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venus-haze · 1 year

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Baby Let's Play House (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: After noticing your exhaustion in trying to balance managing Homelander’s day-to-day and your relationship with him, he decides that you’d be happier behind a white picket fence than an office desk. You initially agree, but the housewarming party you throw reveals how differently the two of you view your relationship.

Note: This can be read as being related to My Destruction Is an Hour Late, but you don’t need to read that to understand what’s happening in this. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. First time incorporating Homelander’s perspective into a fic, also I took some creative liberties on how his costume works. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: Homelander is his own warning (I never tag his stuff as yandere because that’s just how he is), but toxic relationship that includes possessive tendencies, gaslighting, guilting. Mirrorlander makes an awful, misogynistic appearance. Sexually explicit content which involves coercion/dubcon, oral (m. receiving), brief orgasm denial and choking. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Dating your direct superior was undoubtedly an ethics violation, but the trembling HR manager who signed off on Vought’s workplace relationship disclosure form couldn’t conjure up any protests when Homelander and you showed up at her office to make your relationship “HR official.” When you’d expressed concern about how dating him would affect your career, he scoffed, ‘What are you talking about? Babe, I am your career.’ You faltered under the weight of his gaze, knowing full well he could hear your heart skipping frantically along as you thanked him for his reassurance.

He’d resisted the idea at first, one you brought up almost immediately after you’d become his girlfriend and he gave you a promotion. He was The Homelander. He didn’t need Vought’s permission to date you. It wasn’t until you reframed it as a declaration rather than permission that he was on board. Stan Edgar could read the damn form and weep. No more publicity relationships, not when he had you. It didn’t take long for things to spiral out of control from there.

Your coworkers treated you differently, with a nervous politeness that was unsettling and isolating. Loneliness settled in soon after, almost as if by design. Suddenly, Homelander was the only one you could turn to, and by the nature of your job, he was almost always there, ready to fill whatever emotional void you needed filled, from co-worker to lover. He thrived off of your dependence, each display of it a hit that coursed through his veins. An addict in thought, he couldn’t get enough of you.

When he brought up this idea to you, not long after his grandiose proposal, you welcomed it. A cozy house in the suburbs didn’t sound so bad compared to the whirlwind of your responsibilities at Vought managing Homelander’s day to day on top of your relationship with him.

Now, as you walked up the pathway to the front door with the last of the groceries you’d needed before the housewarming party you were hosting the following night, the white posts of the picket fence that surrounded the house looked more like teeth rising out of the ground to devour you, red roses planted along the perimeter painted droplets of blood on the unhinged jaw. You knew it was never your choice.

Most of the time, things were good, and you and Homelander fell into a comfortable, domestic rhythm. When things were bad, however, there was nothing you could do but sit back and wait for it to end. That hadn’t happened in a while, and despite your excitement for the party, you could tell he wasn’t nearly as enthused. You foolishly hoped that the night you’d been planning for weeks wouldn’t end in disaster.

Almost as soon as you finished unpacking the groceries you’d bought, you considered what to make for dinner. Despite Homelander’s enhanced palette, he wasn’t that picky when it came to your meals. You wished he expressed some preference, though, since your Pinterest board for recipes was out of hand, even with your organizing it as best as you could.

“Hey babe,” Homelander greeted you with a smack on the ass, a domestic yet outdated gesture he favored upon seeing you in the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

He never used the services of Vought’s chefs after you and he began “going steady,” even though he did like their food more than yours objectively. Getting food cooked by a chef in an industrial kitchen and then brought up by an intern was too impersonal. You cooked with love, always adding a personal touch that made even the overcooked chicken cacciatore you’d served a few nights before worth eating.

“Do you consider soup a meal?”

“What is this, a Seinfeld episode?” he asked. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on the soup.”

“French onion.”

“That’s basically a deconstructed French dip. Sure, that’s a meal.”

“Perfect, I’ll make that, then.” you said. “I’m so excited for the party tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’ll be a blast,” he mumbled, leaning against the kitchen counter and folding his arms across his chest.

“C’mon, I get to spend the whole night showing off my amazing fiance and our incredible home,” you smiled, giving him a kiss on his clenched jaw.

His pouty mood cracked just the slightest bit, though he didn’t like how your attention had been all over the place in the week or so leading up to the housewarming party rather than solely on him. It was all you could talk about, and to add insult to injury, you’d started ordering him around far too much for his liking. You’d ask about his day as if it were an obligation to do so, a segue into ‘Pick up these streamers’ and ‘Remember to ask Jason and Patricia about their baby’ and ‘Tell Vought you need to be home by five.’

His biggest reason for even getting you this house and convincing you to quit your job at Vought was so you’d have more time for him. Even though your work schedule had been mostly dictated by him, you found yourself exhausted most nights, passing out in bed almost as soon as dinner was over. That was no fun at all.

Far too soon for his liking the next day, your stupid friends made their way up the street and to the house, bottles of wine and wrapped gifts in tow. He realized that he shouldn’t have left so much of the planning to you. To his displeasure, the guests were evenly co-ed. Though your hugs and greetings to the men who entered your home were polite and platonic, he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit. Who the fuck kissed someone’s cheek as a greeting anymore anyway?

He watched as you played hostess, a tornado of hospitality as you ran yourself in circles around the house to refill drinks and jump in on conversations. You looked like you were having the time of your life, and his gloved hands balled into fists at his side every moment your attention wasn’t squarely on him, especially when you were all dressed up the way you were. None of them deserved to see how perfect you looked.

Finally, he crept up on you while you were speaking with your old college roommates who’d asked you to give the details on how you and Homelander got together. He was more than happy to indulge them, his arm tight around your waist as he took control of the narrative.

The version of the story that left Homelander’s mouth almost made you choke on your own spit. Of course, it started at work, with you harboring a crush on Homelander for far longer than he’d even noticed you. Your persistence was cute, though, and soon enough you’d wormed your way into his routine. Curious about your infatuation, Homelander would make excuses to keep you in the office late, until the projects became canoodling. He’d finally asked you out on a date, and you graciously offered to cook dinner for him.

He’d flipped the whole thing on its head. You had helped him with one project, and in the months spent building up your reliability, he was the one who’d become infatuated with you, until almost your entire life revolved around him. His story was far more palatable, as evidenced by your friends’ expressions of congratulations and how lucky you were.

You supposed you were lucky in a way. Homelander made sure you had nothing to worry about, except for him, of course. His moods were increasingly volatile as he was slowly pushed out of the spotlight of The Seven. The glance he gave you, loving to the untrained eye, was a warning. Despite your hope that the housewarming party would open up Homelander to the idea of you getting a bit more social interaction outside of just him, it was proving to have the opposite effect.

Then again, he never wanted to have a good time at the party, as you dejectedly reminded yourself. It was a shame, your friends all seemed to like him well enough, even if you did catch him being backhandedly rude to some of them a few times that night. He was so good at pretending when it came to the fans he supposedly hated so much. You weren’t sure why he couldn’t put up a front for a few hours for your friends.

By the time everyone left, you were exhausted. Drained physically and mentally from the demands of the party and your fiance, you were glad you’d opted for disposable plates and cups. The little clean up you had to take care of was just manageable enough to take care of before you headed up to bed.

“Glad that’s over,” Homelander said, drying the charcuterie board you’d handed him.

“Why were you so determined not to have fun tonight?” you asked.

“Excuse me if I don’t find entertaining your idiotic friends fun.”

“Then you suck it up and pretend, for me.”

“Don’t—don’t pull that.”

“Pull what?”

“That ‘for me’ thing. Everything I do is for you,” he said, huffing before lowering his voice, his icy glare making your breath catch in your throat. “You don’t need them. You don’t need anybody. Not when you have me.”

“Homelander, codependency isn’t—“

“Don’t pathologize me!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the granite countertop which cracked from the force he used. Upon noticing your terrified expression, he drew back a bit, letting out an unnerving laugh in an attempt to ease the tension he’d created. “You almost made me lose my temper there, missy.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, wide-eyed as you moved to take a tentative step back from him.

He quickly grabbed your arm, keeping you in place. “I know you are, darling, but a love like ours–it can’t be put into clinical terms.”

Fuck. You hit that specific nerve. It took him a while to open up about his childhood, the real one, not the Midwest little leaguer who loved god, mom, and the good ol’ US of A, in that order. That story sold comic books, it was comforting to watch on screen, the warm apple pie with a scoop of melting vanilla ice cream. Not even born in a lab, by his own accounts, but dumped from a test tube and caged like any other animal used for experimentation. Except Homelander had been a boy, scared and alone as white coats filtered in and out of exam rooms and testing labs, poking and prodding. Though, torturing was more like it, pushing him to see the extent of his powers, whether their unbreakable hero was truly unbreakable. Then he was unleashed onto the world, the weight of it on his shoulders.

