#but they really did something with this particular relationship

[elodieunderglass]

Themes I’m aware of in myself:

Generations, even if not biological. Older and younger people having relationships. Mirrors and reflections found between younger and older people.

The meaning of one’s origin vs where one is going.

study, growth, circling and leaving academia. Research as part of life, but researchers shown as lost.

Children and babies interacting with the narrative even if not part of the plot. Old people exist. A sense of people in the story being individuals who are living intersecting lives.

Men in particular shown being attentive or responsive to children.

Plants or birds are often highlighted and a pause in narrative is often about plants, birds, weather. Certain birds turn up a lot, often in the same way.

A character often has gifts or powers with an obvious use, and is extraordinarily resistant to using them for that.

Narrators who are actively bad at narrating.

People call out the narrator at regular intervals (but the narrator doesn’t get much better.)

A character is often conflicted between what their physical form represents to other people, and their own personal identity.

Lots of things are really about being brave and bisexual.

What do we owe to our origins

How do we get up

Characters often casually drop a political statement of the author’s:

Humans will humanise anything - except humans you don’t like.

Potential is a poisonous word. It’s plagued me for all of my life. It’s like an outline of a man, drawn around me, that’s bigger than me, but isn’t me; something I’ll always fall short of.

A book about food is naturally a book about everything.

You did name a day. You said “someday.” Someday’s still out there.

Where are you in all of that? / Safely distributed.

think that everyone has their own personal theme in life

[ladsrlife2]

Sugar Daddy! Sylus

Sylus x Reader

You thought Sylus was just your mysterious, well-dressed sugar daddy. Then you landed an internship - only to discover he’s the CEO.

tags: 18+ nsfw/smut, sugar daddy sylus, bratty mc

Part 2 💗

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“You think you have a chance with me?”

You can’t help the disgust that floats to your face as you stare down the plain, absolutely mid male specimen standing across from you, face reddening with anger, embarrassment or both - you don’t really care. The audacity to ask for your number. Who does he think he is?

“I- Who do you think you are?”

He stutters in disbelief.

You scoff at his stupid question.

“Someone out of your league. That’s who I am.”

You ignore the growing crowd of passersby, too busy eavesdropping to move along.

You cross your arms, weight on one leg, as your pink, shiny miu miu purse hangs from your wrist.

“That doesn’t mean you can be an asshole?”

He fixes his black backpack, which, is as bland and boring as his looks.

“Actually. It does. Why should I be nice to someone who insults me?”

You rake your shiny nails through your long hair.

“I just asked for your number!”

He exclaims, both hands out in disbelief. ”Exactly.”

You say, flatly. Looking at him straight in the eyes.

He must’ve realized you’re a class A bitch that can’t be reasoned with. Though he looks infuriated, he shakes his head and starts walking off.

“You need a therapist.”

He says, turning his head back one last time.

“And you need a reality check!”

You shout, smug smile on your face as you watch him scurry off in embarrassment.

Head high, you continue down the campus road to your destination.

You ignore people - guys, as usual - staring your way as you beeline for the sleek black Maserati parked by the road.

You open the passenger door and climb in.

“Someone looks happy today.”

A familiar velvety voice greets you from the driver’s seat.

You ignore his gaze on you as you fasten your seatbelt and settle your bag in the car.

“Rather, it’s the opposite.” You open the glove box and roam for your sunglasses. “Some ugly guy just asked for my number.”

You look to Sylus as you wear them.

His easy-going crimson eyes are upturned into an amused smile.

“Why do guys do that?”

“Why do guys do what. Ask for a beautiful girl’s number?” He asks, patiently.

“Ask for someone way out of their league.” You huff.

“A guy can shoot his shot.” Sylus shrugs and answers.

“Well, it’s insulting. Is what it is.” You sink down in your seat as Sylus chuckles and adjusts the gear. The car starts smoothly coursing through and out of the campus.

“So did you give him a lesson, kitten?” He asks you, eyes fixed on the road. “Is that why you look so happy today?”

“What do you mean by that?” You shoot him a sharp look, to which he smirks. “Not as much as I would’ve liked. The more I think about it. The more it infuriates me.”

“Well then,” Sylus says, voice low and easy, “I guess our kitten should buy something extra special today.”

“Oh daddy.” You hide a laugh behind your hand as you stroke his firm, thick biceps, fitted around his crimson shirt, as they flex under your touch. “You spoil me!”

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Sylus was a peculiar man. You’d had your fair share of sugar daddys, but none quite like Sylus.

In his early-40s, he was as handsome as they come - well defined, manly features honed into a strikingly, almost obsessive clean cut appearance, alongside his toned, muscular body.

The air he carried himself with asserted dominance without him even trying. There was a particular easy-going nature about him that could only be found in predators at the very top of the food chain.

So when he had suggested the particular relationship, it was like you’d hit the jackpot.

He’d spoil you with the most expensive things - from jewelry to bags, a vacation in Europe with private jets and five star hotel exclusive suites. And you’d also get to enjoy his handsome, funny, gentle, and dashing company!

But for some reason, even after months of meeting, he wouldn’t cross the line like so many others try to do eventually. He wouldn’t ask anything personal, like your family life or your closest friends. He wouldn’t get jealous, or possessive. He wouldn’t be needy about texting.

But most of all, he wouldn’t ask you to do any sexual favors.

Most he would do was place a hand around your waist as you walked or sat beside him, or pull you in for an embrace or a chaste peck on your forehead.

For some reason his gentlemanly stature made you crazy adamant on seducing him. Coerce him, push him over the edge, until he breaks the facade and makes the first move. Begs you to let him touch you.

You wouldn’t do any thing overly suggestive. That would make you the loser.

You’d linger your touches just a slight. Accidentally press your chest into him as you walked through a busy street. Touch his thigh as you laughed at something funny he said. Whisper in his ear when you didn’t really need to. Meet his gaze. Really, meet his gaze, with a suggestiveness hard to ignore.

It wasn’t long until he unraveled.

Now, after a few years into the sugardaddy-baby relationship, sex had become something he’d demanded exclusivity. Of course, with extra benefits alongside the extra condition.

Most times, like today, he’d pick you up and go for a date - some shopping, dining, and then to a hotel or his place. Sometimes, he’d call you impromptu. And you were to drop anything you were doing and visit wherever he was to have sex with him. Sometimes it would be in a car, parked remotely. Or in a fancy hotel where he was in the middle of a meeting of some sort, with some fancy business men, in a meeting hall. Or in the restroom of a fancy restaurant, for some reasons unknown.

But despite all this, he would never tell you where he worked, or what he did for a living. It made you almost certain he was a drug dealer. Or a mafia boss. of some sort.

“Ah, fuck- yes. Daddy, fuck me right there-”

Your scream echoes through the expansive hotel suite as Sylus pounds you from behind. The sound of skin slapping skin, alongside the lewd sound of squelching - from a mixture of your own juices to his cum - play in the background.

“You like that, kitten?” His fingers thread through your hair as he grips it and pulls your head back to face him. You nod, tears in your eyes from the ecstatic pleasure. Through the tears you meet his eyes, dark and focused, almost angry from pleasure and need.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ah- if you clench like that,” A slap comes down on your ass. You moan and bury your head in the sheets. It elicits a groan from him. “-daddy’s going to have to cum again.” His deep, ragged voice scolds you, as he thrusts deeper.

Every thrust starts sending a jolt up your spine. Your body starts to tremble. Your moans muffle in the sheets.

“Raise your hips.” He orders, as your posture begins to falter. You try, but your limbs feel like jello.

He places his large two hands on your hips and sharply brings it up - just in time with a deep, controlled thrust, down to the very base of his length, his pubic bone burying itself in your ass - his glans hits your g-spot so hard, you end up screaming his name while squirting all over his cock.

“Sylus- wait- I’m still cumming-!”

