#last commi for now

[irhabiya]

there's this girl in my batch i'm like 90% sure is a communist too (okay well probably not that far left but anywag) i wanna befriend her sooooooooooooo BAD

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

feeling weird mixed feelings atm and I can't really logic them away, ig? on the one hand I'm completely apathetic about it. on the other hand there's a part of me that's absolutely horrified that I could do something like that. the fact that it's still a consistent low-level pain the whole time also doesn't help. anyway those kinds of thoughts are then making me want to harm again to cope with them but also a) it's manageable and b) I currently have a deep horror of self-inflicted pain after the last few days apparently.

[ithacanradio]

i have an employment :(

[lazycats-stuff]

How about Batfam x male reader, where reader is Russian and has a slight accent, unless someone really pissed him off, that's when it really shows. Reader is always eloquent and kind, and you don't notice his accent unless you are really paying attention to the way he says certain words, but after a few galas where a fat businessman keeps insulting him somehow, and Damian or Jason are trying to defend Reader, but Reader just tells them no. When the fat businessman insults his brothers, Reader finally snaps and just goes full blown Michael Blackson Teacher style roast on him and his entire family in front of everyone, even his Russian accent comes out (I just think it would be funnier with the accent). After the gala is done, Bruce tries to scold the reader, but everyone is constantly trying to contain their laughter except Jason, as Reader finally snapping is the funniest thing that ever happened at a gala. Even Alfred can't bring himself to scold Reader for what he has done because he was there.

I know you are probably busy, so whenever you have the time for this one-shot. Thank you.

Oh hell yeah. Also, I couldn't find a GIF. I'm sorry...

Summary: (Y/N) is Russian and takes no disrespect.

Warnings: fat shaming? Only when (Y/N) was insulted.

Bruce would say that all of his children are nice, but (Y/N) is an exception to a certain degree. He is nice, eloquent, kind and loves to help others. He's Russian, can speak Russian fluently and his accent is rather hidden. You can hear it come out in certain words, but other than that, it is rather hidden. And Bruce loves to listen to it. Especially when he is frustrated about something, or simply can't remember a word in English.

That's when the Russian actually comes out. Of course everyone will revert to their native language when frustrated, mad and everything else. It was something that was rather endearing. Cute even. Just some grumbling underneath his breath about something in Russian. (Y/N)'s brothers found it cute. And they started to pick up a few phrases of their own.

But not curse words, because Alfred doesn't want to hear any cursing in the manor. None. Not in English, Russian, Arabic or any other language. It doesn't matter if it's a dead language or a live one, because Alfred is going to lay down the law.

Even now, while there was a gala going on in the Manor, Bruce watched his sons carefully. Jason was evading it with everything in him, Tim was getting some food, Damian was his usual grouchy self, Dick was conversing with some people and so was (Y/N), using his eloquence to get his points across. Bruce smiled as he brought a glass up to his lips, sipping some champagne.

All was well.

For once.

Bruce was surprised, but wasn't going to complain or actually question why the universe has decided to bring peace upon the Wayne Manor. Peace was seemingly a rare thing in this Manor and Bruce was going to cherish it for the rest of the night. Actually, for as long as it lasts, Bruce will cherish it.

Oh, that peace wasn't going to last long.

At all.

As (Y/N) was talking to a woman about some charities, a big, fat businessman approached. Sure, it's not nice to call someone fat, but, if someone's stomach is spilling over the pants, then it's just a fair game. Bruce watched from afar, just observing the room.

He raised his brow when he saw (Y/N) frowning, clearly mad about something. Bruce could make out a few words and one of them struck a nerve. Commie, or short for communist. (Y/N) never liked that. Never. Just because Russia was a communist country, that doesn't make him bad. And how the hell is that an insult?

(Y/N) shot right back, calling him a capitalist for not caring about his workers, which were the more prevalent rumors in the high society. Bruce watched, wondering how it will unfold. But then it hit him. This was the man that (Y/N) had problems with for the last few galas. (Y/N) always remained polite, but Bruce knew that it would rile him up and upset him.

Damian and Jason noticed and both have jumped to his defense, defending him with polite and tense smiles. But the businessman wasn't letting up. At all. Being this relentless in insulting was rather... Weird. Bruce kept watching, ready to step in the moment it gets too tense or it escalates.

And (Y/N) had a rule. It was, insult him all you want, but insult his brothers? He will retaliate. Tenfold.

And that's where the fat man opened the door for him to retaliate. The moment that the man insulted Damian's Arabic heritage and Jason's life on the streets before adoption, (Y/N) was absolutely fuming and has decided to go onto the offensive.

He hurled insults onto the man, but one that made Bruce nearly lose his mind was, and he quotes this, " You are one sandwich away from a heart attack. " And (Y/N) wasn't done, far from done. Firstly, the Russian accent came out during all of this and he wasn't letting up. Since the family of the fat businessman joined, (Y/N) was not battling on two different fronts.

And he wasn't holding back.

At all.

Jason and Damian were trying to keep straight faces but it's not easy.

Bruce had no doubt that Jason would later say that the insults are a work of art.

The gala was now over and everyone was sitting in the kitchen, munching on the leftover food. Alfred was standing there, watching (Y/N), knowing what had went down in the ballroom. Bruce was supposed to scold him. Maybe ground him, perhaps. Take away certain things?

But then again, he was defending himself. The man insulted him first so... Well...

So Bruce was going to try to scold (Y/N). He has to. And that was difficult when everyone around them was trying not to laugh so hard. Even Alfred. Seeing (Y/N) snap, when he was normally kind and calm. And with a Russian accent too. It was all too much for Jason who was laughing his ass off the entire time whole Bruce was trying to scold the reader.

" You know what, I won't scold you, " Bruce declared, making Jason cry from laughter.

" (Y/N) snapping is the best thing that has ever happened at a gala. Ever. EVER, " Jason wheezed out, slapping his knee.

Alfred tried not to break, because he was supposed to be a serious one, but Alfred couldn't even hold it together. He was about to break. Should (Y/N) be scolded? Yes. However, he didn't start the insulting, the man did... Alfred tried to keep it together. He did.

And he was going to keep it together.

So, to conclude the evening, in the history of galas, (Y/N) has put his mark in it.

[selamat-linting]

WHY ARE YOU, A SHORT HAIRED WOMAN, WROTE A SONG ABOUT FORBIDDEN LOVE WITH NO OBVIOUS PRONOUN HM

[lonniemachin]

STAGNANT CAMPAIGN: HELP AHMED'S FAMILY EVACUATE GAZA

I've been helping my friend Ahmed, a Palestinian man from Gaza, raise money for he and his family since last April. Throughout that time, their needs have changed based on the situation on the ground -- from evacuation to survival goods. Now that the ceasefire deal has been implemented and the Rafah crossing may re-open for travel, their priority has once again shifted to evacuation so that they can escape the Zionist occupation's violence once and for all.

PLEASE HELP THEM ESCAPE AT THEIR NEXT AVAILABLE OPPORTUNITY, OR THEY MAY REMAIN UNDER THREAT OF STARVATION, DISEASE, AND MURDER. Their campaign has stagnated for half of an entire month and it is VITAL they make up for the funds they no longer have saved, having used some for essentials such as food.

€42,336/€50,000. CAN WE REACH €43,000 BY THE END OF THE MONTH?

Vetted by el-shab-hussein and nabulsi (line 68). I've also seen multiple modes of verification, set the family up with their beneficiary, and have witnessed several successful bank transfers. Ahmed has also given me forms of verification to provide to donors who request it. DM me if it will secure your donation.

Tagging for reach under the cut.

@90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @sayruq @nabulsi27 @neptunering @flower-tea-fairies @appsa @a-shade-of-blue @sar-soor @moayed01 @paper-mario-wiki @commie-quarma @dlxxv-vetted-donations @gaza-j @writerqueenofjewels @the-ballerina-battle @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @just-browsing-on-the-internet @girlinafairytale @khanger @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @maoistyuri @dykesbat @acepumpkinpatrick @thetownwecallhome @tsaricides @feluka @brutaliakent @kordeliiius @queerstudiesnatural @the-bastard-king @aria-ashryver @malcriaada @vakarians-babe @bat-luun @mangocheesecakes @violetly @nightowlssleep @staretes @friendshapedplant @yokohama-crackhouse @omiteo777

[hexhomos]

Kiss on the check accepted! :3c

And your response reminded me of a detail I always pick up on rewatches but hadn't fully untangled yet—in the flashback of her childhood, Mel steps into that broken throne room with blood still drying on it. At Ambessa's prompting, Mel goes right into talking about how to renovate the place. "Paint the walls gold"...like gilding over the horrors of conquest that got that power in the first place.

And when she describes the regent they should have, she finishes with, "she should be pliant, so we can mold her." That IS what she was doing with Jayce, slowly, over a decade, and then quickly through Acts 2 and 3.

And then in the scene, after Mel finishes describing a "pliant" regent who can be molded, her mother suggests MEL could be that regent. Young Mel is excited at the idea, entirely missing the implication that she too would be an asset of her mother's reign.

That's why she takes off her Medarda ring right before casting her vote for Zaun's independence. She's finally realized she's just as subject to her mother's games as anyone else and Chooses to stop working in the interests of her family's power.

And augh, I wish her s2 plotline hadn't taken her out of Piltover so we could have seen more of the spycraft against Ambessa she was up to in Arc 1. I can't help but think of how much stronger her confrontation with Ambessa would have been if we had a full season of "daughter works against mother" instead of just a few scenes and a lot of getting kidnapped. More ambiguity with Leblanc would've been great too instead of her killing Elora to say hello.

[continued from here]

EXACTLY the way they shafted the politics in s2 (specifically so they wouldn't need to have hard conversations) genuinely had a negative impact in the ENTIRE story. The systematic horrors were downplayed and plotlines were dropped with very short acknowledgements - this is why we get people complaining about the jayce/mel breakup scene "coming out of nowhere" despite the fact that it made perfect sense for these characters!!!!!! It was just too short and they changed the subject too quickly, so we don't have TIME to think about the economic issues again.

It's so clear to me that jayce, viktor, ekko, mel (each representing a diff political facet. curious!) etc were carefully removed from the actual real world so we never have to analyze or push back against the notion that cait/ambessa are doing a hostile military coup and HAVE gotten people killed, imprisoned, and tortured en masse. So they can neatly resolve all of the plot with an avengers-style montage and never talk about the stuff with real world implications. There is no war in piltover and zaun. Just a cartoony last second villain. We just need to unite to protect... piltover...? And now viktor is randomly forgetting his proud zaunite commie stance and teaming up with the imperial invaders that were plaguing the earth moments ago........? We never talk about the class inequality ever again? Forget everything. Nothing ever matters.

The end result was that we spent far less time with these characters and they ended up being pretty underdeveloped. I know this happened for marketing reasons, its so incredibly clear aspects of the story were dumbed down so they could sell more ingame skins or pitch new champions, and that was seen as more valuable and desirable for the company than politicking - because at heart riot don't care about the political stuff anyway. But it still makes me throw my hands up in the air. such an asspull

In a reality where we had enough time and investment to touch on this, Mel could have actually gotten to push back against ambessa/cait and directly deal with the consequences of her actions. SEVIKA could have gotten a proper payoff for her underground character arc, instead of vanishing halfway through and then randomly accepting a diversity hire seat on the council (insanity. that was insanity) Ekko and the firelights would have obviously played a key role in rallying people against ambessa and helping Jinx recover from her displacement crisis (sorry isha, but even you could have been better used as part of the firelights dilemma) Jayce's mounting disillusionment with piltover and his loyalty to Viktor would be much better explored if they were still in conversation about the cities, the world they wanted to help, and the chaotic blurry lines of personhood/citizenship that decide who is an 'acceptable' target under the fist of the state. Vi could have built a self-reliant identity for herself, something better to fight for that isnt 'being a cop'. This show could've been awesome. I wish it existed

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we begin our first 5-digit word count chapter (I can’t be stopped, someone take away my keyboard) and I find a stride of about two chapters per week, I want to say that: A) I fully intend on finishing this story. I plotted out the whole thing before I started, have made a few adjustments given the pacing I’ve done so far, and with how it’s broken down right now we’ll reach the end in 2-3 months. B) Thank y’all from the bottom of my heart for reading! If you have theories or thoughts or feedback please don’t hesitate to share them! I love hearing what you think of the plot and the characters, and every interaction means the world to me. Whether you’re only reading or leaving comments as well, thank you so damn much. I’ll see you next chapter (it’s gonna be a doozy) <3

Chapter Title from Bells in Santa Fe by Halsey.

Word Count: 11.2k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You throw a punch, and Phase One: Operation Quick and Bald goes. Not well, but it goes. Contains usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst

Read on A03!

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

Ben dodged the third punch in a row, grinning widely right up until the fourth one landed on his face.

“Ha!” She yelled, drawing back to shake her first out. “Take that, you weirdly fast man.”

Ben rolled his eyes, rubbing his face lightly. It hadn’t hurt—he’d barely even felt it—but She was being real fucking smug for someone who’d only just landed a hit after a damn week of attempting to do so.

“Yeah, sure, Sunshine. Keep it the fuck up, and at this rate it’ll only take you another couple thousand years to surpass Muhammad Ali.”

She raised her brows at Ben, pausing with a tilt of her head. “You were a fan of Muhammad Ali?”

He nodded, giving her a scrunched look of annoyance. “I’m a fucking American, and there ain’t nothing more red-blooded American than punching commies like that son of a bitch did.”

“What?”

“When he fought the Russian, and won. That’s fucking American.”

“Ben, you’re thinking of the plot of Rocky IV.”

“No, Muhammad Ali fought that Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass.”

“No, Sylvester Stallone fought the Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass. In a movie.” She laughed to herself. “I’m shocked you even saw Rocky IV, let alone were so impacted by it to let the plot override your knowledge of a real life person.”

“Shut up,” Ben grunted, moving his hands back to a defensive stance. She fucking always won these stupid arguments, and Ben couldn’t actually prove it, but he knew She was changing the fucking internet she loved so damn much to match her claims. “Go again.”

“Someone missed nap time.” She muttered under her breath, even though she knew Ben could fucking hear her, but put her fists up anyways. “Can this be the last one? I’m hungry.”

