#someday i'll finish that fic

[themeraldee]

The Price of Love - Part 2

[Masterlist] [Part 1]

18+ Only | 3.8k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 2. Voyeurism. Dark themes. Breaking and entering. Manipulation. Fraud. Gaslighting. Office sex. Unprotected sex. Homelander being his own warning. I'm not really sure how to tag this properly tbf.

Homelander’s devious plan starts when he perfectly times when both you and your spouse leave your apartment empty. He knows you’re at the Vought tower, assisting Ashley in organizing photoshoots for the next issue of Vought Sports. Just the thought of that makes him roll his eyes. He’s got a four page feature with the Yankees, something about the importance of baseball to the American population. 

No. He can’t get distracted like that. Not when he’s already been so careful. Work can wait. 

He lands on your small balcony, testing the door handle. It budges immediately. Homelander grins at the revelation. You’re clearly one of those people who don’t think to lock the doors and windows just because you’re high off the ground. He’d have thought that after knowing him you’d know better than that. 

Homelander steps into your apartment. He’s planning to be thorough with his little impromptu visit. It’s only fair. Thanks to your job you have pretty much unrestricted access to his penthouse. You’ve seen what his space looks like. He should get to see yours too.

The first thing that hits him is just how this space doesn’t smell like you as much as he’d want. He can almost taste the bitter scent of your spouse in the air. Yuck. Homelander immediately walks through, exploring the kitchen, the living room for anything substantial at all.

There are letters with angry red words, shouting about bills being past due. Medical bills pinned to the fridge with some generic city magnet. Coupons and budgets all crammed on the small space on the fridge. Clearly, something isn’t working. Homelander has zero sympathy regarding your spouse but he cares about you. He doesn’t want you to suffer and with him, you’d never again have to worry about unpaid bills or having a roof over your head. 

He scoffs to himself. What kind of irresponsible and unreliable spouse have you got? You’re clearly working hard, he sees you relentlessly keep your head up at work and with your position only rising and more responsibilities being piled up on your plate he can imagine you earn a decent wage.

Clearly, it’s being drained somewhere. Whoever your spouse is, they’re a good-for-nothing leech that’s holding you back.

He could pay them off. Threaten them. Torture them. Kill them even. A thought that sends a thrilling shiver down his spine. But no, this has to be your decision. You need to be the one to decide to leave them. You need to seek him out. 

Homelander continues with his little exploration trip. Already forming a plan in his mind. What he saw the other day wasn’t coincidental. He feels a rift. Ever since that night he watched you pleasure yourself to the thought of him he knew it wasn’t a one-off. But for the first time Homelander gave you the ammo. He told you to your face that he’s interested. He allowed you to lean into these fantasies at the cost of having no leverage in his petty mind.

He can’t wait to put his plan into motion. 

Looking through the rest of your apartment should make him feel upset, agitated. Instead Homelander walks around with a huge grin on his face as he looks at the few framed pictures on the wall. They’re old. You don’t look like this anymore so decidedly your spouse hasn’t done anything worth remembering in recent times. Perfect. This is all working perfectly towards his plan.

Your spouse doesn’t value you. Clearly. He notices more signs of this behavior throughout your belongings. The cheap perfume that he smells on you everyday is so uninspiring he’s never even heard of the brand. The makeup is cheap, terrible enough quality that should only be used by teenage girls that are discovering themselves, not for a professional woman like you. Your clothes tell a similar story. You have a few nice outfits that you wear to your job. You only ever dress nicely for him. The rest of your closet feels like plastic, uncomfortably stiff and scratchy, it’s unlikely to last another season.

You will have none of these issues with him. Homelander will buy you only the best. Top of the line. All designer, original or handmade. Anything you’ll want, it’ll be yours. Only the best for his lover.

The more time he spends in your apartment the less he’s angry and upset about your initial rejection. He sees it now as a cry for help. Secretly, in between the lines you were rattling the bars of your prison begging him to save you.

And oh he will. 

The cherry on the top is the cheap ring that sits on your bedside table. No special case for it, no display, you don’t even carry it around with you. Maybe unconsciously you know how little your spouse values you. He picks it up to feel it. Cubic Zirconia on a small sterling silver band. Less than $100. Homelander scoffs at the cheap representation of your bond. So easy to scuff and crush. Maybe it directly reflects your marriage. 

Homelander leaves your apartment exactly the way he found it and over the next few days he watches. He watches you interact with your spouse, looking for any chink in the armour of your marriage and oh my does he find plenty.

Your spouse doesn’t deserve you, they don’t treat you with the same respect you give them. There’s room for insecurity to worm your way into your brain. He knows that now. You have sex at most once a week and even then it doesn’t look like it scratches the itch for you. Don’t worry, he’ll have you writhing under him in no time.

But it needs to be at your own pace. He knows you’re loyal to a fault, you’ve proven yourself with such quality over your time working for Vought. You won’t leave your spouse without a good reason. Besides betrayal. You clearly can deal with a non-spectacular life and even less remarkable sex life. But betrayal? A total annihilation of trust? Well, he knows you won’t be able to shake that off.

With that, he sets his plan into motion.

Nothing he does is by his hand of course, he needs to be invisible in all this. Instead he pays lackeys and he bullies Vought employees into scamming your spouse, stealing your shared banking details without them knowing any better.

Over the next month he periodically withdraws a sum of money from your shared account, slowly making his plan come to fruition. He keeps you busy at work. Really busy. You don’t have time to keep up with your household and worry about budgeting. You pull away from your spouse—a bonus he didn’t see coming. It’s even worth the stress it’s causing you. Each day you come in with dark circles under your eyes, tiredness just seeping out of your pores. But it’s okay. You can go through a bit of hardship while he plans your rescue. Things always get worse before they get better.

