#there are a lot of ways to explore that messy dynamic and i do want to get into it

[qoldenskies]

I want ccDonnie to snap and get angry as fuck. He deserves it

technically he did in chapter 10! right before one of the most traumatic experiences of his life LMAO

[courtney-deserved-better]

telling myself i can't start another tdwt rewrite but dear god do i want to write one focusing on alejandro and courtney in this weird situationship thats a lot more nuanced than just alejandro manipulating courtney and her falling for it. like theyre best friends they dont trust each other theyre the same person they dont know anything about the other one theres a mutual attraction theyre pining for other people theyre codependent they dont care about each other theyre platonic soulmates like i just want to do a deep dive into how messy that relationship couldve been building off of their friendship that exists in my head except the line between romantic and platonic is so fucking blurred they have no idea what they are to the other person

[t-u-i-t-c]

the more i think about it the more i actually like daichi

[rafes-slut]

Unfinished Business

Professor!Rafe Cameron x College Student!You

Warnings: Explicit smut, age gap (legal), power imbalance (professor/student dynamic), slight degradation, tension, possessiveness, semi-public teasing, mutual obsession, and lots of forbidden desire.

Summary: A wild night at the club leads to an unforgettable hookup with a man who is everything you shouldn’t want—commanding, intoxicating, and completely addictive. You leave without exchanging names, assuming it was just a fleeting moment of pleasure. But when you walk into class the next morning, your blood runs cold.

The bass thrummed through your body, the heat of the club wrapping around you like a second skin. Bodies moved against each other under the dim, flashing lights, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and the promise of bad decisions. You were here to let loose, to forget about responsibilities—just for a little while.

And then you saw him.

Tall. Broad. Dressed in a dark button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing veins that made your breath hitch. His sandy blonde hair was messy, like he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times. But it was his eyes that trapped you—sharp, piercing, and already locked onto you from across the bar.

He didn’t just look at you. He devoured you with his gaze.

You barely had time to process before he was in front of you, close enough that you caught the faint scent of cologne and whiskey.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” His voice was low, rich, dripping with arrogance.

You tilted your chin up, refusing to be intimidated. “Do lines like that usually work for you?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “Don’t need lines when I know what I want.”

And fuck, the way he was looking at you—it was like he already had you figured out, like he could see the heat crawling up your spine, the way your thighs pressed together at the pure confidence dripping from him.

It was reckless. Completely impulsive. But when he pulled you onto the dance floor, his hands gripping your hips, moving you against him, you knew you weren’t walking away from this man tonight.

—

You barely made it through the door of his apartment before his hands were on you.

Your back hit the wall as his mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and tongue and desperation. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper, and he groaned at the sound.

“Already making those sweet little noises for me,” he muttered, lips trailing down your neck. “Knew you would.”

Your dress was on the floor before you could even think, his hands exploring every inch of exposed skin like he was memorizing it. You gasped as he lifted you with ease, carrying you to his bed and dropping you onto the mattress.

His eyes roamed over you hungrily. “You’re even prettier like this.”

You barely had time to process before he was on you, kissing, biting, touching—completely consuming you.

—

The next morning, you slipped out of his bed before the sun had fully risen. You didn’t exchange names, didn’t leave a number. It was just a night—one incredible, unforgettable night.

And that was supposed to be the end of it.

—

You walked into your first class of the semester feeling a little hungover but otherwise ready to get through the lecture.

Until you saw him.

Standing at the front of the lecture hall, flipping through a syllabus, looking effortlessly put together in a fitted dress shirt, was the man from last night.

Your stomach dropped.

No. No fucking way.

He looked up, and the second his eyes landed on you, you knew. His expression didn’t change, but there was something in his gaze—something dark, something knowing.

His lips quirked, just slightly.

“Good morning, class,” he said smoothly. “I’m Professor Cameron. Looks like we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other this semester.”

His eyes flicked back to you, lingering just a second too long.

Your heart pounded.

You were so, so fucked.

—

[themeraldee]

The Lucky Winner - Part 3

[Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 2] | [AO3]

18+ Only | 10k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 1. Voice kink (very mild mention). Awkward first dates. Awkward dialogue. Messy timeline. Established Relationship. Love confession. Emotional sex. Unhealthy Relationship.

Summary: Your life turns upside down, again, when Homelander reaches out to you asking you out on a date.

Author’s Note: This is set between the events of Part 1 & Part 2. It really is just a self-indulgent excuse to explore some relationship building and dynamics. Lot of awkward dialogue so be warned.

The next time Homelander contacts you it catches you just as off guard as the first time. Maybe even more so. You never expected him to turn up in the first place, let alone be interested in seconds.

Your phone is ringing on the bed and ever since the development from a week ago you’ve been on edge anytime your phone rang. You drop the towel you’re folding back on the pile of unsorted laundry and you nearly dive onto the bed, reaching for your phone. In the panic you drop it about three times, your shaky hands inadvertently playing hot potato.

“Hello?!” You yell into the phone, panicked. You don’t actually end up checking who’s calling, too worried about not accidentally hanging up. Plus it’s not like you could have saved Homelander’s number from a week ago anyway. It showed up as blocked on your phone’s call logs so you had no way to recognise his number.

“Hello there! Nice of you to pick up.” You squeaked in surprise and the voice on the phone turned from chipper to confused. “You okay? You sound a little—” And oh my god, it’s him! You’re talking to Homelander, again. Okay, okay, now it’s time to try and keep calm.

His voice is still gloriously rich and sweet in your ear and here you are about to most likely embarrass yourself again because for the life of you you’re incapable of coming across as calm and collected.

“I’m fine!” You immediately cut him off, your voice shrill and strained. He does not need to know the ins-and-outs of your internal struggle. But either way you’re already doing terribly. Who are you to cut Homelander off mid-sentence? Where are your manners? 

“Why are you—um—I mean, is there anything you need?” You clumsily make your way through your response. Definitely not how you wanted to present yourself but it’s a lot better than barely being able to say a word like last time!

“I’m taking you out on a date. Get ready for 7 today.” You heard it. You’re pretty damn sure you heard that right, yet not a single part of you believes what he said.

“Sorry? W-w-what do you mean?” You sputter in confusion, your brain simply not capable of computing this news. 

“I mean that I’m taking you out for dinner. What’s hard to understand?” He sounds irritated and your heart is pounding. From so many things at once. How are you meant to process that Homelander contacted you again, is asking you out for a date and now you’ve managed to irk him?!

Before you manage to apologize, following your typical spiel, Homelander continues. “Maybe you don’t know this but it’s kind of what men do when they want to get to know someone. You following yet?” 

You ignore the condescending remark and instead you focus on what he’s actually saying.

There may as well be steam coming out of your ears, you genuinely feel like a blushing teenage girl talking to her crush. You’re hot bright red in the face and you feel the literal heat coming off your face.

“Yeah but you’re not—well of course you are—but also you’re not! Y’know, just an average Joe.” How do you go about explaining that you don’t feel worthy of that kind of attention?

“Doesn’t matter, you’re missing the point. Is that a no?” You’d think he would be pissed saying that, who in their right mind would refuse going on a date with Homelander, but he sounds amused more than anything. 

Again with the reading you like a book. Because you barely manage to let out a barrage of “No! No no no no— that’s not!” before Homelander starts laughing.

“Alright, I’ll pick you up then.”

“No, wait! I can’t—I can’t do the public thing. You’re you! And as soon as I show up in public with you I won’t be left alone. I know that’s normal for you, but my life isn’t like that. I’m just… me.” You’re just a nobody. You don’t have a social media presence. You don’t bring attention to yourself. And you like to keep it that way. Going on a public date with America’s golden boy himself? You would be ripped apart by the online vultures. 

You all but freak out on the phone and for a second you think he disconnected because you can’t hear a thing over the line but he suddenly speaks up.

“Oh well. We can’t have that, can we? You better have dinner ready at your place instead.” You don’t need to see him to imagine him with the biggest satisfied grin on his face. “I’ll be there at 7. Catch you later!”

Homelander hangs up on you and you hear the disconnected tone ringing in your ear as you stand there like a fish out of water. Mouth gaping open, letting out disbelieving stutters. 

You pull the phone away from your ear, looking down at it as if it offended you. It’s then you notice the time. Shit shit shit. You have less than four hours to make your place and yourself presentable, go on a grocery run and start cooking for Homelander?! What just happened!

“Oh no no no no. This is not happening.” You rub your hands over your face as if to wipe the shock off your face. You’re so overwhelmed with the rollercoaster of emotions that you don’t know whether to have a panic attack, laugh nervously or downright cry.

Okay, first of all the pile of laundry is gonna have to wait. You don’t have the time to meticulously fold your t-shirts and panties. You gather up the clean and dry laundry into your hands, haphazardly shoving it into the closet before closing the door on what will be an avalanche of laundry for your future self to deal with.

With pure panic-induced energy that you haven’t felt in a long while you manage to just about make your place presentable within an hour. Finally managing to gather and clean up the mugs and glasses that have been cluttering up your surfaces, making your bed all neat and tidy—just in case—and shoving all unnecessary clutter into cupboards. It’s not like Homelander would use his x-ray vision to judge the inside of your cabinets, would he?

Speeding your way out of your apartment you make your way over to the closest shop. Standing in the fresh produce aisle you suddenly realize you don’t actually have a plan. What the fuck are you meant to cook for Homelander?! Even after all the content you’ve consumed you’re pretty sure there’s not a single mention of his favorites. At least ones he’s not been sponsored to promote. Sure, he’s on many products, ranging from frozen peas to whole milk but that doesn’t mean it’s something he genuinely endorses. After all you want to get to know the man behind the costume, a date is not meant to be just another PR interview for him!

You’re starting to look strange. People are passing you while you’re internally panicking over what to buy. What if he’s allergic to something? What if he goes into anaphylactic shock and fucking dies! Even if you had an EpiPen or he carried it on him you wouldn’t be able to stab it into him anyway. And suddenly you’ve killed the world’s most beloved superhero and you’re spending the rest of your life in jail with Vought most certainly making sure you pay your dues. Even if all of that was true you had no way of knowing. It’s not like Vought would ever leak that kind of information. Not very good for their brand to tweet that their best superhero is allergic to fucking nuts!  

You shake your head a little, snapping yourself out of your dazed state. If Homelander’s brand is anything it’s that red-blooded American male perfect standard. Surely he wouldn’t complain about some steak dinner right? Men love steaks! You just make sure to avoid most common allergens. You pick up some potatoes and other vegetables to roast along with a good pricey cut of steak that was easily out of your budget.

You get home just as fast and with each passing second you’re more and more on edge. You don’t know whether it’s the anxiety coiling in your guts or the so called ‘butterflies’ but you’ve never been this nervous before. With the clock ticking and the food cooking you’re suddenly more and more paranoid over everything. From your insane Homelander merch collection to even just the furniture you’ve got! Not that that’s anything you can change in the next hour but your mind is running at a hundred miles an hour and you’re trying to account for everything. 

Just before it gets to the agreed time you change into something nice but casual, straight after shoving the laundry avalanche back into its place. You even leave the balcony door open, doubting he’s gonna knock on your door like a normal person. 

And while you’re there focusing on platting up your best attempt at steak and roasted vegetables, you hear the familiar sound of Homelander’s landing. You whip your head towards the wall clock with such urgency it’s shocking you don’t give yourself whiplash. 

Shit. It was literally 7pm. You wanted to set the table all pretty and prep it perfectly but you got so preoccupied with the place looking as good as it can that you lost track of time. You’re sure he’s used to luxury and perfection. You want to do your best to replicate that!

“Homelander!” Comes out of you with a little gasp. You tilt your head to look at him. And what you see makes your heart skip a beat. 

There he is, in his suited-out glory per usual, except this time he’s holding a bouquet of roses with a dashing smile on his face that quickly turns into a self-satisfied grin as he immediately notices your panic at his presence. Even after he thoroughly reduced you to a puddle of goo just last week you were still such a skittish uncertain thing around him. 

“Wow, smells delicious in here.” He looks around taking it in while inhaling the mouth-watering smell of sizzling steak.

Homelander steps closer with calculated steps, checking you out without an ounce of shame. You don’t know if it’s just the pure intensity in his eyes that has you feeling on edge or if he really is undressing you with his gaze. “These,” he frees your hand, prying your palm open with his gloved hand, “are for you.” He places the bouquet of roses into your palm, squeezing it shut around the wrapped stems.

In a way you’re paralyzed. The reality of the situation finally hits you and you realize you’re really here about to have a dinner date with Homelander. Who just brought you expensive, gorgeous flowers, because that’s something that totally happens to people like you.

You’re standing there, staring at the deep rich red of the roses that actually ends up matching the cardigan you put on for this. Your little attempt at complimenting the suit you knew he'd show up in. 

Your mind is going a million miles a second and your other hand squeezes a petal in between your fingertips. There’s droplets of water on the velvety surface. You didn’t realize it was raining at the time. You look past him through a window as if you could make out the weather through the darkness of the evening.

Looking at the roses now, they look beautiful, pristine. He flew here right? How did he manage to keep them in one shape with the speeds he flies at.

“H-how did you fly with—” You don’t even finish the question before he’s answering.

“I don’t have to fly at super speeds all the time. You’d think my most loyal fan would know that.”

“You can read minds too?” Falls out of your mouth before you even think about what you're saying.

“No. You’re just very easy to read.” He places his hands on his hips, naturally defaulting to his superhero pose. 

And sure, maybe the way your eyes move in between the window, him and the flowers is a dead giveaway but you still don’t think it’s that easy to figure out exactly how your thought process works. 

He seems unhappy with your lack of enthusiastic response. He probably expected you to jump at him, wrapping your arms around him in pure glee that he’d do such a romantic thing. 

He nodded towards the bouquet, raising his eyebrows.

