#library crawlers

[theladwhoisweird]

We all turn finifugal when it comes to every book we love.

[quinnharlock]

I've been in a reading slump during April, so I thought it'd be good to look back at the books I've read so far this year. It's been a productive few months!

✦ Books Read: 18 (As of May 1st.)

✦ Average Rating: 4.36 / 5

✦ Favorite Book: Tie between The Name of the Wind and The Gate of the Feral Gods

[aurorian-library-diver]

What’s a Carrion Crawler, and why is it such a grave insult to be one’s son?

A Carrion Crawler is a dog-like creature with a large mouth and no eyes. They eat the corpses of the dead, which is also how they reproduce. After eating enough carrion, they give birth to a baby of the last animal they ate. This could be anything from another Carrion Crawler to a Human.

If it’s a Human, they don’t have any memory of their past life, but are eerily similar in mannerisms to their dead ‘parent’.

Thus why it’s bad to be a Twice-born son of a Carrion Crawler. You were literally born from the filth and rot of the dead.

[thatone-churro]

[taiwan0618]

🎀 library pt. 3

CONCRETE KING by @bratkook

TELL ME NO LIES by @jeongi

FOREVER..(IS A LONG TIME)PT. 1 PT.2 by @eureka-its-zico

IRREVOCABLY YOURS PT. 1 by @eureka-its-zico

IN A WORLD OF BOYS HE'S A GENTLEMAN by @2hightocare

HOTTER THAN HELL by @chateautae

PAINTING THE MEADOW'S VOID by @jungblue

FINDING YOUR BF SLEEPING IN YOUR HYPERFEMININE PINK ROOM by @rrjkive

LOVEFOOL by @citrustan

WHY DIDN’Y YOU WAIT FOR ME by @jungkook97

OREOS AND ELECTROSHOCK COUPLES THERAPY by @ladyartemesia

BOW TO YOU by @flowerwrites06

BITCHIN' by @kinktae

THE BEST THING HE NEVER HAD by @rosaetae

COLD NIGHTS & BLURRED LINES by @awrkive

NIGHT CRAWLERS by @alphabetboyluvr

SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS by @citrustan

SAFE HANDS by @jungkookschin

LONELY HEARTS CLUB by @joonbird

MICROWAVE (MIS)ADVENTURES by @bymoonchild

SET ON YOU by @bymoonchild

PAINT ME NAKED by @gimmethatagustd

GET YOU THE MOON by @bymoonchild

RIGOR MORTIS by @readyplayerhobi

WHITE LIES by @noteguk

THE PROPOSAL by @hansolmates

FALL FOR YOU by @kimvtae

TWITCHY WITCHY GIRL by @sweetheartjeongguk

EXTRA CHEESE, PLEASE! by @vankoya

A HOLIDAY SNOWDOWN by @kpopfanfictrash

NEVER GO TO SLEEP ANGRY by @just4koo (check out their blog!)

CAR RIDES HOME by @foredelweiss

CASUAL by @muniimyg

CLOSE TO YOU by @muniimyg

HOLIDAYS OF BREAD AND WOOD by @cutaepatootie

I WANT YOU TO STAY by @ahundredtimesover

MISTAKEN VERY MUCH by @1uvtae

CAN'T BE WITHOUT YOU by @ahundredtimesover

UNTITLED by @namfinessed

EMPTY SPACE by @ahundredtimesover

DAYBREAK by @bbangtans

ANPANMAN by @honeymoonjin

SCATTERED STARS by @taegularities

CHANGES IN BETWEEN by @taegularities

DAY BY DAY by @hansolmates

MIRACLE OF THE SEASON by @cybrsan

PERFECT by @readyplayerhobi

OF HONEY AND CINNAMON by @ephemerlskies

RIVERS OVER STONES by @ichorai

A HERO'S JOURNEY by @hansolmates

THE LOVE PROGNOSIS by @awrkive

THE ART OF ROM-COM by @gukyi

[song-of-the-rune]

ooh my library has erentals available on the first audiobook...

Thinking of picking up a heavier book series to get into. Been reading Discworld and need to change things up a bit. Locked tomb maybe? Sounds up my alley. Not sure how "heavy" it is because I know very little about the actual writing style and such but I want something new to sink my teeth into.

[fried-peaches00]

“It’s The Way”

Teylan x Human Reader

Word Count: 709

Summary: A little something about Teylan dreaming of life on earth with his human.

Of course So’lek noticed Teylan’s love for humans. Anyone could see the way the RDA conditioning was hard for him to shake. He didn’t adapt as well as the other remaining members of his clan to being ripped from everything they knew as home, despite how they hated it. They saw how he lived for human validation, scrambling to be needed, working himself past fatigue. However, neither So’lek nor the other Sarentu saw who loved him so effortlessly he didn’t have to try to feel wanted. Since the day he turned up at headquarters you never treated him like anything but Teylan. To you, he wasn't the exotic, endangered, last of his clan and he definitely wasn’t the RDA brown-noser So’lek thought he was. He was just perfectly who you needed him to be.

It’s the way you included him in your routine since day one, allowing him to follow on your heels when he wasn’t sure where he fit in. He lingered close when you took samples from the aquaponics and he loved to be around when you cooked at the small kitchen. Whether it was scavenged MREs you added sugars and spices to or meals you learned to cook from na’vi clans you visited, you always made sure to give him a taste, passing along what you learned from the time you spent on this moon.

And when he found his groove, it’s the way you bonded over your sciences, especially now that HE had something to teach YOU, and gossiped about other members of clans and the resistance. Over climbing trees and watching the mud crawlers wind through the stream running under headquarters.

It’s the way that when he crawls under the sheets of your much too small cot, curling his big body around yours; you always welcome him no matter how exhausted you are. Combing your fingers through his short black hair until he purrs, whispering to him stories of earth upon his request. Tales of high schools and summer camps and puppies that kept him entranced for hours at a time.

And long after you drift to sleep, still contorted around his crumpled body stuffed into the bars of your bottom bunk, he imagines being an earth human. He Imagines going to human university and meeting you while you were studying Biology with a minor in astronomy and astrophysics just like you said. He imagines sneaking into your dorm room past the resident assistants to do homework and watch all the movies you reminisce on from your time on Earth, maybe more if he got lucky. He imagines going on dates to local cafés and drinking coffee that you promised was better than the stale, close to three decades old grime you let him try from the kitchen (but not by much). He dreamt of dates to libraries with real paper books and being nervous about meeting your parents over a homemade pasta dinner. But over anything else, he dreamed of kissing you in public; and no one thinks twice about it.

Teylan wants to love on you without the concern of hurting you with his immense size, or worrying about how long it is going to last before the war rips you from him the way that he was ripped from his clan so many years ago. He didn’t want to have to worry about the crushing gaze of the other Na’vi or the pitying looks from the scientists when he sat on the hard cold ground while you were working just to be around you, or when he worried endlessly while you were away conducting field research he was too nervous to join you on. Mostly, He just wants to love you like a human loves another human.

But when you wake to the resistance team beginning to rouse, one by one, and you smile at him through puffy, sleep-laden eyes. Petting his face and resting delicate kisses on his broad nose, whispering to him what you had wanted to do today and inviting him along. When you coax him into the wilds of pandora and show him the beauty of his home planet through intertwined fingers and kisses soaked by native fruits. He knows he’s right where he needs to be.

[hunterscabin]

Birthday Dress

Request: Can you do a reader where she is turning twenty one, and the boys don’t want to celebrate, but Claire and her sneak out and Claire ends up taking her to a club, and she gets wasted AF, and they have to sneak back into the bunker, but they get caught. - Anonymous

Pairings: Dean x Reader; Sam x Reader

Warnings: Drinking; drunkenness; overly protective Dean; protective Sam; the tiniest bit of language; angst; fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: Thank you for the request, Nonnie! I had fun writing this one! For the sake of this story, let’s assume Claire is also 21-years-old. 

“What do you think?" 

Tufts of gold lame billowed as you twirled in your birthday dress. Sam and Dean sat opposite each other at the library table, both wearing a similar shade of bitch face.

"No.” Sam stated flatly.

“Nope.” Dean agreed. “You’re not going out like that.”

“Like what?” you challenged. 

“Like,” Dean struggled to find the words, “like some floozy.”

“Floozy?!” You looked down at your dress, confused and angered by Dean’s response. The skirt hit just above your knee, and while the neckline didn’t leave much to the imagination, it was far more tasteful than anything you’d ever seen on the women Dean liked to bring home.