At the same time, your bills are going up, rent has skyrocketed—something about a new ownership, company you wouldn’t recognise as it’s outlined in the letter that came in the mail. More than ever now, Homelander sees you not skipping any overtime. Good, you spend most of your time with him now. He watches the late night arguments you have with your spouse about pulling their weight and how you can’t do everything yourself. Yes. Yes, it’s finally happening.

You haven’t even seen the main act.

When the next medical bill comes out and there’s not enough money in the shared account he waits it out. He’s planted all the seeds. All the money periodically taken out by the planted escort services. The bank statements laid out plain and clear. The call logs coming and outgoing to the same establishment. Your spouse’s lack of interest in sex with you only reinforced this notion.

Homelander isn’t there to watch the fall out. He’s too excited. Already waiting for you to spring into his arms at a moment’s notice. 

But you don’t.

Each day he gets more and more irritated. You should already be shouting his praises, showing him your signed divorce papers but instead you’re moping around like a sad dark cloud, raining oh his parade. 

Okay fine, he’s gonna have to nudge you a bit. It’s not going exactly according to his plan but that’s okay, he can adapt.

The next time you bring over some talking points for him to read and memorize, he stops you. He stops you from spilling out your rehearsed words, his gloved hand raised tearing you out of your mindless monologue you’ve been told to parrot back to him. You blink up at him, a little confused. You haven’t had many interactions these days so Homelander can’t blame you for acting like a deer in headlights.

“Hey, you okay? You look tired. Are you sleeping fine?” He gives his words the perfect amount of care and softness. Breaking through the shell you’ve put up around him. He gets it, you’re trying to be a strong woman—ladidadida. Normally he likes that about you but now you’re messing with his plans.

You sniffle and he smells the waterworks before they even burst the dam. One little question and you take two steps back, your back hitting the wall of the meeting room and you slide down onto the ground. Whimpering out a little wet ‘no’ you bring your knees up burying your face in them.

“Hey hey hey… what’s wrong?” He lowers to the ground in front of you.

“Everything’s wrong. My whole life is falling apart!” You sob into your knees. You start spilling as if he’s the first person to ask you how you’re doing. You rattle off an unintelligible ramble of hiccups, sobs and half-spoken words. 

Homelander was lucky that you still had your face buried in your knees because he could not stop the grin spreading across his face as he heard you hiccup the word ‘divorce’. After the little indulgence, he trained his face back into a sympathetic pout and he ran his hand down the back of your head, petting your hair.

“Slow down, say what now? Did you say you’re getting divorced? What happened?” If only Vought productions could see this Oscar-worthy performance they’d be making more interesting movies than the cookie cutter action flicks he has to waste his time on.

“Yeah…my…well, my ex now. They cheated on me. I mean they poured all our money down the drain, spent it all in a strip club or on some escort or whatever. Fuck. I don’t even know. I don’t want to know the details.” You look up at him and in that moment Homelander has never seen anything more beautiful. The tears in your eyes, the swollen red rim around them. All because of his doing. This is the start of a new chapter. 

A chapter dedicated to you and him.

He stops himself from smiling widely, he’s meant to be supportive now. Sympathetic. He nods as you continue.

“I’ve been breaking my back just to afford the insane rent and bills and this is what I get back?!” You flip flop between bouts of rage and fresh tears bursting at every other word. 

“Shhh, shh come here.” Homelander pulls you in close to him and back on your feet. He lifts you off enough where you feel the floor underneath your feet but most of your weight is being held up by him. As if he’s saying ‘you don’t have to carry it all on your own’.

“I’ll help you, okay? Anything you need. I’m here for you.” He cooes into your ear, rubbing soothing circles into your back as he hugs you close to him. 

Homelander knows you’re meant for him. But to actually have you in his arms for the first time is different. He wants to bury his face in your neck and inhale as much of your scent as he can. And forever carry that with him.  

But he doesn’t have to wish. Instead you pull away from where you buried your head in his neck, you place your hands on his jaw and you forcibly kiss him. Take the air right out of his lungs. Homelander immediately squeezes his eyes shut, doing his very best to not moan out loud. That’s it! Finally, he’s got you right where he wanted this whole time.

He squeezes you closer, his one hand slides down to your thigh, hoisting your leg up. And like the good, obedient girl you are, you bring your other leg up with him, wrapping yourself tight around his waist.

The taste of you is sweet and salty at the same time, the pure flavor muddled with the tears your ex doesn’t deserve. It doesn’t matter, Homelander kisses you desperately regardless. Hungry for the taste he’s been dreaming of for months. 

“Do you still want me?” You breathe out, less actively sobbing and choking on breaths, now the tears are just freely going down your cheeks.

“Always.” Homelander looks at you in reverence. You’re welcoming him in so freely. He doesn’t even need to push you to it. That’s how he knows you’re perfect for him. Barely just free out of the prison he rescued you from and you’ve already come running to him.

“Make me forget.” You kiss him again and Homelander swallows up everything you have to give. He pins you against the wall, his hands gliding from your thighs to your ass, the leather of his gloves sliding up the sleek fabric of your skirt. Through it he squeezes handfuls of your ass, before pushing the fabric up and out of the way.

“Please…make me feel good.” You sound broken and in need of good fuck that Homelander’s sure you haven’t had in years. Right, he can totally do that for you. He supports your weight easily, pinned between his body and the wall. One hand slides down from your ass, giving himself enough room to slide in between your legs, cupping your pussy. 

“I will. I will. Don’t worry about anything anymore. I’ve got you.” His fingers pinch the sheer tights and with a snap, he rips the fabric, immediately pushing your panties out of the way.

