#can we be lonely together?

[plasticfangtastic]

Can We be Lonely together? Epilogue

a Homelander x Stalker! Reader fanfic

This is a GN reader reader fic

Author's note: too self indulgent not to write an epilogue, thanks for reading and am looking forward to making more fics for this fandom, this is Bi Homelander content if y'all read this as fem or non male reader. prev. chapters in my blog under the my fic tag or can we be lonely together? tag will be making a masterlist fairly soon tho.

R18+ mild smut, exhibitionism kink, gore, murder, dub con, dirty talk, surprise butchlander, butcher x reader, 3-way?, amoral protagonist, unreality.

Epilogue

Breeze sang in the ample halls bringing whispers from the balearic sea, a top the mountain overseeing endless azure, greens and neighborhood roofs the world seemed so far away to him.

So many absent walls in this villa, the house was airy and open, blurring the idea of inside and outside with is design.

Cream coloured linen danced against the wind to the seas secret songs, the sun leaving no corner in the shadows, sandy granite warm under the sun, evergreens could be seen from all windows, cascades of green coloured the view, and a pair of cats slept in a guest room.

There was not a sight disturbed by ugly grey buildings, just mountains and sea– left him feeling as Zeus on the top of mount Olympus, inside the airy home only the dull sound of oak ceiling fans pushing the breeze disturbed the halls.

No longer did the steps of strangers disturbed the dull accismus of this temple by the hill, camera crews left most of the home untouched, it had been a busy and exhausting week for Homelander.

Walls had been sparsely decorated, remnants of a past life clung on smooth oatmeal walls and indigo blue wood beecher paneling accentuating one living room of three-- paintings he had grown attached to and the occasional marble statue laid around, but now there were photos of a man one could hardly recognize.

With each new image, time had eroded wounds off his face, there was a glimmer on his features that had never resided there.

Garden pots had been shuffled around for the perfect frame, now he would've had to move them much to his annoyance.

It was the most anticipated interview of the decade, it had gone smoothly, Oprah had been delightful, manly tears had been shed and hair raising stories were shared, she had found him approachable above all.

After a year of silence the whole world was kept on edge awaiting for his return.

The trial hadn’t even televised but they were plenty of updates by the hour circling around-- more than sufficient. Now he had a full schedule, he was to be in the cover of GQ magazine, had some big podcasts lined up for an appearance, and Vogue to model for… it would be so strange to do without his suit.

Homelander sat with his legs dipping into one of his infinity pools, his loosely fitted honeycomb shirt draped around his shoulders like a poor’s man cape, his hair had grown a tad longer, salty seas had turned his flaxen locks almost wavy and a dark thick stubble began adorning his face.

His tablet resting behind him buzzing with a new email, the wrinkles around his eyes sank as he squinted from the blinding wet mirror, distracting enough that your step barely registered.

“You looked quite handsome in the suit this morning…” You spoke gently– I think the people are gonna love your new look… between the tan and the beard you look… sumptuous.” 

“I should’ve shaved. They’ll think I look like a complete slob! I bet they’ll say I let myself go.”

You joined him by the pool as the hot Mediterranean sun stood above you, pulling his head closer to yours for a flurry of butterfly kisses.

“You look stunning, mi sol. Either way… lunch is ready… Ryan called and said him and Jaythaniel’s family just made it to Disneyland, don’t forget to pick him up tonite.” You said softly squeezing his thigh–  he said he’ll call after lunch.” 

He nodded absentmindedly.

“You don’t think Theodore is going to wake up?”

Worry clung to his tongue, his ears picking up the soft lull of his son’s snoring, Blender making biscuits on his sides but the child slept deeply, you could tell he had entered deep REM stage, you shook your head much to John’s relief.

“I can’t believe we are doing this… you spoil us too much.” He kissed your ear before lifting himself and dropping into the pool.

The sun sparkled harshly against the glass tiles, the sky more blue from below, your sinuous reflection watching him until he emerged, the tired breeze doing very little to dry him, you followed him giddy as his wet footprints led you to the wine cellar.

 It had been an expensive endeavor to have all of this installed… several 3x3 plastic acrylic panels of 32 mm thickness, a high tech locking mechanism plus humidity and temperature control systems had to be installed independently of a good enough contractor who could reinforce the flooring with a steel mesh and coat the cement flooring with resin just to make it impossible for their friends to dig, there had been many logistical nightmares from finding the right contractors to finding a spot for it, it was easy to sell the strange boxes as a sex thing�� blaming having super-abled kids increasingly longer list of powers that made it hard for dear ol’ daddy to get off… especially when the word ‘soundproofing’ had been mentioned, or his super strengths which led to some nasty laughs and a bit of murder later down the track, the last thing that mattered had been costs.

No amount of sound ever escaped the wine cellar, the zinc plates coating the walls prevented Ryan and himself from seeing in or out, Theodore was young enough to listen to instructions, if not it was your turn to discipline the toddler.

Opening that door was always a surprise, bringing him almost as much joy as that first christmas day as a complete family.

As they took the stairs he could smell mullet wine and lebkuchen– the tension in his muscles still fresh as he entered a home that had only existed in childish fantasies, awkwardness that never seemed the fade as the strangers hounded him with questions, but he had had you, Ryan and now Theodore for much needed emotional support, it had been almost perfect as it had been intense, it had been strange to hear all these stories of a woman he had murdered, who had only suffered, it was stranger how her only sister had not blame him for the nature of his birth, still grateful that he had found her even if it took forty years, grateful that something more than a pristine corpse was left behind.

Her body refusing to decay inside that pine box.

The cellar door beeps, and cogs turn inside the heavy metal door, fluorescent lights sung awake by the entrance, bringing much needed light to the dark sub-basement, only the three small lights inside the boxes lighten the area for most of the day.

A woman shuddered, flinching as more light hit her eyes, hiding beneath the bolted desk, you walked past Homelander carrying today's menu, there was something enjoyable about the challenge of creating an ever changing menu that was nutritionally balance, delicious and required no cutlery. The disheveled woman approached eagerly at the floating box, awaiting for you to place her meal, intentionally keeping her starved, this had been his decision for this particular guest-- to see if she would go mad. Due to the lack of windows she had no concept of time after all while the lights were on a timer, they were programmed to be irregular enough to cause confusion. To visit at random intervals and feed her whenever he remembered.

Homelander and John wanted to watch her scoof down her meal, to see her choke and tear up as she filled her cheeks and swallowed greedily– but their attention was reserved for guest number two.

“If I knew I had you getting all wet and bothered for daddy, I would’ve worn something nicer” His voice dry, barely lifting his head from the bed.

