#mirrorlands

[art-in-progressosoup]

Here are all of the modern City Leaders of the Mirrorlands (Excluding the Vampire Clan Leaders- I'll post them later)

There are eleven major species in the Mirrorlands, not including hybrids. However, sometimes there are exceptions.

Rarely, there are some born with what's called 'Leader Blood'. Entirely at random, a child with Leader Blood will be born. They'll look differently, grow to a larger size, and live for a longer time than their usual life expectancy for their original species.

Though City Leaders don't always have Leader Blood, the majority of them do since the increased lifespan helps them get more accomplished during their leadership.

Most of the City Leaders I based off of actual mythological creatures, which I put my own spin on. My intent is not to be accurate to their original legends, though I draw inspiration from them!

For example, Ko'zen is based off of a chimera and technically has three personalities; Maelstrom is a Kraken, and Daedalus is a sasquatch.

Leader Blood can also result in the sitani looking like their normal species, but taller and with a longer lifespan. An example is Serena, a Giant River Siren, and Severus, who is a giant Sand Shifter.

[movies-to-add-to-your-tbw]

Title: The Snow Queen

Rating: PG

Director: Vladlen Barbe, Maksim Sveshnikov

Cast: Ivan Okhlobystin, Dmitriy Nagiev, Lyudmila Artemeva, Anna Ardova, Elizaveta Arzamasova, Galina Tyunina, Anna Shurochkina, Yuriy Stoyanov, Ramilya Iskander, Olga Shorokhova, Michael Tikhonov, Olga Zubkova

Release year: 2012

Genres: fantasy

Blurb: The ice-cold Snow Queen wishes to turn the world into a frozen landscape with no light, no joy, no happiness, and no free will. Kai is rumoured to be the son of a man who is the queen’s only remaining threat. He is abducted and held captive in the queen’s palace, and it’s up to his sister Gerda to rescue him. Gerda journeys across an icy land, facing difficult obstacles and meeting wonderful new friends that help her in her quest to set Kai free, defeat the Snow Queen, and save the world from eternal frost.

[devilander]

Why do you keep running headfirst into the same brick wall? It's because deep down, there's a part of you that is still... human. We gotta cut that part of you out.

[deliciouskeys]

This is a very serious post.

[hom3landr]

"just lie to me, okay? just this once."

Necessary Lies

CW - Major Character Death, descriptions of gore and sickness, ANGST ANGST ANGST

Homelander’s intentions had been pure when he arranged to dose you with Compound V. He’s reminded by a friend that’s how the road to hell is paved

You aren’t getting better.

Homelander’s stomach turns.

You aren’t getting better.

He’d done everything right. The whole process was done under the supervision of all of Vought’s best doctors and scientists. Even as you screamed and begged, he’d been confident that any complications could be swiftly dealt with. Sure, you’d been an adult when the V had been introduced into your system but you are strong. You have to be. You have to.

He watches you in your room. It doesn’t seem right for you to be surrounded by so much blank white. You are color and light but even you can’t withstand the way the awful room dims your soul. Maybe if you could see the sun you’d get better. But the doctors insist you are too fragile to handle any environment except the sterile one you are contained in.

He bites his lip anxiously as you continue to hack up blood, the bright crimson automatically drawing the eye. His instincts tell him to scan you, to watch as the V twists your DNA and transforms you into something greater.

I told you not to get your hopes up. You tend to have a less than stellar track record when it comes to mud people.

He shakes his head and tries to ignore the little voice in his ear. He’s wrong this time. It’s a hiccup that’s all. You’re strong. You are.

The voice is blocked out but not by his own efforts. A horrible cry leaves your lips as your bones crack and shift under your skin. More red spews on the floor. He winces at the wet splat as a chunk of something hits the floor.

That was juicy. Wanna bet that was a lung?

Homelander tastes iron as he splits his own lip. It feels like it’s your blood he’s tasting. It’s your blood he’s spilt.

That one was a little mean, I admit. But buck up Bucko, this is what you signed up for. Maybe you’ll listen to me next time.

