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[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not just a man.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a sharp knock on the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And soon enough, there will be no way out.

[Part 3]

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

[helianyx]

rescuing kittens -

pairing: sylus x mc word count: 2,509 summary: While attempting to rescue a poor cat stuck in a tree, MC… also gets herself stuck in the tree. Fortunately, a certain 'Good Samaritan' known for helping strays just happened to be passing by… tags/warnings: lighthearted, slice of life, flirty banter, developing relationship, silly sweet shenanigans in the style of some Tender Moments. a/n: This was my first little lads fic, technically a one-shot that could have a future follow-up but I don't have anything in mind for it atm. Mid-point in the slow burn, definitely before Grassland Romance & Wander in Wonder. P.S. I forbid any use of my writing in any form of generative or AI training.

(ao3 link)

“Sylus!” Against all odds and reason, she couldn’t stop herself from a thrill of excitement and relief seeing that familiar face just happening to pass beneath her on the sidewalk.

An eyebrow arched as he stopped, lifted his sunglasses, and looked up.

“I’ve heard of cats getting stuck in trees, but this seems a little ridiculous, kitten.” The pointed emphasis on the pet name was particularly heavy-handed this time around. She sighed. Yeah, even amidst her relief she’d expected his teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up…” she grumbled, awkwardly crouched among the branches of a tree in a street-side park, a tiny tabby tucked in the crook of one arm. 

“Care to explain?” 

“I… miscalculated.” Her face scrunched up and she hung her head. 

She had been sure she could extricate the little critter just fine on her own, but now that she was several feet in the air with the cat in her arms, she had to reconsider. It was behaving well enough, but by the look in its eye and the twitch in its tail, she couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t react unpredictably if she suddenly leapt or otherwise maneuvered down. She didn’t want it to hurt itself because of her. 

“I’m not sure this little guy is going to cooperate if I make any sudden movements.” 

“That sucks.” He drawled with faux sympathy, replacing his sunglasses and moving to leave. “Well, good luck with that.”

“Wait! Come on! I know you’re not that heartless! Can you really leave a-...” she pursed her lips, swallowed her pride, and then did her best to put the most pathetic pair of puppy eyes on she could muster. “-Two adorable kittens to their sad fate?”

Sylus choked out a single bark of laughter, looking insufferably smug as ever. 

“All right, all right.” He shook his head in amusement, taking a few steps closer to position himself beneath her. “But I have one condition.” 

“Don’t agree and then tack on favors!” She scolded, and then was painfully, keenly aware she did sound a bit like a hissing cat.

“If a kitten needs saving, shouldn’t it be making cute little sounds so someone will come help it?” He ignored her. And of course he went and said something ridiculous. She felt the corner of her mouth twitch.

Deep down, she was pretty sure he’d help her even if she refused. Or she could even propose a different deal, and in her experience he was typically pretty lenient with her… But in this situation, nothing was coming to mind. 

“...Are you sure about that? That’s what you want?” When had she ever ‘meowed’ in her life? 

He folded his arms and tilted his head. “What? Is the Kitty Queen incapable of mastering her own native language?” 

She sighed and shook her head. “All right, you asked for it…” Clearing her throat, she took in a deep breath through the nose. A meow. A cute, small sound that tugged at the heartstrings. 

“Me- meow~!” It started strong! But then her voice cracked and it sounded a bit like she had a hairball stuck in the back of her throat. Or a cat in heat. She clapped her free hand over her mouth in vehement, physical, knee-jerk denial such a sound had left her mouth.

Sylus just laughed, and even as her face burned with embarrassment, she could hear the warmth in it, rather than sounding particularly mean-spirited. 

“Oh, that was very cute.” He lifted his arms up. “All right, I’m compelled. Hop down and I’ll catch you.” 

She groaned quietly to herself, but took careful hold of the cat in both of her arms. This way she could focus on keeping the cat restrained instead of how best to land. 

Funny, actually, the complete faith she had that Sylus wouldn’t let them get hurt. She’d suspected him many times in the past of trying to deceive or otherwise mislead her, but as he said: when he made a promise, he always followed through.

So while she did her best to angle herself towards him, she otherwise didn’t hesitate to take the leap. She was hardly surprised when, in an instant, dark energy wrapped its tendrils around her waist, significantly slowing her fall to almost nothing. Though once she was in reach they dissipated, replaced by his hands on her hips, effortlessly lowering her down to the ground.

For all of her concerns, the cat in her arms didn’t seem to so much as bat an eye. It mewled softly -and unquestionably adorable- as if saying thanks. 

“And now the kittens are safely returned to terra firma.” His hands withdrew, but instead he lifted one to pet her hair like one would a cat. “Try not to repeat the same mistake, hm?” 

“I don’t see the problem,” she said, brushing his hand off. “You could use all the help you can get stocking up on good deeds to balance your scales.”

He scoffed, and started to say something, but the real cat had expended all of its patience and began twisting and squirming around. Quickly she knelt down to release it, watching as the furry little critter bounded off and disappeared into some bushes. 

“Aw… I wonder if it lives around here. It seemed pretty young.” 

“Young and feisty. Smart, too.” Sylus mused, his eyes glinting with mirth as he looked at her. “Definitely sounds familiar.” 

Denying him for the millionth time seemed pointless. At this juncture she was more or less resigning herself to her fate. There were worse things than being a cat, she supposed.

“Not sure how smart either of us were getting stuck in a tree,” she mumbled, brushing off the fur she’d accumulated on her shirt as she stood up.

“It was smart enough not to scratch the hand that helped it.” He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes at him - and then mimed a scratching gesture, hooking her fingers like claws.

“Just like I haven’t scratched you yet?” Was what he was getting at. He just chuckled, idly rubbing his thumb over the pads of his other fingers. 

“I believe the emphasis there is on ‘yet’.” 

She recalled that he had a habit of caring for stray cats, though. And a habit of getting scratched to ribbons for his trouble. As well as a habit of never holding a grudge against them…

“It’d be worth it regardless,” he went on to say, tucking his hand in his pocket as his gaze leveled on her. “I got to witness a truly fascinating new side of you.” 

Of course he wasn’t going to drop that, was he? She huffed and folded her arms over her chest. 

“Being cutesy isn’t exactly my forte. You should be more grateful for the rare opportunity.” 

For a second he looked genuinely bewildered, and she didn’t think it was because of the second thing she’d said. But if she’d blinked she would have missed it, because it was quickly replaced by that subtle arch of his brow and less-subtle smirk. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I find you cute plenty of the time.”

“You have a delightful way of making that sound uncomplimentary.” She could feel her glower deepen - along with the wrinkles between her brow. 

“Another astonishing misunderstanding.”

Even if she accepted that he was being honest, she didn’t want to really reconsider what that meant at the moment. Instead she dropped her arms along with her bristly attitude and exhaled, letting ease overtake her. She was truly grateful for his help, after all. 

“Anyway, thank you for the assist. It’s still a bit early for you, though, isn’t it?” She cast a brief glance at the sky; the sun would be going down before long, but it was still fairly bright for him to be strolling around Linkon. “I suppose you had business here?”

“I did, but it’s all wrapped up now.” 

“I’m sure I’ll be hearing about it on the evening news,” she sighed. But how warped was she becoming by association with him, that there was a tell-tale bit of amusement in her tone she simply could not deny? 

She might have still had plenty of reservations about him, but at least in her limited experience, most of his enemies were criminals of the worst caliber. There was no way she could quite define him as a ‘vigilante’, but there had yet to be an instance where she felt the people he dealt with were particularly deserving of pity.

“And what about you? You’re not in your hunters uniform. Are you such an altruist you spend your days off looking for more good deeds to hang on your scales?” 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I was just heading out to get an early dinner, when I heard cute little sounds begging for help.”

He didn’t quite laugh, but gave a low, breathy exhale that came close. 

“I was also just about to get a bite to eat,” he said, his tone shifting ever-so-slightly. A hint of gentleness crept in through the cracks, a subtle sweetness that never failed to entice her. “Would you care to join me?” 

It was a little distressing to realize how quickly she felt inclined to accept his offer. Which felt directly correlative to how much she wanted to spend more time with him. Which was borderline humiliating. The more her heart sang, the more she wanted to shove a pillow over it and press down until it stopped.

She tried to make a show of giving an exasperated huff, but it trembled pathetically on the way out as if betraying her. Still she stuck to her very stubborn guns and said: “You could have used that as your bargaining chip to get me down instead of making me meow.”

“I’ll admit the thought did cross my mind… But that wouldn’t be much better than coercion, now, would it, kitten?” 

Her lips tightened into a thin line. “I suppose. Maybe.” 

The real question was: Would she have minded? But the fact he cared enough not to use such ‘underhanded’ methods only made her singing heart that much more exuberant.

“What were you thinking? That sandwich shop nearby?” He offered his arm to her not unlike he had at the auction. For a split second she was bewildered by the fact he had psychically divined her destination - then she remembered this was Sylus, and rounded back on the fact he was just cruising ahead again.

“I didn’t even agree to anything.” It sounded like such a pathetically empty resistance. Because it was, and it had been from the moment he asked.

“Maybe not out loud, but… Didn’t you already make up your mind?”

“Aughh…” She hooked her arm around his. She really didn’t have to do that either, did she? And yet he seemed so finely tuned to knowing exactly what she really wanted, deep down. 

“Okay, but how did you know about Benny’s?” 

“It was just a guess. You like sandwiches,” he said as matter-of-factly as if it were common knowledge, “and when I looked earlier, the ratings I saw would suggest it’s the only place in this area that would make it worth coming this far from your apartment.”

Yeah, that level of calculation sounded like him. Well, she knew a thing or two about him, too!

“Sounds like you’ve never been there, then. Their slow-cooker French dip is one of my go-to’s, I think it’d be right up your alley.” She said with no lack of confidence, enthusiasm beginning to bubble over. “But they’ve got their seasonal apple cider pulled pork right now I’m dying to check out.”

“Hmm, those do sound good,” he nodded, shooting her a grin. “Should we go splitsies?” 

She snorted and laughed, hearing him say things like that always caught her off-guard in the best way, and he seemed to know it. 

“I thought you didn’t like to share. I seem to remember a greedy crow who complained whenever I tried his food before.”

“There’s a key difference between sharing and stealing.” 

