#threadfics

[elle-cross]

Where Katsuki can't wait to get out of this stupid party. Thankfully, Deku comes to his rescue... with a sandwich.

If Katsuki is not a pro hero, he can just tell all of them to respectfully fuck off and leave him alone. But he cannot burn his bridges to the influential and rich folks who kinda help Katsuki and other pro-heroes in politics and social images

"Ahh! Kacchan! I've been looking for you! Let's go, it's mission time!" Deku, presumably sent by the deities who Katsuki hasn't pissed off yet, comes outta nowhere with his paradoxically annoying and comforting voice, "Excuse us, pretty ladies. The Wonder Duo is being summoned!"

Deku takes his hand, firm and unwavering, and drags him away from the lady hounds. He leaves them instead with an alarmingly enchanting smile that Deku has always been known for.

If Deku was a pokemon, this would be one of his abilities. (Deku used ‘Cute boy-next-door-charm’ IT WAS SUPER EFFECTIVE!)

The party hall is pretty big, so there are corners that are empty. Deku takes him to one of those corners.

There's no one there that can hear him, but Deku excitedly lowers his voice and leans to whisper next to Katsuki's ear. It reminds him of a five year old Deku, with bruises on his knees but at the same time, breathless and delighted to tell Katsuki about the bird's nest he just discovered.

“Kacchan, I was wandering around,” Deku flails his arms excitedly, “...then I found the kitchen and guess what!” There’s so much giddiness and happiness in his voice that Katsuki can’t help but grin back.

Deku takes out two ziplock bags from inside his suit, “I MADE US KATSUDON SANDWICHES!!”

“Oh my god!” Katsuki’s stomach makes a sound (similar to what the velociraptors make) at the sight of the sandwiches. “You have no idea how hungry I am, Deku! I can eat a whole fucking horse!”

Deku hands him one of the sandwiches and proceeds to hurriedly unwrap his own. Apparently, he’s not the only one hungry in this stupid party.

Katsuki takes a bite of his immediately and his tastebuds are greeted by that familiar creamy and tangy spice, “Whoa! Samurai sauce?! Where did you find it?!” his eyes widen to big saucers. Samurai sauce is like spicy mayo, but tangier. Katsuki puts it on almost all of his sandwiches when they visited the Netherlands for a mission. But it's not sold in Japan, last he checked.

“Of course! I was lucky I found it in kitchen here! Maybe the chefs keep it for international dishes. I was just looking for any spicy sauce. Then I saw this, and I was like, Jackpot!! Samurai sauce!!” Deku takes another bite and hurriedly chews, “I knew you’d like that!”

Spicy katsudon with samurai-sauce sandwich, thoughtfully made by Deku--Katsuki can’t ask for anything more wholesome and sweeter than this.

“Thanks for rescuing me again from that.” He nods his head to the direction of the female celebrities. “Did you sense it or something?”

“Heh, I don’t need a quirk to sense that you’re in danger.” He sticks his tongue out at Katsuki.

“You mean THEY were in danger FROM me. I could have blown their heads off and this whole party.” Katsuki finishes the last bite of his sandwich.

“..which you won’t do because we have to keep everyone happy and we want our agencies handsomely sponsored.” Deku finishes his sandwich too, “Don’t worry Kacchan. I’ll save you all the time.”

Katsuki knows deep in his bones that Deku will keep that promise forever.

“Like hell you will. This is the only time you save me. From now on, I’ll do the saving for both of us.” He takes Deku’s hand and silently thanks every possible god listening right now for this genuinely good thing in his life. “Come on, sandwich wizard. Let’s get some drinks.”

Well-fed, in good company and happy, Katsuki promises himself that he’ll marry this man someday.

A few years later, surrounded by their closest friends and family, he fulfilled his promise to himself and to Bakugou Izuku.

---🧡💚 ---

Did you know that this was inspired by the song I Don't Care? I just think about Kacchan wanting to escape a stupid party, but he'll gladly stay as long Deku is there.

Original thread in Twitter here.

[yeehawmeowqing]

Hi it's the anon from the other day! There's so many that I like but my favorites are the one where FQ and MQ are secret roommates and the one where WY keeps stealing LZ's stuff. I didn't see those ones on ao3, but maybe I missed them

hello my lovely anon! you are correct, those particular threadfics have yet to make it to ao3 (very few have if I'm being honest 😭) but I can make it happen for you 😌

I'm especially fond of the wangxian stealing each other's stuff one (it was very fun to write and I was disappointed it didn't get as much attention on twitter as I'd hope 😔) and it's rather short so I should be able to get that one up soon!

I'm surprised I still have followers that remember my fengqing threads though, that makes me very happy 🥹 it was a wild ride and I never thought I'd write something in multiple updates like that but it really just grew into its own beast. because it's much longer it'll take more time to get edited and ready for ao3, but I'll make it the next priority!

my life is kinda crazy so it could be weeks or months even, but I'll do my best!! thank you so much for supporting my writing 🥺💚

[casualbirdscribbles]

what’s the tumblr word for ‘threadfic?’

post-part 3 jotapol, erotic dreams, pining

jotaro sleeps easy like this, with his head on jean-pierre’s breast. with jean-pierre’s warm hand petting his shoulder and back, with jean-pierre’s soft singing in his ear.

tonight jean-pierre is murmuring a medley of old love songs. jotaro doesn’t know this. they’re in french and he’s asleep.

and it’s good. his breath is rythmic, like the tide of a tiny ocean. the furrow in his brow has settled out, his ever-present frown has softened.

jean-pierre is bad at denying himself, so he watches jotaro’s face in the half-light. his eyes shift and flick under the lids. he’s dreaming.

jean-pierre is bad at denying himself, so he wishes that he could have jotaro like this all the time.

he thinks that jotaro is precious.

and then more so when jotaro’s breath starts to tremble. when the soft space between his brows tightens up, just slightly, when his body twitches against jean-pierre’s…

jean-pierre goes silent. softly, he smiles; softly he palms the burl of jotaro’s shoulder.

and then jotaro’s body shifts again, fitting their bodies together seamlessly and–

oh.

jotaro is overwarm, half-hard where he’s pressed against jean-pierre’s thigh. he shivers with the contact.

jean-pierre shivers, too.

jotaro’s feverish hips stutter up against jean-pierre again, rutting against the softest part of his thigh. and the broken sigh that escapes him…

jean-pierre wants to wake him. jean-pierre wants to hold him closer, wants to press his hand to the small of jotaro’s back to show him that it’s all okay. he wants to praise him, bring him off gently, calm his body down.

but even if jean-pierre is terrible with self-denial, jotaro isn’t. he’s a master of the austere art, and–

and he has a wife.

his wedding band is on the nightstand, and if jean-pierre moves he will tarnish it.

and jotaro is mumbling in his sleep, it spills out of him with each little cycle of his hips, each press of his cock against the curve of jean-pierre’s thigh.

jean-pierre can’t make out the words and–he doesn’t know who jotaro is talking to.

just that his voice goes taut and shiny like broken glass, that his fingers curl tight in jean-pierre’s sleep shirt.

jean-pierre’s palm is still, sweating as it cups jotaro’s shoulder.

the wedding band is on the nightstand, and they’ve never talked about this before–it’s silent and secretive, soft touches to sate the skin hunger, and–

and jotaro is whining in his sleep, jotaro needs this.

