#its the HOMELANDER?!?! red circle for me

[moopiter]

im sorry in advance but i literally cannot stop laughing abt it

[vampiredaisiesss]

vice | homelander x reader

noun

a weakness of character or behaviour; a bad habit.

tw: gaslighting, homelander giving oral, p in v sex, homelander is a manipulative bitch, dubious consent.

"I let my anger get best of me, okay?" he says softly, still supporting that puppy dog look in his eyes. "I shouldn't have lasered that poor guy."

But you've known him for so long, You can see past his bullshit anytime. That's why you cross your arms over your chest and keep yourself mum. You were not going to give in to him today.

He takes a calculated step forward. Gloved hands reach for the hem of your dress, playing with it like a child played with the edge of its mother's dress. But there's nothing pure about it.

Every touch of his drips with sin. A venom that must have infiltrated your heart for you continue to love him despite all he is.

Suddenly, he's on his knees in front of you. The caped crusader makes sure your eyes stay locked to his ocean ones throughout. His hands continue bunching up the edge of your dress. You let out a exasperated sigh, your own reaching out to get his off.

"John, stop," It's too late. His lips press to the inside of your thigh, right above your knee where he knows you are sensitive. "What are y-"

He sinks his teeth in the supple flesh, letting a moan drag out of your throat. Then lays his tongue flat against the bite mark, enclosing it using his lips. He starts to suction around it, only leaving your skin to continue his ministrations upwards.

He's so close to where you always need him the most. So close it makes something inside your belly liquify into a warm, wet puddle.

"John, please..." you sound uncertain. are you begging him to continue or begging him to stop? even though you intended for the latter, your voice comes out as a manifestation of the former. "Please, stop."

You grab a handful of his hair as he nears your core, paying your words no heed. He looks up, piercing blue eyes boring into yours, and licks a long strip up your slit.

A groan escapes his mouth, his hold on your thighs prying them further apart. You have to lean back on the wall to keep your upper half upright as he lifts both your legs on either side of his shoulders.

At your refusal towards a response, something in his gaze turns. Desperation becomes laced with arrogance and the fine line between the two starts to shrivel.

His red gloved fingers start painting your skin possessively red.

"You have America's greatest superhero on his knees for you, ravishing your sweet cunt night after night," he growled, lips attaching to your clit in circles. "And you continue being a bitch about some godforsaken piece of shit that probably would've taken advantage of you, if I hadn't intervened."

Your mouth is opened in permanent gasp. No noise comes out of it. He has successfully shut you up, and he knows it by how well your body is reacting you him.

Your hands pull at his hair with every brush of his tongue, thighs clenching around his head in a vice like grip.

"What more do you want, huh, before you stop being an ungrateful little brat?" his voice comes muffled from your thighs.

He has this ability of unhinging his jaw like a snake, devouring you whole. He torments your clit with fast, but light strokes, dragging it down to thrust it inside of you. When his lips aren't attached to your bud, his nose fills the role, and you buck your hips desperately to feel yourself rub deliciously against the length of it.

White hot lava is flooding through your veins. You feel it consuming you alive.

His fingers replace his tongue inside of you. He has a habit of keeping his gloves on when he has a point to prove. And they help him prove it. The rubber makes his already thick fingers thicker. It gifts his already impressive skills friction. Pleasure collides with pain in your belly, pulling you over the edge, into a harsh undercurrent.

And it gives him power over you. The only power he has always had.

America's greatest superhero fucks you like it can save him from drowning. He keeps your whole weight effortlessly pinned to the wall, hips meeting yours at a bruising pace. His hair is a mess, his face covered in you. When he shoves his tongue into your mouth, he wants you to taste yourself on his tongue.

He's the perfect specimen, right down to what's between his legs. He's thick and long with a curved tip that hits all your sweet spots. When he's inside you, it's like a drug. He washes over you with a certainty that dulls everything else.

He moulds you to his will.

"John, I'm sorry," You breathe out in the crook of his neck, hands gripping his shoulder like you'd fall without him. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh. It's okay, sweetheart. You're okay," he coos at you, holding you tighter against his body. His left hand cradles your head while he pounds you harder into the wall.

You can feel the cracks forming on the wall where his hand is placed at your side. His thrusts are becoming more frantic. "You fe..feel so, so good, baby," he whisper against your ear. "Made just for me."

Within seconds, he's finishing inside you with a loud growl. His hips tremor slightly as his head tips back, teeth gritted in pleasure. After he catches himself, he tends to you, letting any regret in your mind dissolve into self-doubt over the course of a long, languid kiss.

[burntsaltsblog]

pain relief - billy butcher x reader

༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻

details: you get your period and soft! butcher comforts you in multiple ways <3

mini// smut below the cut

༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻

"Fuck," I cursed, biting my lip to stifle my cries. My period had made its grand entrance this morning, rendering me utterly immobile as I curled up in my small bed in our latest safehouse.

Being one of the most wanted people in the country certainly did not have its perks. I couldn't simply run down to the nearest drugstore and pick up an armload of painkillers because, knowing my luck, I'd probably be spotted by a fellow shopper or one of the many security cameras.

I did always have the option of stealing some of Frenchie's opium, but the last time I did that, I hallucinated that Dr. Phill, the girl from The Circle, and Homelander were having a threesome in my bed. I was in no mood to witness that horror again.

As another excruciating cramp wracked my body, someone knocked on my door.

"Oi, are ya' gonna wrap yourself in them sheets tighter than a nun's knickers all day, or are ya' gonna stop being a lazy twat and come join our meeting like a good-standing, functioning member of society," Butcher barked as he entered my room.

"I'm hardly a good-standing member of society, considering I'm one of the top criminals in America, along with your asses," I replied. My voice was strained as I panted and closed my eyes, trying to cope with the sharp pang spreading across my lower back.

It was noticeable enough for Butcher to trudge over to my bed and yank back my blankets, revealing my sweating, shivering body.

"What the fuck wrong with you? Are ya' going into bloody kidney failure or something?"

"Or something," I mumbled. "Look, I'm fine. I'm just on my period, so I'm in a little bit of pain." Right on cue, my stomach agonizingly seized, causing me to groan weakly.

"I'd hardly call that a little bit, love," Butcher snickered. "I've seen puny, little blokes who've been shot cope better than you."

"Oh, shut up, will you?" I snapped, on the verge of tears. "And get the fuck out. If I'm going to die, I'd rather do it alone."

Butcher rolled his eyes. "Oh, cut out the dramatics, doll, and scoot over, will ya'" He used his hand to shoo me, and I weakly moved over as he joined me in bed, kicking off his boots and propping his feet up.

"What are you doing?" I asked, confused.

"Making myself comfortable," Butcher replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His bulking frame took up the entirety of my twin bed, leaving me teetering on the very edge.

"C'mere," Butcher commanded, holding out his arm.

I didn't move and stared at him skeptically until he finally huffed, rolling his eyes, "I don't bite, unless ya' want me to. And legend has it you're quite kinky."

"What legend?" I demanded, appalled.

"These walls are quite thin, love. You do the math," Butcher smirked.

My face grew red, and I suddenly felt very self-conscious in my underwear and oversized shirt. "Well, you must have a problem with your ears. You should really see someone about that. I know a good ENT that can-" My sentence dissolved into a yelp as Butcher grew impatient and tugged me over, so my head crashed down on his chest as his muscular arm caged me against his body.

"What the hell are you doing?" I sputtered.

"Making you feel better," he grumbled. "Now, tell me where it hurts."

Shyly, I pointed to my stomach, and Butcher placed his hand over the correct spot. "Jesus. I can feel your muscles spazeming."

I hummed softly as he began to massage my aching abdomen gently, and my eyes drooped as my body relaxed against him.

"That's it, love," Butcher said, whispering his praise.

I snuggled into his broad chest, and my nose nuzzled into his neck, inhaling his comforting scent of mint, whisky, and nicotine. Butcher's hand dipped to my lower stomach, and I moaned, clutching the fabric of his Hawaiian shirt.

"That feel good?" he asked gruffly as he dug into my flesh, working out the tension that I'd been holding there all morning.

"So good, Butcher," I murmured in appreciative bliss.

After a moment of silence, Butcher's fingers trailed down again and curved to the side so his massive hand rested on my hip as he breathed, "Ya' know, there is another way to relieve your discomfort."

My breaths came out shallow as I asked, "Yeah? What's that?" Already knowing the answer.

Butcher's lips grazed my ear, and I shivered at the contact. "Why don't I show ya'"

Anticipation trailed up my spine, and I held my breath as Butcher pulled up the hem of my shirt and lightly traced the waistband of my underwear.

"This is a one-time thing, yeah?" he said lowly. "I don't need ya' following me around like a desperate little pup after you've come on my hand. I don't have time to satiate a needy slut like you every day."

I nodded my head, but Butcher swatted my inner thigh as he scolded me. "Use your words, sweetheart."

The sting Butcher's hand left behind caused blood to flow quicker to my pussy. My lips were wet and sensitive as they rubbed against my thin underwear, and I squirmed at the sensation.

"Yes, I understand," I whined, desperation leaking through my voice just like the arousal that leaked out of my cunt.

"Good girl."

I moaned at Butcher's praise, and he chuckled in response. "I haven't even touched ya' yet, and you're already fuckin' creaming your jeans."

I arched my back off the bed as Butcher eased my soaked panties down my legs, unintentionally shoving my breasts in his face. After pushing my ruined underwear into his pocket, he took one of my puckered nipples in between his thumb and forefinger and twisted it harshly. I cried out, and Butcher was quick to slap a hand over my mouth.

"Shut the fuck up unless you want the others to hear what an eager bleedin' whore you are. I doubt they'd believe it, though, with how you prance around here all innocent and demure like the virgin fuckin' Mary."

I shook my head as tears of humiliation pooled in my eyes. They began pouring down my face when Butcher positioned himself on his stomach and pulled my legs apart, exposing my sopping cunt and engorged clit that was begging for attention.

"Oh, look at that," he mused. "She's so pink n' swollen."

He ran a single finger in between my glistening folds, and I jumped at the sudden contact, whimpering.

"And sensitive," he observed, chuckling.

"Please, Butcher," I begged, embarrassed at how desperate I was when I lifted my hips off the bed, holding my pussy that dripped blood and arousal up to his face.

"S'ok," he soothed with a slight condescending tone as he placed a firm hand on my hips, pushing me back down on the bed. "I'm gonna take care of ya’, darling."

I didn't have time to reply before Butcher licked a strip up my center, savoring my taste. "So fuckin' good."

His eyes met mine as he circled my clit with his thumb. "Has your cunt always tasted this bloody good, love? Cuz I've been missing out."

Butcher's words vibrated against my core, and my cries were his only answer as he dove back in and began slurping up my drooling pussy like he was a man starved. My fingers found his dark hair, and I pulled in desperation every time his tongue mercilessly fucked my entrance.

When two of Butcher's calloused fingers replaced his tongue, my stomach knotted with my impending orgasm. His thick digits stretched me deliciously, and when his tongue circled my tight, puckered hole below, I moaned loudly and carelessly. Any thoughts of the possible audience outside of my door had flown out of my mind the second Butcher touched me.

