#fic: ego

[suga-kookiemonster]

Sometimes I see people being curious about the dishwasher shitter and let me tell you how I found out it was a person shitting in a dishwasher:

English is not my first nor second language, it is in fact the third, so when I read sometimes my head goes blank on a few words. For example: the phrase "who shit in the dishwasher?!" In my head I read "who shit in the rhjdndbhrnrbbrhdn?!" Because it's easier or whatever (and they're not very common in my country), sometimes that happens with names, it's very convenient when reading stories, specially smut, because I associate the character without caring about the names and I detach from hurtful plots.

So, I was rereading Ego last year and let me tell you, for some reason I processed for the first time that it was in fact a dishwasher and became extremely disgusted I was immediately on Joon's side, not that I wasn't before, I just saw the disgust for the first time😅😅for some reason my head pictured a washing machine and somehow that was less disgusting because how do you clean that shit? I would never use it again if I lived there and wouldn't associate with anyone that lived there as well because what if there's still poop there? How is it possible to disinfect and trust the process like that?

That being said, it had to be one of them that's fucking with Joon or all of them are in on it so no one snitches when they see because there's no way no one caught the person in the act.

I think I never saw you answer this before, but I didn't follow you when you started posting Ego, what prompted the fic to be written? I think there are a few fics that came from specific pictures of Tae, but I was curious to know what prompted the baby angel Kookie to grace us with his exhibitionist ass🥺

Anyway, I'm waiting patiently for Kook's new fic💕💕💕💕💕

first of all, you are the coolest for speaking 3 languages 😮‍💨 i am in AWE!!💕 secondly, your commentary is hilarious and it never crossed my mind when i was writing the fic that dishwashers aren't necessarily a universal thing 🤣 though fraternities are distinctly american, so i guess that would automatically set the lens the fic is read through. in any case, thank you for validating ego!joon, though i think we all are definitely on his side on that topic 😂😂

to answer your question on why i originally wrote the fic, ego was the first bts fic i ever wrote, and i started it right around the time i first found bangtan in 2017 and my obsession with the group was going full force LOL. i've been in fandom spaces for most of my life, and once i have a new obsession, my first task always seems to be to check out the fanfic and see what's up. i read a number of fics i loved and some others that weren't my cup of tea, but what really made me want to join in was that nearly all of the second-person writing (which i had never seen done before in fanfiction) was obviously written from the perspective of a white person. i, as you know, am not white, and there were only so many times i could read about "my" face flushing red and running my hands through "my" hair before i started to wonder if this new fandom i had found actually wasn't very happy about me (or others who look like me) interacting with the content. so, i simply said fuck it and decided to write my own "reader-insert" fic that i could actually insert myself into!

at the time, i was intrigued by irl jungkook's duality--he's such a shy sweetheart, but he certainly knew how to burn up the stage! and this idea floated into my mind where you accidentally walk in on sweet, shy jungkookie railing another girl, and though he sees you watching, he doesn't stop. so, that scene in the first chapter was the genesis for the fic, and everything else spiraled from there! the characters kinda created themselves as i wrote them, and though i obviously had a broad outline of the fic before i started writing it, a lot of the shenanigans popped up while i wrote each chapter. it was a lot of fun! haha

anyways, thank you so much for asking 💜 i can't believe it's been that long since i started writing ego, and that certainly took me back 🥹💕 i appreciate you, and thanks for looking forward to my next fic!

#asks #fic: ego #fic: ctrl alt del

[phvnthom]

Reading back all your ao3 comments is literally the highest form of self-care

#it's such an EGO BOOST #but damn it's so sweet seeing that ppl actually give a fuck about what you've written #especially for me who doesn't have object permanence #it's reaffirming seeing them and reminding myself it's all real and that I actually wrote my fic #like damn i did THAT #either way i love all of you forever <3 #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfic #w

[freshdishs]

No because I actually want to see a villain who’s both comedic and has absolutely no idea what the hell they’re doing

Like

Imagine they’re new to the city where the hero operates and they get caught in the crossfire during a fight

BUT

The villain acts on impulse and sticks their hand out to shield themselves from an attack

AND GUESS WHAT HAPPENS NEXT Y’ALL

They don’t feel like..uh..dying

So they open their eyes

AND FIND OUT THEY FRICKING BLASTED A HOLE IN A BUILDING

And the hero’s just gaping at them like 0-0 wut

So this naturally sets off a nation wide manhunt for the villain

BUT THAT’S NOT ALL FOLKS

While on the run, the villain encounters someone who treats them like a goddamn celebrity

Like this person legit idolizes their actions

The person joins the villain and becomes their self-proclaimed ‘sidekick’

Bonus points if more ‘sidekicks’ join and it becomes the most out-of-context cult(?) ever

AND ALL THE WHILE THE HERO’S CHASING THEM DOWN LIKE A MADMAN

I rest my case.

➽──────────────❥

#I smell a possible enemies to lovers 👀 #[📖] — 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 #writers #writing life #writing #writerblr #writeblr #writer #writing prompts #prompts #story prompts #crack #crack fic #funny #feed my ego #story ideas #writing ideas #writing idk #idk man #hero x villain #??? #maybe #side kick is canonically short #we stan a short king #slay ig #[✏️] — 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞

[verysium]

ACT 1, SCENE 3: blue lock headcanons

sae is into skincare: lotions, serums, the whole set. he and rin used to have self-care nights as children during which they would sit in bed with matching face masks and watch cartoons on the family tablet. if they were in a good mood, they would let you join.

barou listens to classical while working out. no joke. this man is so insanely focused he will shoot goals and play paganini at the same time. his work ethic is low-key why you were attracted to him the first place.

nagi is lazy to the point he will deliberately buy five pairs of the same exact pants just to save himself the trouble of having to choose an outfit in the morning. thank god for reo otherwise nagi would still be dressing like he just crawled out of bed. he still can't do much about his bedhead though.

rin desperately wanted to join sae in the deeper end of the community pool; however, he was deathly afraid of drowning. his only logical solution was to cover himself in pool floaties while he dipped a single toe into the water. even to this day, he still has traumatic memories of that experience. you need to hold his hand every time.

kaiser acts like his football prowess comes entirely from natural talent. in reality, he trains to an obsessive degree behind the scenes. you could come home at midnight, and he would still be there replaying every single highlight of his recent game. he is the type to keep detailed notes about all the players he went up against.

isagi likes to walk around his hometown of saitama and just observe the snapshots of life around him. whether it's a street vendor, children playing on a grass patch, or a couple in the sunset, he secretly enjoys these little vignettes of human experience. he would become sentimental when it comes to you. sometimes you have to pull his head out of the clouds.

