y/N. Please, forgive me and I'll never leave you alone again.”

You didn’t believe him. How could you? He already left you once, what's to stop him from doing it again? But a part of you hoped, a part of you wanted to believe him. Like you said, you missed him. So you agreed.

“If… if you do. I know where you live, Hwang Hyunjin.” You stutter out, trying your best to sound menacing while weakly glaring.

All this did was make Hyunjin laugh softly as he closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of your skin against his. How could he have forgotten how your very presence comforted him, how all the years you've spent together, all the memories, would wrap around him like a blanket?

“Can I still sleep here even though I made you cry?” He joked once your breathing calmed, managing to get a chuckle out of you.

“Yes,” you said with a shaky breath, “yes, you can.”

“Good.” He grinned with that dazzling smile of his as the two of you resumed your snuggled position from earlier.

“And for the record,” he said as he began to run his fingers through your hair, “I think you're stunning. You're absolutely beautiful Y/N, okay? So don't ever say you're not pretty ever again.”

It was from that night onwards that Hyunjin would come to see you in the dead of night, either because he needed a place to stay after a party or a hookup, or just because he missed you.

He was still as busy as ever, being Mr. Popular and all, but he kept his promise and tried to carve out time for you whenever he could aside from visiting you in the night, even if that was just saying “hi” in the halls or after school. He would also make it to dinner every single week, without fail, something your parents all delighted in. It seems you weren't the only one who missed seeing Hyunjin around.

One other thing he started doing ever since that night was he started calling you by a little nickname, one that made your friends question when you suddenly started dating the Hwang Hyunjin.

“What? No, we're not dating. We used to be really close when we were younger and just reconnected, that's all.” You told them as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yeah, ok, sure Y/N, whatever you say.” One of them said, not fully believing you. “But uhm… did he always use to call you ‘Beautiful’?”

○●☆♡☆●○

“Shh, quite Beautiful, we don't want to get caught.” Hyunjin murmured as he continued the leisurely roll of his hips, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot despite his warning.

As much as you attempted to keep quiet, you could still hear the soft echo of your escaping moans bouncing through the mirrored walls of the dimly lit dance studio. To help keep you quiet, Hyunjin moved his kiss swollen lips from the slope of your neck to your mouth, slipping his tongue between your lips. You kissed back eagerly, grateful for the attempt at finding something other than the sensation of Hyunjin pulling out agonizingly slowly only to bottom out with the same infuriatingly unhurried pace, torturously fucking you into the wall, watching how long you could endure.

Your mind was starting to go fuzzy when Hyunjin pinned your hand to the wall by your head, a subtle hint that you knew meant he was close.

Entwining your fingers together, Hyunjin held your hand firmly, growling as he dropped his head to rest on your shoulder, lifting your leg that was wrapped around his waist in search of a better angle. He suddenly wanted, no, needed to hear you screaming his name as languid thrust grew erratic.

You were close to cumming yourself, so close, you just needed a bit more, he could feel it. Dropping your hand to wrap both of his around your thighs, he gathered his strength before lifting you off the floor entirely. You couldn't help but gasp, impressed with this show of strength. You sometimes forgot just how strong he was.

“Come on Beautiful, cum for me.” He said, his voice hoarse and his thrusts turning sudden, quick and aggressive, his dick mercilessly slamming into you.

Wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders you felt your walls tighten and flutter around him as you hit your limit, cumming hard around his cock. But he didn't stop, instead speeding up. You were starting to become over-stimulated, gasps and moans carelessly spilling out of you as Hyunjin chased his own orgasm.

“Say my name Beautiful. I'm so close to cumming, I just need to hear you.” He rasped out and you couldn't help but readily comply with his request, forcing yourself to form the sounds it took to call out for him instead of making the incoherent noises you were making before.

Your worn and fucked out voice was all it took for him to finally cum, the sensation shaking his body as he rode out his orgasm inside you.