"You like that, eh? Maybe I should play with your tight hole next. I'll stretch your ass open with my fingers until you're begging to come."

Butcher's filthy words sent me over the edge, and my orgasm pulled the air from my lungs as I gasped, tightening my grip on his hair to ground myself.

"That's it. Gush all over my hand like a good girl."

It felt like I was floating above my body as I writhed on the bed, mumbling unintelligible words as Butcher drew my high out longer than I thought was possible.

When I had nothing left to give, and my body was weak and satisfied, Butcher slowly withdrew his fingers.

Through hooded eyes, I watched him hold his long digits in the air, and they glistened in my blood and wetness that dripped down his hand and onto his arm.

Butcher held my gaze as he opened his mouth and curled his tongue around his wet fingers, making filthy sounds as he sucked his fingers dry.

"I think I've found my new favorite meal."

༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻

not my best work but oooh wellll

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Shameless

Warning ⚠️; internalized homophobia, Homelander is his own warning, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, fluff. 🔞

Pairing; Bottom!Homelander/Top!Male!Reader

Summary; John and you are two opposites. He is a comedian and a liar, you are bluntly honest and direct. He cares about his image, you don't. He is ashamed of your relationship while you are shameless.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat on the sofa sipping at your drink, eyes staring at John with amusement. Still in his costume, your lover walked in circle while biting his nail. He looked ridiculous in your eyes. All those fake muscles and the cape were too much. He looked always better naked, natural, and not so fake.

- “You are going to get yourself dizzy, my love. Just get out of those ridiculous clothes and come sit with me.” You said, waving your hand to show his costume. “We have so little time together, I would prefer having you by my side than whatever you are doing right now.”

John stared at you, eyes glowing red and you just laughed at him. You weren't scared, never was, because John couldn't kill you. No one could. It was part of your power, your curse, but in a moment like this, it was a blessing. Watching your lover get worked up for nothing was funny.

- “How can you laugh in such a situation?” John asked, voice hissing at you as you rolled your eyes. “Its a disaster! I cannot be seen like… like…”

- “Like the man you truly are?” You finished his sentence, sighing. “John, no one cares about that picture. Everyone will call it fake and those who don't, well who cares? Just discredit them and forget about it.”

John said nothing and looked away, his eyes back to normal. You shook your head as he kept walking around the room, trying to find a solution. You didn't understand him. Why come to you when you couldn't help when you were the source of this situation? Well, you weren't fully responsible. It wasn't you who had decided to kiss on a rooftop where anyone could see, that had been John.

And now there was a picture of you two kissing, your hands squeezing Homelander’s ass, circulating around the internet. It was, for you, hilarious. For John? The end of the world was happening.

- “Can't you stop being overly dramatic for five minutes?” You asked, harsher than you wanted.

You gasped in surprise as the back of your head hit the floor, hard, making you see stars. John had pined you down after knocking over the sofa and sat on you. You shivered, licking your lips as you plunged your gaze into his glowing one.

- “And can't you take it seriously for once? Don't you realize how serious the situation is for me? I am supposed to be perfect with no weaknesses and I can not be seen like that with another man.” John spat, his hand grabbing your chin painfully tight.

- “But you are not perfect John and you'll never be!” You replied with a sneer.

It was the wrong answer because next thing you knew John punched you and pain exploded in your jaw. Blood splashed all over your lover and you as your jaw hit the wall and fell onto the ground. From anger, John expression turned to horror as he realized what he had done. From amused, you became enraged.

You didn't gave John any chance and kicked him in the chest, sending the sup flying against the ceiling. You watched your lover fall loudly on the ground as you got up, spilling blood all over the place. You closed your eyes, pain swallowing you up as nerves, bones and everything else slowly regrew. Tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as you felt like your lower jaw was burning in the fiery pits of Hell.

You heard John begging, swearing he didn't mean to hurt you like that and you didn't care. What mattered was how he still did it.

You opened your eyes staring angrily at the hero still lying on the ground. You walked up to him and saw John tensing and closing on himself before you grabbed the man by the collar. Without a word, you back-slapped like he was a bitch, splitting open his lip before grabbing his jaw like he did to you. You leaned down until your nose brushed his.

- “Listen here you pathetic excuse of a man; you are nothing. You are not a hero, you are not perfect and you are not an inspiration. The only thing you are is a childish man who can't take no for an answer and can't live without the approval of the world.” Your words hit home as you saw tears building up in John’s eyes and you sneered again. “You are pathetic. Truly pathetic. The world loves the fake image of you and would turn on you at the first opportunity. Their love is conditional unlike mine and yet you chose those worms over me. I who had always been here for you no matter what. I who helped you bond with your bastard son and helped you when no one wanted to. I bloodied my hands for you! And after everything that how you thank me?”

Venom filled your words as you stared at your lover. John was silently crying and looked away, not daring to look at you. You felt betrayed, and humiliated. You did so much for that man child and he turned against you so easily. You didn't want to see him anymore, wanted him gone from your sight.

- “Think about it John. Who will take care of you when you are old and your body is betraying you? Who will be there for you when the world cheer for a younger and more attractive hero? Them? Your so-called fans? No. They won't, but I would have.” You said, turning your back to him as you walked away. “Now get out.”

- “I’m sorry! I didn't…” John tried but stopped as you turned your head, eyes filled with anger.

- “GET OUT.” You snarled.

And just like that John was gone. A soft breeze caressed your face after he flew away. Sighing, you cleaned the room and threw away your jaw. The pain still lingered and you massaged your chin before sighing. You hated fighting with John like that, but recently it was every other day. The more time passed the more he became unhinged and impulsive. You could barely recognize the man who sought love and attention, the man who melted under your hands at night seemed gone.

It was late that night when John came back. He didn't call, didn't text. He just showed up. You were in bed reading a book in the light of a candle when you heard your front door opening. Only John had a spare so you knew it was him.

He didn't come up directly and you ignored him. You were still angry at his stunt and, frankly, didn't wish to see him. Not right now, not tomorrow. But there he was, walking into your home as if it was his.

After a few minutes, you heard John walking up the stairs and coming toward your room. You didn't look up when he entered nor when he called your name with a timid and soft voice. Instead you clenched your book harder.

- “I thought I told you to get the fuck out of my house, John. What are you doing here?” You asked, voice cold as you turned the page of your book.

Your lover didn't answer. Instead, John approached the bed and put down a mix of things; a gift basket filled with your favorite snacks and drinks and another full of books. Sighing, you closed your book and turned your attention on John.

There he stood in civilian clothes and his head low. His eyes were still red and puffy from crying. Had you not been angry at him you would have hugged John. But you were still pissed off.

- “I am so sorry for what I did and said.” John whispered, looking away as he sat on the edge of the mattress. “I have no excuses and you are right. You've always been there for me and you didn't deserve any of this, but I did.”

You could see tears in his eyes and the sight was almost pitiful. Of course, John couldn't live up with what he did and would regret his actions. You didn't. The brat had deserved your words and hands.

- “I don't want… I can not lose you…” John whispered so low that you barely heard it.

You sighed and leaned back against your pillows, crossing your arms and studying him. John was clearly remorseful and you knew he had his lesson, for now at least. Shaking your head you gently tapped the mattress next to you and John didn't wait to lay down. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face against your chest. You brushed his blond hair with your fingers, heart almost getting softer as you saw how happy he was now.

- “You are losing me, John. I don't know what the fuck is going on with you, but stop it. I don't have the patience to deal with your childish tantrum just because a picture of us leaked on the internet. We are celebrities, it's going to keep happening.” You said and your lover held you tighter. “Hush now. I forgive you this time, but I might not give you another chance.”

John nodded and didn't let go. You kept brushing his hair and let your fingers down his neck. He was cold, colder than normal and you could feel his heartbeat racing. He was scared and terrified which pleased you. Maybe he wouldn't go against you anymore, maybe he would stop thinking he could do as he wished.

After all, he was your pet, yours to use as you wished and you couldn't have a bad dog by your side. As much as you loved John, you didn't want him if he was to lose his mind and become a liability. But at that moment he looked so small and delicate in your arms, almost broken and you couldn't resist him.

You smiled as you felt his body relax against you as he slowly fell asleep. Maybe you could use his fear and remorse against him. Maybe you could force him to come clean about your relationship. Not now, the fight was still too fresh but soon enough he might give in. And once you were out to the world, John would truly be yours entirely.

[linkemon]

Fairy tale moment headcanons

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other headcanons from this series can be found here.

This part contains: Silver, Trey Clover and Leona Kingscholar.

Silver • Meeting in the forest

• Silver's fairy tale moment would be related to the forest. That's one of his favourite places to nap. Not everyone has the opportunity to wake up to the sounds of someone else's singing. Would it be the best voice in the world? No way. But it wasn't unpleasant either. He would follow one of the less-traveled paths, listening all the time.

• Who wouldn't recognize the Prefect of Ramshackle dorm? Even if he didn't know you personally back then, he knew who you were right away. Grim was dancing somewhere right next to you, singing even worse than you. This was one of the very popular pieces. He realized much later that you probably didn't know much songs, not being from this world.

• What surprised him most was that the animals didn't run away from you at all. Usually, any loud behaviour of others in the forest would immediately scare them away. Meanwhile, his bird friends danced around your head, teasing Grim. Deer and squirrels watched curiously, partially hidden in the bushes and trees. When the bunny and its family started chewing on his pants and pulling him towards you, he realized that you must be someone special.

• He doesn't know how it happened but he instinctively finished the line you started, stepping out of the shadows. Maybe it was because his father played in a band and filled his head with every popular song. He just let it slip. You looked embarrassed that someone had caught you. You kidnapped Grim and disappeared before he could say anything.

• He couldn't quite explain it but he felt like he'd met you before. Once upon a dream...

Trey Clover • Falling Card Soldiers

• Trey is quite a composed person. After all, he holds an important position in Heartslabyul. He is not in the habit of mindlessly running through the corridors. That can't be said about you...

• Of course he knew you. Since the beginning of your adventure, you had spent time with the first years in his dorm. Plus, you came to rescue him and his friends when Riddle's overblot happened. Therefore, the sight of you running around the NRC, whether to catch Grim or to deal with matters that the director despised, no longer surprised him at all. You were everywhere and always on the run.

• However, he did not expect that when going to a unbirthday party, he would get hit right in the chest. And with your mischievous, beautiful face on top of that. Riddle and Cater walked right next to him. That's why, when you, Ace, Deuce and Grim ran into them just behind a large rose bush, you couldn't slow down. You fell on top of each other like a giant sandwich. There were muffled screams, complaints and something about beheading everyone.

• He honestly wished he had time to enjoy the sight of your red face. He guessed you didn't expect such a meeting and closeness. However, he had to react, because the face of the prefect of Heartslabyul was equally red and he was already preparing a punishment for all those who came late, while trying to make it out of the pile of students.

• Trey rescued you from the situation, hiding you as quickly as he could before everyone else could recover. It isn't fair? Maybe a little but he really wanted to eat the new tart with you. How would he do it if you were punished?

