#will try posting next chapter this week

[plasticfangtastic]

Can We Be Lonely Together? Ch.7

A Homelander x Stalker! fanfic

This is a long chapter so beware.

check my blog for prev. chapters under #my fic tag or the title of this fic. this is a slow burn fic

This is a GN fic, and technically also a supe! reader fic... I leaned a bit on a male reader if am honest as this is a crack ship fic of sorts.

Author's note: I'm glad to be posting this again, had been on a holiday and it was kinda hard working on this fic, altho will say that editing a fic with smut in a plane next to a stranger is not a fun experience.

Sypnosis: You're a mind reading supe who has become enamored by Vought's number 1 supe, he just won't like the lenght you took to make yourself his favorite

R18+ blood, smut, anal play, stalking, murder mention, bit of fluff and Homelander is OOC in this chapter.

Chapter 7

Acts of Savagery

Edgar’s shadow loomed ever present inside the tower, Homelander felt trapped in a maze of monsters seeking his demise lurking on every corner, the list of those loyal to him slim, and there wasn’t a conversation gone unnoticed, the sudden bouts of background music filling offices had increased to a noticable degree even to non-supes. 

Everybody seeking to file him as incompetent and cause him ridicule, his only solace had become Ryan and the more days turned to weeks the more anxious he became, finding something abnormal in the way some watched his son– their fake politeness or over the top niceties kept him weerie, unable to confide with anyone his worries.

But then there was you… it was meant to be a mechanical exchange at first, these interactions nothing more than massages with happy endings, but at no point did you complained, your willingness to indulge him was beggining to break his brain.

Coming no matter the level of inconvenience, watching from afar across a dozen walls to study your reactions, expecting eye-rolls and bemoanings– witnessingnothing but tired grins and squeaky steps. Homelander began to act like a child testing his parents' limits, seeing just how far he could abuse you, seeking lines to cross but all had been drawn in sand by the shore. You were eager to meet him, making your schedule wrap around his, as if you already understood your place in this hierarchy, even Ashley and the remaining Seven offered resistance in these matters.

The more he studied it the less confusing it became in a sense... Your schedule consisted of working, eating good, working and him.

You made sure to keep a low profile, to not stand out.

Your home tastefully decorated, he had made a game of trying to figure out where the money went, your home had plenty but also nothing, you were boring on purpose but only on the surface.

Homelander entered thru the balcony, your home smelled like vanilla and your floors relatively clean, your pantries stocked with the fanciest ingredients money could purchase in this city, your cooking equipment just as expensive, a cursory look at your knife set online had set you back four figures-- letting out a loud ‘yowza’ after seeing the price tag, Homelander hurriedly placed the knife back, in this brief moment of free time in-between his daily patrols, Homelander found strange pleasure in invading your enclosure, feeling the softness of your velvety couch against his palms, touching your knick-knacks, and admiring the few art pieces. 

He made the way to your bedroom.

Your bed was smaller than he expected, your blankets disheveled , and your menu of pillows excessive– nobody needed more than six pillows to sleep.

A pile of clothes rested by the foot of the bed, catching himself before taking a whiff of your clothes looking for peeping-toms before bringing your shorts up his nose, the scent just as he remembered, from here he could see a handful of perfumes that didn’t match the scent he had grown familiar with, even spotting a half-used bottle on the rubbish bin offered him a clue of your decision process.

You had no photographs of family in this spacious two-bedroom loft at all, only a single photo of you and a latina by the kitchen wall as proof your existance,  Waltzing around back towards your kitchen Homelander opened your fridge.

He took a step back, spotting a note left inside.

“Maybe I’m crazy but if you do come while I ain't around feel free to eat? I always make too much. xoxo.”

He had been caught in a small felony, yet the victim welcomed him. Hunger was nothing he was entirely familiar with, his needs quite minimal in that department, he used to joke that all he needed came from the sun but his stomach spoke.

Neither could recall when was the first or last time somebody had cooked for him just for the sake of it, he opened the tupperware to find some leftover chicken marsala, plated even within the container, now the random fork and knife left by the breakfast table made sense, lasering it until the meat sizzled correctly he eat alone, making an impromptu treasure hunt for hidden messages addressed to him– had he missed other notes? He sat on your couch, a blanket bundle under him smelling of sea salt, and cherry blossom, the meal heavier than what he preferred but he had finished it all before he knew it.

He picked the remote, finding another post-it.

“Neighbors bitch too much about the volume.” Your sound system made him a tad jealous– leave the TV on so I know you came in.”

He left it off.

“You don’t think this is just a little off?”

“Though we established that Y/N was special.” John mentioned cringing at the end of his line.

“Oh they’re trying to sweeten you up…”

“Perhaps… this wasn’t too bad, either.” He places the dirty dishes inside the dishwasher– what do they want from me? They already got the trophy fucks… nobody is this strange if they don’t want something more”

“Talkign about Y/N or you?” His reflection spoke.

“Is a fantasy… we don’t need anyone else… not anymore. We have a family now!”

“But you still want the wife barefoot in the kitchen… making sunday roast and pies.”

His distorted self shrugged with a big smug smile from inside the faucet.

“You talking about me or you?”

He called you later that evening while Ryan trained downstairs under The Deep’s supervision, carrying a fistful of guilt in his stomach as he called you. Never mentioning why a copy of his house keys had found their way to your desk, simply showing up rushing straight into his arms, your weight always lighter than he expects, kissing you had become a minefield of strange sensations, your tongue eager and needy, and your lips always soft, your hands caressing his hair, never leaving it alone, pushing Homelander’s shoulder towards you desperately working to fade away all distance down to a cellular level.