Homelander helps himself to the mini bar cracking open some pale ale for the world’s largest paper cup, humming a tune as he prepped today's round of meds while you set his meal.

“Got you pale ale… unless you’d like some peach bellinis?” 

Homelander opened the cabinets, rows of neatly organized sex toys, booze and cleaning supplies were displayed– sex toys solely for decor, you both had committed to the bit, much of these had never been used nor did he want to, you had no need for vibrators when his hands did the job so perfectly. He took out a cattle prod, then pressed a code unto a small hidden panel making sure the guest couldn’t peek.

The inner latches came apart, the door hissed open.

There was no need to consider escaping, it was futile, the door upstairs was thicker than the glass, and no amount of yelling got anybody’s attention-- but he didn’t try killing himself either, for the last time he’d tried he had been here in no time, he had a chip monitoring his vitals at all times, and the camera on top of his room watched over him.

You also helped in that department.

Homelander entered first, you placed the food on the floor for Homelander to give Butcher his back.

Almost encouraging him to jump him.

“Would it kill you to wear pants?”

Homelander chuckled as he turned around with Butcher’s meal, wearing nothing but his wet shirt clinging to him tighter than his suit ever did, and black briefs.

“Would it kill you to agree to my offer?”

“Not going to play house with you, stupid cunt.”

Butcher didn’t argue with the meal, taking the food off his hand and sitting by the bolted table, the chair also bolted which made for an awkward fit.

“You got three months left William… these meds might get you one more… it's already been weeks… you want to spend the rest of your days here watching her starve to death or you want to be with Ryan? He wishes to see you. Be there for him… you just have to be with us.”

Butcher bared his teeth, mutterign curses under his breath as he gave him his back.

You entered the room taking the cattle prod  tucked under his arm, Butcher ate ignoring him, throwing the tray towards his face, forever amused as to how he never bothered to dodge it, John rolling his eyes as the plastic dropped around him.

“I’m being generous after what you did to Dolores… that was… well… you lived up to your name.” 

“Said I’ll get even.” 

He had made Dolores into the antithesis of her craft, it had stung, to witness her unrecognizable being-- a DNA test confirming its identity. Close casket was the only choice.

Homelander watched him eat as you prepared yourself, undressing in the corner, fresh bruises adorning your thighs, handprints where he had held you solidly against his mouth.

Closing the door behind, locking Homelander and Butcher inside one box, giddy he jumped into the thin futon.

“Here I thought we were having the world’s most disappointing threesome… all thirteen seconds of it.”

He took a sip of the ale, it was utterly delicious but he wouldn’t let Homelander hear it from his mouth, this his only joy while stuck in this box. He turned to you watching as you opened the door on guest number 1, then back at Homelander already squeezing himself, a wet suther escaped his lips as your nude frame approached her, Butcher buried his brow.

You had ignored her for weeks, fed her irregularly while feeding Butcher on schedule. She survived on saltines and peanut butter, only receiving proper meals on the occasion but never did either of you touched her, or spoke to her.

She squealed as the tip hit her breast, too weak to do more than just scream, he had been so distracted by Homelander he hadn’t noticed the crowbar by the entrance… he could’ve sworn it was his own.

“Families should always have a mommy and a daddy… grandpa and grandma… cousins… but I don’t have any uncles… nor does Ryan have uncles… ahhh” he tugged harder hand fondling the dripping tip of his hardened member– just like that pumpkin.”

His skin crawled at the sight of the awoken thick member as he pulled it out his tight underwear, with a wet snap.

He turned to you, watching her face split red as you smacked her face with the cattle prod, she clutched at her cheek, blood spilling from the sides of her fingers, a distressed mess tried escaping you. You grinned as you felt Homelander excitement, his chest flushed as you gave a parry of messy heavy swings, she cried and as she covered her face you shocked her hands off until your eyes met, turning limp while Butcher’s heart accelerated, craning her neck, she opened her mouth leaving it frozen mid-air as you took to the crowbar.

“Pick a number of teeth … or Pusher will take the whole jaw” he whispered as he laid long languid strokes on his cock, rubbing his thumb on the glistening tip– or you can say yes”

A curved tip pressed right behind her upper chompers.

“One…?” You muttered– that’s not going to excite you right, mi sol?” 

Homelander pouted, slowing down his hand, focusing on the base with short lived pumps.

“Break her jaw– let’s see how long she’ll last before she starves to death… she might dehydrate first, no?” He scoots patting the empty spot on the bed encouraging Butcher to join him— make it clean babe.”

You take the tip out her mouth and get in position to tap her jaw.

“We’ll visit in a week… hope you last my dear William.”

Butcher stood up, still with enough energy in him to fight, he might be dulled by the meds, exhaustion and his captor's cruel tactic.

“Kill her you wanker just bring some fucking fabreeze.”

You grinned mockingly, breaking more than her jaw, her body thud and her voice returned smashing her skull repeatedly caving into a pancake. Homelander groaned, edging himself as your vicious attacks drew your victim closer and closer to death, legs moving on their own, pressing his forehead against the wall, the sight of your bloody torso didn’t just titillate him, he craved the sight, knowing the glass stood between you two, knowing how far away you were and just how untouchable you were was better than any x-rated video, your ragged panting, the sweet sweat falling from the tip of your chin, blood specs bejeweled your body, was too much.

You had become more than he had ever imagined, you pressed your behind against the bloodied wall as you caught your breath.

Butcher could only try to ignore your sick kinks.

Homelander will bring as many innocent people he could and make him take part of their scenes, he whined as you got out the cage, walking painfully slow towards his– ignoring him in favor of the minibar, his hand stopped with a sneer, turning to see that Butcher had skulled down the last of his ale.

“You know he’s being nice asking you… I could just make you say yes…”

Butcher looked back at the mass, almost flinching as the woman was back on her feet, her face a torn mess but there she was still eating the last morsels of the chunky yiros with her torn jaws, for every bit of garlic sauce that dripped down her hands there was an equal amount of chunky blood spilling unto the ground.

Deepthroating the yiros more than eating it.

Her face just hanging by red ribbons, one eye swollen and bulging while the other just hung out of her socket, clumps of broken scalp swinging with the weight of her once straight hair, now dirty and matted.

She turned to see him sensing she had been watched and her face had no bruises.

He looked back at Homelander then back at the corpse now immobile, rotting, fluids escaping its bloated body, gangrenous pus seeping thru its sunken eyes while the skin darkened and dried, now his nose picked up on the revulsion, he looked at his drink and figure out that there was no drug in him– Homelander was back in his bed, his cock tucked in and not a sight that he had moved once, his toothy grin more real than the full cup fizzing in his hand, your breath warming Butcher’s ear.

