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blindmagdalena · 11 months

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The Cuckoo's Nest

18+ 6.3k siren!homelander x f!reader. dub/noncon, infidelity, mind/emotional manipulation, gaslighting, voice kink, masturbation, penetrative sex, fingering, blood, gore, cannibalism? creampie, stalking, minor character death, praise kink, good girl/pretty girl.

The gentle and pleasing voice of the cuckoo bird has made it a renowned herald of spring, and perhaps one of the most famous of songbirds. One would never guess merely by looking at it that it is a predatory parasite.

What you thought would be a dream job working for Vought as Homelander's very own secretary turns into a surreal waking nightmare as reality and dreams converge in a confusing mess. The only coherent thread that strings it all together is the alluring pull of Homelander's unnatural voice.

written for Monsterlander Mania. fair warning, this fic is fairly dark! thank you so much @anon-nee for this amazing banner art. 🖤

When you were hired as Homelander’s secretary, the gig had been pitched as a cushy desk job. Now that he’s the new face of Vought, and Ashley the company CEO, he needs someone who will keep his day to day affairs in order. Apparently, you’re just the person for that job.

“You probably won’t see much of him,” Ashley tells you distractedly. She rarely ever looks away from her phone for long.

“There are two landlines on your desk. The left one is for general business, and the one on the right, the red one, is exclusively for him. Don’t make calls on it. He has the number memorized, he’s the only one who’ll ever call it, so make sure you always answer it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say diligently.

Glancing over, Ashley does a double take. “Aren’t you married? Where’s your ring?”

You falter, looking down at your hands. “Oh,” you say, taking said ring out of your pocket. “I put hand cream on earlier, I just forgot to put it back on.”

“Make sure you keep that on,” she says, giving you a critical look before returning her gaze to her phone. “He’s particular.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Nevertheless, you make sure to always keep your wedding ring on while you’re at work.

True to Ashley’s word, you see neither hide nor hair of Homelander during your first three days. You make his appointments, you take calls on his behalf, and you organize his bookings.

In your office, directly across from your desk, hangs a borderline comically oversized portrait of him that stares relentlessly at you as you work. You often find yourself staring back at it, the back of your neck prickling with the irrational feeling of being watched.

You know that it’s just in your head, but you can’t help but be put off by the feeling. Sometimes you consider covering the portrait, but the last thing you want is for the man to appear out of the blue and see a blanket thrown over his likeness.

Your instinct proves correct.

“Hey you,” comes a voice like silk. You startle, looking up from your desk to find a shock of red, white and blue standing in your doorway, his arms folded casually behind his back.

“Homelander,” you say, nearly choking on the name. “Sir, hello. I’m–”

“I know,” he interjects smoothly, cape swaying behind him as he passes the threshold, making his way over to your desk. That voice. He’s not even said five words to you yet, but it lingers in your ears like warm honey, causing a flush of warmth to roll through you. You convince yourself that you’re just embarrassed to have been caught so thoroughly off guard. “My new secretary. Sorry I couldn’t stop by sooner.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize, sir. I know better than most how–” you hesitate, watching as he takes a turn and begins walking directly towards you, circling behind your desk. “–busy you are,” you finish, looking up at him as he looms over you. You wonder if you should stand, but he’s so close to you now, you’d just knock right into him.

He smells good. Earthy and slightly sweet, like vetiver.

“That’s pretty,” he remarks, gesturing to your ring finger. “Sapphire, huh? Unusual choice.”

You swallow, trying desperately to reign in the cadence of your breath. Your heart is pattering as wildly as rain drops. “Thank you. My husband chose it, it’s his birthstone.”

To which Homelander giggles. It’s a delighted, slightly off-putting little noise. “P’wow, he gave you a ring with his birthstone, huh? Really staking his claim,” he says, reaching down to take your hand. He looks at you just before he makes contact. His eyes are even bluer than the stone in your ring. “May I?”

Dumbstruck, you nod, lifting your hand and placing it in his upturned palm. He sits on your desk and turns your hand this way and that, watching the way your ring catches the light. Eventually, his gaze slips back to yours. “Happily married?”

“Very,” you say immediately, your throat suddenly dry.

He smiles, and only then do you notice how unusually sharp his canines are.

“Good. Glad to hear it,” he says, giving your hand a gentle pat before he lets it go. You immediately drop your hand into your lap, touching your ring. You feel strangely lightheaded all of a sudden, unable to look away from his piercing gaze. Even when he isn’t speaking, you can still hear the warmth of his tone echoing all around you.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you,” he says, standing from your desk with preternatural elegance, as if he’d floated more than lifted himself.

“Please, the pleasure was all mine,” you say with a smile, somewhat dazed. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

He looks pleased as punch at that. “I’ll try not to be such a stranger, hmm?” he purrs, reaching out to give your shoulder a friendly squeeze. You feel the rumble of his voice roll all the way down your spine and into the core of you, leaving a light throb nestled between your thighs.

“I’d like that. Thank you, sir,” you say, your voice sounding dreamy and distant in your own ears.

Flashing that same toothy grin, he shoots you a wink before he turns face with a slight flourish of his cape, the fabric billowing in his wake as he takes his leave, disappearing down the hall.

The second he’s gone, it’s like the spell of his presence breaks and you come crashing back to yourself, eyes wide. A hot broil of shame rolls through you when you realize how aroused you are, that throb lingering. You’re equal parts shocked and disgusted with yourself, sickened by the hot prickle lingering on every inch of your skin.

Holy shit. What the fuck was that?

You wind up leaving an hour early, eager to be home. The shame makes you desperate to see your husband, as if touching him will erase the residual traces of the effect that Homelander had on your body.

It doesn’t. In fact, that feeling of being watched follows you all the way home, the feel of it becoming a specter haunting your house. When your husband seeks intimacy from you in your bed later that night, you push his hands away.

“Sorry,” you say softly, shaken. “Not tonight.”

Your body still remembers him too viscerally.

That night, you dream of songbirds.

Two days later, the right landline rings for the first time. You stare blankly at it, your stomach immediately twisting into knots. It rings, once, twice, nearly a third time before you hurriedly snatch it up off the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” comes Homelander’s familiar drawl. His voice falls over you like a wash of sunlight, warm and heavy. “Thought you might be ignoring me for a second there.”

“No, no, never. Sorry, sir,” you say, reaching for your water. You take a quick sip. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing too dire, just a little shuffling. Can you bump tomorrow’s 4pm to Thursday for me?” He asks, voice slipping around your throat like a noose. The press of it makes you slightly breathless.

“Of course,” you say, balancing the phone on your shoulder while you manipulate your tablet. “That’s no problem at all, done.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, the phone turning his voice into an intimate rumble in your ear.

You blink, feeling like your mouth is full of cotton. You can’t seem to form a response.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He asks, and you swear up and down you can hear a smile in his voice. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Was there anything else, sir?” You manage to blurt out, words leaving you in a clumsy spill. You’re breathing shallowly, mouth parched. You snatch up your water and take another quick sip. There’s a long pause on the line, the silence so deafening you think for a moment you must have missed something. “Sir?”

“Touch yourself.”

Your heart falls into your stomach, but that feeling is nothing compared to the unbidden liquid heat that those words erupt throughout your body.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says patiently. Amused, even. “Touch yourself. Take your hand–no, no, the left one,” he says in response to your right hand drifting down. You weren’t even aware you’d started moving. You swap the phone from your left hand to your right, and grab hold of your thigh with your left hand.

“I don’t understand,” you say, the words feeling as thick as molasses on your tongue. “Why are you–”

“That’s good. Now, move those pretty fingers in. Just like that,” he directs, and to your own distant horror, your hand moves, sliding between your legs and lifting up your skirt, your sparkling ring disappearing beneath it. You press your middle finger directly to your beating clit and let go a shuddering breath, massaging it through your panties.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how you like it, mm? Bet your husband still doesn’t know the first fuckin’ thing about how to make you feel good. He ever watch you do this to yourself, ever bother to learn how you like to be touched?”

Disoriented, you shake your head. Your hips reflexively lift to meet the smooth figure-eights you rub yourself with. You’re sure you’d agree to anything he said so long as he keeps talking.

“Didn’t think so. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, sweetheart. I know exactly what you need.”

The heat of his voice envelops you, makes your whole body feel aflame. You’ve never been so sensitive in your life, already shuddering and squirming in your seat from the intensity of sensation building beneath your fingers.

“Slow down. There’s no rush. You’re as good as mine now.”

His voice is like velvet but his words sting, needling something inside you that squirms. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head more fervently. “No, no, m’not… I don’t…”

“Shhhhh,” he hushes, the hiss of it like a serpent in your ear. “Give it up for me, sweetheart.”

A whimper escapes your throat, the noise all but choked out of you. You can’t move, save for the increasingly frantic stroke of your fingers. His voice is a physical caress that slips down the line of your throat, between your breasts, slinking in serpentine patterns until it spills over your fingers and–

You gasp awake, staring wide-eyed at your blurry ceiling as wave after wave of pure euphoria crashes over you, stealing your capacity for breath. You ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm in a state of delirium, the shadows on your ceiling dancing like a voyeuristic crowd. You’re not sure if it takes seconds, minutes or hours to end, your perception of time distorted by the sheer intensity of sensation.

Looking to your side, panting, you see your husband sleeping soundly beside you. His snores are faint and peaceful. The curtains of your balcony door billow softly with the night’s breeze.

Your day comes back to you in a slow blur. The phone call was real, you’re sure of it… Aren’t you? Reaching for your phone, you hurriedly log into your Vought calendar and check the schedule. Sure enough, in your history, you can see that you bumped his next day R&D meeting to Thursday. That was real.

You wrack your brain for the details of your day, trying to piece together how you got from there to here, and whether or not any of Homelander’s voice cooing lewd commands in your ear was real.

It couldn’t have been.

The more the dream fades from your mind, the more you remember the rest of your day. You remember hanging up the phone, finishing your work day as per usual, and going home to your husband. Though it’s all something of a strange blur, the memories are there.

Even so, the dream somehow feels more real than any of it.

It’s 5am and you doubt you’ll be sleeping again. You get up early, shower, and make breakfast all before your husband even makes it to the kitchen. Your dreams and the haze of yesterday fade with the rising sun, as all dreams and memories often do.

You’re in the process of putting your dishes away when he walks in, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You got an early start today?” He asks, biting back a yawn.

It’s cute. He’s cute. You feel an irrational spike of guilt.

It was just a dream.

“Didn’t sleep well,” you admit, kissing him on the cheek. You wrinkle your nose. “Oof, morning breath,” you say playfully, but there’s an edge of truth to it. You can’t explain it, but there’s something off about the way your husband smells this morning.

Your mind drifts wistfully to the pleasant memory of sweet vetiver.

By the time you make it to work, your morning is nothing but a distant recollection at the peripheral of your consciousness.

Nonetheless, the sight of that bright red landline still makes you blush.

You don’t see Homelander again for another three days. At least, not at work. In reality, you’re more aware of him than you’ve ever been in your life. His face is everywhere, be it TV or billboards. You see him in the grocery store, the post office, and even the goddamn DMV. You never really noticed until now how inescapable Homelander truly is.

It’s no wonder he continues to appear in your dreams, too. You can’t seem to remember any of them very well, but you know without a doubt each time you wake that you were haunted by sapphire blue eyes and a voice as decadent as sin.

Sometimes you recall a gorgeous view of the city hundreds of feet in the air. Other times you recall a blue bed, but the thing you remember most is mirrors. You see yourself clearly in them. You see him with you.

All the while a budding friction between you and your husband continues to grow. You find yourself telling him more often to brush his teeth, shower, anything to combat this bizarre stink he’s taken on. Some days it’s so bad, you swear you smell rotting meat before you realize it’s him. Even the sound of his voice grates on you, both rough and shrill in a way that agitates you further and further into isolation in the house you once happily shared.

