Very Late To Post This But As I Promised, Male Bimbo(himbo?) Reader X Sol ‹𝟹

*Waves awkwardly at you*

*Waves awkwardly back*

I hate to pester you over something you might already know, but a bunch of organizations that are rooting for KOSA and EARN-IT, and all those other awful bills are on their way to DC this weekend. We need everyone to get on the phones with their reps and senators NOW!!!!

right on it!!!

i cannot call state reps about it, since i do not live in the states, but if you are able to please please do!!

some resources for calling;

phone numbers

call scripts

Google Docs

Resources For Learning about KOSA

Call Script on Page 2! Resources For Learning about KOSA 2023: KOSA bill itself: https://www.congress.gov/bill/118th-congress/senate-bill/1

Google Docs

Earn it Act Call Script

Scroll down for Call Script For Democrat Senator For Republican Senator For Chuck Schumer (202) 224-3121 connects you to your congress repr

Remember! Be calm and polite to the person on the other end of the line, Good luck everyone!

extra stuff

Fight for the Future

Bad Internet Bills

All of the bad internet bills. One website.

Fight for the Future

Donate to Stop the Bad Internet Bills

It's a hurricane of bad internet legislation. EARN IT, KOSA, STOP CSAM and RESTRICT all pretend that they'd help kids… but they would actual

fun facts about sharks

Random

Murdoc x male reader x 2D (separate)

lucille clifton

Your body is not a trend and if you treat it like one it will never end. Once you’ve got big hips and lips thin is back in and you can never win because that’s the point of the game. Trends never stay that’s how they’re made to be in and then out the very next day making everyone want to look the same when you never actually had to change because you were always enough. The only thing you left behind when you were trying to keep up was your own self love.

-Samantha Camargo

NAHHHH CAUSE I HAD TO BLOCK 12 BOTS 12 YESTERDAY LIKE WHY

What the past couple days have felt like

? // roberto ferri // mothering by ainslie hogarth // rainer maria rilke // ? // planet of love by richard siken // a self portrait in letters by anne sexton // indian summer by ron hicks

Pink In The Night | Gary "Roach" Sanderson x Male Reader | Angst

Minors/Fem DNI

Warnings; Hurt/no comfort, cheating, minor alcohol consumption

A/N; I ALMOST MADE TWO OF MY BETA READERS CRY WITH THIS ONE LMAOOO, one being Doc, ty Doc. I could have sworn this was a request, but I can't find it so whatever. I feel bad cuz another person requested fluff with roach and this is comin out first 😭❤️ godspeed soldier. i left the other man unnamed. you can decide who it is :)

Synopsis; Mistakes are made on lonely nights. This is evident in a man's hands on another, and the turmoil of what he has done come after.

1.6k words. Short and sweet

How did he end up like this? Roach’s mind was buzzing with thoughts, mostly regret, but also a small part being exhilaration. Something so taboo so frowned upon, but it felt so good.

As he gazed at the man next to him, a co-worker and dear friend, he felt guilt begin to gnaw at his chest. Rapidly his body began burning with shame, nausea settling in as bile crept up his throat, threatening to force up his dinner.

“Fuck,” he groaned, shuffling out of the other man's embrace and crawling off of the bed, walking to the bathroom as quickly as possible. He hunched over the toilet and began retching, emptying the contents of his stomach into the bowl. When he finished, he spat the remaining liquid out of his mouth and reached for the toilet paper, ripping off a piece and wiping his mouth before dropping it into the toilet and reaching for the leaver.

He sat back and pulled his legs to his chest, resting his forehead on his knees with his arms at his sides.

“What have I done…”

The following days before he returned home were excruciating. He would have time to think of what he would say to Y/N, but inevitably knowing the outcome pained him.

He loved Y/N more than anything in the world, so why did he stray? He asked himself this over and over again, eventually concluding that a month and a half of being deployed left him touch starved and desperate. What a horrible excuse to cheat on your partner. He wanted to kick himself and force himself two days ago to stay in his room all day. Maybe if he played sick he wouldn't have had the temptation, though he doubted it.

There were only three days before he was going home. Why didn’t he wait? He knew Y/N would welcome him with open arms, treat him sweetly and shower him with love and affection. Why couldn't he wait?

As he was driven home in a cab after being dismissed, he felt worry invade his body. His hands were clammy, an uncomfortable warmth spreading throughout his limbs, settling in his throat.