“Anyway, your flowers. You might want to put them in some water. Unless you plan on fondling each petal all night.” You don’t know whether he said it that way on purpose or if your absurd attraction to his voice is reaching new heights but the imagery that conjures is not one that would belong at a dinner table. There’s a different kind of petal-fondling you have in mind for later.

“Sorry! I’m sorry. And thank you. Really, this is very kind of you. They’re beautiful.” Finally, he’s satisfied with that response, his shoulders relax a bit, his chest puffing out as he sees you hold the flowers closer to you.

You’re all over the place and your movements are in no way elegant or thought out as you awkwardly stumble around, pulling out the biggest glass you could find. This ends up being a large glass measuring jug which you admit looks rather strange, and you don't miss the way he raises his eyebrow at the display. 

Well, it was a lot better than if you used the bucket you keep under the sink for cleaning. It’s not like you have a perfect pretty vase ready for this occasion. Until now you didn’t have anyone bringing you flowers and you never really bought any for yourself.

He doesn’t comment on the miserable display. Instead he focuses on how wound up you are.

“Jeez, you’re even stiffer than last time. You know I usually fuck my dates after dinner, but if you need me to loosen you up…” His crude attempt at humor and breaking the ice just has your brain screeching and halting all actions. 

“What?! No, nonono. That won’t—That’s not. I’m sorry. I’m just surprised. That you’re here.”

“I did tell you I’d come. And I’m pretty sure you’re not plating up two plates for yourself there silly.” He shakes his head while clicking his tongue, as if disapproving of your doubt. 

“I mean, I’m surprised that you want to do this. With me.” 

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m here aren’t I? Last time I checked I asked you out, not the other way around. And trust me sweetheart, I don’t do shit out of pity.” He walks closer to you, his hand patting the side of your arm, settling his hand there and sliding it up until he reaches your jaw. The leather of his glove is cold, some raindrops still stuck in the crevices.

Although your heart rate picks up, you smile genuinely. Getting the straightforward confirmation that he wants to be here with you warms your heart. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have everything ready. I lost track of time. Do you mind just sitting down, I’ll finish up in a second.”

“Yup, can do.” He sits down at the small table slapping his palms on his thighs as he does so. Already peeling his gloves off, discarding the gloves at the edge of the table. 

You finish up the plating, trying to make it as neat as possible. You bring the plates over, one in front of him the other right opposite. “Um, do you drink beer? I got some in case you do. I know you do endorse some but I’m sure that doesn’t mean you have to consume it in your free time.”

“No thanks, never got the taste for it. Have you got milk?” 

You blank a little at the request. It’s not the typical pairing by any means but who are you to tell him what to like. Instead you comply, tucking away the little preference into the corner of your mind where you keep all your knowledge about him.

“Um, yeah. I do. Again, I got one you’ve done marketing for, just in case you did like it. I wasn’t really sure. Believe it or not there’s a lot I don’t know about you.” You admit. It’s not like everything that his Marketing team puts out is all real. You're sure they leave out any of his actual preferences so future advertisers don't clash with any competition.

“With this logic I’m surprised you didn’t buy the entire store.” 

“I was close to it.” You take the carton out of the fridge, shutting the door with your hip. “Do you want it warm or cold?” 

“Cold is fine.” You nod, pouring some into a glass placing it in front of him.

As a last touch you take two roses from the huge bouquet, popping them into a narrow tall glass filled with water and you place the romantic decoration to the side of the table before sitting down.

He strangely smiles at the gesture, something about it feeling awfully domestic. It may not be perfectly manicured but it's real and it does the job just as well. It's not a perfect setting made for a photoshoot. You're just trying to impress him with what you've got. All for his enjoyment only. And that alone makes it a lot more special. 

Suddenly being right across him really set the reality of the situation. You feel a little awkward about the setting. But there is really only so much you could have done with your small apartment. And it’s not like he hasn’t been here before. He knows what you're working with.

You watch as he cuts into the steak, stabbing it with his fork and bringing a piece to his mouth.

“Wait! You’re not allergic to anything right?!” You suddenly panic, feeling cold sweat pour over you at the thought of your irrational thoughts from earlier coming true. 

He looks thoroughly amused but he doesn’t answer and instead just takes the bite. 

“Are you always this worried on dates? Or do you get them to fill out a questionnaire beforehand?” He seems to enjoy throwing all these little jabs highlighting how much of a nervous mess you are in his presence. 

“I don’t usually cook for my dates on the first date. There’s usually nothing to worry about.”

“I did ask you out for dinner. This is your own doing missy.” He waved his fork at you, pointing at you being the one to blame.

“You think I’m—oh. I’m not complaining about this, oh my god! I just didn’t really know what you like! Surprisingly not a lot about that online. They really know how to keep you a mystery. And even superheroes have allergies! How was I to know whether you’ve got one or not? But even if you did, it’s not like Vought would release that information.” You ramble on, trying to explain yourself but you’re really just digging yourself a deeper hole. Not that Homelander looks particularly put off. If anything, the amused grin spreads to both corners of his mouth.

“You know I’m not here for the food right? Though this is not too bad. Didn’t think you had it in you.” He raises his eyebrows in appreciation. 

“I live on my own. I don’t know why you’re surprised to learn that I can cook for myself.” You said feigning offense but inside you were squealing at the compliment.

“When’s the last time you’ve had a date?” He changes the topic, with each passing moment he’s less interested in the food and a lot more honed in on you and what little secrets you can let him in on. Though he’s still happily nursing the glass of milk. 

“It’s been a while, I guess.” You’re overcome with this anxious feeling in your gut. Is it meant to be a dig at the date you’ve prepared? Is he saying that you’re not desirable enough to be dated?

He catches you off guard with his smug little smile. “Thought so. Guess you’re too busy being my biggest fan, huh?”

You nearly choke on your food, surprised and flustered by his words. The tell-tale sign of heat creeps up your neck and to the tip of your ears in embarrassment. He’s hard to read and you can’t tell whether he’s trying to humiliate you or if he genuinely enjoys the reminder of having someone fawn over him right there and then.

You put your cutlery down, softly clinking it against the plate. “Look, I’m really sorry about all that. I’m a fan but I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were.” The corners of his mouth comically pull down feigning innocence with a shrug.

You playfully roll your eyes. “You insinuated. I’m just saying I wouldn’t have all this stuff out if I knew you’d ever see it!” You wave your arm in the general direction of the rest of your humble apartment. Still littered with Homelander merch. If you had more time to prepare for the date you would have maybe even taken some of it down. Replace some posters with photos of friends or family, making you appear a lot more put together. But alas, your guilty pleasure is still blatantly obvious and out for anyone to see. It's all the worse that in this case it’s being seen by the featured star of your guilty pleasure himself.

“There’s no shame in being a fan.” 

“No, but it’s different to collect memorabilia and merchandise of a beloved superhero that you don’t ever expect to witness the madness and to actually have him see it all and feel objectified. As if all there was to him is just the plastic he can sell with his face on it.”

You don’t know why you’re getting into the heavy-duty topic of someone’s worth and value but maybe part of you just wants to present yourself as someone who cares. Someone who looks beyond the obvious. 

Homelander is similarly perturbed by your words. Clearly not used to fans taking such direction with him. Thinking about it you doubt he hears more from them beyond a predictable can I have a selfie?

He furrows his eyebrows for a second tilting his head. As if he’s trying to look into your brain to read your mind. And sure he can literally see inside your skull but it doesn’t help him understand your thoughts. So instead he digs deeper. Putting the glass of milk down he looks you straight in the eyes. 

“You don’t think that’s it?” 

His resolute question makes you pause, feeling as if you overstepped. And even if, there’s no way to backtrack anymore so you continue. “O-of course not. I know you’re more than what Vought puts out there.”

You’ve spent countless hours following the content Vought markets out to the public. All of it manicured to match his perfect brand and profile. They’re slick enough to control even the content fans put out. From conventions to random street encounters. You remember following a thread of an anonymous fan sharing their experience of getting barraged by Vought’s lawyers after they shared a post about a poor experience they had meeting one of their superheroes. You haven’t heard an update from that story in a while, god knows what happened to the fan. Maybe Vought’s lawyers managed to get their anonymous account too. 

“How would you know?” Irritation seeps into his tone, shoulders tensing, feeling exposed right before he slides back into his normal casual tone and body language as if remembering that he’s meant to be talking to a date and not some nosy interviewer trying to get the next scoop.

“I mean who hasn’t put up a face to show the world their perfect self? Whether it’s on dates or in front of friends. I just imagine that doing that in front of the whole world means there’s a lot you feel like you have to hide.” With each word you feel like you’re digging yourself a hole, ruining any chance of another date. But you’ve started saying your piece and when else are you gonna get the chance to tell the man exactly how you feel?

So you continue.

“I just think it has to be exhausting. Your entire job, your life is existing in the public eye and you can’t ever slip up? Not super-abled celebrities deal with that already but for you there’s the added burden of being seen as the superhero right? ‘Here to save us all’. I just mean, do you ever get to be yourself?”

You mean to be sympathetic, not that you could ever imagine what it’s like to be in his shoes. Being as obsessed as you are, you've watched all the footage with him. You notice how often the same lines repeat, how well he’s perfected the mask of a perfect hero. The fake humble you’re the real heroes being repeated in every video and appearance. If it was you, you know you’d have enough a while ago now. The daily grind of a job is exhausting enough but to do that all under the public’s scrutiny? You couldn’t even imagine. 

You were so lost in your little monologue, spilling all the little thoughts you had about him and his persona that you miss how his casual demeanor has once again shifted into something else. He’s less irritated but he’s tense. Even more so than before. He wears an expression you’re pretty sure you’ve not seen on him before. His jaw may not be dropped but his surprise and confusion is evident without it. 

He’s speechless. Thinking about it now, has anyone ever spoken to him in such manner before?

You watch his body language and the way he’s squeezing the fork so hard you’re sure he’s bent the metal. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. It’s just once I get going I can’t stop!” 

He lets out a breathless little laugh. His shoulders release in tension. He stops gripping the cutlery and sure enough it has a bend that definitely wasn’t there before but you don’t care. He’s not pissed. He raises his free hand waving you off and stopping you from apologizing any further. Something you’ve managed to do about a hundred times since his arrival. 

“No. No, it’s fine. You didn’t.” He shakes his head a little, looking at you with a different look in his eyes. No longer just looking for a little bit of excitement, now he’s truly locked in. What else can he get you to say? “Well maybe you did a little, but color me intrigued anyway.” 

He looks at you in a way that makes you feel small. You feel like you’re on your knees praying for your god to hear out your prayers knowing it’s unlikely for him to even notice you.  

“Can't say I've heard any of that before.” He concludes, slumping back into the chair now that he's relaxed again, having lost all interest in the food you've served up.

You’re embarrassed by the call out. It’s like all your efforts to not appear like another crazy fan have been pointless. He might not seem angry but that doesn’t mean he’s about to jump at the thought of another date. You may have ruined your chances at this being anything more than mild entertainment to him so you try to save yourself. “I just mean. I have always wanted to get to know you. The you without the cameras.”

“You already have. I don’t go on dates with many fans, believe it or not. And I gotta say you’re a lot more interesting than I gave you credit for.” 

And maybe it wasn’t such a lost cause yet. Have there been many people that Homelander has ever found genuinely interesting? You wouldn’t know but at least you’re one of them.

“Oh…ah-hah thank you.” You fluster under his heavy gaze. His words make your heart skip a beat. There’s very little that can match the euphoria of your hero, the hero really, saying he finds you interesting. It’s hard to calm the pounding of your heart at the thought of a man of his caliber seeking your company out.

After all you’ve managed to blurt out you feel more at ease. It’s not awkward like you expected it to be. In a way you’ve broken the ice you didn’t know was even there.

With you both losing interest or having had enough of your meals you move to the small but comfortable couch. And like any good dinner and movie date you put on the first title that gets advertised to you on the main page of the Vought+ streaming platform.

In reality the movie doesn’t get watched. Either you let it play in the background or you pause on sections just so you can continue the conversation between the two of you. And somehow it’s still mainly you literally just rambling on about him. It’s not that he doesn’t talk or doesn’t ask questions about you but you see the way he preens at all the enamored praise you send his way. 

The only parts that do get watched is the small cameo Homelander ended up having in the title and the conversation steers back to him. He gives you all the details you ask for, more than happy to talk about how great of an actor he is. 

With each minute of sitting close to him you feel your body respond to him. You feel hot. Too warm for the cardigan you’re wearing but you don’t want to seem too forward by taking it off. Especially after knowing what kind of trouble he could get up to in between your legs it makes it very hard to accidentally brush against his thigh and not spontaneously combust.

Homelander turns around to look back into the room while you’re dealing with your internal turmoil. Would it be too unseemly for you to initiate?

Your thoughts are interrupted when his bare hand cradles your jaw, bringing you in for a kiss. The whimper you let out is embarrassing but you quickly lose track of anything that’s not his hot lips melting you into a puddle. Just as things are about to get good, just when you’re about to pry his lips open with your needy tongue he pulls away. He doesn’t go too far. You can still feel his hot breath while he rests his forehead against yours. 

“I’ll have to set off. I need to get back to Vought tower.” He hums so close to you that you get goosebumps from the way his voice turns all low and hushed. Even though the words he’s saying are anything but good news, the attractive sound still soothes you.

“Oh-kay.” You nod. A little sad but understanding that he’s got things to get to. Every part of you is holding back from pulling him in for more but as much as your fingers twitch for him you restrain yourself.

“Come on now. Don’t sound so upset.” He gives your cheek a soft little pat before placing another peck on your lips with a chuckle from behind his closed lips.

The taste of your lips pulls him in anyway and he holds you close for a few more indulgent kisses. Upon separating you’re warm and flustered. His touch always seems to have that effect on you. 

