#independence day short video

[itcstories]

ITC presents a new film on India's 75th Independence Day

This short Independence Day video by ITC captures its nationwide 'Har Ghar Tiranga' celebration campaign.

https://www.itcportal.com/itc-stories/itc-ode-to-freedom-harghartiranga.aspx

[thesketcherat]

Independence Day Unique Drawing | INDIA 🏴 Full detailed video : https://youtu.be/aYzkZL9dVZY #thesketcher #howto #drawing #independenceday #flag #nation #republicday #india #indianflag #eyedrawing #art #artwork #artist #reels #instagram #youtubeshorts #shorts #viralart #trending

[plutoswritingplanet]

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: guys... you can't tell me y'all weren't expecting this. Title from the song "Vicarious" by Tool. Really wanted this to be a one shot, but as usual, I have shit to say. Will be Cross-Posted on AO3 as soon as they open the site back up.

Warnings: Nothing Explicit YET, some sexist remarks and creepy behavior from the man of the hour, Questionable Corporate Ethics, Set Before The Events Of The Show, Reader is written to be Plus Size.

Summary: Sidekick projects have been scraped completely after numerous accidents, but as a viral video of your hero work makes rounds through the public, you're forced to take part in a six moths program, that will forever change your life, as well as Homelander's

PT.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

It all started with a video. An insignificant, minute-long nothing posted to TikTok by an account, that up until then, made short edits specifically of A-Train and some B-list no-name hero. Quickly, it gained traction, making rounds throughout the app, bleeding over to other services, all the way to national television. First, an independent local station, soon picked up by a Vaught-affiliated one. Normally, that's where it would've stayed. Stillwell would extend an offer of a chance at an interview, alongside one of the Seven. But for some unknown reason, that small piece of nothing climbed all the way up to the floor eighty-two of Vaught Tower.

Well, to be quite honest, Stillwell knew exactly why she was in this situation. After a very messy graduation speech at a small college, Homelander lost almost twenty points with a young adult demographic. It would've been an easy fix, if not for the delicate nature of the breached subject, and Madelyn knew, this sudden interest in a nobody from nowhere, who, coincidentally, fit the demographic perfectly, was anything but a happy accident. It was a test, both for Homelander, and for her.

Which is why, Madelyn Stillwell and Homelander, the Homelander, the most American supe to ever exist, are cooped up in your living room, glancing about the modest decor, as you pour iced tea into three glasses with tacky fruit print all over them.

You've refused every single invitation, every single Vaught representative that knocked on your door. Your inbox was flooded with emails, your phone number was blowing up two, three times a day. And yet, your answer remained the same. You were not interested in a collaboration, thank you for the opportunity, please leave me alone.

That wouldn't fly, not with Madelyn, who, pushed by the constant nagging from the upper levels of the Tower, decided a more direct approach was the right one. So, she dragged herself into this… Well, to be quite honest, bum-fuck-nowhere, and brought her star pupil with her. No one would refuse working with Homelander himself, after all. At least that's what they both thought.

-I appreciate the effort - there's a practiced, borderline bored intonation in your voice, and Homelander's hands flex on his thighs - But I've already talked with, um, Jerry? From HR? The answer is still no.

Your house is small, but cozy, with sunshine pouring through the windows, reflecting onto the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to your kitchen. An artist's home, through and through. Homelander hates it, hates the ordinariness of it all. He was so much above all this, sitting on your worn down couch physically hurt him. And the smell. The smell was the worst part. Reheated lasagna, mixing with a lingering aftertaste of cigarette smoke, and an undercurrent of weed, that almost made him retch. If it weren't for that damned video, you would be nothing more, than another brainless ant under his boot.

-Well, we - Madelyn offers her best, brilliant smile, gesturing to herself and Homelander - are very passionate about discovering new talent.

Your mouth twitches into a knowing smile, and for just a second Homelander feels flames of intrigue rising in his chest. Not for long, though, because you recline back into an armchair, taking a sip of the iced tea, and his eyes flash to the way your throat moves as you swallow. You could be hot, he concludes. Young, and with a truly spectacular rack. But there was something off about you, like you were constantly on the verge of dying from boredom, some invisible weight always on your shoulders. No amount of fake smiles and high-end makeup could cover that up.

He'd fuck you. If you'd beg him.

-We want to offer you a new, revised contract - Stillwell extends her hand with a rather thick binder of papers, and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching over. - Hopefully, it will make you reconsider.

You don't even show them the decency of looking through it, placing it on the table instead, and Homelander feels an itch form itself in the corners of his eyes. Stillwell looks taken aback as well, her brilliant smile faltering for just a second. You on the other hand, take another sip of your drink, before placing it right in the middle of the contract, the moisture from the ice creating a wet circle in the paper.

Your heartbeat is even, it doesn't pick up even a smidgen, when you look between Stillwell and America's Greatest Hero, who is slowly but surely growing annoyed by your persistent indifference.

-Thank you, but I already said no - you repeat, and this time, Homelander shifts on the couch.

-And why not? - he asks, tension entering his voice in a way, that makes Madelyn squirm - Countless supes, with much more impressing powers than you, I might add, would kill to be in your place.

"To work with me" goes unsaid, but he can see in your eyes, you read it from thin air of superiority engulfing him. Annoyingly perceptive. You nod your head slowly, before turning away from them, looking out of the window of your living room. There's a small patch of grass, and a second house, so similar to yours, but at the same time, completely different. Your chin sticks out in its direction, and Homelander follows with his eyes.

There are paper butterflies stuck to the windows, cut out clumsily, most likely by children's hands.

-My neighbour, Missus Johnson - you explain - She lives there, with her three kids. Her husband died in a fire caused by your friend, Lamp Lighter.

Madelyn stills, Homelander raises an eyebrow.

-I can afford this house, only because my mother signed an NDA, after The Deep sank my father's fishing boat. - again, your heart stays completely unaffected - Accidentally, of course.

-I was not aware… - Madelyn starts, and it's hard to decipher whether she's talking to you, or Homelander.

Someone at the research department is going to have a very unpleasant evening.

-That's alright - you interrupt her with a raised hand and a small smile - This whole neighborhood is filled with similar cases. And I'm very, very attached to this place.

Why, Homelander couldn't tell. For all he knew, this was some shit hole, right in the suburbs outside New York. Not even the half decent ones. A forgotten by everyone, dying piece of land, that housed insignificant humans, who would never amount to anything, you included. He lived in a lavish apartment, inside a miracle of modern architecture. Who wouldn't want the same?

-And - there's something new entering your tone of voice - If I'm going to betray everything I stand for, I need to give something back to those people. Does your contract reflect that?

Madelyn bites the inside of her cheek, her scrutinizing gaze making your skin itch. Still, she sighs after a moment, excusing herself with that same, practiced expression she uses on every shareholder. Homelander follows her out, nodding his goodbye to you, but before he can leave this dump, Madelyn stops him with a hand pressed against his chest. She gives him one look, makes him aware that his job isn't over, and he can feel the muscles of his face twitch.

So, obediently, he lingers in your doorway, taking a few calming breaths, before facing you once more.

You've changed positions, your armchair abandoned in favor of sitting by the window, one leg bent in a way, that shows quite a nice view of your calf, your long skirt pooling around you. Homelander's eyes trail up with mild interest, and he indulges in his X-ray vision. He's just being curious, nothing more.

Your underwear is, well, for the lack of a better word, plain. The bra seems to be slightly ill fitted, digging into the sides of your breasts, making them almost spill from under your pits, and Homelander swallows thickly at the sight. There are little, pink hearts on your panties. The colors are dull and washed out from frequent use, and the once frilly lace is starting to fray at the edges.

Apparently Vaught's compensation was not sufficient for you to buy some decent undergarments.

-Do you want something to eat? Drink? - you ask from your place by the window, and Homelander is snatched back to reality - Do you even need food?

The bluntness of the question startles him, makes him feel defensive, but Madelyn wanted results, so he puts on a mask of his trained smile, and crosses the room. Back straight like an arrow, he looks wildly out of place between all the linens and cushions. He doesn't look at you, trapping your smaller form in the confinement of the window, as he watches over the neighboring house.

-I'm not hungry - he shoots down your offer with a wave of his hand - I've already eaten.

A lie, but he'd never stoop low enough to take any leftovers, especially from you. Still, the offer seems nice. He does like being pampered, even if it's with lackluster things. Your eyes linger on his boyish smile, another practiced thing, and Homelander shifts focus to your heartbeat once again.

-Alright then - your voice sounds indifferent as ever - Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to make some dinner for myself.

He offers a small nod, and watches you from his position by the window, as you slip past him. It does require quite a lot of manoeuvering, but you manage to stand without touching him. He has to admit, watching you balance, as you try to avoid him, was amusing. Still, your heart beats calmly, and, not wanting to be left on his own, Homelander follows you to your kitchen. The beads of the courtain drum delicately over the bronze eagles on his shoulders.