This was supposed to be a cynical event… a simple release… now precious, you welcoming him at his neediest, Homelander testing your limits as he bit, nip, suckle and squeezed, it remained with him how your fading wounds appeared to be nothing but gifts from him to you, watching you attentively as you allowed each brand– a pit caved his chest, growing with anticipation, both itching to witness your rejections. How could it be that no matter how much he teased your paperthin flesh you appeared to encourage it? Homelander had a difficult time accepting this urge to see you deny him, to deject him, to despise him.  When you so tenderly spoiled him, cooing him lovingly, as he threw his tamtruns.

Always so easy to make pretty birds run away, he was too much, too heavy, too suffocating for them– just not to you… both men agreed you had the patience of a buddha.

He kissed your whole body with unspoken apologies, cradled you gently as he fucked you in his couch, praying that nobody could hear your guttural growls as he forced himself deeper into you, your legs intertwine to the matching pattern of your fingers on his scalp, not wanting him to breathe on his own without a taste of you, tasting your clean sweat, sniffing your hair, everything of you was so clean, nothing to bother him, nothing to overwhelm him, eagerly resembling him, leaving the room scented with him alone– leaving  apart of him trembling with fear… this had to be a vivid hallucination, another fabrication of an overactive imagination– too good to be true.

Breathlessly panting in his ear, as he fills you.

Your eyes are so wide, so adoring, so scary to him. 

Homelander had craved affection his whole life, he had craved attention, devotion, company… Why didn't this feel right? Had he secretly been lying to himself? 

Falling into your lips, tasting a sprinkle of your blood, your arms wrapped themselves around him, humming sweetly into his temple as you attempted to regain your strentght, petting him all the way down his neck, until both your heartbeats synched in relaxation.

“Would you like me to cancel your meeting?” 

He watched you dress, tidying your hair before one of the many mirrors holding your tongue as to not mention the remodelations.

“I can be late to my own meetings… like the dining table?”

“Eight seater, nice. This a single slab of Brazilian Rosewood?” 

He nodded pretending to know what that was… presumably you were correct, for he simply said ‘grand’ to the interior designer.

“Love these lines… I’m jealous. Is there something you wanted by the way?”

Caught against the wall, navigating aisles in his mind looking for urgent matters to discuss with the only soul he could confide with at this stage.

“I want Ryan to go to a proper school… tutors are all over my place, and those vultures hovering around are annoying. I’ll let you hand something special to your owner if you can give me a suitable list of schools for Ryan. Nothing public, we aren't savages! Dunno if there’s any Supe schools other than Godolkin.”

“Unlikely…” your brows furrowed, giving him a dirty look– finally liberating him, his was the fucking moment you showed your true colours– nothing wrong with public school… but Ryan is a special child… he’s yours. So he deserves the best your name can get him– I’m sure any school would beg for the honor. I’m sure the boy would be happy to see kids around him instead of boring salarymen.”

Your heart rate is steady.

“Ever wanted kids?” what the fuck did you just say you stupid– forg–

“Happy either way… assuming I live long enough to consider the possibility.” 

Watching you come to him, cupping his cheeks, he puffed his chest wanting to make himself appear calm.

“Thanks” your kiss was short and playful, nothing but butterfly wings against him– It will take me a while with your request, chief.”

“No pressure.” he fixed his posture as your hands left him– the chicken was good.”

It took you a second.

“Glad you liked it.”

You didn’t react at all.

“You don’t care I entered–

“Next time call me so I can cook for you, you need to try my carbonara is very indulgent”

Always leaving him confused.

Staying true to your words, boundaries made of glass and drawn in flowing rivers.

This emptiness all too familiar now felt crowded.

Loving you should be easy.

He bet it would be easy.

Walking in opposite directions catching the sound of your bones turning to catch a last glimpse of him.

Flying to your direction just to catch a final glimpse of you as you make it to the kitchen, looking around searching for his mess then signing happily as you find it in the dishwasher.

Homelander wanted to say the right things, to wooe you, to impress you if he could…

Entering the dark room you called an office, you type looking on information regarding some run-of-the-mill scumbag.

“Busy?”

“Just confirming the location of some human traffickers. It would be lovely if you could just fly all the way down to Laredo afterwards and just wait ‘til… seven? When they bring a truck full of hopefully not dead bodies. But not really”

“Sounds like you're busy.”

“It’ll be so good for your ratings. I got the address, or do you want me to call some local hero so they can look good instead of you? Mind you I’m just doing this to make the FBI look incompetent.”

“Mutually beneficial, then?” He leaned forward holding his weight on the back of your seat, catching a whiff of your perfume– Did Roman like my treat?”

“He wants your head on a platter. Didn’t do much but I told him I got something big brewing… I told him I thought you were unto me.”

“But I am.” He kissed your twitching aorta– what do you want to fuck me with?”

His kisses increased, painting a collar on your pristine neck, your eyes closed relaxing your shoulders letting him peck, one hand on your chin, and the other creeping under your shirt. 

In his mind just looking at you was enough to bother him, wanting every spare moment to both test you and relieve him, sex a tool against theoretical boundaries, you smiled… he was cute when he acted so childlish.

