ihatesocialmedia45 - A03's Biggest Menace
A03's Biggest Menace

24, FPossibly bisexual (results pending)WriterDiabolica45 on A03

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Sometimes Masking Is So Humiliating - But I'd Rather Ppl Think I'm This Silly Goof Than Know The Truth.

sometimes masking is so humiliating - but i'd rather ppl think i'm this silly goof than know the truth. i see the way they look at me whenever i let the mask slip.

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More Posts from Ihatesocialmedia45

5 months ago

My Debut Onto The Tumblr Homelander Fanfic Scene

I see a lot of other Homelander writers post their fics on here, and I think I will start, too! Here is Chapter One of my fic: (also - you should listen to Guts' Theme from Berserk while you read!)

My Debut Onto The Tumblr Homelander Fanfic Scene

Sunshine, Happiness and Rainbows

Vought's New Year's Countdown was in full swing; VNN was filming live, and the camera panned outside, to show the cheering crowd huddled outside the Tower. Homelander watched from the window, the flash of cameras lighting up his face, wearing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He would be hosting this event, he thought with an internal sigh. The people outside might have been genuinely celebrating - but to him,  to the rest of the Seven, it was just another soulless bid for attention. They hadn't even officially been asked to host; The Tonight Show had fought them tooth and nail for the time slot - but Stan would not be cowed, and Vought had won, once again.

All this, just to celebrate another pointless year... 

"Over here, Homelander!" a cameraman urged, waving wildly. Homelander flashed him a dazzling smile; the shutters clicked faster.

Deep was entertaining a gaggle of fans outside, taking pictures, while Maeve was nursing an old fashioned inside, leaning on the meeting room table. Noir, hidden the back, was wearing a neon sign that flashed colors and messages across the screen: 20 minutes till next year!  Sage, the sourpuss, had managed to find a way out of the affair entirely, and was probably scraping her brains out and eating fast food... or whatever it was she did during those moments of idiocy she quite literally carved out for herself. Homelander felt his lip curl in disgust. The Seven was in shambles, and Stan had saw fit to drag them on TV and make them dance, anyway. 

Starlight and Firecracker seemed to be making the best of it, at least, talking to the camera about their resolutions. "Well... I hope to beat my record for saves this year! 350," Starlight said, puffing her chest out slightly. Firecracker gave her a teasing look. "Oh, what a coincidence! I also hope to beat Starlight's record of 350 saves this year," she joked, giving Starlight a playful push. 

As Stan gave his annual speech - his State of the Union, Homelander scoffed, suppressing an eye roll - everyone watched as the camera panned to Noir and his sign: 10 minutes till next year!  Homelander watched the sign flash, Stan's voice like static in his ears. He was already thinking of what he'd do tomorrow; he'd go down to the 30th floor, maybe terrorize Ashley a bit (holidays made him angry), do his itinerary... maybe fly across the globe, sit at Mount Everest... He'd built something of a settlement on the summit, where he could sip his milk and watch the sun rise at the highest elevation in the world. Of course, he could have flown higher, but he'd recently decorated the place with a very deep leather recliner, complete with a heated cushion. Every king needed his throne, after all. Stan fixed him in his steely gaze, snapping him from his reverie. He smiled.

"Now that I've said my piece, I'd like to turn the mic over to Vought's own... Homelander," Stan said smoothly, making way for him. Homelander stepped to the mic, that same static from before in his ears, choking out the festivities and leaving him in a silent film of a scene.

Just move your mouth, John. Tell them what they want to hear.

He felt the words come out, heard the crowd's answering laughter at his jokes, their cheers... but nothing registered in his own ears. He watched the crowd give their silent shouts, mouths set in open grins - and he answered with yet another one of his own, clenched fist throbbing under the podium. His face was starting to ache.

Standing there, at the podium, ushering in a new year he couldn't care less about, but being too influential to miss the show, Homelander straightened his spine, even as he felt his face twitch when he saw a couple outside, wrapping each other into a passionate embrace. He kept his eyes on them, raking over the way they moved - a tender brush of hair, a kiss on the forehead. His eyes felt hot - the urge to laser. He stuffed it down, willed himself to smile.

Finally, though, someone announced that the time had come; there were only 10 seconds until the ball dropped. The city held its breath as Homelander raised his hands, counting down, the words falling on deaf ears, sweeping his gaze around once again.

Five!

Maeve, looking depressed as she stood apart from the show.

Four!

Sage, in her dark little den, lobotomy wand in hand, as the masses celebrated outside.

Three!

Deep hugging a fan, bristling as their hands brushed his gills.

Two!

Noir, forever mute and unable to join in on the countdown.

One!

And Homelander, overseer of the entire sordid affair, fists tied in a white knuckled knot under the podium.

"Happy New Year!" everybody cheered, and the crowd outside went wild. The air, once so charged with anticipation, seemed to let out a breath, the smattering of glitter and confetti shimmering in the night sky as New York celebrated. The Seven looked on, their rehearsed smiles growing wan.

Oh, God... Homelander groused, looking around; everyone had begun to embrace, swaying gently as they kissed, hundreds of thousands of hands that held their partners close, the breaths of a million contended sighs reaching his ears and turning his stomach.

He'd seen enough; his duty fulfilled, he stepped stiffly from the podium, shouldering his way past the throngs of people, his step determined. Maybe he'd be able to make it to Everest in an hour if he left now. Less, if he sped. 