You urgently exclaim as he doesn’t give you a moment to calm down. He grips your hips as you jerk and attempt to run away from the pleasure, and pounds into it relentlessly, ignoring your complaints.

“Ah, kitten, feeling, good?” He growls between each thrust. You shake your head in plea to stop the overwhelming pleasure washing over you. Another slap comes down on your ass. “Don’t lie, to daddy, you’re still squirting, so much. Ah, fuck, I told you I’m gonna cum if you clench like that-”

His groans get deeper and messier, as his thrusts that pound down relentlessly fast. The bedframe rattles as your body slams into the mattress with each fast thrust. You don’t even have it in you to moan anymore. Your mouth is agape while your body jerks and trembles while he pounds into you, until one strong thrust, where Sylus groans, deep and dirty, and you feel his cum shooting inside and coating your walls, thick and hot.

“You’re still shaking.” You hear him say from behind you, breathless, as he pulls out his length from you. You twitch again as you feel him pushing the leaking cum back in you with the tip of his length.

“I think you get more sensitive each time we do it.” He says as he turns you over to inspect you.

Dazed, you meet his languid, gentle eyes.

“Maybe my insides are slowly molding to yours.” You manage to say, swallowing hard to calm yourself down.

He leans in to press a tender kiss.

“Don’t say things like that, kitten.” He warns, after pulling back.

“Why not?” You ask him as he lies down beside you and pulls you in for an embrace.

“It’ll make me greedier.” His lips curl into a smirk.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, for starters. You have a bright future ahead of you.” He states, matter of fact.

You don’t fully understand what he says.

“Not really. Oh- right! I forgot to tell you.” You meet his inquisitive gaze as you excitedly chatter. “I got a marketing internship this summer!”

“Really? Well congratulations!” He pats your head affectionately. “At what company?”

“Onychinus!” You notice his eyes flicker. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of it. It’s a really big international trading company - apparently mostly for minerals and ores!”

“Oh really? That’s great news.” He chuckles. “When do you start?”

“June first.”

“In two weeks, huh.” His eyes have an amused light in them. “Do they pay you well?”

“As much as a grain of sand compared to you. But what can I do. That’s life, I guess.”

Sylus chuckles like he’s heard the funniest joke all week. “Right, right. If they paid all their interns as much as I do to you, I think they would have a hard time.”

“So what do you do that makes you able to spend so much money on me, huh? boss-man?” You narrow your eyes and attempt to pry his life again. Your attempt at a threatening face seems to have no effect on him.

“Oh kitten, don’t worry.” He says, amused smile playing at his lips, while he gently cups your face, his thumb stroking your jaw tenderly. “You’ll find out when the time comes.”

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

On the first day of your internship, you head to the fifth floor of Onychinus head quarters - where your international digital marketing team office is located.

You’re surprised to find out that a lot of the employees at Onychinus are greatly loyal to the company. Everyone welcomes you to the family, and, though it’s only been a couple of hours, you find yourself getting swept up by the company pride everyone feels.

It doesn’t take you long to figure out the reason behind the loyalty though - apparently the CEO is hot. Like, panty dropping hot. Apparently it’s your lucky day if you get to see him walk the first floor lobby to work, where he will then take his exclusive elevator to the top most floor, to the CEO’s office.

So you’re not surprised when a collective gasp erupts from your team mates as you were lounging by the lobby cafe, drink in hand.

“Y/n! That’s the CEO! Look!” An excited co-worker taps you and whispers in your ear.

You turn to look.

You meet eyes with familiar, crimson ones, looking directly at you.

Your jaw drops at the sight of Sylus, your sugar daddy, walking through the lobby with a dozen escorts behind him.

The way the path paves itself, how everyone gawks, how he carries himself, how he commands, there’s no mistake that he’s the CEO everyone’s been talking about.

He smirks knowingly and shares a glance with you, before turning away and heading to the elevators. To his exclusive elevator everyone talks about.

“Geez Y/n, did you fall in love at first sight?” A co-worker laughs and points out, just as the lobby begins buzzing after Sylus leaves.

You press your lips shut after realizing they’d been parted this whole time. Your face flushes from embarrassment.

“He is dashing” Another says, eyes glazed over as if stuck in a daydream.

“I heard he’s not married. Who do you think a guy like him meets?”

“Probably a super model. Or an A class actor.”

You quietly listen in on the gossip for the rest of lunch.

When you return back to your office seat, you wonder if you should send him a text about it.

Something along the lines of, why didn’t you tell me earlier? like, years ago? I thought you were a drug dealer!

You’re bordering on exasperation and anger he didn’t tell you sooner, and curiosity and relief that you finally found out, when an employee quietly approaches your desk.

He’s dressed in a fancy suit, like the ones that were escorting Sylus down at the lobby earlier.

You look at him inquisitively before he leans in and whispers in your ear.

“The CEO would like to see you now. Privately.”

You nod and follow him through the building halls. A small smirk plays on your lips as you rummage through a million scenarios to find the one that will successfully corner Sylus and make him admit his fault for not telling you sooner.

And, just like always, you will get your way.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

Posting this again on my new blog :(

[anotherhomelanderblog]

Ichor

Summary: Homelander returns to you bleeding after his confrontation with Soldier Boy goes awry. Seeing your lover injured is a new and disconcerting experience for you - and, unfortunately, sometimes panic makes your tongue stupid. Content: Homelander x Reader | established relationship | angst | hurt/comfort | set near end of S3 | mild injury | blood Word count: 2.7k Author's note: Hello again, lovely people! This is just a standalone fic since I wanted to post something and I figured this would be one of my shorter ideas. However, it has still turned into a psychological minefield for me to navigate - and now, my own sanity in tatters, I cut it loose! I just thought Homie could do with some reassurance after Soldier Boy rejects him near the end of S3. This fic is also a birthday present for @themeraldee, who is so sweet and kind and has the absolutely galaxy brained ideas planned for this awful man! I hope you have the best day! ❤️

ao3

You’re not thinking when you say it.

You’re running on adrenaline, trying to be the grown up, hold the fort together. He’s bleeding, for Christ’s sake. You’ve never seen him bleed before. He hasn’t even specified why out loud to you. What on earth are you meant to be thinking?

He’s barely said a word since thundering back into the penthouse, where you were anxiously waiting, with a bleeding Ryan and a team of even more anxious medics in tow. His gloved hands haven’t stopped twitching at his sides for at least ten minutes, something the medics clustered around Ryan on the sofa seem all too conscious of.

You want to ask Homelander what happened, who did this to him, to both of them, but there’s a silence in the air that’s got your nerves on edge. Homelander’s eyes are irritated when they flit recurrently around the room. There’s a light flickering above that you can tell is bothering him.

He’s probably right – of course he is – when he mutters to no one in particular that Ryan doesn’t need checking over. Ryan is like him. But then, that gash on Ryan’s forehead would concern any father, wouldn’t it? And you can’t see who else but Homelander dragged the medics up here while the rest of the tower is under evacuation orders.

And it’s not as though he’s stopped you from dabbing his left ear with a cloth. It’s not as though he is invulnerable to injury either, apparently.

Blood. Homelander’s blood. You can smell it, or maybe that’s just panic. A droplet of it is smeared across the meat of your hand. You don’t know whether this makes you feel sick or honoured.

The Homelander is bleeding. He bleeds.

And all you can do is fucking dab, dab, dab at the evidence.

You’re furious with yourself for taking his invulnerability for granted in the past. He bleeds. How can such a thing surprise you? You're really not thinking straight. You get about half a second’s worth of internal warning that you’re about to say something stupid when a strange little laugh bubbles up from somewhere panicked in your chest. But it’s too late.

“So it is blood and not ichor running through your veins then,” you blurt out.

You can’t take your eyes off the redness leeching from his ear.

At once, Homelander’s restless gaze snaps to you. He looks unimpressed – you have made a bad joke – and an apology is already forming in that same panicked place inside you. You can’t imagine what your own face is currently doing.

