#juuuust in case lol

[anistarrose]

[Image description: digital art of Sissel from Ghost Trick in a chibi style, running forwards and sweating nervously. There's a blue cityscape with glowing spirits and orbs in the background behind him, silhouetted by the outline of a cat face. End ID.]

I drank too much coffee and locked in so heres a sissel chibi i love ghost trick so much

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Strange times in the dndads fandom, strange times.

[deathbypixelz]

Got really sad and frustrated last night because I wanted to draw but nothing looked right and everything was overstimulating. Then I put on Hozier and realized just how pretty the cover of Unaired is.

(she/her)

Original:

[sixsamefacez]

( rambly post + rambly tags )

Ya know ... a fairly common complaint / critique I have seen thrown at the first osmt san movie is that it didn't show the 18matsus enough -- which i definitely agree to, to some extent -- but specifically complaints about kara being shown the least always baffles me a teeny bit.

I personally think it makes like. a LOT of sense if you think about where the movie's coming from -- the whole point of it is to show how much they used to suppress, but also, how much Karamatsu was talked over and ignored as a youth. I think his absence really nails home how little regard the others had spared for him at the time and how he often went forgotten and ignored ( and also plays into why, aside from red roses, forget me nots are his most common flower association ).

I would say it comes off as a more deliberate choice to feature him as little as possible because even the other brothers barely --or not at all -- remembered how Karamatsu was supposed to be back then. And yes, it's his memory world -- but doesn't that also emphasize the fact? The fact that he felt so isolated and forgotten from his siblings he's barely even present in the world made from HIM???? Like ... ouch, man. That shows you so much without telling you to your face, and makes a pretty good case for Karamatsu trying to suppress that aspect of himself and his personality more than anything; hard to find, hard to talk to, glossed over by all...

Then there was the lying to himself, and that only really made things worse for him in the future. Now he's more fascinatingly closed off than ever ... and only now does it seem like the brothers (at least as of the pizza skit) are realizing how little they do. I'm also of the camp that I believe his season 3 characterization makes a lot of sense post movie, though I know that's a pretty divisive opinion in the fanbase -- but whats clear to me is that he's very much about to burn out similar to ichimatsu's burn out, and he can't keep pretending he's fine and dandy forever.

[tj-crochets]

On the one hand I am very, very glad to have figured out the symptom that happens at the very start of an allergic reaction for me, and that if I take a benadryl right then I can usually avoid pretty much the whole allergic reaction and get just a moderate headache at worst (instead of a hospital visit) but on the other hand it would be great if that symptom didn't also happen whenever I get cold. Like...do I need a benadryl or do I need a hot water bottle? Hard to tell lol (I am okay I have a system I just also think it's funny that those are the two things that start the same for me. Dysautonomia and mast cell issues are a confusing combo sometimes)

[unnonexistence]

trying to make the rules of an actual real-life game work with the story beats i have planned is such a fucking headache

[spyroid101]

?!

LETSGOLETSGOLETSGOLETSGOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Not going into Hortus Infernal Spoilers, but the environments getting more and more out there for ANYTHING planned to be designed for a Kindergarten is wonderful for me, cuz- hums in Zolpheious :)

Multiple small little enemies attempting to pincer maneuver you could indeed be a fun little challenge!

Also works super well Hortus Infernal wise, as I have Bouncelia siccing her children on the Protagonist and Co (Souls not being bound by a Do No Harm contract, and all)~

Givanium IV drip...?

OUR BIRD CHILD!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

That's a casual stroll pace they're walking at! That tells me we're gonna be friends (For at least a bit) 8)

There is SO gonna be a jumpscare in this section, I'M CALLING IT NOW

OH, THIS DESIGN HECKING SLAPS

YES, PLEASE HAND ME OPPORTUNITIES TO MAKE THE HORTUS INFERNAL NABS EVEN MORE SCREWED UP, I AM BEING FED SO WELL HEHEHEHEHEHEHE >8)

[blagueofchaos]

Oh hey I used this picture in my pirate killjoycore moodboard a while back! I believe the original artist is Dave Pollot if I got my attribution correct. It's a beautiful piece :)

[thewirewitch]

Not me, going down a small medical spiral for like 15 minutes because I was curious about something, only to be like, "okay, no, I'm fine" at the end.

[ferromagnetiic]

a negativity ghost spawns from her hand, and it comes floating towards kid, until it finally passes through him. “ think you’re so cocky, huh? let’s see how you take this. ”

@thrillrs 【 Perona. 】

He's bracing himself for physical anguish when the spectral entity slips directly through the center of his torso; he's anticipating immense pain, perhaps the sensation of a frigid ice spear piercing through him, or a debilitating burn that rips him apart from the inside. Yet, as the translucent phantom glides into his body, its thick tongue dangling from grinning lips, Kid feels nothing. Absolutely nothing. No excruciating stabbing sensation; no awareness of all his organs being ripped directly from his body.

Nothing. Only, nothing.

Somehow, in spite of the lack of physical trauma, he still finds himself falling to his knees, the entire weight of his huge body suddenly dawning on him, as if he had never noticed it until now. It's as if he's never known fatigue, and years of accumulated exhaustion have finally reached him all at once. He lacks the strength to carry himself upright. He can only stare at the ground before him, his bare palms barely supporting himself as he kneels. The pressure continues to build, sapping him of all remaining strength.

It's pathetic. To lose his momentum with so little resistance must make him seem truly pathetic. What an embarrassment. What a loser.

