#Double Cuckoo

[oh-men-of-dark-and-dismal-fate]

Since Billy Bibbit and Charles Lee Ray were both played by the same actor, I propose an AU where Billy did not die in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, but dissociated with his real personality and crafted a new one. When he finally signed himself out of the ward, he left Billy behind and walked out as a new man. He walked out as Charles Lee Ray. He traded one prison for another.

[professional-jaywalker]

Oooooh my god I just had a fucking joke epiphany. I am. Completely cuckoo. Literally and figuratively. Oh my god. who the fuck is the writer in charge I just wanna talk.

[blindmagdalena]

The Cuckoo's Nest

18+ 6.3k siren!homelander x f!reader. dub/noncon, infidelity, mind/emotional manipulation, gaslighting, voice kink, masturbation, penetrative sex, fingering, blood, gore, cannibalism? creampie, stalking, minor character death, praise kink, good girl/pretty girl.

The gentle and pleasing voice of the cuckoo bird has made it a renowned herald of spring, and perhaps one of the most famous of songbirds. One would never guess merely by looking at it that it is a predatory parasite.

What you thought would be a dream job working for Vought as Homelander's very own secretary turns into a surreal waking nightmare as reality and dreams converge in a confusing mess. The only coherent thread that strings it all together is the alluring pull of Homelander's unnatural voice.

written for Monsterlander Mania. fair warning, this fic is fairly dark! thank you so much @anon-nee for this amazing banner art. 🖤

When you were hired as Homelander’s secretary, the gig had been pitched as a cushy desk job. Now that he’s the new face of Vought, and Ashley the company CEO, he needs someone who will keep his day to day affairs in order. Apparently, you’re just the person for that job.

“You probably won’t see much of him,” Ashley tells you distractedly. She rarely ever looks away from her phone for long.

“There are two landlines on your desk. The left one is for general business, and the one on the right, the red one, is exclusively for him. Don’t make calls on it. He has the number memorized, he’s the only one who’ll ever call it, so make sure you always answer it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say diligently.

Glancing over, Ashley does a double take. “Aren’t you married? Where’s your ring?”

You falter, looking down at your hands. “Oh,” you say, taking said ring out of your pocket. “I put hand cream on earlier, I just forgot to put it back on.”

“Make sure you keep that on,” she says, giving you a critical look before returning her gaze to her phone. “He’s particular.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Nevertheless, you make sure to always keep your wedding ring on while you’re at work.

True to Ashley’s word, you see neither hide nor hair of Homelander during your first three days. You make his appointments, you take calls on his behalf, and you organize his bookings.

In your office, directly across from your desk, hangs a borderline comically oversized portrait of him that stares relentlessly at you as you work. You often find yourself staring back at it, the back of your neck prickling with the irrational feeling of being watched.

You know that it’s just in your head, but you can’t help but be put off by the feeling. Sometimes you consider covering the portrait, but the last thing you want is for the man to appear out of the blue and see a blanket thrown over his likeness.

Your instinct proves correct.

“Hey you,” comes a voice like silk. You startle, looking up from your desk to find a shock of red, white and blue standing in your doorway, his arms folded casually behind his back.

“Homelander,” you say, nearly choking on the name. “Sir, hello. I’m–”

“I know,” he interjects smoothly, cape swaying behind him as he passes the threshold, making his way over to your desk. That voice. He’s not even said five words to you yet, but it lingers in your ears like warm honey, causing a flush of warmth to roll through you. You convince yourself that you’re just embarrassed to have been caught so thoroughly off guard. “My new secretary. Sorry I couldn’t stop by sooner.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize, sir. I know better than most how–” you hesitate, watching as he takes a turn and begins walking directly towards you, circling behind your desk. “–busy you are,” you finish, looking up at him as he looms over you. You wonder if you should stand, but he’s so close to you now, you’d just knock right into him.

He smells good. Earthy and slightly sweet, like vetiver.

“That’s pretty,” he remarks, gesturing to your ring finger. “Sapphire, huh? Unusual choice.”

You swallow, trying desperately to reign in the cadence of your breath. Your heart is pattering as wildly as rain drops. “Thank you. My husband chose it, it’s his birthstone.”

To which Homelander giggles. It’s a delighted, slightly off-putting little noise. “P’wow, he gave you a ring with his birthstone, huh? Really staking his claim,” he says, reaching down to take your hand. He looks at you just before he makes contact. His eyes are even bluer than the stone in your ring. “May I?”

Dumbstruck, you nod, lifting your hand and placing it in his upturned palm. He sits on your desk and turns your hand this way and that, watching the way your ring catches the light. Eventually, his gaze slips back to yours. “Happily married?”

“Very,” you say immediately, your throat suddenly dry.

He smiles, and only then do you notice how unusually sharp his canines are.

“Good. Glad to hear it,” he says, giving your hand a gentle pat before he lets it go. You immediately drop your hand into your lap, touching your ring. You feel strangely lightheaded all of a sudden, unable to look away from his piercing gaze. Even when he isn’t speaking, you can still hear the warmth of his tone echoing all around you.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you,” he says, standing from your desk with preternatural elegance, as if he’d floated more than lifted himself.

“Please, the pleasure was all mine,” you say with a smile, somewhat dazed. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

He looks pleased as punch at that. “I’ll try not to be such a stranger, hmm?” he purrs, reaching out to give your shoulder a friendly squeeze. You feel the rumble of his voice roll all the way down your spine and into the core of you, leaving a light throb nestled between your thighs.

“I’d like that. Thank you, sir,” you say, your voice sounding dreamy and distant in your own ears.

Flashing that same toothy grin, he shoots you a wink before he turns face with a slight flourish of his cape, the fabric billowing in his wake as he takes his leave, disappearing down the hall.

The second he’s gone, it’s like the spell of his presence breaks and you come crashing back to yourself, eyes wide. A hot broil of shame rolls through you when you realize how aroused you are, that throb lingering. You’re equal parts shocked and disgusted with yourself, sickened by the hot prickle lingering on every inch of your skin.

Holy shit. What the fuck was that?

You wind up leaving an hour early, eager to be home. The shame makes you desperate to see your husband, as if touching him will erase the residual traces of the effect that Homelander had on your body.

It doesn’t. In fact, that feeling of being watched follows you all the way home, the feel of it becoming a specter haunting your house. When your husband seeks intimacy from you in your bed later that night, you push his hands away.

“Sorry,” you say softly, shaken. “Not tonight.”

Your body still remembers him too viscerally.

That night, you dream of songbirds.

Two days later, the right landline rings for the first time. You stare blankly at it, your stomach immediately twisting into knots. It rings, once, twice, nearly a third time before you hurriedly snatch it up off the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” comes Homelander’s familiar drawl. His voice falls over you like a wash of sunlight, warm and heavy. “Thought you might be ignoring me for a second there.”

“No, no, never. Sorry, sir,” you say, reaching for your water. You take a quick sip. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing too dire, just a little shuffling. Can you bump tomorrow’s 4pm to Thursday for me?” He asks, voice slipping around your throat like a noose. The press of it makes you slightly breathless.

“Of course,” you say, balancing the phone on your shoulder while you manipulate your tablet. “That’s no problem at all, done.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, the phone turning his voice into an intimate rumble in your ear.

You blink, feeling like your mouth is full of cotton. You can’t seem to form a response.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He asks, and you swear up and down you can hear a smile in his voice. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Was there anything else, sir?” You manage to blurt out, words leaving you in a clumsy spill. You’re breathing shallowly, mouth parched. You snatch up your water and take another quick sip. There’s a long pause on the line, the silence so deafening you think for a moment you must have missed something. “Sir?”

“Touch yourself.”

Your heart falls into your stomach, but that feeling is nothing compared to the unbidden liquid heat that those words erupt throughout your body.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says patiently. Amused, even. “Touch yourself. Take your hand–no, no, the left one,” he says in response to your right hand drifting down. You weren’t even aware you’d started moving. You swap the phone from your left hand to your right, and grab hold of your thigh with your left hand.

“I don’t understand,” you say, the words feeling as thick as molasses on your tongue. “Why are you–”

“That’s good. Now, move those pretty fingers in. Just like that,” he directs, and to your own distant horror, your hand moves, sliding between your legs and lifting up your skirt, your sparkling ring disappearing beneath it. You press your middle finger directly to your beating clit and let go a shuddering breath, massaging it through your panties.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how you like it, mm? Bet your husband still doesn’t know the first fuckin’ thing about how to make you feel good. He ever watch you do this to yourself, ever bother to learn how you like to be touched?”

Disoriented, you shake your head. Your hips reflexively lift to meet the smooth figure-eights you rub yourself with. You’re sure you’d agree to anything he said so long as he keeps talking.

“Didn’t think so. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, sweetheart. I know exactly what you need.”

The heat of his voice envelops you, makes your whole body feel aflame. You’ve never been so sensitive in your life, already shuddering and squirming in your seat from the intensity of sensation building beneath your fingers.

“Slow down. There’s no rush. You’re as good as mine now.”

His voice is like velvet but his words sting, needling something inside you that squirms. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head more fervently. “No, no, m’not… I don’t…”

“Shhhhh,” he hushes, the hiss of it like a serpent in your ear. “Give it up for me, sweetheart.”

A whimper escapes your throat, the noise all but choked out of you. You can’t move, save for the increasingly frantic stroke of your fingers. His voice is a physical caress that slips down the line of your throat, between your breasts, slinking in serpentine patterns until it spills over your fingers and–

You gasp awake, staring wide-eyed at your blurry ceiling as wave after wave of pure euphoria crashes over you, stealing your capacity for breath. You ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm in a state of delirium, the shadows on your ceiling dancing like a voyeuristic crowd. You’re not sure if it takes seconds, minutes or hours to end, your perception of time distorted by the sheer intensity of sensation.

Looking to your side, panting, you see your husband sleeping soundly beside you. His snores are faint and peaceful. The curtains of your balcony door billow softly with the night’s breeze.

Your day comes back to you in a slow blur. The phone call was real, you’re sure of it… Aren’t you? Reaching for your phone, you hurriedly log into your Vought calendar and check the schedule. Sure enough, in your history, you can see that you bumped his next day R&D meeting to Thursday. That was real.

You wrack your brain for the details of your day, trying to piece together how you got from there to here, and whether or not any of Homelander’s voice cooing lewd commands in your ear was real. 

It couldn’t have been. 

