#if you make a good product you’ll keep making some money off that in the future
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Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back
Series Masterlist
Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay! I was hit with a big case of “this chapter is very important so it has to be perfect” and “I have a crush on someone and it’s rendering me incapable of human function." Enjoy!
Chapter Title from Love From The Other Side by Fall Out Boy
Word Count: 26.4k (for context that is longer than the first 4 chapters combined. Someone needs to restrain me)
Chapter Summary/Warnings: You have work to do, and Ben keeps to his word. Usual warnings, with emphasis on assault. No rape, but one non-con kiss. Make the best call for yourself.
Read on A03!
Chapter 18 - Chapter 20
You’d been right. Word of mouth spread fast, and Sage knew about your speech. Homelander as well, but he’d reacted about as you’d hoped to anticipate. Proud, smug, certain beyond a doubt that you had been speaking of him.
Sage knew better. She knew what you’d really meant—who you’d really been speaking of—and the only thing that saved was that she couldn’t do anything about it.
Because word of mouth spreads fast.
But the internet spreads faster.
Everyone has an opinion on what, in a brilliant twist of journalism, was being called Believe-gate. Everyone has seen the photo of your fearful expression when the “CIA terror attack” on good, christian America had begun and Homelander had shot off the stage. Fear for your lover, gone to fight for what’s right. Or, if the photo was of your fear expression when your extraction operation had begun and Homelander had gone to kill your team.
It all depends on who you ask.
If you ask Homelander’s supporters, or Homelander himself, you’ll hear the narrative you’ve been forced to memorize and parrot almost every day. Your fear was for Homelander, whom you loved. The attack by the CIA on a group of innocent civilians was a tragedy both in the losses of A-Train and Ezekiel, and as the American people had to learn they couldn’t trust their government. They could only trust their heroes, trust Homelander, to keep them safe.
If you ask the Starlighters, or read the CIA’s official statement on the matter, the alleged “attack” had been an extraction operation for the Anomaly that had gone sideways. Employees of Vought had interfered with a government sanctioned mercenary team—lead by William Butcher and containing Soldier Boy but not in official association with Starlight—and collateral damage had been unavoidable. People should write their congressman to divert more money into funding Butcher’s team, and boycott Vought products until the Anomaly was freed.
That’s closer to the truth, but reality is still far more absurd than either side seems to properly capture. Not absurd in the way the media seems to think, because gossip and rumors spread like the wildfire climbing steadily back under your skin. In meetings—as Sage goes over damage control and shoots you cold, measured glares—you see post after post, headline after headline, and video after video of speculation. You’re honestly a little surprised it took this long for the ball to get rolling. You’d thought the aftermath of your interview was going to be the largest fallout—the biggest step and ultimate catalyst—but you’d been wrong. This was it. For some reason, the Believe Expo was what did it. People are trying to figure out what was really going on. Someone posits a theory on Reddit about you’re a robot or shapeshifting supe who stole the face and identity of a dead PhD student. NPR runs a story about the history of government and corporate propaganda, and CNN does a frame by frame breakdown of recording of your speech. A video essay about how you were Homelander’s girlfriend but had been tortured and brainwashed by the CIA to infiltrate Vought. Old footage of the Firecracker rally circulates as people dissect your every facial expression. One person accuses you of being obsessed with Homelander. Another says you’re just Stormfront with a new face. There’s a small online movement that’s pretty sure you’re actually Sage’s girlfriend and Homelander’s just bearding for you, and another that’s convinced you’re Robert Singer’s estranged love-child. One person sends an email accusing you of being Stan Edgar’s daughter. Several people accuse you of working for the Chinese, and several more of being a British Spy. At A-Train’s funeral, one stupidly brave man with a microphone had shouted a question of what’s your response to allegations you had an affair with William Butcher, and you’d almost laughed in his face.
That might have been your favorite moment, because it made you snort and think of Ben’s sour expression.
Butcher couldn’t fucking handle you, Sunshine.
Benjamin, you can barely handle me yourself.
I’m having a grand fucking hell of a time trying. Butcher would start whining like a bitch.
You whine like a bitch.
Brat.
Cunt.
That’s the part nobody has guessed. People have landed on pieces of the truth. You are a dead PhD holder—everyone always seems to forget you actually had the PhD—and you are infiltrating Vought, but not because anyone told you. If anything the biggest opposition you faced to your plan has been from your side. Not a day passes where just the phantom of Ben doesn’t tell you to come home. To wear blue and let him just come get you.
And that’s the part people seem to be missing. It’s obvious to you, but you’re biased and have the full picture. The fear on your face at the Believe Expo was for Ben. For the split second you’d thought you might lose him. People couldn’t trust their heroes, but nobody needed to break you out. People should absolutely not demand Butcher be funded further. You did not want to return to find Butcher, Ben, and Frenchie jerking themselves off over a collection of military-grade weaponry. In all the millions of people stringing you up to search for the truth, the real you—if Vought is right or the CIA is right or if you’re playing them both—they all miss the only two things that really mattered to you.
Kill Homelander. Whatever it takes, however you have to twist and pull yourself apart, you will kill Homelander.
Go home to Ben. Tell Ben you love him, then go wherever he goes.
As the week starts to pass, the scandal doesn’t turn into just another story. It only grows. Sage puts you back on tower lockdown, and most of the time it’s just you, The Deep, and Ashley on 99. You have to record videos and do livestreams and keep pretending you don’t want to lean over to Homelander in the dead of night and just kill him. Find a way to make yourself stronger than him and strangle his throat, or use all the fire you have in your control to reduce him to a shriveled husk that’s still in only half the pain you are. You smile all day—in the dim yellow lights of Homelander’s room and into flashing cameras at Sage’s orders—and at night you drag up the fire, miss Ben, and feel the cracks in you start to spread.
You’re the most famous person in America.
You want to go home.
You have to go home. Before the cracks reach something fundamental and you just break. Without Ben to pick you up.
Overall, you’d know getting the V was going to be a delay, but it’s not as large as you’d expected. The time added by finding V is being lost by how fast everything else is going. How it’s snowballing and rolling down the mountain with you even having to push it. Three weeks are added to your timeline just as two are lost, and you’ll be home soon.
If everything goes well, you’ll be home soon.
You’re keeping yourself whole. By threads and stitches and temporary bandaging, you haven’t completely lost yourself and fallen apart. But the cracks are coming faster, larger. Nightmares that you have to learn to hold down, because Homelander can’t see you break. You wake up paralyzed and cold, still haunted by images of Ben asleep, or gone, or having just left. He wouldn’t, you know he wouldn’t, but Homelander had still cornered you after the Believe Expo and told you that he had.
He’d dropped you in the Seven’s meeting room, and pushed you into the wall by your throat.
“You didn’t know,” he’d sneered into your face, and you’d had to shake your head weakly.
“I didn’t, I swear-“
“Were they there to save you? Take you away again?”
“I don’t know-“
“Tell me the truth!” He’d roared, spit flying in your face and coconut making you sick. “I’m so sick of everyone lying to me!”
“I am,” you’d clawed at his gloved hand, the leather cold on your skin, choking on your words. “That’s the truth, please, I didn’t know-“
Homelander had laughed. “Doesn’t matter, they didn’t get you. Your precious little Soldier Boy ran.”
That wasn’t true. You’d told Ben to go, he hadn’t run. He’d never run, not away from you.
“They left you. Didn’t even try to keep you.” Homelander had tsked, shaking his head. “I’d stay.”
You’d just nodded, unable to speak, and Homelander’s jaw had ticked. Hand tightening around your throat.
“I said I’d stay. They left you, Soldier Boy left you, but I’d fucking stay. You’re a fucking manipulative bitch, who can’t make anyone like you, or anyone stay without tricking them. I’m the only one who sees through you, who doesn’t fall for your silly tricks, and that’s why I love you. You can’t fucking trick me, and I know you love me.”
Your nods had grown frantic. “I know, please, I can’t-“
“I’d stay.” Homelander had hissed. “You love me and I stay.”
“You’d stay. I love-“
The door opened. Your desperate, lying words had failed in your mouth because the door had opened and a group of people had walked in. Interns or cleaners or tech workers, just normal people.
Homelander had lasered them down, their bodies falling to the floor with sickening crunches and wet sounds. He hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t even blinked. Just killed them and turned back to you with an annoyed expression.
“People don’t even knock anymore.” He’d sighed. “I mean, it’s manners. None of these people were raised in a fucking barn, right?!”
“I, I can’t,” you’d coughed slightly. “Breathe, can’t breathe-“
Homelander had rolled his eyes, glaring at you as he spoke. “Say you didn’t trick me.”
“I didn’t trick you, I can’t-“
“And you love me.”
“I love you-“
“Say Soldier Boy left you.”
“He left, I can’t, please-“
He’d dropped you to the floor, scowling as you’d pulled yourself back up on shaking legs. “Good.” He looked you up and down one. “I can trust you.”
That had been what you’d been angling to hear for weeks. All of this had been playing the game until Homelander trusted you. It was even more vital now, if you wanted to find the V. But you’d only been able to stare at the bodies on the floor. Blood on your feet and splattered across your face, and it won’t come off. Not really. Never entirely. There’s guts spilled across the room, a brain visible through a hole in a skull, and mouths frozen in permanent screams that you’ll see for the rest of your life.
That night your dreams had been haunted by red hands and cold skin, and when you called for Ben to find you, no sound had come out. You’d woken up paralyzed, and a pattern had begun. This became the new normal.
You’d had nightmares in the tower. But they’d been bearable, no worse than they’d been before. You’d woken up cold and curled into your own body, your breath and heart still steady enough to be silent to Homelander.
Now they felt like death. They felt like a burning, white-hot sort of cold under your skin and in your blood, an inescapable hurricane that would devastate what little was left of your control. Nightmares of Ben vanishing in smoke, hearing him fall to the ground and not get back up. Nightmares of blood rivers that pull you away and under and down, until all you can see is red. All you can taste is metal and it freezes your tongue. Holds it still when you wake up with a high, ringing feedback in your ears, and holds you down when you try to rub off the lingering feeling of dread. The sense that this is eternal, and you only have yourself to blame.
You chose this. In every nightmare you jump in the river, and if you don’t Ben falls in smoke that you can’t pull him out of. Every time you wake up you’re frozen, and every day you can’t breathe without tasting coconut and iron. Over and over until you think you’re going mad, because you look at your hands and they still have blood on them. You can’t see it, but you can feel it. It’s tying that cold you’ve felt from the start into the fire, pulling it up faster and faster as your skin starts to grow molten on your body. As the cold runs through your veins and heart and begins to leak into the world.
At first, you don’t notice. You’ve felt this before, this feeling of every nerve in your body growing heavy as your blood grows cold and pushes out of you. You’d felt it with Tek Knight. Felt it when Homelander had pulled you into the sky during that fight outside, and when he’d grabbed your face after Noir II. Brief flashes of something like a glacier rushing in and over you, covering anything that dared touch you. But it had been temporary. Brief, polar flashes that were gone in a second. This was long. This was arctic, permanent, and you could barely control it. Nobody touched you, nobody ever touched you here, but it was still spreading like mold around you. People go rigid when they pass you, and start to look cornered and feral when they sit in a room with you for too long. They look trapped. They look how you feel.
After one meeting, where a Vought “journalist” sat across from you and Homelander—asking you pre-written and approved questions about love and your future and it’s so cold—Sage holds you back. Homelander gives a clap of his hands and crude, white-toothed smile before vanishing with a jump and a sonic sound, but Sage holds you back.
“Sit down,” she nods to the chair you’re only half risen from, and it’s not a request or suggestion. She’s telling you to sit, and you do. You’re not at an advantage right now, you’ve made too many risky moves that—while paying off—had shown too much. Shown you.
You sit, and wait. You won’t speak first, because you don’t know what game you’re playing and can’t afford to make the starting move.
Sage frowns at you, tilting her head, but begins to speak. “I’ll admit I’m not sure what you told Soldier Boy that incited such an event, but it did allow me to understand you better.”
“Understand me?” Your words are spoken through the constant cold. Too controlled, almost bored. “I don’t think there’s much to understand.”
“There’s more than I usually face.” Sage looks you up and down, and sits across from you. Leaning forward. “It’s taken me longer, as well. There’s been one last piece of the puzzle I couldn’t quite find, and you handed it to me. I thought of you better than that.”
“I don’t think I am a puzzle.” You frown. “And I’d never think of myself better than anything-“
“Yes, I got that quite a while ago. Someone who values themself, values their life, doesn’t volunteer to stand in the front lines of an unwinnable war. Doesn’t forgive as easily as you do.”
You shrug. “I believe that there are very few things that are truly unforgivable. I can only think of one.”
“Rape?”
You swallow, frost pushing up your throat, and Sage hums.
“Unsurprising. That’s another puzzle piece that fits you well, and another reason your little performance will never really be sold.”
You’re not shocked you haven’t fooled Sage, but it’s not her that you need to have a hold over. So you just watch her silently until she scoffs.
“This is just us talking. Homelander won’t hear, I’m not looking to lose my first semi-worthy opponent to an easy to spot trap.”
You still don’t speak, and Sage smiles.
“Smart. Would proof help? How about,” she looks you up and down. “When we met in January, I was genuinely considering flipping to your side. Homelander is an emotional, pathetic imbecile who refuses to truly acknowledge that I am significantly more intelligent than he, and while I have no care for people,” her face twists slightly as she says the word, like it tastes sour on her tongue. “I did think I could face an equal challenge taking down a well-established international conglomerate as I was facing with the United States Government. But with a new, unexpected player I decided this could still be interesting.” Sage sits back, looking you up and down. “I showed you mine.”
Sage wouldn’t call Homelander a pathetic imbecile if there was a chance he might hear—she’s still very capable of being lasered in half—but she could pull a tape and show select footage. So you just blink.
“Fine.” Sage sighs, and pulls out a pen. Pink, with a fluffy top. She passes it into your hands, careful not to touch skin, and nods. “Click it.”
You glance at the pen, and push the ballpoint out.
Sage’s voice echoes through the room. Homelander is an emotional, pathetic imbecile who refuses to truly acknowledge that I am significantly more intelligent than he.
You frown at her. “Collateral?”
“You’ll hold on to the pen, after this conversation I’ll wipe all the tapes and break all the audio bugs in front of you, and then you’ll return the pen to me. Deal?”
You nod slowly, taking the pen. “Deal.”
“Good. Show me yours.”
“I don’t know what you want me to show you,” you shrug. “Like I said, I don’t believe myself to be a puzzle. And you’ve already figured me out.”
“I hadn’t,” Sage corrects you. “For months, I hadn’t been able to see the whole picture. Your forgiveness is… inconsistent.”
“Really,” you say dryly, crossing your arms. “I’ve only been raped by one man.”
Sage hums. “Would you forgive me?”
“Would you earn it?”
“Maybe.”
You lean back. “Then maybe I’d forgive you.”
“Even though I’m actively working with your rapist? Am aware of the trauma he inflicted upon you and yet still chose to enable him?”
The cold is sitting in your throat. “All depends on you. Like I said, you’d have to earn it.”
“And how did Butcher earn your forgiveness?”
You frown. “Butcher?”
“He’s the thing that incited Homelander looking into Becca Butcher. Discovering Ryan Butcher. Wanting more.” Sage gives you a half-smile. “Taking you.”
“I don’t hold people accountable for the actions of others.” Your voice is still bored, even as the cold starts to numb your tongue. “Butcher had no way of knowing that Homelander would do this. He didn’t even know who I was until last year.”
“Is that the same grace you’ve offered Soldier Boy?”
Your heart stutters, falters, and freezes. “I haven’t offered Soldier Boy anything he hasn’t earned.”
“And that’s the thing.” Sage narrows her eyes at you. “You really believe he’s earned it. Despite all of his crimes, of which are an impressive amount and magnitude, you’re still forgiving him. And couldn’t figure out why. It doesn't fit with anything else, it’s completely irrational. But the answer isn’t something that’s supposed to be rational, and I made the mistake of factoring it out.”
“I don’t-“
“You’re in love with Soldier Boy.” Sage looks you up and down. Her handiwork she gets to admire. “And I didn’t catch it because, by all logical reasoning, you shouldn’t be. I didn’t even consider it until I’d exhausted all other possibilities, and even then I settled on some odd sort of camaraderie. But you love him.”
The cold becomes like frost lining your heart, and every beat begins to spread it further. Move it out. Play the game, don’t break. “What would it change, if I did?”
“You do,” Sage says simply. “You are in love with him. It explains everything that felt out of place. Every action you made that didn’t line up with what I’d anticipated.”
“What you’d anticipated?”
“Yes. For example, you shooting me. It was a reckless choice that backfired on you completely, but every time I ran over the scenario you would still do it. I’d wondered if I’d undersold the stakes, made you feel backed into a corner when that wasn’t my intention. But you’d still shoot me. You’d always shoot me, and it was because I misestimated your stakes. You love Soldier Boy, so if I tell you he’s in danger you will act.”
“That doesn’t mean I love him.” You give Sage a passive shrug. “Maybe I shot you because you’re fucking annoying.”
“No, you wanted to hear my plan. That's why you’re still sitting here.” Sage nods to the door. “You could’ve left. You could’ve gotten up and run out the door. You’re faster than I am, you’d have gotten away, showed Homelander the pen, and won. But you know I’d have a countermove, and that’s why you’re still here. That’s why I’m here.”
“Why you’re here.” You repeat slowly, and Sage nods.
“We’re the only players that matter now.” She grins at you. “Homelander and Butcher and Soldier Boy can flash their toys, but in the end you’re stronger and I’m smarter. My plan will work better, and you’ll respond in a way I won’t predict. You’ll have a move that would be successful, because you’re fucking powerful, but you’ll sidetrack yourself in the name of humanity and love. In the end the question will be if you can control yourself. If you can forsake being good enough to be great. My bets are on no, but you’ve surprised me before. And that’s what makes this interesting.”
Play the game. Even as you start to cave in, play the game. “You know I’m stronger than Homelander. But you haven’t told him, he still thinks he’s the strongest supe alive.” You frown at her, trying to pull everything together in your head. “You don’t want him to know I’m stronger. If I fight him, you don’t want him prepared. You want me to kill him.”
“I do.” Sage shrugs. “I’d like to martyr him, but I don’t think I will. I think I want to play this out.”
“Make it interesting?”
Sage smirks at you. “Make it interesting.”
“It’s your move,” you say, throat tight. “And, while we’re being honest, I’m fucking winning right now. So, what’s your move?”
She laughs. “You were winning. But I’ve figured you out, so your lead is gone.” Sage’s smile becomes crude and chilling. “In exactly one week, you’re going to propose to Homelander, live on VNN.”
The cold rushes, so fast. It had been building up and up and now it’s everywhere. A week isn’t long enough. You still haven’t found the V, you’re not close, and a week isn’t enough time. Every piece of your innards and piece of your mind is freezing, because you can’t. You can’t go home yet, but you can’t go fast enough. And you’ll die before you smile at Homelander. Before you let him touch you. He’ll take it as a sign that he’s done this right and now he’s won you. Your blood is frozen and creaking in your body, but Sage is still smirking across from you.
Breathe evenly. Hold your blood in your body with calculated breaths and careful words. “And If I don’t?”
“Then I lure Soldier Boy out, and put him back to sleep.” Sage stands, and you can’t move. You can only watch her walk around the room reaching into bowls and under furniture to show you tiny audio bugs that she crushes in Her hands before taking the pen back. “You have a week. Your move.” She pauses at the door, looking back at you with a frown. “Don’t make me wrong about you. I have no interest in being wrong.”
Then you’re alone, and the cold becomes big. It’s inescapable, how unending this feels. It’s too massive for you, too wild to control and spreading too fast to contain. You stumble your way back to Homelander’s apartment—people parting around you like you’re made of poison—and lock yourself in the bathroom, dropping to the floor in desperation to not break. You’ll find a way out of this, you always find a way out of this, you’ll get through this and go home and this isn’t permanent. Sage hasn’t won, because everything in you is still you, and soon you’ll go home. Everything is cold and bursting out of you, this feels like it will last forever, but it won’t. It can’t.
The cracks continue to grow, and when you sleep that night you’re plagued by smoke and ice that makes you weak and swallows Ben. You hear him fall and he doesn’t rise back up, and you reach for him only to find him further than you’d thought.
When you wake up, you’re still held down. Paralyzed and frozen without relent. You want to go home. You’d overestimated your strength, you didn’t want to beat Sage, or trick her, or win. You didn’t want this to be interesting, you just wanted it to be done. You’re exhausted, and alone, and you miss Ben so much. You’re not going to win, because these cracks are starting to be dangerous and you can’t stop them. You’re too weak to stop them, you don’t know how, and you can’t be smarter or stronger because you’re just so tired and almost every part of you is growing thinner and softer by the second. One step away from shattering. Breaking. Maybe you’ve really just already broken, but in a way you didn’t realize, and now you can’t be sewn back together. Your fire is sputtering out once more, you can’t pull it back up, can’t kill Homelander, can’t save Ben. You’re going to break and it’s going to make Ben go under, and he’ll never hold you again. You’re going to be in this vast, hollow loneliness forever, and Homelander will keep you on a shelf as your last embers flicker harmlessly, and you’re going to never see Ben again-
Calm the fucking hell down, Ben’s voice in your head is rough as it says your name. You’ll see me again, you fucking promised.
That strange thing is humming in your chest. It hasn’t left you since it appeared. Since you’d seen Ben. Through the day it sat in you silently. Undisturbing, shifting and rolling with a dull ache near your heart. Just a piece of Ben that you got to keep, that always felt like him. Like he was there, warm around you in the cold and tending to your fire. Then, at night, it roars. Twisting with your guts and kickstarting your lungs and mind when you grow frozen. Speaking to you in the dark until you feel like you again. A part of you that’s ingrained and unmovable, that’s not plagued by this cold because Ben is warm. Never afraid because Ben is safe. It’s angry and bloody and zealous, but it’s Ben, and so it smells like pine and feels good. Feels solid and easy, makes Ben feel more real. You’re on the too smooth, silken sheets of Homelander’s bed and everything is cold, but you can almost feel his breath on your ear and his voice rolling into your body.
I did promise. You sigh into the dark of the room, and your breath comes out in fog. But I don’t think I can talk my way out of this one, Pretty Boy.
Why the goddamn hell not.
I’m not smarter than Sage, or stronger than Homelander. I said whatever it takes, but I can’t, Ben. I can’t. I just want to come home.
First of all, shut the fuck up. You’re being stupid, Sunshine.
Fucking rude-
His voice cuts you off. It’s doing that a lot more lately. I don’t give a shit. Homelander is a pathetic fucking pussy, and Sage is a heartless bitch. You’re perfect the goddamn way you are. It’s goddamn infuriating how you’re so perfect, because it’s inconvenient. And if you want to come home you’ll wear blue and not a single fucking thing in the world will stop me getting you.
That’s part of the problem, Benjamin. I’m not perfect, I can’t fight them, and I can’t let you come and get me. You know that.
You are fucking perfect. You’re a goddamn pain in my ass, but you’re still beautiful and sure as shit smarter than you should be. And all I know that I fucking miss you.
You’re crying. Silent tears you have to muffle and wipe away, because even if Homelander isn’t here you can’t chance that he’ll see you break. If you break, it can’t be in front of Homelander. You won’t allow it.