He's muttering to himself, then; a shameful confession that he does acknowledge what a disgraceful state he's in.

❝ ....Maybe they were right. Maybe I am too loud and annoying... ❞

This feels way shittier than any hangover he's ever had before. He'll inevitably snap out of it in a few moments once he successfully grounds himself and shakes off the effects of the curse, but in the meantime, he truly does feel like utter crap.

[theglamorousferal]

The Cryptid of Smallville

I am posting the first couple chapters of the fic that I am currently working on juuuust in case AO3 goes down again. In the next couple days I’ll start posting some of my wips that I don’t think I’ll finish. If any of them inspire people to write more then I’ll be happy. 

I had the thought a while ago about what if Danny was raised alongside Clark Kent and the hijinks that would result in Danny being near the liminal space that is cornfields. These are basically a series of connected one-shots because I am not that great at trying to do a real plot lol

Without further ado, here’s the first chapter of the Cryptid of Smallville! (Small edit: here’s the link to AO3 the first two chapters are there)

______________________________________________________________ The night sky was clear and open above the cornfields as a gentle breeze caused the plants to stir. It was a calm night on the Kent family farm. A streak of neon green broke across the sky and landed in the middle of the fields, purple tinged smoke wafting from the crash site. A boy of about six rolled over in his sleep, glowing green eyes glancing at the stars above framed by smoke. The gentle breeze is still blowing, returning the night to calm.

*****

Danny was gonna put Clockwork in soup time whenever he got back into the Zone. 

He was laying there, staring at the clouds in the sky, surrounded by corn, and only about three and a half feet tall, wondering where in the Realms he was. Clockwork had said something about sending him off somewhere with people who could handle a child with powers growing up before tossing him through a portal by the ankle. He had ended up in low orbit and was lulled to sleep by staring at the stars he is so fond of.

Crawling out of the hole he was in, he examined the surrounding area and just found a bunch of burnt and slightly smoldering corn and kicked up dirt. The gentle breeze brought the smell of bacon to his nose and he floated to look just above the tall plants around him. He spots a house in the distance and starts heading there, making sure to walk the last few yards just in case this isn’t where CW intended him to go. He finds himself stumbling from the field just to make eye contact with a man pulling on his work boots for the day on the porch steps, the man freezes. 

“Hey Martha?” The man yells into the house.

“Yes Jon?” a voice muffled from the door yells back.

“Do we have a spare room done up?” the man, Jon, asks, not taking his eyes off Danny.

“Why? Are you expecting someone and forgot to tell me?” the voice sounds like it’s getting closer to the door.

“No honey, I think we may have a repeat situation of Clark though.” He briefly glances from Danny up to the last bits of smoke wafting from the field. A quiet “What?” comes from the house. He gentles his voice, full attention on Danny. “Hey son, did you have a bit of an accidental landing in the corn? Is your head okay? Are your parents around?”

Danny stays still for a moment thinking about what’s going on. The man seems to at least suspect that he crash landed on his property and mentioned something about something like this happening before. Have these people dealt with a random child appearing at their house before? Specifically one that crashed from the sky? He has many questions, but he should probably answer Jon first. 

“Yeah, I got sent away until I was better, my head doesn’t hurt at all and my parents are not exactly from around here, and don’t know where I am.” He pauses thinking about it. “Does the children-crashing-onto-your-farm-thing happen a lot to you?”

Jon chuckled as he finished tying his boots up and walked down the stairs just as the door opens and a woman in an apron is standing there looking surprised to see an unknown child standing in her yard. The man crouches down in front of Danny, giving him a once-over. 

“You’d be surprised, now what’s your name son?.”

“It’s Danny Fenton, what’s yours?”

“Jon Kent, my wife over there is Martha. Now you look like you could use a good meal and a washup, how’s that sound?” Jon grins at Danny and musses up his hair before standing and offering a hand to walk into the house. He smiles over at Martha who blinks and then gives Danny a warm smile, standing aside to let them enter the house.

“Good thing I made some extra breakfast then, let’s get some food in you young man, you’re as skinny as a post!” She smiles and heads towards the kitchen. “Be sure to wash up your hands first hun, can’t eat with dirty hands! And Jon! What have I told you about your muck boots being in the house! I’m sure Danny can find his way and wash his own hands; second door on the right hun; and git outta my house with those things on, I’ll have more coffee ready for you once you feed the animals!” Jon pouted and trudged his way out of the house.

Danny smiled a little to himself as he looked for the door Martha was talking about, noting the wallpaper and decor that looked like every midwest farmer’s house he’d seen in any piece of media ever. After washing his hands he made his way to where he could hear soft humming and dishes being washed. He saw a plate of pancakes and bacon on the table next to a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, and a container of syrup and headed to the spot.

“Thank you Mrs. Kent.” he said from his seat and she smiled back at him, going back to the dishes. Danny realized he’d probably have to start explaining what he could to them soon, but decided to focus on the breakfast in front of him. The breakfast that wasn’t alive and currently trying to kill him. He nearly cried.

“So Danny,” Martha began as she wiped her hands off with a dish rag. “Do you remember how it is you got here?” She joined him at the table with a cup of coffee after setting a mug, a spoon and the sugar bowl next to the machine for her husband when he came in.

“I do, it’s a really weird story though, I’m not sure you’ll believe me.” He was hesitant, he still wasn’t sure these were the people that Clockwork meant to send him to. Though they’ve taken the whole crash-landed-child-thing pretty well… Screw it, he’ll see if he can wait until Jon comes back and explain to both of them. “Can we wait for Mr. Kent too? I don’t really want to say it twice.” 