By the time he arrived, it was later than he would have liked. The sun was about to set to allow the moon time to shine, to taunt him with the knowledge of what Roach had done in its presence. He flinched when he noticed the murder of crows on the roof, seven standing and watching him as he opened the door and stepped out, grabbing his duffel bag from the seat next to him and waving the driver goodbye.

He turned back to the house, unease filling his mind as one of the crows tilted its head at him. Their eyes were on him as he walked up to the front door and fumbled with his keys to unlock the front door. When he finally got it open, he sighed with relief, quickly slamming the door behind him to escape the beetie, endless black eyes that assessed him, silently judging every part of his soul.

They knew everything. They hold knowledge and power in their being. They carry secrets between their feathers. What secrets would they share tonight?

Roach takes a few deep breaths before dropping his bag to his side and kneeling to remove his shoes. Y/N emerged from the kitchen with a worried face before it quickly turned to happiness, a wide smile covering his handsome features.

“Hi,” he greeted, fondness written on his face. His head was tilted to the side as he gazed at Roach with a sort of longing.

“Hi, Y/N,” Roach said, pulling off his shoes and setting them to the side before grabbing his bag.

“Leave it, I’ll take care of it later,” Y/N said, waving his hand. “You must be tired.”

Roach just nodded, placing the duffel against the wall and walking towards Y/N who eagerly wrapped his arms around Roach’s shoulders and pulled him into a warm hug.

“Christ, I missed you so, so much, baby,” he whispered, squeezing Roach tight. He buried his face into his neck and breathed in his scent.

Roach hesitantly wrapped his arms around Y/N’s torso, holding him back. Tears stung the back of his eyes as Y/N embraced him, holding him close to his chest.

“I missed you, too,” he said. Y/N kissed Roach’s temple before pulling away.

“Dinner is almost ready if you’d like to sit down,” Y/N said. Roach nodded and wiped his nose with his sleeve as Y/N returned to the kitchen

He made his way to the small dining table and sat down, running his hands through his hair with anxiety. He rubbed his eyes and tried to calm his brain, taking deep breaths and counting down from ten to ground himself.

“Is Camille Giroud Bourgogne okay?” Y/N asked from the kitchen. Roach placed a hand on his chest as he looked back at him. “You look stressed. What’s going on in your brain?” he asked, knitting his eyebrows together.

“Nothing,” Roach lied, a small smile spreading over his face. “It’s been a long month.”

“So, red’s okay?”

“Red is good.”

Y/N hummed in acknowledgement and turned to grab two wine glasses from a cabinet, setting them on the counter before grabbing two plates of blood-red meat, seared medium rare with a wine sauce and green beans plated with it, well seasoned. He set one plate in front of Roach, placing the other at the seat in front of him.

Roach’s mouth watered at the sight, but he refrained from tearing into the meal, instead waiting for Y/N to fetch the wine and the glasses. He poured them each a glass before sitting down.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Y/N said, picking up his wine and taking a sip. Roach nodded before beginning to eat.

They ate quietly, all the while Roach had to think of how to tell Y/N what he had done. There was no way that he couldn't tell him. Rather quickly his appetite failed him and he set down his fork and knife, staring at his half-full plate.

“Are you alright?” Y/N asked, chewing on a piece of meat before setting his utensils on his plate. Roach didn’t respond. His hands twitched on the table. “Gary?”

He looked up and suddenly felt a pang in his chest. Y/N looked so worried for him. For someone who fucked a different man.

“I cheated on you,” he whispered. It was almost inaudible. Y/N thought he heard wrong.

“What?” he asked, eyes scanning his face in hopes of a lie.

“I-” Roach choked, staring back into the eyes of his lover. Was he still allowed to call him that? His mouth was dry as he fought to tell him the truth. “I cheated on you.”

Y/N felt his heart stop. His throat closed up and his face rapidly began burning with… what feeling was this? There’s no way to describe it. Partly embarrassment. Partly shame. Partly betrayal. Mostly horror.

“I slept with someone three days ago,” Roach said, turning to stare at the centre of the table. Y/N whimpered and covered his face with his hands, taking multiple heaving breaths. “I’m so sorry. I’m so-”

“Stop,” Y/N whispered shakily. His shoulders shook violently as he sobbed into his palms.

His eyes burned as he watched Y/N sob near silently in front of him, hunched over in his chair and shaking.

“I didn’t mean to. I was just so lonely, and- and-” he tried to explain, tears welling in his own eyes.