Instead of answering, Ben just launched himself at her, and She jumped to the side with a yelp.

“What the fuck, Ben!”

He turned and threw another punch, feeling pleased at the smooth way she ducked away and met it with a punch of her own. Her face had lost the pissy shock, laser-sharp concentration replacing it. Her eyes were narrowed, darting across Ben as he moved, her bobbing and weaving wasn’t entirely shit, and her heart was controlled with her breathing. She landed her second punch, this one on his shoulder, and Ben laughed, delivering one of his own.

“Christ, Sunshine, you’re fucking weak.” He laughed, examining Her carefully for any loss of control.

“I’ll kill you with my bare hands, Bitch.” She growled, lunging forward and grunting in frustration as Ben dodged with ease.

“That’s my line.” He taunted. “And you couldn’t even kill a man with an assault rifle if he was a fucking foot away from you.”

“Blow me.”

“I’ve been fucking trying- Fuck!” She landed her third punch, and it burned. Ben reached to touch where she’d hit and felt the skin mending across his jaw.

She was grinning in a wide, toothy, satisfied way. “Suck on that, cunt.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, looking down at his hand to see it raw and red from the contact with his face, with some of his fucking hair stuck to it.

“Did you burn off my fucking beard!” His head shot up to see a half-sheepish, half-amused look on her face, lips curled and eyes wide.

“Oops.”

He yelled her name, and she had the fucking nerve to giggle. “We said no fucking powers!”

“I forgot.” She said lamely, her face less and less apologetic by the second, giggling again as she offered some of the most insincere comfort Ben had ever heard. “It’s not even that noticeable! You look just as good as before!”

His anger faded, and he gave Her a cocky smirk, raising his brows. “You think I look good, Sunshine?”

“I’m being nice. Don’t ruin it.” She muttered, her face adorably flushed, and Ben didn’t miss the skip of her heart.

“Whatever keeps you up at night.”

“That’s not the phrase.”

He winked. “I know.”

She scoffed and turned away, but not before Ben could see the slight smile on her lips. “I’m going to shower, I’ll meet you in the living room in fifteen. If you’re not there, with food, I’m eating the TV.”

Ben frowned, calling after Her figure moving down the hall. “Has the TV been edible this whole fucking time and you didn’t fucking tell me?!”

Her laughter echoed back down the hall. "You're real fucking gullible, grampa!"

“You know I can’t fucking tell when you’re joking about that shit, you bitch!”

“Fourteen minutes, cunt!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to make food in fourteen minutes?!”

“You’re a big boy, you’ll figure it out!”

Grumbling a string of cusses Ben hoped She could fucking feel, Ben grabbed a cup of instant noodles and threw them in the microwave, wondering if She would notice if he spit in hers. After pulling them out, grabbing two spoons from the counter that he almost immediately bent, spilling one of the cups as he noticed the damaged utensils, spilling the other when he noticed the first spill, and having to start the whole damned fucking thing over, Ben made his way to drop on the couch next to where She sat, wet hair clinging to her pretty face.

“Heard a lot of swearing, Pretty Boy, everything ok?”

He grunted, shoving Her noodles against her chest and letting go, not giving a fuck if she had a grip on them. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Just asking a question,” he could hear her shit-eating grin. “Thought it was a free country. Thought a patriot like you would appreciate me exercising my first amendment right.”

“That protects you from the government, not me.” Ben parroted back the words She had yelled at him after he’d made the apparently fucking fatal mistake of saying “first amendment right” in her presence.

She chuckled, her voice teasing. “Didn’t know you were capable of retaining information about something other than yourself.”

“Well, your tits were looking great while you were bitching. It helped.” He grabbed the remote, raising it to the TV. “I made food. I’m picking what we watch.”

“If you pick Game of Thrones so you can watch the sex scenes again, I’m figuring out a way to kill myself and doing it on your bed.”

“Whatever gets you in my bed, Sunshine.” He winked. “And I’m invested in the fucking plot, it’s not just the sex scenes.”

“It’s mostly the sex scenes.” She said, not even flinching at his flirtation. “Just go watch porn. See how fast you can break the fleshlights. If you do all three in ten minutes, Butcher owes me twenty dollars.”

Ben scowled, not enjoying that She’d apparently been making fucking bets with Butcher about his masturbation. “I can last longer than ten fucking minutes, I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“Prove it.”

He grinned widely at Her as her face flushed adorably, her own phrasing catching up with her head. “I’d be honored, Sunshine.”

“You’re like a fucking rabbit in heat.” She muttered. “And if you do last longer than ten, Hughie gets the money, so keep that in mind when you’re jerking it to dragon boobs after I go to bed.”

“The dragons don’t have any fucking boobs, dumbass, the fucking hot lady queens do.” Ben said smugly, ignoring her eye roll. “And I would ‘jerk it’ in the privacy of my room, but someone won’t give me a fucking phone.”

“Yeah, the CIA. I’d actually back you up with Mallory, Pretty Boy. I think giving you a phone would be really entertaining.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.” He snapped, and she laughed.

“Can’t rely on just a handsome face to convince her that you somehow deserve the internet.”

“Handsome face?” He grinned at her, and only the slight stutter of her heart told Ben she heard him.

She made a mock face of thought. “Maybe if we suggested parental controls…”

“I’ll kill you, bitch.”

“I’ll make you the most useless and sad eunuch to ever grace this sorry planet, cunt.”

Ben glared at Her, and she reached over his arm to press play on the remote.

Most of the days since the failed Sister Sage mission had been like this. She and Ben got up, trained, ate, trained more, and then watched TV with dinner until She retreated to her room and Ben fought sleep for the rest of the night, alone. Neither of them mentioned how he’d saved her, or how She had started a habit of slapping Ben awake—he was pretty fucking certain that at this point she had figured out another way to break through the nightmares but was purposely choosing to fucking hit him instead—before she’d sit next to him for an hour or two after. Ben liked this unspoken arrangement, and liked even more how She had silently agreed to it. Just because he didn’t actively hate Her right now didn’t mean he was about become a sniveling pussy mess about feelings. Even if the lack of active hatred had morphed into something pulsing in his chest that he didn’t understand, and didn't fucking want to. Making Her instant noodles and not killing her when she lied to him for fun or called him “Pretty Boy” was as far as Ben would bend.

It had been mostly radio silence from the Boys, though Butcher and Cocksucker had visited two days after they’d dropped Her and Ben back at the safe house, as Cocksucker had managed to break his arm. There had been a long, incredibly boring and poorly told story as to how the injury had occurred, involving a supe, Nikola Tesla and something called a Cybertruck, but Ben had pretty much tuned out the entire fucking conversation once he realized they weren’t here for him at all. The only thing that had kept him from retreating to his room for the duration of the visit was the small falter in Her heart when she touched Cocksucker, her jaw clenched as Ben and Butcher watched Cocksucker’s arm heal into place in a fucking disgusting manner.

When She’d let go, she’d given Ben a weird fucking look with tight lips and sad eyes that he'd only seen before on Cocksucker. It had passed quickly, her face returning to apathetic and bored, her eyes regaining the sharp amusement they usually held, but fuck it had confused him. She and Butcher had started talking about missions and planning and other mind-numbing shit, Cocksucker shaking out his arm as if he didn’t trust that it was healed, and Ben had needed to piss and gone to do just that. Before he’d left, he’d caught Her a look of where the hell are you’d going, he’d grinned back with a wink of why, you want to join me?, and she’d rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Butcher. When he’d returned, Butcher and Cocksucker had left and She was glaring at him, arms across her chest.

“Are you an idiot, or just a dick?” She’d snapped.

He’d frowned at Her, trying to figure out what had made her all fucking bitchy. As far as Ben was concerned, he’d been fucking amazing, only calling Butcher a pussy twice and managing to refrain from talking to Cocksucker at all. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Butcher told me we’re moving on operation Quick and Bald soon. He told me you knew. Why didn’t you fucking tell me?!”

“Oh,” Ben had rolled his eyes. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

He’d shrugged. “Well, you fucking know now, so get over it. And what kind of fucking shit codename is Quick and Bald?”

“Fuck you, it’s an accurate and descriptive name.”

“How the fuck could that be ‘accurate and descriptive’?”

“Because two key factors of this phase of my plan are the quick and the bald.”

“Your plan?”

“Yeah, my fucking plan. That I fucking deserved to know the status of.” She’d scowled. “Butcher says it’s almost ready. He’ll get us in two days once it’s in place.”

That had been five days ago. Starlight and Cocksucker had dropped in after two days, full of apologies and updates that Ben didn’t give a fuck about, and when he’d asked Her for more information about the plan, she’d told him to “suck her dick and shove his questions up his ass until they reached his brain.”

So Ben still had no fucking clue what Quick and Bald was about.

Aside from Her lingering anger at him for apparently having the fucking nerve to ask questions about the jobs he had to do—an opinion he had made the mistake of voicing, leading the unwelcome lesson on the first amendment—She was being impossibly easy to talk to, and Ben was getting dangerously close to not only enjoying her company, but finding her comfortable. Part of him was hoping she’d say something very, very soon that would allow him to grip onto hatred, or at least indifference, for the rest of his time in this stupid fucking situation.

Instead, in a way that made Ben think God himself was out to fucking get him, he’d started to tell her things. Fucking voluntarily.

One of those nights where sleep had gripped his head and pulled him under, struggling and roaring, he’d woken up once more from only the force and sting of her hand across his face. She’d sat next to him again, and he’d asked her more questions about before, all of which she’d answered with a faraway, insufferably sad look in her eyes.

“How many siblings did you fucking have again?” He’d pressed once.

“Four,” She’d responded, a wistful smile on her face. “Two brothers, two sisters. All younger.”

“Your parents had four more kids after you? What, were you that fucking annoying they needed to try again four fucking times?”

“No, I was just so adorable they needed to try and recreate my perfection. Once they realized that was impossible, they gave up.” She’d smirked, and Ben hated that somehow he didn’t doubt her words. “Well,” she’d mused to herself. “That and they fell violently out of love with each other.”

“Violently?” He’d made a face, and she’d nodded solemnly.

“I shielded my siblings from a lot of flying plates.”

Ben found another thing to hate. Her parents, and how fucking sad she looked. “You miss them?”

“My parents?” She’d snorted. “I miss my dad. I hope my mom gets her head popped.”

He’d coughed to cover a laugh. “No, you fucking smartass. Your siblings.”

Her answer was quick and soft. “Every fucking day.”

Ben had grunted, watching the distance return to her face, and before he could stop himself, he was talking. “I didn’t have any siblings.”

Before he could curse himself out and try to distract Her with something else, she had been looking back at him with wide, focused eyes. “Do you wish you did?”

“I never thought about it,” he’d muttered. “My father was such a fucking dick I’m surprised he even got my mother to marry him, let alone fucking have one kid. I think he hated me enough to never fucking risk it again.”

“Risk it?” She’d kept her voice impossibly gentle as she’d asked, and it made his skin crawl all weird.

“I was the biggest fucking regret of his life. If he could go back and stop me from happening in the first place, make my mother flush me out, he wouldn’t have fucking hesitated.”

She’d paused, and a very fucking stupid part of Ben had thought she was going to let the conversation go. Of course, he should’ve fucking known by now that She damn well wouldn’t.

“What was your mom like?”

He hadn’t fucking expected that, and it had shocked him enough to answer. “Kind. Too kind for my father, he saw it as fucking weakness and told her all the fucking time. But she was so fucking kind.” He took a heavy breath. “She was full of love, and I have no fucking clue how. It was fucking stupid, all her love, even for my piece of shit father. He’d yell at her and threaten her and mock her, but she still fucking loved him. She fucking loved everything.”

Her voice was still gentle from beside him. “Like what?”

“Animals. Cats specifically. My father had all these fucking hunting dogs he loved more than anything, certainly more than me, and the only good thing he ever fucking did was trade one to get her a cat. It was massive, fluffy and gray, and it was a fucking asshole to everyone but her. It ate like a fucking elephant, shed like a whore in summer, but she loved it so fucking much.” At this point Ben had really wished he would shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t, and he was going to have to figure out a way to blame Her for that later. “She loved art. Painting. She tried to get me to love it too, even though I could barely draw a fucking worm. But I’d try, and she’d frame all my stupid, shitty drawings and hang them around the house until my father saw them and threw them in the trash. She loved music but couldn’t carry a tune if her life fucking depended on it. They’d go to the opera because my father would donate a ton for the publicity, and she’d come back all damn giddy. I’d wait up, just because she was fucking contagious when she was that happy. Even my father felt it, enough to just go straight to bed and not kick my ass for still being awake. She was fucking smart, too. Real fucking smart. My father would joke he wished she was a man, because then her brain would be useful. She would’ve fucking jumped for joy if she saw the world now. Met a fucking woman doctor.” He paused, looking back down at Her beside him. She hadn’t looked away from him, and there was none of the pity he’d expected to see on her face. It was just open, listening intently to his words with no malice or trickery behind her eyes.

“She sounds amazing.” She’d said softly, a small smile he didn’t understand on her face. “And your dad sounds like a fucking cunt.”

Ben had chuckled in surprise. “Fucking understatement of the damn year, Sunshine. That pussy would’ve tried to pry your degree from your fucking hands.”

“Let him try, I’d burn his fucking face off and laugh while I did it.”

“What were you even going to fucking do with a PhD in archeology?" He’d asked, and she’d huffed a small laugh.

“Anthropology, Pretty Boy. But nice guess.” She corrected. “And I’m honestly not sure. I’d quite literarily only just actually received the degree before everything… changed.” She’d sighed. “I had a few job offers, but mostly in academia and business. What I wanted was to work with nonprofits to help people.”

“Help people?” He’d given her a disbelieving stare. “With a prissy fucking degree?”

“Yeah, dickwad. Help people. I was a cultural anthropologist. I specialized in the evolution of cultures and ways to combat systemic cultural oppression.”

He’d stared at Her blankly. “You’re going to have to take down the fucking fancy talk by seven, Sunshine.”

“I studied how the government and culture is mean to people on purpose, and how to make them stop being mean.” She’d said flatly.

“Oh.” He’d rolled his eyes at the dirty look she was giving him. “Oh, fuck off. It wasn’t that painful to say.”

“Yes, it was.” She’d mumbled, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

“What’s there to fucking argue about?”