She smiled at him, taking a sip of her coffee and then nodded. “That’s fine hun, he shouldn’t be more than a couple minutes unless the rooster decided to pick a fight again.” she chuckled to herself, looking out of the window while drinking her coffee. She sees the faint trail of smoke rising in the sky outside and her eyebrows pinch in worry. “You didn’t happen to see anythin’ burning when you got up, did you?” 

Danny glances out the window and sees the smoke. “Oh no, there was just a little bit still smoldering in the hole, but there wasn’t anything actively burning. I can show you both when I finish explaining what I can.” The slapping of a screen door startles him and Jon walks in, heading straight for the coffee maker and making himself a cup, then joining them at the table.

“So Danny-boy, what can you tell us?” Jon gives his full attention to Danny. 

Danny shifts in his seat, looking every part the six year old he appeared to be, uncertain at the attention of two adults. “Well, it’s a long story and kinda out there? I’m not sure how much you’ll believe?” He looks uncertain at the pair across from him who share a look. Martha reaches across the table to take Danny’s hand.

“Honey, you wouldn’t believe the stuff we’re used to, I’m sure it’s fine.”

Danny only hesitated a moment longer and then sighed looking far older than his apparent six years. “So to start off with, wherever this is, I’m not from around here. I’m assuming since you both speak English that this is still Earth, but maybe not MY Earth, I’m still a bit confused on the whole ‘multiverse’ thing, but either way, I got sent here until some stuff got sorted out and so I’ll be here until it does.” He was rambling, he knew, but he’s kind of anxious about stuff. “I kinda got put in my childhood body and now I have to get back to my actual age and my Guardian said something about time here running differently than in my dimension before he just chucked me through a portal. He did say he was sending me to people who could handle my weirdness as I age, so I’m assuming you are them and maybe have some experience with kids with freaky weird stuff happening to them?”

The Kents once more shared a look, this one a little longer than the last, then turned back to Danny. “Oh son, I think you’ll fit in just fine. So, how long can we expect you for? I can tell you’re probably a lot older than six judging by how you talk?”

Danny blinked at him, trying to process the fact that they didn’t seem phased and rather seemed like they believed him. “Uh, I was sixteen, so I guess a decade? I’m sorry to impose on you for a while, really I can figure out stuff on my own, I don’t want to be a bother.”

Jon chuckled “Oh trust me son, it wouldn’t be an issue, I’m sure Clark would love a younger brother, or at the very least a friend who understands him. We have plenty of room here, and though we’d probably ask you for help with chores, we’d be glad to have you for however long you need.”

Danny blinks again at them. They weren’t serious, right? They just seem fine taking in a random child and having him live with them for however long. And who was this Clark? What did he mean by younger brother?

“Clark?” he asked hesitantly.

“Oh right, our son, you’ll meet him when he gets home from school, I’m sure you’ll get along just fine! Now Danny, let me show you to a room and we can get you settled, we’ll probably have to head on over to the thrift shop to get you something to wear besides these charred and muddy pj’s, but we should have something from Clark that’s too small that’ll fit you for now.” Martha took his hand and led him upstairs to where he’d be in apparently his new home.

*****

Clark had had a pretty boring day at school. The classes were boring. He had to hold back in gym class again and when studying the skeletal system in biology, he started studying the teacher’s bones instead of the display skeleton or the worksheet. He was really looking forward to getting home and maybe going for a fly around the fields where no one could see him or maybe catching the latest episode of Rescue Rangers. 

He could spot his house in the distance and after looking around to make sure no one would see him, he sped down the driveway as fast as he could, knocking up a lot of dirt in the process. He really liked going fast, whether running or flying. He just loved the wind in his hair. 

“Ma, Pa, I’m home.” he kicked his sneakers off and rushed upstairs into his room to drop off his bag. He listened around for heartbeats and realized that Pa was out on the tractor and Ma was out with the chickens. He froze as he heard a much closer sound though. It was very slow and faint, but he could hear another heartbeat in the house. Even more, he could hear someone muttering to themselves in the guest room and the flipping of pages.

Clark slowly made his way down the hall towards the sound and peaked in the room with his x-ray vision. There, sitting on the ceiling, was a child about half his age reading a ratty old book about space. Clark stood in the doorway, now able to see him in regular vision and just stared at him. He took a moment until he decided to just join him up there and sat across from him.

“So who are you?” Clark asked while the kid was still focused on his book. He didn’t even look up from the book.

“Name’s Danny.” The kid paused for a second before he looked up and stared at Clark. Danny looked from Clark to the ceiling, to the floor, and then back to Clark. “Oh, so that’s why they said I’d fit right in here. I guess we are pretty similar! I’m guessing you’re Clark then?” The child beamed at him, putting out his hand to shake. Clark took it gently, not wanting to hurt the kid. Then the kid gripped his hand tight and Clark realized that they have more in common than he thought and gripped his hand tighter in response.

“So where are you from?” Clark asked, very curious as to how this kid who could fly and had his strength, but also had almost no heartbeat ended up at his house. Danny rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well, I’m not from this Earth and I kinda got put here to recover for a long while and my Guardian decided your parents are the best equipped to handle a kid growing up with powers, so he sent me here. I’m guessing because of you?” 

“Yeah, mine started manifesting around your age. What powers do you have? How long do you plan to be here? Where are you from? You said this wasn’t your Earth, I’m guessing you’re from a different dimension then? That’s so cool!” Clark, ever curious, shot off many questions rapid fire and Danny laughed while answering them all as best he could.