In his haste to leave, he heard snatches of conversations ("Is that Homelander?!") that he waved off, his façade waning alongside his patience. He couldn't take a picture. Not today.

He'd finally broken free of the crowd, and was preparing to fly off - when a new voice sounded, a few dozen feet behind him, the melody low and soft in his ears. He stopped himself, lowering his arms. 

"Did you see him, though? He looked so..." they let their words trail off. The friend snorted, and Homelander felt a surge of irritation flash through him.

"What - sexy?" Homelander rolled his eyes but pressed on now, looking for the duo, only to find a hoard of faces obscuring his view.

"No," the reader said, a hint of disgust at her friend's callousness in her voice. "Lonely."

Lonely. 

The word bounced around in his skull, and for a moment, Homelander was incandescent with rage. Who did this... girl... think she was, to act as if she knew him? To lay his inner turmoil out so plainly, as if it was something she could understand. But as the word sunk into his mind - lonely, lonely, lonely... he felt his anger fade, in the wake of its truth.

Lonely. 

He imagined the New Year's celebration he'd planned for himself, sipping steamed milk on Mount Everest, with the heated cushion serving as the only other source of warmth for miles. But the speaker's pity grated on him; he grit his teeth at the feeling.

Was it pity, though? No... that wasn't quite the word. They'd sounded... concerned when they said it. Concerned, for him.  He found himself leaning in, waiting to hear more.

"Yeah, but he's Homelander. He probably has an afterparty to get to," someone else responded. "I doubt he has nobody to kiss on New Years."

"I'd kiss him..." the first voice mumbled furtively. Homelander raised a brow, craning his neck to find the person behind the statement. Their friend scoffed.

"Yeah, I bet! 'Oh, Mr. Homelander, you're dreamier than the posters give you credit for!" 

"Shut up!" 

So, this person was a fan? He stepped closer, his dark mood lightening somewhat. And the way they'd spoken about him... it wasn't in the same dismissive tone their friend had. Gods got lonely, too - a sentiment this fan's insipid friend couldn't seem to grasp. But they did.

Lulled by their dulcet voice, Homelander's legs carried him to her, lingering occasionally so as to make their eventual meeting seem organic. He ghosted behind them, hidden by the trees, the glint of his eyes the only proof of his presence, watching as the girl - wearing a Homelander shirt, he noticed with a wry little smile - walked her friend to her car, then set off, to walk home themselves.

Walk?  Homelander quirked a brow, cocking his head. That wouldn't do at all. Silently cutting through the air, he brought himself a few yards out, where the girl would eventually cross his path, and put on a contemplative face. Barely hiding his smile at his ingenuity, he waited for them, hand tucked into a fist under his chin - the Thinker, waiting for her to bring him to life.

Eventually, she reached him, headphones in her ears, jumping nearly a foot in the air when she realized who she'd discovered. Eyes like saucers, they stuttered out their greetings, hands shaking when they raised them to remove the buds.

"Homelander?!" she started. He smiled, genuinely for the first time that night; beneath the sounds of the city, and the celebration at Vought, he could hear the hummingbird patter of her heart as she took him in. 

"The one and only," he greeted them, rising to his feet. He pointed to their shirt, a teasing smile tucked away at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't tell me you've been following me," he joked, smile widening when their jaw dropped, hastily making to turn the shirt backwards.

"This isn't - no! Well..." shirt turned backward, they brought their shy gaze to his, cheeks turning rosy from the cold - and a hint of embarrassment.

Homelander extended a hand to them, eyes kind despite himself. It wasn't his way, to offer favors to fans - mudpeople, his mind spat before he banished the thought... but in this case, maybe he could make an exception. New Year, new Homelander.

He'd looked so... lonely, her words echoed in his mind. He felt his smile falter, but quickly brought it back to life.

"Let me take you home. It's too cold to walk," he said, the thin veneer of bravado melting slightly when she took his hand.

Warmth. Pure, unadulterated warmth. The shock of it, radiating from their hand, had him stuffing down a gasp, the softness of their palm seeping through his glove. She wrapped an arm around his waist, the warmth bleeding into him there, too, and when she looked up at him, he saw the full moon, reflected in her wide eyes.

I'd kiss him. I'd kiss him...

Then kiss me.

The thought shocked him, but try as he might, he couldn't will it away. It floated to the forefront of his brain, soft and insistent all at once.

Do it. Kiss me. Please.

The fan - the woman - murmured her address into the crook of his neck, her breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, and he held her to his chest as he breezed through the night sky, the gentle breeze wafting her hair. Homelander caught a whiff of her conditioner - vanilla, bergamot - and inhaled as quietly as he could. They seemed content to let him carry them, head relaxed on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The thought that that wasn't all they could hear gnawed at him, but he shook it off and kept his eyes forward, focused on how right their weight felt against him.

Finally, he reached their apartment, setting them on their feet, and giving them a strained little smile. They stood at the doorway, lingering, and for a brief, wild moment, he imagined them, inviting him in, sharing hot cocoa, hands entwined as they watched television. Through the window he could see she used warm lightbulbs for her lamps, nothing like Vought's clinically bright ones. The image burned him with its sweetness, and he felt the strange urge, again, to lash out. How dare she make him envision a vignette that could never possibly happen? Even as he fought from leaning into her, his rage flared. He hated her. He hated the emptiness she'd left in his arms, when she'd stepped out of them.

"Well... I'm sure you're very busy," they said, opening their door.