Something was wrong with him, psychologically at least, and you knew the unhealthy fixation on your relationship as his sole source of emotional fulfillment would have sent you packing if it were anyone else. Every time you considered leaving, as if you even could, you just as quickly thought of how scared and hurt the most powerful man in the world looked when he recounted every painful experiment he endured, the plethora of human rights violations that became so entrenched in his identity. The ensuing tug of empathy and guilt at your heartstrings made you stay.

Still, you had to let him know that you wouldn’t tolerate an outburst like that just because you’d had a lapse in judgment when it came to your phrasing.

“I think you should stay at your old place tonight,” you said.

“Babe, c’mon, the counter can be fixed. I’ll have someone at Vought call a contractor tomorrow and—“

“That’s not what I mean.”

“You still love me right?” he asked, desperately searching your face for an answer. “Right?”

“Of course I do, but we both need space to cool off.”

He huffed, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Fine, have it your fucking way. As always, babe.”

He stormed out before you could get another word in, you mentally sent your apologies into the universe to whoever would end up being at the receiving end of his wrath.

A few cars were lasered to smoldering hunks of metal on his way to Vought Tower. He didn’t care, the company had millions of dollars set aside each year for superhero-related collateral damage. After all, they weren’t even nice cars as far as he could tell. He was doing them a favor that’d go unappreciated, not unlike you.

Homelander’s arrival to his suite was devoid of any fanfare or announcements of his return. He was embarrassed to be back. Standing dejectedly in the dark doorway, he glared at every object in the room with disdain. It’d been a fine place to live before he knew any better, before he’d experienced what a home truly felt like. You’d once described it as like being in a museum, and he couldn’t disagree. At one time he thought it was to his taste. Now, the suite he’d resided for so many years without you felt cold, hollow, and unfamiliar.

He looked out on the city, rage boiling in his veins. Things were fine when it was the two of you against the world. Your shitty friends had to come in and ruin that. No matter how hard he tried, it was like you refused to listen to reason and see that he did everything because he loved you. He loved you so much it hurt.

“Now this is really pathetic.”

“You saw how pissed she was.” Homelander argued weakly against his sneering reflection.

“She’s a woman. That’s their default state when they’re running the show.”

“She’s not running the show.”

“Really? So that’s why you’re banished to the proverbial couch?” his reflection taunted.

Homelander swallowed the lump in his throat. “What do you suppose I do, then? Flowers? A box of chocolates?”

“No. That’s practically admitting you did something wrong. Do you remember how you got her in the first place? You didn’t ask. You took.”

Homelander nodded along as his reflection spoke.

“What you do is remind her who’s in charge. You’re the man of the house. Take the respect, the devotion, you deserve.”

You awoke suddenly in the middle of the night to a figure standing at the end of your bed. At first, you thought it was a dream, until the figure began to move. Turning on the lamp on your nightstand, its soft glow illuminated your side of the bed, casting shadows over your fiance’s face.

“Homelander!” you gasped. “Oh my god, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he said.

“You know what I mean.”

“You know the old saying, ‘Don’t go to bed angry.’ I already forgive you for tonight, but things need to change.”

“I need you to leave.”

“You don’t call the shots, babe. I’ve been way too lenient with you,” he said, a dangerous grin spreading across his face. “Think you need a reminder of who’s in charge here.”

“Honey, what’s this about? You know I love you.”

“Sure, but you don’t respect me.”

“Of course I respect you—“

“No, you don’t. By the end of the night, you will,” he said, before beckoning you over to him with a curl of his index finger. “C’mere, sweetheart. You haven’t even welcomed me home yet.”

You felt his eyes practically burning a hole through you as you silently complied, pushing back the covers you’d been bundled under and padding your way across the room to where he stood. He somehow loomed over you, stony-faced like a marble statue honoring a god with disdain for humanity. His eyes glistened as he took in your face, though, betraying the whirlpool of emotions that rushed through him whenever he was in your presence.

Dozens of dresses and lingerie sets had been casualties of his lust and strength, the material torn from your body like gift wrap and promptly replaced within a few days. This night was no exception, as with a flick of his wrist, your satin nightgown was a pathetic pile on the floor.

Though you expected as much, he captured your lips in a heated kiss that almost made you lose your balance with his intensity. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you the way old tree limbs twist and tangle around objects left in their course, time and nature making it impossible to separate the two without irreversible damage to both.

“John,” you whispered against his lips.

There were plenty of men named John. It was a disgustingly common name, chosen for him by Vought to give him that relatable, everyman persona. Bullshit. He wasn’t an everyman. He was a god. People praised and worshiped Zeus, Jupiter, Jesus, Homelander—not fucking John.

Whenever you used it, though, suddenly the name was his. His. Not some stupid placeholder the white coats gave him instead of “subject whatever.” He was grateful you couldn’t sense the crack in his facade, his heart skipping a beat at how lovingly you said his name. How could you ever expect him to want to share that? Reluctantly, he pulled back from you, releasing you from his embrace. He still had a point to make.

“Get on your knees.”

You looked almost confused by his words.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warned.

Slowly, you knelt on the shredded satin that lay at your feet, and with trembling hands unbuckled his belt, avoiding eye contact with the eagle that adorned it as if the metal bird of prey were judging you. You tried telling yourself there was no reason to be nervous, you’d given Homelander plenty of blowjobs before, but his mood was always much, much lighter when you did.

When you pulled down the spandex pants of his suit that was practically painted on him, you were greeted with an eye full of his hardening cock, already leaking with precum when you took it in your hand, eliciting a moan from him that seemed to echo through the bedroom. You stroked his cock, leaning in to give a teasing lick to the head that made his breath hitch.

“You like that baby?” you asked. “Do you want more?”

He whined, struggling to respond as you pumped his hardening length.

“C’mon, baby, use your words and—“

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snapped, grabbing you by the root of your hair and shoving his cock in your mouth.

You gagged, trying to adjust yourself to the sudden change. Although, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to how big his cock was. The bulge in his suit certainly wasn’t compensating for anything.

“Go on, put that smart little mouth of yours to good use,” Homelander said, fingers still tangled in your hair as he tugged at your scalp. “Or are you so helpless without me that you can’t even suck a cock on your own?”

With a whimper, you did your best to massage his length with your tongue, taking as much of him as you could, though you never managed to fit all of him in your mouth. It wasn’t without a lack of trying. You gagged again, and this time he seemed to bore of your struggle and instead began fucking your throat at a merciless pace.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re it. You’re the only one for me. Why don’t you—fuck—get that?”

Your response was a garbled choking noise as you placed one hand on his thigh to steady yourself. The other reached out to fondle his balls, prompting an erratic thrust from him that nearly knocked you over. As unpredictable as Homelander could be, if you thought too much about how much self control he used to not accidentally kill you whenever the two of you were remotely intimate, your brain would start to feel fuzzy. Or maybe it was the way you couldn’t seem to catch your breath.

When you looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, he was barely able to keep his own open. Blonde hair flopped across his forehead, he looked at you with hooded eyelids, the faintest smirk flashing across his face before he groaned again, throwing his head back.

He never lasted all that long to begin with, woefully sensitive and touch-starved despite his experience. Normally, you found it endearing, but tonight you were grateful as you weren’t sure how much longer you could handle his mercilessly fucking your throat.

With another involuntary thrust, his cock twitched against your tongue. You struggled to swallow his cum that was pumping into your mouth. Some of it mixed with spit as it dribbled from the corners of your lips down your chin.

As Homelander pulled his cock from your mouth, he observed your ruined state—disheveled hair, puffy lips, tears tracked down your face. Pride filled his chest as he watched you try to catch your breath. He’d never pushed you quite this far before, and he wanted so much more.

“Messy little thing, huh?” he asked, swiping what had escaped your lips on his thumb and bringing it to your mouth.

With a shaky sigh, you wrapped your lips around his finger, weakly sucking the residue from it until he was satisfied, pulling it from your mouth.

He smiled, caressing your cheek with his wet thumb. “That’s my girl.”

You hummed in response, the most you could manage with how sore your throat felt. It was good enough for him, because he offered you his hand, pulling you up from your knees with ease. His gentleness as he laid you back on the bed felt almost foreign compared to his ruthlessness just minutes earlier.

The reprieve was short-lived, however. As soon as he shed the rest of his suit, he pounced, his eyes betraying the intention to devour you whole. Animalistic, manic, from his predatory gaze to the prominence of his canines, he could rip your throat out if he wanted to. There was no point in trying to conceal your concerning arousal at the thought, even if he hadn’t reached between your legs to feel your wet pussy, he could smell it on you from a mile away.