You tried to compose yourself with a deep breath. You knew Dean’s overprotective nature could get the better of him, and his criticism of your appearance was his way of showing that he cared. Winchester men had many strengths but emotional expression was not one of them.  

“I’m a 21-year-old woman,” you calmly reminded him, “I’m not asking permission to wear this dress, I’m showing it to you.”

“Don’t sass me, young lady!”

While you could appreciate Dean’s well intentions, your patience always faltered when his safeguarding shifted to defensive bickering. You knew you had to stand your ground.

“Or what?” You stared him down. “What are you gonna do about it, old man?”

“I will lock you in your room.” Dean threatened without hesitation, not even acknowledging your insult.

“I’d like to see you try.” you dared.

Sam and Dean shared a quick look before standing in tandem and marching toward you. They each grabbed one of your arms and began dragging you backward. Unable to keep up with their long strides in your heels, you lost your footing.

“Oh, come on!” you squirmed in their grip. “Let me go! I’m serious!”

Sam and Dean stopped short when they reached the entrance of your room, both of them stifling laughter.

“Thank you.” you scoffed, as they released your arms. You smoothed your hands over your dress, grateful that it wasn’t wrinkled during their antics. You stepped forward, but Sam and Dean didn’t budge.

“Go change, Y/N.” Dean’s tight smirk had been replaced with a stoic glare. You knew at that moment he was a lost cause, so you tried the puppy. You could always count on Sam to be level headed and talk Dean down when he got like this.

“Sammy, help me out here.” You flashed him the sweetest smile you could.

“I’m not gonna fight him on this one, Y/N/N.” Sam’s face was surprisingly stern. 

“SAMMY!”

“Y/N, I’m not kidding around.” Dean’s voice slipped into a register not unlike his father’s. “Change, or you’re staying in.”

Dean knew he was being unreasonable, but the idea of men ogling you all night scared the living crap out of him, and if yelling was the only way to keep you from the unwanted attention of grimy bar crawlers, then so be it.

"Come with me!” you compromised. Normally you didn’t barter with the boys when they were being this difficult, but it was your 21st birthday. You didn’t want to change, you looked and felt great, and you certainly weren’t going to celebrate in the drab, concrete confines of the bunker. “You can punch any man who gets within fifteen feet of me!”

“No.” Dean said definitively. “You’re changing, or you’re staying in.”

Sam saw all of the hope and anticipation drain from you, and he quickly tried to remedy the situation.

“We can have a party here!”

“There you go!’” Dean became patronizingly excitable, hoping to reverse the tense atmosphere he created. “Sammy’ll fix you a drink, I’ll cook a nice dinner. Hell, I’ll even let you shoot my new gun!”

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t really feel like celebrating anymore.” Your mouth creased in a solemn pout. 

“Y/N/N, it’s your birthday!” Sam encouraged.

“Doesn’t feel like it.” You hung your head and retreated into your room, softly closing the door behind you.

Two hours later, Sam entered the kitchen to find every inch of counter space in disarray.

“What’s going on in here?”

“I was too hard on her.” Dean mumbled, whisking aggressively. His focus remained on the bowl in front of him, but Sam could still make out his expression of regret. 

“I just don’t want anyone messing with her.” Dean shook his head, knowing the justification of his actions didn’t matter. He had hurt you, on your birthday no less, and he felt awful.

“So you’re mutilating all of our baking ingredients?”

Dean finally looked up to acknowledge his brother’s presence.

“I’m trying to make her a birthday cake,” he admitted with defeat.

“Softy.” Sam teased.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean surveyed the mess he’d made and sighed. 

“She’ll be okay, Dean.” Sam promised, also needing to hear the words for himself.

“I don’t know, man. I’ve never been that hard on her.”

Sam understood his brother’s remorse, having been an accomplice himself.

“Why don’t you go talk to her, and I’ll start cleaning up in here.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” Dean clapped Sam on the back as he left the kitchen, leaving a perfect, hand-shaped flour imprint on his flannel.

“I can’t believe you snuck out!” Claire exclaimed, taking a swig of her beer. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m very proud.” She flashed a mischievous smile. “It’s just so not you.”

“Dean went too far, this time.” you exasperated, bending forward to line up your shot. “He doesn’t get to treat me like a child anymore! I know they found me when I was young, but I’m a grown woman now!” you asserted, driving your cue into the ball for emphasis.

“At least you have someone looking out for you.” Claire demurred.

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

“No, no.” She set down her beer. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” She sunk a ball into the corner pocket and turned to face you.

“I know it’s not what you want to hear, but Dean was only trying to protect you. He loves you. They both do.”

“When did you become the voice of reason?” you demanded, trying to skirt the truth.

“You know I’m right.”

“I know,” you groaned, “I just wish their love didn’t come at the cost of my freedom and mental stability!”

“Dean’s right too, you know.” Claire pointed the neck of her nearly empty beer bottle at you. “That dress does make you look like a floozy.”

“Claire!” you bellowed, playfully shoving her. “You’re the one who lent it to me.”

Claire laughed and grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the bar.

“Come on!” she cheered. “You’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Dean, would you sit down?” Sam gestured to the chair next to him. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

Dean had been pacing the length of the library ever since finding your empty room.

“No, Sam. I can’t sit. Y/N is missing!”

“She’s not missing.” Sam reiterated for what felt like the hundredth time. “She snuck out.”

“What if someone took her? What if something took her? Why won’t she answer her phone?” Dean wondered frantically through gritted teeth.

“Might have something to do with you calling her a floozy and then locking her in her bedroom on her birthday.” Sam sassed. 

Dean shot Sam a look that let his younger brother know to keep his mouth shut. Sam said nothing and returned to his book.

After a moment of strained silence, Dean stood. 

“I can’t take it anymore.” he said, reaching for his coat. “I’m going to look for her.”

Just as Dean grabbed his keys, the distinct sound of a car door echoed through the bunker, followed closely by your laughter.

“Thank God.” Sam breathed.

Dean took Sam’s relief as a slight to his own grating worry, but the younger Winchester had also been quietly concerned for your safety, which became immediately clear when he dropped his book to the ground and hurried to the garage.

“Dammit, Y/N!” Claire whispered loudly. “The whole point of sneaking in is to, ya know, sneak back in.”

“Shhhh.” you mocked, crouching low to the ground. Walking in that stance proved difficult, and you toppled over, erupting into another fit of laughter. 

“It’s very hard to believe you’re a trained hunter, right now.” Claire deadpanned. 

You managed to hoist yourself back on your feet only to find Claire frozen in place. You followed her gaze to the other end of the garage and saw Sam and Dean leaning against the tool bench. Claire’s eyes were wide with fear, but you were too far gone to care what the boys thought of your drunken state. 

“SAMMY!” you squealed, running to him. “I love you!" 

You flung your arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. You pulled back and were met with his bewildered expression. 

"Such a pretty pony!” you marveled, stroking his hair like a mane. 

“Is this your doing?” Sam asked Claire. 

She held up her hands in surrender.  

“DEANOSAUR!” you lightheartedly shoved Sam over, lunging at Dean. 

“Hey, kiddo.” Dean couldn’t help but reciprocate your hug, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Did you have fun?” 

You looked up at Dean, surprised by his lack of anger, and flashed him an apologetic smile. 

“I’m sorry I left without telling you.” 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Y/N/N.” Dean assured. “I didn’t really leave you much of a choice. I’m sorry for being a stubborn ass.” 

“It’s okay,” you ruffled his hair, “I know it’s cause you love me.” 

“Now that is my doing.” Claire commented as she walked toward the group. 

“Did you drive here?” Dean questioned.   

“I only had one beer.” Claire defended, but Dean and Sam eyed her suspiciously. 

“I’m serious!” Claire pandered to the boys, closing her eyes and touching each index finger to her nose in turn. 

Sam and Dean nodded at each other in satisfaction, but you stood with a knit in your brow. 

“Claire,” you rasped, “That’s the dumbest dance I’ve ever seen." 

Sam could no longer hold back his laughter, and he let out a loud snicker. 

"Thanks, Claire.” Dean placed a hand on her shoulder. “You wanna come in? It’s getting late, you’re welcome to stay." 

"Nah, I’m okay to drive, and I’d rather sleep in my own bed." 

"Claire! Are you leaving me?!” You forced a clownish frown and crossed your arms. 

