#money glory power fame

[awesomecooperlove]

😈😈NASA’S SPACE STATION IS A LAGRE POOL 🤣😂🤣😂🤣

👩🏼‍🚀🧑🏽‍🚀👨🏾‍🚀

[highinmiamiii]

MONEY POWER GLORY

club owner!joe kessler x exotic dancer

A/N: this piece goes hand in hand with @billybutcherxyou / @foxiewrites and I’s DBF!Butcher series. best to be read alongside their most recent post, so make sure to check that out first. (cw: themes of manipulation, power dynamics, implied threats, and mentions of the adult entertainment industry.) NO USE OF Y/N

summary: Kessler, the sleazy owner of Club Kess, where petal works, dangles promises of fame and fortune, but his intentions are far from pure. Highlighting petal’s willingness to play his game, even as she’s fully aware of the dangers that come with it.

—————

She walks into the dimly lit office at the back of the club, the heavy bass from the music outside thrumming through the walls. Kessler, the club’s owner, sits behind an oversized mahogany desk, a fine Cuban cigar smoldering between his fingers. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and the faint tang of his expensive cologne. His eyes, sharp and calculating, follow her as she approaches, amusement flickering in them.

“Ah, there she is,” Kessler purrs, his voice smooth like honey with an underlying edge that makes your skin crawl if you listen too closely. He leans back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he gestures for her to sit. “My favorite girl.”

She offers him a small, confident smile, though there’s a tightness in her chest she can’t quite shake. She’s been working for him for some time now, just barely making enough to have a little extra cash after repaying her father’s debts and getting out of every negative situation. Billy still couldn’t seem to get off her ass. She’s good at what she does, and she’s determined to be more than just another one of Kessler’s showgirls.

Once she had even the slightest taste of financial freedom to splurge on a cute top or take herself out to lunch somewhere nice, she’d never go back to her old life. Her life had been full of losses, wins, failures, and falls.

Kessler’s gaze never wavers as she takes her seat across from him, the leather chair creaking slightly under her weight. He exhales a long plume of smoke, watching her with that same calculated amusement, like a cat playing with a mouse.

“I’ve been watching you,” Kessler continues, his eyes narrowing as he takes a drag from his cigar, the smoke curling around his face like a serpent. “You’ve got something… special. A spark, if you will.”

“You’ve been doing good work, sweetheart,” he says, the endearment slipping from his lips like it’s second nature. His voice carries a certain weight, commanding attention, respect, and maybe even a little fear. “Better than most of the girls who walk through that door.”

Her smile widens just a fraction; the words hit their mark. She’s been craving validation like this—something to tell her that all the hours, the effort, the sacrifices are worth it. The faint praise settles into her bones, stoking the fire she keeps burning inside.

“Well, I aim to please,” she replies smoothly, her voice laced with just the right amount of sultriness. She knows how to play her part, knows what Kessler wants to hear. And she’s more than willing to give it to him if it means getting what she wants in return.

Kessler’s smirk deepens, his eyes glittering with something dark, something dangerous. “That’s why you’re my favorite, baby,” he purrs, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with predatory intensity. “You’ve got the looks, the talent, the drive. Everything a girl needs to make it big. And I’m gonna make sure you do.”

She feels a thrill of anticipation run through her at his words. She’s been chasing this dream for as long as she can remember—the idea of being more than just another face in the crowd, of standing out, of having everything she’s ever wanted. Money, power, glory. The trifecta that’s kept her going through every hardship, every setback.

“A-anything, Mr. Kessler,” she says, her voice almost a whisper, leaning in slightly as if she’s afraid to miss a single word. “Tell me what I need to do.”

Kessler’s smile is almost fatherly as he leans back in his chair, taking another drag from his cigar. He likes this part—the moment they’re fully under his spell, ready to do whatever it takes to make his promises come true. He’s seen it a hundred times before, but there’s something about her that makes it all the more satisfying.

“It’s simple, really,” he says, his tone almost conspiratorial. “You just keep doing what you’re doing, baby—keep turning heads, keep bringing in the crowds. Make them want more of you, make them crave you. And when the time is right, when you’re ready, we’ll take that next step.”

He pauses, letting the words sink in, watching as her eyes widen just a fraction, her breath catching slightly in her throat. He’s got her, and he knows it.

“What next step?” she asks, her voice hushed, almost afraid of the answer.

Kessler’s smirk returns, sharper this time. “Movies, baby. Real stardom. You’ve got a face for the camera, and I’m gonna make sure you get there. But you have to trust me, follow my lead. Do that, and you’ll have everything that pretty little heart o’ yours desires.”

She bites her lower lip, a move she knows he finds irresistible, playing into the moment. It’s all she’s ever wanted to hear—the promise of something more, something bigger than the life she’s been living. Dealing with her asshole of a father and his gambling debts, instead of living the life of a normal girl her age, she was working the pole at Club Kess. She’s come too far to turn back now, and Kessler knows that. He’s got her wrapped around his finger, and she can’t even bring herself to care.

“I trust you,” she says, the words coming out easily, as if they were always meant to be spoken. “I’m a big girl, I can take it,” she adds cheekily.

Kessler chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down her spine. He reaches out, brushing a thumb across her cheek, the touch as possessive as it is comforting.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Stick with me, baby, and I’ll make sure the whole world knows your name.”

She feels her heart pound with a mix of fear and excitement. She’s heard the rumors, knows what happens to the girls who fall out of Kessler’s favor, but she’s convinced it won’t happen to her. She’s different. She has to be.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze locking onto hers with predatory intensity. “You want more than just the dance floor. You want to be a star.”

The word hangs in the air between them, heavy with unspoken promises. She can feel the pull, the allure of everything she’s ever wanted, dangling just out of reach. But there’s a part of her, the smart part, that knows there’s always a catch when someone like Kessler is involved.

“I do,” she admits, keeping her voice soft, almost vulnerable, knowing that’s what he’s looking for. “But I know it’s not easy. I’m willing to work for it.”

Kessler’s grin widens, and for a moment, she can see the wolf behind the businessman. “That’s what I like to hear, sweetheart,” he says, his tone oozing with false sincerity. “You’re different. I see big things in your future. Movies, magazine covers, hell, maybe even your own show one day.”

The flattery is relentless, and she finds herself nodding along, even as a small voice in the back of her mind tells her not to fall for it. But it’s hard not to, especially when he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

The words are intoxicating, and for a moment, she lets herself believe them. But then Kessler’s gaze hardens, just for a split second, and she catches a glimpse of the man behind the mask—the one who’s willing to destroy anyone who doesn’t play by his rules.

“But remember,” he adds, his tone shifting to something colder, more menacing, “this business is tough. It chews up the weak and spits them out. You keep up your end of the bargain, and I’ll keep up mine. But cross me… and, well, I’m sure you know what happens to girls who get on my bad side.”

She forces herself to smile, to play along with his game. “I won’t disappoint you, I promise,” she says, her voice smooth as silk, hiding the unease coiling in her gut.

“Good girl,” he replies, the smirk returning as he leans back in his chair, satisfied. “Now, go out there and show them what you’re made of. Got big plans for you.”

She nods, offering him one last smile before she turns.

As she’s about to leave, Kessler’s voice cuts through the lingering haze of cigar smoke. “Actually—hold on a sec, baby,” he drawls, his tone smooth but with an edge that halts her in her tracks. She looks over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

Kessler reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out an old Polaroid camera, the kind that spits out instant photos with a soft mechanical whirr. He holds it up, a sly grin spreading across his face. “One more thing before you go. Gotta get a picture to go with the others, yeah? Keeps things personal, keeps us close.”

She hesitates for a moment, feeling a strange twist in her gut. This wasn’t part of the usual routine, but then again, Kessler always liked to blur the lines. “A Polaroid?” she asks, forcing a light tone, though she can’t keep the edge of suspicion out of her voice.

Kessler chuckles, but it’s a low, menacing sound that sends a shiver down her spine. “Just for the collection,” he says, as if that explains everything. “A little keepsake for me. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

The unease deepens, but she can see the challenge in his eyes, the unspoken command. He wants her to trust him, to play along. And if she refuses, if she makes a scene, she knows what that might mean for her future here.

So, she swallows her discomfort and flashes him her best smile, the one she reserves for customers she’s trying to impress. “Of course, Mr. Kessler,” she says sweetly, stepping closer to the desk.

Kessler’s grin widens as he raises the camera, the lens glinting in the dim light. “Say cheese, darling.”

She hears the click, followed by the whir of the camera spitting out the photo. Kessler catches it before it hits the desk, holding it by the edges as the image slowly develops.

She forces herself to stay calm, to keep that practiced smile in place, even as Kessler’s gaze flicks between her and the photo with a predatory glint. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, more to himself than to her, before he slips the photo into his desk drawer, locking it away.

“Alright, baby,” he says, his tone returning to that of the smooth-talking club owner. “You go on now. Remember, I’m watching.”

She nods, mutters a soft “thank you,” and finally makes her exit, feeling the weight of his gaze on her until she’s out the door. As she steps back into the dimly lit hallway, the thumping bass from the club outside washing over her like a wave, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s just crossed some invisible line, one she might not be able to step back from.

But she pushes the thought aside. This is what she wanted—what she needed. If playing Kessler’s game was the price she had to pay for her shot at fame and fortune, then so be it. She’d play, and she’d win.

Because she knew one thing for sure: in this world, you either play the game or get played. And she wasn’t about to let herself become just another one of Kessler’s pawns.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Whenever I remember that Tenya almost went full vigilante mode for Tensei I want to scream so bad like it's not even funny.

Bnha somersaults its way into saying "maybe heroes are just good citizens with the power to do good things" and "maybe heroism is not in the big notorious acts but in being kind and fair in the day to day details" AND THAT'S ALL TENSEI.

AND THAT'S WHAT MOTIVATES TENYA TO GO FULL BLOODHOUND ON STAIN.

I'm not denying that the world needs the big ass heroism acts like defeating AFO or saving a city or all those flashy notorious feats. All Might is very needed, because there are threats that are too old and developed and have accumulated too much hatred and damage over the years. You cannot always prevent those things from happening and to believe so would be naive, right?

What I'm saying is that those big events are the lowest percentage. They are the consequences of a systematic failure.

Take two of the biggest evil plots in the manga: AFO planning to still OFA and Overhaul with his quirk-erasure bullets. Both plans depended on an abused child being used as objects, Eri because her quirk was the base of the bullet working and Tomura because he was just meant to be AFO's new body in the future. In both cases, AFO and Overhaul were cornered after losing the child they were using for their plots. In fact it was the kids resisting the abuse that contributed the most to their failure: Eri prevented Overhaul from hurting Deku and Tomura prevented AFO from escaping his decaying body.

In that sense, the little unknown pro-heroes taking care of their neighborhood's children do a lot to prevent cases like Tomura or Eri from happening. Hell, AFO and Overhaul were also kids who went the violent route to survive.

Ingenium's silent heroism is probably the best example of what a hero looks like. They don't seek fame or glory. They regard heroism as their duty, their responsibility. No matter how little the act is, it's still important to do it.

At this point, we must admit the Tenya's crisis over what happened to Tensei is not only about their bond as brothers. Yeah, that was Tenya's big bro, but it is no less than when Deku and Bakugo saw All Might fighting AFO for the last time— the last moments of their role models.

The Iida brothers' crisis was deep rooted in the main issues of the story, so I'm still baffled at how people just tend to ignore it.

Before Stain, the "League of Villains" was just a minor threat. Dabi was a nobody with no real crimes to his name. Toga was just a lost little girl trying to survive the streets. Spinner didn't even think about being a villain. Before Stain, things were bad, but no one really thought they could change the status quo, you know?

The USJ incident was not the big deal because 1) how was attacking kids the answer? and 2) going for All Might was expected, since he was almost invincible and the biggest hero in the world and blah blah blah.

When Stain started attacking minor pro-heroes...

Stain was the opposite of Tomura. He admired All Might and saved those kids, but went after the pro-heroes with less powerful quirks. He gave the population a sense of control. It's like he said "hey, you don't have to go after All Might to change the system and why would you? The real problem are the ones on the lowest part of the pro-hero chain".

Suddenly, they could go against pro-heroes and win. Divide and conquer. Suddenly, there was a ladder to climb. Suddenly, you could target not the institutions responsible for the rotten ideology of your society, but the people who enforced the ideology with their daily work.

Stain defended his posture by saying that those people didn't want to be real heroes. They just wanted the money, the fame, they were not really committed to their duty.

And then attacked Tensei, of all people.

If big crimes are built from little crimes that are accumulated over time, what would happen if you decided to eliminate the people taking care of the little crimes?

The crisis of belief in pro-heroes was triggered by Stain. When Stain pointed out at Ingenium (the one in the suit was Tensei) and accused him of false heroism, it's when shit started to go south. He created the idea that pro-heroes should be punished if they don't perform correctly and that they deserve to die if they don't have pure ideas of their job— or whatever.

Tensei being the victim is supposed to show how hypocritical Stain is. Tensei is probably one of the only pro-heroes that never did anything wrong in the manga and one of the best family men to be presented. A man who was loved by everyone for being good in every sense of the word.

Stain projected his own fantasies on Tensei in order to accomplish his witch hunt, not truly caring to figure out who the person was. He just attacked for the sake of attacking, which explains why he was so popular: anyone could do the same and project their issues on him, fighting different battles disguised as just one cause.

When Tenya went after him, it could only make sense. The little of the Iidas is too righteous and noble, quick to judge and act, prone to making mistakes and getting carried away by the looks of it all. So easily his justice turns into revenge and he falls into the trap Stain set. Who knows what a hero student killing Stain would have caused...

At this point it's obvious I'm just ranting for the sake of ranting but 😭😭😭 give the Iidas the respect they deserve please.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 26 - I've Loved Everything About You That Hurts

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: They’re insane because I’ll try to write a chapter with no sex and they end up fucking, and then I try to do the sex in less words and now it’s emotional.

Chapter Title from G.I.N.A.S.F.S by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 25k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: The team drives to DC for a meeting with Singer. Usual warnings, plus some extra smut and average No Love Lost angst.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, much smut (p in v, oral f receiving, fingering, squirting) fluff, emotional angst, established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 25 - Chapter 27

Ben was not the brains. And he was fucking fine with that. He was the muscle, and he was goddamn good at it. Because while She was stronger than he was—She was stronger and brighter and more vital than the fucking sun—she shouldn’t have blood on her hands. Her hands weren’t fucking meant to be covered in blood. They were meant to tap in a smooth, unyielding pattern against every surface, and turn the pages of books, and hold Ben’s face as she smiled at him. She was meant to fucking smile, and only be near blood to sit with Ben as he washed it off himself.

She kept letting it stain her skin. She kept taking fucking bullets meant for others and covering herself in the mud that pussies like Homelander pushed her into. And that’s what Ben was here for. He was now certain that he wasn’t here for fame or glory or money, he was here to move in perfect fucking time with the woman he loved. To listen to Her giggle and mumble and snort, and give her the fucking world. To dance with Her in the kitchen, and joke with her about fucking everything, and keep his arm around her during dinner as She gave him a secret look that meant I love you, Benjamin, you grump. He was supposed to watch baseball as She frowned at the screen, turning his hand over in hers as she tried to follow the game. He was meant to hold onto the easier, better things—the warm, well-fueled light that inflated in his chest when Ryan hugged at him after training, or the chuckle he couldn’t stop from escaping his body when She pouted at him about something stupid, or the way She moaned when he fucked her into the mattress—and hack and claw his way through the worse parts.