The fridge is buzzing something awful. He can see just how run down the inside mechanism is, the hinges squeaking unbearably, as you reach for a box of reheatable spaghetti. There's cheep beer inside, a moldy lemon, a carton of milk pretty close to expiring, and a half-used bottle of spicy ketchup. Homelander doesn't even recognize these brands, they're not sponsored by Vaught, that's for sure.

Cheap, tasteless, basically offering no nutritional value.

-Would you step back for a second? - he asks, already wrenching himself between you and that pathetic excuse of a meal.

Again, your body sways to avoid touching him, and for some unknown reason, he finds it very amusing.

Then, you watch with a raised eyebrow, as he turns towards your spaghetti, a red sheen overtaking his eyes. An unbearably hot beam shoots out, making the insides of the plastic packaging sizzle. Finally, that gets him a reaction, as you gasp and reel back, colliding with the barely functional fridge. Your heart does a flip inside your chest, and Homelander soaks up your shock like a man starved.

Only when the red fizzles out of his gaze do you dare to move, approaching him slowly, your eyes bearing into him in a way that is frankly uncomfortable.

He turns to you with another one of his charming smiles, trying to handle this sudden scrutiny in as flippant a way as possible.

-I had no idea you can control the intensity of your lazer - you admit, voice slightly breathless.

-Pretty neat, huh? - perhaps he's fishing for more attention, but he doesn't care, because your eyes light up for just a moment in sheer wonder.

-Super cool, actually.

Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking right, he is super cool. And your heart is beating so much faster, and finally you're looking at him as if he's more than just some guy, some living advertisement you're determined to ignore.

And then your eyes shift, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, as you zero in on his shoulder. Something akin to a wave of amusement flickers across your expression, and to his general surprise, Homelander wants to know what's the cause of this shift. Your lips pull back into a smile, teeth peaking at him in all their glory. He can almost imagine them running down his skin, before he pushes the thought back all together, as the lower portion of his suit becomes slightly too tight for comfort.

-Well, thank you for saving the spaghetti - your eyes hold a spark of amusement - My hero.

Okay, alright, he's hard. There's no point denying it. However annoying and insignificant you were moments before, your quip goes straight to his loins, burning enough, for him to consider just how mad Stillwell would be, if he'd have a taste of this newly discovered talent.

If he stands any closer to you, he might find out, because this special little moment you two have shared, is crudely interrupted by Madelyn clearing her throat. Homelander nearly jumps back, you however barely turn your head, reaching for your spaghetti and arming yourself with a fork.

-I've spoken to my supervisor - Stillwell announces, clearly peeved by the way you start chewing on the noodles - A new version of the contract will be emailed to you as soon as possible. Hopefully it will be satisfactory.

-Thank you, Miss Stillwell - you answer with an inclination of your head.

With that, Madelyn nods her goodbye at you, refusing to shake your hand, which does amuse you, you're not going to lie. Homelander however, goes all out, capturing your fork-weilding arm, his fingers sneaking around your wrist like a bracelet. Or a shackle. Then, you watch with a confused arch to your eyebrows, as he brings you closer, until his lips press onto the protruding knuckles. Now that, admittedly, gets your heart going. You were not an easily embarrassed person, not by a long shot, but you could feel blood rushing towards your face all the same.

He has to hold his breath, as he kisses your hand in that charming, gentleman way he's seen in old movies. The smell of pasteurized tomato sauce blows in his direction, like a direct assault on his senses. Still, he needed something that would make you swoon. If everything failed, he knew how to be intimidating, but for now, perhaps he wanted to try something different. Something that would yield much more pleasant results, for the both of you. Mostly for him, let's be honest.

Madelyn asks him to stay back, spy on you throughout the night, and he begrudgingly agrees, if only to mask the fact, that he would do so of his own volition, had she not brought it up. And as such, he floats into the rapidly cooling air, disappearing into the darkening sky, where you wouldn't be able to see him even if you tried. He could see you however, and hear you, and he was about to make the most of the situation.

He spends the whole evening just watching you exist within your space. Normally, it would piss him off beyond belief. You weren't doing anything scandalous, anything that could warrant his attention. And yet, as he floats on, in time lowering himself just slightly, to get a better view, he just can't seem to look away. The spaghetti is gone in approximately fifteen minutes, as you inhale the supermarket food, walking around the living room, the kitchen, getting a few bites on the porch even. You seem so utterly unfazed by the events of the past hour, like you haven't just had America's Greatest Superhero try to convince you to work with him. It's honestly insulting, this lack of reaction.

Then, finally, he can hear a distinct ping of a new email come from your laptop, and you sit down on the couch with a small huff. Your eyes move, your lips twitch, and then he hears your heart stop in your chest. As if working on autopilot, your hand travels up, covers your mouth in shock, and you lean back against the worn-down sofa, eyes glued to the screen illuminating your face in a blue-ish light.

-...fuck… - you whisper, and despite himself Homelander floats even closer to your window.

Finally, he has the chance to peak over the curtain. To sneak into the backstage of the award winning production of your defenses, and see what goes on in those bored eyes of yours, when they're not guarded. And what he sees makes his suit feel much too tight, his body too warm. Quite an unusual thing to get so worked up about, but he's the goddamned Homelander, he can get hard whenever he fucking wants. And so, as saliva gathers on his tongue, he presses himself against the tiles on your roof, all the warmth of the day soaking into his skin through the thick material of his suit.

With a shaky hand you reach over towards your phone, putting in a number and pressing the call button, before standing straight from the couch, almost knocking the laptop over.

-Hey, what's up? - someone says on the other end of the line, and Homelander tries to focus more on the words flowing from the receiver.

-Oh, you gotta sit down for that one - you warn with an anxious chuckle, taking the familiar place by the window.

With your free hand you reach up to open the window all the way. Then, Homelander sees your fingers slip between the pillows and pull out a rather beaten up pack of cigarettes.

Naughty, naughty, he thinks, watching you produce a lighter from that same hiding place.

-Alright, I'm sat like never before.

The voice sounds vaguely female, although the shitty quality of your phone makes it hard to decipher. Your lips pull back into a toothy grin, and you blow out the smoke through the window. It curls upwards and dissipates into the air, right above the roof, where Homelander swallows thickly around a coughing fit.

-You will not believe who visited me today…

-The ICE - the voice deadpans, and you snort around another huff of smoke.

-Pretty fucking close, let me tell you - he doesn't appreciate the joke, not at all - Fucking Homelander.

The line goes completely quiet for a moment, and with every second your grin seems to be growing.

-Deadass?

-Yup - your lips purse, and Homelander zeroes in on the expression - Flew in all Star's Spangled Glory with some Vaught big fish. They tried to convince me to join the Seven.

-And obviously you said yes, because what the fuck else do you do in that situation?

Your grin slowly fades away, and you lean your forehead on the window frame.

-You didn't?

-I didn't.

Again, it's quiet.

Homelander shifts a bit in his position, adjusting against the warmed up tiles of the roof, his X-ray vision bearing into you. Out of curiosity, he looks deeper, eyes floating over your insides. You're relatively healthy. Some vitamin deficiencies, but nothing too serious. And despite that nasty habit lodged between your fingers, your lungs are clear, at least for now. There's a softness to your body, your muscles barely visible, as if you're just another gray human. Oh, and there's a bit of an eyesight problem forming, not enough to warrant glasses, but that shouldn't take long, considering your lifestyle.

-The contract they gave me was really good, you know - you muse to the phone, your leg dangling from the windowsill - Six months of working under Homelander, a Sidekick kinda situation.

-I thought they scraped the Sidekick program - the person on the other side wonders - Too many casualties or something.

-Yeah, well I guess they want to bring it back.

-Why did you say no then? I'm sure they pay is gigantic.

Again, you smile. This one much more reserved, bordering on sad. There's that strange kind of exhaustion settling into your bones again, same one Homelander noticed when he first saw you. Your shoulders slump forward, and you curl into yourself between the cushions.

-It was, it was… - you mutter - But I needed something more, for the neighborhood, ya know?

Your caller hums softly in understanding, and Homelander feels like something is passing him by. Some unspoken fact, that you and your friend find obvious.

-And - you hesitate, eyes flickering towards the laptop, your heart beat picking up ever so slightly - They sent me a revised contract. And it's fucking good. Really fucking good. It could help this entire place get back on its feet.

-But you still don't want to - the voice says for you, without judgement.

-No - you sigh - I really, really don't.

-Say no then - your friend supplies, and once again Homelander feels a flame of annoyance start to burn within him - No one else knows about the contract, there will be no expectations.