He’s done this before. Why the fuck were you the one with complications?

“There’s a good reason Vought doesn’t do it.”

That’s what he told Madelyn that fateful night.

He’d killed her too

He steps to the side as a squad of sour smelling scientists rush in to stabilize you. But what can they do? What can they do now that the only outcome is for the poison to run its course? He vividly fantasizes about popping each one’s head like a ripe melon as punishment for not fixing this. It doesn’t make him feel better.

Please

He begs the voice in his head.

Just lie to me, okay? Just this once.

The once dependable steady rhythm of your heartbeat is dangerously erratic.

You smell like death.

Please!

He worries the cut on his lip with his tongue. It feels strange to have a wound. The scientists flutter around you nervously. They know you’re a lost cause but Homelander’s icy gaze compels them to at least pretend to be helpful. Their terror burns his nose. He decides to make their demise slow.

No can do Buddy, you know that’s not what I’m here for. I’m the only one who’ll never lie to you.

Your heartbeat grows fainter. Your breaths rattle.

One of the scientists pisses himself.

Please…

You turn your head and despite your eyes meeting his, he knows you can’t see him. You wouldn’t be able to even without the wall in the way. He doesn’t think you can see much of anything anymore.

I told you so. Better go in and say your goodbyes.

I hate you

Aw buddy, I’m the only thing you have left.

Your heart stops and a noise all too terribly familiar leaves your throat. The last noise you’ll ever make. A wail just as wretched leaves his lips.

He didn’t even say goodbye. He let you die in that awful room alone. He wasn’t even holding your hand. You were alone like he was alone all those many years ago. Being poked at like he was.

He vomits bile onto the floor.

You’re gonna need me more than ever now. Better get used to it.

[blindmagdalena]

Everyone always asks what's our special weakness. Gamma rays? Iron daggers? Some ridiculous, stupid thing? The truth is our weakness is the same as anyone's. It's people.

[olliveolly]

Hello people 👋🏼

I'm really sorry for the long absence.

I was on the road for a long time and kinda felt out of place.

I was thinking the other day about doing something new, maybe changing the content of the art. I needed to draw something about myself in these turbulent times...

in the meantime, I decided to include Huey in the story with baby Homelander and Mirrorlander😅

Hope you enjoy❤️

[bisexualhomelander]

Ryan and his "uncle" having a day together.

poppy; consolation

Ryan doesn’t like the pale imitation of his father that sometimes appears out of nowhere.

Come. Come here. Bloody hands reaching out to him in the forest.

This morning, Ryan walks into the apartment to greet his dad and instead sees the man wear his father’s face.

He wants to ask where his real dad is, but he is scared of the answer. What if Dad has left forever? What if it is the man who will raise him?

The man takes care of him, albeit in a cold way. He asks all the right questions: whether Ryan wants to skate to school, and when Ryan says yes, the man hands him the skateboard and opens the door for him so Ryan can take the shortcut, off the launch pad, 99 floors down.

When he returns home in the afternoon, the man is still there. Ryan tries not to cry. He’s twelve years old, and he’s no stranger to loss. He shouldn’t have to get teary-eyed over this. The man watches him unblinkingly, then walks over to sit down next to him.

“Where’s my father?” Ryan finally asks.

“He wants me to take care of you in his absence.”

“He’s never been gone so long.”

“Maybe I’m usually a better actor and you never notice when he’s not there,” the man says, and Ryan shivers. The man can see and puts an arm around Ryan’s shoulder. For the first time in a full day, Ryan feels like it’s Dad touching him. “See?” the man says when he feels the tension leave Ryan’s body. “That’s alright, champ, isn’t it?”

“Dad doesn’t call me ‘champ’.” Buddy. Son. The little shit who murdered your wife.

“I know. But I called your father that when he was your age.” The man is still rubbing his hand over Ryan’s arm monotonously.

“I miss Dad.”

“Your father loves you.” The man looks down at him, and Ryan finally meets his gaze. Empty eyes, devoid of love.

“But you don’t. You hate me.”

“No.” The man does not elaborate.