On that third day at work, you’re penciling in a meeting regarding a potential collaboration with Superplastic when a rhythmic knock at the door jostles you from focus. You look up to call them in, but Homelander is already striding inside, stealing the words right off the tip of your tongue.

“Goooood afternoon,” he drawls, the door falling shut behind him. For as much as you’ve continued to see and hear of him, you had forgotten how different he sounds in person, the force of his presence instantly a weight upon your body.

Your brain completely malfunctions. Night after night of erotic whispers suddenly crashes down upon you in visceral detail, how multiple times you woke to the throes of an orgasm with his voice still echoing in your ears. Humiliation and arousal flood you in equal measure, turning your skin hot.

Homelander smiles at you from the other side of your desk all the while.

“Cat got your tongue?” He asks slyly. The question hurdles you backwards in time to the moment you were seated in this exact spot with him whispering downright pornographic filth into your ear, coaxing you into touching yourself into a frenzy.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was a dream.

“Good afternoon, sir,” you finally manage to say, wincing internally at the sound of your own voice.

“Don’t be so formal,” he says, giving a dismissive little wave. “C’mon, call me Homelander,” he says, once again circling around behind your desk. Your eyes widen slightly, mouth bone dry when you try to swallow. He sweeps his cape out of the way before taking a leisurely seat on your desk. He lifts his brows, pinning you with an expectant stare. “Go on, try again.”

“Uh, good afternoon, Homelander,” you correct yourself. His proximity to you is making it hard to focus–there it is again, the scent of vetiver. He smells like summer grass warmed by the hot sun, and he has a gravitational pull to him that has you leaning subconsciously towards him.

His smile widens. “Much better.” His eyes narrow a touch, flickering down briefly before snapping back up to meet your gaze.

“So! How’s the office, everything nice and cozy?” He asks, one hand braced next to him on your desk, the other gesturing vaguely about. Before you can even answer, he points to your lap.

“Chair good? I know how important lumbar support is when you’re sitting all day.”

Discussing your lumbar support needs with Homelander certainly had not been on your bingo sheet.

“Uhm, yes, it’s–” Again, before you can get a real answer in, he’s sitting up and making sweeping motions with his hand.

“Let’s see, up, up, lemme take this bad boy for a spin,” he says, making your heart leap up into your throat when he catches you by your waist and effortlessly lifts you up out of your office chair, turning to set you on your feet. With a flourish of his cape, he drops down into your chair, legs spread wide.

You gawk momentarily, watching him spin side to side.

“Oop, there’s that lumbar,” he says, leaning back into it. He’s grinning at you all the while, the moment entirely surreal. You huff an incredulous little laugh, crossing your arms. He’s a little ridiculous, you realize, but personable.

Have you been the problem this whole time, turning him into something he’s not? You’re starting to lose yourself in your thoughts as you watch him.

“How about we test the suspension? C’mere,” he says, giving his thigh a pat. “Sit.”

You snap back to attention, your smile falling away. “Pardon?”

“Sit,” he says again, his smile a predatory curve of his lips. He pats his thigh again “Right here.”

You look down at his lap and then back up, your ears buzzing with the timbre of his voice. Logically, you know that what he’s just demanded is wildly inappropriate, yet the silken tone he said it in leaves you utterly agreeable. Slowly, you lower yourself into his lap, uncertain of why you wouldn’t abide by such a request.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he coos, bracketing your waist with his arms.

”That’s better, isn’t it?” He asks, his hands moving up and down your thighs. You shiver, a chill running down your spine despite the fervid heat of his body pressed along the back of yours.

A distant voice in the back of your mind whispers it wasn’t a dream, though you can barely hear it over the pounding of your own blood in your ears.

“Relax,” he murmurs, the word a warm huff on your neck.

Like a marionette whose strings have been cut, your body goes slack against him. Your heart continues to race even as a wave of calm sweeps through you, the two sensations frantically battling one another. Eventually, however, your pulse succumbs to the warmth seeping from him, and you begin to calm, soothed by the slow sweeps of his palms and the way he’s muttering sweet nothings into your ear.

“Good girl,” he breathes, the smile audible in his voice. “That’s it. Feels good, hmm?” His hands move more firmly on your thighs, closer to a massage.

You make a thin noise of pleasure, tipping your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“When I tell you… that I have been looking forward to this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck.

“But I had to be sure you were the one. Most people start to go insane after the first night, maybe the second, but not you.” His teeth, sharp as razors, delicately graze your throat. “You’ve been… perfect.”

“What’re you talking about?” You ask, feeling slightly slow and disoriented.

Homelander chuckles, the rumble of it moving from his chest through your back.

“My voice. It tears apart people's minds… But not yours. Why is that?” His lips are warm on your skin, trailing lower. He lifts a hand to pull your collar askew and kiss at the exposed crook of your neck.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes flickering shut. His mouth feels incredible, the slight dampness that his lips leave behind making you especially sensitive to the air as he exposes you to it. It’s difficult to focus on anything other than the drag of his mouth.

You don’t even realize he’s unbuttoned your shirt and slipped it off of your shoulders until he’s kissing that newly revealed skin, nipping playfully at your bra strap.

“Here I was thinking you were just a pretty, tasty little thing… Turns out you’re so much more,” he purrs between kisses. A jolt of pain makes you gasp and then whimper, the sting of it soothed by the way his tongue drags over the spot afterwards.

It takes you a beat to comprehend that he’s just bitten the junction between your neck and shoulder, sunk his sharp teeth in so deep you smell the faint tang of blood.

“Turns out you were meant for me all along,” he says between slow drags of his tongue, lapping at your soft skin. He moans for the taste of it. “Watching you writhe in your bed, wanting me, touching yourself while your useless husband slept. I thought I was the one going fucking insane.”

Comprehension is a slow, creeping thing to your addled mind. “You were watching me. The dreams, you–”

“Whispered them into your ear while you slept,” he interjects, kissing at the shell of your ear. “You took to ‘em like gasoline takes to a spark,” he says, that voice of his wrapping around your body and limbs like a dozen slithery tendrils.

The touch of his voice is just as tangible as his hands sliding up your thighs, your stomach, cupping your breasts through your bra. You let out a shuddering moan.

“Every night, I was so sure you’d break. But you didn’t. You won’t.”

His confession brings back images in a flood, untangling dreams from memories. You remember a silhouette standing over you, you remember piercing red eyes glowing in the dark, and you remember the filth he spoke over you that made your body twist and sweat and come harder than you ever have.

All of it intertwines with this very moment, with his hands on you, his body against yours. It has you moaning, writhing back against him the same way you did in your bed beneath his gaze.

“Call your husband,” he tells you, hand slipping between your legs, hooking under your skirt.

“What?” You rasp, clutching at his wrists. You shiver at the hot slide of his tongue just behind your ear.

“Call your husband,” he repeats, thick gloved finger rubbing sparks between your thighs. “Tell him you’re coming home early. Tell him to wait for you in the bedroom.”

Leaning forward, Homelander snatches the left landline off the desk and pulls it into your lap, resting it atop his hand while he fingers you in slow, precise circles.

You pick up the receiver and dial unsteadily. It doesn’t sound like something you shouldn’t do. Even as it rings, you feel no dread or apprehension. Just the drive to obey the voice cradling your mind and body so very sweetly.

“Hi,” you exhale when he answers the phone, screwing your eyes shut. It takes everything in you just to focus on speaking.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m coming–” your breath catches as Homelander pushes your panties aside and breaches you with a single finger, sliding into your soaked pussy in one slow, continuous slide.

“I’m coming home early today,” you say, holding both the receiver and Homelander’s wrist in a white-knuckle grip. “Can you wait in the bedroom for me?”

He’s thoroughly confused, but all that does is frustrate you. His voice comes through ugly and nasally over the phone, grating through your nerves instantly. You feel the urge to yell at him, but the breath is stolen from your lungs by the sweet press of Homelander’s thick gloved finger crooking inside you, stroking exactly the right spot to make you see stars.

“Just–just do it, please? Wait in the bedroom, I’ll be–I’ll be home soon.”

You slam down the phone just in time, letting out a cry, lurching forward. The phone tumbles from your lap with a clatter and Homelander catches you with an arm across your chest, pinning you back against his chest.

“Good girl, that’s it. Give it up for me. Lemme feel that pretty pussy come,” he moans, grinding up against you, the sound of his finger pumping into you obscenely loud and wet.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Whet my appetite. Gimme something before it’s time to fucking eat.”

You come loudly, clenching your legs tightly around his hand. He stops just to feel you tighten and convulse through his glove, his lips and teeth and tongue all wreaking havoc at your throat.

“Fuck,” he sighs, followed by the low rumble of a chuckle. Your thighs shake as he pulls his hand away. You can smell the heady smell of your own slick when he brings his finger to his mouth and sucks the taste of you from it, the sound lewd in your ear.

“You even taste pretty,” he hums, voice frayed like a growl. There’s an inhuman split to his voice, like there’s three of them layered over top of each other.

The whole world feels like it’s spinning. You have no center of gravity, just the sensation of movement as Homelander effortlessly maneuvers you up into his arms. Your head lolls against his chest, vision swimming.

Warm lips press sweetly to your forehead. “Rest up, pretty girl,” he murmurs. The words instantly make you drowsy. “I’ll wake you up when I’m done.”

The world slips into darkness. The last thing you’re aware of is the feeling of flying.

When you come back to consciousness, the darkness remains. You recognize your bedroom ceiling above you, familiar shadows dancing across it, beckoning you awake.

A dream…?

Your limbs are leaden, weighed down to the bed. You try desperately to untangle the fantastical from what is real, walking backwards through what you remember. Touch, smell, sound, and pleasure unlike anything you’ve ever known. You remember Homelander’s hands on you, in you, his body and voice all around you, the sound of–

Sound. What is that sound? It’s close to you, but you can’t move your head to see. It’s a series of wet, soft squelching noises akin to someone manipulating piles of drenched laundry. Then you hear a crunch like a tree branch snapping, and you start to recognize another sound; panting breaths followed by an erotic moan of pure indulgence.

You open your mouth to speak, but your throat is too tight, and nothing escapes it. As you come back to yourself more and more, you realize the bed beneath you is warm and wet.

You manage to force a noise from the back of your throat, a strained sound born of the effort to move. Next to you, something shifts.

“There’s my pretty girl,” coos Homelander’s familiar voice. Your heart crashes against your ribcage, the only part of you that can freely move expressing the shock of hearing his voice here in your bed.

“Shhhshhhh, no need for that,” he murmurs, moving into your line of sight, hovering over you. His face is spattered in something dark, but when he smiles his sharp teeth are white and bright, even in the dim moonlight of your bedroom. His voice soothes your frayed nerves almost instantly.

“Take a deep breath,” he says. You do so easily, as if you were never paralyzed. “Good. Perfect timing,” he tells you, his tongue sliding along his teeth, his lips, threads of saliva stretched between his teeth snapping. “I’m still plenty hungry for you.”

He kisses you, swinging his leg over to envelop your body with his. All at once you can move again, your bones no longer weighed down. You relax beneath the press of his lips and the weight of him, exhaling a breath through your nose.

“Kiss me,” he mumbles fervently. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him with everything you have, your lips sliding slickly against one another. He licks the taste of copper into your mouth.

Blood, a distant part of you realizes. Whatever horror you should feel is replaced by building excitement, his touch reigniting heat throughout your body. Like gasoline takes to a spark.

His lips move to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, trailing bloodied kisses down your throat. He has less patience for your clothes now than he did in your office, tearing your shirt and bra from your body with a feral noise. His hands are upon you instantly, spreading the blood on his hands down your chest, massaging your breasts until he works a needy moan out of you.