I'm not, Homelander thought, burning to follow her in. She turned to face him, a glimmer in her eye; Homelander held his breath and hoped against all reason.

"Thank you, for taking me home. You were right - it was chilly tonight!" They shared a small laugh, the ache in his chest throbbing.

"Goodnight, Homelander. Happy New Year," she murmured, closing the door behind her. He made to leave, only to retake his position outside the door for a moment, his breath floating above him in frigid puffs as he stared. The reader's farewell, saccharine as it was, left him with a sense of uneasiness he couldn't shake. He nearly pressed a hand to the door, but held firm. It wasn't right. It wasn't right.

John,  his heart wept, something inside him quaking as though to come apart. Call me John.


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5 months ago

Chapter 5: Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch

Chapter 5: Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch

There is no love for a woman out of her mind - except a man who's lost his as well.

The woman sat across from Homelander in the café, blowing gently on her drink as he cut a plain croissant into eighths, before sticking a portion onto his fork. The scent of coffee, earthy and mellow, wafted around them in thick plumes, mingling with his scent. She sniffled to disguise the deep inhale she took, breathing him in. He smelled... clean, like the scent of rain. A hint of ozone lurked beneath the fresh note, a bolt of lightening on a clear blue sky. Homelander set his knife and fork on the plate as he chewed, the metallic clink of the utensils delicate against her ear.

They'd more or less been silent for the past five minutes, subtly sizing each other up, asking benign questions and giving superficial answers; the Seven, the Expo, what it was like to fly. She'd tried her hand at humor, (a shy, "So, how is the weather up there?"), but he'd only given a tight, "Cold," in response, so she'd abandoned that attempt in favor of a pensive nod, considering his reply. 

Cold, she thought with distaste. Winter was her least favorite season.

"You always make it look so... effortless," she said, keeping her mind focused on not leaning in. It wouldn't do, to spoil this after everything was going so well. He'd invited her, for coffee. He'd wanted to see her. She thought back to what he'd said at the Expo, face growing warm at the memory.

'I actually care about my fans'

His fans. His.

She... was his.

She willed him to hear it somehow, but Homelander only gave a soft smile, though not as genuine as before. He looked... disappointed, she saw; he kept his eyes from her, cast just above her face, or on his croissant, her hands. But never her eyes. Her hand twitched; she wanted to bring it to his jaw, angle him to meet her gaze. She shifted in her seat.

Look at me... I can't stand this. Please.

"I don't know if I could manage flying - I hate the cold," she continued, pulse quickening when he finally glanced up at her, his eyes softening the smallest degree. The memory of her apartment, warm, home, echoed in his bones. He shifted, leaning in the tiniest amount.

I know, Homelander thought. I do, too.

The confession seemed to melt the layer of frost around him somewhat; he scooted closer, eyes suddenly glowing with a soft, boyish excitement.

"I don't feel the cold in the same way a regular person might... but the gloves do help. They're good for cutting through wind resistance," Homelander said, bringing his hand to the table. He gestured toward it with his head, a lopsided little smile on his lips.

The woman's heart pounded, eyebrows raised slightly. An invitation... to touch him? Slowly, she brought her hand to his, a light tremor running through her as she graced a tentative palm against the back of his hand, admiring the leather, the strong feel of his tendons underneath. Brushing her fingers against his palm, she felt the ribbed material, the minute flexing of his hand, and her mouth watered, the urge to take his fingers into her mouth sudden and demanding.

She raised his hand to her eye level, an undeniable longing radiating off her in waves - but she simply turned his hand, back and forth, before placing it on the table, and smiling at him.

"Yeah, I'm sure! Is that... full-grain?" Homelander gave a surprised "Hm!", nodding.

"Yes, actually. Do you... work with leather?" She shook her head, a woeful expression on her face.

"Oh, no... the last time I tried was a disaster. I looked at a YouTube video, so I'm basically an expert; I don't know what went wrong," they laughed together, the chill of their earlier conversation forgotten.

Homelander eyed her as she giggled, the subtle shifting in her seat making the gears turn in his mind. She clearly wanted to lean in, move closer to him - so why didn't she? He'd even taken the plunge first, scooting in, letting her know: It's safe. You can lean into me.

Please, lean in to me.

He'd been... a bit put out, by her banal attempts at conversation at the start of this little test. She'd showed promise at the Expo, a hint of that fervent longing she'd voiced during New Year's. But as soon as they'd arrived at the coffeeshop, it was over; Homelander watched the chance of them kissing whip through the wind, too fast for him to catch. He couldn't help the dismay that overtook him. Where was that girl, the one who'd wanted him? He'd misjudged her, he thought, morose, as she prattled on about the Seven, about the fucking weather... had he really been so foolish?

Even the thought of killing her brought no joy - he just wanted to go home, and lie under the covers. Spend the day at Everest. 

But then... once again, she'd surprised him, with that little bite of contempt: 'I hate the cold' - and he'd looked up, the memory of her apartment, warm and comforting, flashing to his mind.

She was being... honest. He thought back to her whispered confessions, her absence on her mother's account. Perhaps... she knew what the cold was like. Perhaps she'd even caught his disdain for it, as well. The thoughts tumbled in his mind, and a slow smile crept across his face as he raised his hand to her, scooted closer.

He hadn't expected her to bring his hand to her face - he'd sucked in the quietest breath as she did, studying the palm of his hand like she might commit it to memory, her eyes molten, pulse racing.