Months, weeks, days, hours… he had no clue how long he actually been here, this was an illusion… some of it… tragically you two were disgustingly real.

“You want to break me into compliance?”

The white glow of your eyes not as menacing as Homelander's lasers, he took a short sip of his beer letting it dry his tongue, feeling the warm building in his stomach.

Hot fingers creep from around his hips, exploring the softened torso, he is still strong and firm under the weakened body, the illness making it hard to maintain his shape, hot water dampened his shirt, nails bruising trails as he trapped him, pressed tight against the leaner man, craning his neck to place his chin on the older man’s shoulder– no doubt floating to do so.

Before he could protest further, before he could do more than curse under his breath and wriggle, your teeth met the underside of his chin.

Intertwining your hands with his free one, no doubt he could snap your wrist but a little red light shone next to his head, telling it wouldn't be a good idea.

Homelander closed his iron grip around Butcher’s neck, leaving him gasping, feeling his pipe collapse slightly.

Your tongue licked his neck, your touch more gentle, more tender but to his shock Homelander only purred, you both stared at each other lovingly, Butcher’s neck nothing but a barrier between you two, you climbed to meet his lips, while your loved was manhandling Butcher lower so Homelander could give you wet, loud and messy kisses.

Arching him much to his displeasure, the beer spilling down his arm.

Squeezing harder on his neck, Homelander eyes are coloured a pretty dark pink, he grunts pressing Butcher into him, begging for friction.

You two kissed the older man missing his lips, feeling him shudder, kissing the blanket of goosebumps all over his body.

You loved him more than anything.

You would make him happy in all the ways that your body could.

And sometimes things are easier to do when he just communicated them, usually that would involve murder but now it was this.

Butcher had no idea what he had to say yes to. what exactly you two wanted out of him, and he had yet to spot the hidden vial of V in the cabinet.

John giggled as Butcher's hateful glare tried to burn him.

“Is okay… you’ll be the one fucking me…” he needily purrs– right, pumpkin?”

“Just let all that hatred out… make him cry…” you whispered into Butcher’s ear– make him your bitch.”

It had been his own mind that picture the blonde’s cock, that had been his own worst nightmare, but as he felt those needy kisses– be it the beer on an empty stomach, your powers or the tumor pressing on the smart sections of his brain he chortle at the thought, straining his neck to see the desperate flush on the blonde, his grip loosening, allowing him to turn just enough.

This could also be a part of this illusion.

“You just wanted to be daddy’s cute little slut?” he spat– my cum dump?”

Homelander let out the most obscene moan from within the depths of his core, you felt the heat rising from your own loins as you heard him.

Butcher tugged at your scalp, yanking you away from him.

“Both of you are such weird needy bitches… is okay… I’ll make you both into my good little whores.”

Breathy moans, both men eager to see this new game of yours play out, you would make him happy, please him, take care of all his needs… it was easier when you also felt just a tenth of that spark the first time you met William.

Unlike the last ones before these brother’s you would never grow out of love… you had so much to give after all… and he had so much to give you still.

What a bad thing you two were.

[oldtvandcomics]

Anyway happy Pride Month to my favorite type of character which I call "might be asexual, aromantic, gay, or a combination thereoff, but it doesn't really matter, because it is very clear that he does NOT like women and his life partner is a man, so clearly One Of Us."

[herefortheships]

It happened. I have listened to the entirety of MacArthur Park. All seven and a half minutes of it, and even repeated certain parts. A song I would have never looked up on my own, all because of this hopeless romantic, moldy old poltergeist and his gorgeous middle-aged goth babe. 💚💜💚💜

[mydream-synopsis]

chapter 152 spoilers

endo............the yearning in his eyes.....for once can i hold him in my arms and tell him he's loved (even though i know he'll only ever feel alright if chika did so)

[ambernotember]

I still think the best way to move Grace and Judd over to 9-1-1 is to have Grace drive Chris back to LA and she falls in love with the place and Judd follows her

[fyodior]

it’s fine. i wasn’t like. trying to have a good night or anything

[theghostofashton]

wip wednesday

thank you to @welcometololaland @strandnreyes @paperstorm @carlos-in-glasses @sanjuwrites @lemonlyman-dotcom @alrightbuckaroo @heartstringsduet for the tags <3

it occurred to me that i am planning an olympics au and this is an olympic year (aka the perfect time to post one) so i have picked this story back up as i wrap up the you saw the truth in me sequel. here's a bit of that:

“It’s not you,” Marjan says quietly. She beckons him closer so she can whisper in his ear, then continues, “He’s not really talking to any of us. We’re not sure why.” “Oh,” TK says, unsure if that makes him feel better or not. “He looks great, at least.” He’s only been back in the gym for a few months, TK knows. The recovery was long and Carlos took some time off afterward, but no one would ever know that from how comfortable he already looks. His transitions are fluid, as if he’s moving through water as he does his skills, and his handstands are perfect. TK’s never seen anyone do them better. Marjan shrugs. “He’s practically lived here for the past couple weeks. Dude doesn’t know when to quit.” That doesn’t feel particularly strange – TK’s had his own fair share of injuries, and after his last one, a strained rotator cuff, he was itching to get back into the gym. The only thing that kept him away was the doctor’s warning that reinjury would put him out of training for much longer than a few weeks. He knew he’d have his work cut out for him once he was cleared. Marjan adjusts the strap on one of her grips and nods over to the bars. “Could you spot me?” He smiles and nods, and then lets her lead him over to the chalk bucket sitting a few feet away from the bars. She starts chalking up her grips, and TK turns, as if an invisible force is pulling his focus, back to the high bar, where Carlos is swinging once again.

no pressure tagging @bonheur-cafe @lightningboltreader @reyesstrand @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @louis-ii-reyes-strand and anyone else who wants to share!

[faaun]

pls i need to provide updates

[plasticfangtastic]

Can We Be Lonely Together? Ch. 12 3/3

A Homelander X Stalker! Reader fanfic

This is a GN reader but male leaning for crackship reasons. this is also a Supe! reader fic

Author's note: YAY!! thank you for making it to the final part of the final chapter, hope y'all like it... there's an epilogue coming btw but its short thankfully! LONG CHAPTER ahead! warning! thank you for reading and I can't wait to drop the 2 fics I got in the works, one is just HomeAsh smut and the other just pure Homie fluff. previous chapter on #my fic tag and #can we be lonely together? tag in my blog.

R18+ Child death mention, child murder, gore, mild gore, murder, smut, Homie OOC towards Ashley, rape mention.

Chapter 12

Cont.

The morning after was without struggles, a new routine set itself after medication and breakfast now the cats needed your attention.