The more the dream fades from your mind, the more you remember the rest of your day. You remember hanging up the phone, finishing your work day as per usual, and going home to your husband. Though it’s all something of a strange blur, the memories are there.

Even so, the dream somehow feels more real than any of it.

It’s 5am and you doubt you’ll be sleeping again. You get up early, shower, and make breakfast all before your husband even makes it to the kitchen. Your dreams and the haze of yesterday fade with the rising sun, as all dreams and memories often do.

You’re in the process of putting your dishes away when he walks in, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You got an early start today?” He asks, biting back a yawn.

It’s cute. He’s cute. You feel an irrational spike of guilt.

It was just a dream.

“Didn’t sleep well,” you admit, kissing him on the cheek. You wrinkle your nose. “Oof, morning breath,” you say playfully, but there’s an edge of truth to it. You can’t explain it, but there’s something off about the way your husband smells this morning.

Your mind drifts wistfully to the pleasant memory of sweet vetiver.

By the time you make it to work, your morning is nothing but a distant recollection at the peripheral of your consciousness. 

Nonetheless, the sight of that bright red landline still makes you blush. 

You don’t see Homelander again for another three days. At least, not at work. In reality, you’re more aware of him than you’ve ever been in your life. His face is everywhere, be it TV or billboards. You see him in the grocery store, the post office, and even the goddamn DMV. You never really noticed until now how inescapable Homelander truly is.

It’s no wonder he continues to appear in your dreams, too. You can’t seem to remember any of them very well, but you know without a doubt each time you wake that you were haunted by sapphire blue eyes and a voice as decadent as sin.

Sometimes you recall a gorgeous view of the city hundreds of feet in the air. Other times you recall a blue bed, but the thing you remember most is mirrors. You see yourself clearly in them. You see him with you.

All the while a budding friction between you and your husband continues to grow. You find yourself telling him more often to brush his teeth, shower, anything to combat this bizarre stink he’s taken on. Some days it’s so bad, you swear you smell rotting meat before you realize it’s him. Even the sound of his voice grates on you, both rough and shrill in a way that agitates you further and further into isolation in the house you once happily shared.

On that third day at work, you’re penciling in a meeting regarding a potential collaboration with Superplastic when a rhythmic knock at the door jostles you from focus. You look up to call them in, but Homelander is already striding inside, stealing the words right off the tip of your tongue. 

“Goooood afternoon,” he drawls, the door falling shut behind him. For as much as you’ve continued to see and hear of him, you had forgotten how different he sounds in person, the force of his presence instantly a weight upon your body.

Your brain completely malfunctions. Night after night of erotic whispers suddenly crashes down upon you in visceral detail, how multiple times you woke to the throes of an orgasm with his voice still echoing in your ears. Humiliation and arousal flood you in equal measure, turning your skin hot.

Homelander smiles at you from the other side of your desk all the while. 

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks slyly. The question hurdles you backwards in time to the moment you were seated in this exact spot with him whispering downright pornographic filth into your ear, coaxing you into touching yourself into a frenzy.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was a dream.

“Good afternoon, sir,” you finally manage to say, wincing internally at the sound of your own voice.

“Don’t be so formal,” he says, giving a dismissive little wave. “C’mon, call me Homelander,” he says, once again circling around behind your desk. Your eyes widen slightly, mouth bone dry when you try to swallow. He sweeps his cape out of the way before taking a leisurely seat on your desk. He lifts his brows, pinning you with an expectant stare. “Go on, try again.”

“Uh, good afternoon, Homelander,” you correct yourself. His proximity to you is making it hard to focus–there it is again, the scent of vetiver. He smells like summer grass warmed by the hot sun, and he has a gravitational pull to him that has you leaning subconsciously towards him.

His smile widens. “Much better.” His eyes narrow a touch, flickering down briefly before snapping back up to meet your gaze. 

“So! How’s the office, everything nice and cozy?” He asks, one hand braced next to him on your desk, the other gesturing vaguely about. Before you can even answer, he points to your lap. 

“Chair good? I know how important lumbar support is when you’re sitting all day.”

Discussing your lumbar support needs with Homelander certainly had not been on your bingo sheet.

“Uhm, yes, it’s–” Again, before you can get a real answer in, he’s sitting up and making sweeping motions with his hand.

“Let’s see, up, up, lemme take this bad boy for a spin,” he says, making your heart leap up into your throat when he catches you by your waist and effortlessly lifts you up out of your office chair, turning to set you on your feet. With a flourish of his cape, he drops down into your chair, legs spread wide.

You gawk momentarily, watching him spin side to side.

“Oop, there’s that lumbar,” he says, leaning back into it. He’s grinning at you all the while, the moment entirely surreal. You huff an incredulous little laugh, crossing your arms. He’s a little ridiculous, you realize, but personable. 

Have you been the problem this whole time, turning him into something he’s not? You’re starting to lose yourself in your thoughts as you watch him.  

“How about we test the suspension? C’mere,” he says, giving his thigh a pat. “Sit.”

You snap back to attention, your smile falling away. “Pardon?”

“Sit,” he says again, his smile a predatory curve of his lips. He pats his thigh again “Right here.”

You look down at his lap and then back up, your ears buzzing with the timbre of his voice. Logically, you know that what he’s just demanded is wildly inappropriate, yet the silken tone he said it in leaves you utterly agreeable. Slowly, you lower yourself into his lap, uncertain of why you wouldn’t abide by such a request.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he coos, bracketing your waist with his arms.

 ”That’s better, isn’t it?” He asks, his hands moving up and down your thighs. You shiver, a chill running down your spine despite the fervid heat of his body pressed along the back of yours.

A distant voice in the back of your mind whispers it wasn’t a dream, though you can barely hear it over the pounding of your own blood in your ears.

“Relax,” he murmurs, the word a warm huff on your neck. 

Like a marionette whose strings have been cut, your body goes slack against him. Your heart continues to race even as a wave of calm sweeps through you, the two sensations frantically battling one another. Eventually, however, your pulse succumbs to the warmth seeping from him, and you begin to calm, soothed by the slow sweeps of his palms and the way he’s muttering sweet nothings into your ear. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, the smile audible in his voice. “That’s it. Feels good, hmm?” His hands move more firmly on your thighs, closer to a massage.

You make a thin noise of pleasure, tipping your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“When I tell you… that I have been looking forward to this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. 

“But I had to be sure you were the one. Most people start to go insane after the first night, maybe the second, but not you.” His teeth, sharp as razors, delicately graze your throat. “You’ve been… perfect.”

“What’re you talking about?” You ask, feeling slightly slow and disoriented.

Homelander chuckles, the rumble of it moving from his chest through your back. 

“My voice. It tears apart people's minds… But not yours. Why is that?” His lips are warm on your skin, trailing lower. He lifts a hand to pull your collar askew and kiss at the exposed crook of your neck.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes flickering shut. His mouth feels incredible, the slight dampness that his lips leave behind making you especially sensitive to the air as he exposes you to it. It’s difficult to focus on anything other than the drag of his mouth. 

You don’t even realize he’s unbuttoned your shirt and slipped it off of your shoulders until he’s kissing that newly revealed skin, nipping playfully at your bra strap.

“Here I was thinking you were just a pretty, tasty little thing… Turns out you’re so much more,” he purrs between kisses. A jolt of pain makes you gasp and then whimper, the sting of it soothed by the way his tongue drags over the spot afterwards.

It takes you a beat to comprehend that he’s just bitten the junction between your neck and shoulder, sunk his sharp teeth in so deep you smell the faint tang of blood.

“Turns out you were meant for me all along,” he says between slow drags of his tongue, lapping at your soft skin. He moans for the taste of it. “Watching you writhe in your bed, wanting me, touching yourself while your useless husband slept. I thought I was the one going fucking insane.”

Comprehension is a slow, creeping thing to your addled mind.  “You were watching me. The dreams, you–”

“Whispered them into your ear while you slept,” he interjects, kissing at the shell of your ear. “You took to ‘em like gasoline takes to a spark,” he says, that voice of his wrapping around your body and limbs like a dozen slithery tendrils. 

The touch of his voice is just as tangible as his hands sliding up your thighs, your stomach, cupping your breasts through your bra. You let out a shuddering moan.

“Every night, I was so sure you’d break. But you didn’t. You won’t.”

His confession brings back images in a flood, untangling dreams from memories. You remember a silhouette standing over you, you remember piercing red eyes glowing in the dark, and you remember the filth he spoke over you that made your body twist and sweat and come harder than you ever have.

All of it intertwines with this very moment, with his hands on you, his body against yours. It has you moaning, writhing back against him the same way you did in your bed beneath his gaze.

“Call your husband,” he tells you, hand slipping between your legs, hooking under your skirt.

“What?” You rasp, clutching at his wrists. You shiver at the hot slide of his tongue just behind your ear.

“Call your husband,” he repeats, thick gloved finger rubbing sparks between your thighs. “Tell him you’re coming home early. Tell him to wait for you in the bedroom.” 

Leaning forward, Homelander snatches the left landline off the desk and pulls it into your lap, resting it atop his hand while he fingers you in slow, precise circles.

You pick up the receiver and dial unsteadily. It doesn’t sound like something you shouldn’t do. Even as it rings, you feel no dread or apprehension. Just the drive to obey the voice cradling your mind and body so very sweetly.

“Hi,” you exhale when he answers the phone, screwing your eyes shut. It takes everything in you just to focus on speaking. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m coming–” your breath catches as Homelander pushes your panties aside and breaches you with a single finger, sliding into your soaked pussy in one slow, continuous slide. 

“I’m coming home early today,” you say, holding both the receiver and Homelander’s wrist in a white-knuckle grip. “Can you wait in the bedroom for me?”

He’s thoroughly confused, but all that does is frustrate you. His voice comes through ugly and nasally over the phone, grating through your nerves instantly. You feel the urge to yell at him, but the breath is stolen from your lungs by the sweet press of Homelander’s thick gloved finger crooking inside you, stroking exactly the right spot to make you see stars.

“Just–just do it, please? Wait in the bedroom, I’ll be–I’ll be home soon.”

You slam down the phone just in time, letting out a cry, lurching forward. The phone tumbles from your lap with a clatter and Homelander catches you with an arm across your chest, pinning you back against his chest.

“Good girl, that’s it. Give it up for me. Lemme feel that pretty pussy come,” he moans, grinding up against you, the sound of his finger pumping into you obscenely loud and wet. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. Whet my appetite. Gimme something before it’s time to fucking eat.”