Part 2

[tainted-liquor]

'You love me'✧˖°

Arachkids x Reader! TWs: I don't think there are any Ingredients: Sugar, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles ! W/C: 1080 A/N: Sorry if Gwen is a lil ooc, I really don't write for her that much lol. FIRST REQUESTTTT EUUUGHH!! /pos

Miles Morales

You watched as your boyfriend paced around his room, occasionally walking up the wall as he ranted about some sort of 'Villain-of-the-week", laying flat on your stomach on top of his bed as he hung upside down from his roof. You chuckled to yourself as an Idea manifested in your head, raising yourself up slightly. "Hey, Miles."

"Huh-...Yeah? You need something, love?" He snapped out of his trance and turned to face you as he dangled from the ceiling. You inched closer to him, analyzing his confused expression as you cupped the sides of his face within your hands, pressing a gentle and loving kiss to his lips at a slightly awkward angle. He may have been there physically in front of you, but as soon as he felt your soft lips on his he was gone. He quickly returned the kiss, gently cupping your face in the same manner that you had cupped his.

When you pulled back, Miles gave a small frown before quickly fixing his expression. He already felt himself missing your touch, quickly pulling you back in before you could even think.

"What was that for?"

"Cuz I love you, Miles."

Hobie Brown

Now Hobie was a slightly different case. He more than likely preferred having two feet firmly planted on the ground, and was more than likely not home. Being Spider-Man and an infamous music artist took up most of his time, so there were some days when he really just...not home. So here you were in the middle of the night, bundled up in his bedsheets half asleep and missing your beloved boyfriend. You heard the front door to his canal boat open as you heard his familiar East London dialect muffle itself at the front door

"I'll see you guys later. Gonna check on the missus."

You heard him shut the door as quietly as the door would allow him, his heavy boots thudding against the hardwood floors. The bedroom door creaked open as I slowly rose up from my comfortable position on my side. His eyes widened a fraction when he saw that I was partially asleep, wasting absolutely 0 time in apologizing for waking me up. "Sorry, lovey. Didn't mean to wake ya." He beamed as he looked down at me from the side of his bed.

"You didn't bee...don't worry" you sighed while simultaneously leaning upwards towards the punk. "Can you do me a favor though? Pleaaaase~?"

"Yeah love whatever you-...No." Hobie immediately knew what you were talking about as soon as he saw your eyes gravitate toward the ceiling. Despite being the Spider-Man of his world, he was very afraid of hanging upside down for longer periods. He said it felt 'suffocating and made him dizzy.'

"C'mon, I haven't seen you in two days I wanna kiss my man." You pouted, turning away from him and crossing your arms against your chest. Hobie let out a long sigh before walking up the wall and standing perfectly still on his ceiling. "There. Happy?" He grinned as he placed both hands over his hips.

"Very." you smiled as you eagerly smashed his lips into yours, attempting to hold the kiss as long as possible due to the possibility of it never happening again.

Pavitr Prabhakar

Your boyfriend, Pavitr is Spider-Man. Now of course he didn't tell you just yet, but everyone in Mumbattan knew. The hair, the clothes, the horrible faux deep voice, it was completely obvious to everyone but him. Not that you minded though, if anything you found his cluelessness cute. So when you sat on the ledge of a rather tall building fidgeting with your phone, In came your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man from above.

"Hey Mer-" He cleared his throat quickly, forcing his voice down an octave before carefully selecting his next few words. "Hey, you really shouldn't be sitting this close to the ledge! I think you might want to move back juuuust a smidge!" he reasoned, the white-painted eyes in his mask narrowing shut, indicating that loving smile you'd see every time he was out of his mask. You scooted back on the ledge slightly, looking up at the slowly spinning spider as he dangled from an even higher ledge. You fought back giggles at his slight hypocrisy, before answering with a small

"Why thank you, Spider-Man! What would I do without you here to protect me!" You joked with a barely concealed chuckle. You reached out towards him, gently taking his upside-down face into your hands. Pav didn't mean to lean into your touch so easily, it was just so hard to keep up the façade of not knowing you. It became clear at that moment that you knew who resided under the mask when you pulled the soft fabric up over his nose, pressing a small kiss to his lips before pulling back with your usual smile. His face grew slightly pink as he watched you walk back into your building, giving him a small wave and mouthing "Bye Pav!"

Gwen Stacy

It was a relatively warm morning as you went for your daily walk on the streets of Brooklyn. Around this time your girlfriend would normally be on patrol, on the lookout for any crime or anomalies. So instead of dwelling on her abscence, you made your way to the nearby abandoned bridge. You made the space as comfortable as possible, kicking away any debris or stones before sitting on the ground and scrolling through social media on your phone. You heard a small thwip noise above you, looking up to see your girlfriend standing en pointe with her arms crossed on the side of the bridge above.

"Hey Gwennie!" You called as she walked down the pillar of the bridge, bringing herself closer to you so you didn't have to shout. "Hey!" She said as she pulled off her mask to reveal that beautiful smile of hers. "What are you doing all the way over here? Shouldn't you be on your walk?" She asked with a tilt of her head.

"Yeah, normally. Just wanted a change in scenery" you shrugged as you stood up, craning your neck to look up at the sideways spider. You beckoned her closer, giving a short and simple kiss as she looked at you with blown pupils and the most furious blush you've ever seen. You watched as she slung her mask back on, covering her face with her hands and webbed away. She was so adorable

[deliciouskeys]

1 for ZM please

About a month late because this was the hardest ask on that meme I think!