“Something nice and girthy.” You wouldn’t tell him of the thoughts swimming in the board members heads, you wouldn’t mention the bad room videos, you wouldn’t mention the not so unnamed women, but he could smell the adrenaline coursing through your veins– might be nothing… mi sol.”

Two words set him ablaze. 

Even as he rocks his head back, eyes struggling to stay open rolling back into his skull, even as your fingers and your hand fondle the most sensitive parts of his body, as he edges with your tongue elevating his shaft as your fingers squeeze ruthlessly, and pump him eagerly.

Twitching with excitement whenever somebody walked past the door, knowing of the spectacle the stranger would witnessed, as your mouth lubed his entrance, your hand eager to fill him, the stain in your pants growing wider, his head becoming light but awake regardless.

He wants your rejection.

Afraid of old habits.

Pleading to gods to stop teasing him with false hopes.

As his hand pushes your head lower, wrapping each ungloved finger with fistfuls of your hair, as you pull him closer unafraid of the creaking of your arm rest, he cannot bring himself to believe you’re a real person.

With a wet sharp whine he fills your mouth with thick cum, shaking himself clean on your lips, tapping your tongue with a now glistening tip, Homelander looks at you and those hazy eyes, wanting to kiss you.

“...y/n do you want to take a break with me?” his voice struggles to stay steady– I want to go check on Ryan… after I go stop those human traffickers of course.”

You nod, cleaning your lips.

“Its strange having somebody other than me to talk to?” his brother asks after the cameras stopped rolling– to look forward to talk to?"

This had been beyond a success this whole event resulting in a small amount of casualties, red and blue lights, and soon to be deported illegals, both could hear the ratings going up. 

"Not that Y/Ntalks much.”

“You like talking to Y/N too… this isn’t good isn’t it?”

“We can’t get attached. I don’t think they’ll be as bad as Maeve but… maybe… possibly.”

He’s flustered, shaking his head before departing. 

Homelander is already flying back home, knowing he will still get an attempt of an earful for entering  some other hero’s territory, but good luck telling him off– after all the CEO just saved a dozen people from a cartel, sure that had to count for something, fuck protocol.

He found you still on your desk, meandering on your screen while on company cent.

Your head turning before the doors even slid open, he caught a whiff of that oddity and shelved it for later.

“You wanna go watch a movie? I dunno what Ryan likes but this one has good reviews!” your voice sounded so eager it took him by surprise, Homelander didn’t even had a chance to reply before you leaped off your seat towards him– there’s a session at 8:20 so there shouldn’t be too many people, but you should definitely change”

“change what?”

“Your clothes? I mean you don’t wanna get your suit covered in oil and salt” You raised your eyebrow while picking up your stuff– there’s this amazing dumpling place I think you would love, we can catch a bite and then head to the movie.”

There’s an eagerness building in his throat, observing you carefully as your eyes glimmer in the fantasy, you seemed desperate to leave work.

“After we go pick Ryan of course…” you say.

“I’d like that”

You wrapped your arm around his elbow pulling him away, there’s a buzzing on your phone but not coming from your pocket, it hadn’t stop shaking in your cabinet once, he stared at it spotting an old cellphone surprised more by your hands pushing his cheek to look away– this gesture of intimacy as you playfully dragged Homelander out of the office without care for cameras outside, made his heart race and forget about the phone.

Ryan had been eager to go out, unsure as to whom his father friend was, but by now he had gotten accustomed to strangers hovering around Homelander, far more weirded out by his changed in attire, beside Vought issued pj’s and some sweatpants this was the first time he’d ever seen jeans on him.

Homelander hands squeezing at the fabric of the varsity as if it itched, feeling nude with these thin layers, the way the fabric draped around his body and sagged around his physique was exotic and not in a good way, the way the cool breeze touched him covered his skin in goosebumps, his hat compressing too tightly it squeezing his brain, his breath shuddering lightly as they walked around the city. Around these strangers he felt ignored and watched, his eyes behind shades and his hair a mess under his cap. He felt like a cartoon character in this costume– everybody should recognize him, he was a god, his face more recognizable than Ronald McDonald… but no.

Nobody noticed him, the discomfort growing too great to be ignored, the ringing in his ears increasing, as food arrived by an indifferent elderly waitress.

How could he not be recognized? his face in a billion objects, he was reduced to nothing as not even curious glances were offered his way, his heart ringing in his ear and his brother nowhere to be found, for the first time he felt absolutely invisible, never once did he imagine he would be pleading for flashing lights, as his ears ringed, louder and his tongue sat uncomfortably in his mouth.

Your sudden touch on his forearm soothes him, bringing him down, the ringing replaced by a cacophony of voices and dishes, you talk about the food swearing on the pan-fried goodies, making sure to offer greens to Ryan, laughing at his observations as you ask him to share about his day. 

The mundanity of this exchange, of your casual touches, of your constant need to make sure he had food in his mouth– has food ever tasted like anything but bland? For once he perceived the depths of a dish, the chewy but slippery texture of dumpling skin, the bok-choy crunch mingling with the salty-sweet mince, and the umami of the vinagre sauce pinching his taste buds, this whole scene should’ve felt fabricated but for once he existed in the now, just as himself, not as a walking billboard for Vought.

you half smile asking him about tomorrow’s plans, ensuring your fingers always touched some part of him.

 Looking around he saw other families acting just like this, couples and friends just talking and munching, the kitchen loud as the waitresses yelled to the cooks in mandarin, and even if the low plastic seats were uncomfortable, he didn’t mind. 