Slowly, you nod your head, clearly relieved by the way your friend reacted to the news. Homelander however, caught you right where he needed you. That's your lever. Not seduction, not intimidation, just plain, stupidly human guilt.

-Thank you - you whisper into your phone, finally smiling again - Oh, wanna know one more thing?

-Obviously.

-Homelander's wearing a padded suit.

Something's stuck in his throat, as he reels back from his position. Before he can stop himself, his eyes begin to glow red, because how the fuck did you know?

-Okay, that's bullshit.

-Unless his shoulder dislocated in the middle of talking, then no, it's definitely not bullshit.

Your friend gives out a choked laugh, one which you mirror with your own. If Homelander wasn't so utterly flabbergasted by your (correct) observation, he would've stopped to appreciate the sound. As it stands, however, he pushes himself off your roof, a couple of broken pieces falling off of the tiles. And then he's up in the air, cutting through the winds, headed straight for the Tower, leaving you in the comfort of your insignificant, smelly home.

The contract is leaked before the sun is up.

You're awoken to thousands of news articles flooding your timeline, all listing the truly wonderful and selfless points in the fated email. With a white face, you read them all, the speculations, the theories, the angry comments about you being chosen without an actual casting, while all those up and coming supes are busting their asses in auditions.

Soon enough, you're visited by every neighbour possible, congratulating, thanking you. A barbecue is set in the street, as a way of celebration, and you want to throw your phone, and subsequently yourself into the nearest river.

Madelyn Stillwell sends you an email, scheduling a meeting at the Vaught Tower. No need for pleasantries at this point, you stare at the bare bones invitation. "We eagerly await the start of our partnership" looks back at you, mocking your resolve. And thus, the end of your life as you know it begins.

"Project Delinquent"

The words are printed in an ugly, corporate font, and they stare back at you, outlining the mold you're supposed to fit in, in such a perfect way, it actually, almost makes you retch. True, during high school you were quite the little rebel, but people grown and learn, and seeing your character be watered down to that simple word, does send a wave of nausea through your insides. Even if this is hell of your own making, even if you're ready to swallow it all down with a smile, there's a pang of humiliation stinging your heart.

The armchair in Stillwell's office is uncomfortably narrow. It barely has enough room to accommodate your hips, and you wonder if this design is intentional. There is a growing ache in your calves, as you sit so close to the edge, you can't fully relax into your position, balancing on your feet instead. The armrests dig into your sides, and the way the sun is shining through the gigantic windows of the office, is shaping this charade of a meeting into an overstimulating nightmare. Still, you endure. For all the wonderful benefits enclosed in your contract, the charity work Vaught is going to supply.

Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself, stuck between the marketing department representatives and a literal Devil of a woman.

Madelyn Stillwell doesn't know what to make out of you. Your files were filled with all sorts of questionable activity, especially around the college area. It's honestly a miracle you've managed to get your degree, and attend all those silly little demonstrations at the same time. Your criminal record has been wiped clean, weeks before you even agreed to sign the contract, just in case any leaks would find their way into the media. Leaks that were not orchestrated by Madelyn, of course.

High school rebellion was almost too easily marketable, Madelyn decided to focus on that part of your life as much as possible, her vision slowly coming to fruition. All she needed, really, was cooperation. And while you seemed to be mostly receptive to her ideas, she needed to make sure Homelander was on his best behavior. Which, well… Could go sideways in the worst way imaginable, but Stillwell tried to have some faith in her best superhero.

The idea of releasing details of your contract to the public, was a stroke of genius, she did not expect from Homelander, and she made sure he was thoroughly rewarded. With him, it was always better to choose the hands-on approach, unfortunately. With you, however, ideals were the key. Whatever feeling of solidarity you harbored towards your neighborhood, provided a leverage relatively easy to control. Still, as Stillwell looked you over, crammed into her office in your, frankly, lousy attire, she couldn't help but be just a tad worried about your compliance.

-…And then - the marketer continues with a dramatic gasp - Homelander comes in. America's Greatest Hero, offers you a mentorship. And you…

You look up at the representative with a rather sour expression. They have to work on that too. Media training was crucial. You won't be able to sell anything, if you keep grimacing like that all the damned day.

-… Are starstruck - your mouth twitches - You strike up a deal, selfless. A rebel with a heart of gold. Finally, you can make some real change happen, so you push aside your anti-corporate values, to discover, that Vaught is so much more, than you could possibly imagine.

It's hard not to laugh, and you swallow thickly, biting your lip, as a middle-aged woman you don't recognize gets up from the couch, and makes her way to the wall opposite of your torture chair. There, tucked in a corner and hidden under a black cloth, stands a mannequin, roughly your size. With a flourish you find utterly out of place, the woman tugs at the cape, and as it falls to the floor, so does your stomach. You can't hold it in any longer. A rough snort of laughter rips out of your nose, and you cover your mouth instantly.

-That better be a laugh of delight - Ashley, a ginger menace, mutters under her breath, and Stillwell turns to you with a tight expression on her face.

-Something the matter?

-I mean - you take a deep, grounding breath, tying your amusement in the back of your throat - I knew it's going to be skimpy, but this is…

You look around the room, seeing various stages of corporate outrage, and then you lock eyes with Homelander. Stillwell insisted on his participation in the meeting, as the both of you are supposed to work closely together, and throughout the whole ordeal, he looked borderline ready to die of boredom. Now, however, his eyebrows lift in a curious manner, as he takes in the, to be completely honest, horrendous costume, and your full figure. Something dangerously close to disgust twists your features, as he shamelessly drags his eyes all over your body.

Who would've thought America's Sweetheart was a fucking creep?

Rolling your eyes, you get up from the cursed armchair, your knees cracking loudly. Crossing the room, you take a closer look at the clothing, or rather, lack there of. Torn fishnets, plaid tennis skirt, and a corset top, made out of some leather-like material. Truly, a fetishists wet dream. Your fingers sample the fabric of the skirt. Surprisingly stiff, it seems to beg for a wardrobe malfunction. With a frown pulling down your lips, you lift the material up, and as expected, find no safety shorts underneath.

Homelander watches you intently, as you inspect the costume. Just the thought of your soft body in this skimpy, corporate bastardization of a rock star, makes heat rise in the lower part of his stomach. With every disapproving pull of your, and don't quote him on that, perfect lips, he's more and more convinced this whole charade is just an early birthday present. He'll have to thank Stillwell. Or better not, because as soon as he throws her a sidelong glance, he discovers, she's already looking at him. With a rather tense expression at that.

He feigns innocence, almost raises his hands in mock defeat, but decides against it at the last second. You're still watching him, torn between inspecting the costume, and shooting disgruntled looks in his direction.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your hand sneaks to the front of the corset, fingers closing over the full cup, where your breast will soon reside. You give the mock leather two squeezes, and a high-pitched laugh wheezes out of your lips. Homelander's head nearly snaps with how fast he turns to look at Stillwell, confusion clear on his face.

She's looking at you cautiously. He knows that expression all too well, he's seen it multiple times during their partnership. She's calculating, with bated breath, just how much of a problem you'll inevitably become. How to turn it around in the company's favor, how to steer you in the right direction, should the need arise.

But then, you clap your hands, still giggling quietly, and turn to the designer, who's been watching your reaction with a growing distaste.

-That's one hell of a push-up bra - you comment with a raised eyebrow - My tits will fly straight out of this, if I even think about moving my arms.

Now, that's something Homelander would love to see, and you note his leering face with an uncomfortable shift in your posture.

-Your physique has to be god-like. There's no shame in a little padding - the designer answers simply, and your eyes glimmer with amusement.

-Oh, I bet - your eyes float for just a second in Homelander's direction, and he wonders if lasering you down right now would be too harsh of a reaction.

The image had to be kept up, however, and he deflects your blatant provocation with a bright smile. Or rather, it would've been a bright smile, if his cheek didn't twitch in a way, that portrayed exactly how forced his pleasantries are.

-There will be a press conference, seven PM sharp, where you'll be introduced to the public - Ashley informs you, her eyes glued to her tablet - Homelander will give a welcoming speech, explain that you're a temporary member of The Seven. Then, you'll need to say a couple of words. We'll send you the talking points ASAP.

-Right… - you mutter, not particularly thrilled by the idea of public speaking.

Stillwell looks over her shoulder towards Homelander, giving him an expectant, raised eyebrow. Slowly, he moves from his spot by the window, hand extended in a greeting, teeth flashing in a smile. Your eyes involuntarily shift towards his rather sharp canines, and for the first time, since you've signed the contract, you truly feel uneasy. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue, a perfect, American shade, that glimmers just a tad too dangerously. There's no need for super senses, he can feel your nerves in the very air you breathe.

-Welcome to The Seven - his voice is smoother than you've ever heard before - Fireball.

Wait a god-damned minute.