He brings his hand to his mouth, biting the leather of his glove by the fingertips, pulling it off his hand. His bare hand goes back down in between your legs immediately dipping his fingers in your wetness. He feels how excited you are. How for the first time in years your body is finally gonna feel satisfied. You yearn for this. He can almost taste it. 

His lips part and he moans at the feeling of your pussy just inviting him in. So hot and wet just for him. He strokes the back of his fingers up and down your slit, making your legs buzz with excitement. All nerves coming back to life. He sees that in you, the way you light up. Your heart rate elevated, breaths shallow, your muscles twitching. Homelander takes pride in the way he can make your body sing with just a few well-placed touches.

He turns his fingers around, gently, precisely, rubbing circles around your clit. He kisses you. No, he devours you. Parting his lips, he pries yours open, licking the taste of him into your mouth. He grunts into the kiss, moaning with each press of your lips. Each time you shove your tongue into his mouth he shudders, full of want. 

His fingers eagerly move down, pressing two digits steadily into you until he’s knuckles deep, grinding them into your pelvis, shallow strokes in and out. Crooked upwards and thick inside you.

He’s so hard it hurts. Achingly throbbing against the uncomfortable rigidity of his suit and he cannot wait to just fucking bury himself into you.

As if you were reading his mind your hands blindly and clumsily reach for his belt, unclasping it. Eagerly with more dexterity than he expected you to have in a moment like this you undo his pants, pulling them down along with his underwear.

Homelander hisses through his teeth, throwing his head back as your hand touches his aching cock. It’s so overwhelming he barely catches your awe at seeing it. 

“Oh fuck… Can I have you? Please?” You squirm in his hold your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking the head up and down. 

Jesus. You’re begging for him so easily. He could cum just from this. Your hand, warm and soft around him, stroking his sensitive head all while you’re beginning for him to take you? Good god, if he knew you’d be this pliant he would have had your ex killed in an ‘accident’.

“Course you can.” He mutters out, strung out on the pleasure that’s sending sparks up his spine with each twist of your wrist. He takes his fingers out of you, sucking them clean. God you taste good. He definitely needs to come back to that. He shimmies his pants down lower, releasing his cock fully. “Course you fucking can. It’s yours.” Straining he whimpers out, positioning his cock right against your wet cunt, the head spreading you open. “I’m yours.” He almost sounds close to crying. All that effort was so fucking worth it. You are so his. Who else could you want after you’ve had him. He’s so close to euphoria he forgets that you were crying a few minutes ago.

He wraps both arms around the underside of your thighs pinning your knees closer to your body as he sinks deep into you with one push. You’re so fucking wet and warm for him he could cry out of happiness. You want him so bad!

“Fffuck me, that’s tight.” He utters, all broken and whimpering as he buries his head into your neck, inhaling the scent of you like he wanted to earlier while he stills his hips, his pelvic flush against yours.

He’s so overwhelmed with the physicality of it all. Even through all the layers he feels the heat of your body, the thrum of your muscles and the rhythm of your heart. It’s intoxicating. 

He pulls out just to sink himself into you again. And again. And again. The feeling of splitting you open with each slide of his cock gets him so worked up, his own breaths coming out stuttered. 

“Homelander please… just… fuck me. Need it.” You beg him to continue, and as much as he’s enjoying the warm welcome on each wet, loud slide he gets it. You just need him to pound you hard and make you forget. Erase all memories of your shitty ex and the mediocre sex you’ve learned to live with. It’s okay. You’re with him now. And everyone knows there’s nothing mediocre about him.

Homelander kisses the plea out of your lips stepping a little closer so that he’s sat deep, deep inside you. Every thrust of his pelvis is a short snap but you feel it so deep it rattles your spine with every move. The way he’s got you angled is just about rubbing his pubic bone into your clit and he can’t help but grin at the way he’s already feeling you desperately claw at him, trying to hold onto reality.

You moan for him sweetly, your body quivering around him. And he doesn’t relent. It’s frantic, sharp and needy. This is about that quick release. He will have plenty of time to explore your body and make you cum a thousand times over later. Ideally from the privacy of his bed where he can watch you from every angle.

When he feels you clench and pulsate around him he stutters, one of his hands landing on the wall, making a dent in it. More than anything he wants you to cum. He wants to show you how much better he will be to you. The pure euphoria of feeling you cum on his cock pushes him over the edge. He moans a deep guttural sound into your neck, parts of it muffled. As your pussy deliciously squeezes around him in a stuttered rhythm he empties himself into you. His cock gives you one last spurt inside before he slides out, letting you get back on the ground to regain your footing. 

He’s mildly delirious and the next thing he wants to do is take you up to his penthouse and hold you close. He craves the intimacy of the afterglow.

Unlike his fantasy you don’t look to be ready to be swept off your feet and carried to his penthouse for some quality cuddle time. You look almost horrified.

“Oh my god…” Homelander watches with a frown as you push your underwear back into place, your skirt down over your thighs. You try to make a sense of the torn, tattered mess of your tights but you decide it’s better to take them off. He takes the chance to tuck himself back in while you sort your clothing situation and the turmoil in your head.

Before he can even question what has you so upset you continue. “I’m so sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.” What was a warm buzzing feeling that made his whole body vibrate pleasantly just turned to ice. 

What the fuck do you mean it shouldn’t have happened? 

He doesn’t get a say in again as you continue before he recovers from the blow. “I just fucking used you. I’m sorry. That’s—That’s terrible! I’m no better than my ex. I–I—” You visibly panic, your eyes wide as saucers and looking around almost everywhere but him.

But your eyes land there anyway. He almost laughs with relief. This is your problem? How cute.

