#so the dams... break

[aesteriya]

From one William to another....

[ruporas]

chapter 90 vash

[blindmagdalena]

i'm thinking about john killing someone in front of his s/o, but that was about to kill them so his violent is seem a protectiveness. to be seem bloody and not be feared....

18+ 2.7k homelander x reader, established relationship, gore, blood, morally grey reader? shower sex, fingering, praise kink, breast play, dirty talk, rough sex, count down, needy/possessive/yandere HL, reader is nondescript with f!anatomy.

Homelander is breathing shallowly, eyes wide—wild—blood dripping from his chin and from the stray strands of hair that fell forward when he lunged. He's elbow deep in a man's sternum, and his other hand is wrapped tight around his broken neck, the bones like fragments of glass poking out from beneath rapidly cooling skin.

It all happened in an instant. One second, the man currently in his hands was grabbing you by the hair, a knife swinging wildly towards your throat, and the next he was dangling from Homelander's grasp, heart slowing against his knuckles.

He laughs through his teeth, licking his lips reflexively. The blood is sour, contaminated with god knows what, but that hardly takes away from the thrill of the moment.

It's been a while since he held the gaze of someone whose life he just claimed. Long enough that he forgets where he is, and who he's with.

He drops the man to the ground like a wet sack of potatoes, innards spilling out from the hole his arm leaves behind. In the man's hand, Homelander sees something that sets his teeth on fucking edge: strands of your hair ripped from your scalp in that limp, dead palm.

"You stupid motherfucker," he growls through a crooked sickly smile, lifting his boot to crush the hand like it were nothing more than an insect. The man's heart has long since stopped, but the rapid pound of another is still loud in his ears.

Yours.

Slowly, he turns around to look at you. You're cradling your skull where you'd been grabbed, tears gathering in your wide glassy eyes, the shock of it all catching up to you. You're staring intently at the corpse, watching blood pooling out from beneath it.

You've never looked at him with fear in your eyes before, but that's precisely what he sees when your eyes meet his. It makes him bristle internally. What was he supposed to do? You were in danger, and the way you screamed will follow him into his nightmares.

He could have lost you just now. You could be the one soaking in a puddle of your own blood, losing your life to the press of nothing more than a flimsy metal blade. While Homelander has always been logically aware of your humanity and the tender vulnerability that entails, nothing has ever put it so viscerally in the forefront of his mind as a freak incident coming so close to erasing you from his life.

He did what he had to. You'll understand. You have to understand.

"Hey," he says, hands raised to you placatingly, as if coaxing a spooked wild animal. The blood just makes his crimson gloves look glossy. He blocks your view of the body. "Hey, it's alright."

Your terror is palpable in the race of your heart and the sour smell of adrenaline coursing through you.

He reaches for you with the hand that isn't drenched in viscera, but before he can take hold, you beat him to the punch, throwing yourself into his arms, your own wrapping tight around his middle, hands clasping together beneath his cape.

Caught off guard, Homelander's arms hover awkwardly for a beat before he returns your embrace. He'd been certain that he was the source of your fear after a display like that.

"He just-he tried to kill me," you rasp, tears overflowing, spilling down your cheeks, wetting his suit further. "Yeah, yeah he sure did. S'alright, he's not gonna hurt you again," he coos, stroking your back with one bloodied hand, the other cupping the back of your neck. He kisses the top of your head as you cry, working the shock and fear from your system. "Ssshhh, shhshh."

Looking over his shoulder once, he lifts you up into his arms and takes off gently into the night sky, keeping you gathered close as he flies, carrying you far away from the mess spilled all over the pavement.

Not his problem. His focus is you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck, he can feel your tears rolling down into the collar of his suit, can smell the sea salt sweetness of them. He's never let you see that side of him before. When the shock wears off, will you see the moment for what it was?

Will you realize how much he enjoyed it?

Landing on his balcony, your arms are still tight around his neck. Neither of you have said a word since take off. He's not sure where your head is, other than the fact your racing heart has slowed to a more natural—albeit still nervous—patter.