But Ben’s voice sounds so real. Deep and pushing calm into you—soothing your blood back into your body—because as long as Ben’s voice is here and talking like this nothing can hurt you.
I miss you too, Benjamin. Your smile is soft and tired, but you can feel Ben there. Something a little more solid than a phantom around you.
Come home. Just fucking come home. There’s a beat of silence, and his voice in your ear is hoarse. Please.
Soon.
You always say soon. Just come home now.
Ben-
I miss you. I fucking miss you and I don’t want you home soon. I want you home now. His voice is building with frustration, and something in you is starting to spark in time with that strange thing. I can’t keep worrying about you. You promised, and I trust you with my goddamn life, but I don't trust you with yours.
Hey. You frown into the dark. My life, Benjamin. My choice to stay.
I haven’t fucking gotten you, have I? I’m respecting your stupid fucking choice, but I still hate it. I fucking hate this.
I know you do. But there’s more work to do.
You don’t have to be the one to do it. You can just-
I can’t. You hug yourself, the warmth in you growing stronger. Not pushing the cold down, or your blood back in, but rising the fire to fill the cracks the cold is leaving along your head and heart. I can’t just come home. I have to do this. This has to be me.
There’s another stretch of silence—that thing climbing up your spine and lighting up every nerve—before Ben’s voice rings around you once more. Fine.
Thank you. You’re not sure why you’re thanking him. He’s not real, but it’s an instinct. Thank Ben, always thank Ben because everything in you is back in your hands and you love him.
Don’t.
You smile into the dark, your tears drying in your eyes. You can’t fucking stop me, Pretty Boy.
I will soon. You’re going to come home, and every time you thank me I’m going to fuck the words out of your mouth.
I don’t think that’s going to have the effect you intend it to.
Yes it fucking will-
Ben. Your voice in your head is dry. If every time I thank you I get fucked, I’m never going to stop thanking you. I might start just thanking you randomly, specifically so you fuck me.
The thing in you is bellowing and jerking your heart around. Smartass.
I mean, you had to have seen that coming-
I just want to see you coming, beautiful. You can almost see his wink. All over me.
Horny old man.
You love it. And you’re no fucking better than me.
Than I. And excuse you, I for one can keep it in my pants-
His voice snorts. I know you, Sunshine. You want to fuck me more than anyone has ever wanted to fuck me. And a lot of people have wanted to fuck me.
Braggart.
That’s not a real word.
Yes, it is.
Well then what the hell does it mean.
You brag a lot. It’s pretty self-explanatory, Benjamin. You could’ve gotten that one yourself.
Shut the fuck up.
Make me.
I will. When you get home I’m going to shut your pretty mouth up for a whole goddamn year. With my cock, and my hands, and-
Fuck you.
I promise I will, brat. I’m going to fuck you so much you’re never going to want anyone else to touch you.
You don’t need to fuck me to do that. You sigh, trying to sit a little longer in the warmth as daylight starts to creep into the room. I already don’t want anyone but you, Ben.
His voice is silent for a second, and you think it’s going to say what it always does, because you love me, but it doesn’t. The thing rattles with an ache in your body, and Ben’s voice is softer than you’d expected when you hear it again. I don’t want anyone else either.
Good. Your breathing is easy, and you can really almost feel Ben. Behind you, around you, in you. Can you still fuck me anyways?
His laugh rolls through you, and that thing feels lighter. You feel lighter. Deal, Sunshine.
Deal.
The thing fades into dormant ease once more, but you’re still warm. Your blood is still trying to break out of your body, but you’re holding it in.
And the fire is building. Faster and faster, blazing up into your skin, the fire is building.
And you won’t break.
In the morning, your lockdown is temporarily lifted so Homelander can parade you to the masses. They’d long fixed the damage you and Ben caused to the tower lawn—the grass is green once more, and the sidewalks have been repaved smooth and black—and they’ve set up a stage that’s reminiscent of Firecrackers. Not quite as dramatic, twice as large, and with better rigged lights. You could just walk out the doors of Vought Tower—they’ve barricaded the path for that very purpose—but Homelander trusts you. And you’re so close. You’re holding on by a thread, but you won’t break. Not yet.
Homelander’s been touching you more. Never casually, and not like that, but his hand isn’t just on your lower back anymore. It’s clasping into yours more often, and not in the intimate, careful way Ben does. A cold, leather glove that snaps around your hand, no fingers intertwined or thumb rubbing on your skin. Yanking you around in a way that makes your elbow snap, slamming you into his back and not bothering to steady you. You let him, he has to trust you, but it makes you colder. Homelander will look at you with cruel blue eyes, devoid of any light or warmth or life, and you feel like a prize. He’s won you, and now he’s growing more and more confident, less and less afraid.
He still won’t touch you with skin. You can’t figure out why, but Homelander’s so very careful not to even brush his skin against yours. You’d think it’s fear. That you’ll feel him, and see something he doesn’t want you to. It’s not about you burning him, you haven’t used fire in front of him since he’d taken you and he knows it. He thinks you’ve burnt out. Learned your place and burnt out. So it has to be about a fear you don’t understand.
You try not to question it. It’s saving you from being touched like that, and that would break you. That would irreversibly shatter you, and you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself back together. So you don’t question it, use that small part of Ben that’s comfortable in your chest to feed the fire, and try to keep the cold in you. You’ll have to, for this. You can’t afford the cold taking control and falling out of you. You can’t afford flinches or numb expressions when this winter becomes something that’s beyond you.
So you push it down, down, down, and smile at Homelander. Too sweet, too many teeth, almost manic.
But you smile at Homelander, and play the game. You’re almost done, so you play the game.
“Babe?”
He turns on you with a shark-like expression. You’ve baited him with blood—drawn right from your heart and making you cold—and he’s taken it.
Homelander says your name, and it's hard to keep smiling. “I like babe, it’s right. Keep using it.”
You nod, and don’t speak. Waiting for him to prompt you.
“If you want something, say it.”
“I was just wondering if you could carry me to the rally later?” Your words are softer than you’d intend, but your tongue is numb in your mouth and it’s the best you can manage. “I just want to get more used to flying with you-“
“Of course you can,” Homelander looks you up and down. “It’s not like you’ll get hurt if I drop you.”
You make yourself laugh, and it doesn’t sound like you. But you keep smiling. Allow yourself to sound smaller. “You won’t drop me, right?”
He scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’d take a week to scrape off the pavement.” Homelander’s eyes narrow on yours. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course!” Voice lighter. Don’t let a crack show in it. “I’m just scared of heights.”
“Oh,” Homelander nods, and starts to walk to you. Arms opening to pick you up, and you have to not scream. Have to keep your teeth from chewing at your cheek and your hands from shaking. “Then let’s go fly. Now.”
“I, I’m not ready-“
“Honey,” Homelander’s voice is annoyed, and he’s glaring again. “Humans have silly little fears about heights. Not us. You’re going to get over this, fucking now, because you aren’t human anymore.”
You’re not afraid of heights. You’ve never been afraid of heights. You’ve only ever really been afraid of three things in your life.
Being worthless.
Losing Ben.
Homelander.
But you can’t break. Play the role. Nod slowly and walk into Homelander’s arms. Feel cold but keep it in you, because you don’t have time to let it out. You have six days to do everything, and being defiant isn’t a luxury you can afford.
He’s still grinning at you, and his teeth are too white. They look fake. “I knew you’d come around. Sage said you wouldn’t, said you’d always be a little too weak, but look at you.” He laughs, and you have to keep smiling. “Still fucking weak, but ready to fix it.”
He doesn’t let you respond before yanking you up the stairs and onto the roof, and your words and protests die in your throat because he has to trust you if you want to go home. And when Homelander shoots up into the sky, you can’t scream or push him away or even go rigid like you’d done before. You had to pretend you trusted Homelander. That he’d won you and now you trusted him. You have to pull him closer on purpose, even though he’s colder than the air around you and your body hates it. It hates touching him, it hates him touching you. He does it as if you’re his possession. With callous, thoughtlessly placed hands and like, if he were to drop you, it wouldn’t matter. You’re his to break.
You’d flown with Homelander before, but that had been for transportation. He’d been focused and bored, carrying you like cargo. This was purely to force any fear or weakness out of you with speed and brute force. He’d done flips, your body tossed around through the air and his arms so loose on you there’s not a second where you are certain he won’t drop you. Halfway through you start to hope he will. That you’ll fall with a sickening splat below, someone will post it online, and Ben will come get you.
But Homelander doesn’t drop you. He goes so fast your skin feels like it’s peeling off your face, so high the air feels thin, and through clouds that leave you damp and chilled.
You weren’t afraid of heights before. You think you might be now. Another line on the growing list of things that, even if you manage not to break, will never be good again. You’re not sure how long you’re up in the air, but when you land back at the tower your hands feel bitten with frost and there’s bile in your throat.
“Go get yourself together,” Homelander orders, nudging you to the door back inside. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
You nod, and try to smile at him. He grins back, but his expression turns slightly sour the longer he looks at you.
“Don’t fucking cry. And wear your supe outfit.”
He’s gone in a blast of wind, and you’re left to stagger back to his apartment. Alone. Blood so cold, but without time to get a hold over it. You just have to keep going, and hope this settles within the hour.
You find your way back to the apartment, still freezing into your bones. Trying to stoke the flames under your skin with that thing of Ben’s in your chest, with thoughts of good things.
Music. City Lights. Ben.
Go through the movements. Don’t vomit—it will take too long to do, time you don’t have—and hum to yourself until the air feels warmer. You can still feel the cold rushing in your blood, but your skin is warmer. You sing a song of summer, and at least your skin feels warmer. You don’t break.
Do your hair and makeup yourself. Ashley had offered you a team this morning, and you’d turned it down. You’d made sure Homelander heard your words—I know what I should look like, I don’t need people helping me—and Ashley had nodded and dropped it with an anxious expression and tug of her hair. So now you stand at the mirror, putting on lipstick that’s the wrong shade of red for your skin and applying shadow in a way that’s not you. Not a style you’d ever wear, not when you had control over it. But it’s the role. This is the right red for this version of you, because it’s a red Homelander likes. This eyeshadow is exactly how you have to do it, because it’s how the paid Vought artists did it. How the world thinks you do it.
You keep a small part of you in your makeup. There’s a green, metallic eyeliner in the collection that had appeared in Homelander’s bathroom, and you trace it on your inner eye. It flashes whenever you move, and it’s impossible to miss. Just a little green, where Ben won’t miss it. Just a little light that doesn’t feel blinding, but feels peaceful and alive. You don’t break.
Now get changed. You have to get changed, because you’ve calmed down enough to not be in danger—or a danger—and done your hair and makeup. The hour is almost up, and so you have to get changed.
The only reason you’re managing not to vomit every time you wear your supe costume is because there’s still a stale smell of Ben on it. You’re surprised Homelander hasn’t noticed, but he also doesn’t know what Ben smells like. The pine could just be from the outdoors, the gunpowder from the attack. And the part that’s just Ben—not shampoo or lingering parts of his day that grow stronger on his skin—is yours to know. It’s a strong smell, powerful and Ben, and you know it’s his. Same as you know that the thing in you is him, something of Ben’s that’s left a tattoo on you. You know all of him, and this smells like he feels. Like he tastes.
You still remember what I fucking taste like?
Shut up. I miss you, and I love you. Of course I remember, don’t be a dick about it.
Would you prefer I give you my dick about it?
You snort softly into the empty air. That one’s not even good. I expect better from you.
You fucking shouldn’t.
And yet, I do.
Because you love me.
Because I love you. You frown at your reflection in the mirror. The green hair clip you’ve been wearing—the one you’d been clinging to since you’d seen it in a costume room and stolen it to keep—looks out of place. It feels too much like you, and you don’t look like you. You look like a statue, or doll.
I look stupid.
You look hot. You always look hot, Sunshine. It’s one of my favorite things about you.
Wrong. You smile at your reflection, and that’s your real smile. You’re talking to Ben—even if it’s just his phantom—so that’s your smile. You like that I’m smart, and that I’m kind, and my pussy.
And all of that is fucking hot. Because you’re hot.
Thanks, Pretty Boy. You’re hot as well.
I fucking know that. That’s why you love me.
That’s not at all why I love you. I love you because you care, more than you’ll ever admit. I love you because you never give up on anything, and because you’re honest. I can trust you, I can always trust you. I love you because you always do what you say you will, and you’re never trying to be anything but yourself. You’re an asshole, Benjamin, but you’re my asshole. You’re a protective, abrasive, vulgar manwhore, and I love you so much it makes me a little insane.
Brat.
Cunt.
You also love me because I’m a good piece of ass. I’m hotter than the goddamn sun and you want to jump my bones, admit it.
I’m allowed to love you because of who you are and also think that you’re stupid hot, Benjamin. You make me laugh and feel safe and happy so I’m always going to love you, and you’re so handsome it hurts to look at so I’m always going to want to jump your bones.
Good thing I want to fuck you until you’re dizzy and can’t even damn speak, beautiful.
I think I can live with that. You sigh. I miss you, and I have to go.
I miss you too. Kick their fucking balls into their throats.
You huff a small laugh into the air. Gross.
You love me.
I do. The cold in your blood is tangible, but so is the fire. And both are yours. Completely yours.
You can do this. You can fucking do this, do it right, and go home.
It still takes holding your tongue between your teeth to not scream when Homelander grabs you, and control over every muscle in your body to not go rigid when he touches you, but you do it. You keep your body limp and smile at his cruel face. You land on the stage—the crowd only one push or wrong noise from a riot—and keep smiling. You shrink into yourself, step back into Homelander’s shadow in a careful way that’s about being shy. About not wanting the spotlight, and seeking comfort in love.
It’s really about trying to get away. About giving your feet just an inch they can move away, because they want to run. Everyone is watching you like you’re going to be their salvation. Like they’re going to eat your flesh and it will bring them comfort. Like you’re going to put on a show and it will be glorious, like you’ll bring them something they’ve been missing. Homelander is watching you as well, and you’re trying to get to where he can’t see. His eyes make that cold spread, make it rile up in wind that sweeps through your body like a storm.
So you’re quiet, and meek, and give Homelander no reason to look at you. You wave to the crowd and smile in a small, pliant way. Sage walks up onto the stage and you get the same, small nod that she offers Homelander. You return it with a sweet expression, and fade into the background as Sage and Homelander work. All you have to do is be here, stand silently, and do as you’re told and it will be more than enough. Cameras are angled at your every shift and breath, and you’re still nothing more than a statue. Homelander tells a completely fabricated and implausible story about how he used to fly you to Paris at night so you could picnic on the top of the Eiffel Tower. The Deep shows up and talks about how hard all the lies have been on you and Homelander, his two closest friends, especially after the recent deaths of your teammates. You considered them family, and this is a period of grief, not of—as the Deep puts it—being a total hater on true love. Ashley gives a speech about how when she first met you, she knew you were in love with Homelander because you couldn’t stop laughing with him about nothing. She says you and Homelander have invited her over for dinner, and everyone here should one day hope to have his burgers and your chocolate mousse cake.
In the hum of the speaker feedback, you hear Ben snort. Suddenly he’s everywhere. Around your body and between your fingers and resting on your head.
I remember when you tried to make us a cake. I wasn’t sure if it looked or tasted more like actual dogshit.
Fuck off. You ate the whole thing.
I’ll eat fucking anything, Sunshine. That cake was a goddamn travesty.
Guess who’s not getting a cake for his stupid birthday.
I’m a little damn old for a cake. His voice drawls your name on the wind. I’ll just eat you instead.
Smooth. And you’re never too old for cake, Benjamin. I’ll even put vanilla ice cream on it.
I thought I wasn’t getting a fucking cake.
I changed my mind. You’re getting cake, and it’s going to be the fanciest cake you’ve ever fucking seen. And I’m going to put rainbow sprinkles on the ice cream, and there’s not a thing you can do to stop me.
Can I still eat you?
Yes. But you’re eating the cake first. And you have to grill burgers.
For my own fucking birthday? Isn’t the whole point supposed to be that I don’t do shit?
Would you rather I make the burgers?
You and Ben had tried to make burgers four times. Technically, you had tried. He’d already known how, because he was a goddamn red blooded fucking American man, and attempted to teach you, but you had not been a good student. You’d burnt them every time, but you kept getting distracted. Ben’s muscles would ripple when he flipped a burger and he’d grin at you while he talked about meat and things being tender, and you think you just kept blacking out in an effort to not fuck him right there. After the fourth smoke alarm resulted in you and Ben sitting in the dining hall while Mallory lectured you about fire safety and banned you from the kitchen’s grill, you’d decided this was just a skill you didn’t need to have. Ben could make burgers. He was better at it, and always got focused in a way that made you both want to fuck him—have all that intensity and care turned on you—and just touch him. Run a hand across his forehead, into his hair, and check that he was real. It made you love him more.
You’re not sure if the phantom is reacting to the burger comment and you calling him adorable, but something rumbles around in your heart and Ben’s voice grumbles. Shut the fuck up.
It’s a little easier to look mindlessly happy. You can feel this remnant of Ben in you—this thing that is him—climbing up a little higher to sit on the top of your chest, so it’s easy to pretend you’re ditzy and humble and your smile is light and carefree. Ashley concludes her speech, and Sage is up. You and Homelander represent the best of what the world has to offer. Two people who have loved each other from the first time they saw each other, and who, despite the hardships and obstacles, will always prevail. She says Homelander will always find you, and you manage to keep smiling. Ben’s Thing tightens in you, and you can practically see his angry expression, but you keep smiling. You will build a perfect American family, and Ryan Butcher will be returned to where he belongs.
I haven’t been being a dick to the Kid.
You blink. What?
You told me not to be a dick to the Kid. I haven’t been. I’ve been a goddamn angel.
Okay. You fight the confused frown on your face. Why are you telling me that?
Because you seemed to really damn care about it. I don’t know. Shut the fuck up.
But-
You were right. He’s not like Homelander. He’s a little bit of a pussy-
Benjamin.
What?
Don’t call a twelve-year-old a pussy. It’s uncouth.
But he is a pussy-
How can he possibly be a pussy.
He can name all fifty states.
I can name all fifty states.
That’s different.
How.
You’re a fucking know it all.
Hey-
You’re a sexy know it all. You look hot when you get riled up, and talking about pretty much anything gets you riled up. If you sat in front of me and named all fifty states I’d get a fucking boner.
That’s weird, Ben.
Fuck off. You’d love my boner.
You lightly bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling. I would.
You’d suck me off, and look fucking hot doing it, and then I’d eat you out and make you cum on my face-
You’re trying to distract me from you calling Ryan a pussy.
No. Shut the fuck up.
You shut the fuck up. I would suck you off, and then maybe I’d let you eat me out-
Maybe?
And then I’d make you clean up and get dressed and learn all fifty states.
That information will never be goddamn useful, Sunshine. Would be a waste of my fucking time.
Because you’re such a busy man? Is getting a boner from listening to me talk and then eating me out that time consuming?
So I will get to eat you out.
Fuck you.
That’s what I’m fucking asking-
Stay on topic, Ben. You should be able to name all fifty states.
Why in goddamn Christ-
You’ve been around since before Hawaii and Alaska, and you’re barely younger than Arizona. It’s a little sad you can’t, Pretty Boy.
Well, I’m not a damn loser pussy, so I don’t really give a fuck.
Rude.
You’re not a loser pussy either. No woman of mine would be a loser pussy.
Your heart stumbles a little faster, and Ben’s Thing hums in your body. Thanks.
Don’t.
You can’t fucking stop me-
Because I’m not there, beautiful. If I were on that stupid fucking stage and you thanked me, I’d pick you up, carry you home, and stop you with my cock in your pretty fucking mouth.
You need to get a grip on yourself. Maybe start putting effort into filtering the phantom better. Because, even in your head, your voice sounds breathless. Okay.
No big words, Sunshine? Just going to let me fuck your face-
Shut up. Cunt.
Brat. There’s a beat of silence, but it’s still louder than the noise of the crowd because you can almost hear Ben’s breath in your ear. I miss you. Come home.
Soon. You feel something heavy, sickening in that piece of Ben inside your chest. You can’t stand it, it makes your heart hurt, and you need Ben—even this strange fragment of him—to feel happy again. And as soon as I do, I’m kicking your ass and making you apologize to your grandson for calling him a pussy.
It feels lighter, and Ben’s scoff isn’t painful. Don’t call him my grandson.
He is, by definition, your grandson. Don’t be a pussy about it, Benjamin.
Smartass.
Old man.
You like it, you fucking grave-robber.
Am I a grave-robber, or are you a cradle-robber?
You’re a goddamn grown woman-
And you’re an ancient, grumpy man-child.
You love it.
I do. You don’t repeat the second part, because Ben’s voice doesn’t prompt it out of you. It just falls into a comfortable, happy silence everywhere around you, and you feel safe. You might have never been in more danger—Homelander at your side and the eyes of the world on you—but everything that’s been breaking in you feels a little more manageable. You’re still full of that never ending cold, but it’s not falling out of you or trying to escape. You can sit in it easily, because you can almost feel Ben there and your fire is still growing. Sage is still talking, and you let it pass through you. This will get through you, and you’ll go home soon. Sage calls you the sweetest and most genuine person she’e ever met, and you hear Ben’s snort. She talks about how Homelander treats you like an equal, and there’s a spark of annoyance in Ben’s Thing for you. She calls you and Homelander American Heroes, and you can keep yourself modest and happy as Homelander laughs and waves off the compliment.
But you can’t stop the momentary static of your heart, or the numb of your body, when Homelander kisses your cheek. A new crack forms—long and somewhere critical—and Ben’s Thing in you riots. Grows louder than the crowd, louder than the ringing in your ears.
You almost don’t see Homelander freeze. He goes still and rigid, his face twitching and looking sick, and you realize that the cold is leaving you. Homelander touched you, and Ben’s Thing is roaring in some sort of pain, and you’ve lost a hold over the polar feeling in your body.
Fuck this, I’m coming to get you-
Benjamin. He’s everything in you that’s good. Everything is cold and you’re afraid and you can’t control yourself and you’re going to lose, but Ben’s voice is still around you and you’re still you. You haven’t broken. You’re so close, you won’t break, and this piece of Ben will help hold you together. You can’t. You know that.
He fucking touched you-
He only kissed my cheek. I’m okay. You’re not. You know what this means, even if Homelander had recoiled from you with a look that won’t last. But you’re so close. There won’t be time for escalation, you’ll be home soon. You’ll falter and break when you get home.
Ben’s voice doesn’t seem convinced. You don’t fucking look okay. You look like you just got goddamn shot, you need to come home right now-
I’m fine.
When Ben says your name, there’s some sort of strain in it. The same ache and pounding that you can feel from that thing inside of you. There’s not a single goddamn thing you can do to stop me-
I know. But please don’t. If you trust me, Ben, please don’t.
You don’t know why you’re arguing with him. This Ben isn’t real, it can’t come get you. But it’s so deep inside of you, keeping you together as Sage’s speech concludes and Homelander herds you up to the front of the stage, you entertain it. It doesn’t feel fake. It feels like him. The sharp, bitter anger in your chest feels like his, the gravely frustration in his voice sounds like it’s coming from right behind you, and it’s so fucking important that you keep it there until you’re in control again.