“Can’t believe I almost ate you, too,” he says with a smile. Before you can respond, he leans down to suck your nipple into his mouth, hands sliding lower. You gasp and push your hands into his hair, slicking it back with what sprayed into it. His mouth is inferno hot on your skin, goosebumps erupting over every inch of you. His tongue is a devilish thing, working your nipple in circles, but it’s the light pinch of his teeth that make your whole body lurch.

He makes quick work of your clothing from the waist down, too, stripping you until there’s nothing left between you and the blood soaked fabric of his suit. His hand disappears from you, and you hear a metallic click followed by the hiss of a zipper. He nudges your legs apart to settle properly between them, pulling off of your breast with a satisfied pop. He licks his lips of the blood he had spread to your breast, eyes wild and glowing faintly red.

“Let’s get rid of this while we’re at it,” he says, lifting your hand. He kisses the tip of your ring finger before taking it into his mouth, gaze flickering up to meet yours as he takes it all the way down past your knuckle, your ring disappearing past his lips. He catches the metal band with his teeth and drags it slowly off, sucking your finger clean of it. A chill runs down your spine at the crunch the metal gives as he effortlessly chews and swallows it.

You stare in numb, abject shock, but even that rapidly fades to the fires rolling through you.

Hands on your thighs, he easily pulls your ass into his lap. You look down to see his cock freed from his suit pants, thick and nicely curved. He bends over you, hitching your legs up over his shoulder, and you feel the flat curve of the bottom of his cock press against your cunt. He grins down at you, rocking his hips to grind through the slick mess he’s made of you.

“Let’s see if you feel as good as you taste,” he says, claiming your lips once more. He pulls his hips back, and you feel the head of his cock drooling precome as it slides over your clit, down to your soaked cunt. The dull stretch of it splitting you open burns, has you keening against his lips. He kisses you again and again and again.

“That’s it, baby. Open up for me. Lemme feel that perfect pussy,” he grits out, voice frayed at the edges like he’s finally beginning to lose that cocky composure of his. Even still, his voice retains that otherworldly aspect to it. He bottoms out with a low moan, hips flush to your body.

“Oh fffffuck,” he groans, cock throbbing against the velvety walls of your cunt. You can feel the pulse of him, even more so when you squeeze. It gives you an unexpected and intoxicating shot of power when doing that makes him gasp. “Perfect. My perfect fuckin’ match, fuck. I knew you would be, I knew you were made for me,” he babbles, bordering on incoherence as he starts to thrust, gripping your ass with one hand while the other goes to the headboard, slamming it against the wall with each snap of his hips.

“H-Homelander,” you moan, tangling both hands in his hair, dragging your nails harshly down his scalp, the back of his neck, throwing your head back against your pillow.

He gives your ass a sharp slap just to feel the way your cunt clenches with it, a growl rolling from his throat.

“Come with me,” he demands, instantly sending the pressure building in you into a soar. He moves faster, deeper, each slam punching out pitchy noises from you. Every drag of his cock feels like a spark inside you, like the strike of a match igniting stars in your peripheral vision. You come with a near scream, nails biting fruitlessly into Homelander’s skin.

He rides your orgasm fiercely, fucking you into the bloody mess of your bed until he, too, succumbs to the clench of your cunt. He lets out a guttural cry, the wood of your headboard snapping in his grasp as his release floods you, so hot that it nearly burns.

You’re both panting into each other's mouths, lips occasionally brushing. There’s a possessive growl to the edge of Homelander’s breaths, as if warning anything that might hear of the danger of approaching.

“You’re mine now, you understand?” He says lowly, his velveteen voice hoarse, almost animalistic. “My match, my mate, mine.”

Deliriously, you nod, mind still lost to the aftershocks of your climax, your pussy quivering around the girth of his cock. It’s not enough for Homelander, who gives another sharp thrust, knocking an overstimulated moan out of you. “Do you understand?”

“I understand,” you gasp, meeting his gaze. His harsh expression softens at that, the crimson glow fading from his eyes, leaving only that familiar ocean blue in its wake. He kisses you leisurely, but with no less hunger. He lets your legs slip carefully from his shoulders, but remains buried deep inside you, staking his claim as thoroughly as possible. He kisses your neck, makes you wince when he sucks at the mark he bit into your skin.

“You got no idea how long I’ve been looking for you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You stroke your fingers through his hair, soaking in the feeling of his superhuman body thrumming against yours. You tighten your grip in his hair and lift his head, bringing his gaze up to meet yours. He looks curiously at you until that curiosity flips to surprise as you kiss him, earning a pleased little hum from him.

When you part, his surprise has melted away into something dazed and soft. Something like love, or maybe satiation. The two look so very similar.

Homelander kisses you a while longer before he nestles down against you.

Your head lolls to the side for the first time, and only then do you see the full scope of the horror resting next to you; bones jut out from the mess of viscera and meat, shredded clothing thick with blood and innards. It looks like the work of a rabid animal, something vicious and hungry.

You know instantly that the mess is all that remains of your former husband.

It occurs to you that you should feel a dozen different awful things about the pile of gore splayed out on your bed, but ultimately, the only thought that lingers is how he finally suits that rotten meat smell.

Looking back to the ceiling, you continue to comb your fingers through Homelander’s hair. His weight is a comfortable thing upon you, and beneath the smell of gore, you’re soothed by the gentle, warm scent of vetiver. Your eyelids grow heavy, and within minutes, you drift to sleep.

When you wake, there is no tang of blood heavy in the air. You sit up in a bed that is both alien and familiar. It isn’t until you see the mirrors around you that you realize that this is the bed from your dreams.

You feel warm, despite the early morning chill beyond the blankets. You feel a tug, and as you look down, Homelander pulls you back down into his arms.

“Mornin’, pretty girl.”

“Morning,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. He hums pleasantly as you touch him, your hands roaming the naked scape of his body, testing that he’s real. You draw back, brows furrowed.

“Everything alright?” He asks, his voice as rich and creamy as ever.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, a touch uncertain. “Weird dreams.”

He smiles, bringing your hand up to kiss. “Well, you’re awake now.”

Somehow, you’re not so certain.

Regardless, you huff a little laugh and snuggle back into his arms.

“Love you,” you say, losing yourself to the familiar comfort of a partner in your arms, in your bed, in your heart. The longer you’re there, the more the dreams fade away, replaced with the reality of your waking world and the sweet smell of vetiver.

Homelander squeezes you to his chest, stroking idly up and down your back with his knuckles. You can hear the smile in his voice as he returns, “I love you, too.”

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #terato #monster x human #monster romance #monsterlander mania #my writing #Y'ALL THIS KNOCKED ME ON MY ASS LOL #dark fic

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actual-changeling · 9 months

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I have written many meta posts and s3-theories, and read even more, but I got hit by an idea I have not seen before. (If there is another post, please link it!)

After vibrating for an hour and losing my mind in my dms, I have no scraped together enough brain cells to present what is probably my first actual 'main-plot meta'.

Welcome to another edition of Alex's unhinged meta corner, today with a title to honour Crowley's James Bond obsession and the possibility of another heaven heist.

I give you:

From Jesus with Love - You Will Live Twice

Now, let's get right into it.

I think Neil might have told us more about the main s3 plotline in the announcement article than we previously thought. We all got stuck on 'they're not talking'—for good reason—but it is the part before that which has been bugging me ever since then.

The plans are going wrong—and this time that is a problem for earth and humanity. Turning that around, it means that whatever that plan consists of would be the way to go and beneficial for everyone, the opposite of the main plot of s1.

"They need to prevent the Second Coming (SC)" is pretty much the only and most popular idea I have seen, hundreds of fics and metas and whatnot have been written about it, but I think there's a good chance we're wrong. If we're not, well, I will honestly just be happy to be watching season 3.

Whatever the Metatron is planning will have negative consequences for everyone, or as Michael puts it: "And so… it ends. Everything ends. Time and the world is over, and we begin Eternity… forever and ever."

It sounds very much like Apocalypse #1 - Same Old Plan, same expected result, yet if we look at different interpretations of scripture we find that the SC is not entirely about complete destruction and death for all of humanity—it is about creating a new world/migrating to the kingdom of God.

This is taken from the Wikipedia article about the SC

Resurrection and life in a world to come are a direct contradiction to the result Michael is explaining—total annihilation of humanity.

Now, I am neither religious in any way nor have I ever received any sort of biblical education. Luckily, Christians seem to love talking about the bible because there are dozens of bible website to wade through. If I get anything wrong, please point it out, I have never touched a bible in my life.

So, after reading many, many quotes by a bunch of different guys, I tried to create a somewhat coherent picture of what the SC might look like based on the assumption that the end result is positive. I will talk about how they can be interpreted more in-depth later, otherwise this would turn into a string-net very fast.

Additionally, we can also see where these points overlap with the statement Jimbriel gave in the bookshop in episode three.

What is Jesus' job description?

only God knows when and how exactly it will begin/happen, no one else does, including Jesus and the Metatron

a lot of different catastrophes are mentioned or quoted as something Jesus said, like earthquakes and storms -> Jimbriel mentioned a tempest and great storms

there is also the line "All these are the beginning of birth pains." Birth pains dictate that there will be a birth—birth of the world to come perhaps?

dead people will be resurrected/leave their graves so that they too can be judged (I'd say participate in it but that sounds like the Second Coming is a summer camp activity)

there are also mentions of stars and the heavens in general falling from the sky and the sun going dark -> Jimbriel also mentions darkness as one of the signs

great lamentations, as Jimbriel says, are also a part of many different passages, with humans mourning the world as it was

the Lord will descent with the voice of an Archangel and the sound of a trumpet/the trumpet of God; the grammatical structure of that sentence seems to be interpreted differently depending on who you ask, but the voices of angels/an Archangel and some sort of trumpet are common terms

once everyone is in heaven/wherever the 'main even' will take place, a judgement call will be made for every single person in relation to the book of life, which decides whether they will be punished forever or not (one passage talks about a lake of fire and mentions it several times in a row)

And this is where it gets tricky. To figure out what the SC looks like, we first need to understand a) what the Metatron's capabilities are, b) what he has to lose, and c) what exactly would be a threat to him.

If you ask me, all of this comes down to the Metatron wanting to stay and be in power for eternity with full control over angels so he can do as he please, aka keeping the system running as it is.

We know the book of life (bol) is a thing in the Good Omens universe, whether it does what Michael said is an entirely different question. So far, we have also only got confirmation that hell collects and tortures souls—in such large amounts that they are understaffed—while heaven looks completely empty.

The Metatron runs heaven as an institution, he seems to be the highest power any of the angels have access to and the one they defer to. He refers to himself as the voice of God and combines judge, jury and executioner, making him one great celestial dictator.

From what we know of hell, they do things a lot more democratically, having different councils, dukes, and ranks that are responsible for different levels of command.

We also know that that the Metatron wants the world to end, his goals can probably be summarized as the statement Michael makes, which would leave him in charge without any opposing forces.

We also also know that he sees Crowley and Aziraphale as a threat—why exactly remains a mystery for now—and that the success of his plan hinges on having a Supreme Archangel (SA) he can control. Gabriel decided to become princess of hell and Beez' sugar baby, so he was out of the equation, and after the Armageddon disaster, I don't think he wants to risk failing because of an unfamiliarity with earth (plus, y'know, getting our two idiots away from the plan).

It's interesting to me that right at the end, he says to Aziraphale "We call it the Second Coming"—call, not it is or it will be, CALL. We know that nothing Neil writes is a coincidence, definitely not with such an important line.

Just because you CALL something a specific name doesn't mean it IS what you call it, e.g. Aziraphale calls Crowley a foul fiend when we know he very much isn't.