nagi has parents who work overseas, so the most he sees of them is through video calls or holiday presents. occasionally, he also gets a birthday card shipped through international mail. when you threw him his first surprise party, he secretly felt touched because his family was never big on physical celebrations.

sae is ridiculously good at anything that involves data and calculations. he participated in a math competition one time in junior high, and he would have made it to the national level had he not been entirely focused on football. refused to tutor rin in algebra though because apparently his little brother has to figure out everything for himself. if it were you though, he would begrudgingly agree.

bachira holds the world record in procrastination. his notebook, pencil, and eraser are still as untouched and pristine as they were on the first day of the academic school year. he does not know what a book is, nor has he read one. he only studied because you refused to cuddle with him otherwise.

ego eats so many cups of instant ramen noodles that his glasses begin to fog up from time to time. anri has to clean the frames and lenses weekly just to make sure his myopic self can even see. at this point, she's the real MVP of the entire series.

barou likes to open the windows right after it rains because he enjoys the sweet smell of petrichor. his ideal day would be spent lounging on a couch with some tea and a novel. it would be even more perfect if you snuggled under the blankets with him.

niko sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night, immensely insecure about his forehead. he thinks it looks giant though it really isn't. you have to brush his fringe back and pepper kisses down his face and remind him that a big forehead means a big, sexy brain, so it really isn't that bad. he believes you and goes back to sleep.

shidou would make fun of boomers. in fact, he'd ridicule every single person he considers past their prime. he does not believe in any form of authority, nor does he like being told what to do. if he had his way, he would have turned the entire world into anarchy a long time ago. the only reason why he doesn't wake up and make himself everyone's problem is because he doesn't want to upset you.

kaiser knows he is very well-endowed physically, so he purposefully walks around your apartment shirtless. if he catches you eyeing him, he will make a big deal out of it. tries to not-so-subtly flex his biceps every time he reaches for the milk carton.

reo loves cocktail dresses, especially in the wine red shade. something about the accentuated figure and natural curves gives him goosebumps. his favorite part of you is when your tummy slightly protrudes after you've eaten too much. you might think it's embarrassing, but he thinks it's adorable.

rin only uses shower gel, mostly because he learned his lesson after using the locker room shower stalls. never use bar soap, always use bottled. he's also the type to always have shower shoes. sae taught him that.

bachira is the type of student to completely misread the question and still not feel bad after the teacher points it out. oh no, he was actually supposed to solve for x, not just circle it? he'll shrug it off like nothing ever happened. at least he tried. the teacher should be grateful for his effort.

sae says he does not understand the sentiments behind cute couple traditions but then proceeds to get upset when you show up to his game without wearing his jersey. would definitely get you matching bracelets for your anniversary.

aiku has a high spice tolerance. he would definitely drown his food either in sriracha or buldak sauce. if you can't handle spicy though, he would set aside a separate plate just for you and manually spoon out the food just to make sure you have something to eat too.

aryu never has dry cuticles. he is always trimming and filing to perfection. sometimes he has beef with your nail tech because he thinks he could have done so much better on your acrylics. refuses to let you go to a salon because he already has all the tools and expertise necessary.

sae does not know how to cook. his manager has always ordered take-out for him. the one time he tried to use a microwave, he completely misread the package instructions and nearly burned the entire building down. called you up with the straightest face afterwards to tell you that the smoke alarms were not shutting off.

barou unconsciously caves into peer pressure. every single new trend makes him rethink his personal style. however, he views it all with an old man mentality. like what are these youngsters doing these days? dying their hair every possible color of the rainbow? he has to do that too. proceeds to call aryu to add red streaks into his own hair. sometimes you have to remind him that external opinion should always taken with a grain of salt.

chigiri has a major sweet tooth. if you so much as bake him one single treat, he will have made plans to put a ring on your finger before he even finishes the damn pastry. his ideal partner is someone mature and understanding who can take care of him well. definitely likes the homemaker type.

gagamaru is the seeing friend in your relationship. no matter how many trips he makes to the optometrist, he will always come back with perfect 20/20 vision. definitely a nature enthusiast, and he loves hiking. even if you're blind as a bat, he will always be there to hold your hand in the dark.

© verysium 2023 / please do not translate, repost, or plagiarize any of my works

#blue lock #bllk #headcanons #fics #sae itoshi #barou shouei #nagi seishiro #reo mikage #rin itoshi #michael kaiser #isagi yoichi #bachira meguru #ego jinpachi #anri teieri #niko ikki #shidou ryusei #oliver aiku #aryu jyubei #chigiri hyoma #gagamaru gin #sae x reader #barou x reader #nagi x reader #reo x reader #rin x reader #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #isagi x reader #blue lock headcanons #bachira x reader

[oceanwithouthermoon]

one of my favorite (/sarcastic but not really cuz its like funny idk) things in fandoms is when people make ocs or self inserts or 'x readers' being shipped with characters, but the oc/sona/reader is literally just another character from the source material.. its like youre shipping the characters but didnt want to admit it, so you made a kinsona and branded it as something else..

and its NEVER subtle, actually its super blatant every time and im always shocked when nobody points it out..

i have seen uncountable saiki k x readers where the description is like:

"saiki meets someone whose thoughts he cant read for the first time, and even though he doesnt trust her at first, she keeps proving that she is kind and has good intentions!" you mean nendo? reader is girl nendo?

"this time, he meets a girl whose thoughts honestly match up with her spoken words almost perfectly for the first time!" hairo. youre shipping saiki with girl hairo.

"saiki meets someone whose thoughts are too fast and jumbled to re-" ITS AKECHI, THATS AKECHI, ITS LITERALLY AKECHI.

"saiki meets someone whose just as immune to teruhashi as he is for the first and only tim-" this is hairo again, awe bae you secretly LOVE haisai ?!?

"saiki sees his old childhood friend for the first time in years after an incident caused them to be apart and then they fall in lov-" WHY DID YOU EVEN WRITE THIS AND NOT CALL IT SAIKECHI.

its even funnier when they say its like that characters little sister, but the way they write it is still literally just the character, like their personality, dialogue, even their relationship, is the same..

not all of them fit this exactly, but the ones that take a boy character and turn them into a girl oc to ship them with a boy, it reminds of how in equestria girls they couldnt make applejack and rarity endgame so they gave them boyfriends who looked IDENTICAL to each other.. thats what youre creating, guys, youre creating heterosexual rarijack.