Homelander was still silent, still far away– but John did his best to look strong without his brother’s guidance, yet unable to stop hoping to see his brother's reflection.

You took to work, he said nothing about you entering the labs to pick up supplies, he even gave you his blessing, ensuring the security cameras were off during your shopping spree, the thought of you killing excited him greatly, pent up arousal still burning his loins as all you could muster after last night spat, was a quick fuck in the shower before bed and some head before breakfast, he had cummed but he wasn’t satiated.

Insufficient by all means, you backed up against his hips, the hot water reddening your sensitive skin, squeezing as he threatened to leave only for his hips to smack yours to reassure you that wasn’t going to happen, pumping a single thick load without leaving a bump, you cleaned him with your tongue, making sure to get every nook as he sheltered you poorly from the shower.

Your tongue flicked him awake, squeezing him with all your might as you pumped him messily, letting him watch as you pleasure your throat with his member, leaving him in awe as your nose got tickled by a small tuft of hair, his hand firm against your head as he groaned and hissed as your teeth rubbed his sides awake, holding hands as he came making sure to swallow every splurt and licked every drop you’ve spilled, before he could return the favor– Ryan woke up, so you cut it short this morning.

And then the cats protested, they complained a lot, demanding things after only being here for a day, but you and the kid seemed too happy to please.

It was to be a long day, he worried.

No calls during lunch break, or smoke break, no messages to remind him to eat and that a glass of milk was not a meal.

He knew you had the day off but he still expected something, you failed to reply to any of his messages.

He could feel something pressing against him.

It would be eight o’clock and you still haven’t called home, it was past nine and your phone kept leading to voicemail.

It was almost ten when Ryan asked about you, as he prepared to go to bed, Homelander reassured him that you were at work at Dolores’s restaurant, ordered him to keep the fort and headed out.

He hadn’t want to think about it but his mind betrayed him, did you lie? Were you with somebody else? who the fuck where you with!? his chest puffed the more and more he thought of that nameless woman, you wouldn’t. He was better looking, wealthier, smarter and high specs than some OnlyFans thot– were you trying to get back at him? Even after you forgave him? But the more and more he huffed, the nearest wall cracked deeper under his fist.

He felt that squeeze in his heart.

You've said you liked the difficulty. 

What made this cheap mudperson difficult?

His throat grew an impossible knot, he felt againts the hall wall as he headed away from his apartment, resting his temples as he lost control of his heartbeat.

Boars had tusks to shred you, to impale you, to bleed you with, after all.

There you were lying cold in some rat infested alleyway, the stench of your rotting corpse hidden by putrid piles of rubbish, and wet bitumen.

There was you still crawling, still clinging but too far away, too quiet to catch anybody's attention– not that anybody would care in this city. 

He choked, his mind racing and the ringing in his ear painfully loud at the thought of you calling for him behind red gargles, claws shred his insides.

Heading downstairs to Analytics to find one of your co-workers. Your phone stopped ringing and sent him straight to voicemail.

The man looked up, seeing the alarm in his expression, he was tense and shaky as he took the back of the chair, leaning slightly towards him, the man squeezed his bladder as the back seat cracked under Homelander’s grip.

“Give me the last known location for this cell phone.” He showed his screen to the man– now!”

He jumped and began checking the data, not questioning his motivations or why Homelander had that number saved in his contact as ‘Fiancee’ ; it took a couple of impossibly long minutes before something pop-up.

“It says that is–

“Soho. I know the place…”

Pantingly he looked away, his ears ringing too loud, and each movement felt tight, what could’ve possibly been there left for you? He caught himself as his eyes attempted to squeezed some weakness out of him, as his suit became unberably itchy.

“This phone hasn’t been active since it got there… no tower has picked it up afterwards, sir.”

“Good work. if it moves you call me.”

He was gone before the other man could even muster a response.

In minutes he had crashed on their lavish patio, it’d be another minute until Kent emerged from inside the house.

“I knew you’ve come…” he flashes your phone, the screen cracked– but I can’t help you.”

“Where the fuck is Y/N !?” He growled, illuminating the darkened patio.

“Pusher came by my office around two… by six I was handed this by an old colleague at the Times.” He smacked his lips– I was hurt.”

Untucking a newspaper roll from under his arm, Homelander didn’t care, his eyes glowing brighter than before, illuminating the skin around his eyes giving Kent a glimpse of veins and skullbone.

“God… are you here because you miss that ice queen?”

“My calls keep going to voicemail– even the burner phone.” He muttered– "I can't get ahold of them.”

“Hot damn– I told Pusher to leave you because you were never gonna last… seems I was wrong... you just wouldn’t leave unscathe. You ain’t going to find Y/N, they're gone, probably already got a new name and passport– you think you’re special? Let me guess Pusher said they’ll marry you?”

The light faded slightly, as Homelander shoulders stiffen, watching the arrogant prick get closer.

Thinking of that woman again, your bff would know if you two...

“Before you was a cute aspiring writer, then the librarian, there was a rich baker too, some hot married thing, one who cheated on Pusher so the idiot buried the bitch alive and then had Dolores find them after they clawed their way out, and right before you there was this wannabe self-made trustfund kid– Pusher loves you, cherishes you but the moment you stop acting like the character in the movie they made about you… is goodbye. Unlike them you can’t be killed by traditional means.”

He threw the newspaper at his feet.

“You and Pusher?” John asked, the more this snake spoke the more he wanted to see it choke on its own tail.

“God did you hear anything I just said? Ours was complicated… our relationship is more than… yours, but not at the moment. Altho Pusher did leave you this– took a good chunk of the liquid you had and put in an off shore account, made it seem like an everyday transaction for you, the info its in the note app… something about making sure Vought couldn’t fuck you over. It's not all of your fortune but you and the kid won’t need to think about your grandkids working either.``

Homelander took the phone off his hand.

“I’m not like any of those worthless–

“You’re different? You are not– Good luck finding the idiot… sorry about Vought, tho.”

The way Kent’s body thud against the tiles wasn’t as cathartic as he’d hope for– the slow wind flicked the pages of tomorrow morning’s edition of the New York Times, in big bold letters “The Great American Disgrace.” he crook his head as Kent drowned, as his mind processed the missing half of his body and agonized. 

Glad that this married asshole was away from his pumpkin, he had spent too much time with you… it didn’t seem right, anyhoo. 

He wasn’t like any of those low born mudpeople, he was divinity incarnate, a higher being, you were of the chosen few— so there was no surprise that simpletons did not keep your attention for long– he was better than all those nameless cocksuckers. He was the fucking Homelander but you didn’t answer his calls, this phone who vibrated with a hundred missed connections for some reason had his money, looking around on the device, you also had a few other disturbing things, all of the devices on his name and others close to him were being monitored by you, he ignored it for the moment.