The Metatron is selling his plan as part of the "Great/Ineffable Plan", so any questions can be blocked by saying it's God's will, it's ineffable. Whatever his plan is, he hides it behind the concept of the Second Coming, which angels know just enough about to understand the basics without having in-depth knowledge of what exactly it entails.

It is a good fucking strategy, I'll give him that, and it WORKS because angels—even if they have doubts—do not question. They simply don't; fear of punishment and millennia of conditioning have left them in a horrible place. When they encounter something unknown, their response is "I already knew that" as to not ask questions.

Crowley questions, we know that, and Aziraphale, ohhhhh, Aziraphale ALSO questions, but he does it in a less dangerous and obvious way. The Metatron is vastly underprepared for that.

(Side note: That alone would be its own meta post, but the gist is that he questions heaven's plans and then adjusts his assumptions of what God might want to what he WANTS God to want, e.g. Job, the Arch)

To summarize everything I just said, the Metatron wants to do what Armageddon failed to do—destroy earth and the universe—so he can be supreme dictator of all remaining celestial beings and gorge himself on power.

But instead of calling it his Big Evil Plan, he calls it the Second Coming, making everyone play along without resistance.

We cycle aaaaall the way back to the sentence I quoted—the ACTUAL plans are going wrong since the Metatron's would mean total destruction.

But what is the SC supposed to be if not the Apocalypse 2.0?

When I look at all the different aspects of the SC and assume a positive outcome, then the end result to me would be a new world that is pretty much like the old world, or maybe even literally the old world but with any destruction reversed. Heaven and hell get dissolved since now that everyone has been "judged", they as institutions are no longer needed, they have fulfilled their purpose.

No more judgement means there is no reason to keep track anymore, so why do you need to run celestial corporations whose only job is doing exactly that? You don't—and THAT is what I believe is the biggest perceived threat to the Metatron, losing full control over everyone and everything, losing his position, his title, and whatever else he has.

On top of that, Good Omens has told us again and again that God doesn't seem to give a fuck about good and evil anymore, and that without heaven and hell being all wrapped up in it, humanity would have 100% free will without any consequences.

Maybe the BoL is empty, maybe it isn't real, maybe Jesus stole it to straighten a wobbly table, who knows. There is a chance it is what Michael says, but I would admittedly find that a bit. too obvious and boring since it would boil the plot down to "they save their own asses again" and not "they save humanity at all cost".

Regarding Crowley and Aziraphale's role in this—I have Thoughts TM but those definitely need their own post. In short, they have to get the SC back on track, the real one.

If you have made it this far, thank you for working through what I hope are more or less coherent rambles. Any spelling or grammar mistakes are my own.

Questions? Thoughts? Corrections? Expansions and additions?

Feel free to add to this post however you like (and I can't believe I have to mentions this but if you clown on my post or behave like an asshole you will be blocked).

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vaguely-concerned · 1 year

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Stray Gods Character Design Thoughts

In order we're going Pan, Apollo, Persephone, Eros, Aphrodite and a little bit of Venus! Disclaimer that I have no professional experience in character design at all, so these are only my vibes-based ramblings and observations purely for fun and because my brain simply won't shut up about this game haha. Also I will freely admit Pan probably gets the most attention in this because of who I am as a person and where my heart truly lies at the end of the day lol

PAN

Ok, first of all I have so many questions and they all delight me. This guy is the god of the wild places ("Where else would I be, but among the trees and the wild things?"), he lives in a magical garden on top of an office building... and he’s walking around everywhere in an expensive three piece tailored suit (when Freddie accuses him of being a sleaze in a cheap suit he protests mildly that his suit is anything but cheap haha). The cut of it is really carefully thought out and planned, but the bold colours under the grey coat and (studied I am sure) careless details like the tie also make it fun and playful. Which is pleasingly coherent with the general theme of his character in the writing too and I adore it.

This is not the point, I know, but I’m wondering how he makes that work just like. Practically now. Has Athena fixed up Olympus with in-house laundry service? And other sentences I did not expect to type out today lol. Ah well he’s wily I’m sure he has his ways.

I can't heap enough praise on it, this design is SUCH an interesting and elegant marriage of the immediately recognizable satyr features and thus animal symbolism with all its added pagan weight in a post-Christianity setting, and the sort of ‘man of wealth and taste’ imagery of the devil at the crossroads they clearly want to evoke, especially in his first scene. And partially through his mannerism there’s also an added element of like… eccentric but surprisingly competent college professor — just look at the way he carries himself whenever he isn’t putting on the charm or when he’s being guarded and self-contained. That little hands resting on his back pose exudes ‘nerd’ so deeply to me haha. (Incredibly fuckable nerd, to be sure, but still!)

you don't fool me buddy I know what you are. I know all the trouble you went to to get a book.

His body language shifts very quickly between wild playful expressiveness and a sort of nonchalant urbane detachment that borders on coldness sometimes, and it fascinates me. Especially since that more refined unavailable side seems to be something he’s deliberately cultivated, to some extent. When Grace calls him out on how boring it sounds to just let yourself go numb and distant to survive, he doesn’t deny that at all, only saying that at least it’s been quite effective.

Putting the rest under a cut to save people's dashes! I may, as they say, have gotten a tiny bit carried away.

Physically he’s not very imposing — he’s only a little taller than Grace, and the shortest of all of the love interests, which I find somehow very charming and also plays into him being more of a guile-based character. “Seeing as I am neither big nor truly bad, it behooves me to be wary of those who are both” indeed!

I’m fairly sure he’s the character wearing the most layers. Even his hands are mostly covered by gloves. He partially covers up his eyes with the tinted glasses — interesting, as one of the features that most give his real nature away with their sidewise pupils, and the lenses are tinted purple as the complimentary colour to yellow, so it downplays just how bright they are. All together it’s very much a ‘well, he’s certainly got to be in there somewhere’ sort of vibe at times. (Since he also seems to care about his clothes quite a bit — he complains about scuffing his pants during the climb in the Medusa mission if you go the lockpick route — I have drawn the conclusion that getting him out of all of that must take quite a bit of time, no matter how much practice he’s probably put in over the years of meeting 'delicious people' lol)

It’s a design that manages to give, at the same time: animal-featured ancient god, deal with the devil, teacher, overtones of con man if you’re inclined to be Freddie-levels of uncharitable lol, eccentric rich weird uncle… there’s a lot going on here and somehow it all works haha. He isn’t wearing any jewelry at all unless you count the glasses, which now that I’m looking at the rest of the character designs in this game is actually fairly rare among them!

His eyes really are incredibly bright when uh naked as it were, though. I like the implication that he is aware of this and actually goes out of his way to downplay it, even when he’d normally be wearing glamour anywhere it would strictly matter for it to show. Between that, the meaningful zoom in on him at the Underworld when Apollo says that all the Idols can be themselves there even if they don’t look human, Pan claiming he’s been distrusted and side-eyed by the others basically since the beginning and seeming kind of frustrated and hurt about it, in his deflecting way, and the implication of a hierarchy among the Idols at least under Athena’s leadership in this stained glass painting (notably all the visibly non-human Idols/hangers on are at the bottom, and Hecate, Asterion and especially Medusa are the characters most affected and confined by the oppressive status quo Athena upholds)...

this one! sing it with me now EVERYBODY LEAVES THIS PLACE ALIVEEE ok we can move on

you know, some possible Subtext and Implications going on here, I’d say. (It is only potential subtext and implication, though, so, you know, take my extrapolations here with a grain of salt!) He certainly doesn’t do himself many favors with the persona he’s built up in regards to being trusted and included either, but his status as a little bit of an outsider does seem to precede that so I feel like it’s more of a response than the main cause. Along the same lines he gets much more testy about the Green route of ‘I Can Teach You’ than he does about you just not choosing him in the Red one, he takes that pretty gracefully. So it is the being deliberately kept on the outside and openly distrusted and dismissed that gets to him. (To be clear I don't think openly distrusting a strange guy showing up in your living room like that is at all unreasonable either haha I just think the nuances of his response are enlightening as to where he's really coming from)

this one isn't even to illustrate anything it's just because I love him so much and think he's pretty I'll be real with you all

Anyway I just keep thinking about how incredibly tender it would be if sometimes, when they’re in private, Grace takes his glasses off to see his eyes better and he lets her. That shakes something deep in my soul apparently. That fucks me up but like in a good way.

APOLLO

- Apollo’s style of dress leaves his navel helpfully exposed for the copious amounts of depressed gazing he habitually subjects it to. (I say this not entirely without affection.)

a crumpled tissue of a man

In keeping with his incredibly emo mode, there’s very little colour involved and he doesn’t take much care to present anything with care (look at the state of that shirt and tell me if Apollo has picked up an iron in the last forty years), BUT interestingly he’s not entirely open and unadorned, he does wear that network of jewelry across his chest and neck. Which I think is to show that the old Apollo is not entirely gone (“There he is, god of the sun”), even if he has been a sack stuffed with sad for a long time now. I wonder how many of these things are leftover preferences from being only Lucas — presumably the tattoos at least are from before he fished Apollo up from the sea? If I’m reading the vibes right on that, the blue of the tattoos and the gold of the sun… thingy he wears with the jewelry are the main splashes of colour in his design aside from his hair, and they’re both ‘leftovers’ from both his previous lives, surfer bro and solar deity recently fallen on hard times. Physically he would be tall and imposing, parodically built, except that he carries himself with all the confidence and panache of a damp depressed dishrag.

Also I can’t believe this guy is walking around everywhere in sandals. Apollo makes sad flip-flop sounds wherever he goes, including when he steps up during ‘The Trial’. That’s so amazingly pathetic (affectionate).

We can see from the photo with him and Calliope that he wasn’t always quite this much of a mess. Once, he did his shirt up a whole maybe four buttons and wore something that wasn’t beige!

Intellectually I acknowledge that it's a design meant to provide fanservice, even though I personally could not consider this guy in a sexual or romantic light if you gave me a thousand years to build up to it. (I've said it before but if he's anything to me, he is the incredibly fail father figure continually letting me down in tiny ways I never had.) Godspeed to the Apollo-enjoyers out there, though, Summerfall gave him those abs and that poor little meow meow energy just for you and it's your right to enjoy that

- Pan and Apollo also bring out some really interesting contrasts both as characters and designs when you hold them up against each other:

Once you scratch the surface a tiny bit Pan clearly has just as much self-loathing as Apollo (“If Athena had taken me up on my offer, the Idols would have been better off” uh. Okay buddy we’re gonna have to process that one together later what do you say), but where Apollo is completely helplessly open in his misery at all times, you need to unbutton Pan at least three layers until you get a honest or straightforward emotion out of him and I think that’s amazingly carried through into their visual designs. It's Good Visual Storytelling Brent

PERSEPHONE

- I’m fairly sure the colour of Persephone’s suit is supposed to evoke pomegranate seeds. See and judge for yourself I suppose:

She also has details on her coat that depict foliage and growing plants, but colour-wise they and the rest of the detailing is in the blue-green that symbolizes the Underworld and so death. Her jewelry is gold, which — and I’m about to do some reaching here, I’ll be big enough to own — could play in with Hades being the god of riches as well as of the dead/the underworld. Probably it’s because it works well with the colour scheme, but I’m going to pretend that it’s because even if she didn’t get the throne she did get that motherfucker’s hoard when she killed him <3 Love that for her. Her jewelry is more rose gold than Apollo’s yellow gold, too. Watch me go for even more of a reach: between the necklace and the watch, those round discs of gold remind me of the coins put on the eyes of the dead but like you know repurposed since she doesn't need them to pay the Ferryman. I never promised I'd be reasonable in this did I.

The short hair works real well for the butch vibe and looks amazing no notes, but I think it’s also a deliberate way to differentiate herself from her younger self — when speaking of Demeter’s death, she says that moment was also the final death of that young her, ‘that girl with the long hair who loved her gardens’. Clearly the Idols do a lot of reinventing themselves over the ages in more and less conscious ways.