But then, lo and behold, his expression falters. His brows pull together, and he tilt his head slightly.

“Why��� Why would you say that?” he asks.

He sounds wounded in a way that makes your heart knock with guilt. You freeze and withdraw the cloth from his ear. His ego is worryingly fragile for a man of his abilities, yes, but tonight of all nights you shouldn’t be tripping over the cracks.

“I–”

“Just forget it,” he interrupts you.

He curses under his breath and turns towards the invitingly lit wall of mirrors lurking to the side of you both, his eyes glistening. Oh no. You know the signs of what – and who – may be bargaining for a visit if he’s eying those up. Fortunately, Ryan seems too distracted in conversation with the medics to notice the change in his father’s demeanour.

You pivot after Homelander, grabbing his padded arm. He doesn’t stop you. You feel him trembling. A muscle in his jaw spasms in warning. He’s clearly caught between storming off and drawing Ryan’s attention or staying put for more public humiliation.

“I’m sorry,” you say. You sound more grounded this time.

He doesn’t move. If you were anyone else, it’d be imperative you run a mile right about now. But you both know you’re in far too deep for that.

Instead, you walk directly into the blast zone: stepping in front of him, you take his face in your hands. His eyes are downcast, purposely avoiding yours. He scrunches them shut as you start to stroke his cheeks.

“Hey. I am sorry,” you say in a softer tone. “Sometimes I say stupid stuff when I’m shocked, but I really didn’t mean anything. Will you please tell me what happened tonight? Hm?”

On the one hand, he’s fine: his hearing doesn’t seem to have been affected by what must be a ruptured ear drum. You know he has unimaginable experience in dealing with pain, but you don’t think he’s masking anything here. No, what’s bothering him is more mental than physical.

Isn’t it always?

His eyes open again as a rogue tear finally spills down his left cheek. For the sake of his pride, you ignore it. His gaze becomes distant, honed on one of the mirrors; it’s from behind that protective glass he’s recounting events. He gestures vaguely to his ear.

“This was Maeve. She got my nose as well.” He shrugs nonchalantly. Then he sniffs despite himself. “She’s dead now. Soldier Boy too.”

You’d figured he was gone when that terrifying explosion destroyed half the tower. The fact Homelander could fly you to safety at a moment’s notice, should the whole structure collapse, is one of the only things keeping you brave enough to stay up here.

But Maeve…

You’ll have to decide how you feel about that later.

Homelander closes his eyes once more and finally lets himself lean into your touch, as needy for your affection as the first time you offered it.

“Did you get to talk to him?” you ask, brushing your thumbs along his jaw.

That was supposed to be his play for the meeting: try to get Soldier Boy to switch sides now they knew their familial connection. Who were Butcher and his ragtag band of criminals in comparison to Compound V and blood? It was a wishful scheme borne from the desperate, impulsive part of your lover that increasingly gets the best of him, but you wouldn’t have dared suggest an alternative. He’d gotten that look in his eye.

And then Noir ended up dead.

Right here, however, in the cold light of reality, something in Homelander’s face crumples for a second time. You’re getting close to the raw core of this. The bleeding you’ve witnessed very literally pales in comparison. He’s avoiding your gaze again.

“Yes,” he says, and his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “But…”

You don’t like the emphasis he puts on that word.

Your mind runs through every possible nightmare scenario until you find your arms are enveloping him of their own accord. You bury your face against his chest and inhale deeply. A soft, surprised noise breezes over your head, then you feel one of his hands reach up to gently stroke through your hair.

You pretend you don’t also feel the vice-like grip of his other hand as it snakes around the base of your neck, keeping you wedged to the Vought-branded padding of his suit. His. It really is far too late for running, but this element of him you can handle.

As long as he’s standing. As long as he’s alive. You don’t try to resist him; you press a kiss to his chest.

What happened at that confrontation? It’s times like these you wish you had powers too, so you could stand alongside him when the crunch comes. You knew something was going to go wrong in there…

“You deserved better,” you whisper.

You’re not expecting this comment to make him flinch like you’ve burnt him, but it does. His hand stills in your hair for an instant before he’s petting you like nothing stopped him. If you listen carefully enough, you’re sure you’ll be able to hear the muscles behind his face filtering through several conflicting expressions.

“What?” he eventually asks, bewildered in that unworldly manner of his that surfaces when the world gets too genuine. You know he can’t help it; most of the time, it only endears him to you more.

“You deserved better than to find out you had a father and then lose him like that,” you clarify.

Truth be told, you’re not particularly saddened by the demise of Soldier Boy. Finding out he was Homelander’s biological father might’ve been enough to turn Homelander’s world on its head – how could it not? – but, to you, he remained the scarily powerful supe trying to depower and murder your lover. Forgive you if you’re not his biggest fan. With his death, at least he can’t pose that threat anymore.

“Yeah, well…” Homelander’s voice sounds choked all of a sudden. Because he feels touched by your words or is freshly grieved about his father, you're not sure. He sighs and clears his throat. “Let’s just say, he didn’t see it that way.”

Now you frown.

“What did he say to you?” You let go of him and try to pull back to properly gauge what he’s getting at, but that’s the wrong response. He doesn’t let you. You hope Ryan is still distracted enough not to notice any of this. “Homelander, I swear to God, if he’s been filling your head with bullshit–”

“I’m a fucking disappointment, apparently. Imagine that.”

He snarls the words into your ear, and his fist tightens in your hair as he does. The whiplash of his vitriol would make you flinch in return, if you didn’t already feel his hold on you finally loosening – though you’re still not free.

Clinically controlled, he tilts your head back like you’re a precious china doll for him to position, and one of his thumbs strokes your jaw as yours did his earlier. But there’s none of that anger in his voice marring his face. Instead, he stares into your eyes – scrutinising you, yes, but – with a wariness that should be unbalancing.

“Well? Am I a disappointment to you too?” he asks.

He’s trying to project bitterness. You sense the undercurrent of him pleading for your assurance mixed in too, never able to just ask outright without lashing you too, so you know better than to think this means you have the upper hand here. After all, this isn’t a fair question for the strongest man in the world to ask a person whose life he could crush between the fingers of one hand. But that isn’t his fault, you tell yourself, and you meet his desperation with an intensity you can only have learnt from him.

“No, you're not,” you say firmly. “And I know you much better than Soldier Boy did.”

It takes a lot for you to hold off sneering his father’s name. Still, if anything, this measured response seems to upset him further – you’re not giving him opportunity to escalate. How unfair.

With a curt sigh, he slides the arm not gripping your jaw downwards to take the bloodstained cloth from you. It’s been clenched in your grip, but you relinquish it without fuss to watch in confusion as Homelander draws it up to his face to wipe something from his right cheek.

Foundation? Concealer?

Your brow creases, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes bore into yours as he drags the cloth over his skin. His movements are rigid, like you’re forcing him to do this. Is this a test of some sort? Gradually, the makeup smears with the blood already laced into the cloth’s damp fabric, revealing the not-quite invulnerable skin underneath is… inflamed.

You blink.

Homelander has a bruise below his right eye socket spreading the length of his cheekbone – and, from the state of the discolouration, you’d wager it’s not a fresh one. Your mind starts to fly once again with questions, when the culprit hits you.

Herogasm. That fucking ambush.

“Fuck,” you whisper, staring transfixed at the unwanted souvenir.

You don't want to imagine how hard someone would’ve had to hit him to leave a bruise like this. You reach up to caress the injured cheek, but he turns his head away. Your heart clenches.

“Oh, sweetheart–”

“Don’t be embarrassed? Right.” He scoffs, forcing the fake nonchalance back, then releases his hold on you entirely. His eyes close, and when he reopens them, they’re glassy and irritable like earlier. “I mean, you signed up to date a god, didn’t you? Don’t you wish my veins were filled with ichor? You can be honest.”