Fanfic/Authors ask meme : Write a scene from [ZM] in another character’s POV

Terror POV for the entire fic: Ever since my dad brought me to this house, I'm trying to figure out what the deal is between him and his friend. They speak in angry tones a lot, but my dad really works to take care of him. They also get in bed and rub on each other, in which case they're not usually angry. My dad's friend seems disabled or something, because my dad wraps him up in a very long shiny leash. Maybe his friend will fall apart if he's not held together by that?-- I haven't seen him without it. He can't even eat on his own, he never goes outside, and he's usually in a bad mood. Like even more than my dad usually is. I'm really not sure what's wrong with him, but I'm having a good time living out here in a house with a yard.

Juuuust kidding lol.

I rewrote the second half (after the time skip asterisks) of chapter 4 (Depression) in HL's POV. It's probably not that different-- I'd like to think I write in such a way that you can tell what both halves of a dialogue are thinking, even if the third person narration is closely aligned with only one. But someone at some point was asking me what HL's gambit really was in that scene. Well here you go, 3.9k words. Not all of it brand new, of course.

~~~

Homelander never expected to find himself in such impossible circumstances. When he first found himself blind and unable to move, all his other senses felt that much sharper, and he was keenly aware of everything around him. But the more time he's spent in this state, the more it feels like he's undergoing mental vertigo. He's left alone for… he's not even sure how long. Time is now measured by how hungry he's gotten, how often he's urinated on the floor beside himself. His days used to be so full, agendas with meetings, appearances, rescues, end to end, 8 am to 8 pm at minimum, weekends included. Other members of the Seven got tired of it, took daily breaks, took long vacations. Maeve couldn't stand being forced to account for her time, and she her schedule was much more sparse than his. Homelander never resented the full agendas. No, what he dreaded was free, unstructured time, dreaded holidays when everyone would stop caring about business. He always felt uncomfortable in his own skin if he had to spend any more time alone in his apartment than the time it took him to get a full night's rest. And for his physiology a full night's rest was, for better or worse, usually only a few hours. So he'd often go on flights while most of the city still slept– he told himself he was patrolling for crime, but really he just didn't want to feel like he had to stay still in any sort of confined space. And now… now that's all he can do– lying on the floor, maybe contorting himself into a sitting position if he's feeling really ambitious. With absolutely nothing to do, nothing to see, no ability to leave, he feels numb. He feels like he's losing his mind, and not in the flashy way– just slowly feeling his sense of self disintegrating. When he was a child he used to be able to converse with himself without looking at a reflection, but that was when he was younger, and not when he was forcibly blinded. Now he only listens to the voice in his head telling him that he was stupid to think he'd be able to free himself, telling him he was going to die without seeing anything again, telling him he may have already gone blind for all he knows.

It must have been at least fifteen days since he was put in this cage, but maybe it's been thirty. He got depressed and stopped trying to keep diligent track of William's comings and goings at some point. He needs to get back to thinking clearly, if he's ever going to escape out of here, but there's nothing left that he wants to think about. He doesn't want to try to think of ways to free himself, because he spent the better part of a week trying all sorts of maneuvers and never made any tangible progress. He doesn't want to think about anything to do with his past life, because every thought is tainted by remembering that higher-ups at Vought were ones who decided to betray him and sacrifice him. Because of what? That he dared to try to act on his own instincts instead of just obeying? That he was too dangerous if he so much as expressed mild disagreement with their tactics? 

So Homelander's thoughts turn to the most basic fixations. Thirst, hunger– those get satisfied periodically, although never in the way he really wants, and he still daydreams about warm milk, other warm, bland, sweet things that could soothe his nerves. His other need has started to gnaw on him day in and day out. At this point, if one of his hands somehow managed to free itself, he'd probably waste precious time jerking himself off before trying to free the rest of his body. He daydreams about being able to shove himself inside something warm and slippery, reminisces about his vigorous nights with Maeve when she still tolerated him, remembers that one precious time with Madelyn. But he can't think himself to completion, it only makes matters worse, and he whines quietly as his painfully hard erection dies down.

His other favorite daydream these days is about being reunited with Ryan. Like the first time he found him, but even more dramatic this time. In these fantasies Ryan would come running, leap into his arms, wrap his arms around his neck, and Homelander would take off into the sky with him, take him someplace safe, away from Vought, away from Butcher's band of misfits, away from the US government. When he thinks about Ryan too long, a lump starts forming in his throat and he starts crying at the unfairness of it all– of being deprived of his son almost as soon as he found out about his existence. He can't open his eyes, but the tears seep out anyway, drip out of the metal plate, dribble down his chin, and he can't even wipe them away.

It should be embarrassing that William returns during one of these bouts of feeling sorry for himself. Homelander can recognize his car from miles away, so he sits up, legs bent, forehead pressed into his knees in a last ditch effort to retain some dignity. But there's nowhere to hide. 

"You alright mate?" he asks, and Homelander genuinely wonders if he means him or his damned dog whose loud breathing is the only sign of anyone else in his vicinity. William must be able to see that Homelander's face is covered in snot and tears. And why should he care or try to hide any of it? Any sense of embarrassment Homelander may have had is long gone. Even in the days of the lab, he was never kept this helpless for this long, and never had so many basic functions tended to by someone else. If William wants to keep him here and clean up after him for the rest of his life, that was certainly his prerogative. 