For a second, Homelander thought she might kiss him there; he willed her to know that he would let her, but so intense was her gaze, that she missed the near pained look in his eyes - one he quickly stuffed away. 

They met each other's gaze for a beat, a tentative understanding forming between them, like threads being woven to fabric. She leaned in - and Homelander let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Do you wanna... get out of here?" he asked, the flash of nervousness leaving him entirely as she'd nodded before he'd even finished his sentence. He smiled, genuinely.

Sage paced the perimeter of her room, Maeve watching her through the corner of her eye. The laptop they'd just been huddled over now sat forgotten on the desk. What they'd just seen could mean disaster for Vought, the idea sending their minds into chaotic spirals; Sage's, brain teemed with plans, while Maeve's settled into quiet apathy. 

The moment they'd arrived at the Tower, she'd dragged Maeve by the arm into her quarters, and started clicking away on her laptop, plugging her phone in and transferring the camera footage she'd hacked from the Expo's security system.

They'd watched silently; Homelander, expression dark and lost - before he left for... who knows what. Then, fast-forward five minutes later, his return; he'd looked angry, jaw snapped tight as he walked on stage. Sage fast-forwarded through his speech, the Q&A... and let the video roll, hearing Maeve's soft gasp.

A woman, her demeanor shy, was making her way to Homelander as he sat, head in his hands. The two women watched as he flew down to her, the way they both seemed to careen toward each other, like underwater plants. Sage paused; Homelander, almost imperceptibly, had raised his hand - just an inch, but the implication was clear. Maeve looked at Sage, eyes wide, disbelief etched onto her face.

"A girlfriend?" she breathed. "No," Sage murmured, her tone heavy with dark realization. "I don't think so."

Sage bounded for the door, Maeve scrambling to meet her, the two swiftly making their way down the hall. "Where are you going?" Maeve's tone was hushed.

"Stan Edgar. We have to alert him."

Stan Edgar sat in his office, fingers steepled as the two women flanked him behind a large mahogany desk. The glow of the laptop cast an eerie whiteness onto his face, Sage thought, averting her gaze. His tone, as always, had been polite, if a bit cold, as he'd let them in, listening patiently as Sage relayed their investigation to him. Finally, after a moment of silence that hung on too long, he'd asked to see the footage, a faint smile gracing his lips.

"So, you posit that this woman... may hold some significance.. to Homelander," he started, looking up at Sage from beneath the rims of his glasses. She nodded.

"Yes. The nature of their relationship remains unclear - it's possible she's a Supe with powers of interest to him. We believe that he might be planning some form of alliance." Maeve's eyes widened.

A team up... that was the last thing they needed: Homelander joining forces with someone who was not only willing to work with him, but seemed to enjoy his company, on top of that - she had to have been just as unstable as he was.

"I appreciate your insights," Stan said smoothly, "but rest assured: Vought has been keeping tabs on Homelander from the outset. This footage, while... informative... doesn't serve to change much, in regards to our plans for him. The situation is well under control. You needn't concern yourselves with this... investigation." Sage felt her blood boil at the dismissal, but Stan had already closed the laptop and was pressing it into her hands, that same smile hinting around the corners of his mouth.

"I'll let you know if we ever require your assistance," Stan told her, and, thoroughly dismissed now, she and Maeve left his office, Sage's brain sparking.

"He... already has a plan?" Sage was confounded. Maeve pat her on the back, her face calmer since the meeting; Stan's words, though condescending, had dissipated the worry that had been brewing within her. She could imagine being talked to in such a way would infuriate the world's smartest person - and the lack of consultation on this plan Stan had was bound to sting -  yet for Maeve, Stan's assurance meant she could finally relax. Stan would handle Homelander, as he'd done for years. 

"Of course he does. Stan is the only one Homelander has ever really respected. He's more or less the only thing keeping him in check."

Sage grimaced. "I just don't like the way he dismissed me," she muttered. Maeve put a hand on her shoulder, fighting a smile; she'd been right. - Sage was moody. She rubbed her shoulder as Sage pouted, her voice assuring. "Well, he's a business man. You know he'd never ask for help... and besides - he knows how smart you are. It's a matter of when he asks you - not if."

Sage gave an appreciative smile, eyes warm on Maeve's face. "Thank you," she said, a little ruefully, though Maeve's words did little to calm the barrage of questions that flashed through her brain. What did Stan know about this, that he was so calm? Was he calm, or was it just a front? And what did he intend to do?

But Maeve smiled down at her then, offering to treat her to lunch, and she tried to put her anxieties to rest. "I'm thinking... Polynesian. What about you?" Sage nodded.

"Mmm... that does sound good."

Homelander walked side by side with the woman, the heat of her body a whisper away - yet he kept his hand firmly by his side. They'd been out since 10; getting coffee, strolling around town, even stopping by a good truck. Homelander, never one for greasy foods, looked on disapprovingly as she dug into her street tacos, but couldn't say no when she'd offered to share. She'd wanted to share with him.

They passed by a thrift shop, and he looked down as they grinned in excitement. "Oh, I love this place! I get all my figurines from here!" they exclaimed, and unthinkingly, she grabbed his hand as she headed for the door, the cheery door chime like church bells in Homelander's ears.