“It's just… I had a lot of fun today.” And you don't want it to be over or for it to be the last time you see him. But how do you ask him out? 

While your limbs still feel like jelly, having melted into the couch, he stands up, walking over to the little dining table where he left his discarded gloves, pulling them back on.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’ll be back.” He clearly reads your expression and watches as you stumble while getting up, clearly wanting to see him out before he flies off.

His words alone are good enough to lift your spirits and you let yourself show that joy outwardly.

“Thanks for today.” When’s the last time you’ve ever felt this in the moment? Even if he never came back this moment would easily be a highlight you look back on.

“Well, aren’t you sweet?” As if he couldn’t restrain himself his eyes snapped in between your eyes and lips, his eyelashes fluttering, lips parting as he took in the sight of you. So eager to please and be there for him. He wets his lips and your stomach flips at the display. The pink of his tongue disappearing as quickly as it appears.

His eyes soften, lips stretching into a lazy lopsided smile.

“Do I get a goodbye kiss?” 

And just like that with one last kiss he’s off again, returning to his duties.

This isn’t where things end with you two. If anything, your life takes a massive turn. It’s not been the same ever since you’ve won that silly competition. And it strangely makes you want to send a gift basket to whoever organized it, no matter how much you dislike Vought itself. 

At first he comes back to you seeking comfort.

He strolls in through your balcony door which you’ve gotten into the habit of leaving unlocked—just in case. It’s not like there’s anyone else eager to fly into your home. You awake at the disruption, eyes bleary and straining in the harsh light of the nightstand lamp you’ve turned on to see what’s going on.

He doesn’t explain himself as much as he just vents to you about how he’s not being respected and taken seriously. It’s the first time he’s been back since your date and you’re surprised to see him so emotive. So unlike the perfect persona or even the carefully charming guy he presented himself as during  your date.

He’s already pacing back and forth, the thud of his boots bound to disturb your neighbors below. Not that either of you care. He’s too preoccupied with being angry. And you’re too frazzled by the thought of something upsetting your hero to this degree.

You see the angry tremor in his hands and the sharpness of his teeth, highlighted by the yellow night light. You snap out of the sleepy daze and you catch his gloved hand when he paces in front of you. 

You pull him down next to you, cooing supportive words and showing your own anger at seeing him be so disrespected by Vought. You believe they don’t know how lucky they are to have someone like him. They should revere him, yet the things he lets slip in his anger make your chest tight, fueling the rage simmering inside you. 

It’s like seeing you riled up at the way he’s being mistreated is enough to calm him down. The more you seethe the more he cools down, the energy exchange working in between you perfectly. He’s pleased to have someone in his corner. Preening at how much you parrot the words he’s saying without needing to nudge you in that direction.

Swoop-in visits like these happen more regularly. Either he comes in irritated wanting to get some frustration and anger out, fucking you throughout the night until all he can think of are your moans and cries telling him it’s too much.

Or he comes in happy, excited to share the news that his numbers are up or that the public and the on-scene reporters couldn’t stop praising him after his latest save. Those days he comes in for affection and a cuddle, wanting to hear over and over again just how well he’s done since you’ve last seen him. Treating you less like a stress ball and more like a teddy bear he’s hugged against his chest in comfort. 

You start thinking how lonely he must feel. The thought that there aren’t any people around him showering him with genuine love and friendship hurts you and suddenly you want nothing more than to keep him here with you, making sure he knows just how special he is.

As much as you’ve always been devoted to this god-like being and the idea that he represented, you never got to love the person. Until now. Now the ideology alone has seeped into your never ending love, fueling the suffocating adoration you hold for him. So strong it’s eating away at you anytime you don’t get the chance to scream how much you love him.

You used to see these late night visits as something he does for his own benefit. With you always being the easiest and most effective balm to his troubled soul. You didn’t think he was serious with you. After all, this is the Homelander you’re spending every other evening with. 

So when he sends you flowers out of nowhere, effectively courting you, you start thinking that this might be turning into something real.

It starts with the first delivery at your door. A gorgeous bouquet bursting at the seams, tagged with a note saying it’s from Homelander. Since then he’s made sure to supply you with the most beautiful bouquets as if to keep a reminder of him on a daily basis. You finally invest in a pretty vase, knowing it’s going to be thoroughly used and displayed.

Your home always had touches of Homelander throughout it—some might even say too many. However, as your relationship grows you come to a realization that those really only represent Vought. It’s these new touches that really represent Homelander’s presence in your life. Like how he times the flower deliveries just right so your place is never empty. Always there to remind you to keep him at the forefront of your mind. Never wavering. 

You two haven’t officially said that you’re dating throughout these nighttime visits but it’s at the tip of your tongue each time he comes. You want to voice the love you carry for him like a burden. Overflowing from your arms with nowhere to go. And it feels like each second you don’t say it, it’s being uselessly spilled on the floor like sand falling from in-between your fingers.

Homelander has his own way of showing affection. Seeing as so much of his life has been in front of some sort of camera you wonder if thinking in advertising scripts and photoshoot visuals comes to him more naturally than casual and real gestures. As ever since he started with the flower deliveries he’s been showering you with gifts upon each visit. As if everyday had to be Valentine’s day and he had to bring something to symbolize the reason for his visit.

You call him out on that one day. 

“You know you don’t have to bring anything right? You don’t need to bribe me.” You chuckle at the gift box he brought with him. You’ve got dozens of similar gift boxes and bags that you feel reluctant to get rid of mainly for the sentimental value but the retail price associated with the gift they hold certainly doesn’t help. 

He clasps the gifted necklace around your neck. The dainty chain lays cold against your skin and your fingers gently caress the pendant with care. Your statement still rings true but you can’t help but feel giddy every time he brings you something he thought would look great on you. 

“Do you not like the things I bring you?” With a perplexed expression you see him trying to do mental math, trying to figure out why you could possibly not kneel or bow in gratitude. He watches you play with your new pretty jewelry with a squint. 

“No! It’s all beautiful—this one especially—just. I don’t want you to feel like that’s an obligatory part of you being here.” You laugh it off a little, still dreamily thinking about what it really means to get pampered to this degree. 

He breaks your thoughts with a simple sentence.

“Maybe I want to treat my girl.” 

Your eyes widen, and you let out a shocked stuttered breath.

“Your girl?”

“Yeah, duh.” He scoffs as if what he said is as obvious as the sky being blue and water wet.

“Because you’re mine, right?” You don’t see the way his eyes reflect his own complicated and simmering feelings. The tension in his jaw betrays how he needs you to acknowledge his words and speak them into an existence. But you don’t notice any of that because it’s like the dam you’ve been doing your best to hold together with safety pins finally bursts.

You’re nodding feverishly. No longer able to hold back you’re possessed to blurt out the words that have been threatening to fall off the precipice of your tongue for weeks. 

“I love you.” 

Homelander’s eyes widen. Surprised by your admission just as much as you are. Your heart is racing, suddenly feeling insane for thinking this was anything more than simple fun to him. The knee-jerk response to apologize spills easily from your lips.

“I’m sorry—,” but instead he interrupts you by cradling your jaw in his bare hands, stepping closer.

“Don’t be sorry.” He says in a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine. He leans in to give you a tender kiss. Just barely slotting in between your parted lips, pressing them against his. Before you get the chance to continue he pulls away with enough distance to speak up.

He breathes out, eyes squeezed shut in longing which to an untrained eye would just look like pure pain and frustration. But not to you. You’ve learned to read him better. 

He nuzzles his face against yours, dragging his lips across your cheek until he reaches your ear, growling a weak, “say it again.”

You’ve partially gotten used to the timbre of his voice in your ear. Capable of having a conversation without getting worked up by every word he says but the way he’s now needily begging in your ear has your body erupt in goosebumps. He doesn’t need to say please for you to hear it anyway.

“I-I love you.” You whimper out. The emotion alone feels thick in your throat, as if it was clogging up your airways anytime you come up for air. Your heart is pounding, you’re strung up, the butterflies in your stomach make you antsy. 

His hold on your jaw tightens. With a sharp intake of breath he smashes your lips together. No longer composed and tender. Your teeth nearly clash as he’s pressed you close to him. He’s prying your lips open with his, his whimpers easily falling into the press of your lips.

“Again.” 

“I love you.”

You don’t want to cry but you’re so overwhelmed with emotion the burn that turns your eyes glassy spills over and you’re dripping tears down your cheeks in pure emotional instability.

“Again.” 

And each time he asks he sounds more wrecked. 

“I love you.”

Homelander catches the tears with his tongue right before kissing the salty taste into your mouth. Not letting any of your love get wasted. You grab onto him, grasping where you can. Your hands tangle in between his as you wrap them around his neck. One hand grips as much of the fabric of his suit it can while the other tangles in his hair, pulling on it for support more than anything. 

You feel like you’re drowning. The intensity of the moment makes you gasp for air but it’s like Homelander kisses it back into your lungs like a lifeline. Hearing his shattered whimpers soothes you, his own need fueling yours, filling the void your tears are leaving behind.

He lifts you up and with practiced ease you automatically wrap your legs around him.

He leads you both to the bedroom while he’s continuously prompting you to continue declaring your love to him. Each again, again, again you reward with the three words that make him feverish and mad. The more you say it the less your heart feels like it’s about to explode from the burden it’s been carrying for too long.

Homelander quite literally rips your clothes off, not caring that he’s leaving his own recent purchases in tatters. He doesn’t want to separate his lips from your neck where he’s kissing trails across each inch of your skin.

You don’t have the luxury to treat his suit with the same carelessness. Even if you wanted to, the tough molded material would make it impossible. Instead you do what you can. Unclasping his belt, pulling at the front of his suit, pushing his pants down where you can reach.

He helps you with taking off the rest of it until he’s on top of you, skin to skin. You rarely get the luxury of lying with him fully stripped and each time you’re shocked at how hot he runs. Now his hot body is making you melt under the heat alone.

Neither of you have stopped kissing with the same intense need that has been laying there dormant for months. Anytime you have the chance you repeat the same words over and over again until they’re all you know how to say.

It’s the first time sex has felt anything more than a physical relief he comes to you for. You’re barely keeping it together as he nudges your legs a little open, sliding his hand down your body, his palm blazing hot as the anticipation makes you clench your core.

It’s by no means either one of your first times, nor it is the first time you’ve been together yet you’ve never felt more nervous. The first touch he descends onto your clit feels like a lightning bolt crackling down your spine, spreading the tingles out to your toes and fingertips.

“Ahh hah—fuck. Want it so bad, don’t you?” He looks as broken as he sounds when he hisses at the feeling of your soaked pussy. It makes his fingers glide too easily, making it harder to give your clit the precise rhythm he’s learned to make you see stars with. 

His attempt at his normal dirty talk is disrupted by his keen moans and broken whimpers. Part of you wonders whether his super senses include being able to feel other people’s sensations with the way he’s acting as if it was him getting his body set on fire.  

You hum and ahh in response, your tongue feeling incapable of saying anything but the words you’ve been finally allowed to repeat over and over again. 

His fingers easily slip inside the sloppy mess you’ve made for him and he moans right into the kiss he leans in to steal from your lips. And it feels good. The friction is perfect, his fingers are hitting the right spot inside you and the loud squelch is embarrassing and intoxicating in equal parts. Yet it’s not what you want.

It takes all your strength to reach down and pull his hand out of you, as instinctively you’re already clenching around the all too familiar emptiness you whine at every other time when he’s done with you. 

“I want you. Please. Just you.” You manage to breathe out, your hand reaching over for his hard cock. You give him a few shaky strokes, smearing his leaking precum across the entire length.

“Alright. Uh huh, okay. I’ll give it to you.” And he’s just as out of it as you as his normal cocky one-liners just break into a lot of grunts and stutters.

He wedges himself in between your thighs, spreading them wide open. His lips part with a wistful sigh while his eyes haze over with lust at the sight of your pussy spread ope, generously glistening with slick all made for him. 

He aligns his cock with your entrance, not even bothering to tease you. He’s just as strung out as you are. He splits you open with a single thrust, your slick pulling him in with an easy glide.

“I love you.” For the first time the confession spills from Homelander’s lips. A relief just as palpable falls upon him. It’s a different story for you. The words cause more tears to spill, a wet hiccup leaving your throat as you clench around him.

“Shh, shh.” He hushes you sweetly, already reaching back for you. 

He lays his body flush on top of yours and kisses your tears away, the heat and weight of his body on top yours grounds you. He repeats the words over and over again in between wet, messy kisses. He ruts into you in shallow thrusts as if he doesn’t want to part from you any second longer.

Nothing in the world exists but you two and neither one of you can believe how perfect you really are for each other. You’ve always felt like the way you love was overwhelming. It left the other person choking on the overwhelming viscosity of it all. Homelander isn’t like that. To him your love is a breath of fresh air. 

As long as you love him with the same unyielding intensity he’s yours. At this point, he wouldn’t know how to live without it.

He kisses you in a way that says just that. Needy and broken yet utterly completed by you. 

You’re both so worked up with the overflowing emotions it doesn’t take much more than his frenzied grinding to make you both reach the release that’s as emotional as it physical. Maybe even more so.

Because the reward isn’t just a good orgasm. It’s the love that fills the air, spilling into every empty crevice you didn’t manage to fill with your bodies.

Homelander’s whimpers resemble cries as he finishes inside you right as you flutter around him with the toe-curling orgasm wracking your nerves. 

It takes you a little while to regain your mental faculties after such an emotionally draining affair. You feel boneless, your limbs feel like jelly and you just lie there dazed. Focusing on the way your heart beats loud even to your ears. 

Homelander is doing the same thing. Listening to your heartbeat with his head on your chest.