You come loudly, clenching your legs tightly around his hand. He stops just to feel you tighten and convulse through his glove, his lips and teeth and tongue all wreaking havoc at your throat.

“Fuck,” he sighs, followed by the low rumble of a chuckle. Your thighs shake as he pulls his hand away. You can smell the heady smell of your own slick when he brings his finger to his mouth and sucks the taste of you from it, the sound lewd in your ear.

“You even taste pretty,” he hums, voice frayed like a growl. There’s an inhuman split to his voice, like there’s three of them layered over top of each other.

The whole world feels like it’s spinning. You have no center of gravity, just the sensation of movement as Homelander effortlessly maneuvers you up into his arms. Your head lolls against his chest, vision swimming.

Warm lips press sweetly to your forehead. “Rest up, pretty girl,” he murmurs. The words instantly make you drowsy. “I’ll wake you up when I’m done.”

The world slips into darkness. The last thing you’re aware of is the feeling of flying.

When you come back to consciousness, the darkness remains. You recognize your bedroom ceiling above you, familiar shadows dancing across it, beckoning you awake. 

A dream…?

Your limbs are leaden, weighed down to the bed. You try desperately to untangle the fantastical from what is real, walking backwards through what you remember. Touch, smell, sound, and pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever known. You remember Homelander’s hands on you, in you, his body and voice all around you, the sound of–

Sound. What is that sound? It’s close to you, but you can’t move your head to see. It’s a series of wet, soft squelching noises akin to someone manipulating piles of drenched laundry. Then you hear a crunch like a tree branch snapping, and you start to recognize another sound; panting breaths followed by an erotic moan of pure indulgence.

You open your mouth to speak, but your throat is too tight, and nothing escapes it. As you come back to yourself more and more, you realize the bed beneath you is warm and wet.

You manage to force a noise from the back of your throat, a strained sound born of the effort to move. Next to you, something shifts. 

“There’s my pretty girl,” coos Homelander’s familiar voice. Your heart crashes against your ribcage, the only part of you that can freely move expressing the shock of hearing his voice here in your bed.

“Shhhshhhh, no need for that,” he murmurs, moving into your line of sight, hovering over you. His face is spattered in something dark, but when he smiles his sharp teeth are white and bright, even in the dim moonlight of your bedroom. His voice soothes your frayed nerves almost instantly.

“Take a deep breath,” he says. You do so easily, as if you were never paralyzed. “Good. Perfect timing,” he tells you, his tongue sliding along his teeth, his lips, threads of saliva stretched between his teeth snapping. “I’m still plenty hungry for you.”

He kisses you, swinging his leg over to envelop your body with his. All at once you can move again, your bones no longer weighed down. You relax beneath the press of his lips and the weight of him, exhaling a breath through your nose. 

“Kiss me,” he mumbles fervently. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him with everything you have, your lips sliding slickly against one another. He licks the taste of copper into your mouth.

Blood, a distant part of you realizes. Whatever horror you should feel is replaced by building excitement, his touch reigniting heat throughout your body. Like gasoline takes to a spark.

His lips move to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, trailing bloodied kisses down your throat. He has less patience for your clothes now than he did in your office, tearing your shirt and bra from your body with a feral noise. His hands are upon you instantly, spreading the blood on his hands down your chest, massaging your breasts until he works a needy moan out of you.

“Can’t believe I almost ate you, too,” he says with a smile.  Before you can respond, he leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth, hands sliding lower. You gasp and push your hands into his hair, slicking it back with what sprayed into it. His mouth is inferno hot on your skin, goosebumps erupting over every inch of you. His tongue is a devilish thing, working your nipple in circles, but it’s the light pinch of his teeth that make your whole body lurch.

He makes quick work of your clothing from the waist down, too, stripping you until there’s nothing left between you and the blood soaked fabric of his suit. His hand disappears from you, and you hear a metallic click followed by the hiss of a zipper. He nudges your legs apart to settle properly between them, pulling off of your breast with a satisfied pop. He licks his lips of the blood he had spread to your breast, eyes wild and glowing faintly red.

“Let’s get rid of this while we’re at it,” he says, lifting your hand. He kisses the tip of your ring finger before taking it into his mouth, gaze flickering up to meet yours as he takes it all the way down past your knuckle, your ring disappearing past his lips. He catches the metal band with his teeth and drags it slowly off, sucking your finger clean of it. A chill runs down your spine at the crunch the metal gives as he effortlessly chews and swallows it.

You stare in numb, abject shock, but even that rapidly fades to the fires rolling through you. 

Hands on your thighs, he easily pulls your ass into his lap. You look down to see his cock freed from his suit pants, thick and nicely curved. He bends over you, hitching your legs up over his shoulder, and you feel the flat curve of the bottom of his cock press against your cunt. He grins down at you, rocking his hips to grind through the slick mess he’s made of you.

“Let’s see if you feel as good as you taste,” he says, claiming your lips once more. He pulls his hips back, and you feel the head of his cock drooling precome as it slides over your clit, down to your soaked cunt. The dull stretch of it splitting you open burns, has you keening against his lips. He kisses you again and again and again.

“That’s it, baby. Open up for me. Lemme feel that perfect pussy,” he grits out, voice frayed at the edges like he’s finally beginning to lose that cocky composure of his. Even still, his voice retains that otherworldly aspect to it. He bottoms out with a low moan, hips flush to your body.

“Oh fffffuck,” he groans, cock throbbing against the velvety walls of your cunt. You can feel the pulse of him, even more so when you squeeze. It gives you an unexpected and intoxicating shot of power when doing that makes him gasp. “Perfect. My perfect fuckin’ match, fuck. I knew you would be, I knew you were made for me,” he babbles, bordering on incoherence as he starts to thrust, gripping your ass with one hand while the other goes to the headboard, slamming it against the wall with each snap of his hips.

“H-Homelander,” you moan, tangling both hands in his hair, dragging your nails harshly down his scalp, the back of his neck, throwing your head back against your pillow. 

He gives your ass a sharp slap just to feel the way your cunt clenches with it, a growl rolling from his throat.

“Come with me,” he demands, instantly sending the pressure building in you into a soar. He moves faster, deeper, each slam punching out pitchy noises from you. Every drag of his cock feels like a spark inside you, like the strike of a match igniting stars in your peripheral vision. You come with a near scream, nails biting fruitlessly into Homelander’s skin. 

He rides your orgasm fiercely, fucking you into the bloody mess of your bed until he, too, succumbs to the clench of your cunt. He lets out a guttural cry, the wood of your headboard snapping in his grasp as his release floods you, so hot that it nearly burns.

You’re both panting into each other's mouths, lips occasionally brushing. There’s a possessive growl to the edge of Homelander’s breaths, as if warning anything that might hear of the danger of approaching.

“You’re mine now, you understand?” He says lowly, his velveteen voice hoarse, almost animalistic. “My match, my mate, mine.”

Deliriously, you nod, mind still lost to the aftershocks of your climax, your pussy quivering around the girth of his cock. It’s not enough for Homelander, who gives another sharp thrust, knocking an overstimulated moan out of you. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” you gasp, meeting his gaze. His harsh expression softens at that, the crimson glow fading from his eyes, leaving only that familiar ocean blue in its wake. He kisses you leisurely, but with no less hunger. He lets your legs slip carefully from his shoulders, but remains buried deep inside you, staking his claim as thoroughly as possible. He kisses your neck, makes you wince when he sucks at the mark he bit into your skin.

“You got no idea how long I’ve been looking for you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You stroke your fingers through his hair, soaking in the feeling of his superhuman body thrumming against yours. You tighten your grip in his hair and lift his head, bringing his gaze up to meet yours. He looks curiously at you until that curiosity flips to surprise as you kiss him, earning a pleased little hum from him. 

When you part, his surprise has melted away into something dazed and soft. Something like love, or maybe satiation. The two look so very similar.

Homelander kisses you a while longer before he nestles down against you.

Your head lolls to the side for the first time, and only then do you see the full scope of the horror resting next to you; bones jut out from the mess of viscera and meat, shredded clothing thick with blood and innards. It looks like the work of a rabid animal, something vicious and hungry.

You know instantly that the mess is all that remains of your former husband. 

It occurs to you that you should feel a dozen different awful things about the pile of gore splayed out on your bed, but ultimately, the only thought that lingers is how he finally suits that rotten meat smell.

Looking back to the ceiling, you continue to comb your fingers through Homelander’s hair. His weight is a comfortable thing upon you, and beneath the smell of gore, you’re soothed by the gentle, warm scent of vetiver. Your eyelids grow heavy, and within minutes, you drift to sleep.

When you wake, there is no tang of blood heavy in the air. You sit up in a bed that is both alien and familiar. It isn’t until you see the mirrors around you that you realize that this is the bed from your dreams.

You feel warm, despite the early morning chill beyond the blankets. You feel a tug, and as you look down, Homelander pulls you back down into his arms.

“Mornin’, pretty girl.”

“Morning,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. He hums pleasantly as you touch him, your hands roaming the naked scape of his body, testing that he’s real. You draw back, brows furrowed.

“Everything alright?” He asks, his voice as rich and creamy as ever.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, a touch uncertain. “Weird dreams.”

He smiles, bringing your hand up to kiss. “Well, you’re awake now.”

Somehow, you’re not so certain. 

Regardless, you huff a little laugh and snuggle back into his arms. 

“Love you,” you say, losing yourself to the familiar comfort of a partner in your arms, in your bed, in your heart. The longer you’re there, the more the dreams fade away, replaced with the reality of your waking world and the sweet smell of vetiver.

Homelander squeezes you to his chest, stroking idly up and down your back with his knuckles. You can hear the smile in his voice as he returns, “I love you, too.”

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - September 15-21

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my new(ly repurposed) Patreon!

1. A beam of hope for North America’s most endangered sparrow

“Dozens of conservationists, gathered some distance away to avoid spooking the skittish sparrows, celebrated the [release of the 1000th captive-raised sparrow] in an unprecedented recovery program that in only a few years has doubled the bird’s wild population, from a mere 80 five years ago to some 200 today. […] “What we have achieved is the best case scenario.””

2. U.S. overdose deaths plummet, saving thousands of lives

“"In the states that have the most rapid data collection systems, we’re seeing declines of twenty percent, thirty percent," said Dr. Nabarun Dasgupta, an expert on street drugs at the University of North Carolina. […] According to Donaldson, many people using fentanyl now carry naloxone, a medication that reverses most opioid overdoses. He said his friends also use street drugs with others nearby, ready to offer aid and support when overdoses occur.”