“You’ll see me soon!” she promised. “I had fun with you tonight!" 

"Thank you for taking me out after these losers,” you held up your hand to shield the finger you were pointing at the boys, “tried to IMPRISON ME.” 

Claire rolled her eyes and patted you on the head. 

“Not like they could have stopped me anyway. I got these!” You held up your fists and squatted into a fighting stance. 

“What are you gonna do with those Tyson?” Dean joked before noticing the knuckles on your right hand were red and raw. “Y/N, did you hit someone tonight?” 

“YES!” you beamed proudly. “I punched a guy at the bar!” 

“Why would you do that?” Sam interrogated, taking your hand to examine the damage. 

“He tried to grab my ass." 

"What?!” Dean went from amused to enraged in seconds. 

“Don’t worry.” You nonchalantly waved him off. “He couldn’t." 

"Why’s that?" 

"Well, after I punched him, I broke his hand." 

Dean and Sam looked to Claire for confirmation, and she emphatically nodded “Yes” before slipping into her car. Dean smiled proudly. 

"That’s my girl." 

"I broke it so good, Dean. I broke it so hard.” Sam and Dean had to bite the inside of their cheeks to refrain from laughing. 

“I’m amazing.” you whispered, turning to stare at your reflection in the Impala. 

As Claire drove away, Sam came to stand next to you, and your look of pride and admiration melted into one of uncertainty. You slowly turned to face Sam. 

“Sammy?" 

"Y/N/N, what’s wrong?” 

"Sam?” This time your voice was small and scared. Sam and Dean inched closer to you, concern pushing aside their amusement. 

“I’m right here, Y/N/N.” Sam took your hand in his. 

“Sammy,” you swallowed, then declared with all the sincerity in the word, “There are two of you." 

This time, Dean was the one who was unable to contain his laughter. 

"Okay slugger,” Sam gently grabbed your wrist and lifted your arm around his neck, “Let’s get you to bed.” 

The second you were in his arms, you relaxed and let out a dramatic yawn. By the time Sam reached your bedroom, you were already asleep. 

Sam laid you down before taking off your shoes and tucking you in. 

“Man she is entertaining when she’s drunk.” Sam remarked, joining Dean in your doorway. 

“You’re telling me." 

Both brothers watched your sleeping form and smiled quietly. 

"I’m glad she had some fun.” Dean confessed. 

“Me too.” Sam agreed. 

“I’m putting a padlock on her bedroom door, though." 

"Yeah, she’s never leaving this bunker again.”

Masterlist

[thydungeongal]

tabletop trick or treat for my favorite potential future academic (half joke) :) - @psychhound

Trick! A game designer whose stuff y'all should look at, it's Tumblr's very own @cavegirlpoems!

She is genuinely one of my favorite designers, not just because of her great OSR modules like The Stygian Library and The Gardens of Ynn which make me go nut-nut; Emmy has a great imagination but also a great eye for game design, as attested to by the fact that beyond just making cool OSR related stuff she has made one of my favorite PbtA games, Dungeon Bitches (which, as I have said before, did play a part in me reconciling the fact that I did, in fact, want to live as a woman).

Also, Esoteric Enterprises is so cool. It is basically a modern urban fantasy dungeon crawler, but the way it reconciles the modern setting and urban fantasy with that type of gameplay is genuinely fun. It's also chock full of tables to help with prep and I love tables.

[yuseirra]

Hello~ I have something to say because there's been something that's been on my mind, leaving me very depressed and concerned for the past couple months. I've been trying my best to be cheerful and uplifting but it's hurting me so much I just can't stand it...I have to be true to myself and let it all out, I feel like a stone's being pushed onto my chest, and I won't feel better without addressing it somewhere, so please pardon me, okay?

I'd been drawing a lot of project moon's fanworks earlier, remember how there's been an incident regarding limbus company and the artist being fired and whatnot? and then there's this stuff going about how fingers are drawn in maplestory, I have no idea about the details but something happened in arknights?? too? I don't play that game but still, well I'd been seeing a lot of these stuff happen for the past couple of months and since I come from a country where that's directly being taken place, I saw a lot of it happen firsthand except for some recent ones, it made me to go terminate my twitter which I had for a decade (I think I had it since 2013 or 2014. not that it matters now anyway, but I miss my friends I had there so much.)

I'm really hurt. It pains me so much to see people dig up a tweet someone's made several years ago using some kind of data crawler or archive and decide to get the mass to bring down a person over it, a person has many sides, how can you determine how exactly someone's feeling about something? and how can it lead to things like death threats, how can people be so eager to make someone "pay", I understand that people can be frustrated over some things, but where's the limit of these things? I felt so threatened and scared and upset, nothing bad's happened to me in person. All I've experienced is kindness and I am very grateful about it, but I can't say I'm not affected. Seeing a lot of things going around secondhand's been enough to put me through a lot of stress.

Some of my videos regarding projmoon's works had been very popular, you may have seen them if you're in the fandom! I used to be very proud of it. Now I'm upset and scared and I am pained, why can't I be as proud of them as I used to be, I put all my love into it back then. It's a terrible feeling. I have mixed feelings about having it up on my channel.. there's a part of me who love my works a lot.. and is happy about it having been able to give a lot of people joy. People have been enjoying it, and they've all been so kind about it. And then there's another part of me wishing I never made it in the first place because it really hurts and I'm reminded of these incidents whenever I see them. Which is such a pity, since I did a really great job with those. I'm still getting new comments with people telling me they are so impressed and all I could think about now is the.. all the, I don't know what to call all that..,

I'm scared that people might come after me and accuse of me being someone I am not, try to dig up my old tweets and find me problematic for doing something unfavorable for the fandom(not that I've said or done anything harmful in the past, I'm sure of that..I've ALWAYS tried my best to spread love when I could. I am confident about that.) maybe I'm being full of myself. Maybe people don't care about me or my works as much and I'll be okay but I have no idea how things will play out. I've been holding out till now, no one can say I didn't try..the fact that I've been keeping my works up there, I've been trying very hard to be strong in my own way (but at the same time I also felt like a coward for remaining in the status quo)

earlier I saw yt recommending me that library of ruina is getting a switch edition and I get reminded of all these stuff, I can't bear it. It hurts me so much. I've been holding this all in by myself since last july, maybe I'll have to take the videos down to make me feel better, but I'm not sure if I'll be safe that way. I deleted my twitter and now it comes to this, I won't delete my tumblr though. I love my experience as yuseirra and I'm happy for all I've received. I wish I could continue feeling that way, I want to believe in people, I want to care for them, and I don't want to think people will try to come after me and hurt me over the choices I make. So let me be strong, whatever I do, I'll do my best to be that way.

Thank you very much!! Lots of love!!

[hopedflight]

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒 / 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: bee / harper

𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘: may 1

𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍:  taurus

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 5’0"

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒:  gaming, reading, sewing / crafting.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑: yellow!

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊: currently the dungeon crawler carl series by matt dinniman; historically it's the enchanted forest chronicles series by patricia c wrede

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆: joyride by kesha

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 / 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖: relative strangers (2006)

𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃: just finished "eye of the bedlam bride" by matt dinniman (book 6 of the dungeon crawler carl series). also just started reading "a shore thing" by joanna lowell (queer victorian romance novel with ftm love interest!)

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: i could write u essays about the characters that inspired fel's story (biggest ones are anne shirley, wendy darling, alice liddel, and coraline). she is also based off of a character in a dnd campaign i am in!

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐔𝐑𝐋: eilistraee is associated with the moon, as is lurue. also cleric! she prayed for someone to answer her and the moon did, so she keeps praying.

𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓: in the spring i am going back to school (online) to start my master's degree in library science, school not fully decided yet but i have 3 offers!

tagged by: stole it from @maestrojax tagging: yes! :D

[sehtoast]

From Ashes to Home (Depowered Homelander x OC)

18+

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: Some ghosts aren't meant to be found, but the case of Homelander's mother is one that deserves to be revealed. He deserves a chance to know what's left of her. Chapter 11 of All of You is Left to Love. Not plot dependent.

Warnings: Smut if you squint, parental death themes, he's finally allowed to grieve. Vought's catalog of inflicted horrors.

OC: Benjamin Colyer (The Boys-verse Spider-Man)

Special thanks to @theonlymanintheskyisme for beta reading <3

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I just… I wish I knew anything about her.