She has a tattoo of what looks to be foliage and a skull across her left chest and arm. I really like that idea of her having the testament to both sides of her — goddess of spring, queen of the underworld — directly on her skin, under two layers of clothes that each represent those aspects. The one on her arm looks like stalks of grain tied together to resemble the bones of the hand/forearm, maybe? which is metal as fuck, needless to say.

She is TALL and scary and the staging always plays that up, Grace tends to look up at her like O.O. I love how sharp she is too.

Also she is incredibly hot but you don’t need me to tell you that you all have eyes I assume.

EROS, APHRODITE and VENUS:

- I love literally everything about Eros’ design except his hair. Not even the concept of the haircut and colours or anything, just the way it’s rendered. It looks like one strange flat cap I can’t quite make understandable in three dimensional space as hair in my head lol. Other than that it’s a banging design though, the delicate see-through material over the leather BDSM harness is genius. Choosing this form of sensuality and attractiveness for him to embody -- one that is so deeply queercoded -- also works super well. The warmth and vulnerability of his body language on top of it is *chef's kiss*. just. please define his hair a bit more and it's perfect haha.

- I'm not sure I have that much to say about Aphrodite’s design except that of course she is beauty she is grace etc., it takes a lot of thought to make such a simple design shine and by god did they do it she’s so stunning. Also interesting how her dark blues and greens with cool/silvery details contrast with Venus’ warm reds and pinks and… brass? Idk I don’t really understand jewelry haha. All warmth and soft romanticism, anyway, it looks nice. (Side note but I love Venus’ rose tattoo.) Eros and Venus have much more matching colour schemes and they both bring those islands of warmth standing around Aphrodite in her shimmering ocean coolness. (Which of course is something she has to deliberately put on before going into public these days, and is unselfconsciously glamorous in the way of an old timey Hollywood starlet, as the blue route of 'The Ritual' lampshades)

:') *whisper* everybody...

Venus is wearing pearls, which is pleasing considering her connection to Aphrodite (and the backgrounds of the 'Lost in a Moment' variant of 'The Ritual')! and both of her and Aphrodite's outfits go for a shoulderless look to great effect.

ETA: When the camera is close on Aphrodite you can actually see that she has dark circles under her eyes, only partially covered by the makeup :'( I didn't notice that before I played through 'The Ritual' on a bigger screen today

All in all I just want to acknowledge what a fantastic job the character designers at Summerfall Studios have done! There are some really fresh new takes on these mythological figures here, and it makes so much sense within the world the game presents without resorting to well-worn and tired iconography, I really do admire it greatly.

#stray gods #stray gods pan #stray gods apollo #stray gods persephone #stray gods eros #stray gods aphrodite #sorry about the varying quality of the screenshots I have done my best lmao #if there's anywhere you can get the sprites in high resolution I couldn't find it so uh well be gentle lol #it's SO hard to track down scenes where you see them all in full figure and decent clarity #stray gods meta #meta #i don't even know if this is coherent anymore but it IS out of my head which is what I needed it to be haha I am free!! for now

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doctorofmagic · 5 months

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BLOOD HUNT PREDICTIONS (and spoilers!)

Okay, I see everyone is struggling to keep it cool because of what just happened today in Blood Hunt #1. But honestly I'm very excited to put the pieces together (also very HYPED!!!). So here are my thoughts (and my friend Red's, thank you, my darling) on what we gathered so far through clues, covers and solicitations.

Obviously, spoilers.

Well, first thing I'd like to establish is that people will probably feel lost if they haven't read the last Blade volume. Thankfully, yours truly did! Which means I can provide some context:

Just recently, Blade released an ancient evil called the Adana by accident. To make it up for this mistake (which would lead to the end of the world, basically), he had to embrace his full vampiric powers by drinking Dracula's blood (they're in a kinda complicated relationship right now, not friends nor enemies but necessary allies). That also meant that he was corrupted by its evil.

Plus, as I said it many times, Blade has a deep respect for Stephen because of the Montesi Formula, which resulted in the extinction of all vampires. Yes, Stephen did it once, and I'll get back to it because I think it's REALLY important.

Since we established that Blade might be corrupted, let's move on to the next topic.

Is Stephen dead?

My best guess is "not really".

In Blood Hunt, we see that T'Challa sacrificed himself to protect Cap America Sam and the rest of the Avengers who survived the first strike. But is T'Challa gone? Luckily, I follow Farid Karami on twitter and he posted a few inks he did for Black Panther: Blood Hunt. And guess what? That's right, we'll about to have vampire!T'Challa!

Besides, we all know that the next Doctor Strange issue will feature Wong and vampire!Stephen. What we didn't know was how Stephen would fit in the plot, but thanks to the variant cover I posted last week, we do now: he'll be guiding his allies via his astral form.

Now, how can the Sorcerer Supreme deal with the vampiric threat? It was shown that Stephen and Clea are looking for the Montesi Formula again.

For those who don't know, the Montesi Formula is a spell from the Darkhold that can wipe every single vampire off the face of the Earth. Stephen already used this spell once when he fought Dracula (and Blade was there, hence the respect he holds for Stephen). Unfortunately for them, Wanda has just recently absorbed the Darkhold within her body as a way to gain autonomy from Chthon (as seen in Darkhold: Alpha and Omega). Besides, Wanda was captured by the Bloodcoven, which means she can't do much right now. In addition, as hinted by Blade himself, she won't use the Montesi Formula, mostly because the character can't be involved in another kind of genocide (thanks, Bendis). And that leads us to the next topic.

Who could do it? The very one character who would overcome morals on behalf of his people, the same one who already appeared in the first issue: Doctor Doom. And if we think about it, he has two advantages already: 1) he's second in line to be the Sorcerer Supreme, and 2) as already established, he'd do anything to protect his planet and, most importantly, Latverians.

It's also important to reiterate that an astral form is not as powerful as the body+soul. With Stephen's strength limited, it's not that crazy to imagine that he could pass the mantle to Victor for a limited period while they find the spell. "Why not Clea?" I don't know. It's already established that managing the power of two sorcerers supreme is extremely hard and draining. Could be another reason as well. I'm just trying to find a coherent train of thought through this variant cover here:

Still, we're left with a very important dilemma. We have nice vampire allies in current comics: Brielle (Blade's daughter) and Soldier and Reese from the Midnight Mission (Moon Knight), the three of them being characters to be featured in the tie-ins. Well, not to mention Stephen and T'Challa, and maybe some more to be turned in the next issues. This is why I don't think the Montesi Formula will happen. Jed won't kill THE Black Panther, let's be real. So what's next?

We're expecting a plot twist at some point, and Blade will have an important role here. He's set to have another solo title this year, probably following the consequences of his actions. But there's a high chance someone else is involved. Let's check this panel once more:

Atlantean rituals.... Where did we hear about it before? That's right, Sorcerer Supreme #11!

During the old age, Varnae become ruler of the vampires and was brought back by Marie Laveau in modern age, fighting Doctors Strange and Voodoo. His last appearance traces back to Blade when he and his friends confronted him. Frank Drake sacrificed himself in an explosion to kill Varnae, and that's the last time we hear about him.

But see how the pieces come together? Blade, Stephen and Varnae. It makes sense that things would center around these three. And this is why I'm very excited. It's not a surprise that I love Blade and Stephen's relationship, and all these elements would make a wonderful drama, one that I'm really looking forward to!

Overall, I'm not worried about status quo or anything like that. I know things will work out in time, and seeing so many of my favorite characters involved in an event written by McKay only makes it better!

And that's it! Feel free to add your thoughts on this post! And see you all next week with Doctor Strange #15! 👀

#doctor strange #stephen strange #blade #eric brooks #clea strange #doctor doom #victor von doom #black panther #t'challa #brielle brooks #reese #soldier #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #blood hunt #wednesday tomes #marvel comics

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bots-and-cons · 1 year

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scenario request for tfp!soundwave and a human!s/o!

s/o is trying to get soundwave to take a break from his busy work by trying to figure out if he has any hobbies they can do instead

(and if he doesn't, then s/o tries to introduce some human pastimes to him!)

I do like this idea, but Idk if I wrote it very well, because I'm not really putting much effort into this unfortunately. Tbh, I have no interest in writing atm. It's not just for this request or for this blog, I just don't feel like writing anything, I have no inspiration or motivation. I really wanted to get this out though. I was initially planning to do a scenario for this, but I couldn’t put it together coherently, so HCs it is, sorry

•Soundwave doesn’t have anything he’d count as a hobby, nor does he really have time for things like that

•Because I don’t think digital identity theft really counts, even if he does it for fun

•When you one day ask him if he has any hobbies, he thinks about it for a moment before just shaking his helm and turning his attention back to his work

•You decide he needs a hobby so you start asking him what kind of hobbies he might be interested in

•You know he likes music so maybe something to do with that?

•You show him a few apps he could use to make music, but it turns out he’s more into listening to it than making it himself

•Then you think about something that might be a bit out there for him, but you still think it’s a good idea anyway

•You suggest gardening to him, he doesn’t really have a good idea of what that includes, but he agrees that he can try it

•It’s just something to do with plants, right? That couldn’t be too difficult, right?

•You go to pick up some soil, tools, pots, seeds and flowers you can plant in a couple of bigger pots

•You drag it all to the Nemesis with Knockout’s help, since you had him take you to get them

•You take all the stuff to Soundwave’s habsuite and go get him to see what you brought

•You show Soundwave how to repot some of the flowers and urge him to try it too

•Soundwave just figures that if it makes you happy, he’ll do it, he didn’t expect to actually really like it

•You plant some tomato seeds and a lot of different flowers

•Soundwave finds the whole process relaxing and pretty nice

•His habsuite happens to be one of the only ones with a window, since it’s on the side of the Nemesis

•So he can keep the plants in front of the window so they can get sunlight

•He keeps a keen optic on the plants, and he takes very good care of them

•In a few months you get to eat some fresh tomatoes and he has a ton of plants everywhere

•He also got those sunlamp things for the plants that aren’t in the natural light all the time

•Who knows how he got them, probably has something to do with his little collection of stolen credit card numbers from his other “hobby” if you can even call it that

•Soundwave is really invested in watching the plants grow and blossom, and he finds taking care of them to be calming

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #decepticons #soundwave #tfp headcanons #reader insert #transformers x reader #tfp x reader

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mothofmyth · 6 days

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Steve Harrington takes up journaling.

Look, he's a very traumatised teenager in the 80s. He's got barely any friends, essentially no family worth a damn, and he's definitely not getting a therapist any time soon.

He remembered asking Nancy once, while they were still dating, why girls keep diaries. Why they write shit in them if they don't want anybody to read it.

She told him she likes it because it's like having a friend who can't give you advice you don't want, who won't give you their opinion or judgement on things they don't know enough about.

A diary can't betray your trust the way a human can, so long as you hide it well enough, and if you write something in it that you're not allowed to talk about, you can always tear out the page and throw it in a fire. It's how she compartmentalises. It's a release.

Steve honestly thought it was dumb at first. Leaving all of your secrets conveniently together in one place. If you invited friends over or threw a party and someone found it you'd be socially ruined before you even knew it was gone.

Still, after everything goes down... Steve has no friends his own age, he's sort of responsible for a bunch of traumatised kids, he's for all intents and purposes alone. He feels like he's going to pop if he doesn't tell someone something.

He's throwing another tantrum, as his mom would call it. Tearing up and throwing anything he can find, uncaring of the mess he'll have to clean up later. He just can't cope, and it's not like anybody's stopping him.

He turns his attention to a bookshelf, starts tearing pages out of paperbacks and launching them across the room. He picks up an old notebook, probably a spare he got for school and never got round to using.