The man sends Ryan off to bed that night, stays standing in the doorway when he realises Ryan is uncomfortable having him in the room. But he doesn’t leave until Ryan is sleeping.

When Ryan enters the apartment the next morning, his father greets him with a hug and ruffles his hair. They do not talk about it.

[homeb0ys]

Don’t I always?

[miss-alice-evelynn]

The Boys is back and I'm back on my shit, lads.

The mirrorlander scene got to me, really driving home how fucked up Homelander really is. I need MORE

[blaacknoir]

*cracks knuckles* Here we go. Homelander and DID.

Opening Notes

If you have any questions about systems, this post, my system specifically, or if you just want to know every single thought I have ever had about Homelander and Mirrorlander in general, shoot me an ask!

Notes on Systems

A body that has more than one person in it is a system. You see this a lot in fiction. Sometimes it's fantastical, like Atem and Yugi (YGO). Sometimes it has a more realistic basis, like Kevin and his system (Split, Glass).

Systems can be split into two categories: Endogenic, meaning that the system did not form as a result of trauma. My system, the one I'm a part of, is endogenic. The members developed as the result of roleplaying and a whole bunch of autism. Systems that formed as a result of trauma are called traumagenic. Systems where the origins are sort of hazy, or are a bit of both, are called mixed origin. Some systems like this prefer the term quoigenic.

Please note that in neither of those instances did I use the word "DID."

I do not lose time as part of my system. All of us can talk to each other and share knowledge quite easily. There is no dissociation. DID requires all of these things.

Assuming that Homelander (HL) and Mirrorlander (ML) are, in fact, a system, they do not have DID. I do believe they're traumagenic--Antony Starr himself said that HL created ML as a kid to be a sort of mother/father/friend to him.

I believe that Homelander and Mirrorlander are part of the same mixed-origin system, and that they do NOT have DID.

More under the cut.

Notes on Homelander's System

We see Homelander and Mirrorlander communicating quite well, actually. It's a whole big Thing, even. We don't know what extent the mirror plays in their communication--if they need the mirror to communicate or if it just helps them communicate or if this is just how Kripke chose to show it--but they communicate clearly and easily.

I think it's also safe to assume there's no dissociative barrier between the two. When ML is talking, HL seems to be aware of time passing. There's also no mention of any "gaps" in his memory or "missing time."

We do see him dissociate, but that isn't necessarily tied to the system. Given his childhood in general, I think it's normal.

Now, why do I think he's mixed-origin instead of endogenic or traumagenic? Because HL created ML (something generally associated with endogenic systems) to deal with the trauma of being raised as a lab rat. That blurs the line a bit. Hence, mixed-origin.

Final Notes

This post is based on personal research, a small bit of headcanon, personal experience--both as a system and in system spaces--and a general love of the show. To me, one of the most compelling things about Mirrorlander is that he doesn't fall into the "evil alter/headmate" trope, something which dates back literal centuries (Jekyll and Hyde being the earliest one most people know). This is a man who was created to protect HL, and genuinely believes that he's doing his best. To me, this is a refreshing change.

S3 was a fucking shitshow, but HL/ML was amazing. I really hope we see more in the upcoming season.

[art-in-progressosoup]

Inktober Day 12- Each region has its own cuisine, but Sand Shifters like to experiment with all of them, including human foods they see. As a result, the Realm of the Mirror Guardians has a variety of fusion recipes known amongst the population

[outofcontextgumby]

The Gumby Show 1x2

[xieyaohuan]

What's wrong with these pictures?

[deliciouskeys]

I’m sorry.

[blindmagdalena]

Any Port in a Storm

18+ 1.7k homelander solo fic. masturbation, selfcest? praise kink.

Homelander struggles to put himself first during his "Me Time," but a friendly voice comes to the rescue: his own.

yes this is the bath fic i said i would write. no it's not what i was supposed to be working on. happy kinktober!

Homelander’s world is spiraling out of control.

The world saw him. The real him, and they fucking loved it.

At least, some of them had.

The rest were calling him a murderer.