‘sshh,’ breathes jean-pierre. it’s barely even voiced. ‘you’re alright.’

jotaro’s breath spills into a sigh. jean-pierre can feel him throbbing.

‘mon ami, does it feel good?’

(or does it ache, like jean-pierre aches–)

jotaro doesn’t answer. he only clings.

and jean-pierre is so, so still.

‘you’re alright, you’re alright, you’re alright.’

it’s all that he can say, and so he says it until his mind bends around the letters, until the sounds slip from his tongue, and jotaro ruts.

deeply, now. long, insistent strokes of his hips. his body is curled into jean-pierre’s like he can scrub out the seam between them.

his breath is labored, a jagged counterpoint to jean-pierre’s chant, and then he breaks.

and his body is a tense, trembling arch and he’s twitching, spilling heavily against jean-pierre’s thigh and jean-pierre can almost feel the release.

almost, and then jotaro settles, his body slumping away, and there is nothing to do but lie still.

[mathanlin]

Hero AU where school counselor!Phil has to deal with… interesting students.

Namely, the three boys he sees constantly bickering in the hallways.

And slamming cars into each other on the news.

Ridiculously, none of them know who the others are.

But Phil notices the *moment* new young vigilantes start popping up. The trio’s dropping grades, spotty attendance, and injuries only confirm it.

Or, y’know. Tommy mumbling, “What would you do if you were a hero?”

Phil helps in the least obvious ways he can.

Modifying their grades to be a bit less suspicious, leaving out ice packs by his office door (easy to steal), writing late passes without a bit of resistance.

But he can only be so subtle.

“So, Red.”

Tommy’s head jerks up. 

Phil almost laughs. “You’ve heard of him, huh? I figure he’s your favorite.”

Tommy shifts awkwardly in his chair — readjusting the wound Phil knows lies beneath his sweater. “Better than the fuckin’ Blade.”

Techno. Honors student. Flawless GPA. Volunteer. And vigilante.

Far closer to a villain.

“If only I could give the Blade a lecture,” Phil says, unable to stop a chuckle, and barely managing to not say, *You two have to stop beating the shit out of each other.*

Eventually, Phil gives up on subtlety & calls them all down to his office.

“So. I heard you’ve been getting into fights.”

Wilbur, drama kid — or Siren, smooth-tongued — is the first to act, eyes widening. “I’m sorry, sir?”

Then Techno. “Mr. Watson, I would *never.*”

“Then what’s that?”

Phil nods to the bruise beneath Techno’s turtleneck — from a hit Siren landed. Then, to Wilbur’s knuckles, ever so slightly battered.

And neither seem to notice a thing. 

Phil pinches his brow, sighing.

“Alright. Then Tommy. Care to explain the state of your shoes?” (Burnt, melted from running through rubble the Blade had created.)

*There* it is. Techno frowns, leaning back to peek — and Tommy quickly tucks his feet beneath the chair.

“Nothing.”

“Where were you all last night?”

Every single kid tenses. 

And starts rambling out excuses.

“I was— studying, of course—”

“Well, *I* was trying to get ice cream, and that bitch the Blade showed up—”

“Bitch?” Techno cries before catching himself. “I think you mean *Red* and *Siren*—”

“What the fuck?” Wilbur splutters. “Siren was trying to calm those two fuckers down—”

“Boys,” Phil says. “Look. All three of those heroes would be better *together,* right? Not fighting, not hurting each other?”

“Maybe,” Tommy finally mumbles, toeing at the floor, “but… why are we talking about heroes?”

Phil tips back in his chair, face in hands.

“Come on. Someone figure it out.”

Silence. 

Phil groans. “Wilbur, you quit band two months ago. Techno, Tommy, who showed up two months ago?”

More silence.

“Uhh… I don’t know.”

“Techno,” Phil says, almost desperate. “You tutor Tommy, right? What happens after he disappears from your lessons?”

“I… go home,” Techno lies. 

Phil lets out an exasperated sigh. “No, you go where *he* goes. And where’s that?”

Tommy’s eyes start to narrow.

“You like Greek shit. Like… the Blade,” he says quietly, staring at Techno. Then, at Wilbur. “And *you’re* a pretentious bastard. Like *Siren.*”

Phil raises an eyebrow, fighting a smile.

“And you’re a little shit,” Wilbur snaps, then— pales. “Like… Red?”

“*There* we go,” Phil says, letting out a sigh of relief. “Now, I have a plan. If you three work together, I truly believe that—”

It’s a shame Phil’s office is so tiny.

There’s no room for three vigilantes to sufficiently beat the shit out of each other.

.

.

.

Just the idea of the three of them curled up at Phil’s, working on homework before heading off to fight crime (together, for once). 

Phil being their “man in the chair” (even if he directs them to safer areas, too worried for anything more).

And of course, the best (worst?) part of being a school counselor — the actual *counseling.*

Except it’s not about what classes to take, or bullies to avoid.

It’s holding Wilbur as he sobs after killing his first villain to protect his brothers. (Because that’s what they are, now). 

It’s comforting Techno as he fails his first class, too busy with heroics to focus or study. 

It’s reassuring Tommy when his brothers get hurt, always ready to defend their youngest.

And it’s crying like a father when they graduate.

It’s *loving* them like a father, his home always open to them, filled with medical supplies and bedrooms for each kid, newpaper clippings pinned proudly on the fridge.

There’s a reason the city’s strongest trio of vigilantes always protect one specific man.

[yuzuuu4]

1.2 boutta fuck me up

[phoenixtakaramono]

The Premise of this Threadfic: Homelander suckles on Billy Butcher’s d!ck until the stress and white noise in his evil blond head is gone. That’s it. That’s the plot.

CW: ⚠️🔞, some surface level Homelander whump because I think he deserves a lil pampering after the new episode. Vaguely inspired by The Boys 04x04 and Butcher’s gorgeous manly tatas

(You can read the rest of it here!)