“Nothing like that happened. Hey, none of that talk. You’re perfect. You’ve done nothing wrong alright?” He took one step closer, his hands immediately cupping your jaw from either side. Only one hand ungloved, using that one to feel the skin of your cheek as he tenderly strokes you. 

“I want to help you in any way I can. How about you move in with me until we sort this out, huh? I don’t want you staying with a person like that. Come on, I want you safe. And Vought’s got some great lawyers that can help you with the divorce.” He deploys his sweet tone, so persuasive, charismatic and charming. He knows what he’s doing and already you’re melting into his hands. Good. He grins at you. “Alright, sweetheart?”

You nod with your big watery sweet eyes and it’s then he knows that he won. Fair and square.

You were his long before you even knew it.

Finally, you recognize it too.

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

[suudonym]

it's been a year today since I posted the first chapter of a little more like hell and I thought it'd be fun to make something like a cover image for it

[skyward-floored]

also what happens to Malon after she's arrested????? (does she, perhaps, find smth out about her deceased husband 👀)

- hero-of-the-wolf

@hero-of-the-wolf

...

Malon was tossed into a holding cell without a word, and without so much as the hope of a trial or lawyer or anything of the sort.

She heard a distant laugh as the door was slammed behind her, and exhaled wearily as she sat up, brushing some dried blood from her cheek as she moved. The trip here hadn’t been long, but it had been one unpleasant moment after another, harsh shoves and sneers and glee at her arrest, and even a shock she’d gotten when a guard���s hand had wandered and she’d punched him.

Add that to the bruises she’d gotten from the fight earlier with Warriors, and most of her body ached.

Malon closed her eyes, thinking of her husband’s brother. Warriors had stayed beside her as long as he could after she’d been arrested, a hand on her arm until he'd been called away and had to leave. Despite the fact that they’d had to feign indifference and hatred towards one another the whole time, Malon had found his presence comforting. She’d missed him, and he reminded her of Time, and better days.

She only wished she could have spoken to him more. It didn’t take superpowers for her to see that he was barely holding it together.

“...Hello?”

Malon stilled, and raised her head, looking around the tiny cell.

It was essentially a stone box, small with no windows, a toilet in the corner, and two somewhat-cushioned benches by the walls that Malon supposed were meant to be beds. A girl who must have just been asleep was sitting up on one of them, holding her arm tight to her chest as she looked warily at Malon.

The girl couldn’t have been older than Legend, though her face was worn in a similar way that made Malon’s heart pang. Her blonde hair was messy and was trying to hang in her face, but her indigo eyes were sharp in the artificial light, and watched Malon with a calculating look.

“Are you a super?” she asked bluntly, and Malon blinked, then smiled, easing up to her feet.

“Hello to you too. Yes I am, but with nothing that’ll get us out of here I’m afraid,” she answered, wincing as she walked over and sat on the opposite bench. “Is this room temporary? Or am I going to be here a while?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only been here for about a day,” the girl replied, holding her arm tighter to her chest. “And don’t worry about your powers being useful or not. They’re blocked in here.“

Malon hummed. “That’ll be hard to test, seeing as they’re animal related. But thank you for the warning.”

The girl nodded and messed with her hair, letting silence fall between them. Malon studied her again, trying to figure out if she really was the same age as Legend, and her heart ached at the reminder of her son. She hoped desperately that he and the boys had gotten away— by now they must be close to Sky’s, even if they were being cautious.

All of them except for Twilight.

A deeper pang of worry shot through her as she thought of her other son, and she bit her lip.

Oh Twi, please be okay...

Malon sucked in a slow breath, and gave the girl a gentle smile. “My name is Malon,” she said, in an effort to keep herself distracted from her worries. Being anxious about her family wouldn't make them any safer. “How about you?”

“...Zelda,” the girl said quietly, then shrugged. “Or Zel. Or Zellie. Or Fable.”

“Fable?”

Her mouth quirked up. “I know another Zelda, we did nicknames to make it easier. Somehow that was just what got picked. It’s what I tend to go by, honestly.”

Malon smiled. “I know how that goes. I have two sons named Link, and more Links beside that rarely go by their names. Long story,” she added at Fable’s confused look.

Fable sighed and leaned against the wall. “Well, I’ve got time.”

“I was hoping to use mine to somehow get out of here,” Malon said with a glance around, and Fable closed her eyes.

“You’re welcome to try, but I’ve had no luck. I’ve gotten food once while I’ve been here, and they threatened to shock me if I tried anything with the door open. Not that I could with this,” she huffed, gesturing to the arm she had cradled to her chest.

Malon looked closer, and realized that the arm was swollen and bruised, the skin an unpleasant mix of purples and bluish-greens.

“Are you okay?” Malon asked worriedly, and Fable shrugged one shoulder.

“It’s just a broken arm. It got hurt in the fight before they arrested me, and nobody’s done anything for it,” she said in a pointed voice at the doorway.

The door stayed silent.

Malon frowned, and carefully stood and approached Fable, sitting down beside her. “...May I?”

Fable hesitated, then slowly held out her arm, the limb shaking a bit. Malon took it with a gentle hand, and studied it, feeling cautiously along the skin. Fable winced, but Malon made sure to be careful, and after a couple minutes, was fairly sure that the break was near the middle of her forearm.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s too bad,” Malon said, gently releasing her arm. “It’s swollen, so maybe that’s why, but I couldn’t feel the actual break. It’ll set easily if it is one, but we should probably figure out a way to get a sling for you.”

Fable wrinkled her eyebrows at Malon like she couldn’t quite figure her out, but she nodded. And she didn’t try to stop Malon when she pulled off the apron she still had on (she wondered briefly what had ever happened to the bacon she’d been cooking), and worked on tying it around into a suitable sling.