He took the newspaper, seeing a massive photograph of a familiar boy, smaller print in bold highlighted words ‘Operation Patriot and First True American’ the words: inhumane, organized child murders, illegal human experimentations– repeated themselves, but above all… his name… his deadname, the sequence of numbers and placeholders. The entire front page was thousands of letters describing horrific findings… by 7 am the whole country would see this picture of him.

Just a small thing, holding a blue blanket, taken from a security camera, of him alone in a sterile room.

The other images were of his mother sitting alongside two other women, their bellies swollen and their eyes glazed, in drab hospital garbs. Then little kids he had never seen, images of higher quality than those drab 80’s photos.

Homelander sat on Kent’s bench, he had forgetten how to breathe until he was done reading the whole front page did his lungs lived again, flicking to the next one, more images, more names, more women he vaguely remembered, faces, smiles, bodies… names.

Only a few meters from him were a bundle of sleeping children but all he had of his were these grainy images– of little girls with his lips and little boys with his hair, some looked nothing like him until he stared just hard enough to see his chin or ears.

A quiet wail escaped his lips, as he cried into his hand, his eyes flowing endlessly, the more awful words he read, the more Homelander ears rang. Wobbly knees lifted him, catching sight of the illuminated 7, refusing to believe all of this… he wouldn’t crumble… not yet… not until he felt safe. 

He had to protect John, that was his purpose but who was there to comfort him.

Now when he wanted to burn it all.

In a large penthouse Stan Edgar laid asleep.

Jumping as he felt the weight of his bed shift, in the dark he saw red, at the edge of the bed, just watching him without breathing, no hiss escaping his lips– just Homelander… or something worse watching at him with the stillness of statues. 

Edgar took his glasses, finding this sight just as unsettling, not that he let it show, a part of him expected this visit sooner than later.

Homelander and him stood like this for a very long minute, until his arm creaked handing him the newspaper.

He turned the gold table lamp on his glass side table, his bed a velvety plush thing, and his sheets disgustingly expensive.

Homelander muttered nothing, no sound, no movement, he was more projection than physical entity, for once Edgar’s heart rate did pick up at the sight of him, this was not his petulant child. Homelander watched his demeanor break as more and more of his idiot brain processes the information.

“I won’t let you kill yourself, nor am I going to kill you. I want you to see your empire and your legacy burn in front of you… and when you finally could feel even an ounce of my pain… then I’ll watch you beg me to kill you.” he whispered.

“Homelander…”

“The CIA is outside your door– you won’t be doing an Epstein on me, either.”

“This has nothing to do–

“ Your name over and over… Madelyn’s, Jonah, the other cunts in the labs… you… all of you… on page 3”

He stood up with freakish smoothness, his hidden hand threw two sticky wet masses towards Edgar.

“I used to think Earth looked beautiful in outer space… but… is so ugly… is just too cold out there. too cold for them, too” his lip barely move, cheeks stained with trails and trails of dried tears– who knows where they are now… just drifting away endlessly in the vastness of the Milky Way– too far for me to even catch them again.”

Edgar looked down at the mass.

Two hunks of hair, still attached to their scalps, little specks of melted red ice puddled on his quilt.

“Maybe Zoe will hit Jupiter by the time you die. She cried so much when I took her hair off… Vicky too… so I made them twinsies.” he chuckled– it was so sweet.”

Oh he had always wanted to see him afraid, crying, anything but his usual self, but now he did not care.

The man tried violence only hurting his hands in return, Homelander just walked out the front door as he screamed words that meant nothing.

Not staying to watch when the CIA operatives entered the house.

Aunt Mallory awaited him in the hall.

“I always wanted to see Vought fall. Never thought I would see it… or that you would help us get this done so quickly– even if it was on a threat. But I still couldn’t touch you. The Government would like you to take part in the trial– by tomorrow afternoon all of Vought who was involved in those operations will be arrested and charged with… fuck… everything.”

“Was somebody named Y/N L/N your whistleblower? You seen them?”

He was glad to have seen Kent, otherwise he wouldn’t be watching Mallorys response so closely.

“Can’t tell you that.”

so stupidly easy, she was being smug.

“Can’t tell me where my own fiancee is… or should I go get it out of Butcher? He’s downstairs in the lobby.” He sounded raspy as his throat had given up– I’ll testify on the trial… you know the things they did to me wouldn’t get these people more than a couple years without my testimony. If you tell me and grant me immunity… say you find something else… I’ll give you my all and maybe something you’ve wanted too–

Mallory could cream herself at the fantasy, sensing his desperation and in response his willingness to harm to soothe it, she bit her lip.

“Too good to be true. We don’t really need you for a trial y’know once we identify the families of the women and children–

“I won’t let you touch Ryan.” He said calmly, taking a step closer with red in his eyes– You think the CIA is better than Vought? Either I burn this fucking country to the ground and force you to nuke your cities just to see if you could even scratch me, or you agree– or do you think Soldier Boy will help you, after you put him back in a fridge? I’ll be nice if you like, I’ll even  stop compound V production until we can see the outcome of Vought... I won’t hand it to your people or mine– if you hand me the paperwork saying I’m just a poor little meow-meow.”

He spoke so softly even his cursing didn’t sound hateful, in this tranquil tone Mallory froze, his hand lifting her chin slighty forcing her to met the bluest eyes she’ve ever seen, to see this calm sea holding back a biblical flood.

“We can be civil. You got my word.” She bit her tongue– how come you haven’t yet.”

“That’ll depends solely on you.”

“This Whistleblower left before Butcher delivered me the files. Don’t think he would know.”

“Useless.” he grumbled– "I want to see that bastard in jail first, anyhoo.”

Homelander headed to the elevator, his mind trying to hold the avalanche that was John inside of him, to hold himself until he could find a place to scream.

William sat on a couch by the opulent lobby of the apartment complex, finding something comforting in seeing him... now it bothered him too much but Homelander ignored it, already on edge, one wrong word and he would collapse.

“When was the last time you spoke with Y/N?” John said.

“Why the fuck woul’ I tell you?” 

“William. I’m afraid my Pusher lied to you… whatever was said about me is not true, it was just a ruse to get you to do the dirty work.”

Dead, cheating or running away. Homelander would play the one that hurt him the least and the most, he needed to see you, to understand what you’ve done.

“Those bruises looked fuckin’ real to me, mate.”