I do fucking trust you, but I can’t just leave you-
Not leaving me. You’re never leaving me. You’re waiting.
Ben’s Thing stabs into you, and you almost flinch from it. I am waiting. I’m waiting for as long as it takes. But Christ, I fucking hate it. I don’t want to wait, I want you home.
I want to come home. I want to come home more than almost anything. But-
Almost? His words are a grunt from somewhere at your side. The hell do you want more-
You. Fire is building in you, fed by the warmth of Ben’s Thing beating in your chest. I want you.
That thing roars. Claws against your ribs and heart, and you can’t think about anything else. You’re going through the movements—waving and smiling to the crowd—but everything in you is about Ben. About how you’ve never felt a fervor like this anywhere but in him, and you miss him and want him and love him-
Fine. He’s relenting. He’s only in your head, but he’s still relenting with a low, tired voice. But if I see even a little bit of fucking blue-
You can break down the doors of Vought Tower and carry me home. You swallow, and keep your face bright as something in you wilts when Homelander’s arm wraps around you. I’ll see you soon, Ben. I promise.
I know. And I’ll wait.
Thank you.
Don’t.
It doesn’t go dormant, but Ben’s Thing stops being loud. It moves back to resting near your heart, existing always with that arctic sensation in your body. It takes all the strength and will you possess to pull the lingering bits of it—the fear it’s made of—back into you and hold them there when Homelander vaults up into the sky. He’s not touching you on skin again, and Ben’s Thing has tugged much of it out of the air around you, but your blood is still singing, trying to reach anything else and make it feel this. Feel the pure, raw terror that the infinite cold is made of, that’s rushing through you. Rushing out of you.
But it’s not just fear falling out of your body. It’s something furious that’s for Homelander touching you. And you’ve felt things that aren’t fear move out of you before. You’ve felt heat, want and love and adoration, run out of your body when Ben’s touched you. When you’ve gotten to touch him.
Homelander leaves you on the roof to find your way back to his apartment, saying he has business to attend to. He looks like he might try to kiss you, but fear and hatred leaks out of you when he moves and suddenly he’s gone.
And you have a theory. You have a little more than five days, this Thing of Ben’s still burning peacefully inside of you, and a theory.
You have to test it. The cold in you is growing, but so is the fire. Both are, for now, in your control. The fire and the cold are everywhere in you and on you, but not around you, and you’re holding them there. If you’re right about this, then everything will work. You’ll go home.
But you have to test it first.
You spend that night, alone in Homelander’s apartment, making a new plan. You can’t test on Homelander, he needs to keep thinking you’ve gone docile. That you’re out of tricks and are back to being what he thinks you are. You can’t test this on Sage, she��ll figure out what’s happening and you can’t afford that right now. This is the only advantage you have over her, because you’re certain she doesn’t know about it. If she knew, she wouldn’t let you go to rallies, or go anywhere near her. This is the one thing she can’t control or predict or understand.
Feelings. She can’t control how you feel. She can’t stop you being afraid or angry, can’t stop you loving Ben, and can’t prevent how when it all becomes too much your emotions aren’t yours anymore. How they’ve been building up and up and up, growing loud and feral, and now they’re bigger than you are. You’re more afraid than you can hold in you. Afraid for your life, and your self, and for Ben. And every time Homelander’s touched you or Sage had threatened you the fear has grown until it’s sweeping through your body.
But it’s not just the fear. It’s your anger, your fury that this isn’t fair. This is wrong and fucked up and you have to be the one to fix it, but you just want to go home. You’re full of wrath for yourself, for Ryan and Becca Butcher, for Hughie and Annie and MM and Frenchie and Kimiko and everyone you love being forced into this. It’s stoking the fire, and that’s why everything is white-hot now. The anger and fear are made of the same thing that pushes out of you in moments when they consume you, and now they sit in your blood to be weaponized.
The only thing bigger than them is your love. It’s grown so large in your heart and head and soul that it’s become its own animal. It starts in you, and it belongs to Ben. All this love in you is for Ben. You’ll always know him anywhere because your empathy has decided that he is you. He’s something so crucial to you, your love for him is so powerful, that you don’t recognize him just because you know him. You can feel him when he’s not touching you, sense him when he’s close. Nothing has ever been as powerful as your love for Ben, and your empathy knows that. It knows that he won’t hurt you, he’d never hurt you, and that it’s only this strong because of him. Because Ben let you touch him and wasn’t afraid of you, and now he’s everything. Just as much a part of you as the fire has become, and you’ll always return to him.
You’re so close.
Right now you have to be angry and afraid and learn what it can do, and then you can go home and love Ben. Spend the rest of time loving Ben.
But first you have to be angry and afraid.
It takes four of your five remaining days to prove and understand your theory. You go along with Sage’s orders and Ashley’s requests, because right now the act is vital to keep up. You can hear the protest crowds from the 99th floor, and every time you catch a glimpse of social media it’s all about you. You’re America’s sweetheart and savior and symbol, and this is all you have left to do.
You test on the Deep first. You hold your anger in every muscle of your body, and ask the Deep about something simple.
“Hey, Deep?”
The idiot pauses in the hallway, spinning around to grin at you with a puffed out chest. “Anomaly! What’s going on, does Homelander need me-“
“No,” you give a light, silly giggle, like a schoolgirl who just heard her crush liked her back. You don’t throw up on the Deep’s dumb, shiny suit. “I just wanted to know if you got the funding for your new movie?”
“Oh, shit, yeah! I mean with A-Train dead, rest in power, brother,” he puts his fist up in a salute and you have to hold down a scoff. “There’s like a fuck ton of money just lying around, and I was like ‘uh, guys. What if I got the money, right?’ and they said-“
You’re not listening to what Vought Studios said, because you’re trying to figure out how to touch the Deep without him realizing. You wait until he’s completely engrossed in his story then start to walk, gesturing for him to follow. He falls into a pace at your side, talking about getting good writers that will do his character justice, and you lean to the side. Brush your arm against his, and all the wrath in you flares.
The Deep’s voice grows louder. Tighter. “And I don’t fucking understand why they didn’t just give me the money, right? I mean it’s not fucking fair I have to pull all this shit together by myself. I just want to chill the hell out, but somehow this falls on me to fix this shit-“ He freezes, because by his last words he was in a full on shout. Almost a scream. “Uh, sorry, I don’t know where that came from. Don’t tell Homelander I was yelling at you, I really didn’t mean to-“
“It’s fine,” you smile, and it’s more sweet than smug. But you feel really fucking smug. “You’re just passionate.”
One down. One step closer.
Next, you find the writers. Skinny McBrown-Nose and Bald Pussy. You’ve forgotten their names again, and you’d feel a little worse about it if the moment they saw you they didn’t start trying to feed you anecdotes to use about your love for Homelander.
“What if,” Bald Pussy leans forward with a toothy grin. “You asked him out first. And he said no, because he loved you and wanted to protect you, but it broke your heart.”
“And you tried to get over him,” Skinny McBrown-Nose jumps in with an up-beat bounce to his words. “But nobody made you feel the way he does. There’s nobody else for you, and you’d just resigned yourself to a life of solitude when he confessed his love for you. He just couldn’t bear to see you with another, and he decided that putting you at risk would be fine, because he’s the strongest man in the world. As long as he’s there, you’ll be safe.”
You blink, because that is shockingly close to being accurate. For them it’s about Homelander and not Ben, but it’s more you than anything else they’ve pitched.
There is no one else for you but Ben, although you don’t think you’d ever even try to get over him. When this is over you’ll just resign yourself to not being loved by him and dedicate yourself to loving him in secret.
Ben is the strongest man in the world, but he’d never put you at risk. He hates you putting yourself at risk, and if he knew one of the reasons you’ve been staying at Vought was to protect him he’d probably have an aneurism.
And as long as he’s there, you are safe. There’s not a safer place in the world than at Ben’s side.
“I, um,” you have to cover your hesitation, because the writers are looking at you with nervous, expectant expressions. “I think Homelander would prefer he asked me out. It fits in better-“
“But this way,” Bald Pussy interjects eagerly. “We hit the demographic of liberal women in the 18-44 range. They’ll love that you took the move first, and that he loved you so much-“
“I don’t know.” You pull all the dormant cold from your blood and focus on it—let it choke you—and lean forward enough for your hands to touch theirs. Lightly. Unnoticeably. Holding their gazes so they don’t look down and see it. “Maybe I should go get him, and you can tell him-“
“No!” Bald Pussy’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head frantically. “I mean, no need to involve Homelander, you’re probably right-“
You can’t be sure if this is just an average, healthy fear of Homelander, or your fear of Homelander. The fear that haunts you and follows you everywhere. You have to be sure. “I mean, I like it. I think I can just approve it myself-“
“Don’t worry about it!” Skinny McBrown-Nose’s voice is a squeak. “I mean, you shouldn’t bother him. It wasn’t that good an idea, and we’ll come up with a better one, so you don’t have to risk it. Right?”
That’s fear for you. Skinny McBrown-Nose is afraid for you, to talk to Homelander and offer him something he might hate. He has no rational reason to be afraid for you, not with what he’s been told. It worked.
You agree softly and walk away from them. You have more work to do.
You fall into random people and bump against passers by. For the first time in years, you’re touching everyone you can on purpose. Doing it randomly is helping you from falling apart, as their emotions aren’t intense or overwhelming. They’re mostly just bland, flavorless neutrality. It’s not a great indictment of the emotional health of Vought’s employees—how soulless and empty everyone is—but right now it’s working in your favor. You can ignore the emotions that each touch gives you and just study the way they react.
Some stumble slightly, and a lot of them freeze. Several double over before looking around with slack, pained expressions, and one even falls to the ground. Dropping with a strangled sound like you’d shot them.
And you know you were right. You’ve proven yourself right, and you almost fully understand it. You’re so close. To going home, to being with Ben again, to being done. This is almost over.
Almost. You just need to find the V. You have just less than two days left, and you won’t fail. Your nightmares are growing worse and you’re still waking up paralyzed, unable to breathe or move or think anything outside of blood. So much blood, all on your hands. Not strong enough to clean them, too weak enough to wipe them on another. And there’s just so much blood.
But you’ll get through it. You’re almost home.
The more you do this, the more you feel Ben. His voice is always louder now, and you think you might be going insane. You don’t know if it’s this new power taking you over and driving you mad, or if you just miss him so much you’re losing your mind, but Ben feels closer than he had before. Maybe it’s because you’re almost ready. Maybe it’s anticipation.
But no matter what it is, he’s still everywhere. His Thing in your chest is almost always alight, and his presence is solid. Just as permanent as your love for him, just as strong and warm as he is. It feels so purely Ben that your body starts to look for him where you know he won’t be. He’s not going to be in Homelander’s bathroom, or in the Seven’s meeting room, or Ashley’s office. But you can sense him all the time, and the phantom is getting away from you. Muttering in your ear at inconvenient moments about random things that were far too detailed.
Why the fuck did you love those stupid sunglasses? He’d grumbled one morning, a little before your talk with The Deep. You’d frowned into the lukewarm air of Homelander’s kitchen.
What are you talking about?
Those shit quality, knock-off Soldier Boy sunglasses you always wore. Why did you like them.
Oh, you’d blinked at nothing, tapping at the bridge of your nose. Why?
I asked first.
But-
Just answer the damn question, Sunshine. There was a pause, and you could almost hear his sigh. Please.
You had to fight the smile on your face, because Homelander could walk in at any second. Well, since you asked so nicely, Pretty Boy, they reminded me of you.
He was scowling. You don’t know how you know, but you’re certain he was scowling. They were fucking blue.
Yeah, well- You pause, his words settling in. What do you mean, were.
Don’t fucking worry about it. How did they remind-
Why did you use past tense. What happened to my sunglasses.
I said don’t worry about it, his voice muttered your name, and it was almost sheepish. It’s not-
Benjamin.
They broke.
What.
When I lost you, they got smashed-
First off, you didn’t lose me. Stop saying you lost me. Second of all, why are you asking me about my broken sunglasses.
You loved them. I want to know if you just fucking like sunglasses, or if it’s something else-
I loved those sunglasses because they made me more certain you were real. You’d cared enough to give them to me when Butcher had dropped them off, and that made me happy. It made me think you cared about me-
I do care about you. He sounds indignant. Of course I fucking care about you. I-
I know you care, Ben. That’s why I’m not that mad about them hypothetically being broken, because I don’t need proof-
Why would you ever fucking need proof.
Because you’re confusing. You’re the love of my life, Benjamin, and you confuse the fuck-
His voice sounded like it had somehow dropped an octave when he says your name. What the hell did you just say.
I said you’re a confusing piece of shit-
No, the other thing.
I said I love you. You know that. Let me talk.
Sunshine-
Homelander had walked in, and you’d had to tune out Ben’s words around you to feign joy in his presence and interest in his words. Ben’s voice had fallen back into a soft sound of static, but his Thing had remained—steady and comfortably—in your chest. A constant, dependable, holding you down until only a few hours later when you’d heard him from nothing again.
You would fucking know what this shit means.
You’d frowned at the stall of the bathroom, collecting your thoughts and trying to reign your anger back to your body. What shit?
Manifest Destiny. Doesn’t even make any damn sense-
It’s the nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to expand westward, and should exert the means to do so.
Smartass.
You fucking asked me the question. It’s not my fault I knew the answer.
You’d heard Ben’s snort, and his Thing had rolled over inside you. Brat.
Cunt.
Someone had entered the bathroom, and Ben’s voice had gone silent around you—a smell like pine and barbecue fading from the air—as his Thing had remained burning in your chest. You didn’t dwell on it, you didn’t have the time or energy to even think it over once, especially as it just kept happening. Over and over, through the evening and night, Ben’s Thing kept growing brighter and Ben began to intertwine into your senses. You start to spare it thought, especially as the conversations keep starting from silence about nothing.
I’d never hurt you.
I know that. You barely managed not to stumble as you walked through the hall, his voice taking you by surprise. Why are you telling me that?
Because Annie’s fucking wrong. I’d never fucking hurt you. You’d have told me if it hurt, and I’d have fucking tied your hands up if you tried to keep doing it.
You’re just confused enough to not let that turn you on. What?
If you kept trying to do your fucking brain magic after saying it was hurting you. I’d have tied you up to stop you from doing it. I’m not-
Why are we talking about this?
Because I wouldn’t hurt you. I love you, and I rather fucking ship myself back to Russia-
You sigh. I told you to stop saying that, Ben.
He went silent for a second, and his Thing in you rumbles. What.
Stop saying you love me.
No.
Please-
No. I fucking love you, let me say it-
Ben, please.
Stop saying please. I don’t want you begging unless it’s for me to make your pretty fucking eyes roll back in your head-
I’m not joking-
Do I sound like I’m damn laughing. I love you-
Benjamin-
You almost walk into a wall, and have to cut off your own voice in your head to regain your balance. And now you’re certain it’s not worth second guessing, because Ben doesn’t love you. You simply miss him so much your stupid brain is inventing random reasons for him to talk to you. It’s only been two weeks since you saw Ben last, and it’s driving you insane.
If you weren’t already so preoccupied with trying to get a lead on some V, you might be more worried about that. But right now you need the comfort that’s provided by Ben’s voice rolling through you as he tells you he loves you, and the easy joy that talking to his phantom brings. The way it makes his Thing so powerful and devout to whatever feeds it.
You still can’t figure out what feeds it, but it’s only growing more and more hungry. It’s still holding your head together, though, so you entertain it. You have a whole morning dedicated to finding V, and Ben’s phantom and Thing can follow you wherever so you don’t break. You have two days left, so you have to play the game and keep your mask on and find the V. If letting Ben haunt you will keep you sane, so be it. There are worse ways to be hungry.
A-Train said Homelander kept some in his room, but you’ve been looking over almost every nook and cranny and shadow and hollow, and there’s nothing. Homelander didn’t throw it away, he wouldn’t, but you don’t even have an educated guess as to where he’d move it to. It doesn’t help that you have to at least try to sneak around Sage’s notice, or that Ben’s voice keeps muttering everywhere about things that don’t matter. It’s keeping you sane—his grumbles and feel all around you, pushing your cracks back together—but it’s a little distracting. You can’t care about breakfast or guns or the movie Palm Springs—you don’t actually remember watching that one with him, you weren’t sure he’d like it—because you have to rummage through cabinets and empty rooms of the dead members of the Seven.
Ben’s voice keeps telling you he loves you. You give up on trying to shut him up, because you don’t have the time. He’s here to keep you steady, and it’s working fairly well.
I still can’t fucking believe they were keep my shield in goddamn Ohio.
Uh huh, you nod mindlessly into the air, pressing the wall in Firecracker’s old room like you might find a secret door. Annie probably would’ve mentioned a secret door, she lived here for almost three years after all, but you can’t afford to leave any stone unturned.
I mean, why even go to trouble of putting it back together if you’re going to put it in taint-fuck Ohio-
Benjamin. Why are we talking about Ohio.
Because if Vought was keeping V in Ohio with my shield, I’ll blow their stupid fucking tower up-
Your shield was fine, you big baby. And It doesn’t matter where Vought was keeping V, what matters is where Sage is keeping it. Now.
Ben’s grunt sounds from somewhere behind you. You’re right.
What was that?
You’re fucking right. You’re always fucking right, so don’t damn gloat-
I am not always right.
Yes, you are. You’re going to find the V and come home, because you fucking promised and you’re always right about this shit.
What shit?
How people think. Their dumb fucking pussy emotions and thoughts.
Well, I do try.
You’ve probably already fucking found the V. Homelander probably didn’t even hide it, because he’s a smug pussy who thinks everyone fucking loves him.
You almost drop the vase you’d been turning over in your hand, mouth falling slightly open. Holy shit, Ben. You’re a genius.
Goddamn right I am. His voice pauses in your head, and you can almost see the knit of his brow. But why the fuck do you think that.
Because Homelander’s a hubristic piece of shit. He won’t think anyone would ever cross or betray him, and if they did he doesn’t think they’d get away with it.
So?
You smile, fingers tapping against the vases slightly dusting glass. I know where the V is.
It takes an effort not to sprint back to Homelander’s apartment. To look nonchalant and bored as you open the door, to call out to see if he’s there, and walk up the stairs carefully just in case.
You duck under the bed, and there’s a black box. A small, sleek black box without a lock, weighting barely over five pounds when you pull it out.
There’s only one vial. One small vial of green liquid, with a label on it that reads Project Anomaly, Trial 6.
It’s your V. Ben’s V.
It’ll have to do.
There’s only one last move. One last careful move. One more thing before you can go home, and one more day to do it.
You make dinner for Homelander. You’re not sure what he likes, but he’s made you eat a lot of corn dogs. You don’t know how to make corn dogs, so you heat up some hotdogs and hope it’ll be enough.
It needs to be enough.
When he arrives, your smile is tooth-rotting. You’re small and quiet and weak, and you’re all for him. You’re cold and exhausted and everything in you is taut, but you’re so close.
“Hi, babe!” You’re going to vomit. You can’t, but later you’ll need to cut off your tongue so you can never even risk sounding like that again. “I made you some food.”
“Food.” Homelander stops in front of you, and you don’t flinch. “What’s the occasion that finally made you stop fucking moping?”
“It’s an offering,” you give him a simper. It hurts your face. “I want to apologize, and talk about us.”
Us. You want to scream but you turn it into a sweeter smile, and Homelander’s face twists into a wide, smug smirk.
“Us?”
He says the word like it’s real. Like it’s applicable to you and him, and you’re not barely alive anymore. So close.
“Our future.” You pat the seat next to you. “Eat first, you’ve been running around all day.”
Homelander lowers into the seat, and frowns at the sad, limp hotdog in front of him. “What the fuck is this.”
“We don’t have a lot of raw ingredients, I did my best with what I had, I’m sorry-“
“I am not eating this limp dick excuse for food.” He pokes the hotdog, and turns to fully face you. “Talk.”
“I, um,” you take Homelander’s hand gingerly, waiting for him to yank it back. He doesn’t. “Sage suggested that I should propose to you, and I just wanted to talk to you about it. Make sure that’s what you want-”
“Sage suggested.” He scowls at you. “So you don’t want to marry me? What am I doing wrong?!” You stare at him, frozen in place as you try to hold your blood in your body, and Homelander’s voice grows louder. “Fucking answer me!”
“Nothing!” Your voice is nervous because you love him and want him to be happy. Not because you keep seeing red on your hands and his face and splattered across walls. You’re holding one hand up to his face and it’s to comfort him, and you’re not forcing your fingers to stay steady. He’s so angry, and cold, and everything in him is like a tornado. Moving and changing too fast, making you sick. “I just want to make sure marriage is something you want too! I love you, that’s enough-“
Homelander’s moving, and before you can even realize what’s happening his mouth is on yours. His hold on you is like a chain, uncaring and harsh and wearing you down, wrapping around your throat until all you can do is think no. No no no no no-
“I knew you’d see it my way.” His words are hissed against your lips, and something finally breaks deep in you. Far, far down in an artery you feel it snap, and if this doesn’t work, you might not survive.
“Of course,” you have to smile. The world is ending but you have to smile. “Thank you for waiting, babe.”
Homelander stands up, almost pushing you away, and claps his hands. “This is going to be a fucking wedding. They won’t be saying all those lies about us when they see it, it’ll be befitting of the gods we are.” He grins to himself. “And everyone loves romance. Fucking sheeple will eat this up. I’m going to get you a ring-“
“Can you get it from Paris?” You give him a pout. “I’ve always wanted a ring from Paris.”
“Of course, honey. Only the best for the bride of the century.” Homelander nods, and kisses you again. You’re drowning, falling, dying, breaking- “I’ll go now, Sage won’t bitch about it when she sees how much people love us.”
You pretend to start and protest, but he’s already gone. And you’re alone. You’re breaking—the cracks are starting to split open and the world is going blurry—but you have to go. You’re on a time limit, and you have to fucking go.
You’re so close. You can’t fail now.
Homelander’s fast. Paris is far, but Homelander’s fast. You probably have an hour, likely less if he gets word. You’ve already wasted time on the floor, clinging onto the parts of you that are somewhat intact to get your through this. Trying to focus on Ben’s Thing in your chest—bloody and loud—to keep your feet moving.
And you run. Nobody guards Homelander’s room, people are barely even on 99 lately, so you run. Faster than you’ve ever run in your life, one hand over the original V in your pocket to keep it from falling out. Out the door, down the stairs, not stopping to check if anyone sees you. The fire is scratching under your skin, and you’re going to pass out from the cold you won’t let leave you, but you go.
Down, down, down. 82. 74. 66. 53.
The alarms go off. The stairwell lights up red, the blare of a siren echoing off the gray walls, and you keep running.
50. 47. 42.
A door opens somewhere, the creak and scrape on the concrete barely audible.
38.
A man in all black is aiming a gun at you. He has brown eyes, and his hands are shaking.
His eyes burn out first, and you keep running.
35.
Three more. One of them has a tattoo of a flower visible on her wrist. It curls and twists with the burns on her hands.
31. 27. 23.
More bodies. The stairs are littered with bodies, and everything is painted in blood, and the water from the sprinklers is going up into steam. You can’t see your next steps, or the floor numbers, but you keep going.
Down, down, down.