Inside, he sets you down gently on your feet. Your balance wavers, and he settles you with his hands on your hips, staining your clothing with smears of dark blood.

He's almost afraid of breaking the tenuous quiet, but he needs to know where your head is. When you glance away, are you looking towards the door, planning your escape?

His hands tighten reflexively on your hips, and your eyes spring back up to meet his.

"You okay?" He asks quietly, warily.

"Yeah," you say, though it's hardly convincing.

"You're in shock," he says, touching the side of your face. Enough of the blood has been wiped on your clothes that it doesn't transfer much to your skin. "You remember what happened?"

Maybe your distress will leave you malleable enough for him to shape the incident just right. Make sure that you remember first and foremost that- "You saved me," you say, cutting his thoughts short. "That man was trying to hurt me, and you... you saved me."

His brows lift, surprised to hear you say it first. "Yeah. Course I did."

"You were so..." You trail off, gaze moving along his features.

Apprehension prickles from his spine all the way up to the back of his neck. He's accustomed to being scolded for his brutality by Madelyn, or looked on with thinly veiled disgust by Maeve.

They're both long gone from his life now, yet he finds himself waiting with bated breath for your response, his throat tight under the gripping hands of the ghosts of his past.

"Amazing," you exhale, banishing his specters with the sweeping wind of your breath. "God, I've never been that scared in my life, but you reacted so fast. No one has ever protected me like you do," you say, cupping his blood spattered face in your palms, smearing it into thin pink swaths across his skin with your thumbs.

He breaks into a slow, pleased smile. "Well, you've never been with anyone like me before."

"No," you agree. He can still feel a slight tremor in your hands, your body still coming down from the adrenaline high. "And I never will."

That strokes his ego deliciously. He likes the finality in your voice, the dreamy way you're looking at him, even as the smell of blood hangs heavily in the air. He almost kisses you before he remembers he's got the blood of some random thug all over his face.

"I need a shower," he says, lips close enough that his breath teases yours.

"Me too. Guess we'll have to share," you say, feigning resignation.

He grins. "Uh oh."

In the bathroom, Homelander makes quick work of undressing, but you're faster. You're already in the large shower, steaming water pouring down from above. He steps in with you, letting the water wash over you both. The water turns pink as it carries the blood away, and then sudsy as you both soap and shampoo the mess of the day from you bodies.

Once he's rinsed, he slips in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I love you," he says at your ear, trailing kisses down to the lobe, to your neck. He loves the feel of goosebumps rising against his lips.

"I love you, too," you respond as you have a thousand times before. Maybe more. He stopped counting when he was sure you'd never stop.

"How much?" He prompts, hungry for more. Your praise and assurance after a moment of such uncertainty has only made him desperate for more. He wants to wring more pretty words of admiration from you, hear more of just how good he is to you.

He can't help but color your answer with a slip of his hand between your thighs, toying with your clit.

The touch earns a shivering sigh from you. "So much. More than I can stand sometimes," you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be scared of me after seeing what you saw... What I'm capable of," he murmurs, pillowing the reminder with deft, wet fingers. "Are you?"

You shake your head. "No, m'not, mmm... You'd never hurt me," you say, breath hitching as his fingers slip in further, fingertips stroking the lips of your pussy.

"Never," he echoes, his other hand slotting over your throat just to feel each noise you make. He pulls you back flush to his body, presses his hardening cock to the curve of your ass with his a shaky groan. "I liked it," you admit quieter, moaning when he slides his middle finger inside you. The confession stirs something primal in him, makes him growl out a rough little noise against your skin, grinding his cock into you.

"I wanted to rip his fucking guts out for touching you," he says, working another finger into you, savoring the slick, velvet feel of you around them. "For trying to take you from me." His words make your cunt quiver. He can't help himself, has to pull them from you just to taste you, sucking the nectarine sweet flavor from his fingers, rolling his tongue between them, hungry for every ounce of it.