She couldn’t stop herself from a mischievous little giggle remembering the look on his face when he’d gone for his last dumpling and found it mysteriously vanished.

He leaned towards her a little, lowering his voice, his breath brushing her ear. “But I suppose… we don’t need to worry about such distinctions between us anymore.” 

Rather than bend away, she turned her face towards him, drinking in his closeness. “How benevolent of you.” 

He laughed and straightened up, and she tried not to be too disappointed. 

“You’re the only one who would say that about me.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But I’m fine being the primary recipient of your benevolence, too.” Grinning up at him, she lifted her free hand to poke his cheek. “Especially if that means I can rope you into a few good deeds here and there.”

He gave her a brief glare for the poke, but it was almost hilariously short lived and as paper thin as her resistance earlier had been. How was she supposed to just ignore that? 

“So that’s your angle? Course correcting me onto the straight and narrow?” 

“Hmm…” Considering it briefly, she probably would have said yes before. But now? It was less about that than she found herself worrying for his safety. “I think I’d be happier if you maybe had fewer people trying to kill you at any given time.”

“That would be quite the list… And who was it that once sat at the top of it, I wonder?” He flashed a ruthless grin. Her expression immediately soured as she nudged her shoulder into him.

“Are you ever going to drop that?”

“Well, I still haven’t heard a sincere apology, sweetie.”

“And now definitely isn’t the time for it, either.” She mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment along her cheeks and the tops of her ears. Still she gave her all in shifting the subject by making a sweeping gesture of her free hand to the building in front of them, cheering enthusiastically. “Because we have arrived! Time to eat!”

“Haha, how convenient for you. All right, then.” 

Benevolent once again, he did indeed drop it as they made their way into the restaurant. But he wasn’t wrong, and she knew it. For something like that though, all of the rage, hatred, and vengeance she’d pinned on him… A simple apology wouldn’t do. 

She was going to have to think of something, some way she could truly show how sincere she was, and paying for sandwiches wasn’t going to cut it. In truth, she didn’t think he cared much about whether she went to extreme lengths, but the real guilt she felt over it wouldn’t be assuaged by half-hearted measures. She needed to really think of how she could make it up to him, even if he didn’t truly seem to hold any grudge against her - like all the strays that had lashed out at him before.

[its-avalon-08]

hi okay so since we have very little mark webber content im doing everyone a favour so like similar to the fernando one but this time y/n watched mark's flying 2010 crash and even though he's completely fine y/n is MAD (like it happened for the second time). Mark tries joking it off after they get home but she gives him the silent treatment+ doesnt let him kiss/touch her. then when she finally gives in she's angry and cries while mark consoles her?

please don't leave (mw6)

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

i had so much fun writing this one thank you so much for this request ! i hope you enjoyed! happy reading <3 do send in more requests! as for pre existing requests- im working on it! lots of love ava

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

y/n practically clawed at the armrest as the grainy helicopter footage on the tv flickered. it couldn't be. not again. the unmistakable red of mark's car was wedged against a barrier, smoke billowing skyward. her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "mark..." the word escaped her lips in a strangled whisper.

the newscaster droned on, thankfully confirming mark was unharmed. relief flooded y/n, momentarily pushing the anger aside. but as the adrenaline subsided, the fury simmered back. this was the second time she'd endured this terror in the three years they'd been together.

the apartment door creaked open, and mark limped in, a grimace on his face. even with the obvious pain, his smile was sheepish. "hey there, drama queen. looks like i caused a bit of a stir, eh?"

y/n remained glued to the couch, arms crossed. the silence in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. mark's smile faltered, replaced by a worried frown. he shuffled closer, a hand reaching out tentatively.

"y/n, come on," he coaxed, "it's alright. just a bit shaken, that's all."

his hand hovered in the air, inches from her shoulder. y/n flinched away, the movement sharp and cold. the hurt flickered in mark's eyes, but he persisted.

the air in the apartment hung heavy with unspoken emotions. mark hovered near y/n, his own leg throbbing from the crash, but the physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional turmoil brewing across the room. he yearned to hold her, to feel her warmth and offer some form of comfort.

"so," mark started, his voice breaking the suffocating silence, "at least this time i didn't manage to take out any cameramen. silver linings, right?"

he forced a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. but as he reached out, y/n visibly stiffened. her back straightened, and her arms, which had been limp at her side, clenched into fists.

mark's smile faltered, replaced by a dawning realization. this wasn't the time for jokes. he saw it in the way her shoulders started to tremble, a silent tremor that spoke volumes.

"y/n," he began, concern lacing his voice.

but before he could continue, a dam broke within her. tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over as she whirled around to face him.

"silver linings?" she choked out, her voice thick with anger and barely contained fear. "mark, how can you even say that? don't you get it? every time you get behind the wheel of that car, my heart stops! i watch those races, glued to the screen, praying that the red and white doesn't end up tangled in a mess of metal, praying that i don't hear your name followed by the words 'critical condition.' this isn't some game, mark! these aren't just crashes, these are near-death experiences!"

her voice hitched, raw emotion pouring out. "and you have the audacity to joke about it? to try and find some humor in the fact that you almost died again? do you even consider what it does to me? the sleepless nights, the constant worry gnawing at my insides? i can't take it anymore, mark! i can't live like this, constantly on the edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop!"

y/n's rant hung in the air, heavy and accusatory. mark stood speechless, his heart sinking with every word. all the flippant remarks he'd planned evaporated. here, laid bare, was the true cost of his passion, the unseen burden he placed on the woman he loved.

shame washed over him. he hadn't truly understood her fear, the depth of her worry. now, seeing it raw and unfiltered, he felt like a monster.

"y/n," he finally managed, his voice hoarse with regret, "i... i'm so sorry. i had no idea. i was trying to be lighthearted, but you're right. it's not a joke. i was a fool. please, forgive me. i promise it won't happen next time."

"it's not enough, mark!" she shot back, tears welling up in her eyes. "what if next time... what if there isn't a next time?"

the room went silent again, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. after a long moment, mark sat on the coffee table beside her, a dejected sigh escaping his lips. he didn't try to touch her again, respecting the space she needed.

minutes bled into hours. finally, y/n's tense shoulders slumped slightly. with a shaky breath, she turned towards mark. he met her gaze, his eyes filled with concern.

"i just..." she began, her voice thick with emotion, "i can't lose you, mark. not like this."

large tears streamed down her face as she spoke, her voice cracking. mark was by her side in an instant, pulling her into a tight embrace. he held her as she sobbed, whispering comforting words into her hair.

the fear, the anger, all of it spilled out in that moment. when her cries subsided into hiccups, mark gently wiped away her tears.

y/n's words hung heavy in the air, each one a hammer blow to mark's heart. shame burned in his gut, hotter than any engine fire he'd ever faced. he hadn't just been selfish, he'd been blind. blinded by the adrenaline rush, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of the race. he hadn't seen the terror in her eyes, the worry etched into her every expression.

"y/n," he started, his voice thick with remorse, "i... i don't even know where to begin. you're right. it's not a joke. it's never a joke. every time i climb into that car, a part of me knows the risk. but the truth is, i never stopped to think about what it did to you. i was so focused on myself, on the competition, on the win, that i completely ignored the cost it had on you."

he took a shaky breath, pulling her closer, "those sleepless nights, that constant worry… you shouldn't have to carry that burden alone. you shouldn't have to live in fear because of my passion. it's not fair. it's not fair to you, and frankly, it makes me question my own damn priorities."

mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration lacing his voice. "this racing… it's been my life for so long. it's given me purpose, pushed me to my limits, made me feel alive. but if it comes at the cost of losing you, then what's the point? what good is a trophy if the person i love the most is shattered every time i race?"

he looked at her, his eyes pleading for understanding. "i can't promise you i'll quit. it's in my blood, this need for speed. but i can promise you this: i'll never take it for granted again. i'll never forget the fear in your eyes. every race, every decision, every corner i take, you'll be there, a constant reminder of what truly matters. and if, at any point, you can't handle it anymore, if the fear becomes too much… i'll walk away. no questions asked. because you, y/n, you're my everything."

silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of his words. but this time, it wasn't a suffocating quiet. it was a space filled with the dawning of a new understanding, a fragile hope for a future where his passion wouldn't overshadow the love of his life.

the silence stretched on, a hesitant dance between hope and uncertainty. then, slowly, tentatively, y/n reached out. her hand brushed against mark's, sending a jolt of electricity through him. he laced his fingers with hers, the warmth a stark contrast to the storm that had just passed.

"i..." she began, her voice barely a whisper. "i don't want you to quit." her eyes, though still glistening with unshed tears, held a new resolve. "but i need you to be safe. to understand how much you mean to me."

mark's heart swelled in his chest. "i do, y/n. more than you know." he pulled her gently towards him, offering a quiet, "can i kiss you now?"

y/n melted into his embrace, lips meeting. he held her tightly, the unspoken promise hanging heavy in the air. they would face this together, fear and passion intertwined. but for now, all that mattered was the quiet comfort of each other's arms.

after a long while, y/n pulled back slightly, a small smile gracing her lips. "just promise me," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

"anything," he whispered back, nuzzling his nose against hers.

"no more 'silver linings' jokes after a crash," she declared, a playful glint in her eyes.

mark chuckled, a genuine laugh that warmed the room. "deal. but maybe a celebratory ice cream after a win?"

y/n snorted. "we can negotiate."

and with that, they settled back into their embrace, a newfound understanding blossoming between them. the future was uncertain, the track still held dangers, but as long as they had each other, they could face anything. as mark drifted off to sleep, y/n snuggled closer, her soft breaths a lullaby against his ear.

[antiquepearlss]

Lance Claus and Varian The Elf (A Tangled Christmas Ficlet)

I just wanted to write Eugene forcing Varian to dress up as an elf for Christmas, and it turned into something a little sweeter.

———

“Put on the fucking tights Varian!”

“No! They’re way too small for me!”

“Yeah well in my defense I didn’t know you could even have a growth spurt, you’re tiny!”

“I’m sixteen!”

Varian scowled up at Eugene, who held a bright green elf costume bundled in his arms.

“Varian it’s part of your community service. Besides, Kiera and Catalina were happy to play elves. And you’ll be with Lance all day.”