Homelander took in the shop; it was a bit shabby, with warm but flickering bulbs, with  a trail of fairy lights adorning the celling. Strange décor littered the space, from a wall full of Garfield memorabilia, to a collection of Victoria Neuman bobbleheads. He'd never seen anything like it, he marveled. Vought only ever took him to high-end boutiques, and all of his furniture was shipped straight to his room. He tried to recall the last time he'd been into a store at all... and came up blank. The woman touched his arm, the softness rippling under his skin.

"I have an idea," they said. "You... find something, and I'll find something. Then, we can trade!" She smiled, pleased with her idea.

Homelander returned the gesture, though his heart felt as though it might burst through his chest with the way it was hammering. A gift? She wanted to find something... for him?

He nodded. "Alright," he said, easy tone belying the tremor of his hand, watching as she bounded off for the tchotchkes. 

Homelander swept across the humble establishment, trying to envision her here, on her off days, after work, looking wistfully through the windows after closing - and found that he could, quite easily. She was in her element here, looking through the knick-knacks with practiced ease; he looked on as she picked up two near identical figurines, deliberating. Homelander focused. One was porcelain, the other cheap glass; he raised a brow as she looked, gaze steely, before choosing the porcelain one, slipping it into her basket.

Returning to his search, he sifted through the fluttery scarves and baseball caps, lips pursed in concentration. Something... Homelander's mind came up blank, followed by a flash of irritation. How vague...

Something... what? Homelander paced now, shuffling through the jewelry that called to him with its glinting allure - though he refrained from looking closer. Even now, he knew that would be a bit much - and besides, he assured himself, she hadn't proved she was worthy of such a gift. He nodded. 

Soon, he found his way to the ornaments, and he soon understand why she'd chosen to start here. This section was chock full of intriguing little baubles; a miniature set of shepherd boys, crowded around a sleeping lamb, a glass mermaid filled with some sort of blue liquid that gurgled when Homelander tipped it upside down... slowly, a sense of subdued curiosity wound through him, and he searched earnestly, unaware that the woman had already made her choice, and was looking over at him, expression fond.

Homelander lost himself in the perusal, turning over ornate silver pans and antique-looking desk clocks, genuinely enjoying himself. He found a piggy bank that had been painted to look like a clown, a pair of bunnies sharing a carrot, a cat lapping at a bowl of cream... before he finally found it: a duck, maybe a swan. The figure was made of alabaster, soft white and creamy to the touch. It lay on its stomach, a dark downward flick painting its eye closed, while its neck swooped in a graceful bend. It was perfect. Homelander plucked it from the shelf, excitement racing in his veins.

They walked up to him then, a smile in their eyes. "The cashier compted us! She said you'd saved her son last week - the bus-jacking on 5th and Walker?" Homelander vaguely recalled, a shy grin lighting up his face. "Oh!" he said, waving a hand at the woman behind the register, who grinned - and a thought came to him. Looking around, he searched for the marker he always kept on him for times like this, and found an old portrait. 

Thanks so much! he wrote in looping cursive.

You're the real hero

Homelander

He looked around, before placing the portrait in the employee's office, taking the woman's hand and smoothly striding out, giving the cashier another wave. 

Maybe "New year, New Homelander" was right, he mused, looking into her smiling face with a brighter one than he'd given in ages.

The sun was going down as Homelander and the woman walked down the street. He looked over at her, to see that she'd been looking at him, and he gave a teasing grin when she flushed, caught staring. 

"I don't think I've ever enjoyed myself this much before," she said, taking his hand. Homelander squeezed, and nodded.

"I've never been to a place like that before. Thank you. I... I liked it."

They took their seats on a park bench, where she sat the thrift store bag, then looked to him with a cheeky grin. "Okay. Are you ready?" Homelander nodded. "Ready."

He looked, eyes expectant and a little nervous, as she rustled through the bag, breath catching in his throat when she gave a dramatic turn, his gift perched in her hands. She grinned.

"Ta-da! It's a little wax warmer!"

Homelander looked it over, taking it from her with a gentle hand and turning it this way and that. It was a sturdy little contraption, built to resemble a small fireplace, complete with a cheery assortment of stockings that hung from the mantle, the enamel coating smooth against his gloves. He looked up, curiosity piqued. "What do I do with it?" 

"You put scented wax in it! And it makes the room smell good."

"Oh," Homelander said simply, brow furrowed. "But... I don't have any wax." 

"That's okay! I have a bunch, at my apartment - if you'd like to come? You can look through what I have, and see if there's anything you like."

Homelander snapped his gaze to her, heartbeat thudding hard in his chest. Come to her apartment?

This wouldn't be like last time he'd been there, which he tried to wipe from his mind. He'd had to get rid of the weakness she'd imbued him with, he thought. But now, that was over - she was inviting him over this time. Letting him in, where once she'd closed the door. He imagined the warmth that would envelop him the minute they stepped through the door, sitting on the couch that seemed to pull him into its deep recesses like a hug. The soft glow of her lamps, the scent of dinner on the stove... He imagined coming home to the scene, night after night, the business of the Seven and Vought irrelevant. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed, the upturn of his mouth soft.

"Yes," he murmured. "I'd like that."

Hand in hand, they walked to her door - the knob had been replaced, Homelander noticed - and, just as he'd hoped, a cloud of heat wrapped around him in a thick, welcoming plume as they entered her apartment. Homelander looked around, though he'd already committed the layout and design to memory, and made his way to the couch, sinking down into it, eyes sliding shut. It was just like his Everest recliner - except the warmth wasn't confined to the seat. It billowed around him, carrying the woman's scent, the smell of her home, into his nose. Her apartment smelled like brown sugar, and books - the scent of a freshly blown out candle. He felt a contended rumble sound in his throat.