If you don’t have a Twitter account, screenshots are provided below the line break so you can read this update on Tumblr as well:

A/N - I can't believe this threadfic has its own behind-the-scenes backstory, but the first 25 tweets of how this threadfic initially started had been very different from what you see in this version. It was full of poignant lore and future S4 speculation, a dive into HL's psyche regarding his traumatic upbringing, and commentary about Compound V causing madness and tragedy to tie into what'll happen to Hugh Sr, ect.… It’d been saved in my Drafts; I’d been ready to click “Post All” after I found the perfect GIFs for the starter tweet. But then I'd accidentally pressed "DELETE" instead of "Save”—and all that work, vanished. Banished to the ether. RIP to what could've been. 🥲 I wasn't about to retype all that in my second attempt so I ended up simplifying it. And that's how we arrived here. :) Hope y'all enjoyed regardless! <3

[azu1as]

—tangchung au where chung myung travels back in time

»—————————–✄

The Dark Saint was missing.

This was a secret that the Tang Family worked to keep hidden for over three years. Given Tang Bo’s well-renowned strength, they dismissed quite easily his absence as another one of his undeclared travels.

But then several months went by with nary a letter or word from him.

None of the Tang Family contacts from other villages have heard or seen the Dark Saint even in passing.

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint was hardly the most forthcoming either.

If the anxious and concerned looks that were casted towards the said man’s way from his own martial siblings were any indication, it seemed that he was also taking the Dark Saint’s disappearance quite hard.

He would snap at anyone who dared to broach the topic with him and, from what they could glean from the Sect Leader, the Sword Saint had been disappearing for prolonged periods of time.

It was assumed that he was using that time to look for Tang Bo. Nobody bothered him about it because he always seemed less tense and more relaxed whenever he returned from one of those trips—a major improvement from his constant erratic state as of late.

The Tang Family Head let out a deep exhale. They can't reveal to the world this weakness, it took several arguments within the family to even try and approach Mount Hua about this.

He only hopes that wherever Tang Bo is, he's safe and alive.

.......

Hidden in one of the caves on Sheer Drop Cliff, known to be the deadliest mountain in Mount Hua, a man silently stirs awake.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t return earlier,” the Plum Blossom Sword Saint apologizes to the blindfolded man. His footsteps echo inside the space.

His prisoner strains his wrists against the immortal cable bindings that kept him leashed within the confines of the cave.

“Tsk, don’t hurt yourself, Tang Bo-ya.”

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint places his hand against the other man’s cheek, silently observing as Tang Bo stiffens at the contact.

He gently unties the gag that stopped the man from shouting and making any noise, relishing in the desperate gasps and the sight of dried drool on the man’s lips.

“Hyung,” Tang Bo squeezes out, voice scratchy and dry from disuse, “why…?”

Chung Myung’s eyes darkens at the reminder of the impending battle that was set to occur in a few days time.

'I’ll fight by your side.' A lie.

He doesn’t answer Tang Bo, unknowingly tightening his grip on the man’s face. If Chung Myung hadn't taken these measures, he would have lost Tang Bo again.

Tang Bo’s soft whimper draws him out of his thoughts. He tugs away the blindfold and, softening his hold, gently kisses away the tears of pain that threatened to spill over Tang Bo’s eyes.

He feels goosebumps rise up where Tang Bo’s breath met his skin.

The Plum Blossom Saint is filled with the satisfaction and relief curling in his gut. The knowledge that his Tang Bo was safe from harm and will always be within his reach gives him a heady rush of euphoria.

“As long as you’re with me, you’re safe.”

.......

Tang Bo sits up and looks down at the sleeping Chung Myung curled up beside him, an arm thrown over his hips as if to cage him further.

He watches the slow rise and fall of the man’s chest, the way his brows were furrowed the slightest bit, and the dark eye bags that shadowed his face.

Like this, Chung Myung looks unguarded and vulnerable. It would be oh-so easy to stick a poisoned needle into his throat.

Tang Bo purses his lips to stop the bubbling laughter from escaping his lips. He leans over Chung Myung, his index finger easing away the other man’s frown.

“Really, Dosa-hyung,” Tang Bo whispers against the Sword Saint’s lips, “I never could have expected this.”

When the Plum Blossom Sword Saint broke into Tang Bo's bedroom inside the Tang Family Estate with a frenzied look in his eye, Tang Bo immediately went on high alert.

He didn’t expect his friend to draw out his sword and knock him unconscious.

When he woke up, it was to the sight of a strangely well-furbished cave, its opening leading to nothing but a horizon of sky and clouds.

Tang Bo tensed once he realized the presence of the immortal cable bindings wrapped around his limbs. He heard footsteps coming his way and immediately shouted out, “Hyung, I—mmph?!”

Tang Bo’s body instinctively flinched back at the sudden proximity of the other man who proceeded to wrap a gag around his lips. He gives Chung Myung a completely bewildered look.

A dark expression passes Chung Myung’s face as he began muttering broken phrases, “—can’t die—keep safe—not even Mount Hua—“

Tang Bo couldn’t make single sense of it in the moment.

But it doesn’t take him long to understand that there was something very, very wrong with his Chung Myung.

In the weeks and months (he couldn’t keep track) that follow after, he witnessed Chung Myung treat him with equal parts gentleness and possessiveness.

Sudden and stolen kisses that left him breathless and panting. Dark words and equally dark looks that sent shivers down his spine.

It wasn’t far-fetched to say that something or someone broke his Hyung-nim. And this was the result.

But—

Tang Bo drew the other man close, possessively leaving a bite mark on the man’s ear.

“Ah, Chung Myung, I’m so happy that you also want to be mine~<3”

[mthlg]

mmmmmm.... cisswap moshang... sqh creates mbj with all the traits from women she's had an unrequited thing for (cold, distant, and Not Into Her... the perfect woman). sqh who transmigrates in and gets trapped in the wlw "are we dating???" zone. 

sqh who grew up unlucky in the world of relationships... with one middle school girlfriend, and too many nattainable crushes on girls who were straight or taken or both... and then suddenly life being too busy and money becoming her primary incentive…

sqh writing pidw as a reverse-harem novel where luo binghe becomes the empress of the two realms, picking up man after man along the way... the black-powder sy criticising pidw SPECIFICALLY for how lbh jumps between men when she deserves one faithful companion (coughs) 

that faithful companion, of course, is mbj - the elegant and ruthless leader of the northern wastes. cold to the touch, gorgeous, loyal (and in sqh's deleted notes, completely and uselessly in love with lbh). 