This was all he had ever wanted in a sense, lacking all the glamor he was accustomed to.

Sitting in the dark watching the movie feeling his finger turn oily, he felt your weight shift as you leaned your head against his shoulder, your hand touching his as it seeks popcorn. 

Settling yourself against him. 

He cracks his neck lightly catching Ryan completely focused on the movie, hearing around to spot many empty seats, a non-committed smile paints across his face, resting his cheek on the top of your head turning to plant a chaste kiss earning him a quiet chuckle, your other hand wraps around his arms in a frankly uncomfortable manner but for the remaining sixty-plus minutes he bears it.

This was a date. A proper date… even in disguise Homelander was out in public with his date, so this had to be a normal… mundane… simple… date.

One of many, no?

So who was him? Who was this gangly man from Arkansas that commandeered your time away from him, who took you from him, who you entertained and conversed so intimately– if you leaned any closer you might as well be dry-humping him, he thought.

He saw florid reds.

Then just red.

Here he was covered in blood catching the speedy shadow of his son moving away from him.

His ears ringing and his heart thunderous, bile burning his throat and his ears prickly with heat, pacing himself half-assedly around his home, fine leather now smudged with red streaks and his brother doing his best at damaged control, John was too emotional to handle this but sure he tried, his decisions lacked pragmatism, but even Homelander had no point of reference other than himself on how to deal with mentally scarred children… and just look how well that turned out asked John from within the mirror.

Terrorized by anxiety he had never noticed you coming in, your aroma hitting him only once you entered the living room, only opening his mouth with ignored menace as your hands took his face, your eyes blooshot on the edge of tears, and your sleeve damp as it tried to wash away this evening crime.

“Are you alright?” your voice failed to disguise any panic.

He watched you holding everything you were against his weight.

Watching his own eyes blur inside yours.

You looked at your broken phone still on the floor, thinking of everything wrong that I had done, thinking of the awful things I would do, unable to wash away the ache.

I certainly had a knack for ruining things.

[gentil-minou]

Wei Wuxian licks his lips and leans forward slightly, walking his fingers across the countertop aimlessly toward Lan Zhan. “You know, Lan Zhan,” he drawls, “A-Yuan says we’re both in the book.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan responds, tracking the path of his fingers intently, “I am apparently Hanguang-jun, the moral upstanding hero.”

“And I’m the devious Yiling Loazu, who led you astray,” he smirks, peering at Lan Zhan through his lashes.

Lan Zhan meets his stare, head-on, lit from within like molten sunshine. “No,” he corrects, “not astray, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian tilts his head, waiting for him to continue. His fingers stop their dancing, resting just inches away from Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan shifts his own hand, bringing them even closer, their fingertips almost brushing.  

“The Yiling Loazu did not lead Hanguang-jun astray,” he says, eyes piercing as they flicker between Wei Wuxian’s. “They were partners, and…”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian breathes, “the decent romance?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, watching him closely. The pupils of his eyes have grown so large there’s only the tiniest ring of gold around the edge. He can see himself reflected in the black. He thinks he likes the version of himself that lives in Lan Zhan’s eyes.

They’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the other to take a step forward, bracing for a fall.

It should be terrifying, this sudden drop into something completely new, something entirely unknown yet so familiar. But Wei Wuxian is filled with conviction that no matter what, Lan Zhan will catch him.

It's as electrifying as it is calming, this certainty that here, with Lan Zhan, he is safe.

Wei Wuxian tilts his head to the side in a way he knows sets the unmarked skin of his neck on display. “I’m sure it was more than just decent, with a handsome hero like Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Zhan quirks an eyebrow, his gaze resting on the curve of Wei Wuxian’s neck, just as he’d hoped. "Handsome?"

“Well,” Wei Wuxian responds, tapping his index finger so it brushes against Lan Zhan’s fingertips. His skin is soft and perfect, just like the rest of him. “He isn’t wrong. You’re very handsome, Lan Zhan.”

“Really, Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, voice quiet and deep.

“Yep, definitely worthy of being compared to the beautiful Second Jade of Lan.”

“Is that so?” Lan Zhan shifts closer, the smell of him filling up Wei Wuxian. He smells so familiar, like something he knows intimately. Sandalwood, Wei Wuxian realizes, with sudden clarity.

Lan Zhan continues, “I would love to hear more about your opinion on my beauty and prestige, Wei Ying.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Lan Zhan. Why would you care what I think?”

Lan Zhan tilts his head, only just. “Do I need to? To want to know how your brain works?”

I commissioned this lovely artwork by the wonderful @lotuslate of a scene from my fic, once upon a time, 很久很久以前 where the entire cultivation world is cursed to live in the modern world without their memories and abilities, but of course wangxian find a way to fall in love all over again.

[spaceandbones]

Tagged by @snailmp3 to share the last line written from my WIP tyyy for the tag 🫶

Tagging @bazpango and @ihavethegrimoire if u guys would like to play wip barbies with me

[uracowgirlikeme]

I woke up randomly at around 5am-ish and then my phone buzzed, I checked it and it was dan posting them dressed up as the ineffable husbands. My brain just knew I needed to be awake for it, not the video - no - but them as Crowley and Aziraphale. And honestly that has hit me harder than the video did lmao

Anyway both the video and costumes were a birthday gift for me personally, thanks lads

[a-writing-otter]

WIP Wednesday - Chapter 6 of The Redemption and Subsequent Death of Bill Cipher

“Am I— Did I interrupt something?” Stan asks a little awkwardly.