The woman joined him then, bringing her tub of wax warmers. "Okay, I have apricot, leather, wool, vanilla, birthday cake - which is different," she said sternly. "I'm sure," Homelander chuckled, his hand brushing hers as he inspected the variety of melts. He brought the two to his nose: vanilla and birthday cake. She was right; they were different. While the vanilla had an earthy note to its sweetness, the birthday cake melt possessed a depth the other didn't, and a slight nutty undertone. She held a melt up for him to smell, her eyes warm. He leaned in, the room silent, save for the whisper of his inhale. 

Leather. 

Once again... warmth. The scent was smoky, and earthen, deep -  with a faint metallic tang. He took another sniff, and then another, his thoughts whirling in his head, hand beginning to shake - and just as she was about to ask him what he thought, he was leaning in, and kissing her, gently placing the melt on the table next to them and holding her face in his hand. 

She leaned into him, head inclined, a lock of her hair brushing his cheek. Moving to kiss him deeper, she pressed him into the back of the couch, and - Homelander gasped into her mouth - settled onto his lap, her arms around his neck. She kissed him slowly, savoring the taste of him, tongue almost shy against his. He cradled the back of her head, pressing into her, before sliding his hands down, to wrap around her waist. She moved to kiss his neck, his jaw, the brush of her tongue against his pulse making him tremble, before returning her mouth to his, their movements languid as the couch enveloped them both in an embrace of its own. 

They pulled from each other slowly, the charge of the kiss still running through them, though it cooled to a calm domesticity as she slid to rest her head on his chest. "I'm guessing you liked the leather one, then," she joked, and he laughed, the sound rumbly against her ear. He brought a hand to her back, holding her close - and hoped she could hear more than his heartbeat.

In front of them, on the table, sat their gifts - Homelander's new wax warmer, and the swan he'd picked out for her, the small duck he'd returned resting within the loop of its neck.


Tags :
5 months ago

Chapter 4: Expo, Expo (Read All About It)

Chapter 4; after this next post I will stop!

Chapter 4: Expo, Expo (Read All About It)
Chapter 4: Expo, Expo (Read All About It)

The Deep stared at himself in the full length mirror that was propped up on his wall, pouting and re-adjusting his suit. He tried one pose, and then another, grimacing. No... he thought, dissatisfied.

So entrenched in the perusal of his form was he, that he didn't see the shock of vibrant, red hair that flashed behind him, or hear the quiet giggle that followed after - there was no warning. Kevin peered into the mirror closer, fingers brushing the smooth skin of his cheek, convinced of a blemish that didn't exist, when - 

Smack!

Deep whipped his head around, jaw dropped in shock, hands flying to cover his behind. Firecracker belted out a full-body laugh, doubled over in mirth.

"I told you, I hate that," he said, exasperated, eyebrows furrowed. Firecracker pouted.

"Aw, but your little heinie is so cute! How can I stop?" she batted her eyelashes at him. Deep flushed, a smile creeping onto his face.

"Shut up..." he muttered, eyes downcast, fighting the grin's spread. Firecracker cocked her head at him, a hint of worry flickering across her face.

"What were you peerin' in the mirror so hard for? I told you... you're the best lookin' man in The Seven. There's no contest."

Kevin sighed, rolling his eyes and avoiding her gaze. "That's not true..."

At this Firecracker closed the distance between them, a light hand on his arm. She leaned in, trying to catch his eye, tutting when she couldn't.

"Kevin..." she said, tone soft. "Baby... look at me."

Kevin swept his gaze up to meet hers, eyes dimmed and starting to mist.

"It is absolutely true. I am not lyin'... you steal my breath, darlin'. Those eyes... that smile?" she squeezed his arm.

"And besides... there is no way  Stan wouldn't have bit your damn head off, after you barricaded the chefs in the kitchen to stop 'em from getting to the calamari last week, if you weren't so damn cute! So stop it," she chided, pecking him on the nose. He laughed softly, sniffling back his tears, and smiled at her, shy but genuine.

He almost said he loved her, right then and there, Kevin thought, moving to kiss her instead. She sighed, deepening the embrace, and he pulled her close, his touch light. 

This would have to do. For now.

The moment behind them, the two kissed again, a peck, before hurrying to the garage, where their chauffer awaited.

The drive to the Expo was... long, Sage thought, flipping through the stories of news channels that were reporting on it. There was a live feed from VNN, per usual, Channel 4 would have their cameras rolling, with Access Hollywood on-site as well. A small comfort, if any - but Homelander would be much more incentivized to keep whatever beast was inside him to himself, if he was being filmed in a thousand different directions. She would be watching, to ensure he did.

The driver said something, but, not in the mood, she flashed a series of random symbols at him, giving him an exasperated look when he frowned in confusion. Raising a finger as if struck by an idea, she fished through her satchel, producing a pen and paper and writing a message, then pressed it against the window.

I'm deaf :(

The driver's eyes lit up with understanding as he nodded, before resuming his previous statement, now in a louder voice.

"I said - we're almost there, Miss!" he said slowly and loudly.

She nodded, giving him a thumbs up and leaning back in her seat. Idiots.