3. Propagated corals reveal increased resistance to bleaching across the Caribbean during the fatal heat wave of 2023

“”[… Y]oung corals bred for restoration are a lot more resistant to bleaching under extreme levels of heat stress than the prevailing corals on the reef." [… Unlike with the previous propagation strategy, fragmentation, e]very time a population reproduces, new offspring receive newly mixed sets of genes through recombination, making them different from their parent colonies and thus enabling adaptation.”

4. Habitat Management Helps At-Risk Butterflies

“For a number of at-risk butterflies in the United States, habitat management can play an important role in keeping them from going extinct. [… “In] places where people are actively engaged with ways to manage the habitat, the butterflies are doing the best,” said Cheryl Schultz, a professor of conservation biology at Washington State University[….]”

5. Study: Protecting the ocean helps fight malnutrition

“[The study] found that fish catches in coral reefs could increase by up to 20 percent by expanding sustainable-use marine protected areas — that is, areas where some fishing is allowed with restrictions[, … and] that sustainable-use marine protected areas have on average 15 percent more fish biomass than non-protected areas. […] “Allowing regulated fishing in marine protected areas can support healthy fish populations, while also having a positive impact on the quality of life of surrounding communities.””

6. [FWS] Advances Effort to Create Urban Conservation Footprint in Tucson

““We want to continue to work together to create an urban footprint to improve access to nature, conserve habitats, and improve air and water quality.” […] The area provides habitat for several federally listed species, including southwestern willow flycatcher, western yellow-billed cuckoo, and Mexican garter snake. If protected, the area will also help connect critical habitat for jaguar and Chiracahua leopard frog.”

7. ‘Exciting’ solar breakthrough means energy can be kept in sustainable batteries that don’t overheat

“The technology is based on a specially designed molecule of carbon, hydrogen and nitrogen that changes shape when it comes into contact with sunlight. These are common elements - providing an alternative to other technologies relying on scarce materials like lithium. […] A unique feature of the system is that the molecules also provide cooling in the photovoltaic cell[, which can store solar energy “for up to 18 years.”]”

8. Sea turtles make big comeback on sandy beaches at 2 British military bases in Cyprus

“[… The] number of nests surpass[ed] last year’s record count by nearly 25%, environmentalists said Tuesday. […] “The steep increase in turtle nests has been the result of a consistent, systematic ‘hands-off’ approach, together with enforcement efforts to minimize illegal, damaging activities on nesting beaches[….” D]aily patrols by volunteers ensure that aluminum cages set atop the nests remain in place to protect the turtles from predators like foxes and dogs.”

9. First ever photograph of rare bird species New Britain Goshawk

“The last documented scientific record of the bird is from 1969[….] Working closely with [“the Indigenous Mengen and Mamusi peoples”], WWF hopes to support local stewardship to safeguard the future of these incredible biodiversity hotspots through community-led conservation.”

10. Hospitals begin offering breakthrough radiation therapy for metastatic cancer tumors

“[First,] a patient is injected with a radioactive glucose (or sugar) tracer. The machine picks up the tracer in real time and in bright colors, [… then] reads a signal from the cancer cells breaking down the tracer. [… “The] machine is automatically and autonomously reacting and responding to those signals by shooting radiation back to their source[….]””

September 8-14 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Okay, let's talk about Ming, and how some people are talking about him like he's an irredeemable monster. (It's okay that you don't know anyone who was emotionally neglected and you have a decent relationship with your parents, but it's not okay to pretend your experience is universal and everyone else is garbage)

I know some of you remember my loud defense of Ray from Only Friends, and here I am again, to fight for the loveability of the character who doesn't know what to do with all their big feelings.

Ming's family, from what we see, is not a warm, loving place for him to learn emotional intelligence.

May is pretty great, but there is only so much an older sibling can do when your parents are physically or emotionally unavailable.

Ming's mom had only been seen trying to control Ming's life, marry him off to a woman, and insisting he is incapable of being on his own. Not exactly mom of the year.

Ming is clearly incredibly lonely, and so, so sad.

He likes Tong, but mostly after his sister and Tong are already involved -- because it's safe to transfer feelings you don't understand to someone that those feelings cannot go anywhere with. When he starts to feel too much for Tong, he leaves the country, because he can't process those feelings, and he doesn't want to hurt his sister with his crush on her boyfriend.

He comes home, and he sees Joe first. His likeness to Tong is obviously what pulls Ming in, but it is very quickly apparent that Ming is genuinely interested in Joe, but he has no fucking Idea what to do with that interest.

And when Joe clearly likes him back? It gets worse. He lashes out and then feels bad, but mostly doesn't apologize, he just moves on, because apologies require reflection on what you've done wrong, and Ming doesn't know how to do that! We see him struggle with it multiple times!

He does not know how to deal with being wanted. With the expectation of care that comes with that. Because, ironically, Tong and May are the best example of a relationship he has to look at, and he had to tell Tong to go take care of May when she was sick.

His crush on Tong remains so deeply a part of his identity, even as it obviously fades, and it clouds everything because Tong uses Ming's affection for him against him! And Ming doesn't see that! He doesn't see Tong's flaws until after Joe's accident, and even then, I don't know that he acknowledges Tong's actions as cruelty and manipulation, or if he ignores that all under his own guilt and grief over losing Joe.

And this brings us back to Ming and Joe.

Ming didn't have a crush on Joe. He sort of accidentally fell into a situationship, but then became intensely possessive and obsessed with Joe. We see him be so unbelievably soft with Joe, in moments where he's allowing himself to be, to stumble through having feelings and carrying for other people. But there is so much holding on tight that Ming can't seem to turn off.

He holds on to Joe --both of them!-- so tightly. He sees threats to his claim on Joe everywhere, and he can't confront that idea, so he doubles down on being possessive, and he looks cuckoo-bananas.

But it really just reads to me like he doesn't know what to do with feelings! I know people --especially ND people, who needed a little extra help to learn how to person -- who had emotionally neglectful parents and didn't understand healthy attachment until years of therapy and some determined friends got involved.

I don't have the greatest track record for "healthy attachment", and lean towards codependent in a lot of my relationships.

Some of the people I love the most are "hold on tight even when it's not good, because if I let go you'll leave" people.

They are absolutely deserving of someone who loves them. They deserve a happy ending and middle, too. They deserve the chance to learn and grow and become better versions of themselves.

(and they deserve people to love and cheer for them even when they're being assholes and throwing tantrums and hurting people because they are still learning how not to do that)

AND THIS DOESN'T EVEN TOUCH ON HOW JOE ALSO MISSED A LOT OF EMOTIONAL LESSONS, BUT IT MADE HIM UNHINGED IN A TOTALLY DIFFERENT WAY THAN MING!

Idek if this is coherent, or everything that I wanted to say, but here it is, my treatise on why Ming is my baby, actually, and why I will defend him until he is either better or actively worse.

ETA: what Ming has done is obviously not okay, reasons are not excuses, but I do think he deserves a chance to learn. and to tell Joe he loves him.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖Make it Stick: Pt. 2 The Princess

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky x ofc x Steve

Word Count: 4331

Tags: dark!fic, mob/mafia au, mob!Bucky, mob!Steve, dubcon/noncon, sexual coercion, half-sibling incest, m/f/m, non-con drug use, mentions of torture (non graphic), double penetration, forced tattooing, forced orgasms, enemies to lovers

Summary: When his babygirl—his sweet pea, little one, puppy ... half-sister—is recaptured after her latest attempt at running away, Bucky makes a power play in front of the entire Bratva to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

Dark and smutty content below the break. Consume responsibly. Bucky and Lena’s relationship was partly inspired by that cuckoo half-sibling couple in The Crow 😅

Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!

Brighton Beach has always belonged to the Mob.

Decades ago, it’d been the Odessa Ukrainians who reigned supreme, but Bucky’s father was a weak man, and once he’d died and Bucky had taken over leadership of the Rusă-Română Bratva at nineteen, things had changed.

In the ensuing eighteen years, he’s not only seen to it that his faction rises to the top, he’s also been ruthless enough to ensure that their dominance is never challenged, his position as the Dragon of Hydra firmly cemented.

The Dragon’s Den is one of many businesses under his direct control. It’s a popular club in its own right, located on a busy strip of similar nightlife lining the two hundred block of Neptune Ave., and acting as the unofficial epicenter of Hydra operations.

Extra bouncers have been placed outside tonight to weed out the undesirables, but even with the modified guest list due to the night’s more … illicit activities, it’s still as packed as ever. The downstairs is filled with bodies, booze, and music in no time.

At first glance, it really could be any other night, but look a little further, and the incongruencies are readily apparent. Bucky’s had everything set up in the back, a space no more than ten feet by ten. It’s just a corner, not some stage or grandiose point of focus. It’s not like they have the lights all trained on them or anything dramatic like that. Viewing isn’t mandatory by any means. … But what he’s doing is also right there for anyone who wants to look over and see. And he’s under no illusion that every single soul present doesn't know what’s going on—either because they’re watching it, or because they’re making sure to pointedly not watch it. Tongues have been wagging ever since they'd tied up Gleb and dragged Lena out.

He starts with Gleb, putting all his “tools” within view of the poor bastard but not using much more than his fists and his words. He gets a gut punch in, breaks a finger or two. Kid stuff. Bucky’s never been overly enthusiastic about torture, but you don’t hold control over any faction of organized crime if you can’t at least make yourself comfortable with it. Bucky can appreciate it for what it is, and for the nastier stuff he’s got his specialists. Besides, sheer terror and anticipation can be just as crucial to putting on a good show as anything else. Gleb’s been a crying, sniveling mess since three minutes in, so Bucky’s halfway disgusted and halfway satisfied. Mostly, he’s just discouraged that his little one has been letting such a weak man stick his prick in her. Ugh.

He takes his time, stepping away to have a drink or to chat with someone every once in a while. Bucky usually enjoys his Friday nights lounging and socializing amongst his friends and associates, after all, and he’s not about to sacrifice his entire evening to Gleb.

The Den is Bucky’s home away from home. He even has private quarters above—an amenity he’s taken frequent advantage of after many a night spent overindulging. In his youth, when he’d been new to power and Polina had been nothing but an irrelevant child of his father’s second wife, the luxury accommodations had hosted Bucky’s escapades with dozens of the most beautiful women that Brooklyn had to offer.