Ben was meant to be the only person in the fucking world who did the dirty work for Her. She’d done enough, and even though he believed her more and more when she told him I’m okay, Ben would do everything in his fucking power to keep her okay. He knew he couldn’t stop Her from running into traffic, because she was fast and stubborn and still didn’t care if She got hit. But he’d jump in front of the oncoming car, and continue to make her understand that he fucking cared. Ben would never fucking recover if She got hit. And if all he could do was tell Her I fucking love you, stop thinking you’re weak and expendable when I fucking love you and adore you and need you, and then run into traffic with Her, he’d do it. Ben was meant to fucking defend Her from everything that haunted her at night, and he understood that now. That he’d never chase away the ghosts, and She’d never chase away his, but they could really easily fucking kill them together. If they were together, those fucking pussy ghosts didn’t stand a goddamn chance. 

So Ben was the muscle, in order to make sure that She didn’t have to be. It was another thing for him to do for Her, when She’d made everything so much more beautiful just by fucking existing near him, and fixing all his messes, and loving him. Still somehow fucking loving him, because Ben was almost goddamn certain some cosmic entity had made a clerical error and sent him the most perfect woman in history, instead of leaving him alone. Ben thought he was supposed to be, mostly, alone. Making empty promises to women he knew he didn’t really want, and to keep fucking moving until it was enough.

It hadn’t been enough. It had never been fucking enough. 

But he’d rested for one goddamn second—his head held against Her body, the most awful aching fucking pain he’d ever goddamn felt consuming him like a storm—and it had been good. She’d hummed to him like she loved him, and She fucking did, and stayed. He’d rested, and it had been enough. 

And now he knew that the fantasy he’d created—where life was so fucking happy because She was happy—wasn’t something he’d allow to be a fantasy. He couldn’t control anything about Her, but he could keep her happy. And if Her nightmares were of blood, he’d never let her see fucking blood again. He’d hide everything that was blue—if they had a son, the kid would have to just fucking deal with green—and shoot out whatever fucking ceiling fans made her cry. He’d drive her everywhere, half because he was over a hundred and had never seen someone speed like She did, and half because she was afraid of heights, and shouldn’t have to use a single goddamn plane. He’d yell at whoever was in charge of bridges until they built one to Rome, and the rest of their fucking lives would be happy.

That was a life he wanted to live. Where he was resting with Her, and they were both happy. And Ben would fucking choke on blood and dirt and mud until it was a reality. 

Which is why he was losing his fucking mind as they entered that part of this war where it wasn’t about muscle anymore. It was about careful moves and well chosen words, and it was the only goddamn battle Ben couldn’t fight for Her. He wasn’t fucking stupid, but he wasn’t even fucking close to understanding whatever the hell went on in Her perfect, clever, insufferably brilliant brain. He knew how She thought—because he knew Her and loved Her and cared for Her—so when something happened that made her eyes grow glazed and her breathing become mechanical, Ben knew he had to hold her until she stopped thinking the only stupid thoughts she was capable of thinking.

That she was bad, when she was actually the only truly good thing in the world. 

That she was weak, when she fucking wasn’t. 

That she didn’t matter, when she mattered more than fucking anything, and sometimes it stabbed him deep in his arteries that she still didn’t get that. 

Ben knew how to chase those thoughts away. He was smart enough to know how to worship and tend to her, and to know when she just needed him at her side.

But Christ, he wasn’t smart enough for this shit. For the CIA and Singer and Edgar and Sage messes. This was Her territory. And Ben could stand at her side, but that was the only fucking way he could help, and it was driving him out of his goddamn mind.

What was worse, though, was that She was fucking confused. And that’s how Ben knew they were fucked.

Because not a single goddamn person could figure out what the fuck the keys were for. 

As they’d left the safe house, Neuman had stopped them. In reality, Neuman had stopped Her and Ben had simply fucking refused to leave them alone. He’d received several irritated glares from Neuman, but She’d moved her free hand to hold Ben’s forearm—in a silent request to keep his hand in Her’s, to stay at her side all the goddamn time—so Ben had stood tall and proud next to her, keeping her safe. Just by being there, like She’d told him to. Neuman could look fucking pissed at him all she wanted, Ben wasn’t going anywhere.

“You were at Red River,” Neuman had watched them carefully, arms crossed as she blocked their way down the stairs. “Did you get it?” 

There had been a pause as She examined Neuman, before finally nodding, her tone flat and  bored. “Yeah, we did. We’ll get it to Edgar-“ 

“What is it?” 

She’d blinked at Neuman. “Does it matter?” 

“Of course it matters,” Neuman had said Her name with an eye roll, and Ben had felt something bloody and zealous tense in his body. “Edgar raised me to be a lot smarter than just blindly trusting him, so I want to know what it is.” 

“And if I don’t tell you?” 

“Oh, come on.” Neuman’s voice had been vaguely amused, giving Her a flat look. “We both know you’re going to tell me. You trust me enough to bring Ashley here, and whatever it is I bet you’re debating whether or not you should give it to Edgar. I can help you decide.”

Ben hadn’t been debating shit. It was keys. Who gave a fuck about keys. As far as he had known, they’d toss the keys to Edgar, settling the debt, and figure out what the fuck to do with the V.

And that was another fucking reason why She was the brains. She’d studied Neuman—fingers tapping on Ben’s arm with lips pulled between her teeth—and found a conclusion that satisfied her enough to reach into Ben’s pocket and pull out the keys, holding them up for Neuman to see.

“Keys.” She’d jingled them with a shrug. “Got an idea what they’re to?”

Neuman hadn’t. Neuman had just looked fucking confused, and helped with goddamn nothing. Neuman had stared at the keys, bluntly stated that she didn’t know what they could possibly unlock, all of Edgar’s property assets were seized and all of Vought’s buildings used electronic locks, and suggested they figure out what they were for before giving them to Edgar. And—based on Her drawn, too-neutral face and the spark of indigence in her eyes—She’d already known all that, and had no intention of giving Edgar a goddamn thing until they knew what the hell was going on.

And now they were even more goddamn late to get back to the compound, and make the drive to DC. She’d volunteered to drive them back, and Ben, Hughie, and Kimiko had exchanged silent looks of not a fucking chance in hell. 

“I’ll be safe-“ 

Ben had drawled Her name, cutting off her protests as Hughie and Kimiko moved to the front of the car. “You will not be fucking safe. You’re worse than Butcher, and if you wreck his car we’re going to have to deal with his bitching for the rest of our goddamn lives.” 

“But-“ 

He’d tugged Her into the back seat, holding her half on his lap and kissing her pretty, pouting mouth until she relaxed in his arms. We’re going to be fucking fine. If Singer gets all goddamn pissed about us being late, he can shove it in his dick hole. 

A small smile had played on her lips, still pressed against Ben’s. Gross.

Her heartbeat had remained steady under Ben’s hands for the rest of the—perfectly fucking legal and safe—drive, and when they’d stepped off the elevator they’d been greeted by MM’s assessing glare and scowl.

“What the hell took you so long.” 

“Um,” Hughie had glanced back to Her—tucked under Ben’s arm—with a stutter of Her name and pallid face. “Do you want to-“ 

“You know what,” MM had run a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I don’t care. Kimiko, you and Frenchie are holding down the fort with Ryan. You three,” he’d turned his glare to Her, Ben, and Hughie. “Get ten minutes to pack. We’re rolling out in fifteen no matter who the fuck is in the limo.”

She’d blinked. “The limo-“ 

“Van’s still scrapped,” MM had muttered. “And we can’t fit six grown ass adults in a minivan or Butcher’s car. We’re renting a limo.”

Ben had no complaints about that. He didn’t have to wear a damn seatbelt in a limo, and it was a very opportune and appropriate place to hold Her in his lap as they drove without groans and pointed glares from their prude fucking team. If a life of luxury had taught him anything, it was that limos were meant to hold beautiful women, and he’d be fucking damned if he didn’t hold his beautiful woman—the most beautiful, perfect fucking woman who he fucking loved—when he was given the opportunity. So he’d let Her pull them back to their apartment, changing as she stuffed their shit into a suitcase, and taken over when her heartbeat became too fucking fast and her glare at their clothing became almost violent.

“I’ve got it,” Ben had walked up behind Her, wrapping his arms over Her shoulders and kissing Her neck until she let out a breath that didn’t sound fucking mechanical. “Don’t lose your damn mind, Sunshine, I can fucking pack.”

She’d nodded slowly, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t,” he’d muttered, leaning down to kiss under Her jaw, and felt something light and perfectly fucking mind-numbing wrap around his brain like a crown as she made a high, breathy sound. “Go get changed, darling.” 

She’d let Ben guide her to the dresser, and begun to hum under her breath as she’d changed.

“Rainbow Connection.” He’d grunted as she’d returned to his side, hanging off Ben’s arms as She surveyed his packing job.

Her smile had been all content, easy joy, and Ben whole fucking heart had skipped. Then she’d started to actually fucking sing, and he’d genuinely considered just letting the team leave without them. Her voice was like honey and summer rain and something peaceful and strong that Ben hadn’t heard before Her, and never wanted to stop hearing for the rest of his fucking life. The only thing that kept him from staying here, where She was safe and happy and the whole goddamn world was just color and light and her perfect fucking smile, was that she’d kick his fucking ass if they missed this meeting.

They’d had five more minutes, though. And that was more than enough time for Ben to spin Her around until she was dizzy and giggling, swaying in his arms to the instruments that weren’t really there as She sang, looking at him with such infinite and impossibly fucking ceaseless love.

This was the fucking shit worth fighting for. This was where Ben was goddamn supposed to be. And even as he’d kept his arm over Her shoulder—letting Her drag the suitcase behind them and grabbing his shield before they left the apartment—Ben didn’t fucking want to go. He wanted to stay right here, and let this ungrateful world that kept fucking hurting Her crumble.

But She wouldn’t let that happen, and part of why Ben loved Her—there were countless fucking reasons, and the world would probably be swallowed by the Sun before he’d finished naming them all—was because she loved fucking everything. She had a goddamn unfathomable amount of love to hold in Her body, and most of it might be for Ben, but it still spilled into everywhere that Ben could see. Music sounded better, and jokes were funnier, and water quenched his thirst faster when she was around. The only thing Ben remained at her side was hungry. For more of this fucking beauty, and whatever bit of love She’d spare for him. And as long as She kept loving the world, he’d defend it for her. If Ben had a goddamn say in anything, the world wouldn’t fall to ruin until She told him to burn it.

And She wouldn’t. So Ben had to kiss Her head and mutter that he loved Her—just in case she hadn’t heard him the million other times he’d said it—and stay watchful and dependent at her side. Walk with her to the elevator, out to the parking lot, and over to a sleek, black limo that already had the engine fucking running.

“Bout fucking time,” Butcher had grunted, jerking his head to the limo doors as they approached. “We were two bleedin seconds from leavin you twats behind. I’m drivin, which means I’m in fuckin charge, and that means no hanky panky in my bloody limo.”

She’d wrinkled Her nose as Ben opened the door. “Hanky Panky? What are you, a fucking grandmother? You sound older than he does.” 

Butcher had scoffed as She’d bumped Ben’s shoulder. “Shut it, Love, least I know how fuckin wifi works.” 

“I know how wifi works,” Ben had grumbled into Her ear as Butcher turned away. “You put in the numbers and the radio shows you the internet.”

“That’s,” She’d paused, tilting Her head as Ben pulled her into the limo. “Not wrong. Good work, Pretty Boy.”

He’d grunted, shifting them until She was on his lap, not sparing a goddamn glance to the rest of the team. “I didn’t fucking miss the old shit, brat. I’m not-“ 

“Fucking old,” She’d grinned at him, voice dropping into that dog shit impression of Ben that She’d only gotten worse at. “You know better than any damn pussy fucker, Sunshine, that I am not old.” 

He’d rolled his eyes, kissing at the base of Her neck, and MM had let out a very loud cough that almost made Ben bash his brains in, because it caused Her beautiful, perfect face to twist away from him.

“Sorry, MM-“

MM had cut Her off with a heavy, almost pained sigh. “It isn’t that shit. I mean, we’d all really appreciate if you toned it the fuck down for the drive, but I’ve given up on trying to stop you motherfuckers from humping like dogs in heat all the goddamn time.”

She’d flushed, and Ben had taken over. “The fuck do you want then-“

“The Cornucopia.” MM had looked between Ben and Her and Hughie with a raised brow. “What the hell is it.”

She’d reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out the keys, and tossed them across the limo to MM. He’d blinked at Her, she’d explained Red River as Ben added some very fucking helpful nods and Hughie jumped in with small, stupid details that didn’t seem like they mattered, but She’d thanked him for anyways. 

And now, after a whole goddamn hour of sitting in the limo, they’d made no progress in figuring out what the fuck to do with the keys. Everyone had coughed up fifty dollars to Annie for Her bet of any item that’s not a bucket—Annie had forgiven Her debt, and Ben had taken Annie’s dish duty for two fucking months to make up for his own—and they’d passed them around the group for everyone to examine like they’d suddenly fucking have Vought Sex Dungeon engraved on the side.

“Maybe they’re to a storage unit?” Annie looked around the group, fidgeting with the keys in her hands, and MM shook his head.

“No, they’d have a label on them. And then we’d have to worry about-“

“What the fuck is in the storage unit.” She mumbled, leaning Her head back onto Ben’s shoulder. “I mean, no matter what those keys probably lead to the actual Cornucopia. It can’t just be keys.”

“But it’s different, right?” Hughie leaned forwards as he spoke, arms on his knees. “If it’s a storage unit, or a box, or, like, a whole building? And it matters that they’re keys, I mean that sort of, um, narrows it down.”

Ben frowned, opening his mouth to ask Hughie how the fuck that narrowed a goddamn thing down, when She squeeze his arm over her stomach.

A lot of Vought buildings don’t use physical keys, they use keycards. And those keys don’t look old, so it’s not a warehouse that just hasn’t been modernized.

Ben reached his hand up to tilt Her head back, moving her full attention from Hughie to him. What the fuck do you think it is.

I don’t know. She sighed, pulling Ben’s arms around her a little tighter. I mean, I have guesses, but-

What are they.

Ben could see Her teeth as they tugged at her lower lip, her fingers tapping against the back of his hand. They’re just theories, and none of them are concrete-

He grunted Her name in his head. Tell me your fucking theories.

They don’t-

If you say matter, I’ll crash the fucking car.

Grumpy. She gave him a fake pout, and Ben hauled her a little further up his chest, kissing the crook of Her neck.

Tell me. I won’t interrupt you, and you can talk them out. That always fucking helps you. 

Her fingers stilled against him, and when Ben pulled back she was watching him with something so gentle and adoring in her eyes it nearly fucking knocked him out. He could feel the full fucking force of Her love, crashing into his body and making everything so good. There was a soft smile playing on Her face, and Ben didn’t understand it. That was the smile she gave him when he said something supportive to Ryan, or grumbled an agreement with Butcher, or exchanged short, curt nods with MM. It was the smile She gave him when he made her pancakes, or proved he’d been listening to Her rant about nothing, or she caught him humming one of her songs in the shower, and none of his scowling or protests could deter her teasing.