“Pusher is a Supe– A Telepath probably told you what you wanted to hear to get you to do as told. I just want my fiance back… I… I can’t do this alone…” His expression softened and his eyes stung– did it make you happy? To see those videos? To see my kids die before I knew their names? I haven’t even seen them, just what was said on the papers and Mallory told me.”

“Don’t. You don’t wan’ to see it, mate. I Hate you. I fuckin’ hate you but… your kids… they were gonna do that to Ryan. They was gonna make my Becca into a monster! All she did to protect that little boy just to end up killing him! My Becca wouldn’t have lived with herself… none of those kids and their mothers deserved that.”

Butcher spoke, his voice did nothing to hide the pain he felt over what almost had awaited Becca, the pain and guilt he felt as he once considered handling that kid back to Vought to rescue her back then, Becca would’ve killed herself from grief if not by her own hands if she was still here and saw those videos.

Homelander sat beside him, he had died once tonight, he could do it again, Butcher shaken as he sat on top of his flag that he almost seemed so careful with before.

“I need to see them. William… please… I need to know… maybe it’ll make you happy to see me reacting to it.”

He looked so frail next to Butcher, whomever this was they did not recognize him.

“If Pusher won’t be there for me– can I have you instead? After all, we had something different.”

It made him uncomfortable to hear him say that, whoever this man was... was just a wounded stranger, sitting too close, their knees touching, Homelander seeking for any relief and Butcher feeling his skin crawl.

“It won’t make me happy. I’m not sick like you” He took a cigarette out offering Homelander one the man considered for a strange second or two– After this what are you gonna do?”

“I think I’ll move to the mediterranean with Ryan, the two cats and maybe… maybe two more people… Mallorca… or Valletta… You can visit Ryan if you like… before that golf ball in your brain kills you. You should see the beachest down there… so pretty– but after I find my pumpkin.”

He lit the cigarette on Butcher’s lip, this was it. The end. It sucked for them both.

They shared a sorry laugh, Butcher picturing the blonde in tacky Hawaiian shirts and a burnt tan screaming ‘Expat’ he just didn’t seem like the type to pull it off, unlike himself.

“I’ve been to Greece on my honeymoon…it wont be pretty not with you in it. I’ve called your fiance early, that we had met all their demands. They came soon after and dropped the passwords, then asked my Frenchie for tips to deal with a supe. They fashioned some stuff for a bit then your Pusher left around four.”

“What Supe?”

“Firecracker.”

He scoffed.

You had forgiven John but never did you say anything about her, he stayed with Butcher even after Edgar was dragged in front of them, following him to his office to watch the videos that even his worst enemy didn’t want him to see.

The longer he watched the less he wanted to see, he had left Butcher’s office by dawn.

Butcher feeling not victorious as he watched them, the happy recordings of kids being kids, of kids trying to make their mothers happy, until the tears began, until the blood, and the screams, until they became silence.

He opened the front door for the authorities heading a private tour to appear extra cooperative... the company was a mess, a beehive disturbed by ravenous wasps.

An emergency meeting was called and the news were talking non-stop of him, of the others could’ve been Homelanders, of his mother and their mothers. His aunt was already victim to guerilla interviews unable to understand what’ve happened, the stocks were below red, and their competitors were just waiting to start eating their hot juicy remains.

“We will cease all production on V. until further notice… but honestly I’ll just take my severance package, and let you guys take care of this.” His voice soft– This is over. All of it. No point in crying about it– it ain’t you guys who ought to be crying.``

Ashley whimpered regardless.

“Sir… I would’ve never authorized this–

“You are too weak to do these things. You've been a good girl Ashley… the least I can do is make sure you’re taken care of, I’ve put in a good word that you had nothing to do with this– after all this is before our time” He turned to the others in the boardroom– them on the other hand. After all of you get arrested I’m going to kill everybody you love and feed them to my cats… maybe not tomorrow, or next week– but I will… I’ll fucking let your dogs rape your wifes and send you the videos and maybe send them to your kids.” he chortled– All of you can go fuck yourselves. Now me and Ashley are going to get out, and none of you better make a peep.”

It was quite the scene.

“Ten million should be enough to live comfortably for you, right? Or is that like a lowball amount? With inflation is hard to tell.”

“Excuse me?”

“I won’t hurt you Ashley because Ryan likes you. And your name did not appear anywhere…” he petted her head mockingly– you and I are done… but you’ll have to sign an NDA about the things you covered for me, your last job for me is for you to testify in the trial.”

“Are you doing alright, sir?” She was too shocked to ask anything else– I…”

“No.”

“Hmm… sir, I wanted to tell you before the meeting that Firecracker has been missing since this morning. And one of the guys from Analytics gave me this… address. Said you had requested it but you never answered your phone this morning.”

His mouth crook upwards.

“She left her phone at home. We already had a team out looking for her… is she our whistleblower?”

“Did she have any friends? Any brunettes with freckles and a big ass?”

That rang bells for an odd reason, a girl she had seen hovering around her during recordings.

“Yes…? I think her old editor.”

“Get me her address, I’m going to go deal with them”

There you were again in a ditch, your face gone, Firecracker nowhere to be seen.

Mallory and some other high ranking investigators stood watching closely overseeing the arrests. Their suits filling the halls.

“That one had nothing to do with it.” his thumb pointing at Ashley.

“Any more requests, your highness?”

“Not going to give you the formula for Compound V.”

“Vought and you caped bastards going away sounds like a dream to me… but you kept your word… I kept mine, you will be granted complete immunity even if we aren’t investigating but the crimes against you. We are pinning all of this on the old guard.”

“Enjoy it.” Before he left he turned around– thanks to you the whole country gets to live another day.”

Butcher stroked his temples.

“And he is going to get away with it!? All of it!?” Starlight protested, the rest of the gang sharing her sentiment– Butcher!?

“Is out of my hands. The fuckin’ ‘ead of Homeland Security, the CIA and the president rather he retires to fucking Madeira than risk a nuclear apocalypse! They haven't even begun to unravel Soldier Boy’s abilities, and the Russian’s ain’t helping– you think I want this!?” 

“So what are we gonna do?”

“Nuthin’ we won. Besides… Y/N might be a serial killer…” Starlight and company urged him to continue– couple years ago some writer and their friend were found killed… nobody could describe this Beck Nevere partner, as if they never existed, not their age, gender, color nor height, they knew Beck had a partner–  both the victims social media accounts were clinically scrubbed… talking black-ops level completely fucking clean. They suspected a Supe was behind it but it led nowhere. There were another couple corpses here and there with similar lack of witness accounts. Only one gave a vague description and a name... Pusher.``

Hughie pulled up the sketch composite that Butcher was referring to, it wasn’t perfect and some of the details were wrong but there was a familiarity to the image.