#these r all very specific examples because ive seen all of them #MAKE UR KINSONAS SHAMELESSLY IF UR GONNA DO THIS BRO OMG #STOP PRETENDING ITS LIKE AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER IF UR JUST GONNA COPY IT ALL #i love kinsonas i would love to see actual kinsonas even if u structure them as 'x oc/reader' #none of these words are in the bible #say this to any not chronically online person and watch them short circuit #saiki k x reader fics are almost always like 'and then y/n SHATTERS TERUHASHIS EGO AND HUMBLES HER SO GOOD' ur sick in the head #x readers where they want to be the only person he likes and hes an asshole to everyone else also suck but- #people thinking he genuinely hates his friends is a phenomenon not exclusive to x readers lol its just far too common #sorry that was a side note #theyre not all bad #i dont even think the ones im talking about in the post are really bad- its just kinda dumb and silly #do what u want queens #saiki k #tdlosk #the disastrous life of saiki k. #saiki kusuo #meows post

[crestapex]

Okay but imagine that you’ve fought alongside Ghost and have been friends with him for years before 141, and fast forward to today and you’re on a mission with Soap and occasionally he’ll slip in a little flirty comment or joke every now and again

And then Ghost is on the other end like “focus, sergeant 😒” cause he’s gettin a little jealous, let alone the fact Johnny was put on this mission with you and not him

And you’re just kinda standing there trying to complete the mission like “what’s the problem he‘s just being nice???🧍‍♀️”

#johnny doesn’t understand why simon is getting agitated #the reader is too tired for this #and fully know what’s going you just like the ego boost #might turn this into a fic #no this is not a ghoap style fic i’m sorry lol #just johnny going full little brother mode #call of duty #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost mw3 #ghost x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap mw2 #soap mw3 #soap x reader #rants n’ rambles #my posts #my writing

[stellexpress]

extremely biased because they're my favorites but god i think damsel/tower would be such a fun combination

damsel: don't you just adore the sensation of your heart beating? all i want is to make him happy ^_^

tower, an equally fragile vessel, dispassionate as a result of her divine ascension, and disgusted by any acknowledgement she's still bound by flesh and desires: how i pity thee

#꒰ ✧ ꒱ wish upon a star #// i do think they'd initially be “friends” in the sense that the tower would develope a savior complex and try to rescue the damsel #// experiencing the pure mirth of saving a corrupted version of her old self - something dainty and weak and unworthy of worship #// and along the way through the damsel's influence she perhaps reclaims some of her humanity again #// not in a “taking her ego down a peg” way but being more comfortable with bruising and allowing herself to enjoy things below her status #// like i dunno i think it'd be neat. two princesses idolized to the point of having their humanity stripped of them getting to talk #// someone should write a vessel roadtrip fic or smth (that someone will probably be me) #slay the princess #the tower #the damsel

[slashsleuth]

sorry to do this during a trying time but -

their ship name is Morbian

sorry I don't make the rules

#shyan #work husbands #could have gone with Fabis but this is much funnier #sorry sometimes my brain makes me think things like this #and then it also says 'hey what if they roleplayed as their alter egos and we wrote a fic about it' #but mostly I tell my brain to go chase another bubble when it tries to create more WIPs for me #slashedits #morbian #as someone in SSS said 'it's morbian time' #I'm not gonna write fic about them... #(okay maybe I am)

[ot3]

one time i made a tweet about general trends in ace attorney fanfiction i didn't like without even naming any specific authors or works and someone in the comments was basically like 'take this tweet down what if a fanfiction writer sees it and gets their feelings hurt' and when i said it was pretty ridiculous to expect someone not to say anything negative about broad trends in fanfiction because potentially an author might theoretically see it they blocked me.

#internet fanartists have their own unique set of weird self-importance issues but #i do find they have distinctly less of this fragile blown-glass ego thing so prominent in fic authors

[exceedinglygayotter]

Man, those BotW speedruns where Link just rushes directly to Ganon would probably be absolutely mortifying for Revali in-universe.

The guy spends a century waiting for his revenge, finally coming to accept his position as support, and then Link, the guy who Revali had insisted had everything handed to him and was only special because of his magic sword, the guy Revali was massively jealous of, the guy who lives in Revali’s head rent-free, just... kills Ganon.

By himself. While massively weakened compared to pre-calamity. Without the Master Sword. And he does it without even knowing that Revali exists because he hasn't recovered any memories!

Any one of those would be humiliating for Revali, all of them together would probably leave his ego in tatters.

#Also I might use this in a Revalink fic. If I ever get around to actually writing it #It'll have a newly-resurrected Revali dragging Link on a roadtrip around Hyrule to recover his memories and to salvage his own ego #loz botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #botw #loz #revali #revali botw

[clambuoyance]

“But do I have a soul?”

“Of course you do.”

#girl help I was just looking for refs for a comic slash fic and went insane #dc #kon el #Conner kent #kontent #superboy #I COULD ADD SO MUCH #anyways smth smth i think experiencing life and making friends and loving them with everything you have is what life is all about personally #it’s about love #in my head or if I were to make a show his arc of losing that ego and immaturity would be directly tied to him wanting to be more protective #coughs can u tell I’m a Kai stan

[suga-kookiemonster]

*slams hands on table* Did I hear a FOLLOW UP FIC??? FOR EGO??? Yes please!!!! Would love to see more in the hoe chronicles!! (But pls don’t feel rushed, take your time fleshing ideas out!)

yesss! 😁 i'm still fleshing it out, but hopefully i should have it ready soon. and you're right, i should totally pop out a hoe chronicle or two in the meantime 🤔 right now, i've been slowly breaking my little writing hiatus with dabbling with my IT!jungkook fic that has been in my drafts for literal years lol. that and my timetraveler!joon fic, which is taking more of a mental load than i anticipated. i'm feeling good about IT!guk tho, so fingers crossed i'll be able to share it with you soon! 💜

#life has kept me busy so i haven't had the energy to write for a while #but i'm feeling my inspiration start to kick up again #so hopefully i'll be able to share soon 💜 #thank you so much for sticking around 🥰 #asks #fic: ego #fic: ehc

[finntheehumaneater]

An Ego Thing (Part 3/???)

IT’S HERE, YAY. Sorry this took so fucking long, but homework is a bitch, and I had a DND campaign to go to yesterday. Anyways—here it is. Enjoy :)

— —

Telling Steve was so much harder than Eddie thought it would be. It wasn’t just something that he could say or spit out while Steve argued with him over how fucking unfair all of this was to him—and it was. It was unfair to Steve, Eddie knew that. He didn’t deserve to feel like this because of Eddie’s mistake.

And he just needed to say it. To tell him, but that was so fucking hard. He didn’t like Steve. He knew that—it was much, much more than that—but he didn’t want to say that he loved him, because that still didn’t feel right, and it felt too forward. But there wasn’t any other way to put it that would make Steve understand.