I love you, Benjamin. Her voice was almost whispering in his head, and she reached up to trace the lines of his face. I really love you.

I fucking know that-

No, you don’t. She brushed hair from Ben’s eyes, and let out a small sigh. I love you so, so much. I love you, Ben. I really fucking love you.

Something felt almost fucking radiant in Ben’s body. It wasn’t the nuke, because that felt violent and hateful and still fucking painful, even within Ben’s control. This was comfortable and open and so fucking painfully glorious it might drive him mad. It was so goddamn strange, and easy, and he’d felt it before but not quite like this. This felt like when he’d rested against Her, but without any of the pain or the lump of failure in his throat. So—though he still didn’t fully fucking understand what she meant, Ben did know She loved him and never fucking doubted it—he nodded, and dropped his face back to her neck. I love you too, Sunshine. Talk.

It could be an apartment or house that the feds missed. It’s likely Edgar’s and not Vought’s, because if it’s important enough to hide Vought would’ve already taken it. Sage would’ve taken it. Maybe it’s an incredibly well-kept secret, and Sage is looking for it, and that’s why Edgar wants it now. But if it’s that, it’s probably not a house, because what would Sage need with a house. I don’t think it’s going to be something small, because Cornucopia implies plenty, and Edgar isn’t someone who misuses words. My bet is on a warehouse that Edgar’s keeping a lot of shit in. Vanessa seemed worried about what we’d do with it, which makes me think it’s something dangerous. She turned Her head, resting it against Ben’s. But that’s all I have.

Ben rolled his eyes. Still a fuck ton more than everyone else.

Shut up. She whacked Ben’s arm lightly, and he could feel her smile brushing against his forehead. What’s your bet.

My money is on your fucking money, darling.

That’s very sweet, but not the slightest bit helpful.

Tough shit, I’m not changing my answer. Ben nipped at Her slightly, smirking at the small squeak that left her lips. You’re the smartest one here by a damn mile. Money on you is safe fucking money.

Love has made you stupid, Benjamin.

No. He drew back up, his grin unrestrained as he took in Her perfect, pretty face, and her sharp, amused eyes, and all Her fucking love and adoration for, and knew that all of it was fucking his. Ben got to have this. He loved Her like she deserved, so he got to be the one she looked at with a smile and watched like he was everything. Love has made me smart as fuck. Which is why I know to put money on you, beautiful. Because you’re always fucking right.

They were so fucking close, Ben’s breath passing into her mouth, and Christ, She was going to kill him. Her lips had parted slightly, her hands over Ben’s arms—holding them in their rightful place against Her—gripping him like she was going to fall down, and She wanted him. Her thighs were rubbing for friction against his body, and her heartbeat had picked up, and Ben was going to fuck Her in the back of the limo. Everyone else was just going to have to suck it the fuck up, because She fucking wanted Ben and he wasn’t capable of denying her anything. 

Then MM said Her name, and Ben almost bit through this tongue at the way She squirmed above him and made his cock jump, and the way she was still holding onto him, and the fucking smell and feel of Her above him, and Christ he needed to fuck her-

“Catch,” MM grunted, and Ben grabbed the keys flying through the air before She even had time to react. “That wasn’t mean for you-“ 

“Shove it up your ass, MM.” Ben tucked the keys into Her pocket, holding MM’s glare. “What do you want.”

She pinched Ben’s arm. Rude, Benjamin-

He shouldn’t just fucking throw shit at you-

You throw things at me all the time- 

No, I don’t, you throw shit at me all the damn time, because you’re fucking mean to me- 

You’re invincible, Pretty Boy, I think you’ll survive some paper-

MM let out a loud, overdramatic cough. “If you can listen to me for five minutes, I’ll let you dumbasses brain-fuck each other all you want. Think you can make it five fucking minutes?”

Ben had no interest in making it five minutes, and She didn’t either. He’d shifted against Her, pressing himself into her ass, and her breath had hitched as her heart began to stumble in her chest. But She was too fucking kind and good and perfect, so She nodded, and MM continued. 

“You have to keep those on you,” he said, voice firm and jaw set. “And no making any moves with them until we’re all on board, this could be dangerous. That goes for everyone!” MM raised his voice, glare turning to the front of the limo. “That means you, motherfucker. No stealing the keys and going all vigilante!”

Butcher snorted from the front. “I ain’t the one for you to worry about, Mate. If anyone’s goin fuckin rogue, it’s Bonnie and Clyde over there.” 

“We’re not going to go rogue, Butcher.” She flipped off the divider between them and Butcher, a pretty glower on her face. “And if you try to steal the keys, I’ll burn your face off.”

“Fuckin shame, that’s my money maker-“ 

“Can we please not kill each other when there’s still two hours left of the drive?” Hughie had gone all fucking puppy-dog eyed—looking between Her and Butcher’s back like a whining child—and She gave him an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, Hughie.” She turned back to MM, and She needed to stop wiggling around on Ben’s lap or he’d go fucking insane. “Is that it?” 

When MM nodded, She twisted back around, dropping Her head into Ben’s chest, and sighed. Ben let Her stay there as Hughie, Annie, and MM trailed off into a conversation he wasn’t paying attention to, tangling his fingers in Her hair and kneading at her skin. Her heartbeat was a soft, even hum in Her chest, and he didn’t need to feel Her fingers tapping on his back or hear the chew of her tongue to know She was thinking. He didn’t push it—waiting for Her to speak first—because She fit naturally against him, and nothing in him felt wrong, so She was okay. Just fucking thinking.

Benjamin? 

He hummed Her name back, between their heads, and she exhaled against him. 

We didn’t tell them about the V. The vial of it we found with the keys. 

Ben paused, glancing over at their team. Do you want to.

I don’t know. I, Her arms around him tightened, and She looked up, meeting Ben’s eyes with a frown. I don’t want to give it to Edgar. I don’t trust whatever intentions he has with it. But I don’t want to make more supes. It’s fighting fire with fire, and it’s not- She cut herself off, eyes roaming Ben’s face like she’d find an answer there. It’s not fair.

None of this is fair- 

I know, She sat up a little, hands moving to cup Ben’s jaw. I know this isn’t about fair. But it’s still not fucking fair. I know you asked for this, for the V, but I didn’t. No one else did. And that’s so fucking unfair. It’s so unfair, Ben, and I don’t, I mean. She took a long breath. You remember how much it hurt, I can’t do that to someone. Even for the mission.

He began to trace patterns on Her waist, studying her almost glossy, pleading eyes. She wasn’t spiraling—Her heartbeat was too steady—but she looked lost. Unsure and so fucking tired that it made Ben’s whole head heavy. 

And he needed to help. Ben needed to make this fucking better for Her, whatever it goddamn took.

Do you know why I volunteered for the Vought trials.

She paused, tilting her head at him. To impress your dad, Butcher told me before we woke you up.

Yeah. Ben let out a dry chuckle, holding Her gaze. Did the cockfuck tell you if it worked?

He said it didn’t. Her fingers began to play with the hair of Ben’s beard as She frowned at him. Why?

Because I did this shit to myself, I made myself Soldier Boy, and it didn’t mean a goddamn thing. Everyone loved me, and nobody gave a fuck about me-

I give a fuck about you, She gave him a small, sweet, toothless smile, and Ben didn’t even fucking bother to stop himself from returning it. 

If you’d let me talk, brat, Ben drawled between their heads, dropping his brow to Hers. I’m fucking getting there. I missed my own mother’s funeral because my father somehow managed to outlive her, and I didn’t want to see his old, ugly, evil fucking face. My whole goddamn life was about being Soldier Boy, I never had a single pussy fucker I trusted, and I wasn’t aging so I decided to just keep damn waiting until this proved worth something. And you, he squeezed his arms around her, brushing his lips against Hers in a slight, soft motion. Are worth something. I waited a fucking lifetime, and I found it.

She made a small, choked sound, and Her eyes on Ben’s were filled with all that love he could feel everywhere around him. In Her, and traded between their body, and making everything so fucking good.

I love you, Her voice was soft in his head, her hands holding Ben’s head against Hers. But I don’t-

Ben had to spell it out for Her. He’d expected that. The one fucking thing she never seemed to get was that She was the whole fucking world, and Ben would follow her everywhere. I love you. I fucking adore you, and it’s not fair that you’re cleaning up all the goddamn messes I helped make in your name, before I even fucking knew you.

In my-

I was Soldier Boy to make this shit worth something. Everything I did was for whatever the fuck would be worth something, and that’s you. I was just a fucking dumbass who did it wrong. Love has made me smarter, Sunshine, because I’m doing it right now, but I still did it fucking wrong before. And I made messes, and now the woman I love has to clean them up because none of this shit is fucking fair. That V is my V, that they made to make you, and that’s it. Butcher might end up with us, but it’s you and me. We can flush that V down the toilet, or throw it off a fucking building, but that’s it. It’s not fair for you to make that call, so we’re taking it off the goddamn table.

She was silent for a second, and when She spoke she was combing her fingers through Ben’s hair, mouth dropped in a soft frown. You didn’t make these messes, Ben.

Yeah I know, fucking Homelander- 

No. She gave a small shake of her head. Not Homelander either. That's the worst part, I think. That all of this is so fucking unfair, and no one person can pay for it.

What the fuck are you talking about.

She sighed. I’m saying that I can’t blame anyone. That none of this is fair, and I can’t blame Homelander for all of it. Voguelbaum created him, and Stillwell enabled him, and- 

I fucking helped in making him- 

But they didn’t tell you to. And you didn’t make the system that he’s thrived in. You helped build it, to a degree, but not all of it. And I don’t blame you. I’ve told you that. I’ve never blamed you for how unfair this is, or what happened to me.

And I’ve told you that you fucking should- 

But I don’t. She searched his eyes, her own almost pleading. I really don’t. I love you, Benjamin, and I don’t really care for Soldier Boy, but I haven’t ever blamed you for this. Even before you were my Ben, I never blamed you.

He still didn’t fucking understand Her. She should blame him. This shit was unfair, and they both knew that fair didn’t matter, but Ben would still never be properly fucking worthy of Her. He’d never make up for how he’d set in motion things that had goddamn hurt her. But She was still curled in his lap, calling him mine, and looking at him like he was worth something. 

Why.

Do you know the Bhagavad Gita?

Ben gave Her a flat glare. You know goddamn well- 

It’s Hindu scripture. And there’s a really famous passage that says “I am become death, shatterer of worlds.” It means the soldier isn’t responsible for the deaths of the war. You were, sort of, a soldier. And you did benefit, and you were a real fucking asshole, but you were willingly blind. You committed atrocious, and didn’t think twice, because that’s what soldiers are meant to do. You aren’t a victim, but these messes aren’t just yours. A lot of people helped you make them. Vought gave you compound V, and the government signed off on the trials, and your father told you that you were worthless and you wanted a way to prove him wrong. You were an unstable dick, but you didn’t tell them the solution was to make Homelander. And you didn’t raise Homelander, or tell him to hurt me. You’ve been one of the only people who’s tried to stop him from hurting me, and that’s why I don’t blame you. Many, many people contributed to this, and none of them have ever repented. You’re repenting, and this will always be fucking unfair, but it’s you and me. You’re not a soldier anymore. You’re fighting for people you care about instead of power or glory, and you’re trying to help me fix this, and I love you. And that’s what matters.

She was fucking perfect. Ben hadn’t followed half the damn words She passed down their connection, but he understood the gist. She was still too good, too kind, too fucking forgiving, and She loved him. This wasn’t fucking fair, but he was doing everything in his goddamn power to make it easier for Her, and she fucking loved him. Ben bumped Her nose with his, and a smile tugged at her lips.

Lot of smart fucking words to say you love me and don’t blame me.

Well, you weren’t fucking getting it, Pretty Boy. That’s not my fault. She pressed a light kiss to Ben’s check, humming against his beard. Thank you.

Don’t-

Nope. Thank you. I love you, and thank you.

Ben sighed, and let it the fuck go. He had a lifetime to finally get Her to stop fucking thanking him for things he was supposed to be doing. He was meant to love Her, and listen to her, and hold her like this, so she needed to stop fucking pretending it was some sort of labor he needed thanks for. But for now, as Her head dropped down to his shoulder and she buried her face in his neck—warm breath fanning over his skin, a light touch tracing over his bicep—Ben let this be enough. She—all by her goddamn self—was more than fucking enough, and so he dropped it.

I love you too. He muttered in Her head, something relaxing and blooming in his chest as she smiled against him. Whatever the hell you want to do with the V, we’ll do it. And my vote is flushing it down the goddamn toilet. You and I are strong enough to kick Homelander’s pussy dick into his asshole all by our goddamn selves.

Her nose wrinkled. Gross.

Shut up. He moved his hand to the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair until she was molded against him. You fucking love it.

I do. There was a moment of silence, Her fingers still tracing over Ben’s skin before resting against his chest. Ben?

He grunted, keeping his hand around her and against Her in steady patterns. Circles on her hips and hair wrapped between his fingers, her skin soft under his touch and heartbeat in an even rhythm Ben knew better than his own.

You’re worth something to me as well. 

I know-

No. Let me finish. She pushed up on him, holding his gaze with an almost anguished intensity. You’re worth everything to me. You are everything to me. I love you and adore you and I give so many fucks about you it’s insane. You’re my whole life, Benjamin, now and after. And you make all of this worth something for me as well.

The radiant warmth was everywhere inside of him now, but it was fed by the ache. The way Her voice in his head was pleading, like she needed Ben to understand, and if he didn’t it might hurt her. The way Her hands were curled in his shirt as she held herself up—like she was forcing herself not to collapse against him—and her words were wrapping over Ben’s body and seeping in his skin, all of it born from Her love for him. And it all made the ache in him slide into his throat, and tug at his tongue to say a million fucking things he didn’t have words for.

Simple was easier. The only words that never failed to make Her smile, and set her heart back to an even rhythm. The only thing he fully knew how to be certain of in the entire goddamn universe.

I love you, Sunshine.

Her face split into a soft, gentle smile. I love you too, Benjamin.

She fucking loved him, and that was rooted so deeply inside of Ben that he’d never stray from it. It made him stronger, holding him in a place he knew and loved and wanted to defend. He pulled Her a little higher up his torso, dropping his head to top of her chest and just fucking living there. Where her heartbeat was the loudest, and everything felt fucking good.

They’d worry about all this shit later. They had a whole fucking day ahead of them to worry about Singer and Her stepfather, and Homelander and Mallory and Edgar. And they’d spent months that felt like lives worrying about all these fucking messes, and Ben had spent lives before that making them without ever resting, or feeling fucking satiated by it.

He was satiated here. Leaning into her, with Her legs wrapped around his body and her head resting over his. Her body was slumped over him, every hitched breath when Ben ran a hand up her thigh or traced down her spine brushing against Ben’s ear, and this felt right. This felt fucking right, and Ben didn’t think he’d felt something this plainly natural in his life. It kept amazing him—over and fucking over—how he’d spent his whole life tearing things apart when all he’d had to do was fucking wait. It had made it easier when She’d been away from him and asked him to just wait for Her, because he had a lifetime of goddamn practice waiting for Her already. Waiting for something that wasn’t fucking salvation—because She hadn’t fixed him or saved him, that was fucking stupid—but better.