The ride would be... beneficial, Sage continued, watching VNN's live feed. Give her more time to think - to plan. She pressed a fist to her mouth, watching the stream with a level gaze. Homelander strolled through the grounds of the Expo, pacing like a caged panther. He was actually trying to avoid the cameras, it seemed; someone would come up to him, phone in his face, and ask him: "Homelander, any sneak peaks on this year's film lineup?" or "Here, Homelander! Over here!" as though trying to coax a particularly reluctant dog. Sage eyes widened. He wouldn't take too much more of this. Judging by the look in his eyes, flat and cold, like a sheet of Tundra ice... it wouldn't be long now.

They'd stay out of his way, for the most part; the point of co-hosting the Expo wasn't about snooping on Homelander during it - he'd be reading from a prompt, with hundreds of camera on him. No, what interested Sage was the latter event: the Q&A. Homelander, Maeve, Sage, and A-Train would be there, signing posters and answering questions from fans, then dispersing to socialize further. Homelander never socialized afterward - making it the perfect opportunity to study him for clues.

The car rolled smoothly, the scenery drifting from the busy lanes of the highway, to the polished building the Expo was being held at. The driver exited to open the door for Sage, and she looked up as she stood, taking it all in. The building was wide, with windows that covered its surface. Cameras - about 10 - dotted the perimeter of its roof; Sage squinted. 

Sage made her way to the door, where Ashley held it open, waving her in. "You made it!" 

Sage suppressed a snort; Ashley sounded genuinely happy - or grateful, that she hadn't bailed. Quickening her pace, Sage met her, pasting a smile onto her face. "Where else would I be?" she asked in jest.

Looking around quickly - there were 5 cameras in the main lobby, Homelander was nowhere to be seen - Sage pushed past the crowd of fans and cameramen, craning her neck to gain an inch of sight, when she felt someone press their finger into the center of her back. Gingerly. Teasingly.

Sage whipped around, to see Maeve wearing a cheeky grin, throwing her a wink. Sage rolled her eyes. "That wasn't funny," she said bluntly.

"Yeah, it was," Maeve replied, eyes amused at the corners. She parted the crowd with her arm, granting Sage the path that had been unavailable to her, and they stepped out of the throng on the other side, setting a brisk pace. 

"I still think it was a little paranoid to make us arrive separately," Maeve said. The two had passed the lobby, and were heading to makeup; Homelander would be on stage in 30 minutes, giving them a tight window to set their plan into action. Sage shook her head. "You can never be too careful. Especially considering our subject."

The two women entered the dressing room, where the makeup artists immediately sat them into chairs, brushes flying. The throng of artists obscured their view of each other; Sage was being stared down by a stern looking man with a shock of violet hair, while Maeve smiled awkwardly when her artist, an elven looking girl, asked her if her hair was dyed. They were relentless, curling here, applying concealer there - but they worked quickly, and soon, they stepped back to admire their work. Sage snuck a glance at Maeve.

Maeve looked... 

Her hair fell down her shoulders in big, dramatic curls, lustrous and soft-looking, the sheen like glass. She wore a hint of blush high on her cheek, and brown liner on her lid. Her lips, a deep, dusky rose, sat in an anxious purse as Sage looked her over. 

"You look nice," she said simply, before standing to leave, taking a drink from her water bottle. Maeve smiled.

Homelander sat at the podium, the teleprompter in front of him glaringly bright. He usually resented the damned thing... but now, it seemed a like a lifeline of sorts. He held back a sigh. Mirror John hadn't come back since their last... talk. He'd sat at the mirror for hours, hoping to wait him out - and when that hadn't worked, he'd tried insulting him, taunting him. After that, he'd broken down, he recalled in disgust, pounding at the mirror with his fists. Then, he'd destroyed every mirror in the room, lasering until all he could see was the ghostly white smoke that poured from his eyes.

He looked down, eyeing the crescent moon indents in his gloves loathsomely. In public, where destruction wasn't an option, he'd been dealing with the... thoughts, in the best way he knew. But the sight of his gloves, creased from the sheer force of his clenched fist, was enough to make him grit his teeth in shame. This... this was pathetic. This couldn't go on.

He'd kill her, Homelander decided last night. He'd purge the scent of bergamot and vanilla from the Earth itself.

The thought brought a wave of calm over him - and for the first time since New Year's, Homelander felt like himself again, the vigor spreading through him like saline from an IV. Rising to his feet, he strode for the door, when the sound of Ashley's voice stopped him.

"Um... Sir? We're on in... 5 minutes?" she said, voice tilting up at the end. Homelander looked at her from under his brows.

"That's all the time I need," he said flatly, turning on his heel and rocketing into the air. On the far side of the room, Sage watched him from the window, lip caught in her teeth.

Soaring through the sky, Homelander quickly arrived at his destination, casting a furtive glace around before gripping the doorknob in his hand and wrenching it till it gave way, then smoothly stepping into the apartment.

Warm.

He couldn't help it; the thought jumped out at him instantly, settling on his brain like mold. Her apartment was  warm; literally - the thermostat was set to 75 - but also... in the way she selected her furniture, her décor. She'd decorated her apartment like an abandoned cottage, the ghostly lamps and glass figurines unnerving him, but filling him with a strange comfort. It was like a little old lady had set up shop. Homelander closed the ruined door behind him, stepping inside. Knick knacks, on her table - he picked one up, a small duck, before slipping it into his pocket, and moving on. She didn't work today, he'd checked her schedule - and he'd stopped by last night, to hear that she'd be back from grocery shopping soon. Right... about... now.