“Nah,” Bill, who recovers much faster from gaping at Stan like a fish, leans back into the bench before punching Pine Tree’s shoulder. “Kid was just heading out to go break windows or something.”

“Better hope it’s not these windows or [you’re] cleaning it up,” Stan tells Bill before reaching out, shoving the bill of Pine Tree’s hat down over his eyes. Pine Tree grumbles and fixes it before turning a far brighter smile on Stan.

“Your sister’s looking for you. Something about trying to make a suit out of glitter.”

“Oh. Great.” Pine Tree rubs his face and gets to his feet. “Thanks, Grunkle Stan.”

He goes to the door and pauses to look at Bill for a second.

“Just… you know, I think you’re right. I think things will be okay again soon.”

Bill’s brow furrows as Pine Tree heads back inside before he starts chuckling as he shakes his head.

“Weird kid.”

“They’re receptive,” Stan says as he takes up Pine Tree’s seat and Bill tries not to groan. “Not that you’ve made it exactly hard to miss that things are weird between you and my brother. I think the temperature in the room drops by ten degrees every time one of you walks into it. And I thought things were bad with my ex-wife! Ha!”

Bill winces at that, pulling a face as he leans forward to bury his face in his hands.

“Yeah, well, we weren’t even dating—“

“No, you two were just sucking face anytime you were left unsupervised.”

“Please, Pine Tree already got onto me for this. I fucked up and—“

“Summoned a demon, yeah, I heard.”

Bill’s blood runs cold and he looks between his fingers at Stan. …he’s not swinging, he’s not snarling, and Bill can say he’s almost positive that this isn’t Stan then.

“…and you’re cool with that?”

“What? Oh, no, absolutely not. I almost strangled you in your sleep when my brother told me.”

Billy, admittedly, feels a little better with that admission.

“He also said that you came to him to get rid of said demon.”

“Yeah, well… I don’t know. Taking over the universe is so last year.”

Stan snorts at that.

“You’re, like, really cool with that?” Bill tries again. “Don’t want to, I don’t know, punch me in the eye?”

Now Stan shrugs.

“I wouldn’t go that far, but I think watching you walk around on eggshells, convinced one of us is going to take a swing at you or tell the Axolotl—“

“Axo— Oh, wait, no, you said it right.”

“I listen. I’m just saying, you know, you with your tail between your legs ain’t a bad look. Certainly makes me feel better.”

“…but, like, the whole breaking your brother’s heart? Trying to take over the universe? You’re sure you’ve got no murder held in your very large, very family-oriented heart?”

“Don’t go tempting me, Cipher, but… Ford’s an adult, you’re… maybe an adult, I don’t know, how do demons age?”

“Depends,” Bill admits, pulling a face. “Interdimensional demons live to about a hundred millennia or so, sometimes longer if they take care of themselves.”

“You said you were a dream demon though,” Stan remembers.

“Yeah, well, that’s a little more… complicated.”

Stan cracks open his pitt cola and gestures to Bill. He debates for a second before taking in a deep breath and sighing.

“I was born an interdimensional demon, a very precocious, adorable thing. Even though they’re relatively harmless, mostly brokers for deals made between species, they’ve got their own power. It doesn’t help that I was born… different.”

Bill’s voice gets soft, thoughtful.

“They tried to understand me, probably. They couldn’t though. A world full of two-dimensional idiots, they never understood what I saw, understood how I felt. So it was, you know, a little…”

“Othering?” Stan offers and Bill nods.

“Othering. Everyone adored me. ‘Special Billy’, ‘unique Billy’, ‘Billy who sees things no one else can see’.” […crazy Billy.]

Bill grips the bench a little too tight, knuckles turning white as he looks down at the ground.

“I won’t bore you with the sob story of a universe lost to a monster,” and maybe because it’s bad enough to admit it to Ford, admitting it to Stan who he still doesn’t trust not to come swinging at him is another thing, “but I ended up alone. I was drifting through time and space for, easily, a couple millennia. I spent a lot of time floating amongst the stars I’d stared at so long. I saw galaxies born, galaxies die; I saw nebulae explode and reform; stars would go through entire lifecycles in front of my eyes. It was me and the cosmos, so I guess I didn’t feel alone.

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday (MLC longfic again!)

Now that my amnesia fic is posted, it's time for more of my MLC longfic! At long last, LLH is awake again . . . and not doing that well.

(You can find earlier excerpts here.)

CW/TW: Panic attack, bicha flare, suicidal ideation

Something was different. The pain was there as always, waiting to devour him whole once he acknowledged it, but there was something else, something blanketing it, muting it somehow.

Li Lianhua stretched out his senses like a limb and tried to make sense of it.

Ah. Warmth. That was the strange sensation. Warmth–heat, even–all around him–his back, his chest, his legs, even his fingers, which had been more like blocks of ice than flesh and blood these last few months.

He leaned back, pushing into the banked heat behind him. The solid core of warmth tucked against his front from navel to neck twitched, then pressed against him more securely, as though it could make a home for itself inside his sternum, ribs, and spine and heat him from within.

He felt warm everywhere.

Well, almost everywhere.

He rolled forward slightly, wiggled further down on the bed, and tugged the core of warmth up higher. He curled his arms and shoulders around it and nestled the bit in his hand between his face and the pillow until it cradled his cheek. 

Much better.