“Please, stop,” he sobbed, pulling his hands away from his face in favour of wrapping his arms around himself

“I’m begging you, Gary.”

“I just-”

“I can’t…” Y/N huffed, his bottom lip quivering. He hung his head and let out a guttural sob. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Roach wiped his eyes and frowned when Y/N stood up, pushing his chair in and taking his plate and wine. He scraped the food into the garbage bin and placed it in the sink before walking away. Roach watched him as he walked into the bathroom and locked it. Maybe he should have waited. Maybe he should have planned more.

Roach cleaned up after both of them before going into their shared bedroom and sitting on the bed. He thought it would be best to wait up for Y/N, but he ended up falling asleep anyway. He dreamt of that mistake, it looming over him like a horrible shadow, and it left him waking up in a cold sweat. The sun was beginning to rise behind the curtains, scaring away the night, but a crow sat on the windowsill. They always know.

He stood from the bed, noticing that Y/N was nowhere to be seen. Panic flooded his mind, and he quickly walked from the bedroom, looking into the living room. He worried when he saw nothing before remembering the bathroom. He walked to the door quietly and hesitated as he raised his fist and knocked lightly.

It was quiet for a long moment before Y/N said quietly, “Come in.”

Roach opened the door. Y/N was sitting in the empty bathtub with the light off. His hands were clasped on his lap. Roach flicked on the light and watched Y/N from the doorway.

Y/N’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, his face stained with dried tears from sobbing all night. His eyes were fixated on the tile on the wall.

“Who was it?” he finally asked. Roach told him the name of the man, and Y/N simply took in a shaky breath before beginning to cry again. “Of course…”

“What?”

Y/N paused.

“You’ve always looked at him differently,” he said. Roach opened and closed his mouth. “If you want to be with him, it's okay.”

“Why,” Roach began, his head spinning with a headache, “Why aren't you angry? Why won’t you yell at me and cuss me out?”

Y/N turned his head to look at him, their eyes meeting for the first time since the night before.

“Because I love you.”

I love this so much!

All’s Fair In Love and War

Summary:

“How would you like it if someone told you to stop sleeping around like the manwhore that you are?” He jabs back. Your hand goes to his face; roses wind up your arm, and the thorns prick at his skin as they come up to your fingers, “We may be lovers, darling, but need I remind you I won’t hesitate to strangle you,” you darkly tell him, stroking his cheek. “Oh, my poor sweet darling,” you coo, voice changing tone; Homelander’s body grows lax, and the rose on your hand puffs out a cloud of spores.

Pairings:

Homelander x Gender Neutral!Reader

Tags:

Deity AU | Ares!Homelander | Aphrodite!Reader | Ares/Aphrodite Inspired | Not Myth Accurate | Headcanons

Words: 2122

Author's Note:

I was curious, and I went through the Homelander tag and as it turns out there are apparently no male!reader or gender neutral!reader fics so I decided I might as well have a go at writing for the homicidal superman. This fic is inspired by the Ares & Aphrodite myth, which I took some ✨liberties✨ with.

So, how does the god of love end up with the god of war? Simple, Vought had decided the best way to appease the gods was to hold a feast and celebration in their name; naturally, John’s offering was violent. Yours, on the other hand, was quite interesting; two lovers dedicated themselves to you and, in their commitment, offered their blood as a seal of their devotion and then proceeded to use said blood to paint your insignia before dying from blood loss. Not sure what went through his head when he saw you smile at that, but he was down, scared, horny, and in love.

Tonight, the gods spend time mingling with the mortals, well, more like among them, as the humans stare at them all in awe, the humans looking up at the tall encompassing gods. Barely any of them spoke, but Homelander wasn’t paying any attention to that. His eyes were on you; you sat surrounded by several humans, lounging back as they brought you offering after offering. 

He decides to take the approach with the offerings; he sifts through the objects lying around; when none satisfy him, he moves to going through the humans waiting in line to see you; he steals finds a hand-tailored silk scarf, a hand-sized marble sculpture, and a handful of handcrafted jewels. He also cuts in line, dropping his ‘gifts’ in your lap.

“Stealing from my devotees, quite a boisterous move, warbringer,” you say to him, inspecting the statue. It was built in your likeness, painted colorfully, and detailed with small jewels. You beckon the sculptor forward, blessing her and then the others he stole from, before turning your attention to John. You beckon him forward, and he happily comes close; you hold his chin, “So then, Homelander, what can I do for you?”