This had made the next few days absolute fucking torture. Hawkins was small enough that it was easy to run into the same person a few times, and the universe had decided that it was exactly what Eddie needed—to see Steve everywhere. To see how he would glance at Eddie, and then look away, his face set and his cheeks red, frowning at the ground beneath him like he just wanted Eddie to disappear off the face of the earth—and to be fair, Eddie thought that sounded like a wonderful idea.

Robin hadn’t stopped bugging him about it, either—telling him to just do it, to which he pointed out that she still hadn’t told Nancy about how she felt towards her, and that seemed to get her to shut the fuck up for a while. Only for a while. Because it was torture for her, too—seeing Steve like this.

Maybe he should call Steve? But what would he even say? Confessions over the phone were a nightmare, but maybe if he didn’t have to look at Steve while he said it, being turned down wouldn’t hurt as bad, since he could just hang up and never have to see Steve again.

Then again, why did he even need to tell him? To make Steve feel better? To make himself feel better? He sure as hell wouldn’t feel better if—no, not if—when Steve rejected him. He was going to get put down. Immediately, most likely. Because there was no way that Steve fucking Harrington was into him. 

No chance in Hell.

So why even bother?

No, no, no—he was doing this for Steve. He could do it. Maybe. Probably. Maybe not. Fuck, he really didn’t want to do this.

— —

Eddie’s hands were shaking as he dialed Steve’s number, sweat making it hard to grip the phone without it slipping. The phone was old—only a few years or so, but still—so some of the number keys stuck when he pressed them, which meant he had to try a few times, giving him plenty of time to doubt his decision.

It was pretty late at night. How long had the phone been ringing? Maybe Steve was avoiding him? But how would he know it was Eddie calling? Maybe he was asleep? Maybe he was out? Maybe—

“Hello?” Steve’s voice came through, and Eddie had to force himself still to keep from gasping in surprise at the sudden loud, scratchy voice. There was loud music playing in the background, and the sound of people yelling and talking, which made it a bit hard to make out Steve’s voice.

“Steve..” Eddie whispered, and when he didn’t get a response, he figured Steve couldn’t hear him. “Steve.” He said again, a bit louder.

“Eddie.” It came out as more of a sigh than anything. He sounded tired. Annoyed, upset, hang up, hang up, hang up—

“Steve…” Eddie repeated, because he didn’t know what else to say. No—he knew what to say, but he didn’t know how to say it. Which didn’t make any sense. He was going to get in his van and just leave all of Hawkins entirely if this went poorly.

“Eddie—“

“Look, Steve, I am so fucking sorr—“ There was a loud crash on the other end of the line, and Steve sighed, muttering an exasperated ‘oh, fuck…’ under his breath. 

“Hold on, man.” Was all he said, leaving Eddie in silence as the phone clicked off. He could’ve just put him on hold. Maybe he wasn’t going to call back? That would be a relief. But it would also fucking suck because Eddie was trying to do something.

Steve did call back, a few moments later, and it was very quiet until Eddie looked around and then sighed. “This is a bad time, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry. I—“ 

“I have to go.”

“Oh. Are—it sounds like you’re having a party, or some shit.” Eddie found himself absentmindedly twisting his fingers in his hair, so he dropped his hand to the side, hesitating.

“Something like that. It’s for a friend. My house is big so I told her to just…have it here.” Steve mumbled, his voice still barely audible over all the noise.

“Oh...Alright.”

“I’ll see you around, Eddie.”

Eddie’s eyes widened slightly and he cleared his throat. “Y-yeah, yeah…see you around.”

The phone clicked off again, and Eddie placed it back on the wall, the wire twisting and curling. 

Well, fuck.

—

tag list:

@strangersteddierthings

@different-tale-student

@nburkhardt

@paintsplatteredandimperfect

@heaven428

@swimmingbirdrunningrock

@estrellami-1

part 1 and part 2

(Hopefully I did the links right…)

Now on Ao3

#An Ego Thing By Finn #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things writing #Robin Buckley

[blindmagdalena]

Eat Your Ego, Honey ( Ch 8 )

homelander x oc 18+  escort services, sex work, voyeurism, stalking, Homelander in general. see ao3 link for detailed tags. chapter index. check out the playlist!

chapter summary: After the disastrous spectacle that was Homelander's birthday celebration, America's "disgraced" hero is forced to reconcile with the demons in his head, and what that means for Layla, the woman standing precariously in their path.

additional tags: unhealthy/codependent dynamics, threats of violence, themes of abuse, canon deviation. 🖤

Sleep is a scarcity. Homelander fades in and out of consciousness, but he never truly rests. It’s strange to sleep somewhere he can't see the comfort of his own gaze endlessly mirrored back at him. Those mirrors make the world so much bigger, but for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t mind how small it is. What would normally be a dark, claustrophobic thing is now a great deal safer than the open expanse of a stage.

Layla’s warmth and the faint weight of her arm around him is the only thing that keeps him somewhat tethered. Her heartbeat is a steady metronome against his back, her breaths warmly ghosting over his neck and shoulder. It’s been hours, but it feels too soon when the covers move on his skin as she readjusts in her sleep, pulling her arm from him. He lifts the blanket and rolls to face her. 

She’s turned away from him, her dark hair fanned out in a wild splay on the pillow beneath her. Light from the unsleeping city spills in through the window, illuminating her figure. It’s strange to see her sleeping in day clothes and not the sleepwear he’s used to seeing her in. She didn’t have the time to change tonight. She was too busy taking him back into her arms, into her bed, into her life. He brushes his knuckles down between her shoulder blades, the disheveled silk of her blouse soft beneath his fingers.

He’ll find out why Starlight’s scent is lingering on her when she wakes.

Sliding closer to her, he flattens his palm over her hip and noses at the line of her throat, inhaling deeply, chasing the scent beneath shampoo and lotion until he finds what’s simply her. Her wine flush has followed her into sleep, her skin warmer than usual. She responds to his touch with a sleepy sigh of pleasure. Even now, the sound of her voice does so much to quiet the storm in his heart. He screws his eyes shut and buries his face into the soft tresses of her hair, gritting his teeth against the urge to squeeze too tight. 

The urge to keep. 

The urge to break it all apart and let the storm rage. Instead, he keeps himself perfectly still, trying to swallow the thrumming energy coiling in his tense muscles. End this, the darkness in him hisses, tempting him. How many days has he resisted the urge to reach out, not with his hands but with this thing inside him, and ruin everything? Everyone? A flash of crimson is all it would take to cleave this world in half.

But he can’t afford to. Not then, not now.

The only way he made it out of the cold isolation of the lab, far away from the bad room, was by convincing the staff, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was good. He was their perfect man-made hero. Logically, he knows they can’t ever put him back in the bad room. He’d never let them. It doesn’t stop the nightmares.