Confusion covers all previous feelings, and to Homelander's growing annoyance, you leave him with his hand extended, in favor of turning towards Stillwell.

-That's not my name - you point out, and Madelyn nods her head in a practiced expression of understanding.

-Due to some copyright intricacies, we can't let you use Smirnoff - she explains.

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, looking back towards the costume. A moment's hesitation, you close your eyes as you breathe out, and once again Homelander feels as if he's able to peak under a carnival mask you carefully placed upon yourself. He lifts it just enough, sees the way muscles on your neck twitch. Your jaw sets in a way, that is slowly becoming intoxicating, and then you turn back to him.

-I'm honored - your voice is hollow, locked far away in the column of your throat, and you don't have enough strength to even attempt a smile.

That's alright, he has enough charm for the both of you, his imposing stature pushing towards you, as his arm sneaks around your shoulders.

Fuck, you're warm. He can feel the heat of your skin seeping into his costume. There's a vaguely familiar smell clinging to your form, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke. Jasmine flowers, he concludes, and absent-mindedly remembers a rather large bush growing in your backyard. He wonders, if you'd let him fuck you, if he showed up with a bouquet at your door. Women seemed to like those, and although you didn't strike him as the most romantic person, he's positive he could charm his way into your pants.

-I'll show you to your room, sweetheart - perhaps he's laying it on a bit heavy with the nickname.

He can hear Stillwell's heart jump, and he immediately knows, he's going to have to sit through a stern talk later today. You, on the other hand, wrench your head to the side, disgruntled with this new form of familiarity. Your entire body goes tense, and you try to wriggle yourself further away from him. On instinct, his fingers dig into your shoulder, a mockery of a friendly expression, and with just a small fragment of his true strength, he pushes you forward, out of Stillwell's office.

He can do whatever he wants, and Madelyn is getting awfully pushy with guarding you from him. You're just a temporary toy to satisfy the higher-ups. A six months worth of an experiment, that he's forced to be a part of. After your contract is up, Vaught won't care whether you live or die, and you bet your rather ample ass, he's going to exploit that to the fullest. Not only is it borderline insulting, to deny him life's simple pleasures, it's pathetic.

-Nervous about the press? - he asks in a light tone, his jaw clicking softly, when your slide out of his grasp as soon as the doors close.

The casualness of this question throws you in a bit of a loop, but with a couple of rapid blinks, you're back to normal, letting him lead you towards the elevator.

-Public speaking isn't my best asset - you mumble.

Homelander presses the call button of the elevator, then leans against the wall, watching you with a strange twinkle in his eye.

-Sounds like someone's not a people person - he notes, wiggling his finger at you in a manner that is confusingly playful.

-I am a people person - you defend yourself, albeit a bit awkwardly - Just… Not when there's a lot of people.

He laughs at that, a practiced, almost theatrical bark that's as fake as his hairdo. All you have the strength to do, is flash him half of a smile. Thankfully the elevator pings before any more small-talk is required, and you slip into the confined space, standing in the corner. His eyes roam freely all over your body, a shameless act that makes your guts twist, makes the already small space of the elevator even more stuffy. And then, he enters after you, pressing a button to the right floor, and taking a spot much too close to you, than what's necessary.

You suppose it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. This constant invasion of your personal space. Perhaps, if it were someone else, someone that wasn't as empty as you, those actions would've been more intimidating than annoying. Alas, as you watch his chest rise and fall in steady rythm, out of the corner of your eye, his actions remind you of a petulant, spoiled child, rather than America's Greatest Hero. "I can't play with this toy? And what if I do this?" For just a second you entertain the idea of gentle parenting Homelander, and the thought makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

-Something the matter? - he asks, tension sneaking into his friendly tone.

-Just happy to be here, sir - you answer, and he knows it's a blatant lie, another one of your snarky provocations.

Doesn't matter for now, there will be a time to teach you some manners.

The elevator arrives at the right floor, and you bolt out of your place as soon as the doors slip open. Homelander follows closely behind, before closing the distance in a couple of long steps. Then, he's in front of you, and you nearly collide with his form, as he suddenly comes to a stop, in front of a pair of large doors. "Fireball" is etched into a small plack, and you throw the offending piece of metal a withering glance.

-That's your stop, sweetheart - he comments, and once again, you grimace at the nickname - Take a look inside, I'm sure it will blow your socks right off.

Why is he talking to you like you're a fucking child all of a sudden, you'll never understand. The door clicks softly, as you open it, revealing your living space for the next six months. The sight chokes a laugh out of you, because truly, the ammount of "punk" memorabilia is staggering.

-Does cocaine addiction come with the package, or…?

He doesn't even react to your joke, and you don't blame him. For all his creepiness and fake interest, he doesn't strike you as the funniest person on earth. There are guitars hanging over a rather large bed, there's a pristine stop sign next to them, which you suppose is meant to look rebellious. The usage of leopard print is tacky at best, and you truly start to wonder if they even consulted someone out of the corporation to design the space. Most likely no, wouldn't want to waste resources on such a small project.

-Fireball - Homelander's voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes your heart jump all the same.

He's standing so closely behind you, you can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of your neck, but for some unnknown reason, you can't force yourself to move. Instead, you feel him take a deep breath trough his nose, his chest brushing against your back. Your eyes stay glued to a drum set, pushed against a gigantic window. Light reflects off of the cymbals, in your mind you're already playing it, far away from this nightmare of a superhero.

-I'll see you at the press conference - Homelander's hand clasps itself over your shoulder, squeezing a couple of times, as if testing the softness of your body - Don't even think about being late, young lady.

You don't know when he dissapears, as you stand there, frozen. One foot over the threshold of your room, breathing shallow and borderline panicked. It could've been seconds, could've been hours, until your head finally snaps to the side. He's not there anymore, you're alone in the corridor, and as you slam the door closed behind you, something you've only suspected before becomes abundantly clear.

There is something deeply wrong with Homelander.

[thelostconsultant]

I wanna be your slave

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: Once he gets to know you a little better, Max finds himself diving into a rabbit hole that he doesn't even want to escape.

note: It's a blurb that I can't explain. I had a thought™ and this is the result.

warnings: no smut, but there's a mention of oral (f receiving) so MDNI.

When your arrival was announced, Max was indifferent about it. He saw you race in F2, and you were undoubtedly talented, he had to give you that. You could be aggressive on the track, but there was still a certain kind of elegance in your maneuvers that he was almost envious of. But that wasn’t enough to get his attention. You weren’t really worth his time.

Then he became intrigued when he began to read and watch your interviews out of morbid curiosity. You remained neutral when the press asked about him, always keeping a certain distance from him that journalists and reporters didn’t really know how to handle. They were so used to people talking about him as the Max Verstappen, the person who some looked up to as if he was some kind of god, and there you were, the young, alpha type driver who couldn’t care less about his achievements.

He didn’t need your adoration, of course. But after your first day with the team as their F1 driver, the first time he actually talked to you, he began to find you interesting, making him feel like he should study you under a microscope. When he looked at you, he saw your delicate frame, those shining eyes that were full of life, and all of his protective instincts came to the surface. He knew you were more than capable of looking out for yourself, but he couldn’t help it.

So, he decided to do the sensible thing by avoiding you until he figured out what this was all about. Maybe you were just a shiny new toy he wanted to own, that he wanted to call his. The need to look out for you and take care of you didn’t make much sense, because you were independent, you weren’t the type to submit to anyone. The moment you felt like he was patronizing you, you would’ve left without a second thought. 

Rumors that he hated you eventually began to circulate, that’s why he was keeping his distance, that’s why he always made sure he only touched you until the official photo was taken, and that’s why your conversations during the Red Bull videos were awkward. After a while he realized that you noticed something wasn’t right, and that’s why you took the exact same safety measures he had done.

Seeing you again after the summer break, though, your skin glowing after a few weeks off, smile wide and bright, he had a hard time keeping himself under control. He was like a wolf in a cage, pacing impatiently as he waited to be let out. Now, he usually had no problem with self-control. He was good at not doing anything stupid. But you made him stupid, you involuntarily pushed him over the edge when you showed up for dinner in that dark green dress. 

An hour after you all returned to your rooms, he couldn’t wait anymore. He went over to your room, pushing past you to get inside, and the moment you locked the door with a confused frown, he had you pinned against it. You tried to pull away long enough to ask him what he was doing here, but he didn’t give you the chance to talk. When he finally decided to talk, though, it was only for a few seconds. 

“Five minutes. Give me five minutes, and if you still want to, you can tell me to fuck off and I’ll leave you alone. But please, give me a chance to make you feel good,” he begged you as he had his nose brushing along your neck. 