You bristle. “Of course not. I told you. I didn’t mean–”

“Because I fucking do.”

There’s an accusation in his gaze – and, if you’re not mistaken, a millisecond’s flash of red. Fortunately for him, you spy the pitiful and humiliated creature lurking underneath it, and it gives you pause.

“Blood is more than good enough for me. Especially the blood that runs through your veins,” you tell him, stepping closer as if to prove it. You jab his chest. “You’re not the disappointment in this situation, understand? Soldier Boy is. Stop expecting me to reject you too.”

He blinks several times in quick succession, but, this time, when you tentatively reach out, he lets you trace over his cheek with the pads of your fingers. He hums, which you take to be a nonverbal sign of his approval. He’s actually barely resisting the urge to nuzzle against your touch.

Relief floods your system.

Chuckling, you lean in and kiss the part of the bruise that appears the least tender for good measure. Despite the fact you don't have the strength to make it any worse, that isn’t the point.

“You have a family who loves you, Homelander. We’re not going anywhere,” you whisper. “I chose you. I’ll choose you every day. You’d better believe me.”

A huff leaves his lips as you start peppering little kisses across his face. His hands slip comfortably around your waist, and he offers you a soft look. You offer him a smile in return. His lips meet yours like nothing is wrong in the world.

And, for one blissful second, nothing is.

“Uh, dad?” Ryan calls over.

You jerk back in surprise, your face warming. It doesn’t take an emotional genius to hear the awkwardness in Ryan’s voice. There’s a brief glimmer of amusement in Homelander’s eyes at your reaction before he’s plastering on his most reassuring, fatherly smile.

“Yeah, buddy? Everything alright?” he calls back.

With a needlessly dramatic swoosh of his cape, he strides over to his son, dismissing the medics with a warning flick of his wrist. None of them need telling twice.

Crisis averted. You hope.

The source of your anxiety finally settled, you take to inspecting your hands in an effort not to eavesdrop on father and son. The small streak of Homelander’s blood that had so bothered you earlier catches your attention. You find yourself more at peace with it now. What was previously crimson liquid is turning a dry brown in the fine lines of your skin, nestled into you as snugly as you know he’d like to be in his ideal world.

You observe this tangible proof of his humanity that connects you both on a level you’ve not had access to before. The sight of it fills you with a strange compulsion, one you’d normally consider morbid. You raise your hand to your lips, casting a quick glance across the room to make sure you’re not being watched, and lick at the blood.

…What exactly were you expecting?

The taste is faintly metallic, same as your own. Ordinary. Authentically human. Nothing artificial, to your palate. Nothing divine either.

You glance back over at Homelander. He’s reverted to form – hands clasped behind his back; superhero assurances that he won’t ever let anyone hurt Ryan like this again, he will not let them; that William Butcher doesn’t deserve Ryan, that Ryan deserves better, is better, innately better, than everyone who caused him this pain; that Homelander isn’t going anywhere; that they’ve got this, they’ll be fine.

Your lover may now know he isn’t as synthetic as he was led to believe, and he may know you love him, but you’re not so sure he’ll ever accept that he isn’t of the divine.

Homelander bleeds blood and not ichor, and you wouldn’t have him any other way.

[nickrocketrodriguez]

For a few nested questions (sorry, just super curious about it all). For Season 3, did it take a long time to sort out who would be part of "Team Malta" heading off to find Brooklynn? Was it always going to be a relatively even split? Did these decisions force any rewrites/changes for earlier seasons, e.g. Season 1? For example, I was shocked when Sammy wasn't on Brooklynn's side and based on "Camp Cretaceous" thought Yaz would be the one to be upset with Brooklynn. Looking back at "Chaos Theory" Season 1, though, each Camp Fam's Malta decisions seems very closely tied to: (1) whether they were shown having problems with their biological family (2) whether their flashback with Brooklynn showed her as "Brooklynn the friend" versus "Brooklynn the journalist", e.g. Kenji and Sammy both remember her working. Heidi (Neunhoffer) mentioned some of the Brooklynn flashbacks for Season 1 were changed or cut, so it just made me wonder if some of those flashback adjustments were made with the Malta split in mind. For a final question, what was the discussion involving the friendship development between Yaz and Brooklynn? It seems they've become a lot closer between shows. It's hard for me to imagine "Camp Cretaceous" Yaz ever choosing Brooklynn over Sammy, yet it seems to make a lot of sense for "Chaos Theory" Yaz to do so.

Woof. A hefty one. And from discussions over two years, so not sure these will be great answers. Let’s see…

1. The split between the group for Malta happened very organically, I felt. We discussed who would feel what for a very long time. If I remember correctly, the idea of the team splitting up didn’t come up until we were actually starting discussions for S3 in earnest. We knew we wanted to connect to Dominion from the beginning, so the group was always going to Malta, but the shape of that and what it meant for the characters on a personal level evolved over time. By the time we got to it, we were building upon what we already saw, so as far as I remember, nothing that happened in S3 necessitated any earlier rewrites.

(I believe was Heidi was referring to was maybe more things that got cut for time/vibes as opposed to things that were cut because of S3. The pipeline of how these things went would likely not have allowed for such adjustments. I could be getting mixed up, though.)

As far as the shocking decision and headspace for Sammy in particular, that was something we all got very passionate about once we got in the thick of Brooklynn’s lies and how they affected everyone. Sammy always being the one who kept the Camp Fam in touch and who always saw the bright side of things would have been a very easy choice for being Pro Brooklynn. But with everything she had been feeling and experiencing up to that point, that didn’t feel real for her. It would have kept in line with her sorta past self, but for where she was in S3, we really wanted to honor how all of Sammy’s issues would realistically make someone like her feel. Plus, it had the added bonus of being a bit of a twist to what you, the audience, might expect. With all that in mind, we had to do what we did.

I like how you lay out that Kenji and Sammy both saw Brooklynn a certain way and were dealing with similar issues. That was definitely part of the discussion and how they wound up being Team Let’s Go Home.

2. This is a bit harder to answer. It just felt right, especially with how much time has passed and how much the Camp Fam did still put into maintaining their friendship, even if it ultimately didn’t irl quite as well as they’d hoped. I think part of it, too (at least for me), was that in JWCC, so much of Yaz and Sammy was about building up to Yasammy, whether purposely or not. So when it came to JWCT, as much as we wanted to have that relationship be really core to the show and those characters, we didn’t wanna just repeat all of that stuff. We wanted to see remixes on the other relationships, too, and we found that Yaz and Brooklynn friendship to be particularly ripe for exploration. They’ve all grown up and grown closer and further and everything in between, so it just felt like another natural evolution to things.

[szilverer]

BREAKING NM NEWS!!

a while ago i saw this pin and produced the sketch. now coloured this anime shipbait poster ass thing to commemorate my ghostie's getting their first ever nat20 on their edcard rolls.