A green EXIT sign is glowing through the smoke and mist. You slam into it, and you might hear something crack.
Go.
People are screaming, most of them parting around you. A few more bodies drop, a few more flashes of curly hair curling up in smoke and a scar on a cheek growing larger. One man’s shout of stop sounds like your father.
Fucking go.
You can see the exit. The doors of Vought Tower are made of glass, and it’s sunny outside. Everything is sparkling, like it just rained.
GO.
Someone calls your name. Your real name, your full name that’s carved on a gravestone in Boston. But the voice is wrong. There’s only one voice that’s right, that’s safe, and it’s the deep one that’s roaring for you in your chest. You don’t stop.
That’s your name again. A woman is calling your name. She’s small, with dark skin and the coldest eyes you’ve ever seen.
She’s not safe. Everything in your brain is gone—replaced with a smooth song that feels familiar and an instinct to go home—but this woman is not safe.
She’s talking to you, saying words you should understand, but you have to go. She’s telling you that you’re interesting, but she’s still won. That you shouldn’t use that vial in your pocket, because it might kill you. That you’ll never find the right kind, and that someone that makes everything in you scream is coming to take you away. That you’re out of the way, you failed to control yourself and now this shrewd woman has won.
You can see the sun. It’s warm. It feels safe. The grass is green, and it’s reaching up to the sun.
And you let go. You stop trying to keep yourself steady and strong, and you let all the exhaustion and loneliness and horror out into the air. Someone screams, and it might be you.
Glass shatters, and something stings your skin. There’s blood on your hands, and you don’t only belong to you anymore.
But you can feel the sun.
———————
In the week after the Believe Expo, Ben started to lose his mind.
He’d been in a meeting when it had started. Sat silently a few tables down from where MM, Mallory, and Butcher were interrogating A-Train. Ben had been kicked out of the actual process, because apparently nobody fucking appreciated how all his questions were about Her, and if she was okay. What did her smile look like, if she was even smiling. Was she having nightmares, and was Homelander keeping her locked up. Why was A-Train such a fucking weak pussy who didn’t help her.
So he’d glared at them from across the room, trying to both listen to A-Train list off stupid fucking passwords and building locations and not break the glass in his hand. It would shatter everywhere, and Ben would probably have to fucking clean it up.
That’s not glass, Pretty Boy. It’s plastic.
Feels like fucking glass.
Well, it’s plastic. You really think the CIA would give us real glass? When most of us can’t seem to stop blowing shit up and Hughie startles at the smallest sound?
Ben had smiled into the air, ducking his head so that nobody would see him looking like a fucking idiot. Plastic can still goddamn break, Sunshine.
Her voice hummed somewhere in his chest, right next to the Thing. Well, it’s easier to clean.
He’d snorted, and looked up as the doors from the hall swung open. Hughie and the French Prick had burst into the room, both shouting incoherently and tripping over each other.
“The bloody hell is wrong with you two, ain’t you able to see we’re busy?!“
Kimiko had stepped over Hughie and the French Prick as they untangled themselves, ignoring Butcher as she marched over to Ben.
He’d frowned up at her. “What.”
She’d glared at him, signing something she fucking knew he didn’t understand, and dropped her phone in front of him.
It was Her. A picture of Her, at the Believe Expo, frozen on the stage. Staring off into the distance, stage lights washing out her perfect features, her mouth open and her eyes wide. The headline above the picture read Anomaly’s Speech Interrupted by Terrorist Attack from the CIA.
“The fuck is this.”
Kimiko signed at Ben aggressively, and he didn’t fucking understand-
“She says that it is all over the news.” The French Prick had stumbled up behind Kimiko, translating with a frown. “That it is bigger than the court trial. People are, to quote roughly, ‘losing their fucking minds’.”
“Frenchie, what the hell are you talking about.” MM had called, still seated across from A-Train. “What’s bigger than the court trial?”
The French Prick had said Her name, still watching Kimiko. “She is everywhere. The article Kimiko is showing Soldier Boy is from VNN, and there are many more about her and Homelander and the Believe Expo and-“ The French Prick had sighed. “Mon Coeur, I am not saying that to them.”
Kimiko had turned to him, gesturing again with another point to Ben.
“Because it will not be helpful.” The French Prick had looked at Ben, then said in a lower voice that Ben had still fucking heard, “this is already not very good-“
“If you don’t fucking tell me,” Ben had growled. “I’ll rip off your hands and make you eat them.”
Kimiko had stepped between the French Prick and Ben, still gesturing at the former with only a brief pause to flip the latter off.
The French Prick had let out another fucking sigh, and said the words slowly. “There are many… outlandish rumors. About her,” The French Prick had nodded at the phone, still in front of Ben. “And the nature of her life.”
“Frenchie,” Butcher had drawled from across the room. “If you don’t start talkin without being a cryptic cunt-“
“Many are calling her a messiah. Some think she is an insider, a spy for either the CIA or Vought. There are investigations into her past, her paternity, and relationships with Homelander and…” The French Prick had winced as he spoke. “Monsieur Butcher.”
Ben had needed to take a walk. His fist had curled against the table, blood had pounded in his ears, and Her voice in his head had hummed do not kill Butcher. It will be messy and just a huge inconvenience for everyone, so Ben had stood up—the bench screeching as it flew out from under him—and stomped out of the dining hall.
Butcher had, surprisingly, not been a total fucking dickless piece of shit about it. Nobody had even mentioned it as more and more rumors and speculations poured in, each more fucking insane than the last. Ben started to long for Her to haunt him again, because right now he was being suffocated with this version of her that wasn’t fucking Her. It wasn’t even a goddamn person, it was a product, an idea for the fucking masses to project onto. She wasn’t a liar, or a honeypot, or a silly bimbo just caught up in a whirlwind romance that had gotten away from her. She was a brilliant, beautiful, fucking perfect woman. She wasn’t brainwashed—Ben pitied the fucking idiot who would try to, She’d give them a run for their money—or anyone’s fucking bastard child, and she had a PhD. In Anthropology, because she cared so fucking much about people and making the world good. Because She was good. She was the only person in the whole fucking world who was good. She wasn’t Homelander’s or Butcher’s or CIA’s, she was Ben’s. She was the most painfully strong-willed woman he’d ever met, and she wanted Ben.
And he had to just fucking watch, like an undeserving fucking pussy, as people kept talking about Her like they knew her. They didn’t know her. Ben knew her. He knew that this was part of Her stupid plan, and that she’d be home soon—She’d fucking promised—but that no matter what he’d wait until everyone else was dead and the building around him was in ruins for Her to return to him. He knew that, if this wasn’t tearing the country apart and inciting riots in the streets, She’d find it all hilarious.
That’s the third person this week to accuse me of getting a BBL. She hummed in Ben’s ear as he listened to Hughie ramble on about the newest developments. Like I could afford an ass this good on a waitress’ salary.
He coughed to cover his snort, and Mallory shot him a glare.
“Is there anything you would like to say, Soldier Boy?”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I’m your reporting officer-“
“You’re still not fucking paying me,” Ben sneered. “I’m not here for you, or your shit fucking ideas. Hughie, keep talking.”
Hughie nodded nervously, and continued. It was a lot of pointless shit about how they had to keep to their stories, what allegations were worth addressing and what was just nutjobs talking out of their asses. Ben wasn’t really fucking listening, just staring at another photo of Her, in that stupid fucking costume, wearing a smile that wasn’t Hers.
He missed Her smile. Ben missed every fucking thing about Her, but her smile was a goddamn work of art. When it was real it was wide and toothy and made everything around it brighter. Her eyes would scrunch with it, and it always looked like she was keeping a secret. Something just for Her, about how beautiful the world was and how she got to see it. When She gave Ben that smile, he got to be in on the secret. He got to see every single fucking perfect part of Her—understand a little more about why She loved this shit life so much—and if she let him he’d keep making Her smile until everything was almost as beautiful as She was.
He kept his promise. It had clearly been important to Her—for reasons Ben didn’t understand—that Ben was better to the Kid. She’d cashed in a fucking favor for it, and Ben knew she wouldn’t forget that it was Her last one. She’d wasted them on making him watch TV and read goddamn books and getting her some chocolate from the dining hall in the middle of the night—he’d have fucking done it without the favor, because She’d sprawled herself across his chest and held his face between her hands with a pretty pout on her lips—but She’d never used that last one.
But She wanted Ben to be nicer to the Kid. So he marched into the dining hall for dinner and sat at the almost empty table.
The Kid stared at him over a book, and Ben grunted. He didn’t have a goddamn clue how to do this.
“The fuckin hell are you doin here?” Butcher appeared through the kitchen doors, two plates in hand. He set one down in front of the Kid, dropping down across from Ben with a scowl. “You ain’t been to one of these since-“
“Shut the fuck up.” Ben muttered. He didn’t need another fucking reminder She was gone. “I live here just as much as you do, you fucking pussy. I can eat wherever I damn well please.”
Butcher narrowed his eyes at Ben. “Then where’s your food.”
“I only just fucking sat down-“
“You can have mine.” Ben felt his jaw clench as the Kid pushed his plate across the table. “I’m not that hungry.”
“Ryan, you eat your own fuckin dinner and let me-“
“Kimiko gave me some cheese earlier.” The Kid mumbled. “I was showing her my homework and she was eating cheese. I asked for some-“
“Ryan-“
“I didn’t mean to eat all of it, I was just hungry-“
“Ryan-“
“And Mom said sharing was good!” Ryan looked at Butcher with wide eyes, and the pussies face fell into a glower. “She said sharing was important!”
Butcher’s glare turned to Ben, and Ben pulled the plate closer to his body. He wasn’t that fucking hungry either, but Her voice kept ringing in his head.
Be kind to Ryan. For me.
“Uh,” Ben looked at the Kid, who was watching him with an openly nervous expression. “Thanks.”
Was that so hard, Pretty Boy? You were almost civilized.
Shut the fuck up.
Her laugh echoed around Ben’s head, and he gave the Kid a small nod. “What are you reading.”
“Of Mice and Men,” The Kid answered, and his voice was so fucking quiet. “Aunt Grace says it’s important for my education-“
“That the one about the huge idiot who gets shot in the head, yeah?” Ben frowned, because he’d read that book. Over 80 years ago, but he’d read it. “It’s-“
“Lennie gets shot?!” The Kid’s face had fallen, and Ben blinked.
“Uh-“
“Bloody hell.” Butcher sighed, pulling the book away from the Kid with a glare at Ben. “Tell him about your homework Ryan. I’m gonna go get you another fuckin book.”
There was silence for a second after the door closed behind Butcher.
“You don’t have to listen to me talk about my homework,” the Kid mumbled. “It’s not that interesting.”
Be kind to Ryan. “I don’t fucking care. Talk.”
The Kid started slow. He’d been right, it wasn’t that interesting. It was all books and history and science and fucking math. Ben goddamn knew what ecosystems were, and he didn’t give a fuck about calculating percentages, but the Kid seemed to. He got all damn cheerful naming the fifty states, and Ben didn’t have the fucking heart to shut him up. She’d asked him to be kind, and this seemed like the type of shit She’d love. She wouldn’t care that it was all for fucking children, She’d ask the Kid about his opinion on the symbolism in their stupid fucking books and his opinion on the Lousiana purchase.
So he let the Kid talk, all the way until the dining hall finally started to fill with the rest of the team. Annie and Hughie first, followed by Kimiko and the French Prick, all of whom gave Ben odd looks but didn’t interrupt the Kid’s ranting. MM and Butcher arrived—A-Train was still mostly keeping to himself, Ben hadn’t even seen him outside of meetings—and the Kid was cut off mid-sentence as Butcher dropped another book on the table.
Ben stood up. He’d done what he had to, and been nice to the Kid. He could leave.
“Are you not eating with us?” The Kid was frowning at him. “I thought you were going to eat with us.”
Ben wasn’t sure what to do. “I’m not-“
“Sit your ass down, Soldier Boy.” MM grunted, not looking up from his plate. “Eat your fucking dinner.”
The Kid was still fucking watching him with a sad expression that turned into a smile when Ben slowly returned to his seat.
Ben wasn’t sure how he allowed it to happen, but he was back in the dining hall the next night as well. He kept thinking about how fucking happy She’d be he was talking to the Kid, and how the Kid didn’t seem to care that Ben had tried to murder him at one point. He just seemed happy Ben was there, and his face lit up when Ben sat across the table again. So Ben was there the next night, and the night after that, and suddenly he was fucking eating dinner with everyone.
The Thing was still fucking trying to tell him something. He still didn’t fucking understand. It kept going on rampages around Ben’s body, trying to force him to get it. To just know what it wanted him to, what the Thing had decided was so fucking important for him to know. And it was still trying to tell Her. She wasn’t here, Ben had to keep reminding the Thing She wasn’t here, but it didn’t give a shit. It was rioting inside of Ben like it did when She was sad and he needed to help. To hold Her until her heartbeat was steady, or talk to Her until her perfect fucking brain was Her’s again. When it was trying to tell Ben to touch Her, that he should touch Her and all the pain and fear written across her pretty features would vanish, because Ben would make Her feel good. He’d touch Her and kiss her and bite her and fuck her until she was happy. He’d do fucking anything to make Her happy.
And the Thing roared.
There were points where the Thing would explode inside him, and Her voice would become clear. Like she was right at his side, grinning up at him as she spoke. Telling him about things only She would think of. The real Her, not the echo of her in his head. The Thing would squeeze in Ben’s chest in the middle of the night, and Her voice would start talking all too fast about how she couldn’t come home. She was weak and couldn’t come home. Ben told Her to shut up, because she would. Not coming home wasn’t a goddamn option.
And She still wasn’t wearing blue. She’d promised, fucking sworn, that she’d wear blue if Ben needed to come get her. But she wasn’t, so Ben just waited. Mallory turned on the Dining Hall TV for some sort of stupid Vought show, and She looked so fucking exhausted and small—shrinking into herself in a way that Ben knew meant she was afraid—next to Homelander. But Ben had to just listen to Sage give a speech about their fucking relationship, and not go help Her. He hated this, but he fucking couldn’t go until She gave the signal. The Thing was raging inside of him, and Her voice was following him—teasing him with a lightness in her voice—but Ben had to just watch. Talk to Her in his head about anything, because that’s all he could have right now.
Then Homelander kissed Her cheek, and the table had cracked under Ben’s grip. Everyone was fucking looking at him, and She looked so fucking afraid. Homelander had touched Her. That weak, pathetic fucking pussy wasn’t supposed to touch Her. Ben should’ve been there to fucking kill him for even looking at Her-
Ben was moving before he was even aware of it. Stalking down the halls, back to the apartment, because he was going to get Her. The Thing was going fucking feral, and Her voice kept trying to stop him, but nothing could stop him. Nothing was going to stop Ben from fucking killing Homelander, right fucking now. He had his shield and himself, and V or no V, he’d take the shot and he wouldn’t fucking miss. He wasn’t going to keep fucking leaving Her-
Not leaving.
She kept talking to him, her voice desperate in Ben’s head. He had go goddamn save her, bring her home-
Her voice wouldn’t shut the fuck up. She wanted to come home. She wanted him more. She’d see Ben soon, but he had to wait.
He had to keep fucking waiting. He had to put down his shield, put his shirt back on, push his suit back into the dresser and just miss Her. Wait for her and miss her.
After a while, someone knocked on the door. Ben scowled—if it was Hughie or Annie here to talk about fucking feelings, he’d punch their teeth out—and went to answer the door.
It wasn’t Annie or Hughie to talk about feelings. It wasn’t Mallory or MM or Butcher to lecture him either, or even the French Prick to do whatever the hell the French Prick did.
It was the Kid, looking up at Ben with an anxious face.
“You, um, you weren’t in the dining hall for dinner. I wanted to see if you were okay.”
Ben blinked at him. He didn’t fucking love how he seemed unable to hold a normal conversation with the Kid. It was just a small fucking human. He could act like a grown ass man.
“I’m eating alone. Go back before Butcher starts fucking looking for you.”
Ben went to slam the door, but the Kid stopped him. Shot out a hand and stopped Ben. “Please, wait-“
“How fucking strong are you?”
The Kid stared at him. “I, um, I don’t know. My dad said I was really strong-“
“Anyone ever tested it?”
“Tested what?”
Ben sighed. “Your strength. Given you some weights, put you under a car-“
“A car?” The Kid shook his head frantically. “I don’t, please don’t put me under a car-“
“Calm the fuck down, I’m not going to do it right damn now.” Ben rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell Butcher tomorrow.”
“Tell Butcher what-“
The Kid’s words were still panicked, and Ben sighed, running a hand over his face. “We need to figure out how strong you are. Just so you don’t fucking break something.”
“I broke a cup,” the Kid mumbled, staring at the floor. “When I got here. And I’ve broken some people-“
“That’s not your fault,” Ben snapped, Her sad face flashing with smoke in his brain. “If nobody’s taught you how to control it, you shouldn’t be fucking expected to.”
The Kid nodded slowly, still staring at Ben. “Will you help me?”
“I don’t-” Ben’s fists curled at his side, and he cut himself off as he saw at the Kid’s wide, hopeful eyes watching him. Watching Ben like he was better than he was, like he’d somehow earned the Kid’s trust. Ben cursed himself, and sighed. “Fine.”
“Will you come to dinner?”
“No.” Ben wasn’t going to relent on that. He didn’t need everyone’s fucking sad, pitying looks, not right now. Not when the Thing was still rolling around inside him, not when he could still see Her face—full of frightened shock—and couldn’t do anything about it.
“Can I eat here?”
Ben blinked. “What.”
“May I please eat here? If, um, if it’s okay with you I can go ask Butcher-“
“Why.”
The Kid shrugged, eyes dropping to the floor. “I want to ask you some questions, please.”
Ben frowned. “About what.”
The Kid said Her name, and the Thing fucking moaned in pain. “I just, I want to know about her. Nobody will talk about her, and Kimiko said you were-“
“You can fucking talk to Kimiko?”
“I’m trying to learn,” the Kid shrugged, glancing up quickly. “It’s important to understand and respect others, even if they’re different-“
“Fine.”
The Kid looked fully back up. “Fine?”
“You can eat here. Don’t bother getting Butcher, he’ll be a fucking ass about it. If he whines like a dickless pussy, I’ll deal with it.” Ben stood aside in one sharp step, and the Kid walked in the apartment slowly, looking around with wide eyes.
“Your place is nicer than Butcher’s.”
“Everyone decorated their own,” Ben grunted, moving to the kitchen. “And Butcher’s fucking boring. No color in that asshole’s place.”
“Who decorated yours?”
Ben sighed, said Her name, and ignored the stab through his heart. “Sit the fuck down. We’re eating bagels.”
The Kid waited silently as Ben pulled out plates and prepped the food. When he stalked back over to the table—The Kid watching him and sitting with good fucking posture—Ben slammed the bagels down and dropped in his seat. The Kid was in Her seat.
He had to be okay with that. She’d kick Ben’s ass if he moved the Kid just because he didn’t think anyone else should ever even try to take her place in any fucking way.
The Kid took his first bite, and stared down at the bagel as he swallowed. “Is this-“
“Strawberry cream cheese,” Ben muttered, shoving half of his own in his mouth. “Better than fucking crack.”
“Oh.” The Kid nodded, and took another small bite.
Ben sighed. “She liked it.”
Don’t lie to the child, Benjamin. You love that shit twice as much as I do.
“She showed it to me,” Ben amended himself, face dropping into a scowl. “And I love it as well.”
The Kid nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Taking another bite, waiting for Ben to speak.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” Ben leaned back in his chair, glaring at the Kid. “Three questions. That’s all you fucking get. I don’t have to answer a goddamn one if I don’t want to, and you don’t get them back. So choose fucking wisely.”
The Kid nodded, and looked back down at his plate. Ben shoved the rest of his bagel in his mouth, watching the Kid carefully as he chewed.
“What’s her favorite color?”
“All of them,” Ben swallowed, his words becoming clearer. “She liked every fucking color. She said she didn’t want any of them to feel bad about being ugly, so she wouldn’t pick a favorite. All colors had something to contribute.”
“Even orange?”
Ben snorted. “Halloween and the damn Grand Canyon.”
The Kid took another bite, looking up at Ben. “How did you meet her?”
“She fucking kidnapped me.” Ben grumbled, and the Kid’s mouth fell open. Ben rolled his eyes. “Not like that. She woke me up to kill Homelander, and we lived in a safe house together. We grew,” Ben frowned, searching for the right word that explained how She was his whole life. How he’d decided that, in the end, he would fucking die and kill and bleed for Her. How She made him happy and was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. How She was perfect, and adored Ben, and they’d always fucking burn together. “Close. Once we stopped trying to damn kill each other, we grew close.”
“Okay.” The Kid looked fucking sad, his mouth hanging slightly open.
“Spit it out,” Ben muttered. “Whatever the hell you want to say-“
“I’m sorry.“ The Kid’s voice was almost a whine, and he sounded desperate. Talking too fucking fast. “I, um, I know she’s not here because of me, and what my dad did to her, and Butcher says it’s not my fault but-“
“Shut up,” Ben’s words were rough, but he was getting worried the Kid was going to make himself pass out. “Butcher’s, for fucking once, right. You’re not your shit-fuck father, buddy.” That felt like something She’d say. “And she wanted to help you. She doesn’t hate you.”
“Why?” The Kid gave Ben a pathetic, sad look. “Why did she help me? After what my dad, what Homelander did-“
“Because that’s not the type of person she is.” Ben snapped, and his voice was harsher than he’d meant it to be, but the Thing was bellowing inside him. “She doesn’t hold things against people, even when she fucking should. She wants to help people, and so she fucking does.” Ben sighed. “She thinks the world is good. She’s mean and rude and has a smart fucking mouth, but she still thinks this shit is worth something. And she’s a fucking genius, so she’s probably right. She probably didn’t even damn think to blame you, so don’t fucking do it for her. She doesn’t like people doing shit for her.”
“She doesn’t?”
“No.” Ben watched the Kid’s soft, eager expression. “She works her fucking ass off for everything, and earns every damn thing she gets. Never even asks for shit in return.” Ben scowled into the air. “She deserves a fuck ton more than people are giving her.” She deserved fucking everything. “Does everyone’s goddamn jobs and all she gets is an apartment and a limited company credit card in fucking Mallory’s name. If the CIA weren’t full of such fucking asshole pussies, they’d just give her goddamn control of everything and we’d all be home in an afternoon.”
“She sounds really cool.” The Kid mumbled, and Ben nodded.
“She is fucking cool.” He grunted. “She’s fucking perfect.”
The Kid looked up at Ben with big eyes. “Yeah, it, um, it makes sense why you love her.”
Ben’s whole world stopped.
He did.
He loved Her.
With every single fucking part of him, Ben loved Her. That was what the Thing was. Love. For Her. That’s what it had been trying to tell him. He loved Her.
She was perfect. She was the whole world and everything around it and between it, and Ben loved Her. She never fucking wavered, and was so fucking smart and beautiful and good, and Ben loved Her. She trusted Ben, she wanted him, and he fucking loved Her.