Unable to hold you up anymore he set you down as gently as he could, sliding out of you to quickly remove his condom and adjust his clothes. This gave you a moment to do the same, dressing yourself with shaky hands as Hyunjin did away with the evidence of what just happened.

“You okay Beautiful?” Hyunjins voice pulled you from your daze and he couldn't help but chuckle at the absolutely adorable expression on your face. It almost made him want another go.

“Yeah, I'm good.” You said, managing a smile despite how tired you felt. Feeling the wall for the light switch you squinted once the bright, fluorescent lights came alive, your eyes not wanting to adjust as Hyunjin made his way back to your side to pull you into his arms.

“Thank you for coming, I needed the stress relief.” He said as he kissed your hair, pulling you over to a table that sat in an alcove towards the corner of the dance studio, his desk.

“I needed it too,” you admitted, letting Hyunjin sit in his desk chair as you elected to sit on his desk where he had you moments earlier, his head buried between your legs.

“Work has been a lot?” He asked with a tip of his head, his hands resting comfortably on his stomach as he began swiveling his chair.

“Oh like you wouldn't believe!” You huffed, fishing out the hand-held mirror Hyunjin kept in his desk just for you and began scanning your reflection to fix any smudged makeup.

If anybody walked in right now, they never would have guessed that you two were doing anything other than hanging out based on Hyunjin alone. Being a dance instructor made it easy to dismiss Hyunjins' disheveled appearance and noticeable, glistening skin. You, however, still had to go through the extra effort of making yourself look presentable.

“My boss just loves to pile on the work. I miss working for our dads. It was such an easy job, and they never breathed down my neck.” You complained, giving a frown when you heard Hyunjin snicker next to you. “Don't laugh. We can't all work our dream job.”

“It's just funny. You're the one who was so excited to get out from under our dads, but now you're realizing just how good you had it with them.” He teased as he slid his desk chair in front of you to help you straighten up.

“As if you didn't do the same.” You pout.

“Oh, I didn't complain while I was working with them.” He shot back, reaching out to wipe a smear of lipgloss you had missed from the corner of your lips. He got you there.

A phone alarm caught your attention, causing you to heave a heavy sigh.

“Time to go.” You said.

“Or you could always stay and sit in.”

“No thanks. I'm not really in the mood for any more dating allegations from your younger students. And I'm definitely not in the mood for your thirsty ass adult students glaring at me.”

“Come on, baby, stay. You could hang out in the staff lounge.” He offered.

“Pet names like that is why people think we're dating, you know.”

“I think the new guy likes you, could give you two a chance to get acquainted.”

“Pass.”

“Boo… fine.” Hyunjin said with a pout as he flopped back into his chair, a hand melodramatically clutching at his heart. “Go ahead, leave me. It's obvious you don't love me anymore.”

“Yeah, because it's not like I drove over an hour from home to see you or anything.” You scoff as you slip off the desk, poking him playfully on the forehead and laughing at how he acted like you had just punched him square in the face.

Hyunjin had moved from your small town to the nearby city to attend college and became a permanent resident when he got his job at an all-ages dance studio. Meanwhile, you stayed in your hometown and moved into an apartment with your high school friend Jisung, but you would come and see Hyunjin whenever you missed him and he had time to spend with you. Lately, those moments have started to become fewer and further apart.

“Do you really have to go home?” He asked as you did one final once over of your reflection in the dance studio mirrors.

“Unfortunately. I promised Ji I'd join him and the guys for karaoke tonight. I'm already going to be late cause I decided to stay here longer instead of leaving this morning like I planned.”

Hyunjin frowned, draping himself over your shoulders in defeat. He wanted to whine, to make you stay, to not have to give you back, but he didn't want to keep you from your friends. Especially not when you already made the commitment to spend time with them. He nuzzled his face into your shoulder, and you knew he was going to walk you out this way. Luckily for you, though, he only took you so far as the front door of the building.