He licked his lips, leaning over you as he teased your clit while sliding his cock inside you.

“Oh my god,” you moaned.

Homelander grinned, rolling his hips against yours. “I know I am.”

He’d been aggressive in bed before, usually due to jealousy or possessiveness. The way he moved was far more calculated than impulsive, as if each thrust intentionally pushed you closer to climax as he rubbed circles on your clit instead of just him releasing pent up frustration and insecurity.

“You love taking it all, don’t you? Love the way I fill you up?”

His mocking tone went straight to your pussy, and you could hardly manage a coherent response as he pounded into you. Even then, it didn’t feel like enough, as you bucked your hips to get more of him.

He was studying you, observing every contortion of your face, feeling the way your wet pussy clenched around this throbbing cock as he thrust into it, the sound nothing short of obscene as it echoed with your desperate moans. Then, just as you were about to orgasm, he moved his hand away from your clit and pulled out of you so quickly, you almost started crying.

The look of hurt and betrayal on your face gave him conflicting feelings, but the one that won out was a smug superiority. He’d never loved anyone as much as he loved you, and it seemed like this ‘tough love’ approach was working. He wrapped his hand around your sore throat, his cold and intense stare as he leaned closer to your face sending a shiver down your spine that he could surely feel.

“You don’t come unless I say you can. You got that, sweetheart?” he asked, voice dripping with condescension.

You nodded weakly, a pained whimper trapped in your throat. As soon as he gave you a wicked grin in return, you knew that he wanted you to give in to your base desires like humans do. With so much of his life spiraling out of his control, he wanted to be sure he didn’t have to worry about you.

He released his vice grip on your throat, and, as if reading your thoughts from just a few minutes prior, leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck before grazing his teeth down the tender flesh, feeling your racing pulse’s vulnerability.

“John,” you breathed, your voice inaudible to anyone but him.

“I know, darling. You want it so bad, don’t you?”

“Please,” you whimpered, “please.”

“It didn’t have to be this difficult, you know,” he mused, his fingers playing with your sensitive clit.

You choked out a sob at the almost painful feeling of overstimulation. “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not that hard to be good for me, is it? To just do as I say?”

“No.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to remind you again,” he said, his voice soft and low as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

The emptiness you felt between your legs was soon filled again by his cock.

You fell limp at this point, no movements in an attempt to match his thrusts. His reflection had been right, he just needed to take what he wanted and remind you who was in charge. He was in control, all you needed to do was lie back, look pretty, and take it. You should be thanking him for making things so easy for you.

He kissed you, reveling in how sweetly you moaned in his mouth now that he had you exactly how he wanted you. Your heart was racing, he could tell you were getting close, and he was too, but he wanted you to come first, to be the one to fold and give in to him completely.

“It’s all right now, darling. I’ve got you,” he whispered.

It felt like all of your muscles tightened before your release, your hips rocking involuntarily as your orgasm rippled through your body. The pent up pleasure was almost too overwhelming, and you had to grab his bicep to ground yourself, digging your nails into his skin. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like you could break it anyway.

With the way your pussy squeezed his cock as you came, an unhinged moan and tears and vision clouded by stars, his own orgasm followed soon after. He never bothered with the pretense of pulling out. Filling you with his cum was right, it was natural, another way to lay claim to you. He hated condoms, but he knew his next course of action would be doing something about your pesky birth control soon.

You winced as you moved closer to his chest, allowing him to hold your body against his. Your muscles ached, and you knew that in the morning you’d hardly be able to move at all. It wasn’t uncommon with Homelander, and he loved your dependence on him on those mornings when he’d carry you from room to room, a reminder of his strength. He was the most powerful man in the world, you might as well have been a feather.

“How’re you holding up babe?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said softly.

He smiled, stroking your cheek. “I’m glad we’re on the same page now. It’ll make things so much easier, babe, you’ll see.”

You gave him a weak smile before closing your eyes, knowing fully well that he could hear by your thumping heart that you were faking sleep.

#homelander x reader #the boys x reader #homelander x you #the boys x you #homelander imagine #homelander #the boys

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ace-race-ace · 6 days

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Look, I know I made a fancy poll to determine the name for my new Strollonso fic/AU, but I’m over-ruling the results 😙

I am officially writing what I will call…

The Legacy AU

Main premise:

Fernando wins his third championship in 2026 thanks to Aston Martin being in top of the new regulations. He announces his retirement from racing while also revealing his promotion to Team Principal. It now becomes his sole mission to keep Aston Martin on top, unsurprisingly through making Lance world champion and finally achieving the Stroll family dream.

On the surface, this seems all well and normal, but there is more than meets the eye. As teammates, Lance and Fernando had been teetering on the edge of something more. Lingering glances, touches and a specific night they never talk about, only barely remaining professional with each other because of the risk it would cause. Now, with Fernando being his “boss” Lance should do the smart thing and back-off.

But of course he doesn’t. He only goes further, daring Fernando to crumble to his advances. Fernando soon has enough and gives Lance his damning statement—

“You want me to fuck you so bad? Win the championship first.”

Original silly ideas here

Possible side plots:

Aston Martin second driver battle between Felipe Drugovich and Jessica Hawkins. Drugovich under preforms and is under pressure. Jessica would surely become the best female F1 driver ever - lots to explore with that

(Stealing my own premise from a back burner Lestappen fic) what if Max goes to Ferrari because of Red Bull being banned? I could eventually expand the narrative and make it its own fic in the Legacy AU

Lots of grid shenanigans

I am begging on my knees for opinions about any of this! Inbox/asks are open for discussion

Aka me trying to get my favorite mutuals to tell me what they think because I’m too shy to ever reach out

#f1 #fanfic #strollonso #lance stroll #fernando alonso #Legacy AU

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idyllic-affections · 11 months

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hihi i requested that scara and little sibling reader a little while ago and i loved it sm!! so here i am Requesting Again…. could you do something with scara/wanderer and a child little sibling kinda like the rly cute kaveh fic you reblogged where they ask him to do their hair? except he’s like uuuugggghhhhhhh 🙄🙄 fiiiine 😒😒 but while he’s doing it he’s actually super gentle and sweet about it despite trying not show it ^^

hairstyling.

summary. scaramouche and the wanderer style their sibling's hair.

trigger & content warnings. none applicable.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff. scaramouche & child!reader, wanderer & child!reader. 0.5k words. they/them pronouns for reader. this post is vaguely connected to what's with this sassy, lost child? but can be read as a standalone. author's thoughts. hello anon!! its lovely to see you again, please do feel free to request anytime <3 also you're so right that kaveh fic is so cute it deserves so many reblogs (me when i promote my mutual's work.... /lh).

scaramouche and the wanderer style [name]'s hair. how does it go?

scaramouche.

the balladeer seems annoyed when they meekly ask him to do their hair, his brow twitching. he's a busy man, you know? he doesn't have the time to spare for such simple tasks that they should easily be able to do on their own. it's their hair; why should he have to do it? they're big enough to know how to brush and style their hair, surely.

nevertheless, he scoffs, beckoning them over seemingly begrudgingly, as if this is the most demanding and inconveniencing thing they've ever asked of him.

he seems so aggravated, and yet...

it's with gentle, tender, patient fingers that he works apart the tangles in their hair. he never pulls hard, never gets angry and never just tears their knots apart with no regard to how such roughness would damage both them and their hair.

he's patient... but only to an extent.

he's patient when he begins slowly dragging the brush through their locks, soft when they whine about it hurting as his patience inevitably begins to run thin causing him to brush a little harder (though he doesn't outwardly apologize, he does get noticeably slower). despite his best efforts, the balladeer is impatient by nature. he can't maintain such a state forever.

their scalp would certainly be sore by the end, but their hair is prettily styled.

their big brother is not perfect, but he tries.

the wanderer.

the wanderer is gentler than the balladeer.

he's still rough around the edges, offering a scoff and some half-hearted complaint about how they can't do anything by themselves, but his faux irritation fades quickly into warmth as they settle down in front of him. he makes sure that they're comfortable before he begins.

he still works apart the tangles just as gently as before, but now...

the wanderer is somehow different than the balladeer. he's healing. he's recovering. slowly, he's coming back in touch with kunikuzushi, the innocent, doe-eyed, curious and kind side of himself, even if he still doesn't like to admit it. even if he still refuses to acknowledge that he was once like that. even if the rest of teyvat except the traveller, paimon, [name], and nahida has forgotten...

he's patient, genuinely patient.

the world is cruel, far too cruel for his sibling to handle, far too cruel for kunikuzushi to handle. he'd be damned if he displayed any of that cruelness towards them, even when doing something as simple as brushing their hair.

cruelty ruined him. it won't ruin them.

he offers short breaks when their scalp begins to get a bit too sensitive and sore to his motions, sharing a zaytun peach with them and asking how they want their hair styled. he takes note of their response and commits it to memory, ensuring that he doesn't get too focused and forgets their desires as a consequence.

his kindness is for their eyes to witness and their eyes only (and nahida's, he guesses...).

by the end, their scalp is pain-free and their hair is styled prettily.

the wanderer is not perfect, but he is at his best when it involves his baby sibling.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion's drabbles 🌸#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #platonic genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x child reader #platonic scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader

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robins-egg-bindery · 2 years

Text

With the launch of @renegadepublishing’s code of conduct and formalized membership this week (as well as the shiny new DreamWidth hub!), I wanted to get some of my thoughts out there.