He folds in on himself, doing his best to forget that he even has power to wield against others—a whim as sharp as glass. Now, just as then, he orders his body and mind to still, to calm.

If Layla had stayed yesterday morning, things would have been different. His tightly controlled grip on her hip flexes minutely. How can she sleep so deeply knowing that she’s ruined him?

What was she doing with Starlight?

The inkling of a deeper betrayal slithers into his mind. He slides his hand up the length of her torso, traversing the familiar scape of her body, and into her hair, coiling his fingers into a gentle fist of it. One twist is all it would take to quiet her soothing voice forever. Would hair ever feel the same to him again, or would it start to smell like burning tears and cornea? The stench of grief hits him so suddenly that his eyes sting with it, and he recoils from Layla like he himself has been burned.

Has she been scheming against him all along, too?

Fucked. He’s so completely and entirely fucked.

He exhales harshly, curling his hand into a tight fist and biting into the meaty curve just below his thumb, muffling a tearful keen. He can’t think back to that morning without reliving how horribly it went wrong, and how the dominos just continued to fall until he was losing his senses in front of the entire world.

Those moments on stage play over and over in his mind, but each instance of them grows more warped than the last. He’s starting to forget what he really said, conflating memories with nightmares. How much of himself did he really let slip? How ugly does the world think him to be now? 

He can see the headlines now.

Homelander: America’s Fallen Hero

Homelander: Vought’s Poster Boy Throws a Tantrum

Homelander: Deranged Freak Snaps On Stage

He’s spiraling worse than he did during Stormfront’s smear campaign against him. It isn’t just dissenting opinions and slander—he’s finally given them real ammunition to use against him. The question is: how much, and how will he refute it? He needs to be able to recover from this.

His voice of reason is treacherously quiet. Nothing but the dreadful echo of I warned you.

With his thoughts twisting in on themselves like a pit of angry, writhing snakes, he finds it impossible to stay still any longer. His whole body is plagued with a restlessness that turns into agony. Carefully, he extracts himself from Layla’s side and slips out of her bed. He needs to see it for himself. He needs to understand the degree of damage that’s been done to him.

Stepping out into her living room, Homelander picks up the remote for her television and flips it on, dropping the volume to such a miniscule level that he’ll be the only one to hear it. He lowers himself down onto the couch and stares, watching his body move and speak, seemingly puppeteered by someone other than himself, operating in ways he’s never seen himself behave in front of a camera before.

“I’m done being persecuted for my strength–”

Erratic.

“Persecuted for my strength–”

Unhinged.

“Persecuted–”

Alive.

If they want to take us down, we’re going to take every last one of them down with us.

The sky is just barely beginning to turn with dawn’s light when Layla wakes to a chill that rolls up her spine. Her bed feels colder than it has any right to, and as the fractured events of last night spill back into her mind, it doesn’t take her long to figure out why. 

Homelander—who knows if he’ll accept that name yet—is nowhere to be seen.

Her temples throb with the aftermath of emptying a hefty bottle of wine as she lifts herself from bed, running her hands through her hair, breaking apart the tangles with her fingers.

The breadcrumb trail of Homelander’s suit leading from her balcony to her bed tells her that he hasn’t left. The image of him streaking through the sky in the nude does occur to her, though. Straightening her borrowed blouse and tucking it back into the waist of her skirt, she steps lightly through the dark of her apartment, head on a swivel, until she spots her quarry.

Reclined on her couch, Homelander paints an image somewhere between a renaissance painting and a billboard for depression, his body illuminated by the flashing light of the television. His expression is morose, his hand sitting on the couch next to him at an angle, the remote tilted in his loose grasp. As she approaches, he begins tapping on the volume until his own recorded voice fills the empty space between them.

It’s his tirade from last night.

“Hey, babe,” he drawls from the couch, voice pitched low and despondent. The way he pops each consonant makes the pet name sound downright derogatory. “So, what’s the verdict?” He asks, lazily gesturing to the television with the remote. “Is it everything you thought it would be?” His gaze slides from the screen to her, his head lolling to the side with it.

Any concern or lingering sleepiness in her face is swiftly replaced with bewilderment. “Excuse me?”

“‘Excuse me?’” He mocks, pitching his voice up condescendingly. Her expression hardens as he stands, the remote bouncing along the couch cushions where he tosses it. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

“I’m not playing anything with you,” she responds tersely. She’s never been a morning person. Compound that with the ache in her skull and the naked pain in the neck standing in front of her, she’s not feeling her usual bounty of patience. Last night, he was a weepy, sopping mess. Now she doesn’t know what to expect from the tight line of his shoulders, or the agitated curl of his upper lip. “I have no idea what it is you think you’re picking at.”

“Since when are you and Starlight pals, then?” He hisses through his teeth.

Shit. Annie. She never sent that text.

“Since yesterday,” she answers, her calm stretched thin. “She saw me at the elevator. She offered a shower and a change of clothes. That’s all.” She doesn’t find it necessary to explain why Starlight might have offered such a thing. He knows exactly how she looked when she left his penthouse, bruised and disheveled.

The memory looks to serve as a crisp slap, some level of clarity filtering into the incensed glaze of his eyes. His grip flexes, and he bares his teeth in an animalistic flash of frustration. He isn’t willing to accept fault for that yet.

“Stop fucking lying to me!” He snaps, the sudden jump in volume startling her. He advances on her sharply, halting her step backwards with an iron grip, his palm against her throat, his thumb and index finger notching perfectly behind the curve of her jaw below her ears. The contact is minimal, and yet the strength in those two fingers alone is more than enough to hold her firmly in place. 

“You’re all the fucking same! Agendas, lies, all of you trying to control me, use me, and you—you’re exactly the fucking same. You’ve taken everything from me,” he snarls. Despite his fervor, his grip remains remarkably controlled. Sometimes it’s as if his mind and his body are two independent entities: one an unstable, emotionally malnourished psyche, and the other a finely tuned weapon.

The human mind wants dangerous things to be ugly, but even now, Homelander’s twisted, angry expression is not an ugly thing. Though adrenaline surges the thrum of her heart, it isn’t laden with the fear any reasonable person would have. The thrill coursing through her isn’t rooted in some comfort that he won’t hurt her. It’s the knowledge that he—more devastating than any man she’s ever known—absolutely will if not handled correctly.

It’s like holding a thundering storm in her bare hands.

Layla stares wide-eyed and astonished, so thoroughly unaware of what he’s accusing her of that she struggles to speak around the hard lump in her throat. He leans closer yet, clutching her with all the same strength, tenderness and menace of the ocean cradling a ship.