After a long while you both pull yourself together. Still in bed but now you’ve managed to strike up a normal conversation again. Talking about everything and nothing.

You lie like this for what feels like hours. Having changed positions you rest your head against his chest, ear pressed to his pecs to listen in on the steady beat of his heart.

After this reveal your brain recognizes your relationship as the utmost priority. Because of that your eyes lock onto the Kuddle Buddy plush resting just a foot away from Homelander’s head. As if you were locking onto an enemy. You pluck it from the pillow, squeezing it in your hand.

You’re staring at it, still clutching it too hard. 

“What got you thinking so hard? You’re making my head hurt from how tense you are.” Homelander interrupts you from your thoughts. 

“Just you. This. I can’t look at this stuff these days without—I don’t know—rage? To know how much Vought has wronged you.” You furrow your eyebrows, assessing the innocent plush toy while it’s staring back at you with its stitched grimace.

“That’s what the toy reminds you of, really? It should remind you of me.”

“It doesn’t anymore.” Your furrowed expression slowly melts into one of content as your hand presses against your new necklace. “Things like these do.” 

“And these.” Your fingers continue to travel up your neck where they tap at the darkened patches you feel he has left behind. With soft nipping and sucking he left your neck coloured in all shades.

He plucks the plush toy from your hands, throwing it somewhere across the room with thankfully not enough strength to knock anything else over. You’re pretty damn comfortable and you’d rather not get up to assess any damage. 

“Maybe I should give you more reminders then.” 

You squeal as he easily pulls you up so his lips can meet yours, kissing your worries out of your mind.

Homelander lands on your balcony with a soft thud. It’s late in the afternoon, earlier than he normally arrives, and he doesn’t want to attract unwanted attention. Already predicting the shit Madelyn would put him through if he got caught regularly perusing outside some random person’s apartment.

His person’s apartment really. You’re not just a random boring nobody.

He makes his way in quietly, closing the door and stepping in. Each time coming back to your apartment has felt more like coming home than he’s ever felt at Vought. You’ve arranged your life around him. He’s noticed you cancel plans, call off events just so you could stay in in the evening, waiting for him to make his return.

You even make space for him in your small apartment. The state of which he’d normally scoff at but it’s hard to mock your financial situation when you manage to make the place feel warm.

His presence left its mark in the gifts you happily displayed or the flowers you always took good care of.

And of course, the insane collection of merchandise you’ve spent years accumulating.

Wait.

Where is everything?

Homelander looks around, breaking out of his routine and instead he scans the surroundings as if it’s the first time he’s ever been here. Only now does he realize that all the usual merchandise carrying his likeness is gone. No posters on the walls. No action figures on the shelves. No funko pops. No collectibles. Nothing.

Homelander feels his blood pressure rise. There’s no way you’d want to get rid of him. Not you too. You love him. You wouldn’t do that.

He finally notices the black trash bags pushed into the kitchen, still open and overflowing with all the things missing from your walls. 

His stomach flips. 

No. Nonono. This can’t be happening.

You can’t get rid of him like this. He can’t lose you. 

Not after he’s finally tasted what real love in cooking tastes like. Or what it’s like to wake up next to someone who instead isn’t pushing you away straight after sex. Someone who makes an effort for him. Not out of fear but out of love. 

He mentally compares everything you’ve changed his perception on. 

Like when you give him a gift or help him out it’s different. Vought employees being at his beck and call could never compare. 

He’s the most powerful man in the world, with means that don’t feel like they have an end yet he could never buy the love you give freely. For once, love doesn’t feel like pulling teeth. It feels like a warm embrace on a cold winter night. 

You make it easy. You don’t fake it. And most importantly you do it unconditionally. Love him through thick and thin, the devotion to him a part of your very core. Your love is overwhelming, oozing and sticky like he’s never gonna be able to get rid of it. Just like you could never get rid of him.

You’re the only one who hasn’t left him.

Exactly. It can’t be. You wouldn’t.

This has to be some kind of a mistake.

The shuffle of your slippers against the floor breaks him out of his spiraling thoughts. He looks up sharply. Seeking some sort of explanation.

“Hey baby. You’re early today—what’s wrong?” The smile drops from your face as quickly as he sees it and it’s only then he realizes his hand is shaking. He squeezes it into a fist, the leather creaking with the pressure as he takes in a labored breath with a jittery shake to his head.

“W-uh-what is… What are you doing?” He blinks rapidly, shaking his head pretending that his voice doesn’t quiver and waver the way it does. 

“Bit of spring cleaning. After we talked the other night I just can’t look at this stuff and not think how much Vought has used you. I don’t want those reminders. It’s not what I thought it was and now that you opened my eyes to it, I can’t forget. So. Out with it.” You say so casually, not picking up on the panic he’s been going through in his head.

“Oh—okay.” He lets out a visible breath of relief, his posture relaxing. “I thought—” His jaw tightens and he looks away. Thought so heartbreaking, he doesn't want to give it voice.

“You thought I was getting rid of you?” You stop what you are doing. Putting the box on the couch and instead you walk up to him, hand on his jaw you turn him back to look at you.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” You kiss him, and Homelander melts right into it. He lets himself melt into the loving embrace of your pliant lips.

“Good. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” When you pull away he puts his hands on your jaw, tilting your head as if he was inspecting you. Seeing if what you’re saying is true. And he can’t see a single speck of a lie with the steady beats of your heart and the taste of love on your lips.

“So what are you doing with all of it?”

“Selling it, donating or trashing some I guess.”

“Why not sell it all?”

“You can buy a Homelander poster or card at any shop for a few bucks. I'm not gonna bother with those.”

“What if I sign them?”

“Oh please don’t waste your time. You’re not here to be a show pony.”

“Nonsense, come on. Bring it out.”

Homelander ends up taking the stack of posters with his or the Seven’s likeness from the top of the trash bag, placing them on the coffee table in front of the couch. He sits down, hooking his cape out of the way. He picks up a pen off the table already signing the first poster. 

Part of him is still upset that you feel like throwing a part of him away. Is this part of him not good enough for you anymore? It’s how he found you, how he got to know you and now it feels like you’re throwing it away. 

As if you could read his thoughts you sit down next to him, placing your hand on top of his as he’s halfway through his signature.

His head snaps up towards you, expression clearly guarded while he looks you over with his piercing blue gaze.

He carries his upset so visibly it would be hard even for someone as unaware as you to miss it. His smile is tight, not even attempting to reach his eyes.

You pull the pen out of his grip, instead wrapping your hand around his. The other one goes to his hair, scratching your nails down his scalp until you reach his undercut where you play with the shortly buzzed hair.

“I’m not getting rid of you. Not now. Not ever.”

At that he leans into you, nearly purring at the pleasure your scalp massage brings him. The way you touch him with no hesitation will never cease to amaze him. There’s enough love pouring off you to almost fill the black hole in his heart. 

It was exhilarating to have someone so eager to keep him in their life. Everyone else has just pushed him away, entertained him until they got what they wanted. Not you. You give and give and give. Sometimes he’s scared you’ll run out of love to shower him with. However, one look at you tells him that the love you carry feels just as much of a burden as his need for it does to him. You free each other by sharing the love. You feed his insatiable beast of a heart and he lets you burst the dam free without feeling like you’re not allowed to.  

The posters are forgotten about. Any hurt brushed away with a press of his lips to yours. Needy and hungry, wanting to see if you can prove your words with actions. Again and again.

And you do. Like you’ve done a hundred times before and just like you will do thousands of times over.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged when I post a new Homelander fic)

@morishitoshi @ker0senebunny @itsvaleriesucka @thychuvaluswife

@nervoussystemss @littlegaaby @natliecole @thatvintagefanboy

@infinetlyforgotten @rafecamsgirlll @hom3landr @mrsdesade

@nommingonfood

[vacz]

Okay so- listen I have this crazy idea that is relative to The Hunter AU...

What if instead of Wirt... It's Greg?

OKAY SO, how does this happen?

It happens in chapter 8 "Babes in the woods". Instead of Greg taking Wirt's place, the beast (disguised as the queen of clouds) manages to propose to him the deal of being the lantern barned in a guarantee the beast would have both of the brothers in his hands So, Greg in his innocence accepted the deal, and since then Greg is the new woodsman

Greg as the woodsman takes his new duty very lightly, like an innocent game. He is like "well, this is my life now!" as a difference from Wirt, who accepts this life as a way of surrendering, Greg thinks this more like a phase and then Wirt will come back and they'll be together again

He is still waiting for Wirt to come back, Greg thinks this is temporary and soon Wirt will come out of the lantern. But for now he just does his voice as a favor, because Wirt can't speak anymore. Greg does this because he feels alone, and he is most of the time! But he genuinely believes that his brother is in there, and he can see him and hear him clearly...

How does Greg become the Hunter?

The beast turned him into a tiger, let me explain: The Beast tried to do the same experiment of "corrupting the spirit" but Greg is too goody shoes and small to cause real harm, so the Beast decides to take a more friendly take;

Since Greg was obsessed with magical tigers, the Beast pretended to make a spell for Greg to turn him into one, warning him that he should "attack" anyone who sees him. Greg will accept it, but now every time a person comes close to him he "transforms" into a wild evil tiger

Tho, Greg doesn't kill at all, he just bites, scares people and chases them until he loses them in his view. Basically, Tiger!Greg miss disguise people.

The thing is that there is one point the Beast decided to turn Greg into a tiger permanently, so now Greg is stuck into this new identity as Beast's crazy kitty, he just can't stop himself, not until he is back to normal! He is a really wild WILD tiger and he will attack every person he sees! Oh boy! This terrible curse of his! Greg has turned into the dark side forever!!!

What if they met each other?

Greg sees someone with really long and messy hair in the middle of the woods, he prepares himself to attack, and when he catches his legs... It's Wirt

They would be soooo HAPPY TO SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN AFTER SO LONG!!!!

So yeah, would they go back home? Yes, but I would like to explore how their dynamic would be

Wirt and Greg would talk a lot about how they were doing while they didn't see each other. Greg would be very reliable, while Wirt is still processing that his little brother is actually standing right there in front of him and he is actually hearing his real voice. They both keep the lanterns, because they still think they have each other souls on it, so they take care of their respective soul

I imagine that Wirt would want to share his rock facts with Greg, in hopes to hear one of his again, and also hear actual criticism from the only person he can genuinely trust

it's clear to see who's the crazier one.

Greg didn't keep the rock fact long time, because eventually the guilt would get him and made him broke in tears, so he just leave the rock, because not matter how much positivity he has, he knows they are not going home again

They are staying in the unknown because they have this morbid craving now and they won't let go of that, Greg likes scaring people and Wirt likes cutting them...

It's all game at start, they get around a person and play to get them. Wirt let's Greg have his fun, and when the fun is over, the real fun begans

Tho, Greg's brain doesn't process that his brother is actually killing them, and Wirt is very careful to make sure Greg doesn't see how he takes someone's life. They don't have a real purpose for this anymore, rather than accepting they both are twisted and being fine with that as long they have each other by their side

"I lost everything, but at least I have you, and that's all I need"

_______

So yeah, they are like "The Hunter and The Tiger" basically. It took me a while to figure it out how a Hunter Greg would work, and then I remember all the 'magic tiger' thing and made something about it. Sorry if this is kinda a mess, this wasn't to be very serious, this is just to explore a fun and silly idea

I hope you guys liked this silly idea of mine! This was supposed to be published yesterday but it took me more time than expected- anyways! Tell me what you think about it!

See ya!

[callsign-rogueone]

intimacy alphabet - b.d.

Bodhi Durran x reader words: 1.9k (oops.) 🏷: NSFW. all of it. afab reader, but no pronouns or gendered nicknames used. mentions of penetrative sex, oral, soft d/s dynamics, the usual stuff. I plan to do one of these for each of our boys eventually, but feel free to send a message if you want a specific one prioritized! this is a sexy democracy, after all.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

sleepy cuddlebug. half the time he manages to get you guys out of bed and into the shower, then proper PJs and brushing teeth etc., but the other half, you’re just curling up in each other’s arms and knocking out then and there — you’ll shower in the morning. and he might suggest that you shower together… something about saving time and water… totally not just so he can see you naked again.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he likes his hair, the thick, fluffy curls and the way they contrast his skin nicely. and his arms. he may not be as jacked as his friends, but he’s got some nice strength and definition there that he worked quite hard for.

and don’t get me wrong, he loves every single part of you — but your chest. if you wear a low-cut or tight-fitting top, he’s gonna be staring. he just can’t help it. loves playing with your nipples, sucking on them and leaving hickies on your chest and collarbones. 

also loves resting his head over your heart while you cuddle and having you play with his hair, especially if you were in charge that night; it just feels so soft and safe and warm… he’s also the type of guy to like to fall asleep with a handful of boob, not even in a sexual way, just as a comfort thing. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

says he has no strong preference on where he does it — but really likes to cum on your chest. not afraid to get messy, but he’s a good guy, so he’ll be the one to clean it up and/or wash your sheets for you later.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s pretty open with you about what he wants and doesn’t really hide anything, especially now that you’re in a committed relationship. but before said relationship, he definitely didn’t think of you when jacking off in the shower, and most certainly did not gasp out your name when he finished. yeah, that was the tipping point for him, when he realized just precisely how bad he had it for you and decided to finally do something about it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

before you started dating, he had little to no experience. you figured things out together, and now he knows what he’s doing and what feels good, but it’s still fun for y’all to explore and find out new things about yourselves.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

loves you on top / riding him. that way he can see your pretty face and kiss you and hold your waist / hips, watch your chest bounce while you take him nice and deep… lots of perks to this position (for him, at least. but he’ll offer to take over if you get too tired.)

also fond of anything where you’re super close together, chest to chest or side by side — he wants to be as close to you as he can, always.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

always down for a giggle in the moment. he loves hearing you laugh. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he’s doing some maintenance on a regular basis. doesn’t have much body hair, other than the loveliest little trail from his navel down…