“I just called your beloved country an ‘oppressive system’.” She’d watched him wearily, but her heart remained steady. “Doesn’t it mar your refined American nationalism?”

“Do you fucking want me to be mad?” Ben had asked, raising his brows at her. “I can definitely find it in me, that’s not a fucking issue. But usually when we fight about this shit, you get all bitchy and don’t talk to me for way too fucking long.”

“I mean, no, I don’t want you to get mad…” She’d frowned, examining him with yet another fucking confusing look. “Does it really bother you when I ignore you?”

“No.” He’d snapped quickly. “It’s just annoying, and I don’t like having to fucking deal with it.”

She’d hummed with an amused smile on her face, and the conversation had moved on to something else. Ben had shoved down the way it had been so easy to talk about his mother with her, until it was somewhere in his gut and he didn’t have to think about the way the feeling rolled around inside him.

And he refused to even acknowledge how when She would smile now, he’d have to fight himself to not do the same.

———-

It had been a week since the Sage incident, a week since Ben had saved your life—you'd locked everything about that particular action from what you thought of it to how it made you feel somewhere deep in your chest—and you were starting to lose your mind a little bit. When Annie and Hughie had stopped by with nervous words about delays in your meticulously prepared and incredibly well-detailed plan, you’d been willing to wait another day, maybe two, before executing operation Quick and Bald. Now it had been three days, burgeoning on four, and you were worryingly close to leaving the safe house just to yell at Butcher. Ben could stay here, or follow you and help you beat Butcher up for all you cared. Which was, admittedly, worrying within itself. Especially because the whole point of operation Quick and Bald was to take preventative measures against Ben’s needless brutality.

Over a month ago, right after you’d moved into the safe house and when you had been ready to throttle Ben’s neck every waking moment—an urge that hadn’t entirely waned, but was now undercut with a weirder, stronger urge to be near him without any murderous intent—you’d spent the hours quarantined in your room perfecting your plan to get Ryan Butcher the fuck out of dodge. When they’d come to pick you and Ben up for the whole Neuman test, you’d left it in the van for Butcher to find, and had been waiting since for him to set up the dominoes so you could knock them over.

At this point, you’d be happy with not even “dominos to knock over” and just “one singular domino to throw at someone." You had begun to develop a habit of staring down the hall from the living room, trying to will someone to appear with at least a fucking update. So far this strategy was not working, and had apparently started to garner attention.

Sitting on the couch, the TV white noise in the background and noodles in your hand cold and forgotten, you felt a foreign rush of oddly tight concern run through your body. You frowned, heard your name from next to you, and turned to find that Ben had been poking your arm.

“Are you fucking alive?” He grunted, watching you with a frown.

“Literally? Yes.” You answered with a tight smile. “You have noodles on your face.”

He reached up to feel for them, not looking away from you. “What the fuck do you mean literally? How can you be fucking metaphorically alive?”

“Mind-body problem, Pretty Boy. And it’s not metaphorically, it’s philosophically.” You lean back, grinning.

“You’re a real fucking pretentious bitch sometimes.” He grumbled, still trying to find the food stuck to his beard.

“If you made me a shirt that said that, I’d wear it.”

“I’m not going to fucking make you a shirt, Sunshine. You couldn’t make me learn to fucking sow with a gun to my head.”

“Because the gun wouldn’t affect you at all?” You pointed to your own chin, mirroring where the noodle was caught.

He sneered. “Because I’m not a pussy.” His hand found the stray piece of his dinner, and he pulled it from his jaw.

“Big words from the man who took two tries to make me instant ramen- hey!” A wet noodle hits you in the face.

“Ramen your ungrateful ass didn’t even fucking eat.” Ben gave a pointed look at the abandoned cup in your hands, the food inside having long lost any heat. “Don’t fucking test me, or I’ll actually spit in your food next time.”

“Drama queen,” you muttered, peeking back at the door. “Like you don’t already do that.”

“I fight the urge to be a fucking bitch, unlike certain women.”

You nod absentmindedly. “Butcher.”

Ben snorted behind you, and a smile you hoped he didn’t see crept onto your face.

“Yeah, sure Sunshine.” His attention returned to the TV, and you did your best to not stare down the hall, trying to ignore the hope that the door now shrouded in darkness would open.

A successful effort that made you jump out of your seat when it did just that with an aggressive bang.

Ben was faster than you, practically launching himself over the sofa and bolting down the hall, a dangerous look of alarm the last thing you saw on his face before he was gone from the room.

“Shit, no! It’s me!” You heard a high-pitched shout from the shadows of the entrance. “It’s Hughie!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You heard Ben’s growl of a response.

Butcher’s voice drawled from the shadows. “Oi, take a deep fucking breath and put the bloody kid down.” 

“Someone fucking answer me first.”

“Put him down, Soldier Boy, before we knock your ancient ass the fuck out.” The impatient, clipped words of MM responded, almost drowned out by Frenchie's shout.

“Can someone turn on the fucking lights? It is as dark as Monsieur Butcher’s heart and asshole!” 

“I- I don’t feel good.” Hughie’s voice stuttered.

“Ben!” You flicked on the hallway sconces, illuminating a scene of Ben’s full body weight pressing Hughie to the wall, Butcher and MM trying with practically negative success to pry him off, and Kimiko gripping one of Frenchie’s arms as his other groped around for direction. You let out a very long, very loud sigh. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s fucking late,” he snapped, not letting Hughie go. “They shouldn’t be here so fucking late.”

“This ain’t your real house, Mate.” Butcher grunted, still trying to move Ben. “We can be here whenever we bloody well please.”

Hughie wheezed out your name in a pleading tone. “Your plan is ready. We’re here to- fuck- we’re here to get you.”

That got you moving, crossing to the end of the hall in quick, frantic steps. “It’s ready? Are you sure?” Hughie gave a weak nod, and you rolled your eyes, shoving Ben shoulder. “Put him down, dumbass. He’s not a threat, and honestly, probably the worst one to have gone after. Just, like, strategically.”

Ben glared at you, but let go. He glanced at where MM and Butcher were still grabbing him, and gave them a venomous look that got them both to let go and take hasty steps back. He shot a glowering look of they could’ve fucking waited until the morning in your direction.

You wrinkled your nose at him. No. Shut the fuck up. You turned to Hughie, not even bothering to hide the desperation you felt in your imploring stare. “It’s all ready? All of it? A-Train agreed to help? We’re sure Ashley has the information? We’re sure neither one is going to tell Homelander, and we’re not about to walk into a fucking trap?”

“Yes, yes, yes, kind of, and yes.” Butcher counted off on his fingers as he answered. “But we’ve got to go right fucking now.”

“Kind of?” Anxious energy rushed through you—that still-strange feeling lighting under your skin—and you ignored the weird look Ben shot you as it did. “What do you mean, kind of? If you fucked this up, Butcher, I swear to God-"

“Calm the fuck down, Love.” Butcher snapped. “It’s going to be fine, we’ll explain on the way. But we need to go fucking now if you want this to work.”

You gave a sharp nod, starting to pull on your boot, glancing up with a pause when you heard Hughie say your name behind you.

“Do you, uh, do you want to get dressed first?” His voice was still slightly weak as he recovered from Ben’s force.

You glanced down at your body, and decided that the oversized shirt and cloth shorts would be fine. They were from the CIA spring fire-proof collection, and that was more than enough. “Nope. Let’s fucking move.”

You were halfway to the door when a crash sounded behind you, and you whirled around to see MM firmly blocking Ben’s path, the crash seeming to have been Hughie stumbling into the wall in an attempt to get away from the standoff.

“You’re not coming, Soldier Boy. This is a goddamn delicate operation, and you’re the fucking reason we have to do it in the first place. We can’t afford you throwing a tantrum and screwing us.”

“I’m fucking coming, and it’s not up for fucking debate.”

Off to the side, Frenchie snickered as Kimiko signed how many times do you think he’s said that before?

Ben shot them an annoyed look, his fists clenching. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothing,” Frenchie snickered, and his tone was so remarkably unconvincing that even if you hadn’t understood Kimiko, you wouldn’t have believed him.

Ben grunted and tried to move past MM, again to no avail.

He glared down at the firmly planted man, a familiar violent glint in his eyes. “You better fucking move now, before I make you.”

“Do your fucking worst, we’ll put you right back in the box. You’re not coming with us.”

“MM,” you said firmly, watching Ben's fists clench as the dangerous glint returns to his eyes. “We need to go.”

MM looks back at you, but remains in his place. “Are you fucking serious? You’re siding with him?”

“I’m not siding with him.” You keep your voice level, ignoring Ben’s smug face and grin. “We can’t leave him. The I go where he goes thing unfortunately goes both ways.”

“The safe house will hold him for five hours.” MM pushed, and before you could even shake your head, Ben cut in.=

"No, it won’t.”

You shoot him a look that says you’re being unhelpful, and he just returns it with his own of fuck off, you know you fucking want me there.

“Please, MM. He’ll stay quiet in the background, or I’ll burn his dick off. Right?” You direct your last words at Ben, giving him a pointed agree with me or I’m knocking you out and leaving you here look.

“Yeah, whatever. But I’m not staying in the fucking van like a pussy. And you’d better explain what the fuck is happening on the way, Sunshine.”

“Deal. But first they,” You narrowed your eyes at Butcher. “Have some explaining of their own to do.”

“Don’t lose your bloody mind, Love, it’s all in order.” Butcher said breezily, shoving past you to open the door. He gave a dramatic wave of his arm for you to exit, and with a look of doubt, you did.

The car ride was already poised to be uncomfortable. Butcher’s car was not equipped for seven people, let alone seven people where three were very large men, three were supes, and nobody wanted to have physical contact with two. As such, Butcher drove, MM sat in the front, you found yourself squished against one window with Ben between you and a remarkably uncomfortable Hughie, as Kimiko sat, slightly elevated onto their laps, between Frenchie at the other window, and Hughie. It was overall an unideal situation, made worse as your own frustration was amplified by Ben’s, and by Hughie revealing that it was, in fact, not all in order.

Your phase one, the original operation Quick and Bald had called for Ashley Barrett’s complete cooperation. You’d even painstakingly outlined all the potential ways to flip her—most involving something along the lines of hey, wouldn’t a job that didn’t make you so stressed you rip out all your hair and have to buy a bunch of wigs be nice?—and different ways to keep Homelander from finding out about her betrayal—Spain was lovely this time of year, and had a thriving BDSM community Ashley would love. While MM had managed to take care of your instructions for A-Train, the half of the plan you’d incorrectly anticipated to be more difficult, the Ashley situation was, in Butcher’s words, very fucking delicate, but we’ve adapted and everything will be bloody fine, so trust me and don’t be a fucking cunt about it.

You did not trust him. I didn’t help that you’d asked for any other possible details, and he’d pretended he couldn’t hear you. This suspicion was confirmed when, despite your incredible clarity that you would never step foot there again, Butcher seemed to be driving right to Vought Tower.

Your eyes had been steadily widening, panic starting to run through you the closer and closer you got, and you flinched when you felt Ben’s roughly shoulder nudge your own.

“What’s fucking wrong with you?” He’d asked in a low voice, barely audible over Hughie’s rambling explanation.

“You should listen,” you mutter back, trying to shut out the confusing concern he always seemed to feel at you, how it felt remarkably genuine, but was laced with anger that felt like it was trying to push out of your body. “Hughie’s explaining the plan.”

“Yeah, but all I have to fucking do is stay quiet, and I get to keep my dick. You’re being fucking twitchy and silent, and your heart is beating faster than it has all damn day, so don’t even try to fucking lie and tell me it’s fine.”

“It is fine, I’m fine-“ You paused as his words sank in. “Wait, what do you mean my heart-“

“Alright, here we go.” Butcher cut off both you and Hughie with a clap of his hands. “Everyone bloody out, let’s get this shitshow on the road.”

“Butcher,” you said, looking around to see you’d parked directly across from the tower entrance. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

“We’re meeting them right there.” MM answered for Butcher, pointing out of his window to something you couldn’t see. “It’s almost midnight, and Annie’s been making sure nobody gets inside but us.”

“But why?” You protest, even as MM leaves the car. “This,” you give a wide, general wave that hits Ben in the nose. “Cannot be the only option.”

“Both of them still have their trackers,” Hughie leans forward with an apologetic look as Frenchie and Kimiko exit the car. “This will look like they’re just getting a midnight snack, and hopefully Homelander won’t get suspicious.”

“Hopefully?!” You feel a rush of anger—not yours—and a twist of fear deep within your gut—absolutely yours. “Hopefully fucking Homelander won’t get suspicious?!”

Hughie gave an uncertain nod before very quickly scrambling to get out of the car. You take a long, deep breath, trying to steel yourself. A rush of what was becoming a familiar fuming and brittle concern ran through you. You look at Ben, to find his eyes locked firmly onto yours.

“Sorry about hitting-“

“I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You blink at him, taken aback by the firmness of his voice. “What?”

His hand moved to grip your thigh, his gaze not wavering. “I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You give him a flat look. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Why are you telling me that?”

His frustration leaked into you. “Because say the word, I’ll steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll fucking leave.”

“What? Are you insane?”

“You look like you’re either going to start fucking crying or burst into flames, and this is a stupid fucking idea.”

“This was my plan.” You snap. “And I’m not stealing Butcher’s car. Why do you even know how to hot-wire a car anyway?”

Ben’s grip tightened. “No, your plan was stupidly well fucking thought out.”

“That’s an oxymoron.” You mutter, and he ignores you.

“And even if they haven’t completely fucking blown the execution, they completely squashed any chance of safety.”

“It’ll be fine,” you say, the words sounding fake even as you say them. “It’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“What if he’s not?” His concern was starting to move to your throat, and there was something else, something sitting far deeper in your chest, beating and beating against you. Against you.

“Ben.” You place your hand over his. “I’ve worked too hard on this. This is the only way, and it will be fine.” You say the last words firmly and clearly, trying to make them sink into you. “Now take your fucking hand off of me, and get out of the damn car.”

He pulls himself from you, and even as his touch leaves, the concern and beat linger until he’s gone from the car. You drag yourself across the seats and ignore Hughie’s offer of a hand as you duck out of the car and onto the curb. You notice the 24 hour diner MM must have been pointing out almost immediately, half because—aside from an incredibly sketchy looking deli a few doors down—it’s the only building with its lights still on, and half because two very flustered teenagers are sulking away from the entrance, where Annie stands with her arms crossed. She’s already spotted your group, and has angeled her head in a signal to join her.