This was the stupid shit people wrote all those songs that She loved about. Where they talked about it like it was evasive and the most amazing pain you’d ever fucking feel, and how their person was the best person and nobody fucking got it like they did. This pain was fucking amazing, and Ben never wanted to stop feeling it. It made his heart—that’s what the fucking Thing was, and Ben was a goddamn idiot—ache because she wasn’t here, but it also meant he got to want Her. The pain meant She was in sight, and Ben just had to fucking wait. He’d never stop waiting. If the next time he saw Her was in a thousand fucking years, Ben would pick her up into his arms all the same and kiss her until she moaned into his mouth and he could breathe again. Because his person was the best fucking person. Nobody did fucking get it like Ben did. She was better than every other goddamn pussy fucker on the planet, and she was a goddamn force of nature. She made oceans part and lightning strike and the sun followed Her because it wanted to share Her warmth. She was so fucking perfect, so powerful, that she’d managed to make Ben’s heart beat in a way it hadn’t before. He’d been alive for over a goddamn century, and he’d never had everything be about his heart, and how it needed to be in time with Hers.
This was all the goddamn movies she’d made him watch, where two people would look into each other’s eyes and the music would swell and everything would fade to black as they kissed. This wouldn’t fade to black. This would keep going, and Ben would eat Her pretty face and suck her lips until they were swollen. He’d put wets kisses along her jaw and bite on her neck, and she’d fucking moan and the lights would stay up as Ben fucked her. Really, properly fucked Her like she deserved, made her unravelled and wrecked under him. Everyone would fucking see, because the whole fucking world needed to see Her how Ben saw her. And he’d keep going and going until she looked at him like he was everything, and Ben would keep fucking loving Her until someone figured out a way to kill him. And even then he’d crawl back to Her. They’d have to pull his fucking heart out of his chest and launch it into fucking space where he couldn’t follow it. He’d probably follow it anyways, because space didn’t have fucking shit on Ben, on his love for Her. His love was bigger, more important, and if space tried to take his heart Ben would just have to figure out how to fucking kill it and get Her back.
This was probably like poems and books, as well. She’d say it was. She’d say that love is the most poetic thing in the world, and that love in some form runs through every great story in history, even the tragic and heartbreaking ones. She’d make this shit poetic. She’d hold Ben’s face between her hands and say a bunch of things he didn’t understand, using allegories and metaphors and smiling at him, and it wouldn’t fucking matter what Ben understood. She would be there, telling Ben she loved him and smiling and saying it a million different ways because that’s who she was. Her brain moved too fucking fast, and She’d only be able to tell Ben she loved him in a way that was beautiful.
Ben didn’t need to be fucking beautiful. This was pretty fucking simple, he loved Her. That was all that needed to be fucking said, there was no other goddamn way to put it. Ben loved Her, like nobody had ever loved anything in goddamn history. Ben loved Her, and whenever he thought the words his heart would feel a little easier in his chest.
Once She was home Ben would get his hands dirty for her and do whatever she told him and make Her feel fucking good. That’s what he was here for now, to make Her feel good, to touch her and praise her and worship her until she understood that she was perfect. She’d fall apart because of Ben, and she’d fucking smile at him after, and that would be all he needed to keep living. She could have all his food, and take all his sleep and oxygen and goddamn peace, but Ben would fucking thrive. Because She’d be there and he could keep loving her.
But now, he had to get through the rest of dinner and show the Kid out while acting like everything was normal. He had to get through the rest of his fucking life acting like everything was fucking normal. Like he wasn’t in love, in stupid fucking love, with Her.
He’d tell Her. She had to fucking know. Ben would hold it within himself until She was home and happy, then he’d tell her.
He didn’t have a fucking clue how. He’d never done this shit before, where it really fucking mattered that he did it right. He could get her shit. Something she’d like, that proved that Ben listened. He always fucking listened to Her.
She liked those stupid off-brand Uought sunglasses. She’d wear them all the damn time, and they’d broken when he lost Her. He wouldn’t get Her blue one’s this time. She shouldn’t wear blue, unless it was to tell Ben to come fucking get Her. He didn’t want to get Her Soldier Boy sunglasses, Vought didn’t deserve Ben’s money—technically the CIA’s money, but who gave a fuck—or his likeness.
Ben got Her green ones. Simple fucking green ones with the same aviator frames, that he could give to Her and say he loved her and she’d smile at him.
He kept eating with the team. The Kid kept asking Ben questions, a lot about history—like he was supposed have a fucking clue just because he’d been alive for some of it—and a lot about Her.
“I wasn’t alive in the fucking 1800s,” Ben muttered as the Kid showed him a worksheet question. “I don’t have a goddamn idea what that painting means.”
“The book said it was about Manifest Destiny,” the Kid frowned. “But I can’t find a definition, and Butcher and Aunt Grace don’t want me to have a phone.”
Ben actually agreed with that. The Kid didn’t need to see all the shit people were saying about him, or about how Homelander and Her were in love but maybe She’d been fucking Butcher. Ben wished he could unsee it. Wipe it from his goddamn brain. He was about to say he didn’t have a fucking clue about the Manifest Destiny shit, but She must have told him at some point. This seemed like shit she’d tell him about, and suddenly her voice was reminding him.
“It’s the nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to expand westward, and should exert the means to do so.”
The Kid blinked at him. “Really? Are you-“
“I’m fucking certain.” Her voice in Ben’s head had been fucking certain, so he was as well. “That’s what it means.”
“Okay.” The Kid started to write on the paper, and people began to trickle in for dinner. Butcher sat at the Kid’s side—glancing over the worksheet once and giving an approving nod—as Hughie and Annie sat on Ben’s bench. Neither flinched when Ben glanced at them. MM and A-Train arrived, the fast pussy finally seeming to develop some team spirit, and the French Prick and Kimiko were late. Ben hoped they were finally just fucking. If they kept making silent heart eyes at each other without just fucking, he’d shoot them. The French Prick specifically, because Kimiko would just be a waste of a bullet. If Ben couldn’t fuck his woman, everyone else better start appreciating what they goddamn had.
“You still need my phone for that bloody school shit, Ryan?”
“No,” the Kid didn’t look up from his paper. “Ben helped me. Manifest Destiny means,” he paused, squinting to read his own handwriting. “The nationalistic belief that America should expand to the west.”
Butcher scowled at Ben. “That so?”
The Kid hummed, and Ben shrugged. “I’m fucking right, so don’t lose your stick up your own asshole.”
“You seem real fuckin sure-“
“He is right, Butcher,” MM muttered. “That’s the definition. Not sure how he knows-“
“All of you seem to be real goddamn convinced I’m a fucking idiot,” Ben snapped. “I’m not a boring pussy, but I know things. I’m not a goddamn asshole without a fucking brain.”
“I think we just aren’t sure what you would know,” Hughie mumbled, glancing at Ben nervously. “I mean, you haven’t been in school in a while. And I don’t think they taught westward expansion with any, like, nuance in the early 1900s.”
“They didn’t,” Ben sighed, and said Her name. He needed to say Her name more, it made his heart squeeze but it always sounded fucking right. “She told me. And she’s a fucking nerd,” he tried not to smile. He fucking missed her. “She’s always fucking right about that shit.”
A-Train was looking at Ben weird again. Ben was about to fucking ask what the hell is problem was, why the pussy wouldn’t just talk to him. Ben hadn’t even ever really tried to kill him—as far as he remembered—and everyone else was talking to him. He’d defiantly tried to kill everyone else at least once, so why the fuck A-Train was being so damn strange-
“Does she like school?” The Kid was asking Ben with those same fucking wide eyes, and he couldn’t not talk about Her if he fucking tried.
“She says there are massive flaws in the American education system,” Ben shrugged. “But she likes learning, because she’s fucking insane.”
“What was her favorite subject?” The Kid’s voice was growing eager, and everyone else was silent. “In school?”
“English. And the fucking social one. Anything about people.”
“Arts and Humanities,” MM offered, frowning at Ben. “If it’s not STEM, it’s Arts and Humanities.”
Ben didn’t have a fucking clue what STEM was, but Arts and Humanities sounded familiar. “Sure. That shit.”
“I like English as well,” the Kid was smiling, and Ben couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching. “But I also like science. Biology is my favorite-“
“Let the old ass fuckin eat, Ryan.” Butcher muttered, standing up. “You want pizza rolls?”
“Yes, please.”
Butcher nodded and stalked off, and the Kid turned back to Ben.
“Does she like biology?”
Ben sighed. “She likes everything. I think she gives at least a small shit about biology, because she talked about it when she’d work on my shell shock.”
The Kid needed to stop asking fucking questions about Her, because Ben was learning he was incapable of just lying or telling him to shut the fuck up. His stupid heart would grab his mouth and use any fucking excuse to talk about Her—about how good she was and how she made everything around her good as well—because it wasn’t allowed to say Ben loved Her yet.
“What’s shell shock?”
“PTSD.”
“What?” Annie leaned over Hughie, frowning at Ben. “What are you talking about?”
“She was doing her fucking brain magic shit on my head.” Ben snapped. “She asked to, and it was fucking working.”
It had been working. Ben would never tell Her, because she’d get that pleased look in her eyes and bounce around the room, taunting Ben until he grabbed Her and kissed all the smug words out of her mouth—actually, he would tell Her, because that sounded fucking amazing—but it had been working. Ben’s nightmares about Russia and pain had faded, and he didn’t hear drums in the constant background anymore. Now it was only Her, following him and making him lose his fucking mind.
Annie nodded, and dropped it for the rest of dinner. Ben answered a few more of the Kid’s questions, ignored A-Train’s silent, strange looks, and ate his barbecued ribs. When he was done he cleared his plate, dropping it into the sink, and nearly punched Annie when she came up behind him.
“Soldier Boy?”
Ben whipped around, fist’s clenched. “Christ on a fucking cross-“
“Why didn’t she tell us about the PTSD treatment?” Annie crossed her arms, standing her ground. “We should know-“
“Me and you pussies weren’t exactly buddy-buddy,” Ben drawled. “And you don’t need to know shit about what she and I do.”
“If it affects the team, we do.”
“Well it fucking doesn’t-“
“It was probably hurting her,” Annie pushed on, and Ben’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t just vanishing. Whatever she was doing to fix you was going into her.”
“She’d have fucking told me-“
Annie shook her head. “She wouldn’t.” Annie said Her name with a sad expression, and Ben’s heart hurt. “She, well, you know her. She wouldn’t ever tell anyone she was hurting, not until she had to.”
“She’d fucking tell me.” Ben insisted. She’d never fucking lie to him, and he’d never doing anything that would hurt her. “If it was hurting her, she’d have told me and I’d have fucking stopped her-“
“Just, listen.” Annie sighed. “I know she cares about you. A lot. And if you care about her, you won’t make her keep doing that when she gets back. It’s not her responsibility to fix you, even if she...” Annie looked him up and down. “Cares about you.”
“I fucking know that,” Ben hissed. “You think I don’t fucking know that? I care about her more than you’re goddamn capable of imagining-“
“Then don’t hurt her.” Annie shrugged. “She won’t say it’s hurting her, but her nightmares were getting worse even before the tower. She’s dealing with a lot, do this one thing for her.”
Her nightmares had been getting worse. And She’d been staring at corners and shadows when she didn’t think Ben was watching. “How the fuck did you know that.”
“She’s my friend,” Annie frowned. “She told me stuff.”
“What other stuff did she tell you?”
“Enough for me to believe that you don’t want to hurt her.”
“Stop speaking in fucking riddles-“
“Soldier Boy,” Annie shook her head. “I’m not trying to fight with you. Not right now, with everything being so fucked. But just, don’t hurt her.”
Annie left, and Ben couldn’t fucking move. He’d never hurt Her, he fucking loved Her. Everything in him was dedicated to protecting her and loving her, and he’d rather go back to sleep or ship himself to Russia that let her hurt anymore-
She knew that. Ben was certain She knew that. She didn’t know he loved Her, and he wished her voice would stop trying to fight with him about that, but she knew Ben would never fucking hurt Her. He’d keep her safe, he’d always care for her and make her happy. Everything good was Her, and Ben’s heart kept beating so she could have it when she came home.
The blood in Ben’s body had turned into Her. This is what people must have meant when they said love would drive you mad. Her voice, growing clearer and clearer in his head, was still telling about strange fucking things Ben hadn’t been thinking about before. Sometimes it would even say that She loved him, and Ben decided that he was getting a little too fucking into this fantasy. Where he could ask Her voice in his head questions and she’d answer like it was Her. Really Her. When he’d finished buying Her sunglasses—She’d be real fucking proud, he’d used Amazon without calling Hughie to make him do it—Her voice had been tired and sour around him, but still so slightly amused. Sounding like Her.
Do you think he watches tentacle porn?
Ben had frowned into the empty apartment. What the fuck are you talking about.
The Deep. Do you think he watches tentacle porn?
I don’t fucking know. Why the hell would I know that.
You don’t have to actually know, Pretty Boy. You can guess, or offer another type of porn. My vote is tentacle, but if you think there’s another-
What’s that one you told me about that I couldn’t fucking understand. With the dogs.
Beastialty?
No, smartass. With the costumes-
Oh. Furries.
Ben had nodded at nothing. Is there an ocean version of furries?
Maybe. I don’t actually know.
You don’t have to actually know, Sunshine. You can fucking guess-
Shut up.
No.
Benjamin-
No.
Fuck you.
I will. When you get home I’m going to blow your fucking mind. There’s not a single goddamn thing I won’t do to you, not if you ask real fucking nice-
Not a thing? Are you going to tentacle fuck me?
Brat.
Cunt. And there probably are ocean furries. Rule 34 and all.
What the hell is rule 34.
Her snort had rumbled in Ben’s chest. Oh, that’s going to be so much fun to show you.
You can just fucking tell me-
No. I want to see your face, it’s going to be adorable.
I am not goddamn adorable-
Yes, you are. You’re downright cute, Benjamin. Deal with it.
Ben had sighed. You’re lucky I love you.
Ben, please. Stop saying that.
No. I fucking love you, and there’s not a goddamn thing that will make me stop loving you-
Ben-
His phone had buzzed with a message from Butcher about another A-Train meeting, and Her voice had vanished into the hum of Ben’s heart. He’d smiled at her sleepy face, still his lockscreen because there was not a fucking chance in hell he’d change it now, and left to go hear A-Train list out another bunch of stupid fucking passcodes.
He kept hearing Her. Her voice was only growing stronger, and Ben must miss her somehow more than he’d thought fucking possible because she was always there.
Benjamin.
He’d tensed, standing in the shower after returning to his apartment from dinner, and repeated Her name back to her in his head.
Would you hate it if I asked you out?
What.
If I told you I loved you, and asked you out. And don’t say you love me. You’re not allowed to say you love me.
Shut the fuck up, I’ll tell you I love you as much as I fucking want-
Ben. Please just answer my question.
No.
Benjamin-
My answer is no. Why the fuck would I hate it if you asked me out. And if you told me you loved me-
I don’t know. Gender roles? Guys are supposed to ask girls out.
We’re not fucking children. Let me finish my damn sentence. If you told me you loved me, there wouldn’t be a single fucking thing you could ask of me that I wouldn’t give you. And it doesn’t matter, because as soon as you’re home and safe I’m going to tell you I love you and fuck you stupid.
Stop saying that-
No. I’m going to make you cum all over me a hundred times in every single fucking position I can think of. Then I’ll make some new ones, and figure out which ones are your favorite, so I can keep fucking you forever.
Ben had almost been able to hear that small sound She always made when she was trying to hide how wet he’d gotten her. I’d like that.
Good. Because it’s fucking happening. The moment you say the word, you’re fucking mine, Sunshine. And if you want to suck my cock, I won’t stop you.
What a gentleman. I’m one lucky gal, having such a generous… Her voice had trailed off, and Ben had seen her pretty lips falling into a frown. Heard the chew of her cheek. Boyfriend sounds stupid.
Boyfriend is stupid. Ben had scowled, because boyfriend was too weak a word to describe what he needed to be to Her. And girlfriend was a fucking pathetic thing to call the most perfect woman to ever exist. And I’m not ever going to call you my girlfriend, because we’re fucking adults.
That’s true, hundred year old men shouldn’t have girlfriends. That’s pretty embarrassing for you.
Brat.
Cunt. There was a beat of silence. What would you call me?
Doesn’t matter, Ben had shrugged, even though She wasn’t real and couldn’t see it. As long as we’re fucking together, I don’t give a shit what we call each other.
He’d want to call Her his wife. Suddenly he was goddamn certain that, one day, he’d fucking marry that insane and perfect fucking woman. If She’d let him. As Her voice hummed and faded away again, Ben decided that whatever she’d give him he’d take. He’d ask, at the right times, what she wanted. If it was everything he wanted. But if she didn’t—she might never want exactly what Ben wanted, not with Homelander as a stain on her head—Ben would genuinely be fucking fine. Not Her type of fine, where she just didn’t want to talk about how much everything was hurting Her, but just fine. As long as She was with him, Ben would be fine.
His dreams were getting fucking horrible again. He’d wake up from nightmares filled with blood, unable to breathe with Her voice in his head.
Blood. So much blood. I don’t have time to clean all this blood-
Breathe, Sunshine. He’d glare into the dark, because even if She wasn’t real it was fucking painful to hear her voice so afraid and weak. Just fucking breathe.
There’s blood, Ben. It’s everywhere, and it’s not mine, and I miss you. I miss you so much-
Wear blue, and I’ll come fucking get you, right now.
No, I’m so close. I can’t.
Then breathe.
Ben’s own heart had slowed, and his own breathing became even.
Thank you. Her voice had whispered, right in his ear. He could almost feel Her soft hand, gently tracing his jaw in the dark. I’m sorry.
Shut the fuck up. Don’t ever thank me, or apologize.
Please-
No. I don’t want it. I want you home, because I fucking miss you. Nothing else.
Okay. Silence, then. I’ll see you soon.
He’d sighed into the dark, and stared up at the high ceiling. He’d forgotten to turn off the bathroom lamps, and there was light leaking under the door of their empty bedroom. I’ll see you soon.
They were still looking for V. A-Train had given them a list of warehouses and Vought storage spaces, so right now Ben’s job was to comb over them with Butcher, Hughie, and the French Prick for clues. There were hundreds of warehouses and cargo ports and underground bunkers, and Hughie kept finding fucking more. There was one in Sacramento that A-Train had claimed was full of V, but Hughie couldn’t find it on any records. It had seemingly disappeared off the face of the damn planet. There were fifty more like it, a lot of others in fucking places like New Orleans and Austin that held supe gear, and several in Akron and Portland and Chicago that were label miscellaneous. They’d kept Ben’s shield there. In a fucking miscellaneous warehouse.
“This is getting us fucking nowhere,” he muttered, crumpling another paper in his hand as Her voice turned back to an easy song in his head. “It doesn’t fucking matter where Vought kept them. Sage would fucking hide anything she didn’t destroy.”
“You got a better fuckin idea, Gov?” Butcher snapped, not looking up from his own papers. “We ain’t got much to go on, we’re doin the best with the shit we’ve got.”
“Our best is fucking dogshit-“
“Maybe it’s offsite?” Hughie paused his tapping of the computer. “Vought has, like, a lot of shell companies, right? Maybe Sage moved it there, off of any records.”
Butcher nodded slowly. “Frenchie-“
The French Prick sighed. “I will go tell MM.”
“What about Homelander,” Ben grunted, frowning at Hughie. “Are you looking where he’d keep it?”
“We can’t be sure he has any-“
“He does.” Ben’s snap was cold. “He might be the one keeping it offsite, where Sage can’t fucking find it.”
“Lad, he’s ain’t totally fuckin wrong,” Butcher glanced up and Hughie with narrow eyes. “Homelander ain’t tryin to hide it from just the CIA, he’s tryin to hide it from everyone. And Vought’s his fuckin playground. He might be keepin it wherever he damn pleases.”
Hughie sighed. “Maybe, but I can’t check that without the list of shell companies.”
“Do your fucking braking shit,” Ben scowled. “Isn’t that your whole fucking thing-“
“It’s hacking, not braking. And it’s not my whole thing-“
Hughie cut himself off as the Kid pushed into the dining hall.
“Is it pizza night?” He sat next to Butcher, right across from Ben. “I know it’s early, but I’m really hungry-“
“It’s Friday, ain’t it?” Butcher started to pull his papers into his chest, shoving them down to Hughie. “And we can eat early. We’re the cunts in charge of ourselves.”
Ben returned his papers to Hughie as well, because this wasn’t going to do fucking shit. There wouldn’t be V anywhere, Sage was too smart of a bitch to leave it lying around. Ben could eat dinner, and then hang over Hughie’s shoulder until the man proved himself fucking useful.
He ate Her favorite type of pizza. He’d been eating Her favorite type of pizza, because it reminded him of Her. Of her smile and the soft look on Her perfect face when Ben would get it without her asking. She didn’t need to ask. Ben knew everything about Her that he needed to in order to keep her happy. It was how he was able to answer all of the Kid’s questions, and usually that knowledge would make his heart a little slower. Make Ben feel a little more at ease that She be safe and happy with him. That there was at least one way in which he was deserving of Her. But tonight his heart was going a mile a damn minute and he couldn’t fucking figure out why. He felt like something was choking him, like every nerve in his body was burning and he was cold. The pizza was warm, the dining hall was warm, but Ben felt cold. And it only got worse and worse. He felt fucking sick, something felt wrong. The longer the night went on, everyone having joined them to eat and talk about anything but the mission—a recently imposed rule by MM after Butcher had said the words supe jizz might have fuckin V in it and everyone had lost their appetites—the worse Ben felt. He was dying. Everything fucking hurt and he felt like he was going to fucking collapse-
The whole room lit up red, and deafening alarms started to sound through the building. Ben and Butcher were up first, MM and Annie close behind them as they stormed to the door.
“What’s going on-“
“Stay right fuckin there, Ryan.” Butcher roared, and the Kid froze in his steps. “Hughie, don’t let him out of your sight. Everyone else-“
“We don’t know what’s going on, Butcher.” Annie’s words were loud, but unsure. Ben could even fucking hear her heart racing over the sirens. “It might just be a fire drill-“
“We ain’t supposed to be hooked up to the drills,” Butcher snapped, pounding the wall and opening a full fucking arsenal panel. Someone should’ve told Ben about that sooner. “And we ain’t supposed to get alerts unless it’s defcon 1. It might be-“
“It’s not Homelander,” MM held up his phone. “I’ve got a Google alert on the fucker, he was just in France-“
Ben caught the gun Butcher was tossing to him. “It’s fucking something.” He grunted. “Something’s real fucking wrong. Get a gun and start moving.”
MM frowned. “How the hell do you know-“
The doors burst open, and one of those pussy fucking agents—the man—yelped as five gun’s clicked with barrels aimed at his head.
“Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot-“
“What the fuck is going on,” Ben didn’t try to make his voice nice or kind. Something was going on, he’d never felt this type of goddamn suffering in his life, and when he’d paused for just a second he’d realized Her voice was gone. It wasn’t humming softly around in his head and heart anymore. It was just fucking pain.
“Soldier Boy, sir, I’m sorry to bother you but-“
“Fucking talk!” Ben roared, his ribs starting to cave in. “Stop pussying around and use your goddamn words-“
The agent shouted Her name, and the gun broke in Ben’s hand. “She’s in the lobby, but nobody can touch her-“
Ben didn’t wait to hear more. She was in the lobby. The sky felt like it was fucking falling and Ben couldn’t really see beyond something red lining his vision, but She was fucking here. He was sprinting down the hall, and into the elevator with Annie, Kimiko, and somehow Butcher the only ones managing to keep up. His fists were clenching and unclenching, nobody was daring to fucking speak, and as the elevator started to drop the pain began to subside. Like it knew he was getting closer. It knew She was home.