Leona Kingscholar • Hakuna matata

• Leona wasn't really into the whole circle of life thing and stuff about his homeland. In Sunset Savanna, everyone just talked about nature and refused most innovations. However, he had to admit that he quite liked this one slogan, the hakuna matata one. What was he supposed to worry about? He knows how to plan and is smart, and he lives a pretty comfortable life on top of that. Living without care, that's life.

• So why couldn't his favourite herbivore understand this? You were always running somewhere, dealing with dozens of different matters, often not even your own. That's why he had to explain it to you clearly one day. By explain he meant that you stay in his room and don't go anywhere. Time to relax. Ruggie prepared food and blankets for you so you both could have a movie marathon.

• He listened to your concerns before the movie. Suddenly you remembered a million things you still needed to do. Homework, delivering photos to the principal, buying food for Grim... Leona covered you with a blanket and wrapped you up like a giant burrito. He told you to write down all these things and promised that they would be done by tomorrow (actually, Ruggie would make sure they were done but he was willing to make extra money...).

• You managed to shed some responsibility for the evening and had a really good time. Hakuna matata!

[dianesdiaries]

what you are| Homelander x Y/n

-After getting ahold of Homeland's animalistic nature, Vought's international decides to hire a psychiatrist to examine his behaviours. But he can see right through yours

NOTE: no smut! this short fic contains convo w/tension, suspense/ js a fun piece on the boys!

In the three minutes it took me to take in my situation, I could feel his gaze getting warmer. The aroma filled with the silence of a faint fan, the distilled white walls that caved into his head. My eyes slowly met with his, intoned into the rage that conceived into madness.

"Surprise visit?", the supe seemed unamused with my presence, the silent creaking of his chair rocking back and forth. We both knew damn well those cuffs could come off any second. We both knew Vought could do nothing if he killed me. I think it excited him. I sat down cautiously, leaving a gradual space between his palmed hands and my worksheets. "You seem- out of it lately. More or so then often. I'm here to help you through these times but you need to cooperate with me", my words held stern through my fear. The rapid pumping of my heart thumped with every crack of a smile he made. "Fix.. You want to fix me? that's ironic", the man scoffed and leaned back into his chair. his eyes met mine once again, demanding an answer to the quiet that held curiosity. "You seriously think you can walk in here and try to fucking fool me? What a joke. They want to hold me in here like some sort of mutt- while you have more to be scared of then you think". The room fell still again. I desperately looked for somewhere to avert my gaze, but fell back to base one. But I held my ground. As long as he left me time to stall, I could do my work. And leave. I worked mercilessly at my sheet, writing down whatever could come to mind to seem productive.

"Wasting my fucking time with this..."

I darted up to check my client, watching him carelessly stare into space. The plan was working. The more he could keep thinking, the more I could write down. I never admitted it, but being a super in silence had more benefits than you think-

"I know what you are".

My vision blurred in circles. My heart was alive in my stomach. "Excuse me?..-"

"Let's be honest, okay?", his words were empty, his hair hung low below his eyes as I could feel my body overheating. "You were given the gift, of being a better being. Of being superior to a world of sheep. And you're fucking ashamed. Like a waste of good product". I slowly stepped back from my chair, collecting my sheets that scattered onto the ground in the whip of a chain. The cuffs dangled, and scraped slowly to the rhythm of its fall. The floor swarmed my gaze, small trickles of tears bubbling in my eyes. Torn cloth met the warmth of my body, his presence towered over me. At this point, his thoughts were unreadable. I couldn't possibly make out how he felt in this moment but vast- nothingness. His breath was cold, the brace of his hand on my shoulder gripping. "Look at me. I said, look at me when I'm talking to you". I could feel my breath tremble as I raised my head to meet his gaze, the grin he had wiped off slowly. Homelander laughed at his irony, the madness breaking with every breath. "You come in here, and you tell me I have fucking problems? You can read people's minds and still choose a minimum wage fucking job!", my tears looked crocodile in his presence. His fingers slowly met my chin, tilting my head upwards in a jolt. "But it happens to the best of us, right? Nothing wrong with some slack. You wanna live serving them? Or a life of serving your kind?", my head shook up and down vigorously at his statements, my words entrapped in my throat. "Then you'll do the right thing, yeah Y/N?", his eyes began to light a crimson red, a smirk drawing on his face at the sound of fear in my cries.

His hand slowly made its travel down to my throat, grasping at the grooves as my hands searched for my keycard in a survival instinct. His grip tightened at every second I wasted, his soft chuckles at the heinous act sent chills down my spine.

BEEP!

My body collapsed at the release of air, grasping onto every breath I could take. The vigorous buzzing of his eyes fell into a still blue, looking down at the fawn of a supe he was looking at. His steps marched slowly out of the room, the sound of metal the door cranking open at his sight. "Thanks for the chat. It was a cute try, at least".

[hughiecampbelle]

Ichor (Homelander Oneshot)

Character/s: Homelander, Ashley, The Boys

Word Count: 1,479

Warning/s: gore, sort of all the basic warnings The Boys typically has

Requested: Hiii! It’s me again, the platonic Homelander x reader requester! (that sounded cringey lol haha) I can’t get enough of your wonderful writing so here’s another fic request with the prompts: Sincerity ,thunder and lightning, "Go" . Still platonic Homelander x reader but this time, please make it angsty! Thank you again, and have a great day/night!! - anon

Requested: hi!! can I request a fic with homelander with prompts 30)intimate and 60)you're covered in blood. thank you 💗💗💗💗 - anon

A/N: I hope you don’t mind my loves, I combined your requests! I'm so sorry it's take me so long to get to your requests!!! Fic writing has been so difficult lately, I have no idea why! This, though, idk I think it really came together! I've said this before, but I truly do feel like Frankenstein and this horrible, beautiful, mismatched creation is my monster lol. I love how it turned out!!!! I put so much angst into it!!! My loves, it makes me so happy that you like my writing! I really hope you like it!!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Go. He doesn’t have to say it again. The click of Ashley’s heels pattern across the floors. She stumbles, only for a moment, before recovering. The rest stare in disbelief, jaws hanging, eyes wide. All he has to do is look at them – glare at them – and slowly the room begins to empty. There is a speck of blood on his cheek, just below his twitching eye. All at once, his knees buckle. He falls into prayer, ready for execution, his gloved hands gripping the edge, slippery with red. There are few instances in which he’d ever let someone see him cry. Breakdown. Crumble. This, however, is the exception. He does not wail or sob. This grief, this sorrow, comes out quietly. Silently, tears slip down his cheeks, filling those watery blue eyes. His words are mumbled, hard to decipher, but they share the same rhythm of an apology. Begging for forgiveness. Regrets slip from his tongue. He struggles to catch his breath, sincere in every exhale, every so often placing his head against the lip of the table. It is cool, frozen, and sticky. He reaches out to touch, to cradle, the engagement ring. Crimson drips from it like honey, thick and smelling metallic. He closes his fist around it. Suddenly, he is full of rage. Furious and bitter, he smashes his hand through the table. He pulls himself free, cursing everyone. Beside him lies a body. He slips the ring on a finger, sniffling, admiring how delicate it looks. How beautiful you would have been, standing there with him. How excited you must have been when he proposed. It’s all gone now.

The boardroom is vast. The light would throw itself across the floor, kissing your face, reminding you there is more out there than this job, this place. Not today, though. Instead there are clouds, dark and moody. Instead there is blood across the floor, platelets and plasma and cells splattered and spattered. Gushing. Hemorrhaging. Too much for one person. Instead, every so often, thunder growls and lightning illuminates him, his figure, his features left in the shadow. You’d never seen it from this angle. The ceiling is painted. He flies heroically. The rest, your friends and acquaintances, circle around him. He is the sun. You would have laughed had you had the strength. You’re covered in blood. Your innards expose themself. You cannot move, you cannot put them back. Through your costume, your flesh, your intestines and internal organs. Malleable and pliable, your body nothing more than putty. You were only alive long enough to feel the ring, the squeeze of his hand, the kiss on the forehead. You were only alive enough to let out a guttural, wet, spongy gasp. Blood caked your teeth, your tongue. It’s all you could taste. Gore spills from your belly as if it can’t be contained any longer. As if it had fought its way from you. Nothing else is broken or damaged. Tarnished. Nothing else can be felt. There is no pain and for that you are both grateful. Just a loss. A loss of strength. Loss of warmth. Loss of life. You let your cheek touch the cool of the surface, your head dropping, eyes open and staring. Watching. Waiting. When the time comes, John closes them for you. When the time comes, he’ll push back the hair from your face, your skin ghostly, lacking color. He will gather himself and leave you there for someone else to clean up. Dispose of. 

There was little said about your absence. A secret mission, Ashley says, one only you could be capable of. A great sacrifice, she smiles, one the world should be grateful for. Your image plastered itself across every news outlet and billboard. You pose, completely unscathed. Unable to attend the press conferences yourself, you send your regards. When she’s repeated it so many times, she might even be able to fool herself into believing it. There is still blood on her shoe. Sales for your merchandise, your figurines, costumes, posters and movies skyrocketed. You’re an American hero. Teammates are made to be quiet. Deep and A-Train, Noir and Sage, even Firecracker were sworn to secrecy. For that, they would be rewarded. They stand beside her, all smiles, waving, congratulating you on your bravery, your courage. All that’s missing is John. The funeral is intimate. Less than a dozen people attend. The casket is empty. Vought thought it better to cremate, but that wasn’t common knowledge. All that’s left is the ring. He stands back where no one would spot him, dressed as a civilian. The ring rests on a chain under his shirt. There should have been more time. There should have been a future. He curses you, your name, your mistakes, trying to keep himself composed. He watches as the casket is lowered. The flowers in their hands. The small patch of first where your headstone will go. It will read your name, your real one, the one you were supposed to have all along. . 

Y/n Butcher. 

He’d sliced through you like you were nothing. Like butter. He found the ring in your room. You wouldn’t know, of course, but he tore through it. Ripped open every drawer, throwing them across the room. Stripped the bed. Smashed the television. Tore the artwork. He took every item you’d kept there and shredded it. Vought cleaned that up, too. The place smelled like burning. He’d started a small fire. He’d know it when he found it. Eventually, he did. Deep down where no one would ever look, in a little box, the inside lined in zinc. Your ring. You’d forgotten to take it off, slipping into your room before a meeting. Who knew this one mistake would cost you your life? You’d been so careful otherwise. Scrubbing his smell off you. Checking if you were followed. Making yourself available all hours to John. You sat beside him believing you were safe. Believing you could have everything. There was always a cost to love, though. Your pulse never quickened. Not when John and Sage brought up a mole. Not when he stood up, placing his hand on your shoulder. Not when the room went silent. Perhaps you’d known you’d get caught all along. He grabbed you by the throat, pushing you on to the table. It was so quick. Everyone else stood back, shocked. You were the only friend he’d ever had. And now he was trying to kill you. Except, he wasn’t. He could have killed you in seconds. This was personal. He wasn’t thinking logically, he was emotional and dangerous. His eyes lit up, carving a line across your stomach. You tried to speak, but only a gurgling sound came out. After it was done, Homelander was panting. He ordered everyone out. This wasn’t how he wanted it to be. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. But then he pictured that fucking ring. He pictured you hanging out with them, befriending them, sharing all his secrets. You were going to marry Butcher. What friend would hide something like that? He trusted you. How could you do this to him? How could you make him do this? 