He’s been channel flipping for nearly an hour listening to the different reports. Biases everywhere. Footage recut, reworked, every witness giving their own spin to the narrative. No one seems to care about the truth. They’re too concerned with their own petty little agendas. Half the time they don’t even talk about him, just what this means for two opposing sides.

They want him in jail. Him, Homelander. America’s Favorite Hero.

The remote cracks in his hand. He hisses out a tight breath and stands, tossing the plastic shrapnel onto the couch. He needs to blow off some steam. Take care of himself.

God knows no one else will.

He runs a bath, turning the water as scaldingly hot as it will go. He lets it fog up the mirrors and the windows in his bathroom, inhales the steam while he undresses. Once the bath is mostly full, he turns off the faucet and slides in, the heat drawing a low sigh out of him as he sinks into it. The water doesn’t hurt, doesn’t even turn his skin pink, but it does seep in and help alleviate some of the tension in his muscles.

Resting his head back on the curve of the tub, he closes his eyes, taking a moment to simply be. The weight of the world has been on his shoulders for so long, he doesn’t know how to be truly weightless, not even when he flies. This comes close, though. The water laps idly back and forth, taking on his weight, before settling still around him. 

For all that he cannot control in his life, there’s at least one thing that never fails him.

Adjusting, he moves his hand from the edge of the tub and settles it at the base of his soft cock, huffing a breath from his nose. He strokes slow and shallow at first, sifting through the images behind his closed eyelids for something suitable. All he needs is the thought of a warm hole, something tight and reverent wrapped around his cock. He’s not picky right now, whatever does the trick.

Any port in a storm, after all.

His mind's eye constructs vague shapes: lips, a flicking tongue dragging over the head of his cock before they take him down their throat. He lets out a breath, cock giving a weak twitch in his hand, but he’s still far from even a half chub. He needs something more. He imagines reaching down and feeling soft hair, stroking his fingers through it. It morphs blonde, and blue eyes look up– ”It’s not even gay if it’s with yourself.” Homelander hisses through his teeth, opening his eyes to banish the image– the memory–of his stolen face peering up at him with weak, watery eyes. Fucking Doppelganger.

Whatever momentum he’d gained has vanished. He gives his cock an impatient, irritated tug, as if it’s somehow at fault, and settles back down, closing his eyes. C’mon. C’mon, soft. Long hair. Something… Something else.

Turns out not any port.

Starting over, he tries to find his way towards something less existential. Something easy, sexy, wet and good. He imagines hands first this time, strong hands in his hair, on his chest, pinning him down and riding him fast and hard. He squeezes his cock just like she had, remembers how good it had felt to fuck someone who wanted him as bad as he wanted them, how eagerly she’d thrown him around, climbed in his lap. They never did fuck in a bed.

A puddle of blood in a bed. That’s all that was left of her.

“Fuck!” He snaps, giving his cock a yank hard enough that it actually hurts a little.

He’s losing it. He’s been fucked with so thoroughly, been robbed of so much, and now this? He doesn’t have a single good memory to pull from, and his amorphous fantasies turn around to bite him like serpents. Even now, he can hear Stan fucking Edgar in the back of his mind leering about bad product because he can’t even get a proper boner going.

“You fuck–you fucking–” He’s jerking himself hard and fast, half hard only by sheer stimulation, but it doesn’t feel good.

Whoa, whoa! Hold your horses, his inner voice calls, drowning out the noise. Jesus Christ, take a breather. Let go of your dick before you rip the damn thing off, he says to himself, finally easing the tension in his grip. He opens his eyes, panting, on the verge of tears as he rubs at his face in exasperation.

That’s it. Relax. That’s what you’re here for, right? To relax.

He nods, pushing his hands through his hair, breathing shallowly.

Learn from your mistakes, champ. You know what all this is, don’t’cha? You’re still too reliant on other people. Even the ones that’re dead and gone, you’re clawing at them to help you. Make you feel good. They’re poison, and you don’t need ‘em. Y’never did.

He presses the base of his palms into his temples, swallowing back the surge of sadness like bile, his throat burning with it.