You fuck, like he grabs your arm, and the two of you go and fuck behind the temple.

Given Homelander’s personality, and yours, the two of you have a strange relationship; you’re both rather possessive of the other, you much less and more subtle and equally prone to jealousy. The gods don’t care much; Vought doesn’t like it, but what are they going to do against the gods and the average mortals? They like it. When Homelander is busy with you, there’s less war because he’s focused on sex.

Let’s go back to that jealousy thing; there are two notable moments for both sides. For Homelander, it was the time a mortal prayed you would marry them; the town they lived in got leveled by a series of attacks until there was nothing left. For you, it was the time - correction multiple times - his little devotees tried to undermine you; note to self, nothing speaks divine retribution like a god striking you with death.

It gets the message across, but there’s also the fact that gods tend to have egos, so two gods who like each other but also have egos, that’s quite the combo. One moment you’re lovey-dovey; the next, one of you is threatening to kill the other, but if we compare other godly couples in mythology - ✨Dapne the naiad having her river-god father turn her into a tree so she could avoid Apollo✨or ✨Hera trying to kill off a lot of Zeus’ bastard children✨ or ✨any other Greek Myth at this point✨- technically, you guys are pretty normal 💀.

There’s a loud crash outside your temple, followed by the screams of your worshippers as they run off at the sound of Homelander’s anger. You roll your eyes, “If you kill another one of my worshippers, I’ll skewer you with your own weapons.”

He rushed in not long after, throwing his helmet by the door, pulling at his hair as you recline back in your long chair. He throws his hands in the air while grumbling to himself. 

“So then, what's got you angry today?” you ask. 

“The other gods want me to cease my duties, per Vought’s request,” he replies, “apparently, war makes it harder for humans.” He mutters the word humans with disgust, mimicking air quotes as he mocks what he was told. 

“Well, I must agree with them,” you start; Homelander rushed forward, hands coming beside your head as his eyes glow red. “Now, now dear, at least hear me out before you try and kill me.” His eyes lose their red tint, “Thank you, as I was saying, war may be fun for you, but for the mortals down there, it’s quite the hassle. You know, considering a lot of them die.”

Homelander’s face pinched in irritation, “I’m the god of war; what else am I supposed to do?! Hold their hands?!”

“Dearest, you are far too angry over this.”

“How would you like it if someone told you to stop sleeping around like the manwhore that you are?” He jabs back.

Your hand goes to his face; roses wind up your arm, and the thorns prick at his skin as they come up to your fingers, “We may be lovers, darling, but need I remind you I won’t hesitate to strangle you,” you darkly tell him, stroking his cheek. “Oh, my poor sweet darling,” you coo, voice changing tone; Homelander’s body grows lax, and the rose on your hand puffs out a cloud of spores.

He becomes putty in your hands, “I hate it when you do that,” he mutters, dropping on top of you; you run your hands through his hair as his voice drawls out into nonsensical mumbles.

“No, you don’t; you love it, don’t you, darling?” He shudders in your grip, and you move around the long chair, “Lie back, relax,” your voice commands, “let me show you some love.” 

As the god of love, you do have the underlying power of control and persuasion; it’s akin to having someone give you their full devotion, and believe you me, that power comes in handy when Homelander’s being a little shit. It also comes in handy in other places, but I’ll leave that to your imagination.

Like Aphrodite, there was talk of you marrying Hephaestus; unlike the original myths, there was interference. Homelander threatened to level whole cities if that happened; when the gods laughed it off, he did just that, managed to get through two cities before they called it off. The mortals were not happy; a few stopped giving him offerings but returned pretty soon when you persuaded them. A few of them, the Boys, as they call themselves, started desecrating Homelander’s temples, and boy, oh boy, if he wasn’t mad before, he certainly was now.

“Don’t,” you order, but his anger overwhelms him, “Homelander!” He ignores you, grabbing his helmet and weaponry and wrapping his cape around his shoulder; vines shoot up, and flowers bloom to cage him in. “John, don’t, these are mortals, not jealous conquests, and they are angry; you hurt them, and not even my share of tributes will keep you in Olympus’ good graces.”

His eyes are glowing red, and his jaw is clenched tight, “You think I give a shit about what Olympus thinks? Not even Zeus can tell me what to do!” He stabs the vines hectically, charging forward as you chase after him. “I’m the fucking Homelander; I can do whatever I want!” His angry war cry carries out through the skies, the birds fly away in terror, and you take a breath of frustration when the sky darkens. 