"Oi, I said, you alright?"

"Oh, fucking fantastic," Homelander says, raising his head had off his knees.

"I'll get you some more water," William says.

Homelander leans back against the unforgiving bars of the cage. The metal William has used to trap him makes him feel weak as he touches it, but it's becoming almost an addictive feeling, the strange diffusion across his muscles that makes them weak, ordinary. Is this what being a normal human feels like? Has he become warped enough that he enjoys feeling like his body's fibers are turning into jelly?

He can hear William refill his bowl of water and set it down next to him. It's a wonder that Butcher hasn't laid out newspapers on the floor for him yet, or maybe some nice sawdust or whatever it is they put in rat cages.

"You want anything else?" William has the nerve to ask.

Why yes, being allowed to feel like a person again would be nice, Homelander thinks. "You can't treat me like a fucking... hamster. You leave me here all day with some water. Nothing to fucking listen to. I'm bored out of my mind. You have a TV in here, but you're just a heartless sadist who won't even turn on some Vought News."

"You know I ain't turning Vought News on," William tells him, as if it's something to be proud of. "Here, you can listen to this."

Homelander feels stupid for being curious for a moment before he hears what must be that painter from TV describing what colors he's about to use. "Motherfucker," he mutters when he hears that William's left the house. 

Today I'm using an 18 by 24 inch double prime pre-stretched canvas, but you use whatever size you'd like.

Is he supposed to feel calm from listening to this infuriatingly self-possessed voice droning on and on about painting techniques?

And I've just covered the entire canvas with a very thin coat of liquid white. The liquid white is just designed to make the canvas wet and to make it slick, it allows us to actually blend color right here on the canvas.

Homelander groans. The slightest allusion to anything that could be remotely sexual wakes his body up, as if it's not in on what dire situation he's in. His body doesn't care. It's begging for an orgasm. Homelander tips back on the floor, desperately trying move his thighs against his cock, but it's not effective. It doesn't help that the painter has moved on to describing the painting techniques and once again, but he's still desperate. Homelander struggles, praying that he can pry his arms apart– sure, the metal wrapping them his forearms together behind his back makes them as limp as noodles, but shouldn't his desperation to touch himself count for something? It doesn't, and Homelander's body finally gives up after getting no physical encouragement.

No, this can't go on like this. He's unable to think straight. Most powerful man on earth and he can't manage to touch himself? He has to get his mind off this infernal fixation.

William comes back in, and although Homelander hasn't spoken to him much in the last few days, he just has to try to extract some information out of him, reorient himself, get back to living in the real world rather than drifting around in his thoughts. If nothing else, he has to better acquaint himself with William, because he clearly underestimated his patience and his cruelty.

"Did they hold a funeral for me yet? I can't even keep track of the days like, this."

He listens to William's breathing change, but he doesn't know if it means he's about to be lied to. "They announced they'll have one. Finally deemed you MIA enough on a classified mission that they're going to have some pomp and circumstance. The whole nation is in mourning. I'm sure Starlight is going to record a new song in your honor."

"Fuck her," Homelander spits out. The fact that she saw him in this pathetic situation, and gets to go back to her dayjob– on his team– makes him that much angrier. "What're you gonna tell Ryan, hm?" he asks. "Or are you not showing him any TV, keeping him captive too. You seem to like that, William. You and Vought."

"Fuck you. I'll tell him the same bullshit the media is going to say. You died overseas on a mission."

And although this should make Homelander feel more hopeless– Vought announcing his funeral means they've really decided he's as good as dead and won't ever return– this gives him a sudden renewed sense of purpose to get out of this confinement and show them all what he's capable of. "You're a sadistic, lying bastard," he mutters, not even sure William's impaired hearing will notice, but he heard.

"And it took you this long to deduce that, mate?"

Homelander can hear that his jailer is grinning ear to ear, clearly pleased with himself. It's a tone he hates, the tone of William when he thinks he's won something. He's won nothing, as far as Homelander is concerned. If he's so proud of being sadistic, and Homelander isn't– not in any particular way–, why aren't their positions reversed if there was any justice in this world?

"You'd be just like me if you had powers," Homelander says. "I guarantee you."

"Whataboutism rubbish. You may well be right," William says. "But I don't have powers and you do, and here we are."

It's a dead end with someone this stubborn and myopic. But Homelander just wants to keep talking. If he can't see, at least talking to someone proves he's not alone– something the voice in his head starts telling him when the house is empty and he only hears William's dog milling about.

"Can I see my son?' he demands, seeing how this tone might work out for him. He has so little that he doesn't really have anything to lose.

"Really? You're going to ask me that? Mate, you're not going to see anything ever again, not if I can help it."

It's an odd sensation, but Homelander can actually feel his eyes rolling despite the metal plate pressed firmly against them. "Fine, can I hear my son?! Jesus Christ. I haven't had contact with him in a year."

Homelander doesn't expect William to agree of course, so his breath hitches when William answers him with a curt "Fine." followed by a child's voice saying "Hello?" 

Homelander's heart skips a beat– it's Ryan's voice, distorted by the phone, maybe sounding older, because God knows he hasn't heard him in a year and that alone make Homelander emotional, that he's missed even more of his childhood. He scrambles to answer, stuttering in his agitation  "Ryan? Ryan, it's your dad, your real dad, don't believe the—"