Big Things were always set to happen the first time either rolled a nat 1 or nat 20, so... this means they're Aware of their Feelies now. still laughing my fucking ass off at these circumstances however RNG continues to be one of the biggest nm fans.

so, context that led to this latest groundbreaking development in TL;DR format:

rei gets invited to a wedding. edward finds out

they argue abt their weird fucking marriage

he's forbidden from attending, as expected, but it still pisses him off incredibly. he stays home nicely though drinking wine til he passes out instead

rei attends but is haunted by the conses of their own quences regarding matters of love and couples

they end up dreaming of the orphanage the very next day again and finally puts 2+2 together about Some Things

well .

more context!! context for the context god!!:

two days prior. we receive an invitation to a extravagant wedding. the literal next card draw was poor fucking edward i kid you not. he knew.

these two argued badly (read: in a non-fun way) like they hadn't in quite a while. it's less about the event itself and more what it represents. this particular kind of thing – romantic partnership that isn't there despite both still clinging to the "marriage" word – really triggers edward. and when he gets tilted he gets really antsy & full of violent thoughts about wanting to ruin things for his terrible horrible spouse somehow.

here's the thing: reisz has always been putting quite the work in making sure he still Is. which means that although

the guy in question can technically manage to sneak out when they're not looking just fine. He doesn't because he feels compelled to stay in the Orphanage, and the sheer reality of the Is after so long in the mirror makes him feel nauseous and smothered to almost an incapacitating degree. But he can.

i rolled again to decide the outcome. first was how much he was okay with complying. he got a whopping 2. (if it was a nat 1 I'd have to bite the bullet and say he actually went to commit a faux pas of some sort and this would set their relationship back really hard LOL.) then whether he actually complied. got a 18. he was a good boy despite it all

rei goes to the wedding and does have a great time But. it's a marriage. there's couples everywhere in the afterparty. there's love mentioned all the time. they didn't feel like courting anyone bc they kept uncomfortably being reminded of the fucking guy on their basement. also known as their husband lmfao

it's not that they wanted him there, or anyone to know; but the concept of bringing someone along to go to an event, the fantasy of having an actual partner they could lock arms with and take a walk around town; all these silly things they loved doing & that they gave up on when they removed themself from the dating pool and chose to keep him...

it was a little lonely.

the next day, on rei's 16th (or 17th) edcard draw (fuck i lost count), their subconscious yeets them on the Orphanage again and. 20. the day finally arrived. the Realization comes like a trout jumping out of the water straight to their face:

- they really miss doing actual couple things

- they ? are okay with the idea of doing these with him ?¿

- they DID wish they could have him there .

- they DO feel kinda ??something about the things he said in the argument

- whenever they think too much about love or romance or company they end up drawing an edcard dreaming about their husband. this was a pattern.

maybe they actually like him?

huh.

ok.

what do they do now?

(and the answer so far has been: literally nothing . this got them so destabilized they started working on the railway board again. cheers!)

anywho og pics below :3c

[chaosherald]

Word With Friends

(Started by @hedwigoprah, hosted by @notyourmamasdeerbat. Thank you @jukkaricity for the tag! No pressure tags for @davrinsleftpectoral @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @dags-over-caravans @kabsey)

The word this week is "Balter" -to dance or tread clumsily, without particular grace or skill.

(You guys. You guys. I have things I'm supposed to be doing. Work for a summer class. Packing for vacation. The next part of the serial for tomorrow. But noooo - Lucanis and Rook and pre-relationship 'what are feelings?' nonsense demanded 2k words so here we are 😂 Some of my favorite lines/moments I've written in while though so, can't be too mad.

Lucanis is exhausted. Spite is a music lover. Feelings are felt but damned if the parties involved can make any sense of them.)

Lucanis jerked awake, fighting through the weighty haze of fatigue and clinging to the startled panicked potential of losing control to stay that way. The candles didn’t look any different. Spite - at least, the projection of the demon he was currently seeing - was by the warded pantry door, ear pressed against the wood and seemingly ignoring his missed chance to take over. Music, a lute or something similar, sounded from the dining hall, faltering and restarting and faltering again before being replaced by the murmur of voices.

The demon turned to glare at Lucanis. “Why does the sound break? Fix it.”

Pulling himself to his feet, Lucanis didn’t answer the thing in his head. He did however move towards the door. Whatever had Spite’s interest was outside their room, but so was the coffee and with the way he was feeling right now, he desperately needed more coffee.

Opening the door, Spite metaphorically right on his heels, Lucanis took stock of the space. Rook was perched on the table, an elven lute resting in her lap. Davrin was leaning over the narrow top of the instrument, several of his woodworking tools spread out on the table. He appeared to be attempting some kind of repair. Bellara leaned over Davrin’s shoulder, holding a mage light in her hand, presumably to illuminate whatever Davrin was working on. Harding sat in one of the chairs nearby, fletching supplies currently being ignored in favor of also watching whatever was happening with the others.

“I’m going to be sad if this doesn’t work, Rook,” Harding was saying. “You made us drag that thing all around Thedas and it managed to stay in one piece. For it to die now…”

“It’s mostly fine,” Rook answered, though Lucanis could hear the tension in her voice as he grabbed his coffee beans from the shelf. She didn’t really mean what she was saying. “It's just the one tuning peg. If Davrin can keep it from slipping…”

“It’ll be a temporary fix, Rook. If it works,” Davrin said.

“Oh, it will work, I’m mostly sure about that,” Bellara said. “But yeah, probably not going to hold forever.”

Spite mentally prodded Lucanis. “Rook made the sound. Tell her to make it again.”

Trying to focus on weighing out his beans, Lucanis shook his head slightly. 

Rook glanced over her shoulder, smiling when she caught his eye. She tried not to make it obvious that she was scanning the area around him. She couldn’t see or hear Spite, but she could sense him.

Spite knew that too. He walked through the table until he was practically nose to nose with Rook. “Tell. Her.”

Rook closed her eyes, tilting her head down, probably still trying to make sense of whatever she sensed from Spite. “I hope we weren’t being too noisy out here.”

It took Lucanis a moment to realize she was talking to him. “No, it's fine.”

“Spite is right here, isn’t he? Does he want something?”

Lucanis sighed, pointedly not looking at the demon's smug expression painted on the copy of his face. “He is curious about the music.”

“Well,” Davrin said, stepping back and eyeing Rook’s instrument. “He might be in luck.”

Harding gasped. “You fixed it?”

Bellara grinned. “We did! Hopefully. Rook, play something! We need to test it!”

Rook was fiddling with the small circular pieces of wood sticking out of the narrow top, checking the sound each string made. She seemed pleased by whatever Davrin and Bellara had done. “Any requests? Though remember I’m kind of awful at this.”

Davrin chuckled. “Right. One of the few things you brought with you when you left Nevarra and you’re ‘kind of awful?’” Davrin glanced at Bellara, then looked back at Rook. “Know any Dalish songs?”

“No,” Rook deadpanned. “The vallaslin came with the ears.” She started playing. 

The tune was upbeat, catchy. There was something different about the melody, something about how the pitches were ordered that set it apart from the music he had grown up with, but the sense of movement and dance came through clearly. Lucanis found himself nodding to the beat as he finished brewing his coffee. Spite was entranced, circling around Rook and staring at her fingers as they moved on the strings.

Bellara was dancing. Formulaic and graceful, clearly something she had some practice with. She tried to get Davrin to join her, but he shook his head and backed away, putting a chair between him and her. 

Undeterred, Bellara laughed and pulled Harding to her feet. The Scout was enthusiastic, but not skilled, baltering around as she tried to copy Bellara’s steps.

Lucanis sipped his coffee, leaning against the counter and stifling a yawn. At least the demon was occupied. And while Rook clearly wasn’t a professional musician, she wasn’t bad. The music was nice, the company not unwelcome, and if he made another cup or several maybe he would make it through the night without risking Spite taking over.

The song ended and Harding requested a Ferelden tavern song. She sang loudly while Rook played, Bellara joining her on the refrain.

Lucanis let his eyes close, focusing on the warmth and smell of his drink. Maker, he was tired. 

The tavern song ended. Lucanis half listened as Davrin asked Harding about the song. Something about the innuendo in the verses.

He could hear Rook plucking quietly at the strings, but in a listless, indistinct manner. He could also sense Spite starting to get agitated. Gripping his cup a little tighter, Lucanis opened his eyes and saw the demon glaring at him. He considered asking Rook to keep playing. Mortifying as it would be to impose, it would be well worth it to gain a few more moments of peace. However, before he mustered the energy to ask, Rook started a new song of her own volition.

And - oh. He knew this one. Every child in Antiva knew this one. A lament, about a love lost at sea, the kind of thing that Trovatori brought out when they wanted their audience nostalgic and teary-eyed.

Then Rook started singing and Lucanis forgot to breathe.

Her voice was lovely. Her Antivan was rough, but she could sing absolute nonsense and Lucanis was pretty sure he would still be content to listen. More than content to listen.