This has all been a project for some time now, and I don’t think anyone knew what it was going to turn into.

Renegade started with one man, @armoredsuperheavy, and grew into a movement that’s now 1,200+ and counting. He is the reason fanbinding came into the mainstream fandom consciousness the way it has, and I don’t see it going away anytime soon - it’s spreading faster than Tumblr’s weird ass chat function. Hundreds upon hundreds of books were made because of you, Ash; that’s a damn good legacy, imo.

But I digress - Renegade grew from one man to a handful of people in a little Discord server. The server grew. They started a Tumblr, and this is how it went for some time. When I joined, this is how it was - we were so excited to hit 500 members! But, surprisingly, for someone as terminally on Tumblr as I am - I actually discovered fanbinding through Instagram, then TikTok. I had to actively seek out fanbinding on Tumblr, because I knew it had to exist here if it was already on these mainstream platforms.

Nowadays, fanbinding is becoming increasingly controversial in some circles because of the commodification and commercialization that have taken root; the mantra I keep seeing is “Keep Fandom Free”. This seemed a self-evident truth to me; and I couldn’t understand why it felt like no one knew about Renegade, a league of fanbinders who believe in this very ideal.

In essence, it’s a two-pronged issue: fanbinding is rising in popularity (and controversy), but the advocates-for-free-resources community isn’t terribly visible. Renegade was tucked away on Tumblr, a hidden gem in a locked Discord. I felt like I had discovered buried treasure the day Ash sent me the link to join. So, an idea was birthed - to take Renegade to other platforms, to spread our message and introduce our gift economy ways - to shout from the rooftops about the free, incredible 88-page bible ASH wrote detailing every goddamned step on how to take a fic from AO3 and turn it into a physical book.

Once we got in the room to discuss what this would look like, we discovered we have lots of ideas. We have a community, and we’re all excited to build in it. To share and grow. To make it easier on the people who come after us, with guides and templates. We started thinking about events we could host; the Exchange and Binderary were birthed naturally in the Discord, and have grown in scope to include physical books mailed around the world, and free workshops coordinated and hosted for multiple timezones during the month of February. Fan Fiction Writer Appreciation Day, Banned Books Week, International Fanworks Day - the list goes on and on. More events that haven’t even been announced yet. More projects, ever churning to better our community.

The DreamWidth quickly became a hub to aggregate and host resources better than Tumblr could, to promote discussion and community in a gentler way than Discord was able to. But the controversy kept spinning across other swathes of fanbinding, and the question was raised - what do we believe in?

We are all so different and yet, so unified. We have members on 6 continents, who speak different languages, who belong to hundreds of different fandoms. But what, at it’s core, does it mean to be a part Renegade?

And so, the code of conduct was born.

A code of conduct is a set of standards, moral and ethical, that someone is expected to adhere to in order to interact with an organization. It’s not law - we’re not trying to police anyone, or tell them what to do. We’re telling people what we do - what we believe. There’s no punishment for disagreeing, nor should there be. The code is a mutable document written by members - and so it can be changed by members, and should be changed, as we grow and encounter new challenges. The safest hands are our own, right?

There will be push and pull on this document, but I think that’s a good thing. At the end of all of this, I’m excited for us to acknowledge our community values. I wear my Renegade Publishing badge with pride, because I’ve never seen another group of artists so supportive of each other, and generous with their knowledge. Ash has expounded upon this many a time, but Renegade has the feeling of old-school fandom that I’ve been missing. I haven’t felt this united with fandom since Mishapocalypse.

All jokes aside, I’m so glad I found Renegade. It’s brought so much to my life. Just last weekend, I met up with some local binders, and we had a little Renegade outing. Fandom friends, IRL, geeking out with each other over some books. Does it get any better than that?

Join the movement. Check out our resources! We’re excited to have you here.

#fanbinding #bookbinding #fanfic binding #fanficbinding #ficbinding #renegadepublishing #renegade publishing #renegadepub

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yellowocaballero · 5 months

Text

Han Sooyoung was the best character in Ways of Survival.

Totally OP powers, funniest quips, Yoo Joonghyuk’s best friend: maybe she was a badly written teenage SI/OC Mary Sue, but who cares? Kim Dokja had loved her the most for ten years. Too bad she wouldn’t stop dying.

Han Sooyoung was Kim Dokja’s best friend. And this was all going to be worth it.

After freaking forever (got distracted.) I am finally posting this damn fic. I have complex feelings about this one, but I think some time and distance will help with that. It is why I have been reblogging so many posts about being doomed by the narrative.

The story is a hanyookim agenda promoting rights for SI/OC Mary Sues and campaigning for awareness of the dork teenagers drawing awful fanart on the back of their math homework and uploading it to DeviantArt. This one is also uhhh my special brand of crangst.

#orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #han sooyoung #kim dokja #yoo junghyuk #hanyookim #ORV is about being a kid and being so unhappy that the only joy you have in your life is your media hyperfixation #this story is about the other kids you met through that hyperfixation and how they were the ones who saved you

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saintzenni · 3 days

Note

L, N, T for the ask game please! 🖖

thanks for the ask!!!

L - say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves.

i did jonathan archer last time so i guess this time i’ll do travis? im pretty neutral towards him purely on the basis that he’s a pretty neutral character because he never got enough screen time/character development. BUT!! i love how easygoing he is, and that he plays pranks on hoshi! in fact his whole friendship with hoshi is so nice :) he’s a very optimistic character and i love that about him

N - name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

for ent:

1) i soooo wish that there were more historical aus. i’ve read two, plus a historical-inspired fantasy, plus my own; i love historical aus and it’s a damned shame that not many people write them for the ent fandom. there’s so much potential!!! 60s au!! 20s au!! 1850s au!!! medieval au!! pirate au!! where are they????

2) actually just more non-canon timeline aus in general (like stories that don’t take place on the nx-01 at all)!!! give me modern aus where everyone’s in the air force! give me an au where everyone’s a professor! give me a spy au! a coffee shop au! circus au! tos-era au! tng-era au! just give me aus i am begging

3) i think i would loooove to see more pre-canon stuff. i think i’ve only read maybe two or three fics about how the crew was recruited and it sucks because there’s so much potential for political intrigue between the vulcans & humans, for exploring character motivations, etc. just a missed opportunity imo

T - do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

tatv never happened!!! sorry!! stupid fucking episode!!!!

also it pisses me off that malcolm was still a lieutenant and hoshi and travis were still ensigns in tatv so i hc all of them were promoted around what would’ve been s5-s6

#ask zennie #ask game #star trek enterprise #star trek: enterprise

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whore-ibly-hot · 8 months

Note

Omgg I loved your farmer guy x city girl fic soooo muchhh!!💖💖

If you're taking requests at the moment can you write something where fem readers husband's boss is obsessed with reader...so he told husband if he let her sleep with his wife..he'll give him promotion. Husband works rlly hard and is greedy so he agrees

GAH-DAMN! I... I consider myself a creative person, and very good at creating my own spicy oc's and scenarios but... I don't think I have ever even had this concept cross my mind! It's stupendous, spectacular, incredible, and I applaud you. You bet your ass I'm am WORKING 👏 ON 👏 IT!!!