“Exalted one, should I bring out the wine?” one of your attendants ask; you nod, rubbing your forehead.

“Bring out the wine, food, and some medical equipment; that idiot’s going to limp back here like the fool that he is.”

“With all due respect, exalted one, why bother with him?” she asks. You turn to her, eyes furious, and she bows low, quivering, as she repeatedly apologizes, “Forgive me; I spoke out of turn.”

“Out!” you shout; another attendant brings what you requested, and just as you predicted, Homelander returns days later, armor torn, wounds and scorch marks everywhere. He falls next to you, head in your lap; you yank lightly at his hair, “Idiot.”

“I’m bleeding right now; can’t you offer me comfort?”

You yank his hair again, “Well, if you’d listened to me, then maybe, you wouldn’t be in this state. Did you kill them?” you dare to ask. He nuzzles into your lap and shakes his head slowly, “Good.”

Homelander gets to help rebuild every city he demolished during his tantrum; we’ve talked about Homelander and his scary moments; let’s talk about you. Because I’m sure, as you’ve probably been thinking, how exactly can the god of love be as terrifying as the god of war? Well, love is sweet, but it can also be dangerous and creatively murderous.

There’s only been one instance of your temple’s being desecrated, but that was quickly resolved after you drove the looters to madly seek out merfolk, so much so that they ended up crashing their ship and dying at sea. Or the time you cursed an entire army to doomed love, thus inflicting the end of their families, wives, husbands, children, and homes - all in one night. But perhaps the greatest example of your wrath is perhaps the brief moment when Homelander decided to go about and have a mistress, correction a second lover. 

Now you have nothing against one taking on multiple lovers, as long as all is consensual, but for this instance, it was with Stormfront, goddess of victory. It’s no secret that you and her share nothing more than hatred for each other.

There’s nothing quite like the sound of angry screaming coming from the god of love; there’s nothing quite like it since the sound causes every mortal close by to experience intense heartache.

“Of all the gods, goddesses, dryads, even naiads, you chose her?!” you scream, “And you did it behind my back?!”

“You–how did you find out?”

You slap him, “I am love incarnate, idiot; I know of every shred of love in every heart from here to the fucking Balkans!”

Homelander holds his jaw, wincing at the pain, “Yeah, so? I’m a god, I can have whoever I want, whenever I want, and right now, that’s not you.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” you speak, voice distorting, “Fine, then, let’s see how long you last without my love.” Your temple floors move, and he’s thrown out; the attendants all watch in surprise; by the end of the week, the mortals have a new myth to tell, an age of war and the absence of love.

Homelander is fine at first. Yes, without you in his corner, it’s not that much of a difference, at least not as far as he can see, but then he notices that his tributes dwindle to nothing, and his name becomes unspoken. Even the gods seem to disregard him; Stormfront suffers the same, if not worse. Her own temples are luted, dismantled, and the remains used to enhance yours. Her patronage is taken away, and soon, Maeve is the most beloved warrior-deity; Homelander’s popularity dwindles further, and soon the adoration he had is directed to a fucking demi-god. A demi-god, which, if the rumors are to be believed, is your new lover.

So he turns to war; he brings revolution here, destruction there, leaving a trail as Olympus watches this spat from afar.

“Can’t you ask them to stop this?!” Stormfront demands.

“And go back kneeling; I’ll survive this, then they’ll come back to me,” Homelander responds, admittedly; he should have realized sooner that your domain over love meant far more than just romantic love. You remained passive in love, giving and taking from those that deserved - romantic, platonic, self-love, deity devotion - and you took everyone’s love for him; even Stormfront seemed to be growing more and more apathetic towards him. His resolve breaks when he watches Stormfront fade from existence; when he returns to your temple, you’re lying back at your cult statue, a glass of wine in hand. He throws your demi-god lover’s head at your feet, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Two years, nine months, twenty-six days, and five hours,” you mutter; he falls to his knees, helmet placed to his side, an attendant takes you wine, and you sit up. Tilting his head up, “So tell me, what have we learned, John?”

“You’re a petty bitch,” he replies. You smile in response and kiss his forehead. John quite literally feels the love come back.

“Look who’s talking. Did you really have to take his head off?” 

“Yes.” The attendants disperse as Homelander stands with you, his arms wrapped possessively around you, “Since I learned my lesson, I think it’s time I got a reward.”

End Note:

Don't judge me ok, my taste in fictional characters is about as morally sound as russian roulette 💀