“Promise me you'll come see me again soon, okay, Beautiful?” He whispered into your ear before letting you go.

“I promise.” With a kiss to his cheek, you were out the door and to your car. You didn't want to admit this, but you were eager to be on your way back home. As much as you loved spending time with Hyunjin, recently, he's been too busy to see you or even really talk to you. You knew it wasn't his fault, he loved putting his all into his job and deserved a social life outside of your friendship, so you decided to try to busy yourself by spending more time with Jisung and his friends.

You loved spending time with them, with all of them, of course, but mostly one of them in particular.

[serpentface]

HOSPITALITY AND GIFT ECONOMY IN THE HIGHLANDS: A POST.

Rites of hospitality are of key importance and taken very seriously in this cultural context, especially given the frequency at which individuals will be traveling (as herders, or along intra-Highlands trade routes). These rites exist as the concept of 'Shiab's peace', a divinely mandated contract of hospitality under the watch of Shiab, goddess of the hearth and of travelers. This is invoked with a standardized verbal exchange with a member of the household- the prospective guest will greet with “I would ask Shiab’s peace of you”, the host, if accepting, will respond with “You will have Shiab’s peace here.” While not explicitly an oath, it is understood as such and ascribed the same profound significance (both social and spiritual consequences for violation).

A potential host can refuse (though usually doesn't, hosting is an honor and can be a power play), but the mere request for Shiab's peace imbues temporary spiritual protection on the asker- one’s most loathed enemy must at least be allowed to leave unharmed, even if denied guest rite. (This isn’t a get out of jail free card, a request for Shiab’s peace is a request for hospitality, not mercy, the goddess will not be protecting you if you attempt to use it in the midst of combat or etc).

Once mutually invoked, the expectations of Shiab’s peace are as follows:

The host should provide for the guest’s basic needs generously within their means, and allow them to stay for a night and provide them a place to sleep.

The guest and host much each provide their names and titles, though the guest is under no obligation to explain the reasons for their presence and cannot be asked.

The guest must accept all food offered (and gifts, though this is not specific to Shiab's peace and rather part of a wider practice in the gift-economy).

The guest must ask for nothing, and take nothing that is not offered.

The guest is under full protection of the host, and vice versa. Theft, assault, or murder committed under Shiab's peace is a grave broken oath and one should expect very severe consequences (both supernatural and mundane, should others find out).

The guest (unless offered continued hospitality) must see themselves out after sunrise the following morning. They cannot be made to leave early.

If a guest is offered continued hospitality, they should offer to participate in any needed chores (the host can accept or decline at their discretion).

The protection of Shiab's peace continues until the following sunrise after the guest leaves (ie a host cannot pursue their leaving guest to steal from them)

Shiab's peace is universal and transcends conflicts, and once invoked cannot be violated under any circumstances. Members of a rival clan or of a tribe yours is at war with, a foreigner you're suspicious of, etc, are all fully under protection (and under their full expectations as a guest).

A guest that violates their expectations can be made to leave, as they have broken the oath and are no longer protected. (in practice, many hosts will let MINOR violations slide unless the guest is like, really annoying or godawful)

The host, in practice, will usually be the wife of the household (if present), as the wife is considered the owner of a family’s home, land, and property, and has final say on how resources are used and given. The host is expected to provide the guest food and drink and a place to stay for one night, and supply any other obvious basic needs (ie: if the guest’s clothing is worn or wet, they should be given fresh clothes). These gifts should be generous within one’s means, and in practice will usually be a square meal, mead/wine/murre, multiple rounds of tea, and a breakfast the following morning. A host that does not provide expected basic needs within their means is in violation of Shiab’s peace and has broken their oath, and should expect consequences.