But that lifestyle changed once Lena came of age eight years later.

Bucky hasn’t touched another woman—hasn’t wanted to touch another woman—in the decade since, his obsessive love for her often resisted but always returned, despite her token protests. It’s an open secret, considered fodder for gossip amongst the wives. Bucky doesn’t see why anybody should be shocked. He’s always wanted things that he knows are off limits. His little one included.

She’s finally back, and Bucky is more thrilled at that than he is about anything else. Of course Gleb’s betrayal can’t go unaddressed, but Bucky’s working him over more out of obligation than any true recreational interest. He’s got him tied to a pipe. The man is panting and breathing open-mouthed at this point, some of his blood on the plastic sheeting from the fist he’d taken to the nose to start off their evening together. He’s sweating through his undershirt like a pig.

Bucky himself has been naked from the waist up ever since Natasha returned to deliver the requested transfer sheet and blithely remarked that he was “seeping” through his shirt. Normally, aftercare would see her slathering him in ointment and taping bandages over the raw skin, but Nat’s pissed at him and she’s not offering, and he’s pissed at her for being pissed at him, so he’s not asking. He just chucks the shirt when it becomes a lost cause to the blood, plasma and sweat. Whatever. It's hot in here, anyways. And he knows Lena is looking her fill whenever he turns back on her to go focus on Gleb, which is even more satisfying.

It’s because of her that he hasn’t done anything too gruesome. As a rule, Bucky usually leaves the worst of his torturing to those who have a better taste for it (the widows). And while he fully intends to make Gleb hurt before he’s given his very own pair of cement shoes, Bucky still doesn’t want to do anything too traumatizing in front of his main audience.

He walks back over to where Steve has her. He’s been holding her still against his chest, Bucky’s own tie looped around her neck and gripped in Steve’s fist behind her back, his other hand wrapped around her waist to keep her still as she plays her part in the demonstration.

Bucky stands mere inches in front of her and sips his drink, letting his eyes rake over her form. “You haven’t been eating enough, sweet pea. We’ll have to fatten you back up.”

Her lip curls. “You’re such a fucking pervert.”

“Takes one to know one.” He leers at her even longer for the snark, letting his free hand trail lightly along the curve of one silk-covered breast. She’s small. Barefoot like this she barely comes up to his chin. But she’s got a fat ass and a bitty waist that’ve always made Bucky want to do bad things to her, even when they were younger. Lena is blonde like her mother had been, with pale skin and other Nordic traits that set her apart from the darker hues and Slavic features that most of Bucky’s family sport.

How could he ever have been expected to keep his hands off of something so tempting?

She’s beautifully disheveled right now: hair fallen loose from however she had it up before Belova tranqued her and Pietro stuffed her on a jet, body barely kept decent in some slip of a dress that Steve’s put her in, tears already making her mascara run in grey-black tracks down her cheeks. Bucky’s always had a kink for watching pretty girls cry. “You should smile,” he tells her, mocking her by sticking his lip out in a pout. “People’ll think you aren’t having fun. This is your party, after all.”

“What are we celebrating?” she says, her effort at sass somewhat hindered by the waver in her voice. She’s not as brave as she wants him to think she is, but the front she insists on putting up makes Bucky’s heart twinge in fondness. His stubborn puppy.

“We’re celebrating your glorious and long-awaited homecoming, of course,” he coos. “All these nice folks? They showed up just to welcome you back.” He leans in to kiss her cheek, lingering there to whisper right against her skin, “And I missed you too, sweet pea. You got no idea how much.” He feels her shiver before she hisses at him, like a cat. He pulls back and gives her an assessing frown. “You’re so uptight,” he scolds. “Never did know how to let go and have a good time. I’ve always had to help you relax, haven’t I?”

Her pale skin colors beautifully. It takes her a moment to recover, but when she does she tries to hit him where it hurts, simpering a snotty little, “Oh, I don’t know. I was having a pretty good time on your yacht.”

Anger sweeps through Bucky, white hot and thrilling. Little Polina Barnes thinks she’s good at pissing him off. She is, but she’s got no idea how much her brattiness turns him on, too. If she did, she might think twice about opening her smart mouth (and Bucky can’t have that, he’d be so bored). Aside from her new penchant for leaving the flipping country, he’s always kind of enjoyed the thrill of hunting her down and dragging her naughty butt home.

But Belize is taking it too far. His yacht is taking it too far. And letting another man touch her is way beyond too fucking far. Bucky needs to reel his Little one in.

He sets the rim of his glass to her lips, tutting when she only glares up at him. “Don’t be that way, Lena. C’mon, have some. I want to see you loosen up a little.” She just presses her lips tighter together, and Bucky feels his cock thicken in his pants as he imagines using it to pry that prissy mouth wide open. He gives her a knowing smile. “No? Hm.” He finishes off the drink himself and sets it aside. He grabs her face and thumbs roughly over her lower lip, smearing the matte red of her lipstick down onto her chin. “Have it your way, Puppy. Steven?” he says, not looking at the man holding her still. “You’ve got our party favors?”

“In my left pocket,” Steve says, not reaching for them himself because he’s holding Lena’s waist and the tie wrapped around her throat. He’s not choking her, but the pressure on her neck has another effect. Bucky knows a few dirty secrets about his Little one that he’s sure she wishes he didn’t, namely that having a firm grip around her neck gets her wet. Bucky smirks and keeps his eyes on hers as he takes the liberty of reaching around her body and slipping his hand into Steve’s pocket. His fingers find the small shapes and close around them.

“Here we go,” he murmurs, pulling his hand back and holding the items up for Lena to see, chuckling when her face goes slack in shock. Her cheeks darken in a fierce blush and she starts tugging against Steve’s hold with renewed effort. It gets her nowhere of course, and Bucky and Steve share a brief amused look from over her shoulder. Bucky steps closer and pins her between them, hands stroking over her shoulders. “You didn’t think I brought you here just to watch Gleb get his, did you sweetheart? Oh, no.” He shakes his head slowly. “Mm mn. You’re gonna get yours, too.” He puts his lips to her ear and looks in Steve’s eyes while he whispers, “How long do you think before you’re cumming in front of all these people?”

Her struggles intensify, and she tries to head butt Steve behind her, but of course she’s too short for it. She huffs when his grip only tightens and she runs out of steam. “Ugh!”

“Don’t fight it,” Steve tells her, and she sneers back at him.

“Still playing the loyal dog, Steven?”

“Eh, I prefer attack dog. But sure.” He winks at Bucky and bares his teeth in a fake snarl. Bucky laughs. He really does love Steve.

“Ugh! Lemme go, you pathetic dumbass!”

“Hey. Don’t you be mean to Steve. He’s only doing his job.” Bucky puts the smallest of the three party favors in his mouth, letting it sit on his tongue and gripping Lena’s jaw hard to force her to open up for him. He shoves his tongue in, delivering the pill against her will and moaning theatrically to make her even more outraged. He holds her mouth shut after, pinching her nose until she finally capitulates and swallows. Only then does he allow her to have air, tutting in mock sympathy as she regains her breath. “What’s the matter, puppy? What’s got you so worked up, hm? I know it’s not whatshisface back there. Is it just being back home?” He cradles her face and murmurs tenderly, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

Her face crumples and she sobs a little, the sound hardly audible in the room's loudness, but Bucky couldn’t possibly miss it when he’s this tuned in to her. He kisses her again, this time very gently, letting their lips rest together for a moment afterwards; and he can feel the way she has to fight the urge to lean into it, to seek more. She absolutely despises him, but she has an enduring need for him as well, and she’s never been very good at hiding it.

“Tell me you missed me,” he breathes, his own desire winning out over the game for just a moment. “Please. What’s it gonna hurt to admit it?

“I hate you.”

“Mm. I know, Love, I know.” He brushes his lips against hers. “But you missed me all the same. Missed this.” He lets his hand trail down between her legs, working up underneath the silk of her slip. She whimpers and begs tearfully,

“No! Bucky, don’t.”

"Don't?" His fingers trail over the seam of her panties and he hums knowingly. "Your fancy panties are getting wet, Sweetheart. Did you wear these for me, or for your loverboy back there?"

“People will see!” she hisses.

“So? Let them see. You think anyone's going to step forward and stop me? Hm? Think somebody in this room is going to tell their дракон that he can’t touch what’s his? Because it’s what? Indecent?” He chuckles, thoroughly enjoying her humiliation. “Mm mn. You know that’s not happening, Princess.”

“Don’t. Please. Just … not here. Take me upstairs.”

For a second, Bucky actually pulls back to look at her face. But then he sees what it is she’s uncomfortable about, her pained expression flicking over to Gleb’s bound form behind them. Bucky feels jealous rage shoot through him. He’s always been meaner when he’s jealous. “You don’t want him to see?” he grits, then forces himself to soften his tone. “Oh, no no no. You can’t hide it anymore, puppy. Not from him or anyone else. I know what you like,” he reminds, cruel and quiet. “You know just how well I know.”

He’d bugged her devices starting when she was fifteen. He knows every dirty thing she’s ever watched, from the time she first learned how to touch herself. And his Little one knows this because he’s told her. It’d been the most satisfying moment of his life, when he’d told her that he felt the same way and watched the shock and mortification bloom on her face. That was the day he’d finally made her his—though he’d forced her to admit every single one of her filthy little fantasies out loud before he laid her down and took her virginity.

“I know how you like to feel owned,” he whispers in her ear, thrilling at the hitches it elicits in her breathing. “How you like to feel watched while powerful men touch you. What better way to satisfy those urges than by being taken by the Dragon, right in front of all his men?”

“Please don’t. You can’t.”

“What can’t I do?” he purrs, and she cries softly,

“You can’t, please. Because they know …”

“They know what?” he coaxes, wanting her to say it. He peeks up and looks at Steve from over her shoulder. “Know that you’re my sister?” he whispers. Steve’s eyes darken and Bucky's mouth curls. “Well, that shouldn’t bother you either, puppy. You and I both know your affinity for all those naughty step-sibling videos.” She whines miserably and he hushes her. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed. It’s actually a really popular genre. Number … seven, on Pornhub?” He kisses her cheek. “Right up there with M/F/M threesomes.”

Adorably, her breath catches and she stiffens against Steve’s body, now even more aware of his hulking form behind her.