“This cunt went here to ‘elp us get rid of Vought. Maybe they’ll get rid of him too.” he thought of that name the cunt had dropped– He called them ‘Pusher’ I bet if we dig far enough we could find about this bastard.”

He thought of Homelander sitting on that leather couch, wondering who was after who.

As he sat in the archives a metal box opened and its contents carefully placed around him, Homelander would cry alone, at pictures of close strangers, the sound of voices he would never hear down his halls, all the families he could’ve had, all the first he could’ve witnessed, John could had been given all that made him weak, all that would render him needless, but all he had wanted, all their stolen timelines… You had given him a mother… had you tried to bare him children but found this graveyard.. leaving you more frail than wet paper... did you shattered? Afraid he would kill you for this after his mother’s fiasco? Had he finally managed to scare you?

Two men awaited to take some for evidence, but gave him space until he was ready.

By the end of the day, the internet was losing its mind, even his biggest detractors and haters had nothing negative to say about him, before the day ended the whole world saw Homelander as a victim, a man brainwashed, a survivor. 

Theories that the entire internal coup that saw Edgar fall from grace were nothing but a machiavellian plot to take over the company that had caused him so much harm-- it was to be the next best biopic, studios already preparing for the upcoming bidding wars, and publisher eager to jump at him with publishing offers for his biography, it would sell out day 1 if it happened, News channels and celebrities already competing to see if they could get him to sit down for the first exclusive interview.

Some still hated him– but as of the first 24 hrs the public was sympathetic. It would become the popular opinion to not hate him, those who did would be silenced, and eventually it would be taboo to voice it openly, or at all.

His strange quirks and violent outburst now blamed on complex PTSD and trauma, he wasn’t hated nor ridiculed to his surprise, while much of the facts had been sanitized, much of the details to be saved for the trial or for government eyes only– enough was out to paint a horrific image; CNN to Joe Rogan had been given a couple of heavily censored clips, graphic enough that its content was undeniable. The families of the mothers, and his ex-lovers already being identified, the missing women had been given potential and confirmed names in massive reddit and 4chan efforts, faster than the FBI had even if there was plenty of misinformation drowning the main feeds.

He had checked  Firecracker’s friend apartment finding nothing, no struggle, or signs of it that’ve been cleaned, her keys missing but her wallet and phone left behind.

A couple of cigarettes left behind, no lipstick marks left on the buds, Firecracker wasn’t a smoker, he grinned.

He could scan the whole city and eventually find you, but it came to him.

A number he didn’t recognize appeared on his screen.

“Found your bitch, aye.”

Seems Butcher wanted some payback, he was better at this than Homelander after all.

“Love you too. How you get my number?”

The other man was silent at the other end of the line, watching the building you were holed up.

“Your bitch used me. Painted you as some victim to be pitied. Made you get away with all the bullshit you’ve done– I want front row seats to the funeral… found some of your bitch past achievements– gnarly little things.”

“You and me both.” He was to let you explain, to tell him everything before he made a decision on you– thanks.”

“This one is good– but I am better. Gather your team is a bit short of funds and all, just so you know I’m gonna get ev’n.”

He hanged, seconds after Homelander received a text message.

Homelander flew, finding you wet, naked and tired. 

You looked more beautiful than ever before, as you throw your back with each swung of a modified machete, sweating profusely as you bathed in her life, your shoulders burn and you hair clump around your temples... you looked breathtaking.

His ire fading as the sight of you assuaged him, the thought of your arms holding him tenderly... the only place he could cry, of your lips telling him all the things nobody had meant and internet voices were too impersonal to mean much for him, left alone for days, worried sick you’ve been hurt by Firecracker and left dead on some dumpsters, you were safe, you could explain yourself, he could grant you one chance to explain yourself.

You did look so beautiful.

But you were here, breathing, thinking of him still.

They would just be a little upset still.

But you could explain it all... maybe it had been a misunderstanding... maybe you didn't meant it.

And then here you two were.

Dawn fast approaching, the cool breeze rustling your hair.

“Why did you ran away?”

“Killing Firecracker was harder than I anticipated. The fugu only paralyzed her… had to get creative with the saws… took me a whole day to find the right blade. Not to mention I had to kill the friend first. I was so tired I overslept quite a bit. I only caught up until you showed up.” You admitted– I kidnapped her friend, drew her to that safe house, and then you showed up.”

Her heart beat honest, it shocked John.

“I did have to find out a few things about you from Butcher, Kent, my team… you’re certainly a character. So why did you kill your exes?”

You looked away, embarrassed and ashamed to say this outloud, not wanting to talk about past lovers.

“They couldn’t handle my devotion.” Your voice is gentle yet pained–  Too intense for them. I suffocated them and made them feel isolated.” trembling lightly you looked up at him– I loved them too much but they couldn’t muster to return an ounce of what I gave them. They didn’t want me anymore.  Didn’t want to give me my refund. They weren't my true love.'

“So you didn’t get bored?”

“All I wanted was to be loved like I always dreamed to be loved. They got bored of me… they hated me… they couldn’t stand me.” Your eyes watered– But you returned my love, so equally.”

He strokes your hair, tucking it behind your ears.

“You won’t fall out of love with me… even after you erase my memories?” John asked.

“Is nice that you think I can do that– you need it for the trial. Or you meant later?”

“Maybe I want you to kill me instead of killing you, and leave my brother in charge.”

You dropped an imaginary plate, all air squeezed out your lungs, your nails digging on his arms.

“No!! I would not!!” You shouted– Absolutely not!!”

“You did all of this to have me all for you, but maybe I don’t want to be all yours. My brother likes you… he only came back for you, he ignored me for you. You love him, not me. Nobody loves me, I’ll cheat on you again– you can’t win me over not after what you did! I have nothing! Vought! Privacy! This fucking suit!!!”

He whispered words laced with anger and pain.

“Then I will kill the next one, and the one after and the one after that one. Fuck I’ll kill the bitch you stared for more than five seconds at the coffee shop queue if I must. As long as you come back to me John is alright… is you, him and me.”

He whimpered, stifling a tear, the way you spoke so softly, your deliverance continuously painfully honest, hard to reconcile your merciless nature with this one who saw him as their everything, genuinely meant it, who saw him as frail and began to cried at the thought of euthanasia.