A guest is not literally oathbound to practice ideal social etiquette, but it's a cultural expectation (ie, the guest should finish all their food and save some bread for last to scoop up anything left in the bowl, not a hard requirement but good manners). They are fully expected to accept any and all gifts offered. A guest should neither take nor ask for anything not freely given (all basic needs should have been met by the host to begin with). It IS acceptable for a guest to imply further needs in conversation, so long as they do not directly request them: ie mentioning in conversation that their leg is hurt and they can only hope their travels do not make it worse, as it would take days of rest for it to heal (“I need to stay multiple nights, can we work that out?”), or mentioning that their pack khait has gone lame and cannot carry their supplies, they fear they will have to leave both animal and supplies behind (“Will you lend me a pack ox/khait?”). These roundabout requests are still at least expected to be Truthful in nature (and all of this is happening under the watch of a deity, there may be consequences for lying).

Hosts may give extra gifts at their discretion- these can either be charitable, or indebting. A charitable gift will be given with further verbal declaration of Shiab’s peace, which establishes it as an act of goodwill and that the guest is not in the host’s debt. An indebting gift will be given with no declaration of Shiab's peace. The guest is obligated to accept either.

Indebting gifts are a part of the wider political and economic structure of the Highlands, a separate (though linked) practice to guest hospitality. The vast majority of the economy relies on trade of goods, with an additional dimension of this gift economy. Being able to give gifts is a display of wealth and power, establishing one’s family or clan above another in a social hierarchy. The most powerful are able to give the most extravagant gifts, and will have many other clans/families considered perpetually in their debt if the gift cannot be met with one of equal or greater value. This debt is immaterial- it is not actually Expected to be paid (it’s better for the gift-giver if it ISN'T), rather it establishes/reinforces one's place in a power structure and regulates the conduct of the gift receiver (it can be evoked to call in favors or settle disputes). A debt held by a single person translates to their immediate family, while a debt held by a clan matriarch/patriarch translates to their entire clan.

Cattle raiding is both a practical means of resource acquisition and a part of this wider political schema, and often figures into the gift structure. Stealing cattle and then giving them back as a gift is a power play, it declares ‘our men are better than yours (they’ve stolen the cattle successfully) and we are wealthier than you (we don’t even need them)’, while also settling the score and dissuading retaliation. Stealing cattle and then giving MORE (or different, higher quality) cattle as a gift is a massive power play, declaring much the same things to a greater extent, dissuading retaliation, AND putting the theft victim/gift recipient into the debt of the thieves.

Power structures within tribes are passively enforced by this gift giving structure- the ruling clan of each (which in practice usually controls the best agricultural land and largest herds, and is most involved in trade) will provide gifts to all clans subservient to them (and particularly generous gifts to potential rivals), keeping them indebted and lower in the social structure. Ruling clans who lose the ability to afford to give gifts, or find themselves indebted, will often be usurped (not strictly as a result of their debt, rather that losing ability to stay on top of the gift system generally occurs in conjunction with a diminished material power/wealth).

These combined practices result in very complex, often aggravating political power structures, but reduce the frequency of open conflict between clans within a tribe (which are frequently at odds), providing other avenues for power/material acquisition and for the settling of scores. Most open conflicts occur between clans within separate tribes or entire tribes (less likely to have secure power structures enforced by gift/trade), though practices of raiding and combat-sport provide some levels of tension release via less-violent score settling.

Other dimensions of the gift economy are not directly indebting (in not establishing a power structure), and considered paid via mutual partnership. Alliances between clans of different tribes are usually established in continued gift-giving (declared explicitly as gifts of allegiance), with the implied payment being mutual material support (supplying warriors, sharing grazing land, open trade, etc), which is usually reinforced with binding oaths. Marriages also involve gifts. A bride price is fairly standard (which is a straightforward payment for property and assets the wife's mother will be passing into her son-in-law's care), and a husband who cannot supply one is considered in his mother in law's debt (and may not gain full integration into the family until this is paid). But as supplement to the bride price, members of each family will freely give gifts with no expectation of the value of their gifts being matched (declared as such by being specifically described as a gift of marriage), as a means of further allying both families and a show of goodwill.