"Hello?" But of course it was too good to be true. Homelander's shoulders slump as he realizes that he was on mute. 

"You're a fucking monster," he says, sighing, sitting back against the wall and burying his face in his knees again. This is why he stopped talking to William in the first place. It's always frustrating exchanges like these. But this last part was a dirtier trick than usual. Homelander hates that he can feel tears pricking at his eyes yet again. He should be grateful he could hear Ryan was alive and well, but that's a low bar if there ever was one.

"He's doing good, he's in good hands," William assures him, and oh Homelander's hands curl into fists, wanting to punch him full-force. There's be nothing left, and he wouldn't have to hear this patronizing tone anymore.

But as much as he hates talking to William, this is also the most exciting part of his day, and he might as well get all his questions out now that he's deigned to speak to him again and break his short-lived vow of silence. "What are they saying about me online? Can you at least tell me that?" he asks. He's glad he can still pull off an angry, haughty tone despite feeling less and less sure he'll ever be able to get out of this embarrassing imprisonment.

"I don't rightly know, I don't have time to look through Twitterspheres and Reddit threads searching your name. I'm sure it's mostly positive."

Homelander can feel his mouth twist into something that would look ugly on camera but it's just William here, and he has no reasons to disguise his emotions here. "Yeah, and people are just going to forget I exist in another couple of weeks."

"They'll always have the movie franchises to remember you by."

Homelander sniffs in disgust. He never guessed he'd be trapped long enough to even have this conversation. When he was first captured this ragtag band of misfits tried so many different methods to off him, and he thought they were bound to make a mistake somewhere along the way. With William taking him on alone, it seemed even more probable. But William barely touches him nowadays except for what's absolutely necessary– including retightening the wires around his body with annoying regularity so there's little hope of escape.

"Why haven't you even tried to fucking kill me?!" he finally yells. 

"Like I told ya. I want to really hurt you. And you are really fucking hurting like this," Butcher says. "I get to live my life, come home and get to watch you suffer. Don't see any reason to change it."

Homelander would see red if he could see anything. In what universe was any of this fair? What crimes has he committed that deserve being so tortured with boredom and humiliation by turns. He's tired of being talked down to. He's tired of being lectured by someone who clearly has his own demons and issues. He wasn't going to say this, because he wasn't sure of how the conversation would pan out, but at this point Homelander's desperate to get any sort of riled up reaction from William. Anything that increases the chances of William doing something out of the ordinary would increase his chances of escape more than being despondent and doing nothing.

"May I make a personal remark?" he asks.

"Never seen you stop and ask before," William replies, sounding amused but curious.

"Well. People tend to take offense at this one." Homelander pauses one last time, wondering if he's right to play this card now, but at this point he's desperate to shift anything about this terrible setup. "Ever since you undressed me... well, even before that sometimes, but definitely after... you just... reek of wanting to fuck me."

William burst out laughing and for some reason that's one reaction Homelander didn't anticipate in response.

"No I mean it, literally reek. I know it when I smell it. Fucking disgusting, but explains a lot. Wish you'd get it over with already, if that's really what you want, and then let me fucking go on my way."

He pauses but William's still laughing, and it's a sound Homelander hasn't heard before. William isn't faking it. He's actually in rollicking spirits after hearing this, probably because he doesn't believe him. Homelander is at a loss.

"Hurts to hear, I'm sure," he adds but his voice is getting smaller. Is there really nothing he can say to perturb this man?

William finally comes up for air from his convulsive laughing. "Mate... oh my god… Thanks for that, I haven't had that good of a laugh in years."

Homelander can't believe it, all that bitter venom roiling and unable to come up with anything more hurtful. "It's not my fault you're attracted to the man you keep accusing of raping your wife. That's fucked up, I must say," Homelander blurts out, desperate to find something to pique this man, and realizes he's found the magic topic.

He hears William approaching but can't move away before he's grabbed by the neck. "Oi, you fucking self-aggrandizing cunt. You mention Becca again, I dare you, I fucking dare you."

And Homelander opts not to say more even though this is what he wanted– contact, violent contact, and William losing his calm and maybe making mistakes in his rage. But he's out of ideas, and he hates how good it feels to be touched when he's had so little contact. His throat bobs under William's grip, and WIlliam releases him, as if somehow guessing that Homelander's getting something pleasant out of it and immediately depriving him of it.

"And you can tell all that just from the way I smell, can you?" he asks, no longer laughing, but sounding unconvinced. Homelander knows what he senses. He shouldn't be surprised his captor's not aware of his own feelings and proclivities.

"I’ve smelled it plenty. You walk into a crowd of fans, there's always a bunch of mouthbreathers drooling over you. Women mostly, but some men too. But I must say William, I didn't see it coming from you."

"Well, it's rich coming from you," William says. "Getting all worked up every time I say you've behaved yourself, or threaten you with something real embarrassing."

Homelander bristles. "That has nothing to do with you," he mumbles. "Whataboutism," he adds vindictively.

"Maybe, but let me just demonstrate. I'll fucking upload a video of you on your knees in your cage, hovering over a bowl of milk, lapping it up like a little cat or whatever the fuck, ass up in the air."

Homelander can feel the color drain from his face, but unfortunately can also feel the instant reaction. He remembers when it happened. He was desperate for something to soothe his nerves. William served him the milk he asked for but made him get into an awkward humiliating position to drink it. Not like William didn't exude a whole cloud of lusting pheromones or whatever it is that Homelander senses. But apparently only he's the one being blamed for getting hard over strange things. 