The elevator had barely dinged before Ben was out of it, ripping through the metal with his hands. They hadn’t stopped in the lobby—they’d stopped three or four levels above—and people were trying to get on. Scrambling forwards, then falling back with surprised sounds as Ben pushed past them. All of them looked fucking afraid, like they were running from something.
There was an overlook into the main lobby. The first seven floors had hallways that wrapped around the entrance, and Ben had a feeling that if he just kept walking towards what everyone else was fleeing from, he’d get there. Butcher and Annie were calling after him, but Ben didn’t fucking care. She was so fucking close, he had to fucking get to Her-
He heard Her screams first. They were raw noised of pure fucking pain, and she was probably trying to fucking say something. Ben could only hear his blood in his ears, and hHr screams, and her heartbeat. Fast and wild and pounding out of her chest.
Ben could hear Her heartbeat. That was Her heartbeat. He’d recognize it underwater and in deep space and buried twenty feet under the ground. It had made him turn around at the Believe Expo, because he’d have just kept walking and telling Her voice to stop torturing him with ideas that she might be there, but he’d heard her heartbeat. And this was Her fucking heartbeat.
She was alone, curled into Herself in the center of the lobby. Ben could finally fucking see Her, four floors below him, collapsed on her knees and screaming. Covered in blood, clothing scorched, and fucking screaming. Everyone was either fleeing, passed out in an odd pattern across the floor, or watching with wide-eyes from a wide circle that had formed around Her. Nobody was helping Her. Why was nobody fucking helping Her-
She wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t looking at anyone, her eyes screwed shut as she screamed again. It was the worst fucking sound Ben had even heard. He needed to fucking get to Her, now. He’d survive the jump down, he wouldn’t even fucking feel it. He took a step back, readying to go, go to Her, he’d wasted too much fucking time and he had to get to Her, but a small hand yanked him back.
“What the fuck-“
Kimiko was glaring at him, pointing at the people scattered around Her and signing something Ben couldn’t fucking understand.
“I need to help her-“
She shook her head, gesturing to the weak, knocked out pussies on the floor.
“They’re not fucking burned, there’s not even any fucking fire. And I’d fucking survive it anyway-“
“It ain’t fire, Gov.” Butcher was out of breath, shoving his way forward with a glower at Ben. “If you hadn’t just bloody run, you’d have heard what’s goin on.”
“If you pussies don’t let me go and shut the fuck up, I’ll fucking kill you-“
“It’s the empathy!” Annie was right behind Butcher, her voice desperate. Below, She screamed again and Ben died a little bit. “People were trying to help her, but they kept screaming and collapsing. There’s not any fire, she just,” Annie’s eyes landed on Her, flinching as She screamed. “They’re feeling Her. Anyone who goes too close to Her feels whatever she’s feeling.”
“And they’re all fuckin passing out from it, Gov.” Butcher sighed, shaking his head. “We just got to let her tire herself out, if anyone gets just a little too bloody close they’ll-“
There was not a chance in goddamn hell Ben was going to wait. She was here, she was home, he was done fucking waiting. If he felt that pain, or passed out, or even fucking died, at least it would’ve been to get to Her.
He yanked his hand away from Kimiko, sending her stumbling backwards, and jumped down to the lobby.
The floor cracked under him, and Ben braced himself for the pain. To roar and scream like she was and fucking crawl to Her if he had to.
Nothing came. There was a dull kind of ache, but no pain. Everything that hurt was the noise of the alarms and the horrible sound of Her screams. He took a careful step, closer, and still nothing. Another, and the alarms and gathered crowd fell into the background. Her heartbeat was louder, and it was all Ben could hear. Everyone could fucking watch with stupid pussy gapes, all that mattered was Her.
Her eyes were still closed, and when she screamed again he heard the words, running from her blood into his.
Ben.
He ran. It took two, bounding and powerful strides to grab Her. Hold Her in his arms. To fall to his knees at Her side, and pull her up into his chest.
Her screams stopped. Ben cradled Her head in his hand, his other squeezing her waist to make sure She was fucking real. He felt a flash of something boundless, something infinite and indestructible, and then she passed out.
Ben carried Her to medical. He wanted to carry her to bed, to let her just rest, but he had to make sure she was okay. That someone with a pussy fucking degree would look at Her and tell Ben she’d be ok. Everyone was parting around then, and Ben didn’t give a fuck. She was in his arms, and everything was going to be okay.
They gave Her a bed. Every doctor on the staff popped their head in—Ben thought they might be drawing straws for who’s turn it was to check on Her—and the French Prick came in with a vial of a golden liquid, attaching it to Her IV.
“The fuck are you doing,” Ben grunted, but didn’t move from Her side. He’d pulled a chair up beside Her, and wasn’t going to fucking leave until her eyes opened. Until She could look at him and say she was okay. She was going to be okay. She had to be fucking okay. And if she wasn’t, Ben had to know that so he could figure out how to help. If he could fix it or heal it or just had to stay there, at Her side until she smiled. Whatever it fucking took.
“It is a suppressant.” The French Prick glanced at Ben’s scowl. “It will not hurt her. It will help.”
“How.”
“We do not know what will happen when she awakens. This will make sure people other than yourself can approach her safely.”
Ben nodded slowly, looking back at Her face. Perfect, at complete ease in her sleep. “Fine.”
Then it was just them again. Ben’s hand was in hers—nobody could make him stop touching Her with a fucking nuke of Sage’s gas pointed to his chest—and she was sighing in Her sleep.
Perfect.
He loved Her more than the whole fucking universe, and he wouldn’t be able to tell her that when she woke up. When Her eyes opened, it was going to have to be about her. Ben would have to fucking swallow the words, and tell her he loved her when she was ready to hear it. When he was convinced beyond a doubt she’d be okay, and that she’d keep smiling at him no matter what she felt for him. She wouldn’t leave him. She adored him. Even in her fucking sleep her fingers had twined themselves into his, and Ben had never been more certain of anything or anyone. He was certain he loved Her. He was certain he didn’t deserve her, but that his whole fucking life from here on out was going to be about earning her. This was all about Her now.
Everything was Her.
And Ben couldn’t say it where She could hear him. But he had to say it, now, or he’d explode.
“I wanted to hate you,” he started in a low voice, watching Her eyes flutter in sleep. Perfect. “I should’ve fucking hated you, and I really goddamn wanted to. You seemed like everything I fucking despised. People who think they’re better than me because they’re too weak to see the gray of the world. People who sit in ivory fucking towers and think they’re worth more because they’re smarter than me. People who think they deserve to tell me what to do, pussies who are too fucking good for anything.” He sighed. “I really fucking tried to hate you. It would’ve been easier. Made this stupid shit so much fucking easier. But you can never make anything easy, can you Sunshine. You have to be the most beautiful fucking pain in my ass all the goddamn time.”
She shifted slightly, heart still slow and steady, and Ben smiled. “You wouldn’t fucking stop proving me wrong. You don’t think you’re better than me, you are better than me. You’re better than fucking every sorry pussy in the world. You see all the gray, but you still keep doing good things, and that’s so fucking hard to do. I’ve been trying to, for you, and Christ, it’s exhausting. But you just do it, like there’s no other option. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever fucking met, and you’re fucking funny, and you never think you’re better. You explain everything you say if someone asks, and you’re not nice about it, but you do. You love answering questions, you love people, and I don’t fucking get it. I don’t fucking understand how you’re so fucking perfect, and why you couldn’t just let me hate you. Why you couldn’t just be a fucking bitch, why you kept smiling at me and laughing with me.” She hummed in her sleep, and Ben reached a hand out. Brushing his thumb along Her cheek. “You’re so good, Sunshine. I couldn’t hate you, because you’re just good. You’re too good for everything, but you’d never lord it over anyone. You’re the most beautiful woman in history, and you’re a goddamn brat, and I could never really fucking hate you.” He felt a lump form in his throat, and She leaned into his hand. “I love you.” He sighed Her name, listening to the easy sound of Her heartbeat. “I love you. You burn, I burn, and I fucking love you.”
She was safe.
She was home.
Ben loved Her, and they were going to be okay.
End Note: Can you guys tell I’m a whore for Chekov’s Gun? We did it squad. She's home. Thank you all for sticking through the darkest part (there WILL be more angst, but like. hurt/comfort. Lined with fluff and character growth that doesn't make us want to die), and every form of support you've shown me. You guys are the best, and I'm very sorry for doing that to you. See you soon!
If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
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Reflections on building a better me
Exercise is not optional. Mental satisfaction from completing yet another workout cannot be overstated. Physical satisfaction from feeling good and enjoying your body in clothes, the mirror, and photos cannot be overstated. Stop messing around, stop info hoarding, go exercise. And tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. And the next day.
Looking your best depending on circumstances (ie, casual, dressy, bedtime, etc) is not optional. External confidence from taking care of your appearance top to bottom and loving what you see in the mirror is highly valuable.
You feel better when you eat better. You’re proud of yourself when you eat better.
Hobbies, hobbies, hobbies. Do you feel embarrassed when someone asks what you do all day and you can’t come up with an honest answer that doesn’t make you sound like a loser with no life? You need hobbies. Some that are outdoors, some that are indoors. Some that are taxing, some that are relaxing. You will enjoy life more, become a more well-rounded individual, and have positive ways to spend your time rather than racking up more hours on your phone. Get some hobbies. Plural.
Procrastination and laziness should disgust you. You shouldn’t be able to relate. You should strive to be above that. You like yourself better when you complete your tasks and get things done in a timely manner. You’re proud of yourself when you’re on a roll and have a productive streak. You’re impressed by productive people and no one likes a lazy bum.
Decide what you want from life and pursue it ruthlessly. Don’t take advice from people who don’t have the life you want, unless they were once on your desired path and fell off. Even then, you listen to them when they say what NOT to do (learning from their mistakes) but clearly they don’t know what TO do bc they didn’t make it to the finish line. Take “do this” advice from people who crossed the finish line and have what you want. You’ll find that the amount of input that is actually valuable to you has suddenly dwindled. Good. Less chatter in your ears.
Get yourself in order before you go around critiquing everyone else. Get YOUR face in order. Get YOUR body right. Get YOUR money up. Get YOUR style in order. Get YOUR relationship together.
Stop coming to everyone for validation like a toddler. Validate yourself. Do you like it? Okay then. Are you over it? Okay then. Stop being so weak. Stand tall, lead yourself. Stop being such a follower.
Be a good person. Help your family, lend a hand to strangers, give back, say sorry, do things for loved ones just because, show affection, work things out, watch your mouth, speak respectfully, remember that the world owes you nothing. Stop being an insufferable freak.
You can’t change anyone but yourself. Get yourself in order and be a good role model. That’s all you can do. Give people advice when they want it and then go about your business. Get yourself in order. Get yourself in order.
Outrage content is the lowest form of entertainment. Engage in things that make you happy or educate you. Doom scrolling only leads to doom. Don’t like this person? Don’t click on their articles or videos. Unfollow and block. Don’t like these people? Leave their spaces. You don’t have to be outraged every day.
Always keep your word to yourself. Make a plan, stick to the plan, always deliver. If you can’t be reliable for yourself then who can you be reliable for?
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I recently realized I have to stop sulking over my life but I struggle with embodying my dream self sm ughh
Do you have any tips?
Ok, what would ur highest self do RIGHT NOW? Like if she was going through sulking and not feeling her best, how would she tackle it? What would she do?
Take it slow, give yourself some rest, write down goals, make a to do list.
If you’re still stuck, here’s mini action plans for you🍰
🍓 1. Goals.
What’s your mega goal- what do you want from life? To be a doctor, have a business, what is it? (Try not to make it too vague)
Next, find out the things you need to get done to achieve this goal. So if you want to build a big business, you probably need money, a good product to sell, business & salesman knowledge, etc.
Once you got that, now figure out how you’ll achieve those things- for example; you need business or salesmen knowledge? Read books, listen to podcasts, watch videos, ask people around you for tips, etc. so that’s what you can start with, everyday listening to a podcast or reading a chapter will definitely bring you closer to that goal.
Then it’s just basically practice and consistency. Keep going, don’t give up! Make a to do list for each day, but don’t forget to add rewards as well.
🍓 2. Take it slow, prioritise your mental health.
Are you feeling okay? Is your health good? Have you been exercising, eating well, getting a good amount of sleep? Sometimes it’s just not taking care of yourself properly which can make you struggle and feel stuck!
So go, put on a face mask, do some yoga or exercise, whatever floats your boat, read, shower, and take a nap. Then when you feel better, do the Goals part.
🍓 3. Find the small happinesses in life.
You’re sulking? Maybe then take a day off and just become a child again. Go out for a walk (if you can & it’s safe), go for a swim with your friends, just laugh and have fun without another care in the world.
Be your inner child! Have fun!
Anyways I hoped that helped, I have a bunch of other stuff on self improvement & becoming your best self so u can read that too and also: watch thewizardliz or Tam Kaur or anything good yt, it helps.
Xoxoxoxoxo
#agirlwithglam🎀✨#asks#vanilla’s darlings#vanilla's pookies💌#it girl#it girl energy#self improvement#becoming that girl#girlboss#self love#girlblog#self development#girlblogging#best version of yourself#highest self#dream girl#queen energy#it girlism
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tw - nsfw, physical/psychological abuse, wildly unhealthy relationship dynamics, and derogatory language.
Most days, Bailey struggles to decide whether you're an idiot or a masochist.
He’s leaning towards the former, but it wouldn’t take much to sway him towards the latter. That doesn’t make you special on its own, though – no, most of the stupid brats in his orphanage have shit for brains and the survival instincts of pre-splattered roadkill, but you manage to make your peers look like shining pillars of intelligence and caution and all the good, important, necessary traits that you were tragic enough to be born without. If he didn’t know better, he might think that you’re doing it on purpose, that your behavior is just the product of some misplaced cry for attention. You should count yourself lucky that he’s a hell of a lot smarter than you’ll ever be.
He should’ve gotten rid of you the first time you failed to pay your rent. He should’ve, and he tried to – selling you off to the highest bidder, leaving you blindfolded in alleyways and restrained on the edge of town, but like a beaten dog too stupid to acknowledge that its master left it for dead, you always seem to drag yourself back, always bruised, most often bloody, and occasionally soaking wet. More than once, you haven’t made it all the way back, and he’s had to go out of his way to pick up ‘his precious ward’ from the intensive care unit at Harper’s request. He would leave you there, if he thought his reputation would survive giving that freak of a doctor a free lab rat.
You can’t hold down a job. That part, he can’t entirely blame on you. If going outside is risky, then trying to earn a living is all-but a death sentence in a town like this. He knows you have a few minor gigs, pick up odd jobs every now-and-then around the wealthier neighborhoods, but it’s never more than petty cash, and having to watch you drag yourself through the orphanage halls with torn clothes and that distant, glazed-over look in your eyes almost makes what little rent money you can scrap up not worth it. You’re wary enough to keep your head down in school, so you don’t have a lot of friends, either. Most of your time is spent at home; toiling in your weed-infested garden, trying to pretend you aren’t hiding in your room, and when he lets you, curling up in the smallest, darkest corner of his office – your legs pulled into your chair and your eyes fixed on the floor. He asked, once, why you thought you had to waste your time sulking in his peripheral like some poor, attention-starving kitten. Despite help from the better half of a bottle from his vintage stash, he can still remember your answer.
“I don’t know,” you mumbled, with a smile so delicate, he was almost tempted to see how easily it shattered. “I guess I just feel safe around you.”
He stopped asking for rent, after that.
He tries not to think about you. It’s a constant effort, but he tries the hardest when he’s standing in your doorway hours after midnight, fucking his fist as you pretend to sleep less than a full ten feet away. He still hasn’t made up his mind about the masochist part, but you have to be an idiot. A pretty, empty-headed idiot.
His pretty, empty-headed idiot.
He decides, as he finishes to the sound of your muffled sobbing, that he’ll soak it in while he can. Even if he does his best, even if he keeps his distance, even if you never come to your senses and run far, faraway, he knows he won’t have long left to enjoy this.
He knows that, no matter how hard he tries to hold himself back, you’re not going to feel very safe around him for much longer.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere imagines#yandere degrees of lewdity#degrees of lewdity#degrees of lewdity x reader#dol x reader#dol#degrees of lewdity bailey#dol bailey#bailey x reader
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I don’t know man I just feel like there’s got to be a limit to how much money you should accept from people before it becomes unethical not to start actively giving it away to others who actually need it to like, live.
#look at me; vagueposting in the year of our ford 2022#I’m just so. tired. of worrying about the financial situations of my loved ones.#while others drop a hat and have obscene amounts thrown in their faces. and then they keep encouraging people to give them more?????#if you make a good product you’ll keep making some money off that in the future#you don’t have to be set for life before you even start#and I get that it’s probably really exciting to be in the fandom and all but ??????#do y’all not know ANYONE who’s in a tough spot financially? how does one justify continuing to build this#fuckin bouncy castle in the sky#to even greater heights as they just keep setting loftier goals for the hell of it?#anyways I’m sorry if reading this upsets you and for your sake I really hope they make something good!!!#I don’t wish ill on anyone I’m just exhausted and stressed and worried and this whole thing underlines some stuff that’s bothered me a while#have a lovely day#please don’t try and talk to me about this
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My dear lgbt+ kids,
You don’t need a skincare beauty routine at all if you don’t want one.
Of course you need to wash your face at least semi-regularly, just like you need to wash the rest of your body (for hygiene and health - washing germs, sweat and dirt off), and you need to put on sunscreen at least on days where you’ll be outside and there’s an UV index of 3 or higher (for skin cancer prevention). But apart from that? You don’t really NEED to do anything at all.
Certain beauty influencers and companies will try hard to tell you otherwise but, really, you will not die, the world will not implode, the birds will not stop singing.
Or in slightly more realistic worries: You can live a fulfilling life and be a whole adult, even if you never become the kind of person who religiously does ten steps of skincare every morning.
You won’t even necessarily have horribly-looking skin without a skincare routine. („horrible“ is a very subjective term when it comes to beauty anyway, and much of what we are taught to think of as horrible is simply the beauty industry pushing a beauty standard that is purposefully unreachable, so you’ll keep buying their products). Think about it: for every person who swears by their 25-step-routine, you’ll find someone who swears by their nothing-but-sunscreen routine - and they’ll both have beautiful skin. Clearly, healthy skin isn’t achieved by any one specific product or routine, otherwise there wouldn’t be that many different products or routines being promoted!
All this is not to say that routines are meaningless. Many people find something in their skincare routine that actually has little to do with skin: regular routines provide stability and comfort. It can be a beautiful moment of calmness before you start the day. Doing the same thing before bedtime every night can help your brain switch into sleep mode more easily. Skincare can be a good way to integrate some pleasant touch and sensory experiences into your daily life. Skincare (different ingredients and what they do etc.) can be a fascinating topic to learn about. Trying a new product can be something exciting to look forward to. And so on, and so forth!
But none of that changes the simple truth: if you don’t want to have a skincare routine, it’s okay to just not have one. No matter if it’s something like “I’d like one, I just don’t have the energy/ motivation/ headspace/ money/ freedom to build one right now” or “I struggle too much with forming reliable habits to stick to one routine for a longer time” or “Skincare makes me uncomfortable because of gender dysphoria/ sensory overload/ etc.” or if it’s just “I don’t feel like it” or “I find skincare boring” - it’s okay to not have a routine. Use your sunscreen when necessary and call it a day. You’ll be fine.
With all my love,
Your Tumblr Dad
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“Oh, come on Chuck! This’ll be my second time! You can’t keep forcing me to work another 40 years, just to make it to retirement and do it all again! It’s not yours or my fault that there aren’t enough young folk to take over our jobs! Hell, maybe if we paid a bit more, the few of them out there would apply!”
“It’s Lieutenant Roth, Billy. Now go change out of that equipment and take a shower. Whatever this remote does to strip away all those years, it sure does leave a young man ripe!”
“Don’t call me Billy! I haven’t been Billy in 30 years! Its Bill Damn it! And how am I supposed to explain this, again! to David?! You know he’s not into, well… this!”
“Put your shirt down Billy and quit your complaining. We’re doing something different this time, changing things up, trying something new. See, we couldn’t afford to pay higher wages all these years, because we’ve been stashing extra money away, for a new program. This remote can do a lot more than just wipe away years, Billy. The company has a whole app-store full of features, but they cost a hell of a lot. We only had enough for 2 new features, and we think it’ll really help solve this town’s aging population issue.”
“Wha… what the hell are you saying? What do you mean, something new?! Chuck, dude… you’re seriously starting to crack! What the fuck does any of this have to do with David?! And who is, “We”?!”
“I’m only going to tell you this once, son. It’s Lieutenant Roth. Now, I guess there’s no beating around the bush with you young-bloods. So I’ll get right to it. “We” is me, the Governor, and the Town Board. We investigated every possible fix, and it comes down to this. All the youth are moving out in droves, going to college, or fleeing to the city for excitement, leaving us aging folk to do the hard work around town. With the remote able to take years off a person, we’ve decided that all our current retirees, in every department, will be regressed, and the new feature we purchased will ensure you all follow your new, youthful instincts, providing us with a full generational bump in population.
You will be the hot-blooded virile stud you were way back in the day; you remember? Except this time, just as David isn’t attracted to this prime of your life look, YOU won’t be attracted to David, or any man for that matter. You see, we need all the help we can get, so with this little app, you’ll be chasing pretty women, and will certainly end up settling down, once one of them catches. Ah, by the look on your face, you know exactly what I mean.
Good, because you and the rest of the retirees are going to have your hands full, working these jobs getting paid just enough for a double-wide and a truck, leaving a trail of gals before you settle in with one, and have a whole mess of kids. "
“Ch… Lieutenant, sir… Wha… you’re insane dude! Fuckin’ totally cracked! You hear yourself! You can’t do this! I can’t be… I can’t chase… I don’t… don’t like…. Fuck… fuck dude… what the fuck are you doing?! Quit pointin’ that shit at me bro! My.. my head!”
“Don’t worry son, I’ll let you off the hook for all that mouthing off. It’s got to be rough having your brain completely flipped inside out, dumped out and filled with everything you need to be a, productive, member of society. Isn’t that right Billy?”
“Wha.. Oh, hey Lieutenant! So uh, is it ok if I head off to the showers and hit the road? Kind of a slow night huh sir? If it’d be alright, I want to go down to the Strip and hit the bar. The dudes and I figured we’d start the weekend early, ya know? Gotta get get some tail on lock before the storms hit. Thinkin’ I might run into Becka too, you know, from Thornton Stables? God she’d look real pretty, all knocked up good n’ proper!”
“Oh alright son. Go ahead, take the night off. But you’re on call. Got it! One or two beers, maybe a shot, take some cash and buy the lass one of those fruity drinks, and you treat her like a lady, young man. Got it?”
“Got it Dude! I mean Lieutenant! I’ll make a lady outa her yet! Thanks for the money too! Ya know how rough it is on the town’s wages! Although you and the Board seem to be doin’ alright. I hope I can get to where you are, Sir!”