Those words echoed in Ben’s mind for days on end, endlessly looping in that sad, defeated whisper. Somehow, the subject of Homelander’s parentage came up, and, well…

It always was a tender topic.

He hated the way John bit back his tears. The way he hid himself behind an air of indifference lest he let the last pillar of his defenses crumble to dust.

Even now, after all this time, he still struggled to really let it out. But Ben always knew. Could always tell by the twitch of Homelander’s lip, the scrunch of his nose, the way he wouldn’t blink as a way to hold back his tears.

He made a silent promise to find all that he could as he held Homelander that night. Each brush of his hand through his once god-like lover’s hair a vow to find something, anything that could bring him closer to the mother he never knew.

Every day that followed, Ben found himself more and more consumed by ideas on how to find her. Would he have to bribe someone? Money was certainly no worry. Would he have to intimidate people? Most likely, but it wasn’t particularly hard to get the staff in Vital Records to shit their pants.

Would he have to march into Stan’s office and make more demands?

Luckily, being the new head of The Seven came with many perks, even more so for actually being liked by the staff at Vought Tower.

What little information referenced John’s parentage only directly named Soldier Boy, who'd already revealed himself as Homelander’s father. Granted, that information was updated by Homelander himself after it came to light. Prior to that, the line for the father's name had been blank.

Perhaps sperm donor was a better title... He hadn't exactly been father of the year when he tried to go nuclear– much less a decent grandfather for leaving Ryan battered.

Ben admittedly had a chuckle over their shared first name, but he found it incredibly odd that Vought named the mother by a code.

1-G.

Benjamin spent several hours a day in the record center’s library of paper files. Many of them were scheduled to be destroyed after being recreated digitally, but it’d take an army to copy and sort decades of documents. He had plenty of time, and he’d rummage through every filing cabinet in the room if that’s what it would take to find even the slightest scrap of information about John’s mother.

The wall crawler drove himself mad trying to work off that one piece of information.

1-G. A code? A title? A fucking label designation for some petri dish somewhere?

Each night, he went back home to Homelander. Each night, he had to pretend to have been out prowling the streets for miscreants instead of playing librarian. He’d come home with dinner, sit down with Homelander, and pick at his food as each disgusting secret he’d uncovered entangled itself into his waking mind.

“What’s wrong?”

Ben jumped, looking up at Homelander with wide eyes and a piece of spaghetti dangling from his lips.

“That! That right there.” John pointed accusingly with his fork. “You’re not telling me something. What’s going on?”

“Nothin’,” the web-head shook his head. “Just– work’s been a lot lately, y’know? Stan’s a bastard, the team is acting up... Same headache, different day.”

Homelander’s eyes narrowed at him, suspicion nestled deep inside those beautiful blues.

“Bullshit! You’re not eating lately and you’re sure as fuck not talking. Did– Are you mad at me?” John pushed away from the table, standing. “You haven’t said more than five words since you got in.”

“Johnny,” Ben sighed, lowering his head. “I’m not mad, I just… I’m just really caught in my head right now, okay?”

“Right, right.” Homelander rolled his eyes, grabbing his carryout container. “Whatever. Talk to me when you feel like it, I guess. I’ll just give you your space.” Dejected bitterness laced every word.

Ben lacked the steam to chase him to the bedroom and talk some sense into him. Fuck, he could barely do it for himself, let alone John. So, he let the pot simmer. Cleaned up around the house and showered to kill some time before meandering back to their room.

Homelander had shut off all the lights and curled up close to the edge of the bed, blankets obscuring his form. Ben wondered if his love was actually asleep, or just hiding in the only way he knew how anymore.

A pang of guilt hit his heart.

It’d been roughly two weeks since he started rummaging through Vought’s archives, and quite likely two weeks since he’d paid enough attention to Homelander.

Ben eased into bed, curling around Homelander’s ‘sleeping’ form. He didn’t move to pull the covers away, opting instead to let love keep a layer of protection between himself and a source of pain. He knew times like these only stoked the paranoia that one day John would wake to an empty bed and home. That Ben would up and leave him after finding someone better, or realizing he wasn't worth the effort.

Something that would simply never happen.

Benjamin nuzzled close, lips hovering right above John’s covered ear.

“I’m not mad at you…” He began. “I promise, Johnny. I’m not. I just… It’s a lot to explain. I’ve got this… project that I’m working on. It’s really important, but I’m finding so many fucking horrors from Vought in the meantime that I just…”

He breathed a heavy sigh.

“It’s taking a lot out of me. That with everything else I see in a day, and… it’s a lot, y’know?”

Ben paused, waiting to see if Homelander would shuffle out from under the blankets. When he didn’t, Benjamin continued.

“I love you. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

He shifted away from Homelander, opting to give him space instead of smothering him. It took only a few moments for that bundle of blankets to shuffle his way. A hand snaked out from underneath, fingers joining with Ben’s.

The wall crawler shifted onto his side and pulled John closer.

No words were exchanged for the rest of the night. Ben dozed off with ease while Homelander fought against his drowsiness to bask in the moment. The rise and fall of Benjamin’s chest against his head, the steady beats of his heart.

He adored his little spider more than anything in the world. Even the slightest thought of losing Benjamin was enough to send him spiraling into paranoia and rampant imaginings of worst case scenarios. It’d been two years since he lost his powers, and every day he wondered if Ben would finally decide he wasn’t worth keeping around. Every day he had to remind himself that the wall crawler loves him. That he was more than the house pet his alter ego dubbed him as.

Where would he even be without his Benjamin?

Would he even be alive? Would he have made it out of that containment cell? Would he have survived another week of torture before that guard simply killed him?

Would there be a roof over his head, or the promise of regular meals? A warm bed and a devoted soul with whom to share it?

Would he have someone to protect him now that he couldn’t fend for himself?

Every swirling thought made him realize no, he wouldn’t.

He'd still be in the bad room. He'd likely be dead. Starved or beaten to death, surely. Tortured every single day until he succumbed.

But, god above, that only meant it would make sense if Ben grew tired of him - weak mess of a man that he was now.

Despite the storm of what-ifs pulsating in his mind, John dozed off fairly fast once he laid his head upon Ben’s chest. When he woke, his body was enveloped in heat– some areas more than others.

He was on the brink as soon as his eyes fluttered open.

He lifted the covers to peek, and the sight alone of Ben swallowing him triggered his release instantly, leaving him a writhing, panting mess.

“You,” Ben licked the length of his softening shaft, “and I are due for a date, sir. I called off. We have the whole day.”

Benjamin made good on his word, devoting the entire day to Homelander. He’d barely even thought about his little side project while they were out.

The dying warmth of an early September breeze swept around them as the pair passed all sorts of eateries. The openness of the streets in Queens kept Homelander’s nerves at bay, but John still struggled quite a bit with entering crowded spaces– especially stores. The smaller they were, the more his mind would linger on memories of both his childhood cell and the… other one. But, Benjamin’s presence, along with the duty of carrying the grocery basket, made it a smidge less stressful to accomplish their trip.

“Proud of you,” Ben nudged his shoulder as they walked home, each carrying a paper bag of goods. “Seriously. I hope you know how great it is to see you do all this.”

He couldn’t help but grin despite how vulnerable he really felt. He was like an open wound in public. Exposed, waiting for someone to pick at him or throw salt his way. What if someone recognized him?

What if someone realized the shame of his current state, and he was plastered on the screen of every device with internet access?

Hell, probably every newspaper, too.

Homelander Spotted Looking Half Homeless! is what he imagined the headlines would read. Though he began to allow Ben to trim his hair, he still found himself feeling subpar in appearance. Be it the weight he’d gained, or his casual clothing, he just wouldn’t be The Homelander anymore.

Christ, what if someone asked him to use his powers?

He took deep breaths as they turned another corner, counting each step as they made their way closer to home. By the time the front door closed behind them, he’d about reached his breaking point.

Ben, however, wasted no time in distracting him with banter and meal prep duties.

“Don’t cut yourself again,” the web-head warned as he sorted through pots and pans.

“Not my fault,” John countered, hand idly rolling a bell pepper along the length of the cutting board. “You showed me doing it fast, so I went fast.”

“Yes, babe. But I have actual experience with cooking.”

By the time they could leave the rest of the work up to the oven, the pair had made their way to the couch. John’s legs were strewn over Ben’s lap as he watched TV. Benjamin, however, had pulled out his laptop to browse that barebones document he’d found on John’s parentage.