You were probably too stunned to speak, but it was okay. He took it as a green light, so he slipped his fingers under your shorts and panties, then slowly pulled them down your leg. He was kneeling in front of you, lips moving up your thigh while his hand moved your leg to have it rest on his shoulder. He was acting like a starved dog that finally got a good meal, and he didn’t slow down until he pulled an orgasm out of you. Even then he just looked up at you, silently begging you not to make him leave, to let you stay between your legs where he felt like home. 

He was willing to give up control. He was willing to let himself submit to you if that was the only way he could have you. And when you looked into his eyes, mouth open as you tried to catch your breath, he knew he had you. You were his, just as he was yours. Everything that happened between these walls, everything that would happen when you were alone in the future became your little secret. No one had to know that you managed to turn him into your slave without uttering a single a word.

[doll-for-you-11]

She lived alone in the city and was super proud of how independent she was. Her parents had told her to stay even during college but her freedom was super important to her and she moved into her own little apartment.

Nothing fancy, just a single bedroom with a small front yard, overlooking the street. It was convenient too, within a short walk from her campus and as it turns out from her eventual work place.

Over the years she had many guests but no one stayed forever. Guess she was a firebrand and it didn’t really attract too many people to her. She didn’t care because she could take care of herself - financially and otherwise.

That is, until something fishy started happening. Her favourite blue bracelet was missing. At first, she thought she had been forgetful and left it at work or somewhere in the apartment. But then, a week later, it happened again. This time a green pair of earrings. Her stuff was being stolen! She was sure of it.

Between work & socialising she didn’t have much time to interact with her next door neigbours, so she never asked them. But one day, she snapped. Something really special her mom gifted her was gone. Outraged, she drove to a local hardware store. She bought and set up a button sized camera, hidden from sight. It had a wide field of vision and recorded the entire room.

With password encryption and notifications on movement or activity enabled, she felt safe. She let the camera record everything she did. Even, her most private moments. She danced in front of it, changed her clothes in front of it too.

She made love to strangers with the camera recording it and never told them. Even watching those videos back when she was alone, touching her beautiful body to them and making herself orgasm from it.

The robberies seemed to have stopped too. Nothing went missing anymore at all. She was happy and satisfied. Perhaps the thief had never been around. Just a figment of her imagination.

That night, without her knowing though, someone watched. As she stripped out of her dress and laid back on the bed. Pillow between her beautiful legs and a vibrator on her pussy, she went to town.

Her gorgeous body contorted, her moans and breathing getting louder. Unknown to her, someone was stroking themselves while watching. He had always been watching her like this. He gave up on being a thief, but he had hacked the encrypted camera and had access to the feed.

He clicked record, yet another video now in his hard drive. As she furiously masturbated, so did he. Cumming together, but unknown to her.

Three months later, she walked up to her door to find a brown envelope at her step. On it was scribbled ‘For your eyes only.’

Curious, she stepped inside. No address or sender name on it. She opened the envelope and flipped the contents on her desk. Immediately, the blood drained from her cheeks. In shock she looked at the images. High resolution photos of her, touching herself. Using her vibrator. Of her body, exposed.

She felt disgusted, but not at the fact that her photos were sent to her. No, she was disgusted in herself because she felt herself getting wet.

In the same package was a USB drive and a note attached to it saying ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been watching. Left you a gift too.’

With shaky breathing she put the USB into her laptop and opened the video titled ‘Filthy little slut’. It started playing and showed her. Bare body, pillow in between her legs. Vibe on clit. Enjoying her body as she came hard. The hairs on her neck stood on end as her nipples got hard and pushed against the fabric of her top.

She then saw another few files but the one that intrigued her said ‘A gift for my good girl’. She opened it and a video played. A dark room, a screen glowing and a silhouette, clearly a man. He wasn’t the hottest he had seen, or particularly big. But, he was stroking himself with abandon, and she could hear him grunting and moaning. Moaning that was matched by her own. He was playing back her own orgasm and stroking for her.

She took her laptop to her bedroom and laid down with it in front of her. A nervous glance at the camera but she couldn’t help it. Out of instinct, with all shame abandoned by now, she let her hand slide into her underwear. She was now touching herself, to her voyeur. And she was doing it in full view of the camera she set up.

Instead of feeling safe, she felt violated. Humiliated and, strangely, more turned on then ever before. She said ‘please, please have your way with me’… to no one in particular as she orgasmed hard. Passing out with her hand in her panties and her door not securely locked.

She woke up, several hours later. Feeling far more exhausted than usual. Her laptop had been shifted off the bed and all the photos neatly stacked too. Her panties were around her ankles and her pussy felt sore.

She reached down and rubbed her slit, realising there was more than just her juices inside her. A pang of panic and ecstasy shot through her as she started to piece things together.

Grabbing her phone, she opened the camera app and saw it. He came in after she was knocked out. And he was so gentle at first. Mask on his face, he kissed her pussy and made her cum so hard in her sleep. After that, he ravaged her. Looking directly into the camera at it, knowing this filthy little slut will watch it back. He came inside her, over and over again. And then he left the bedroom, but not before waving at the camera.

Turned on like crazy, once again, she swayed from the video she had just seen. She got up, needing to drink some water. Entering the kitchen in a daze, she opened her fridge and grabbed a bottle.

As she closed it, there he was. Mask still on. Looking at her. He covered her mouth and stifled her scream. Took one deep and passionate look at her and said ‘You are mine now, good girl. All mine.’

- 😈😈😈

This is so unbelievably hot 🥵 I think I need to go buy a camera and hope someone hacks it now...

[itsvelyria]

"how the f1 boys are when you work from home"

Charles Leclerc

he'll be pouting by your door the minute you start your work day. the reason for him being particularly clingy is because he doesn't get a lot of time with you already, due to his busy schedule. but now you're right in front of him yet he can't bother you? will puppy-dog-eye his way into keeping your door open so he can peek in occasionally to catch a glimpse of you at least. sometimes he says he's going out to run some errands because he's, after all, an independent adult who can spend a day by himself, but always comes back within an hour because he missed you too much to leave you alone.

Carlos Sainz

the sweetest, most considerate guy on Earth; he makes sure you have your breakfast before your work day, keeps his volume down when you're on a call and always has lunch ready when noon comes around. he will come to drag you out to have lunch with him at the kitchen counter even if you tell him you're too busy to take a break. when you are well-fed and back behind the table, he always pays the coffee shop around the corner a visit to bring you your favourite drink. both because he knows you're fighting a food coma and also to make you take a break.

Danny Ricciardo

your #1 supporter. when he learned you'll start having work from home days, he helped decorate your home office. he spent days reading up on ergonomic chairs and standing desks, even researching plants to brighten up the space. he is huge on work-life balance and always shows up at your door at 5 on the dot to drag you away from your laptop, to the gym or to a new restaurant you had mentioned in passing.

George Russell

by nature a very chill and relaxed guy, he leaves you alone for the most part to do his own thing. he's very extroverted though, so when he appears in the background of your video calls, he'll always says hi to to your colleagues or boss. one time you were on a call with a close colleague and he was putting away some books at the bookshelf behind you, chatted her up about her dog and ended up exchanging social medias, becoming your unexpected networking catalyst. it always brightens up your day because it shows how much he cares for the people in your life.

Lando Norris

he would constantly pop in to see you "needed anything" but honestly he just misses you and wants your attention, even if you're under the same roof. when you banned him from your office, he started sending TikToks and memes from the next room over, threatening to derail your focus but always making you giggle. the kind of partner who would hide Post-Its with funny scribbles and doodles among your work documents and wait for you to find them. when you ask him if he wants to get lunch together, the glee on his face is blinding and he shoots up like a little puppy.

Lewis Hamilton

probably the most mature partner on the grid; he likes the intimacy of quietly working together in a shared space. there's just something about soft classical music in the background while you two are working on your respective projects. the highlight of your day is when you take short breaks together in the kitchen over mugs of coffee — telling him of whatever office gossip you had come across while he rambles on about his upcoming campaign.

Max Verstappen

he is very understanding of how important your career and job is to you. while you work, he'll probably be on his simulator in the living room, making sure he keeps the doors closed so he doesn't disturb you. after a long day of you in your office and him of racing, you two like to have a quiet dinner on the couch with a movie playing. he lets you lie on his lap afterwards, stroking your hair gently as you rant about your workday.