Varian raised an eyebrow “playing an elf for Santa-Lance is part of my community service?”

“Yes. Now put on the tights and hat or you’re going back to a cell.” The older man joked.

“I’d rather go back to prison” Varian deadpanned.

Eugene shoved the bundle of clothing into Varian’s arms. The fabric was of good quality, but the outfit itself was beyond gaudy and tacky. Knowing Eugene and Lance, they probably specifically made it to be as idiotic as possible, easily humiliating the wearer.

Who just so happened to be Varian.

He was really starting to regret taking the one year of community service deal. Rapunzel was nothing but kind and generous, rarely asking him to do anything he wouldn’t already offer to do. Bringing back the King and Queen’s memories, deciphering the scroll, helping to repair the damage the Saporian Separatists caused, etc. He was beyond happy to help Rapunzel. But Eugene gladly took advantage of Varian’s subservient condition and asked him to do the most ridiculous stuff. Like wear an elf costume and stand beside Lance as he pretended to be Santa Claus.

The teenager scowled up at his friend who looked too smug for his own good. His face twisted into a content smile. If he didn’t know that Eugene could easily overpower him in his sleep, he’d kick and bite him just for looking like that.

Varian settled for flipping him off, to which Eugene stuck his tongue out in turn.

“Dick.”

“Asshole.”

💙🤍💙🤍💙

After almost ten minutes of humiliating shimmying and struggling, Varian stood in front of the full length mirror in his small room in the castle.

The tights were indeed too small, the green fabric practically a second skin. The matching shirt didn’t provide much modesty either, but at least it was large enough to cover what needed to be covered. The thick red belt cinched his waist, with the bottom of his shirt acting more like a skirt, as it was decorated in white pom-poms. White buttons dotted the front of the shirt, alongside a bright red collar, also lined in pom-poms.

Gone were his thick and protective boots and gloves, which were now replaced with bright green curled shoes with white pom-poms and red and white striped gloves that would do very little to provide warmth for the winter chill.

And gone were his goggles, now replaced with a large, floppy green hat with a little white bell attached to the end. Just to add insult to the injury. A Eugene addition, he was sure. 

Fuck it, he was putting his goggles on over the hat. Just to be a bitch.

Varian groaned, loudly. He could barely move in the get-up. He jingled with every step. Were there bells inside the pom-poms? He looked a Christmas jester.

He would really, really rather go back to prison.

He also probably would, as he was very much considering murdering the snickering older man just outside the door.

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

Varian wished Cassandra would kidnap him again. He’d rather be dangling from hundreds of feet in the air than be doing whatever it is he’s doing right now.

Which wasn’t much, but still, it was awful.

Varian frowned as he and Catalina, who alongside Kiera, were dressed as elves; stood beside Lance, who was dressed as Santa Claus. They were merely decor, while Santa was the main act. With children climbing onto his lap and telling him what they wanted for Christmas, with Varian writing down each and every request. It was for show, he was sure, but he was so bored, and Eugene was very insistent, that he wrote down at least one gift from each child. Ranging from simple toys, to complex gifts, to “world peace.” (Which was going to be very difficult coming from these elves.) Alongside theirs and their parents names.

Despite much prodding from Santa Strongbow, Varian’s expression did not change. He scowled his way through every visit from every child.

It didn’t help that they were in the middle of the town square, with the cold biting his lower body through the very thin tights he was wearing. 

Kiera and Catalina happily played along, dutifully smiling and standing at Lance’s side as he greeted each kid and asked what they wanted for Christmas. It was almost sweet, that the two girls who probably never got the chance to have any traditional Christmas experiences, were so eager to give that to other children.

And the fact that Eugene and Lance, who too never celebrated Christmas as children, were the ones who put the whole event together, was sweet.

It almost warmed his heart, until Kiera started talking.

“Just be glad you don’t have to wear the fake beard. I tried it, it smells awful.”

Varian snorted “I wonder where they got the hair from.”

“Probably Shorty” Lance said as one child shimmied his way off his lap. “Eugene said this beard was donated.”

The three elves shuddered.

Varian groaned as he peered down the line, there were many parents waiting alongside their eager children. There were even adults without children, simply just wanting to say hi to the Santa Impersonator. 

They were going to be here for hours.

“Stop being so mopey, you’re gonna ruin this for the kids.” Lance whispered to Varian in between child visits. “At least you don’t have kids peeing themselves on your lap.”

“And you do?”

“No, I’m just saying, it could be worse.”

Varian gave an incredulous look, before dropping the subject and donning a slightly-less-sneering facial expression.

A little boy with fiery red hair hopped onto Lance’s lap, his short size meaning he struggled a bit, until Lance scooped him up. The small child marveled at the size difference. 

“I’m Richard!” He said happily “I’m six!”

Lance laughed merrily “well Richard, were you good this year?”

The boy nodded his head animatedly.

“Well then, what do you want for Christmas?”

“Why do your reindeer look like that?” The small child took the group off guard by pointing over to Max, Ruddiger, and Pascal, who were sitting off to the side and sporting home-made reindeer antlers.

Lance floundered for a second before answering with a simple “they’re new to the job.”

The kids curiosity wasn’t satisfied, though. Because then next he asked “why is your beard so smelly?”

Varian lifted his notebook to his face to hide his snort of laughter.

“Ah well, I got so distracted by eating cookies I forgot to wash it!” Lance replied.

The child didn’t stop “I thought Santa was supposed to be fat. You’re only a little fat.”

Lance Claus seemed to be at a loss for words, so Kiera piped up with “Santa is on a new workout regimen.” 

“Ohhh.” The child, Richard, accepted. Before Lance could ask the child what he wanted for Christmas again, Richard asked “why does your elf look so grumpy?” 

Varian scowled at the tiny finger pointed his way, and pointedly ignored Lance’s amused look.

“Because I’m working overtime.” He deadpanned.

“Ho ho ho!” Lance exclaimed loudly, before leaning towards Varian and whispering “shut up Vari-elf.” 

Lance’s voice picked up as he exclaimed “we’ve traveled all the way from the North Pole, and the trip makes some elves a little unnecessarily grumpy! Which means they need even more holiday cheer to lighten their spirits! Go hit him with that candy cane, it will make him feel much better!”

Varian glared at the smug Santa as the child happily scrambled off his lap, picked up the plastic prop candy cane, and started whacking at Varian with all his tiny child strength. Lance Kringle, Kier-elf and Catalin-elf doing nothing but laughing as what little holiday joy Varian had was mercilessly smacked out of him by an elementary schooler.

🎅🏿🎅🏿🎅🏿🎅🏿🎅🏿

An hour, and many children later, Varian watched as another kid, an eight year old little girl with adorable Afro pigtails in hand-made flower clips, excitedly climbed up Lance’s lap. 

“Ho ho ho! And what might your name be little girl?” Lance said in his most jolly voice. Which was really just his regular voice. 

“I’m Annette Jones!” She happily exclaimed. Varian sighed as he flipped the page of his notebook and began to write.

“And have you been good this year?”

“Not really, but I tried!”

Varian snorted. He loved the honesty.

“Well as long as you tried, sometimes that’s all we can do! And what do you want for Christmas?”

The little girl pondered for a second, before answering with “I want a bed. I have to share one with my sister cuz we can’t afford two beds.”

Varian’s gaze softened, so did the other three pairs of eyes.

Lance was silent for just the briefest moment, which gave the little girl an opportunity to whisper in his ear. And due to Varian’s close proximity, he could hear every word.

“My sister is really little, and she still wets the bed, and people at school make fun of me for smelling like pee. But I’m not allowed to sleep on the floor.”

Varian felt his heart drop. He knew full well what it was like to be bullied, and what it was like to be bullied over things far outside your control. 

Lance dropped the Holly-Jolly act, and spoke earnestly “well then, a bed for Christmas it is. And is there anything else you may want? A book? A toy?”

The child beamed at the idea of receiving two gifts, which was a little heartbreaking to Varian. He readied his pen. 

“I want an alchemy kit! I wanna be an alchemist someday!”

Varian felt a small smile grace his face. He and Lance made eye contact, before Lance turned away and said “I’m sure my elves can put something together for you.”

Little Annette beamed, and thanked Santa and each of the elves with a quick hug, before running back to her tired-looking, but happy mother.

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁

After what felt like an eternity, but was likely simply forty minutes, the line started to dissipate. And at the end, stood Varian’s closest friend, and the bane of his existence.

“How’d it go?” Rapunzel chirped. “Have fun?” Eugene asked.

“It went well! We had a lot of fun!” Lance exclaimed, before Varian quickly followed up with “I want to be Krampus next year. Also, my ass is freezing.”

“Language, Varian. There are children nearby.” Eugene jokingly scolded.

Varian raised an eyebrow “do you know how many times I’ve been cussed out by my six year old neighbor?”

“Touché.” 

“We got a lot of kids. Like, a lot. This was more successful than I thought it’d be!” Lance said as he got up and proceeded to wipe off the general kid-yuck that had accumulated on his lap.

Rapunzel beamed “I’m so glad! Thank you guys for helping me put this together, and thank you girls, and Varian, for playing along!”

The girls gave their ‘of courses’ while Varian plucked Rudolph The Red Nosed Raccoon off his perch and made his way back to the castle, preparing for a warm evening with many blankets, hot cocoa, a book, and no Eugene or Lance.

“Oh, Varian! Can I have that notebook please?”

Varian stopped, puzzled, but still handed Rapunzel the brand-new leather notebook Eugene had given him for the occasion. (He was a little bummed, it was a really nice notebook, he had hoped he could use it after this was over. But alas.) 

The princess excitedly took the book handed to her and flipped through the pages. 

“Wow” She breathed “you’re right, this is a lot!”

Her boyfriend peered over her shoulder “damn, this is going to take forever to make!”

Varian stood there, confused, while Rapunzel excitedly flipped through the pages of requests. “Wait, what?”

The two looked up at him, amused. “You didn’t think we were gonna ask these kids what they wanted for Christmas and not give them presents?” Rapunzel asked. “Didn’t Eugene tell you? That was your community service assignment, help us make toys for these kids!”

“Wait, so pretending to be an elf wasn’t for my community service?”

“Uh, no, not really. But I guess it can count.” Rapunzel shrugged, confused and a little nervous.

Eugene, however, had the most shit-eating grin.