“You’re late.” She chides as you approach.

“Well, Starlight, I’d apologize, but it was those two fuckheads,” Ben and MM both receive a jabbed thumb over Butcher’s shoulder. “Who decided to draw out the bloody carpool process.”

“I told you not to call me Starlight anymore, Butcher.” Annie snaps, not giving him a chance to respond before she turns to you. “A-Train is, somehow, running behind as well. Hopefully Ashley’s just being resistant to getting food with him, but they’ll be here.”

“Isn’t running that pussy’s whole fucking thing?” Ben muttered, quiet enough for only you to hear. You step as hard as you can on his foot.

“Shut it, Pretty Boy.” You whisper over his grunt of what probably is more emotional pain than physical.

“Bitch.” He hisses back.

“Cunt.” You raise your voice so the others can hear you. “We should go inside, it’s risky to just… stand here.”

With nervous looks around and stuttered agreements, you all make your way into the diner. The lights are flickering, and it’s eerily empty with only a very nervous-looking blonde waitress at the counter. She makes a very big show of asking how many are in your party, leading you to a large, round table, and laying out the menus with shaky hands. Kimiko, Hughie, Annie, and MM try and offer her comforting smiles, though MM’s is strained as he keeps a vigilant glare on Ben. The waitress is staring at Ben herself, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, glacing back as she leaves to get your and Butcher’s coffee, Annie and MM’s tea, Kimiko and Hughie’s milkshakes, and Ben and Frenchie’s orders of “the strongest alcohol you’ve fucking got.” Your personal bet was it was going to just be very old beer.

“Why is she fucking staring at me?” Ben muttered to you, watching the waitress as she walked away. “Did you fuck up my beard that bad?”

“Your beard looks literally the same.” You dismiss. “And it’s because, as far as the public knows, Maeve killed you in a heroic act of self-sacrifice to stop your evil, anti-American attacks. That, or she wants to fuck you.”

“Hm,” he looks back at you, settling down into his seat. “Am I allowed to bring guests into the safe house?”

“No.” You say, a little more curtly than you intended. Seeing his wide, cocky grin, you clairfy. “It’s a breach of security. She would need to pass a CIA vetting and be approved by, like, twenty people. I don’t think she’d do that just to fuck you.”

Ben shrugs, his smirk only growing. “You did.”

“I’m going to cut off your balls and feed them to you-“

“Hey,” MM cuts you off, saying your name in a brisk, hard tone from across the table. “They’re here.”

You snap your head to the door, where A-Train is practically pushing Ashley into the diner.

You hear her voice clearly over the recession pop humming from the speakers. “Why can’t we just go to the fucking deli? They make these amazing meatball subs and supes eat free, so you could order for both of us- oh fuck no.”

“Oh, shit.” MM mutters, jumping to his feet with Butcher and Annie as Ashley notices them, and promptly tries to dash for the exit.

You don’t entirely blame her. You’d probably do the same. You had done the same, an unhelpful voice reminds you.

“I- Am- Not-“ Ashley is trying to get past A-Train, who hasn’t given up trying to herd her further into the diner. “Fuck- this-“

“Ashley, just listen to them, I fucking swear-“

“Why should I trust you?!” Ashley doubles over, out of breath. “You fucking tricked me! Midnight snack my fucking ass- Fuck no!” She raises a crooked finger at Annie, who has stopped in front of her. “Get the fuck away from me, you bitch.”

“Ashley, please listen to A-Train-“

“No! Just leave me the fuck alone! I don’t want to be a part of your weird fucking eye for an eye justice shit-“

“You kind of already are.” MM says as he locks the door behind her. “You work for Vought, your it’s motherfucking CEO. That makes you a part of this, like it or not.”

“Not!” Ashley shouts. “I don’t care what you have to say! Homelander’s going to fucking kill me, oh my god.” She starts to hyperventilate. “If he finds out I was here, he’ll kill you-“ She points a shaky finger at A-Train. “And then make me go on fucking TV to explain why you’re missing, and then fucking kill me-“

Butcher scoffs. “Bloody hell, lady. Calm the fuck down, Homelander ain’t gonna find out.”

“You don’t know that!” She shrieked. “He knows fucking everything! Especially since fucking Sage joined!” She spins around frantically, and her wild eyes lock onto yours. “He knows about them!” A shaking finger jumps between you and Ben. “Fuck! He’s supposed to be fucking asleep and now he’s fucking not! And he was so fucking angry about her, I’ve never seen him so fucking angry-“

Whatever else Ashley stutters about Homelander’s anger is lost to you as the world freezes. The feeling isn’t just under your skin, it’s up your spine, in your blood, circling around your brain. It’s fucking everywhere and you can’t fucking breathe, her words looping around you.

He knows. He’s angry. He fucking knows. He’s fucking angry. He fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and he fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and-

A white hot, impossibly calm feeling crashes over you. It’s angry, hungry and angry, but it’s grounding, sharpening everything around you. Suddenly the world is back in complete focus, Ashley’s shrill rambling scraping at your ears, and in the distance that weird fucking rhythm is sounding. As the feeling in your body returns fully, you realize Ben’s hand is back on your thigh. You bounce it, looking up to give him a glare, and find he’s not even looking at you. Instead, his eyes are trained on Ashley, narrowed and cold. You give a small cough, and when he glances down at you, the feeling of anger stutters with something lighter, though only for a second.

You give another bounce of your leg, a look of move your damn hand or lose it taking over your face.

No, not until you calm the fuck down his scowl responds.

You huff, standing abruptly, and his hand falls off at the force of your movement. Suddenly you feel a lot less solid, but reason that your legs are shaky from the Homelander of it all, and if any situation calls for fractured nerves, it’s this one.

“Ashley.” You call across the diner, trying not to stutter or chew off your lip as her protests falters and attention turns to you. “If you know who I am, you know I wouldn’t be anywhere near here if we weren’t certain it was safe. Just have some food with us, listen, and then you can go.”

Ashley gives you a scowl that might surpass Ben’s but nods tightly, yanking her arm from where A-Train had been trying to hold her in place. You sit back down as the group at the door returns to their seats, the poor waitress pressing herself against the bar as they pass. Letting out a shaky, unsteady breath, you try and still yourself as you look out the diner window. City lights. Music.

City lights.

Music.

It was safe. He knows and he’s angry but was safe and there were city lights and music.

Your breathing was no longer coming in short, distressed bursts, but getting air in and out of yourself still felt like an act of labor, and you needed to get it the fuck together before Ashley sat down.

City lights. Music.

You can’t hear the song the diner is playing, instead letting your whole mind turn inward, allowing the ghost of music you can no longer sing to wash over you.

Ashley sits across from you right when you regain control, and from the corner of your eye, you see Ben pulling his hand from where it had been inching towards yours.

Her eyes flit, nerves poorly hidden, from you to Ben to Butcher to Annie and back to you, and her voice is high and shaky when she speaks. “Well?”

“Ashley, we need your help.” Annie leans forward, palms flat on the table.

“Well, then we’re done. I can’t help you. They don’t tell me anything, not really.” Ashley tries to stand, but her arm is caught by A-Train. “Really?” A-Train hisses as he pulls her back into her seat beside him. “They don’t tell you anything my ass, we sit in on all the same meetings. And I pulled these files-“ He pulls out a thumb drive from absolutely nowhere and drops it on the table. “Using your name, so you clearly have access to them.”

“What?!” Ashley looks at the thumb drive like it’s going to either explode or start jizzing on her blouse. “Why would you fucking do that?”

“Insurance.” A-Train answers smugly, the thumbdrive clearly having his intended. “I can’t open it, so you’re going to tell them how, and then I’ll erase the records of you taking the files from the system.”

Ashley looks around at your group, shaking her head. “No.”

“Sorry, Mate. We ain’t really asking.” Butcher leans across A-Train, shoving the thumb drive closer to Ashley. “Do us this solid, and A-Train won’t go right up to Homelander and tell him about how he saw you also cuddly and tight with me, Soldier Boy, and his favorite missing person.”

Your heart jumps right into your throat. City lights. Music.

Suddenly, Ben’s elbow is planted against yours, and you’re pulled back down to earth just in time to hear Ashley yell, “This is fucking blackmail! I’ll fucking sue!”

“You cannot sue government officials, madame.” Frenchie says smugly, and Hughie shakes his head.

“That’s- Frenchie, that’s not even kind of true.”

“You’re also not a government official.” Annie adds.

Frenchie looks genuinely perplexed at this and gives Kimiko a confused frown, receiving a shrug in return.

“But,” you pipe up, your voice somehow bored and casual. “I’m legally dead. He’s-“ You jab Ben in the chest, and Ashley’s eyes widen. “Legally dead and an enemy of the state. You can’t sue either of us, not without admitting some Vought secrets that will be very bad PR.” You give her a twisted smile, leering across the table. “Help us, or, even if Homelander believes you, which we both know he won’t, you’ll get fired. And I’m sure they’ll be very understanding and normal about how they do it.”

You feel a flash of weird pride and realize you can see Ben fighting a smile in your periphery.

Ashley has a fearful expression, looking at where your elbow is still connected with Ben’s. “What- what's even on it?”

“Becca Butcher files.” You say, not taking your gaze from her, but you didn’t need to look around to see the sudden, rigidness with which everyone sat. You even felt Ben’s own shock run through you.

You’d be lying if you said hiding the exact contents of the file hadn’t been a very purposeful choice that you and Butcher had made. He’d cornered you, demanding to know what you planned on doing should Soldier Boy go after Ryan, and you’d told him that it wouldn’t be an issue. Ryan looked up to Homelander, that was why he stayed. He’d lost his mother, he didn’t trust Butcher, all the poor kid had was his insane, sociopathic father. Some part of you—small and sad and tired, still sitting on a staircase in Boston—understood that. But with Becca gone, gone forever, Ryan didn’t have a place to run like you’d had. Homelander was the default, and just kind enough to his son that Ryan could force himself to forgive Homelander again and again. Homelander was safe for Ryan.

You were going to make sure Ryan never saw Homelander as safe again. And that started with Becca Butcher and would end with you. So you and Butcher had agreed with a tight handshaked that he'd ripped his hand from right after, everyone was only going to know what they needed to. That was the only way it would work.

“Becca Butcher files?” MM repeats in a slow, incredulous tone. “You,” he turns with a look of shock to Butcher. “You knew about this? You’re fuckin okay with this?”

“I’m doing what has to be done, Mate.” Butcher answers flatly, then says your name. “Tell ‘em the plan, Love.”

“We need to get Ryan away from Homelander. Ryan needs to know about his mother.”

“No,” Ashley was emerging from the shock to try and stand from the table, but A-Train’s arm shot out, pulling her back down once more. “No,” she says again, looking around desperately. “Ryan, Ryan is all he has. All he cares about. You take Ryan he’ll lose his mind-“

“He’s already lost his mind.” Something snaps in your chest—a cruel feeling waking up as you watch Ashley fret about Homelander. “And I couldn’t give less fucks about what he cares about.” The feeling is crawling across your skin. “If this hurts him, good. It could never hurt him enough to make it right.” You hear drums and still can’t place where they’re coming from. “Now listen to the last fucking strand of your morality on your scalp and fucking help us.”

Ashley shakes her head again, this time with less certainty. “It’s- no- He-“ she pulls in a deep, unsteady breath. “He won’t stop until he gets Ryan back. He already is going insane about you and him and how he needs to get you back safe and put him back down, and if Ryan goes to then nothing will stop him-“

The drums are loud now, and something that’s usually there on Ben’s face is missing. Your own body doesn’t feel entirely normal anymore, but it’s not paralyzed or running. You can feel something in Ben caving, falling inward in a growing rhythm, moving in time as something in you grows. It's not in you now, it’s across you, coating your skin and singing with glee.

“Ashley,” the sound of your voice is a little far away, but you can hear it echo through you. It’s wired, hot, a warning.

“I- I can’t.”

“Yes, you fucking can.” You sneer. “You’re just too much of a pussy to do it.” Ben coughs in the way that you know means he wants to laugh, just as the drums stutter and move farther away.

“Please, I don’t-“

“Do not make me stab you.”

Ashley falters, looking you up and down. “You won’t.”

“Trust me, she will.” Ben smirks, giving you a nudge. “She’s surprisingly violent.”

“I, I won’t. I can’t. He’ll kill me-“

“You think we won’t?” Ben growls, any amusement in him gone as you feel something unbreakable and resolved through your body.

Ashley tries to run again, this time actually managing to get up from the table, but is knocked flat on her ass by A-Train before she can take two steps. You stand and give the itch, now under your tongue and your nails, a small scratch.

“Oh, fuck no.” You hear scrambling as you walk around the table and stop, staring down at Ashley.

She’s crawling back from you, back from the fire curling from your whole body, and disgust curls in your gut. For the first time you feel anger—insatiable and gory anger—all of your own. No city lights flash around you, no hollow music dances around your head. You don’t fear Ashley. She’s weak and spineless. She’s willing to cover her hands in Ryan’s blood, in your blood, to keep herself safe from Homelander. She’s staring at you, terrified, and you don’t need to touch her to know it isn’t even a fraction of all the fear you felt in that white room. That white room she knows about, may have seen, and is still trying to keep Homelander happy.

You bend down, letting all your hatred for Vought, for her, cover your features. When you speak, your words are clear and low.

“You are going to tell Butcher how to access the thumbdrive. A-Train and you are going to take some food with you, and walk back to the tower. You aren’t going to tell Homelander about this, and if he asks, offer him some leftovers. A-Train will erase your activity from the files, and you’re going to pretend the whole night never happened. If you tell Homelander about either me or Be-“ You correct yourself smoothly. “Soldier Boy, the last thing I will do before he locks me away again is kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

Ashley nods frantically, flinching when you raise your hand.

“Say it. Say that I made myself clear.”

“You-“ Ashley stutters, hiccuping. “You made yourself clear.”

You draw yourself back up. “Good. Butcher, I’m leaving. You can drive me and come back, or Ben can steal your car, but I’m leaving.”