“I won’t stop until I consume every ounce of doubt you have.” You mumble– I’ll never ever let you leave. I’ll put you in a glass cage if I have to” you stroke his cheek, clinging to him, a strange white swirl floated in your eyes– All I did was to protect you and us. That man– Butcher… was going to destroy you! I was lucky I gave him those files and made sure no matter what– the whole world would never think of you as evil, thanks to me. I got rid of her because I’m yours… so you didn’t need her… you own me.” Your kisses are so soft on his neck, turning him into glass replacing the old marble– I want to crawl inside you to feel your warmth for your touch is not enough. I would consume you if I could and fill my guts 'till it burst, so you might nourish all of me. Just to be closer to you.” 

Homelander mouth dried, your words clawing at his throat, his hand glued to you feeling his body swirl as you pulled his face closer, gasping with every fond stroke of your lips and palms, the red flickering the more you spoke and his heart thumped, as he struggled to breathe, you sucked it out his system.

Your pretty eyes so white.

–You could have me forever and tuck me in the closet until you need me, and I would be fine with it– I’ll be there for you… ‘cuz I love you and you’re very special to me John, so I’ll just make you come back to me– both of you.” You cried, kissing him more intensely, sussurating into his lungs– I prayed and prayed to all gods for traces of you. I gave up hope… but you found me instead.” you kissed him more, and more, bleeding into his tongue. Harking back at the first moment you met, the moment you heard them both, and your eyes met, that first shared heartbeat– Even my ghost won’t leave you. I promise. Now that the gods have brought us together I won’t let go” you sobbed clinging on to him, that pale light brighter– I was born for you.”

There is a perturbing and enthralling manicness to you, your voice will forever haunt him as it spoke so sweetly, your kisses branding him with iron, you were pulling him closer, swallowing him– it frightens him how unbashedly you yearned for him. 

You were a scary thing.

A monster.

His other half.

He let himself be saved in your arms, his legs giving up, pushing you both into the hard ground.

Your declaration makes his wounded heart thump more alive than it had ever been in forty years.

It wouldn’t heal him, it wouldn’t fix anything, it wouldn’t earn you forgiveness.

But Homelander and John needed this. Always had. Both had seeked this.

He had wanted something awful it seems.

That god would make somebody just for him.

Who had felt the same suffocating loneliness.

And emerged just as awry.

Who would cling to him shamelessly, like he had yearned since the moment he learned he was born from nothing.

Who for forty years had clung to sweet nothing in search for anything, any crumb of something to fill the abyss.

You here wanted to fill his abyss with your own tragedy.

Every sulken glance, every smile, every tear and every kiss… forcibly if you had to.

He needed to be cuddled and held, laughing maniacally as nothing made sense anymore, he cackled in between hoarse sobs, you kissed him, cradling him and swaying him, kissing his tears as he clung to you. 

Looking up, a dying lamp vaguely illuminated above you two, a flickering halo framed you, you watched him with fervor, your lips lifted into a pained smile, holding him as if the mere thought of him touching the ground was killing you, your heart screaming so loudly. 

Oh there it was… he thought, in the depth of all that was you. He finally really saw what his brother saw– Stormfront didn’t look at him like this… not close, not remotely the same.

You were the comfort of the familiar pain.

In the white ouroboros.

You were the Bad Room made flesh.

He was born there… he would die there…

He was inside that room, city skylines and rusted metal replaced by thick white cement walls, the flickering ligths replaced by cool white halogen.

He was born to keep John alive but John never knew how to be without him.

So he continued to be unsure of where to be.

Until you…

In your muddy disguise, without a hint of sanctity, you who appeared so boorish– you were the white walls that’ve birthed him, still chasing after him, a tulpa or demon from within that place.

What were you?

“Don’t be silly. If I was a demon I would’ve joined William’s side. Or tell you not to do the Oprah interview”

Glimpsin into that uneasy white swirl illuminating pupils, he thought. 

Frozen inside this silent room, the buzzing of the air con drilling into his ear.

If his brother had taken the reins before, ran for days and nights, if he had agreed to lie about you before, if all John knew now was on your words– had you forgotten to tell him something? 

What had you two kept to yourselves?

What had you two done while he wasn’t around? What had you shared for his love to infect him? For you to become like this? In his fracture memory he couldn’t reach the answer easily.

You kissed him as he watched the white swirl fade away like a slithering worm taking that unnatural light away from your irises.

With it the world returned.

He squeezed your hand, trying to calm down the oppressive weight in his chest– Oprah… he had already been offered ten million for exclusive first dibs, he could think of that instead of the unknown, as you pressed him against your chest, he could just let you two care for him as you had promise, let him just get the bliss and the fortune.

“Should I?”

“Well we gotta make sure the public thinks you’re a good boy… and if you want to keep killing we got each other... it will be much more fun if we gotta be sneaky about it. Also is Oprah, baby!”

“She’s so lovely, pumpkin.”

It was too much… how can one man, god or not– handle the last few hours, it was too much,  accepting defeat, he could kill you but solve nothing, now he needed your powers.

He had said, himself… now he was a god made whole.

You held him until even his back grew sore.

He thought of waves, of never ending waves, and golden stone, of the cawing of sea birds and the heat on his back.

“You want to move there?”

“It's far away..."

You pulled him closer, as his head rested perfectly against your chest, kissing his forehead over and over until his toothy smile returned.

“You’ll be there to make everything okay… you'll make it okay.”

“I’ll take care of us forever.” your hand holding his cheek– I was put on this earth to care for you.”

To be held was all he ever wanted.

If his brother could hold him… this is how he imagine he would.

He felt the candor of your love, hotter than his own inhuman heat, he knew these frail chains made of bone and glass will not break, he held your collar and you held his chains.

Both visciously clutching on those chains.

Tangling himself further into the uncertainty, but he didn't fear it, he craved it.

Bleeding into his mouth.

Offering your fealty.

Whatever was to happen, whether the world would be blessed with rebirth or survive another decade, hanged on you.

[brown-little-robin]

you restore my faith in humanity. idk you're just so genuine and unobstructed from being yourself and loving everything around you. every time i think the world sucks i think about Robin From Tumblr and i'm like Hm maybe it isn't all bad

AW THANKS <33333 I TRY

[saturnniidae]

Claire = animal jam kid, Toby = Xbox one minecraft kid, Jim = wii sports freak (affectionate)

[len-shblog]

any sh blogs wanna be frens? :P

[altschmerzes]

it's just that sometimes you're so... impossibly happy and full of so much incredible joy that you gotta post about it on the internet otherwise you may get on the roof with a bullhorn yknow.

[linddzz]

HELP @seadeepspaceontheside forced me to realize Total Eclipse of the Heart is the perfect Hob song and I can't stop

[cirilya]

Why do i always relate to anyhow repressed male characters. I'm just a teenage bisexual girl but clive durham i get you on a spiritual level pls never forget that.

[keeps-ache]

porch time porch time woowoo !! :D