“You asshole!” 

Despite his smug demeanor, Eugene realized the danger he was in when the small alchemist ripped off his hat and pulled a brightly-colored alchemical bomb out of it. 

Eugene cursed, and booked it toward the castle, the angry teenager hot on his heels, jingling all the way.

Rapunzel sighed, and picked up Pascal-Prancer and began to clean up their little station alongside Max-Comet. Lance and the girls having already made their way to the treehouse.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

By the end of the day, Lance-Claus and his two beloved elves were in their treehouse, sipping hot chocolate and telling ghost stories.

A now blue-haired Eugene had been properly scolded and reprimanded for his technical abuse of power. Not by Quirin, or even the King and Queen, who thought the whole situation was hilarious; but by Rapunzel who was forced to choose a side between her boyfriend and her grumpy alchemist friend.

The three sat in front of the fire, nursing warm tea and watching as Varian’s elf costume burned, the buttons glistening as they melted. Eugene quietly snored as he drifted off to sleep on Varian’s shoulder.

Varian was snuggled in between the couple, with his raccoon draped across his neck. As much as he loved spending his free time with his father at home, there was something special about being in the castle on a cold evening, in front of an ornate fireplace and being cuddled by his closest friends.

He was more than happy to make some better memories here. As the holidays went on, the castle felt more and more like home. Unlike the prison it had become during his time as a Saporian Separatist. 

Varian quickly shoved that thought away, wanting to continue reveling in the blissful peace of the evening. 

“So, I probably should have asked you if you actually wanted to help with our project.” Rapunzel broke the silence softly, lifting her head up from Varian’s hair and looking at him. “I got excited when me and the guys came up with it, that I didn’t think that maybe you’d want to take the holidays off. I’m sorry, if you don’t want to do it I understand.” Her voice was sincere, and the firelight reflected off her kind eyes.

Varian appreciated the offer. The idea of spending the next few weeks at home with his dad, without having to worry about any important projects, just spending time doing as little as possible. A blissful, no-stress vacation, it was very appealing.

But then he thought back to Annette. The little girl who simply wanted a bed just so she wouldn’t be bullied, like he had been. The little girl who excitedly asked for an alchemy kit, like he had when he was her age.

He thought back to all the kids he had witnessed. Many of them had been from the orphanage, as they had intentionally placed themself near Corona’s only children’s home. And even more were from low-income backgrounds. In just a few hours, he had seen so many poor and unfortunate children light up at the prospect of receiving a gift, something they may not be able to dream about under normal circumstances.

He wanted to be able to help those kids. To give them the childhood they deserved. The childhood that had, in a way, been ripped away from him.

He didn’t like blissful, no-stress vacations anyway.

❤️💚❤️💚❤️

Christmas Morning came, and Annette was awoken by her three year old sister. The toddler excitedly made her way down the stairs, the older child following a little more hesitantly.

She had stopped believing in Santa at a young age. Her mother never had the finances to make her wishes come true, so it was an easy conclusion to come to. Santa wasn’t real. Or, at least, Santa was only real for the rich kids.

Meaning she knew that it wasn’t Santa Claus and his elves she had met that afternoon, it was the princesses friends.

Christmas still felt magical of course, she knew enough to know that gifts didn’t mean much when you had your family. But still, it stung just slightly, knowing that all she and her still naive and excited sister were going to get were very few cheap gifts, and barely a handful of candy in their stockings. 

Annette’s eyes widened as she made her way down the rickety steps, and saw presents lining the tree. Much more and much bigger than she ever expected.

Her little sister dashed to open one of the smaller boxes, as the young girl could only stare in wonder.

“Annette, baby, why don’t you open this one first?” Her young mother gestured to a large box wrapped in beautiful shining red paper, a white bow added to the side. A little tag on the side with a pretty cursive ‘from Santa.’

A few moments later, the box opened to reveal a wooden bed, the head frame depicting a beautifully painted mural of flowers, and the mattress already fitted with a sheet, two pillows, and a hand-knitted pink blanket. 

And in the middle of the bed was another box, with no wrapping, and a tag reading ‘from Santa’s Elf.’

Her eyes brightened as she opened the box and saw a large assortment of beakers and flasks, a small pair of goggles and gloves, and a small handwritten booklet detailing various scientific information, beginner-experiments, tips, and lab safety rules. Her own little alchemy kit.

Like for many other Coronan children this year, Christmas was just a little bit more magical for Annette.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Jun 25, 2024

The impact of the riots at the Stonewall Inn in June 1969 has often been overblown. Those few summer days when the beleaguered gay community fought back against the police on the streets of New York City are rightly considered a milestone in the struggle for equal rights in the West. But endless arguments about ‘who threw the first brick?’ have obscured the truth that gay equality was achieved by the activists who persisted in the aftermath, harnessing that energy and changing the world forever.

Perhaps a more important milestone was the march organised by a handful of campaigners a year after Stonewall. Craig Rodwell’s idea had been to make this a yearly commemoration that would supersede the ‘Annual Reminder’ picket events that he had been holding every Independence Day in Philadelphia since 1965. It would be known as the ‘Christopher Street Liberation Day’ – later retrospectively rebranded as the first New York ‘Pride’ march – and it was orchestrated chiefly by Rodwell, Fred Sargeant, Linda Rhodes and Ellen Broidy.

The march took place on 28 June 1970, and it was an audacious display. Police hostility to gay people was rife, the local media were overwhelmingly unsympathetic and there were fears of violent repercussions from observers. The day passed off peacefully, perhaps because of a general sense of astonishment that thousands of gay people would assemble so openly. A reporter for the Village Voice wrote that ‘no one could quite believe it, eyes rolled back in heads, Sunday tourists traded incredulous looks, wondrous faces poked out of air-conditioned cars’. At the head of the march, Fred Sargeant carried a bullhorn and called out instructions to the marchers as they made their way from the West Village to Central Park.

Fifty-four years later, and Pride has transformed from an important act of resistance into a month-long orgy of corporatism and virtue-signalling, full of heterosexuals desperate to identify themselves into an oppressed group with the help of trans ideology. ‘Progress Pride’ flags flutter from every high-street store. This relatively new design – a kaleidoscopic eyesore that has replaced the traditional six-stripe Pride flag – is emblazoned on schools, universities, hospitals, civic buildings. In the city of Arlington in Texas, this year’s family friendly Pride event included displays of dildos, half-naked drag queens and human dogs in bondage gear, all co-spon.sored by Lockheed Martin, the world’s largest producer of armaments. In London, numerous pedestrian crossings have been repainted with the ‘Progress Pride’ motif. Police horses find walking across the coloured stripes confusing and disturbing, so the animals have undergone special training to overcome their fears. After all, it is essential to address the rampant homophobia within the equine community.

What might the thousands who turned out on that summer day in New York in 1970 make of this distorted version of Pride? Those gay men and lesbians who risked social ostracism and physical violence to gather in public have little in common with this garish and unsettling facsimile. A poll from 2021 determined that almost 40 per cent of Americans between the ages of 18 and 24 now identify as LGBTQ. Given the vast majority identifying as such do so as ‘trans’, ‘nonbinary’ and ‘queer’, this means it is statistically certain that gay people are now the minority in this coalition. The early pioneers of gay rights didn’t risk so much for their movement to be usurped by fetishistic heterosexuals with a martyr complex.

It would be interesting to see polling data on how many gay people support Pride in its new ‘trans-inclusive’ incarnation. One recent poll on X asked a simple question: ‘Do you want Pride anymore?’ And although 93.5 per cent of respondents replied in the negative, social-media polls are notoriously useless and we would be unwise to draw any conclusions from them. Still, it is surely significant that this poll was reposted by Fred Sargeant, and that his answer was a resounding ‘No’. That the man who led the first Pride march, bullhorn in hand, should now reject the annual event that he co-created because of its embrace of gender ideology is far from trivial. Nor is it trivial that while handing out pamphlets critical of the trans movement at a Pride event in Vermont in 2022, Sargeant was physically attacked by trans activists.

[ A parade through New York City on Christopher Street Gay Liberation Day, 1971. ]

He is not alone. Many gay people have expressed dismay at the metamorphosis of Pride and feel that it no longer represents them. This can be confusing for those who have not been paying attention to its ongoing political evolution, but there is a very good reason why groups of gay men and lesbians are now holding alternative Pride rallies this year. In August 2022, police insisted that lesbians leave a Pride parade because their banners, proclaiming that ‘lesbians don’t like penises’ and ‘trans activism erases lesbians’, were causing consternation. When gay people are being escorted away from Pride marches by the police, we can safely say that the movement has fallen.

Some might argue that the LGBTQIA+ explosion is an example of what happens when liberalism goes unchecked, that it is the natural consequence of an excess of tolerance and the rise of identity politics. Yet while identity politics in its current intersectional form has proven to be deeply illiberal and regressive, there have been sound reasons throughout history for people with shared characteristics to organise and resist. Unlike the various campaigns for imaginary victimhood that dominate today’s ‘social justice’ causes, being openly gay in the 1970s came at a huge cost. At the time of the first Pride parade, every state in the US with the exception of Illinois criminalised gay sex. In services and employment, discrimination against gay people was permitted, and even most progressives assumed that homosexuality was a mental illness. This is a world away from the exaggerated or fabricated grievances of the diversity, equity and inclusion industry today.

Now that gay people have complete equal rights under the law, the protest element of Pride has been appropriated by those with an apparent craving for oppression. Asexual activists, for instance, have taken centre stage at certain Pride events, even though nobody in the history of humankind has ever been burned at the stake for not wanting to have sex. It isn’t the case that those who identify as asexual are facing discrimination; it’s that nobody cares about what they don’t get up to in the bedroom. But of course, for those of a narcissistic temperament, there can be nothing more devastating than being ignored.

[ Furries march on Congress Street during the annual Pride Portland parade, 2017. ]

Many of those who call themselves ‘nonbinary’ are similarly vocal, but there is no serious comparison to be made between the historical persecution of homosexuals and experiencing some pushback when you demand that others refer to you as ‘they’ or ‘them’. Coming out as gay in 1970 increased the risk of being violently assaulted; coming out as ‘nonbinary’ today only increases one’s chances of being employed at the BBC.