When you turn, when you see the looks on your team’s face, all the anger is gone, and suddenly there is a crushing, painful weight of shame on your chest. They’re looking at you like Ashley had been, like you’re no better than Homelander. Like maybe you should go back in the room, it would be safer for them, it would be safer for everyone if you were far, far away-

“You heard the lady.” Ben is standing, walking around to your side. “It’s late. We’re leaving. Sunshine?” He offers you his arm, and you stare between it and your own, still covered in flame. Looking up, his face looks bored, as if this is just another Tuesday, and he offers his arm to women who are actively ablaze on a regular basis.

Your face feels slack, and all you can manage is to blink at him. I’ll burn you, Pretty Boy. It’ll hurt.

His brows subtly knit, and he doesn’t move. I’ll live, Sunshine. Don’t let them see you break. We’re going home.

You look back at your team, a wide circle of berth having formed around you and Ben. Butcher is looking between the two of you, and you recognize that glint in his eyes. You’d seen it before, but it’s only been really, truly directed at you once. In a graveyard in Boston, gravestones and bushes around you burning in the dead of winter, holding a bucket of ice that steamed off your skin. Under it, fear begins to creep back into you, exhaustion pushing it forward. Butcher reaches behind him, and your knees feel weak.

But you don’t fall. Zealous anger, strong and raw, spreads through you and Butcher’s movements still. You look down and find Ben’s arm unflinchingly looped through yours, his body at its full height as his eyes rake coldly over Butcher.

The silence hangs in the air, cut through only by Ashley’s quick, sobbed breaths. For a second you think the smoke seeping from you will overtake the room before anyone moves, but Butcher slowly reaches into his pockets, eyes not leaving Ben’s, and throws the keys at Hughie.

“Drop them off, Mate, then come right back. No bloody detours.”

Hughie stares at the keys, looking like he’s going to protest, but Kimiko grabs them before he can.

She turns to you, completely composed, no fear wavering as she locks your eyes with hers. I’ll take you.

Before you can thank her, Frenchie steps forward, signing as he speaks. “Mon Coeur, you cannot drive.”

She frowns. Yes I can.

“No, Mon Coeur, not legally.” Frenchie says, exasperated, and you have a feeling this is not first time they've had this debate.

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you. Fine. She signs back at Frenchie, throwing the keys at him. You’ll do it.

Frenchie stumbles as he catches them, giving Kimiko a shocked look, which she pretends not to see as she walks to the door, signing at you as she passes.

Let’s go before Butcher’s brain starts working.

A small smile threatens your face, and you move, tugging Ben’s arm only once before he falls into pace with you, Frenchie scrambling behind you both.

The car ride back feels longer. The moment you’d stepped out of the diner, your body had extinguished, and you had a worrying sense that the only thing keeping you from collapsing on the sidewalk was Ben’s arm firm through yours. No words were said for the entirety of the drive, you and Ben in the backseat as Frenchie drove and Kimiko lounged in shotgun, and your brain raced. Ben hadn’t let go, and the drums were fading in and out of your chest as he stared ahead into the night.

You arrived at the safe house, only a street lamp casting a dull glow across the street. The chill of the wind cutting against you as Kimiko walked you to the door, Frenchie mumbling something about keeping the car safe from Hooligans. Ben made to step inside, but halted, still not releasing your arm, as you stayed at the doorstep.

At his questioning glare, you tried to wiggle his arm from yours. “Go inside, Ben. I’ll be right there.”

He looked down at where he was still connected with you, and you felt reluctance in time with the drums, but he let go with a scowl. “Be fast,” he grunted, and stomped into the house.

You watched until he’d disappeared fully down the hall, turning to Kimiko only once his back was shrouded in the darkness of the house.

“Thank you,” you give her a soft smile, signing as you speak. “I- I don’t know what happened, I just-“

She shakes her head, and you trail off. I understand. I get angry too. She pauses, hands hovering for only a second. We are not like them. She points down the street, in the direction of the tower, and then past you, into the house. We get to be angry.

“I don’t want to be angry.” You say softly. “He wins when I get angry.”

Kimiko gives you a sad look, placing a hand on your arm. Her own frustration, her fear of Homelander, all the anger at the world, sinks into you. She holds your gaze for a second before drawing back to sign once more. He doesn’t win when you’re angry. He wins when you’re scared. You’re not Soldier Boy. Your anger is good.

You glance back into the house. “I think he- Ben- Soldier Boy- is scared. Or something. His emotions are really fucking confusing.”

You let him touch you. She signs. Does he know?

“He said he didn’t care, because he’s, and I quote, ‘not a pussy with something to hide’.”

But he’s scared? She gives you a questioning frown. Do you think it’s because of Russia? Could you fix it, like you offered for me?

“I’m not sure, but-“ you’re cut off as Frenchie honks the horn, leaning out the window.

“Mon Coeur!” His odd position makes his signing almost unintelligible, which he seems to realize, and raises his voice. “Monsieur Butcher says to get back ‘like a hare with a bomb up it’s arse'.”

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you, but signs a goodbye, giving your hand a small squeeze before returning to the car. As the engine rumbles, Frenchie pulling out the driveway, Kimiko’s calm faith lingers in you, and you walk back into the house, shutting the door behind you.

Almost all the lamps and ceiling lights of the house are off, the TV glowing from where you had abandoned it several hours ago. From the bottom of the stairs, you can see the upstairs hall is washed in a soft yellow, and when you reach the top Ben’s door is open, the light from within filling the hall. You stop at the entrance to his room, his back to you as he pulls a cotton shirt over his head.

You let out a small cough in a weak attempt to alert him to your presence.

“You’re allowed to just come in, Sunshine.” He grunts, still facing away. “I’m not a shy little virgin you need to pussyfoot around.”

You let out a small hum, walking over the threshold and stopping a few feet behind him. “Thank you.” You say softly, and he turns around to look at you.

His eyes are tired. Pained. Something looks like it’s pulling at him and it scares you. You’ve seen that expression before, when you’d woken him up that first day, at the Neuman mission, when you pulled him from nightmares with sharp hits, but never just there. It was always with something. This was like an island, just him and you, nothing pulling it out of him.

“Don’t thank me.” He says gruffly. Even his voice is drained. “You mostly held your own.”

“But-“

“And stop feeling bad about that Ashley bitch. She fucking deserved it.”

You stare at him. “You really believe that?”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “She was fucking pathetic. A fucking pussy. Fucking eating out Homelander’s fucking hand, brown-nosing him until he fucking cums and pays her, letting him take you-“ His jaw clenches. “I fucking meant it when I said we’re not going back Sunshine. I’m not a goddamn pussy liar.”

“I didn’t think you were. But, you…” Your voice fades as you try to find the words. “I could feel you. At the diner.”

“I fucking know, that was the goddamn point. I wasn’t going to let you start crying in front of those self-righteous pussies.”

“No, Ben.” You shake your head. “I could feel you. I could feel it.” You place a hand over your chest. “It was building. There was something beating against you, inside you. And you looked…” You watch him carefully. “Scared.”

“Fucking watch it.” He growls. “I don’t get fucking scared. I’m not-“

“A fucking pussy. I know.” You sigh. “I don’t want to, I can’t, fight right now. I’m so fucking tired. You can scream at me in the morning, but not right now, please.”

He stares at you, and just when you think he’s going to start yelling, he nods. “You’re…” He sounds strange. “You’re ok.”

Just like the last time he said it, the words aren’t phrased like a question. They don’t feel like a question. It feels like he’s just telling you again. But there’s something under it this time, something that makes his words almost unsure. Something that makes up your mind faster than you thought you would.

“Are you?” You ask quietly.

“Of course I fucking am.”

“Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to respond now.”

“You’re being fucking weird, Sunshine.”

“Please.”

He relents with a grunt. “Fucking fine. What.”

“I can fix it.” It’s so hard to keep his gaze as you speak. “It will take time, but I can fix it.”

“Fix what.” He scowls. “There’s nothing to fucking fix.”

“Your PTSD.”

“I don’t fucking have-“

“Ben, I could feel it. It’s dangerous. I could fix it.” You take a deep breath. “I can fix internal injuries as well. I offered to fix Kimiko’s muteness, but she didn’t want me to do it.”

“Then what fucking makes you think-“

“Muteness isn’t dangerous. And it would’ve been harder for me, I might have ended up mute myself. You’re dangerous like this. You can’t fucking control it, and don’t try and lie and say it’s under control. Ashley mentioned putting you back under, and you looked like someone was drowning you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine.” He leers at you. “You don’t fucking know me, know what it was like-“

“I do. You know I do.” You whisper, and the anger on his face breaks. “More than anyone else, I know. I can fix it, but you’ll have to let me. Just-“ You search his eyes, not sure what you’re looking for. “Just think about it. I won’t mention it again, I won’t even touch you, but my offer will stay on the table. Please, just think about it.”

Before you can leave, he grabs your hand. A rush of painful exhaustion runs through you, and there’s anger, but it’s not full of the fervor you’ve come to expect from him. It’s not even at you. It’s wide and almost consuming, leaving room for only a small kernel of something fragile and warm.

“I don’t care if you keep touching me, Sunshine. I've go nothing to hide from you, and that’s not going to change. But there’s nothing in me you need to fucking fix, so don’t fucking bother.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Ben,” You murmur. "But remember, you burn, I burn. Please don't burn." Your last words are soft, and the kernel pulses.

“Good,” he grunts, releasing your arm. A small smirk crawls onto his face. “Now I don’t care if it’s here or in your room, Sunshine, but you need to go the fuck to bed. You look like shit.”

Just as he says it, the full weight of your fatigue hits you. You give a mumbled acknowledgement of his words, and try to leave the room, but all the adrenaline is gone from your system and nothing is left to stop the failure of your legs or droop of your eyes. The last thing you feel is something pulling you up before your knees hit the carpet, the last thing you see is green eyes on your own, and you hear an amused snort from above you.

“Goodnight, Sunshine. Try not to dream about me.”

You try to object, but sleep pulls you under before you can even remember why you need to.

[khattikeri]

one of my favorite things about mdzs is that for how heavily its plot involves politics of classism and misogyny... even the characters most directly impacted by it can't and don't free themselves from it. literally the closest exception is mianmian.

meng yao being the "son of a whore" wasn't some sort of commie awakening for him that led him to wanting everyone to be socially equal. he played the political game, climbed the ladders, sucked up to and backstabbed and murdered people, including other prostitutes who actually had nothing to do with how he and his mother were treated at the brothel he grew up in.

he put in so much extra excessive effort for even a fraction of the same respect that members of gentry cultivation clans got. and he did deserve to be treated more humanely! but he feeds into the exact same system that created him, leading to his own undoing.

his efforts were for a fragile upward mobility that was never going to hold up. he never surpassed his origins nor did he empower others in similar stations, because the society he lives in is not one that would accept that.

the second he got caught and all those crimes exposed, he was scapegoated to hell and back, replacing wei wuxian as society's terrible one-sidedly evil boogeyman overnight.

speaking of not-quite male gentry, i think it's interesting that wei wuxian explicitly doesn't try to climb the ladders in BOTH lives, knowing full well that anything he does will be punished just for the sheer fact that he is wei wuxian.

wei wuxian is scolded for giving intelligent and correct answers in school. lan wangji does the same and is praised.

wei wuxian occasionally lounges around with fellow disciples and is punished. jiang cheng does the same and mostly escapes.

wei wuxian refuses to carry his sword around in public (after losing his golden core, which nobody knows) and is scorned as an arrogant upstart. nie huaisang has been doing the EXACT SAME THING for YEARS and nobody bats an eye.

unlike jin guangyao, wei wuxian knew subconsciously from the start that his acceptance was superficial and that he could be cast out any time. when he was 10 and recently taken in by the jiangs, he canonically would not eat or use "too much" food and water because he thought they'd find him a nuisance for "wasting their things" and kick him back out.

now away from just the classism, yu ziyuan is a proud and strong noblewoman in a society that belittles and derides women for everything they do. her strong cultivation doesn't matter. she's victim to the vicious rumors of her husband loving another woman who is strong like her but apparently had a more likeable personality.

it doesn't matter even if jiang fengmian didn't cheat or that wei wuxian is wei changze's son with cangse sanren; yu ziyuan can't bear with the humiliation of herself (and by extension her children) not being "good enough". she's ridiculed for "failing" in that one duty as a wife, mother, and woman.

she lashes out and takes out that anger on everyone present for years, giving her children lasting trauma and also being a key element in how the jiang family and yunmeng jiang sect are effectively wiped out at the hands of the wen clan.

madam jin doesn't even have a name outside of the fact that she's married to jin guangshan. i don't even remember reading anything that indicates if she's a strong or weak cultivator, or what, which in itself proves that to most people, it doesn't matter. she's "just" a woman.

of course she's angry at her husband's affairs and all the bastard children they bring in. but she also can't do anything about them, so she lashes out at the few people she can: servants. non-cultivators, probably. those very same bastard children.

shoutout to meng yao getting shoved down a flight of stairs at age fourteen, because if madam jin tried that move against her husband instead, it would make her lose even more face, which as a noblewoman she'd never do.

and that's not getting into how jiang yanli is consistently sidelined for being physically weak.

that's not getting into how mianmian was actually a good cultivator, but was mocked by everyone around her for trying to stand up for wei wuxian when everyone was turning on him. how everyone scoffed at luo qingyang's words as "just some lovesick woman" who "obviously wants to marry or bed him since he saved her".

luo qingyang is the only one of these characters who HASN'T died. she didn't play society's games like jin guangyao. she didn't dig her heels in confidence of her own abilities like wei wuxian.

she didn't bitterly lash out like yu ziyuan and madam jin. she didn't gently accept it like jiang yanli.

she just LEFT.

she married an ordinary merchant and cultivates separately from mainstream cultivation society, and therein found her own peace and happiness.

mxtx doesn't bother with particularly class conscious or feminist vocabulary to hand-hold readers into understanding these disparities, but that choice highlights them & the deeply entrenched politics of their society even more. i really love it.