Spite had darted back over to Rook, but was watching Lucanis intently. Lucanis ignored him and his coffee. He was definitely staring, but everyone else was focused on Rook and Rook was focused on her song. Spite was the only one in a position to notice and trying to hide from Spite was futile anyway, so he allowed himself the indulgence.

It occurred to him that she had probably chosen this song for his benefit. A Dalish dance for the elves, the Ferelden song for the scout, and now an Antivan lament for him. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

The song circled to a close and it felt like a loss. Rook wasn't looking at him, smiling wryly at the floor, like she was embarrassed. “I hope I didn't botch too many of the words.”

He should say something reassuring, but Spite was at his shoulder now, doing the incorporeal equivalent of breathing down his neck and he wasn’t sure what to say.

Bellara sighed. “Oh, that one was really pretty.”

“Antivan, right?” asked Harding, looking over at Lucanis. “What's it about?”

Spite hissed in his ear. “She sang. For you. I want a song.”

Lucanis resisted putting his head in his hands or taking a swing at the demon. That would just be embarrassing for both of them. He forced himself to answer. “The singer is negotiating with the sea to bring their lover home,” he said. “I'll give you my silks. I'll give you my gold. I'll give you my jewels. The sea refuses, says I have already taken your heart, there is nothing of greater worth you can offer.”

“Oh, that’s really sad,” Bellara said.

“Very Antivan though,” said Davrin. “Everything is a business transaction.”

Spite was still carrying on, pushing for control, his voice in Lucanis’ ear and head. “Tell her. She has to sing for me too. I want to touch the sounds. They vibrate in ratios. I want to hear more of them.”

Lucanis snapped. “Enough, Spite.”

Rook was looking at him now, embarrassment replaced with concern. “What is Spite doing?”

Shouting in his ear, is what he was doing. “Spite liked that one,” Lucanis said instead.

Rook didn’t look less concerned. “Lucanis…”

His first instinct was to deflect. He was fine. He would deal with it. But his coffee was rapidly cooling and his temper was frayed and lying to Rook seemed a poor way to thank her for singing something from home. “He would like to hear more. And to touch the strings, I think. He says it is his turn for a song.”

Rook smiled slowly, tilting her head to the side. “That’s only fair. Hey, Spite? I will make you a deal.”

Spite was practically buzzing, wholly focused on Rook. The others were also watching, with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion on their faces.

“Let Lucanis sleep tonight and I’ll stay up and play for you. Or you can touch the strings on the lute. Whichever you’d like.”

Spite pushed to the front, speaking with Lucanis’ voice. “And sing. We have. A deal.”

“Yes, just - quietly. So Lucanis can actually sleep.”

Davrin spoke up. “Rook, are you sure about this?”

Rook carefully put her instrument down and slid off the table, stretching her arms over her head. “Wisps and spirits were my primary audience in the Necropolis. Though.” She turned to look at Lucanis. “Are you alright with it? I should have asked first, but - “

“But you look awful and you need to sleep,” Harding said. Bellara nodded in agreement, shrugging apologetically.

Lucanis looked at what was left in the cup. Spite was quiet, finally. Giving him space so he could do his part to facilitate his deal with Rook. “You shouldn’t have to lose sleep over this.”

“I don’t mind.”

Lucanis walked over to the washbasin and emptied the rest of his drink. She was probably telling the truth, though she should mind. Part of him minded. He wasn’t sure if he was disgruntled over the negotiations happening without his input, upset that he would be inconveniencing Rook, or unhappy that Spite would be spending time with her while he was unconscious. All of the above, probably.

He was too tired to try and make sense of it or fight against it.

And he trusted Rook, in spite of the voice in his head that sounded like Caterina warning him not to. Something else he didn't have the energy to think too hard on right now. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch, out here,” he said. That seemed safe enough. It meant Davrin or someone else could keep an eye on things and Rook wouldn't be locked up in his room with a demon.

Rook nodded, picking up her lute and moving towards the plush chairs against the wall. “I'll stay close. And make sure Spite doesn't wander off.”

“He won't. He accepted your deal. He’ll honor it.”

It was awkward, publicly putting himself to bed in the dining room, so his sort of client sort of friend could serenade the demon trapped in his skin. Lucanis made minimal concessions to comfort, taking off his boots and jewelry and most of his daggers, leaving the rest of his clothing untouched. No one was paying him any particular mind which made it slightly easier. Harding was quietly showing Bellara how she fletched her arrows while Bellara made excited suggestions for mostly explosive enhancements to the projectiles. Davrin excused himself to check on Assan, but made a point of letting Rook know he'd be back.

And Rook seemed distant. Far away. Curled up in the armchair, tapping a rhythm on the side of her lute, and staring at nothing in particular.

Once he was settled, he found himself speaking before he had fully processed his intentions. “Rook.”

She looked over at him. 

He wanted to tell her she didn't have to do this. Spite would be a nightmare, but that was nothing new. He wanted to ask what she was thinking, when her eyes looked at nothing and she shrank into herself. He wanted to tell her how much he enjoyed the song she had played for him.

He was also getting very good at disappointing himself. “You…if you need a luthier, to fix your instrument or make you a new one, there are some excellent options in Treviso.”

Rook let out a small, breathy laugh. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Closing his eyes, he grimaced to himself. No, he was better than that. “Earlier, the song you sang? It was beautifully done.”

Rook didn't say anything right away, though he heard her shift on the chair. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke. “I wasn't joking before, about mostly playing for spirits and wisps. I don't usually play for actual people.”

“You should.”

Rook didn't say anything else, but she started playing again, singing softly. Another song from Antiva. A long journey. Stars on a dark night. Walking the road towards home.

It didn’t take long for Lucanis to fall asleep.

[horlzonline]

Decided to go crazy go stupid today and pump out a sketch page of my Rich Cheese Cookie instead of adulting! Yay! Anyways, I’m finally starting to get used to drawing her, though I just can’t settle on color placement… So you get monochrome artwork for now. One of these sketches in particular is inspired by something @browhyihatethis said—they’ll probably know which one. And of course, as per usual, I’ll include some fun stuff about her on this post to give more context to the drawings, too.

- As an adult, Rich Cheese Cookie typically goes by Gilded Gouda Cookie. This is primarily because where she lives (somewhere in or near the land of spice perhaps) is rampant with thievery and all negative forms of greed—that is, no one with ‘rich’ in their name is going to be wandering around out there unbothered. The implication of ‘gilded’ as opposed to ‘rich’ is that all of her shine (or what little is left of it) is simply for show; there’s nothing of true value present to steal for oneself. Though initially a pseudonym, she eventually grows into the name and ends up keeping it.

- In a meta sense, the name is deliberately parallel to Golden Cheese Cookie (Gilded = Golden, Gouda = Cheese), and can be considered symbolic of her relationship with both her mother and her own sense of identity over time. Items that are gilded only have a surface-level shine, being veiled by a very thin layer of gold leaf that is virtually worthless if stripped away. Things that are gilded often do not have much of any inherent material value when compared to something made of solid gold. To discover that what was thought to be a golden treasure was so only on the outside… Why, that would undoubtedly be a little more than disappointing, wouldn’t it? However, the process of gilding itself is extremely intricate and time-consuming, making the true value of a gilded treasure not what it’s made out of, but the time, effort, and skill that went into creating it. Gilded items are often unique pieces—works of art in their own right. The paper-thin gold adorning them, on its own, isn’t worth much; the gilded piece itself, however, can nonetheless be priceless. Take that as you will.