#yandere #ask me stuff

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mdemontespan1667 · 1 year

Text

DIRT ROAD HONEY

DARK SHANE WALSH X READER

DARK RICK GRIMES AND READER

SUMMARY: YOUR THANKSGIVING BREAK GETS INTERRUPTED

WARNINGS: NON-CON/VAGINAL SEX/ORAL SEX (MALE RECEIVING)/SLAPPING/CHOKING/CHEATING(RICK)/RECKLESS USE OF A FIREARM/GIGANTIC ABUSE OF AUTHORITY/HANDCUFFS/PROFANITY/FORCED ORGASM/NON -CON

(I'VE HAD THIS HALF WRITTEN IN MY GOOGLE DOCS FOR ABOUT 2 MONTHS. IT VERY SIMILAR TO "THE TROUBLE WITH COYOTES" BUT THIS FIC JUST WOULDN'T LEAVE ME ALONE. SO, FOR BETTER OR WORSE, HERE IT IS. I APOLOGIZE FOR ANY MISTAKES. I WANTED TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM SO I COULD MOVE ON LOL.

“You need help with that Darlin? Hose looks a bit big for you.”

It never fucking failed.

Every time you filled up your bright, fiery orange ‘72 Chevelle some wannabe Alpha male had to make some sexist comment.

It wasn’t your fault the designers had put the damn fuel cap under the license plate.

And it certainly wasn’t your fault you had to bend over to keep the nozzle from falling out.

Nor was it in any way your fault that you occasionally might over exaggerate how far you had to bend over, especially like today, when you were wearing tight, frayed jeans and a wide neck off the shoulder teal sweatshirt.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh yeah,” he whistled, “You are most definitely fine.”

The pump kicked off.

You put the nozzle back, securing the gas cap before facing the latest offender.

He was tall, rough cut facial features with a mop of short, dark curls.

You made a show of pushing down your sunglasses as you blatantly checked out the rest.

Wide chest and muscle corded arms encased in a tight black t shirt.

Tan cuffed cargo pants sat high on his tapered waist.

Well.

Nothing wrong with that either.

You licked your lips, hand propped on your hip.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

Your voice dripped, saccharine sweet.

“No, it ain’t like that.”

His knuckles brushed along your upper arm.

“You are hands down, the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Snorting, you batted his hand away.

“Bullshit. That line might work on your little dirt road honey’s but..” You slid your oversized tortoise shell Ray-Ban’s back in place, “It’s not working on me.”

You pushed past him, strutting toward the tiny attached convenience store.

God, it was so easy winding men up.

Fun too.

They were so damn transparent.

And, despite how you’d coldly dismissed him, you knew, KNEW, he’d be jacking off later thinking about you.

Not because you were devastatingly beautiful or had a killer body.

In those categories you ranked a solid average.

What you did have was confidence with a capital fucking C.

Own every room you walked into, all eyes on you, smart as hell, know your worth, every woman wants to be you, every man wants to fuck you, (and woman, let’s not be coy here, you knew damn good and well your face would be buried between Ivy’s lush thighs at some point this weekend, you were all about equal opportunity), bone deep confidence.

It’s what had gotten you through Grad school and later your Doctorate in Mathematical Engineering.

The rusty bell above the worn metal screen door dinged, announcing your arrival.

You took your time perusing the limited snack aisle, selecting a bag of Funyuns and a fountain Pepsi, flicking the straw provocatively, making sure to flash a little cleavage at the old guy working the register.

Back at your car you checked your phone.

“No service. Fucking wonderful.”

When your best friend had proposed a quick getaway to celebrate your latest promotion you’d been expecting sun, sand and endless Mai Tai’s, not a rustic cabin on some forgotten lake in rural Georgia.

You waved your phone around trying to find a signal.

“Ain’t gonna work.”

Oh lord, not him again.

“Why not?” you huffed.

“We’re in the middle of a deadzone Darlin’.”

“Lovely.”

You took off your sunglasses, resisting the urge to throw them at the odious man.

“How the hell am I supposed to find that goddamn cabin without my phone?”

“What cabin are you looking for, girl?”

Your eyes narrowed at the nickname.

“Some stupid fucking cabin on some stupid fcuking lake off of some stupid fucking Bob’s road!”

The octaves rose with each word until you were practically yelling.

“Bob’s Road?”

Oh shit. Probably shouldn’t have shared that with the entire gas station.

“Uh, yeah.”

You pulled a piece of paper from your back pocket.

“732 Bob’s Road, Lake Horton.”

He chuckled.

“That’s Bob Schermer’s place. I can give you directions.”

The setting sun sketched him in shadows.

A kernel of unease settled in your gut.

Jesus, get a grip. This isn’t Deliverance.

“That, uh, that’d be great.”

He smiled, teeth showing.

It reminded you of a predator sizing up his next meal.

“So you’re gonna take a left outta here on’ta Highway 92. Just keep going North for about an hour and a half, maybe two. You’ll take a right at white mailbox. If you see the “Jesus Saves” sign you’ve gone too far. Go about three miles then turn left. Cabin will be on the left.”

“Two hours?”

You exhaled dramatically.

“Fucking great.”Dropping into the driver's seat you cranked the ignition, the Chevelle’s 454 V-8 rumbling to life.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

Another unnerving smile.

The hair on your arms prickled.

“You be real careful on those back roads. It gets awful dark out here.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

With a curt nod, you revved the engine, throwing gravel in your wake.

They like to get you in a compromising position

Well, they like to get you there and smile in your face

Yeah, they think they’re so cute when they get you in that condition

But i think its a total disgrace

And I say

I fight authority, authority always wins

Well, I fight authority, authority always wins

Well, I’ve been doing it since I was a young kid

And I come out grinnin’

Well, I fight authority, authority always wins

You cranked up the volume on your after-market stereo singing along to your Spotify road trip playlist.

Jesus fucking tits, the guy was right, it was dark.

Not like the dark you had grown up in.

A pale shimmer had blanketed San Diego from sundown to sunup.

The light from a full moon helped soften the inky landscape, a little.

God only knew what might be hiding out there, watching, just waiting for the perfect moment to…

FUCK!

You slammed on your brakes.

Was that a white mailbox?

Turning the volume down so you could see, you dropped the transmission in reverse, taillights casting an unsettling glow.

You sighed in relief at the sight of the pock marked mailbox.

Shifting to First, you swung off the HIghway to a narrow gravel road.

I swear to God, I’m never, ever letting Ivy pick a destination again. After this she’ll be lucky if I let her pick a restur….”

WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP

Red and blue flashing lights blazed in your rearview mirror.

What the fuck?

Where the hell did he come from?

You hadn’t seen another vehicle since you left town.

“License and Registration.”

You jumped, startled.

“License and Registration.”

“Yeah, Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

You reached across the seat digging the items from your bag.

“What am I….Oh my God, you can’t be serious.”

Leaning in your window, now attired in a shit brown Sheriffs uniform and matching baseball cap, was the man from the gas station.

“I’m gonna need you to exit the vehicle, ma’am.”

Something was off.

“Why? I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t speeding.”

“Please step out of the vehicle.”

“Oh for fucks sake.”

Climbing out, you glared at him, arms crossed.

“Ma’am, you were driving erratically. I detect the smell of alcohol on you. That gives me probable cause to search your vehicle.”

Ducking, he rummaged through your car, dumping your purse and overnight bag, scattering the contents.

“Well, look what I found,” he announced, producing a half drank pint of cheap vodka.”

“That’s not mine. I don’t even drink vodka. You..you put that there..I’m not.”

‘Hey, Shane, taillight’s busted out too.”

In total disbelief you watched another officer bash the red plastic with his boot.

“What the hell!” you hollered, charging toward the other, leaner built man, “You can’t fucking do that…”

Grabbing your elbow, Shane swung you back, jerking you off your feet.

You stumbled, arms pinwheeling.

You bumped into him, knocking his hat to the ground.

“Woah, woah, Sweetheart, now that’s assaulting a police officer.”

“No…wait..I…”

He placed one steel cuff on your wrist, tugging the other behind your back.

Twisting, you wrested your arm free.

WHAM

Shane slammed you face first onto the hood of your car.

Wrenching your arm, he secured it in the cuffs.

Hauling you up he snickered.

“Guess we’re adding resisting arrest to the list.”

He paused, eyes crawling along your form.

“Unless you want to work out a little private restitution.”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you laughed, “What? You can’t get a piece of ass like a normal guy? Let me guess? Can’t get it up? Two pump chump? Or..”

CLICK

“Ought to be polite to a man with a gun.”

Shane’s partner pressed the gun barrel to your temple.

“Only common sense.”

“Oh shit,” you rasped, “yeah, okay, what..whatever you want.”

Shane unzipped his pants, stroking his cock.

“On your knees.”

You knelt down as best you could.

“Doesn’t she look pretty like this Rick?” he called to his friend.

“Open wide. Let’s see if you suck dick as good as you mouth off.”

Gun still aimed at your head, your mouth fell open.

Shane gripped the back of your head.

Viciously, he shoved his cock to the hilt, your nose nestling in his pubic hair.

You gagged, trying to draw back but he was too strong.

Holding you steady he languidly fucked your throat, his cock cutting off your air.

Tears poured down your cheeks.

“Maybe next time you’ll show a little respect Darlin’”

Time stood still.

Shane rammed his cock down your throat over and over and over again, both hands keeping you in place.

Eventually he came, warm, sticky cum filling your mouth.

Finished, he pushed you away.

He bent down to your level.

“That wasn’t so bad now was…”

You spit on him, mixed saliva and cum dripping from his chin.

“You’re done!” you shrieked, “Both of you! I’ll own the fucking Cook County Sheriff’s when I’m through! You limp dick bastards won’t be able to….”

SMACK

You reeled from Rick’s backhanded slap.

“I don’t think she’s learned her lesson yet, brother.”

Shane wiped his face.

“I guess we’ll just have to keep teaching.”

Tugging you to your feet, Rick threw you on the hood, upper body jarring from the impact, cheek thumping the cold metal.

He tore off your boots then ripped your jeans and underwear off, kicking your legs apart.

“Don’t touch me, you fucking piece of shit!” you bellowed.

Shane stuffed your thong in your mouth, ending your tirade, his hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pining you to the hood.

“You talk to fucking much,” he snarled.

Panic took hold when you felt Rick’s cock brush against your slit.

Rick spit on your inner lips.

You screamed behind the gag, your dry cunt unprepared, as he plunged in.

He was bigger than Shane, your walls straining to accommodate him, every thrust carrying fresh agony.

Rick snapped his hips quicker, zipper chafing your tender skin.

Sobbing softly, you closed your eyes, vainly wishing this was just a dream.

“Fuck. Haven’t been in a pussy this tight since before I married Lori.”

“Just hurry up, man. I want another turn.”

Your eyes flew open to see Shane palming his newly hardening length.

Rick’s movements became stilted, hips pumping wildly with his orgasm.

Pulling out, he motioned to your prone body.

“Batter up.”

The two men switched places.

Gritting your teeth, you waited.

Instead of Shane’s cock, his fingers gently probed your battered cunt.

You jolted at the swipe of his thumb across your clit.

Deftly he worked you, circling your nub, slick coating his hand.

Shame and disgust gnawed in your brain at your body’s natural reaction.

He draped his large frame over yours.

“You love this, don’t ya.”

You shook your head frantically.

“Knew you would. Way you showed your ass, flashed your tits at Charlie. Damn near gave the old man a stroke.”

Shane applied more pressure, eliciting a series of muffled moans.

“Hear that Rick? Slut loves this.”

Your pelvis rocked against his swirling digits.

He pinched your clit,sending you over the edge, streaks of lightning fraying your nerves.

Shane wasted no time in slipping inside.

You keened at the intrusion, channel swollen and bruised from Rick.

WHACK

He left a heated handprint on your ass.

Grasping your hips, he pounded your cunt feverishly, your juices and Rick’s cum easing his way.

All out of tears, you stared into the darkness.

Shane rode you cruelly, your legs growing numb.

His breathing hitched, hips faltering.

He came with a grunt, grinding into you.

Almost tenderly, he released the cuffs, holding you upright, removing the gag.

Trembling, you shimmied your jeans up.

“Hey.”

Nearly catatonic, you barely registered him speaking.

SMACK

“Listen to me.”

You tried to focus, terrified it wasn’t over.

“Rick and me? We got your ID. We know where you live.”

Blinking, his threat set in.

“You tell anyone, we’ll find you.”

“I..I won’t tell…never tell..” you stammered.

“Good girl.”

The two men sauntered to their cruiser.

“Thanks for your cooperation ma’am,” Shane taunted as they drove away.

Crawling into the driver’s seat, you clutched your phone.

“911. What is your emergency?”

“I need,” you sat up straight, “I need to report an assault.”

Shane and Rick were about to find out they had fucked with the wrong woman.

Authority Song

John Mellencamp

1983

@caffiend-queen @fanfic-fangirl @alexakeyloveloki @americasass81 @lokislastlove @sweeterthanthis @ironlady1993 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @nildespirandum @jennmurawski13 @gigglingtigger @starynighty @sapphirescrollsv@xsapphirescrollsx @dragon-of-dreams @momc95 @sagechanoafterdark @jtargaryen18 @demonsandpieohmy @toomanykids @lizzystuffsthings @km-ffluv

@sinceimetyou @buckybarnesandmarvel @imdarkinme @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @saiyanprincessswanie @titty-teetee @maroonsunrise83

#DARK SHANE WALSH AND READER #DARK RICK GRIMES AND READER #DARK SHANE WALSH X READER AU #DARK RICK GRIMES AND READER AU #DARK SHANE WALSH #DARK RICK GRIMES #DARK SHANE WALSH AU #DARK RICK GRIMES AU #DARK TWD AU FIC #TWD AU #THE WALKING DEAD CHARACTERS AU #DARK THE WALKING DEAD CHARACTERS #DARK SHANE #DARK RICK

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impalanna · 1 year

Text

Title: You found me

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Summary: This is a little piece I am working on for anyone who has ever had a fantasy of Dean coming to pick you up from work and take you away from all the crap of every day life. This is going to be a multi chapter fic, so it is going to take me some time to complete.

Warnings: Swearing, later on there’s going to be some NSFW stuff, bondage, p*rn gifs are going to be involved

I don’t know where I’m at in life. I am going through a nasty divorce, I feel like shit about my body, and my job doesn’t want to promote me even though I’m working my ass off to prove myself. Life just isn’t what it used to be.

I’m going through some of my old stuff on my day off, just trying to find something to occupy my racing mind. There’s a small box in my closet. I don’t touch that box, because it holds the memory of who I used to be. A happy go lucky girl, and with a “nothing to lose, so live life up attitude” and a beautiful, pain free smile. One that’s not forced. And him.

Dean Winchester. The man of all of my wildest dreams. There’s a picture of him and I in that box. We were both so happy, now he’s gone to who knows where and I’m left to deal with this shitty life and try to muddle through without him. I haven’t been doing so well.

I grab the box and I hold it in my hand, and I open it for the first time in a long time. I don’t know what made me want to open it, maybe it was just to see his smile. That was probably it. There’s writing on the back of it “I will be back for you, I love you.” Just another promise that I’m still waiting to be fulfilled.

***

At work today, I’m running like crazy to get everything done before our big bosses come in to do their monthly walk of the place. If you’re asking me I think the whole thing is stupid, considering they actually tell us they’re coming down so we have time to fix the place up. I have a thing against the managers here.

The dust on my hands makes them feel dryer than they already are. My hands are shaking from the cold, because, why the hell would they turn on the heat in this place anyway? It’s not like it’s cold or anything.

I drop the box that I was holding. “Son of a bitch.”

I pick it back up and put it where it belongs. Then I hear someone walk up behind me. I didn’t think anything of it considering this is a public place. It was probably some customer wanting to bitch about something, as they often do. That’s getting pretty old to be honest.

I sigh and then turn on my heel, mustering up my best fake customer service voice. “How can I help you today?” And there he was. Dean Winchester.

“Yeah, sweetheart, how ‘bout a lunch break?” His voice was so deep, which I loved. At the sound of his voice, I started crying. I felt like such a bitch, but I did.

“I missed you so much” I said between the tears rolling down my face. He wiped them away, just like he did when he told me he had to leave.

“Well I’m here now, and I missed you too.” His face was sincere. He looked so beautiful, way too good to be standing in this damn store in this shitty state.

All I wanted to do was hold him. I pulled him close to me, and I didn’t let go. I finally heard his heart beat again, I was finally listening to him breathe again. Two rhythms I thought I’d never experience after he left.

At this time my manager was peering around the corner. I didn’t give a crap at this point if I got fired or if they promoted me, Dean’s back and that’s all I’ve wanted. Nothing else really matters anymore. I just wish we could pack up and go out west somewhere and own a bar like we always wanted to. That would be so nice.

Dean kisses my forehead and looks at me. “I know what you’re going to ask, and I’m not ever leaving you again. I can’t do that.” He saw the look on my face, which was full of relief for the first time in a long time.

“Are you okay? What happened while you were gone? I thought you were -“ and I was cut off by my manager. Of course.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working on packing down Aisle 3?” The annoyed look on his face making the whole situation worse.

“Yeah, she’s busy right now buddy.” Dean said with the same annoyed tone that my manager was giving us.

“I quit.” The words came out before I could stop them, and then I felt sick thinking about the pile of bills I have back where I’m staying.

“You quit? You’re the only decent worker we have and you quit?” Desperation in his voice. Wow, that’s something I’ve never really heard before. I feel like a bad person but it kinda feels good to hear it.

“You heard her.” Dean says this before I can find my words. My manager walks away, throwing his hands up in the air as he leaves.

“Wow that felt so damn good” The words escape my tight jaw. “But now what am I going to do?” Thoughts are bubbling out of me but for some reason they have sound, and I realize I’m talking out loud.

“Well, sweetheart, you were a hunter before all this.”

“Damn right I was, but that was before all this.”

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #jensen ackles lockscreen #sam winchester #supernatural #resources #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader

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characteroulette · 5 months

Note

okay you know what. this has delayed me by an entire two days in writing the apolluke fic (should really come up with an acronym or something) so I have to outsource the question

riddle me this! I don’t know what detective to have on the case.

my first thought was ema! but, the fic’s in 2028 and I know that we’re retconning SoJ’s 2028 events but she’s 100% gotten her promotion to a forensic scientist by this point and I refuse to believe she hasnt. she DESERVES.

and I adore ema as a character but honest to god despite finishing my Apollo Justice playthrough recently could NOT get a grasp on her personality?? she’s just kinda very moody and as funny as it is, that isn’t very present on SoJ from what I’ve seen (don’t own a copy and still watching the game) but she is more likely, I just have no will to write her yet nor the confidence.

the thing is?? I don’t really have other options. because we’re post DD so no Fulbright and as much as I am the biggest Gumshoe fan to walk the earth iii think he isn’t gonna work here. I could always do an OC and that is my second option if I can’t figure out how the hell I’m gonna write Ema but I do have the OCs for this case worked out and there’s no space for the detective to be really case relative. a new detective would be so fun to write though and honest to god I already have plenty ocs that can do that legwork

sorry to yell here about this!! this was. um. super long and also ema Skye appreciation I adore her but I dont know if I can’t write her she’s delayed me by days already and I hope to have this up by Monday (my time) . On the other hand if I do plan to make more casefics/side fics for the Apolluke Penpal Cinematic Universe, a dedicated detective could be fun but would require introducing to the audience

Ooohh yeah I hear ya there. Figuring out a solid Detective for a case is a bit tricky, especially when it comes to Ema. She seems like a normal, easy character on the outset (how hard can it really be to write a jaded once bright-eyed lover of all things forensic sciences?? She's a nerd to boot, should be easy!), but lots of difficulties once you get into the weeds. (She's jaded, but in a similar way to Hobohodou. She hates Klavier Gavin with a passion. She's excited for her job but she's stuck with all these damn fussy boys!) (SoJ is pretty excellent for her character, love to see her though my poor dear goes through some of it ;w; ;;; ) I, too, love her, though, so no worries, I love hearing the take on her!! =w=

A new detective would be cool to see, tbh!! I'm all for Ace Attorney OCs (I have my own and all lol) (Prosecutor, his Mortician siblings, and their twin Detective buds) (duality is a theme I lean into a lot hahaha), so if it works better like that, then go for it! Could also like, make Kay the Detective if you prefer a familiar face, I know popular fanon is that she's Detective by the AJ era.

A wild chaotic third option, force Luke to fill the Detective role lmao-- (/I am removed for being too chaotic)

#Momo replies to things #Detective-piplup #Fascinating stuff!!#Good luck!!!#As a reminder I am always up for rambling about things hahaha #You are so right Ema is the best #Love that science gal #I added Lang to my werewolf fic for. Reasons.#Not even I know the reasons lol #Also no worries about taking a while lol #Take all the time you need!!#No rush!!#I take like months sometimes to figure shit out lol don't worry about it

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dismalzelenka · 3 months

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How about 1, 37, and 45? 😊

HELLO FRIEND!

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

This one varies wildly depending on fandom, I think, and whether you have a preference for canon or AU, because I write a ton of both.

If you're here for Anders from Dragon Age content, I would recommend Sirens for a canon timeline fic, and Justice and the Awakening for a modern AU. (The other modern AU fic is a bit of a commitment and less of an introduction 😅)

If you're here for Galetav from BG3 content, the canon timeline series is chronological so I'd start with The Many Virtues of Failure. There's not really anything short to introduce you with a modern AU since I only have the one at present, but if modern day Professor Dekarios is more your thing, I'd check It's Called Freefall, which is actually almost finished as of today.

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

I did a fic-art collaboration with @pinkfadespirit in the 2022 DA Create-a-Thon that I was really proud of, it's a Wild West AU that features Anders as a werecat. There's some absolutely stellar art in there. It's a bit niche, which is honestly why I think it probably didn't pick up as much steam as I would have thought it would, but if the idea of Anders as a doctor who is also a bobcat and f!Hawke as a rancher with too much curiosity and not enough sense seems your thing, definitely check it out! (There's a bonus chapter at the end that gets a little weird with some monsterfucking but it's optional 🤣).

45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic?

Plot. Plot. Plot Plot PLOT.

I think we all have the stage as writers where we have IDEAS!!! but then it starts getting written and you get blocked and then you abandon it. And then for me, it was like oh if only I could Outline!! Maybe it would help me! Except I could never figure out how to Do That and I'd deviate from my outlines too much because they always ended up way too specific to be realistic for the way my brain works, and then I would get discouraged and give up. It wasn't until I did a whole bunch of exchanges where I made myself plan out some multi chapters, and then made myself finish an actual longfic just by setting aside a little time every day to work on it, that I started to kind of grasp how to navigate a plot structure.

Like, it's not easy for me, but it's definitely something I have improved on a lot over the years, as evidenced by the above longfic I'm about to wrap up soon! I am proud to say I spitballed the outline for that one all at once start to finish before actually writing the first chapter, and I've finally figured out an outline method that works for me, which is get the big picture framework down, cut it into acts and subplots, and then piece those details together as you go. It gives me the structure I need to keep from getting blocked, and it also gives me the flexibility to change course as needed without having to rewrite the whole damn thing a third of the way through. So ... yeah!

Thanks for the ask 🥹

#diz writes #fic writer ask game #inbox

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crinkled-emotions · 5 months

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Day 5: “It’s not about the destination...”

Am I late, or is everyone else simply early?

I'm kidding, I'm late. I have been... struggling, but things are getting better. Slowly.

I shouldn't have to say it considering the first thing you see on my page is a content warning but 18+ MDNI. I'm 22 and anyone under 18 should not be on my page.

It's really important with this fic that you do not read it if you feel the following will be triggering to you. I do not ever wish to trigger someone but it is your responsibility to censor your own reading. There is no mention of the actual neglect itself but there are throwaway lines of an absent father.

A couple of things about this fic- there are mentions of Hangman's childhood. I know the more common hc's include domestic violence but I was not feeling ready for that conversation so instead I have said his father was absent. I know this is a very, VERY triggering and controversial conversation so I have done my best to be as respectful as I can; in this fic his mum left the relationship but I am very aware this does not always occur.

Warnings: mentions of Hangman's father being absent (hinted neglect), brief (one sentence) mention of a custody battle

“Captain Mitchell, sir.”

Maverick glanced up from the paperwork he was pointedly avoiding, raising an eyebrow.

“Lieutenant Seresin, what can I do for you?”

“I need time off- uh, sir, I would like to request leave.”

Maverick paused. His brows furrowed and he cleared his throat.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine, sir.”

That had his attention. Hangman was many things; a shithead only the start, but he also knew when to be professional and respectful... he was also allowed to call Maverick Mav just like the Daggers and had been doing so for the last six months.

“Come sit.”

Maverick gestured to the seats in front of his desk, choosing to move to join Hangman there instead of stand over him. Hangman did as told, posture Navy-perfect as usual but something told Maverick he just wanted to curl in a ball.

“Jake, you and I have come a long way from that overboard stunt last year, and I hope that you know you can always come to me if you have something you need to get off your chest.”

“My mom died,” he blurted out, “she’s...”

“Fuck, kid, I’m sorry.”

Maverick’s eyes softened and he went to touch Hangman’s shoulder but he recoiled so quickly Maverick got the hint. Instead he reached for the cup of coffee sitting on his desk.

“Take as much time as you need; when are you leaving for Texas?”

“As soon as I can. I’m driving; can’t fly right now.”

Maverick hummed.

“Alright; go home and pack; take as much time as you need. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’m okay. I’m fine.”

Jake turned his head away, sniffing, and Maverick stood from his desk.

“Put your tongue to the roof of your mouth, it stops the tears,” he suggested as he reached for his paperwork. Hangman made a quick exit out the door, polite and respectful but a little... fast.

Bet that’s never been a complaint he’s had-

Anywho.

Out of curiosity, Maverick reached for the laptop perfectly placed on his desk and went into the Navy database. In a couple of clicks he had Hangman’s file pulled up, service records and any comments made about him during his... twelve years in the Navy? Damn. Time flies. Sometimes Maverick forgot most of his squadron were in their late twenties to early thirties. The notes in Hangman’s file were mostly generic words thrown around about him that Maverick didn’t always agree with; selfish, not a good leader, impulsive and not in the good way, not ready for promotion to Lieutenant Commander. A note from Iceman made Maverick stop his skimming and open the comment properly. It told a story of a scared kid running from a childhood of an absent father and a nasty custody battle, the story of a grown man who used words because he’d never raise his fists. It told the story of how Jake became Hangman; thanks to one Bradley Bradshaw, which was no surprise to Maverick. When he was at the bottom of Ice’s comment, he paused to think for a moment. The note had told him everything... and absolutely nothing.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin didn’t have a next of kin.

Jake had told Ice he had sisters, but he didn’t list either of them as his next of kin.

Hm.

“How’s the packing going?”

“It’s... going.”

Jake paused in his mission of tossing shit into his truck when he realised Coyote was standing by the entrance to his garage, offering a beer.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Jake...”

“No, man, I’m fine. She’s dead, it’s not... leave it.”

He turned back to reach for the second case of water, but Coyote was faster.

“You’re driving?”

“I just need some time to work through everything; it’s going to be chaos when I get there and I need to be by myself. If you’re not going to offer your condolences...?”

Hangman gestured toward the garage door. Instead of giving up and going home like any smart person would, Coyote threw his arms around him.

“Okay, but I want you to call me everyday. I know what going back to Texas does to you and I’m not letting you go back to old habits because of how he makes you feel. Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

“No, I- I got it.”

Coyote regarded him for a moment, then nodded.

“We’re all only a phone call away, man. Don’t be afraid to use it.”

The first stretch of the drive, about eight hours, got Jake out of San Diego and heading toward the California – Arizona border. He turned up the radio until he lost service, and then he cranked the AC as well as his Bluetooth stereo. His mom made the drive between San Diego and Dallas quite a few times over the years, to the point that she’d once begged Jake to do it with her and it had been one of the more memorable things they’d done together. She was always – she had always been – full of life, open to loving everyone who came into her life and fiercely loyal. She could also be a spitfire, quick to remind Jake where he’d come from but with a loving touch that his father never showed. She had been the one to sign the form for him to enlist at the age of seventeen, desperate to get out of town.

The dry heat was like a smack to the face when he pulled over somewhere in Arizona, leaning on the front of his truck to look out over the desert. Taking a deep breath, Jake reached for his phone when it buzzed. Of course, one of his sisters was already on to him.

Ellie: Tarryn told you huh

Jake: mom said Arizona was like a knock back to reality

Ellie: you’re in Arizona?

Jake: coming home

Ellie: fuck off

Ellie: are you sure you want to be here?

Jake: I’m not going to miss my own mother’s funeral

Ellie: I know but I’m worried about what’s going to happen when you get here

Ellie: promise me you won’t make waves

Jake: mom’s dead there’s nothing to make waves about anymore

Ellie: come stay with me don’t anywhere near dad

Jake: I’m not dumb

Ellie: never said you were. Call me later I have to get the kids from school

He stopped for the night after about ten hours of driving somewhere in the desert, stopping at a Walmart for beer, water and snacks for the rest of the drive the next morning. His uber eats app promised dinner was on its way to his motel room as he collapsed into the armchair in the tiny room, scrubbing at his face. A quick check of his phone tells him Tarryn had tried to call him along the way somewhere, probably when he was out of service, and he sighed when he realised he had to check on her. She was barely nineteen, the youngest of the Seresin siblings, and he could only imagine what was going through her head.

The sobbing started the second she answered the phone. Jake swallowed the lump in the back of his throat, grimacing.

“Hey, T.”

“Jake,” Tarryn sobbed, “where are you?”

“I’m in Arizona right now, but I’ll be at Ellie’s tomorrow night. Are you still at home?”

“No, I’m on the way to hers now. I called dad but he told me to go to hell.”

“That tracks. Are you eating, sleepin’?”

“Not really.”

“Alright, okay. Just... let Ellie fuss over you, she means well so don’t bite her head off.”

Tarryn sniffed; Hangman could hear her turning signal flicking on.

“Hey; focus on driving, be safe. I’ll text you when I leave tomorrow morning then I’ll be there by sunset. Make sure you eat something.”

“I know, Jake...”

He heard her stifle a sob again and bristled against it.

“Love you,” Tarryn whispered. Jake smiled.

“Love you. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

The Texas – New Mexico border served as a reminder of when Jake and his mother had been at a crossroads around ten years ago. He’d been out of basic for a year and was making tracks towards advancement in his career yet he’d dropped everything when his mom called. He’d flown to Texas at the gut instinct something was really wrong. A part of him had wanted to hang up and go back to bed considering he was no stranger to the 2am I’m leaving your father phone call. She’d been waiting at a motel in the outskirts of Dallas, a good couple hours away from his family’s ranch. When she’d answered the door she’d thrown her arms around him and told him she was finally leaving his father.

It was about twenty years too late, and a story he’d heard before.

Tarryn was with her, of course; at the ripe age of eight she’d looked up at Jake like he was a stranger. He probably was, for the most part, it was only as she got older that they’d reconnected.

“I’m finally done, Jake,” his mom had promised, “I called the bank and took my name off the accounts, I got a new apartment in the city and Ellie promised to help me move. I’m out, honey.”

That was... different.

“You got an apartment and dipped?”

It was like a gut-punch. She was serious.

“I did. I know I’m asking a lot, but I was hoping you’d help too. Ellie’s so pregnant she can hardly walk, she can’t do it on her own-“

“-yeah. Yeah, of course. Let me give you my card-“

Jake reached for his wallet but his mom stopped him, reaching up to touch his cheek.

“I don’t want your money. I want you here.”

He checked the date; he’d only been cleared for 24 hours’ leave, which probably wouldn’t be enough. If he stayed, he’d either be AWOL or scrubbing toilets for the next year.

“Jake... please.”

“Mom... you know I’m deploying again soon.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m serious this time. Jake, I had to get Tarryn out of that house.”

The crushing weight on his chest turned to anger deep in his stomach, but he swallowed it and instead gestured toward the door.

“Let’s go; I’ll make a couple phone calls.”

Her shoulders fell forward.

“Thank you.”

Tossing the last of his coffee in the trash can on the side of the road, Jake paused for a moment to reflect. He wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t hauled ass out to her that day, if Kazansky hadn’t granted his request for a week’s worth of leave on the promise that Jake would tell him what was going on when he got back to San Diego.

“Fuck, mom,” Jake sighed more to himself than anyone else, “damn it.”

Stretching against his truck, he couldn’t believe that Rooster of all people had texted him.

Rooster: I’m sorry to hear about your mom, I really liked her

Rooster: We’re here if you need anything

Hangman: does it get better?

Rooster: I wish

Hangman: she liked you too, said she could tolerate your sorry ass at Thanksgiving

Rooster: she did a great turkey

Hangman: thought Ellie was gonna jump your bones

Rooster: only you man

Hangman: I don’t know that I can see him

Rooster: fuck him

Rooster: do you want me to meet you there?

Hangman: it’s fine I’m going to Ellie’s

Rooster: keep us in the loop

With that, it was time to head to Ellie’s.

Both of his sisters were standing outside waiting for him when he finally pulled up in the driveway; Tarryn’s chest rapidly moved up and down with sobs and when he finally got out of the truck he made his way over to them. Ellie was the first to hug him but Tarryn wasn’t far behind, pressing her head into his shoulder.

Finally, the weight on his chest lessened.

“This fucking sucks,” he muttered. Ellie stifled a snort but Tarryn just cried harder.

“I know, T, I know.”

The Seresin siblings separated; Ellie wiped her eyes while Tarryn subtly reached for a tissue to blow her nose. Finally, Jake glanced at his watch.

“You guys wanna order food and talk?”

“I’m starving,” Ellie agreed, “did you tell your team you’re here?”

“I can text them in a second.”

Tarryn shoved his side.

“Text them now, they’re probably worried.”

Despite the long drive, Jake felt like he had a little energy left to give; the stop at the border had reminded him of the reason why his mom always drove to see him, rarely flying; she insisted it wasn’t about the destination and as cliché as it sounded, he understood now.

#Top Gun: Maverick #Top Gun Maverick #TGM #Jake Hangman Seresin #Jake Seresin #Hangman #Callsign: Hangman #Trigger Warning #TW: absent father #G's Dec 2023 Prompts!

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