The sight of the Vought logo snagged Homelander’s attention like a moth to a flame.

“Just that project I’m working on.” Ben hummed coolly, praying to whatever gods there may be that John wouldn’t press the issue. “Mostly just paperwork.”

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

“Hey, unrelated...” He began, hoping the little lie would go unnoticed– mostly because he didn’t want to admit to what he’d been doing and get John’s hopes up just to dash them with inevitable disappointment. “I was poking around in the paper archives the other day.”

Make up a new number… He’s definitely seen it before.

“3-F as a name placeholder mean anything to you? Like, is it a code or something?”

John’s brow pinched, and he sat silent for a while, raking through memories of decades of Vought propaganda and genuine fact.

“I think…” He trailed off. “I haven’t seen it in a while, but I’m pretty sure that’s how the first supe trial volunteers were categorized. There weren’t massive amounts of people signing up to get injected with V– if you can imagine.”

Ben quirked a brow as his brain raced to connect the dots.

“It was part of keeping their identities off the record, too. Liabilities and all that. Last I heard, all the files on ‘em were shredded once they got what they were looking for.” he continued, brows pinched. “Some fucked up shit went on there. Why?”

“I, uh…” Ben sighed. “Saw it in place of a name in one of the paper docs I pulled the other night. It’s just been bugging me.”

“Deep rabbit hole there.” John sighed, leaning back. “I couldn’t find anything besides the bullshit when I dug out Soldier Boy's old archives. Same thing when I… tried to find my mom– ‘cept everything on her was long gone. Whoever’s on that paper of yours is probably a ghost by now. Literally and figuratively.”

Ben swallowed thickly. Chances are that this 1-G person is certainly dead by now.

John’s mother was certainly dead by now.

But he wouldn’t jump to conclusions until it was time. Just as Ben was about to remote to his work terminal, the oven timer went off.

“Thank god.” John whined. “Staaaarving!”

Over the following weeks, Ben had become wholly consumed by the motivation to find anything about John’s mother. He’d dug through the paper archives every chance he could, even going as far as enlisting some help, but there was nothing.

Ben began to believe there was no trail to follow when one of the staffers he’d paid to assist emailed him a scan of a very old, yellowed notepad.

Pretty sure I found something, the email read. It’s hazy, but it looks like notes from old trial runs. Found it in a junk folder of blurry scans from one of the old ward doctors. Gonna keep looking for more.

True to her word, the staffer even went and drew an arrow to the section she’d found. Instead of 1-G, this Doctor James Waltz person wrote it as ‘Patient 1-G: Gillman.’ The writing was barely legible under the color of a coffee stain, but it was more than Ben had to go off of mere minutes before.

Gillman.

Ben immediately replied to the staffer, practically begging her to send anything else in that file– or at least give him details on where to find it. Blurry or not, he wanted everything he could get his hands on.

It was the gold mine he’d been looking for.

Despite the poor image quality and faded ink, Ben was able to find significant amounts of information on the initial test subjects for Compound V. He had to dive deep through hundreds of file folders to find anything about them– which left him concluding that someone hid these rather than follow the original order to destroy them.

The name Gillman had been his golden ticket. He’d found the liability waiver she signed, partially torn, left with only ‘illman’ remaining on the line – but still distinctly the same name. Ben cursed the record keeper of that era to hell for adding to his frustration.

It seemed everywhere he looked– old genetics testing records, ability documentation, and experimentation records, she was simply dubbed 1-G. All he wanted– needed was a first name. From there, maybe he could track her through public records beyond Vought, but there was nothing.

Except for the harrowing details in her record, that is. Despite the lack of a first name, Ben was able to piece together patient files with mention of her to create quite a… horrifying picture.

Enough to leave him sick to his stomach.

The Doctor Waltz fella who’d been all too kind and revealed her last name also had been to her what Vogelbaum was to John– if not a thousand times worse.

Downright evil, even.

Not every patient survived the Compound V trials. An exceptionally small number of them made out like kings, sporting powers with zero side effects. They’d received the same strain Soldier Boy was given.

Ben considered the dead to be far luckier than those who landed somewhere in the middle.

The unsuccessful strains of V had one of three outcomes: instant death, powers that killed the wielder shortly afterward, or– in the case of John’s mother– the body survives empowerment, but the mind does not.

His mother was left in a state of rageful madness.

As Benjamin pieced together mangled papers and deciphered blurred writing, he was able to construct a vague idea of what happened to her.

Roughly one day after injection, she’d come back to report malaise, but was written off by the doctors. By the second day, Vought had brought her back and contained her in a special cell.

Patient aggression exceptionally high. Engages with hallucinations. Refuses to eat and will not speak to psychological team. Containment failing, recommend sedation.

Notes following were conveniently lost, but picked up roughly two months later. Only problem being that they were almost entirely illegible from what seemed like water damage.

Because of course they’d be damaged.

What was left of her patient reports painted a devastating picture.

Homelander’s mother became a ward of Vought. She’d been the only subject to lose herself that Vought caught before she could come to harm. Waltz had found her ripe for experimentation after studying her abilities. They’d opted for round the clock sedation.

Keep her docile.

Flight, strength, and laser vision were among the descriptors they used. Damn near identical to Homelander’s abilities– lacking his invulnerability. A modern mind could look at this and realize that, along with Ryan’s inheritance of John’s powers, this meant there did exist a genetic component to the development of superpowers in those injected with V.

That understanding, though, was only a theory for Waltz back then.

–breed a new line of heroes.

Subject tissue sent for testing.

The possibilities … ……. mother of modern supes.

–extraction of eggs–

It didn’t take an exceptionally bright mind to realize what had happened to her. A shiver ran down Ben’s spine as he read more and more.

They’d used her as a fucking incubator for their experimental ‘purebred’ supes. For years, she was kept like cattle– artificially inseminated with sperm from promising supes until they’d written off her ability to carry children. After that, they simply harvested her eggs and used an undisclosed method of growing the fetuses to term.

The list of failed subjects was…

It was far too long.

Before Vogelbaum, there was Waltz.

Vogelbaum was not the father of the method by which John came to exist– but he was the first doctor to achieve a perfect creation.

Waltz had the blood of children on his hands. Infants, toddlers. Children beaten to death in combat tests. Children drowned in aquatic efficiency tests. A new subject every five to ten years, it seemed.

Killed in surgical procedures.

Destroyed by their own powers.

Murdered by a madman’s curiosity.

All of them lacking that one thing that made John the exception that he was.

Invulnerability.

Well, that and DNA infused with Compound V.

Waltz retired before his project saw success, passing on the mantle of monster to Jonah Vogelbaum.

Fuck, Homelander may not have even been Vogelbaum’s first subject…

The last note Waltz ever made on John’s mother was in 1986. A new hire slipped up during an operation on her brain.

She died that same day.

It had been the shock of a lifetime when, upon scrolling the dwindling remainder of Waltz's notes, he stumbled upon a faded polaroid. Though it was hazy, there was no denying what he was seeing.

Laid back in a reclined medical chair was an older woman. Long, gray hair. A gaunt face. Expression void of anything. IV lines leading into her arms reflected the flash of the camera.

If he squinted hard enough to combat the blur, Ben could thoroughly see a resemblance. He'd know that face anywhere– those big blue eyes, high cheekbones, thin lips. The curved bridge of her nose.

God, John looked just like her.

And now?

He’s all that’s left of her.

What they’d done with her remains was a mystery, but Benjamin almost didn’t want to know what more they could have possibly done to the poor woman. He felt sick. Bile burning in his throat as he pressed his face into his hands.

He goes out every day and represents Vought. Represents pure evil under the guise of heroism. Fell in love with one of their seemingly infinite amount of victims…

In the weeks it took him to find the end of her story, Ben would hold John tight every night. He’d stare down at his love’s sleeping form and go back and forth in his mind on whether or not to tell him. The thicker the file, the heavier his guilt. Each printout only made it worse.

Would it hurt him? Certainly.

But, it might also close a chapter in his life that John had been so desperately trying to decipher.

Alternatively, it could make everything infinitely worse.

He knew he had to tell Homelander the truth. The only problem was getting the words to quit sticking in his throat every time he tried.

He could tell there was a strain between them with this recent secrecy of his. Where he’d been so late at night, why he wouldn’t talk about it. He stopped pretending he was swinging around the city and just settled for saying work kept him late.

But how could he tell him?