Of course, all of this must be symptomatic of the developing cult of victimhood in the Western world. Ironically, there is now power in being the victim. Those who claim to be ‘marginalised’ are able to get people fired, drive them from public life, and harass and bully them in the name of ‘progress’. Who would have thought there was so much clout in being oppressed?

Far from being a collective gesture of unity, Pride is now widely interpreted as a celebration of homophobia. This is because it has become infected with gender ideology, which seeks to eliminate gay people from their own history. Although trans-identified individuals were rarely seen at activist meetings and events in the early decades of the gay movement, revisionists are now insisting that gay people owe their rights to the hard work of trans campaigners. We are told that a black trans woman, Marsha P Johnson, was the key figure at the Stonewall riots. This is wrong on many counts. The riots were overwhelmingly dominated by young gay men. Although Johnson took part in the demonstrations, he wasn’t present when the rioting began. Most significantly, by his own admission, he was a transvestite who didn’t identify as female.

Fred Sargeant has been much vilified for exposing the truth of what took place in these early years of the gay rights’ movement, and he is now a thorn in the side of activists whose worldview depends on a narrative that runs contrary to the truth. Recently he posted a link to the Digital Transgender Archive on the Third International Conference on Transgender Law and Employment Policy, which explicitly outlines how gay and trans movements in the 20th century were completely separate. The conflation of the LGB and T is an invention as recent as 2015. As the document explains, while the gay-rights movement in the US began in the 1920s, ‘the existence of a transgendered community that seeks reforms did not come into existence until the 1990s’.

The historical revisionism doesn’t end at Stonewall. Activists have attempted to claim that certain gay historical figures were mistaking their true trans identity for homosexuality. Just as Mormon priests have been known to baptise the dead and thereby convert them unwillingly to their cause, trans activists have been busy harvesting the annals of history for potential recruits. Those falsely claimed as trans include George Eliot, Dr James Barry, Radclyffe Hall and Joan of Arc. People who were gay and gender nonconforming are particularly vulnerable to this kind of retrospective ‘transing’. It’s very convenient for activists that the dead can’t complain.

While many trans campaigners consider themselves supportive of gay rights, overt homophobia is nonetheless often tolerated and encouraged within their circles. There are innumerable examples online of trans activists claiming that homosexuality is a form of transphobia and that only bigots have ‘genital preferences’. ‘If you’re a cis gay man’, writes one, ‘and your sexuality revolves around you not liking female genitalia I hope you die and I will spit on your grave’. A video recently went viral featuring an activist explaining to gay men why they should transition to female and that ‘maybe being gay is an outdated concept’. An online influencer called Davey Wavey uploaded his attempt at gay conversion therapy in a video entitled ‘How To Eat Pussy – For Gay Men’. One can imagine it being shown to young men at an evangelical Christian retreat for those who wish to find a ‘cure’ for their immoral urges.

This isn’t simply a case of a handful of lunatics on the fringe – this idea has also been normalised in mainstream gay culture. Australia’s Human Rights Commission prohibits lesbians from holding female-only events on the grounds that it discriminates against men who identify as female. Sall Grover, the founder of women’s app Giggle, is currently in a legal battle in Australia because she refused to allow a man to join. Stonewall has even redefined ‘homosexuality’ on its website as ‘same-gender attracted’. Its former CEO, Nancy Kelley, once suggested that women who don’t wish to date trans people are ‘sexual racists’. No, Nancy, they’re just gay.

We have seen all this before. In the 1980s, it was a common trope for gay men to be told that they ‘just haven’t found the right girl yet’ and to suggest to lesbians that they ‘just need the right dick’. The rights of homosexuals depend upon a recognition that a minority of people are attracted to their own sex. Once sex is eliminated from the equation, gay rights are no longer tenable.

The most obvious example of how gay rights have been threatened by trans ideology is that young gay people are disproportionately at risk of surgical ‘correction’. Given that between 80 and 90 per cent of adolescents referred to the NHS Tavistock Clinic were orientated towards their own sex, it is clear that in many cases homosexuality was being treated as gender dysphoria. I am usually mistrustful of accusations of various ‘phobias’ which can be used as a rhetorical technique to discourage disagreement. But if medicalising people for being same-sex attracted doesn’t qualify as homophobic, I’m not sure that anything does.

And so Pride and its accoutrements have come to represent an ideology that seeks not only to erase the foundations of gay rights, but also to re-conceptualise same-sex attraction as a condition that requires medical treatment. When police officers decorate their cars with the Pride colours, when NHS workers display the rainbow lanyard, when schools decorate their halls with bunting in solidarity, they are almost certainly doing so with the noble intention of promoting equal rights. But they are inadvertently promoting a movement whose end goal is the eradication of homosexuality.

This is not to deny that the ‘Progress Pride’ flag and all it represents have been embraced by many gay people. It is clearly the case that a majority have not realised the extent to which the flag has been hijacked for a cause that actively works against their interests. The situation has hardly been helped by prominent celebrities, often now referred to as ‘Vichy gays’, who have cheered on this sinister development. Homosexuals are not immune to the condition of useful idiocy.

Given that Pride has become so divisive, and given that so many lesbians, bisexuals and gay men now consider it to be an essentially hostile enterprise, it would be prudent for corporations and government bodies to stop pretending that there is a consensus on this issue. Ignorance is no longer an excuse. By flying the ‘Progress Pride’ flag, they are taking a side in a highly contentious cultural debate, one that alienates as many gay people as it attracts. Those who are serious about gay rights need to distance themselves from Pride once and for all.

==

When the demand for 'oppression' outstrips the supply.

Time to resist again.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - January 09, 2023

1. Top British universities offer Afghan women free courses until Taliban lift learning ban

Afghanistan's ruling Taliban announced last month that women would no longer be able to study at universities and higher education establishments. Institutions were told to implement the ban as soon as possible.

Now, a number of British universities have teamed up through FutureLearn to offer the women in Afghanistan free access to digital learning platforms. Girls and women with internet access will be able to study more than 1,200 courses from top institutions at no cost to themselves.

2. Arizona Gov. Katie Hobbs extends protections to LGBTQ+ state employees and contractors

Arizona’s newly elected Gov. Katie Hobbs (D) signed an executive order extending employment protections to state employees and contractors who are LGBTQ+.

As the Human Rights Campaign reports, the executive order, signed on Hobbs’s first day in office Tuesday, directs the state’s Department of Administration to update hiring, promotion, and compensation policies for all state agencies to prohibit discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity and include provisions in all new state contracts to prohibit discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity.

3. EU Carbon Emissions Drop To 30-Year Lows

It was supposed to be a dirty autumn and winter, with European nations scrambling to replace Russian gas with high-polluting coal. But according to the Centre for Research on Energy and Clean Air, the cold seasons so far have been the cleanest in more than 30 years.

4. Critically endangered rhinoceros gives birth to calf at Kansas City Zoo on New Year's Eve

The Kansas City Zoo got a special start to the new year: A critically endangered subspecies of rhinoceros gave birth to a calf on Dec. 31, officials announced. The calf is walking, nursing and even playing with its mother, Zuri, animal specialists said.

5. Cancer Vaccine to Simultaneously Kill and Prevent Brain Cancer Developed

Scientists are harnessing a new way to turn cancer cells into potent, anti-cancer agents. A new stem cell therapy approach eliminates established brain tumors and provides long-term immunity, training the immune system to prevent cancer from returning.

link to the paper …

6. The US has approved use of the world's first vaccine for honey bees.

It was engineered to prevent fatalities from American foulbrood disease, a bacterial condition known to weaken colonies by attacking bee larvae. As pollinators, bees play a critical role in many aspects of the ecosystem.

The vaccine could serve as a "breakthrough in protecting honey bees", Dalan Animal Health CEO Annette Kleiser said in a statement. It works by introducing an inactive version of the bacteria into the royal jelly fed to the queen, whose larvae then gain immunity.

7. Cat missing for nearly 6 years reunited with owner thanks to microchip

West Sacramento woman got the surprise of a lifetime Saturday when she was reunited with her missing cat after nearly 6 years thanks to microchip. 

- - -

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[outsidersheadcanons]

It’s the hottest day of the summer and the Curtis household A/C stopped working

ooh this is a good one!

So the Curtises are sitting at the breakfast table and Soda's like "Darry.. is it just me or is it really hot in here ☹️" so Darry gets up and tries to turn on the A/C (it died. RIP Curtis Family A/C 🕊️)

Darry tries to call the A/C guy but he says they can't put in a replacement until the next day. So all three of em are gonna have to figure out smth to do abt it

The first thing they decide to do is close all the windows to keep the sun out, but the difference is too small to be able to tell. I think at most they own 3 fans, so they set em all up in the living room (which works out, but the rest of the house is still hot as hell)

Ponyboy's the first one to start freaking out ("Darry we're going to die of heat exhaustion 😭"). It's so hot and awful doing anything but sitting on the floor makes u sweaty and tired. Pony's not having it and him and Darry start arguing (much to Soda's dismay).

Soda gets tired of sitting in the living room and watching them argue so he just. sits in front of the open fridge instead (until Darry tells him to quit it bc he's wasting the cold air).

Lunchtime rolls around and they're all on the verge of fighting 😡 So Darry says "F*ck it let's go out to eat somewhere" and they end up at Dairy Queen.

Everyone at the restaurant must've thought they were insane bc when that air conditioning hit Pony's face he started crying 😭(Soda was on the verge of tears too. He was so hot he was seriously considering blasting himself w/ freezing water in the shower)

Afterwards they all collectively decide that they don't want to go home, so Darry ends up taking them to the YMCA pool (I think when it gets too hot for roofing he works part time at the Y as a dance instructor, so he gets a free family membership) and they spend the rest of the day. horsing around (haha get it?!)

When they get back to the house the sun was starting to set and it was starting to cool down a bit. They opened all the windows to let the night breeze in, and by the morning it was much more bearable.