Frenchie placed the last flower, Kimiko by his side. Hughie held on to Annie tight, afraid of letting go. Marvin tried to comfort Butcher, but he shook him off. You said you could handle it. You promised him you were so cautious he’d never find out. No one would. You never made it home. They called and texted. They searched the city. It was only a week before a flash drive appeared, sent anonymously. Cutesy, unassuming, designed to look like a cow. The only way to use it was to rip the head off. Each of them had watched it countless times, trying to figure out what went wrong. There was no sound, just black and white security footage. Everyone is sitting. Homelander talking. He gets up. He’s choking you. His eyes light up. Fast forward. He’s crying. He kisses your head. He comforts your body. And then he leaves. Even in Butcher’s dreams, he sees it. There was no pleading or begging. There wasn’t any time. He’s tried to study your face, but you’re too far away. That was all they were allotted. No real answers, no body, no evidence. John left before anyone saw him. Across every station, every screen in the city, your image displayed. Hundreds of reporters describing your long history of saves. All the good you had done. All the good you would do. Recordings of little kids in your costume, videos of you signing posters, standing at his side. You looked so alive. If only they had known better. John smiles to himself. It’s as if the whole world were mourning. He could pretend, at least for a little while.

[officialabortive]

Naga!bakugou imagine pt2

Part 1

It had been a few hours since you had been taken into the den of a naga who introduced himself as Katsuki Bakugou

While his size alone showed the immense power he held, you felt no fear toward him. Well, not anymore

Yes, of course the initial shock and confusion left you petrified and shaking, but it quickly wore off when you realized he meant you no harm. It became obvious when he arranged furs and blankets into a little circle and placed you right in the center of the cushy assortment

So far you've gathered that he is keeping you as a sort of pet for him to study, wanting to gather information on human kind

He spent some time poking and prodding at you, tugging at the strange fabrics that cover most of your skin. Also having removed your shirt

Now he carried you on his hip as he moved swiftly through the forest. Your head resting atop his shoulder as you held on. Apparently you were headed out to see "shitty hair" or whatever that meant

It hadn't taken long to arrive at a cave. Its entrance was partially covered by hanging ivy. As soon as bakugou -who still was carrying you- entered the threshold, he started shouting for the one that resided here. "OI SHITTY HAIR! I FOUND SOMETHING"

"Oh hey! What's up bakugou"

You turn your head to see who had responded. It was another naga, and just like the one you were with he had spiked hair, only this naga's was brightred. This one had a black tail with small patches of grey, and a smile full of pointed teeth

But as soon as you entered his line of sight, his smile dulled and eyes went wide. You saw his mouth open with the intent to speak, but no words came out. Instead, his dark red eyes being back and forth between you and bakugou

Bakugou smirked at his reaction, moving closer and setting you down to the cave floor

"...you have got to be kidding me. Is that really a human?"

"Damn right. Found 'em right outside my den, completely lost"

"Huh, weird. I've never seen one of these little guys before" he leaned down to get a better look at you, the sudden motion causing you to flinch back closer to bakugou. This made both nagas huff a slight chuckle

"Aww, its alright, no need to be shy" his bright genuine smile seemed reassuring enough. "I'm Eijiro Kirishima, a friend of Bakugou's."

"...I'm y/n"

Bakugou swooped you back into the confines of his toned arms, moving deeper into the cave. Kirishima staying at his side as you saw an area not unsimiler to bakugou's den. This was obviously the main living area, furs padding the floor with a generous amount of pillows that sit in a corner

Stopping at the edge of the large living space, bakugou put you back on your feet so he could lean on a pillow. Kirishima settles close by, pulling you in so you sat against his long tail which formed a U shape

You were handed a plush embroidered pillow to which you hugged against your chest and rested your chin

Kirishima's gaze lingered on you, with a look of sadness, pity. You were obviously so far from home, and don't know the way back. And you're such a small being, lacking the needed height and muscle to defend yourself. He could help but wonder 'what if a bear had been the one to find you instead of bakugou!?'. Such a defenceless creature wouldn't stand a chance

"Ya know, I've heard lots of stories about what humans are like but you don't match a single one." That peaked your interest, wanting to know the tales of humans, told by nagas

With a tilt of your head you give kirishima a wondering look, insinuating you want to know more

"They all say humans are vicious and attacked others brutally, even their own kind. Stories of powerful weapons and slaughter for the purpose of stealing away homelands...

You could tell his mind was starting to wander off topic, his sentence trailing off

"What's- why... umm, your legs. Why is the skin on your legs a different color than the rest of you?"

He was referring to your pants. Apparently he thought your clothing was a part of you, your skin to be exact.

"That isn't skin dumbass. It's not even attached to them. look-"

Bakugou pulled you to rest against his coiled tail, and tugged off your pants in one quick motion

You yelped at the suddenness, cold air now brushing against your skin

Ok so, I've got writer's block. This has been sitting in my drafts and I can't think of anything else to add to this so I'm just posting it.

MASTERLIST

[cevans-is-classic]

18+ only! Sexual themes, Sub Homelander, collar, and panty kink, language, and drug use.

My Masterpost

Homelander

@chocolate-floof

Part Two: Listen To Me

“Look at you.” The collar tugged on his neck, pulling him forward until you could nip the tip of his nose. “Such a good boy.” 

He’s wearing blue and black silk panties. The image of the silk sticking to his cock where his come dampened the front causes sharp sparks of pleasure to zap beneath his skin. He keeps his fingers tucked into the back of the panties, tugging them tight against his hips. 

You’re sitting on your couch, laid back, tapping your chin as you look him over. 

He wishes you’d be nude. 

He wishes you’d let him touch you. 

“Don’t you look pretty, baby boy?” Heat floods his face, down his chest to tingle in the pit of his stomach. “Even better with that red flush.” You swiveled to set your feet on the floor and beckon him closer. 

“What do you say, Johnny?.” 

“I—I look pretty.” He stutters, his cock twitching again. 

You eye him before shaking your head. Your fingers feel warm when they smear his mess. “A pretty, dirty boy.” You scoop your fingers, his come dripping, and his mouth falls open when you push your fingers inside. 

He moans, eyes closing, tongue circling your fingers. His cock aches, thighs straining, and when he whimpers, you hook a finger into the collar around your neck. 

“There is more to clean” You tug, knocking him forward until he rests against your knees, “and Good boys clean up their messes.” 

Your eyebrow lifts. 

John, with a shaking hand, swipes up more and more, moaning as it sours on his tongue. Your knuckles push against Adam’s apple, the leather collar stiff on his neck. He tilts his head forward, letting your knuckle push deeper, the leather stretching to its limits. 

You chuckle then coo at him, “Look at you. Messy boy wrapped up in silk, and come.” You’ve tilted your chin up looking down at him. 

His body trembles with the need to touch you, to kiss, to fuck himself inside of you.

“My selfish boy.” You let go of the collar.

The drag of air in his lungs sinks him deeper, legs spreading more, head resting on your thigh as he goes boneless.

You’ve painted him in shades of sunny blue that hang above his head in a cloudless sky. It bleeds into the comfort of pink clouds flickering behind his eyes. Your thigh against his cheek is the softest pillow he’s known. 

The soft racing of your heart. 

Calm. 

Collected. 

You have The Homelander at your feet, and not once has he smelled fear seeping through your pores or a race of your heart when he stands close to you. 

Everyone else in his life fears him, ready to ask how high when he says jump. 

It brings him the rush of power but leaves him empty. 

He wants more. 

He wants a challenge. 

He thought his greatest challenge would be Sage, but she’s proven incompetent. 

He felt shame when he told her to go, but he felt gratified that she tucked her tail and left.

That she left. 

Sage is the smartest person in the world.

She’d be the one to see through him. 

Only you’re allowed to see those parts of him. 

His mind wanders long enough to doze, eyes heavy; limbs turned jello.

He wonders if you’d do what Firecracker did for him.

Would you fill your chest with milk? Let it leak from your nipples and hold him as he suckles from you.

He’d never let go if you did. 

He’d stay in your lap forever, listening to you coo at him, calling him your beautiful, selfish boy as he takes more. When you run out, he’ll move to the other side, and use his teeth to bring droplets to the surface where he’ll lap them up. 

Hearing your voice, the warmth of it flowing through his veins as he suckles and rocks in your arms is what heaven is.

He could make you. 

“Come here, Johnny.” You rise, holding out a hand to help him up. 

Not that he needs it, but when you’re looking at him like that, he knows a bath is coming. Having you lead him to the bathroom and lavish his skin with attention helps bring him back to a smooth surface; one breath at a time.

The tub fills with steaming water, fogging the mirror and dampening the room. 

He groans when he peels his panties off. It makes him tremble, hoping you’ll help slip them from his feet. 

There’s no reaction, no bending knees or fluttering hands. You simply stand beside him, one hand testing the water, and wait. 

He steps in. 

The burning water loosens his muscles. If they ached the water would drain it away. 

“Hand me the cup, baby boy.” 

He grabs the black plastic cup.

You wrote his name on it, John, in strong white lettering. You clean him with the cup tips against his forehead, a small mouth helping it run over his hair. 

He waits for it. 

“I’m going to clean you up, Johnny. Let you rest before you fly away from me.” 

I don’t want to. He thinks with dragging, slurring words in his mind.   

You pour twice over his head, rivulets spilling down his shoulders. You follow the water with six sure pulls through his hair. 

After, you reach for a washcloth. Water drips from it after you wet it.

“Over your eyes.” 

The shampoo smells of milk and honey. 

You picked it out for him. 

He didn’t even tell you to. 

The cloth darkens the room, touch and sound tumbling to the forefront. Your fingers are strong in his hair, massaging the shampoo into his scalp. When you wash it away, it washes the stray thoughts that clog his mind.

All he focuses on is the swipe of your hands, the tug of your fingers. He feels cleaner already, washed free of everyone else. 

He whimpers when you take the cloth away. 

The smell of coconut oil soothed his rising panic.

You scrub over his raising goosebumps across his skin.

The water has cooled. You drain a little and turn the water back on. You refill the tub until it dances with the lip.

He feels the drag of the cloth over his chest, his sensitive nipples, dipping into his belly button then down and between his legs. 

It’s perfunctory. Repeated patterns keep him steady. You clean his cock around his balls and then further down his legs. 

You wiped between his toes when reaching his feet, repeating the process. When your hand moves further back between his legs, he lets out a sigh. 

You should bathe him every night. 

He should be warm, safe, and content like this every day. What if he brought you with him? Keep you tied up in his room until he’s ready to be your selfish boy again. 

No, he blinks the thought away. That’d be dangerous.

What if someone hears your voice, the timber of it clawing into their emotions and twisting them to your wants and needs? 