[qqueenofhades]

Not that anything's a for sure bet but my read on the general situation re: Harris-Walz is that there's going to be a lot less headwind to fight for Harris specifically as opposed to Clinton because the amazing right wing media hasn't had twenty years for poison to seep into the layperson's thoughts about Clinton's "worthiness"

Well, that and the fact that the MAGA crowd are just really, really bad strategic planners (especially since a solid 75% of their strategy is "lol we'll just cheat and win it that way, we don't need anything else.") They howled for 3.5 years about how Biden was too old to serve and should step down, and then when he did, they had zero plan how to run against Kamala and Trump is now practically begging Biden to magically get back into the race and save him. They ran an anti-Shapiro influence campaign by encouraging the antisemitic online left and planning to exploit the issue among Democrats divided on Israel/Gaza, then furiously melted down when Walz was picked and had no plan to deal with him either. Fascism is a helluva drug, kiddos. Don't try it at home.

The reason Harris has been able to rocket so high is simple, which is that she's channeling Obama 08 energy in more ways than one. Obama also came onto the national political scene four years before (with his speech at the 2004 DNC) and four years later, he was the party's nominee. It didn't even matter that he was a skinny brown guy named Barack Hussein Obama, because people were so tired of the chaos and war and incompetence of Bush Jr that they latched onto a simple message of hope and change and the historical nature of his candidacy felt like an optimistic risk worth taking. Why couldn't it be time for the first African American president? Yes, of course, there was incredible vitriol and we are still dealing with that backlash in some ways now, but still.

As I have said before, Trump is technically not the incumbent, but the last 8 years have been dominated by his hatred, chaos, division, rage, and treason in a way even Bush could never quite manage, and when people get to that point, there's a lot of coiled-up energy that has at last come bursting out. We needed Biden's old-moderate-white-man cred to defeat Trump as the sitting president in 2020, when most of his worst scandals hadn't even happened yet, but this is not 2020 (or 2016) and the dynamic is different. We are now on offense and playing to win, people have readily and eagerly embraced the absolute god tier karma that would come from a black female prosecutor finally ending the Orange Menace's reign of terror once and for all, and the Republicans are spitting smoke and spinning gears running frantically through their usual tired old stupid cliche attacks. GAY TRANS EVIL BIRTHERISM SWIFTBOAT FOREIGN FAR LEFT COMMIE LIBERAL HEATHEN!! they scream desperately, trying to find something that sticks. Except this time, no matter how hard the corporate media tries to help them out, nobody is listening. Nobody is buying it. We know exactly what BS they're trying and we're just shrugging and going "Yeah, no. Weird."

It absolutely helps that Kamala is not dragging the ball and chain of 20 years of Republican smear attacks, yes. But there are a lot of reasons why the GOP is imploding before our eyes and it's probably now more statistically likely that there is a blue tsunami than it is that Trump wins. I still cannot, CANNOT, believe it has been barely three fucking weeks. If this is a dream don't want to wake up, etc. Let me goddamn stay in this timeline just a little longer. And if we do the work, we can in fact make it that way, and Yeah. Yeah.

[vaxxman]

Oh I'm sad to see people didn't like comic 7, I thought it was very well done.

This isn't an invitation to an argument, I just want to say my opinion because I'm seeing a lot of people criticising the last chapter.

We got a lot of answers and everything that seemed conveniently placed for plot was completely in the scope of how the previous stories have worked before. I thought it was funny that soldier lived in a cave of Australium. It's just as convenient as Medic having a deal with the devil and the mercs being unable to die. Or Grey Mann having a daughter who no one wants to punch in a fist fight. Or Sniper's parents coincidentally being involved with the sinking of New Zealand.

I think it was a very good choice to not let the mercs do anything plot driving in this chapter, because this conflict was never a conflict that could have been ended by the mercs. They wouldn't even have cared, heh. We've known that everything was carefully orchestrated by the Admin, so it could only have been resolved by those who are part of the bigger conflict. Hence Miss Pauling, the Admin and Saxton do most of the plot. Everyone else already had a lot of screen time in the previous chapters, but none of their stories were truly contributing to the actual conflict at hand, so the story can't come to an end until we actually see the person who's been pulling the threads actually come to terms with what she was doing. I'm very happy that her ultimate plan turned out to just be a pointless act of revenge, since we've all known from the start that the gravel wars are pointless. This is just one more dimension deeper into how pointless it is.

Managing to resolve the story and making sure all characters receive a happy end the way they did was more than I had hoped for comic 7. But just to summarise how I think everyone received their peace of mind across all comics:

1. Sniper: Finds out he's adopted -> figures out his step parents were his true family after all

2. Spy: Really wants to tell Scout that he's his dad -> actually manages to say the words, even if he wasn't honest with his appearance

3. Soldier: Delusional hater of commies -> marries a Russian woman and stops claiming racist things, because Zhanna as a person was more important to him than whatever he believed about Russian people. Still weird, not with less delusion but genuinely a sweet father and husband. Exaggerated and maximally silly way of how to actually change people's racist opinions in real life.

4. Scout: Upset that he can't get laid and thinks he has to be More Man -> glows up by becoming a dad who steps up and is less preoccupied with getting the girl of his dreams. His kids are what matters to him now and he becomes like his mom

5. Heavy: Worried about his family in Siberia -> his sisters show him they don't need him to protect them all the time and everyone moves to America so he can be with them. His sisters get to live freely.

6. Engineer: Is involved with the conflict since his grandpa, and is contractually unable to stop it -> tells Miss Pauling to sink all Australium in a trench so this never happens again

7. Saxton Hale: Wants to go back to the time when he was still actively doing things, gets his company stolen -> gets his company back but realises it doesn't make him happy. Leaves his company and joins Maggie again because fighting alongside her was what he's always wanted since we got glimpses of his past

8. Miss Pauling: Thinks the Administrator has a great plan that desperately needs her -> learns the plan was nothing at all and decides on the spot to end it by not giving Admin any more Australium because she realises she has been feeding into the conflict

Medic, Demoman, and Pyro never had a personal conflict to resolve. Medic had his moments to shine by sabotaging TFC and being in hell then coming back. Demoman had his arc with his liver leaving him and defeating the robots due to the alcohol in his blood. Medic scooped out parts of his brain to keep him unquestioning about his eye. Pyro is just a very simple character, and I say that with no judgement at all. Pyro is happy with arson, but also with a Dalmatian as their pet.

Everyone is still friends with each other and have their own little families. They come together to celebrate Smissmass at Scout's place. I think Saxton's last line "or do you want to live forever" was so well placed, being a nod to the meme from Expiration Date, as well as pointing out that, obviously, things have to come to an end we should embrace that ending when we see it's time.

And as always. If anyone doesn't like that any of these things, we are still free to make our own stories and reinterpret characters.

[vomitdodger]

Funny how over the last four years (especially) government corruption is almost always labeled neglect, incompetence, woke, and occasionally corrupted.

Get real…they know EXACTLY what they are doing. It’s all intentional. Corrupted, compromised, communists, kickbacks, hate America crowd, treason, sedition, cabal, globalists, self serving…whichever terms you choose to apply for a given scandal.

Remember when the commie Dems screamed we couldn’t afford the wall then spent 1000 times more on just illegals and Ukraine? Now they’re selling the taxpayer-paid-for wall?

Yeah…just another attempt to burn the kingdom down on the way out the door.

[prettyboykatsuki]

the last time i watched naruto was before i had a brain and become a full commie leftist fuck who could recognize propaganda and i know if i watched it now my opinions on sasuke would change so naturally i can never watch it again because if i become a sasuke fucker that’s a betrayal to 11 year old me who wanted naruto so bad

[mesetacadre]

how come the last time the fascists started being popular the commies were too, but now the fascists are rampant whilst the commies aren't (specifically talking about germany rn)

Let's all first be at the same page when it comes to Europe's context at the moment. GDP growth has been stagnating for a few years, save for the momentaneous rebound after most pandemic restrictions were lifted. Regardless of how aware capitalists and economists are, capitalism is facing down another crisis. The EU specifically is beginning to show the first countermeasures in the form of militarism and the beginnings of cuts in the budget. If I recall correctly, the Next Generation fund is drying up, which is a pretty wide-reaching fund. But what's more relevant is the turn towards a war economy, I detailed more on this here and here.

Both the war economy that the EU and NATO are pushing and the pre-existing downturn push people to find answers as to why the European welfare state is showing cracks, despite professional economists insisting the economy is doing well, and despite the economy supposedly recovering from the pandemic restrictions. Now, this might come as a shocker to some, but most Europeans are still pretty fucking racist despite how sorry they say they feel about (past) colonialism and despite how much the word "decolonial" is appended to higher education. So this, mixed with the petty-bourgeois aspirations hammered into everyone since you learn to read, make it extremely easy to feel as if this situation is the fault of migrants. Many of the modern fascist or fascist-adjacent groups haven't really continued with the centrality of antisemitism, substituting it with xenophobia in general, and more specifically against arabs or muslims (they don't see a difference between those groups). Fascism reflects the already-present bigotry in society, it does not invent new types of bigotry.

Having laid this out, I would argue against you when it comes to evaluating forces. Fascism, by virtue of its own nature, is always loud and seeks to create conflicts. It's how they grow. Communist practice, on the other hand, tends to go more unnoticed. Both because serious communists don't actively seek loud conflicts as a structuring tactic, but also because bourgeois press don't have any good reason to publicize, say, a victory achieved by a group of workers organized by the communist party. Each year, marxism-leninism is growing in Europe, especially in the south. You don't hear about it unless you know where to look and who to ask by design. I don't think there is that dramatic an imbalance (if you treat the very conservative parties sweeping recent elections distinct from the organized fascist groups equivalent to those rising in the 1920s, which I do), but regardless, I do think there is being a considerable preemptiveness in this rise in popularity. It's no accident every one of these groups has a money trail leading to the most reactionary factions of the bourgeoisie and their corresponding parties. The eurocommunist parties are also fulfilling their role as the left-wing of social-democracy, and acting as a sponge that absorbs a considerable number of would-be communists with a will to organize.

[waynes-multiverse]

Rehab – Chapter 7

Series Summary: Thanks to Soldier Boy, the CIA was able to develop Project Bloom under the fierce leadership of Grace Mallory: a final cure to Compound V and a hopeful end to the supe epidemic three years after the explosive incident at Vought. A secret rehab facility in Upstate New York is supposed to help former heroes find their way back to humanity. The catch, though? Soldier Boy has never fucking agreed to any of this shit and is surely not happy about being powerless for the first time in his goddamn long life.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, light smut, fluff, angst

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the warm responses (and loud screams) last week. Feels good to be back and cause some chaos here. Enjoy this one! It's all downhill from here 💚

Feedback is my fuel 🖤

<< Chapter 6 || Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Chapter 7: make up sex

Ben carefully traces the marks on her skin with his fingertips, her naked back illuminated by the soft spring morning glow that streams in through the window. Tenderly, he kisses a path down her shoulder and hears her giggle at the tickling of his beard.

He loves her. Yet, she’s too good for him. Maybe he could change, though. He feels the endless possibilities pumping through his veins.

“Morning, my love.”

Ben smiles when she stretches her limbs with a blissful yawn and turns to face him. He leans down and claims her lips in a bruising kiss as if they were his newest addiction. Who knows? They might just be.

“Morning, stud.” Y/N’s smile is brighter than the sun and lights the way to his dark heart. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, doll.” Ben kisses her deeply and swallows the cute little giggles that escape through her mouth, his heart full of happiness.

Ben wakes cruelly as a bucket of ice water is dumped over him and hits him full frontal. He shivers as he wipes the remaining water out of his face, hair, and eyes with the hem of his dirty white t-shirt before blinking and glaring at the guard with the sadistic smile in front of him.

“Morning, shithead.” The guard snickers and slides a tray of runny eggs over to him. “Breakfast.”

It’s been six months since the former supe has last seen Y/N. After his outburst, they put him down like a wild dog with rabies, but Ben wasn’t one for giving up. He tried five more times to escape the rehab facility and killed three nurses before they threw him into solitary. He’s proud of that number. He’d never forgive himself if he went down without a fight.

A part of him hoped they’d kill him for it, but his luck has apparently run out.

Ben’s been imprisoned in this bleak cell ever since. He didn’t even know this place existed. It’s located deep underground in the clinic’s basement. There’s no sun and no warmth. There’s only him, gray and cold concrete, fluorescent lights, and a whole bunch of nothing. The scratch marks on the wall tell him he’s been here nineteen weeks.

His beard is unkempt and wild, as is his hair. He hasn’t seen a mirror in an eternity, but he probably looks like a caveman by now. Reeks and feels like one, too. The only showers he gets are the ice baths that wake him every morning. Unfortunately, that’s not the only torture they’ve thought of. There are other punishments, too, but nothing as bad as what the Commies did to him.

American pussies…

“There’s someone here to see you, champ,” the guard says as he comes to collect the empty tray.

Ben tried to starve himself once before, but that only got him a tube stuffed down his throat. Whoever’s in charge clearly wants to keep him alive and suffering.

There’s a jolt in his gut that bounces to his forlorn and desolate heart, a shimmer of hope burning brightly inside of him that direly wants to convince him that the love of his life has found him. A drop of precious water in the concrete desert. And if she’s not getting him out, at least she’s visiting.

By now, he knows that’s not the case, though. In fact, he’s pretty damn sure Y/N doesn’t even know he’s here, living her life topside, outside, and carefree. Free of him.

A vicious circle that keeps repeating itself.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Ben mutters disinterestedly. Whoever has come to see him surely isn’t worthy of it. After all, he suspects it is just plain ol’ Mallory. She’s come by a few times to lecture him about consequences with that self-satisfied smirk of hers.

“You don’t look well, old friend,” a man’s voice chimes through the cold cell.

Curiously, Ben’s head raises with his brow as he squints his green eyes at the black man in front of him. The voice sounds familiar, as do the man’s features.

“Stan Edgar. I’ll be damned.” A laugh almost escapes him at the realization. “Didn’t think you were still the fuck alive. You got fucking old.”

“I could say the same thing, Soldier Boy,” Edgar retorts as he takes off his glasses and cleans them with a pristine white handkerchief. “Or is it Ben now? I can see the gray in your beard even from here.”

At Edgar’s amused smile, Ben balls his fists, wishing he could wipe off that smug grin. He gets it. Everyone greatly enjoys his downfall, being reminded once again what a shitty asshole he used to be. Y/N really was right when she said that people don’t forgive and forget. So far, it’s been Ben’s experience as well.