“I killed her,” he whispers, the words passing between them like a confession to God himself. He’s so near, she could rest her forehead against his if she wanted. “I killed her for lying to me. I’ll kill you, too.”

Madelyn Stillwell. The name returns to her like a ghost, the hairs at the back of her neck prickling. Or was it Stormfront? The unnamed mother of his child? One was the victim of a domestic terrorist, one committed suicide, and the third is yet undetermined. All of them are apparent casualties of Homelander’s turbulent presence in their lives. Is she to be the fourth in a string of tragedies? Rage swells so suddenly in her heart that she almost chokes on the fire of it. What right does he have to interrogate her and  threaten her?

“Are you glad?” She asks, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hand holding his wrist in turn. “Are you glad to have killed her?”

His expression flips as if he’s been struck, crinkled brows shooting up. “What?”

“Will you be glad to have killed me?” She asks tightly, her nails biting ineffectual crescents into his titanium flesh. Her tone is sharp and no longer meant to soothe. She speaks to cut. “Or will you just be even more alone?”

Like hers, his eyes turn glassy. “No,” he says softly. She doesn’t know if that’s an answer or a plea.

“Let me go,” she tells him firmly, fighting to hold onto the fires of her own indignant anger. His abrupt flashes of softness and vulnerability compromise her resolve.

“Go where, Layla?” He snaps, suddenly loud again. His broken desperation and seething anger make his voice reedy. “Where the fuck could you go that I wouldn’t still feel you? Kill you, fuck you, love you; you’re in my fucking head!”

You’re all the fucking same!

She isn’t dead, but he’s treating her like a ghost nonetheless. As if she’s already one of the many specters haunting him.

“You love me?” She asks him, snatching that precarious lifeline out of the messy slurry of his words. She’s not sure that he knows the meaning of it. 

Does she?

The tension in Homelander’s face goes slack, stricken to hear those words fall from her lips. His mouth opens and closes as he tries and fails to form the right words. It’s too vulnerable to say yes, and too complicated to say no. Ultimately, he can’t bear to answer first.

“Do you love me?” He asks, defensive, as if she were the one who brought the terrifying gravity of love into the equation in the first place. The weight of it turns her tongue to lead.

There’s an adolescent sense of fumbling in this moment that would be endearing if he were not clutching her jaw with inhuman strength, the whispered promise of her death hanging over them like a creaky guillotine. In another life, this could have been a very sweet confession.

“Do you?” He prompts her again, desperate. He cups the back of her head with his other hand, taking a step closer. His chest bumps her forearms where she has them tightly braced, hands clamped tightly over his wrist. It’s a meager barrier to uphold, but she does so steadfastly. His hold on her is suffocating, his agonized ocean eyes filling up her vision. He’s larger than life, leaving space for little else in her life ever since he crashed into it.

Even when he’s gone, she is consumed by him like a fever that refuses to be sweated out. When her career first began, she knew well enough not to entertain superhumans. It wasn’t a bias she held against them per se, but the opposite: she knew from the start that she would become intoxicated on the danger of them. Homelander is the epitome of everything she’s ever been too afraid to let herself love. He’s the first person to ever be enough of a risk to scare her, and enough of a reward to satiate her. She can feel her destruction lurking in him just as plainly as her parents found their own in their shared thrill seeking.

“I want to,” she whispers, a secret she’s denied even to herself until now. “But you’re making it so fucking hard.”

He exhales roughly, something like hope softening the tension in his expression before he screws his eyes shut, another wave of agony contorting his features. His forehead thumps gently against hers. “I don’t know—I don’t know how else to be. I don’t know how. I don’t know how to make it easy.”

Finally, he releases her jaw from the snare of his grip, only to take either side of her face between his hands, pulling away to look at her. He’s always been younger than her in a multitude of ways, but in this moment, the agonized youth in his eyes takes her breath away. “I was—I was made to be loved. I was supposed to be everyone’s hero. They poked and prodded me, manufactured me in a-a fucking lab to be perfect, but no one—”

Layla’s eyes widen, her heart seized. What?

Homelander bares his teeth like a wounded animal, breath hissing in and out of his clenched teeth as tears roll down his cheeks. “But no one does, no one fucking does, no one loves me,” he says through his teeth, nearly choking on the words. “I don’t understand how to make it easy, Layla,” he sobs, hands shaking on either side of her face. She can’t tell if it’s from sheer emotion, or the restraint it takes not to crush her between them.

“So just—tell me what I need to do, please,” he begs her, devastatingly beautiful in the same way the sprawling webbing of a shattered mirror is. “Tell me how to be easy to love.”

Breathless, Layla stands there with her heart bleeding so freely, so painfully, that she swears there’s warm blood soaking onto the pristine white blouse she wears.

There is a monster in Homelander. At times, she can feel the claws of it in his grip on her. Hear it growling in her ear. When it comes to handling monsters, banishment is always the remedy. Slay the beast, free the man. Homelander’s monster is not so easily felled, nor is she certain it should be. He was not born with sharp teeth and claws. From what she’s gathered, they were filed into fine points long before he was a man.

People like to think of the monster within them as an outside force. Corruption, propaganda, the devil. Layla has spent enough time in bed with people’s deviance to know better. The proverbial devil is not outside of humanity, but embedded deep within It cannot be safely extracted any more than a beating heart can.

But corruption isn’t a heart—it’s a stomach. 

It craves and yearns, it twists and aches and growls when hungry. Just as Eve ate of the apple, humans take bites of sin to satiate their monster. Like people, monsters come in a wide variety of shapes, temperaments, and cravings. Some beasts can be satisfied with a nibble here and there. Others require more. Some never learned how to know when they’re full.

After all he has been deprived of, Homelander may never be truly satisfied, but does that mean he doesn’t deserve to be fed at all?

No, Layla thinks. It doesn’t.

Both of their faces are streaked wet with tears as they hold one another’s gazes. Gingerly, she brings her own hands up to cup his face, wiping his tears with her thumbs. “Okay,” she whispers, afraid her own voice of reason will hear her. “Okay, my darling.”

Relief helps smooth the crease between his brows, but it doesn’t dissipate entirely. “Say it,” he urges her, the hands still upon her face giving the faintest nudge. “Say you love me.”

“I love you,” she says, teary and quiet, but with conviction. She leans in, and he allows her to, no longer holding her firmly in place for fear that she might suddenly vanish. “I love you,” she says again, a promise that ghosts his lips. He shudders. “I love you. You’re in my head,” she says, echoing his own words back at him. Her lips brush against his in a not-quite kiss. “You were from the start.”