“So... what happened to you?” Fable asked after a minute of Malon fiddling with fabric. “If you don't mind me asking. You said you're a super, but you're not even in uniform. What did you do to get thrown in here?”

“Me? Oh me and my family have been doing a lot under ol’ Dark’s nose for a while now, and everything finally caught up to us,” Malon sighed, figuring a true explanation would take too long. Wind and Four alone would probably make Fable think she was crazy. “They came after us at home after we tried to help somebody. My family that was at the house made it away, but my one son was on duty... I don’t know where he is.”

Malon breathed out a sigh she told herself wasn’t shaky, and cleared her throat.

“How about you? What did a nice girl like you do to get arrested?”

Fable blinked, and looked down at Malon's attempts to secure the sling, not speaking for a moment.

“I fought back,” she said after a long minute of silence. “I just— I just hit my limit. I couldn’t take it anymore, what they’re doing, how they treat us...”

Fable’s voice wobbled.

“My... father died. And I know it wasn’t by natural causes, I found proof, but I couldn’t do anything with it. It was an official who’d had him killed, and I knew I had to keep acting like everything was fine like I didn’t know and I just... I snapped. It didn’t end well. Obviously.”

She swallowed thickly, and Malon, finished with the sling, gave her a gentle look.

“I’m sorry hon, that must’ve been awful,” Malon said softly, and Fable pulled her legs up to her chest.

“I've definitely had better days. At least I got to toss a few people into the harbor,” she murmured, then swallowed and looked away. “Do you... think your family is okay?”

“I hope so,” Malon replied softly. “Twi... Twilight— he’s my oldest— he’s tough, and his powers enhance his senses, so he should be okay. My youngest can turn invisible, and he has somewhere safe to go, and friends with him. I’m worried about them all, but... I trust their skills. I think they’ll be okay.” They'd better be okay.

I don't think I can lose anybody else.

Malon took a deep breath, and looked over at Fable, giving her a smile.

“And I’m not planning on sitting around here and waiting for them to rescue me,” she said firmly, and squeezed Fable’s shoulder. "Or see what sort of sentence or punishment either of us is going to get. I'm gonna to do my best to escape. You wanna work together and bust out of here?"

Fable looked at her in surprise, and hesitated, eyes scanning across her face.

Then her eyes hardened with determination.

“Yes. I don't want to stick around and see what they're going to do to us either. I'm in," she said with a deep breath, and Malon took her uninjured hand in hers, and shook it.

"In that case, we'd better get to work," she smiled, and Fable returned it. "What can you do, hon?"

And as Fable explained her powers, already looking less pale and defeated then she had when Malon had first been tossed in, Malon felt the hope that had started to dim in her heart flicker back to life.

[purgaytorysupremacy]

oh nuts. a life experience has given me a new layer of perspective on Cas's homosexual declaration of love to Dean.

recently I had occasion to tell a person I had feelings for them knowing full well they didn't feel even a twinge of the same thing for me. while the whole thing was a decidedly unpleasant experience, I kept laughing at myself internally bc I didn't want to say "the happiness is just in saying it" like fucking Castiel over here. (we don't need to talk about it, it's fine.) (I am happier having said it and it's kind of bullshit, but I digress.)

because the thing is, the happiness isn't in just saying it, right? the happiness is in the having. I made a whole TikTok "proving" that the Empty didn't come for Cas when he confessed his love, but rather when he realized Dean loved him back. even for Cas, the happiness was in the having, not in the saying, however brief it was.

and I've always been one of those people who rolled their eyes at the whole concept. why would the happiness be in just being, in just saying it, if it's right there in front of you to have. and then it hit me like a tonne of bricks (as I was washing my kitchen counters).

Cas really didn't think he could have Dean.

at all. in any capacity. he really, truly, and honestly felt to the depths of himself that Dean did not have any twinge of similar feelings, that this really was a Hail Mary shot-in-the-dark. and I think me, personally, really didn't understand that about Cas. that his belief in his love being unrequited was that unshakable.

something else I've been pondering is how audiences have so much more empathy for fictional characters who share traits that IRL they find objectionable and unappealing. but the thing is about fictional characters is that we follow them around in their most private, vulnerable moments. we see Dean mourning Cas when he dies, literally killing himself because he can't live without him, but it's so easy to forget that we're the omniscient ones here.

Cas never knew.

Dean's whole thing was pushing him away, keeping him at arm's length, making it seem like whatever heroic thing he does for Cas he'd do for anyone. he downplays how important it is for Dean to share the Deancave with him, to show him his favourite movies, share his favourite songs. he acts like the things Cas does for him don't mean that much to hide how much they do mean. he uses "we" whenever he even gets in the vicinity of expressing a feeling. "We were worried." "We're glad you're back." "We needed a win." "You're our brother." The audience knew the difference. We saw how he'd clench his jaw or swallow hard or make a face that said "God, I'm being such an idiot". Because we saw him in those little moments. We got to see the cracks in the mask.

but Cas never knew.

the self-hating angel of Thursday was never going to think it was all a way for Dean to protect himself. obviously, that's the delicious tragedy of it all, but what I think I realized at the end of all that is Cas confessing his love to a Dean who didn't love him back wouldn't have worked. Because the happiness really is in the having. If happiness was just in saying it, then The Empty would have come before Cas even finished getting the words out of his mouth.

so Cas's plan wouldn't have worked if Dean didn't love him back.

this is just me yapping on about my own nonsense, but I do think it's really interesting. there's contentment in "just saying it". there's freedom and relief and an unburdening. I think one can argue that it makes being happy in the being easier. there is certainly some joy in telling a person you think that highly of them. but true happiness?

nah.

true happiness is always going to only be in the having. Cas didn't understand the difference until he experienced it, and by then, it was too late.