She wasn’t a cure. She was too silently wrathful to be a cure, made of too many sharp, spiking parts that she cut off for others to consume for Her to be a cure. She wasn’t for others, she just didn’t know how not to be. She was something that was meant to be worshipped, that had been made into a fucking offering. Turned into something like a cure, but never able to do it right, because it’s not what she was supposed to be.

Cures were made for something deadly and diseased. And Ben wasn’t a fucking saint, but he wasn’t sick. He’d just been angry. He’d been furious and bitter and vigilant, so he’d made himself lonely half by choice and half by how vicious his bite was when he was wronged.

She bit too. She didn’t cower or maul or run. She just bit back, and Her bite was a match to his. Less brute force, but more targeted. Right into Ben’s neck, and feeding something in him he hadn’t known was hungry. So She wasn’t a fucking cure, because cures took things away. She’d made him more. Given him something he’d always wanted, and never known existed. And now Ben would always be hungry, but he’ll be satiated. He found purpose. He’d had waited his whole fucking life for purpose, and it was Her. This was a goddamn purpose, something he was meant to do and be and have and give.

Are you hungry?

Ben leaned back, meeting Her eyes with a frown. What. 

I’m thinking about dinner. We’re staying in a hotel tonight, and the meeting with Singer isn’t until the morning, and I’m hungry. 

She gave him a fake pout, and Ben seriously fucking considered throwing Butcher out of the car to get Her to a fucking McDonalds. She probably liked McDonalds, everyone fucking liked McDonalds, and she always ate Ben’s burgers, so it wasn’t like they’d get fucked by the menu.

Just in case, he asked, What do you want?

She hummed, her fingers tapping against Ben’s jaw. What do hotels usually have? Lobster? Do they have lobster? 

Fancy hotels have lobster. And if this one doesn’t, I’ll find you some- 

Ben. She gave him a flat look, even as Her love swept through him like a wildfire. Where are you going to find me lobster. 

I don’t fucking know, the ocean- 

We’re on a river, those don’t have lobsters. 

Ben rolled his eyes. Fine, smartass, another restaurant- 

They’d make you pay for that, Pretty Boy, and we’re broke. If you keep losing bets at this rate, you’ll be on dish duty until after we kill Homelander.

What the fuck else am I supposed to do, they won’t forgive my debts like they do yours- 

Because you lose all the time. She shrugged, dropping Her brow to Ben’s as she smiled at him. And I cover you, when I have the money. 

We should both have the fucking money. Ben’s hands gripped Her body against him, and she must have read his next thought on his face, because She frowned and shook her head. 

Do not use the meeting with Singer to demand a pay raise, Benjamin. That’s not what it’s for. 

It’s not a pay raise, my love, it’s a fucking union. You and I aren’t going to do more of their shit for them until they give us some goddamn money- 

We both know we’re not going to unionize. She sighed, her breath passing into Ben’s m. We might not be legally dead anymore, but we’re still not CIA employees. 

We should be-

You’d have to do an interview with Mallory. Amusement danced in Her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. And they’d run a background check. You can’t even do a background check, Benjamin, your social security number is negative five. 

Shut up. I am not fucking old, and we still need some goddamn money. I’ll tongue Butcher’s taint before I become these pussies fucking maid-

We’ll make money. She pressed a kiss to the corner of Ben’s mouth. If escorts don’t pan out, we can try birthday parties. I know a guy who has a very authentic Soldier Boy costume, and I think he’ll let me borrow it if I give him a blowjob.

Ben snorted. He’d let you borrow it if you asked him real pretty and made him a bagel, Sunshine, but I’m not doing fucking birthday parties- 

You wouldn’t even have to talk. I’d stand behind a curtain, and I can say everything for you. The kids would never know the difference. She grinned as Her voice in Ben’s head dropped to that gravelly impression of him. Hi, I’m Soldier Boy. New York. Eagles. Baseball. Boobs. Don’t do crack, kids, do Benzedrine. Don’t wear blue, it’s a pussy color, wear green. And if you’re ever in a fight, go for the other guy’s dick. I’m a million fucking years old, and I sing Rainbow Connection in the shower when I think nobody can hear, and I know you can fucking hear me Sunshine, but you don’t goddamn count-

Ben buried his head in Her neck, sucking and biting that one spot until her words trailed off into a tiny whimper.

Brat.

Cunt. Her voice was soft and needy, and Ben smirked against Her, kissing a wet trail up her jaw and over her face. Ben-

I love you so fucking much, Sunshine. He kissed around her pretty, already open mouth, trailing his tongue over her lips. And if we didn’t have company, I’d fuck you right here.

Ben felt Her heartbeat pick up under his careful, firm touches, but she didn’t pull away. We get our own room tonight, She let out a small, breathy sigh as Ben deepened the kiss. If you can keep it in your pants for a little while longer, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.

How much longer.

She pulls away from him slightly, reaching between their bodies to grab Her phone. She paused as she swiped at Her screen, looking up at Ben with a frown. We really need to get you another phone-

Later. How much longer until I get to fuck you. 

She wrinkled her nose at him. Horny old man- 

Needy fucking brat. Ben shifted Her above him, letting his half-hard cock push between Her thighs, gritting his teeth as her legs tightened around him. How much- 

An hour. She dropped her phone back between their bodies, wrapping her arms around Ben’s neck and lowering her face so their cheeks brushed. Think you can make it? 

Ben scoffed, moving one hand down to squeeze at Her ass and smirking at her soft squeak in his ear. I’ll manage, Sunshine. 

He wasn’t going to manage. They fell into an easy silence, Her body curled over Ben’s and her hands playing thoughtlessly with the hair at the nape of his neck, and the longer they stayed like that the more he needed her. She still smelled like that flower shampoo, but there was grass lingering over it, and a third smell that invaded Ben’s senses and so clearly just fucking Her. It was like the goddamn apples in their apartment, and chocolate, and warm smoke and the fucking sun. Ben didn’t have a better way to put it, because really it was just fucking Her. Like an aphrodisiac or song that tugged on something in his brain and called him home. Back to Her, closer to Her, always with Her.

It probably fucking was Her. That piece of her that was alive inside of him, growing stronger and stronger the longer it stayed. 

Ben had no fucking intention of letting it leave. If holding Her like this—sitting in complete goddamn silence and caring for every perfect piece of her in his arms and mind—was what this part of Her needed to thrive, he’d hold her like this forever. She lived in Ben because he was safe to her. She given this part of her to him—even if She hadn’t actually meant to—and he’d never fail Her and let it feel pain. 

He fucking loved Her, and she was all around him in every fucking way but the one that was starting to strain at his pant, and that sense of her everywhere wasn’t doing him any favors to make it through the hour. He wanted to make that piece of Her light up inside him, watch her perfect, beautiful face grow blissfully relaxed and adoring as he worshiped Her. Prove to Her that he thought she was too fucking kind and good for anyone at all, but he’d never let Her be wrong about him. If She said that Ben was repenting, he’d do whatever trial was laid out before him to prove Her right.

But as much as he wanted to bury himself deep inside of Her and mutter praise he meant and promises he’d always fucking keep, the hum of Her heart was growing slower and softer, and Ben realized she’d fallen asleep. He could feel a small amount of drool on his neck—her hair tickling his nose and her grip on his neck becoming slack—and he couldn’t stop the small smile that crept over his face. She was fucking safe here, where Ben was allowed to touch her in small ways that made her hum in sleep against his skin. Where he could trace patterns on Her hips, keep a steady arm around her waist, and let a hand move slowly up her spine to tangle in her hair until she fell further into him was a content sigh. Ben kept his breathing even and slow, his eyes on the rest of their team in a warning of keep it the fuck down, or I’ll crack your head open, so nothing could disturb her sleep.

She didn’t have a single fucking nightmare. No smoke rose from Her body, and no distressed, strangled sounds escaped her mouth. Everything in Ben felt right and a little high, so he knew she was really, truly, really fucking good. And when the limo finally stopped and Butcher turned to address them from the front, Ben’s respect for their team fucking doubled as a chorus of hissed be quiets filled the limo.

Butcher scoffed. “She’s a big girl, she don’t need a nap-“

“Butcher,” MM whispered, his tone and expression venomous. “If you wake her up, I’m not going to stop Soldier Boy from killing you.” 

“Oh, come off it, Mate-“ 

“She never sleeps well, you asshole,” Annie’s voice was hushed, her eyes turning to Ben’s. “When was the last time she had a real, full night of sleep?” 

Ben couldn’t fucking remember. Even after she’d stopped taking the suppressants, she still woke up screaming and wrapped and fire and sobbing about fucking blood. She fell back asleep easier now, but Ben had received countless fucking burns across his arms and face as he held Her down, trying to bring her back to earth before she flew off the bed and burned right through the fucking roof. She always healed the twisted for him if they weren’t gone by morning, and Ben always fucked Her after to chase off any useless goddamn guilt in her eyes, but it kept happening. He didn’t know how to fix it, other than only staying, just like she’d asked. 

Annie must have seen the clench of his jaw—images of Her perfect face empty and hollow and broken flashing in Ben’s brain, echoes of her screams ringing in his ears—because she turned back to Butcher with a glare. “You just have to lower your voice, Butcher. Don’t be a dick.”

Butcher’s attention darted to Her—still steadily asleep against Ben—and rolled his eyes as he dropped his voice. “We got four rooms, and all the lovey dovey cunts will be sharin.” Butcher threw keycards to MM and Ben, who caught their’s with ease, and Hughie, who made a small yelp as Annie’s arm shot out, catching it for him. “Meetin with Singer is at 8am, and we got to be there at 7. You lot will meet me here at 6, and I don’t want to see your sorry fuckin faces until then.”

Ben could live with that. It was a little past midnight, and six hours of sleep was a fuck ton more than She usually got, so he’d take it and rest at Her side until morning. He shifted Her in his arms—moving her carefully up his chest, looping one arm under her knees—and carried her out of the limo, into the back entrance of the hotel, and up the stairs. MM had grabbed their suitcase, and Ben gave him a silent, firm nod as MM pushed into their room.

A hand shot out before Ben could kick the door closed, and MM’s gaze bore into Ben’s skull, his voice low. “She okay?” 

She would be. As long as Ben could do a goddamn thing about it, She’d be okay for the rest of her fucking life. “She’s good,” Ben grunted, glancing down to Her perfect, peaceful face, half smushed into his shoulder, hair falling over her eyes. So fucking beautiful, and happily where she belonged. “I’m taking care of her.”

He wasn’t sure why he said that. It certainly wasn’t for MM’s fucking approval, because the only person whose approval mattered was Hers. And Ben did take care of Her. He took very fucking good care of Her, because he fucking loved her, and she was the most important person in the world. And he sure as fuck didn’t need to say that he took care of Her, because he proved that he did in his every waking moment. 

Even right fucking now Ben was carrying her to bed, holding Her like she was something holier than life—she was—and planning to stay at Her side all night. Wrap his arms around her and hold her in the dark, then march at her side in the morning to face whatever the hell Singer had ready for them. And then he’d figure out where they kept lobster in DC, and get her some. And that’s what fucking mattered. Showing Her she was good. Only saying he was taking care of her wouldn’t mean a goddamn thing if he didn’t keep doing it, over and over and over until they were the last people left in the world, and a long while after that.

But MM gave a short nod, and Ben realized that the man had just believed him. MM might not fully trust Ben—and if he was being completely fucking honest that was still an understandable call, Ben would shoot everyone in the fucking head if they became a threat to Her or Ryan—but he trusted Ben with this. With Her. He trusted that when Ben said she’s good, he was telling the truth. 

And he was. With a muttered reminder from MM not to be late in the morning and the door closing—leaving Ben and Her alone, together with the nightlights of the city casting shadows over her sleeping features—She was happy. Content as Ben laid her down on the bed, keeping one hand on her thigh as he unzipped their suitcase. He found one of his softer shirts and—a little selfishly, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad or give a fuck because She wore his clothing all the goddamn time anyway—changed her into it. She shouldn’t sleep in fucking jeans or her bra, so Ben carefully stripped her down—every movement debilitate and slow and silent so as not to disturb or wake her—and pulled his shirt over her body, kissing her brow before sitting at the edge of their bed and trying to figure out how the fuck to get them food.

This wasn’t the same hotel as last time, but shit had always worked the same at every hotel in history, so Ben figured it out. He read the directory, called room service, and ordered everything.

“And, um,” a nervous, soft-voiced woman was on the other end of the line, listing off more shit for Ben to add to his list. “Would you like dessert, sir?”

“Of course I want fucking dessert-“

Don’t be mean to the hotel staff, Benjamin. Ben cut himself off as Her arms wrapped around his torso, and looked down to see her head in his lap, her face buried in his abdomen. They’re doing their best, and it’s late. 

Ben sighed, letting his free hand wander into her hair, and grunted into the phone, “dessert is good. Add it.” 

“Do you have anything in mind, or would you like, um, all of it too?” 

Sunshine- 

I’d like ice cream. She hummed against him, and Ben felt her soft smile against his body. Whatever flavor you want. 

“Ice cream,” Ben muttered, his eyes locked on Her, tucked and resting against him, so fucking perfect. “Vanilla. Two of them.” 

A small giggle escaped Her. You’re very predictable, Pretty Boy. 

Shut the fuck up. 

“That will come to,” Ben heard the lady on the other end swallow, and there was a moment of static silence on the phone. “$492. Are you sure-“

“Get me the fucking food lady, and I’ll give you a 20% tip.” 

Ben had no idea how much that would be, but the woman seemed happy with it, because she gave him an eager agreement before hanging up the line. 

“Food will be here soon,” Ben muttered Her name, and his heart might’ve stopped fucking working when she rolled over in his lap, a beautiful, sleepy expression on her perfect face. “You’re-“ 

“Don’t say tired, or I’ll punch you.” She grumbled, poking at Ben’s chest with a pout. “You’re not allowed to do that right now.”

“I didn’t do fucking shit-”

“You were going to,” she mumbled, face flushing. “You were going to make me go to sleep.” 

“We both know,” Ben drawled, smirking as he traced his thumb over her lips. “That I can’t make you do anything, darling. You never fucking listen to me.”

She buried her face back into Ben’s body, words muffled against his skin. “Fuck you.”

“I did promise to.” He hummed, glancing at the red numbers on their bedside table, reading 12:49. “But you need fucking sleep. We’re moving real damn early tomorrow, and you-“

“How early?”

“Six.”

She sighed against him, and Ben felt the alarm of wrong. Something is very wrong, because She’s hurting and that’s the worst fucking thing in the universe. 

He grunted Her name, pulling lightly at her hair. “Look at me.” 

When She rolled fully onto her back—Her eyes not hollow, but glossed over and soft—she just watched him. Waited for Ben to speak, one of her hands reaching up to touch his jaw, the whole fucking world just them. Together.

“What’s wrong. And don’t say nothing-“

“I don’t want to go tomorrow.” She whispered, and Ben froze. She sounded so fucking tired, and it was wrapping around his head and dragging his body down. Down to Her, to soothe her, to touch her and fucking fix this. “I know we have to, but I don’t want to, Ben. I’m,” she took a heavy breath. “I don’t want to.” 

“Then we fucking won’t.” He snapped. It was pretty goddamn simple. He’d steal them a car, and they’d drive home. The rest of the team could handle this, and that was fucking that- 

“We need to.” She gave Ben a small, sad smile, and he felt like someone was fucking stabbing him. “You know we need to. I have to be there for this-“ 

“You don’t have to-“ 

“I do.” She sat up, twisting until their legs were tangled and she was leaning against him, holding Ben’s face in her hands. “I have to. I need to see him.” 