[genderkoolaid]

holy shit i just found out about the Otherness Archive. its a collection of films by/about transmascs/transmasculinity, with a lot of them free to stream on the site itself. a lot of the videos don't work or aren't available anymore, but some that I've watched:

A Place in Middle (2014): "Eleven-year-old Ho'onani dreams of leading the hula troupe at her inner-city Honolulu school. The only trouble is that the group is just for boys. She's fortunate that her teacher understands first-hand what it's like to be 'in the middle' - the ancient Hawaiian tradition of embracing both male and female spirit. Together they set out to prove that what matters most is to be true to yourself.. This 25 minute film is adapted from the PBS Independent lens feature documentary "Kumu Hina"." (25min, captioned)

Adam (1996): "In this tender clay animation, a little girl is mistaken for a boy and relishes the opportunity. Illuminating the innocence of first sexual experiences and the fluidity of gender identity, ADAM is a delightful reminiscence of childhood. (4min, auto-captioned)

The Misadventures of Pussy Boy Trilogy (2022): "[A] trilogy of short videos subtitled First Love, Sick and First Period, each video's running time is approximately 6 minutes, all videos are animated in a fashion that is very much "do-it-yourself" aesthetic, as told from the point of view of a transgender youth in rural Cape Breton." (5min / 6min (the second video is unavailable), auto-captioned)

Brace (2015): "After coming out and leaving his girlfriend, Adam dreams of finding acceptance within London's gay scene. His burgeoning freedom is soon challenged when he meets Rocky, a handsome stranger who is harboring a secret that he desperately wants to share with Adam. As their bond strengthens and Rocky prepares to reveal his secret to Adam, their fledgling romance is ruptured by a cataclysmic event that forces the truth to come out in the most explosive manner." (24min, no captions)

A Day In The Life of A Bull-Dyke (1995): "A Day In The Life of A Bull-Dyke follows a big boned butcher into skirmishes, drag, and the arms of a beautiful recruit. The public and private lives of this "strange animal" are explored with the reverence and glee found in the educational exposés like Reefer Madness and bad-boy films like Rebel without a Cause. However, because this fictionalized lesbian history is a first-person narrative, it is filled with all the joy, pain, and ambivalence each of us experiences while negotiating a marginalized identity." (10min, no captions although the audio is quite clear)

[thechanelmuse]

Juneteenth is a Black American holiday. 

We call Juneteenth many things: Black Independence Day, Freedom Day, Emancipation Day, Jubilee Day. We celebrate and honor our ancestors. 

December 31 is recognized as Watch Night or Freedom’s Eve in Black American churches because it marks the day our enslaved ancestors were awaiting news of their freedom going into 1863. On January 1, 1863, President Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation. But all of the ancestors wouldn’t be freed until June 19, 1865 for those in Galveston, Texas and even January 23, 1866 for those in New Jersey (the last slave state). (It’s also worth noting that our people under the Choctaw and Chickasaw Nations wouldn’t be freed until April 28, 1866 and June 14, 1866 for those under the Cherokee Nation by way of the Treaties.)

Since 1866, Black Americans in Texas have been commemorating the emancipation of our people by way of reading the Emancipation Proclamation and coming together to have parades, free festivities, and later on pageants. Thereafter, it spread to select states as an annual day of commemoration of our people in our homeland. 

Here’s a short silent video filmed during the 1925 Juneteenth celebration in Beaumont, Texas:

(It’s also worth noting that the Mascogos tribe in Coahuila, Mexico celebrate Juneteenth over there as well. Quick history lesson: A total of 305,326 Africans were shipped to the US to be enslaved alongside of American Indians who were already or would become enslaved as prisoners of war, as well as those who stayed behind refusing to leave and walk the Trail of Tears to Oklahoma. In the United States, you were either enslaved under the English territories, the Dutch, the French, the Spanish, or under the Nations of what would called the Five “Civilized” Native American Tribes: Cherokee, Creek (Muscogee), Chickasaw, Choctaw, and Seminoles. Mascogos descend from the Seminoles who escaped slavery during the Seminole Wars, or the Gullah Wars that lasted for more than 100 years if you will, and then settled at El Nacimiento in 1852.)

We largely wave our red, white and blue flags on Juneteenth. These are the only colors that represent Juneteenth. But sometimes you may see others wave our Black American Heritage flag (red, black, and gold).

Juneteenth is a day of respect. It has nothing to do with Africa, diversity, inclusion, immigration, your Pan-African flag, your cashapps, nor your commerce businesses. It is not a day of “what about” isms. It is not a day to tap into your inner colonizer and attempt to wipe out our existence. That is ethnocide and anti-Black American. If you can’t attend a Black American (centered) event that’s filled with education on the day, our music, our food and other centered activities because it’s not centered around yours…that is a you problem. Respect our day for what and whom it stands for in our homeland. 

Juneteenth flag creator: “Boston Ben” Haith 

It was created in 1997. The red, white and blue colors represent the American flag. The five-point star represents the Lone State (Texas). The white burst around the star represents a nova, the beginning of a new star. The new beginning for Black Americans. 

Black American Heritage Flag creators: Melvin Charles & Gleason T. Jackson

It was created in 1967, our Civil Rights era. The color black represents the ethnic pride for who we are. Red represents the blood shed for freedom, equality, justice and human dignity. Gold fig wreath represents intellect, prosperity, and peace. The sword represents the strength and authority exhibited by a Black culture that made many contributions to the world in mathematics, art, medicine, and physical science, heralding the contributions that Black Americans would make in these and other fields. 

SN: While we’re talking about flags, I should note that Grace Wisher, a 13-year-old free Black girl from Baltimore helped stitched the Star Spangled flag, which would inspire the national anthem during her six years of service to Mary Pickersgill. I ain’t even gon hold you. I never looked too far into it, but she prob sewed that whole American flag her damn self. They love lying about history here until you start unearthing them old documents. 

In conclusion, Juneteenth is a Black American holiday. Respect us and our ancestors.

[livwritesstuff]

Steve closed down his computer after his last therapy session of the day (it was a short day – it’s only three in the afternoon), and swiveled around in his chair to look out the window onto his backyard.

It’s nice out. He could go for a walk around the neighborhood or putter around the yard for a while –  probably one of the last opportunities before the fall weather starts to turn on them.

He knows he isn’t going to do either of those things though. Instead, he’s gonna sit around keeping one eye on his phone because he knows his oldest daughter Moe’s course schedule and he knows she’s about to be heading to her next class which means she’s probably going to be calling him just like she’d done two other times today.

Sure enough, only a few minutes later, Steve’s phone started to ring with a call from Moe.

“Hey,” he said as he answered the call.

“Hi Pop,” she replied, her voice coming through the phone a little crackly, broken up by the sound of wind and city traffic around her.

“You on your way to class?”

“Uh-huh. That chem for engineers course – Pop, you wouldn’t believe the shit that rats get up to in this city. It’s crazy. I literally just saw a massive one dragging a whole bag of those little…you know…the red cheese – well, the cheese isn’t red, it’s just–”

“Babybels,” Steve finishes for her.

“Yeah, those! Pop – an entire bag of Babybel cheese being dragged down the street by a rat," Moe exclaims before immediately heading down another tangent.

Two months into Moe’s freshman year of college, Steve thinks she might be a little bit lonely.

She’s always been independent (sometimes to a scary extent, if he’s honest) and she’d handled most of the transition like a champ, but that kind of independence has its ups and downs, and Moe’s never been all that great at the social stuff. Unlike her sisters, she hadn’t had a big group of friends in high school, just a few good ones that she’d made early on in school and stuck with until graduation.

Now, he thinks she might be having some trouble with the whole making new friends piece of moving to a brand new city (goddamn New York City, because these kids won’t let him see a second of peace, and even though he trusts Moe and knows she can take care of herself, Steve still isn’t really in a place yet where he can sleep easy knowing she’s out there on her own).

He knows that Moe will find her people just like he had done years ago. In the meantime, she's been fulfilling that human need for social interaction through lots of calls with him and Eddie (and he'd once even caught Moe and Robbie on a video call together, which he's pretty sure had never happened before).

Steve’s not gonna complain. He’d pretty much drop anything to talk to his kids.

After a few minutes, the background noise coming from Moe's side of the call fades away.

"Okay, I have to go," Moe says, "I might call you later."

"I'm around," Steve replies, because for her (for all his kids), he'll always be.

"'Kay. Love you Pop."

"I love you too."

He waits a beat for Moe to end the call and when she does, he gets up, sticks his phone in his back pocket so he'll know when it rings again, and goes on with his day.

[babyleostuff]

let me take care of you | XU MINGHAO

summary | taking care of Minghao after a long day of schedules

pairing | minghao x gn!reader

genre | fluff & comfort

word count | 1.3k

author’s note | honestly, I just want to take care of this man after seeing him having like 4 flights in a week

Soft tunes of "I Don't Understand But I Luv U '' were coming from the speaker in your living room, while you were finishing cooking a very late dinner for your boyfriend, who should land in Korea any minute now. With this being his fourth flight of the week, even he couldn't hide the exhaustion from you, no matter how hard he tried. Minghao did everything he could not to worry anyone about his well-being, as he was a very independent person and could take very good care of himself. It's great, you really admired that in him, but sometimes, you wish he’d lean a little bit more on you and let you take care of him.