“What the fuck do you want, huh? Just came here to fucking laugh and gloat?” Ben prompts, his patience wearing thin. He’s not a zoo animal. He doesn’t need to be gawked at.

“I have a proposal for you if you’re interested,” Edgar says cryptically and dangles a metaphorical carrot in front of his nose. “I heard you’d like to see your girlfriend, right?”

Ben sighs deeply. He knows the game they’re playing. He’s played it a million times before, especially with Vought, and wonders if he ever actually won at it. He used to believe he did, but not anymore.

“And what do you want in return, huh? What’s the catch?”

In response, Edgar’s lips curve into a triumphant smirk.

Nervously, Ben clears his throat several times and fidgets with his fingers, close to biting off his nails. His hand runs through and scratches his trimmed beard. It feels weird to have it short again after so many months.

Once he set foot outside the clinic, his green eyes even had to adjust to the brightness of the sun. It’s been so long since his pupils have actually seen natural daylight. His lungs practically inhaled the oxygen provided by air that’s fresh and wasn’t filtered and smelled fabricated. Those few molecules of realness were life-supplying in the literal sense.

Ben unfolds the crumbled piece of paper in his left hand with an address written on it and checks once more if he’s got the right apartment, even though he’s already done that a couple of times. 5B it reads on his piece of paper and the apartment door with golden letters.

One more swallow, and his knuckles hesitantly tap the wood. Then, his boot taps the floor in a manic beat until he hears the door unlock.

“Ben…” Y/N’s brow furrows. She seems both bewildered and pleasantly surprised. But then worry spreads across her delicate features, looking suspiciously left and right down the hallway. “What are you doing here? How did you get out?”

Ben can’t form a functioning sentence for the life of him. He keeps trying, but his mind is too preoccupied with taking her in – every little bit of her. The color spectrum of her brilliant eyes, the shape of her godforsaken lips, the shine and flow of her hair, and the freckles that grace her perfect skin. She’s still the girl he met a year ago. The girl from his memories. The girl from his dreams.

He also takes note of the changes, though, because she’s surely changed a lot, too. And it’s not just the new clothes she’s wearing that aren’t hoodies and sweats or the different length and slight change of color of her hair. It’s first and foremost the glowing aura of happiness that cloaks her entire being.

She’s a masterpiece, and he can’t help but keep staring at her like she’s an exhibition at the Louvre.

“Ben, say something. Wha–,” she starts anew when he still hasn’t said a word.

“I’m sorry,” he cuts in. The words come out so fast, it’s just one word altogether, really. But he’s been wanting to say them to her for so long, practiced them every day in his cell that they just escaped him in a blurb.

“I. Am. Sorry,” Ben repeats more slowly and coherently. “Look, uhm, I’m not good at this shit. There’s about a million different speeches that I’ve prepared over the last few months, and I figured once I saw you, I’d know which one to pick…”

“Ben–”

“Just let me say this, alright?” Ben interjects and gulps nervously. Being locked up and lonely for months, he’s had plenty of time to think about his mistakes and find ways to fix them. “I’m so sorry for what I did, Y/N. I was, uhm… hurt, and I lashed out, and this should’ve never happened. I know people don’t forgive and forget. Trust me, I know… But still, I’m hoping you can. Just this once? You think you can do that?”

Ben’s a shadow of his former self. A broken shell of a man. And while one would think that’s a bad thing, it’s truly not. His hardened armor, shield and suit, peeled from his skin and revealed a soft core of heart, hope and humanity underneath it.

“Wow, uhm…” Y/N gasps, speechless as her head bobs in both acknowledgment and thought. “That’s–, uhm, that’s a lotta words. Especially coming from you.” A soft and tender smile forms on her mouth as she chews on her lower lip. “Always thought your generation was more the silent type.”

“I’m full of surprises, doll.” Ben shrugs endearingly and adds a wink, parts of his charm returning. He matches her smile as his heart fills with hope. Not all is lost. At least she hasn’t slammed the door in his face. Yet. “So? Do you forgive me?”

Ben doesn’t care if the world forgives him for his sins. He doesn’t care if God or what- and whoever forgives him. He doesn’t care about the people he hurt in the past. He doesn’t care about the lives and families he’s destroyed. He knows he’s done wrong – a lot of wrong – and he also knows he can never ever fix any of it.

Yes, Ben doesn’t care about a lot of things, but he cares about Y/N. And he cares if she forgives him.

Y/N’s eyes brim with tears as she fights to keep the smile on her face alive. “Only if you can forgive me,” she says quietly as her throat closes, making it harder to breathe. “I’m sorry, too. I never meant all those things I said to you that night. I was just scared.”

“Of me?” Ben cocks an eyebrow, simultaneously puzzled and afraid of the answer.

Luckily, Y/N shakes her head. “Yes… and no, it was never about you, you know? I knew if I let you in fully, I’d never leave the clinic. I would’ve stayed for you. Forever,” she explains. “And I also know I played a role in what you did. I mean, I didn’t technically push you into another woman,” she mutters sourly and continues with a deep exhale through her nose, “But I know I pushed you too far… You’re not the only one who’s broken, you know?”

“So, what does that mean? What do we do now?” Ben asks. This is truly as far as he’s thought ahead. A part of him even believed she wouldn’t open the door for him in the first place. To say he feels lost right now would be an understatement. After all, it’s the first time in his long life he’s doing a big Soldier Boy Apology Tour.

“Two broken halves make a whole, right?” Y/N sends him a weak smile that he mirrors.

“I mean, yeah.” Ben chuckles with keen nods, scratching the back of his neck. “I never graduated high school, but that sounds like fucking perfect math to me.”

“Good.” Y/N laughs, her smile rising. She takes a deep breath and swallows the goddamn lump in her throat that’s sat there for half a year. “I love you.”

Ben’s heart crashes. For a second, he even doubts he made it out of that dark cell in the first place because this surely feels like a dream. He might have even died and against all odds went to Heaven.

He can’t hold himself back any longer, every muscle in his body trembling at the sound of those glorious three words. He never thought language could have such a massive impact on him.

The dam then breaks, but he’ll be damned if he lets her witness a single tear. Instead, he pulls her close to his massive body and presses his lips on hers. He kisses her so hard that they both see not only stars but different galaxies altogether.

For a moment, he worries if she’s going to reject him once more. But she doesn’t. On the contrary, her arms drape around his neck and pull him so close they might as well merge into one single entity. She deepens the kiss with a newfound need until they’re both breathless and blue in the face.

Ben, however, would’ve gladly died from the lack of oxygen. What a way to go out after a hundred years…

Resting her forehead on his, Y/N pants heavily as her hands slide down to his broad chest and hold onto his shirt as if he might disappear into thin air if she doesn’t.

“I love you, Y/N. You’re the only friend I ever had. You’re everything to me,” he mumbles into her hair and kisses the top of her head. He closes his eyes and breathes in her scent, trying to memorize it all. It almost killed him when he couldn’t recall it during his captivity.

She smiles broadly and looks up at him. “Wanna come inside?”

Ben nods softly, reining in some of his eagerness. “I’d love to.”

“I see the vinyl collection has grown,” Ben notes with a happy chuckle as he takes in her apartment, his eyes glued on the oakwood shelf that consumes an entire wall and reaches up to the ceiling, filled from top to bottom with records. “You’re gonna need a bigger place soon.”

“Yeah, I spend a lot of time in record stores these days. Not to mention half my paychecks…” Y/N laughs as she prepares a pot of coffee in the small kitchen, her cheeks flushing as her adorable dimples make an appearance.

Ben’s missed them, too. He thinks they’re always more prominent when he makes her laugh.

“You work?” His brow shoots up at that information, a curious smile curving his mouth.

While he was locked up for months, he has wondered every single night what she was up to, what her life must look like now, before his eyes grew too tired and closed, ending another grueling day without her. He always hoped, though, that she was happy wherever she was.

“Yeah, I’m interning right now at an orphanage and taking night classes at a community college, so I can become a social worker,” she replies with a sheepish smile.

His face lights up, his smile spreading from ear to ear. “College, huh? That’s great. I’m fucking proud of you.”

It’s a phrase Ben always wanted to hear – from his father, from the world. It’s something he imagined he’d say to his sons someday, but he never got the chance. Frankly, neither him nor any offspring of his deserved to hear it. Y/N, on the other hand, does.

She deserves the world and so much more. Could Ben ever give it all to her?

“Thanks.” Y/N blushes even more and hands him a mug with coffee.

These past months have been hard for her, too. She’s tried to build a life for herself, a future worth living, and not fall into a dark hole like so many former supes before her. She’s had no one on the outside. Nights and days got rather lonely until she made some friends at work and college. It took a long while until she didn’t feel lost anymore and found her purpose.

And yet, she never felt complete. Her mind always raced back to him, wondering what he might think of her if he could see her now. Ben haunted her hopes and dreams every single day since she’s left the clinic, wishing he’d be right here by her side.

“I work at a former supe orphanage. Mallory arranged it. They actually managed to cure every single kid without losses. Now, we’re just trying to find them good homes,” Y/N tells him excitedly, beaming with pride. “For the first time in my life, I finally feel like I’m making a difference. I’m doing something good.”

“That’s awesome,” Ben says, smiling. “But for the record, you’ve made a difference even before that. You’ve changed my life.”

“Right back at you,” Y/N replies and then her smile shines brighter than the sun itself. It’s blinding. “There’s a boy at the home that actually reminds me a lot of you. And not just because you two share a name.”

Ben curiously arches an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah?”

“Yes, cocky son of a bitch,” she says with a laugh. Ben chuckles at that. Y/N then saunters closer to him as if she can’t stand to be apart from him a minute longer. It makes his heart race faster than a rocket to the moon. “I thought a lot about you. Actually, there’s not a day that went by where I didn’t think about you, you know?”

“Yeah, same, my love,” Ben replies and chokes down the damn lump in his throat. When did he become such a fucking sap?

“I wanted to visit you at the clinic a couple of times, but they wouldn’t let me,” Y/N tells him then, sadness shimmering in her eyes. “They said you moved on and didn’t want to see me, but I had a feeling that wasn’t true.”

Ben tries not to get goddamn angry at her words. It was one thing to torture him. Throw ice water on him every morning, electrocute and burn him, but fucking lie to her? Making her believe he didn’t want to see her when that’s all he wanted this goddamn time? Those bastards are lucky he doesn’t have his nuclear powers anymore, or they’d all be turned to ash.

But the past doesn’t matter anymore. It took him almost a century to learn that lesson. What matters, though, is that he’s here right now. With her.

Even when you’ve lived forever, time is precious. It’s a gift you don’t waste, no matter if you have an abundance of it.

With one stride, Ben’s in front of her and cups her cheeks, looking deeply into her tear-filled eyes. “It’s not true. I never moved on, okay? Every single day, I would’ve died and killed someone to see you, alright? Believe me.”

Y/N nods in his palms and hugs his hands with her own. “Are you alright? What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Ben assures her but knows Y/N won’t buy his lie. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine now, okay?”

“Did you escape? Because if you did, we can’t stay here. They’ll find you here,” Y/N worries, and he can see the panic rising in her features.

“I didn’t escape. They let me go, alright?” Ben says but can already see her mouth opening again with more questions, so he resorts to kissing them shut. “As I said, don’t worry, my love. We’ll talk about this later, and I promise I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

Even though she’s reluctant, she agrees with a weak nod. “Okay.”

“Now, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do for months,” Ben announces and smirks slyly.

Y/N matches his smile and meets him halfway as he fiercely claims her lips in a searing kiss. On tiptoes, she then hoists herself up and tightly wraps her legs around his waist as he carries her promptly to the bedroom.

With a giggle, she’s dropped onto the mattress as Ben hungrily trails kisses from her cheek to her jawline and down her neck. Eagerly, he unzips her jeans and shimmies them down her smooth legs, leaving her only in a pair of onyx lace panties.

“Were you expecting someone?” Suspiciously, Ben lifts an eyebrow. He wouldn’t hold it against her if she found someone during the time they were apart, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be happy about it.

Well, okay, that’s a lie. In fact, he’d like the guy’s address so he can commit a murder.

Y/N giggles in response. “No, I’m just really bad at doing laundry. Those were the only clean ones left,” she explains. Internally, he sighs in relief. “I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

The look she gives him is one powerful guilt trip since they both know he can’t say the same. Christ on a fucking stick, he feels shitty. During all the times he’s cheated on Crimson Countess (and there were many), he’s never felt like this before and can’t say that he particularly enjoys this feeling.

Softly, he rests his forehead on hers and pecks her lips, his fingers gingerly stroking her cheek. “I’ll never fucking do that to you again. I promise.”

Y/N nods. “I know. I believe you.”

“It’s just you and me from now on, alright? Us against the world,” Ben assures her.

“Like Sid and Nancy?” Y/N grins teasingly up at him. “Or Ross and Rachel? Beyoncé and Jay-Z? But without Becky…”

“I have no fucking clue who those people are.” He chuckles, placing another kiss on her cheek. “But yeah, like Sid and Nancy. Bonnie and Clyde. Whatever you want, doll.”

More kisses follow, wet and hot as he works his way down her body. He has missed touching someone’s warm skin. He has missed hearing someone’s laugh that wasn’t full of cruelty. He has missed feeling loved and adored. He has missed feeling freedom and peace. And most of all, Ben has missed her.

Y/N’s breathing grows more labored with every inch he climbs down her body. His fingers hook into the elastic of her panties, feeling his hot breath on her mound before he flings the fabric across the room. His length brushes between her thighs, hard and thick, and elicits little jolts of electricity on her skin that travel through her nerve endings and cause goosebumps of anticipation to form.

“Fuck, Ben,” she moans and arches her back as he pulls the little sensitive nub between his teeth and sucks.

The former hero chuckles in delight at her reaction. “Oh, my love, I’m just getting started…”

Gentle and soft, Ben kisses her naked shoulder blade, trailing a flock of kisses down her spine till he reaches the beginnings of her asscheeks and hears her adorable giggle.

“That tickles,” Y/N says, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah? You know, I actually had a dream about this,” Ben says with a peck on her crown.

Y/N cocks a curious eyebrow at that and rolls in his embrace, facing him. “Really? Tell me.”

“Well, it was a lot like this,” Ben starts. “And then…”

“And then what?” Y/N prompts when he abruptly trails off.