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

oh, he can be so soft and sweet and romantic… we’ve collectively accepted that Bo is a total sweetheart, and would be so gentle and respectful and loving with you, especially your first time (which is on my very long list of smut ideas lol) 

but yes. kisses everywhere, lots of murmured praise and affirmations, soft touches… that’s just the default for him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

see letter D.

in the beginning of your relationship, he was handling matters himself more often because he didn’t want to scare you off by propositioning you all the time -- a slight breeze can get this guy going. but now that you’re comfortable with each other, he’s usually doing things with you instead.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

not quite a kink, but he really likes overstimulation. if he’s fucking you and he cums before you do, he’s not stopping. he’ll push through the sensitivity to get you there too. he likes overstimulating you, too (remember what I said about spending hours between your legs?) but sometimes it’s not even on purpose; he just gets lost in the sauce and doesn’t want to stop -- you have to pull him off of you by the hair. coincidentally, that’s also how you found out that he likes having his hair pulled.

he also loves when you take charge, focusing on yourself while you ride him / grind on his thigh / sit on his face… he wants to make you feel good, but he also finds it really hot when you take charge of your own pleasure.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

your room, his, the showers… he won’t try much else when you’re at the school or at Riorson house (too many people around). but if you ever get a house of your own, you’ll be christening every room. and probably every piece of furniture, too.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

all the standard stuff: seeing you undressed, seeing you dressed up or wearing anything revealing, you touching him a little too much (especially touching his chest or waist), when you use that soft, teasing tone of voice. and honestly, if you initiate things / say you want to, he’s ready to go --he’ll almost never decline that opportunity, and it’s a confidence boost to him: he wants to be wanted. 

also, you being possessive and protective of him — I have a scene written where Darling threatens someone at knife-point for hurting him and he’s just like 😍😍

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

does not want to do any sort of degradation or name-calling. again, he’s a sweetheart, and he wants you both to feel loved and respected 24/7, even when he’s railing you or you’re edging him or whatever. it’s just not his thing. nope. not happening.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he can and will spend hours with his head between your thighs. sometimes he’ll just ask you out of the blue if he can eat you out — you can keep reading or doing whatever you’re doing, he just wants to lick your pussy while you do it. though you never stay focused for long, not when it feels that good.

and he loves it when you go down on him. the boy just cannot shut the fuck up when your mouth is on him, babbling praise and swearing and making the prettiest little sounds. he would love it if you swallowed, but again, he’s happy to finish anywhere.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?

he can be slow and romantic when the time is right. he gets faster/rougher when he’s desperate, when he needs you so bad that he can’t hold it back anymore (often after you’ve been teasing him all day.) but it’s usually a good medium pace.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

loves them. this boy is ready to go at the snap of your fingers. he’s absolutely down to spend the spare half an hour you have between classes fucking you. however, comma, you always underestimate how long things will take and you’re definitely going to be late, so you might as well skip class entirely, right?

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

you’ve done a fair amount of experimenting thus far in your relationship, and are content with your usual routine now. anything new is always prefaced with a conversation about it / asking if it’s okay before you do it in the moment. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can go a good two, maybe three before he’s tapping out, but preparing for war is exhausting, so you usually aren’t going much farther than that anyway. and of course, he’s giving you loving check-ins and water breaks etc. between rounds, especially if things are getting rough.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I can’t decide if he’d like to handcuff you / tie your wrists or not. that way he could really take his time with you and make you sit still while he plays with that pretty body of yours that he loves so much, but then you can’t touch him, and he really likes you touching him… hm.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

proper foreplay is definitely happening nine times out of ten (the tenth being a very quick quickie), but he doesn’t like to draw things out too long, because that means he has to wait as well, and he’s too impatient for that. you’re direct with each other about what you want in the moment.

however, it’s very fun to tease him all day and get him riled up because he’s just so fucking cute when he’s needy, and he’s not afraid to beg, either. but if you take the teasing too far, there may be consequences…

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

not necessarily loud, but definitely vocal. he’s not afraid to moan and whimper and whine, especially when you’re in charge for the night. but even when he’s the one doing the work, he’s still panting and giving you praise, etc. very nice to listen to. also not afraid to make noise when he’s going down on you, humming and moaning at the taste. a bit of a messy eater, too.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he loves it when you mark him up -- hickies, scratches from your nails… this ties into that love of you being possessive of him. he doesn’t even try to cover it up, wearing them proudly as a sign to any onlookers that he’s taken, thank you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he’s pretty lean, some nicely defined muscle, and there’s a very nice contrast between his skin and the green of his rider’s relic, which takes up half of his back. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

quite high, as mentioned earlier. he’s really into you, and incredibly easy to get in the mood. you’re having some kind of sex 3-ish times a week, or however many times you want -- he’s adaptable, and will always respect you / won’t push things if you say no.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

pretty quickly, since you are almost always cuddling after (unless you have somewhere very important to be) and he falls asleep super fast if you’re holding him and playing with his hair -- that’s a guaranteed way to get him knocked tf out.

[tanadrin]

Not gonna lie, your predictions about demographic collapse are not only fairly realistic, but a lot more optimistic than mine to say the least. Then again, years and years of hearing from Malthusian crypto-fascists talking about the decline of native Africans and Asians with an undertone of sadism have really put me on edge on any discussion of demographic collapse. Both that and "overpopulation" tend to be favoured topics by white supremacists looking to inject their beliefs into unsuspecting people's discussions.

i mean they're not my predictions, somebody just reblogged a long essay about globally declining birth rates (even in poor countries!) and the weird effects it's already having, especially in places like South Korea (whole rural towns with like five school-age kids in them).

I don't want to underplay the problems of the demographic transition, especially if it does result in global demographic collapse. A world which returned to 1000 CE population levels, even if it kept 2025 CE (or better!) technology would be much less dynamic and possibly much poorer, in ways that are hard to account for--it's true we've broken the iron yoke between population size and productivity, but it's not like there is no correlation at all between these two things. and even though it's had its own weird effects, i like this big, dynamic, active, messy world i live in, and the longer, slower, sleepier timelines of a lower-population world would be less interesting to me.

as you allude to (and that essay alluded to) anxieties over reproduction, whether too much or too little, often appear to be heavily inflected with anxieties about who is doing the reproducing or lack thereof, and those anxieties i have little time for. but the funny thing about the demographic transition is that it seems to be coming for every society on earth, even if at slightly different rates--like, the most insular anabaptist communities might stave it off longer than the rest of us, but i'm not sure they will be able to keep it at bay forever.

if i were writing a future history to my own satisfaction, we would start hitting longevity escape velocity around the time the demographic collapse really started to bite, so that we would trade off against precipitously declining birth rates with precipitously declining deaths from old age. but barring some crazy breakthroughs in medical science in the next few decades, i doubt any of us will be around to explore the consequences of that change.

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 64 Samurai Posting

HELLO, VOID! We got some excellent stuff this chapter. World building, character dynamic exploration, character progression, all told with awesome action- this is peak Kagurabachi! Bit shorter than usual because IRL is steamrolling me...

Rough TL of the Editor's Notes:

Front Page: 座村の娘イヲリを狙う久々李. チヒロを前に…? [Samura no musume Iori wo nerau Kuguri. Chihiro wo mae ni...?!] Kuguri targets Samura's daughter, Iori. Chihiro stands before him...?! Last Page: 逭せるなら今のうち♪ [(ni)seru nara ima no uchi] Now's the time to escape♪

The Fight

World building!

So all the bearers were chosen because of their skill and personal approval from Kunishige! Makes sense. Gotta have solid fundamentals to make the most of using these swords- but where does that leave Chihiro?

Pissing off Kuguri, the guy who studies the blade instead of going to parties and having normal social interactions!

So he's kind of scuffed with how he fights sans Enten. Also makes sense. But trying to learn in the middle of battle is a bit risky, isn't it?

He won't become a sword master after this fight but I wonder how he'll keep improving. Will he pick up random moves to copy? Maybe the Sushi Bearer can help him with the basics once this fight is done? Inquiring minds would like to know...

HMM

Chihiro is narrating this and we don't know if he got details on what actually happened from Shiba in the hospital yet or not. All he knows is propaganda that everyone else is taught. So this throws theories of Magatsumi's wielder being a child who accidentally picked up the sword causing The Incident into serious doubt, but doesn't totally deny it... god, we need more info. Please, Hokazono-sensei! I'm going numb from all the teasing!

But at least this explains why Samura et. al. are leagues above Chihiro. He's been figuring things out on his own like Hiruhiko wants to do and his fundamentals are actually pretty shoddy. He can tap into the blade's True Realm easier, and draw out more of it's abilities, but his stance and such leave him wide-open to experienced swordsmen.

Trying to summon the Great Serpent of Ronka...?

For the record, all these clangs and screech effects are to show how messy Chihiro's swordsmanship is. Someone who could fight properly wouldn't be dragging the blade around when parrying or swinging it like a club. Kuguri's got a lot to teach Chihiro...

Someone... listened to me?!

I'm pretty sure he's going to be yelling instructions at Chihiro on how to fight better while trying to kill him and I can't wait to see it. His need to fight and slice got tangled up with being taken seriously as a learning resource and I hope the results continue to bring the laughs! I'm completely won over by this guy and the "while you partied, I studied the blade" energy he radiates. I gotta know how he came to idolise Sojo but thank you for keeping the slightly ridiculous takes on "to clash is to converse" alive. Hokazono-sensei is keeping his favourite guy around even if it's in an indirect way.

It was really funny to see that John spoils Hiruhiko rotten and Kuguri can't fuckin' stand it. They're basically oil and water. I like that we are getting these great dynamics between the villains too- I'm even starting to warm up to Hiruhiko as John's special little boy that everyone else sort of tolerates. I'm genuinely interested in the backstory of how they all came together and... I say this every time, but... I hope we don't have to wait too long to find out.

As for what all of this means for Chihiro and his personal sorcery, we could find out what it is this arc but I think it will leave off at him learning to apply it to his swordsmanship. He's not adept at using his spirit energy like Shiba and had no foundational training like Hakuri did. All he's doing is dumping it into the weapon and using the White Lotus Iai move that Uruha explained and Samura demonstrated. The question of what his sorcery is would come up as more of a legacy question I think, as in if he could make more enchanted blades or whatever his mom could do (that blood test is still hanging around, don't forget).

There's ambiguity in what the sword contract means too- does it permanently remove the Bearer's ability to use their sorcery even if the bond is broken? Or is it only redirecting the flow to itself while bonded? ...Yet another question that will get answered eventually. Hopefully.

Can Someone Who Doesn't Feel Guilty as Fuck Please Stand Up?

You better believe I'm ranting about this with ship goggles strapped on at the end of this post.

And so, Chihiro does in fact blame himself a hell of a lot for Hakuri's current predicament. Never mind that Hakuri has his own personal issues that drove him to this point, Chihiro's adding to his burden of his own accord and no one's gonna stop him. The Masumi are doing their best but there's no getting through to everyone's favourite traumatized MC. I sincerely hope they stick around to keep trying though (and shoving food in Chihiro's face because it's funny).

The phrasing is interesting to me- remember this?

Chapter 58... feels like ages ago.

I'm definitely going to bet on Hakuri making some kind of grand gesture down the line- something in the vein of "we're friends so stop blaming yourself and let me help you!". There's so much tension being set up over Chihiro's complicated feelings involving Hakuri and feeling like he got the guy involved only to let him down by being weak, after all. Toss Hiruhiko's misunderstanding of friendship in the mix and we've got an angst cocktail garnished with crazy. I've got ideas about how it'll play out, but the author will be the best one to tell his own story so I'll just patiently wait to see what happens. Something something Hakuri/Uruha and Chihiro/Samura parallels right?

At any rate, we take a break from Hollywood block-buster action movies to do some super traditional shounen things this chapter and I'm completely in love with the execution. Chihiro's guilt and his insecurity as a swordsman are eating away at him, and now that he can't use Enten, he's actually not gonna fare too well with someone who's studied the blade. The only thing he had an advantage on others was sheer time spent with the enchanted blade- his basics are actually pretty poor! Makes sense since being able to cleanly cut a training dummy is nowhere near the same as fighting someone one-on-one. And a slicing freak like Kuguri who apparently cares quite a bit about technique would be too much for him... if not for some inspiration and Chihiro's ability to adapt.

Some Cool Shit

Small appreciation here:

Talk about making an impact.

I'm in love with how the キン (KIN, sharp clang) sound effect forms the border to separate Kuguri's face from the action shot. It's incredible use of non-traditional paneling and I hope it's not removed in the EN volume release! It would be ruining the artistry of the page to remove it!

Alright, and now...

WARNING: Ship Brainrot Ahead

I'm completely normal about this chapter after months of Chihiro and Hakuri not interacting with each other. Hokazono really saw me complaining in private about them being separated for four months in real time and gave us... this.

"Power of Friendship"? Never heard of it.

Yeah.

The title of the chapter is ビカム侍, "Become a Samurai". But they didn't have to have this flashback- Samura and Uruha are both clearly inspired by samurai already and they were the reason why Chihiro was able to pull off the awesome Iai move he did. It simply could have been a reference to those two and Chihiro learning more swordsmanship to become like them.

BUT NO

We had to know that he was doing this because of Hakuri. Specifically because Hakuri called him a samurai when they first met. Even though Chihiro doesn't seem to recall the "that's you!" part, he still wants to be that samurai Hakuri needs.

I. AM. VERY. NORMAL.

Like, even as a friendship thing, isn't that kind of... intense? Everything about Hakuri is intense, yeah, but I don't know man. Chihiro wanting to live up to the high regard that Hakuri had of him from the start and become the samurai his friend thinks of him as is... I ship this for a reason, okay? Every time I think "surely this will not go so far" the author trounces those expectations and says "NAH I'm making this gay as hell".