Ben's arms wrapped around Her body as he scanned over her face. Only inches from his, so goddamn sad and tired, a so fucking beautiful. “Muller.”

She nodded, and Ben’s was going to break his teeth. For that pussies' own sake, Muller better be too much of a goddamn coward to show face tomorrow, or Ben would damn the consequences and kill him. V or no V, he was still someone that was fucking hurting Her. As She spoke her voice was too quiet, and her eyes looked so goddamn far away, and Ben felt fucking sick.

“He never,” She swallowed, and Ben remained silent. Right now his job was to fucking listen, and he was damn good at it. Rubbing circles on her lower back, holding whatever of her gaze she gave him, and watching her the whole time. “He never acknowledged I was dead. Or alive. Or anything.” She sighed, leaning her brow against Ben’s. “I don’t want to talk to him, Ben. I don’t want to hear what he believes.”

“Believes-“ 

“About me.” She mumbled, Her eyes closed and heartbeat not fast, but uneven. “What Homelander and Sage have said, what Annie’s said, and-“ She shook her head, nose brushing Ben’s. “Everything. All of it. What I’ve done, and what happened to me. Who I might be, if I’m a whore, or bitch, or liar, or traitor-”

Ben muttered Her name, waiting for her to look at him before he spoke. “You’re not any of that. He’s not your fucking family. He’s a worthless pussy, and if he believes the wrong shit it doesn’t change the goddamn truth.”

“I know. I know, it doesn’t, but-“ 

“No.” Ben moved at hand up, pulling one of Hers off his face as kissing her knuckles. “No fucking but-“ 

“Please,” Her voice was barely a breath, and Ben’s whole body hurt as he fell silent.“I’m not worried about Muller, Ben. I’m worried about my,” Her hand tangled in Ben’s, her grip like iron as she took a long breath. “I’m worried about my mom. He’s just an extension of her, and whatever he believes-” 

She cut Herself off with a half-sob, and Ben let smoke curl between their fingers, not flinching away as heat started to burn his skin. He’d hold Her through this fall and catch Her at the end. He’d always fucking catch her, but he knew she had to fall first. Ben had to hear everything spiraling through her insane, perfect brain so he could get his words fucking right when it was his turn to speak.

“I,” She took a shaking breath, and there was something tight and curled in her throat that Ben could feel. “I know I shouldn’t care. It’s been years, and I shouldn’t care, and I’ve had worse things-“ She made another strangled noise, her heart bouncing around her ribs. “Worse things happen to me since. But it still hurts, everything hurts. She said I wasn’t strong enough to be alone, Homelander said I’m not strong enough, and I’m not, Ben, I’m not. I’m so tired. And I’m so sick of being tired, but I’m not, I’m not strong enough to just fucking be better-“

That was enough. Ben had all he fucking needed to pull Her back down, and he’d be damned if he let Her think for another fucking second that she wasn’t fucking everything. 

“You don’t need to be fucking better, you are better.” Ben tilted his head up, her words falling into soft tears that made something flail around in his gut, and kissed the space between her eyes as he muttered against her skin. “No matter fucking what, you’re better. You’re not whatever the fuck they think you are. Any of them. They don’t know you, Sunshine, I fucking know you. And you’re smart and good and kind and beautiful and a goddamn powerful fucking problem and you’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect, so stop being stupid.”

She made a choked sound, fully falling against him, and as her arms wrapped around Ben’s neck all Her love bloomed in his body. It hurt, it fucking ripped him apart inside as she sobbed into him, shaking slightly in his hands and clinging to him like he was an anchor. Something holding Her together, that she trusted to keep her safe, and She fucking did. Because Ben folded his body over hers, and touched her right, and waited for this to pass. It always fucking passed, and they both knew it would return, but then they’d just wait it out together once more. Every single fucking thing would pass but them. She’d stay planted in Ben, covering everything in him and the world, and if they burned they’d burn together. And that was where the love in her made this pain worth it by a million fucking fold. Because this hurt—this killed Ben and lined cracks along his skull, twisting and rotting something in his heart—but then it passed, and everything was warm. Turning the rot to smoke, healing every crack, and spreading through Ben’s veins like a fucking drug. Like something sacred, that everyone chased but Ben got to have. That he’d somehow managed to earn, just by loving Her and caring for her and staying.

So when this passed, and Her breathing still ragged but her heart growing even, Her voice in Ben’s head was soft but not weak. She couldn’t be fucking weak if she tried. I’m sorry.

Before Ben could grunt between them for her to never fucking apologize, She looked up at him with a beautiful, full-lipped, toothless smile, her face glistening with evaporated tears. 

What’s- 

I don’t think this is how meeting the parents is supposed to go. I think we’re supposed to have dinner at an Olive Garden and not talk about Homelander at all.

Ben snorted, kissing the top of Her head. I don’t give fuck about Olive Garden- 

That’s not very family-oriented of you, Benjamin- 

And I don’t give a fuck about your parents. I care about you, Sunshine, and I have no fucking interest in impressing idiots pussies who don’t. 

Her love was fucking infinite in Ben’s body, and nobody had ever fucking looked at him like that but Her. Like She believed him, but didn’t believe he was real. Would you, um, I mean I know we’ve been keeping Violet away from this, but after, my dad and my other siblings- 

He grunted Her name between them, and a pretty flush covered her face. Whoever you want me to meet, I will. But if I think they’re being asshole cockheads, I’m not fucking standing for it. I love you, and nobody is allowed to tell you who the fuck you are- 

You tell me who I am all the time, She gave him an amused look. You literally just told me who I was.

Ben rolled his eyes. That’s not the fucking same. I’m not a pussy dumb fuck talking out of my ass, you’re the love of my fucking life and you were being an idiot. You’re not weak, and I’m not going to let people who don’t goddamn know shit tell you that you are- 

She kissed him, soft and sweet, her hands gliding up his chest to hold his jaw. Thanksgivings are going to be really awkward, if you call my family a bunch of fucking pussies the whole time.

Ben smirked against her. Good thing those pussies aren’t invited to our thanksgiving.

Who is-

Nobody. It’s going to be me, you, and a massive fucking sex marathon. 

She giggled, and even though the sound was quiet, it was real. She was fucking happy, here, with Ben. Not even going to pretend we’ll invite our friends? 

No. Ben twisted his face in half-mocked disgust. We’re going to need the entire goddamn turkey to ourselves, to make sure you have enough energy. I will not have you fucking tagging out before we get started. 

All I hear, She pulled back, and that was Her full smile. Her wide, infinite smile that contained the whole universe and was made of something so fucking bright and vital Ben would never find anything like it if he tried. Is that you’re not denying they’re our friends. 

Ben’s eyes narrowed. Impossibly clever, beautiful, perfect fucking woman, backing him into corners and knowing him too fucking well. He didn’t have an argument out of it, because if he said they weren’t she’d push it and win—something starting with our friends care about me, and ending with and you trust them with Ryan and I—and if he just agreed he’d never hear the goddamn end of it, so his only avenue was to roll her onto her back, leaving sloppy, wet kiss all over her face as she laughed and let out blissful sighs, muttering brat and fucking love you, Sunshine against her skin and down her throat right up until someone knocked on the door.

Her eyes grew comically wide as Ben dumped their order of food on the hotel table, her face falling into a plainly adorable gape as she looked up at him. “Did you order thanksgiving? I can’t eat all of this-“

“Then take whatever the fuck you want,” Ben looped his arm around Her waist, kissing the top of her head as she leaned onto his shoulder. “And I’ll eat whatever you don’t.”

She smiled at him, tilting her head to kiss his cheek, and hummed against him. “I can’t believe I’m in love with a dog.”

He scowled. “I am not a fucking dog-“

“You are, my love. You’re a massive fucking puppy, and I adore you.” 

Ben is pretty goddamn sure his heart stopped working and then got jumpstarted within the same fucking millisecond. She’d tugged herself away from him—filling up one of the paper plates hotel services had brought up before shuffling back to the bed, waiting for Ben to join her with a patient, expectant gaze—and he had to make his feet move. He’d wanted to stay there for the rest of his fucking life, where She’d called him my love, and he’d understood why her heart always skipped when Ben said it. He was Her’s. Every single fucking part of Ben was Her’s, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad about the dog comment, because She was fucking right. He’d follow her everywhere, and snarl at what threatened her, and taking whatever fucking scraps she offered him of her love.

He’d never have enough of Her love. It was better than any drug or drink or high, and it was for Ben. It was all goddamn his, and if that meant he had to be a fucking pathetic dog for Her, then so goddamn be it. Anyone would do that, love Her how she asked, because it made Her fucking smile and chased off the pain faster.

And Ben had learned that, in his life, he’d really only despised two people. He’d hated a lot of people, but that was hatred born of vengeance and a sour, white-hot fury that had festered in his body for most of his life and found an avenue out through the drums. Despising people wasn’t the same. It was born of true, raw, pure disgust and loathing. A channel for that fury that wasn’t about Ben’s own anger, but about twisting and morphing the fury into ardor and zealous protection. Turning the drums and wrath into something better, that targeted the only two pussy fucking idiots who made Her fucking cry. The only two asshole cum-fucks who knew exactly how to hurt Her, and weaponized it, making Her sob against Ben as she broke.

Nobody made Her fucking cry but Homelander and her mother. She made herself cry sometimes, but that wasn’t the fucking same. That was born of how much She cared and loved everything, and how she seemed to remember every goddamn thing anyone ever said and took it as gospel—when it fucking wasn’t—to who she was. When Homelander and her mother made Her cry, it was born of something evil. Something evil and cold and horrid and covered in bile and guts to carve her open. 

Ben would kill Homelander, if not for the world, for Her. And despite the truth that he had no fucking interest in trying to entertain anyone in Her life who made her fucking cry like that, he still wanted to meet her mother. Not to kill her, but just put the fear of God in her. Make the woman understand that her daughter was a goddamn miracle on Earth, and Ben was going to love Her until it was just them in a ruined world, watching the stars and laying in the grass and smiling. He’d love her like the perfect, dangerous, beautiful thing that had crawled to him covered in blood and dirt and grime that she was, wrapped in fire and still seeking warmth. Ben wanted to sneer at Her mother to never try to fucking bother them, because if the woman said one wrong thing to Her, Ben wouldn’t tolerate it. There wasn’t a fucking chance he was letting anyone make her look all fucking sad, when She was meant to be happy. He might not cut out tongues when people misstepped, but he’d stay wrapped around Her, a silent reminder to the world—to Her mother—that Ben loved Her, and she’d always fucking have him. However She wanted Ben, she’d get him. 

Ben would always hate that she never got to meet his mother, because they’d have fucking loved each other. His mother would’ve liked Her, a bit because everyone fucking liked Her, but mostly because She was better than Ben was. She was better thanany other pussy in the universe, and She was smart, and kind, and clever, and the type of beautiful his mother would’ve said made gods jealous. That was what his mother had always said he should find, even after he’d become Soldier Boy,and he’d never fucking gotten what the hell it meant before Her. He’d had countless beautiful women in his bed, and not one would’ve made gods jealous. They were just beautiful. There was so much fucking beauty in the world, and Soldier Boy got all of it, and Ben had decided that the made gods jealous shit was just something a mother told her son. 

He got it now though. She was the type of beauty that made gods fucking jealous. Because she was the type of beautiful they wrote stories about, made art and castles and temples for, and searched through the world to learn more words for beauty just to fucking compare Her to. And all the beauty in the universe lived inside of Her, and she was fucking perfect. So Ben’s mother would’ve loved Her, because she carried Ben’s whole fucking world just by existing. He’d have sat in silence as they talked about whatever the fuck mothers and daughters talked about, and She’d have hit him halfway through the conversation to ask him his opinion, then made a joke about his opinion with joy and love in Her eyes and Ben’s body, and he’d have smiled at Her, and when they stood up to leave his mother would’ve hugged Her and that would’ve been it. It would’ve confirmed something that Ben already fucking knew, but still wanted his mother to know as well. 

And something still sour and angry in Ben wished he could introduce Her to his father. One, quick meeting just to say fuck you, you old pussy. I am worth something, because I’m repenting, and I’m fighting for people I care about, and the most perfect woman in fucking history loves me, and she’s never wrong. Ben wouldn’t let his father speak to Her—he barely deserved to be in Her presence—but he’d brag about her. Tell his father that She was a brilliant fucking woman, and a fucking doctor, and never took any goddamn shortcuts, and She loved Ben. To tell his father that their last name would die with him, and he’d rot in a grave for the rest of time while She and Ben were fucking happy, and Ben gave her the world. 

He’d give this perfect fucking menace—curled at his side, wearing his shirt and eating chicken nuggets like a fucking animal—whatever she wanted or needed and asked for. His lungs and heart and guts out of his body, the sun to hold in her hands, a hundred fucking trees planted in her name. Ben would offer his life on a silver platter for Her to do whatever she pleased with it, which is why he almost snorted when She started stealing looks at his food, chewing on her lips and eyeing his fries like she hadn’t just practically fucking inhaled her own. 

He dumped them onto her plate without a word, and when Her face lit up with joy he didn’t fucking understand how anyone could fucking think to hurt Her. He was a little bias—not everyone was as fucking genius as Ben was to love her, or strong enough to be loved by her—but he still just didn’t goddamn get it. How a single goddamn pussy fucker could look at Her and consider being cruel to her. Even when he thought back to the beginning, Ben had never wanted to hurt her. He’d found Her annoying, and been mad about the whole borderline blackmailing shit, but he’d never wanted to make her cry. Her crying had always set off something primal and feral and confusing in his body, making his every thought this is fucking wrong. Something like Her shouldn’t hurt or be in pain. 

Ben coughed, and her pretty eyes shot up to meet his with a little bit of sauce hanging on her lip. Sauce that Ben got to wipe off with his thumb, eat, and smirk as Her mouth remained parted and her heart kicked into a faster gear.

“Ben-“

“I haven’t had a thanksgiving since the 50s.” Ben grunted, and wasn’t fucking sure where this was coming from. All he did know was that She fell silent to listen, and the words started to fucking vomit out of him, and he needed Her to understand that She was his family. That he’d never allow himself to be someone who made her cry. “And it was fucking shit. Food was fine, drinks were weak, and I went because my mother begged me to. Nobody seemed to get why I was there, my own family didn’t fucking know me because my father didn’t let my mom talk about me, and all I did the whole night was answer fucking Soldier Boy questions.” 

She blinked at him. “What are Soldier Boy questions?” 

“What was the war like,” Ben grunted. “If I shoot you will it hurt. Think you can fucking outdrink me or beat me in a race. Elvis and Sinatra a good time, Garland a good fuck. I wore my fucking supe suit there because I’d be shipping off to film some fucking movie in the morning, and my father didn’t look at me the whole time. I left early, and that was the fucking end of it. But,” Ben swallowed, and suddenly this was impossibly fucking difficult. He had to get this right. “I’d try it again. I could kill a turkey and you could burn it, and if you want the team we could fuck after they leave-“

“Ben.”

He cut himself off, and Her smile was so simply fucking sweet. It wasn’t the syrupy, over exaggerated and slightly crude one she gave when people tried to make her be nice when the situation didn’t fucking call for it. This was all fucking love and affection and want for Ben.