(sqh always felt bad that mbj's love was destined to never be returned. but mbj is For Her. the readers could have lbh, or whatever boy of the month was in the spotlight. mbj is sqh's.)

sqh (as she does in most universes) tumbles headfirst into pidw, and into mbj's life, and her own complicated too-long plot. she goes through her whole life a second time - her shitty family, her transition, and this time a weird friend-servant relationship with a hot demoness- 

…then there’s the situationship. 

even in the early days, when mbj had been young and expressed her feelings through violence, she’d been… handsy. affectionate wasn’t the right word - that would denote some kind of care behind it! - and really it’s just… tactile. 

mbj is essentially a seven-foot snow leopard. when she naps, she traps sqh under at least one ice-cold limb. she manhandles sqh by gripping the fleshy part of her waist, the soft of her arm, and once (terrifyingly) the squishy part of her thigh. 

these days (with her black-powder fan having married her protagonist, and her queen having taken control of the north, and most things having calmed down) sqh spent more time in the demon realm than her own house. 

if sqh does try to get work done on an ding, mbj is guaranteed to show up within a few hours. she’s learned to wear a full set of robes in her leisure house, thanks to the single time mbj teleported in while she was only wearing her undergarments. 

sqh’s leisure house alone is littered with items mbj has left behind - paperwork that should probably be top-secret, a litany of hair pins, even one of her old fur-lined cloaks sqh has taken to snuggling with in winter. 

if mbj has a banquet, sqh is there. if mbj wants to go hunting, sqh is there. if mbj so much as wants to take a nap, sqh has to be there underneath her, like a squishy little heat-pack. 

…sqh has created a demon with attachment issues!!!

sqh thinks, when she wrote demons in her original novel, that she probably did make them so clingy. the men she had lbh tumble with always followed her after, wanted more, tried to stay safely in her pocket. mbj, originally, was always by lbh’s side too - but that’s different! she was in love with lbh!

sqh thinks maybe, when she’d been lonely with nothing but a body pillow to keep her comfort, that she’d subconsciously written this level of attachment in. sue her for wanting companionship, okay! 

sqh thinks about all of this one evening, as she sits in an ornate chair beside mbj’s in the banquet hall. beside her, mbj picks at her food with her long, black-tipped claws, looking as proud and cold as ever. 

…ahh, sqh really did a good job when she created mbj. the prominent arch of her nose, the bone-white of her skin contrasted with her thick, dark hair, the blue mark pulsing on her forehead. every part of mbj broadcasted danger, down to the sharpened tips of her teeth. 

as if feeling sqh’s staring, mbj slates her gaze down, pinning sqh with her unreadable icy-blue eyes. she makes a low, confused noise in the back of her throat. 

“is the food not to your liking?” she says. when mbj speaks, her voice thrums with power - she doesn’t have to project, or raise her voice, to be heard. 

sqh flounders instantly in response. “ah, my queen- it’s fine! i’m just in thought!” 

that’s another thing - the cooking!!! since sqh had hit her and asked for noodles, mbj’s been giving her little personalised meals! just her! god knows who even taught that woman to cook! 

“are you feeling unwell?” mbj continues. “would you like to return to our chambers?”

….AND, of course, since sqh still has no room in the northern kingdom, she’s been bunking with mbj!!! in mbj’s bed!!! all wrapped up in fifty thousand blankets to withstand the demon ice pack next to her!!! 

with all the attention, and the closeness… it’s so easy to jump to conclusions. but sqh knows women. she’s jumped to conclusions with women before. and this mbj - the woman who was /created/ to be unattainable - this couldn’t be- 

“my queen, is this banquet not important?” sqh babbles. “the southeastern clan - would that not be detrimental to the trade agreement?” 

mbj assesses her with her eyes and hums again. “deal with it, then.” 

sqh chokes back a short laugh, which has mbj quirking her lips. she finds it in herself to eat. 

the banquet itself is… fine. they’re negotiating sanctions with the southeastern tribe, who offer their lumber and materials in exchange for military support. the leader of the clan is a young, amicable man, who had been pushed down by lbh in the original pidw thanks to…. well, pollen. 

sqh had spent the last week or so helping mbj with the trade agreements, sitting in on meetings and trying to find the best outcome for her queen. the southeastern leader - called xiao-yin affectionately by his subordinates - had seemingly taken a liking to sqh. 

…though not quite as tall as mbj, xiao-yin towered over sqh. it was not infrequent that some warring demon took interest in the sole human in a way that made sqh feel like she was being sized up for a meal. sometimes, it seemed that the demons had simply never met a human before. 

it usually amounts to nothing… also, mbj seems to notice sqh hiding behind her enough that she intuitively scares them off. some, like this xiao-yin, seem to be rather persistent.

three times, the young leader tries to lean over mbj to start a conversation with sqh. each time, mbj follows his movement to block his view, offering sqh more wine or openly feeding her muachee. xiao-yin only laughs gamely and attempts to drag someone else into conversation. 

sqh revels in the attention. hey, it’ll amount to nothing, but it still feels great to have a hot demoness fawning over you! plus going along with it seems to calm the tension building in mbj’s shoulders. she would hate to see her queen stressed!!!

the feast reaches its ending point. the courtiers from the southeastern clan begin giving their thanks - they are a nocturnal clan, living in the depths of a giant forest, and will be leaving during the night.

it’s customary to offer the final round of parting gifts at this moment. when xiao-yin finally steps up to give his dues, a flurry of servants quickly follow after him, carrying what must be their offering. 

sqh examines it while the man talks. it seems to be a gigantic, spotted pelt - the tusked ash-leopard, she guesses, a type of megafauna only found in that mega-forest she made the hell up one day. it is, in fact, an ostentatious gift. 

mbj assesses it and hums. it’s a very bored hum. mbj clearly wants them to leave already.

“your grace, such a generous gift!” sqh rushes to say, lest mbj offend their guests. “my queen accepts warmly. and for our gift, we’ve prepared you-” 

“if i may interrupt, we have no need for a gift,” xiao-yin interrupts. 

sqh chokes. “um-?? but we-”

“i have only one request from queen mo,” xiao-yin continues. “the most generous gift she could bestow upon us is the advisor shang.” 

“...what,” sqh says. 

“i have seen that advisor shang is competent and intelligent,” xiao-yin continues, “and rest assured i do not ask for her politically; but rather that advisor shang might become my consort. we could make arrangements for her to visit, i’m sure. this is my only request.” 

sqh opens her mouth to argue, and shuts it again. she’d love to reject him flat out - she’s sure mbj might let her - but even without looking, she can feel waves of icy rage pouring off her queen. 