We finally got Chihiro's response to Hakuri saying "I need you in my life", and it's "I will become the person you think I am so you don't get hurt for my sake ever again". His feelings towards Hakuri were a bit unclear until now but it's obvious that they're burning bright. He cares so, so much about his "equal partner". HNNNGH YOU CAN SEE WHERE I'M COMING FROM, RIGHT?

And just as a reminder, not even two weeks have passed since they met each other.

So normal.

Both of them are trying to be the better person the other sees them as.

I'm having a Kuguri-style brain implosion right now.

I gotta say, it's really nice to see this sort of push to be better that isn't built off of rivalry but rather mutual respect. Chihiro and Hakuri both see each other as the better, stronger person that saved them and it compels them to keep improving themselves. They just have to work on the personal issues that drive them to hurt themselves in pursuit of this goal.

Friendly rivalry isn't a bad or unhealthy dynamic at all, it's just a bit over-used in shounen as the default relationship type between the MC and his deuteragonist. But that might be what happens to Chihiro and Hiyuki. With Hakuri, it's all about admiration from both sides. You know, the stuff the strongest relationships of any kind are built off of (but especially romantic ones).

The conflict in their relationship comes from the unhealthy personal issues each of them have, I think. Because as wholesome and sweet as Hakuri and Chihiro are with each other, their flaws are what's adding tension. For Chihiro, it's guilt over getting Hakuri involved and over-relying on him. For Hakuri, it's the Sazanami mindset of giving one's all compounded with his guilt over Ice Lady. This whole arc seems to be about addressing guilt, so hopefully both of them will be able to start forgiving themselves and become better partners to each other by valuing themselves a little more.

See you later, kind void, I've got fan fiction to write if I can find the time. Take care and hope 2025 is treating you well so far.

[coffeedepressionsoup]

Somebody Does Love | MYG - She Thinks She Falls First

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where she explores her very mild crush on him. Part 5 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 4k+

Warnings - lil swearing, drinking, Yoongi’s fluffy hair, Yoongi’s hands

Ratings - 13+

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona @7ndipity

A/N - I start working a 10-hour shift in less than two hours and I have not slept a wink. This has been sitting in drafts for way too long and I have no idea why I was resolute to finish it today. It might seem a bit all over the place, but hey, welcome to my head, I live like this.

The word count is definitely not my way of overcompensating for the prolonged absence. Partially proofread. The chapter naming has been lame. I know. But it is what it is. Also here is the closest thing I found on the internet to the Woolfie + Ash dynamic I am imagining. And the Yoongi in my mind as I was writing this, in case you are wondering.

I am using my last two brain cells to upload this. Please like, comment, and reblog to share your thoughts and feedback. DM me if you want to be added to/removed from the tag list. This delirious fever dream is now yours to deal with. Enjoy!

“I mean it’s the cutest smirk ever and I know “smirks a lot” does not paint an endearing picture, but like- what he has mostly is not a smile, but you know he is having a good time. Like he’s too lazy to have a full grin and the best he can do is pull up his lips slightly and-”

----------------------------------------------------------

“I still don’t understand what you mean by a memorable smirk. Why are you bothered at all by someone’s smirk?”

“This is borderline creepy now. Why-”

“Are you not listening? He’s just cute and I cannot forget about his smile.”

“Well, isn’t he too lazy to-”

“UGH!! You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, you have it bad.”

“I don’t have anything. And it’s not bad…”

“But?”

“He’s cute. Funny. Attentive. And nice hands.”

“Really?” In their almost half an hour conversation, it’s the first genuine curiosity Samairah has shown about your supposed crush.

You now had a triumphant smirk yourself and nodded, “Yes, very nice hands.”

“You do realise that you can yourself ask him out?” Samairah quirked her brows, her tone reminding you of a disappointed tutor.

“I know! But bro! He’s really good friends with Sammy and they work closely and it can get so messy.”

It has been 10 days since you walked in on Sammy and Yoongi in the middle of a songwriting session at almost midnight. 10 days since you knew for sure that Yoongi’s hair felt softer than it already looked. 10 days since your first -

“Sure it can. But it can go well too especially since he seems interested as well,” Samairah said after gulping down the rest of her banana oat smoothie.

You could not help but bark out a disbelieving laughter, “Yeah right..”

“What?”

“He seems interested, you said.”

“Yeah and?”

“That doesn’t seem likely.”

“Why?”

Because he is an international icon and probably the hottest rapper-producer on planet Earth and you were whoever you are. But you did not want to tell her that. In fact, all Samairah knew about your “crush” was that you met him at a house party and he is close with one of your best friends. Not that you wanted to lie or actively hide anything from her. She had not asked for a name when you had not given one. And she did not mind that. She knew you would have your reasons and will tell her if and when you want to. Your friendship was comfortable like that.

All you said out loud was, “Because he does not seem interested. You are just saying shit because you want me to ask him out.”

“And that would be a bad motivator why exactly?” Before you could fully roll your eyes at the rhetorical question, she started listing out in a matter-of-fact tone, overstating her points by holding up a finger with each of them, “You are clearly infatuated with him. Also, to be quite honest everything you told me up until now screams like the first few chapters of an idiot-to-lovers trope story.”

“Fucking hell! Hold your horses Mari. What lovers? We haven’t even gone on a single date yet.”

“He made japchae the exact way you like it, the very next day that you talked about it, which was apparently also the day you first met!” Samairah’s exasperated tone shut you up. It did strike you as odd when that happened. But you remember feeling more endeared and way too many butterflies in your gut at his presence to register and/or question the legitimacy of his “made too much” excuse at the time.

“And he’s dropping by willy-nilly wherever you are at.”

No, I mean, he had very valid reasons all of those times. Right?

Right.

Even at the vet’s appointment for Ash earlier that week.

He could not possibly have waited a couple more days till you were all supposed to meet at Aera’s place to return the portable charger he borrowed. You might need it on your daily commute and if anything, nobody should be trapped in Seoul traffic with a dead phone. What would you stare at? The people in the car window next to you? The ones hanging off the same supporting rail as you on the train? No, Yoongi had been considerate.

Sammy had turned up at Genius Lab aka Yoongi’s studio and they played around with the chorus of the song they were working on one afternoon. Once they were satisfied with a structure, Sammy politely turned down Namjoon’s offer for a drink (which caught Yoongi’s attention because when has any of his friends ever declined a drink) on his way out, saying he had to drive Y/N and Ash to the vet since you don’t feel comfortable driving on Seoul roads yet, despite carrying a valid International Driver's Permit.

The mention of your name drove Yoongi quieter and turned his ears and cheeks red at an alarming speed. Did the boys notice? Yes. Did Yoongi catch them exchanging a knowing smirk following that? No. Did he ask for details of the vet clinic and the time of appointment? Yes. Did he say out loud that he is free to drive Y/N, in fact, he would gladly volunteer? No. Did Sammy update an innocuous group chat with Yoongi’s ‘being in the neighbourhood and deciding impulsively to give the power bank back’ appearance later that evening? Yes. Did anyone buy that excuse? No.

Not even you. Not when he sputtered it out initially. Not when he took off his mask momentarily in an almost empty reception to shower Ash with a bunch of kisses. Not even when a pang of unspecified recognition hit you. You did not believe him.

Just Sunday night, that is tonight, Aera had invited all her close friends for a housewarming party. You first met her a couple of years ago through Dojoon. She was a doctor. And Dojoon’s friend. With some benefits. There are times when their friends swear they are dating. Then there are times when they know not to speak of each other in front of them. The fact that Aera’s new apartment is directly across from the hall from Dojoon’s is officially supposed to be coincidental. She apparently realised after she finalised with the agent that she was standing in a familiar hallway. And yeah, every one of you decided to believe it, of course.

So yeah, the charger return could have waited but you decided to believe it was because Yoongi did promise to return it ASAP and that particular Wednesday evening was it. He was a man of his word. He had flown away for a short work trip to Osaka for two days. His phone was almost out of charge. He had to drive directly to the airport. In fact, Soojin was waiting for him, with all his essentials on standby. You, however, figured he would not have time to get his charger. So you voluntarily offered your portable one to him.

He could just use the direct charger in his car. But you did not think of it at the moment. And Yoongi did not remind you of it. He took the one you offered. Used it on his way to the airport, through his stay in Osaka and charged it back up once he returned, carrying it around in his jacket with his wallet and keys.

Now, as to why would you be with him when his phone was almost dying and he was about to fly out of the country? It’s because Yoongi was at Sammy’s place, trying to write a song. Pleasantly buzzed on beer and completely engrossed in the task. And you were, as of the last discussion on the matter, Sammy’s housemate. Yes, plans changed since you first arrived in the city, and you would say for the better. Living with Sammy was not as chaotic as you anticipated and once you saw Ash and Woolfie bonding, you did not have the heart to separate them or yourself away from the duo. And the “people always coming over to Sammy’s and not having the bandwidth to deal with it” was not a particular problem at the moment.

You had grown quite fond of the most frequent visitor.

The first night you walked in to unexpectedly find Yoongi at Sammy’s place, you remember the knots building up in your stomach. You had not yet acknowledged your evident crush on him. You would think the older people got, the easier it was to deal with all this. Bullshit.

It did not help that soon after Sammy left to walk Woolfie. You tried to keep your tone and conversation as neutral as possible. And you would like to believe you succeeded. Once you managed to convince him to stay for dinner (to be honest, all you had to do was ask once), you excused yourself to go wash up. You squealed into your damp towel as you found yourself carefully styling your hair to appear as carelessly proper as possible.

Your squeal had not reached Yoongi several rooms away but it had managed to wake your fur baby up from her nap. She yawned, stretched, itched the back of her ears with her paws and marched out of your room alongside you to greet the man. The greeting she extended was calculated for the first couple of minutes, as she went around sniffing and staring at him from different angles around his feet. Soon she decided to lick her stamp of approval on his nose once she allowed him to pick her up. Since then she remained on his lap, by his feet or on his shoulder, till the time he left.

The conversation, guided by Ash’s heartwarming existence, revolved comfortably around pets. He asked about your childhood pets and told you about his. He also proudly spoke about the different personalities of Tony and Scar, his two rescue cats. Once you asked to see pictures, you were allowed to surf through two whole albums with hundreds of photos of the cats as well as Holly, the famed cockapoodle.

You caught yourself staring at him a few times that night, making you the second person to do so. You stared at his bright, warm eyes that had a certain glimmer that you could not define. Sometimes you stared at the way he threw back his head in laughter and the bobble of his Adam’s apple. Oh, his laughter! The sound of it! The look of it! You noticed it more than you did the previous night. The lines it created around his mouth and his eyes, you wanted to trace them lightly with your fingers and later intertwine them with his slender ones. Not just his fingers though, you noticed the way his forearm would subtly flex every time he pushed his hair back in the middle of conversation. And his fucking hair.

It is the softest head of hair you have ever seen, you could swear. You thought it was difficult not to actually reach out and feel it on the first night he came over. That was until the second time. You were sitting much closer together at that time. You were much more drunk than the two beers you had with dinner the last time. You also had much more daydreaming under your belt about the man sitting beside you. If you had not chickened out at the last minute, you wondered if you could thread your fingers in his hair to hold him closer in a kiss. You wondered the same at different times on different days till 10 days back.

You were pretty drunk from the departmental dinner with your colleagues. Samairah had been on driving duty that evening and pretty sober. She offered to walk you to the elevators of the building when she came to drop you off but you promised you could manage by yourself. And you did. But the walls along the way were integral to your vertical stability.

In half a mind to ring the bell instead of punching the code in, you leaned against the doorframe for a few moments. Composing yourself a bit, you let yourself in, steady enough to walk straight, away from walls.

As you walked towards the hall area, you heard guitar strumming and distinct humming voices. Voice-s. Multiple. Two, to be precise. And you need not be alarmed. The second voice could be anybody. Except it wasn’t. You recognised Yoongi’s deep, now slightly raspy voice over Sammy’s. Before you turned from the narrow entryway to the room, you could feel your heartbeat rise and your hands started feeling clammy.

The boys did not notice you come in.

As Sammy lightly hummed a melody and typed into the laptop in front of him, Yoongi kept playing a distinct hook on what you recognised as one of Sammy’s guitars.

“Do you see what I mean-” Yoongi asked and paused before changing to a different set of chords, this one more mellow than before. With the change, you noticed his tongue slightly poke out the side of his mouth, set in deep concentration.

Sammy took a sip out of an opened can of beer lying on the floor between them. Who knows which is whose anymore? He nodded looking down at his phone, and started singing some words out with the tune he was humming before.

Yoongi let out a non-verbal sound you could best define as a soft groan of approval as you saw him changing the chords to match the tune Sammy was singing.

You probably would have stood there till either of the two turned to see you. But your phone pinged with a notification alert and although it wasn’t too loud, it stood out enough for both Yoongi and Sammy to pivot from their places on the ground near the sofa.

Feeling conscious of the newly gained attention of the whole room, you tried to laugh off the cocktail of nervous surprise and drunken flush. “Hi,” you waved a little.

Sammy patted the spot next to him, sipping on one of the open beers again, “Come listen to this,” and started humming again.

You walked over as steadily and casually as possible and when you sat down, you could hear a soft “hi” escape Yoongi’s slightly parted lips. You smiled at him and could see a smile threatening to break out on his face as well, which appeared when you said, “You’re red,” and immediately bit your lips because ‘Wow were you drunk.’

Yoongi tried his best to explain that it was just the alcohol and that it was uncharacteristically hot tonight. You nodded and decided to honour his failing defence once your eyes met. But you also felt like you could see through him at the time. You could seemingly read a similar pining and nervousness within him that you felt. But you tried convincing yourself that half of it was spirit-induced delusions.