He moans around his own fingers when you reach back and take his cock firmly in your hand, jerking him slowly. "I want you inside me," you say, your legs spreading slightly, back arching into him. "Touch me until yours is the only one I remember."

Fuck. Yes, that he can do.

You let go of his cock, and he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding himself between your wet, soft thighs. You close your legs, earning a breathy noise from him as he rocks between them, the warm, wet heat of your cunt a tease along the top of his cock.

"Take me," he murmurs fervently at your ear. "Wanna be in you, feel you, fuck you, make your pussy mine."

Shuddering against him, you reach down between your legs. Pressing your fingers to the underside of his cock, you push it up as he moves forward, the thick head of it catching on your entrance and splitting you open in one long, slow thrust.

Christ, you're so fucking tight. He can feel your muscles contracting, flexing, pulling him deeper. Your cunt feels made for him.

No one will ever take you away from him.

His right hand goes across your chest, cupping your left breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger while he braces you tighter to him. He rolls his hips slowly at first, relishing the tight, slippery pull of your cunt before he begins to pick up a proper pace.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He grits out, the slap of naked skin against skin loud in the shower. "Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels like being fucked by the fucking sun," you moan, gripping his arms, useless for anything other than taking his cock when he holds you like this. "Hot, you're so hot inside me, and I can feel... I can feel you holding back, it's like you're vibrating," you say, voice catching with every solid thrust. "It's like... it's like getting as much as I can take from something so much bigger than me."

He doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it isn't that. The idea that you can feel the true gravity of his power behind each restrained thrust drives him wild, makes him want to give you more, but he knows he can't. Not without breaking you. Sweet, frail, human thing that you are.

If he could, he would break you apart, fuck you until you fall to pieces in his hands, and then he would put every single fragment back where it belongs, but he can't. If he breaks you, he will lose you.

He needs you to survive him.

"Fuck, fuck," he rasps, holding you that slight bit tighter, lifting you nearly off your feet as he arches his back, lifting and dropping you onto every thrust of his hips. "M'gonna come," he says, voice reedy. "Come with me, let me feel you. I know you're close, can fuckin' feel it. Touch yourself for me, sweetheart."

Immediately, you drop a hand to your clit, the tips of your fingers brushing where he's pounding into you. The touch must be electric because you jolt against him. "I am, I am," you whine, rubbing yourself, the pleasure making you squirm.

"M'gonna count us down, alright? And you, mmmgh, you're gonna come with me," he says, already fighting to hold himself back. Your cunt is only getting tighter the closer to release you get, making it hard for him to stay focused.

"Five... four," he manages to say, desperately holding onto his final tethers of control. You're beyond speech now, reduced to nothing more than desperate, needy noises as you finger your clit, not even bothering to try and hold yourself up while Homelander mercilessly bounces you on his cock,

"Three... two..." His words are strained, balls drawn up tight, cock throbbing in the slick grip of your cunt. He needs to come so bad it makes his toes curl, but he won't let go until he feels you coming undone.

"One..."

One, two, three more thrusts, and you're screaming his name, knees curling up, your whole body tightening like a vice. The spasm of your orgasm rips his clean out of him, has him gasping into the crook of your neck.

He comes so hard his vision goes white, every movement halting, his focus purely on the ardent pounds of his cock emptying deep inside you, flooding you so thoroughly that the excess spill back down his shaft, his balls, mingling with the hot water and making him shiver from head to toe.

When he can, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath, easing his hold on you, though not by much. You're all but limp in his arms, panting, head lolled back against his shoulder. He lets the water run on the two of you a little while longer, savoring the aftershocks of your release before gingerly slipping out of you.

Carefully, he rubs the water between your thighs, tenderly cleaning you, kissing your neck, your shoulder.

"That was..." You trail off, words half slurred, and then you just laugh softly, the marvel clear in your voice.

He laughs, too, his own voice frayed. "Sure was."

The two of you put as much effort as it takes to get dry before making your way to bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets and rapidly warming them with your bodies, Homelander's in particular. He's always run hot, and you seem extra appreciative for it tonight, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his arms.