“When we get to November,” she whispered, and Ben’s whole body was frozen in place. As if, should he blink, he’d miss a single word or moment of her love. “I’d love to do thanksgiving with you and the team. I’d love to do anything with you, except killing the turkey.” Her nose wrinkled. “That’s gross.”

She’d love to do anything with him. She’d love to do anything with Ben.

“Good,” he muttered, moving their plates off to the side and pulling her with him towards the headboard, moving her to rest between his legs, his arms wrapping over her stomach as he kissed her neck and hummed in her ear. “Whatever the fuck you want, beautiful, as long as you’re not cooking.”

She twisted around in his hold, pushing his chest lightly as he grinned at her. “Fucking rude, Benjamin. I can cook perfectly well now, and I certainly a whole lot better than you are-“

“You’re better at most things than I am,” Ben shrugged. “And fuck me for trying to stop everyone from eating your piss-poor pie and getting fucking poisoned-“ 

“You love my pie. You won’t shut the fuck up about my pie.” There was a smug, proud look in her eyes at her dogshit innuendo, and Ben snorted. 

“That might be the only thing you’re not good at,” Ben said her name, kneading his hands against her skin. “That didn’t even make goddamn sense-“ 

“Fuck you, Ben, you got hard-“ 

“Because you’re fucking sitting on me, darling.” He leaned down, nipping at Her lower lip. “And that will always make me hard.” 

Her heart stumbled in her chest. “Shut up.” 

“No. I love you, and I’m never going to fucking apologize for wanting to fuck my woman.” Ben winked at Her. “And I always want to fuck you.” 

She cleared her throat, and her gaze was suddenly sharp. Her love still lived in Ben—running up and down his spine, eternal and so fucking powerful it might consume him, and he’d let it—but Her fingers were tapping on Ben’s chest, the gears of Her impossibly brilliant mind turning behind her eyes. 

“Ben?” 

He grunted, the grunt she’d said meant he was listening to her, and she let out a long breath. 

“Do you, have you thought about after?”

“After what.” 

“After this.” She made a gesture to the air, eyes still locked onto Ben’s. “All of this. If we kill Homelander-“ 

“When. When we fucking kill Homelander-” 

She gave him a flat look. “When we kill Homelander. What do you, um, what do you want after?” 

Ben knew exactly what he fucking wanted. Her. Whatever way he got to have her, he wanted her. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like a fucking dumbass, so he hesitated. One fucking second too long, because something is her eyes looked wounded, and Ben had to talk right fucking now. She deserved to be told with all the fucking poetry and art in the fucking universe, but that wasn’t Ben. He didn’t know how the hell to do that, but she also didn’t want anyone but Ben, so he settled on his way. The blunt, clear as fucking day truth.

He said Her name, moving a hand up to cup her cheek, letting his thumb run over her cheekbone. “Whatever the hell you want, I want as well. That’s fucking that.” 

“But I want to knowwhat you want.” She mumbled, hands fisting in his shirt. “I, I just want to hear about it. Don’t worry about, um,” her tongue peaked out from her lips, her chewing becoming rapid with Her heart. “Anything. What I’ll think, how I’ll react. I just want to know.” 

Ben’s hand on her hips stilled, and he clung to Her—alive inside him—to make sure She was serious. He had the feeling they both knew what Ben wanted, but he’d had no desire to say it aloud. Not when Homelander was still fucking alive, still trying to hurt her, and had been so fucking close to crossing that final, horrible, unspeakable line once more barely a few months ago.

But She was content inside of him. There wasn’t any sickness or cold or sense of wrong, only the pleading look in Her eyes and her hands turning the fabric of Ben’s shirt between them as she waited. 

“Swear that if you start to-“ 

“I’ll stop you,” She whispered, holding Ben’s gaze. “I promise. Please tell me.” 

“I want this.” He muttered, a careful ear on Her heart for the slightest stutter. “I want you and me, for the rest of fucking time.” 

He stopped, and hoped that was enough. And of course, it fucking wasn’t. 

She dropped her face on his shoulder. “And?” 

“That’s it-“ 

“Where do you want us to be?” She mumbled, and Ben could feel her eyes on his as she turned her head. “Rome? A little no name town? New York, LA-“

“No. Not fucking LA-“ 

“Then where-“ 

“Wherever the fuck you are, I’ll be fine-“ 

“Ben.” His eyes moved to watch her without his fucking permission. “I want to know what you want-“ 

“That is what I fucking want.” He grunted. “I just fucking want you and whatever the hell you want I’ll be good with. I don’t give a fuck where we are, because I’ll be there with you, and that’s what I want. If you want a little fucking postcard town, then we’ll go there. I’ll get a job in the woods so I don’t have to see anyone but you, and you can do whatever the fuck you want all day. If you want Rome, we’ll get you there and do the escort plan until we have a fucking mansion, and I’ll fuck you in every corner of it. If you ask I’ll fuck you full of kids, until we can run our own goddamn little league.” Ben had started, and now he couldn’t fucking stop. “If you want to stay in New York, we’ll find a goddamn apartment and have Annie and Hughie over for lunch, and I’ll take you to stupid fucking movies and we’ll dance the kitchen and sit on the roof until I carry you to bed. If you want to travel the world and help people, I’ll be right at your fucking side, and if you just want to go back to Boston I’ll be there as well. We can have a shitty house that’s older than I am, and you’ll do your decorating shit and be nice to all our stupid neighbors. You can do whatever the fuck smart people do, and I can teach our kids to fucking hate all your stupid sports teams, and we’ll drive them down to the fucking Cape for the summer, and when everyone’s asleep I’ll bring you outside and fuck you on the beach. I’ll fuck you anywhere, Sunshine. I’ll be fucking happy anywhere, because I’ll be wherever you are. So I don’t care what you give me, kids or no kids or a house or a fucking dumpster. As long as you’re there, I’ll be good.” 

Before Ben had even fucking finished speaking, She was smiling at him. And it was all raw fucking joy. “Okay,” She whispered, and rose back up Ben’s body, pressing her brow to his and still fucking smiling. “I’d like that.” 

“Which-“ 

“All of it.” She made a small, blissful sound. “Thank you.” 

He didn’t tell Her not to thank him. Ben just allowed one arm wrap around her waist, and his hand moved up to hold the back of Her head. He let their lips brush, but not further, and muttered. “I fucking love you, Sunshine. I’m serious-“ 

“I know you are.” Her hands glided down Ben’s chest, pushing Herself a little higher up, a little closer, on his chest. “You’re a huge, very serious, grumpy old cunt.” She closed the last bit of space between them, her lips fitting so fucking perfectly against Ben’s, her body melting into his like it was fucking meant to. Her words hummed through Ben’s blood, setting him alight. “And I love you too.” 

It was all he needed. Ben rolled the over, caging Her between him and the mattress—safe, fucking safe and goddamn happy—without ever breaking their kiss. Ben let her hands roam over his body, let her tug his shirt up and her hands trace paths over the bare skin of his chest and torso that lit him on fucking fire. 

“Off,” She mumbled into Ben’s mouth, pulling his shirt further up his chest. “Off, Ben, please-“ 

Ben raised himself up—keeping her against the bed, pinned under his weight by his thighs—and half ripped his shirt off his body before immediately returning. Propping himself up on one elbow, diving down to her neck and sucking and biting a path that made Her sigh, a whining and high sound, and grind up into his torso. 

“Want you,” he muttered Her name against her skin, his free hand moving under Her shirt—Ben’s shirt—to play with the waistline of her panties. “Want you all the fucking time, Sunshine. What do you-“ 

“You,” Her answer was breathless, soft and high and ending in a slight whine as Ben’s thumb pressed right over Her clothed clit. “Want you, Ben, please. Need you.“ 

He groaned as one of Her hands slid between their bodies, palming at his cock, tenting against Her thighs. “How do you-“ 

“Don’t care, just want you-“ 

Ben decided to do it slow. Gentle and fucking sweet. Too good, and all Ben’s to praise and tend to and revere. So he pulled his shirt off Her body—carefully this time, because it did fucking things to Ben when she wore his clothing and he never wanted to take that away from himself—and pressed his palm over her soaked panties, kissing a line down between and under her breasts, rising back up to take a nipple in his mouth, smirking at the high squeak that left her mouth as he sucked. 

Her hands had shot into his hair, her chest heaving as Ben continued his work, starting to roll his hand over her clit. “Ben-“

You’re so fucking beautiful, Sunshine. He let his teeth graze over her—forcing himself to keep focus as she bucked her hips up—and switched to the other nipple. Can’t believe you’re all fucking mine. So fucking good for me, darling, so goddamn perfect. 

“Please-“ 

She cut herself off with a whine as Ben flicked his tongue, his palm pushing down against her, halting her movements up into him. 

Want to fucking show you how perfect you are, my love. Let me fucking show you- 

Please, Ben, fuck, please- 

He grinned at the breathless tone of Her voice between their minds, and surged back up, crashing his mouth into Hers and kissing her until she moaned. Long and desperate, half a sound of need and half his name, already fucking wrecked without friction, Ben holding her still under him. 

“Want you to be loud,” he grunted Her name into her mouth. “Talk to me, tell me how fucking good it feels-“ 

She nodded frantically, and Ben chuckled. 

“Words-“ 

“Feels good,” She mumbled, words practically fucking slurred. “Feels so good, Ben, god-“ 

“Have I told you,” he drawled, swallowing Her whimper as he pressed his hand further against her. “How much you consume my every fucking thought. How much I think about you, how it’s a goddamn problem, how much I adore and love you?” 

“You’ve-“ She took a ragged breath as Ben’s head dropped to suck and lick at her neck. “I think you’ve mention it-“ 

“See, I still think you don’t fucking understand.” Ben bit at her skin and she rolled Her hips, pulling at his hair. “You’re my fucking life, Sunshine. And I’ll say it until you get it into your pretty head. You’re perfect, every single goddamn part of you. You’re too fucking clever, darling, so good and kind and brilliant.” Ben trailed back up, tugging at Her ear and kissing over her cheekbone before pressing his brow to hers. 

“Ben-“ 

He chuckled as she tried to chase his mouth, and started to rub large circles against her clit with his palm, tracing his fingers over the slit of her pussy, still covered by her underwear. 

“Fuck-“ 

“I can fucking feel that sharp, insane mind of yours inside me, beautiful.” He dropped his mouth just an inch further down, holding himself where their lips brushed as he spoke, but no further. “And I love you there the most. Love how fucking bright you are, Sunshine. This mouth of yours is so fucking smart,” he traced his lips over Hers, and she whimpered, eyes blown out and wide on his. “And you can be such a fucking brat, darling, but I goddamn love it. You’re my best fucking friend, and the most impossible fucking pain in my ass I could ever ask to love.”

She was fucking coming apart below him. Sighing in Ben’s mouth and letting him push his tongue down her throat, letting him kiss Her until he decided he should probably keep up with the plan he’d come up with, or else he’d just fucking kiss her until he came in his pants like a goddamn teenager.

Ben dragged his lips from Hers, and her sound of protest turned to a soft moan as Ben kissed every fucking inch of her face her could reach, love and want fucking rioting inside of him as she tried to move to offer him better access.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he muttered, dragging his hand up from her cunt to hold her face, running his fingers over her lips and cheekbones and jaw. “You’re a goddamn marvel, Sunshine, you’re fucking art.” 

“Benjamin-“ 

Her words were a long, breathy, desperate moan, and he dropped back down to her lips. “I know, my love. I’ll get there-”

“I want you there now, you fucking dick-“ 

“And you get my fucking dick,” Ben hummed Her name, feeling himself twitch in his pants as he glanced down at her body, squirming and grinding and fucking perfect under him. “Patience.” 

“I hate you-“ 

“You fucking love me.” He kissed back down Her neck, over her collarbones. You love how grumpy I am, and how hard I work, and my fucking dick. But I think what you love most, Ben squeezed where he was holding Her waist. Is how I fucking worship you like you deserve. Make you feel fucking good, Sunshine, take real good care of you- 

I, She took a long breath, hands tugging Ben’s face back up, Her eyes on his still lustful, but now soft as well. That’s not what I love most about you. 

He grunted Her name between their heads, but she pushed on. 

I love how much you care, period. You don’t half-ass anything, Benjamin, and that includes caring. I’ve never seen anyone care about anything so aggressively as you care about baseball and stupid war documentaries and ice cream. I’ve never been cared about as much as you care about me. I didn’t think it was possible to care about someone as much as you care about me. She smiled at him, and Ben was pretty goddamn sure his heart fucking exploded. You care about me and Ryan and everything else you love so violently and wrathfully and powerfully, and that’s what I love most about you.

Ben’s voice sounded fucking hoarse in his own head. Sunshine- 

But, She curled up, kissing Ben’s nose. It’s only one reason on a very long list, my love- 

That snapped something deep in Ben's head, and it cleared his brain to Her. Everything in the universe narrowed to Her. 

This kiss was fucking brutal. Ben’s hand fisted Her hair, his teeth and spit and tongue Hers as well, his whole body demanding more. He’d never been more fucking satiated, and he’d never be more fucking hungry.

I love you, he muttered Her name between their heads. I love every single goddamn thing about you. And I’ve got a whole fucking plan to show you, so for once in your goddamn life, let me do the talking, darling. Moan and scream and beg all you fucking want, but I talk.

But you said-

I changed my mind. No talking.

Ben-

Deal? 

She nodded, finger’s curling on Ben’s face as she writhed below him. Deal, fucking deal, just please- 

I’ve meant everything I said about how much I love you. How smart and kind and clever and perfect that mind of yours is. But fucking Christ, Sunshine, you’re a goddamn wet dream. 

She moaned as Ben moved back to Her body, worshiping Her shoulder and neck and chest with his mouth, Her hips and waist and ass with his hands.

Every single fucking thing about you is goddamn perfection, but these, Ben returned his mouth to Her nipple, her moan only spurring him on. Were crafted by some sort of evil god. They’re fucking magic, beautiful, you could fucking win a war with them. He raised his spare hand to knead at Her other breast, and a strangled sound that sounded like his name left her mouth. 

“God, please-“ 

I talk. Ben squeezed Her one last time, flicking her nipple before switching to soothe the hurt with his tongue, and moved his hand back up to Her mouth. Be fucking good for me, darling, and listen.

Ben- 

He pressed his fingers between Her lips, and she didn’t fucking hesitate to start sucking on them. Licking and nipping and fucking moaning around him, and he groaned against Her tit. 

Fucking Christ, you’re going to kill me. He left one last kiss on her nipple, rising up just enough to watch her. You’re so fucking beautiful-

She whined, bucking up into Ben’s fully hard cock, and Her eyes on his were a plea.

Want to cum, Sunshine? 

She only nodded, kicking his abdomen, and he chuckled, pulling his fingers away with a pop.

Just a little longer, darling. Hold on for me.

Ben didn’t wait to see the desperation in Her eyes—he could feel it in his fucking body—before he was dropping back down, kissing between her breasts, over her stomach, and leaving one soft, fucking sweet kiss over her clothed clit before leaning back and ripping off her panties, admiring his handiwork.

She was fucking dripping. Soaking the sheets, so fucking perfect, and all goddamn Ben’s.