You’re powerful. 

He knows this, has known it from the moment he shook your hand.

At first, he was terrified.

The look in your eyes read I Bite in neon letters. Then you smiled at him, pumped his hand once, and spoke your name. 

The wisps of your voice tickled at his mind, opening up his chest, but the force of mind control didn’t pull at his brain. 

It simply sunk deeper, beneath his skin, velvet, smooth. You were talking to him, mouth moving, eyes dancing with amusement but all he could feel was that bubble of excitement in his stomach. 

“I’m an artist.” The words were orange, painting over his skin in sunlight. “I also write.” He didn’t care, but he asked what you wrote. When you kept talking, he thought of using you.

“Call me emotional.” You smiled. 

He cocked a brow at you. “And what does that mean?” 

Your smile turned salacious, hand still squeezing his. He realized he didn’t want you to let go. Your hand tingled in his — your voice sweeter than sugar and thicker than syrup.

Homelander decided he wanted it to himself.

“I’m going to keep you.” 

Another sharp smile, “I hope so, baby boy.” 

That’d been it. 

He was hooked.

He’d lifted you into his arms when he dragged you into his room.

You pouted when he sat you down, prepared to strip himself of his suit until you shook your head. 

“No,” Your hand cupped his cheek, “No, Baby, that’s not what you want from me.” 

You were his. 

He was yours. 

You guided him out of the bath, drying his feet after the water drained away and laid a towel down for him to step on. The towels heated, and soft, sweeping across his skin in broad movements. 

You start with his hair, making him laugh when you shake his head. 

His chest is next, but you avoid his nipples and focus on wiping away the dripping water. Moving down his legs, between his thighs, and further until you start over.

Once finished, he stretches to feel the tight pull of dry skin. 

“Lotion or oil?”

He looks down to see himself softly between his legs. “Lotion.” 

Your eyes squint with a smile, “Go lay down, Sweet boy. I’ll be there in a moment.” 

You have candles all over your house.

Some line the island, and several decoration shelves. 

His favorites are the ones in your bedroom.

They make him think of tight hugs or burning skin contact. Sometimes if he closes his eyes and breathes he tastes milkshakes on a sunny day. 

It amazes him how you’re able to create an atmosphere of comfort. 

The smell of weed lingers beneath it all, but he’s come to associate it with the blissed-out expression on your face. 

He wonders if you’ll do wax play with him the next time he’s here. Tie him to the bed, stretching his arms out. The illusion that he’s held down for your amusement. The wax will burn on his chest, and sting along his ribs. He loves feeling the molten heat on his thighs until it hardens. 

He’ll tell you what he wants. 

Maybe. 

“Thank you, Johnny.” Your voice comes in like a breeze blowing away the seeds of his thoughts. He pushes the pillow further under his head before letting his arms lay at his side. 

Your thighs squeeze around his waist when you settle on top of him. 

There’s slick lotion coating your fingers when you press the palm of your hand into his back. 

He feels the scrape of your nails, dull pressure points where you scratch his spine to knead at his shoulders.

You put effort into massaging him, doing your best to make him feel the pressure. 

It makes you squeeze your thighs around him — playing to the illusion you’re holding him down. 

When you tie him up, it plays into the fantasy.

His legs spread and chained, arms pulled taut and hanging him from the ceiling. 

He could break free, but knowing that you want him to stay put, to let you do as you please makes his brain fuzzy. His body melts like butter until he’s soaking into the safe place inside his mind. 

Your thumbs knead the muscles down his left arm, following the lines down to his feet then up his right. 

It helps him focus on letting his muscles drop, feeling them. He notices the weight of them once more.

He shivers when you ghost your fingers over the small of his back. 

You murmur soft praises, good boys, and how beautiful he looks like this. 

He eats them up and fuels himself with the devotion you give him. 

Your voice is his ichor, the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, and he intends to drink more. 

“Talk to me, baby.” 

His head is clearing of clouds. 

Your knees tighten around his hips, helping guide you up and down as you trace his back. 

“The other day, Ryan taught me one of those video games he plays.” They’d sat in the living room, four controllers shattered between them. Ryan laughed during the entire game, calling ‘Go Dad’ anytime he won.

“Yeah, did you beat him?” 

“A few times. We played those Mario games. I enjoyed it. Ryan plays as the frog.” 

He feels your weight shift until you have his calf held over your lap and kneaded the muscles. “I’ve never liked video games, to be honest.” 

He hums, the clouds dissipating, and the warm feeling reeling back into his chest, “I didn’t think I’d be interested, but the kid persuaded me.”

You dropped between his left leg to pull the right one onto your lap. “How’s his training going? Was it for the special or - I can’t remember?” 

Another shift and he feels you push at his side until he rolls over. “Hand me that.” You point above his head and he sees your tin resting on the shelf above.

The tin opens with a snick. You pull a half-smoked roll out and bring it to your lips. 

He expects you to grab the lighter. Instead, you look at him, eyebrow cocked, “Want to show off?” 

He burned the tip, feeling his stomach swoop when you smiled at him. 

The cherry burns.

He wants your lips around him. 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” You draw a line around his right nipple and up to his collar. “You’ve needed me a lot.” 

He shivers under your touch. “I forgot you don’t watch the news.” 

“My world is right here.” You take another drag; this one is deep, drawing in your lungs with an arch of your back. 

He keeps his hands at his side when they jerk to reach out for you. When you breathe in another long drag, he thinks about ripping your lungs out.

You reach up to smudge it out.

Your shirt brushes over his nose, and he breathes you in, weed, vanilla, and sweat. 

A heavy scent clinging to your skin. 

Pure you. 

You smiled, stroking a finger down his cheek before sitting back down. “The only time I care about another Supe is when you’re on your knees.” 

You move off him, resting on the other pillow with open arms, “Let’s bring you back, Baby.”

The clasp of the collar releases. 

He closes his eyes.

-

You open the door, joint dry, sticking to your lips. Did you order something and forget? 

The person at your door isn’t a delivery person. 

“Hello.” You take a hit. 

“Hello.” She smiles, brow arching. Her eyes are deep, inky pools.

You feel the curiosity tickling inside her chest. Ambition fills her up — it’s rushing in her veins. 

And there, deep in her heart, is a heated contempt that fills her lungs. 

“You’re Sage.” 

“I’m glad you know who I am.” 

She ignores the cloud of smoke. Her smile never strays, her back still straight, and the pride in her mind glows. “You’re Passion.” 

“That’s what they call me.”

“I propose an idea.” The joint burns when you suck it in. The smoke chokes you, burning down your neck before sticking to your lungs. 

“Yeah?” She shifts, a slither of anger like a snake in her veins. It wraps around her body, moving between her ribs.

“You want to keep Homelander happy, right?” 

Another cloud of smoke. 

The sky darkens.

She’s the reason John had sunk deep today.

“Who says that?” 

A light turned on in her eyes, excitement bubbling to the surface. You feel it crash over her in a wave. “Homelander is slipping.” She chose her words, letting them roll out with careful pauses. “And it became noticeable that he disappears every few days.”

There’s a plan. 

If you could dig deeper, you’d be able to feel your way to the truth. Instead, you focus on the buzz of smoke settling in your body and the canvas you’re working on drying in the living room. “Do I have to go now?” 

Sage shakes her head, “Preferably, but I’m willing to wait. Although I won’t be leaving until you’re ready.” 

You stub the joint out and leave it on the windowsill. “Alright, come in.”

[palushiemalis-fr]

cw: drowning

Persimmon sauntered along the sandy cove, his claws kicking up flecks of sand and foam as he ran. Sure, he was on a lair assignment, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy a nice summer's day. He had to make himself useful now and then. He just hoped he wasn't working with some hard-headed type he'd skipped the desert to avoid. He shook out his sail and his fins to ready himself for a dive. All he had to do was navigate to the natural tunnels underneath between the cliffs. Shame he was one of the only skilled swimmers in the lair, alas, he wasn't going to deny his natural talents to those in need. He waded out to the shallows and began swishing his tail rudder. With little effort he slipped below the waves. Shoals of fish parted like silver curtains as he made his way down, the sea grass bowed as he snaked past. A a great green turtle investigated him before paddling away. Below a reef shelf he found the gaping mouth of the sea cavern. He hadn't anticipated the gloom, nor how quickly it would become pitch black. Another reminder of his homelands; dark choking tunnels. He felt a pang in his lungs, he could hold his breath for a little while longer... surely it would come to surface soon...? A sharp scrape against his flank. Persimmon doubled back on himself. Was it an attack? No, just the cave walls closing in. Which was forward? He knocked against the stone sides again, losing scales and gasping in shock. Disorientated he was swimming in circles. Which was was up? His lungs burned. Panic gripped him. He couldn't even turn back. His chest was seizing now. He shrieked a desperate call through the water. The black became blacker...

***

A voice rumbled through the cave, "Shhh... close your eyes, take deep slow breaths..." Persimmon did as he was told, letting his heavy lids close and focused on breathing. It took a few minutes to reaquaint his lungs to the air and his heart to slow. He laid down and listened: dripping, the heaving of waves, gentle trickling, the plunge of wood into water and the squeak of rusty hinges. When he finally opened his eyes again there were two enormous, scintillating eyes gazing at him. He flinched. The colossal face the undertide frowned apologetically. "Oh my, I hope I didn't scare you." She said, lowering her head. She was peeking her head out of a pool of blue water lit by floating orbs about the chamber. "No, its fine... did you save me?" "Yes, I heard struggling through the main entrance, you poor thing. I should have underlined the necessity of bringing a light source in the request letter but I didn't wish to patronise a strong swimmer such as yourself." Persimmon chuckled weakly, "Never mind that, I am the fool who didn't think to read it." The undertide smiled, dipping her head lower in the water, "Regardless, you need to rest before we can begin any task. I am afraid I couldn't bandage your wound, so I did my best to administer an ointment to your sides. Gain your strength back up with the kelp broth and clams." Persimmon sniffed the air and found the bowl -- or what would have been a tub to most dragons -- full of broth and curling with steam. The rest of the chamber was fitted with a homely over sized kitchen, one that could be operated switches and levers as he doubted she could fit herself comfortably here. Scallop shell garlands hung from the smooth banded rock of the cave. Scavenged red coral and abalone hung from wind chimes above the centre pool. How charming, he thought. "I feel terrible for wasting your time with this... I know I was asked here to do something important and I'm just taking up your time--" "Hush now." She said, trailing her words to soothe him, "I am in no hurry and your task is only a simple report down a tunnel -- a well lit one, mind you -- to report back on several heating pipes and filtration tanks. Please, eat your fill and we can work at our own pace." Persimmon turned to the bowl gratefully and manoeuvred the huge, unwieldy spoon into his mouth. "Thank you, what's your name?" "Phaesyle." She rose out the water to let him shake a long, translucent spined fin, "I am always glad to have company. I don't have many guests down here." Persimmon huffed, "They ought to make the effort! You're a darling and a wonderful host, and your cave is wonderful." "Oh its nothing, but thank you." She seemed to blush and draw her facial spines over to cover her eyes, "I hate to make others take the trip to this gloomy place, its such a fuss." "Nonsense, I shall hold my next recital in this chamber, the acoustics are to die for."