He smiled into his new, warmer pillow and let himself start to relax back into sleep.

“Xiangyi?”

The warmth against his face gradually took shape as his skin and mind began to wake. That was a finger–no, several fingers. A hand. A large hand. And those calluses–how could he not know them when they had clashed steel with him, choked him, clinked brimming cups of wedding wine with him, even been inside him, taking him apart with a gentleness he hadn’t known they could profess.

He let his awareness spread throughout his body, setting aside the pain, and yes, that was a-Fei’s chest he had pressed himself against, like Huli Jing requesting head scritches, and those were a-Fei’s legs, tangled with his, and that was a-Fei’s breath rustling his hair–less now than it had been a moment ago–and that was indeed a-Fei’s arm he was clutching like a child would a favorite toy. 

But a-Fei had been holding him first.

Why was a-Fei holding him? It was one thing to wake up in each others’ arms in the newly wed room, after their  . . . exertions. Before a-Fei knew that any real dream of a future was doomed to fail.

But to hold him now? After he’d given away the wangchuan flower and left a-Fei behind, left their promise behind? To hold him like he still mattered. Like he wasn’t a curse who killed everyone he’d ever cared about. Like he was some sort of treasure . . .

Treasure . . . 

Cabinets stained in blood, Xiaobao’s blood–

“Xiaobao,” he gasped, flinging himself free and to his feet. Where was Xiaobao? He had to find him, had to heal him, before it was too late–

“Xiangyi! Sit down!” A-Fei caught him as his legs buckled and lowered him back onto the bed. 

Why wasn’t Xiaobao here? Had he killed him, too, just like he killed everyone he cared about? 

“Duobing,” a-Fei roared. “Get in here. Now!” Callused fingers cupped both sides of his face, turning it gently but firmly toward him. “Xiangyi, look at me. He’s alright. He’s on his way.” 

“How could he be alright?” Li Lianhua gasped, clutching at his shoulders, the already blurry world turning more hazy. “I saw the blood!”

“I healed him. He’s safe,” a-Fei said, cradling his head as though he could hold the shattering pieces of his mind together. “Now breathe.” 

Li Lianhua choked on an inhale, his lungs spasming, only managing to draw in a desperate wheeze.

A-Fei cursed and dropped to his knees by the bed, pressing one hand to Li Lianhua’s back and the other to his chest, filling both with a familiar warmth that began to break apart the iron bands strangling his throat and lungs. “Try again. Feel my hands. Press against them when you inhale.”

The next breath shook and spluttered like a dying candle but some air squeaked through nonetheless.

“Good.” A-Fei gave his back a short supportive pat. “Again.”

Lotus Tower shook as footsteps pounded toward the bed. “What’s wrong?” panted a beautifully familiar, impossible voice. “Xiaohua’er?”

“Bicha,” a-Fei growled, rising from the floor to kneel on the bed at his side, his hands still bracketing him on either side. “He thinks you’re dead. Show him the scab.”

“Shit,” the Xiaobao-shaped hallucination cursed. It seemed especially cruel of hallucinations to now match the blurriness of their surroundings. It made them seem far too real.

The hallucination knelt at his feet and took his hands. “It’s me, Xiaohua’er,” it said, tears in its eyes and voice. “I’m alright. A-Fei healed me. See?” It brought his hand up to a spot on the back of his skull and pressed his fingers to a crusted, raised line on its scalp. “I’m right here and I’m alright. Do you believe me?”

He could feel it. Why could he feel it? His fingers had always passed through hallucinations before. And even when he’d dreamt of Xiaobao, or of a-Fei, of holding them again, it hadn’t felt as real as this. His fingers traced the ridges of the scab–a perfectly neat seam–then the silk curtain of hair that covered it. 

This was Xiaobao’s hair. The texture, the thickness, what he could see of the color–no hallucination could do justice to this. 

This was his Xiaobao.

He was alive.

“Xiaobao,” he cried, turning his head this way and that to make sure it was the only injury. “You’re alright!”

Xiaobao’s bright smile shone through despite the haze his eyes imposed on everything. “Told you. No harm done. So focus on taking care of yourself, ok, lao huli?”

Li Lianhua huffed out a wet attempt at a scoff and bopped the side of his head. “No harm? What do you call this?”

Xiaobao captured his hands with his and brought them down from his head to rest between them. “Less serious than a Bicha attack. How are you feeling?”

Li Lianhua blinked. A Bicha attack? He turned his attention inward to his qi, and–

Ah. There was a-Fei’s Beifeng Baiyang, somehow wrapped around his Yangzhouman and pushing the last of the poison back into the recesses where it would lie in wait, coiled and ready for the next attack. The black tinge was almost gone from his veins.

He had been so worried about Xiaobao that he hadn’t even realized.

A-Fei had probably saved his life. Again. 

He shouldn’t have bothered.

[endwersed]

I can actually feel the motivation leaking out of me with every second I sit in front of this word document

[agardenofbasil]

Chapter 20 of Longing for the Shore is probably going to make some of you really mad at me, but that is a risk I am willing to take.

[mortifying-macaroni]

Gretchen, I'm going to hold your hand while saying this... You are not a comedian, babygirl...

Proceeds to write her as unfunny cringefail

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Current WIP list, to help motivate myself:

Afterglow [posted]

Penumbra [updated]

Changeling

Sticky Sweet [posted]

When the Storm Breaks

[effluentstream]

so my melanie & miles investigative team au fic is officially in progress.