He exhales a pained, keening sound, pushing his fingers into her hair and pulling her deep into a feverish kiss. His hunger for her is voracious, and his desire is a force she might not withstand—not by virtue of its violence, but because of its sheer magnitude. He kisses her fiercely, one arm slipping around her middle to keep her body from bowing under the weight of his love.

“I love you, too,” he breathes, the relief in his voice palpable. She takes the air of it into her lungs like it might save her. “I love you so fucking much.”

It’s dangerous, she knows, to trick herself into believing she can satiate his mountainous hunger. Danger is like an ice bath, though. You grow accustomed to the bite of it.

Morning light creeps slowly into Layla’s condo. Homelander trails her as closely as her own shadow, breathing in against the crook of her neck while she cooks breakfast. He’s partially dressed in his undershirt and underwear, his suit folded neatly upon her vanity for the time being. It’s nice to feel his arms around her without the obstructive padding of his suit. Without the bulk of it, she fits more closely against him, his superhuman warmth like a particularly cuddly space heater pressed against her back.

“One egg or two?” She asks him, plucking one from the container on the counter.

“Mmm… Two,” he says, the deliberation making it sound more like a trivia answer than a preference.

She cracks four eggs into the pan, one at a time. “Over easy, medium, hard…?”

He grins against her neck, and she gives his hand at her hip a playful little swat with the back of her silicone spatula. “I dunno,” he says, nuzzling her. “However you like it.”

“Have you never had eggs before?” She asks, looking back at him. 

He’s got his chin propped up on her shoulder. His gaze flickers up from the sizzling pan to meet hers. “Just scrambled.”

…I was made… manufactured in a fucking lab…

She swallows a small lump in her throat, turning back to the eggs. She flips them all over easy and plates them with the toast. When she takes the toast off of the plates and begins slicing them into strips, Homelander makes an inquisitive noise.

“You’ll see,” she says cryptically, shooing him to the table as she plates their breakfasts and carries them to the table.

Homelander sits, and she sets his plate down in front of him. She sits on the adjoining corner to his, but within seconds he has a grip on her seat. The chair legs groan as he slides her closer to him, smiling at her look of surprise. “That’s better,” he says, his knee bumping hers.

He’d likely prefer she be in his lap. There’s always a lingering sense that she’s never quite close enough, even when they’re pressed tightly against one another. He might not be satisfied until he finds a way to open her up and crawl inside.

Huffing a small laugh, she gestures to his plate. “Use the toast sticks to break the yolk,” she tells him, and then demonstrates on her own meal, jabbing a piece of toast into the soft yellow yolk, coating it properly before taking a bite.

Blinking, Homelander does the same. He hums appreciatively, nodding with a mouthful of food.

“My gramma insisted that all food tastes better when it’s dipped. She always made my breakfasts this way,” she explains, her smile tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. “I can’t remember the last time I did it for myself.” 

Silence follows. She glances up to find Homelander staring intently at his plate, a cut of toast pinched between his fingers, dripping yolk back down onto the egg. Layla takes a breath to speak, but that inhale is all it takes to snap him from his thoughts, his sharp blue eyes meeting hers.

“Ryan would like this, I think,” he says. She can tell he’s working to keep his voice conversational.

“Ryan?” She echoes, though it clicks a second after she says it.

“My son,” he confirms, clearing his throat gently. She shares his trepidation as he enters this particular topic of conversation, considering the fallout the last time it was broached. He dips the toast again and takes another bite, seemingly buying time with deliberate chews.

Layla bites her tongue, choking back her own knee-jerk response. She likes children just fine, in theory. She’s had very little practical experience. Still, words of unbidden advice bubble up on her tongue as if she’s an expert. She wants to tell Homelander to go to the boy, talk to him. He told her that she had taken everything from him, presumably referring to his very public meltdown, but that isn’t true in a number of ways. He has a son out there somewhere, confused and without either of his parents.

It sets a sympathetic churn in her gut. Grieving her own parents as a child made an adult of her far too soon. She may not have raised any children herself, but she can speak as a child who was left behind.

“He’s nine. He’s strong,” Homelander continues tentatively. “I mean, really strong. Strong like me,” he says, pride underlining each word, driving out the hesitance. “He’s so much like me. I never thought I’d see it, but he’s real. He’s—” he breaks into a small, incredulous laugh. “—He’s a miracle. A real, born miracle.”

Unlike you, she surmises from his tone. He said that Vought had made him. The world has been rocked by the revelation that supes are the result of Vought’s pharmaceutical ventures, but the way Homelander talks of his son makes him sound different. An exception to that fact, somehow.

“You should go to him,” she encourages, still holding onto a level of cautiousness on the matter. “I was left behind by my parents. I don’t wish it on anyone.”

“I didn’t leave him behind,” Homelander corrects sharply. She was right to tread lightly. “He left me,” he says, though he doesn’t speak with anger so much as he does woundedness. He’s never expressed anything but love—bordering on reverence—for his son, and yet he has completely roadblocked himself from reaching out.

It’s complicated, he told her before.

“He’s nine. It’s not his job to uncomplicate things or bridge the gap,” she says as gently as she can muster, though even she can hear the weariness in her own voice. “It’s yours. He needs you to be the adult, to help the world make sense. It’s one thing to give him space, but you can’t abandon him.”

At first, there is a flash of petulant defiance in Homelander’s eyes, obvious in the tight set of his jaw. To Layla’s relief, however, it fades into quiet consideration. He looks back down to his half-finished plate.

“You can’t take personally what anyone, much less a child, does out of grief,” she says softly, reaching out to put her hand atop his where it rests on the table. “Ryan needs wisdom. Support. People who love him. He needs his father.”

He looks up at her with a level of vulnerability in those ocean blue eyes that never fails to pull her into the depths. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she says firmly. To this day, she can’t imagine what she wouldn’t do for just one more day with her own father. 

Slowly, the wateriness of his gaze becomes a sparkle. Homelander smiles. He has as many smiles as an ice cream shop has flavors, and this one says he’s just had an idea.

“What?” Layla asks after a beat, an edge of suspicion to her tone.

“Nothing,” he says placatingly. His smile shifts. She knows that flavor of smile. That one means he’s lying. “Just relieved is all. Could I use your phone?”

It’s a wonder the ease with which Homelander glides from mood to mood, as if he puts each one neatly in a box before he takes out the next one. Layla only hesitates for a second before she nods, sliding out of her chair to go and fetch her cellphone. She still needs to text Annie.

“Jesus,” she says softly, staring at her screen with a deep crease in her brow.

“What?” Homelander asks, leaning in his seat.

She has thirty missed calls, and about as many text messages.