Hey, I found your mom.

It seemed like a ridiculous statement, especially because he didn’t actually find her– just traces. There was no headstone, no urn of ashes.

There was nothing left of her except yellowed paper and faded ink.

As it happened, the pot boiled over one day. Ben hadn’t even realized how bad things had really gotten until the morning John clung to him in bed, preventing him from leaving.

“Is there someone else..?”

The question had taken him completely by surprise.

“Is that why you can’t tell me what you’ve been doing?” He followed up, voice cracking no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “Where you’ve been…”

“What?” Ben rolled over to face him. “John, I–”

“I’d understand.” Homelander shook his head, avoiding eye contact. Tears leaked freely from the corners of his eyes. The dark circles lining them let Ben know he hadn’t slept at all last night. “I’d hate it– I’d hate it so fucking much… But I’d get it.”

The dwindling of his self worth screamed so loudly in every word.

“No!” Ben gripped him, his own eyes clouding. “Never! No, god no– never!” He pulled him closer, burying his face in Homelander’s chest. “No. No, Johnny.”

He didn’t wait for Homelander to speak before he spilled everything. All of the guilt inside falling off his tongue in stammered confessions.

“I didn’t want to– I…” Benjamin breathed, shaking his head to collect himself. “I didn’t want it to hurt you, I just… Not until I knew it was enough to be worth the hurt.” He moved away to look at John, a hand at his cheek to thumb soothing circles. Wasn't sure if he was doing it more for himself or Homelander. “And even then– fuck…”

Ben took a deep breath.

“I’m… I found your mom– sort of, I mean. Not like I actually found her found her, but what happened to her, at least.”

He gulped when John didn’t reply. Instead, that unwavering, wide blue stare begged him to continue. There was something in his eyes… Fury, perhaps. Fascination– absolutely. But, mostly, fear.

Fear that whatever Benjamin was about to say would reopen a lifelong wound held together with makeshift bandages. A wound that would unravel and gush the second something picked at it.

“I found a paper trail. Buried deep in junk folders where nobody would ever think to find shit that matters. Been a big puzzle to put together but…” Ben sniffled. “I can bring home what I have, but I just… I didn’t want to drop that on you without a final answer– and, god, I didn’t want to risk hurting you either. I wanted to find her for you, but it took so long just to even get her last name and I still don’t even have the first na–”

“What is it?” Homelander demanded, eyes widened as though he were in a frenzy. Perhaps he was. “What’s her name!? Is she alive!?”

“Gillman.” Ben replied instantly, the weight of secrecy falling from his shoulders with every bit he revealed. “Her last name’s Gillman. And… by rights, I guess yours is, too, but… no. No, she’s… she’s gone.”

The realization he’d never know his mother crashed over Homelander in waves so violent Benjamin could physically see it happen. He watched John begin to crumble, gradually unraveling more and more until he choked back quiet sobs.

“S’why I asked you that one night about placeholder names… I should’ve just told you upfront.”

Homelander shuddered. “1-G…”

“Yeah,” Ben pulled him close. Of course he knew that name. “That’s her… I’m so sorry, honey.”

Homelander was fully prepared to find he’d been abandoned by the love of his life. Kept around out of sympathy, but abandoned nonetheless. He’d practically convinced himself entirely of it. He wanted to be angry– furious, even. He wanted to grab Ben by the shoulders and shake him for keeping this hidden, but god.

His mother.

The mere thought of her shattered him, and all he could do was plead.

“Show me. Please, Ben– I need to see…

Benjamin spent the day gathering everything he had, abusing Vought’s unlimited employee printing access to duplicate seemingly endless amounts of paper, piling it all into one big folder. He’d warned John about how ugly this would be. How horrifically they’d treated her.

He didn’t have the heart to tell him about the others just like him…

Benjamin felt almost awful walking through the door that afternoon, shuffling in to find Homelander sitting on the couch, simply staring into space. No TV, no book or phone in hand. Just lost in his own mind, leg bouncing restlessly.

“Hey,” he whispered, drawing his love back to earth.

John shot up from where he sat, making a beeline straight for Benjamin.

The web-head had the file extended for him to grab immediately. Homelander snatched it like a child does a toy they’d been excited to finally receive, though excitement seemed to be replaced with dread.

He looked at it for a time, staring at the dense rubber banded folder as though opening it would unleash a black hole that absorbed the whole world. He was afraid to know.

And Ben knew it, too.

“C’mon,” he rested a supportive hand against Homelander’s shoulder. “We’ll do it together.”

He guided John to the couch, heart clenching at the way his blue eyes never strayed from the folder. As the papers became harder and harder to read, Ben had to help fill in the blanks on smudged words he’d deciphered himself. He had half a mind to tease Homelander about never wearing his glasses, but it was far from an appropriate time for such things.

Homelander’s expression grew grim as he read on, and they’d barely cracked through an inch of paper before Ben was encouraging him to take a break.

John’s breathing was uneven, eyes stinging with tears, teeth clenched in fury. His body was too hot, skin too tight, his head pounded. The audacity of the request sent him over the edge.

“How the fuck do you expect me to stop!?” He roared, snatching Ben’s hand away from the folder. He bit his lip, desperately trying to don his mask to hide his emotions. “What, y-you hand me this and now you want me to– no!”

“Okay,” Ben breathed, hands held up in surrender. “I just don’t want it to be overwhelming, y’know? This took me months to get through, and I know how I felt. You’re getting all this right away, and it’s a lot, and–”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Ben gulped, recognizing a burst of rage that once would’ve triggered a crimson glow in those ocean eyes.

“You don’t get it! You don’t fucking get it!” Homelander grit, teeth bared. His eyes accused Benjamin of betrayal. ”You have a mother. A father. Brothers. You have a family. This is all I get! Just a bunch of goddamn paper! So don’t you dare tell me to fucking stop!”

He expected this, but it never did soften the blow to know it was coming. Benjamin knew damn well Homelander would lash out eventually, emotionally fragile as he was given the situation.

The wall crawler shut his eyes as more abuse flew his way, simply taking it.

The dam would burst as soon as the rage faltered. He could practically time it to the millisecond.

“You– I don’t–” Homelander stumbled over his words, breaths coming in and out erratically as he fought to pretend he wasn’t coming undone at the seams. “Nobody– god fucking damn it! N-No!”

When Ben opened his eyes, it was to the sight of John leaned forward, hiding his face into the folder as he fought the lurch of a deep cry.

“It was never supposed to be like this…”

His own eyes pricked with tears as he watched Homelander break.

“I always…” Homelander’s voice leaked in a tight, throaty whisper. “I used to imagine what I’d do if I ever… ever met her. All I could ever think of was hugging her, but… I couldn’t even picture it because she was never real. I used to think if I did find her, maybe I’d feel okay… Like it’d make up for all these years.”

He nearly flinched when Ben began to rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

“I always wondered if she’d be proud of me, you know? Her son is– was The Homelander, after all. She’d have been proud, right..?”

Ben didn’t know how to respond– or if he even should. All he could focus on was the sorrow twisted on Homelander’s face when he finally lifted his head. The tears staining his face. A streak of snot that would’ve humiliated him were he in a clearer state of mind.

"D’you think she would've loved me..?"

Seeing him break like this made Benjamin regret having ever gone looking for Homelander's mother. And yet… somehow this felt right. Watching him finally feel it. Filling in the pages of his missing parentage after so long.

No… he needed this.

"She would've adored you, pumpkin." Ben worked the file from Homelander's grip as one takes meat from a lion that trusts them enough to allow it. Almost immediately, Homelander leaned into him. He ran his fingers through John’s hair, rocking him slightly. “She’d have loved you more than anything in the world.”

He wanted to say more– god he wanted to say so much fucking more… But he couldn’t. Nothing came to mind. Nothing that would’ve dulled the hurt in his love’s heart to make it all easier, anyway. There was one thing, though…

She was never real. The line reminded the wall crawler of what he’d left out of the folder, fearing that it’d shuffle loose and be lost on the swing home. He was about to throw the egg beater into the already boiled-over pot, but this is what needed to be done. One more thing his discoveries could heal with fire-like agony.

"Johnny..?"

Ben slipped his hand free, reaching behind to his back pocket, pulling free a little photo. He'd printed and laminated it before leaving Vought Tower, just to make sure the incoming tears wouldn't stain it.

He handed it over face down, and the look on Homelander's face said he knew what this was.