Bucky hums, pleased. “There’s no need to be ashamed.” He peels her panties to the side and slips the tip of one finger along her lips. She’s not exactly soaked, but she’s not completely dry, either. “Of course, actual brother-sister incest isn’t quite as popular, but we know there’s a niche market for everything, don’t we?” Lena makes an outraged little sound that goes straight to his dick. He leans back enough to watch her expression as he holds up the second of the party favors for her to see. It’s white and thin, less than two inches long, and shaped like an itty bitty torpedo. “Something else to help you loosen up,” he tells her gleefully. “Do you want to take a guess where this one goes?”

She makes an adorable ‘meep’ of a sound and clamps her legs closed over his hand. “Don’t.”

He laughs. “Aw, good guess, little sis’, but not quite.”

“Step-sister,” she corrects shakily. “Bucky ...”

He smiles as he tries to read her, confused and tentative at first, but then growing into something devious. “Oh, I see. You’re honestly embarrassed about that? That people know we grew up together, shared the same house? Mmm." He licks his lips. "That’s not all we shared.”

"Stop it."

He watches her, thrilling in a huge surge of lust mixed with something dark and nasty. “Wow,” he astounds, goading her. “Oh boy. Just think what you’d do if they all knew the truth.”

“Bucky please.”

“Steve knows, you know. I told him forever ago.” He watches her eyes go wide and her body stiffen against Steve’s.

“You … you told …”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweet pea. He thinks it’s hot, too.” Lena looks honestly too shocked for words, and Bucky leans down to give her an absolutely filthy kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth and holding her jaw there for it while, between her legs, he drags the suppository through her moist folds. She squeaks, and he pulls back. He lets her see him handing it to Steve. “Will you do the honors, pal?”

“What?” Lena breathes, lost. The sweet, dumb thing.

Steve keeps hold of the tie wrapped around her neck, but he has to let go of her waist to get at her. Bucky’s able to grab her just as she starts to try and fight it. “Ah ah ah, hold still,” he coos, yanking her wrists down at her sides in an iron grip. He steps even closer, squeezing her between his body and Steve's to subdue her wiggling, pressing his thigh forward between her legs. She freezes when her fighting just puts more pressure on her clit, and Bucky hums, pleased. “Good. Be a good girl now, Lena. We don’t want this to hurt.”

She goes straight back to struggling, and Steve shoots him a peeved look from over her shoulder. Bucky growls and sticks his face in her hair, warning lowly, “You know: there’s a syringe of morphine waiting in the wings for your boy back there.” Lena stills again, and he hums, “That’s right. Now, if you want him to actually get it before I let the widows have at him, then you’d better stop fighting and take what’s coming to you.” She sobs at the corner he’s got her backed into, but she doesn’t go back to fighting them. Bucky keeps her in his firm grip so that Steve can get to work behind her. “And you were wrong, puppy: It doesn’t go in your pussy.”

It’s too late for her to react. By the time her eyes widen in realization, Steve’s hand is already at her backside.

Bucky grinds his thigh forward as her pupils expand from the feeling, the bundle of aphrodisiacs summarily pushed up inside her tight little pucker. “You keep that in, now,” he warns. “You should start feeling it in the next few minutes, then I’ll give you your real consequence.”

She sobs quietly. “I hate you.”

“Old hat, baby.” He steps away from her, leaving Steve to keep her in place. The promise of lessening Gleb’s upcoming pain seems to be motivating her to behave. Bucky walks back over to the pole where he's got the sad sack tied up. Just to scare the crap out of him, he spends a moment tracing all the different tools that’ve been laid out for their use.

“Please,” Gleb begs.

“Shshsh,” Bucky coos, stepping close and cradling his face, intimate. “You fucked my baby sister,” he says. “What did you think was going to happen when I got a hold of you, hm?” Gleb trembles in his bindings and Bucky reaches for the pliers—a classic. Gleb’s eyes all but bug out of his head. “Colectăm mereu,” Bucky purrs in Romanian, reminding him who he’s dealing with. “You stole from the Bratva, son. Now you have to pay the price.”

“Please. I-I’ll do anything!”

He punches him in the gut, then grabs him by the hair and hisses in his face, “You already did everything! Took what belonged to me. Not very smart.”

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

He punches him again. "I sure hope that pussy was worth it.” He smiles while Gleb is trying to regain his breath. “Eh, it probably was. I should know.” Gleb squints in disbelief, and Bucky feels another perverse thrill shoot through him. “What?" he laughs. "Don’t look at me like that. I thought you knew. She didn’t tell you she likes to fuck her brother?”

Gleb’s face screws up. “Stepbrother.”

“You know, I’m getting real tired of that misconception,” Bucky drawls, turning back around to get a look at his Little one’s face. Her head is tipped back against Steve’s shoulder, the drugs working into her system by now. Bucky grins. “I told you I’d get you to loosen up, didn’t I? Big brother knows how to make you relax.” He tosses the pliers aside and saunters slowly back over to her. "I just told Gleb about us,” he says. “But I think it’s about time we make a more public announcement, don’t you, sweet pea?”

Her eyes widen. “Bucky, no.”

He grins wolfishly and spins around. He calls out to get everyone’s attention, and in a few seconds everything has quieted, the room eerily devoid of chatter despite the continuing pulse of the club’s music. Bucky goes over to the bar and demands something to toast with, and a flute of champagne is produced with shocking speed. He turns back to the room. “Thank you all for coming out tonight to help me welcome our beloved Polina back home!”

Some people clap, perhaps expecting some long, heartfelt speech. But Bucky cuts to the chase and says, “I’m sure you all know about she and I.” He waits, amused and sipping the champagne. When the crowd shifts nervously, he waves his hand at them and scoffs. “I mean that’s common knowledge, right? Everybody’s tongues were wagging when my father dumped my mother to marry his whore.”

He gestures back to where Steve is holding Lena, supporting her increasingly drugged little body. “Sweet little Polina was only a few years old, back then. And my dad’s infidelity wasn’t her fault." He shrugs. "So I inherited a bratty little sister. I guess the fact that we were still both kids makes the whole thing even juicer, huh? I know you all talk about it: 'The Dragon likes to fuck his own step-sister'. How scandalous.”

He laughs and walks back over to Lena. He caresses her face, leaning in to give her a dirty kiss with plenty of tongue. The crowd murmurs louder. Bucky pulls back and looks out at the room. “The Bratva wives love a good scandal. Don’t you, ladies?” A few of the wives in the crowd look flustered at being called out. Bucky salutes them with his champagne glass. “Well you’re in for a real treat, my dears. Because little Lena back here isn’t just my step-sister. Oh no.”

(Bucky’s always liked putting on a show, so he’s unfazed when making the actual announcement makes his cock harden further in his pants.)

“You see, dear old Dad was fucking around with his pretty shlyukha for a few years before he finally married her, and you know he even knocked her up.” The room goes absolutely silent, and Bucky feels a sick thrill go through him. “That’s right,” he croons, looking back over his shoulder at the stricken expression on his Little one’s face. “This sweet pea isn’t just my step-sibling: she’s my father’s daughter.”

It takes a surprisingly short amount of time before the crowd goes back to chattering, everybody staring wide eyed—some with disgust, others with excitement over this incredible new thing they have to be outraged over. Bucky shouts at the bartender to hand out champagne to anyone who wants it. He toasts the room. “To Polina!” Only a few dozen people raise their glasses and murmur in response, too shocked to know what to do in light of this revelation. Bucky really doesn’t give a crap. This is just a display of his power, just another way to show them—and her—that he can do whatever the fuck he wants and nobody is going to do a thing to stop him. The room slowly returns to the bustle of before, and Bucky returns to stand in front of his girl. “See puppy?” he taunts, lifting the champagne flute to her mouth. “I told you nobody would care.”

It’s a lie. Everybody cares, of course. But his point has been made. He watches as she willingly drinks the champagne. “Good girl,” he praises, setting the empty glass aside. He cups Lena’s face and gives her a tender kiss. “Now, why don’t we give them a show, huh?”

“Bucky,” she whispers, a plea.

But he can see her body relaxing into Steve’s hold despite her mortification, the drugs softening her up just like Bucky’s been waiting for. He pulls the remaining party favor from his pocket and holds it up for her to see. “Don’t worry,” he coos. “Your punishment isn’t going to hurt nearly as bad as Gleb’s.”

He turns the base of the tiny pocket vibrator on and starts it buzzing. “Now, let’s get you really begging, why don’t we?”

Part 3

Masterlist

If you like what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

Commissions: contact via Tumblr messenger or here

[sgiandubh]

Saint Cillian and the photoshoot

I haven't watched Peaky Blinders and I am not really planning to. By the same token, I am still pondering if losing three hours with Oppenheimer is a brilliant plan or a desperate patch for a long, rainy Sunday afternoon. Hell, I even have no idea if it's still shown anywhere in Athens and have plenty of other things to get myself busy with. So I can't tell you anything about Cillian Murphy's acting abilities - besides the obvious 'he's been around for quite some time now, and not too shabby', I have absolutely no idea.

Two days ago, the UK edition of the GQ magazine proclaimed Murphy 'The Man of the Moment' and celebrated it with a substantial photoshoot you can peruse here: https://www.instagram.com/p/C3S27bfgO1X/?igsh=aGYweGg5bWpkOWo4

Yes, it should totally ring a bell:

Phew...

Or... uhm, this uber cringey...

Now imagine I am the not-so-friendly diplomat in Mars Attacks and I know next to nothing about gender on Planet Earth. Remember (LOL)?

Ahem. As a Martian, I would surely think, based on that photoshoot and with no particular curiosity to double-check, that Cillian Murphy is projecting here, as a wonderfully sarcastic friend (thank you, dearie, always 🙌❤️😘😘) put it in a recent convo, 'a flamboyantly gay, fame whore vibe which is the opposite of everything Cillian is. '

I have no reason to question my wonderfully sarcastic friend's sanity. The man is married since forever to Yvonne McGuinness, a real visual artist with real credentials (uh-oh!), plus he is also a very dedicated father of two teenage boys. Intensely private Murphy never talks about his love life/marital bliss in the scarce interviews he grants. And I bet no cuckoo 'snark corner' exists in his fandom (he has to have one, right?) to question this absolutely legitimate PR strategy.

This also should make absolutely clear to the Disgruntled Tumblrettes and other cheap trolls out there that, once and for all, actors cannot choose their photoshoot outfits or poses. These are, of course, discussed by said actor and his/her PR with the magazine people, the photographer and his team. But ultimately, the overall concept and its implementation are left to the magazine (who ordered and paid for the shoot) and the creative team. Trying to fathom someone's sexual orientation based on an ephemeral image, tailored to fit a particular type of targeted content, is akin to the deepest, most worrying brand of delusional stupidity.