THIS IS ASHLEY BARRET. HAVE YOU SEEN HOMELANDER? IF YOU KNOW WHERE HOMELANDER IS, PLEASE CONTACT ME. PLEASE CONTACT ME IF YOU KNOW WHERE HOMELANDER IS. MISS ALDEN PLEASE CONTACT ME AND ONLY ME IF YOU HAVE SEEN HOMELANDER. IF YOU CAN PLEASE INFORM HOMELANDER HE IS UP.

Ashley Barret. Layla recalls the name from Homelander’s initial booking. She had been the one to handle the details and arrange payment.

“Ashley Barret is very desperate to find you,” she says, reading the texts as she walks back towards him. “She says that you’re… up.” She stops at the table, looking at him. “What does that mean?”

The chair legs scrape audibly against the floor when Homelander stands up. “Give me that,” he says, taking the phone from her outstretched hand. His expression pinches tightly as he scrolls through the messages, lips parted. “I’m… up,” he says slowly, processing the words that mean nothing to Layla. With a tap, she hears a dial tone. Homelander holds the phone to his ear.

“Miss Alden–” answers a feminine voice immediately.

“What do you mean I’m up?” Homelander interrupts, a harshness to his voice that Layla doesn’t expect to hear outside of an argument.

“21 points with your base,” Ashley says breathlessly.

Homelander’s expression softens, becoming wonder-like. “What did you say?”

“21 points. They loved your speech!”

He looks at Layla, familiar glassiness returning to his eyes. He lifts his loose hand, which curls slowly into a fist, as if he’s taking hold of something precious, some nebulous concept of grace he had thought lost. 

“A massive 44% uptick with white males in the Rust Belt.”

“Yes,” Homelander hisses through his teeth, pumping his fist triumphantly. “Fuck yes! Yes!” With that same hand, he suddenly takes hold of the back of Layla’s neck, pulling her into a deep kiss. Her noise of surprise is muffled against his lips, his tongue a slick demand on hers.

“They’re saying you’re confident and unapologetic!” Ashley’s voice continues to prattle from the phone, though Layla’s finding it hard to pay attention with the way Homelander’s taking a fistful of her hair, bowing her back, kissing her hungrily. “That you’re not afraid to be yourself!”

He outright moans against her lips. She breaks away from him with a gasp, hand pressed against her chest. “Should I give you a moment alone with Ashley?” She asks breathlessly, only half-joking. The man is absolutely alight against her, heat radiating in his touches. The news trips an alarm bell somewhere in the back of Layla’s mind, but she’s struggling to process it in the wake of his voraciousness.

“Christ, no,” he says. The phone hits the ground with a clatter, Ashley’s confused voice continuing distantly on the line. He cups both sides of Layla’s face and pulls her back in, exhaling a pleased little growl against her lips. “Did you hear? They love me. They fucking love me,” he says between kisses, breathless and downright giddy.

Drawing back, he strokes her cheeks tenderly with his thumbs, his smile broad, eyes shining with relief, joy, and something Layla can’t quite place, though it causes a small knot to form in her gut.

“They want me to be myself.”

#this chapter took everything out of me but it's here and i hope to god it doesn't take this long for the next chap #bc i already have portions written and i know where it's all going!!! #blood sweat and tears in this fic fr lmao #homelander x oc #homelander x original character #homelander fanfiction #eat your ego #my writing

[mothfables]

i keep thinking about the chain (minus legend) being turned into wolves from this post of mine so i figured why not ramble about it

the base idea: everyone except legend is turned into wolves. legend is a rabbit. you can imagine the issues this causes

-definitely inspired by Wolfie’s Pack by AmayasAngel and Wolf Family by Breanna!! they’re very good go read them now <3

-the wolves can understand each other. wolves and rabbits cannot

-they eventually manage to figure out who’s who through some trial and error

-in the beginning, the Chain have to constantly reign in their new instincts around Legend (small, brightly-coloured prey animal moving quickly = hunting mode activated). as i’m sure you can imagine, this does nothing to help Legend’s poor heart or issues

-Twilight + Sky, the two most familiar with Legend’s rabbit form, are extremely protective of him the whole time they’re transformed

-Wind + Four are pup/juvenile sized, with Wild + Hyrule slightly bigger than them

-Legend has about a hundred heart attacks during this time; it does not help that half the Chain are very eager to play, with him or with each other. either way his nerves are through the roof

-Twilight is in charge, as he’s the one most familiar with this form. this also means he has the (dubious) pleasure of teaching everyone else - sans Legend - how to be a wolf

-Legend mostly chills with Sky or hides from the more... excitable members of the Chain (these are not mutually exclusive)

-Sky takes to grooming him to help both their nerves

-you know how rabbits grooming each other can be a sign of submission + boosts their ego? yeah. Legend gets an ego boost for a while there and it allows him to be confident enough to engage with the others for a bit

-they take turns grooming him one time (he gets massively ego-drunk) and he binkies for a good five minutes in the middle of camp while everyone else watches in amusement (and the younger ones join in)

-the curse eventually wears off or gets removed and everyone has to take a while to adjust to being hylian again. that being said, being able to communicate properly with everyone is a relief

-there is some teasing on both sides but the Chain remembers quite clearly how terrified Legend was (and how they were, too, when they realized it was him and when they couldn’t understand him) and so they keep it to a minimum. Legend definitely gives as much as he gets, though

#mod speaks #linked universe #lu legend #lu wolfie #lu the chain #bunny legend #listen sometimes you just need an ego boost from your friends to bring your spirits up #warriors *definitely* teases him about the pink hair again now that he knows where it came from #all in lighthearted fun of course #definitely thinking about trying my hand at writing this #but i dunno what i’d call it #possible title is ‘of bunnies and wolves’ #but that might be too close to ‘wolves and rabbits’ #which is an unrelated fic centered around legend + his reaction to meeting wolfie the first time #(hint: it doesn’t go well) #rabbit in a wolf den

[3lli3l0v3r]

i wanna show yall this rn because i'm excited about it tbh...it's gonna be cheesy and fluffy and silly. (can you tell i have way too much fun in picsart- that means i genuinely can't tell if the header thingy looks atrocious, cringe sure but legit can't decide just how bad). the imagine that inspired this.

#even if it looks ridiculous hey this is meant to be cheesy so WHATEVA #like ive been staring at it and have no idea if it looks like a child made it...still an improvement from my first couple LMAO #there are two wolves inside me: doesnt write a word for weeks straight vs stays up all night thinking and planning #not to jinx it or anything but words have been wording #yalls kind words have inflated my ego lol #and yes i kinda hate that the aesthetic isnt green- but we gotta branch out a little bit #me when yall get the title references MWAH MWAH #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie smut #ellie williams fanfiction #upcoming fic #current wip #ellie williams fluff #pluto + their pen ☆