"Just landed. Can't wait to see you."

You read the message with a huge grin on your face, while your heart skipped a bit - it has been so long since you got to have some time together for longer than an hour before sleep.

You never complained though, you knew what you were getting yourself into and even while being separated from your precious boyfriend for so long you wouldn't change it for a second.

Putting the ramen and other food on the heat to get ready, you went to your shared bedroom to put out some comfortable clothes for Minghao, so he could change into something more comfortable than his airport outfit, which you knew would be very fashionable, as per usual.

Speaking of, you quickly typed in your boyfriend's name in the Twitter search bar and to no surprise, he looked as dashing as usual.

Even seeing this short video of him, confidently walking in his long black coat, brought butterflies to your stomach.

You were so grateful that the landing in Korea was so much more peaceful than the one in China, feeling so bad for him as you saw so many people basically suffocating him during his previous flights.

Looking at all the girls surrounding him, you couldn't suppress a smile knowing that the only person who would hold him tonight is you. Not to be possessive, but he was yours, and only yours.

Being so busy with getting things ready for Minghao's arrival, you didn't even hear him entering your house.

“Hello? Anyone here?" he called out the second he noticed that there was no one there to greet him.

"Darling?" he tried again.

"Hao, is that you?" he heard your voice coming from the kitchen. Not a second after he saw your head appear from behind the kitchen island.

"What are you even doing dummy?" he asked in a jokingly offended tone, giving you one of his famous side eyes. Not caring about responding to him, you threw yourself in his embrace making him take a couple steps back, as he didn't expect the force.

"I swear, if they're going to make you fly one more time this week, I'm going to sue them," you said, nuzzling your head further into Mingaho's neck.

You could feel a slight chuckle vibrate through his body, as he lightly patted the back of your head, in a loving manner.

"I think you'll have to, darling. I'm going back after we finish filming on Monday," he gently untangled the two of you and took your face lightly in his hands, almost as if he was afraid to hurt you.

His gaze told you everything you needed to know without him actually saying it - how much he loved you and was happy to see you, how guilty at the same time he felt for leaving you so often, but also how exhausted he was. Even in spite of his tired state, he still looked at you like you were his entire world.

Being so close to him, feeling the smell of his expensive cologne, brought you so much peace and comfort. In no time, Minghao closed the space between you, capturing your lips in a delicate kiss, you both yearned for. In that single moment you felt as if nothing else existed in the world, but for the two of you, simply the feeling of her soft, perfect lips.

It is when you truly realized that he is yours and you are his. His hands stayed at the sides of your face, stroking your cheeks lightly.

"Come, I made you something to eat," you dragged your lovestruck boyfriend to the living room, making him sit on the sofa comfortably.

"You didn't have to do it, I mean it. In fact, you should be long asleep by now."

"Of course mum, whatever you say."

"I really can take care of myself, you know. This is unnecessary," he said as you put plates with food on the table. Not going to lie, you felt a little bit hurt by his statement - the only thing you wanted to do was to take care of him.

Almost as he could hear the thoughts running through your mind, he grabbed your slightly shaking hand.

"Hey, look at me," you didn't, feeling way too hurt to look him in the eye. "Darling, please. I didn't mean it like this. I'm just tired, this wasn't supposed to come out like this."

"But that's the thing Hao!" you exclaimed.

"You're tired, you just had a long flight for the hundredth time this week, and not once did you let me take care of you. I know that you like to be independent and think that you can do everything by yourself, I get it. I really do. But once, just once let me take care of you," you explained.

"I'm so sorry," the guilt in his eyes was even more noticeable now. "I just don't want to be a burden to anyone-" not letting him finish what he was about to say to you pressed a soft kiss to his silky lips. It was quick and innocent, but told Mingaho everything.

"You're not a burden to anyone Hao, and especially not to me. I'm your girlfriend, I love taking care of you, I really do," you smiled at him, caressing his cheek.

Pouting slightly, he nuzzled his cheek further into your hand, kissing it lightly.

"I love you. I'm sorry for being a pain in the ass sometimes."

"You're a pain in the ass everyday Xu Minghao," you laughed at his offended reaction. "But you're mine-" he didn't let you finish.

"Stop being so sappy, please. It's disgusting, bleh," now the both of you were laughing loudly, cuddling into each other.

After finishing your meal, you quickly did the dishes and turned off all the lights in the kitchen and living room, settling in the bedroom for the rest of the night.

While Minghao was taking a shower, you caught up with some emails and did some reading. A couple of minutes later he came out wearing the clothes you left for him.

"Ready for sleep?" you asked, putting all of the unnecessary stuff aside.

"Definitely. And please, no one disturb us till the evening tomorrow," he hummed as he got under the duvets on his side of the bed.

"Oh, I can guarantee you that," you said softly, as he laid his head in the crook of your head and put his strong arm over your waist.

Your hand automatically found its way to your boyfriend’s hair, stroking it gently. It made him sigh in relief, as he finally got to properly relax.

"I love you very much. Thank you for taking care of me."

"I love you too Hao. And thank you for letting me do so."

This was easily the best night of his week, soundly falling asleep in the arms of his one and only love.

You.

[thesketcherat]

Independence day dawing | India gate drawing #drawing #independenceday #shorts in this video, we will learn to draw india gate with indian flag and aeroplanes.

[pillowfort-social]

JUNE 2024 FUNDING GOAL UPDATE: $3500 / $5000 We have 5 days remaining of June and we're only $1500 short of meeting our funding goal. If we do not meet June's goal we will only have enough funding available to keep us online & to compensate our Staff until November 2024. ⭐️WHY HELP PILLOWFORT?⭐️ We're a woman-owned independent social media platform without any corporate investors. We are entirely free to join via automatic rolling waitlist or through invitation. We've been entirely user funded since the start. We are a LGBTQIA+, BIPOC, 18+ and Kink-Friendly community for fans & creators. No AI, No NFTS, no Crypto. Pillowfort is built for you.

⭐️HOW TO HELP SUPPORT US⭐️

Subscribe to Our Al la Carte Subscription Pillowfort Premium

Donate to Pillowfort

Purchase a Registration Key

⭐️OTHER WAYS TO SUPPORT US⭐️

Talk about Pillowfort to your friends, family, mutuals, and followers wherever you're at.

Write a post about us. Also please let us know so we can read it! We love reading what our users say about us.

If you enjoy making videos: film a video about us! Please tag us so we can watch it!

[ghostybaby000]

Who's at the door? | Part 1

Part 2

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley X reader

Summary: You've just moved into your new home when a horrible accident happens. You are alone and haven't yet met the neighbors. You feel yourself loosing consciousness, as you hear someone banging at the door- but who could it be?

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: 18+, violent theme, fire, future smut, symptoms of panic.

(Not fully edited yet, apologies for anything incorrect!)

A lovely Saturday morning no work, no chores, nothing to worry about except which movie you want to watch. In your relatively new apartment, you found it hard to adjust to where things had been before in your previous home. This apartment was larger with a full bathroom and enough of a bedroom to fit a king and a dresser comfortably. You sit on the couch while the sun begins to rise overhead, a cup of tea in hand while flipping through the channels. You decide to put on a game show for something entertaining as background noise while you get up to put on some breakfast.

After preparing some eggs and toast, you settle into the nook of the couch where you had made it comfortable from sitting. Breakfast was quite good to your surprise as you hadn’t always been the best cook, so you ate and had a moment to take in the enjoyment of your new place. Where you had lived before there was always loud noises and people that were entirely rude whenever you were interacting, leading you to eventually leave. From there you cleaned up the kitchen and chose to take a refreshing shower, now that you had a full bathroom it made it much more enjoyable when you wanted to relax. You cleaned up, not bothering to do anything with your hair because you were staying home and might as well relax on your day off. 

The rest of the day was spent reading and watching older movies while having snacks- the perfect day off in your mind. Dinner time rolled around when you decided you wanted to have something a little more fancy for dinner, considering you had time to prepare food now and you left to get some groceries. While shopping you searched for what to have, finally landing on a seafood dish with some vegetables as a side. Checking out and leaving you made your way back thoroughly excited to make a good hot meal. 

While cooking and watching YouTube videos on how to prepare such a dish, you found yourself feeling rather lonely. Looking around your apartment with no significant other and no pets it made the space feel desolate, not that this sort of thing would normally bother you. For most of your life you were independent and had only fallen into a few short and flimsy relationships that never seemed to benefit you. Instead, you had decided to focus more on school and other hobbies-yet now you almost wanted the company, having just work to do and nothing to come home to made you feel disheartened. 