“clan leader yin,” mbj starts - and whoahhh, her voice has dropped to a growl, and if that isn’t /hot/ - “i understand, in your little clan, you are revered. but you must be delusional to ask for the hand of my wife.” 

sqh chokes, as does xiao-yin. the man seems to rapidly pale at his mistake, and he opens his mouth to fix it, but mbj keeps talking. 

“asking for possession of my wife is the gravest insult your clan could have made - the assumption both that i would ever allow consort shang to leave my line of sight, and that she would take your offer, is astounding. our trade is off.” 

“but lady mo-” 

“leave now, before i raze you and the remainder of your clan to the ground.” 

xiao-yin shuts up and finally follows orders. the clan speeds out of the door. as they leave, sqh sees mbj beckon her general closer; she has half a mind to warn mbj away from starting an unnecessary war, but she’s still stuck on the whole…. wife-thing. 

…wife?

as her brain comes back online, sqh realises mbj is holding her arm in an almost crushing grip, nails piercing into her skin. wincing, sqh blindly pets the hand, peeling it away; she uses the grip on mbj’s hand to lead her out of the hall and towards their chambers. 

mbj, she realises, is shaking. 

sqh gets mbj seated on her bed. she takes off her outer layer, trying to smooth her shoulders out. then, she sits behind her to attack the complicated hairstyle mbj had been forced into for the event, methodically loosening the series of braids at the back. 

after a long moment, mbj speaks. “...he deserved it.” 

sqh chokes a little bit. “i’m sure he did, my queen. it’s only-” 

“don’t tell me you wanted to go with him,” mbj snaps. 

“of course not, my queen! i just meant - you didn’t have to lie!” 

mbj tenses. sqh pauses mid-braid, wondering where she’d made the error. 

“to ask for a member of your staff is- a grave injustice alone!” she babbles. “but you didn’t have to pretend we were /married/ to humiliate him!” 

there is a very long, frozen moment of silence. and then, slowly, mbj says: “...we /are/ married.” 

what. 

“what?” 

mbj twists to face sqh. sqh lets the hair slip from between her fingers, and mbj quickly takes sqh’s now-empty hands into her own cold ones. they’re so much larger, sqh thinks dumbly - and the black tipped nails would look great-

“we are married,” mbj says again. “you are my wife. we have been married under the laws of the mo clan for over six moons.”

“since when!” sqh yelps. 

“since i ascended,” mbj says. “you did not know? i thought you were aware and just-” 

mbj trails off. sqh narrows her eyes and thinks about the last six months - the moping when sqh took time off to go to an ding, the increasing amount of contact, scaring off suitors, the entire wardrobe of clothes- 

“you thought i knew and didn’t want to-!!!” sqh yells. she instantly grips mbj’s hands back and leans forward, determined to bully it into her any way possible. “my queen! of course i do! i thought /you/ weren’t interested! i thought you saw me as a friend!” 

mbj makes a face. “i do not hug my friends.” 

“wow, there’s so much to unpack there but that’s not important right now.” 

sqh drops mbj’s hands and hurriedly tries to climb into her lap, pushing at her shoulders. “quick - quick!!! i know now, so you should just-” 

mbj pushes sqh back onto her bed - because somehow, after years of sucking at love and romance, sqh has managed to bag a hot ice-cold demon wife who actually wants her back. 

(their first time still sucks, because mbj is a stone top with talon-length nails, but they’ll work it out.)

[inspired by this art by jojo!]

[nooterino]

Reverse au where airplane transmigrates as sqh, a weak demon and minor character that rises as king of the northern kingdom with sketchy tactics, and then is killed soon after by mbj, lord of the AnDing peak

Sqh was working for mbj as a spy in the demon realm and that's the only reason why he stayed alive for that long. So here's airplane trying to survive as demon, using his speciality in patheticness. Then he meets an unconscious injured mbj in the demon realm.

He considers killing him but can't, so he saves his life and begs to work for him like the little critter he is. Mbj somehow agrees but doesn't trust the demon even after he saved his life and made sure nobody tried to eat him in the demon realm. Oh welp.

Consider Mbj thinking that sqh is an incubus and is trying to seduce him: "your tactics won't work on me" Sqh, looking up from his spy notes with a nervous smile, thinking that mbj refers to his weak ice demon powers: ok? Mbj, internally: fuck, his power too strong.

Basically mbj thirsting over smol demon sqh, and sqh trying to stick to mbj as much as possible because everyone wants his title as heir of a throne he didn't even ask for.

[xianthepiper]

wangxian social media au where wwx, chaos incarnate, returns from his two-month suspension, becomes the talk of the town, and promptly decides to join the school publication team. oh and he’s exes-but-not-really-no-one-knows with lwj, who’s a student athlete.

i’d initially planned to post this on twt as a thread before i found out about the shitty update

should i??? or should i not…??

[minryll]

Although Xie Lian could not appear before Hong’er as his prince and god, on days where offerings to Taizi Dianxia are scarce and Hong’er has no food to eat from Xie Lian’s roadside shrine, a pearly white stoat appears, delivering nuts, berries, and meat.

At the height of his power, it takes almost no effort at all for Xie Lian to create clones, especially one that is just a weasel whose consciousness lingers in his periphery. On days where delivering rain to Yong An felt especially fruitless, he can take some comfort from knowing that he was able to care for at least one of his followers.

When night falls, Stoatlian curls into Hong’er’s chest. Warms him with his spiritual power. He knows that Hong’er would not ask him for warmth otherwise, would rather freeze and starve than take anything from his god, so he gives what little he could as discretely as he could. No one else knows about Xie Lian’s secret, which is fine by him. He’d rather not incur the wrath of the heavens. (No. That comes later.)

Unbeknownst to him, Hong’er could recognize Taizi Dianxia in any shape and form.

Close up:

[ruumirmir]

hii i just wanted to say I LOVE your colorful artstyle 🧡💗💗 can I make an art req of blue kaveh. the one with watery hair? 👀 Sadly i havent seen much art of him nowadays

As for the reference,, i have a few pics in mind that i've sent in your dms!!