[ID: A screenshot of text from a word document that reads as follows:

“Miles calls Melanie as soon he finishes reading the tip email about Mount Massive, not realizing he’s failed to consider the time difference between Colorado and London until Georgie picks up the phone and says, ‘Upshur, it is 3 in the morning here. Melanie’s asleep.’ Her voice sounds soft, thick with sleep, and - remarkably - only slightly annoyed.

‘Investigative journalism never sleeps, Barker,’ he quips. Georgie responds with an airy, exasperated sigh.”]

[oldfashionedmorphine]

oh what’s this?

a lil peek of ch 21 for iawwyh??? 👀

tagging:

@across-thestars @boahey @magentamee @daydreams-in-the-moonlight @greenfiend @rebellius @booksandpaperss @castelobyers @total-serene560 @karenchildress @sparks-olivarpente @hazmatazz @suzieburself @krakoansam @mandycantdecide @robin-therobber @foodiewithdahoodie @soyboystan @trvbblemaker (if you want to be added or removed, let me know!)

[osamusriceballs]

The Accident Part VIII

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: None

Words: ~ 2k

About: You finally meet your good friend <3

Part I II -> Next part

"You know each other?!"

You stare at Atsumu with wide eyes, who just stares at the short blonde next to you and raises his eyebrows as if he just had an epiphany.

"Where have I—wait. Karasuno. Karasuno's manager! You're a friend of Shoyo-kun!" Atsumu's eyes shine when he talks about Karasuno, and you furrow your brows when you remember that it's the name of Yachi's old school. "Shoyo-kun? Like—Hinata Shoyo?" You ask, recalling a bright orange-haired man you've met a few times already when Yachi had invited you to drink with her and her friends. They had always been a lively bunch, definitely growing on you the more often you saw them.

"Hmm, we work together," Atsumu nods, and you blankly stare at him while you try to digest that piece of information. You know that Hinata is a professional volleyball player. Very professional. Olympics level professional. He offered you cards to his games quite a few times, and you had politely declined, not wanting to cause him trouble, but he had sent you tickets anyway for a game in a few weeks.

That probably means that Atsumu is a professional player too—or he might be some kind of manager, according to the vague statement that they are working together. His physique and his posture tell you that he potentially could be an athlete- you would believe that in a second.

"Working together like... playing volleyball too?" You ask for clarification, tilting your head curiously while you watch his reaction. His lips curl into a smug smile, and the confidence he's radiating now makes your legs turn into jelly.

"Yeah. I'm a professional, just like Shoyo-kun. He loves my sets, by the way. Always aces them with no problem."

His eyes capture yours and you hang on his every word, definitely surprised by the development. You're married to a probably very famous professional Olympia volleyball player. You're not even sure what to think about this; the new details just made the whole situation more absurd and unrealistic. The only good thing is that Yachi apparently knows him. You could maybe get more information out of Yachi about him later.

"I—wait. The marriage—you married ATSUMU MIYA?" Your attention shifts to Yachi, who turns almost worryingly red, and you quickly step closer to her and reach for her arm, trying to calm her down. "Yes, but it's okay. He's a good guy, okay?" You smile encouragingly, and Yachi takes a few hasty loud breaths before she nods.

Atsumu watches you both and awkwardly clears his throat, a faint blush covering his cheeks at your words, and rubs the back of his head. "I'll leave ya two alone then. I'll call ya, y/n."

The last thing you see is his smile before he turns around and walks away with his hands in his pockets now. His broad back is evident, especially when he's wearing the white dress shirt, and you can't help but admire the man for a second before Yachi enters your sight once again.

"Y/n! - what happened?!"

xxx

"I can't believe you're married to Atsumu Miya!" she exclaims, still sounding shocked as she repeats the same sentence for the third time after you managed to tell her the fully story during the car ride. Both of you sit on her comfortable plush couch, adorned with a few of her stylish designer blankets. You're glad to be in a familiar place finally, but you can't help but to think about Atsumu. Will he call or leave a message soon? You wouldn't mind him calling today already- just to make sure you have his number. Nothing else. Just to clear that whole marriage thing. And nothing else.

You nod with a mild smile an attempt to calm her slight panic. Atsumu has assured you that everything will be taken care of, and you find yourself actually trusting him. "It'll be okay. You mentioned he's a good guy, right? I mean, he's friends with Hinata."

Yachi deeply inhales and takes a sip of her tea and nods. "He's close to Hinata. They get along really well. But let me tell you, Atsumu Miya in high school is something else. His serves were powerful and terrifying- not as much as today, but still enough to keep us all on the edge. Even Nishinoya had a hard time receiving them. Atsumu-san and Osamu-san managed to copy Hinata's and Kageyama's special attack effortlessly. It was insane. Maybe we can find a recording of it."

She grabs the remote to turn on the TV, and you lean forward eagerly at the thought of seeing more of Atsumu. "I wonder what Atsumu looked like in high school," you muse, taking a sip of your tea, its slight bitterness complementing the rich flavor. "He basically still looks the same. His hair got a bit brighter, and I think he grew a bit. And gained mass," Yachi responds, finding what she's looking for with an excited squeal. "Here!"

You both watch how a much younger Atsumu raises his arm and much to your surprise the whole crowd falls silent. "What- that's not normal, is it?" You turn to Yachi who seems slightly pale, probably because she remembers the moment vividly. "That's normal for Atsumu Miya. He was so good and popular that he got that special treatment. It helps him to focus. Oh, and watch his steps! You can tell what kind of serve he's going to make by the number of his steps."