Video killed the radio star, double standard and parochialism killed OL's fandom more surely and effectively than *urv & Paul C's in(s)anity.

[nikkiiiscute]

I'm probably going cuckoo cuckoo but compare the handwriting and try to see what pic 2 says and i'm starting to think it ain't home thats the villain non non, I believe it's Playfellow Workshop©️! It's Dorelaine and his twisted reasons to isekai'ing the neighbors all in this hell disguised as a Puppet Show for kids, But IT'S NOT bcuz Dorelaine was doing this either in the name of research or a freakishly twisted cult - y shit he's obsessed with changed him from a Man to make kids dreams come true with the stars of the show doubling as the crew to an Old Man who's twisted cult beliefs made him hurt his own crew by making them the puppets only making them have certain aspects left of who were they once, deleting a crew member for speaking out of term and torturing and massacred the entire company. Yeeahh i AM going cuckoo cuckoo, But atleast the exam is over.

[lgbtqreads]

Fave Five: Horror with Trans and/or Nonbinary MCs

The Honeys by Ryan La Sala (Genderfluid, YA) The Sacrifice by Rin Chupeco (YA) Hell Followed With Us and The Spirit Bares its Teeth by Andrew Joseph White (YA) Manhunt by Gretchen Felker-Martin  Tell Me I’m Worthless and Brainwyrms by Alison Rumfitt, by Alison Rumfitt Bonus; Coming in 2024: Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker-Martin and The Woods All Black by Lee Mandelo Double Bonus: These are all…

[bonefall]

Clanmew Masterpost

Clanmew is a constructed language made for Warrior Cats that I, @bonefall, run with my buddy @troutfur! I make the vocab and he does the grammar. I hope that this post will become a good, central place to keep links to everything we've done so far.

CURRENT VERSION: 1.0 LAST UPDATE: 6/3/2023

Clanmew is an OSV-order language, made with the sounds cats make in mind. "Base Clanmew" is built around the Clan Culture updates of the Better Bones AU, which means it is made with the ecology of southwestern Northern England in mind and only contains words for plants and animals found there. It also has phrases for cooking and crafting.

(specific regions modeled: Lancashire, Chester, Manchester, Merseyside, Clwydd is modeled for river biomes specifically)

You are free to use it for your own projects! We encourage you to consider how this language would evolve in your Clan's history, and add or remove words to make a dialect that reflects the culture's feelings and needs.

THE BASICS:

Everything you need to know for basic structure is in CLANMEW 101. Start here.

We have a constantly updating LEXICON of all the words we have made so far.

Have you made a dialect? Let me know and I can link you here so others can see what you're doing with it!

Below the cut:

In-universe information; How Clanmew evolved linguistically

"Expansion Pack" posts where I discuss etymology

Pronunciation stuff (until I make that IPA chart I keep promising)

Working translations; Names, parables, OC submissions

Dialect submissions (These are manned by other people!)

Historical Trivia

The linguistic evolution of Clanmew from Old Tribemew and Parkmew

Animals are named for the sounds they make.

How pronouns for objects change based on how the speaker feels about it.

More, using human examples

there is a secret post about cursing but you have to find that on your own ;)

Through Time Travel Shenanigans, Hollyleaf's name evolves into the word "Scourge"

The Clanmew Play-by-Play of that

The word for Everything

How hard is it for speakers of the other in-universe languages to pick up Clanmew?

On nicknames!

Squirrelpaw and Crowfoot discover corn

The names of the three ideologies... also thistles.

The Invalid Five

Expansion Packs

Colors

Directions, way-finding

Spirituality terms

Rocks

Beetles

Follow up: some plant parts

Patch (pattern) vs Patch (plants)

Den, camp, territory, construction

The two violets

Shapes of flowers

Volume

Generic terms

Rollypollies and centipedes

Insults

Rain... because this is England

The Clan Clock; time terms

The four seasons

Clerics and Common Herbs

Roses

Water movement

BIRDS AND BATS

Finches

Texture

Dogs

Mint

Parts of fur

Forest terms

Foxes, parts of a forest

Cuckoo bird

DEER

Shade and understorey

Cedar

Waterside words

Pronunciation Stuff

Closest thing to an IPA chart I currently have

My process for coming up with words based on vibes

I was asked for more behind-the-scenes stuff so here you go?

How I hold my mouth when I speak

Trout Tips

How would Clan cats pronounce the Slavic TS, or the word pizza?

On the Double yy

Working translations

BB!Scourge's new warrior name, Iceheart, in Clanmew... and Nightheart!

Light, moon, wind, BB!Raggedstar's pre-honor title name

OC SUBMISSION: Flameshell, Fogwhisper, Willowsong

OC SUBMISSION: Lichennose, Mudthistle, Longpounce

OC SUBMISSION: Fallensky

PACK PACK KILL KILL

"I love you"

Baby talk

"What have I done?"

"Fool Tale"

How to Clanmew-ify a strange word

Dishonor Title for "Mudpuddle"

OC SUBMISSION: Riverrunner, multiple-word names, walking words

OC SUBMISSION: Firefang, Rabbitdash, Peachfeather, plus a bunch of words for weasel-like animals

Ivypool

The use of tense in names

PROPHECY SUBMISSION: "Dust and flame will combine to destroy home"

Skywatcher

OC SUBMISSION: The Caldwell Family

Foxheart

Runningnose

PROPHECY SUBMISSION: Six will come of every rank

OC SUBMISSION: Witherstrike

"I like this" and also parasitic worms

Prism, rainbow-color

OC SUBMISSION: Piebald Creature

Gayheart

Sneeze and Knockout

OC SUBMISSION: Penny-fitzgerald

OC SUBMISSION: Voidwhisper, Chalkwhistle

OC SUBMISSION: Poppyflare, Spikemane, Blizzardfang

OC SUBMISSION: Burning Hawk-fur

Mistyfoot

BRAMBLESTAR BUTCHERS THE BLOSSOMKIT NAMES

Dialect Submissions

Pfurr Clanmew (@troutfur)

[bluerosefox]

[2023 Prompt List 1][Here] [2023 Prompt List 2][Next] [2023 Prompt List 3][Next]

|Why Ra’s Would Summon the Ghost King (Also Twins AU) [Part 1] |Danyal, Danny, Phantom [Part 2] |WIP [Part 3] |Bio!Dad Jason and Bio!Mom Jazz (With Oc!Kid or Son!Danny) |Ghost Gotham (With Bonus Ghosts Martha and Thomas) |Danny Says Clone Rights |Robin’s Haunted Halloween (Feat. Ghost King Danny and Ghostly grandparents Martha and Thomas) |Library Cryptid Danny |Twins to Trio? (Dani mistakes Damian as Danny, and Damian learns his twin might not be dead) |Twins AU BUT WITH ANGST! |Mom!Dani (Square up Superman) |Free Flying Graysons (Feat. Ghostly John and Mary Grayson) |Comes in Twos (Twins! Jason and Danny die on the same day) |Foreboding Words of Warnings (Feat. Competent Ghost King Danny) |Across My Memories (Feat. Ghost King Danny, Ghost!Prince Jason) |Consorthood Via Combat (Feat. Ghost King Danny, and Danny dating any Bat of your choosing) |Wrong Number Au (Danny sends a rant text to Tucker... Only its not Tucker) |Todd and Phantom, Mostly Ghostly Shenanigans (Danny and Jason try to get out of the GZ together and bond) |Ellie “I WILL bite you” and Danny “He’s just a baby” Fenton (Deaged Danny and caretaker (and tiny bit feral) Dani (Ellie) watch out Gotham, she’ll bite.) |Double Troubles (another Damian and Danny twin au but they wanna see how long their families notice they switch places) |Everything, including the bride. WAIT, BRIDE?! (Dead Tired pairing, Tim now regrets being a smart cookie as a kid and solving a magical puzzle box while Danny regrets beating Pariah Dark cause he got the old King’s bride now as his own) |CAT Ghost INSTINCTS (Damian brings home a... interesting new acquaintance who has some interesting... quirks) |Peek-A-Boo Champ! (Jazz and her baby being taken by a cult. Jason coming to save them. And Uncle Danny being the best at peek-a-boo) |Teeny-Tiny Kitten (Danielle ‘Ellie’ makes a wish and later gets found by a certain cat and bat) |Same As The Day I Lost You (Mix de-aged Danny, and siblings!Damian and Danny, add in some teleporting/portaling when the bats are fighting the League and you get this idea.) |Cuckoo Clocks (Clockwork sends a certain RR a sticky note during his solo run to come find Phantom and later find him) |The (Not) Normal One... (a reborn/reincarnted Danny idea where he’s the normal one in the batfam... only he’s really not.) |Dip and Kiss (Jason totally would kiss the person who ended the Joker in an Oscar worthy movie moment) |The Trouble With Time Travel Guilt (Danny starts an AITA thread due to his guilt over the future that will never be, he trauma bonds with fellow heroes and time travelers over it) |Friendships Between Realms (YJ and Danny Shenanigans Being Peek Friendship) |Misunderstandings and Miscommunications (Danny panics and runs, good Fenton parents want their son home, well meaning but not knowing the full picture best friends, on a war path Jazz and the maybe wooing of RH, and the DCverse getting caught in the middle of the chaos) |A Little Robin (Danny gets stuck in a Robin doll/plush and winds up in Gotham) |Kid's y'know? (Youngblood wants to be an astronaut this time, and Danny... Has to stop him from running amok the JL Watchtower) |Gothamites Never Really Rest (Johnny was a crime alley kid, Kitty was the daughter of a mob boss, and Jason was a kid they pseudo raised before their deaths. They meet again when Kitty and Johnny return to Gotham and find budding crime lord named Red Hood)

[the-solar-system52]

TPOH UPDATE THEORY

OH WE ARE SO BACK!!

I wasn't expecting an update this week, and almost missed it since I checked the website too early, but here we are!

Now there is A LOT to unpack in this page, and if you know my theories, then I'm sure you think I'm about to talk about the parallels between The House of Lead and Negative in this dialogue. Which I 100% will, but another time. I want to talk about the Lead House in itself first.

When I first started with my RGB and Negative theory, I said that the House of Paint and House of Lead where supposed to be parallels to RGB and Negative, and I still stand by that.