Just as cooking dinner was coming to a close, you were spooked when something in the other room toppled over. It sounded like glass, and you immediately felt the need to flee and see what it was; Upon doing so you found a larger mirror that was leant up against the wall had fallen, glass shards covering the floor you regretted not asking a neighbor to help you hang it sooner now dreading the chore of cleaning up all the small bits and pieces. Your nervousness when introducing yourself had prevented chatting to the neighbors although you had lived there for about a month now. You went into the hallway closet to get the broom and dustpan-the only thing you remembered the location of as you cleaned often, beginning to pick up the larger pieces. 

You had entirely forgotten about the food you were preparing as you took a sniff of the air, and it hit you-you had left the stove on. You rush out of the room to see the kitchen beginning to fill with smoke, no need to worry because you could simply remove the pan from the stove top and douse it in water right? No no you couldn’t, you were using an oil to cook and if it caught fire then it would only make it worse. The fire alarm started as you began coughing, recklessly rummaging through the drawers to find oven mitts. BEEP BEEP BEEP.

 You finally get them just as the oil in the pan begins to pop and sizzle over the edge of the skillet. Your oven was in no way new, as the tannate of the building said, ‘it works’. You didn’t take this into consideration in the moment as the luxury of a new apartment had flooded your brain. BEEP BEEP BEEP You now felt lightheaded as you tried to move the pan, wincing as you were burned with the popping oil. You had moved too quickly,  and the oil went over the back side of the skillet- a roaring flash of flames in front of you caused you to drop the skillet on the stove- there was no retrieving it now. BEEP BEEP BEEP. You tried to think as your eyes were stinging through smoke watering as they searched for a fire extinguisher. You hadn’t realized how dizzy you had gotten until trying to stand after checking under the sink of the apartment with no extinguisher to be found, feeling like you were going to faint at any second you knew you had to get out. You pushed through the haze, trying to find your phone and leave but there was no luck, forget the phone. BEEP BEEP BEEP. 

You now fell to the floor, crawling to get to the door but you just wouldn’t make it. In the moment it had felt like minutes upon minutes were going by, although it had only probably been 3 or 4 minutes total- your eyes squeezed shut to try and stop the stinging. BEEP BEEP BEEP. You made it just out of the kitchen and towards the door as your vision went dim and you could hardly muster a breath. BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Now you were on the floor, the smoke intensity seemed to have gotten better you began clawing at the floor to get out. Your lungs felt heavy and your throat burned horribly as your vision began to fade. The sound of the alarm getting more distant now, your head filling with horrible thoughts, and then you heard it.

BANG BANG BANG The door to the apartment rattled.

‘HELLO- ARE YOU A’RIHT?’ An accented voice from just outside the door called. BANG BANG, the door was being beaten viciously by the person outside.

‘HELLO..CAN you hear me-‘ 

Their voice growing father and farther away as you began to lose consciousness -you couldn’t manage to breathe now at all, as the door was kicked in and everything went black. 

[bloodylullaby]

The Weight We Share

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Word Count: 890

Master List

Author's Note: I'M BACK! I missed everyone, but it was a long and much needed break! Please enjoy a cute short story ❤️

This week has been exhausting for you. You've been running around nonstop for several days, preparing to go on tour with the boys. Your to-do list has been endless: setting up appointments to board your pets, arranging for a house sitter, and making time to see friends and family before you're gone for two months. You've also been packing your bags, organizing your travel itinerary, and ensuring that all the necessary equipment and supplies are ready for the tour. Every spare moment has been filled with tasks, leaving you excited and overwhelmed.

On this particular day, the sun was scorching more than in the past few days, leaving you irritated since you don’t do well in the heat. You've been away from home all day and are ready to get back and recharge your social battery. As soon as you pull into the driveway, you leave all your shopping bags in the car and head straight into the house. Opening the door, you're welcomed by the sight of your boyfriend, Noah, sitting on the couch playing video games.

Toeing off your shoes, you quietly walk to the couch and lay your head on one end, resting your feet on Noah's lap. He chuckles softly and begins to rub your legs. "Long day, sunshine?" he asks with a small smile. You nod, too tired to speak. He glances over and notices how worn out you look, pausing his game to give you his full attention.

“You seem a little stressed, baby. Do you want to talk about it?” he asked gently. Slowly, you took a deep breath, and a few tears began to trickle down your face.

“I’m just so overwhelmed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m super excited about the next two months, going on tour with you and the guys. But trying to get everything in order and making time to see everyone is overwhelming. The hours in the day seem to get shorter and shorter, and it’s becoming more difficult to fit everything in.”

As you speak, Noah notices the fast pace of your words and sees you struggling to breathe. “Hey, it’s okay, sunshine. Look at me,” he says, gently holding your face and guiding your eyes to meet his. “Follow me and do what I’m doing, okay?” he asks softly. All you can do is nod while trying to catch your breath.

“Okay, follow my lead,” he says reassuringly. He begins by taking a slow, deep breath through his nose, and you mimic his actions. He holds it for a count of five before slowly exhaling through his mouth. You follow his lead, repeating the breathing exercise until he sees the color returning to your face and notices you calm down. He moves his hands from your face to your hands, holding them gently yet firmly.

“Now that you've calmed down let’s look at this together. You’re feeling overwhelmed trying to do everything yourself, right?” he asks.

“Yes,” you mumble, focusing on the calm feeling and trying not to spiral again.

“Sunshine, let me help you. You don’t have to carry this load alone,” he says softly. You sigh, shifting slightly, trying not to feel guilty.

“I know,” you reply quietly. “I just didn’t want to bother you. I know you’re really busy getting ready for the tour, and I didn’t want to ruin your one day off by adding more to your plate. Besides, I’m used to figuring things out on my own.” Noah gives you a small smile before he brings your hand up to his lips and gives it a gentle kiss.

“I know, sunshine, but we’re a team. You may be used to figuring things out and doing everything independently, but now you have me. Even though today was my day off, I would have dropped everything to help you. Trust me when I say this: I love you, and you’ll never have to carry any burden alone. Let me help you, baby. Let me be there for you and make things easier to carry.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity in them. The tension in your shoulders starts to ease as you let his words sink in. You’ve always prided yourself on being independent, but the comfort of having someone to share the load with feels like a warm blanket around your heart.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice a little shaky but full of relief. “I’ll let you help.”

He smiles softly, a look of pure affection in his eyes. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” he says, reassuringly squeezing your hands. “We’ll figure this out together.”

As you both sit there, holding each other’s hands, you begin to talk through the things that have been overwhelming you—planning for the tour, making time for friends and family, and the little tasks that have been piling up. Noah listens intently, offering suggestions and reassuring you that you don’t have to do it alone.

With each problem you discuss, the weight on your shoulders seems to lift a little more. By the end of the conversation, you feel lighter, more in control, and, most importantly, not alone. Noah pulls you into a warm embrace, and you feel like you can breathe easily for the first time in days.

“We’ve got this,” he murmurs into your hair. “One step at a time, together.”

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Norma Shearer (Marie Antoinette, The Women)— First Jewish woman to win an Oscar for her acting!! She pioneered stronger, more independent and complicated roles for women onscreen. One film historian described her as "the exemplar of sophisticated modern womanhood and ... the first American film actress to make it chic and acceptable to be single and not a virgin on screen."

Hazel Scott (Broadway Rhythm, Rhapsody in Blue)—ok ok let me tell you about Hazel Scott. She was a Trinidadian piano genius. By the age of 3 she could play the piano by ear. She would play jazzed-up versions of classics in nightclubs and could sing too! She appeared in five movies, and used her influence as a piano prodigy to improve Black representation in film—she turned down offensive parts, demanded equal pay, and always wore her own costumes to ensure she was portrayed as glamorous and beautiful. She was the first African-American woman to host her own television show, The Hazel Scott Show. She stood up for civil rights and was an overall icon! If you want to watch her being a genius, here she is playing two pianos at once. And here's this one that shows off her consummate glamor! [videos beneath the cut]

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Norma Shearer:

She got into showbiz on a technicality, there was a line of 60 girls to pick from, the studio needed 8 and she was second from last. She coughed loudly and then stood up and grinned when the casting director looked over at her, and he let her in because it made him laugh. After that there was several years of hard work before she landed her first movie. Where she had been repeatedly put down for her face in silent film, he was praised for her voice when the talkies first came about. She was most in her element in the pre-code era, when she played the strong, graceful, self-sufficient type of woman and she won the academy award for best actress in The Divorcee in 1930. She directly competed with greats like Greta Garbo and Joan Crawford for the rest of the 30s.

She just epitomizes Old Hollywood to me and seems criminally underrated these days

Short-haired, modern woman, pre-code queen

someone call the fire department because this woman is H-O-T HOT!! Three chilis and a warning label hot!! Ever-burning passion HOT!!! But also glam and elegant and gorgeous (the side profile portrait is the most beautiful picture of any person ever)... she has the range

Hazel Scott: