#it will be so unnatural and surreal

[s7873]

Comrades

#chainsaw man #kishibe #quanxi #whaaaaa #unnatural surreal delusional drawings #quanxi is so pretty #unfair #my art

[blindmagdalena]

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

[thedroneranger]

Need a Favor

Rhett Abbott

Synopsis: Rhett does more than hurt his shoulder when he's bucked off a bull during competition. While his wellbeing is in question, your biggest hurdles are his family and his pesky ex that constantly call you into question.

Notes: My first foray outside Top Gun. I've had this kicking around for quite a while and finally got the inspiration to finish it. It felt Rhett-Outer Range coded, so here we are! Influenced by the Jelly Roll song Need a Favor.

Warnings: Bull riding, religion; religious inaccuracies; medical inaccuracies; mentions of blood.

Word count: 5.3k.

The arena was electric. The cheers of the crowd, the clattering of the chutes, the grunts of the bulls. There had to be more people in this arena than in all of Wyoming. 

Then it died.

The silence was deafening. My eyes never left his slumped form as I charged down the stands. People parted like the Red Sea, allowing me the most direct route. My legs were gracious, bracing me as I dropped the eight feet into the arena and then sprinted toward him.

The medics had yet to arrive and the wranglers stood back as I approached. I dropped to my knees at Rhett’s side. His body was contorted in an unnatural position. His hat on the ground beside him—crumpled. Blood trickled from his hairline.

It would be a miracle if he didn’t break his back. “Rhett? Baby?” My fingers trembled as I reached out to touch his shoulder. He didn’t move. My vision began to blur, and I did my best to contain the tears threatening at my waterline. Still shaking, I pressed two fingers on his neck just below his jaw. My entire body untensed as I felt a thready pulse. “He has a pulse,” I stated to myself. 

Then I saw it. 

A sizable puddle of blood. Panicked, I pushed him over to find the stain on his shirt blossoming near the bottom edge of his vest. Without a second thought, I shoved my hand between his vest and shirt until I felt a tear in the fabric and then jagged flesh the wound. 

The medics arrived and pulled me out of the way. One of the chute hands held me by the elbows as we watched Rhett be braced and loaded onto a stretcher. Then she handed me off to a paramedic who helped me into the ambulance. 

I sat quietly and watched the medic fuss over Rhett. He was stable—for now. “Do you want to hold his hand?” The man offered. All I could do was stare at him as I balled my hand—the drying blood pulling at my skin. Clad in rubber gloves, the medic tucked Rhett’s hand in mine. 

Sitting in the ambulance, clutching his hand, my vision began to blur again. Warm streaks painted my cheeks, and I felt the droplets as they leapt from my jaw. Tears dotted my jeans.

The medic was doing his best to soothe me while monitoring Rhett. His voice was white noise as I gazed at Rhett. He hadn’t moved. His mouth didn’t twitch. His eyes didn’t dart behind his lids. He didn’t squeeze my hand. 

Thankfully they had slowed the bleeding, but he was steadily soaking through gauze. 

It all felt surreal as we arrived at the hospital, exited the ambulance, and I stood in the hallway as his gurney disappeared through the emergency surgery doors. 

A breath left my body I had no idea I had been holding. Feeling was returning to my fingers and toes—reality setting in. All that was left was to wait. Wait to hear if Rhett made it out of surgery. Wait to hear if or how this would alter Rhett’s life.

Remembering I had a hand caked in blood, I looked for the nurses station. One of the nurses kindly took me to a bathroom and helped me scrub clean. She also pilfered me a scrub top. We put my stained shirt into the biohazard bin. 

Back in the waiting room, still shaky, I dug my cell phone out of my pocket. Just as I was heading to find a seat, I heard a familiar voice. “Hey! Hold on!” I turned to see the medic hurrying toward me. I kept eye contact as he approached. “I wanted to make sure you got these.” 

At his side, Rhett’s vest hung in one hand and my rosary sat in the palm of his other. Once it registered it was my rosary, my eyes widened. I looked between him and his palm. Then I then held out mine and he deposited the beads into it. “Thank you.” I had the smallest smile.

“You’re welcome.” He nodded, handed me the vest, and then continued back to his rig.

I clutched the beads as I turned to continue further into the waiting room. Finding a somewhat secluded corner, I tucked the vest beside my chair and pulled out my phone. My eyes trained on my screen, scanned the list of Abbotts in my contacts. Ultimately, I decided to call the house in hopes Cecilia would pick up. 

My heart rate increased with each ring, and then…voicemail. Quickly, I punched the end button before dropping my phone in my lap. I plopped my rosary on top of it, and used both hands to rub my temples. 

What was my next move? 

Coffee. 

Coffee was the next move. Then maybe I would have the gumption, and the gusto, to try Cecilia again—or call Royal. 

This hospital was too small and too archaic for those fancy coffee vending machines. So I headed to the nurses station where the charge nurse pointed me in the direction of the cafeteria.

Nearing 10 p.m., the cafeteria was sparsely populated. A doctor here and there trying to conceal themselves, hoping for 15 minutes alone. A few workers were in the serving area, refreshing the limited offerings. A smile pulled my lips as I spotted the coffee.

While I paid for my drink, I heard the rain. Not just a light drizzle but a steady drumming of water. I stepped into the dining area and noticed the far end was a solarium. The rain streaked down the glass, distorting the view. Soothed by the sound, I walked over.

Sipping my coffee, I stared into the distance. I bet on a sunny day, it was a beautiful garden. Patients milling around with their visitors or their therapists coaching them through their post-op movement quota.

Maybe Rhett would be out there soon. Wobbling around with a cane or a walker under the watchful eye of a nurse or PT. Cussing under his breath because he “doesn’t need any help” but too polite to say anything aloud. I chuckled to myself as I turned to head back to the waiting room. The coffee was helping, but I still didn’t want to talk to Rhett’s family.

Somehow Cecilia was the least threatening Abbott. Hilarious, considering the first time I came to meet the Abbotts and have dinner Cecilia wouldn’t let me into the house. She and Rhett had a standoff—whisper bickering on the front porch and all. It was only when her granddaughter Amy grabbed my hand that she, begrudgingly, let me in.

The Abbotts didn’t strike me as overly religious. There were the usual hints here and there—a crucifix on the wall in the dining room, a bible in the end table drawer beside the couch. 

Cecilia proved to be the most faithful Abbott. She clearly believed in good and evil. Heaven and Hell. And to her, I was the devil. Brought into the Abbotts’ lives to test Rhett—lead him astray. 

If I were to succeed, Rhett might move off the ranch. Maybe leave Wabang, entirely. Desert the family. Lord knows if he could stay healthy, he’d be one hell of a bull rider. 

No matter what Cecilia thought of me, I needed to get a hold of her. Looking around the empty hallway, I stopped and pulled out my phone to try the house again. Still no answer. That woman really needed to get with the times and carry a cell phone.

Royal and I didn’t see eye-to-eye much, but Rhett was his son. I tapped his name and put the phone to my ear. I did my best to remain calm when he answered. Not wanting to waste anyone’s time, I first made sure he hadn’t already been contacted by the event staff or hospital.

Of course, Royal made a point to remind me Maria was listed as Rhett’s emergency contact and ask where she was in all this. I never knew how Maria managed to fly under the radar with the Abbotts. After all, we wanted the same things for Rhett. We both knew he could be doing so much more than mending fences and getting into bar fights.

Hell, the thought even crossed my mind to call Maria, but I couldn’t stomach her being here at the same time as the rest of the Abbotts and them doting on her. Plus, Rhett got quite warm under the collar when his family pitted us against one another.

Still unsure who would appear at the hospital, I was just glad that some of the Abbotts were en route. Feeling a little more at ease, I sipped my coffee as I pocketed my phone and wandered back to the waiting room.

My butt hadn’t even hit the cushion when someone was calling Rhett’s name. Immediately, I stood back up and made eye contact with whom I presumed to be the surgeon. “I’m here for Rhett Abbott!” I nearly tripped as I scrambled to the doctor. 

“Next of kin?” 

“Fiancée.” The lie rolled off my tongue so naturally. I backed it by giving my full name.

My heart felt like it was in my throat as I stared at the surgeon, waiting for him to continue. “That bull really did a number.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and crossed my arms. 

I did my best to listen as the surgeon explained. They were following concussion protocol since Rhett bashed heads with the bull and packed dirt. And getting gored how Rhett did was a freak accident—competition bull horns were always filed blunt. 

Overall, the damage to his internal organs appeared minimal. The bruising pain would take longer to subside than for the abrasions to heal. The only hiccup was Rhett still losing blood, so a vascular surgeon scrubbed in to assess him. 

Willing myself to be more hopeful than disappointed as the trauma surgeon disappeared, I sighed and shuffled back to my seat. 

It felt like an eternity as I finished my coffee and then stared into the bottom of the cup. Still no sign of the Abbotts, I decided to occupy myself by trekking back to the cafeteria. 

The rain was still pounding as I, again, took time to fantasize out the window. As I turned to leave, I nearly bumped into an older man. We exchanged pleasantries as he profusely apologized. 

“Coffee wouldn’t be the worst thing I wore today.” I tried to lighten the mood.

He eyed my scrub top and chuckled as he knelt on the floor for a second. “Does this belong to you?” He opened his palm to reveal my rosary. I shook my head as he deposited it into my hand. 

“How many Hail Marys to forgive dropping it on the floor.” 

“Well, that’s not my rodeo. I usually phone a friend.” I laughed softly at his response and thumbed the beads. “There’s a chapel on your way out if you want a few minutes to yourself. Or, if you want company, I’m happy to join you.” He paused. “I can also phone that friend.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a genuine smile. “I think I’ll spend some time one-on-one.” He nodded as we parted ways. 

The chaplain wasn’t kidding when he said the chapel was hidden. The door was the same color as the sterile hospital wall. The only giveaway was the stained glass window, which read as a painting if you weren’t paying attention. 

It was quaint. The front of the room was the focal point with a trio of stained glass panels. Raindrops ricocheted off the panes. I slid into the middle pew of the five rows. Still fiddling with my rosary, I stared at the windows. 

Clutching my beads, I folded my hands in the back of the pew in front of me. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought about Rhett.

“Religion is more Ma’s thing, but the Sundays she does get me to church, it doesn’t seem to matter how you worship.” Oh, Rhett. The thought of his voice was comforting. 

Suddenly a tear hit my wrist and I sucked in a breath. “Please don't let me lose him.” I mumbled between sobs. My forehead rested on the backs of my thumbs as I let my tears freely fall.

Once I felt empty, I sat back on the bench and slid each bead between my index and middle finger as I said the corresponding prayer. It was amazing what you could remember when it was beaten into you. A smile curled my lips as I thought about the first time Rhett realized the scarring across my knuckles and wrists were from rulers. 

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I thought about the tenderness he showed as he kissed each of my knuckles and then my wrists. He made his way up my arms as he pulled me into his lap. Eventually my lips were on his with my arms wrapped around his neck.

“Fuck,” I said as tipped my head and rolled my eyes to keep the tears from continuing.

Just then, I heard the door. I turned to see Cecilia, of all people. It took all my might not to let loose a barking laugh.

I was more shocked when she slid into the pew beside me, leaving just a few inches of space between us. “Surprised it’s still standing? The altar isn’t on fire?” I joked.

She eyed the beads in my hands. “Isn’t that Rhett’s necklace?” 

“It’s mine.” I paused for a second. “And it’s not a necklace, it’s a rosary. And I lent them to Rhett to protect him when he rides,” I added. She turned her head to look directly at me. “Blessed at the Vatican.” Her eyebrow jutted up the faintest bit. 

I leaned slightly over toward her. “It’s the fallen ones that need a savior most, isn’t it?” I listened to the rain for a few seconds before continuing. “And we only talk to God when we need favors?” Rhett would hate that I was needling his mother but also be proud I was standing up for myself.

Cecilia broke eye contact as she thought about how to respond. Instead of words, she placed her hand over mine that was holding my rosary. I looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Some of our prayers are the same.” She squeezed my hand as we bowed our heads. I followed her lead as we softly recited a prayer aloud. 

We were through our first set of Hail Marys when Royal walked in. “There’s news.” We jumped up, hand-in-hand. Royal noticed our physical attachment but he didn’t say anything as he turned to lead us out.

Perry and Amy were standing in the waiting room with the surgeon I spoke to earlier. Royal had to support Cecilia as the surgeon delivered cautiously optimistic news. Instinctively, I squeezed the beads in my hand. “When can we see him?” I blurted out.

“He hasn’t woken up, but you can visit him one at a time.” Amy bounced on the balls of her feet. “You can go accompanied by an adult,” the surgeon added, looking at her with a smile. He then turned to look at me. “Fiancée first?” All the Abbotts exchanged looks but no one challenged the title.

“Yes,”I said quickly and then herded the surgeon away.

A hand on the door knob, he looked at me. “Are you ready?” Silently, I nodded. Then he pushed the door open, allowing me through first. 

The room was soft lit and the only sound was Rhett’s heart monitor. Slowly, I walked to the bed. He looked peaceful. Tired but peaceful. 

Taken with Rhett, I didn’t even realize the surgeon let himself out. Quietly, I walked to the bedside. Rhett didn’t move, except for the rise and fall of his chest. His breaths were deep and even. 

They did their best to clean up his face. When he collided with the bull, it was face first so he ended up with a broken nose. The bruising was already apparent under his eyes. The stitches at his hairline were hardly noticeable. 

After a few minutes, I softly sat on the edge of his bed and gently tucked a curl behind his ear. His eye twitched and my hand stilled. He didn’t respond further, so I slipped my hand into his and rubbed the back with my thumb.

I sighed, continuing to watch his face. Selfishly, I wanted to stay here all night with him. However, at the very least, his mother and Amy needed to see him. 

With one last squeeze, I gently got off the bed and headed for the door. I looked back one more time before leaving.

After everyone had a chance to see Rhett, Royal and Perry decided to drive over and get Rhett’s truck from the arena. 

Amy and I stayed in the waiting room while Cecilia sat with her son. Amy was in good spirits, although Rhett had yet to wake up. She succumbed to curiosity and asked a million questions about Rhett. I did my best to answer every one. 

Finally, Perry and Royal returned. Trailing behind them was Maria. I stood as Amy ran over to greet her father. “I figured you would turn up here,” I said coldly to Maria as she stood directly in front of me. 

She shrugged. “Well, they called me directly, so I figured I should stop by and check in.”

“Where’d you come from? The moon? How are you just arriving if you were the first call?” I asked. “Did you even bother to call the Abbotts?”

“Of course, I called Cecilia,” she explained. “But she wasn’t home, and Royal didn’t pick up.”

“And Perry?” I pressed her. 

She lowered her voice. “I don’t call that piece of shit for anything.” She glared in his direction. “Isn’t it kind of weird Rhett hasn’t changed his emergency contact?” She looked back at me. “Maybe he wants to make sure it’s someone he can trust.” She smirked.

Before I could say anything, Perry approached us. He dropped Rhet’s truck keys in my hand. “Assuming you’re going to want to stay, being his fiancée and all.” I could feel the heat in my cheeks as he winked at me.

She tried not to appear obvious, but Maria’s eyes widened slightly and her gaze dropped to my hand. I could see her relax when she realized I wasn’t wearing a ring.

Just then, Royal, who had excused himself to say good night to Rhett and collect his wife, returned with Cecilia. “Maria!” Cecilia opened her arms to embrace her. 

However, Cecilia was focused on me during the interaction. “You’ll update us as soon as you hear?” Royal held out Cecilia’s coat, coaxing her to part with Maria. 

“Of course.” I nodded.

“We’ll plan to come back tomorrow afternoon,” Royal stated. 

“I’ll swing by, too,” Maria added.

“Ooh! We can come together!” Cecilia added. 

“Perfect.” Maria smiled.

It took all my energy to not roll my eyes. My attention was diverted when Amy threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I smiled and hugged her back, kissing the top of her head. 

I waited for them to disappear through the doors, and then made my way to Rhett’s room. Light was beginning to peek through his blinds. He was still sound asleep. I tried my best to be quiet as I pushed the little cushioned sitting chair as close as possible to his bedside. Once seated, I sipped my coffee and told him about the night with his family. 

Eventually, I moved onto reminiscing about some of our shared memories. Feeling a little stiff, I changed positions, folding my legs under me in the chair and leaning forward so my stacked arms rested on the edge of his bed. With my chin resting on top of them, I watched him. 

Just being there gave me a sense of peace. The adrenaline was wearing off. My eyelids felt so heavy, which reminded me that I was coming up on 24 hours without sleep. It wouldn’t hurt to rest my eyes…

Rhett and I were laying in one of the pastures on the Abbott ranch. A beautiful day, the sun was warm on our faces. The back of Rhett’s fingers stroked my cheek, and I leaned into his touch. He kept saying my name as we looked at each other.

My eyes darted around behind my eyelids, and then shot open to see Rhett staring at me—he really was stroking my cheek and saying my name. Basking in his touch, I leaned into his fingers. The tiniest smile pulled a corner of his mouth. 

“Rhett.” I sounded groggy. He rasped my name in response. Leaning into his fingers one more time, I pulled away to get him his water cup beside his bed. 

After a few timid sips, he was damn near chugging. “Whoa, slow down. It’s not going anywhere.” He smiled as I put his cup back on the bedside table and sat down. Rhett brushed his finger along mine. In response, I put my hand over his.

I could feel the tears building. “I’m so glad you’re ok.” I leaned down and kissed the back of his palm. 

“Me, too.” He did his best to hold my hand. After a minute he said, “What’d I miss?” Clearly, his sarcasm hadn’t been broken. I couldn’t help but smile.

We enjoyed each other’s company until a nurse came to check his vitals and realized he was awake. Then I stood beside his bed and held his hand while nurses and doctors poked and prodded and questioned him. Rhett remained calm throughout the entire process—might’ve been the morphine.

Once the doctor was satisfied, the nurses continued to work, so I stepped out to get another coffee and call Cecilia, as promised. Again hoping to reach her directly, I called the house line. She answered on the first ring. She was holding back tears as I updated her. It was the first time I heard sheer happiness in the woman’s voice.

I soaked in every minute I could alone with Rhett. I was torn between giving Rhett a heads up about Maria or letting him find out when she sashayed into his room. “Rhett?” I was cross-legged in the chair, leaning against the side of his bed and holding his hand. 

He looked at me, waiting for me to continue. “Maria is coming to see you.” 

“What?” Surprise was evident in his voice.

I took a deep breath before continuing. “She’s still listed as your emergency contact, so she got a phone call to notify her you were injured,” I explained. “She showed up last night well after visiting hours.” He scoffed. “And Cecilia invited her back today.” 

Rhett groaned and shifted a little. “I can’t believe her.” 

My thumb soothed the back of his palm. “Maria is always trying to win you back.”

“I’m talking about my mother. She has to cut this shit out.” Rhett’s voice was tense, and I could feel it in his fingers.

“Don’t worry about them, Rhett.” We locked eyes. “It’ll be fine. I only mentioned it so that you weren’t completely caught off guard.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. A smile pulled the one corner of my mouth as I placed my free hand over our clasped ones.

We sat in silence until Amy bound through the door. “Uncle Rhett!” Both their faces lit up as she ran over. She hugged me after she came around the bed. Amy was small enough, I hoisted her onto Rhett’s bed to carefully hug him and then hold his hand. 

She was chattering a mile a minute when Cecilia and Royal came in. After greeting them, I excused myself to get a coffee.

As luck would have it, Maria was arriving. “Too scared to be in a room with me?” she asked. 

“Mhmm, I don’t like the smell of trash.”

She audibly laughed. “Your insults mean nothing” We held eye contact. “The Abbotts love me. And I know them like the back of hand. I can play ‘em like fiddles.” She scanned my face for a reaction—I remained stoic. 

“Cecilia thinks you’re the devil,” she continued. “Trying to lure her baby off the ranch.”

“And what exactly is it that she thinks you’re doing?” I retorted.

Maria smiled and shrugged. “I had my heyday. I wouldn’t possibly want to move away now. I’m ready to find a husband and settle down. I know there’s no place like Wabang.” Sarcasm colored her tone.

I laughed. “That’s for damn sure.” 

“Good luck overcoming that.” She huffed and bumped my shoulder as she passed. 

Just as she was about to cross the threshold into Rhett’s room, Cecilia popped out the door. It felt like slow motion as they collided. The lid popped off Maria’s coffee and scalding brown liquid dyed her baby pink blouse. 

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Cecilia cried. “Let’s get you cleaned up!” Cecilia took Maria by the elbow down the hall in the direction of the restrooms. Maria held the fabric away from skin as Cecilia muled her along. 

A shake of my head, I continued to the cafeteria for my own beverage.

On my way back, I stopped in the almost hidden chapel. During my previous visit, I’d noticed the bowl of holy water and wanted to splash some on my rosary to cleanse it before giving it back to Rhett. It was the best I could do without a priest. 

When I returned to Rhett’s room, Cecilia was sitting at his bedside. They were whispering in harsh tones. They immediately stopped as I entered. “I can leave.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. 

“No, no!” A smidge of desperation in Rhett’s voice. “Ma was just leaving.” Cecilia stood and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Rhett’s forehead.

She looked at me as she left. Her expression felt softer somehow. I waited until she completely exited the room before venturing over to my usual seat. Rhett immediately extended his hand. 

“I have something for you.” His interest was piqued. “Hold out your hand.” He did as he was told and I dropped the beads into it. 

“I was getting ready to ask the nurse about this.” He rubbed his thumb over the beads and closed his hand, bringing it to his heart. 

“The EMT saved them,” I added. 

“I think they saved me.” Rhett looked at me. 

“I think modern medicine saved you.”

“Don’t go all evolution over creation on me, now,” he shot back. “You gave these to me for a reason.” He was right. I rolled my eyes and moved to press my lips to his. “Mhmm, you shut me up like that more often,” he said as we parted. 

“Based on how hard you’re roasting me, it feels like you’ll be discharged any minute.” 

Sure enough, by the end of the day, Rhett was being wheeled to the passenger door of his truck.

Once he was home, Cecilia became his caretaker. She and I did come to an understanding that included me pre-cooking meals for Rhett. I was skeptical when she extended the use of their kitchen to prepare them. However, I gladly accepted, and the very next night, we all sat down to a meal I cooked for everyone as a thank you. 

“Before we dig in, how about we say grace?” Cecilia looked at Royal, who nodded in agreement. Everyone folded their hands around the table and bowed their heads. Cecilia called my name, and I looked up to meet her gaze. “Would you do the honors, since you made this meal?”

Rhett’s hand settled on my thigh. I could feel his eyes on me. “Of course,” I agreed with a small smile, which Cecilia returned. We all bowed our heads as I said grace. Amy was the first to join me, then Rhett and the rest of the Abbotts.

“Amen.” We all said in unison. 

“Thank you.” Cecilia looked at me with a genuine smile. 

“You’re welcome,” I replied. Rhett squeezed my thigh as we exchanged looks.

Dinner felt like a dream. Or a trap. Although I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, I felt oddly comfortable. Standing beside Cecilia washing dishes while she dried them seemed natural. As if we had been doing this for years.

I was wiping down the empty sink when I saw a vehicle approaching the house. There it was: the trap springing closed. Silently, I took a deep breath to brace myself. I didn’t say a word to Cecilia. Besides, she was likely expecting Maria. 

Knocking rang through the house. Cecilia poked her head out of the kitchen as Amy shouted, “I’ll get it!” and ran toward the door. Everyone seemed surprised by Maria’s presence, but Royal politely invited her to stay and enjoy the dessert she brought. 

“Let me slice it up!” I waited for Maria to catch sight of me. “Oh, you are here.” The light left her face as she sat a pie on the table.

“Doing your best to suck up to Cece and Royal?” she added as she walked toward me. I didn’t move as she got in my personal space and reached around me for a pie server. “Excuse my reach.” She withdrew, tool in hand, and walked back to the table. 

“Just making sure Rhett gets fed during recovery.” I leaned against the sink with my arms crossed. We briefly made eye contact as she made the first incision. It was silent as she put monstrous portions on each plate. 

“Oh!” Maria feigned surprise as she looked at the empty tin. “I wasn't expecting you to be here.” She loaded pie plates on her arms and disappeared into the dining room. 

Maria came back and grabbed the final plate. “If there is any left, you can have my sloppy seconds.” She winked and turned to head into the dining room. 

As she spun around, there was Cecilia. Before she knew what hit her, she was covered in pie. “My goodness, Maria!” Cecilia looked her up and down, and then motioned for me to pass a kitchen towel. In no rush, I tossed one in their direction.

Cecilia fussed over Maria and tried to clean her up but really just smeared it more into her shirt. “Well, looks like you have to settle for crumbs!” Cecilia added as she dropped some pie bits into the waste bin. 

Maria’s eyes narrowed as she looked between us. “I said I wasn’t going to stay long, and this feels like a sign that I really should get going.”

“I’m sure we’ll see you next time we’re at the bank!” Cecilia ushered her out. While she was herding Maria to the door, I found the broom and finished cleaning.

Cecilia came back as I was emptying the dust pan. When I turned around there were two plates of pie on the table. “She practically served that pie in quarters.” 

“Thank you,” I said as I came toward the table. 

“Finding the snakes in the garden can be tough,” she responded and handed me a plate. “You can call me Cece.” 

“Ok, Cece.” I tested it out as we made our way to the dining room. Rhett pulled my chair close to his as I sat down. Cecilia watched us as she folded her napkin on her lap. 

She cast an unnoticed glance at my hand as we ate—a reminder to make sure he knew where she kept his maternal grandmother’s wedding band so he could get it resized when he was ready.

Royal ran his finger along Cece’s, pulling her back to the present moment. Her mind ran from wedding rings to homesteads. Then she had a moment where she thought about having two daughters-in-law. “Please don’t let me lose her,” she whispered under her breath. 

With that favor, she returned her attention to those around the table.

Visit my masterlist for more | Sign up for my tag list!

A kind reminder: Likes work hard, but reblogs and comments work harder 😈

Tagging a few friends I've seen interact with Rhett content: @cherrycola27 @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @attapullman @withahappyrefrain @sunlightmurdock @ereardon @bobfloydsbabe @sebsxphia

#rhett abbott #outer ranger #rhett abbott x reader #religion #need a favor #jelly roll #Spotify

[the-phant0m-cat]

ECLIPSE PHOTOS!!!!!

Starting with the good total eclipse photos (from my mom)

And then the partial phase photos (also from my mom)

And some pinhole projections

and finally, the photo my dad got at the end of totality, with the sun just starting to poke out and a star still visible in the sky

Some additional notes about the whole experience, in no particular order

it's amazing how cold it got, like the temp dropped a solid 10-15 degrees Fahrenheit

the thing that no photos I have seen really capture even close to accurately, is how strange the horizon gets, it's sunset in all directions and the whole sky in general looks incredibly unnatural and surreal

the moon's umbra approaching in the seconds before and receding in the seconds after totality is SUPER COOL! looked like storm clouds in those directions

the other partial phase phenomena, were all very cool, the way the shadows changed, the shadow bands floating around the ground in the seconds before and after totality, and the way the colors distorted was something that, had it not been pointed out beforehand, I might have missed. I saw a good video by SmarterEveryDay on youtube that went over them and it was super cool to notice them irl

the fact that staring at the sun for hours straight give you really bad sunburn, and a clear line of where your glasses were on your face (ow)

I was playing with a magnifying glass and just after totality even at the most magnified I could get it, I couldn't feel it at all, and this magnifying glass was able to light fires at full sun

might add more later if I think of them

Additional notes: the experience of just after totality ended was super strange, with the sun being bright enough that it looked like full sunshine, but was still cold was so strange, there was no discernible temperature difference between being in the sun and being in shade.

Still haven't gotten over how strange the world looked in the ~30 or so minutes before totality, it didn't feel like the world had gotten darker so much as it felt like it had gotten its colors muted. it was so strange feeling

#solar eclipse #total solar eclipse #eclipse2024 #eclipse 2024 #pinhole projection #I think the “star” might actually be the planet Venus but I'm not sure

[evan-collins90]

The Red Spot club & restaurant - Staten Island, NY (1987)

Designed by Steve Cottone 

“A musician with Mack Hackett and the Tacky Jackets and Jimmy James and the Jumping Flames, Steve Cottone had been performing in various Greenwich Village nightclubs when his life's work was abruptly curtailed: He broke his hand. This sudden bit of bad luck, in an otherwise promising career, prompted his decision to open an antiques store. And, as a result, Blast From The Past was born. This newfound opportunity in the world of furniture heightened Cottone's appreciation for the craft, and became the catalyst for his next, new venture: An illegal nightclub with an ice cream parlor facade. Shortly thereafter, a customer and recent million-dollar winner in the New York State Lottery asked Cottone if he would consider joining him in a partnership. The two subsequently moved to Staten Island and began work on the conversion of a funeral parlor into Red Spot. Red Spot (name derived in part from a Kandinsky painting and the gangster hangout in the original Dragnet television series) is an extension, in Cottone's words, of his own "adolescent psyche of surrealism, 1950s lines and forms, and, believe it or not, George Jetson"; Or a subterranean dream: The designer has exploited color to full pitch and made unnatural use of angles in executing archways, railings and the `Jetsonian' television set. Artifacts from modern-day American culture (the Cadillac, hairdryer and garden hose) have been playfully enlisted to serve as the not-so-anonymous background.

As the evidence suggests, this is no ordinary installation; Consequently it would be foolhardy to expect a routine explanation of how it was built. (Cottone wouldn't give you one anyway.) He did say, however, that he retained the shape of the 2,500-sq.-ft. room—with the small exception of adding a false wall that is lit from behind for dramatic effect. He approached the walls as if they were huge canvases and painted abstract image upon image on them. The ‘‘Cadillacbar,’’ a concept Cottone dreamed in his sleep, involved rebuilding the shell of the car around a fully-operating bar. Because of Cottone’s highly imaginative use of New York's junkyards, the project cost (containing all materials) was amere $105,000.

Scanned from a 1987 issue of Interior Design Magazine

One of the most exuberant examples of the Googie-Kitsch & Diner-Kitsch styles I’ve seen

[fillinforlater]

A Collection for a Special Date: Part IV

Male Reader x Kim Minju

Length: 1000 words

Tags: fluff, hand-holding, nursing, healthy relationship, cute, a bit of teasing, cuddling, sick_gf!Minju

TW: I wrote this in 15 minutes, because Minju best girl, so no editing lol.

(A/N: Happy Birthday to my Minmin. Her birthday is almost over, but I hope she had a blast and will have a great time being 22 years old. Man, I love her so much, ahhhh.)

“Can you hold my hand for a little longer?”

Is it weird to call a sick person cute? Surely it must depend on the context. The way Minju lays in her bed, blanket up to her chin, everything but her face hidden, and said face in a fever blush, who wouldn’t think that she is cute? Doesn’t help that she has your heart in a tight grip with each syllable that leaves her tender lips.

“Of course I can.”

You smile at her. She returns a weak smile of her own and shuffles out her hand from underneath her blanket. You take the small, smooth palm into yours. It’s covered in sweat, in fact, there is sweat all over her pale body, except for the blush which increases noticeably. 

“But do you maybe want me to bring you something? I can get some more water. Remember, you need to drink a lot when you’re sick.”

“Thank you, but I think I drank enough already.”

“What about yogurt? We have vanilla or strawberry—something to eat will definitely help you feel better.”

Minju’s smile grows and she quickly averts her eyes. Her head is turned to the bright, baby blue wall of her room. You imagine her remembering how the two of you painted the dull gray in two afternoons because you got distracted on the first day. The paint on your clothes, the stupid laughter, as if you were children. But no one was looking, no one was judging, it was pure joy. 

“Thank you, but I don’t need yogurt. I-I just want you to stay here, with me.”

Minju’s voice is tiny. Her hand presses down on yours with all the strength in her weakened body. You warned her back at the lake that she would catch a cold if she stayed in the water for too long. She did not listen and you did not stop her. She just looked perfect, innocently splashing around in the water. Minju wasn’t as innocent an hour earlier, where she beat you in a one on one race across the lake. It was a strong reminder for you that her body isn’t only a gorgeous piece of art, but also quite agile and durable. In the end, it wasn’t able to fend up the cold though. Poor Minju.

“Aw, you’re so adorable, Minju. But what if I have to go to the toilet? You probably don’t want me kneeling her and peeing myself, hm?”

A frown on Minju’s face as she lets go of your hand.

“I will wait here, but please, hurry up.”

You hide your mouth behind a shy hand and chuckle. This girl melts your already molton heart again and again. You feel warm around her all the time, and now it’s even warmer. Warmth stronger than lava or the sun—it’s what they call love, you assume. 

“No, no, I’m kidding.”

Lean in and kiss her forehead. Piping hot skin on your dry lips. Minju gasps and squirms. Her hand reaches for your wrist, which she holds onto throughout your seconds on her temple—and then her lips. Eyes close, hearts race, breaths become more rapid. It’s a natural reaction, yet it feels so unnatural, surreal, absurd. What are the odds to find someone that makes you feel this way? 

No matter how small these odds are, the odds to have perfect synergy are exponentially lower, yet you try to defy even those odds. Usually, the two of you would get faster and deeper in your kisses, but with Minju’s current state, you keep it slow and lazy. Her heated face does not evoke the heated desire in you. You remain calm and cherish the feeling of her lips and only the feeling of her lips. 

You loosely entwine your fingers with hers and rest your elbow beside her head. This position is strange, however, no one would be able to pull you away from Minju. The touch of her lips is magnetic, to the point where you merge with her and lose your fragile grasp on reality. Where do you end and where does she start? You are one with her, so it doesn’t matter.

“Hm, I want something now.”

Minju’s hum into the kiss is like a faint, cold gust of wind at the beach. You're unable to ignore it, unable to not enjoy it, unable to not get light goosebumps. 

“What is it, my darling?”

“C-Can you come in a-and cuddle with m-me?”

Careful not to end the kiss, you open up the blanket and quickly sneak underneath it. Luckily, it’s big enough to trap the two of you under cozy, cotton goodness. This position is a lot more comfortable. You two can share a kiss and hold hands and feel the heat your bodies produce. 

Suddenly, Minju’s hand is on your chest. She struggles at first to grab the fabric or hem of your t-shirt, but when she succeeds, nothing separates the two of you. Her sweaty pajama leaves stains on your clothes, but of course you pull her into a tight hug. So she really wanted to cuddle. You’re all here for it, even if you might get sick too.

“Just like this.”

“Okay, Minmin.”

“Don’t let me go, please.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

You look into her face, deeply, to examine her expression. The fever seems to be fading, she is less tense and her muscles relax under your touch and gaze. Minju looks confused, but still smiles.

“Is there something on my face?”

You lean towards her ear.

“Minju, I love you.”

Your girlfriend sucks air through her nostrils as her body jumps. 

“I love you too.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you~”

“I said—I love you too, pabo!”

You have a dream. The next day, Minju will do better. The day after that, she will be fully healthy again. Four weeks later, you will be sick and she will nurse you. All things will come full circle, again and again, until you marry her.

#kpop fluff #minju fluff #birthday fluff #girl group fluff #izone fluff #female idol fluff #minju best girl #kim minju

[jamesunderwater]

“you have no idea how long i've been wanting to that." + prongsfoot :))) -goldenbi

@goldenbi I hope it being 1,000 words of trans sirius prongsfoot smut makes up for the belatedness of this prompt fulfillment... 😁 <3 ty so much for the requests!

Prongsfoot: "you have no idea how long i've been wanting to do that."

Sirius’ breath caught in his throat, the sensations overwhelming him. “Prongs…” He whispered the name like a question, but his pleasure interrupted the rest of his thought, what are you doing? Knees quivering, he held himself up on the edge of the sink, head leaned back and mouth still hanging open from his initial surprise. 

The club bathroom was expectedly disgusting, graffiti on the walls of the broken stall doors. Despite the place being packed with other people, James had locked the door behind them when Sirius wasn’t looking, apathetic to who it might piss off. They could always use the women’s room – what was the point of gendered bathrooms in a queer club, anyway?

He glanced up at Sirius from his place on the floor, mouth suckling gently on the sensitive head of his throbbing clit. James himself was stretched long and hard inside his pants, but the look on Sirius’ flushed face was more intoxicating than any attention his own dick could receive. 

Closing his eyes to focus on the sensations of the moment, James pressed his tongue forward and was met with the slippery wetness of Sirius’ excitement. He groaned and brought his hands up to the other man’s waist, pulling his hips forward to bury his face further into his delicious taste. The residual hint of alcohol on his tongue was overwhelmed by the familiar flavor of Sirius’ juice, the taste of which never failed to drive him wild. Moaning, James began slipping his tongue in and out of Sirius’ opening, while his lips kissed and nipped at the head of his length. 

Sirius had been woozy with alcohol and dancing before James unexpectedly pulled his pants down and put his mouth on him. Now he was truly light-headed and weak, the dim unnatural lights of the dingy bathroom adding to the surreal feeling of the moment. He and James had been fooling around since they were teenagers, experimenting with each other’s bodies as they changed and transformed over the years. But it was always at home, never consistent, always laced with trepidation, both of them worried that this time might be the one that fucks up their friendship forever. 

Of course, this didn’t stop Sirius waking up desperate for James’ cock in his mouth multiple times a month, or masturbating to the thought of leaning James over the edge of his bed and fucking him within an inch of his life. But that simply wasn’t their dynamic. Sure, the sexual tension between them was literally painful at times, but it was always friends first. Bros over hoes even when the hoe is your bro, or whatever.

Read the rest on AO3.

----

send me prompts!

#god this was fun to write.... #my first go at smut with a trans character :'D #sirius black #james potter #the marauders #prongsfoot #bambibelle #trans sirius black #sirius x james #marauders era #hp #prongsfoot fic #prongsfoot smut #marauders smut #sirius black smut #trans marauders #my writing #prongsfoot*

[hermannish]

the saltburn review

saltburn hit pretty close to home. largely because i lived it. at times it was personal and surreal, shocking and true. but in the end it was just another misguided attempt at understanding the misunderstood.

and whom are the misunderstood? the middle class and the one percent? or the soul searching queer? according to emerald fennell, it’s the latter.

for the most part i felt that oliver was created and portrayed accurately, though i was ultimately disappointed by his character arc. while the idea of him m*dering Felix and his family is darkly humorous and seems like an appropriate conclusion, i think it actually misrepresented his character entirely. simultaneously, it absolutely destroyed any sense of romanticism the film spent close to three acts persuading the audience on. instead of the psycho-erotic masterpiece you think just might serve as the male counterpart for killing eve, you get just another fuck you to the LGBTQ community and the one-percent economy. which i might add is grotesquely overdone in media, and the audience knows it by the time they reach the film’s stale ending.

and it is stale. every scene plays like a fever dream of conversations one has already heard before. with the most cliché monologues coming from Farleigh and Venetia. every word seems so painstakingly familiar one can’t help but draw the similarities to F. Scott’s Jay Gatsby. Though where Fitzgerald cuts his dreamy romance and imagination short before any nightmare can begin, Fennell embraces the demons of the night, dragging her Gatsby through the mud and the blood until he’s so unrecognizable she has to provide an alternate origin story to make up for Oliver’s unnatural behavior.

and it is unnatural. so unnatrual that by the credit roll, you’re not quite sure who Oliver is, or what his motives are. on the pretense of reality, it seems pretty rigid for a guy who grew up in a decent neighborhood to go from erotically obsessed with his classmate to a murderous usurper. a conclusion so categorically absurd, it’s impossible to believe- largely because anyone on Oliver’s spectrum would never be able to sustain the public image it takes to uphold Saltburn let alone the ghost of Felix. His nude dance around the estate might as well be his seven seconds of heaven before the vultures descend at Farleigh’s call. And who would Farleigh find? Venetia claims her family believes Oliver to be a spider while she herself is partial to the idea that he’s a moth. [though ultimately she decides he’s a freaky nobody.] i personally concluded he was a werewolf. Normal when the prodigal *son is out, but absolutely possessed at night. Oliver himself professes that he is in fact a vampire. but much to every viewers dismay, we’re not entirely sure why.

3/5 stars: guess it’s just an oliver Quick Horror movie for the rich and famous.

bonus:

which saltburn plague are you?

let me know in the comments

the vampire: dead. cold hearted. bloodsucking. manipulative. stealing the life out of everyone and everything after they invite you in. guaranteed to love you forever or your money back.

the spider: the silent observer, hiding in corners, working in the shadows, whispering half-truths to make your bed of lies. and once you’ve captured your lovely guest, up up and away they go. down your throat for dinner.

the moth: addicted to the light, and the money, and the scene, and the shiny diamond irresistible things. you do nothing but eat holes into everything and everyone until the light is yours alone.

the freaky nobody: you have an erotic obsession with the guy you met in chem class, or the 60 year old lead actress on an emmy award winning tv show. you spend your days, weeks, months admiring from afar and planning how you’ll end up being together. you like to spy on them while they masturbate and after they’re dead you wear their aromas and old underwear.

the werewolf: an absolute darling pet during the day. someone's best friend and best mate. you wait by their side and do everything they ask in complete and utter obedience and loyalty. but as soon as the full moon comes out you can't be trusted. the demon inside comes out, no one is safe, and everything is considered dinner.

would you / did you / never ever

let me know in the comments

1. lend your bike to your secret crush

I WOULD ABSOLUTELY. wouldn’t go so far as pre-sabotaging the bicycle, but if she needed a ride, i’d give her mine.

2. watch your crush sleep with another person

never ever. i don’t think i could. it’s one of those things that i think i never would want to see. I think i would black out. I think I would get jealous in a way that i’ve never been jealous before. and i think it would haunt me in a way that nothing’s ever haunted me before. i can’t see it being healthy.

3. make out with your crushes love interest

there’s a duplicity to this. maybe even a triplicity given the nature of the game. would I? yes. if the circumstances were right. have i? I have - sort of. not really. there was a guy that i knew who had worked with her previously. and they weren’t romantically linked at all. but i remember thinking when we made out, this guy has been near her. they've touched. because of my circumstances, it felt mystical and urgent, but i never allowed it to happen again. mainly because deep down i knew i was using him. and all i would ever do was use him for precisely that reason. and that wasn’t fair. so i never talked to him again. never ever? she’s married. her husband is this guy. i don’t think i could kiss him. i don’t think i would. but if i did i would imagine it being for the sole reason of missing her because she was no longer with us.

4. tell your crush you suffered a traumatic event to get them to befriend you even more

no. not to the extent that Ollie lied. that was pretty big even for me. i’d tell a white lie. I have told a white lie to get my crush to befriend me even more, but to lie about trauma is diabolical. [the lie i told, was about not having a twitter account in my crushes honorum. in truth, i really did. and i didn’t want her to know about it because it was my place to be transparent. and curious, and sexually fluid. it was my place to be absolutely mental. but i never lied about traumas. [that’s gnarly.]

5. spend the night over your super rich friend’s house

never ever. for precisely the reasons detailed in this film, however parody the script may have been, there’s a lot of truth to the scenario. to the reactions. I always did my best to avoid putting myself into those situations. when you’re in social settings like that i think it’s important to realize and establish your role early on. if they’re fire, you’ve got to position yourself as water, or earth, or wind and be realistic about that. if you’re not, you’re just setting yourself up for failure. you just seem delusional. you've got to be strong. be your own character. set your boundaries and don’t apologize for them. if you don't you''ll only ever be a play thing. you want to make an impression? you want to be memorable? my advice is to keep networking. don't limit yourself to one person just because they're so and so and they have connections. keep networking. make your own connections. and make connections that are outside of their circle. that way if things do go south, the most you lose is an understanding, but never your newly earned position. when you limit yourself you become dependent on others for your happiness and growth. you don't just come off as a moth, but a leech. [that's your que pamela!] it's just not attractive.

6. slurp your crushes masturbation bathwater

abso-fucking-lutely - on second thought it might be a bit too soapy for my tasting. but i’d definitely do a finger dip.

7. perform oral sex during someone’s menstrual cycle

like a full session? probably not. some people try and justify it and make it acceptable but the fact is it’s unsanitary, unhealthy, and unclean. there’s even risk of giving your partner a bacterial infection. so no. not exactly. but i know it’s possible for some women to become aroused. i’d be open to fingering long term, but nothing oral. i have nothing to prove in doing that.

8. play psychological mind games with your competition

i did. don’t recommend it at all. it’s enough to make a person go insane. and there are so many other wonderful things you could be doing. like being kind and being genuine. that’s not to say that being that way will inherently make you exempt from offensive behaviors- and by offensive behaviors i am referring to the unmentionable hazing experience wealthy young adults play on middle class young adults. that's the ugly side of ambition. the part that you’re unprepared for because no one really expects it. you're so focused on socially advancing that once you've gotten your foot in the door the only thing you can process is the success of it. the next steps of it. it's a lot. one minute you think you've just secured generational wealth for your family and the next you're standing in an arena with a sword while all the advanced gather for entertainment. it can just be impossible and manipulative, and jealous for no reason. they’ll hurt you just because they can, just because they’re not having a good day. and it can cost you everything. so don't go in it with the expectation you're going to win. the game is rigged. go in with the intention to survive. you never know, you might get lucky.

9. kill your crush after they found out about your deception and decided they no longer wanted to be in a relationship with you

nooooo!!!! never ever! if anything, i’d kill myself before i had the nerve to kill my crush. to ruin those eyes? and that hair? and those legs? and that ass? and those lips?! PLEASE. the last thing i’d want to do is kill someone i’m in love with! it's just unfathomable. i can't even imagine it. life just wouldn't have meaning without my crush. even if she is married. i don't care. i still want her alive and breathing. if anything i want her to live forever.

10. masturbate on your crushes grave.

this one made me laugh. in hindsight no. maybe you know, i’d think about us being together when i go to lay some flowers, but full on, naked and thrashing against the dirt? i can’t say that’s for me. I can’t speak for what happens in the car though- especially if the grave just happens to be by the beach...

#saltburn #gatsby #killing eve #love:andie #parasite #barry keoghan #jacob elordi #jacob elrodis bath water #rosamund pike #felix catton #oliver quick #psych:andie

[bogleech]

I think the idea of the backrooms is just scary to people because it taps into how almost everywhere feels when you're a baby. You have no idea why the inside of sears or goodwill or the DMV even exists, cannot fathom why it's so surreal and unnatural or if you'll ever get out again.

[unremarkablehouse]

Found an old interview Gillian did as the original series ended. Love that her top 6 memories are some of the most iconic romantic MSR moments 💜

—————————————————

March 2002

Question: Now that the X-files are ending, can you tell us what are some of your favorite memories of working on the show?

GA: Some of my favorite memories of working on the show (and not necessarily in order of importance or weight or much of anything but the order in which I remembered them.)

1. Directing "all things."

2. Singing 'Jeremiah Was A Bullfrog' to Mulder in "Detour".

3. Shooting "Triangle."

4. Shooting "Cops."

5. Shooting the kiss/bee scene in the movie.

6. Shooting the scene where Mulder shows Scully how to hit a baseball in "The Unnatural."

7. Shooting "Bad Blood" but especially the autopsy scene.

8. Doing the elephant autopsy in "Fearful Symmetry."

9. In the first season the crew used to crowd around a t.v. screen on Friday nights and watch the show over lunch. That was fun and exciting for us.

10. I remember when the casting director told me I had the job after the final network audition and I had to drive a fellow auditioning actress that I knew back to her hotel knowing that I had the job and not letting on or being able to talk about it.

11. Shooting the graveside scene in the pilot in forced freezing rain at some ungodly hour in the morning and trying to remember my name let alone whole paragraphs of dialogue.

12. Shooting scenes in the snow in Vancouver wearing a skirt and high heals and trying not to slide down hill...or having to use an umbrella so that my hair did not have to be blown out before every take.

13. Telling David in his trailer that I was pregnant and him telling me that he felt his knees buckle. Blue, as a puppy was lying sick on his bed behind him, having just been spayed.

14. Watching Jim Rose do his famous genital tricks in his trailer during the shooting of Humbug.

15. In one of the very first episodes, there's a scene where Mulder and Scully are to look at red lights in the sky that may be UFO's and follow their flying path. David and I were standing on a windy hilltop looking out onto the pitch black heavens with the cameras on our faces and being directed where to look in EXACTLY the same place at the same time (up down left right)...but with NOTHING TO LOOK AT AS A GUIDE! It was absurd.

16. Shooting Scully and Mulder's final kiss scene at the end of "Existence."

17. Shooting the dance sequence at the end of "The Post-Modern Prometheus."

18. I remember sitting at a wooden table with David on the set when Pendrell was shot, and David telling me about this date he had with a woman whose name he would not tell me, but it was kind of like the tea that you drink.

19. Sitting in a luncheon booth on the North Vancouver lot with David Nutter and for the very first time going over a script with a director beat by beat and how exhilarating that was to be creative that way and have someone care what my feedback and impressions and instincts were. The script was "Beyond The Sea."

20. Shooting the scene where Scully's stomach is pumped with air in an abduction sequence and trying not to reveal that it was actually a pregnant belly being shot. I'll have to show that scene to Piper one of these years.

21. Lying in a hospital bed on set ten days after giving birth to Piper. Hooked up to tubes and wires and drifting in and out of sleep while they shot around me and being wheeled to and from the bed in a wheelchair. Surreal. I'd just been there!

22. Shooting a scene in a rowboat in the middle of a lake all by myself for hours and my lactating breasts getting so swollen that I thought I might explode.

23. Shooting a scene in an episode about cats where Scully has to be attacked in the face by a cat but I am allergic so they built a cat on a stick covered in bunny fur whose arms could be operated by some poor special effects guy. So here I am "struggling" with this fake bunny/cat in my face pretending to get scratched and be terrified when the fake fur keeps sticking to my lipstick and going up my nose and Kim Manners and I cannot stop cracking up at the ludicrousness of it all.

24. Lying on the floor eight months pregnant and being pushed by someone across the floor to simulate me "crawling" because I was so big and my belly was in the way and I could not do it myself. I think it was "Duane Barry."

25. Sitting in the back of a jeep on one of the stages pretending to be attacked by imaginary (CGI) green bugs who are going to cocoon us and suck our life out of us...flailing away at them with all my might and then whenever we cut, turning to a big garbage can to my left and throwing up because I had horrible morning sickness.

26. When Chris Carter walked into my hospital room a day or two after Piper was born and was stopped in his tracks by the sight of this living being propped up beside me. We sat in silence for a long time.

27. Talking to Chris on some payphone outside some restaurant a couple nights before I was to go back to Network for the final audition, and him giving me notes on how to dress more 'streamlined' for the Network Execs... I borrowed a suit.

28. Talking to David for the very first time outside the audition as he chatted up the girls, and commenting on the fact that I was from N.Y. and not really meaning FROM FROM, but the disappointment which flashed across his face when I qualified that I had only actually lived there a couple years. He moved on to someone else.

29. Experiencing Rob Bowman directing for the first time, setting up elaborate shots and the crew standing around thinking what is this new guy doing spending all this time with these fancy angles...cut to...the established norm. And thank God.

30. The last day of shooting in Vancouver when the make-up artist had to redo my make-up three and four times before every take cause I was crying so much. I imagine the same will be said in a little over a month. We won't get anything shot.

The End

GA: I know it seems ridiculous that I might only have thirty memories over nine years but I am afraid that is the best I can do and still have you all read it before the end of the month.

#the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #gillian anderson #txf #david duchovny #x files #gillovny #mulder and scully #random x files deep dive

[sealsorceress]

here's the art i did for unnatural history channel's newest video on world war z!! it's based on a description from the book about a piece of surreal cave art depicting a zombie, so i tried to emulate irl cave and rock art, and included some text to make it resemble a figure from a real scientific paper.

link to UHC's video below:

#my art #unnatural history channel #world war z #zombie #cave art #rock art #horror #Youtube

[t3a-tan]

New Perspectives (2/?)

Word Count: 4,914

AO3 | First | Next | Previous

Some good ol bonding in this chapter. James is starting to learn to be vulnerable around his friend. Maybe that’s connected to whatever made them switch sizes in the first place? Who knows...

I do. I know. :)

Comments and reblogs are what keep me writing, so any help with motivation is appreciated ^^ @might-be-tiny-gt

-----

"Oh shit…" James groaned as he remembered he and his ex wife had wanted to call today. She would get upset if he flaked…. Not to mention this was supposed to be about their daughter. James didn't want to back out either— he hated being kept in the dark about his daughter’s life and was thankful that even after his fuck-ups his ex-wife still kept him in the loop for the most part.

Oliver hummed, noticing James's body language was similar to the other times he had to call his ex-wife. He moved aside before leaving James on the counter and going up the stairs, quickly returning with the phone. He took one look at the caller ID before answering— he understood how important these calls were for James.

"Hello there. Sorry, James is a bit sick at the moment, this is his friend Oliver. Would you be able to rearrange the call for whenever he’s better…?" He spoke, awkwardly holding the little device to his ear. He had never spoken to James’s ex-wife, Emily, before but he had called James through other humans’ phones so he didn’t find talking into a phone to be too unnatural.

[“Oh— Yeah sure, that’s fine. It's nice to meet you Oliver– James has mentioned you a couple times before… Is he okay..? Just a minor bug, right?”]

Oliver had only ever heard her voice faintly and unintelligibly through the speaker before so it was quite surreal to hear her voice clearly like this. He glanced down at James who seemed relieved and was now just paying close attention to Emily’s voice with the same forlorn kicked-puppy look he always got when they were on call.

“Nothing serious. I believe it’s only a cold, but he’s running a fever at the moment so he’s a little out of it. I’m keeping him out of trouble though, ma’am, don’t worry.” Oliver assured. A soft chuckle came through the other end of the call.

[“Ma’am? I’m not that old yet, am I?”] She remarked rhetorically before returning to a more serious but still gentle tone of voice. [“Hey Oliver…can I trust you to be honest with me? How has he been doing..? Like…really. I know he doesn’t want to worry me, but… He’s not drinking again, is he..?”]

Oliver blinked, not really expecting for her to want to continue a conversation with him after he told her that James was unavailable. He cleared his throat slightly, shifting the phone in his grip again in an awkward manner. He turned away from James slightly as he responded.

“He’s not been drinking as far as I’m aware… Emily.” The borrower paused briefly as he said her name rather than addressing her through honorifics. “He’s been doing good. He talks about Mackenzie a lot, as usual.”

Her airy laughter sung through the speaker.

[“Yeah? Well, Mackenzie’s school photo was processed today, so I’ll send that through and hey— maybe that will make his cold go away. Let him know that I’ll send him a physical copy too if he wants to put it up.”]

“I will. Have a good day, Emily.” Oliver smiled slightly.

[“You too. Bye.”]

He hung up before turning back around to relay the news to James, only to find that James was gone. Oliver bristled in surprise, slowly putting the phone down whilst glancing over the surface of the counter, only to notice a slight weight at the back of his shirt. Oliver tensed up again, not wanting to move for fear of potentially jostling the human enough that he might fall and injure himself.

“James? What on Earth are you doing..?” Oliver asked, his voice almost a whisper as if talking too loud may have the same effect.

“Climbing to your shoulder so I can listen too…what does it look like I’m doing?” The tiny voice of his once-towering friend replied. Oliver’s brows furrowed in confusion and he let mild exasperation seep into his tone.

“Firstly, you could have simply asked me to put it on speaker phone and I would have done so. Secondly, please do not climb me without my knowledge. You are already weakened due to your attempt earlier, and if I am not prepared to catch you then performing such stunts may end fatally. Do you have a stable grip at the moment..?” He asked.

“Yeah, wh—” James’s question was cut short as a hand suddenly reached down and grabbed him up from the threads he had been clinging to. For a moment the human felt as if time had slowed down, his eyes focused on the fingers that were quickly approaching, unable to do anything. He knew that these fingers belonged to Oliver, but despite that, the terror of seeing such a large living thing grabbing at him sent his mind into a panic.

Oliver was gentle but in order to pick James up from where he had been clinging onto his back he ended up grabbing the man in a slightly awkward position. He quickly brought his hand back around where he could see James again before opening his fingers. He didn’t expect for James to go back into fight or flight from such a motion, startled by how he could now feel for himself how fast his tiny heart was beating beneath his thumb.

It took him a moment or two to react to the sudden panic, at first only staring before realizing his mistake. Oliver opened his mouth to talk and correct this issue, only for James to make a reckless attempt at struggling out of his grip. Subsequently, Oliver’s grip only tightened in response, though Oliver was careful not to press too hard before very quickly lowering his hands to the counter and letting James go.

“I— Apologies. It’s alright, I should have warned you beforehand… Deep breaths again… No James, don’t—” The enlarged borrower attempted something similar to what he had done before, but this time James was not cornered and standing still… right now he was making a run for it. Where to? Nowhere. He was very obviously just fleeing the perceived danger in the only way he could: ineffectively.

Oliver kept his hands to himself and watched as James hid behind the coffee machine, his lips pressed together in a contemplative frown. He waited for the human to stop running before speaking again.

“James…” He began, lowering himself so that he was more at eye-level with the shrunken man. He waited patiently until James met his green-eyed gaze which was filled with nothing but compassion. “That was not right of me, I apologize. You are safe. Everything is okay… Let’s breathe together, hm? In for four…hold for four…out for four… That’s it…”

It took a couple of minutes but soon James was consistently breathing properly, but Oliver stayed silent and waited for the human to speak first this time. James soon did, though he stayed partially behind the coffee machine.

“F-fucking hell, your hands are massive…” He breathed, voice still understandably quiet and reserved after his fright. Oliver really didn't like the feeling it gave him to be so terrifying to someone he now considered a close friend, but this wasn't about him. He was focusing on James.

"Comparatively, yes… proportionately, they're actually quite average." Oliver wasn't even attempting to lighten the mood with that, responding to questions that hadn't been asked in the first place. "Are you alright? I didn't hurt you at all..?"

James shook his head.

"Had me halfway to a heart attack, but I'm physically fine." He spoke a bit harshly after the frightening and somewhat embarrassing experience, but upon looking into Oliver's regret-filled eyes he couldn't find it in himself to snap at him. Oliver had already acknowledged what he did and there was no point in having bad blood, so James sighed under his breath.

"I'm fine, Oliver. I know you wouldn't hurt me— really. But… my instincts aren't catching up to speed apparently." James assured. And I was definitely not going to be able to climb up or down from there without help anyway… Not that I would admit that out loud.

Oliver still looked conflicted.

"Yes, but I should still be more careful. I know I would not hurt you, but I don't want to frighten you either. Especially because if you begin to associate me and my hands with that sensation of panic, that could spell trouble in the future… I don't want to indirectly cause you any trauma." He responded, scolding himself.

James didn't really know what to say because… Oliver was right. As usual. But he didn't want Oliver to feel bad— and he didn't even want to be scared in the first place! He had much more respect for the borrower now knowing how insanely collected he was in the face of so much danger. If only he could be strong like that.

The shrunken man stepped out again before walking over to where Oliver's eyes just peeked over the top of the kitchen counter. A sharp green gaze focused on him, going slightly cross-eyed the closer James got. James crouched down in front of Oliver's face, placing a hand up against the substantial forehead of his once tiny-friend. His heart rate had increased due to the proximity, but he held himself with confidence.

"You're a good friend, Oliver. Probably the best and closest I've ever had… I'm not scared of you. I will never be scared of you. You understand that, mate?" He spoke with a firm and unwavering tone. Oliver seemed like he was about to protest somehow so James cut him off before he could get a word in.

"This situation is fucking weird and absurd, and I can't help that my body is responding to this new…perspective with fear. But I trust you. You startled me earlier, but just as long as you give me a heads up I will keep my calm. Promise." James stood up straight again, taking a few steps back and holding out his arms. "Go on. You can test me if you want. I'm a changed man."

Oliver's eyebrows pinched in confusion at the gesture, but he understood what James was getting at. Oliver didn't particularly want to 'test' James, but it seemed the man was more so asking to validate himself and his own confidence. Oliver relaxed a little again, humming softly. Maybe he could take this time to allow his curiosity to run wild.

"If you're willing… May I inspect you? I didn't want to focus too much on holding you before in case I got distracted… but if you are fine with that I would like to pay more attention to how it feels to hold someone of your stature." He asked. James gave him a deadpan look in response.

"I said 'test me'. If that's how you want to go about it, then go ahead. Hit me." He reiterated. Oliver bristled a little at his words.

"I don't want to hit you, James. I mean only to hold you and shift you around a bit…" He protested. James's arms lowered slightly and he quirked an eyebrow. He could explain that he wasn't asking Oliver to literally hit him, but instead he just shook it off.

"Go on then." He spoke, expression softening. Oliver paused for a few moments before getting up off of the floor again, bringing his hand closer but slowly to observe how James would react. If James seemed too uncomfortable he would stop…

But, James managed to keep his composure. Though he seemed a bit uneasy he still held a determined glint in his eye that showed he really wasn't going to back down about this.

Oliver appreciated that the man was willing to push past his discomfort for the sake of him— even if that was somewhat misguided…Oliver wasn't hurt, he was only concerned, and he understood that James trusted him so there was nothing to prove…not to Oliver at least.

Even so, it meant a lot that James was still holding his ground despite the towering hand coming closer and closer. Oliver stopped putting it off and finally gathered James up into his hand, careful with his movements. After being sure James was handling the situation well still, he brought his hand up closer to his face.

James regretted his decision immediately after he was pinched between Oliver's gigantic index finger and thumb, but he was determined to prove himself regardless. He just pictured the first time he had met the borrower: remembering how calm and contained he had been regardless of what James did or what situation he was stuck in.

"James…. Open your eyes."

James peeked through his eyelids for a moment, seeing Oliver looking down at him with confusion. He had been trying so hard to visualize Oliver's own bravery that he forgot to remember his own. He smiled lopsidedly, a bit nervous being held so close to such a large face.

"Are you still okay? You can tell me to put you down at any moment and I will without question." The giant borrower assured softly, his voice just above a whisper from this close… Even so, his breath rustled through James's hair causing the man to shudder briefly. Oliver tilted his hand a little and raised an eyebrow to encourage an answer from his friend.

"W-what gives you the impression I'm not okay?" James retorted, mentally cursing at how his voice shook at first. Oliver looked him over with an unconvinced look. Dammit, Oliver! Can you be gullible right now please?

"Well… your voice is unsteady, your heart beat comes quickly and your breath hitches when I…" Oliver shifted his fingers a little, his thumb laying over James's chest and causing the human to inhale sharply. Oliver's frown deepened. "...do that."

James hated this. Not being held by Oliver but how vulnerable and on display he was like this— being completely at his friend's mercy. He felt weak, and not just because he was small.

"I uhh…. Those are probably just side effects from shrinking, because I am completely fine. Promise." He lied, hoping and praying that Oliver would just move past his suspicions and stop making James's cowardice more and more obvious. Oliver still looked unconvinced, looking James up and down for a moment.

"Hm. Very well. If you say you are fine I'll believe you… but remember, you can ask me to stop if you need a break or no longer wish to participate. I don't want to cross your boundaries, understand?" The borrower agreed, James nodding in turn and again fruitlessly trying to relax in Oliver's grip.

Oliver's inspection was not quick or easy by any means. He turned James around just about every direction, even upside down at some point which felt embarrassing to the shrunken human. Then when it felt like James had finally gotten used to being tilted this way and that in his giant friend's grip Oliver took a hold of his wrist between forefinger and thumb.

James knew that he was being gentle but all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears the entire time. As his arm was extended outwards and rotated from within the fingers very delicately pinching his wrist, all James could think about was how easily his arm could snap at a single twitch from Oliver's fingers. Dread crept up his spine and clung to his neck like a parasite, and all he could do was stare with held breath at the scene before him.

When his arm was released it wasn't over— then came his other arm, each leg, and at the end of it all Oliver was gently moving James's head around with a fingertip. Once the borrower was satisfied his invading hand retreated and he let out a hum.

"If only I could feel your bones properly… ah well. Are you still alright?" He asked softly. James continued to stare at his withdrawn hand, seemingly not registering Oliver's words quite yet. Oliver paused, then repeated, "James..?"

The officer snapped out of it, startled after hearing his name spoken out loud again. He wasn't shaking, and his breaths were calm this time, but despite that he could still hear the blood pumping in his ears. Uncomfortable. James met Oliver's eyes and relaxed at the comforting gaze he was met with. He reminded himself again that this was Oliver, his friend, and someone he could depend on fully.

"Are you in a non-verbal state?" The borrower's uncharacteristically rumbling voice spoke softly, coaxing James out of his shocked state. James took a breath, realizing that he had been holding it since Oliver last spoke. He inhaled slowly and calmed down, shaking off the instinctive dread of being so close to such a large being.

"...no. No, I'm fine. Sorry. Got a bit in my own head for a moment." He assured, smiling sheepishly and wondering when he would feel a solid surface underneath his feet again. He knew he had been standing on the counter just moments before but now it felt like a memory from a distant past. It was so easy to get disoriented over the size difference.

"I see." Oliver lowered his hand slowly, allowing James to get his balance first before releasing him fully.

The whole experience of inspecting his now tiny friend was surreal… The fragility of such a small body was obvious but became even more apparent once Oliver was holding him between his fingers— he knew that a single mishap, a single flinch or incorrect judgment of strength could be crippling.

How was James so casual when holding Oliver at such a small size? How was he always so gentle..? Oliver had never really thought about it when he was at his usual height; no human had ever really been anxious about holding him so it was surprising to find his nerves buzzing about as he very delicately took hold of James's limbs and moved them around. He kept his hands steady despite that though. Mistakes were not allowed.

He noticed when he began inspecting James's head that the man had gone unnaturally still and his expression was slightly blank. Oliver stopped when he noticed, deciding to end it there regardless of what James said. He had been thorough enough at this point and going any further may actually traumatize the poor man.

Oliver watched with an unfaltering gaze as James got back his bearings and started to relax. I should have realized he would be too prideful to tell me to stop when he was uncomfortable… I should have been paying more attention. Oliver's expression was calm and unbothered but the slight knit in his brows indicated some concern.

The silence drew on for a few more moments. Oliver wasn't sure if he should apologize for making James uncomfortable or if that would just make the man feel embarrassed— James wasn't sure if he should apologize for his discomfort or not. Oliver was the kind of person who understood regardless, but it still felt emasculating to be in this state…feeling so vulnerable.

"I'm not fearless, you know." Oliver suddenly spoke, his voice unsure yet paradoxically determined. "I am scared sometimes. I cry sometimes. These are natural feelings."

James looked up at Oliver, part of him surprised to hear him admitting such weakness…and then feeling bad immediately after for having gotten so used to Oliver at his best that he failed to recognize that he, like everyone else, had a worst.

"After my mother passed and I knew my father was never to return, I didn't cry as most kids would. I had prepared beforehand. I packed, weeks in advance. I had accepted their deaths before they even happened, and when they did I felt nothing. Nothing…but fear." Oliver began. James's expression contorted to one of pity.

"You were ten, Oliver. Of course you were scared… Anyone would be." He pointed out, but Oliver shook his head.

"Before my mother passed, as she lay in her bed, she didn't look at me. Not once. She told me I was the worst thing that ever happened to her, and cursed my name every night until she no longer had the energy to speak. She told me that I should have been the one who drowned, not Abigail. But I loved her anyway, and I cared for her as my father asked whilst she withered away. I felt scared of myself when she died, because I felt nothing. I thought she was right. I was a demon. How could a child not cry for his own mother?" Oliver continued.

He let out a sigh.

"I did not speak until I was 7. Not a word. Once I was 3 my parents got sick of my lack of temperament and non-verbal nature. My mother began to be violent and, angered by how I wouldn't even cry, she got worse and worse until eventually even when I began to speak she hated me. She hated my face, she hated my voice, my personality, everything about me…." Oliver trailed off, before clearing his throat and getting back on track.

"I've always been haunted by my childhood in that regard… My emotions were not allowed to develop properly. I was devoid of love and attention. What was the point in crying if no one wanted to hear me? Why be afraid if no one would comfort me? I can't ask questions if no one will answer them. I internalized that. That I had to be strong, I had to get by, I had to do everything myself. It made me independent, yes but…" Oliver paused, a conflicted expression on his face before becoming something of a smile.

"It took me a while to learn that I was not incapable of emotion, and that I just had to teach myself how to express it. Through reading. Through observing. Sometimes when I see others cry, I feel enamored. Loud and raw and visible and powerful emotions. There's strength in them. Great strength. There's no strength in being fearless— you overcome nothing. You are not brave, you are simply without fear. Pretending not to be afraid is not strength." He hummed.

"To me, it is a great feat for someone to open themselves up: to cry whether they're heard or not. To be afraid and still lead others forward. To ask questions regardless of the answer." Oliver leaned forward, his eyes softening from their usual sharp inquisitive gaze to one of compassion.

"I'm afraid. I'm afraid that things will become strained between us after our sizes return to normal. I'm afraid I might mess up and hurt you or scare you again. I'm afraid you might injure yourself and I won't be there to help. I'm afraid we'll both be stuck like this. I'm afraid that you're putting your well-being at risk, just to absolve me of any guilt." Oliver's gentle tone lowered, sincerity pouring from his lips. "I'm afraid that you don't want to be heard by me at all…"

James wasn't sure how to react to all of his words, needing a minute just to process all that had been said. He had no idea that Oliver had been abused to such an extent at a young age, and he wasn't sure whether to apologize or to be angry. Either way, Oliver had moved on so quickly that he couldn't do either…

I'm afraid that you don't want to be heard by me at all…

His final sentence played on repeat in James's mind. Oliver was afraid? And admitting it? The more and more James thought over Oliver's words the more he began to play out scenarios in his own head— fears he had. Fears he didn't want to express. Fears he…didn't want to be heard. Everything clicked into place.

Oliver had a very convoluted way of explaining it, but James understood. And when he understood he couldn't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. His heart dropped and his instinctive reaction was to wipe at his eyes in hopes that he could physically prevent the breakdown from happening. It didn't work.

Suddenly Oliver's hands came forward and scooped him up, holding him to his chest and cradling him. This time James felt no fear, only shame. Shame that he was crying and shame that he was so small— but there was also a new type of shame on top of that. Shame that James had been so preoccupied with trying to act fearless like he perceived Oliver to be that he had only shut his friend out as a result.

James tried his best not to let any sound escape, but silent tears continued to stream down his face like a dam had burst. He was afraid that Oliver would see him as weaker if he said he was scared, but even whilst he was crying Oliver held him as if he was the most precious thing in the world. His heartbeat was steady and reliable behind the sweater James was held against… much like himself.

James couldn't help but let out a wet laugh.

"You're a right sap, mate… I don't even know why you bother.." He spoke, tone joking but hiding a question beneath its surface. Oliver smiled lightly, relaxing now that he could see James letting out his emotion rather than continuing to let it build up and overwhelm him.

"We're friends. Officially. I don't know what you thought you were proving… You are strong to me… being small or afraid or asking for help won't change that." Oliver assured, and James had to bite back the sob that had built up inside his chest. He wasn't sure if he felt happiness, sadness, or something else— but he was fucking feeling that was for sure. Oliver hummed.

"I know that this won't make it any easier for you to be comfortable expressing your vulnerability… But now, hopefully, you understand I won't reject you or judge you for it. I want to be your friend when you're happy and when you're not." The borrower spoke in a soothing tone. James hadn't expressed his emotions like this in a while, even in private. It felt like a great weight had been lifted from him.

"Thanks…" James murmured, but he was sure Oliver didn't hear it. Despite that he knew that Oliver knew he was thankful anyway, and the way Oliver's fingers curled over him no longer felt suffocating but instead secure.

Since meeting Oliver, life had gotten better. He had more of a purpose other than spending all of his time waiting for when he would visit Mackenzie again. Now he was instead waiting for Oliver to come by— waiting to talk to him and laugh with him and just feel good again. Normal again. James had acquaintances from work he spoke to but he didn't consider them as friends. All they ever wanted to do was go out on the town late at night and tell stories from work.

Oliver on the other hand was different. He was open and compassionate— he listened just as much as he spoke. He was dependable. James wasn't sure if he had ever had a friend like that; he had presumed after a certain age that it was impossible and he resolved himself to that fact for years.

Who would've thought that a man the size of his finger bossing him about would change that?

...

Eventually things settled down again; James and Oliver both finished their breakfast and Oliver complained a little about the disorganized state of his house. Now that he was human sized though he could actually do something about it— so whilst James crunched on his piece of crumpet he watched Oliver go wild around his kitchen. The borrower even dusted.

“I ought to pay you if you’re gonna clean up the whole house, mate.” James remarked, a smile on his face still as he watched Oliver rearrange his plates and cups by size and color with about as much passion as he had ever seen the man express; fretting away at the lack of coordination in James’s cupboards.

Oliver hummed in acknowledgement of James speaking, not looking up from what he was doing as he scrubbed away, his brows creasing at the lack of rinsing that had been done beforehand. He didn’t reply. Getting paid would be absurd— what would he even use money for? Once he was back to normal a coin’s only use was as the surface of a table.

“Why don’t you ever rinse your dishes? You understand that not doing so causes the food to dry and makes it harder to clean later, yes?” He scolded lightly, still scrubbing at a particularly stubborn piece of gunk.

“That is a problem for later-me to deal with.” James waved a hand dismissively at Oliver’s reprimands.

“It only takes a few seconds…” Oliver murmured under his breath; the moodiest James had ever seen him. When he finally got the gunk off he visibly relaxed, finishing cleaning the plate before stacking it gently on the drying rack and taking off his rubber gloves. “There. Next time I see unrinsed plates on the side I will be having a word with you.”

He shot a stern look in James’s direction, the shrunken human gulping nervously and nodding as his response. Note to self: don’t get in between Oliver and a clean kitchen.

#g/t #g/t au #g/t artist #g/t author #original g/t #g/t writing #g/t community #giant/tiny #giant/tiny writing #borrowers #borrower au #ocs #oc story #archive of our own #g/t fluff #g/t angst #g/t fearplay #size swap

[wolfsbanesparks]

I'm currently at the dentist's office right now but I really wanted to discuss this idea with you.

So, the wizard, right? Shazam, the one who gave Billy Batson his magical powers through the living lighting. Dies and crumbles to dust after doing so/is squashed by the rock of Eternity, aka, a literal rock hanging over his head (idk why the writers decided on that).

I had an idea for his appearance/a different version of him. What if after centuries of searching for a champion of magic to replace him and Black Adam, he begins turning to stone, partly to due time and a curse from the mother of his children for abandoning them. He eventually becomes the rock of Eternity itself. His skin and blood turned to stone, unable to leave the place he's been in for centuries, stuck to his throne. There are cracks in his skin that glow underneath with the living lightning that is desperate to get out, evident most in his eyes that eerily glisten with the light inside. His staff is forged to his hand, slowly cracking apart with age.

When he grants Billy his powers, Shazam's body of stone turns to ash and dust, exploding in a burst from the living lightning zapping out of him and hitting Billy with the transformation magic to turn him into Captain Marvel.

Imagine the wood spirit from the Guillermo Del Torro Pinocchio movie, unnatural looking and very mystical. Trying to draw out this concept, but wanted to know what you think. I just thought that shazam looking like a regular old man after being thousands of years old didn't have to be the norm.

This is honestly such a hauntingly cool visual. It definitely would have added an extra layer of creepy surrealism to the moment that Billy is granted his powers that I can totally get behind.

I also really like the idea that he'd been cursed. It would be an interesting reason for why he gave Billy his powers so young--he had to do it before the curse ran its course. Otherwise Billy would have been granted his powers as either an older teenager or a young adult. Like he was always going to be Captain Marvel, but he wasn’t supposed to be a little kid when it happened.

I think this would work especially well for the version of Shazam that was once the Champion himself. Like he has the living lightning inside him, glowing through the cracks in his stone skin and particularly bright around his eyes, and he literally passes it on to Billy even though he knows it will kill him.

(Also I don't really know why the original Shazam was crushed by that giant rock but I think it had something to do with accepting his fate? Don't quote me on that though, it was an odd decision either way)

#ask me whatever you want y'all #shazam #billy batson #dc captain marvel #i love this visual #its creepy and captivating #he becomes one with the rock of eternity and thats why his spirit is still there

[bloodynectarine]

The devil is in the details

You try (and fail) to spoil Diavolo on his birthday, as he picks a grocery store of all places to spend a night with you in. Or, the shortest sugar daddy career ever.

tags. gender-neutral mc, crack and fluff, diavolo x mc, mc is whipped, but so is diavolo.

notes. I'M LATE, november went by in a blur, what's up with that. even so, i wanted to finish this one and i'm shameless, so please pretend diavolo's birthday is around the corner while reading.

thanks to @property-of-diavolo for hosting #diamonth2022 sorry for the delay (!!)

As of late, you can't help but feel self-conscious every time you set foot in the Demon Lord's Castle.

You've become suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you're not only stopping by to join sweet, attentive and easygoing Diavolo for a cup of tea but… Well. You're actually hanging out with the ruler of the Devildom.

Naturally, you already knew that. But trying to find the perfect birthday gift for a soon-to-be-kinda-already-king has brought a ―drastic, sometimes suffocating― change of perspective.

What could you offer to someone that seems to have everything and anything he could want? There's no avoiding it: sooner than later, you find yourself noticing details that you've swiftly overlooked before.

The almost translucent centerpiece that sits on the dinner table between you and Dia, the gold-lined curtains that he carelessly shoves away to show you how big the moon looks tonight, the unnaturally-blue mirror that blinks back at you whenever you fix your hair right before entering his office, as giddy as ever to see him.

You're starting to get why Mammon tries to steal something every single time he visits, and that's a dangerous train of thought that you would rather avoid following.

One afternoon, out of curiosity ―you're no cat, but you should've known better―, you ask Barbatos how much is the pen you're currently holding. It's of such a bright red, and it feels cold, heavy in your hand. The deep voice coming from it whispers a trail of suggestions as you write down your grocery shopping list, getting ready for your brief visit to the human world.

Barbatos tilts his head, a bit taken aback by your inquiry but answering anyway, as willing to help as always.

“It has been in the castle for generations and its curse is excessively unique. Originally, it was worth merely thirty millions, but to decipher its current price range, a proper assessment is in need. The only answer I can provide with at the moment is that it's, well, priceless.”

Of course it is. When you laugh, it comes out more like a cry, and one look at Barbatos' politely confused expression has you laughing even louder.

In your rush to put down the pen as fast as possible, your shopping list is long forgotten.

Well, if it isn't the consequences of my own actions. That exact list is what has brought you here, in the human world, on the eve of Diavolo's birthday, about to enter a three-story 24 hours grocery store accompanied by Devildom's ruler.

“Dia… Lately I've been picking up a few extra hours in Devil's kitchen, maybe I could take you to the movies for your birthday? An amusement park? We can go to a concert. A spa. Or camping.”

The inhabitants of the house of lamentation have seen you running around like crazy this last month, trying to squeeze some extra hours of work whenever you could, all with one objective in mind: spoil Diavolo on his birthday.

You forgot a tiny little detail though: to ensure that said demon is willing to being spoiled.

“I thought you needed groceries? That list was quite long”, he answers, and watching him push a shopping cart through the dairy aisle is surreal enough to have your mind reeling. He is towering over everyone and everything, wearing the human-grocery-shopping outfit you helped him pick ―black graphic tee (yours, oversized on you but fitted on him) and jeans, with a white beanie and a cozy-looking coat on top―.

“Yeah. I can go out to get groceries any other night, though. And I know you wanted to come here for your birthday, but… Is that really okay? Wouldn't you like to go, I don't know, anywhere else more fun?”