But as I read recent pages, reread old ones, and was offered different perspectives from other fans, I'm began to think a lot about Lead House and Paint House as their own CHARACTERS, and not just plot points to parallel other characters.

Just listen to this stuff RGB says, this is very interesting characterization! And also incredibly depressing. Lead House's strange and physics-defying architecture being explained by it trying to fill the void left by being split apart, and it's extreme loneliness because of that is a very tragic situation for a literal house to be in.

And when I first read Double Exposure, I was under the impression that either The Butterfly or Negative owned the house, but this is seemingly debunked in this page. And that fact puts the previous pages in a very different context.

RGB outwrite states it here. This House has a personality, toying with RGB and Hero by trapping them, but not actually harming them. It seems to just be excited to be inhabited by people, when it hasn't for so long, and doesn't want them to leave.

Unlike the Paint House, this House can't be owned by anyone, and chooses it's shape based on whatever it wants. And although it seems to take an interest in the conversation Hero and RGB are having (evident by it spawning in the mirror maze when they were talking about Negative) it doesn't seem to be directly controlled by them.

And gosh I love this panel so much! It seems entirely self aware of how it's gone "cuckoo" due to its loneliness, but turns it into a joke. Or maybe its not supposed to be a joke, and the House just doesn't have any other way to communicate, both options are equally sad.

But seeing how much personality Lead House has, it made me realise that Paint House doesn't really share the same traits.

Its design is entirely dependent on person who is controlling it. Although it reflects the inhabitants thoughts, like Click's face in the trains set, Hero's up-high bed, a bunch of plushies spawning in, etc. All these examples all come from the thoughts, wants or memories of Hero when she has the House's key. I wouldn't say it has much of a personality or consciousness at all.

And though this system may be convenient for our protagonists, it is very inconvenient for the House itself. It straight up FALLS APART when Hero isn't paying enough attention to it! And consistently gets more and more abstract when controlled by a distracted 8 year old's mind.

So, Lead House has more individuality, isn't controlled by anyone and therefore doesn't fall apart or abstract. But, because it can't be owned, its gone insane with loneliness and isolation.

Paint House can be owned and wouldn't be considered lonely, but is far too dependent on others and is falling apart because of it.

Both houses are incomplete in their own way, so the obvious solution is for them to be fused back together into the House of Lead Paint!

The House of Lead Paint would be a balance between an individual personality, as well as being influenced by others. And they wouldn't be lonely anymore if they were together, plus once again being a home to someone! I could definitely see Hero and RGB living there, but instead of just outright controlling the House, they are able to ask the House for certain things, (or maybe the House could still read Hero's thoughts, but get to choose if its wants to change or not) and it will be more of a character.

This will obviously take the stress off Hero, since she won't have to be constantly thinking about the House just to stop it from abstracting or worrying about her dreams changing the house, and instead it could take care of itself at times, while still being helpful to our protagonists when they need something.

I think this may be happening sooner rather than later. Specifically because of RGB's "It may be as well for us to stay outside for a while" line, implying that something needs to change before Hero and RGB can go back into the Paint House.

This also seems like a stand in for a 'Tree' to this part of the story. "Big structure with emotional issues that needs to work through its issues in a symbolic way and transform into something else" Hero being the current owner of Paint House, having a track record of wanting to help out Trees, and needing a way to get out of Lead House, it seems perfectly in character for her to want to merge the Houses back together again. And now that the houses are in the same area to eachother (with the folded page being opened) I could 100% see this happening before the end of this arc. Probably as a conclusion to them getting out of the Lead House.

(anddd it could maybe be foreshadowing for RGB and Negative RGB merging back together???) (Fnaf sb ruin eclipse reference???) (tho, if that does happen, it would most likely be at the climax of TPOH)

I can't believe I'm getting so emotionally attached to the character arc of two HOUSES. But I just needed to get this rant out of my system.

So I'll probably talk about the dialogue relating to Negative another time, since this is already very long. Maybe I'll wait till the next update, since I'll undoubtedly have more things to rant on about then. But I hope you enjoyed this, even if it's a bit different from my usual RGB-centric theories.

[kit-williams]

Cuckoo Anon

Firmly assuming this would be non Canon but this popped in my head and I Must spread it!

Everybody Here is 21+

You know those kinda cheesy romance novels you see in the book/magazine sections of stores?

With handsome, sometimes shirtless, men holding collapsing women in long silk gowns? With titles like The Highlander's Woman or Drowned by Temptation.

...You have to turn your eyes away with a blush as you walk past the book section in your local grocery store.

Astarte romance novels, a Whole new genre has popped up over night and you are Not coping well.

They range in subject and Marine type, Taming the Chaos, Renegade Revelry, His Loyalty Abounds.

Oh lord you are So embarrassed but you can't look away! Or rather you keep flitting your eyes trying to not look, only for them to get pulled back.

The photography for them was honestly immaculate, and that makes you both respect the artist, and loath them all at once.

Good lord, you should just hurry up before Your Astartes gets back from finding his items.

Then again...a quick peak wouldn't hurt. Just for curiosity! In fact you'll Only read the description! Not actually going to read about...that kind of stuff with a Space Marine.

You reach for the shelf.

"Hrm?"

"Eep!" You jump at a familiar grumbling greeting behind you. Whipping around you see your Astarte, with him is a cart full of items he'd set out to retrieve. His posture portrays confusion at your sudden outburst.

Your embarrassment doubles, and your blush erupts filling your face and neck with heat. "Ah h-hey b-buddy! Don't sneak up on me like that! You almost made me jump out my skin! Hahaha." You try to play it off, while blocking his view of the shelves that must not be named.

Your Astartes still looks confused. He tries to peak around your body.

You move to intercept. "Ah hey! Did you find all you stuff?? Great! Great! Let's head home I'm pretty ti-ERD!" You yelp as you big fella gently picks you up and places you to the side.

"Wait No No No! Don't look!" He holds you back just using one arm as if blocking a pet trying to snatch something off a plate.

You can't bear to watch and cover your face with your hands. Maybe he won't understand the titles? Oh please let him not understand your written language! He has eyes doesn't he? He'll clearly be able to see you were eying books about handsome space marines sweeping mortals off their feet. You're pretty sure Astartes can understand Context Clues!

"Hrm..." Your woken from your dooming as your marine grunts again, and you peak through your hands. He's  straightening his posture, and he's-he's got something in his hand.

He'd plucked one of those FORSAKEN romance novels off the shelf, then without another word, places it in the cart.

He then sets the cart in the right direction, and with an exceptional gentleness brings his ceramite clad arm behind your person to usher you foreward.

Curiosity, though baneful to you already, bids you look at which one he'd grabbed. Perhaps he thought you wanted it and were too embarrassed to ask. The thought makes want to melt into the floor.

Until what you see surprises you. The book in question doesn't feature your marine type on the cover, not even a similar faction. But the human model does share some physical qualities with...you??

You glance up at your Astartes as you walk. He glances to you, and...the arm behind you moves from simply nudging you along, to being gently but tenderly wrapped around your form, bringing you closer to him.

You blush for an all New reason, as your space marine continues to proceed to the checkout.

Maybe...maybe those novels aren't so bad after all.

I like to think a lot of these are penned by either people fucking/getting fucked by their Astartes OR are written by Astartes themselves. Oh sure you'd expect the far more SPICY novellas to be written by either noise marines or Chaos space marines dedicated to Slaanesh right but then there's one or two that's being written by a Black Templar with a pen name and a whole god damn author persona because he would rather flog himself publicly naked then let anyone know he's the one writing those erotica level novellas about a Chaos Space Marine seeking redemption and using the power of love as a way to heal, and of course the other series he writes about some mortal and a Black Templar.

Of course I also see the grocery store romance novellas also sometimes being set back home usually just either sticking to a single location but given the scale of 40k that either single fortress monastery or battlecruiser is large enough to contain the plot. Also you bed your britches that for those photography ones that got some battle brother from that specific warband/chapter/legion to pose because if you're going to have a trashy cover and use photographs and not god damn paintings that they use to have then its going to be accurate. (Its the Emperor's Children... both Loyal and Chaos who handle this)((Occasionally the Blood Angels))

As for you dear reader... how cheesy some of these stories can be though sometimes they have a habit of veering off into borderline horror at times with how grim and dark some plot lines can get. Sure if you pick one up about and probably written by a Chaos Space Marine there might be a likely hood of casual sacrifices being mentioned though bless the editors and publishers for making sure those stories are properly tagged. However, even the darker novellas tend to follow the 'power of love' trope, the guy gets the gal, etc. (For better or worse in the case of Night Lord stalker and/or yandere romance/erotica novellas)

Goodness me what started out as one or two books has amassed into a collection... and you don't think you can find anymore to add to it when you clearly get ahold of a story written for an Astartes verses a human. How can you tell? Well besides it being written in gothic and from what you've been able to translate how it is written in a very different style... but far more focused on the mortal. Perhaps like with the different types of marines they've got stories that focus on the mortal?

You can't say only speculate as your Astartis refuses to answer you. But how are you to know he's been writing about you and all the filthy things he would love to do to you. Basing the pair in his books, for both mortals and Astartes, off of the two of you. But who can say... its only speculation.

Tag list: @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway • Fly On A Windshield • Broadway Melody Of 1974 • Cuckoo Cocoon • In The Cage • The Grand Parade Of Lifeless Packaging • Back In N.Y.C. • Hairless Heart • Counting Out Time • Carpet Crawl • The Chamber Of 32 Doors • Lilywhite Lilith • The Waiting Room • Anyway • Here Comes The Supernatural Anaesthetist • The Lamia • Silent Sorrow In Empty Boats • The Colony Of Slippermen • Ravine • The Light Dies Down On Broadway • Riding The Scree • In The Rapids • It

This was a double concept album and the last Peter Gabriel recorded with Genesis.

Spotify ♪ YouTube

[twopoppies]

Did you see all the hate this "split" is towards him? suddenly this calm, cute fandom of her turns into a bitters, louders "defenders".

Double sided 100%, because most of them believe they still together and tabloids knows nothing So, how does this make sense for them? if the principal reason and source of that hate come from a headline of a tabloid who don't know a thing.....like cuckoo.

The ridiculousness of this is that they now picture him as someone mean who wanted to trap that woman and lock her down by having children, blindness of reality 😮‍💨 there is no doubt most people dont know how a real relationship works and how PR works... nowadays media is a real crap day by day people is getting dummy.

What on earth is wrong with these people??? 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️