“Is this a new song?” you leant over to see the laptop screen which Sammy turned slightly for your ease and nodded.

“Genius here wrote this under 10 minutes,” he gestured towards the accused.

Yoongi felt “redder” but it physically was not possible. His sense of embarrassment, however, was graver than before. “Fuck no, I just came up with some beats. Sammy filled these in,” he protested and leaned over to trace over the mixer timeline on the laptop.

To do that though, he had to lean over you. Partly. And when he did, there was a pregnant pause in the room.

Yoongi stilled the moment he could feel your breath fanning his ear. You froze when you caught a whiff of his… shampoo? Cologne? Aftershave? All of it? You were not a perfumer by any means, but if your olfactory senses served you right, you are pretty sure that is the best smell any human being has ever exuded. Contrarians could argue with the wall.

Sammy was not unmoving but he chose to remain quiet with a wide grin on his face.

Yoongi withdrew after a millenium-long two-second pause and cleared his throat.

You followed suit and said, “It sounds good regardless. Fresh,” to neither of the boys in particular. All your drunken slur had vanished in a whiff of what you decided your favourite smell was going to be henceforth.

Later in the night, once you freshened up and made coffee for everyone, and the guitar and laptop were put away, you all ended up talking about life, love and well, love life.

Sammy believed in the possibility of love at first sight, as did Yoongi. “Yeah, I think it is quite romantic. I don’t think it happens to many people or as often as people claim. But I believe it is a reality for some people.”

After taking in the silent nods across the room, he tipped his slightly towards you, and asked, “What about you?”

“Oh I don’t believe it exists,” you said after a small sip of your flat white.

“Love at first sight?”

“Yeah”

“Doesn’t exist?”

“I cannot imagine it does, no,” you chuckled out this time at Yoongi’s apparent disbelief.

Yoongi nodded slowly, with a smile of his own accompanied by a slight scowl.

Sammy, having chugged his hazelnut cold coffee, was now lying on the couch, half asleep. He nudged Yoongi’s back lightly with his knee, and said, “Ask her why.”

“Go the fuck off to slee-”

“Why?”

You cursed out and Yoongi asked sincerely at the same moment. Your eyes met.

You swore you could get lost in them, stare at them forever. Memorise every line and freckle.

“I don’t think it’s practical.”

“Love is wild, subjective. It does not need to be practical or rational.”

“There’s a semblance of cause for the effect that we experience as love. They are adorable,” you pointed to Wooflie and Ash locked in a defensive face-off mid-zoomies on the other side of the room. You then moved to point at the guitar and the laptop, “This brings you joy.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows pulled together in a scowl. You had concluded by now that was indicative of his increased attention level. You continued, “We know they are likely to leave us behind one day and you know making music and putting it out there is tough, challenging but you love these anyway. I think we choose to love something or someone despite a lot of shortcomings or adversities. Not because they behave in a manner or look a certain way. And I believe you need more than a sight for that to happen.”

You drew in a deep breath and looked away. You had held his gaze for too long than is comfortable for him, you thought. And then you rambled on about love. It sounded so annoying and pretentious when you thought back. You were certain that you had sabotaged any budding chance for romance you had by dissing on something as romantic as love at first sight.

All that was conjecture, of course, but you would not find out about that until much later.

Yoongi’s scowl remained as it was when he said, “That is so romantic.”

Before you could reply, Sammy quipped in. “That she is.”

It made Yoongi smile and you huff lightly in mock disbelief. The conversation was then interrupted by you being tackled down by Woolfie. Unbeknownst to you, the zoomies area of dispatch had shifted to where you were sitting.

You laughed as you pet the husky back when he licked your face and play-growled at Ash to join in. The cat, however, refused to get on the floor as if it was lava. She marched promptly from one of the armrests on the sofa, to a cushion near Sammy’s head. She then gently kneaded into the cushion, occasionally sniffing and biting into it.

One moment of bliss but soon chaos erupted.

The cushion burst open in the room, spilling the contents within the room and onto Sammy and Yoongi, who were closer to the scene of the crime.

Either spooked by the loud noise or to escape admonishment, the kitten responsible for the mishap had darted back to the other end of the room. Woolfy followed suit.

You looked at Sammy, who had miraculously fallen asleep in the few seconds since his cocky quip, evident from the soft snores, and then locked eyes with Yoongi once more.

By his episodic blinking and alert posture, you could tell he was startled. Once he met your eyes though, both of you fell into a giggle as you took in the situation and saw the cotton all over, especially on him.

He managed to dust off most of it, collecting it all and intentionally dropping and arranging it over Sammy’s unfazed body. You laughed louder seeing the juvenile prank unfold, but quickly covered your face to muffle it lest you wake your friend up.

Once you managed to gather your composure, you saw a cotton ‘snowman’ over Sammy’s torso and the likeness of a Santa beard over his face. As all true friends should, the two of you were quick to pull out your phone and click a respectable couple of images before turning to look at each other again.

With every time your eyes met, you felt like you could understand more of what they said. This time around, it was something like, “I am glad I have this moment with you.” You fiercely agreed with the thought, internally, of course. It was not all conjecture. But you did not know yet.

You looked around and realised the mess once again. Sooner or later you had to clean it up. The easiest place to begin was the cups. You picked up two and on cue, Yoongi grabbed the third as you filed towards the kitchen.

He caught up to you in two strides and at the sink, grabbed for the washpad first. At your silent protests of a frown and attempt to grab the item back, “Please, I got this.”

It was soft. Short. Sure. Sweet?!

You were about to sigh and step back when your eyes went to his hair. Well, you didn’t mean to ogle at him up close but a couple of balls of lint caught in his dark locks disrupted your plans.

Almost instinctively, you reached out and murmured, “Oh, you have-”

Words got stuck in your throat. You could almost feel the air being kicked out of your system when you felt his soft hair under your fingers. You did not move your hands for a beat. And two.

And on the third, as you pulled the lint out, you could not help, but lightly comb through the side of his head.

Once, for good measure. Twice, for good luck. Cannot have lints clumped wildly on THE Min Yoongi’s hair now of course.

At the second glide of your nails against his head, Yoongi choked in a bubbling moan but shut his eyes to feel it better, to relieve the tingle and just take it all in.

However, the tingle also caused his arms to jerk in a manner that knocked off the cup he was meant to be washing off his hands.

As both of you scrambled to prevent another household item from being destroyed that night, you were caught in another unblinking stare-off with Yoongi. You managed to grab the cup from hitting the floor and Yoongi ended up ‘cupping’ your hands.

The touch. Electrifying. Not just figuratively. You could sense this all over. And it was just his palms over the back of your hands.

Despite them being wet, his hands were quite warm. Immediately then you decided what your favourite hand warmer was.

Your heart rate picked up at an alarming rate though once you felt one of his thumbs rub a small spot over your hands.

Your gaze, still unmoving. Your breaths, unsteady.

You possibly would have stayed in that staredown, had Yoongi’s phone not vibrated in his pocket, with a call from Soojin, asking him to leave on time for the airport, since earlier today the global rap sensation requested his manager to allow him to drive to the airport himself. Change of pace, more time alone with his thoughts, he thought.

Scurrying out for the airport while touching (almost holding) your hands was not on his bingo card. But there he was.

[dawntreaders]

i’m really obsessed with your bridjames art… do you have any thoughts on their dynamic them in general? 💕

a lot of people seem to think the potentials of bridgens x fitzjames are only worth exploring because bridgens took care of fitzjames - similar but not wholly so to the way bridgens would take care of the men of his ship - especially in fitzjames' final moments, when he was no longer captain but a barely-breathing organism walking on its last legs of life... but i think that bond ran deeper than this unspoken vow of servitude because that alone makes things a bit messy and uneven.

fitzjames loved to write, bridgens loved to read, and there's a lot more to fitzjames than what can be read from his comedic memoirs. bridgens could've simply seen right through fitzjames' self-mythologization. he would've wanted to welcome fitzjames into his own small, candid world instead, allowing them a space to have meaningful intellectual discussions amidst fitzjames' alienation from what should have been his own peers. all this, because fitzjames led bridgens to a chance at a new life and kept him full with fascinating perspectives on everything under the sun that they can mention. they'd become increasingly aware that wherever they stood, there would always be magnetism - a part of them that pushed and pulled at the other regardless of their stations.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Monty Finch, Personhood, Cycles of Abuse, & Human AUs

tw: discussion of abusive dynamics in general regarding Monty as a character, but nothing specific beyond what was shown in the show

Anyway. So like. Not to get on my Monty Bullshit again. But like...

The core of Monty's character design falls back upon a couple of different tropes that you can explore in any way you want. I've done my ranting on the Born Sexy Yesterday trope and the Femme Fatale Trope is something that is interesting to explore in the way in which the trope is split between him and the Cat King in a very fascinating way that subverts gender and sexual expectations, but that's also not what we're here for today.

No, in today's Your Friendly Neighborhood Fanfic Writer Does A Ted Talk on a literature trope or genre that she has thought about way too much for any reasonable person, I want to talk about the way in which Monty, fundamentally, as a character, is designed to go from a journey of dehumanization into personhood and how that translates to a human au. 

Now, Monty beginning in a place of dehumanization makes sense in a lot of ways due to his nature as a literal crow- he's literally not a human at first- but also, more importantly, in his nature as a familiar. Monty exists, within his very nature, to follow orders, to be an extension of Esther's will, to be nothing more than a tool. This is emphasized over and over again within the narrative, whether that be within scenes that Esther and Monty engage in by themselves or the literal unmasking scene in the forest.

However, the narrative also imbues Monty with agency. He is not allowed to experience it very often, but he at least experiences it and is able to use it on two separate occasions. Once, at the end of Episode 6, and for a second time in the middle of Episode 8. He is not a passive character. He is given agency that he slowly learns how to use the more human that he feels and becomes, as indicated by his speech to Esther about all of these human emotions at the end of Episode 6. Monty's journey is literally one of finally, for the first time in his existence, grasping on to a little bit of power and agency, and then dying for that. 

And the thing is that he knows that he's going to die for it. He knows that there is an inherent danger in reaching for his own agency, as shown by the fact that the only time in which he begins to question Esther at all before this point, she literally shoves the cane against his chest and you see Monty experience true fear. I have talked a lot about how the scene in Esther's Kitchen in Episode 5 directly frames Monty as a victim of Esther's and shows the power she has over him via the methods of framing and costume design (check out the framing thread for more details). The show, as a story, is about escaping cycles of abuse, as paralleled in Crystal, Charles, and Edwin’s storylines. 

And the tragedy of Monty Finch, or whatever you want to call him, is that he goes to escape his cycle of abuse and dies for it. 

So. How does this translate to a human au? What do you get when you take all of this messiness and put it into a mother-son dynamic within a human setting? What happens when you take the relationship between a witch and her familiar actively framed as an example of the cycle of abuse, to the point where Monty, when in crow form, literally is kept in an unlocked cage that is too small for his body and yet never leaves because he knows no other life? He knows no other master, no other parent, no one save the witch who turned him into a human in order to make him seduce her enemy? The witch who has only ever seen him as a tool?

Well, you don't get a boy who gets a normal childhood. You don't get a boy who is ever seen as anything other than an extension of his mother's whims. Monty exists as a character to do what Esther wants him to. It can be up to the writer how exactly you translate the cycle of abuse within a human AU and to what extent you want to portray it and explore it, but the fact of the matter is that when Monty became human in the show, Esther never saw him as a human. She never saw him as anything other than an extension of her will. And there are many parents who do the same. Who see their children as only existing as toys or tools to fulfill their own wants and needs, as an extension of themselves, not as full-fledged individuals on their own. Monty, in a human au, does not have a loving mother. He doesn't have any sort of parents who would take care of him. At her best, Esther would protect him from external threats, but the greatest threat would always lie at home. 

And that's why art of Monty as a child haunts me. Because if you're translating the canon dynamics into a human au, he doesn't get to have a happy childhood. Whatever happiness he gets is despite his mother, not because of her. And it's totally up to the author what the shape of that takes. If your Monty somehow manages to find a way to grab for the happiness in life in any way he can, that's fantastic. That's what he does in the show, for that matter, grabbing on to what pinprick points of brightness he can. I actually think that’s one of the most compelling parts of him as a character. And that’s also why I want to keep writing him; I want to get him past the place at which his story ends in canon.

Because I've got to get that kid out of there.

[saladmix]

salad!!

first and foremost: i love TDTWB so much, i literally cannot emphasise that enough.

i wanted to know your thought process on the parallels of april and leo’s relationships in both world 6 and dimension z!

what i gather is that in world 6, leo has a dorky crush on april, and in dimension z they’re more like siblings. what made you tweak this little aspect? ramble on!!

Ahhh thank you!! I am once again honored and touched and every shade in between I can't thank you enough for reading and engaging with the fic!

oooooOooOooOoo STAND BACK IM ABOUT TO RAMBLE let me get my ramble boots on these are high waters.

OKAY SO spoilers below if ya aren't caught up!

So World 6 as we now know is the Mutant Mayhem universe! And I really, really loved April and Leo in Mutant Mayhem. I think Leo's crush is so charming and wholesome maybe I'm lame but I got a soft spot for that time period in life where crushes felt all consuming and were just so embarrassing and made you act like a fool.

I know in Mutant Mayhem/TOTTMNT universe we don't really know what direction they're taking Leo and April in. I mean for the most part it seems one-sided but I'm a sucker for unrequited love or some pathetic man pining, especially when the other person in the equation might be totally oblivious. But either way I'm excited to find out! I think they're cute fam. I do. And in my fic specifically, MM Leo has known April for about a year at the point where we meet him. And he's clearly still got this crush, but I also like to imagine that he's deepened that friendship and at this point they really know each other well and that infatuation is maybe something a little deeper it's got some roots now!