"This is… That's her." Homelander stared for what seemed like forever. Fingertips danced across the smooth surface as the tears rolled freely down his cheeks. "S'my mom," he rasped over and over again. "My mom…"

"Takes a little squinting on account of the quality," Ben sniffled. "But you look just like her."

Homelander breathed a laugh, finally wiping the mess of tears and snot on his sleeve. In time, his breathing began to even out as his cries tapered off.

"She's so…" John paused, sucking in a deep breath, holding it tight as he took in every detail of her. "She's beautiful."

Ben wrapped an arm around Homelander once more. “Hmm. Like mother like son, huh?”

Homelander looked as though he’d been given the world and had it taken away all at the same time. Perhaps, though, that’s exactly what this was.

In the span of but a few moments, he’d lost her all over again despite never having had her to begin with.

It took some convincing for Ben to finally get Homelander to stop reading and take a break. Help me with dinner, he’d asked once his love finally calmed down.

John seemed worlds away as they worked, not even realizing how he was reacting to what went on inside his mind. Benjamin realized he probably should’ve just let Homelander relax and collect himself.

“Babe,” he murmured, thumbing away a stray tear on his cheek. “That’s not how we salt the pasta.” A joke was all he could muster to try to alleviate something. “You can go sit down or something if you’re still working through it, y’know. You don’t have to–”

“No,” Homelander interrupted. “I’d rather be here.” He reached up to hold Ben’s hand against his cheek, staring back into those chocolatey eyes that always warmed him to his core. “Can you just… I– Give me something that I gotta focus on. C’mon, spoil me a little.”

Used to be that he’d take that offer and sulk. Let his sorrows drown him bit by bit until he was right back at square one - just as miserable as the day he’d lost himself. Ben always encouraged him to channel his negativity into something productive, but he never followed through. Never picked up hobbies beyond reading history books and watching movies.

But now..?

“Chef Johnny,” Ben grinned, proud as could be of his love. “You’re gonna learn to make a mean margherita pasta today.”

He figured he’s changed quite a bit over the years after all.

Homelander struggled to balance his focus against the raging thoughts of his mind. Minding the aromatics sizzling in the pan while flashes of what they’d done to his mother jarred him. Focusing on Ben’s instructions on what to add, what seasonings paired best with the chicken, the gentleness of his love’s touch as he held his hand to show him how to properly rock a knife to cut fresh herbs.

In the back of his head, he saw her. His mother, wired to those machines just as the doctors had done to him. Instead of what he’d always imagined - hugging her - he saw something else. Heard something else as he saw her, felt Ben’s hands on his.

Mom… I made it.

In the weeks following, Benjamin helped him absorb the rest of what happened. Sat with him while he wept over the siblings he’d never know, the grief of knowing he wasn’t the first, the relief of knowing he was - hopefully - the last.

It was a lot. A lot of crying. A lot of anger. Misery. Resentment.

But he worked through it.

The web-head eventually returned to his regular crime fighting antics and balanced his home life once more. In the meantime, he’d commissioned a headstone. There was so little to go off of, and no body to bury, but it felt right to put her to rest in at least some way. This, he kept a secret from Homelander.

It was a surprise for later.

Once the time came that the cemetery notified him that it was in place, Ben nagged Homelander all day to go for a walk. Well, more like a swing.

“C’mon, it’s important!” He whined. “You’ll like it.”

“We can have a date inside, you know.” Homelander huffed. He was perfectly content not suffocating in crowds of people, and he’d like to keep it that way.

“Yeah, but inside doesn’t have what I wanna show you,” Ben stuck his lower lip out. “It’ll be quick. I’ll swing us there. Land in a nice smelly alley. Just a walk across the street, okay?”

Homelander sighed, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Fine.”

“Great!” Ben chirped, pressing an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek. “Be ready in a few.”

The swing there was leisurely. It included a stop by a flower shop for roses, which Homelander questioned endlessly.

”You don’t need to buy me flowers,” he feigned a complaint.

”You’ll see.” That was all Ben had to say on the matter before they were back in the air.

He clung to Ben like a leech as they sliced through the air, high enough to avoid being photographed, but low enough that Homelander’s renewed fear of heights didn’t have him on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He focused on the flowers he’d been holding in a death grip. Pressed them against Ben’s back and stared into the petals.

When they finally landed in the promised smelly alleyway, Homelander furrowed his brow. From the path to the sidewalk, he could make out a graveyard.

“Ben?”

His little spider held out a hand without a word, leading him out, across the street, and through the iron gate.

He had an inkling of what was coming, but it felt like something out of a movie. Holding hands with the love of his life, walking through a monument of lives long gone, feeling the autumn breeze gust through the knitting of his sweater.

Homelander practically fell to his knees when they came upon it. His legs wobbled as he approached, flower stems creaking under the grip of his fist. He let his fingers touch the stone, tracing the letters engraved into the face.

Gillman

192?-1986

He hugged it. Didn’t know what overcame him, didn’t even know he’d done it until the cold marble pressed against his cheek. Didn’t even care that it pressed his glasses harshly into his temple.

He hugged his mother.

Homelander didn’t hear the shuffling of leaves under Ben’s shoes, but the hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality.

“Thought she deserved it, y’know?” Ben murmured, thumbing against John’s blue sweater. Part of him worried his lover would’ve been upset - maybe gave him grief over the fact she wasn’t actually in there. ”You deserve this, too.” He pressed a kiss to Homelander’s hair, then stood. “I’ll give you some space…”

Benjamin was ready to go for a stroll until a hand caught him by the sleeve, tugging him back down.

John was silent for a time, simply resting his forehead against the chilled stone, warmed by Benjamin’s arms draped around his neck. Ben figured he was simply thinking it instead of speaking, but then…

“I made it, mom.” With the love of his life embracing him, and his arms around her headstone, he pulled from the depths of his heart.

“I’m home.”

[pjunicornart]

Okay sooo ummmm I've been working on something in the background.

So like, I've been working on a Meet the Robinsons AU idea that I plan on making a ton of content for in the background, I even have some art for it already. However, I wanna see if people would be interested in it... so I'm gonna describe the main players of the AU and answer some questions here in this post because I've just been DYING to info dump about this! Okay, let's start with...

The explanation of everything! What even is this AU I'm working on? It'll be called "Lazy Days." Essentially, this is an AU where the Robinson family stays in their comfy clothes and bedheads all day while drinking tea and/or coffee and binging junk food while watching movies... to name a few activities. My vision for this AU is a super cozy and chill vibe. Sweaters, socks, sweatpants, sleep shorts, donuts, whipped cream cans, coffee mugs, pizza, lo-fi, and more await in this AU!

What are some key differences? Besides the comfy lounge wear? Well, for one, Neil and Franny have more kids. Wilbur is still the eldest, he just has three little siblings now! One of which is adopted! I'll tell you more about them later on in this post. As for another key difference? Neil is still a super genius and everything, however, all of his inventions have a noticeably more... cozy, aesthetic feel. All I'm saying is, Carl looks REAL different in this AU.

Will there be a story? Meh... I'm still debating that. For now, it's just kind of a thing I entertain when I want to/am prompted to. If it were to have a story, it would probably focus on Wilbur and his sibs.

What did you mean by the "main players?" Just what I what refer to as the "core" members of the family. So, Neil and Fran, plus their four kids: Wilbur, Freddie, Mazie, and Leo. Speaking of...

Cornelius 42 years old. Summary: Caffeine Junkie, Sleepyhead, Scatterbrain Owner of his own engineering company, and a pretty chill one at that. He baffles others in his field because on the surface, he seems to not be all there - his choice to show up to important meetings and talks in sweatpants doesn't exactly help with that assumption. However, nobody can deny his amazing intellect, even if it at first glance it seems buried under all the goofball-ness.

Franny 41 years old. Summary: Intense, Mama Bear, Prideful A global phenomenon for her music featuring her own frog band! She's made up her brand from the fact that she's the only musician in the world right now who makes music using little amphibians who miraculously learned how to walk and talk. Besides music, Franny also adores everything about her husband.

Wilbur 16 years old. Summary: Sheepish, Easily Bored, Bookworm When he's not sneaking snacks from the kitchen in the middle of the night, he's usually curled up in a chair reading the book he recently checked out from the local library. His parents are surprised just how much he mellowed out compared to three years ago. That being said... ADHD doesn't magically go away after you grow up a little.