It makes him pause, remembering an old, old conversation with somebody he used to love.

He figures, what harm could it do to try? It's not like destroying the house for the third time this week is helping much, nor did climbing into his dad's liquor cabinet and falling to the bottom of a bottle of barrel-aged whiskey.

He grabs a cracked biro off the floor, ignoring the way the plastic crunches a little in his too-firm grip.

He opens the book to the first page and begins to write.

He doesn't really know what he's doing, so he just starts putting his stream of consciousness onto the page. At first it's barely coherent scribblings, but once he starts, he finds there's things he wants to say, things he's been desperate to tell someone just to get them out of his head. He couldn't tell the kids, couldn't tell Nancy or his parents, definitely couldn't tell Tommy and Carol, so he tells the book, instead.

He pours out his darkest thoughts, writes things he would never say out loud, about how sometimes he wishes the demogorgon had taken him out, wishes Billy had killed him, how maybe the kids would be better off that way.

He writes about how exhausted he is, how much he hates his friends and the government and everybody who dragged him to this point and then left him hanging. Left him to drown.

Like Barb drowned. When he killed her. When stupid Nancy invited her stupid friend to his stupid party because stupid Tommy and stupid Carol wanted to play in his stupid pool at his stupid house because his stupid parents were on a stupid business trip.

He presses too hard and the paper tears under his pen. He realises he's crying when he tries to put the paper back together and the ink smudges on his fingers.

He writes and writes until he feels empty inside, then he puts it in a shoebox and stuffs it back under his bed, along with all of those feelings and fears and traumas. With his absent parents and miserable little life and everything that he can never show to the rest of the world.

He starts cleaning up in a haze, forgetting all about his diary for the time being. He's got responsibilities, after all. Who else is gonna step up, if not him?

End for now, but this could go a number of ways feel free to add on. Maybe someone finds the journal. Maybe they get upset by what they see. Maybe they're insulted, or scared, or worried and horrified about Steve's inner monologue.

Maybe some kind of magic happens and the book is actually connected to someone else in some way, and they're seeing everything he's writing and start writing back soulmates-style.

Maybe the book is someone, and they materialise from it having been created by Steve's thoughts or just summoned to 'fix' him.

Idk, as I said there's a lot of directions this could take.

#stranger things #steve harrington #fanfiction #fanfiction prompts #past stancy #stancy #mental illness #mental health #journal #journaling #steve harrington has bad parents

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sixstepsaway · 11 months

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right, so, here are my Thoughts about that whole thing now i've slept on it. probably won't be super coherent but here we go

i feel bad for stede. he got shoved, somehow, into the weird love interest role so many female characters find themselves in, where they are truly completed by a man and a romance not the things they've been striving for throughout the series so far. he's shown no sign of wanting to give up the pirate lifestyle he's just finally got back, and to accompany him giving that up with izzy's gorgeous "piracy is about family and somewhere to belong" speech from earlier just feels cruel. we joke about how episode 2 stede wouldn't care if lucius died but that changed, he got attached, his crew became his family. they were loyal to him and followed him even when they were just working at spanish jackie's for pennies. they respected him and loved him enough to let him talk them into letting ed back on board. this was, at least at this point in stede's arc, his happy ending. in fact, you can even argue he was happy without ed for a while at the start of this episode. his relationship with ed is important and it's icing on the cake, but it isn't something to complete him, or his only source of happiness -- nor should it be!!! and then for some reason ed shows back up, fishes up his leathers, kicks ass to save him, loses izzy and now they're leaving stede's ship and crew and found family to... run an inn made out of the world's shittiest fixer-upper? stede? stede twirly fancypants bonnett??? in that place? maybe at the end of a full run this might have felt like a good conclusion to his story, him realizing he wanted belonging, not necessarily to be a pirate, and maybe them bringing some of crew along to have their home somewhere safer and happier than the piracy they don't really enjoy but turn to because they have no other choice, but right now it just feels like... honestly like either he agreed to it to keep ed with him ("AITA for convincing my boyfriend to run an inn with me after leaving him two days ago because we were moving too fast? little backstory: this involved my boyfriend leaving everything in his life for me and no i did not apologize for running off to become a fisherman") or like, as i said up there, a matter of "actually all he needed was a BOYFRIEND all along" which... ngh. stede is more than his relationship.

idk why we bothered establishing that frenchie, jim and even archie were willing to put their lives on the line and lie to ed's murderous face to save izzy's life just for them to be stone-faced and have no feelings about his loss. like, okay, ed and he's stories are tied together and him dying in ed's arms makes more sense narratively than him dying in anyone else's, but also ed hadn't earned that and izzy deserved to die in the arms of someone who hadn't tried to kill him and shot him in the leg not to mention we went from fang's squishy hug and frenchie holding his hand to just... nothing? not a thing? roach, the ship's surgeon, did nothing to try and save him? it's just ed slapping his gunshot wound pathetically?

it strongly feels like they swapped izzy and ed's roles in his death scene sounds stupid but hear me out "you're my only family" would make so much more sense coming from izzy with ed dying in his arms. izzy's desperation to keep hold of ed, right down to accidentally pushing him down the kraken path at the end of season 1, being rooted in the feeling that ed is all he has in the world? ed responding that no, the crew love izzy. he's earned their love. he has a family outside of ed now, can't he see that? that makes so much more sense, considering izzy nearly died for them multiple times and spent the first few episodes trying to protect them and then being protected by them in kind he was their new unicorn!!! meanwhile ed said sorry to fang, izzy and lucius, and no one else has been shown to give any fucks about him since that whole thing, and like... rightly so? because he hadn't earned them back at all? and he fucked off on them too last episode lol dont forget he didnt JUST leave stede

we should have known better than to trust djenks when he broke jim and olu up for no reason ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idk

nothing worth a damn happened this episode it was all running around and waving swords. idk how anyone got to where they were at the end. it was just poor writing.

the pacing has been off all season but they really shoved three episodes into one and hoped it'd work

i'm getting flashbacks to the timeless ~finale~ ugh

they spent so much time one ed's stupid fishing boat monologue instead of on ANYTHING ELSE

i ran out of thoughts

oh, here's another: the show walked a line between muppetry and things that were taken seriously lucius' finger, izzy's toes: serious ed getting bonked by a cannonball: emotionally serious, but not physically serious ed and stede both getting stabbed: not serious and what was treated as serious and what was treated as handwavy was dictated by what the storyline and the emotional needs were izzy getting shot to make it so they all had to run away yapping would have been hilarious, especially if he got back to the ship and went "nah eddie it's my left side, remember what i told you about the left? nothing important on the left" "your liver" <- roach, horrified but instead weird death scene because this was treated as physically serious, even though it...should not have been, really? and that is bothering me a lot too, because when lucius was thrown to his death, we looked at stede finding the crew on the island and went, "aha! lucius will be fine, because that's what the show logic is" and we were right, because the show had taught us that but that didn't extend to izzy for this and that's just weird

#ofmd #ofmd spoilers #izzy hands

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remy2fang · 8 months

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M. Bison in SF6…Would the Story Make Sense? (In certain circumstances, yes)

Fans have been wanting M. Bison to come back for SF6. Most of it was just wishful thinking until the Rashid and A.K.I. DLC have been hinting at the possibility of it (and also if you’ve read the Toxicity story). Now with Ed coming along, we’ll definitely see more of what’s to come. But would the story flow make sense?

This basically goes in-line with an older post I made here:

I know a lot of people really want Bison to come back, but with the way the dialogue and cutscenes are written in World Tour, would a Master Bison make sense in the story? Now imagine Bison finally becomes dlc. People will buy him and play his World Tour segments. Sounds cool right? But what if some of those players didn’t bother buying AKI and/or Ed but decided to buy them AFTER finishing Bison’s World Tour? Npc F.A.N.G who came along with the AKI dlc talks as if Bison is still dead and that one day he and the organization will be revived….But Bison is alive because you’ve reached Level 20 and 100 bond points with him. AKI and perhaps Ed dlc story wouldn’t make sense by then. I’m not sure if the devs would address this possibility and would they make changes depending on what has taken place first? Adding dlc Bison as a Master in World Tour would definitely make a HUGE mess out of the flow of story if the earlier dlc characters were to be played afterwards.

BUT the story CAN make sense if it were to go through a certain route. I wrote this a long while ago and had a conversation with a friend about it:

“I thought to myself that in order to continue the story in a linear flow, you’ll have to finish all the set dlc characters first in order for the story to make sense. Like if you want to see Bison in World Tour, you’ll have to finish AKI’s and Ed’s first (and probably some other characters too). And perhaps a second dlc World Tour main plot would put the story together for the Bison revival? Lol I know it sounds crazy at this point, but I don’t know how the story would flow properly if people never bought AKI nor Ed as dlc and then bam! You got dlc Bison all of sudden without a coherent story lol.”

With that in mind, Bison would have been an expensive character to get. First buying AKI and Ed, and then who knows if there’s additional money involved in finally getting Bison. It certainly sounds like a gacha, but seeing all those avatar gear being the prices as they are, I wouldn’t be surprised if getting Bison or any other sought out future dlc character would be treated in a similar manner. Bison better be S-Tier LOL! Would be better if it were Drive Tickets though, especially if players have to buy AKI and Ed in order to acquire Bison.

#street fighter #m. bison #a.k.i.#sf6 ed #f.a.n.g #a.k.i #sf6 aki #sf6 rashid #street fighter 6 #sf6 #sf6 world tour #shadaloo #sf6 thoughts

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fantasticharmonymiracle · 1 month

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Let me say that I have infinite respect for @thelastaerie for providing us with a ton of fantastic and masterfully written fics about Kay and Marc's love story, truly. However, the entire fandom needs to be true with themselves and realise that if Freier Fall was irl Kay would never, EVER even consider getting back with Marc.

Let me elaborate:

Marc was definitely in love with Kay especially towards the end of the film but that doesn't mean he loved him because he never made the effort, as we know, and never saw Kay as his first choice. He technically was Plan B in case Bettina, which she did, didn't take him back. As romantic as we want to paint it, it doesn't put a good foundation for yet another toxic fling almost fifteen years after.

Also, very problematic is the fact that Kay pursued Marc in a questionable way like in the woods. I didn't hear any consent being given for that hand job or whatever happened (haven't seen the film in a while) and also, Kay clearly saw that Marc was basically married and with a baby on the way. It's not ethical at all to go after a taken man, regardless of the fact that you think he's a closeted gay man and you feel the itching urge to play the saviour angel and drag him out of the closet. I feel like both of them would realise it was certainly a heated time of their life but also not the best to jump back into and bring back chaos into their existence.

Bettina, she's a boss BUT that shower scene I cannot stand to watch, it feels way too violent and if a sequel happens I'm not sure how they should deal with the whole co-parenting deal without addressing that bit.

On top of this all, they may be both men but the punches they threw at each other are not acceptable whatsoever irl. It's not sexy nor a sign of true love. It's plain violence and a cheap substitute for grown-up talk. I get it, in films one has to emphasize emotions to draw the audience in but if I was Kay and I had Marc beg me to get back together... Like fuck I would after that and after I was literally thrown under the bus to save his sorry ass.

In terms of character as well, Kay comes across as a weirdly crafted excuse to drag the plot cause a wannabe cop smoking weed and taking ecstasy is surely "attractive" on camera but doesn't make sense in the real world. Why would you pick police as your career choice? Conquering the enemy from the inside is surely not gonna last that long, innit? This being said, considering the wild nature of Kay I doubt he'd fit well with Marc, even after his potential development and acquired emotional intelligence. I see older Kay as an accomplished something in whichever field having the time of his life in Berlin, or just a deranged junkie somewhere in Germany. Certainly, if we go with option 1, not one that would lower his standards for Marc, still. He wouldn't slow down for him again after being treated like shit.