"I love you," you mumble sweetly.

Homelander draws the covers up over your shoulders before slipping his arm around you, drawing you into the warm, safe circle of his arms. "And I love you," he purrs, gently rolling his knuckles up and down your back.

You look peaceful, he thinks, watching as you begin to drift to sleep. He's sure it helps that he wore you out so thoroughly, but still, he'd anticipated that the shock of the evening would still have you worked up. It could be that you're still processing, that the trauma will return in nightmares that follow you into the night.

Maybe the threat of a rat simply makes less of an impact when you're cradled in the jaws of a lion.

Regardless, should you sleep fitfully or peacefully, he will be here.

No force in this would can keep him from you.

[azurecanary]

Suvi learning Inflict Wounds and Invisibility from the Shadow-Touched feat and Aabria flavouring it as Suvi learning more about witches after the Conclave and dipping into their magic “a spell that a wizard should not have, but Suvi does”

God i love this gaaaaame

[muxas-world2]

Oh …boy who is gona tell him 😭😭

[megsdoodletag]

I feel practically exploitative re: you posting all this Morty art; do you have a tip jar or anything?? Like the girlies are DEVOURING IT, I just feel rude continuously asking for more

(hey I remembered csp has proper comic options! my shit will now be Legible. yippee, etc.)

ahhh ya'll r too kind...I do have an ancient kofi somewhere but do NOT feel pressured to do anything with that, these r just fun doodles, for Fun. Trust me when I say if I did not want to do something it would Not Get Done. If I ever got a request I didn't like I would simply say 'not for me, sorry!' and there would be no hard feelings.

BUT. since you asked. top non-monetary forms of compensation are:

a) reblogs with tags/comments (I do little happy dance every time notification number goes up, double that if there's incoherent screaming involved. ya'll are doing great on that front i'm having so much fun already :3c ) b) oc/personal canon interaction. I have 200+ named ocs, fandom and original. most of the fandom ones are involved in relatively extensive plots. ask me if they know canon characters. ask me stupid shit. ask me plot questions. ask them questions. whatever. you're here from 40k so juno and her gang would be the group of interest. I have 17k words worth of stuff for her already written, they're just not posted bc they're not chronological within the overarching plot. but just in case you needed proof for how insane i Can and Will be given the chance. c) if you want me to love u forever and ever, giving me any excuse to talk about Z will do that!!! He is a non-fandom oc but he is designed for crossover stuff so he's around. Right now he's. Uh. [checks notes] terrorizing nightlords. i think.

[vague-humanoid]

A Democratic delegate from California told CNN on Wednesday that he received a call from an aide working to reelect President Joe Biden that he interpreted as an effort to “shut down any further discussion” among Democratic delegates about replacing the president. 

The delegate, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to speak candidly about the call, said he spoke with an official who identified himself as part of the “Biden-Harris delegate operations” team, and said the official called to remind him of his responsibilities as “a Biden-Harris pledged delegate.”  

“His first question was, ‘I just want to make sure, do you understand what your obligations are as a Biden-Harris pledged delegate?’” the delegate said.

The delegate, who has also served as a delegate in previous Democratic conventions, said he told the campaign official he was aware of his obligations. 

“And then he goes, ‘Okay, we just want to make sure.’ And then he said something about, ‘Can I answer any other questions you have? Do I have your right phone number?’” the delegate recalled. “It was just odd.” 

The delegate said he’d spoken to another delegate from California who received a similar call from the same campaign staffer. He said the official told him he was reaching out to all the California Democratic delegates. But he found the call “unsettling” given that he’d shared concerns about Biden’s candidacy with other delegates. 

A request for comment to the Biden campaign was referred to a spokesperson for the Democratic National Convention who told CNN that while they didn’t have any information on the specific calls referenced by the delegate, “the Democratic National Convention Committee has been engaging regularly with state parties and their delegations in a variety of ways beginning in 2023.”

CNN’s Nikki Carvajal contributed to this report.