“Don’t worry Billy, you’ve got a good 40 years or so to work your way up! Go have fun tonight!”
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sooo what's the deal with onceler destiny anyway
Alright class, let me break this down for you. Got a few handy diagrams and everything for all you visual learners out there.
Once-ler destiny is everything.
A series of… hah. “Canon events”, if you will, that makes us who we are. It’s not just a set of guidelines, either. It’s the rulebook. Diverge from the path? Sorry, don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars. Or for those of you who don’t know Monopoly lingo, I'll make it real simple for you.
You aren't actually a Once-ler.
And if you’re a Once-ler— like, really a Once-ler— then you’ll eventually experience each and every single one of these chapters of your life. Some are good. Some are bad.
Some are very bad.
The beginning
Once-lers typically leave home at an early age to make their way in the world. They'll find the truffula valley, make their first Thneed, and eventually get their business off the ground. It's not always easy, but it's almost certain to be a guaranteed success.
The middle
Business is booming. A factory blooms like a metallic flower where there once was a cozy little cottage. Thneed production is in full swing. Stocks are through the roof. Pollution of the surrounding area and town increases. Everyone says you're too big to fail.
Until you aren't.
The end
This isn't a story that's supposed to have a happy ending. It's supposed to teach you a lesson.
Drowning in the depths of your greed, you turn a blind eye to the destruction piling up around you until there are no trees left. The Lorax leaves. Your family leaves, retreating with your money and their carelessness. Your employees turn against you, burying you in endless lawsuits.
You retreat into your vast, empty factory. But not forever.
The townspeople in Thneedville build a wall to keep out the toxic wasteland you created. They sing every morning, waking you like a dystopian alarm clock. The years pass, and before you know it, you are old.
Audrey is born, the catalyst for everything to come. Ted is born a few years later. As a teenager, the kid comes to ask you for the one thing you can offer that will ensure your redemption- the last truffula seed. He will take it, and the future will be bright. The wall around Thneedville will fall.
...Eventually, even the Lorax will come back.
That is Once-ler destiny.
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Poltergeist
So, Danny, who’s blood is composed of mostly caffeine because the Box Ghost just WON’T FUCKING STOP attacking on the middle of the night, God Dammit this is the SEVENTH Time tonight how the Crap Baskets do you keep escaping the Thermos!! So, when he wakes up one morning needing both caffeine and ectoplasm in his sleep deprived state he just mixes a 4 pack of monster and beaker of ectoplasm in a jug and starts chugging to try and get it down before the taste hits and then stops. Takes a sip. Takes another. And realizes that it actually taste way better then either do individually.
So he starts mixing them up regularly, and eventually starts just phasing ectoplasm into still sealed cans so he can grab and go for the sake of convenience. Then some other ghost get a taste, like it, and start asking for more. So Danny gets some new friends and starts making ghost money selling his concoction, and as a joke based on the original name of the energy drink, paints over the can and relabels them Poltergeist.
For a while, business is booming but then a problem pops up. Real world items are contraband in the zone according to Walker, and most of the drink itself and the container it comes in is real world matter. Cue prohibition era shenaniganery as Danny and his allies became energy drink bootleggers, running from Walker, smuggling cases of Poltergeist, hiring ghost to help them with all of this, the whole nine yards.
I think this could work out pretty well with Danny and The Spooks, him and his boys mass producing and shipping out illegal ghost energy drinks could be a really cool plot line in my opinion, producing it, figuring out how to get it to the zone and all that as a group. I also feel this idea is just the right amount of wacky to work with the DP verse and serious/sensible enough to not be complete crack fic unless you want it to be.
When the Fenton’s and Valerie hear about that no good menace Phantom selling Highly Dangerous Ghost Drugs the flip their shit. The smear campaign is the stuff of legends. And then the truth comes out. It’s just a really Really REALLY tired teenager trying to stay awake and make some pocket money to buy first aid supplies and have some left over to buy food for homeless people.
If it’s a verse where Sam and Tucker are in on the whole ghost fighting thing then they are Energy Drink Kingpin Danny’s right and left hand men. Tucker’s the tech guy, figuring out how to build hidden compartments in vehicles to hide the goods, monitoring and screwing with Walker’s tech, managing accounts for human money he makes/figuring out how to exchange human money for Ghost money. Sam is his badass enforcer who keeps the underlings in line, and also uses her money and rich people connections to launder money and stuff. Proper crime boss stuff.
Eventually, everyone’s least favorite front loop catch’s wind of this. And I see this going one of two ways.
1) He comes to the conclusion that Danny’s not aloud to have nice things, and starts his own enterprise to compete with Danny. Stealing business, sabotaging production, tipping off Walker. General douchbaggery.
2) He is the opposite of opposition. He wants Danny as his Son, wants Danny to be just like him, wants to guide and train Danny the way he never got. So Danny, all on his own, building a criminal empire? Pissing off the authorities instead of being a little goody two shoes? Laundering money almost as good as his old man? It is wonderful and he is Here For It. Either he’s in the distance cheering him on or actively trying to help. “No no my boy, if you do it like that you’ll either end up broke or in jail for tax evasion. You’ve got to send your money through these channels and store it in banks of these countries. I’ll help you set up accounts.”
#danny fenton#danny phantom#dp au#fic prompt#story prompt#writing prompt#danny phantom au#Danny’s a crime lord#and he’s bound and determined to make it everyone else’s problem#Frostbite is at first glance the muscles of the organization but then he throws on a lob calf and goes to his lab to cook up better flavors#this is my first to tagging Danny as a Crike Lord it will not be the last#Walker#Walker won’t admit it but he’s absolutely ecstatic about the whole situation#tickled pink beyond belief#His whole Shtick is to be an old timey cop#getting to do all this prohibition stuff is a litter Al dream come true for the guy#Vlad has a foam finger with Number 1 Crime Boss written on it#he’s never bend more proud of his little boy.#Vlad: *Sees Danny monologing to petty ghost criminals that are trying to take his business* I’ve never been prouder#*wipes a tear*
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How do I make my dreams become reality? Pick a Crystal
Get ready for some tough love
Diamond:
You’re going to have to be more realistic about your dreams. Will you be a billionaire with what you are doing right now? Is it realistic that you’ll get into the music industry? Acting? Preforming? You need to start small and work relentlessly. Dreaming and doing the bare minimum is not going to get you anywhere.
If you want to be signed to an agency, are you taking acting classes? Singing classes? Any music classes? Are you going to school to learn about music, acting, or production? Are you healthy and ready for a perfect reputation? A social media screening test?
This also may be a sign from the universe that you must see the bigger picture of what you want to do in life. Write in a journal, in detail, why you want these things. Keep asking why like a child until you know exactly why you want it and why you feel it is your purpose.
Ruby:
You dream of a perfect relationship/friend group.
If you want to be with someone and have a successful relationship or a friend group, it’s important to get back to the basics of what it means to be in a relationship. It takes time, effort, and selflessness.
Are you ready to call a friend at midnight for hours to let them vent about their breakup? Are you ready to make plans with people and keep them? Are you able to be in a group where you may not like one person? Are you ready for a complicated dynamic? Are you ready to be vulnerable? Are you able to go into this with an open heart and an open mind?
Ask yourself these questions on pen and paper. Maybe you are too afraid of making the right decision. With social lives, you need to dive in and find your way to the right people through experience. Don’t judge a book by its cover.
Amethyst
You’re a mystical independent person, perhaps you want to grow as a spiritualist or build a business. Maybe you want to combine the two.
Take your manifestation to a new level by listening to the universe. When you’re doing or thinking the right thing, you’ll see repeating numbers such as 111, 222, 333, etc. this will usually be on a clock. Let the numbers guide you on your journey to success. If the universe offers you an opportunity, take it.
Do not let fear or hesitation get in your way. The universe will give you signs, but don’t hyper fixate on them. Notice them and see if they are relevant. Focus on expansion and exploring unknown territories with an open mind.
Quartz:
You just want to be comfortable, possibly have a family, a significant other, and a generally stable life. You’re DONE. You want peace. It is important for you to budget, pay your small debts off, and use the extra money you get from not having those debts by paying off bigger debts.
Debt is easy to accumulate and hard to get rid of. Being frugal and strategic is going to be your best friend if you want to have a stable life with stable people. Take care of your body, mind, and soul and think about your future. Ask yourself, “do I really need that?” “Will I use that in a month?” “Is this an impulse buy?”
reading books on how to manage your money and make good relationships will also be helpful. If we grow up around people who do not make good financial decisions, or we grew up without much of anything anyway, it’s easy to slip into that pattern because it is all we know.
Start small.
#witchcraft#magic#witch#magick#pagan#paganism#crystals#wicca#metaphysical#pick a pile#pick a card#pick a crystal#tarot readings#psychic readings#psychic reading#witchblr#Crystal healing
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— Beige Flags
Izuku x gn!reader, Bakugo x gn!reader
TW: Sort of domestic
Note: some of these are based on TikToks, and if you dk what a beige flag is idk how to explain it but here’s a video that explains it
— MIDORIYA
⇶ Izuku honestly has a multitude of beige flags
⇶ From his extensive All Might collection, to the little notes he takes on everyone and anyone, to his constant muttering that plagues him even in his sleep
⇶ But the one that stands out to you the most is how he handles any money that’s exchanged between you two
⇶ Because he grew up with a single mother who made just enough to give them a decent life, this made Izuku frugal with his own money
⇶ Always reluctant to spend too much money on something, and always looking for cheaper alternatives
⇶ But for some reason, all of that goes out the window when it comes to you
⇶ He has absolutely no issue cashing out on you, no matter what it’s for or how much it costs
⇶ You suppose it’s to make up for him not wanting to spend on himself, if he won’t do it for him, he’ll do it for you
⇶ He’ll pay for things like your hair, care products, nails, food, little trinkets that you so much as glanced at for a second longer in the store, etc.
⇶ Most people think this is a normal green flag, assuming he’s just a loving boyfriend who likes to spoil his s/o
⇶ But the flag turns beige when it comes down to you giving him money or doing anything at all with your own money
⇶ Izuku heavily opposes you doing anything that involves paying him back, or even spending your own money if you know he can pay for it (which he literally always can and if he can’t he’ll find a way)
⇶ Sometimes, it gets to the point where you have to sit him down and explain that he just can’t keep spending all this money on you
⇶ And normally he’s a good listener, but that’s one of the times where it just goes in one ear and out the other
⇶ He’ll argue with you on it, and say he just wants to take care of you and what not, he even gets all pouty until you give in
⇶ But just to keep you happy, he lays off in certain areas such as necessities like groceries and such
⇶ Any other time, he’ll have transactions getting approved before you even have time to blink
⇶ You’ll be at the store and when it’s time to pay, you’ll still be pulling out your wallet by the time he’s swiped his card
⇶ Sometimes, he flat out takes your cards from you when you’re with him!
⇶ He’s even gone as far as taking your wallet and replacing all your cards with his
You hummed as you got settled into your car seat, ready to go to the store. You set your things into your passenger seat, and buckled your seat belt before starting up the car.
Last time you went out, you realized you forgot your card halfway to the store. So this time, you made sure you had it.
You rummaged through your bag, feeling around for your wallet, before your fingers finally brushed against it. You pulled it out, opening it up to make sure you had all your cards.
You had the same amount of cards as always. But… something looked off. They were the same cards for the most part, but not exactly.
Pulling one out to inspect it, you immediately noticed an irregularity. The name.
Instead of reading Y/n L/n, it read Izuku Midoriya.
Just to be sure that you weren’t in a fever dream, you pulled out another card.
Izuku Midoriya.
And another card…
Izuku Midoriya.
And another…..
Izuku Midoriya.
If you didn’t know your boyfriend any better, you’d pinch yourself to be sure you weren’t dreaming.
With an exhausted sigh, you put your… his cards back into your wallet, stopped your car, got out, and went back up to your shared apartment.
Upon entering, you found your green haired boyfriend innocently sat on the couch watching a cartoon.
“Hey baby, you forget something?” Izuku asked sweetly.
Honestly, there was nothing you could do other than sigh.
“I… I just needed to use the bathroom.”
No point in fighting it.
⇶ And please, don’t pay him back
⇶ It’d be hard to do so anyways, because after the first few times he just blocked you on Venmo, Cashapp, Apple/Google/Samsung Pay, etc.
⇶ He will unblock you occasionally, but only to give you money, never to get it
⇶ It’s been going for so long, you wonder if he’ll ever change (he won’t)
— BAKUGO
⇶ Katsuki’s beige flag is by far the silliest and yet so in character for him
⇶ And it’s his cooking
⇶ Yes, his cooking. It was already a bit of a surprise to everyone that he loved to cook, and even more of s surprise that he’s so good at it
⇶ Of course, he whips up the usual three meals a day throughout the day, and he’ll do take out if he’s feeling lazy
⇶ It was a cute domestic trait at first really, seeing him in the kitchen chopping up ingredients and throwing together a nice home cooked meal for the two of you to share
⇶ But that was when you were living separately and simply going to each others homes to spend the day together
⇶ The beige flag began to rise when you finally moved in together
⇶ Katsuki would always make sure you were well fed and healthy, making you eat at least something even if you said you weren’t hungry
⇶ And of course, Katsuki himself eats a lot, he’s a big guy and a hero, he has to keep up a good diet to maintain all that!
⇶ You understood that of course, and it was normal to see him with more than twice of what you had on your plate
⇶ But god was it so much more than that
⇶ The silly little thing about Katsuki and his love for cooking is that he will do it literally whenever he’s the slightest bit hungry
⇶ He often makes himself snacks in between meals, and sometimes shares them with you as well, no big deal
⇶ But… he also has an odd habit of making full meals at complete random
⇶ He ate 2 hours ago? Well he didn’t put enough on his plate, now he needs something to fill himself up again
⇶ It’s 4 in the morning? Well he woke up hungry and he’s in the kitchen making a little meal for himself
⇶ And it’s never just a bowl of cereal or some instant ramen
⇶ It’s a full meal.
⇶ He’ll get his rice cooker going, sauté some veggies, and put a little well seasoned and protein packed meat into his air fryer (note: Katsuki 100% owns an air fryer and loves it to death. He’s one of those pea people that brags about their air fryer as if it’s their child)
⇶ And he’s 100% the type to “need something sweet” after he eats
⇶ This usually means he makes little single serve desserts in mugs or bowls since he has such an ungodly eating schedule and you’re never really in the mood to eat with him all the time
⇶ It’s just a silly little quirk really, you find it funny most times and have gotten used to him leaving your shared bed at random hours of the night just to go and make himself an entire meal
⇶ Admittedly, you sometimes wake up hungry as well, and look forward to seeing him out of bed and most likely in the kitchen at the same time as you
⇶ You’ll often silently walk into the kitchen and sit yourself down on a stool by the island and watch him cook
⇶ Katsuki always notices you, and gives you a small smile before he starts making the meal portions bigger to accommodate you as well
⇶ He finishes up in a comfortable silence between the two of you before plating the food and sitting next to you as you quitely eat together, the space filled with your silverware clanking against your plates/bowls
⇶ He always leaves the plates and things to be cleaned the next morning, he’s not tired enough to make a full meal but he’s too tired to clean
⇶ And then he returns to bed with you and your full bellies, getting some of the good sleep you get after a nice meal
#bnha#mha#bnha hcs#mha hcs#mha fluff#bnha fluff#mha headcanons#bnha headcannons#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo mha#bakugo fluff#katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugo katuski x reader#katsuki bakugo headcanons#bakugo hcs#bakugo headcanons#katsuki bakugou#bakugo katsuki#izuku x reader#izuku mydoria#izuku midoriya mha#izuku fluff#midoriya fluff#midoriya x reader#izuku midoriya x reader#midoriya izuku x reader#izuku midoriya headcanons#izuku headcanons#izuku hcs
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Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 1
Summary: In which Cato falls for a tribute from 10.
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Chapter 1 : The Reaping
“And no matter what happens, just know that you’ll be alright. You’re going nowhere.” Amaranto, your older brother tries to sooth you. His man hands on your shoulder, making you look him in the eyes as he attempts to stop your sobbing. Teary eyed you just nodded your head. That was easy for him to say. He had reached the cut-off age only three months ago.
“I swear it’ll be alright.” He pulls you into a hug, his tan arms squeezing you to the point where you let out a small laugh.
“Alright…” You reply, wiping away your tears.
“Come on, maybe work will distract you.” He says, picking up his tin foil container which held the rice and eggs you had packed him and yourself.
It’s a little past 6 in the morning. The sun barely pushed the dark blue sky away to take its place. The reaping wouldn’t take place for about another 7 hours or so. Giving people enough time to cry over their loved ones, or finish their final trades before more peacekeepers flooded the area. The two of you decide to go into work today, even though they give off reaping days to the younger workers. You nervously headed out, eyes fixated on the pale yellow of your house, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time you saw it.
District 10, your home, never seemed more somber than on reaping day. The only other time you saw people’s moods this down was when the Capitol decided to take the horses away from the district as a punishment to those who tried to escape on them. Noises of chickens, cows, and pigs echoed throughout the empty space as you and Amaranto walked through the desolate farming sections. You had assumed the farmers were either at the markets trying to buy feed for their livestock, or out in the bar trying to get over the fact that their best farm hands could get taken from them.
The smell of fresh manure filled your nostrils as you neared some of the dairy cows. You hesitantly stopped, trying to keep in line with your routine, your hand reached up and rubbed the snout of a large spotted cow. Its markings were peculiar, since they all looked like rounded shapes rather than blotches of ink. “What I’d do to trade places with you.” You told the cow. Dairy cows were prized in this district, they were the only cows that weren’t sent off to be packaged into meat. They were the ones who got to live a long peaceful life, while their counterparts were met with a bloody fate.
“Come on (Y/n), the faster we get there, the faster we can eat lunch before the reaping.” Your brother said, already miles ahead of you.
District 10 was divided in its work. There were jobs in the production of dairy and eggs, the slaughterhouses, butchery , farming, breeding, and then there were the people who actually raised the livestock. Before making leather was moved to district 8, it belonged to 10. The breeders and farmers were people with a little bit more money than the rest. The breeders being where the smartest of 10 would use their knowledge of science and splicing to breed superior meats to send off to the capitol. Most kids in 10 spend their first few years working as farm hands and helping around in the creameries. The older ones take jobs in the killing and cutting of the meat. It was a shame that so much work went into something that its citizens couldn’t even have. The only good thing about 10 was that they got the capitol’s scraps. Small eggs the size of a cotton ball, cuts they deemed too disgusting to eat, cheese on the brink of its expiration, the list went on and on.
Amaranto and you worked at the slaughterhouse. Ever since your dad broke his leg, you both had to quit your jobs at Farmer Alfie’s and trade in your coveralls for white rubbery aprons. The slaughterhouse always smelled metallic. The smell of iron was one that would stay with you for as long as you live. The ceilings held fans, but they only helped so much to drive the smell away. Metal decorated walls and tables greeted you as you walked in. Your job was to drain the poor animal of its life. Walking past the pen of the to-be-killed animals felt hypocritical of you. You related a bit too much to the poor bovine creatures. Afterall, just like them, you were born to die.
“Dad’s in the building next to ours cutting up some lambs.” Amaranto said as he placed his lunch box in his locker. “And you know where to find me.” He finished, closing up the locker and turning to look at you. “If you feel like you can’t handle work today just go look for him or me ok?” He spoke, his kind voice reassuring you. Amaranto worked out with the men killing them. They were under the close eyes of peacekeepers, since their job was the only one requiring guns.
“Alright…” Was all you could muster up.
“Damn (Y/n), you’re quiet today.” Clarabell, the girl who was sweet on your brother, spoke from behind you. She was your coworker, and quite literally your only friend. “My my, and why is it that you are wearing that gorgeous top to work?” She asked with a fake scolding voice.
“She’s nervous about the reaping.” Amaranto told her as they both exchanged a flash of worry about you.
“I thought I’d get dressed before coming in today, since I don’t think I’d get out in time to change.” You had gotten up early in the morning to go out of your way to put on your reaping clothes. It’s not like you anticipated the event, rather you felt that getting ready earlier would be better than struggling to change an hour before the reaping.
“Oh come on (Y/n)-ie, you know nothing’s going to happen right? The chances of you getting picked are like the chances of your brother deciding I’m finally lady-like enough to marry.” The girl said, trying to throw some humor at you.
“C-can we just work?” Came your reply, dry and hasty. You didn’t want to talk about the reaping anymore. You just wanted to distract yourself from your possible death sentence.
Clarabell gave you a sympathetic hug, draping her dark red hair on your face as she nuzzled into your shoulder. “Sweet girl, you’ll be fine.” She said, then going to grab her apron. You followed, grabbing your own and shakily putting it on over your baby blue gingham dress shirt.
“No- no, here.” Clarabell said as she took off the shirt she was wearing. “You are not getting your pretty little self all bloodied before the reaping.” She said, tossing the shirt at you.
“I can’t.”
“Oh I think you will.” And like that her shirt was now on top of yours. It was stupid of you to wear your best shirt to work, now making people sacrifice theirs for you. Saying goodbye to your brother as he turned and left for work, you finally tied your apron on, and the two of you joined the others for work.
Time passed and the sun arose. Its heat raining down on 10. The only perk about working here was that they were always blasting cold air into the building. The clock seemed like it was against you, time moving both quickly and at a skin crawling pace. Clarabell tried to distract you, but the deep feeling in your stomach only sunk further. Eventually you couldn’t handle it anymore, and went to go speak with your father.
You hung up your apron. You hadn’t noticed how bloody your clothes had gotten until you took it off. “Damn.” You cursed looking over at the redhead. “I’m sorry Clara- I’ll wash it and bring it back to you I swear.”
The older girl just laughed, “It’s alright, now go on- enjoy yourself, go frolic with the sheep, or kiss some boys-” She teased as she waved to you.
You walked alongside the dirt path that connected the slaughterhouse and the butcher’s corners. Many of the men recognized you as your fathers daughter, greeting you as you sped through the halls and into the area where your father was sitting. Your heart stopped when you saw him, on his wheelchair working on slicing some skin off of a cut of meat. This was probably the last time you’d see him like this.
You didn’t know why, but a feeling of impending doom told you that you’d be chosen as one of the kids to die in the arena.
“Hey Papa.” You greeted. His dark head of hair shifted up to look at you. He smiled for a brief second, his serious expression returning. “What are you doing here (N/n). Didn’t they give you the day off?” He asked, his voice deep and old.
“They did, but Amar thought working today would distract me.” Your eyes shifted from the meat he was cutting to his face.
“I see.” He spoke.
“Just wanted to check up on you.” You tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, failing to realize that you hadn’t washed the blood on your hands thoroughly enough and staining the light material.
“Thank you dear.” You knew why your Father wasn’t saying much. In fact he was just like you, not speaking much because he was scared. He was scared to lose you like how he had lost your mother.
“I love you Papa.” You said, reaching out to hug him.
“Look, you’re going to be fine. If you get picked or not, you’re from 10. Remember that. The district of hard-ass cowboys alright? Now you’re a badass (Y/n), so don’t let fear get to ya.” He said, turning around to hug you tight.