[planetcleer]

anyway regarding modern day losers club and friday nights!!!!

mike and ben both play football and are, respectively, derry high's star quarterback and best offensive lineman (and help lead the varsity team to three state championships!!!) and are super tight w the rest of the team

eddie obviously joins the cheer squad freshman year, the first boy in derry high history, after being dared on a whim by richie, and is instantly like?? REALLY into it, so he sticks with it all four years and eventually becomes co-captain. he's also fucking adored by the girls on the squad and is one of the flyers lmao

the rest of the losers have their own resident spot in the student section of the bleachers that no one dares touch, and they all pile into richie’s or bill’s car to travel to away games

stan pretends not to be into it at first but he rivals richie in sheer volume every time the beavers score. he also crochets matching scarves and hats for everyone, and is always loaded with snacks and hand warmers

richie doesn't actually sit in the bleachers, like, 98% of the time. you can find him hanging off the railing flirting with eddie at almost any given moment, and standing on the middle rung leading the student section in cheers, which is wild bc he generally has zero school pride

bev gets really into face painting and sits all of them down before games to cover them in paint and glitter. sometimes she ropes bill in to paint remarkably intricate cartoon beavers on their cheeks (richie makes jokes about it being the closest he’ll ever get to one to which no one high fives him)

bill is generally pretty quiet and attentive during the games, bc he writes for the school paper and also does sketches (think courtroom sketches lmao) for it, but he and bev will fully scream at the top of their at the refs for letting shit slide w the other team or calling stupid penalties

eddie is super protective over ben and mike. he's prone to stomping out to the field in the middle of the game to chew tf out of a rival player for tackling mike too roughly or trying to talk shit/start a fight w ben between plays. richie LIVES for this (“rock his shit eds!!!! get his ass!!!!!!!”) and mike & ben have learned by now just to let it happen but do always post up and have his back. one of the guys does shove eddie once and eddie makes a show of falling down and screaming his head off until he’s benched, and when he sees him again after the game he just winks and blows a kiss at him

the losers will make an appearance at the house party of choice after every game w the rest of the team/squad but they have their own tradition of going to the 24hr diner in town and cramming into the corner booth in the back and then all sleeping over at one of their houses

bonus unrelated headcanons:

richie is a drama/theater kid and literally ROCKS it, isn’t as big a fan of the musicals but still does really well, prefers the straight plays and improv club (same loser energy brought to his shows)

stan is either a mathlete or on the debate team and also is on the swim team!! (same loser energy brought to his meets)

bill runs track and cross country (same loser energy brought to his meets)

mike also writes for the school paper, he does a weekly history column, he and bill spend a lottt of time together working on their articles

eddie starts wearing makeup to games freshman year for fun but ends up really loving it, bev buys him his first palette, brush set, etc etc that christmas and they practice together, and eventually he starts leaning into a more fully femme style. he also stops gelling his hair (bless)

[ferretrade]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like)

because both @frostbitebakery and @anxiousotters tagged me last week and because I'm feeling it, here's an extra long snippet from my what if cody had different roles au

Cody hesitates. “You've seen our surveillance system. We… collect data for future reference, as needed.”  His eyes flicker to the screen displaying different camera angles one by one. Obi-Wan is smart. He'll figure it out.  “Your surveillance… it covers the whole Senate building?” He asks slowly. “The senators' offices? Even the Chancellor's office?”  “Office surveillance is not reviewed unless a specific incident occurs,” Cody answers rotely. He's been prepared for this conversation, in case anyone ever noticed the cameras and complained. “Is that a yes?”  Cody inclines his head ever so slightly.  “Huh.” Obi-Wan sets down the data stick and strokes his beard. “And the hard copies…” “Nothing is secure on the GAR systems. Intel is Guard access only and properly analyzed, stored, and backed up for all contingencies.”  “You truly are a wonder.” 

bc I just tagged people in another one, open tags + tag backs for @anxiousotters and @frostbitebakery (ur it :3)

[scribefindegil]

We saw the Back To The Future musical tonight (an excellent time) and now I'm thinking again about the Jennifer Parker-centric longfic I wrote like 40k of in a fugue state in 2020

[chodzacaparodia]

Writing fics from different fandoms makes me feel irrationally guilty, because when I write about characters from one fandom, I feel like characters from another fandom are looking over my shoulder at my screen and asking resentfully, "What about us?"

[by-saiyuri]

quick sketch for 2-year anniversary of one of my fic wips

yeah it's ridiculous to be writing a small oneshot for that long but hhhh I like the result so far and I think the wip is charming in its own way

[transmascutena]

utena deserves a nice openly queer and butch friend group post-canon to help him through his inevitable identity crisis

[greenerteacups]

What do you think as Hermione's career would be post battle of Hogwarts? To me her being minister for magic really doesn't make sense. She does not have patience or tact to wade through murky waters of politics 😭😭

So hard to say! The Trio are so, so young when we leave them, I find it almost impossible to project their futures farther than a few years out. The job that suited me at 17 would be radically unsuited to me now. That's why of all the Trio, Ron's ending strikes me as the most realistic — he jumps straight into the save-the-world business again, burns out, realizes he's actually Done The Fuck Enough, Thanks, and pivots into a low-stress career where he gets to see his family a lot. Feels accurate! The others are weirder to me because they do seem to just... pick a lane and stay there.

With Hermione, you could spin her a couple ways. You could say that she leans into her bookish side and does research or teaching, which is not my preference for a couple reasons (namely, I don't think Hermione would like academia as a profession; she finds her classwork interesting and enjoys intellectual validation, but she'd be stifled and wasted in a DPhil program, and she'd be infuriated by the administrative politicking of your average higher-ed faculty). You could say that she gets disaffected with politics and ends up as a barrister or a lobbyist of some kind, but if anything that requires more political finesse, because you don't actually have institutional power, you're just handling the people who make decisions and trying to persuade them of your goals. This is not Hermione's preferred method of influence. She's not even particularly good at persuasion, she just happens to be smart enough (and right often enough) that people take her ideas seriously.