[fiona-fififi]

Something about Buck never really allowing himself to feel and instead always running from his feelings by chasing things he thinks will fix him, but Eddie, the master of pretending he's fine, always feeling too much too deeply and too often until he breaks.

[oshaskell]

better in my mind than not at all

(tags/warnings: post 9-1-1 s08e08 Wannabes, buck pov, pining, unhealthy coping mechanisms, hurt no comfort)

-

"Yeah, actually." Buck fiddles with the ring on his finger, all his weight melting onto the bar top. "I have a husband."

Drunk, sweaty and overwhelmed, he finds himself laughing. It's not just the alcohol, but the lights and the swirling room and the masses of people moving on the dance floor behind him, behind him and the stranger next to him that tips a smile in his direction. "Nice," the guy says. It sounds distant. Buck finds himself nodding along, lifting his Appletini in a swoop that sends some of it sloshing over the rim. Oops, he goes, the stranger laughing with him, and he takes a sip and smacks his lips loudly at the sweetness. Nods at the glint in the guy—Thomas, he introduces himself—'s hand, on his ring finger.

"You guys got any kids?"

"She's pregnant, actually." Thomas lights up, in that slow, three-drinks-in way. Buck does too, clinking their glasses together. The music changes, something slower, something that makes him think of Eddie.

"Congratulations," Buck says. "I love kids."

Thomas laughs, nods, me too, and gushes about his wife and family, Buck humming in all the right places, and Thomas returns the question. The next five to ten minutes go by with a refill set down in front of them and Buck gushing about Chris, he's so cool, we're so lucky to have him, and Eddie doesn't think he's a good dad sometimes, but he is, he really is, and yeah, we've been partners for seven years. I've never been happier in my life. Thomas grins, congratulating him, and he doesn't know.

That Buck's stealing these moments, fragments from a life that will never be his.

That he's inhabiting them for the night like the broken specter he is, stuck and forever left behind.

And Thomas will remain oblivious. Buck's laugh thrums with it all, a fire fueled and flashing over at this moment, until Thomas taps out with an empty glass hitting the countertop, speaking of rejoining his brother's birthday group and waving Buck goodbye with a cheers, man, great talk, and Buck is alone again.

Not for long.

He's wearing the ring when he flirts with the hot drunk brunette that grabs his ass, winding up with against a wall with her mouth pressed to his and fingers curled into his hair, tugging hard, harder, and he's wearing the ring when he sucks off a beautiful dark-eyed man with a Prince Albert in a cramped toilet stall, moaning and taking him deeper than he should, enough that it'll leave his throat hoarse the next day, sore and fucking hurting.

The end of the night finds him in an Uber home, buzzing all over, his heart worn down, shattered, and stomped to pieces. Can't get his eyes off his hand, the stupid prop ring, the whole ride. He stumbles his way into his apartment, the gaping maw in his chest aching with loneliness.

He doesn’t deserve to leave a glass of water and Tylenol in his nightstand. He walks straight up the stairs to his room and drops on the side of his bed, tugging the ring off.

It leaves an indent on his skin, a brand at the base of his finger. The mark goes white when he presses a thumb down on it, then fades back into view.

He tugs the closest nightstand drawer open. In his pocket, a buzz. A text from Eddie.

You doing anything right now?

He doesn't wait—his hand's already tapping the call icon.

Eddie picks up within one ring, and there he is, Buck thinks, aching some more. Eight hundred miles away, Eddie—cheeks rosy and his beautiful dark eyes a little warm, a little sleepy—grants him a smile. "Hey, Buck."

"Hi," Buck says. Eddie's voice is a balm. Eddie's face, a sight for sore eyes, and Buck misses him, and misses him, and misses him, his heart thumping and thrashing against the walls of his chest, jabbing hard against the backs of his eyes and begging him to say something, Eddie, please, and Buck pushes the nightstand drawer closed with a trembling hand. The ring jostles, clinks heavily against the wood inside. "To answer your question, no," he says, arranging his face into a grin, as mild and easy as he can, and thumbs at the indent on his finger again. "Not doing anything at all."