Tears fell down your cheeks at his words. Nodding your head you agreed with his words. You couldn’t let fear get to you. Everyone had been saying that your chances of getting picked were slim, so they must be right.
…
The cries of children and mothers alike took the place of the bleating animals. Peacekeepers were now circling the district, lining up people with their guns as they ushered them to the square. The commotion made for some of the animals to go loose, but no one cared about them anymore. All that mattered to the peacekeepers was getting everyone to go witness the death of two children from home.
You were already in line waiting to get your finger pricked. You watched as some of the older kids looked more relaxed. Your heart sank when you met the eyes of a teary eyed 12 year old. She looked at you with a scrunched up red and puffy face. All you could offer her was a somber smile.
“God I know how them cows must be feeling.” A blonde girl spoke to her friend behind you. Flashes of the meat cows came into your brian. You had watched Amar do his job a while back, shocked at how he was able to go through with it.
All you remember is the cow’s poor innocent eyes as it awaited its fate. The gun was raised and aimed smack dab in the middle of its head.
Boom
You jumped at the feeling of a needle puncturing your skin. You went to lick it, once again failing to notice the blood on your hands. Of course. You had forgotten to wash this off after helping your dad out with a few of his work. Sighing with no other choice, you wiped your hands on the sides of your shirt. Making your way to stand with your age group, you looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone familiar.
Met with Clarabell ’s green eyes you felt more relaxed, soon catching a view of Amaranto’s face. He looked stern, serious, almost like your father. In fact he was the exact clone of your Father when he was younger. Speaking of which you couldn’t find. Your Father must have been further back. A part of you was glad you couldn’t see him. You knew you’d burst out in tears if you did.
“Welcome, Welcome!” A sultry voice came from the stage. Everyone turned their attention to the announcer. It was a tall asian man, wearing a tan outfit consisting of pants longer than his legs, and a dress shirt littered with feathers that made it seem as if his whole upper body was a chicken. Along with the outfit he wore a hen on top of his slicked dark indigo hair. Pradain Alcomore, District 10’s announcer. Nobody could stop staring. Had he dressed like this in honor or in ridicule of the district?
“Boy is it hot.” The announcer then said, wiping the sweat of his brow with a handkerchief. He placed it back in his pants pocket, returning to holding the microphone.
“Welcome All to the annual reaping.” He said scanning the crowd for a reaction. “As you all know, a male and female tribute are to be selected to participate in the 74th hunger games.” He said with a toothy grin as he made jazz hands to the crowd. “Right then, roll the tape!” He commanded.
As he ordered the tape you had all memorized begins to play, its music the only thing making sound aside from the sniffles of children.
“Wonderful, that never gets old.” He giggles to the crowd as he gets their attention back.
“Alright then, let's begin shall we.” He dipped his hands into the fish bowl, swirling it around a couple more times than was necessary.
Being one of the poorer districts meant your name was in there more than you would’ve liked it to be. Amar scolded you when he found out what you did, but he figured since he managed to survive the reaping you would too. You only hoped he was right.
You watched as people held hands in nervousness, awaiting to hear the first name drawn. There was a deadly silence.
Pradain opened the slip, a smile on his face as he announced to the world the female tribute from district 10.
“(Y/n) Cuernos.”
You wanted to scream. You wanted to scream but not a drop of voice came out. The ringing in your ears began as people around you began to back away, allowing a path to be made in front of you. The path that would lead you to death.
Clarabell’s soft sobs were what lured you back into reality. She mouthed the words sorry as you passed by, turning around to see if your brother was crying too. When you did find him he was on his knees, a friend of his trying to console him. You could only imagine what your father was thinking. As you looked around you spotted him, his face as serious as ever. You knew if he made eye contact with you he’d burst out yelling, so you continued to walk the path up to the stage.
“Come Come dear, time is ticking.” Pradair says as you step up. The cameras follow you, focused on your back as you walk. “My what a fashion choice.” He speaks as he notices the blotches of red staining your shirt.
You can’t cry. You can’t. And as you feel your face get warm, look up at the gigantic screen displaying your fear filled eyes. Your hair is braided into two braids, it makes your face look gigantic. The baby blue gingham shirt stained with cows blood looks exhausted, making you look like filth in the eyes of the people watching, or so you assume. The overalls you thought to wear covered the cowboy boots on your feet. You never noticed how long the pant legs were. You hadn’t noticed how much you looked like your mother.
“Onto the boy!” Pradain then says as he shuffles to the other end of the stage to pull out the male tribute’s name.
“Buckley Wheaton!” He calls out and you watch a mother scream for her boy. He’s around your age, though muscular and older looking. No doubt he’d be the winner out of the two of you. He went to school with you, only speaking to you when asking for answers to questions. Other than that the two of you were total strangers. The brunette looked unfazed, but deep inside you knew he was as scared as you.
“Let’s give them a hand!” Pradair says, and the people only place their hands to their hearts.
#fanfic#xreader#cato#cato hadley#marvel#hunger games#74th hunger games#romance#katniss everdeen#peeta mellark#district 10#the hunger games fanfiction#reader insert#x reader
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headcanons: gift giving
characters | donquixote doflamingo, donquixote rosinante, trafalgar law
content warnings | just sfw fluff, implications of emotional manipulation in doflamingo's
word count | 660
winter holiday event masterpost
donquixote doflamingo
Doflamingo is, of course, an extravagant gift-giver. Money is no object; in fact, he typically prefers to give expensive presents, as a demonstration of his own power and, by extension, yours.
But don’t let yourself think this means he would be inattentive. Doflamingo takes pride in understanding people–their hopes and dreams, their fears, their desires–especially if they’re important to him or his plans. It makes him feel in control.
As long as you’re on his good side, his gifts would not only be luxurious, but perfectly tailored to your wants and needs. He’s not one for practical gift-giving, either (why bother, when he could buy such things for you any time of year?)–no, the holidays are for fulfilling wishes you didn’t even know you had, and in the process, reminding you of just how much you need him.
Handmade gifts are out of the question, though. He is, after all, a busy man. Commissioning an artisan and telling you he made it himself is much more likely, if he thought it would impress you more than something ready-made.
donquixote rosinante
Unlike his brother, Rosinante adores making handmade gifts for his loved ones. He can be quite insecure, especially as a partner, so making heartfelt presents gives him an outlet to show his feelings without feeling so much pressure on the spot.
While Rosinante is known for his clumsiness, he can be rather delicate when he’s sitting down and really focused–a product of all the time he’s spent trying to appear smaller and less intimidating than he really is. It’s a skill that transfers well to handicrafts like scrapbooking, knitting, and jewelry-making.
On the flipside of this, he also tends to put a lot of pressure on himself to find or create the perfect gift. You may notice him acting more distant or cross than usual around the holidays for this reason, but as soon as you unwrap the package and he sees your smiling face, he’ll know that it was worth it.
He’s terrible at surprises. It’s not uncommon that you’ll find bits and pieces from his projects lying around when he’s working on something, or that he’ll accidentally drop a hint in conversation.
One of the quickest ways to Rosinante’s heart is simply offering to work on your gifts together. He’ll enjoy the quality time with you, even if it’s spent quietly working on your own projects, and it’s a lot of weight off of his shoulders not having to worry about keeping your present hidden from you.
trafalgar law
Law isn’t one for sentimental gifts. It isn’t that he doesn’t care for you–he’s just uncomfortable showing his affection in such unguarded ways.
His gifts tend to be more practical in nature, but not thoughtless: books or equipment related to your skills, a new winter coat and some warm socks if he’s noticed that you seem cold, a portable Den-Den Mushi if you have to spend long periods away from each other. If he’s really at a loss for what to get you, though, he may just hand you an envelope of Beri so you can choose for yourself.
At the end of the day, though, Law isn’t a great fan of the holidays in general. They remind him of the Donquixotes’ elaborate Christmas parties and of all the years he lost with Lammy and his parents. If you’re not an especially understanding and forgiving person, it could make him hard to get along with at this time of year.
Still, if you can manage to drag him away from his work for a little while, he may grumble a bit–just not so much that you don’t realize how thankful he is. The darkest time of year is easiest to get through when you have someone warm to snuggle up with and keep your mind off of the past; maybe the two of you will even be able to create some new memories together.
#one piece#donquixote rosinante#donquixote rocinante#donquixote corazon#donquixote rosinante x reader#rosinante x reader#corazon x reader#donquixote doflamingo#donquixote doflamingo x reader#donquixote brothers#trafalgar law#trafalgar d water law#trafalgar law x reader#law x reader#one piece fanfiction#one piece fanfic#one piece headcanons#one piece x y/n#one piece x reader#one piece x you#one piece reader insert#ronan writes
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hi can you make headcanons about yandere Elijah mikaelson
Yandere! Elijah Mikaelson x reader
Type: Headcannon
Requested: Yes
Summary: what Elijah Mikaelson would be like as a yandere
Warnings: Mature 18 +, adult themes, mentions of spanking, sexual themes, controlling relationship, yandere themes.
• Out if all his siblings Elijah is viewed as the most Nobel. The one with the moral compass that actually had a point. The one that can be reasoned with.
• All it’s done is build a sense of entitlement within him. In his mind all the years of suffering and being good, even where it inconveniences him, has earned him this ticket. This get of jail free card. This second chance.
•And he’s choosing to use it on you.
• He doesn’t care who you are. Scooby gang, innocent bystander, witch, werewolf, vampire. You are now his.
• You are his reward for being so good.
• Or at least that’s how he sees it
• At first he tries to court you the normal way. With flowers and dates and compliments. All the while his impatience is eating a hole in him.
• If you don’t let him court you - for some ungodly reason - he’ll resort to doing it the undignified way.
•In a house away from the world, he’ll keep you.
•You’ll live together (unwillingly on your part). Elijah acts unfazed by the circumstances that have brought you here and pretends instead that you’re finally a couple and have just moved in.
•He provides you with all you could ever want. Jewellery, books, clothes, beauty products. Just not the one thing you crave. Freedom
•It’ll get to a point where all your defiance has run it’s course with him. He stops being so nice to you and gives into his other side. The original vampire side. This side he hides under all that good.
•He’ll start forcing intimacy between the two of you. Whether that’s you sitting on his lap at every occasion, you sleeping together, you breathing together. Soon you’ll feel like the two of you are attached at the hip.
• He’ll stomp out your defiance with his punishments. He’s not above taking you over his knee or putting you in a corner to think about your actions.
•All quite tame of course in comparison to some of his harsher ones. He saves those for when you’ve really messed up. Like if you try to escape, or involve his siblings.
•His eventual aim is to get you so dependent on him that you’ve got no where else to go. Well you haven’t got anywhere else to go. You’ve been kidnapped.
•Later on down the line, maybe this is a year or two later, he’ll turn you into a vampire. If you aren’t one already that is. He needs you to be with him for the rest of your lives.
•It gives him a chance to further break you down. If you aren’t already broken.
•Only he can teach you about being a vampire and protect you from the sunlight.
•He compels you to never leave his side. For your safety of course.
•On the NSFW side of things, he’s a simple man.
•He’s not deluded enough to think you’d want to explore things with him. So he keeps it simple. It’s often him starting things off.
• While living alone he takes you everywhere; kitchen, Libary, bathroom, even outside.
•If you were to move back in with his siblings he might have to tone it down a bit. Of course it doesn’t stop him.
•If you get embarrassed he’ll just compel you not to feel that way.
•In a way he’s become a God over you. You’re like Eve before she eats the fruit. Unashamed of her nakedness and oblivious to the outside world.
•Your only companion is him. He’s made sure of it. Any loved ones you had have grown old and died. Or the ones that wouldn’t stop looking for you have died due to natural causes
•You’ll learn to love life with Elijah. As soon as you do things get a lot better for you. You don’t need to worry about money anymore or anything for that matter. All your needs are provided for by Elijah. All he asks for in return is you.
•For you to give yourself to him entirely. Body, soul and mind.
•After all, he has earned it
#yandere tvd#yandere elijah Mikaelson#yandere!Elijah Mikaelson#dark!tvd#dark!Elijah Mikaelson#elijah Mikaelson x reader#elijah mikaelson#elijah mikaelson headcannon
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TWST BOYS AS YOUR BOYFRIEND
Just some headcanons on what I think they would be like as boyfriends ♡
Heartslabyul - Savanaclaw - Octavinelle - Scarabia - Pomefiore (here!) - Ignihyde - Diasomnia
• first off, this man has high standards
• so he probably wouldn’t have jumped into a relationship with you right away
• but when he does, that shows how much he values you
• he is your personal outfit coordinator
• wants you to look your best but won’t neglect your comfort for it
• spa dates!!
• not only is it good for him as well, but he loves being able to pamper you
• from now on, you’ll only be using the best products that he gets for you — making sure they suit your specific needs and preferences
• would make sure you’re staying hydrated and would probably fix your eating habits to make it healthier as well
• might come across as nagging sometimes, but he genuinely just wants you to be your best
• if it ever gets too much, just talk to him and he would back off a bit
• there might be arguments that arise, especially from his almost controlling behavior, but they’re never extreme
• usually you’ll talk it out fairly quickly and the issue would be resolved
• keeps your relationship pretty private
• only because he wants your privacy to be maintained, and he doesn’t want his fans (those who are toxic) to attack you
• he doesn’t want you to deal with that criticism
• this means PDA is fairly limited
• at the school he’s not shy about kissing your cheek or brushing you hair out in public, but not much beyond that
• outside of the school it’s even more limited
• but if you guys are out and paparazzi somehow finds you, he will take you in his arms and shield you from the blinding camera flashes
• he will spoil you
• not an excessive amount, but shopping sprees aren’t uncommon
• if someone talks bad about you or bothers you, first he’ll send Rook to find them
• then he’ll verbally berate them in a way that’s polite but also extremely snide
• he won’t make a scene though
• then he’ll make sure their words/actions didn’t get to you too much
• Rook, as with everyone, sings your praises all the time — constantly talking about how you and Vil are the most beautiful couple
• Epel can’t understand you; why would you want to be with Vil? Willingly putting yourself in a position where you’re often subjected to his lectures??
• he thinks you’re crazy
• but despite what he says, he does care about Vil and admires him, so he’s happy for you guys
• Epel also appreciates how when you’re around Vil’s attention is on you instead of him
• Vil will help you study if you ask
• he is not a jealous person at all
• his ego is too massive — he knows he’s the best so he’s not worried about you choosing anyone else
• although, he does get a bit more worried when Neige is around
• speaking of which, tries to keep you away from Neige as much as possible
• will allow you to come watch some of his modeling gigs or be on the set of his movies
• even though he’s already got a massive ego, he still appreciates it when you compliment or praise him
• he’s decent at comforting, but has his own way
• when he sees you’re upset, he’ll whisk you away to take a nice, hot bath
• then, with your permission, he’ll give you a massage with oils and everything
• he’ll listen to all of your problems and offer his advice
• his dad means a lot to him, so he wants you to meet him, but won’t rush it
• he wants everything to go smoothly and for you to get along
• his dad would trust his sons judgement and would ensure you are with Vil because of who he is as a person, and not money or fame, but over all he’s very supportive
• all in all, Vil is the type of boyfriend who wants you to be your best ♡
• not gonna lie he probably stalked you first—
• but only because he found you interesting and wanted to understand your likes/dislikes before really approaching you
• as a boyfriend though, this man will worship you
• you’re right up there with Neige and Vil
• not a day goes by where he doesn’t shower you in praises
• this also means he’s not a jealous person at all
• if someone’s complimenting you, he’ll join them; his eccentricity will usually scare off the other person from furthering their advances anyways
• will write you poems and even serenade you
• if you’re ever curious on hunting, he’ll gladly teach you!!
• does that thing where he stands behind you while fixing your position and grasp on the bow—
• loves PDA, but won’t push you past your comfort zone
• when y’all hold hands, he’ll gladly swing your arms because he’s just so happy to be with you
• arguments aren’t that common, usually it’s just you wanting space, and if you tell him that he’ll gladly listen
• sometimes he’ll appear out of nowhere, lowkey scaring you
• absolutely adores it if you take his hat and wear it yourself
• if anyone talks bad about you or messes with you, he will find them and threaten them in a way that doesn’t seem actually that threatening, until you see his strained smile—
• his priority will be making sure it didn’t affect you too much though
• he’s also extremely attune to your body language and emotions almost scarily so
• will wrap you in his arms and whisper sweet nothings to you, rocking you back and forth until you’ve calmed down
• if you express any interests or hobbies, he could listen to you talk about it for hours and never get bored
• might also try to learn more about it himself so he could understand you better; in fact, maybe you could teach him!
• you’ll never feel like he isn’t listening to you
• he’ll make sure you’re taking care of yourself, but not in an overbearing way
• has very endearing nicknames for you
•it’s hard to surprise him, but he’ll always indulge you
• loves to swing you around in his arms
• spoils you, but more so with handmade things rather than bought things
• probably has a photo book dedicated to pictures of you and him (sometimes it’s just pictures of you tho—)
• he is very much a hopeless romantic
• Vil doesn’t really have much of an opinion on you, but he can tell how much Rook loves you
• Epel also doesn’t have much of an opinion on you, but he can get grossed out by all the lovey dovey displays
• he would love for you to meet his family, especially all his siblings!
• except it’s hard to get them all in one place, so you’ll most likely meet them separately and at different times
• unless you go with him on the holidays, which he would love!!
• over all, Rook is a romantic boyfriend who’s always singing you praises ♡
• he will constantly be trying to prove himself as “a man” to you
• just remind him that you like him as he is
• will simultaneously be upset and flustered if you call him “cute” or “adorable”
• if you call him handsome or manly though? He will be so proud and ecstatic
• will definitely try to carry you to prove how strong he is
• he would like to claim he doesn’t get jealous
• but he does
• especially if the person hitting on you is taller or stronger than him
• he’ll get really huffy about it, so you’ll have to comfort and reassure him
• arguments don’t happen that often, but it’s usually because you might want to be more independent
• if you express this to him, he’ll be a bit upset — he just wanted to help you — but will understand
• outdoorsy dates!!
• he grew up on a farm, so he loves being outside, and with you?? even better!!
• if you go visit him during spelldrive practice or games, he’ll be so happy
• especially if you act as his personal cheerleader
• he loves the support, and he gets to use it as an opportunity to show off
�� Leona and Ruggie will tease him though
• Epel would love to be more dominant when it comes to PDA, but… he still gets flustered easily
• so there’s not much PDA that actually happens
• will definitely brag about dating you to the other first years though
• they get annoyed with all his boasting
• will fight anyone who talks bad about you or messes with you
• no matter their size or strength, he will take them on
• and the fact he’s doing it to protect you fuels him even more, so chances are he’ll win
• would really appreciate it if you patched him up afterwards though, because it shows how much you care
• he wants you to know you can rely on him and that he’ll always be there for you
• he’s not the greatest at comforting you, but he really tries his best
• he’ll probably just hold you in his arms; he’s fuming at whatever upset you though, even if it’s something inanimate
• gifts you so much apple stuff
• he also makes apple carvings for you, usually based on things he knows you like
• Epel feels comfortable around you and will allow his accent to slip
• and if you embrace it, he’ll appreciate you even more
• Vil is fine with you, but he’s just worried about your influence on Epel
• Vil is always trying to make sure Epel’s actions are gentlemanly
• Epel will reluctantly listen most of the time
• Rook thinks you guys are adorable and is always praising how it’s “young love”
• Epel would love for you to visit Harveston and meet his family
• his grandma and mom love you
• they also love embarrassing Epel, much to his dismay
• especially when it comes to baby pictures
• all in all, Epel is a fun-loving boyfriend who is ready to protect you ♡
#twisted wonderland#twst#twst x reader#twst pomefiore#pomefiore#twst vil#twst rook#twst epel#vil schoenheit x reader#rook hunt x reader#epel felmier x reader#fanfic
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You Are My Warmth || 1
Part 1
WARNING! MENTIONS OF PARENTS DEATH! VIOLENCE! (duh) BEING BROKE! BEING A VICTIM OF RACISM! FEMALE READER!
"Love is like the wind, you can't see it but you can feel it" - Nicholas Sparks.
You were broke. One of the peasants. and you want to know what is even worse? You were a mixed breed of Earthrealmer and sorcerer!
But being a sorcerer here is basically a normal civilian. So you started taking from the rich and giving to the poor. Today, you were lying low, acting as if you wasn’t a good for nothing thief.
“Good afternoon sir, do this store serves bread?” You asked, holding onto your hand bag that carried around $20.54/¥3,321.59. “Bread? It is down that aisle… if you had looked before asking.” The worker groans, he was clearly angered before you even arrived here.
Something mostly had happened while you were either walking here or before you even left your home. He was normally not angered when you asked that question, and if you have asked it so many times, how come you can’t find it on your own?
You can, but they always changed it once a week, last week it was in the front so you didn’t have to ask, but now it is in the back.
“My apologies, sir.” You simply replied, walking through limited choices. You grabbed two loaves of bread, costing $13.48/¥2179.89. “Is that all?” The man asks, calculating the price of the bread you had just bought.
“Yes, that will be all,” You reached into your hand bag, grabbing the exact price for the bread, “thank you.” you grabbed the bread and walk out, of course this was a weekly thing, you buy food for the village, but once again you have to lie low.
The guards have slaughtered your parents for creating a half breed. Not just that, a forbidden half breed. You walked past beautiful houses, walked past a pinkish white, blooming flowers.
Before you can even make it past the gate for the hills, you have been blown back by a cold blast. The food was blown out of your hand too, but you wasn’t the only victim, so was a couple of riches and… Kuai Liang? Isn’t he apart of the Lin Kuei?
Whatever, you had to leave… like now! Screw the bread, you’ll just make a homemade salad with the leaves, beautiful fruits and that new sauce Mr. Chikafuji sells for a cheap price.
You obviously tried to get up with the others, only for a heatwave to keep you guys down. Sure, none of the attacks were for y’all, obviously. But you guys were in the area at the wrong time. Some managed to run away, lucky them.
You couldn’t really run away, only because they were in the way of your home! And plus you can’t really get risked being caught by the guards, can you? Some civilians have either gotten hurt or killed due to this deadly fight.
After the fight, Kuai wins and walks away. Being the kindhearted person you was, you had went over to see is Bi-Han was okay. “Hello, sir? Are you okay?”
You knelt down to his level, “What do you want? You want to finish off what he has left?” Bi-Han looks up at you with a cold look in his eyes.
“What?! No! I have no business with whatever problem you both are having!” You exclaim trying to reason with the man. “If so… why are you here?” “I’m here because I can’t let you be hurt! Plus you are kind of in the way of my path home. Say, since my home is close by, I can either bring you home for you to heal, or I can run home and find supplies while you are out in the open.”
You only wanted to help him because he can pay you! Meaning, you have wasted the money you bought for the bread that flew away, and he is wasting your products. It should be enough for you to eat for at least 3-4 weeks.
“And what are you going to do, woman? Kill me after?” “By the elder gods, no! I’m only trying to care for your wounds, nothing more!”
Bi-Han sits there for a second, he knows he shouldn’t trust a random stranger, but then again, you look like you don’t train. So, if you try something, he could always defend himself.
“Fine then, take me to your home. Tend to my wounds and nothing else.”
Bi-Han simply stated, making you give him a smile.
“You won’t regret this.”
You help him up and bring him to this house of yours for him to heal.
Part 2
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