[norondor]

I'm not sure it's possible to get a bingo with this card but pick any or all of Nearl/Siege/Horn and give me your Opinions

it IS possible to get a bingo! but you may not like me after this.

NEARL

Nearl is such a fucking chad. the first real events i got to do anything with when i started last year were the maria nearl rerun/pinus sylvestris/near light trilogy and holy shit. after being only mildly plussed by her in the intro chapters, nearl became a favorite almost immediately. I don't usually love super chivalrous knight type characters, they're fine, i have no particular bias towards them, but marge is a really well realized modern version of this trope that lands super well with all we see of kazimierz and its hellish culture. obviously as a huge lesbian i was immediately enchanted by her behavior in her event, the dance with liz melted my heart, the homoerotic light and darkness sword duel with viviana made me go insane, she's SO COOL dealing with the blood knight... i wasn't that into the kazimierz plot to start with but nearl (and flametail!) made it my second-favorite subplot in the game all on her own. red circle above is because i cannot tell, due to my somewhat insular choice of fan circles, whether the general fanon is that she's in a poly thing with the Followers or something stupider and more wrong than that; if that's the take, we have a bingo! If not, move that circle over to "everyone but me is wrong."

I know people don't like her staying in kazimierz, but if i can drop a hot take -- and i can, it's my fucking blog and you've chosen to be here, sucker -- i actually like the vibe in near light that you cannot just stride in and crush societal ills and overthrow Capital just like that. helping people is still meaningful; doing the work of dismantling oppression is meaningless without making sure people survive to do it in the first place. her decision comes from a place of altruism and care for the people of her homeland, not from a misguided belief that she can work from within to change the cops or whatever the fuck. i get with that; it's a different character motivation than i'm used to and i'm really for it. moving the decimal place still matters to the people who will survive because you did, and that's what nearl and the doctor are doing the whole time in near light.

SIEGE

I'm sorry. idk her at all. I've never pulled her, only used her once, and i haven't started episode 10 yet (SORRY) -- i expect this rating to change when i DO know more about her but right now i'm just scared they'll do some lame shit True King Returns plotline with her and somehow make act 2 worse than it started out. she's hotter than all fuck though.

HORN

Second blonde woman bingo! Anyway you can unfollow me now if you wanna.

I'm sorry to be so hard on her but again; having completed episode 9 but not yet started 10+ i despise her. my dear friend @deneviere put it well yesterday; they tried to make her the sympathetic authority figure in ep9 but she is, objectively, here to do some bootboy shit, so what she really is is a massive centrist. no, horn, i DIDN'T consider that trying to preserve a culture under threat of ethnocide could damage unity in the imperial core, because i'm not a fucking imperialist. shut the fuck up, you dumb dog.

It's entirely possible a lot of her bad writing is a symptom of ep9 just being a complete shitshow overall; her interactions with Hamilton Von Racist are incredibly fucking pointless for what actually goes down in them, and the ending after 9-19 was so cartoonishly stupid i couldn't even be angry (this is a lie). she's still very hot and stupid overpowered as an operator, but i'm leaving Horn at level 1 forever because i already have Ashlock leveled, and also i hate her. this rating is also subject to change but, uh, we'll see.

[oddlysweet]

Defenestration of the Patriarchy

If you originate from immigrants like most in this country, you come to understand just how crucial community is for individuals & families striving to make a home in a new land. My family, leaving with nothing but the clothes on their backs to escape the death, destruction & despair of the Great Game’s consequences was no exception. There is not a single “Afghan” who was spared the grief of burying a loved one as the result of two far away empires poising and posturing to carve up what remained of their watan (homeland). Growing up, holiday season was always hard for me; already feeling like the odd one out in nearly every situation; seeing all these kids excited for what Santa was going to bring them, I was green with envy. My mother maintained that Christmas was for the others. We believed in something else & worshipped a different God. We were different. It is this inherent human obsession to draw lines in the sand that would go on to ignite my fury and engender my disdain for the way things certainly do not have to be. To quote one of my favorite minds, “Clearly some sort of mistake had been made.” I was put on this earth in its darkest hour to hopefully contribute to the solution, the revolution of thought itself.

It was the mid-90s, and after a holy month of fasting, discipline & reflection, my brother & I finally got to experience our answer to red & green festivities and wrapped gifts under trees, Eid-al-Fitr. We packed our bags and got on the road for a weekend of fun with our cousins at Grandma’s—but first, worship at a Masjid. It was nearly a three-hour trip to the new house of worship as the father drives. It didn’t need to be, but at the time Fremont, or “Little Kabul,” had the only Afghani Masjid west of the Mississippi. We arrived and did as always, split off from my mother and took our shoes off to enter the men's section for prayer. This wasn't our first rodeo, and though we could hardly attest to what was being proclaimed in the verses, there were opportunities to pick up every 5th word or so of Farsi during the sermons at this place, compared to the few Arabic Mosques attended for Eid prayers once or twice a year prior. We would go through a series of yoga-like configurations while reciting millennia old chants in a language we had no chance of understanding let alone believing. The end would be signaled by looking right and left, then shaking the hands of our neighbors who would more than likely reek of either Drakkar Noir or cumin, coriander & turmeric. Following that, we would sit on our heels with our palms up as if reading the miracle of God, doing our equivalent of a cross and our fun day would finally begin.

Today would be different. After the initial series of rakats, the Mullah began to introduce a guest speaker who would go on to lead the Eid prayer sermon. Already the energy in the room wavered a bit. In the next few moments. I would experience the most intense, emotionally charged & memorable exhibition of human indecency in my short 7 years on the planet. The heavily bearded man without a mustache, who looked very much like an ape, began his tirade with a righteousness that even I, with my entry level fluency could sense was inappropriate. A disturbance was bubbling in one corner of the hall near the exit. The Mullah from overseas continued his angry sounding monologue despite the rising commotion and more and more attention of the pious men before him diverted to the growing rabble now pushing its way to the stage where he droned on. A circle of men, of which not one I could recognize forced its way to the podium. One of the men grabbed the microphone from the bewildered man's hands to the gasps of an incredulous crowd of believers. The microphone was handed to someone obscured from the vision of a child on the floor of God's house.

It wasn’t until she spoke amidst premature cries of outrage with a voice I had never heard before that I realized the person surrounded by strange men was my own mother. She introduced herself to the thousands of people listening, first and last name. She told the worshippers where she came from, hours away, past a dozen different Mosques, for the sole purpose that her children could pray and experience their faith, their heritage, among their own culture, their own people. Her voice cracked with emotions that still blurs my vision to this day when I remember that moment. She went on to say that she did not however, bring her kids to be subjected to the lies and filth & evil that this now seething with rage turban-sporting zealot was espousing. With every sentence she got out, she was met with more outcry and denial. A disgusting scene of call and response, where each plea to the humanity of her fellow brothers & sisters was returned with male demands for her death.

The people who this man foaming at the mouth represented had just recently made news in our diaspora’s circle by massacring an entire Hazara/Shiite village. Their list of crimes & atrocities was already something to be condemned unilaterally but obviously they had support in America, or he would not have been afforded the opportunity to spread their hatred. As much as I’d like to believe that her words of truth would have reached even their staunchest allies, half the people who were now on their feet pushing their way towards the stage to murder my mother were enraged and motivated by the simple fact that she, a woman, dared to enter to men’s section, dared to speak among them like an equal. It goes without saying, most of what she was coaxing out of her obviously bleeding heart went over my head. I could only hear the loss in her words, her disappointment, her outrage, the profound sense of injustice and perversion of divinity she was trying to illuminate. Her voice was growing hoarse with the undeniable emotion she was barely holding back.

My eyes welled up for her, but those tears quickly disappeared when nearby, a white-haired man over ten times my age shouted “Bukoshesh! (Kill her!)” I shouted every curse word in every language I knew at this foul waste of life next to me & moved to kick him in his shins, positively murderous, a feeling no child should have to hold within them. My father grabbed my brother and I as we slowly made our way to the closest exit amidst the near fully formed mobs of men. Half were fighting to get their godless hands on her, and the rest were putting their safety on the line to protect her, a stranger, and the truth that everyone needed to hear. Perhaps its retrospective bias, but I’d like to remember that even then—before their organization’s unspeakable crimes against humanity became a worldwide historical precedent—that the chorus of “Raast megah! (She’s speaking the truth!)” had more souls in their camp.

The hall was in an uproar, calling it a riot is not an exaggeration. The men around my mother were arranged in a tightly knit circle with interlocking arms. Others surrounded them fending and kicking off the furious forms of mediocrity fighting their way onto the stage to do my mother harm. Their circle was getting pushed further back, with the cries and screams and declarations making it impossible to hear her words shaming the people who brought this antithesis of a Muslim before them on their holiest of days through the PA system. The guest speaking Mullah was ousted, along with the circle of righteous. By some miracle, my family was whole again as her protectors held off the descending mob in the parking lot and we tore out of there, never looking back. I would later learn the image of the Masjid never recovered and they never held another service again.

I was already a socially anxious child, unbeknownst to me at the time. This nightmare only furthered my distrust of people in large groups. I have since never felt safe or comfortable in crowds, physically, mentally, in the sense of flesh or of mind. Carlin’s nuanced distinction between individuals & people is the most accessible explanation I can highlight. This moment that I seem to have left a part of myself behind in, has stayed with me over the years as a reminder of the essence of human nature. I not only lost much of my innocence, I lost my faith in people, & in God. Despite being one of the greatest examples of social & geo-political experimentation of a tired, old yet effective methodology of divide & conquer, during the last quarter century fate had bound all the various ethnicities of the region under a single banner: devastation.

Perhaps it’s pointless to pose the question to a collective of traumatized people hounded by decades of unending loss, warfare & desperation, why they would choose to act in such a manner so far divorced from piety. Give me three Trumpers and I’ll show you the Commie among them. There will never be two humans on earth who will agree with each other on every single thing. The inextricable tendency to discern, compartmentalize & categorize, the most human trait we possess, is also the greatest threat to survival, peace & existence. Our scripture, like many others decries that we are all brothers and sisters. I saw far too little love in that hall. I will always be grateful to those men who protected my mother, to those who fought on the right side of a line that should have never been drawn. The performative piousness one encounters nowadays is enough to make my stomach turn. The ideals of all religions have been perverted and politicized to the extent that nothing seems sacred anymore.

This day that I look back on more often as the repercussions of unfettered fascism make themselves increasingly known, is not only the moment I couldn’t be prouder to be my mother’s son, but also the first to rouse me from the childish dream too soon. The veil would be removed completely on September 11th, 2001, when the world decided to single my people out and persecute us with a sense of hubris, hate & hypocrisy unrivaled in this modern, hardly civilized age. A couple days after the richest most powerful individuals in the Anglosphere pulled off the greatest false flag operation in the entirety of history, I was watching the coverage, when my mother piped up, “That’s the guy we threw out of the Masjid.” I looked at the ape-like man beaming like The Grinch behind sunglasses and his credentials, a Taliban minister going on about something inane or other.