When the AC guy finally came Soda joked he was so happy he wanted to kiss him on the lips (thankfully he didn't) and Ponyboy gained a new appreciation for the AC 😭

[creelkobblelaufeyson69]

A hot night

Warnings: smut/ angst

Tags: @thatchubbypillow

People were either drinking or dancing at this party they got invited to. It was in a mansion, and the people invited got it anonymously. They knew better than to be lured in like that, but they had nothing to lose really. They were just in a room, sitting alone on a red leather couch

It wasn’t the most comfortable couch, but they knew rich people cared more about how much things they owned than comfort. It was hot as hell in the mansion with there being so many people there and zero air conditioning to make it tolerable at all

They had only a drink, and that felt like enough for them. They didn’t even know how long they were gonna stay at this party. More people came into the room they were in. Cigarettes were in the two peoples hands. They get up now to leave the room to not get any of that smoke near them

There was only one place playing music, but it was loud enough to hear throughout the whole mansion. They find the exit, but find themselves feeling the most relieved to feel the cold air brushing against their hot skin. They almost felt like crying when feeling the cold air instead of the hot air of the building

“I like it a lot more out here” a man with a Queens accent says, which makes them look at him. He wasn’t standing too far away from them, but he wasn’t looking at them. He stared at the moon with admiration. ‘Interesting’ they thought as they now looked at the moon to realize it was a full moon

Stars painted the dark blue sky; reflecting off his blue eyes. They looked at his eyes, and got lost in his eyes immediately. “Same.” He looks at them now, and noticed how sweaty they were. “It feels fucking awful in there then it does out here” they say as he seemed to be studying them now

“That’s why I prefer it out here. I’m not entirely sure why I’m here to be honest. I don’t like parties” he says, which gets them curious to know what he’d rather be doing. As if on cue, he answers their question; “I’d rather be anywhere.” Of course he gives them a blunt answer, but it was better than nothing

“I know a bar that’s near here that we can walk to” they suggest, which makes him smile. “Then lead the way” he says as he continues to smile, which makes them smile. They start the walk, and he follows along. The cold air definitely helped, until it got humid out of the blue

The sweat was replaced with goosebumps, but now those goosebumps were replaced with the same sweat from before. “Fuck!” They cursed due to the weather being a dick now. He takes his leather jacket off to reveal the tank top he wore

He wraps it tightly around his waist to make sure it doesn’t fall off. They had stopped in their tracks (being on a sidewalk now instead of grass), and looked at him. He also stopped in his tracks, and looked at them with a worried look. Their blushing however at the sight of his arms and chest hairs

They wanted to see more of him, and that was making the sweating worse. They seemed lost in a trance, cause he moved closer towards them to snap in front of their face to get their attention back. They looked at him, and didn’t feel agitated that he did that. “Are we still going to this fucking bar?”

When he said fucking, all they imagined was him all over them: pounding into them ruthlessly. “Yes. Sorry” they turned back around to start walking again. It was just across the street, and they could walk off. But they realized that felt impossible now, because they started to develop big feelings for him

“What’s your name?” They asked as the two crossed the empty street. “Frank” Frank says, which makes them imagine themselves moaning his name as he hits their g spot. ‘Frank’ they moaned as he had his hand wrapped tightly around their neck

More moans escaped them in this fantasy as he’s biting their shoulder blade to mark them. He kisses it after to ease the pain, but he’ll learn quickly that they like the pain. He snaps to get their attention again. The two were now standing in front of the bar

“I asked you what your name was” Frank says as he opens the door for them. They say their name, and thanked him afterwards. They go over towards the bar, and he follows along. He’s the only one that gets a drink, which makes him confused

“You’re not gonna get something?” He asked in confusion. “No. This was just the first spot I had in mind nearby” they admit as he finishes his drink. “I know there’s a hotel nearby” he starts, which makes them blush. “I know I’ve not been the only one thinking about hooking up. I saw the way you looked at my arms”

“I can see that you definitely don’t mind that either because of your blush coating your face” he continues as he places the right amount cash down to pay for the drink. “Let’s get the fuck out of here” he stands up, and they follow along. They follow him to the hotel, once checked into a room, he takes their hand and go off to the room

Once inside of the hotel room, he takes his shoes off and then started to take off his clothes. They do the same thing; excitement filled their core. They lay down on the bed, and he gets onto the bed: he lifts their legs, and places them onto his shoulders

He goes into them; he’s thrusting already and already hitting their g spot. Their hands go onto the bedsheets as he pounds into them roughly. His hands are grasping onto their thighs, which makes them let out a loud moan. “Frank” they moaned out as his grasp gets too tight to the point he’s drawn blood

He continues however, and felt their walls clench against his cock. He stops, which makes them upset. He places their legs down and then got up off the bed. They watched in confusion as he goes over towards his clothes. They felt confused, until it finally hit. They’ve been poisoned. He places his clothes back on, and then knew no one was really gonna check to see if they were really dead here

He made sure he did his research before taking this job. “Fuck you” they managed to let out before they passed. He chuckled at the irony, and left

[limerental]

ficletvember 2024 - day 26

a thronebreaker scifi cyborg!reynard au

A cybernetically-enchanced Reynard repairs himself only enough to continue to be useful to his Queen.

After yet another fight that the partisans barely scrape through in one piece, Reynard Odo retreats into the industrial bowels of the aging mass production factory they’re squatting in, seeking the rarity of a functional charging port. 

The conditions in the Angren slums their party has been slogging through have been hellish on his metal joints, the air so thick with smog he can taste the corrosion in his circuitry. He swipes the cobwebs from an array of ports along a wall and tests them for conductivity, finally finding one he can use after the third try. 

Reynard’s cybernetic body is still flesh and blood enough that simple rations can ordinarily sustain his function for weeks, but there hasn’t been much food to be found even for the non-augmented among them. He’s been taking too much damage lately, dispelling too much energy in battle, and he barely has the time or supplies to do basic maintenance to keep himself going. 

It’s been harder and harder to hide that he’s running on fumes, but he doesn’t want to worry the Queen, not when she has so many other concerns, so many to keep alive, and a stolen kingdom to reclaim.

“You decent in there, Reynard?” calls a voice from the hall, and Reynard curses the fact that he hadn’t managed to slip away unnoticed. At least it isn’t Meve who’s found him. 

Of course, Gascon doesn’t wait for his response, stealing into the room as though he’s been invited. Reynard has withdrawn the panels of his armored breastplate, revealing the mess that’s been made of his augmented internal circuitry. For a beat, Gascon mocks covering his eyes, as though he’s walked in on him stark naked.

He steps close enough to get a better look and makes a face.

“Oof, my friend, half your bits are shot,” says Gascon. Reynard’s aware, but it’s not as if there’s an excess of spare specialty cybernetic parts to be found in a place like this. He’ll hold as long as he can. He has to. “I’ve scrapped units better off than you. Ack, th’ rust might be what’s keepin’ you together. Need a hand?”

“No.” He sighs and peers down at his exposed circuits, knowing that most of the repairs would be easier for someone who can actually see what they’re doing, rather than fumbling about by feel alone. “Fine. Do your worst.”

Reynard sorely misses the days of royal workshops teeming with skilled mechanics who had kept the Queen’s commanding general perfectly maintained in order to fulfill his duties. 

The likes of Gascon may be better suited to a hack job like this at least, the scrappy anarchist having survived for years reprogramming rubbish into a formidable underground fighting force. 

“If I had a proper scrap heap at hand, I could augment you with some lovely flamethrowers,” says Gascon, and Reynard frowns at him. “Nah, not your style, I know, I know. Far more energy efficient than those fancy energetic beams you’ve got though.” 

Gascon steps close enough to get his hands inside the open panels of Reynard’s breastplate, and Reynard holds his breath. Or the equivalent of holding his breath, as his lungs were replaced years ago. 

He remembers sometimes when he’s this close to a flesh and blood person how much of himself he’s given up in service of the crown. He’d arrived at court with the usual augmentations expected of a man of noble birth, plus some cybernetic enhancements that helped him rise quickly through the ranks of the military. 

By the time he’d disgraced himself by slandering the king, he was more augmentation than man and could have been decommissioned to a scrap heap to be dug through by the likes of the Strays.

Instead, he’d agreed to reprogramming, his loyalty and devotion to the royal family written into his code. 

Of course, Reynard knows he’d serve Her Majesty with the same unfettered dedication either way. He’s certain of it, knowing the depths of what he feels for her cannot exist in circuitry alone.

“Always wondered if it tickled,” Gascon says, wiggling his fingers maybe a little more than need be inside Reynard's chest. Something sparks, and he swears, shaking out a hand.

“Can’t feel a thing,” says Reynard. He’s meant to, but he’s had to reconfigure any working sensors to be utilized where they’re most needed. His sword arm. His spine. His legs. His eyes. Really, he only needs enough functionality to stand upright and swing a sword, to offer counsel when needed.

Gascon is looking at him in that surprisingly knowing way of his, dark eyes dangerously soft. 

“You’re no use to th’ Queen if you rattle apart mid-skirmish, you know,” he says, voice low. “Or if one morning, you fail to boot up at all. I’d rather not lug your useless bits and bobs about on my back. Even out here, we could find a proper mechanic. Divert our course a little.”

“Not necessary,” Reynard says. He can make do until his purpose has been served. He has to.

Gascon rests a hand on Reynard’s neck. When the carapace of his armored visor that shields his face is drawn back as it is now, there’s a small patch of bare, human skin between the mechanics of his jaw and shoulder. Gascon’s thumb sweeps across it, and Reynard shudders, the nerves lighting up, the feeling of rare touch nearly painful when he’s so accustomed to numbness.

“You can’t really program out free will, you know,” Gascon says. He presses their foreheads together, flesh to metal. “Not unless you replace th’ lot.”

“I know,” says Reynard. He knows he’d have all of himself gutted and remade, losing all agency, all of himself, if only he could better serve Meve, if only she would live.

“You’re sorted for now. Done what I can.” Gascon quits his fiddling, and Reynard’s breastplate folds itself shut with a hiss of hydraulics. He lowers his visor and straightens up, withdrawing his power cord, and is once again the perfect knightly image of an impenetrable suit of armor.

[superiorhvac13]

What are 5 Tips for Better Indoor Air Quality?

Several people are most likely to spend a considerable amount of time of their day indoors. We all are aware that air pollution has been increasing at an alarming rate. But what is more scary is that studies have shown that indoor air can have 2 - 5% more pollutants than outdoor air. We are making our homes energy efficient and insulating them. Global warming has made air conditions a necessity, which also requires closing the vents of a room. Lesser ventilation makes air quality poorer.