Thank you sm for the req anon!!! (❁´◡`❁) Not the most polished artwork but i had so much fun coloring his hair Can you tell,, i hope you like bluveh <3 Also You're so based I Loved the era of red and blue haikaveh

[corvus--rex]

This got a pretty "meh" response on the bird app. Let's see how it does here. This is parts 1 & 2 as of right now

~~~

pt 1

Ever think that the tight clothes, gloves, tiny jacket that does absolutely nothing are because Keith believes he doesn't deserve care, comfort, softness? Lance hadn't, until he really noticed Keith's body language for the first time after the Blade trials. The tightly crossed arms, how he kept himself separated from everyone else even when in the same room, how he always looked ready to bolt at the slightest whisper. He kept everyone at arm's length, reinforcing that distance with sharp-tongued jabs and insults.

It got so much worse after Shiro disappeared. Keith's normally prickly at best exterior had been dipped in venom and no one could stop him from disappearing for hours in Red, scouring space for any sign of his missing brother. Lance couldn't even begin to articulate the relief he felt when it came time to have Black pick a new paladin. He didn't want Keith to be forced into a role he was in no fit state to be in and had already decided that he wanted it to be himself instead. Keith may be an asshole, but Lance cared about that asshole.

Lance reluctantly sat in the pilot's seat, running reverent fingertips over the controls. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, the silence of the cockpit holding the weight of a tomb until he finally let out a shaky breath.

"Hey, Black. I-I know you probably don't want me, but it's only me and Keith left, and I know what Shiro said about him leading the team if anything happened, but…I don't think he can do it, and I know I'm not the best option, but I'd rather it be me than him. He needs time to come back from this. He needs to be taken care of for once, and if this is only way I can do that, if it means I have to lead the team, I'll do it. I know I'm not as smart as Pidge or Hunk, but I'm stubborn as fuck and I'll get there. Just, please, let me take this on so he doesn't have to."

If the silence had been heavy before, now it was oppressive. Slowly, the weight became pressure, a focused pressure in the back of his mind, silence growing into a whisper. A soft purr rolled through the cockpit as the controls flared to life, filling the space with an ultraviolet glow.

Lance released the breath he'd been holding all at once. "Thanks. I'll give it my best."

He tried to get up, but Black's mental presence pushed him back down, the projected image feeling more real than illusory. He recognized the mechanical angelic wings from when Shiro had last flown the lion, but then the image shifted, a fully formed Voltron taking up his field of vision with similar but much larger wings. The feeling he got from Black was one of reassurance and a hint of things to come. With another soft rumble, the mental pressure dissipated, and Lance stood, Blacks head lowering as he walked down the ramp to the collective shouts and cheers from the team.

Lance couldn't help but notice one voice missing. Keith stood leaning against the wall but instead of the closed-off posture he almost always adopted, his arms hung limply at his sides, the shock on his face overshadowed by the tears of pure relief threatening to spill over. Lance shot him a small smile, one that said 'it's ok, I got you'. Keith understood, shooting one back in thanks as he wiped the tears away and slipped out without anyone else noticing. Lance watched him go, a realization just as startling as Black accepting him as his paladin hitting with the force of that very lion.

'Oh,'

Lance thought,

'Oh shit.'

He could barely hear the rest of the team over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

'I think I'm falling in love with him.'

-~-

pt 2

Lance tried to make the adjustment period as smooth as possible, but they were all dealing with Shiro's loss, all grieving in their own way, although none quite like Keith. He tried to accommodate him as much as possible - Lance knew too well the pain of losing family - but he still needed to run the team through drills, both on the training deck and in space, forming Voltron again and again until he was confident they could do it in the heat of battle, especially with Allura flying Blue.

Outside of training, Lance was having a harder time keeping his newly realized feelings in check. Keith was more closed off than he'd been in a while, so Lance kept an eye on him as best he could, inviting Keith to game and movie nights in the lounge, including him in more conversations during mealtimes, but never pushing, and always respecting the answers he got.

Keith had actually started to relax a bit, accepting invitations when he was up to it sitting alongside the team but not always participating in whatever they were doing that night, letting himself get drawn into conversations even if he wasn't actively adding anything, just listening. Lance was starting to think they were making progress, both as a team and with their healing process, until Thayserix.

They'd lost Lotor in the gas giant, and Lance had to watch as Red took off beyond the shortened range of Black's sensors. He knew Keith couldn't possibly hope to track Lotor through the gas, and landed on a nearby mineral structure to wait.

He couldn't contact the team, and there was nothing to see within visual range, so he was left with only his own thoughts. Lance thought about how he was handling leading the team - he was honestly a little surprised they'd accepted him as Black Paladin, but when Lance brought it up just after training one day Allura had said that Black chose him for a reason, just as all the lions had chosen their Paladins. Both Hunk and Pidge told him that they had been friends for a while, far longer than they'd been in space, he'd been their pilot back when they were a flight crew at the Garrison, and while he may have been a little unhinged, they trusted him then and they still did. Coran echoed all of their sentiments, adding that he understood how hard it was to push forward while so far from home and that he was genuinely proud of Lance for continuing on in spite of everything. Lance nearly broke down in front of the whole team, instead accepting one of Coran's patented Dad Hugs™.

What Keith had said surprised him. He'd gotten pulled into what became the group hug with Coran on Lance's other side, and when they broke apart, he'd said quietly, for Lance only, "Shiro trusted you. He'd be happy it was you to fly Black. I trust you too. Black picked you and I'm happy he did. You're a better leader than I could be."

The soft, /shy/ look on Keith's face made Lance's brain short-circuit. He scrambled to come up with something, anything, even remotely coherent as he watched Keith walk out with the rest of the team.

The only thought that came to mind was 'How dare he be that cute?' Lance froze. 'Oh I am so fucked.'

[mathanlin]

Fae/Foster AU where Fae aren’t trusted to speak for fear of making deals — and so each foster family is given the Fae’s name to immediately mute them. Like Tommy, the unwanted Changeling.

And yet the Watsons let him communicate.

By… writing on a cheap plastic whiteboard.

It’s an incredible gift. 

He’s practically giddy with joy, scrawling out words that someone *finally* listens to. And not just anyone — the kindest, sweetest people the world has to offer. 

And selfishly, Tommy wants more. 

“Thank you.”

He holds the whiteboard out to Phil after supper. He’s eaten their food & thanked them, gave them so much power. As if his name wasn’t enough. 

Phil… smiles. At *Tommy,* the inhuman, unwanted creature.

And that makes the silence worth it. 

Almost. 

Because it hurts. 

To not be able to laugh during meals. To not banter with Wilbur or ramble with Techno. (Even when they say, “You’re a great listener, Tommy.” 

Because that’s all he is.)

And to know that if he ever said, “I love you,” it would be accompanied by the acrid stench of the marker.