[thesillyexpresser]

Honestly what I see when Biograft death animation

I’ve honestly just accept that I’ve made this design an oc at this point instead of gaslighting myself with terms like “”””personal design”””” like look at it. Considering just calling it angstgraft because that’s all I’ll give it idk ideas are welcome

other ver below vv

blud forgot that their lack of organisty/original identity/what makes them a machine basically doesn’t excuse them of the fleeting desire to see one more day when the time of their end arrives 🙏🙏💀💀💀

Anyways yummy colors I think

[kayuripax]

I wish the north and northwest of Germany a very "please don't drown in the floods". I am readying my own lifeboat.

[opiumvampire]

should i post a list of all the songs that were supposed to be the first dance at my wedding. would that be therapeutic. anyways iris by the goo goo dolls le velo pour deux by the brobecks midnight the stars and you by al bowlly and vampire girl by the misfits. theres one more i cant say bc its too important to me to release it from my mouth bc i want to keep it in my mouth so maybe i can still use it one day. anyways i grew in an out of these but i think they would still be fun. also total eclipse of the heart if we wanted to get sillay w it LOL

[galactic-bi-cat]

Reposting my first ever bang chan doodle i did back in 2023...

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Does my secret problem with object-head characters explain why I like Dr.Strangeglove so much

[fluffypotatey]

Tommy: thanks Newt 🥺

Newt internally: you’re fucking welcome you infuriatingly handsome fucker who will not bother to listen if i even tried to keep you from being a runner but this also means i have more a grasp on keeping your dumb suicidal ass safe enough to be ok fuck you

[pynkhues]

Hello! IF you don't mind me asking, I want to hear a little more about your bdsm fic. Particularly about Armand's role in it. Did I get it right that lestat will feel insecure feeling he doesn't give louis what he needs in bed compare to Armand? And more importantly, how wrong is he about it? Does he misunderstand Louis or Louis actually craves something more adventurous in bed than lestat can give (for now?) I know it's fine from Lestats pov so we won't get to see in Louis' head so I'm curious, will he be upfront about his feelings about it with Lestat or will he (try to?) hide something.

I hope I didn't completely misunderstand premise of this fic 😅 thank you for your work :)

Hi! You basically have the bones of it. The fic's kind of structured around Louis and Lestat finally moving in together in New Orleans, as they talked about in Ungodly Hour, and a part of that being Louis selling the Dubai apartment and clearing it out, and all the evidence arriving on their doorstep of Louis and Armand's sexual dynamic (along with Armand's reappearance in all their lives) triggering Lestat on a whole bunch of fronts.

The focus on the fic is less about Armand, and more about the fact that Lestat has a pretty broken barometer when it comes to BDSM, especially being a man coming of age in Paris wihen Marquis de Sade was laying a foundation for extreme BDSM by writing sexual depravity into French literary canon, which included the fetishisation of rape in the immediacy before Lestat himself was raped.

Spoilers for the fic, but:

The fic jumps around to different chapters of time quite a lot, and a part of that is that Lestat and Louis experiment with bondage in the pre-Claudia Rue Royale era, and Lestat gets triggered to the point that he breaks the bed. In the moment of it, Louis' young and can't really bring Lestat back to himself because he has 0 context at that point in time (and feels alienated from him as a result), and so when Lestat suggests that they explore it in the modern timeline - now that Louis does have the full context - Louis just point-blank says no. And like, yes, it's partially out of the memory of how Bad it was when they tried it a century ago, but it's also out of a sense of genuine love and protectiveness (but he doesn't articulate that because he's as crap at communicating as Lestat is really, haha).

And y'know! Louis does like BDSM, but he loves sex with Lestat, so for him, he means it when he says that he doesn't need it! But Lestat gets extremely in his own head about Louis saying that he doesn't want to do it with him, when he did it with Armand?? For Years???? Because obviously he can't admit that it would have anything to do with him having trauma, and then they argue and they do it, but Louis has the full context now, so it goes - -

Well.

A lot better than it did in Rue Royale era, haha.