“And then… you told me you loved me,” Ben confesses and clears his throat. He’s not used to open and emotional pillow talk, but Y/N makes it easy, practically forces his emotions to the surface like a mountain spring.

Y/N grins broadly up at him. “I do love you.”

“Yeah? You sure?” A hint of insecurity haunts his juniper eyes. How many times has he been placated and lied to? At this point, it’s too damn many to count. “You’re not just fucking saying that, right?”

“And what exactly would I get out of it?” Y/N reframes his question, licking her amble lips. Sometimes asking the right question is more telling than an answer. “Money? Fame? You have neither.”

Ben clicks his tongue and purses his lips. “That was somehow both relieving and fucking insulting. How the hell did you do that?”

Y/N laughs and innocently twitches her shoulders. “It’s a talent.”

“Well, I’m gonna take notes. Jesus fucking Christ…” Ben cards a hand through his messy hair and shakes his head at her, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose.

Y/N then cups his cheeks, fingers softly caressing his beard. Her eyes wander down his body, finding scars and bruises that haven’t been there the last time she has seen him. “Ben, are you alright? What happened to you?”

The fallen supe then glances down his own chest and knows exactly what she means by her question. Yet, he brushes her off with a smile and grabs her hand, kissing her knuckles. “Nothing, my love. I told you I’m fine.”

Knowing it’s impossible to get answers out of him, Y/N nods. “I think now is ‘later,’” she states, thinking back to last night’s unfinished conversation. “How did you get out? What did you do?”

Ben presses his plush lips into a thin line, tongue poking his bearded cheeks. “Don’t worry about it.”

Y/N heaves a sigh and gently kisses his lips. “Ben, if you want us to be a team and ‘us against the world,’ you can’t keep things from me,” she tells him. “I’m your partner. Your ride or die. I’m here for you, no matter what. But you gotta tell me what’s up. You can’t always protect me.”

“I can try,” he mumbles sweetly and places another precious kiss on her hairline.

“And if there are more bad guys to kill and maim, you’re free to do so.” Y/N smiles softly, causing him to chuckle. “Please just tell me what’s going on.”

Ben’s head bobs in thought before replying, “I made a deal.”

Her brow furrows, an eerie feeling spreading in her stomach. “What kinda deal?”

“If I do this, then I’m a free man afterward. We can be together. For real, Y/N,” he says with a hopeful undertone that resembles a fairytale. Only Y/N knows those don’t really exist.

“Do what? What deal did you make, Ben? And with who?”

The bad feeling in her stomach only grows. Y/N knows only too well how the CIA works. They wait for their target to become weak, vulnerable, and hopeless. God knows Ben was exactly all those things when he first set foot inside the rehab clinic.

“An old friend visited me in lock-up. Proposed something,” Ben replies mysteriously.

Y/N’s brow wrinkles some more. “Ben, I don’t mean to sound offensive, but you don’t have old friends.”

The former supe snorts, amused. “I’m aware. And trust me, I don’t like this fucker either, but the deal was too good to be true.”

“That’s probably because it is,” Y/N throws in.

“Probably. But I still have to take it,” Ben maintains, his green eyes desperate and pleading.

“Who was it? Who came to see you?”

“Ever heard of Stan Edgar?”

Shocked, Y/N’s brow raises to her hairline. “The former CEO of Vought International?!”

But then Ben’s the one who’s surprised. “That motherfucker made it to CEO? Who would’ve thought…”

“Ben, focus,” Y/N snaps. “This isn’t a history lesson.”

“Well, he used to manage Payback back in the 80s. Now he’s apparently in it with Mallory and the CIA,” Ben explains. “They need my help. In exchange, I get my freedom.”

Y/N, however, scowls in annoyance. “Ben, I swear to God, if you don’t stop beating around the bush soon, I’ll fucking strangle you myself.”

Ben laughs and pecks her lips. “I love it when you’re feisty. It’s sexy…”

“Ben!”

“Alright, don’t get hyster–” At her glare, he abruptly stops mid-sentence and swallows thickly. “Calm down, okay? I can handle it.”

“Handle what?!”

Ben licks his lips and clicks his tongue. He supposes there’s no way around it anymore. He has to spit it out. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Apparently, they’ve got Homelander.”

Confused, Y/N’s head tilts, more creases forming on her brow. At this point, she’s worried they’ll stay permanently – all because of this asshole in her bed. “What do you mean ‘they’ve got Homelander’? Got him how?”

“According to Edgar, the CIA has him locked up somewhere,” Ben replies.

“Would explain why the news has been so peaceful and quiet recently,” Y/N muses cynically as her head begins to spin. “But wait a minute… if they’ve already got him, what do they want you to do? Why are you telling me all of this?”

Ben lets out a deep sigh. He knew from the start she’d never approve. “They wanna cure him. You know, like us.”

“Okay, so?” Y/N shrugs, not putting the puzzle pieces together. “They want you to kill him after?” But then, her eyes widen as she realizes the sinister plan. “No… No! Ben, no! You can’t do this! You’re gonna die! Have you learned nothing from your last glorious deal with Billy Butcher?”

Ben sighs anew. “Y/N, I know, my love. I know, alright? But I’m the only one who can get close enough to him.”

“How do you know that, huh?” Y/N questions, throwing her arms up. “The last time the two of you were in a room together, it didn’t go so well. Who says he ain’t gonna kill you as soon as he sees you?”

“‘Cause he’s a pathetic fucking cunt with daddy issues. I can work that angle,” Ben insists, acting like he’s got it all perfectly figured out.

His ego surely thinks so. It’s as old and as big as the goddamn Titanic. Y/N prays it won’t sink just as fast.

“Oh, so you wanna trick your petri dish son long enough to ram a needle into his goddamn throat? That’s your fucking plan?” Y/N lifts a sarcastic eyebrow. “Are you fucking insane?!”

“Look, I know it’s risky–”

“Risky?” Y/N interrupts him faster than a gunshot and scoffs. “Ben, fucking without a condom – that’s risky. It’s like asking for an STD! This mission is just plain stupid and, frankly, suicidal!”

Ben remains quiet until her chest stops heaving and calms. He nods in understanding before finding her eyes and locking gazes. “I know all of that. But there’s no other choice. I have to do this. This is my chance to make it right.”

Y/N shakes her head vehemently, her mind in denial. “No, no… I don’t believe that.” She jumps out of bed and hauls a duffel bag from her closet, throwing everything her hands can grab inside of it. “We can go. We can leave right now and go to Mexico… or Alaska. Nova Scotia!”

Ben chuckles lightly, scooting across the mattress to her, and grabs her frantic hands, kissing them gently. “Y/N, stop. We can’t leave. You and I both know there’s at least three SUVs full of agents parked outside and surrounding that building,” he says and watches her realize their dire situation in horror and despair. “This is the only way.”

“We can shoot our way outta here. I’m pretty sure my neighbor is an arms dealer,” Y/N suggests weakly, sniffling. She didn’t necessarily pick the best neighborhood.

“I don’t think we’d make it, Bonnie.”

Old Ben, Soldier Boy, would’ve shot himself out of that apartment building, even blast himself out of it, no questions asked. He also wouldn’t have cared if Y/N got hurt or even died in the midst of it. After all, narcissistic assholes don’t care much about anything but themselves. But New Ben surely does. He cares more than he sometimes likes to admit. And most of all, he’s certainly not a big risk-taker when it comes to her safety.

“But what if you die? What then?” she whispers as tears roll down her rosy cheeks.

Ben catches them with his thumb and wipes them away, smiling warmly. “At least then, there’s finally someone who’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

Y/N catches his lips in a deep and desperate kiss, only interrupted by her sniffles. “Of course I’d miss your stupid ass.”

Ben laughs and places his palms on her hips, pulling her between his thighs as her arms lock around his neck. “Good,” he says with another kiss on her lips. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

But no matter how much distraction he provides, her worries refuse to dissipate. “When is this gloriously insane plan happening?”

Licking his lips, Ben inhales deeply. “Tonight.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Chapter 8: sid & nancy

And the plot thickens! Last chapter plus an epilogue coming next week! 💚

Is this a good time to remind you that this series doesn't necessarily have a super happy ending? 👀

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27

Rehab Series: @nancymcl @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @sparkydonugh

[gemsofgreece]

Do greeks consider themselves as eastern european/balkan or do you hate that ? In france, the greek diaspora consider itself eastern euro and feels a bond with other balkaners, unlike the italians and french e.g, BUT on the english speaking internet it is the whole opposite, you seemed to be offended being called something else than southern european. I remember having an argument on reddit where i was saying that greece is EE because commie times arent a good indicators as it was 30 years ago for only 45 years while the old latin west greek east (catholic vs orthodox, rome vs constantinople) division was better as it lasted 2000 years, on top of being ottoman for 4 centuries which was the OG meaning of balkans and that in southEAST europe there is EAST. But all of the greeks said that they were 100% south europe only like the pigs and not e.g montenegro and that they were actually closer to WE.

The average greek and your thoughts on this ?

I can't speak for the average Greek because there's a joke saying "in the room there are three Greeks and seven opinions", you know...

Balkans and East Europe are not synonyms. The Balkans are a small part in the south of East Europe. Greeks are Balkaners to the core but the more you reach into the north fringes of the Balkans and farther towards North East Europe, the similarities start falling apart. In this sense, Greece is indeed more South Europe than East Europe because Greece has similarities with pretty much all South European countries, even Portugal, and it has fewer similarities with, say, the Baltic countries or Poland or Hungary. Personally, I think the region of noticeable similarities to Greece end somewhere across Croatia and Romania. In the East the similarities may extend farther in the countries where Orthodoxy is the prevalent religion so well into Southwest Russia and then towards Caucasus. Anyway my point is, a Greek will likely get more easily along with a Catholic Spanish or a Portuguese person than with a Catholic Slovenian or Hungarian person who are far closer geographically. Therefore, Greece is indeed more South Europe than East Europe.

The Greek people you noticed who did not get along with French or Italians, that's probably incidental. Typically Greeks get along with both South Europeans and other Balkaners, with the southern Greeks and islanders gravitating towards the former and northern Greeks gravitating towards the latter. Perhaps those Greeks were Northern Greeks. Perhaps they also bonded with other Balkaners on the basis of both being immigrants, as opposed to the local French.

Greece is Southeast and Balkan Europe, therefore it is East Europe by definition. The problem is that a) nowadays Greeks have very poor knowledge of history and b) there is this unfortunate stereotype permeating across the continent that tRuE Europe = Northwest Europe and that the east is backwards and underdeveloped. And because Greece is ALSO a honorary member of West Europe, Greeks have latched on this “convenient” opportunity to at least verbally distance themselves from East Europe, losing parts of their identity and their understanding of it in the process.

Now you may ask “what the hell is a honorary member of West Europe”. Well, Greece. Because of this whole “cradle of western civilisation” thing, the West honorarily accepts Greece as part of Western Europe. I don’t know if people realise that while it’s good when someone tells you “I want you to be part of us out of honour”, it’s extremely problematic in its essence because it screams the inherent superiority syndrome of West Europe. “We have picked up your entire culture so we allow you to be considered West Europe.” Well, thanks, but no thanks, folks.

Take a look at that:

See? It was not just angry Reddit Greeks. This is technically the "official" international stance on the matter.

There are in fact even foreign people who don't think Greece is part of the Balkans at all, which is insane because why would you even call it Balkan "peninsula" if not for Greece being in it??????? I repeat, Greece is 100% a Balkan country. Not only that but Greeks are one of the four Palaeo-Balkan peoples (Greeks - Thracians - Illyrians - Dacians).

And here’s where I am going to add one more layer to your mail, the biggest misconception about the Greeks, the one that the foreigners are just as guilty of, if not even more; you said, Greeks are more Eastern Europeans because of East Rome / Byzantine Empire and Ottomans. Well, that’s only part of it. There is simply no part of Greek history that is not eastern because the Ancient Greek was an eastern civilisation! One of the major ancient civilisations springing from the culture hub of the Near East and its periphery. Greeks interacted for centuries with Egyptians, Persians, Hittites, Phoenicians etc before they finally interacted with westerners, the Romans, and to whom they culturally gave more than they took. But even that was forgotten in the Middle Ages in the west (but not in the eastern - of course - Roman / Byzantine Empire). The Ancient Greek heritage was only re-discovered in West Europe during the Renaissance and the Enlightenment and that’s when West Europeans “remembered” suddenly that they are cultural children of the Ancient Greeks (well they aren’t, at least not organically) and therefore they now have to suffer modern Greece being acknowledged as part of the west because they don’t want to spell out that “Western Civilization” is just the formation of several western contemporary societies using elements from the foundations of an ancient Eastern Civilization. Westerners would love to think West sprang from a parthenogenesis but in truth the West sprang from the East.

So, yes, the Greeks started as Easterners, kept being Easterners and they are still Easterners. This however does not mean that they have all that many similarities to Eastern Europeans who expand on the north. Greeks have more connections to the south, the southwest and to the true east. They are technically less now though compared to all past periods of Greece because it is only after the independence and the formation of the modern state that Greeks became so west-oriented. The reason for this was their urgent need to distance themselves as much as possible from Turkey and find allies and supporters in the west, who would be willing to aid and support in the basis of protecting “the cradle of the West”.

Here I must add that the West has indeed taken a lot from Ancient Greece and respects it way more than the East (due to the recent historical and religious developments there). All I say is it was not organic, it was not the natural evolution of the western culture. And I am not saying Greece should distance itself from the West. No, I do think we should have strong bonds and be companions and co-members and allies but that doesn’t mean we should rewrite history and erase our identity in the name of this alliance. I am fine with Greece being the most west-friendly country of East Europe, which it already is. I just wished Greeks celebrated more their Eastern identity, rekindled their relations to any potential alienated eastern friends and did not fall victims into one of the biggest historical propagandas and misconceptions there are: Ancient Greeks = Western and powerful versus Byzantine and Modern Greeks = Eastern therefore useless and different people.

To end this far too long ongoing discourse, Greeks are all the following:

Europeans

South Europeans

Balkaners

Mediterraneans

(not applying to everybody) descended from Anatolians - Greek Asians - from Asia Minor

East Europeans

currently so politically and financially western allied and so influential to the west that they are essentially perceived to function more like West Europeans than East Europeans, without however being true Western Europeans