And silence. Always silence.

That’s what makes him desperate enough to try.

“Hey, mate.”

Phil turns around, halfway through a sink of dishes. His smile falters to a look of concern as he sees Tommy’s hunched, shaking frame.

And that concern evaporates as he sees the message scrawled on Tommy’s whiteboard.

“Can I have my voice back?”

Tommy’s stupid enough to hope.

That maybe a year with the Watsons was enough. That maybe he’d gained their trust through his quiet help & shaky smiles. By being *easy.*

But Phil’s face tightens, grip tightening on the silverware in his hand. 

They’re thinking the same thing, Tommy knows.

Fae are dangerous. It’s a good thing there’s iron everywhere — if worse came to worse, they could ward off Tommy with it.

(What Phil doesn’t know is that Tommy would let them. 

That he’d take the pain and rejection silently.)

“We need to talk.”

It’s not said to Tommy. It doesn’t involve him at all. Just Phil and his sons who he’s called to the living room, voice quiet as Tommy eavesdrops.

That doesn’t make the words any less gutwrenching. 

“You can’t let Tommy speak.”

The twins tense, but they… they don’t even argue.

Phil’s jaw tightens. “He tried to ask me. You two have his name, too, he’ll go after you next. We can’t risk anything.”

What isn’t said is, *He’s too dangerous to trust.*

But they all know it. 

Tommy somehow gets quieter.

Because horribly, it makes sense. The Watsons can’t risk their family falling into a dangerous Fae deal.

And even if they did give his voice back, he’d be different. Too loud, too bubbly, too desperate for their love.

So he cuts his losses.

“Just for one day.”

It’s Wilbur he approaches, months after Phil’s warning. The boy looks up at Tommy, his incredible, undeserved fondness masked by confusion.  

“One day for what?”

*To have my voice back,* is the true answer. 

But there’s more. So much more. *To say I love you. To call Phil Dad, just once. To call you and Techno my brothers. Just one day to speak, and all I’ll say is how much I love you.*

*I’ll be quiet after that.*

“To have my voice back.”

In the end, that’s all he writes. There’s not enough space to write out all those vulnerable truths, the stench of the marker making him dizzy.

And Wilbur’s face falls.

“Tommy.”

He sounds… doubtful. Tommy’s heart dares to rise, hands shaking as Wilbur stands, face drawn tight with grief, pain, and… guilt?

It only takes a second for that last emotion to make sense.

Because Wilbur snatches the whiteboard from his hands.

“You can’t be trusted with it.”

That’s Wilbur’s explanation as he stalks down the hallway, Tommy clinging to his side, mouth desperately forming muted apologies. 

And when Wilbur hands the whiteboard to Phil, those damning words still scrawled across it, Phil says the same.

That’s not the end of it.

The notebooks around the house are taken. So are any scraps of paper, loose pens, pencils, or markers.

And Phil, voice thick with grief, orders, “Tommy, don’t try to talk to us again.”

It didn’t have to be an order. Tommy would’ve listened.

But the end result is the same. Tommy stays silent, buried in his room, unable to even cry out. To ask for *anything,* let alone the chance to say, “I love you.”

And like this, he’s lost the chance to ever hear it, too. 

[gravitywonagain]

so i plotted a thing in the shower the other day... idk if i'll write it or not, but i thought it might be fun to share :)

~ working title: Villains in my Mind Doing Time ~

lwj is a detective who only works cold cases (for Reasons that will come up somewhere in the narrative, probably). he’s almost a year and a half into his latest case when he gets a call from a maximum security prison. they say an inmate there has info on his case and wants to share it. lwj is, understandably, a bit skeptical — especially when he sees the 35 year-old inmate who is supposed to have info on his 50 year-old cold case — but he figures he can check the info after and something is better than the nothing he currently has, even if it does send him on a wild goose chase.

wwx, when lwj meets him, is handsome and well spoken, if a bit angry and… kinda weird? but that’s okay. all of these things are workable. so lwj sits down and — after a rather odd tangent about the sensory experiences of murder, some nonsense about being a medium but only for serial killers, and rambling regrets about starting with the most recent cases because it would have been much easier to prove he wasn't involved in murders he wasn't alive for yet — gets what he came for: the name of the murderer.

(wwx is actually a ghost magnet, of a kind. he attracts serial killers, like, from wherever. idk if his mind is the manifestation of some level of hell through which serial killers atone for their sins or something, i honestly have not thought this that far through, so just bear with me, here.)

lwj takes this info home to follow up on and finds that it’s both more and less than he was hoping for. the name wwx gave him is of a man who was close to the family, certainly, but who was dismissed as a suspect after his first interview. nothing particularly ties him to the case, yet he was also not a man who was discussed in the news where wwx might have stumbled upon his name. there is, lwj finds, some merit to the idea that this person killed at the very least lwj’s victim and in all likelihood — and if wwx is to be believed — several more people.

however none of this information is actionable. it is at best circumstantial, at worst some nonsense accusation from a man who is serving life in maximum security. and the man in question has been dead for several years leaving no living family behind.

lwj goes back to the prison.

wwx is pleased to see him again and even more so to learn that lwj actually believes him and wants to hear more. he shares what he knows, but mostly what he has is a head full of memories that are very difficult to get down on paper. he draws some things, but what lwj really needs, he realizes, is to actually go to the scene, go into all the evidence, speak with family and friends of the victim, etc. all of this will be easier and more fluid if he can just take wwx with him so that he doesn’t have to act as some intermediary between the evidence and the supposed ghost.

lwj still isn’t quite convinced he’s not being taken for a ride, but he’s willing to take the risk of letting wwx out on heavily supervised furlough for a better shot at finally cracking this case and giving the family some peace.

wwx agrees to go on the very strict condition that he be returned to the prison that night. lwj of course agrees to this — that was definitely already the plan — and off they go.

during the first outing, the two are able to get a little bit deeper into the mystery, but they are both quite aware that what they are looking for is going to have been long buried and many people are dead, don’t remember, or don’t want to remember. this is going to take more than one furlough. but, as wwx did not attempt to escape or harm anyone (nobody really expected him to, he’s been a model inmate despite the crazy talk and night terrors for years now), the warden agrees to let lwj take him out again and again.

it’s on the third outing that they run into some trouble and have to spend a night away from home. wwx is intensely worried, but they are able to find a solution with the local municipal jail, borrowing a cell for the night for wwx to sleep in while lwj sleeps at an inn. everything is fine. lwj, out of curiosity, asks the municipal jail for the video of wwx at night and finds out that wwx has horrible nightmares, screaming and flailing in his sleep. this follows if what wwx tells him about hosting the ghosts of serial killers is true, but it also follows if wwx actually has a violent past that he is atoning for in prison. they manage to get a bit more info the next day, but are sure to make it back to the prison that night.