But the Z boys are different! The Z boys have known April practically their whole lives. We're talking playground friends, we're talking pre-school friends. So April grew up alongside them and because of that, she really does feel like a sister to them. This isn't to say that really good childhood friends can't also develop romantic feelings for each other! That happens a lot! But for Leo and April specifically I wanted to explore a really deep platonic relationship. Catch me throwing around the term platonic soulmates. Like they are each other's person, you know? The kind of relationship that would quite frankly intimidate the hell out of romantic partners because they're like okay what the hell how do I compete with this level of attachment?

Another reason I decided to go this route is because I knew I wanted to have the Rasey relationship and I didn't want to be doubling up on romantic mayhem you know what I mean? That wasn't quite the story I wanted to tell. And I chose Rasey because honestly I feel like Leo and April would be so freaking solid as a couple like they'd be In Step with each other, like they are now, and that is a lot of fun to write! I love stable loving relationships in fic that shit is undervalued! But it wasn't the dynamic I was in the mood for. And Rasey, at least my Rasey, is messy. They're these two hot-headed assholes that butt heads most of the time, they're always arguing and bickering, but they also have a lot of passion and love for one another. I like that, honestly, they're probably not right for each other but god damn do they choose each other.

So really it just came down to the relationship I wanted to focus on. I like having a variety of different kinds of relationships to write <3 So all this to say that I think MM Leopril is really cute and charming and I'm a fan, but Z Leo and April have a really deep unshakable bond that's kind of that once-in-a-lifetime relationship. And it isn't romantic, but it's love, and it's powerful <3

[veliseraptor]

got tagged in this one by @paradife-loft a while ago and decided to finally get around to it!

tagging @brawlite, @silvysartfulness, @anghraine, @ameliarating and uhhh anyone else who feels like it

5 Things You'll Find in My Writing

Grief/mourning, or loss more generally. I'm not totally sure why this has been such a recurring thing in my fic (and has been for years) but it is certainly something I keep circling back to. I think there is something to me very compelling about both the emotion itself and the...presence of absence, if that makes sense. The way someone can still be there even when they aren't there anymore. It doesn't come up in everything but I think even when it's not direct it's often there obliquely in ways that don't have to do with death itself.

Recovery arcs. At one point I might've said "redemption arcs" but I actually think that's less accurate to the kind of stories I'm more interested in, which are less about atonement or making good than they are about people going through it and finding some way to "get better", whatever that might mean - and it can mean a lot of things. It's much more about the character's internal experience and outlook on the world than it is about any external validation or judgment by the narrative. I'm much more interested in how characters reconcile with themselves than how the world reconciles with them, is maybe a pithy way of putting it.

Poorly adjusted trauma reactions. I mean this goes hand in hand with the kind of characters I tend to write, who generally have some kind of trauma baggage and are handling it in the worst way possible, usually externalized and often both self- and other people-destructive, but at least other people-destructive for sure. I find this particular kind of ugliness and messiness very compelling to explore, both in terms of what it says about how trauma can shape people for the worse and also, on some level, as a way of exploring the idea that people who do bad things can still be worthy of compassion.

Very different people coming to an understanding. Usually when I'm doing this the people hate each other, but it's not necessarily a requirement - I do like to start from a place of distrust at the very least, though. It's a character dynamic that I can trace going all the way back to some of my earliest (original) writing. I think in a lot of ways one of the things I'm fascinated by in writing terms comes down to communication - how people communicate with each other, how they don't, where it breaks down. What it means to communicate with someone when it's the last thing you want to do. I think that's what this is really digging into at the base of it, but the form it specifically takes most often is this one: people with profound differences, often outright hostility, finding some way to cooperate. It's curious to me that on the face of it this seems like a very utopian trope but I never intend to execute it that way.

The Aftermath. In some ways this goes back to the grief/mourning thing and probably that has a lot to do with this, but one of the things I am always most interested in digging into is the what comes after of a situation. This is most obviously what's behind the ex-villain project, which is specifically asking the question "what happens when your redemption equals death gambit fails", but it crops up other places too. It's probably why on AO3 "Post-Canon" is one of my most frequently used tags. This doesn't even have to be about a post-canon scenario, though - it's about looking at something that is typically an ending and tugging at it to go but what here remains unresolved? What is still complicated? What now?

Another thing I thought of that does come up a lot is questions of agency/choice, but I thought of it later so I stuck with the ones I came up with first.

[madamejadex]

Hello ma'am 💜

So, today i was thinking about your post in regards of heavy vs light degradation and my messy little thoughts about it all lead my to wonder, where do you draw the line between dragadation and humilliation?

Bc in my mind maybe humilliation is a subtype of degradation? Or what? What's the deal?

Also as a domme who's trying to get in touch with all of this, i've discovered i am very much into all of this but i've also realized i'd need a lot of reassurance and aftercare after a session of degradation or humilliation. Any tips on coping with it other than communicating with the sub? I'll just wish i could stop being hard on myself for craving this stuff

Hope you're having/had a wonderful day, Miss

-,Y💜

Hello there, sweetheart.

What a thoughtful, important question, and I’m so glad you asked it. It's a messy, complex corner of kink to explore, but such a rewarding one when done with care. So first, let me say: there's nothing wrong with what you're craving. You don’t need to apologize for wanting to go deep, for wanting to unravel someone or yourself in the safety of a consensual scene. You’re not broken for desiring those darker dynamics. You’re simply honest.

Now, to answer your question, I will show you what I mean by the difference between degradation and humiliation, because on paper, they can sound the same. But when you’re inside the scene, when it’s alive, they are vastly different experiences.

I’ll start with degradation.

Picture this: I have my submissive kneeling in front of me, naked, flushed, eyes lowered just the way I like. The lights are dimmed and I reach down, tilt her chin up with one finger, and say, almost gently, “Look at you… my pathetic little toy. You’re nothing without me, aren’t you?”

She whimpers, because she knows that’s not a dismissal. That’s a claim.

I continue with a low voice. “You’re my dumb, needy mess. My pretty little sleeve. Just a hole to use when I want it.”

She gasps, but her thighs twitch, and I see it, that raw, aching surrender in her eyes.

I tap her face, just enough to sting, and she moans. I spit in her mouth. I wipe it across her cheek and smile. “So filthy. My filthy thing. But you’re mine, aren’t you?”

And she says yes, because that’s the heart of degradation: it’s reduction for the sake of belonging. I take her apart with words, but I hold her while I do it. I strip away her ego not to shame her, but to make her small in my hands, so she can float in that space where nothing else matters but me. There’s cruelty, yes, but it’s owned. Directed. Intimate. Even tender, in its own way.

Now, humiliation is something else entirely.

When I helped a dominant friend coordinate a humiliation scene, the tone was starkly different. There were four of us, experienced, trusted Dommes, and her submissive had specifically requested a scene that would break her down publicly and psychologically. We spent days planning. Everything was negotiated. We had safewords, body language cues, exit signals, emotional limits.

When she entered the room, she was made to strip in front of us. Not gracefully, we tore it off her. We shoved her to her knees in the center of the room. Her collar was replaced with a rope leash. Her body trembled, but she kept her posture. She wanted this.

We circled her like predators. One Domme leaned in close, smiled coldly, and whispered, “You’re disgusting. You know that, right? Worthless. You think anyone here sees you as anything but a pathetic cum rag?”

Another Domme stepped forward and spit in her hair. One stepped on her hand. Another forced her face down onto the floor where she was forced to lick our heels, and we pushed parts of our shoes into her mouth.

We barked orders at her. Called her a whore. Made her open her mouth to be used in whatever way we pleased. We degraded her, yes, but in a way meant to humiliate. We laughed at her. We sneered. We dared her to beg for approval and then denied it. We called her an object, a failure, a used-up nothing. We told her the only reason she was allowed in the room was to be seen and stepped on.

And the entire time, she wept, not from pain, but from the overwhelming humiliation she had asked for. She wanted to feel broken. She wanted to be used, dismissed, and devalued. Because for her, that psychological edge was the release.

And once it was over, we didn't just wipe her tears, we carried her out of that scene like a sacred thing. Wrapped her in blankets, offered her food, rubbed her hands until she stopped shaking. We praised her for being so brave. We told her we were proud. We restored what we had temporarily torn apart.

That is the difference.

Degradation takes something away to offer submission, it is often intimate, reinforcing ownership, and can leave a submissive feeling cherished even when stripped of ego.

Humiliation aims to embarrass, devalue, and psychologically push, not always to reinforce belonging, but to invoke vulnerability through shame, exposure, and social stripping. It’s colder, more confrontational, and deeply dependent on trust, aftercare, and intention.

And neither is “better” than the other, they’re just different tools. Different edges. And both require a dominant who knows how to hold space after the scene ends.

That’s why I’m so glad you brought up the other half of this: the Dominant’s emotional care.

You asked if there’s something other than communication that can help with the crash afterward, and the truth is, you’ll likely need a combination of things.

Yes, talking it through with your submissive can be beautiful, especially when they’re grateful and glowing and safe. But here are a few more tools I recommend:

Journaling afterward, even just a few sentences. What did you feel during the scene? Did any part of you flinch? Where did the power come from? Where did it go?

Co-regulation with another Domme friend or mentor. Talk to someone who knows what it’s like to hold scenes like that.

Ritual decompression. Something that reminds you of who you are outside of the dynamic, a favorite drink, a hot shower, a cuddle session with a pet, a quiet hour in bed. Something comforting.

Reminders that needing care doesn’t make you less dominant. In fact, acknowledging it makes you a stronger one.

And lastly, darling, please try to soften the voice that’s hard on you for wanting this.

You don’t need to earn permission to enjoy what stirs your blood. You’re allowed to crave the sharp edge of power exchange and still be kind, still be soft, still be whole.

Dominance isn't about being untouchable. It's about knowing how deep you're willing to go, and being wise enough to prepare for the swim back up.

You’re doing beautifully. Keep going. Keep exploring.

And always take care of that soft heart of yours.

xo Miss Jade

[badsassitude]

The Boyfriend: Why Shun Needs Hugs (Deep Dive Part 1/3)

My brain does not want to shut up about the dynamics on this show, and I am ready to fight everyone talking smack about Shun.  Look, that boy needs to be hugged, not shamed, and that is a hill I am ready to die on.  

Emotions are complicated and messy. Sometimes the things we want the most are the things we are the most scared of, and sometimes we desperately struggle between wanting to connect and wanting to protect ourselves from pain and doing neither well. It’s a bit like trying to go left but also go right and just pacing back and forth and not going anywhere. What was meant initially to be a simple reflection of exploring Shun’s behavior through the lens of attachment theory took on a life of its own, and now we have parts.

So here is part one, in which we look at Shun's behaviors through the lens of anxious attachment and I draft adoption papers 24 years too late.

Shun as presented in episodes 1-6 of The Boyfriend, has anxious attachment written all over him. **I think it is MASSIVELY IMPORTANT to understand that I am not saying Shun has an anxious attachment style.** First and foremost, what we as watchers see is only a series of filmed interactions edited together. Even if we could see 24/7 unedited footage from the moment Shun stepped into the Green Room, we would still only be seeing a small part of Shun’s life, during a time where he is outside of his normal life and environment. Secondly, we can only see what is outwardly observable, so at best our perspective is based off of guesses and interpretation for which there is no way to validate, elaborate on, or clarify.

For context, in a super brief, overly simplified cliff notes version: anxious attachment is one of the insecure attachment styles included in attachment theory.  Attachment theory describes common behaviors and characteristic of 4 primary attachment styles (of which anxious attachment is an insecure attachment style).

Second note: attachment is not static, remember, emotions are complicated and people don’t fit into neat little boxes. How we attach in different relationships with different people at different points in our lives is unique to that relationship and that context. 

Now back to Shun (well, my interpretation of the Netflix reality TV edited version). Some behaviors I have seen demonstrated by Shun in the show that characterize anxious attachment include:

fear of rejection 

Frequent need for validation, reassurance, attention 

Low self-esteem 

Intense desire for intimacy and closeness, but afraid of abandonment- contributing to the push/pull of clingy to pushing away

Difficulty trusting others 

Jealousy 

For children who grow up feeling as if their needs are not met, with inconsistencies in caregiver responses and an environment that feels unpredictable and perhaps unsafe - they have a higher risk of developing an insecure attachment style (such as anxious attachment) because they did not experience secure attachment bonds. 

Think about what Shun has shared of his story:  Shun never knew his parents. Most likely they abandoned him, and he doesn’t know why. He grew up in a children’s home/orphanage. He was raised by caregivers who took care of him because it was their job. It is reasonable to infer that there was likely turnover in staff at an unknown frequency, and there was likely inconsistency in how staff treated him. It is possible that other children came and went, possibly were adopted. There was nothing stable or secure in that environment, and the even the most loving of caregivers weren’t family and could leave at any time. 

Additionally, he made two comments that set my trauma spidey-senses tingling. Per the Netflix translation, Shun said “Even there… I went through a lot.” Quickly followed by, “And… well, after a lot happened, I ended up coming to Tokyo on my own.” He then added that since coming to Tokyo he has been free, which was said with a little smile and a nod that pierced me to my core. The way he presented while telling his story, so matter of fact with a level of detachment, is very consistent with how I have experienced many trauma survivors telling their stories. 

Now add to all that what he has shared about his past relationships - primarily that he had experiences with “player types” that were clearly painful enough that seeing whatever pictures he saw on Dai’s phone triggered him to the point of tears. He described one relationship as horrible, he “couldn’t get out of it.”  

When you think about what that man has been through, is it that strange that while he may desperately long for love and intimacy, that he’s also terrified of being vulnerable in the way you have to be to get it? 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3