Spirituality or religion often forms the foundation of an individual’s morals and ethics and overall belief system. It will always be a touchy and potentially polarizing subject. My problem is with that exact polarity. Unless we’re talking about fundamental laws of physics and by extension, chemistry & biology, polarity has no place in the human experience. The world isn’t binary, so why should thinking be? This story, like many others of my past and origins, help fuel my tireless journey to do the right thing, to be a voice of reason. To love is to save the world with kindness. Understanding this & breeding empathy to leave a chance for the next generations to get right what the accumulative human experience thus far struggled to completely understand is the best I can muster. We are one organism, and any deviation from such an undeniable fact only ends in annihilation. We can do better. It’s those moments of beauty in between the horrors that solidify this belief into our psyches and keep us trudging forward through the darkness.

[jk1spring]

hey guys I'm writing a book now

so I thought I would share it with y'all

Prologue

I was running, scared of what might happen if I stopped. We have not seen any since before I was born. Most set off to the east or west to mountain ranges or swamps of my homeland. We only know some of the other locations. My heart was racing so fast It felt like a stampeding buffalo through the many livestock fields. I suddenly tripped and fell, I got up to run but it was too late. It came from the west and it circled like a hungry shark in the air. As it landed in front of me. I closed my eyes and saw my friends waiting for me to get home. The guilt rushed in. they will never see me again, at least they are safe. I braced myself for impact nothing came. I opened my eyes and it was sitting there like it figured out what I was doing. it took off beating its powerful black and red wings towards the village. when I got there the creature had already taken everything from me. the village was in ruins and the others were trapped under the burning debris and I tried to help but a scrap of metal fell on my head and I was knocked unconscious. I woke up with a bandage over my right eye and by the awful pain in my chest and hardness of breath a few broken ribs. I looked around what I can only assume was a cave and spotted another dragon. “who are you? Where am I?” she turned around and spotted me. “ah you’re awake!”. I immediately recognized the voice. “Stella!” I ran up to my sister and gave her a big hug with my wings. “the village-“ she hushed me and I finally heard the faint noise of giant wings flapping and they weren’t dragon. We both stood in silence until the sound ended. “what was that?” I thought for a moment and even without the answer I had figured it out. “wait was this all the power of an ancient?” I had heard legends of dragons that grow even larger than most elders and become corrupt. They often ended up with a pack of dragons they give some of their power to and rule large castles. That would explain why I saw a Tellus. dragons with earth magic usually live deep in mountain caves in giant cities. Meanwhile us astrums live in small colonies to study the majestic stars we love. Though it’s rare for any astrum to live in the castle that’s where our most prestigious astrology school is. That is where my big sister should be. “Stella did you leave school early? You aren’t suppose to be here right now!” she gives a deeply bored look. “I don’t have time for a pitiful fight so I’ll just explain quickly. I was studying old migration pattern sheet for ancients and realized one was coming to the village so I came to help but you’re the only survivor I spotted Gemini.” I winced “don’t use my full name.” I said angrily But I had finally processed her words. “is everyone dead?”

[claire-starsword]

Bloodline of the Sacred Dragons - Chapter 3-2

The following day, the tents set up around were all taken inside, and the Pao Train departed.

The soldiers from Bustoke parted ways with them there, and went back to their own country. Only Wendy wanted to come with Bleu and his team, but Zylo wouldn't accept that selfishness. Bitterly, she took the way back home.

For every departure, there are meetings as well.

Just as Lyle had said in Rindo, an old member of the Shining Force, Guntz, was on the Pao Train as well. It seemed he had been living there for quite a while already, to research the huge machine.

Bleu was overjoyed with the reunion, but couldn't follow much of Guntz's talk about machines. Instead, it was Krin who jumped at that topic. She spent almost all her free time on the cab and the power sources.

Tyrin said he had orders from Otrant to not let Bleu and the Manual out of his sight. Bleu doubted if he was competent enough to oversee this, but couldn't easily refuse Otrant's wishes. Randolf too, with their deal from before still in place, wouldn't leave his side until meeting the Sacred Dragons of Parmecia. Bleu regretted having taken that deal so hastily, but it was too little too late. And Karna as well seemed to have no intention of leaving until she found some clue of Gong's whereabouts. More than that, she seemed more passionate about the task of helping the Sacred Dragons than Gong right now.

Their views are all different, but an odd feeling of unity grew between them as they traveled together. Perhaps, while their goals were different, their reason for traveling was the same. The center of all that had always been Bleu.

For Karin in particular, her desire to stay beside him was very clear in her face.

With nothing obstructing its path, the Pao Train continued on without issue. Of course, there was nothing that could stop the advance of that huge machine. If any careless creature stood in its path, it would obviously be crushed underneath it.

However, pretty much no creatures were hit by the machine. It crossed the plains like wind. Such was the defining image of the Pao Train that Queen Koron rode on.

It continued to run even as night fell.

The typical sounds of the engine could be heard through the walls, along with the wind blowing by the windows. Not drowned by any of this, one more sound rang through a small but cozy lounge, the clear melody of a lyre.

Bleu and his friends were spending their hours peacefully after dinner.

Everyone had made a circle, and Karna was in the center, sat atop a small box. Carrying a lyre of 16 strings shaped like a swan atop the waters, she sang a song. Her voice, clear and high pitched due to her youth, would go from cheerful, to sweet, to frenetic, weaving together the threads of the song.

In her song there were people, and beasts, creatures playing in nature, wind for the birds, water for the fish, everything finding its place in a cycle, everything finding harmony, their daily work spinning on the threads of time, like a spinning wheel singing a song, weaving together a singing voice, people finding harmony, and harmony giving birth to more people…

"Is that a song from your homeland, Karna?" Tyrin asked her once she finished a section, and took a break to rest her throat.

"No. I actually grew up among wanderers. I don't have a particular homeland. If I had to answer, I'd say all of Rune is mine."

"You mean 'my home', not 'mine'."

She stuck her tongue at Tyrin's correction.

"So, without thinking, I had become a traveler. It was in the middle of my travels that I met Master Gong. The song I just sang is one Master taught me."

"That song is Gong's…!?"

Bleu and Guntz immediately looked at each other. Neither of them could imagine it at all, that quiet man singing anything. Eventually, the image of the monk singing a broken and out of tune song while red in the face came to their minds. But, looking as how Karna talked nostalgically about it, that was probably not how it was. Maybe he was unexpectedly good at singing, the two whispered.

"Master told me: 'If you think I've been kind to you, share that kindness with many others. If you are grateful to me, then you too work every day to receive that gratitude from people.' That's why I'm coming along until Sir Bleu feels grateful to have me. If I didn't do this, I wouldn't be able to look Master in the eyes. Besides, while I'm with Sir Bleu, maybe Master will show up to see his fellow Shining Force members."

Karna touched over and over the White Ring that Gong had given her in the past. The ring was made of platinum with an Aquamarine stone inlaid in it, and glowed warmly in her ring finger, hiding healing magic within.

"I don't think Gong is coming to visit me any time soon though. Besides, I'm already grateful enough for you. What he was trying to say is that if you were helped by a certain someone, you can pay it forward to anyone else. You're misunderstanding things."

"Aah, so is it a bother that I'm coming along?"

Her eyes started filing up with tears.

"It's not like that..."

By reflex, Bleu averted his eyes, staring at the ceiling instead.

"I think you need a healer around for traveling, for when you get injured and such. I'm sure of it. I'll train with Karin too and become stronger, so I won't be a burden to you."

"I've told you already, I don't look anything like Gong," Karin jumped in the conversation to stop her, "if you want to train with someone, do it with Camallia."

"Nooo, a gallant big sister is my ideal kind of woman!"

Karna made heart-eyes at her.

"Wait, Bleu, help me out here!"

Troubled, Karin turned to Bleu. He laughed with Camallia, who was sat at their side, their shoulders rubbing together. Their carefreeness got on her nerves.

She dragged him away from Camallia, trying to get him between her and Karna.

Having watched everything from the start, Randolf was roaring with laughter. Many of the others joined him as well.

Karna got a grip on herself, and set to play the lyre once again.

The song went on. The birds to the wind, the fish to the water, the plants to the light, the people to all living things… They all gave their thanks to that which sustained them. They all gave them gratitude and care. They all gave their thanks and prayers…

Karna's song told of all living things, and the earth and sky and sea around them, with benevolence.

"What a strange song."

Once the song was over, Camallia mumbled her thoughts on it.

"Why does such a song exists? All things are not equal, the weak feed the strong, and the strong feed the even stronger. These relationships between them are what the gods decided."

"And if that's how it is, then the strong must be grateful to the weak. Master Gong talked much about it. Everything in this world is kept alive by someone else. Those who rule can do so because those ruled over allow them to, and those who protect can do so because those they protect let them do so. We can't forget to pray in gratitude to even the smallest bugs and the blooming flowers."

"If I prayed for every single one of those, my neck would end up pretty stiff."

Randolf laughed off Karna's words as lectures from a cute child.

"That's not how she meant it."

Sat by Karna's side, Karin came in her defense as the younger girl sulked, petting her head lightly as she took the chance to snuggle closer and be spoiled. It seemed that had Krin been around instead of exploring the train, she'd have to fight to get her sister back.

"We hunt birds and beasts," Karin said, "but we shouldn't ever kill them for no reason."

"Well well, there's no need to quarrel about this. Instead, I would like to request one more song. Would that be okay, Karna?"

Tyrin entered the conversation as if trying to mediate. In a better mood, Karna accepted, and began playing the lyre again.

And her songs continued.

Bleu wanted to agree with what Randolf had said. If living things needed other things to live, then they were too unreliable and frail. That went for Sacred Dragons too, how much of a fleeting dream it was to expect them to be allowed to live all this time just for the sake of protecting the Manual?

Bleu didn't voice any of those feelings, and Karin and Karna did not find out how much he disagreed with them in that night.

>To next part

Translation notes:

I feel there's a relevant distinction made here about Karna coming from a group of wanderers (さすらいの民), evoking the idea of people who have no destination, and as she puts it, went through all of Rune, while the Pao people are described as nomads (遊牧民), who usually have some set pattern of moving according to the season or some other resource.

Karna is described here with a high-pitched voice, but curiously, she has a lower voice game than any girl in game, matching young boys like Peter and Rick. I doubt anyone paid attention to that detail though, but it does strengthen a feeling i have that Karna was intended as an adult in the game, and it was the writer's choice here to make her younger.

A hard one that I'm still struggling with a bit. Karna refers to Gong as 道士, a term that seems mostly associated with Taoism, but that some dictionaries claim also apply to Buddhist monks as well, or simply someone of great morals, which is likely how it is intended here. I'm not at all knowledgeable to discuss the religious implications here, and I also don't think they matter in a series that has basically no worldbuilding for their own religion. Since she uses the -sama honorific as well and clearly has some unofficial master/pupil relationship she has already talked about, I've been simply going with "master". I feel capitalizing it makes it feel a bit more like a title though, so I'll be changing a few instances of it in the previous chapter.