You’ve got the best fucking legs I’ve ever seen, he muttered into her head, kissing and biting a loose pattern over her inner thighs. Could fucking die here. But this, Ben parted Her swollen pussy lips, smirking at her small gasp. Is like a fucking drug. You’re always so fucking wet for me, my love, I don’t even need to prep you. But I think I will anyway.

Ben pushed two fingers into Her, pumping slowly and groaning as she squeezed around him. Then, just for his fucking self, Ben pulled Her clit into his mouth and sucked. Going and going without pointless shit like air, scissoring and pushing his fingers in deeper, and only stopping when She screamed, and his whole fucking face got soaked. He felt and smelled and tasted Her fucking everywhere, and it was like fucking water. Earthier and harsher and so fucking Her, but just as goddamn critical to Ben’s life now.

He pushed himself off of Her, rising back up to his knees and groaning at the sight of Her. Fucking glowing, goddamn ruined. Looking at Ben like he was something holy and sacred, and to Her, he was. He could feel it fucking everywhere, and taste it on his tongue as he licked his lips.

He hoped She fucking lingered there for the rest of time. That every night for the rest of his life, Ben could run a hand through his beard, and end up with his fingers fucking covered in Her. 

You fucking squirted.

She nodded, and—despite the fucking choir of Her love around Ben in the world—only moaned, reaching up for him. 

Think you can do it again? 

She whined, and Ben chuckled. 

Words, darling- 

Yes, fuck Ben, please- 

Good girl. 

She practically flew off the fucking bed as her hips jerked up, her heart stuttering with her breath. God, fuck, please- 

Ben grinned, and he could never fucking deny her anything, so he ripped his pants off, stroking himself once, twice—just to how fucking beautiful she was—and pushed himself in with a groan. He fell over Her as he bottomed out, and fuck She was perfect. Fluttering around him, fitting him like they’d been fucking designed to be as close as goddamn possible, gasping in Ben’s ear as Her hands clawed at his back. 

Ready, Sunshine? 

Just move, you ass- 

He kissed Her—bruising and demanding and made of all this fucking love for Her that consumed Ben’s whole goddamn existence—and obeyed. 

Ben didn’t think he’d ever worked harder than to memorize every single fucking part of Her. What every pout and glare and smile meant, how She said his name and every small way she existed around him—in music and movies and shows and books and the flowers in MM’s garden—and how She moved. Ben had learned Her like fucking she was a fucking testament to how he should live, and he took it goddamn seriously. It was what helped him know how to fuck Her right. How to angle himself inside her so he was hitting that spot that always made Her let out a strangled moan, how to kiss her in a fucking rhythm as he pounded himself into her, and that, if he groaned when She squeezed around him, she’d start to try and grind up into him. 

This was better than a fucking drug. This was fucking oxygen, how warm and tight she was around him, how when Ben deepened their kiss she opened up for him and scratched his back, how sensitive She was—leaning into his every touch, moaning at every muttered and growled praise—and how he could fucking feel Her. How fucking perfect She was, finally around him in every single possible way. So fucking bright, a green mist that smelled like pine and vanilla and damn strawberries covering the room as she shinedlike fucking star under Ben, Her eyes watching him like he was something good. 

Ben was something good, for Her. It lived in how he tended and adored and cared for her, and he wanted to be something that was half as fucking perfect as she was, just so she’d let him stay here for the rest of fucking time. Buried deep inside Her, his thrusts becoming stuttered as he began to lose control—no fucking idiot pussy could blame him, though, because She was squirming under him and moaning his name so I was a miracle he lasted this long—and letting every single fucking thought of Her fall out of his mouth, down her throat.

“So fucking good,” he grunted Her name. “Taking me so fucking perfect. You sound like a fucking song, look so fucking beautiful all fucked out, love you, taking me so fucking well-“

He cut himself off with a groan as her head dropped to his jaw, kissing along his beard with sinful fucking whimpers. 

“Christ, you’re a goddamn miracle, fucking made for me.” Ben pushed one hand between their bodies, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of her as he pinched and rubbed over her clit. 

Her mouth fell open in a silent scream, Her heart hitting that frantic pace that meant she was close, and when Her hands trying to push Ben further into her he moved faster, crashing his mouth back into her and growling Her name. 

“You’re fucking perfect.” Ben’s words became fast and rough, their brows pressed together so he could see every inch of Her beautiful face, his own orgasm pushing at his restraint. “You so fucking good, darling, good to everyone, so fucking good to me. I fucking love you-“

“Ben,” Her voice was a whisper of pure fucking need that almost sent Ben over the edge. “Please-“

He kissed Her again, soft and sweet as his movements become almost feral, splitting her fucking open on his cock. Cum for me, Sunshine, say my name-

She screamed—Ben’s name lost somewhere in many high, wrecked sounds of God and fuck—and Ben let go. Driven on by Her fucking squirting over him, her pussy contracting like she was trying to really fucking kill him, Ben made one last, long thrust as he emptied himself into Her body. He waited for Her breathy, blissful sigh that meant she was happy and high on pleasure before pressing one last, soft kiss to between Her eyes, tucking hair behind her ears, and lowering himself down. Covering her body in his like he could serve as a shield from fucking everything. From the daylight and blue sky, slowing creeping over them and threatening that morning was here, and they couldn’t fucking stay here forever. From the battle they were staged to fight, where Ben would have to just be fucking silent at Her side. From every single factor that neither of them could control, from everything that might hurt Her or make her cry. Every single weak thing that dared to pretend they were worthy sharing the same air that She fucking breathed. 

And She let them stay like that. With Ben’s body likely fucking dead-weight over her, his arms wrapped around her waist as he buried his head between her breasts, her hands even moving to hold his face, tilting it up for Ben to meet her gaze. 

He scanned over her face, perfect and fucking beautiful and all fucking Ben’s. “Hi, Sunshine.” 

“Hi, Benjamin, my love.” 

She couldn’t be allowed to fucking call him that. If Ben ever wanted to be a goddamn productive member of society, She couldn’t keep calling him my love. And, Christ on a fucking cross, Benjamin, my love, was worse. That made him short circuit and practically fucking gape at Her. It repeated over and over in his head, and he probably looked like an idiot fucking pussy, just gaping at Her, but fuck She was so pretty, and happy, and Ben’s and Her Her Her, everything in him kept calling Ben home to Her. 

Ben managed to regain just enough control over his stupid fucking lovestruck body to roll them over, tugging Her down until that bright, drug-like smile was right above him, Her arms holding her a few inches away from him. 

“You’re a fucking thief,” Ben drawled Her name, and was unable to contain a dumb fucking smile from overtaking his face. It was born from Her—hair messy, fucking naked, beautiful mouth still slightly swollen and pretty eyes still so dazed from sex—being so goddamn near him. Her smell that was half wrapped in salt from sweat and Ben’s cum, Her perfect face all fucking happy above him, Her smile and love fucking intoxicating. A high Ben never had to come down from, because even as She gave him a fake pout he just got higher. 

“I am not a thief, that’s mean-“ 

“You’re fucking mean.” He grabbed Her hips, pulling them down to press against his and letting Her sit over him. “And you’re a goddamn thief. I call you my love, you stole my goddamn idea-“

She scoffed, crossing her arms and glaring down at him. “You are not the first dummy to call their person my love, Pretty Boy-“ 

“I said it first with us-“ 

“Well you don’t get a patent over it-“ 

“The fuck I don’t.” 

They were glowering at each other, and Ben knew he’d lost when a soft smile crossed her face, a sharp look glinting in her eyes. “Well then I am a thief,” She crawled back down his body, bumping their noses and kissing along Ben’s jaw. “Because it’s mine now. I call you my love, and that’s that.”

He scowled, but it was getting harder to even keep up the charade of this fake fight when She was squirming above him and his hands were bruising at Her hips. “You don’t get to just fucking take it-“ 

“Yes, I do.” 

Ben hauled Her further up his body, fully moving her to collapse over him, a high yelp leaving her as Ben kissed every single fucking inch of skin he could angle his head to find. “Fucking brat.” He grunted, rutting slightly up into Her thighs and growing harder as he felt her wetness, dripping down her thighs. “Already so goddamn needy for me again, want me to fuck you good, darling? Again?” 

She was fucking perfect. It wasn’t Ben’s own damn bias or love or something fucking pathetic—but entirely goddamn warranted, She was his life and Ben was allowed to be a little bit of a fucking pussy about her—She was just so fucking clearly perfect. She might be the only person alive who was more dirty-minded and horny than Ben, and he pitied any fucker who’d tried to keep up with Her before him. Her head ended up thrown back as she rode him, a beautiful fucking squeak leaving her when Ben took back control, grabbing Her hips and drilling up into Her until her pretty eyes rolled back and she was shaking around him. 

When he found his release with Her own—letting Her grind over his cock and scrape at his abdomen as she made sounds that were fucking music—Ben had to take a long, heavy breath to stop himself from just rolling Her over and going for round three when he saw his cum leaking and coating her thighs. 

She giggled slightly, brushing some of Ben’s hair from his eyes. 

“What-“ 

“We really do fuck like rabbits,” She said, shifting around until their legs were tangled, pulling Ben’s arms over her body. “Hughie asked if it was the supe stamina, but I think it might just be us.” 

“You talked to Hughie about our sex life-“ 

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Technically I was talking to Annie, but Hughie was forced to listen. And halfway through the story about the dishes incident, he asked if copious amounts of sex was normal for two supes.” 

It wasn’t. Ben had fucked half the female supe population before Russia, and it might as well have been juvenile dry humping compared to what he did with her. But he was still caught on the talking to Annie shit. “What the fuck else do you tell her about us-“

“Normal friend stuff,” she shrugged, leaving soft kisses along his beard as She spoke. “How much I love you, how you made me pancakes for breakfast again, how good you are with Ryan and how adorably grumpy you get when we talk about books, how I’m going to bribe you to read something with Ryan and I, and Hughie and Annie are welcome read with us-“

“You’re going to fucking bribe me-“

She continued, kissing the bridge of Ben’s nose and holding his gaze. “Usually Hughie clocks out when I start talking about how much I love your dick, though-“

Ben raised his brows at Her. “You talk about my dick with fucking Hughie? What, are you telling Butcher about my balls-“

“I would if he would listen.” She smiled, dropping back down, kissing everywhere but Ben’s fucking lips. “Benjamin, my love, if you were fucking you, you’d never shut up about it either-“ 

His eyes narrowed. “You did it again.” 

She hummed, her smile so perfectly and beautifully mocking innocence. “I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about.”

Ben snaked one hand up her back, tangling his finger in her hair and moving her back his mouth. Kissing her until she was writhing and moaning above him, a tiny whine leaving her lips when he pulled away. 

“Ben-“ 

“You’re the love of my fucking life, Sunshine, and you should know that-“ 

“I do know that,” She whispered, and Ben could fucking feel it. Spreading between them, how he was just as critical to Her as She was to him. Her piece of him so fucking strong inside of him, twined into something so deep inside of Ben’s body he’d never fucking known about it before. “I know that all the time, Ben. And I need you to know that I love you.” She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You do so much for me, and I want to give you something back-“ 

“You give me more than fucking enough-“ 

She shook her head. “I want to do more. It’s just a name, Pretty Boy. You have a million of them for me, and I’m sure you’ll come up with more.” 

Ben groaned, because he’d fucking lost this one as well. She was too fucking pretty, half-pouting up at him and loving him and so fucking happy around him, alive inside him, and Ben needed to get his fucking shit together, but he didn’t want to. This was so fucking good, and She was so goddamn perfect, and when he made a grumbling relent, her smile was so fucking bright and sweet and all for him. 

“Thank you, Benjamin, my love.” 

She kissed him one last time, and Ben needed to get better at faking a genuine scowl, because right now he goddamn knew he looked just like the fucking puppy dog She kept accusing him of being. Watching Her and trying to act like he was annoyed by this, when everything in him was just Her. Making his whole fucking life better and loving him and wanting him and being so fucking annoying and he wouldn’t change a goddamn thing. 

“We could both fucking use it-“ 

“No.” She mumbled, burying her face in his neck. “Mine.” 

And Ben couldn’t fucking argue with that. He was Hers. He was holding Her against him as they both made a completely fucking pointless attempt to properly rest in the last hour before they had to get up, watching the light start to dance over her perfect face, and he wanted to be here for the rest of his goddamn life. 

He really fucking wanted to be with Her, forever. He’d always fucking burn with her, but he wanted to just stay here. No burning, just warm and love and good. In whatever goddamn form it took, Ben just really fucking wanted Her. 

She was half-asleep, and there was a chance she wouldn’t even hear him. But Ben muttered Her name anyway, and waited for her small sound of acknowledgement, her hand squeezing his bicep in a silent signal that she was listening. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too-“ 

“I really fucking love you,” Ben grunted. “And we should get married. Now.” 

Her heart hitched slightly, but all she did was smile against Ben’s skin. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, my love.” 

Ben snorted slightly, and knew that he would. He’d have to make it romantic. Something that she deserved, that made every single other fucking gesture in history seem fucking stupid. There would be music and flowers—she fucking loved music and flowers—and chocolate, and maybe a horse. Ben didn’t have a goddamn clue why he’d need a horse, but those things always seemed involved in romance somehow, so he’d have to figure out where the fuck to get a horse, and how to work it in with everything else. 

But then he looked down at Her—sleeping peacefully above Ben, breath warming his neck and lips brushing over his skin—and knew she wouldn’t give a fuck about a horse. He didn’t need to make it complicated, just do it right. 

Fuck, if he tried right now—more than just a grumbled idea that made Her love spark in his head and bones—Ben could probably get it right. He could roll her over, kiss her neck, cheeks, brow, and lips, and tell Her to fucking marry me. I love you, and I love every single part of you, and I want every single part of you, and I’ll spend the rest of my fucking life proving that to you, starting now. If you let me, I’ll pick you up and we can go find a judge and do it right goddamn now. I don’t have a ring, but I’ll find one, I’ll find you whatever the fuck you want, and that will be it. You and me, for the rest of fucking time, together. 

He didn’t, though. She was, somehow, fast asleep, and Ben had no desire to wake Her. Not when her face was so relaxed, and Ben could just lay here and care for her in silence. Hold Her until he saw the clock flash 5:30, and they had to move. 

They were silent getting ready. Ben wore his supe suit, She kept his shirt on—her eyes bleary and gaze slightly unfocused as she shuffled around the room—and Ben didn’t fight her when she grabbed their suitcase. Her grip on it was white-knuckled and smoking, and even though she was probably about to do fucking everything at the meeting for everyone else, she needed to be useful. Ben knew that drawn focus, and mechanical breathing, and rapid tapping of Moon River. It was her I’m doing this, my way, and that means doing it fucking right, face. It was the one that Ben knew he could help with an arm looped through hers and a kiss on the side of Her head, promising that he was fucking there, and not going anywhere.

The rest of the team seemed to know that face by now as well. Enough so for Butcher not to make any mocking comments about how that shirt was very obviously Ben’s, Annie and Hughie not to try and engage her in boring, pointless fucking conversation, and MM to only give her a tight nod as they tossed the suitcase in the back and climbed into the limo. 

The ride was completely silent. Her head was leaned back on Ben's shoulder, her eyes closed but heartbeat fast, and her finger still tapping, faster and faster, on Ben’s arm. 

He muttered Her name between their heads, and her eyes slowly opened, her face turning to look at him.

Ben. 