Air is filled with particles that are not visible to the naked eye, such as dust particles, pollen, and more. Everything we breathe in has an effect on our bodies. Breathing polluted air for prolonged periods can have harmful effects on our bodies as well as our minds. It can trigger allergies and asthma. It can cause headaches, breathing difficulties, ear, nose, and throat irritation, bronchitis, and skin irritation. Improving indoor air quality is required to maintain good health. Be sure not to seal yourself up with diseases causing bacteria and viruses in the air. Test indoor air quality using an indoor air quality monitor. Detox your indoor air, home, and life with 5 practical tips to optimise your health and well-being.

Here are 5 tips to improve indoor air quality 

Improve Ventilation - Do not keep your windows and ventilators closed unnecessarily. Open windows whenever possible. Proper ventilation can help to remove any kind of odour build-up. It clears stale air and reduces the buildup of pollutants. It is one of the most effective ways to improve indoor air quality. Inadequate ventilation can trap pollutants such as volatile organic compounds(VOC) from chemicals used in the house or carbon monoxide emitted from appliances or fireplaces in the house. Turn on chimneys or exhaust fans while cooking and also in the bathroom while washing or cleaning.  This helps to eliminate harmful chemicals, such as volatile organic compounds, that can often be used while cleaning. Ventilators and exhaust fans in the kitchen and bathroom can also help to reduce moisture and kitchen fumes.

Invest in indoor air quality monitors and air purifiers:- Investing in indoor air quality monitors will greatly help test and monitor indoor air quality. These are devices specifically designed to test indoor air quality and monitor it. There can be various types of indoor air quality monitors, such as -

Particulate Matter (PM) Monitors - These monitor the concentration of particulate matter in the air. Below 12µg/m3 is an acceptable level.

VOC Monitors - VOC stands for volatile organic chemical. The acceptable value is below 400 ppb.

CO2 Monitors - Monitors the concentration of carbon dioxide in indoor air. The normal value for which is below 1000 ppm.

Investing in air purifiers is also beneficial for keeping indoor air clean and improving indoor air quality. They help to get rid of pollutants from your home air. Opt one that has a higher cleaning speed but is not noisy. You need to keep the filter of the purifier clean. These purifiers use High-Efficiency Particulate Air (HEPA) filters for filtration purposes. Some purifiers can use an ioniser to collect particles. This can release ozone, and check the instructions and labels properly to reduce emissions.

Cleaning and Dusting Regularly - Use a damp or microfibre cloth to clean and dust your furniture. Wash and clean your fabrics at least once or twice a week. This will help you to reduce unwanted bacteria buildup and reduce dust and allergens in your home air. Use a vacuum cleaner to vacuum and clean the carpets and furniture regularly. This is an essential step to ensure good indoor air quality, especially if you have pets at home. Vacuum cleaners help to get rid of pet danders.

Keep indoor plants - Plants are a source of oxygen. They absorb carbon dioxide and maintain the oxygen and carbon dioxide balance in indoor air. The plant acts as an indoor air quality monitor while also maintaining the aesthetics of your home. But be careful not to overwater plants as that can lead to excess humidity, which promotes mould growth.

Control Humidity Levels - High humidity level promotes the growth of moulds. Test indoor air quality to know about the humidity of the air in your home. Try to maintain humidity levels between 30 - 50 %. Use dehumidifiers to reduce and maintain desired humidity levels at home.

Good indoor air is essential for good health, especially for children, elderly people, and people suffering from respiratory diseases. Smoking indoors should also be strictly avoided to keep indoor air clean. Tobacco is not only detrimental to your health but also pollutes the air in your home. Occasionally test indoor air quality. Opt for an indoor air quality monitor to ensure you breathe clean air.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

With the anon’s comment about no one wanting Charles’ medical information, I feel like a lot of the time when things happen in the Royal world anons and bloggers end up going into this in-depth analysis on things when really there’s not as much to it as they’re making it out to be. The theories discussed were about no one caring about Prince Philip’s details or Charles’ but obviously someone was tempted to see if they could find out what was going on with Kate simply because of the public interest and hysteria that’s going on. People have been made curious by the media hype. Plus, Charles made his condition public in the first place. Also, we could look at what happened with the Queen and there was little interest around her specific condition but that’s because the palace firmly went with the story all along (or implied) that it was just old age. Also the fact the Queen and Prince Philip were old so it was expected to see them deteriorating.

But why is there so much more public interest and hysteria about Kate in the first place, when Charles, Philip, and The Queen have gone through very similar things?

All Kate/KP did was make the same statement that they've all made: "The royal is in hospital X for surgery on {body part}. She will be in the hospital for X days. She is doing well."

The statement for the Queen's knee surgery:

The Queen this morning underwent a minor operation at the King Edward VII Hospital in London to remove a torn cartilage in her right knee. The 45-minute operation, which was performed by The Queen's orthopaedic surgeon Mr Roger Vickers, went very well and Her Majesty is expected to leave hospital tomorrow morning. Mr Vickers was assisted by Mr Adrian Fairbank. The anaesthetist was Dr Robert Linton and The Queen's physician, Dr Richard Thompson, was in attendance. The Queen is expected to be fully active again within a few weeks. Her Majesty will rest at Sandringham over the next two weeks and will then resume a limited programme of engagements until she has made a full recovery.

The statement for Philip's hip replacement:

"The Duke of Edinburgh has undergone a successful hip replacement operation. He is progressing satisfactorily at this early stage. His Royal Highness is likely to remain in hospital for several days. He is comfortable and in good spirits.”

The statement for Philip's abdomen surgery:

"His Royal Highness the duke of Edinburgh has been admitted to the London Clinic for an exploratory operation following abdominal investigations. He is expected to stay in hospital for up to two weeks. Further updates will be issued when appropriate. He is in very good health."

The statement for Margaret's lung surgery:

″Princess Margaret underwent an operation at the Brompton Hospital yesterday for the removal of a small area of her left lung which proved to be innocent. Her condition is satisfactory and it’s expected that she will leave hospital within the week.″

The statement for Sophie's emergency operation:

"Her Royal Highness the Countess of Wessex is currently recovering in the King Edward VII Hospital following an emergency operation. The Countess was taken to hospital by air ambulance after feeling unwell overnight. She is expected to stay in hospital for the next few days. The Earl of Wessex has been with the Countess following her operation. I cannot comment on the nature of the operation. Her condition is described as comfortable."

And yet, all this hysteria surrounding Kate. Why?

Misogyny.

It's nothing to do with Charles being more transparent about his condition. In fact, one would argue that Charles had to be more forthcoming because he's the head of state and there's an expectation of duty. Look at how much detail is in the statement about The Queen's knee operation compared to the rest. That's the same amount of detail provided in the first statement about Charles's health issue. He didn't need to provide further detail about the cancer diagnosis; the palace could've just deferred to the original statement that he had to postpone public engagements for recuperation since they never provided a timeline on what that recuperation was supposed to look like other than "short." But "short" can be subjective.

Edit: I fixed the {body party} typo. 🤦‍♀️

[iturbide]

*reads tags on the last post*

...ok but now I'm actually curious about your issues with TOTK👀

okay so to be per, fectly clear: Tears of the Kingdom is a really fun game. I've been playing a lot of it, aimlessly wandering around, exploring the Depths, finding shrines, doing side quests, and so on. At this point I've cleared the four regional quests, a bonus mainline quest I wasn't supposed to know about yet I found the shrine early and had enough hearts to open the door, what can I say, I'm curious, I have the Master Sword, and I think most of what's left is armor upgrades and wrapping up the main story.

But also I have been spoiled since the game came out about what's in store and boy do I see a lot of similar narrative issues to my gripes with Fire Emblem.

So we might as well start off small with how TotK actively rewrites its history in ways that are even more extreme than Skyward Sword. Skyward Sword introduced Hylia and Demise as concepts, with Hylia inheriting the Triforce from the Golden Goddesses of Din, Nayru, and Farore and tasked with protecting it, while Demise appeared as a demonic entity intent on taking that power for himself. As of Skyward Sword, Zelda was written as the mortal reincarnation of Hylia, thereby retroactively contextualizing her powers. The Triforce has been a power source sought after and fought over through every prior entry in the series, and even though BotW didn't make outright reference to it, the Triforce was clearly present on Zelda's hand when her powers awakened and appeared in full when she sealed Calamity Ganon at the end of the game.

And Tears of the Kingdom does away with it completely.

Hylia is mentioned as the only goddess. The Golden Goddesses aren't referred to at all. There is no Triforce at all, it's instead been replaced by the Zonai 'Secret Stones' even in the ancient past, despite the fact that we saw the Triforce at the end of the last game. It was right there. Zelda is also no longer the reincarnation of the goddess: instead her powers are re-explained as being the product of the historic marriage between the Zonai Sage of Light and the Hylian Sage of Time, giving her command over both (but she's considered only the Sage of Time for some reason?).

Also, BotW pretty heavily implied that Hyrule was a matriarchy: it's the queens and princesses who have the sacred power, so it stands to reason that Zelda's mother was actually the one in charge of Hyrule before her death, and the king only stepped into the leadership role on a temporary basis until Zelda came into her powers (hence that pointed "heir to a throne of nothing but failure" remark in one of the memories). But despite there being a Hylian queen right there in the ancient past, the game firmly establishes that Rauru is the one with the power, and Sonia is just his consort, a priestess who he chose to marry.

And then there's the Shiekah. Throughout all of BotW we were surrounded by these amazing machines, ancient technology crafted by the Shiekah and unearthed in working condition after a myriad in the ground which are still running and wreaking havoc a hundred years after the Calamity. We start the game in a Shiekah Shrine that literally saved Link's life and allowed him to recover from what should have been fatal wounds, though it did take a hundred years to do so.

And all of that is gone in TotK. Not a trace of it remains: the shrines have all been wiped from the face of the earth, the Divine Beasts are nowhere to be found, the Shiekah Towers have evaporated into thin air -- and the shrine that saved our lives is completely gone, replaced by a hot spring. It still bears the name of the Shrine of Awakening, but none of the miraculous technology remains.

Personally, the idea that either Purah or Zelda would consider the Skyview Towers worthy of dismantling that Shrine completely shatters my suspension of disbelief. They're both scientists: they should want to study all of that in detail to understand how it works, not destroy it for glitchy impersonations of the old towers I hate the Skyview Tower miniquests so much.