Irl Marc would probably see the experience as an awakening but it wouldn't do a 180 on him, he'd still be the Stuttgart cop who now admits to himself he likes blokes OR would have a massive identity crisis, drop out of police and have a very hard time for the next 10/15 years, still not good unless we want a Trainspotting kinda love story (meaning the hopeless, scum of the earth vibes).

To end this rambling, not a good match but good entertainment. Certainly magical to read fiction about them because they allow so much freedom for the imagination.

Ps. @thelastaerie PLEASE do a fiction inspired by their other films together (wink wink that military one I can't watch because ffs I don't speak German -yet)

Apologies if this post is utter shite, I'm in the back of a moving car about to chunder and can't put my thoughts into coherent sentences. The main idea is somewhere round here.

#freier fall #free fall #marc borgmann #german film #max riemelt #hanno koffler #kay engel

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happy-mokka · 1 year

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Ineffable.

I'm not a native English speaker. I had to google "Ineffable" when I first heard it watching season 1.

vocabulary.com:

"Anything ineffable is unspeakably beautiful, moving, or horrible. It’s beyond expression. If something is so powerful or emotional that you can't even describe it, it’s ineffable."

God's plan is originally described as being "ineffable" and referenced as such by both Az and Crowley multiple times throughout season 1.

Now after the world is digesting season 2 of GOs, the term quickly was transformed as the description of the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley.

"ineffable husbands" is probably the most used hashtag within the GO fandom here.

Crossing the "horrible" out of the above description of the word, I can't think of anything more fitting.

Unspeakably beautiful and moving.

Beyond expression.

Something so powerful and emotional that you can't even begin to describe it.

Ineffable.

I've read so many novels, stories - long an short - and watched just as many movies and shows.

A lot of them stuck for quite some time.

I'm probably an above-average romantic person and love-stories always strike a special chord in me.

Me tearing-up in the process is nothing unusual and family and friends never cease making fun of me for that.

But never for the love of sweet Jesus and all the angels in heaven, nor the flaming damnation of all 9 circles of hell have I ever been so devastatingly emotional as with the end of GO season 2...

Ineffable.

Neil Gaiman and all the co-writers miracled to continue the story around the angel and the demon in a way, that it achieves the feat to serve as a catalyst for these overwhelming emotions in so many people all around the world - throughout all kinds of nationalities, genders, characters...

Ineffable.

Wether some are more on Crowley's side, that handsome demon always ready for mischief but to his core still the former good-hearted starmaker, or some favor Azeraphale, always full of compassion and the definition of what most would consider to be originally angelic traits.

I like the idea, that both became like one over the vast period of 6 thousand years.

So different in their unique personalities but then again perfectly complementary in their way to walk the millenia together.

Angel and Demon.

Light and Darkness.

Ying and Yang formed by 2 angel's wings entwined into each other.

One cannot without the other.

Who doesn't whish to have something / someone like this in our lives?

Some might aleady have found it, but most will be seeking exactly this for a lifetime and still fail...but never stop hoping for it.

That's what makes this story so special for me - and I can imagine also for many of you out here...

That's what makes it so...

ineffable.

P.S.

Sorry, if my emotions got the best of me, but I had to try to bring all this madness in my head into some coherent form and put it somewhere...

#good omens #ineffable #simple truths #aziraphale #crowley #ying yang #light and darkness #loveislove #love #ineffable husbands #good omens season 2

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eyes-of-nine · 1 month

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For blorbo bingo: razumovsky or captain flint? 👀

ah yes the ginger arsonists not that I have a type of favs or anything ..what haha that would be silly anyways....

didn't know if i wanted to go with movie or comic sergey so ummm have a weird amalgamation of both but either way it's honestly embarrassing how much i enjoy this idiot and his shitty fashion sense.

i feel like there's definitely ups and downs when it comes to his characterization, with PD probably having my favorite. it's the perfect line between genuinely skilled vigilante/antihero/ex-villain (whatever the hell he has going on currently) and kind of a dork who barely has his life put together. he is the worst, has made so many bad decisions, his only crime is being a millionaire that one time and i want to see him in all the situations

he doesn't get "pretty privilege" checked purely wearing cheetah print on multiple occasions and that's unforgivable. you would think i wouldn't discuss him often irl bc well there's basically no fandom but i keep being put in situations where i do including uni and idk how to feel about that.

also ummmm he's inadvertently a reason i went into art professionally thanks to that one phobs phase i had in middle school so do with that knowledge what you will

FLINT MY LOVE MY DARLING

listen these two show perfectly that i love a blorbo who goes a bit too far with their ideology and maybe blows up a city once or twice but flint does it in such a way that no matter how insane he sounds you still believe him. genuinely CHARACTER OF ALL TIME i could not fix him nor make him worse i am nowhere near his level of freak to achieve that.

actually scratch that add pretty privilege to flint bc nothing is hotter than him getting covered in blood in ep1

sometimes i think about flint and have to physically lie down and i'll truly never be over the ending fr i don't write a lot of black sails meta bc i genuinely don't think i can put my thoughts about it into coherent thoughts but flint is so important to me in all his insanity and grief and love and-

so ummm know no shame and"the Empire survives in part because we believe its survival to be inevitable"

#ashdjdasgh #thank you sm for the ask #neither of them got bingo but they're so very special to me #....and maybe a little bit correct sometimes #we should put them in a room together i'm sure nothing bad will happen #wyatt rambles

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seldaryne · 9 months

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haven't finished the durge pt yet (idc about spoiling anything though that has 0 impact on me enjoying the game fdgh) but i've been thinking Thoughts.

edit okay as i was writing this i went ahead and just read up on the backstory so i could continue my thoughts in a coherent manner lmfao

(lots of info here, apparently ive gotten Very attached to her in the last uh. three weeks give or take. kinda sorta chronological?? idk it makes sense to me lmao)

velrith probably definitely only settled on that name in act 2. prior that she was just called whatever people drifted to if they needed her attention. & she didn't really care, having a void for memories will do that to a bitch, but it can make introductions awkward or give them a weird 'im too good to even give you my identity' energy. not super great when paired with someone who doesn't really emote or put a ton of effort into masking tonal inflections. she pointedly allowed other people to do more of the talking as a result for a while & would get roped into conversations that way.

i'd like to go ahead and tie in astarion's frequent use of pet names here to this too. he's got a goal here, and can't just drop a 'hey you' every time he's angling for something. it's easier to fill in the blanks that way & make sure it doesn't come across as cold and calculated as the seduction actually is for a time. of course, the mental gymnastics weren't necessary here. aside from the fact that she's extremely intense about her oath & therefore is legally obligated to send cazador straight to hell on sight, he'd also have the same luck with a low-effort, straightforward 'do you want to have sex?' the lines are... usually fine, never actually crossing boundaries, but she does find a lot of them to be really goddamn weird & unnecessary when the point could be made in less than 10 words.

picture a distraught-looking sighthound & you have the general idea of the face she makes when he lays it on thick. she's giving her best shot at a socially appropriate expression. it's not working.

also on names, she can't say for sure if that's who she was before or if she just pieced together syllables that sounded like Something from memory. again, doesn't really matter either way, since she's not in any hurry to reclaim her former self. it's fine.

ketheric felt straightforward. a tragic figure who she did extend an olive branch towards, but ultimately felt nothing when it came time to bring her blade down (besides, isobel seemed like she knew what she was talking about when velrith confessed [suddenly coming back into her room just to point-blank tell her about the desire to spill her blood] certain thoughts of violence towards the cleric, and it felt like the sort of assurance she should be trusting, right? more than any of her own emotions, anyway.)

gortash gives her the ick. like, there's no other way to describe that one. he actually probably still would even without all the history (and the fact that he needed to repent for what he'd done to karlach), but the slimy over-familiarity was really the nail in the coffin there. velrith isn't smooth nor particularly socially gifted, but she has a certain air of formal pride she carries herself with. acting like you know her better than she does herself (even if it may very well be the truth!) is so beyond an overstep of what she's able to function with. stripping away everything else, if he even tried to touch her casually on the shoulder, he would have been liable to lose that hand.

orin troubles her. for the obvious reasons, but she also just... pities her. almost. pre-tadpole, velrith was honestly relatively similar compared to her current personality. colder and more able to justify slaughter, sure, but still staunchly refusing to compromise her own feelings for social games. she understood how the game pieces moved when she watched other people, even when she was younger, but if asked to copy the same techniques, she was only ever able to bludgeon straight through in a line. consequently, people don't really care how strange you are if you're just that good at your job. orin made a one-sided rivalry out of someone who otherwise just regarded her as a peer in the same arena, and now sees her as someone who wouldn't have been able to take the chance at redemption even if it had been on the table. she was too far gone, unable to stand on her own or cope with the fact that she would always be lesser than someone who genuinely could not have cared less about standings. maybe if velrith had feigned some interest, there wouldn't have been so much hatred. or maybe there would have.

either way, she sees orin in a depressing light. someone who had nothing and no one but the prospect of power, and who crumbled as soon as that chance at power was taken away. to let her live would have been to co-sign on her projecting those emotions outwards. velrith isn't stupid and knows there's a good chance she might have gone the same way if she hadn't been lucky enough to receive her parasite. in another life, she thinks that maybe she could have found a connection, and they might have saved each other (either genuinely or in a twisted version of the word). this isn't a thought she shares with anyone. she thinks about that death and their interactions for a long time afterwards.

her 'normal' childhood sometimes comes to her in fleeting memories that disappear out of her periphery if she focuses too hard. she thinks she liked her parents, and they seemed like nice people from what she can semi-recall. but she can also tell that there's always just been something wrong with her if she compares herself to other people. many of these snippets feature her looking anywhere but at her parents' faces, unable to express herself verbally in a way they could understand (the words were right, they way she used them was... her own, shall we say?). something flipped at some point, and all of the sudden she would stare too much at them, not blinking or looking away at the right moments. they'd seemed to squirm a bit under this. they always seemed a bit sad when they looked at her, as if they'd loved her but she was never quite as they hoped she would be.

she had to be taught what to do during a hug as an older child instead of leaving her arms limp at her sides. she knows that.

she doesn't remember killing them. she doesn't remember how it would have felt to receive her first order or how she was unable to do anything but listen to the violent urges.

there's more guilt for not feeling much towards them than there is for the killing.

the staring hasn't shifted again. she knows she looks at people too hard and/or too long, looks at them dead in the eyes and studies their faces, but she can't help it. one, it's good to be aware and alert. two, looking away doesn't seem to be the answer either. at least this way they know she's paying attention, right?

she thinks she shouldn't care about these things, that it's so ridiculous coming from her blood-soaked past, laughable that she'd wonder what it meant to have people relax in your presence instead of becoming more visibly anxious. but she wants to be good, she really, really does. she wants to be able to join a group like everyone else, slipping seamlessly into their words and laughing how they laugh instead of her own (the faintest of smiles and a soft rush of air running past her lips, blink-and-you'll-miss-it laughter that may as well not exist outside of her head). she doesn't hate herself for these things, because she doesn't know how else to be, but she does wonder. she wants to know what it's like for these things to be easy. bhaal's favourite hadn't been blessed with charisma, apparently.

consequently, she has a very hard time now figuring out how to actually connect with anyone, or what it should feel like to have friends.

it made her somewhat uncomfortable in the beginning to be asked questions by these people on a regular basis. not even personal questions, just things to signal that she existed to them in some capacity. gale remembers when she'd wrinkled her nose at a certain seasoning, and leaves it off her plate when he makes dinner going forward. lae'zel likes how she fights and asks her questions on technique, asking to spar so she could better understand the answers. shadowheart thinks they're alike with similar holes in their memories, and seeks out her company because of it. she doesn't understand, and for a while she even feels a bit suffocated by it. exposure therapy is really the only remedy here.