- As a child, Rich Cheese Cookie very much made an effort to channel her mother’s bold, confident energy in effort to imitate her. Though the confidence wasn’t actually her own, she hadn’t really encountered any true threats before, so borrowing her mother’s attitude without any actual skill or power to back it up wasn’t an issue. This illusion of confidence shattered, however, when Dark Enchantress’s forces invaded the Golden Cheese Kingdom. Though she was frightened, Rich Cheese Cookie actually did attempt to fight for the kingdom, as her mother would have—an act of childish foolishness that got her tossed roughly into one of the palace’s pillars within moments. Frightened and disoriented, she had lost hold of her weapon, facing down horde of beasts many times her size. Her body was shaking; her breath quickened; something warm and wet crept sluggishly down her face. Her only choice was to run further into the palace. She never stopped running.

- Gilded Gouda Cookie can be fairly standoffish at times and slow to trust anyone—if that wasn’t already obvious. This can lead to her coming off as stern or aggressive if you catch her at the wrong moment, even though what she’s actually feeling internally is closer to anxiety or extreme wariness. Some may even believe that she actively dislikes them for an extended period of time, only to find out later that she never actually had any negative opinions about them to begin with. She simply didn’t know them well enough to feel safe being friendly.

- The emotions she feels when encountering her mother again after so long are incredibly complex. After all, at this point, she’s been without her mother longer than she’s had her around. On the one hand, she is of course very glad to see her, though the shame and sense of inferiority she carries, alongside the imaginary, childlike vision of Golden Cheese Cookie that she held onto for so long to comfort herself, makes almost her wish that her mother had remained only a fond memory—at least initially. It doesn’t help that the golden sovereign has not seen her daughter since childhood and, as a result, still sees and treats her like a child when she is very much a grown adult. Personally, I imagine that Golden Cheese Cookie is the kind of parent to give what she views as advice, only for it to come off as demeaning or critical to an adult child, which is extremely frustrating to Rich Cheese Cookie, now Gilded Gouda Cookie (a name that her mother frequently forgets to use, or even ignores at first). On top of this, Golden Cheese Cookie appears to operate on the assumption that her daughter will merely return to the kingdom now as if nothing happened… but she’s built her own life in her mother’s absence and fears returning to the place she couldn’t protect. There’s a whole lot to unpack there.

- It takes some serious misunderstandings and conflict before Golden Cheese Cookie realizes what her daughter wants and needs from her: acceptance of who she is now, and acknowledgement of what happened to her all those years ago. The latter is something Gilded Gouda Cookie does her best to forget and push away, but in doing so she neglects the scared little kid that’s still inside of her—the same little kid who cried day and night for her mother after losing everything, only to receive no answer. For so many years, all she wanted was for Golden Cheese Cookie to be there; now she can be, even if it’s seriously overdue. Gilded Gouda Cookie may be grown, but she nonetheless needs permission to be her mother’s child again. Understanding, at least for the two of them, starts with, “You must have been so scared…”

- Golden Cheese Cookie eventually has to make the tough decision to let her daughter go yet again, allowing her to live her own life and choose to return to the kingdom if, and only if, she is ever ready to. She ultimately does, of course, bringing a lot of people she’s met (who are at this point sick of hardship) to the land of abundance with her—though until that happens, Golden Cheese Cookie makes sure to send frequent letters and gifts by cheesebird… The poor things end up progressively carrying heavier and heavier gifts until her daughter literally has to ask her to please, PLEASE reconsider what she’s sending. More food and fewer precious metals is always preferable.

- On a more positive note, Gilded Gouda Cookie’s favorite food is a bit of an ironic one. Despite being a royal and having access to the finest cuisine during her childhood, she came to enjoy the street food found at small stands throughout the city more than the finest cheese dishes her mother favored so. One particular stand always made the snack she loved most perfectly—a golden-brown pastry filled with delicious cheese and drizzled with natural honey for a sweet and savory combo that couldn’t be beat! Given her current position, as well as the state of the kingdom itself, she hasn’t had one in many years… but all it takes is one bite to bring her back home.

- Golden Cheese Cookie absolutely sent photos of her daughter as a dough ball baby to her friends and colleagues. She unfortunately lost a lot of baby pictures in the Dark Flour War, but if you ask her, she might still have some digitized…

___________

Was gonna write more, but ran out of steam. Gah. Maybe I’ll get into the key differences between the mentalities of Gilded Gouda Cookie and Golden Cheese Cookie eventually… In short: Golden Cheese Cookie fights because she sees what there is to gain, while Gilded Gouda Cookie fights because she sees what there is to lose. Tune in next time (if there is one)! ✌️

[kidlightnings]

Domestic/established pairing questions, with nuance :3 tried to use language to include polyam situations! Do as a questionnaire or an ask game or whatever, really, I'm not the boss of you

SFW questions-

Do they have petnames/nicknames for each other? Is there a reason why not, or a reason they picked what they did?

Who cooks? What's their favorite thing to cook?

Is there something one of them is quite bad at cooking? Do they get better?

Are they ok with PDA? What counts as public to them? Are there levels?

What level of pain/sickness are they comfortable showing each other? Is there anything they hide?

Are they the marrying types? Or something else?

If they lived together, whose name(s) goes on the lease/mortgage?

Is there any early bird/night owl split? How do they deal with it, if so?

Do they have hobbies that take up a lot of space? Is this ever a problem, if so?

Who slams the oven, and who plays the trombone? ( https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/when-mama-isnt-home ) Is it a trombone, or a different instrument?

Who can keep plants alive? If nobody, who has the best rate of success?

Are they in agreement over shoes off or shoes on inside?

Do they stick to fairly fixed roles in their relationship, or is it flexible?

Who would take up more of the closet? What do they have the most of?

NSFW questions~

Are they particular about where to/not to have sex, like nothing on food prep surfaces, only in bed, nothing outdoors? If so, what are the rules? Are they in agreement about said rules? :3

Are sex toys something casual, or reserved for special occasions, or not used at all?

How about roleplay? Casual, or something that would be meticulously planned out? Can they stay serious during it?

Do they change the sheets after sex, or just avoid the wet spot?

How pressed do they get if the other doesn't orgasm during sex? Is it personal?

Would they be bothered by a pet walking into the room?

Are they comfortable being intimate if a housemate was at home? If so, do they try to be quieter?

Are their sex drives pretty well aligned, or different? How do they handle it?

Is the relationship open to other partners? If so, what are the rules around it? How would a conversation around opening it go?

If applicable, is contraception something they think about?

Are marks/bites something they'll let be done to them? Do they cover them or have rules about where they can be done?

How long did they wait after getting together to have sex?

Any uncommon kinks/fetishes? Would they bring it up, and how so?

The only hotel they can get accommodations at is a sexy themed one – how do they feel about it? What room theme are they picking?

I'm open to asks for these if anyone is so inclined! Canon/canon, oc/canon, oc /oc (and polyam of any) is all on the table

[teethmongerrr]

Helloooo!!! The ask about tenna's history with the dreemurrs made me realize: what's mettatons whole deal and/or backstory? Like we don't have the ghost or the robot body stuff with him, so how does he meet alphys? Are we keeping the whole dysphoria and 'not having the right body'? (beams him with my transgender ray.) What's his relationship with his family like? sorry if this is unorganized, didn't really know how to word this one, keep up the amazing work!!!! I'm loving everything about this au!! :3

No apologies required this is good..

AND OF COURSE HES TRANSGENDER‼️‼️‼️

I would never take his transmasculine swag from him that’s sacrilege… important…

BUT ANYWAY LOL. He had agoraphobia inducing levels of dysphoria pre-transition ( though , I don’t think that level of dysphoria just goes away completely post transition. He’s way better now but it still bites him sometimes) but I think he’d go out every once and a while (accompanied by Napstablook typically)

I Like to imagine him and Alphys had a sort of a platonic meet-cute in a video rental store. Like going for the same movie when there’s only one left or something tee hee. And they end up watching it together at Mettaton’s and forming a pseudo human fan club (more of a film/show Fanclub. They watch movies and tv together idk LOL)

I struggle making an equivalent to her LITTERALLY designing and making his body… but the idea that she just drew him as an anime boy once or something and then he had a moment like… wait… what if I did that…. And she tells him it’s possible. Like…. What if her support alone builds him the same way. Guys. Is this thing on. Guys. Gripping the mic. Guys.