“More fun? Than this?”, and it's the genuine confusion in his voice what takes you by surprise, any further questioning getting stuck in your throat when you gaze directly into the molten gold eyes that look at you in earnest, as sincere as ever.

To disarm you further, Diavolo takes your shopping list out of his wallet and deciphers your handwriting without a problem, looking around in amazement, so regal and achingly familiar at the same time.

(Has he kept it in there all this time? It has been almost three weeks since you left it behind, and it was nothing but a crumpled piece of paper, with a couple of tea stains here and there. The careful way in which he holds it has your belly in knots)

And he looks… Excited. Relaxed and happy. And isn't that everything you could ask for and more?

Your concerns seem trivial and distant in the face of his excitement. Of course, trust Diavolo to pick a night spent with you in a grocery store over a fancy tea set, or an expensive wine ―gift options you've considered before, you admit shamefully―.

You can see him talk, gesturing with both hands, but you're too busy spacing out to really listen, feeling lightheaded with relief upon realizing that Diavolo is and will always be Diavolo around you.

By the time you manage to pay attention, Diavolo is holding a carton of milk in each hand, examining them with the wonder of a five-year-old and the solemn expression of someone that's holding something invaluable.

“So many options, and it's just milk! What's the difference? Maybe a different cow for each of them? Mh, I see.”

It's so unfair. He's just standing there, and yet your heart decides it's the perfect time to do some flip-flops.

“Ah, yes, as expected, 'Almond' is a pretty suitable name for a cow. '2%' is a little bit underwhelming as far as cows' names go, but I'm sure their milk is just as lovely as Almond's.”

You nod solemnly, without contradicting such a sound conclusion, making quick work of getting your phone out and ready.

“Could you hold the carton closer to your face? Let me take a picture of you and Almond”.

Hours later, you come out of the store with arms full of bags and your camera roll overflowing with pictures of Diavolo ―some of them you already shared to the group chat, graciously ignoring the multiple missed calls after that one picture of Dia trying to get into the shopping cart―.

The face that the cashier made when Diavolo excitedly explained he came here to celebrate his birthday was unforgettable. Almost as amusing as the one pulled by that old lady that overhear the both of you talking about “bringing Lucifer a few snacks”.

The night air feels icy-cold against your cheeks, and yet, you cannot stop smiling. Feeling your chest impossibly full, getting even more stuffy once you turn around and see an even bigger smile on Diavolo.

He comes closer and carefully places the beanie on your head, probably adjudicating your red ears, cheeks, and nose, to the cold.

“Thank you. I haven't had fun like this in years.” Voice charged with intimacy, without breaking eye contact. Your overall redness only increases once he holds your face in his hands, thumbs sliding across your cheekbones. Surely another effort to keep you warm.

“Truth to be told, today must've been the first time I've enjoyed myself this much.” He adds, with a chuckle. And you know it's true, he can't be lying, not Diavolo, and not with the way he would light up whenever people barely glanced his way; unbothered and oblivious.

With the way he's looking at you, you have to control yourself before spitting some nonsense about buying him the whole grocery store if he wants you to (you have no idea how, but you would).

You have to settle for the next best thing: raw sincerity. “First of many. We can do this again, you know? We don't have to wait for your next birthday. You have me, after all.”

An open door. And by the looks of it, Diavolo recognizes it, if the way his hand travels to take one of the bags out of your grasp, all to intertwine his fingers with yours, is any indicative.

You share a secret smile. You don't know if you can go back to shopping alone after this.

“Human world dinner on me! I'm all ears for the birthday boy, any food you'd like to try? Sushi, maybe? Steak? I know a pretty good lobster place.”

“Oh! I've heard about 24 hours fast food, and I find it fascinating. How fast is it? Do we have to chase it? I would like to try it!”

“… Dia, I'm begging you, let me buy you something that is at least six dollars.”

ao3 ― writing tag

#diamonth2022 #collab #bloodynectarine #obey me shall we date #obey me #omswd #obey me diavolo #diavolo obey me #omswd diavolo #diavolo #obey me mc #obey me gender neutral mc #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #diavolo x mc #diavolo x reader #diavolo x y/n #obey me imagines #obey me hcs #obey me headcanons #gn mc #obey me crack #gn reader #writing collab

[swap-and-possessions]

Suit Vlogger: First Video

Channel Name: Swapsider99 Subscriber Count: 2

Aiden: Hey, guys! Welcome to my newly made channel – Swapsider99. I am so excited to start this journey with you all. In this channel, I will review the hip and fad apparel everyone is crazy about these days – bodysuits! I recently bought one and decided to do a vlog about it because it seemed like nobody else had done it so far.

[Aiden grabbed a box offscreen and showed it to the camera]

Aiden: I know, the box looks cheap. It’s just a simple bag with BodyCo’s logo on it. I can’t begin to imagine the hours I had to work just to buy this suit. I imagined it’d be worth it once I tried it out. 

[Aiden rips out the bag and shows the contents to the camera]

Aiden: Oh! Wow! One thing I noticed first is how life-like the skin texture is. There’s still a little bit of the unnatural smoothness, like a powdered bum of a baby, but everything else blows out of the water! It’s surreal, holy fuck! If any viewers realized, yes, this suit is modeled after me. I bought add-ons, like a little more body hair and leaner muscles. I could’ve added more, but you know… money issues. 

Aiden:  The skin’s a few millimeters thick – a bit thicker than a condom sold at a convenience store. It’s not as sticky or slippery, though. Like the skin, the hair looks and feels realistic. I can’t seem to pluck any of the hairs, though. It’s just a rumor, but they said this is one way of differentiating between an actual person and someone wearing a suit. It’s real, I guess. Other than the hair, there’s a massive slit on the back and that is where I will enter the suit.

[Aiden opens the suit and shows the inside to the camera]

Aiden: The surface of the inside looks just like what’s outside. There are a few areas where the thickness of the suit is thicker, like the abs and biceps. The inside surface is devoid of any hair or skin pores. The product video I’ve watched before said the inside surface is studded with trillions of neuropathic junctions connecting to your nervous system. I’ll feel everything outside the suit as if I wasn’t wearing it in the first place. Look at this hole in the crotch area. This is where I’ll insert my dick. Judging from how long and spacious the cavity is, I guess those additional $200 were well spent. 

[The video cuts to the next scene where Aiden stripped his apparel. The video aimed at the top part of his body, but a carefully placed mirror sneaked a view of his 4-inch flaccid penis.]

Aiden: My hands are trembling with how excited I am to wear this suit. Not to brag, but I am the first among my friends who bought a bodysuit. I can’t wait to see the look on their face when they see the new me. 

[Aiden dipped his foot inside the suit and followed it with another.]

Aiden: Whoa! I felt a tingle from my foot. It’s quite euphoric if that’s the proper term. It’s like a jolt of electricity traveling through my veins and spine. It’s like feeling the kick of a strong and dark coffee. I’m more alive than ever! 

[Aiden continued to wear the rest of the suit, his face getting more ecstatic by the second.]

Aiden: Holy fucking shit! They didn’t lie when they said I’ll feel everything the suit feels. There’s a bit of numbness, but that’s it. I could feel the breeze from the air conditioner, or the touch of my fingers when I coursed through my arms.

[With a smile, Aiden showed his arm and ran two fingers across it]

Aiden: I- I could feel it! Hahahahaha!

Aiden: And look! When I flex my arms, my bicep bulges out! The- That wasn’t there before, and now it is! Hahaha! I have the strength of a thousand cowboys running through my veins. Hah! This would be amazing if not for this stupid flap of the suit’s face attached to my neck. I better get to it, then.

[Aiden pulls the mask over his face, thus completing the rest of the suit.]

Aiden: Ahhhh!!! Fuck! Th- that was amazing! I have never taken drugs in my entire life, but this must be what it feels like. I still have my devilish looks, but with an improved physique! I didn’t even need to go to the gym to get this body. And man! I look even better with these muscles attached to my body. The hair on my chest and groin make me even sexier. Holy fuck! This suit is one massive ego boost. I never talked this way before, but it feels natural now. 

Aiden: Well, guys, that's it for today's vlog. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! Thank you so much for watching, and don't forget to like, comment, and subscribe for more content like this.

Aiden: Before I go, I just want to give a shoutout to my future viewers. I hope to come back with more bodysuits to review. Until next time…

#Bodysuit #Male Bodysuit #Skinsuit #Male Skinsuit

[sleepy-vix]

ok guys i finished the poppy war wtf. i feel so hollow right now. i feel so... unsatisfied by the ending but not necessary in a bad way??? i have to read the other books and see what happens but at the same time it feels so hopeless and i dont approve of rin as a main character anymore (tho i am aware that it doesnt matter whether i "approve" of her or not) but i will still definitely read the other books bc i loved the book overall. i just think that the storyline rn is very... surreal?

also,

(spoilers below)

i NEED TO KNOW what the fuck happened to nezha bc i just know that rf kuang has smtg cooking for him. my personal theory is that he didnt die from the gas bc he secretly is connected to the god of healing (hence why his spine healed so fast and enki speculated abt his dragon insigna) and so hes alive and maybe imprisoned? maybe he was sent to a science lab to, or he somehow ran away, or he pretended to join forces?? idrk but im sure that hes alive and its got to do with his dragon insignia

im so sad that everybody from sineguard died/isnt in the story anymore (other than kitayyyyyy thank god. im so glad he reappeared) bc i tbh dont feel much of an attachment toward the cike members 😭 like idk i love Qara and Chaghan but the others are eh to me, like i would trade their presence for Irjah's or Raban or Niang or EVEN JUN 😭 tho im just being sentimental, i dont actually mean it. (tho i would like to see a jun reappearance and redemption...)

oh btw i think i rate this a 4/5 star read

my criticisms are as such:

- the middle part where they kept losing was very dreary (tho i imagine kuang was trying to make it seem desperate/devastating and tense, it was just droll to read tbh).

- the sudden reconciliation between nezha and rin felt very unnatural (like i understand the feeling of "who cares abt our petty rivalry when theres literally a whole ass war happening?" but then again, this is just fiction and it wouldve been nice to read their familiar banter- or at least have it dragged out a bit before the reconciliation). i feel like it was just very unnatural, unless.... unless nezha fell in love with Rin when she erupted into flames at sineguard???? if THAT happened then i feel like the reconciliation would make alot more sense bc when nezha came to khurdalain it was like he was desperate to make Rin like him/forgive him ???

- a few things were pretty predictable. it was pretty obvious that Jiang was the gatekeeper, which was disappointing because if that was a little less obvious, i feel like the scene were Rin and Altam discover Jiang in the Stone Mountain would've had a bigger emotional impact on the reader (me)

though here are the things i liked:

- Rin at the first half of the book was the best mc everrrr

- Kitay. i have nothing wrong with Kitay. he's my favourite for sure

- Jiang's style of teaching (i loved how they just conversed and would come to nonsensical philosphical questions that made Rin frustrated but made Jiang delighted. eg "Why do people dream what they dream?")

- the way Kuang described the god realm vs the human realm. it was all very believable and assured. it wasn't vague at all, in my opinion. theres ofc alot of questions abt the different planes still, but the genius of it is that she wrote about it in a way that assured that it was normal to have questions, and even more normal to not get answers for them, and that we should just accept it (idk, thats the vibe i was getting. like, she didnt say "just believe it" as an excuse for lazy writing, she said "just believe it" because, well, just believe it.)

ok yeah thats all i have to say for now :)

if you've read the poppy war, PLEASEEE INTERACT (no spoilers tho pls)

#the poppy war #r.f. kuang #rf kuang #vix's library