"Least dignified thing I've ever seen in my life. I'll fucking do it. They can think that's your captivity footage from your overseas classified mission before you ended up 'dead.'"

There's nowhere to hide. Homelander hates it, but he knows his body responds. When he was growing up in the lab, the scolding over masturbation intertwined shame and arousal into a weird mixture in his mind until they were, if not always inseparable, still unfortunately concomitant.

"Yeah, you like being praised and humiliated, you fucking sick cunt." William sounds triumphant, even though none of this seems particularly relevant. Homelander's not attracted to him, at least. And as soon as that thought crosses Homelander's mind, another one follows closely on its heels, and he regrets it. It's so easy to imagine William sucking him off, and his body has been so desperate for release that the thought is suddenly very appealing.

"I'm not the one collecting footage on his phone," Homelander says, trying to sound angry to cover up how shaky he feels, and how obsessed he's immediately gotten with the idea of making William act on his stupid depraved wishes.

"Look at yourself. Your cock is right begging for it."

"Then touch it." Homelander blurts out without thinking, his cock already throbbing, his body so so hopeful that thinking about sex means it's going to happen. He's feeling so disoriented that he doesn't immediately comprehend that William really reached through the bars, really wrapped his calloused hand around his erection. It feels so blissfully wonderful when his hands starts to move that Homelander's moved to tears of gratitude. And yet just as the corners of his mouth turn up, lost in the pleasure of it all, the contact is gone.

"MOTHERFUCKER," Homelander pants. "You're a FUCKING sadist." He bucks his hips seeking contact with anything. He knows there's nothing around him that could really satisfy– he's tried countless times. "Please, William, please don't just..." Homelander can't even get the words out, before he feels the hand again, just one stingy touch this time, only making things worse.

"Fuck," Homelander practically sobs out. When he hears William recede from the cage, he realizes this is it, he's about to be abandoned again, and that he's only armed William with yet another form of torture against him. He moans and weeps, not caring about how pathetic it looks and sounds, not caring if William is filming him again, sick mind that he has. Homelander tries to rub his erection against the floor, jammed between the hard surface and his body, but it never cut it before, and apparently won't cut it now either.

Homelander is reeling with so much unfulfillment that he hardly notices that William leaves the room entirely. His ears finally perk up when he hears something coming from the room William sleeps in. He can't be sure but it sounds like masturbation.

I hope you're thinking of me while you're doing it, you stupid cruel savage, Homelander curses to himself. He's close to shouting it loud. He would, if he thought there was any chance William would come back and finish what he sadistically started.

Homelander has no cards left to play, no relevant secrets. He could try to bargain, information about Vought for … for what exactly? Handjobs? William wasn't going to let him go for anything, he knows that.

[underdark-dreams]

It's all posed now, I'm just gonna put the link in here again juuuust in case my last ask glitched out or something. Almost exactly 40k words lol. Hope you like it. https://archiveofourown.org/works/60652426/chapters/154872667

If you love Tav x Rolan, I HIGHLY recommend checking out Arcana Mechanicus by EyesOfEnigma!

Especially if you need a fic centered around an Artificer Tav 🖤 I am only halfway through, but I can barely pace myself from bingeing the rest. (I am really REALLY trying) The characterization is so perfectly flavored, the emotional moments hit hard, it's just such a great mix of humor/angst that is PERFECT for this pairing. If you need a great read, give their work a peek & a kudos!

[giftofgabber]

my day my day. wake up. make bed. drink water. juuuust kidding. lol. my actual day is i wake up go on my computer and waste the whole day, scared to leave my cave bc of menstruation make telephone calls to my bedridden friend (now I am friended to ‘Bernie’) in this case, complain to her that I can’t find Wildberry Kaballah’s Kiss hard seltzer, & that I’m am unaffiliated with any party & by extension any candidate, despite my lifelong devotion to the New Jersey Congress of Diabolical Fish (now I am friended to ‘Dorrie’, aka ‘Dorrie’ Dorrieu, congresswoman). and my fish are swimming their happy little swim through my little cavern of treasures wherein I enjoy my life however much I can, given that I am having a day with free moments to spare, free of feeling hurried along

[senblades]

Loved your shuake Loki/Sigyn art…I too am a mythology enjoyer and have thought about their parallels. I do love Sigyn as the goddess of victory despite being married to Loki, who notoriously causes chaos around him LOL. Like Joker I’d like to think Sigyn looks past Loki’s “trickster-like” tendencies and sees him for who he really is. That’s how I’ve always interpreted the basin/venom myth. But that’s just my interpretation. Always fun to talk about this stuff!

thank you! <3

and yes yes yes I LOVE looking at all the history and mythology of personas- especially Loki, because I think that there's so much stuff that links to Akechi juuuust beneath the obvious "chaotic trickster god" stuff

Like, Loki in mythology as a constant scapegoat for the problems that the Aesir (I apologise for my abysmal spelling) cause? Interpreting the Aesir as Shido's conspiracy in that context is fascinating, and you can even draw a lot of parallels if you interpret them as the Phantom Thieves, too (the whole contingent relationship for their popularities, and whatnot)

(don't even get me STARTED on all the Loki/Sigyn stuff lmao- there's just. so much to draw from that comparison)

And even on a meta level, the fact that historians really struggle to find proof that Loki as a symbol of worship even existed before christian missionaries arrived in the Nordic countries? How that could be seen as a parallel to Yaldabaoth's fuckery? good shit

(Also, Loki being "the guy who solves as many problems as he causes" in the context of Akechi 'solving' a bunch of the mental shutdown and phsychotic breakdown cases is very funny to me HA)

Point is. uh. Mythology cool.