Or you could say her brashness fades with the years into a softened flavor of tell-you-like-it-is honesty, which some politicians actually do successfully trade on; as we see in British politics today, you don't have to be all that charming or clever to get ahead, you just need to be really driven and well-connected (which Hermione completely is; she fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the first postwar Minister and her bestie, the Literal Messiah, runs the Auror Office.) But I don't know if Hermione especially wants to be Minister, after the war. She's just watched years of horrendous bureaucratic incompetence plunge the country into a violent civil conflict. She's had not one, but two Ministers of Magic try to bully or shame her friends into complicity with fascism. Her view of government is... likely extremely dark.

But Hermione also isn't the kind of person who sees her life as a quest for happiness. Babygirl has a savior complex that makes Harry look selfish. (She basically kills her parents — yeah, obliviating is a form of murder, #changemymind — "for their own good," and justifies every batshit, vindictive, mean-spirited move she ever pulls on the grounds that it "helps" one of her friends.) She is a mean, lean, dragon-slaying machine, and she needs a dragon. After Voldemort, the Ministry is the no. 1 threat to muggle-borns and non-wizarding Beings. As a war heroine with basically infinite political capital, I'd be surprised if she didn't try to do something there. That said, Hermione is so vivacious and dynamic that she could potentially grow in a hundred different directions; it's possible that all of this, while true of her at 18, becomes completely inaccurate by 22. That's why I'm not too fussed about any particular fanon interpretation.

[misc-obeyme]

SOLOMON HASN'T COME HOME YET AND I'M SAD BUT I'M GONNA GET HIM NO MATTER WHAT! I'VE ALREADY PULLED 20 TIMES AND I WAS SAVING FOR THE ANNIVERSARY BUT NOW I'M AT ZERO

But also THE PREMIUM PICTURE ART HAS HIM WITH A RING !!! A RING !!!! U TREASURE I'M WATCHING YOU

i can't tell what it is, maybe a signet ring?? i had to yell about this, ESPECIALLY RIGHT AFTER I WANTED TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE RING OF WISDOM

- ✨ anon

Yes I noticed the ring, too! And it does look like a signet ring, which means it likely is the Ring of Wisdom.

I mean, there's no doubt that the Ring of Wisdom is supposed to be the same thing as the Seal of Solomon. They both give him control over demons (or the "supernatural") and they both allow him to talk to animals.

And the Seal of Solomon is pretty famously a signet ring. I mean, it's right there in the name lol.

I don't know if this is supposed to be some kind of official design for the ring, but we don't really get the full view of it anyway. The side of it looks pretty normal. The real interesting part would be the seal itself. I wonder if they would create something unique to the game or if they would go with a traditional hexagram situation?

All I know is that Solomon looks hot af in that premium picture. I really love when they give him outfits in the card art that look very much like something a sorcerer would wear. It's kinda got an old timey vibe to it, too, what with the sorta ruin looking stuff in the background.

I just like it when he looks extra magical lol.

Anyway, I hope he comes home to you!! Consider this my little spell of good luck~

[five-and-dimes]

Last Line Tag Game

I got tagged by @hardly-an-escape! 🤘

I am still desperately trying to finish SOMETHING before April, when I'll be getting top surgery (🎉) and thus have no plans to be even remotely productive lol. So here's the latest bit from the wip I've been working on for ages about Dream learning he's loved on purpose:

“I cannot help but notice you have been spending quite some time with a particular human in the Waking, my lord,” She teases, “Will we be welcoming a new consort soon?” Lucienne’s voice is light and fond, a teasing smile on her face, and yet Morpheus’ face still drops. It reminds her of a flower wilting, and his eyes are just a little glassy before he turns his gaze to the floor. “I apologize,” his words are tense, some mixture of frustration and sorrow. “Whatever for?”  His eyes dart to glance at her skeptically, “I am aware, as I am sure you are as well, how troublesome my. Amorous pursuits are,” He straightens his back, steeling himself, “I shall restrain myself. You have my word.” For a moment, Lucienne simply looks at him. He has changed so much, and yet is still so very much the same. In the past, he might not have apologized as he did now. But she recognizes the guilt and shame all the same.

Not sure who's been tagged but I'll bug my usual crew: @cuubism @seiya-starsniper @omgcinnamoncakes @gabessquishytum

[shikai-the-storyteller]

[Stumbles out of YouTube covered in blood] Don't look at Tazercraft's shorts section

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i think i'd kill for anything related to don henry tomasino

ANON I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU ENDLESSLY !! thank you so much for this request i love don Henry au so much........😭💔💔💔

anyway! here's random sketches:

and Henry on Vinci's funeral bc i was thinking about it last week. in my head. in my head Vinci was the one who established Henry as the don.. and there's possibility that Vinci & Henry are relatives so yeahhhhhhh. his death would be kinda personal thing to Henry? not super emotional and tragic thing tho, but still

post anything related to don!Henry feels like undressing in public ngl

[arokel]

please I need your all the presidents men wips I need them even if they aren’t finished. Think of the children

ask and ye shall receive :>

i'm usually very secretive about my wips BUT i will lower the veil of secrecy for a bit in the service of the children. looooong post under the cut!

wip 1 (with the creative working title of "sloan's wife")

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Bob said emphatically. His own beer had been knocked over by a particularly vehement sweep of the arm a while ago and he had been stealing sips of Carl’s ever since. “What’s Sloan gonna say when we ask to put his name on a story that’s just about how pretty his wife is?”