Freddie 13 years old. Summary: Old Soul, Green Thumb, Foodie She was adopted into the family two years after Wilbur was born. It was a circumstance of her father not being able to take care of her at the time. She's the plant person of the family, opting to spend her days taking care of her little garden in the backyard. Which includes fresh produce!

Mazie 10 years old. Summary: Weirdo, Hypersensitive, Pouty She's absolutely OBSESSED with cryptids. Bigfoot, Night Crawlers, Aliens, Mothman... you name it, she probably knows a whole book's worth of information about it. Hell, she'll even watch cryptid adjacent stuff. For example, kaiju movies. Her ultimate dream is to see the Loch Ness Monster. Or Bigfoot. Or aliens. Or any cryptid.

Leo 3 years old. Summary: Non-Verbal, Picky, Loner Leo is the only one who takes after his father, sharing his blonde hair. Which couldn't have worked out better! You see, after Leo was born, Franny went on a massive world tour. So Neil was the one taking care of him during his early years, and so Leo got very attached to his daddy. Wherever Neil goes, Leo follows. He's very fussy and uncooperative if Neil is away at work or just out for groceries.

I'm super curious to see your thoughts on this, if any. I'm gonna make stuff for this regardless, but I still want to start some conversations! Ask box is always open! THIS POST HAS A SISTER POST NOW! This one has images! :o Here it is -> Lazy Days Character Busts.

[mad-c1oud]

ohhh would love to see more of your art! bugs <3

YEHAHHHHHHH BUG ART!!!!

below are some of my first attempts at miniature bug watercolors and I chose Luna moths bc of their colors and they are my dads favorite :3 upper left is the very first attempt and latest is last box, still not finished… all done with watercolor paint (most from Etsy) and super fine brushes- toothpick for scale!

Then we have some doodles!!! These are just from my pocket sketchbook and done when I was bored. The first is an antler horned beetle (I found a super cool book on beetles at the library and kind of lost my mind, I have so many I wanna draw/paint). And the other is an annual cicada and it’s various cycles of life!!! Cicadas are my favorite bug hands down and I started that sketch as a tattoo concept for myself that I hope to get one day, I just want to find the right artist…

Also last year I started dabbling with printmaking and bought a speedball carver and some cheap erasers and made me some cicada wind stamps. I hope to make more bugs and stuff with them this year <3

That’s all I have for bug stuff right now!!! My energy has shifted to writing lately but I’ve missed traditional art a ton and hope to jump back in soon

Might share more of my work in the future, I have a bunch <333 thank you sm anon for letting me share this!!!

(Y’all feel free to send me any bugs at any time, I could always use to inspo. Cant guarantee I’ll draw/paint them but I love learning about critters and crawlers :3)

[bubblewonderabyss]

When/if the tADC cast is shown in human form, I really hope they don't visually resemble their avatars, for a few reasons -The program forces them to forget their own names, clearly anonymity was a priority here -The avatars are clearly reflecting their personalities, not their physical bodies -It's such an overdone and frankly kind of lazy trope in the trapped-in-a-video-game genre, I'm tired of it

(Nothing against those who do draw them that way of course, it's just not my preference)

And since I hate complaining without offering an alternative, here's my (PROBABLY WILDLY INCORRECT) speculation on what they might have been like when they were human under the cut

(cw: self harm, animal death)

Pomni -Had long blonde hair which she wore down, she would have preferred it short but [insert loved one here] loved it, so long it was. Also doubled as a convenient curtain when she was outwardly freaking out -On the skinny side, flat as a board even, strong legs though -Well dressed in an understated way, she didn't like to stand out -Was really into gymnastics as a kid, moved onto jogging once she got older and busier -Ate a lot of neon colored tv dinners/poptarts/fast food as a kid, avoided it like the plague in her teen years and beyond because "it's gross" -Had a rabbit once, but it escaped and what was left of it was found in her back yard a week later, she never had the heart to get another pet after that -Part of a friend group, but didn't hang out with most of them individually -Watched American Idol religiously

Gangle -Chubby and really tall, yet always felt small, so her posture was really bad -Either lived with her parents or spent most of her time holed up in her apartment, didn't get much sunlight either way -Dressed modestly to cover up some self inflicted scars -Anime was not really part of the western cultural consciousness in the late 90's, most people assumed it was either just kid stuff or just porn, so she probably didn't have many friends outside of a few fellow anime fans -Very quiet and withdrawn but could talk for hours about her new favorite anime (and yes, she preferred subs to dubs) -Loved trying different kinds of snacks -Her keys had a shit ton of keychains and charms attached -Drew a lot and kept it all in a big binder

Zooble -Kinda short -Exceptionally good posture -Moved around a lot as a kid, their favorite place was an apartment one block off from a park where they met their best friend -Alt fashion sense (mostly hand me down clothes so they had to get creative anyway) with a preference for button up shirts -Socks MUST match, down to the brand -Mall crawler, but rarely bought anything -Bead collection -Read so many sci fi books

Kinger -Dad bod -Could see fine but kept his reading glasses in the front pocket of his (usually hawaiian, sometimes plaid) shirt at all times -Was something of a chess and checkers legend at his local library, the "I bet you can't beat that guy" guy. Would let his opponent win if they seemed like they were really stressing about it though -Big nature guy, went hiking or camping once every couple weeks at least -Had a pottery kiln in his garage -Met his wife at a movie theater and movies were the go-to date night ever since

Ragatha -Average proportions, other than being slightly 'blessed in the chest' -Her least favorite season was summer, because she couldn't wear her sweaters then -Her parents loved her but were on the strict side -Most of her disposable income went to her porcelain doll collection, which she hid from friends and family because "it's creepy" -Didn't realize wanting to kiss girls wasn't a universal experience for the longest time -Had a busy social life, was rarely home because she always had someone to see and somewhere to be -Dated around a lot but never settled down with anybody -Was big into fantasy stuff, especially the renaissance faire

Jax -Average proportions, like imagine a Normal Guy (non-hollywood version) he looked like that -Dyed his hair an unnatural color like green or pink -Struggled with an eating disorder, less because he hated how he looked (though he might have) and more to assert control in a life where he had very little -Wore band shirts of bands he didn't listen to as a little private joke. His actual music taste leaned more classical but he wouldn't tell a soul about that -Quite friendly and social, but couldn't maintain more than a couple close friendships at a time -Loved baseball -Watched every horror movie he could get his hands on

[mdabdurrajjakmia]

#__How_do_search_engines_work?

Search engines are complex software systems that help users find information on the internet. They work by crawling, indexing, and ranking web pages to provide relevant search results when a user enters a query. Here's a high-level overview of how search engines like Google work:

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Search engines use automated programs called web crawlers or spiders to browse the internet. These crawlers start by visiting a few known websites and follow links from those pages to discover new ones.

Crawlers download web pages and store them in a vast database known as the index. This process is continuous, with crawlers revisiting websites to look for updates and new content.

Indexing:

Once web pages are crawled, search engines analyze the content of each page, including text, images, links, and metadata (e.g., page titles and descriptions).

This information is then organized and stored in the search engine's index. The index is like a massive library catalog that helps the search engine quickly retrieve relevant web pages when a user enters a query.

Query Processing:

When a user submits a search query, the search engine processes it to understand the user's intent. This may involve analyzing the query's keywords, context, and user history (if available).

Search engines use algorithms to determine which web pages are most likely to satisfy the user's query. These algorithms consider various factors like relevance, freshness, and user engagement.

Ranking:

Search engines assign a ranking to each web page in their index based on how well they match the user's query and other relevance factors. Pages that are more relevant to the query are ranked higher.

Ranking algorithms are highly complex and take into account hundreds of signals, such as the quality and quantity of backlinks, page load speed, and user engagement metrics.

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The search engine then displays a list of search results on the user's screen, usually with a title, snippet, and URL for each result.

Search engines aim to present the most relevant and high-quality results on the first page of results, as users are more likely to find what they need there.

User Interaction:

Search engines also track user interactions with search results, such as clicks, bounce rates, and time spent on pages. This data can be used to refine rankings and improve the search experience.

Continuous Improvement:

Search engines are constantly evolving and improving their algorithms to provide better search results and combat spammy or low-quality content.

It's important to note that different search engines may have their own unique algorithms and ranking criteria, and they may prioritize different factors based on their specific goals and philosophies. Google, for example, uses the PageRank algorithm, among others, while Bing and other search engines have their own approaches.