initially there are some reasonable assumptions on whether she just dislikes them all that much, or if she thinks she's better than them, or some other nasty reason. it takes approximately two conversations with her for everyone to understand that's not the case. it's like speaking to someone who only every studied social behaviour from an incomplete textbook and was visibly struggling to fill in the gaps in real-time. is she scary? yes, a bit. does she stare at you Way too much when you're speaking to her (at her, really, because you will be carrying that conversation until she's gotten her footing)? also yes. but she's really earnestly trying to sort herself out for the sake of the people around her, brain twisting around itself to learn things that were as easy as breathing to most. and it's sort of sweet, in its own way.

over time, she stops simply caring about these people based on her code of ethics. she starts to remember things about them too, her love language starts to show itself through gift-giving at an absolutely glacial pace, but it's noticeable to literally everyone despite that. a small trinket picked up at the market matching shadowheart's usual taste is pressed into her hand with only a nod before velrith is turning on her heel and almost running away. a tome is thrust at wyll with such startling intensity that the kindness actually comes off as a bit of a threat, but she looks visibly relieved when he takes it with a smile. so on and so forth. every incident like this, every blunt display of 'i notice you. i think you would like this. i thought of you today,' is accompanied by a hasty exit. task accomplished, but now the script has run out, so she's doing the same. she also finds it hard to look at people once the exchange has taken place, and is pretty sure this is an affliction only she suffers from.

she's going to push through it anyway, even if it makes her skin feel like its trying to recoil off her bones.

it also comes out in the protection. again, it's expected as a paladin of devotion, but no one is quite prepared for the molten fury that burns in her eyes or the weight of her voice whenever ghosts from the past arise. not only has she sworn her protection to those suffering from harm (and names like orin, gortash, cazador, viconia & more absolutely qualify as those who cause harm), but it feels personal. acting as shield and guillotine is when velrith is truly in her element, standing tall and embodying the virtues laid out in her tenets.

she is fighting internally just as much as externally, pushing back against base instincts to continue her sworn oath. driving her sword through the flesh of the emperor is just as much about defeating him as it is proving to herself that she is still capable of goodness. if she falls here, she can at least die knowing she was dedicated to rebellion until her very last breath.

this does not mean that she actually registers it when people like her, though. in fact, once she pieces together what her true nature is (she hadn't wanted to kick that poor animal, or make a spectacle of that nice bard's corpse, or try to rip out astarion's throat as he slept--but she had done those things, and more, and what's worse, some of them don't even to her like they would anyone else) she's pretty sure that the unanimous, logical choice would be to put her at a distance.

so she braces, prepares, makes peace with returning to the status quo & starts pulling away before staging her little ted talk. jaheira catches her first, though, and it gets to her. she's not spoken much to the woman, but she's... incredibly understanding, actually. so much so that it leaves velrith with a profound ache in her chest when she rolls over and tries to sleep again (jaheira's insistence, and her promise to stand watch all night in case she lost control again). being around jaheira hurts like hell, but she still seeks her out after that incident. she looks at her kindly but doesn't treat her with any more fragility than before. she's good-humoured when answering question after question about bhaalspawn, and stays honest the whole time too. she seeks her out when she isolates as much as she can on the outside of camp, dropping a sack of potatoes at velrith's feet and sitting beside her so that they can peel them in easy silence.

she likes that the most. sometimes it feels like velrith's head is too full; not from the parasite or the echoes of a murderous god, but from--she's not sure, actually, but it makes thinking hard, and speech tends to take a temporary leave as well. no amount of coaxing makes a difference, it'll return when it decides to. that's the bad sort of silence, the type that other people feel like they should fix so that everyone can be comfortable again. except jaheira, who apparently can figure out what she needs before velrith can even process that question. and sometimes, she just needs to peel some potatoes for a bit.

standing before everyone else, she prepares for the logical choice of rejection again. instead, she's greeted with shrugs, support, sympathy, but overall--not much of a change. that's the part that sends her off, only pausing just long enough to take a breath before excusing herself to the surrounding woods. it hurts so damn much, being loved like this. she wonders if any technicalities in her oath actually require her to slay herself at this point, just based on the implications alone. they should be appalled. fearful. cold. and she'd wound herself up so much inside determining this to already be the only end to her confession. bare your soul, lose what you'd only started to ease into, return to your duty.

the other shoe never does drop, though. it's gone so catastrophically well that she can't even make the tears flow properly (she's only done it once before that she remembers, but that should be adequate). instead, her sobs are muffled gasps against her hands, choking on her own confusion as she sinks to the ground, shaking.

of course, this comes out after the "incident", in the underdark, which means astarion has already seen her cry precisely once of something that seemed to her a similar scale. he's got a better handle on it, he'd like to believe, and he can sense that he's being silently volunteered for the 'fetch our bhaalspawn' quest. she's not hard to find either, an ice-white tiefling amongst the greenery with her head hidden in her arms, folded in on herself like she's not worth the weight of her own bones. it's sad, and a little annoying, actually, because if she was to insist that he possessed worth like it was the most obvious fact in the world, like he was strange for not feeling the same way, why shouldn't that same sentiment extend in her direction.

of course, there's little he can say to soothe in a way that matters, he's not going to make that mistake again, but he's at least able to bring her up for air. yes my love, perhaps it is foolish and unwise for any of us to stay around something so dangerous, but that argument can be made in many directions, not just yours. you would be the first among us to dismiss those very notions if they were coming from someone else, and have done so--multiple times, may i add--as bhaalspawn. if there's upset about the reveal, i'm confident that it's more to do with how you feel than anything else.

and really, what's she supposed to do with that aside from break even more (from relief, maybe? tension and fear of rejection that she hadn't known how to recognize, hadn't known she was holding onto? the understanding that this is not just from him, but on behalf of everyone else too?) and crumble into him.

against all odds, she is worthy of loving. despite her bloodline and her personal shortcomings, she is worthy of that much.

nothing in half-measures, as most paladins tend to be. does she remember when or why or even how she took the oath? not even a bit. but it's the only thing in her head when she wakes up on the mind flayer ship, the sole thing she's sure of, the only guiding direction she has. it should be enough to understand right and wrong, but it isn't for her. following the oath is a choice, something she can steady herself on when nothing else makes sense. devotion to her cause of protection, restoring some of the balance in the world that she lost before orin killed her. maybe that was why she lived; something needed her to right some of her sins before death arrived. or maybe a divine power was looking for someone who wouldn't be missed if they were lost in stopping the ithilids.

whatever it is, she does everything in her power to stick to it. until, of course, life happens (as it tends to) and she does something in the underdark. what did she do? she doesn't know, because she thought she was helping--that myconid was going to betray the colony that took him in when he lost all others. she raised her sword when it was clear a scolding wouldn't change his mind. and then... the sinking feeling that something was wrong.

something was missing. the only part of her that felt like it was anything was gone, and for the first time (maybe ever?) she gets emotional. there's no anchor anymore, no calming guide of tenets to follow.

the oathbreaker knight will find her later, she knows. at camp, she's distraught, and the little bit she dared interact goes out the window entirely. there's nothing anyone could actually say that would help, anyway. this does not stop astarion from trying.

glib as ever, were she in a more normal headspace she would have seen the dismissive comment for the hand-waving attempt at comfort it was. he probably knows there's nothing he can actually say to bring her down, but surely a joke (meant to reassure that she would be fine regardless, whether the oath stayed broken or was re-taken, she was competent on the field and he at least trusted her that much) would be alright?

it was not.

for all that he carried, he could not--did not--understand. of course he could be cavalier about it; despite all that was taken from him, he still had his own gods-damned name. he knew who he was, wasn't scrambling to put together fragments of his own ghost just to make some unimpressive small talk like she was. she has not yet chosen her name at this point, and that oath is where she begins & ends as a person.

he's silent when she snaps, unexpected. like a cornered animal about to tear its own leg out of a trap, daring anyone to come closer to 'help' so that they too can be maimed. a total loss for words, even when she stalks off to keep herself from acting out even further (who knows how prone she would be to violence now? not her!), raising her voice for the first time at him in pure grief.

he doesn't really get it, but he understand more in the middle of all that. the pieces click together in his mind, working themselves out during the berating. the gods never answered his cries, and so his outlook remained fairly bleak on the whole pantheon. paladins occupied a space at the opposite end of the spectrum, and he'd assumed that her more uptight habits were an offshoot from that (it's not like she gave him a ton to work with, either. he did his best from what he was allowed to see). for her, there may as well have been no gods involved in any capacity. it was simply the thing that kept her from fracturing entirely, now gone thanks to a misunderstood line in the agreement.

she still refuses to speak to him, even after she's begged for the oath back--she'll be good this time, really, she'll be good, she promises, it won't happen again, please--and received it successfully. she's not talking much to anyone, feeling both too exhausted and over-sensitive to even contemplate that. his apology isn't... good, exactly. but it's honest and that's really all she gives a shit about. things are still weird and cold for a bit, manifesting in a physical distance & reinforcing just how off his initial read on her was. but it's her first real brush with interpersonal conflict, so learning curves are expected. time and circumstance eventually help things settle, with there being bigger things to worry about.

she's quiet during sex. responsive and hyper-aware of her body, definitely, but still restrained. she enjoys the act, however, despite the lack of volume, and this shows through a readiness to explore and feel things. the ability to feel physical pleasure is something that at least seems to be something she has in common with most people. but she's overly permissive too, sometimes uncomfortably so; she's simply not attached enough to her body to have real concerns or strong preferences. at first glance, this seems to be deference, the need to be agreeable in every situation lest she tip the scales too much in her own direction.

he puts his finger on that after the third encounter, and finds himself taking a break from her for a while after as a result (once again, an act that she's absolutely fine with--god, has the thought of challenging him ever even crossed her mind in this department?). Further observation, however, reveals something else. her actions are exploratory. experimental. there's no frame of reference, she needs to establish preferences all over again for this version of herself. in fact, he sees that this extends to other tasks people ask of her as well. every action or accompaniment is met with the same reserved curiosity, considering what's being asked of her before ultimately deciding to try something new. perhaps that was why he felt like he was being intensely studied if he squints.

there's no doubt that she does see him. but she only sees enough to know that she lacks the connections to actually do anything with that. an unbalanced, vexing sort of safety net. (still, there was probably no one better for him to glue himself to than a paladin, and he tells himself that's why he spends so long trying to figure her out. because surely, her motivations can't be as obviously honest as they come across--can they?)

it's only after she tells him on the name she's privately decided to give herself (private for now, since everyone else will be informed in the morning) that he starts to realize just how much he enjoys kissing her. she's not nearly as practiced as he is, but gods, there's such a single-mindedness to the kisses it actually leaves him dizzy. her focus is so all-encompassing, the world around them may as well have been unravelling at its seams and she still wouldn't break contact. chasing pleasure but holding back just enough to keep her head above the water, prolonging the act as much as she can. he's been kissed before. many times, actually, but not like this.

there is... so much disappointment when rejecting bhaal doesn't actually change anything fundamental in her. on one hand, that really does mean that it's been her personality the entire time. that the good choices she made were hers, and they were worth fighting for.

on the other hand, fostering even that small seed of hope that she might become less of herself and more like other people had been a dangerous game. the distance remains, along with the lack of understanding and knowledge that some things would always be more hard-won for her, while others would simply be entirely beyond her reach. knowing this logically is one thing. accepting it is... entirely different. it will take time, and she will at least allow herself as much so as to properly grieve a version of herself whose body knew how to laugh freely.

she'll be okay.

#bg3 durge #oc tag #velrith #screams this got away from meeeee fdghj #trying her absolute best. doesnt understand people doesnt understand how to Be a person but by god. she is trying.#bg3

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