Homelander jerked his head to the door - but nobody stepped through, or questioned the state of the knob. He grit his teeth. She was supposed to be here, now. This was supposed to end.

He'd told Ashley he'd be back, he thought, thoughts darkening in rage. And he'd have to be... Homelander was never late, to anything. He hissed, face contorted into a black, rancorous mask, and shot to the door, swiftly exiting and jetting away.

Striding into the room, Homelander found his mark at the center, clipping on his mic and fixing his stare onto the teleprompter.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, ESTEEMED GUESTS, AND FELLOW HEROES,

the teleprompter said. Homelander felt like its conduit, rather than a person reading aloud.

IT’S AN HONOR TO STAND BEFORE YOU AT THIS INCREDIBLE HERO’S EXPO, WHERE WE CELEBRATE THE TRUE POWER AND GREATNESS OF OUR EXTRAORDINARY COMMUNITY...

Homelander shifted; the tail of her little duck figurine was digging into his side.

AS YOUR LEADER AND BEACON OF HOPE, I AM PROUD TO SHOWCASE THE RELENTLESS DEDICATION AND UNMATCHED STRENGTH THAT DEFINE US....

Homelander read on, his eyes going fuzzy, then sharp, as he fought to keep himself knit tightly together. The speech rolled on for hours, it seemed, the audience's grins garish as he played the crowd. They stared up at him, none the wiser to his breakdown - and for a moment, he felt profoundly sick. Used.

The rest of the words came and went - and then it was over. Quietly, he exhaled.

The announcers spoke next, wowing the crowd with news of new film releases, and A-Train flaunted his new shoe that was set to hit stores next week. Maeve waved at a group of young women who'd dressed as her, letting out a small contended noise when they'd beamed back. Homelander tapped his hand on his thigh, the clink of the porcelain duck tempering his nerves.

Soon, the co-host of the Expo announced that after a short remission, they'd reconvene for the Q&A, and the Supes filed out amongst the humans.

Homelander remained, waiting for the room to empty before holding his head in his hands - until, after a while, when the air had settled, he caught the hint of something, low and sweet, but horribly unmistakable. 

I'd kiss him.

No.

Homelander shot up, eyes wild - to see her, standing not even five feet from the stage, holding her arm nervously.

"Hey up there," she lilted sweetly at him. Homelander swallowed.

"What are... you doing here?" he barely caught the weak dip in his voice, straightening his spine and looking down at her. The porcelain duck in his pocket suddenly felt hot against his thigh, and a flash of paranoia struck him solidly between his shoulder blades. Had he summoned her?

Her face fell the smallest amount - hurt?  "I... I come to all your events," she said, flushing. "Oh, God... That's - I don't mean... not in a creepy way! I just... you're a good host!"

As she spoke, Homelander felt the black stirrings of his prior mission swirl, then dissipate as though exiting through his pores. All of his events?

Homelander felt the stirrings of a smile etch onto his face despite himself. "Well, hosting is an art form," he said, flying down to her.

The sound of her heartbeat rang in his ears, like the skittering of racing paws on concrete - and Homelander considered her for a brief second, taking in her ruddy cheeks, the glisten of sweat that formed a fine mist on her forehead. But despite that, she leaned in slightly - unnoticeable to the human eye, but glaringly clear in his. She did it again when he spoke, Homelander noted, half in awe, half in apprehension.

He tested a theory, leaning in enough that she would notice, though subtle enough not to arouse suspicion... and her heart skipped in her chest.

Homelander wrenched his mind back to the day they'd met - the day she'd poisoned him, his mind shot before he quelled the thought. Had she really seen him that day? She seemed to have... and the way she was looking at him now - eyes wide, then darting away as if she could avoid being caught staring... The jagged murmur of her heart, the flush painted across her face... I'd kiss him, she'd said, in that hushed, wistful tone. Suddenly, the world went quiet - and Homelander knew it to be true.

Kiss her? Or kill her? The answer, at least for now, seemed clear.

Not here, though. Too many witnesses.

"You know... if I'd known you were coming, I would have saved you a seat up front," Homelander said. She gave him a smile, her eyes impossibly brown and wide.

"Oh, I wouldn't have wanted to trouble you..." she breathed, waving a hand. He shook his head.

"None of that - I'm not like the rest of the Seven," Homelander tutted. Oh, how true it was, he thought. "I actually care about my fans."

The tiniest gasp pulled from her lips, and he felt his mouth quirk up at the corner.

Such a sweet girl.

Why had she lied about where she'd be today?

Homelander cocked his head, inhaling softly, savoring the hint of her on the air. 

"Tell you what," he said, swallowing when he caught the dilation of her pupils. "I'll save you a seat up front, at the Q&A - and another, at the coffee shop next door after this."

His eyes locked onto hers for the briefest instant.

Kiss me, she thought.

Please.

"I'd like that," she answered warmly. Her hand twitched, as though to touch his arm.


Tags :
5 months ago

I've been wanting to talk more about my ASPD and the symptoms that I experience because of it, but it's been hard for me to explain in a way that feels right to me. Part of it might be anxiety about how others will take what I'm saying and potential misinterpretation, but I think a big part of it is that these symptoms are really not socially acceptable (which is kind of the point).

And while I feel that it's important to discuss these things, a lot of people will have negative knee-jerk reactions to hearing us talk about them. I think maybe that's what I'm worried about, but I don't know.