(Let me tell you, it was absolutely chilling for me to get to Rito Village and see an empty place where I clearly remembered there being a shrine. The Shiekah presence in history has basically been wiped out in TotK outside of Kakariko Village, and I don't like what that says considering that the Shiekah were also victims of a genocide by the ancient king of Hyrule.)

And then there's the imperialism. I have my issues with Three Houses and every ending needing Fodlan to be united under a single banner, though it's most egregious in CF where Edelgard's stated purpose is returning Fodlan to its proper state unified under the Imperial Standard. TotK is worse. There have been some excellent breakdowns of the narrative implications, touching on everything from the loaded imagery and black-and-white narrative purpose of Ganondorf and the Gerudo (dark-skinned evil desert dwellers who oppose the good and glorious worshipers of the goddess...where have I heard that before...) to the game showing outright that the other races of Hyrule were treated as lesser vassals in the ancient past (the Sages being masked and therefore erasing their individual identities, receiving the Secret Stones that Rauru had been hoarding only when Rauru needed help to fight Ganondorf and thereupon swearing their very lives and the lives of their people to him and his empire???). They're great analyses, they've been living in my brain for weeks.

But I think the thing that I'm most mad about is that the narrative bends over backwards to keep anything from changing. At the start of the game, Link's arm is so badly damaged by the Gloom that he nearly dies and he spends the rest of the game with Rauru's arm in place of his own...but then, in the end, he magically gets his original arm back no worse for the wear. Zelda, in an attempt to empower and restore the Master Sword, turns herself into a dragon, a process that we are told outright in the narrative will cause her to lose herself and is therefore irreversible...but then, in the end, she magically returns to her human form thanks to her ghost ancestors somehow reversing this supposedly irreversible process. And on top of all that, Hyrule itself is exactly the same when all is said and done: there's no change to the power structures, no independence for the other races who choose to come together in the spirit of cooperation like we saw at Tarrey Town -- instead, the four Sages once again swear their support and fealty to the Princess of Hyrule.

Personally? I like a narrative where the characters and the world change over the course of it. That's one of the things that I thought was so meaningful about BotW: while most of the gameplay takes place in the present, the true start of the game is 100 years in the past, allowing us to see how the Calamity affected Hyrule, the devastation it wrought and the continued struggles of those who survived through the century that followed. We end the game with Zelda once more free, where she had been locked in combat with the Calamity; with the spirits of the Champions at peace, where they had been trapped by the Blight within the Divine Beasts; and with Hyrule finally at peace and beginning to recover now that the Calamity has been sealed away. I still think it's ridiculous that they don't actually show any of Link's scars in the game (especially since we are at one point forced to strip to prove that we are who we say we are, and they say point blank I would recognize those scars anywhere when there are no fucking scars), but at least things have changed over the course of the narrative!

But nothing changes in TotK. The status quo remains untouched and unquestioned. And it just feels...bad to me. Insincere, maybe. Unrealistic, sterilized, manufactured. It's a narrative that says there's nothing to question, that everything going back to the way it always was is the right and proper way of things, because clearly the Hyrule Empire is the right and proper rule. And I just don't like that.

[osckins]

⤷❝ Life is Strange — CaElla ❞ˎˊ-

Caden x Viella

summary: "Just take it." Caden and Viella's first interaction with one another is... memorable to say the least.

warnings: "I know who you pretend I am," caden being a confused cutie, viella being an absolute queen, remininscence from previous games, & blood.

author's note: this is unfinished, will work to finish this whenever I have the time! <3

The arena for the 75th Hunger Games' Quarter Quell was a very complex and intricate arena. Caden's heartbeat was racing as he ran through the section of the arena he was in, poison fog following close behind. His breathing ragged, pressing down on the side of his stomach that had been gushing blood, a deep laceration from a fight with another tribute a couple seconds beforehand.

Shit.

His head was spinning, the combination of blood loss and the lack of oxygen he was recieving worsened his condition. His face was littered with cuts, his usual poised appearance replaced with a ragged state. Yet, Caden couldn't help but enjoy himself — mentally scolding himself for enjoying such a horrific event. The adrenaline rush he was getting felt divine — all at the cost of potentially losing everything.

As Caden ran through the humid, dense, and rough terrain of the jungle-like forest, his eyes caught the split second of blonde hair rushing through the wind. Immediately hiding behind a tree, he stilled his movements, catching his breath.

The fog met a "barrier" of sorts, Caden had barely made it out. As Caden focused on his breathing, he glances over to where he last saw the blonde hair from earlier.

It's.. A girl?

The girl was on all fours, gasping for air. Blisters from the poison fog was evident on her skin, she crawled over to the small patch of water, dipping her hand in. She cried in pain, yet slowly into relief as the blisters soon disappeared from her hand.

Caden quietly observed her from where he was, leaning back onto the tree as he slowly slumped down.

The girl had quickly submerged her whole body in the water, crying in agony. Caden grimaced as he watched her do this until the blisters soon disappeared from her body, leaving her breathless.

Slowly Caden got up from where he was resting, grimacing as his laceration was still pooling into his attire, staining it a dark red. A deep groan escaped his lips involuntarily, he instantly froze in place. The girl immediately snapping her attention to him.

Neither of them dared to move. Whether it was from the writhing pain they were going through or out of fear, no one will know.

The girl infront of him was none other than Viella Omen, winner of the 72nd Hunger Games. She was from District 7. Caden had watched her games, winning 5 years prior in the 67th Hunger Games.

Caden took the opportunity to take in her features. Short blonde hair tied up into a ponytail, warm amber honey colored eyes meeting his soft pale blues. A large burn scar covering the majority of the right side of her pale face.

"What do you want?"

An irritated voice broke Caden out of his trance. For once in his life, he was unsure of what to say, choosing to stay quiet.

The girl's eyes flickered to Caden's wound, eyes slightly widening.

"You're injured."

The girl weirdly reminded him from someone he knew. The girl trugged over, handing him some bandages. His eyes widened at the gesture.

"Just take them, you need them more."

He could've sworn it was like he was thrown back in the 67th Hunger Games. The girl infront of him was no longer Viella, but his district girl whom had gotten reaped with him. Unlike Caden, the girl did not willingly volunteer for the games. Dark long brown hair flowing in the wind, a scent of tea faintly in the air, a distant memory, fuzzy and light.

His heart ached at the thought. He couldn't even remember her name.

I wonder what happened to her.

He was snapped back into reality as Viella had grabbed his wrist, putting the bandages in his hands, his eyes widening.

"No— It's uh.. It's fine—" He tried shoving the bandages back into her calloused hands.

"Just take it Caden, seriously," she put the bandages back in his hands, clasping his hands together over the cloth.

He stayed quiet, observing her. Viella cocked her head to the side, raising a brow.

"Sorry— Just, intruiged on why you decided to help me missy."

"Don't call me missy," Viella's hand that was wielding an axe quickly flew up, the axe barely pricking into Caden's skin below his chin. His hand went up lightly in defense.

"Alright, alright, if that's what you want," a smug smile reflected off of Caden, an eyebrow slightly raised.

[this-daydream-is-dangerous-13]

Taylor can still support her boyfriend and be focused on her career (the same way Travis is). For how much longer will this fandom put her career on top of her personal happiness and life? She shouldn't sacrifice her personal relationships for the sake of her career or hide them.

Taylor shouldn't go into hiding or sneak around and not be seen with people just so 100% of the focus land on her career accomplishments. She's done more than enough hiding with YB. Probably the reason why she was also this public with Calvin was because she was tired of hiding with Harry, and to her, that was a breath of fresh air. I can imagine how suffocated she might've felt in the confinement of her home, sneaking around like a thief at night. Blondie is a people pleaser at heart and even if she might not want to be private as she claims to be, at the end of the day she is going to be convincing that she wants that privacy, for the sake of the person that she is with. I'm sure there's a part of her that really wants to go on a red carpet event with the person that she is with and be openly affectionate, but there was never anyone ever willing to take that step with her, so she let it go.

It's the fans' fault if her personal life becomes a major talking point, not hers. She's just living her life.

She did all the promo for 1989 many years ago. It's a super successful, beloved album that even with the amount of promo it got now, I bet it will surpass a million album sales in the first week of its release. The album generates buzz by itself anyway with all the hits. And also it's foolish to think that her being seen out and about at the football games it's not doing promo and it doesn't help in any way.

A few things here, Anon:

- “the fandom” is far from monolithic. For every person disliking this scenario there are many more who are super into it. And every variation in between. It’s totally fine that you fall into the latter part of the scale just as it is that I fall into the former.

- I do not think Blondie should have to go into hiding. How boring is that?

- We’ll have to agree to disagree about who’s directing the media focus; I don’t think it’s coming from the grass roots. Blondie—queen of strategic moves, always laser-focused on her career—is choosing to draw media attention toward her relationship over her upcoming album re-release right now. And I, personally, wish she were making a different choice because I think her music and legacy do not require this kind of boost from her personal life.

- Of course 1989TV is going to smash 1 million. It has very, very real potential to surpass the 1.287 million US. Domestic sales the original did back in 2014 in pure preorder sales alone (without streaming numbers, or non-preorders). That’s what I hope for for her (and why I wish she were talking about it more). What a massive validation of the whole re-recording process it would be.

- “She did all the promo for 1989 many years ago”like whaaaat? That was promo in a wildly different situation. Back then, she was trying to convince consumers/the recording industry that she could be a successful crossover/convincing pop artist. What she is selling, nearly a decade later, is a different product in all its similarity. Adding to the beloved album while trying, at its heart, to dislodge and replace something that still routinely charts songs 9 years later. I would think that something that entrenched? Could benefit from targeted, personal boosts from its maker, non?

I have not always been a fan of Blondie’s romantic partners, or her business choices. I still throw my hard-earned money at her and maintain a fan blog largely about her. I contain multitudes, as do we all. Unexamined devotion is not an entry toll to partake in any fandom, hers included. I actually think blind, unexamined devotion in anything is potentially dangerous.

I can see/appreciate her happiness while struggling with the conditions under which it comes.

I do appreciate your willingness to share your diverging viewpoint and the fact you have done so articulately AND without saying terrible things about me as a person.

Thanks for reading and for the ask.