Did you know? "Ring finger" in japanese is written as 薬指, literally "medicine finger". Apparently it comes from it being used to mix up medicine and such in old times. Either way, it feels curious to see a healing ring placed there. And for those who forgot, the White Ring not only raises defense in-game, but also allows you to use the Aura spell for healing. Its appearance also matches the description here just fine:

I don't need to put that in a translation note though, I'm just here to gush. This is the part I looked forward to read the most in the novel and i love everything about Karna in it. And the ring is, very much what I actually expect from a spinoff novel of a game, you know? Some little mechanic or detail being given more meaning in its world and to the characters. I'm never gonna look at a White Ring the same way again. That's fun.

[casspurrjoybell-31]

The Consort - Chapter 19 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Finn

Each day feels longer than the last.

Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me, baiting my logical side as to what time of day it is and whether I should be sleeping or not.

After a certain amount of time passes, Axel starts wishing me good morning.

If it wasn't for this, I wouldn't know when one day spilled into the next.

So far I am up to eight.

'Eight days.'

My hope dwindles and settles into a bittersweet dust around the floor of my emotional heart.

Each particle is like its own piece of shrapnel, scarring me deeply.

Over a week has slipped by and no one has tried to find me.

Not Fiona.

Not Kelly.

Not Leo.

Not Brayden.

My meals are becoming bigger now, at least... so big that I feel myself becoming stronger.

Healthier.

A few pounds have even managed to fight their way onto my thin stature.

Despite the circumstances, I am now being fed even better than I was before the war began.

Eventually Axel removes all my leather bindings.

He informs me that this is the last step in getting my strength back to where it needs to be before our first feeding.

I shouldn't thank him for this, especially since there are still red welts around my tender flesh from his cruel restraints.

But I do anyway.

I roll my ankles in slow, repetitive circles, staring up at the off-white ceiling.

My joints and muscles are still very stiff.

Up until yesterday, the only times I was allowed away from my leather restraints was to use the bathroom, a human necessity that Axel continually makes very clear is bothersome and superfluous.

Yesterday was special, though. It was the day before the day.

And because it was special, Axel allowed me to have a shower.

It was the first time I'd felt fresh, cool water against my skin in weeks.

He sat on the toilet beside the tub the entire time, though.

At first I didn't understand why,but the answer was simple.

He was making sure his property was safe.

He wasn't worried about my well-being, he just didn't want me doing anything stupid to hurt myself and therefore, hurt his blood.

"Good morning, Finn," Axel's voice shoos away my daunting train of thought.

I stretch across the bed, once again thankful that I am no longer tied down.

He brings a tray of food over to me, setting it at the end of bed and gazing down at me with blazing eyes.

Day nine.

The day.

He looks up at me and smiles, as if reading my train of thought.

He urges me to scoot aside to make room for him on the bed.

When he sits beside me, he folds his fingers together.

"Today is the day," Axel whispers, trying to contain his excitement.

His fangs elongate from the mere thought.

The red in his are like liquid lava.

They are glowing with a desire that is so potent that it starts to hurt my eyes.

Any hunger I might have gained during the night quickly diminishes.

I swallow painfully. I don't reach for my breakfast.

I simply sit where I am, too terrified and heartbroken to move.

"I was going to ask which way you prefer," Axel continues.

"Regarding whether you'd like me to tap a vein or if you'd like me to use a needle. But I have already made up my mind."

'Oh.'

Axel turns to grab the tray.

A plate of bacon and egg frittata sits beside a strawberry waffle sandwich.

He pulls the fork off the napkin and gracefully cuts a piece of the egg frittata for me.

"But I do think it would be fun for you to decide which vein you'd like me use for the first time. Because when I do, that scar will be there forever."

Steam billows around the bite of egg and meat.

A strange image emerges in my mind, envisioning Axel cooking in his kitchen.

It's clear that we're in a human house as opposed to a Village home.

Vampires don't have bathrooms or kitchens, there's no need for them.

Even though I have no idea where we are, I at least have some clue that we're in my homeland rather than Axel's.

"So, what'll it be?" he asks, his excitement palpable.

"I don't care," I whisper.

'Just please make it quick and painless.'

Axel is oblivious to my change in demeanor.

He gets up from the bed and strides to the door with a kick in his step.

"I have a few thigs to attend to," he announces.

"Enjoy your breakfast, Finn. Because when I come back, it will be time."

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

There was a look of confusion as Homelander saw Thrawn, not expecting him to be the mastermind. “Thrawn?! You’re behind all of this?!” He yelled, glaring over at him. “What have you done?! What have you done with James?!” He growled, eyes glowing a brighter red. He wasn’t in the mood for games nor chatter. Not until he knew James was safe.

Though, he would get that answer sooner rather than later, as before he had time to process what was happening his back had collided with the wall and his lover was trying to kill him.

Homelander grunted as James grabbed his chin, forcing his head back. Though the Supe struggled, fighting back against the vamps strength. “Ngh…James? I-It’s me. It’s John. What’re you doing?!” He huffed, pushing back against him as his eyes darted toward Starlight. “D-Don’t worry…about me. Make sure Th-Thrawn doesn’t get away!”

He managed as he focused entirely on James and trying to actually keep those fangs away from his neck for once. “James! Snap out of it! Whatever Thrawn’s done, snap out of it!” Homelander growled as he kneed the vampire hard in the stomach and pushed him back, giving him just enough time to move away from the wall and to grant him more space to work with.

Annie yelped at the suddenness of James attack, before focusing and going straight for Thrawn.

No way was she going to let him get away with this. It seems her goals had changed since she'd agreed on the deal Homelander had offered.

Thrawn had done something to James and she'd be damned if his death wasn't bloody.

"Huh," Thrawn looks at Starlight, "Who would've thought that Starlight would willingly work with Homelander, hmm?"

Thrawn flicks two fingers, sending a spare table flying toward Starlight, not shocked when it's easily blasted away.

"Why are you helping him, Miss January?" Thrawn drawls, stepping to the side to circle Starlight, "He's done nothing but make your life miserable, even threatened to have you lobotomized,"

Thrawn flicks his finger again and another table is hurled at Annie,

GIF by tesb

"So why would someone in their right mind help a man like that? Desperation, perhaps?"

Thrawn was trying to get into Starlight's head, confuse her, make her falter.

"Ignorance?" Thrawn shakes his head, "No...it's something else, isn't it?"

As he stared into Homelander's eyes, there was no recognition, no warmth, just a cold and calculating resolve. John's pleas and questions fell on deaf ears as a haunting monotone, almost robotic voice escaped his lips. "Must kill Homelander." The words echoed in his mind, devoid of emotion or hesitation. His grip on John's chin tightened, forcing his head back and exposing the vulnerable throat beneath.

But this was not the James who cherished John. It was a distant, distant memory of love, replaced by a dark, unrelenting force. Base Instinct, a weapon. Starlight, Homelander's plea for James's humanity, all of it was secondary to the single objective. The world had become an abstract landscape, and all that mattered was the primal urge to eliminate the threat before him.

The vampire under Thrawn's control, momentarily staggered by the knee to the gut, hissed and growled in frustration. Despite the physical setback, its resolve remained and its neon green eyes locked onto Homelander. It extended its power, attempting to ensnare the Supe in its thrall, compelling him with a hypnotic command.

"Resistance is futile. Stop resisting, I must kill Homelander" it repeated in that monotone, hypnotic voice. The dark magic of its thrall reached out like tendrils, seeking to bind Homelander's will, to keep him from intervening, to make him surrender to the same kind of inexorable force that had taken hold of James Norrington. A single blood tear drips down from the corner of his eye despite his tone.

Deep within James's psyche, a battle raged. The Commodore, often buried by the vampire's nature, started to stir, memories of honor, duty, and even his love for John threatening to break through the hypnotic trance. They forged an unlikely alliance with the vampire's instincts, both recognizing the dire necessity to overcome the relentless control that Thrawn had imposed. A dreamy, far-off gaze in James's eyes contrasted with the brutal force he exerted.

" It would appear.. " Commodore Norrington uttered to the vampire standing by his side with angry green eyes on Deck ".. that if we wish to expel this we must combine our talents. "

The two men stood on a ship in a bottle. The skies were stormy, and the waves crashed upon the hull while . The glass ceiling walls and floor symbolic of being trapped in his own mind while running solely on instinct, like a remote controlled doll.

The vampire hisses "This… force… thinks it can control us, Commodore. It underestimates the strength of our will, of our love for John."

The Commodore nodded with a Firm and determined air " Indeed, Mr. Norrington. It knows nothing of the centuries we've lived, the battles we've fought, and the unbreakable bond we share. It underestimates the power of our honor and determination."

The Vampire James growled now " It wants to make us a weapon, a mindless killer. But it doesn't understand that even in the darkest depths of our nature, we could never harm John willingly. If we can despell Armand's Thrall for him this should be child's play."

Commodore Norrington drew his flintlock head up and resolute as he aimed at the glass " Precisely Mr. Norrington, we won't let it succeed. We'll use the darkness that dwells within us as a weapon against it. We'll turn its own power against itself, showing it that it has underestimated the depths of our love. "

The vampire cracks his knuckles. " After you, Commodore. " Fangy grin. " We've a lesson to teach a Mr. Thrawn about Blood bonds. " FIRE!

A single thought got out during that eye connection while Blue was held captive by Green...

/Help me, John/

@hom3land3r @star-ligh7 @mages-pandoras-box

James would slowly wake up in a dark room. Which was odd, because James never slept at night.

James would then realize he's tied down, in a surprisingly comfortable chair. None of James's vampire powers seems to be working. James would realize that there was a single chain wrapped around his chest. Thick and made of pure silver, rendering James powerless but leaving his mind clear enough to think.

His wrists and ankles were bound with normal rope, rope he would be able to snap easily if he wasn't bound by silver.

A man sat at a desk a little away, his pale blue skin, darker blue hair, and red eyes making it clear who he was.

Thrawn, the man who was going to help Homelander brainwash Starlight then seemed to vanish when the plan was put on the back burner.

Even as James starts to wake up Thrawn pays him no mind, continuing to write calmly as if there wasn't a vampire tied up in the room.

-BearMage (As Thrawn)

It was regrettable that the only time a vampire was vulnerable was during the day when they are little more than corpses, or when feeding. Thus leaving Norrington unprotected to go to photoshoots or meetings , despite the growl from the wolf pup when someone came for his daddy that wasn't his other daddy.

But James hadn't moved until the sun was far past set. . "H-homelander?"Eyes fluttered open, his vision hazy as he attempted to piece together the events that had transpired. The room was dimly lit, and his body felt sluggish. As his focus slowly returned, he realized he was bound by heavy silver chain, and an ominous sense of dread washed over him

His head throbbed with a dull ache, and his powers were stifled by the silver restraints. Trapped in his own mind he could not reach out with telepathy. With effort, he rasped, "Where ..am I?" His voice was weak, the words escaping his dry and parched lips

His futile attempts at breaking free resulted in nothing more than a frustrated, anguished grunt. "Someone has a death wish, I see.. "