“I’m so fucking alone,” he grits out.

You are the only person you’ve ever needed. C’mon, snap out of it. Lemme show you.

Sucking in a breath, he grinds the wetness from his eyes with his palms, exhaling roughly, and then sinks his hands back down into the water. He moves to reach for his cock again, but stops himself.

Not so fast. I’m driving now.

Instead, he slides both hands down the length of his torso, his sides, down his thighs, and back up. He moves slowly, touching his chest, his nipples. He focuses simply on the feeling of being touched, on how little his hands feel like his own right now. He tips his head back while his hand settles on his throat, squeezing lightly.

Feels good to be touched, doesn’t it?

“Yes,” he sighs, swallowing against the press of his palm. He tweaks his nipples with his other hand, sliding back and forth under the water, rolling his thumb over it until each nub grows hard and sensitive. At least those still work.

Quit being so hard on yourself. You’re perfect. You hear me? Fucking perfect.

He licks his lips, nodding. “Yeah… Yeah, m’fuckin’... M’fuckin’ perfect…”

The hand on his chest moves gradually lower, pausing to trace patterns on his stomach. He can’t remember the last time he touched himself like this, slow and exploratory, as if he were a lover new to himself. His hand slips lower, but he bypasses his cock entirely, cupping his balls beneath it. He makes a little noise at that, planting his feet flat in the tub so that he can rock himself gently, water sloshing back and forth with him as he rolls against his palm.

You feel good, don’t you?

“Yeah,” he rasps, the hand at his throat squeezing as he speaks, reminding him of his hold, of his strength.The feel finally makes his cock jump, which has him smiling a little. His middle finger rubs at the soft flesh of his perineum, pressing in lightly. His hand moves up from his throat, cups the side of his face. His thumb strokes over the jut of his parted lips.

Go ahead. Kiss. Know you want to.

He does. He desperately misses kissing someone. Feeling their lips soft against his, their breath on his lips. He might love kissing more than he loves fucking. He purses his lips against his thumb, kisses it like he would another person, the noise of it soft and wet in his ears. He opens his mouth enough to take his thumb between his lips and lap at it like it’s someone else’s tongue.

Atta boy.

He screws his eyes tightly shut, thrusting up. His cock has filled out all the way now, and it bobs against his stomach a few times, the warm water flowing all around him. “M’ready,” he says feverishly, half muffled around his thumb, fingers cupping his cheek. “M’ready, wanna touch.”

So touch, his voice says, amused. No one’s gonna tell you ‘no’ ever again.

He pulls his hand up from his balls and wraps it around the base of his shaft, squeezing lightly before pulling his grip slowly up the length of his cock, shivering. He feels sensitized all over, hyper-aware of the same body that felt numb to him moments ago. His cock is hard and heavy in his grip, the thick vein along the underside throbbing. He angles his hand so that the pads of his fingers follow the line of it as he strokes himself. He moans against his hand, turning his head to push deeper into it.

Who are you?

“Homelander,” he pants, water sloshing over the edge of the tub as he thrusts, fucking the tight channel of his hand.

What are you?

“A hero,” he says, brows furrowing. He feels hotter than the bath water ever was, his eyes burning red behind the veil of his lids. He bares his teeth like something wild. An animal never to be caged again.

No, no. You’re more than that now. You’re not just their hero. What are you?

“A fff–a god, I’m–I’m a fucking god!” He roars, slamming up against his fist at the same time heat and light erupts from his eyes, the wild surge of it shooting straight up and through his ceiling. His toes curl and his back arches into a perfect curve, wave after wave of pleasure lapping through him in one of the most earth shattering orgasms he’s had in fucking years.

The porcelain around him cracks from the push of his body, his foot breaking through the bottom right side. Water rushes out of the tub, but he doesn’t care in the least. He sinks to the bottom as it empties, high as a kite on his release, and the sound of his own voice purring affirmations in the back of his mind. His own palm remains warm on his cheek, thumb stroking along his skin.

He doesn’t need any port. He is the storm.