unfortunately, the next bit of information is set to take them much farther away from the city. they will need to road trip out to a pretty small town to meet up with someone, taking multiple days just to get out there, and will probably need to stay multiple days to get the info they need. initially, wwx is adamant that lwj can do this one on his own. lwj, however, has grown to rely on wwx’s unique insight into this case and manages to convince him to come along.

they make a plan, calling up all the jails on their way out there to ensure that they can borrow a cell for the night — not allowing wwx to sleep with anyone else in the room. of course, on their way out there, one of the jails fills up for the night and they have to improvise. they book two rooms at an inn and wwx convinces lwj to restrain him, tie him to the bed — sadly, for non-sexy purposes — and to bar all the exits he can. this is not a foolproof plan… but it works. wwx and lwj both have a rough night of it, but wwx doesn’t escape, doesn’t hurt anyone, and doesn’t hurt himself (too badly). they decide this is an acceptable backup solution, should the need arise again.

the need definitely arises again.

one of the reasons they are out here in this remote area is because the person they are tracking down is slated to attend an art festival nearby. the town hosting the festival is small enough that the draw is not huge, but robust enough to handle the influx of tourism for the next few days. this also means that, when the jail inevitably fills up on their last night in town, lwj and wwx have to share lwj’s reserved room. of course there’s only one bed, this is fanfiction.

so lwj ties wwx to the bed. at this point, he’s mostly sure that wwx at the very least knows things about this case that he shouldn’t be able to know. he’s open to some sort of medium-ship, though uncertain as to what that might mean, entirely. and he is pretty sure that wwx has been requesting such specific sleeping arrangements because he is worried about keeping lwj awake with his night terrors. lwj accepts a bad night’s sleep in return for literally any sleep — they got what they came for but it’s been a long few days — and decides he’s going to sleep in the same room as a bound wwx.

the thing about security cameras in police stations and municipal jails is that they are in black and white.

lwj wakes to a room bathed in a soft red glow and fingers wrapped tightly around his throat. the voice coming from wwx is not the one lwj is familiar with after days and days spent working together, spent talking in the car, over lunch, on the phone. it is deep and guttural, then high and sweet, then laughing and manic. all the while wwx’s body seems to fight itself — not quite strangling lwj, but not quite letting him go either.

luckily, lwj is a strong dude. he manages to break free and subdue wwx. the red fades from wwx’s eyes as soon as they blink open again and wwx shrinks in on himself so deeply lwj isn’t sure he’ll ever find him again.

slowly, painstakingly, lwj is able to coax wwx into the same car as him so they can drive back. wwx is quiet and subdued the entire time, eyes flashing to the bruising around lwj’s neck so much he considers stopping to buy a turtleneck despite the summer heat. each stop goes more or less as planned, though one of the jails has to move some people around to accommodate, and they are clearly less than pleased to do so, but wwx plays up the crazy criminal affect and they make it work.

they’re maybe an hour away from home when wwx suddenly jerks in his seat, eyes rolling back in his head — fully white, not glowing red — and trembling like a leaf. lwj pulls off the road, uncertain.

when wwx gasps back to himself a minute or two later, he’s agitated, urgent. he insists that lwj turn the car around. another killer just died, he says, and this time he’s not too late. the killer died unexpectedly and left some victims alive. he never gets this kind of chance, he says, to make a difference, to actually save someone.

they’re close, is the thing. close to the city, close to finishing lwj’s case. and lwj, fresh off being strangled by a possibly possessed wwx, isn’t the most inclined to veer off the path that will lead him first to his very comfortable bed and second to possibly closing his case. and there’s the niggling fear that wwx, having felt freedom and now being very close to the end of it again, has created a ruse that he will use to ultimately escape.

but wwx is very convincing. and, lwj realizes, he trusts him.

lwj turns the car around and heads in the direction wwx leads him. and wwx is right. they get to the compound just in time to save a young girl from starving alone where she’d been kept. the local police ask questions and wwx ends up almost on the hook for this again, but his whereabouts have been very accounted for over the span of time the crimes were taking place. it looks like he might be charged with accessory again, but given that he was instrumental in saving someone, the local police are fine releasing him back to the prison. they know where to find him, after all.

but, of course, they now have to spend a night in a hotel on the way home.

this time, both of them contend with the added factor that is a combination of the sexual tension between them too long unresolved and the adrenaline high of rushing off to save a life and succeeding. lwj hasn’t been this close to action in a long time, and now (?) is when we learn that he had himself relegated to cold cases and only cold cases because his last imminent case saw him hesitating to fire just long enough to get the victim killed, then opening fire on the suspect in retribution. wwx shares that nobody had ever trusted him like this before, not even his foster parents who had him committed to a mental hospital at fourteen.

and with that kind of day, how can they not have sex about it? it’s sweet and intimate and both of them confess things that the other probably doesn’t believe, but under the cover of night, everything feels like a dream. they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

when lwj wakes, wwx is gone—

just kidding, he’s just freaking out in a corner because he actually slept all night for once and what the fuck does that even mean???

they make it back home — wwx to prison and lwj to his apartment. lwj settles the case, finally able to tell a nephew who killed his uncle and give that family some long awaited closure. wwx settles back in prison, chafing a bit at the loss of freedom and at the loss of time spent with lwj, but pleased he’s been able to make some difference for once. or even twice.

then the prison gets a call from lwj. lwj and wwx smile at each other over the table at which they first met, and lwj lays out several folders while wwx closes his eyes to listen to the voices in his head.

[phoenixtakaramono]

Into the Butchlander Multiverse Threadfic - Part I

Tumblr Navigation: I | II

CW: 🔞 scene(s), involves 7 Butchers sandwiching 1 Homelander, spoilers for The Name of the Game, Truce, and my other butchlander AU threadfics these 5 Butchers originate from

(You can read the rest of the threadfic update here!)

If you don’t have a Twitter account, screenshots are provided below the line break so you can read this update on Tumblr as well:

(A/N) - This is the first batch. :) There'll probably be one or two more batch of updates on Twitter, before we can safely transition into the 🔞 spicy scene and I can bring those screenshots over here to tumblr. It's gonna take awhile before it can be brought over here so you can stalk my twitter acc for now for live updates to this threadfic.

I talked a lil bit about my ideas of where I'm planning to take this threadfic. You can read about it here and here. And here's the context:

The main focus is the 7 Butchers + 1 TNotG HL sandwich. After that, either I'll add the reverse of that (7 HLs + 1 TNotG Butcher) to this threadfic or create another multiverse threadfic. This is pretty much gonna be the first of several unofficial "non-canon compliant to the main story" spin-offs extras/ side-stories, but in threadfic format instead of extras injected randomly in the main story chapters on AO3 because I don’t wanna break the flow.

And here's some extra A/N bonuses that are super subtle but implied in the threadfic ;)

Read next part →