“He’ll say I’m right, she is very pretty, and everyone who buys the book should know it.”

Bob snorted, hiding his smile behind the page of praises to Sloan’s admittedly lovely wife. Stupid, drunken arguments with Carl were always more fun when Carl played along. “He’ll probably just be thankful you didn’t write about how pretty he is. The biggest miracle of Watergate is that he never said anything about you staring at him all the time.”

“Nonsense,” Carl said, tapping his beer against Bob’s lips through the paper. Bob obligingly lowered it and opened his mouth to let Carl pour several drops onto his tongue with drunken precision. “I’ve only got eyes for you.”

“Aw, shucks, don’t say that. You’ll make me blush.”

Carl shrugged. “Alright, I won’t.”

The words brought Bob up short. Despite Carl’s careful pouring, a few drops had landed on his chin. He wiped them off with the back of his hand and studied Carl’s easy, open expression. Not teasing. Not a joke.

“Don’t say that now,” Bob clarified, a distinction that made perfect sense to him in the moment but probably wouldn’t hold up under sober examination. “Let me think about it.”

“Alright. Tell me what’s so wrong about calling Deborah pretty again,” Carl said, with a smile and another shrug, as if he hadn’t just changed everything between them.

wip 2 aka chapter 3 of Not all things forever are hidden

Everything since the break-in had been such a whirlwind that Bob hadn’t even noticed the time passing until Mel, shrugging off his coat in Bob’s front hallway, had asked, “so who’s this Carl Bernstein guy you’re replacing me with?”

“Not a replacement,” Bob had said, laughing, “a colleague.” But it had felt wrong, and he had changed the subject quickly. He hadn’t wanted to talk about Carl with Mel.

Mel heaved himself off of Bob’s chest with a groan and began to gather his scattered clothing. Bob watched him, sleepy-eyed, and forced the words please stay down his throat until they stopped coming back up and instead sat queasily just below his breastbone. It wasn’t Mel’s company that he wanted, just someone’s. Just not to be alone.

“Well,” Mel said, lingering with his hand on the doorknob. “See ya next time. Tell Carl Bernstein hi for me.”

“I will,” Bob said, unthinkingly. He wouldn’t.

Carl was out of town, anyway. That was why Bob had taken the night off in the first place, and why he hadn’t just called up Carl to come over and go over leads again when he felt the loneliness starting to creep in at the edges of his vision. That was why he didn’t want Mel to leave.

wip 3 which is. just filth

“I can do better,” Carl says opaquely, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. “Yours or mine?”

Bob knows what he’s really saying. “Stop off at yours first? Most of your notes are still at mine.”

They don’t fuck at Carl’s place, for the simple reason that Carl’s walls are thinner. Watergate has turned them both into cautious people, people who speak in code. Grab a change of clothes, Bob is saying, and spend the night with me.

“Sounds good. Want to stop for something on the way?” Carl says with a shrug, as if he’s read nothing into Bob’s words beyond the surface.

“I’m not very hungry,” Bob says. I can’t wait, he means. I want you as soon as I can have you.

Carl’s grin is sharp. “Me neither.”

Carl lets his hand rest just behind the gearshift the whole drive back to his place and then to Bob’s, the tips of his fingers brushing continuously against Bob’s thigh as if by accident. Bob stays in the car while Carl grabs a briefcase secretly carrying an extra set of clothes, too turned on to follow without embarrassing himself.

He holds it together until they’re safely inside his own apartment with the door locked behind them, and then he shoves Carl against the wall beside it, panting frustrated breaths against Carl’s neck as Carl laughs.

“You’re a goddamn terrible driver, you know that?”

“You were distracting me,” Bob growls, betraying his own anger by nosing Carl’s shirt collar aside to press a wet, openmouthed kiss against his collarbone. He’s not angry, per se, but there is an energy fizzing beneath his skin, a restlessness seeking an outlet. “Stroking my thigh and moaning the whole time - “

“I was humming along to the radio.”

Bob lifts his head to glare. “No one hums like that.”

Carl hums again - moans; really, no one hums like that outside of sex - and pulls Bob in, finally, to kiss him, deep and wet, fucking his tongue into Bob’s mouth, and even though he has Carl backed against a wall, suddenly Bob is the one who feels trapped.

wip 4 aka cuddling for warmth

“Hey, I just finished for the night, are you busy? I have something - maybe big, maybe nothing, but I want to talk it out before I sleep on it. Can I swing by?”

“Don’t worry, I canceled all my plans already since I figured you were going to call. I sensed it,” Carl said, affecting a tone Bob could only describe as mystical. “Come on over, I’ll make coffee. But dress warm.”

“Very funny. See you in a few.”

Carl’s apartment, while just as sad and cluttered as Bob’s, had two radiators, and Carl kept them both on full blast at all times in the winter. “Come on,” he would say, whenever Bob chided him about the waste of energy, “do you really think they turned down the heat in the White House? I bet it’s like a sauna in there,” and Bob hadn’t yet found a good comeback. At least when Johnson had turned the lights out you could see it.

But in that moment Carl’s energy inefficiency was exactly what Bob wanted, and so he was both startled and disappointed by the chill that greeted him when Carl opened the door and stepped back to let Bob inside, bundled in a quilt and looking miserable.

Bob stepped over the trailing edge of the quilt and, shivering, listened for the familiar clicking of the radiators. They were silent.

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “You know Nixon said sixty-eight degrees, not off.”

“Heat’s out in the whole building,” Carl said. “I think they let Liddy out of prison so he could take a sledgehammer to the furnace to spite me personally.”

“Somebody smashed up the furnace?”

“Well, probably not. But if anyone did my money’d be on Liddy.”