[welcometogrouchland]

Noticing that TV and film will often have a character either have had an abortion in the past that isn't showcased on screen (and just used as part of the character's ~fucked up and twisted backstory~) OR contemplate getting an abortion in the present day but not to through with it. Just once I want to see someone delete that fetus within the events of the plot and not be like. Extremely majorly punished for it and/or be in the wrong

[shooks-stupid-stuff]

webcomic-era/current masumii redesign (she also just needed to be slightly simplified lol)

i was going to draw takoshi next to her but i'm tired and redrew his face like 20 times bc it wasn't looking right so. i'll draw him tomorrow-

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Fireborne Blade

high fantasy novella about a knight who’s planning to prove herself by retrieving a powerful fabled blade

follows her venturing into the dragon’s lair and facing it’s powerful magical effects, with a mage-squire who she doesn’t remember hiring

as well as flashback chapters of her past, preparing for this quest, an excerpts from archive records of other knights’ encounters with dragons

[utilitycaster]

The answers Marisha gave in this 4SD felt a lot more realized than in the past, which is good! But it still makes me feel like this character concept is incredibly ambitious and when juxtaposed with the various "I don't want to think anymore"/"go with the flow" statements I'm not sure she realized that.

The biggest example is that Laudna has two conflicting traits: she is extremely sensitive to betrayal, and she is very quick to trust even after experiencing a number of betrayals in her life. And when I say "conflicting" I mean that they are in conflict with each other, not that it doesn't make sense for a character to be a complicated person with traits that frequently work against them; in fact that's in my opinion a fantastic way to create a compelling character. But it feels like the why is only just starting to get explored in any capacity, and because of that even good choices raise more questions: why is this only coming out now; why so young a regression; why has it peeked out so weirdly and inconsistently in the past; why haven't the repeated betrayals in the past two months affected her mindset and made her more closed off. It once again makes me really wish we'd gotten a sustained outburst after the party reunited, because that would have made far more sense - a fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me situation.

I agree with the opinion that Laudna conceptually just fits far more with being an actual child herself - her desire to befriend children frankly comes off slightly weirder (not line-crossing or anything, just a little off) than it would had she died younger, as does her approach of dolls, and her failure to do anything with Delilah would make a lot more sense if she was at an age to be much more reliant. It would also make her inability to just blend into a city much more reasonable; no one is going to rent to a lone 11 year old. It really does feel that when the creepy child idea was rejected - which is a valid choice - it wasn't reworked sufficiently to fit someone who died in her late teens or early 20s.

I also don't really get the idea of her childlike nature being without malice. A pretty consistent theme for the various traumatic childhoods the characters of Bells Hells (and, tbh, past parties as well) has been the cruelty children are capable of - Ashton even says it in 3x78. Delilah being stuck with someone without malice would honestly lead to a situation in which Laudna was very trusting of her, which isn't the case, which again goes back to the conflict of betrayal as a trigger vs. being so quick to trust. Given that Laudna was frequently bullied and rejected as a kid, one would think she'd be aware of this. The specific example of Delilah calling Ashton a child and Laudna making him a doll still works wonderfully, but the overarching theme falls apart in places.

I think things have been on an upswing as of late, but ultimately we're at a point where, without some retcons I don't think Laudna will ever truly make complete sense because it's just such an intensive concept that did not get the work that required, and still feels reliant on a now-rejected premise.

[egobuzz]

being a fan of side characters with almost no established backstory and little screen time is fun

I’ll see someone write domestic fics about them getting married and having children, and in my mind they’re so emotionally stunted and private that they’d perish before holding hands in public let alone plan an elaborate wedding ceremony

and we’re both correct

[deus-ex-mona]

may you make the right choice, aizo~~~~~~