As for his relationship with his family, I can only really. Imagine him living with his cousins.. and I think the three of them had been living together for a while. (I don’t know where the parents are it’s one of those things I’ll have to think about) but I think that Napstablook is a bit older and was Mettaton and Mew Mew’s legal guardian for most of their tweenage - early adulthood years.

And Napstablook does their best obviously but being a sensitive pushover (no offense) and pretty young to be taking care of the two of them adds some struggle.

I think Mettaton, very opposite to how he lives his life now, spent a lot of his childhood trying his best to be easy to manage. forgettable.

There was a big strain in his relationship with his family that was nobody’s fault in particular. Suffocating himself out of pure habit, on a long term corked spiral until he met Alphys and he knew he had to change or die. The massively built fear of the feelings of it all making him feel like the only option was to vanish and come back someone else.

Currently he has come back that new person and told them everything and apologized. Mew mew still gets bitter but over all forgives him and Napstablook is very understanding and is more so sad that they couldn’t figure out how to reach out to him before he left.

YA! Hope this answers your question….

[zahhaked]

Thinking more thoughts about This in light of the back and forth I have with @booksandberries. Sensei herself points out that Sasaki's growth is due to both Miyano and Hirano. And the thing with Miyano is almost certainly coming from a place of physical/sexual attraction because it's so hard to re-watch/re-read Sasaki and Miyano and not see how immediately Into Miyano Sasaki is, and letting his guard down is really the only way that is going to go anywhere. So Sasaki's pretty incentivized to get close to Miyano in order to get what he wants - which is that closeness itself. (I also someday want to make a post about my ideas about Sasaki's sexuality because in terms of this series he's the character who sort of gets the least amount of screen time actually "struggling" with the fact that Miyano is a guy. Like he does but it gets over it a lot quicker than most. Kagiura may as well but Kagiura's attraction to Hirano isn't rooted in physical attraction the way Sasaki's is for Miyano???? IMO)

But then: Hirano. The light novels give us plenty of glimpses into how they interact when they're alone, right? Their first meeting, the aftermath of The Fight, studying together, and so on. Sasaki appraising Hirano's abs and thinking about how ripped he is. Unlike with Miyano, Sasaki does have a guard up when he first meets Hirano, and he honestly keeps it up for a good while longer. He doesn't really divulge too many of his feelings to Hirano, and even though Hirano sort of watches the whole ssmy relationship develop (and even tries to impede it early on bc he doesn't trust Sasaki - maybe he can smell the lust pheromones?) they never Talk About it. And then one day - they do. "Did something happen between you and Miyano?" "Yeah, I confessed to him."

The volume of trust!!!!! The way Sasaki didn't hesitate. The way he relied on Hirano, and a little of that was rooted in his own desperation, because he knows he fucked up - but he also perhaps trusts that Hirano will help. Because that's what Hirano immediately does - he takes out his phone and tells Sasaki to fix it. If nothing else, he trusts that Hirano won't be Weird about him being in love with another guy - which, fair, Sasaki has been watching the whole Ritual going on with hrkg for months now, but plenty of people have internalized homophobia. It took a long time and a lot of work to get to the point where Sasaki so easily admits his feelings and his mistake to Hirano - and Hirano just takes it in stride. The trust Sasaki has in him is never misplaced. Hirano can hold that shit for him.

It does make me a little upset that this doesn't go both ways - I can't think of any moment in particular where Hirano allows Sasaki to help carry his burdens. And I kind of think, for all his griping, Sasaki would want to. But Hirano is so cool, calm, collected, so in his own head and capable of working through his own shit, he barely asks for advice - and when he does, it's super cagey and not obvious in the slightest...

But then again, when Hirano is looking for a birthday gift for Kagiura, he asks his friends for ideas, vaguely. What does Sasaki say he would want? Concert tickets. What does Hirano ultimately get? Basketball tickets. I don't think it's a coincidence.

Please join me in sshr brainrot hell we're open 24/7 :)

Been rolling this author commentary in my head since rereading the volume (it's Sasaki and Miyano, either volume 8 or 9).

I love that Harusono notes the ways that both Miyano and Hirano have had their impact on Sasaki; Miyano "encourages him to drop his guard" because Sasaki feels compelled to get closer to him. But with Hirano he "doesn't always put a guard up" because Hirano is a safe person to be himself around. Hirano doesn't expect him to be anyone but himself and doesn't ask him to change

[starbuck]

i think it’s kind of hysterical that - out of any piece of media that could possibly have a straight relationship that passes the sniff test for me - it’s this one, considering like *gestures to the misogyny*

[beastsovrevelation]

My Good Omens fanfictions are kicking off. Or, should I say, Lady Crowley is. In one of the stories, she was supposed to end up with Hastur. No, she decided she wants to be with Michael.

I guess, I'll need to come up with a seperate F!Crowley x Hastur storyline, because I'm not letting go of that ship.

F!Crowley x Michael... I like the sound of that. I really do.

Has happened to all of us, hasn't it? Your superior in the military waltzes in, and seduces the love of your life. Not to mention, that's his pregnant girlfriend, and when he finds out, it's too late.

Whatever, Calla Crowley can still end up an astronomy-obsessed, equestrian pastel goth, if General of the Heavenly Host is her stepmother.

I must say... In one story she's with Satan, in the other she'll be with Michael... Lady Crowley, honey, you keep pulling the Olympians. Good for you.

P.S. - I don't know how accurately to Good Omens I'll portray Michael, since I haven't seen season 2, and it doesn't matter. I have a very particular way I like to see the figure. Honestly, if she isn't the General, and the leader of angels in Good Omens, it's a crime. Because, if she is, why haven't I seen her in armour/uniform in any of the screencaps?.. Either way, her version I intend to paint is amazing.

[7fff00]

(god my brain is just like. yowling sad! sad!! sad!!! at me incessantly today and i gotta say: it's really unhelpful???

i'm trying to do things thru it but. oof lol)

[cuteniaarts]

2 hour rough drawing of Ehuang, my precious Green Opal child who I don’t draw nearly enough <3

[yuwuta]

i need u to post more of your opinions bc everything you’ve posted recently has had me nodding my head. like what u said about those tiktoks people make about people’s profiles on dating apps and the surveillance state and how whiteness is the standard in a lot of self insert fanfic/fanart or just fandom in general to the point that people don’t notice how they box brown and black people out of participating. i’ve been thinking a lot about stuff like this recently and it’s kinda consuming me. like i really hate how racism is still so prevalent in fandom. the other day this fanartist i liked (not anime) deactivated bc people asked her to draw nonwhite and not skinny characters and she went on a colorist crash out bc she only wanted to draw her characters with paper white skin which then opened the doors for her followers to be racist. then “her sister” posted her ai generated apology that uses her bad mental health as an excuse while people became even more racist. like it makes me want to tear my hair out

SHJSDKD i’m happy to hear you like my annoyed rambling posts and i feel you, the rage is extremely consuming. not even joking, for both of our sakes, we have to remember to breathe and count the blessings around us bc it really is so easy to be mad at everything all the time always 😭😭 sometimes i believe in the benefit of the doubt, as in someone who isn’t black/brown and/or darkskin might be used to the way the world presents content, particularly content surrounding love and entertainment, and might have inadvertently been taught to mimic that isms so deeply engrained in it, but you can always tell by their response to being correct, and a colorist crash out and ai apology is absolutely crazy work omfg

[volfoss]

i cant even like post about the horrors that are going on currently because im gonna get too mad but oh my god. like i would give her really good credit for writing a character like marius that has 0 self awareness about his insanely disgusting behavior bc like. that CAN work. you can make the reader feel disgust and see things through the eyes of someone who is horrible while not romanticizing the behavior. clearly anne did not get the memo for this one.