You diligently nod and watch him serve again, taking six steps this time. The camera angle is a tad bit closer this time, and you don't fail to see his yellow-ish hair that definitely looks different compared to his looks today. He was very fit, even back then, but he is definitely more buff today.

You watch some more of Atsumu's powerful serves, his form screaming utmost perfection, and memories of the very same strong, muscular arms wrapped around you make heat rush to your cheeks. Yachi continues to share insights about his playing style, and you quickly try to focus on her words.

"...their combined attacks are difficult to anticipate. But look at how Kei blocks it!" You nod enthusiastically while you observe Tsukishima's impressive block. The video then shifts to another game, showcasing Atsumu in a black uniform adorned with yellow claw prints on his sleeves.

"Oh, that's from the MSBY game! You should have seen him; there's this amazing set—" Yachi's words trail off as the camera cuts to an unusual angle, revealing Atsumu's impressive thighs in full glory as he sets the ball with a ridiculously seductive smile. Your jaw drops at the unexpected sight- you know for sure you would have fainted if you saw that scene in live. How dare he look so good while setting the ball?? "Look, Hinata easily managed to hit that! And there's Bokuto-san!" You recognize the orange-haired spiker, sharing a smile and high-five with Bokuto. "I can't believe that they all actually know each other."

"Yeah," Yachi smiles and nods. "Hinata always talks about Atsumu-san. And Bokuto-san is close with Osamu-san, I think. I've seen him post a few pictures with Akaashi-san at Onigiri-Miya."

"Is that the name of his restaurant? Atsumu said he would take me there someday." Yachi gives you a side-eye, and reaches for her phone. "You've gotten pretty close, haven't you? You seemed really flustered when-" You quickly interrupt her, "No! I—I don't even know him. I don't even have his number. He was just being nice, we're not really close."

Yachi nods with a small grin, and hands you her phone. "Here. That's his Instagram. He's also often at Onigiri Miya. It seems like he's very proud of his brother's success. I though you might want to have a look at his life."

"Thank you." Yachi is truly a great friend, and you feel once again fond of being close to her. As you scroll through Atsumu's Instagram, you find a mix of game snapshots, some pictures with Osamu, in which he always has a plate full of food in front of him, and you can't help but zoom into the plates, impressed by the neatly arranged dishes. As you keep on scrolling, you almost gasp loudly when you find a very surprising collaboration with Calvin Klein, featuring a shirtless Atsumu from a very close perspective. At first, you keep on scrolling, too flustered at the sudden revealing picture, but curiosity makes you go back after a few moments, and you look at the picture again.

He looks good. His muscles are well-defined and he grins seductively for the camera while he poses, clad in only a ripped pair of jeans. It's almost unfair how ridiculously attractive he looks, but you still think that he looks even better when he's just woken up, just like he did this morning. You exhale loudly and curiously click on the comments.

"I would pay real money to have him like this in my bed." "Christmas came early this year- and so did I." "Bless the Miya genes. I'd gladly help to spread them." "Thank you Calvin Klein. I'll make sure to get a pair of these pants." "*FAINTS* HE'S SO HOT, I CAN'T-"

You're startled when you notice how the comments get even more unhinged and shameless as you keep on scrolling. "He... has a lot of fans," you remark, scrolling back to the top and handing Yachi her phone back, to which she nods heavily. "He had his own fan club in high school, and ever since the Japanese team won the Olympics, the whole team has been very popular. Especially Atsumu-san and Sakusa-san."

You hesitate before asking the next question, uncertain of what the answer might bring. "Is there a reason why he's single? He seems like a decent guy, looks good, and he's probably rich. Isn't he the perfect catch?"

Yachi furrows her brows, thinking. "I don't know, actually. It's probably the same as with Hinata and Kageyama. They focus a lot on their careers; they simply don't have time for dating. I also found out that most volleyball boys can be a bit... intense. It's probably hard to find a partner that understands their passion. They prioritize training over anything else. I've never seen Hinata skip a day of training, no matter what happens. Their partners must accept that they put a lot of their energy and time into their jobs."

"Ah," you simply nod, slightly surprised by the revelation. You would have assumed that they have a very lively dating life, but it seems like they just live for work. Sounds a bit lonely.

"I also think that some fans are a bit obsessed with their private lives. There was an incident before with Atsumu-san and one of their fans- but things have calmed down lately, so you should be fine." Yachi reassures you, reaching for a cookie on the couch table.

"I think that—" she is interrupted by the sudden sound of a ringing phone, and both of you exchange confused glances before realizing it's your phone. Yachi's eyes light up, and she squeals, "Maybe it's him—I mean, I could have gotten his number through Hinata, but maybe he's got some news—"

You fumble with the phone, the unknown number undoubtedly belonging to Atsumu. Taking a deep breath, you nod at her and hold the phone to your ear, answering the call with a simple,

"Hello?"

[confettidonut]

Ugh why are these losers so awkward, I've giving myself secondhand embarrassment over here.

[whiskeyapologist]

almost time for my annual fanfic chapter upload :D

[cookinguptales]

Really torn between "this story is really important to me and I want people to read it" and "isn't one of the reasons I decided to never enter the professional publishing world because marketing myself stresses me the fuck out? and also I'm extremely bad at it??"

Things to consider as I contemplate making a post and blazing it on tumblr.