You’re going to be fucking fine. 

I know- 

I’m serious, he pushed Her a little further up his body, making their eyes level. You’re going to be fucking fine. We’re going to figure this out, no matter what happens, or what the pussies decide. We’ll take care of this, together. 

She swallowed, but gave Ben a soft, reassuring smile that didn’t hit her eyes. Together. I love you. 

I love you too. Ben paused, scanning over her face. If those cumfucks ask- 

We’re dating. Her smile grew a little wider, and her fingers stilled on Ben’s skin. Or fuck-buddy-brain-connected. My vote is- 

Ben kissed Her, squeezing her body once, and Her giggle into his mouth might be the best fucking thing he’s ever heard. 

You’re not allowed to vote on what we call things. 

She fake-pouted against him. This is a democracy, Benjamin- 

No, it’s not. He grinned, nipping on her lower lip. It’s a constitutional monarchy, where you’re the fucking Queen. And the Queen isn’t supposed to vote. 

She pulled back, giving Ben a wide, amused smile he could feel something soften in his stomach. Look who paid attention in civics class. 

I paid attention to you and Ryan, not some boring fucking history teacher. I’ve told you, your boobs have magical fucking powers, Sunshine. They move when you talk and I always fucking listen.

Gross. 

You love it. 

I do. She traced a hand over Ben’s jaw, the sharp smile playing over her features lighting up the whole goddamn world. Because we’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected. 

Ben rolled his eyes. Don’t call us that. 

Can I call us that on the Ben’o’phone? 

You can do whatever the fuck you want in here, Ben held Her hand on his face, kissing her palm. But if you tell Singer that we’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected, I’m not fucking you for a week.

Her eyes narrowed. That’s a bad bluff, Pretty Boy. 

It was. Ben wouldn’t make it two fucking days before he caved, even if all She did smile and talk to him. But he kept his face set and neutral, shrugging slightly. So fucking call me on it, Sunshine. 

Her tongue peaked between her lips as she chewed, nose twitching, and she sighed. Fuck you. 

Don’t call us that shit, Ben winked. And I will. Hard, this time, until you’re rolling around and can’t feel your fucking legs. Until we finally get you to really, properly squirt, and I can fucking taste it. Ben kissed Her nose, light and teasing. I’ll fuck until we break the goddamn bed, and you’re burning down the whole goddamn building with how good I make you cum. Think you’d like that, darling? He smirked at Her slack expression, pressing his thumb between her lips and feeling his cock twitch when they parted. Think you’d want me to make you cum so fucking hard you scream my name and light up like a fucking star? Think you could be a good girl and let go when I fuck you? 

Her eyes had gone clear of glazed, grinding thought, and clouded with a lust that called Ben like a fucking siren. He was a strong man, but not strong enough for this. Things like will and resolve didn’t matter when She looked at him like that. When Her hands were curled on Ben’s arm, and her breathing was ragged in a way that made things feel right, and there was a little bit of fucking drool lining her lips. The limo was starting to be washed in a golden haze that meant she was turned on and probably fucking soaking her underwear, so nobody would be strong in this situation. Every other single asshole would want to make good on those promises, because they were to Her and she was perfect. 

Ben was either about to try and secretly fuck her in front of everyone, or try the proposal again, so or everyone’s sake, it was good they arrived within the next few seconds. If they did try to fuck the secret thing wouldn’t last a damn minute, and if Ben proposed—the right way—they’d definitely be fucking, loud and hard and wet, after. And even if Hughie and Annie had heard about how good Ben fucked Her, they still weren’t allowed to see it. 

Butcher twisted around from the front, his eyes landing on Her as he said Her name. “You’re gonna need to wear a fuckin disguise, we ain’t able to risk anyone figurin out who you are.” 

She rolled Her eyes, dramatically pulling her sunglasses out of her jacket and placing them on her face. “Good?” 

Butcher frowned, turning to Hughie. “Oi, lad. Give her your fucking cap.” 

“My-“ 

“I’ve got it.” Annie tossed Her a black baseball cap from across the limo, giving Butcher a flat, annoyed look. “Hughie doesn’t have a hat, asshole, it’s mine-“ 

“Don’t matter whose hat it is, long as she,” Butcher jerked his head to Her. “Is the one wearin it. Indoors too, Love, I ain’t lookin for Homelander to drop through the ceiling-“ 

“Keep your tits on, Butcher.” She plopped the cap on her head with another sweeping, sarcastic gesture. “Everyone ready?” 

MM nodded. “Grace is already there, so hopefully we won’t have a wait time. Everyone try to be diplomatic for once in your lives, don’t say something you don’t think over five fucking times in your head, and no weapons.” 

Everyone looked at Ben and Butcher. 

“That cunt is a bloody weapon, I’m takin my gun-“ 

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want-“ 

“Both of you,” She glared between Ben and Butcher, voice not as loud as theirs, but with a threat of violence that made even Butcher snap his jaw closed. “Shut the fuck up. No weapons in the White House. Near the president. Ben, you are a weapon, we’ll be fine. Butcher, if you remind the fucking secret service that Ben and I are weapons, they’ll make us wait outside, and you’ll be fucked. You need me for this, I’ve put the whole thing together. Got it?”

Ben made a grumbled agreement, and Butcher scowled, pulling out at least fifty fucking guns and placing them in the passenger’s seat, glaring at Her the whole time. She gave them both a pretty, smug smile, and pulled Ben with her, out of the limo. 

As they walked through the halls of the White House, flanked by many, incredibly fucking useless secret service agents—Her hand over Ben’s, on her shoulder, warmer than usual but not smoking—Ben nudged her shoulder.

You look fucking hot when you order everyone around, Sunshine. 

She huffed a small laugh. You always think I look hot. 

Because you’re always fucking hot- 

I think. She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand. That I could eat vomit and roll in shit, and you’d still think I’m hot. 

You would be. 

I would objectively not be- 

Yes, you fucking would be. Ben kissed Her brow. You’re objectively hot all the goddamn time.

And you’re an incredibly biased party, Benjamin, my love. 

Ben almost picked her up and to fuck her on one of these stupid fancy benches in the halls. The only thing that stopped him was a secret service agent, coming to a halt in the hall with no warning. 

“Christ, you pussy-“ 

Her free hand shot up, covering Ben’s mouth. “Is this it?” 

The agent nodded, and started listing off a bunch of fucking rules that Ben didn’t care about. Not when Her eyes had gone glass-like once more, and her heart was stumbling in her chest. 

You’ve fucking got this, Sunshine. We’re going to be fine. 

I know. She let out a long, slow breath, and leaned into Ben slightly. Ready? 

Fucking born it. 

Singer was at the center of the table—in the same spot as last time—with Mallory on one side and a man Ben had never seen before on the other. 

Ben hated him. She was perfect and beautiful, and Todd Muller was a slimy-looking weasel-fuck, wearing a red tie Ben wanted to strangle him with and looking at them with gleaming eyes Ben wanted to stab. The man hadn’t even spoken, and Ben’s fists were already goddamn curling at his side. There was something in him that told Ben wrong. Bad, vile, fucking wrong, and it came from Her. When the man smiled, a crude cold smirk that made Ben feel like he’d been shoved into a fucking swamp, the warning became an alarm, and Her grip on Ben’s hand over her shoulders started to smoke.

Muller—it was fucking Muller, Mallory had made some introductions that Ben barely heard over the blood lining his every thought—wouldn’t stop looking at Her, and Ben had to fight every fucking urge in his body to just step in front of her. 

And when Muller said Her name—said it fucking wrong, with no love and only callous venom—Ben thought his jaw might crack. 

“You’re looking healthy for a dead girl.” 

“Todd.” Her voice was bored and cold, Her heart pounding like a fucking war drum. “You’re looking like a bitch ass cock guzzler.” 

Even with the tension in the air—wired and electric and set to detonate—Ben still had to cough to cover his laugh, and Muller’s eyes shot to his. 

“Soldier Boy,” a hand was extended over the table. Ben forced himself not to break it. “Big fan-“ 

“Don’t be.” Her voice was dry. “He’s a Phillies fan.” 

Brat. 

Cunt. A small smile tugged at Her lips, even as Muller’s attention returned to her. 

“You’ve been busy,” Muller said Her name again, and Ben was going to pull out his tongue. “Learning about baseball, getting your fifteen minutes of fame, never bothering to tell your mother and me that you were alive-“ 

“I’d been dead to you and Mom for years,” She shrugged. “What’s legal death to being locked out and left to fend for myself?” 

“And I see you’re still a little-“ 

“Secretary Muller.” Mallory’s voice was even and cool, and she didn’t even fucking look at Her or Ben. “We agreed to keep personal lives out of this meeting.” 

Muller’s face twitched, but he fell back into his seat, eyes still trained on Her and Ben. 

“Alright, let’s get this shit over with.” Singer nodded to the chairs before them. “Sit, so we can talk like damn adults.” 

MM cleared his throat as they all sat, nodding to a silent, bored-looking Singer. “Thank you for seeing us again, sir.”

“Don’t.” Singer sighed, rubbing at his beard. “If I don’t follow up with you dumbasses, the brit,” he jerked his head to Butcher, who winked. “Will probably start sendin death threats and bombs to my family. But I ain’t here to small talk or do fucking therapy sessions, so I’m just gonna say it.” Singer sighed, looking around the room. “You’re not gettin any V. You’ve been determined to be a liability and are being ordered to explore other avenues to eliminate Homelander.”

The shocked, angry silence only lasted a moment before the room erupted in protests. Butcher shouting about Singer being a bloody fuckin cunt idiot, MM and Annie trying to provide reason, and Hughie trying to make everyone stop yelling. 

But She was silent, watching Muller. No smoke, no screams, only a pure, horrid sense of wrong and sick in Ben’s body. 

Ben. She didn’t look at him, but squeezed his arm. Don’t freak out. 

What- 

She coughed, a tiny amount of fire escaping her mouth, the whole room erupted in clicks of guns. All fucking aimed at Her. The only thing that kept Ben only rigid and alert at Her side, instead of launching himself over her body and bashing in the brains of any pussy that dared to fire, was Her quick, sharp glance in his direction, and smooth words in his head. 

I’ve got this. 

She had this. Ben was right here, killing anyone who fired was still very much an option, and she had this. She was leaning over the table, eyes flicking between Singer, Muller, and Mallory, and she had this. 

“What exactly about us is a liability?” She asked, tilting her head in mock thought. “That would justify you refusing to provide us with the only definitive weapon against Homelander?” 

“Your team has proven reckless,” Singer held Her gaze, which was a little fucking admirable. Ben had seen fucking Butcher stop talking under that glare, and Singer didn’t even seem to have the cocky death-wish Butcher had. “Countless times. Truth-con, both of Firecracker’s rallies, Tek Knight’s club massacre, the Believe Expo, and that’s just off the top of my damn head. We’re past takin gambles that don’t pay off, and this is a massive gamble that we ain’t able to afford.“

“How so?” She blinked at Singer, her face innocent and her fingers tapping on the table. “This is not a gamble. V will incapacitate Homelander.” 

“On your word.” Muller sneered. “All we have is your word, and there’s nothing to stop you from simply taking the V for your own use.” 

She scoffed, giving Muller a bored, amused look. “That can’t possibly be your real excuse. Half of us are already supes, and the other half hate supes-” 

“I don’t hate supes-“ 

Hughie’s mumble was cut off by Mallory’s curt, snapped words. “You have all been known to make questionable moves.” 

This time, Butcher laughed. “Come off it, Grace. Questionable moves is real high and fuckin mighty from you-“ 

“I have always remained within the bounds of the law-“ 

“The law,” She drawled. “Is not the end all be all of morality. We need to kill Homelander. This will help us. There isn’t another way. So please give me one really good reason why you can’t spare one vial of V so we can eliminate the most dangerous man alive.” 

There was a beat of tight, furious silence, and then Singer stood. 

“Grace, Todd,” he flattened his suit, letting out a labored breath. “I got a fuckin country to run, deal with this. You dumbasses,” he nodded across the table to the Boys. “Are real lucky we’re still housing and entertaining you. And you,” Singer said Her name, and the whole world was lined in red. “Consider playing that role you designed for yourself, if you’re so fuckin committed to the safety of our country.” 

Ben felt his fists curl, and Butcher looked like he would’ve stood up and tackled Singer down had it not been for the countless fucking guns still trained on their heads. 

Muller cleared his throat as the door, and their last fucking hope, closed. “We have determined that the pitch comes from a non-lucid party-“ 

“Shut the fuck up, Todd.” She wrinkled Her nose, lip curling. “Just say it’s because of me, so we can all move on.” 

“You are not important enough for this call to be made in your name-“ 

“Try again.” 

“Homelander is a chronic threat of unfathomable proportion. You are not qualified to handle such a delicate situation-“

“Wrong.” She shrugged, and Ben felt like he was watching a sparring match. Muller’s face was growing more and more red, and Her breathing more mechanical, both close to snapping, but she still pushed on. “I am qualified. I have field experience, and I’m literally a doctor. And you used chronic wrong. That’s not what it means-“ 

“I do not care what it means,” Muller hissed. “You are not stable or reliable, and we will not put the most dangerous drug in history into the hands of an over-emotional girl.” 

The table cracked under Ben’s hands, and something fucking dangerous crossed over Her face. 

“Oh, fuck.” MM muttered, leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his face as the air of the room started to wave in the heat. 

“So,” Her words were slow, wrathful. “You are risking America, risking the fucking world, because you think I’m the same unstable teenager I was thirteen fucking years ago.” 

Muller didn’t waver. “I believe you are the same girl you were because you are spoiled and believe you are owed something from the world. We are not a weapons bank-” 

“I am not owed V, it’s the only weapon to hold down Homelander that we have!” Her voice was growing louder, the room crackling with heat. “I want to kill my fucking abuser, that’s not spoiled-“ 

“And she’s helped us!“ Annie jumped in, glaring at Muller. “She’s not spoiled, she’s made a lot of the hard calls-“ 

“Starlight,” Mallory muttered, shooting Annie a look. “Drop it.” 

“No, Mallory! This is insane, you can’t think this is the best choice-“ 

“This is the president’s call-“ 

Butcher let out a cold, angry laugh. “You ain’t ever been this much of a bureaucratic bitch before, Grace-“

“Times are changing, Butcher-“ 

“And Grace here,” Muller gave Mallory a cold smirk. “Still wants to be in the running for the sweet VP spot. So now isn’t the time to disagree with Mr. President.” 

MM gaped at Mallory. “Are you being serious, Grace-“

“Oh, she is,” Muller turned his grin to the team. “And she’s still trying to make up ground for letting her two most dangerous and unreliable weapons,” his twisted gaze turned to Her and Ben. “Fall in love. What did you drug him with,” Muller sneered Her name. “To get Soldier Boy to follow you like a weak fucking baby?” 

Ben still had to let Her handle it. Even as he felt so fucking cold, physically restraining himself from launching across the table at Muller, he had to let Her handle it. 

“Ben isn’t weak, or a baby.“ She lifted her chin at Muller, and Ben swore he saw something fucking spark in the air. “And I’m not like you, Todd. I don’t need to offer someone something for them to love me.” A cold, hollow smirk played across Her lips. “Tell Mom I say hi, by the way.” 

Muller’s eyes narrowed. “You whoring little bitch-“ 

That was fucking it. Fuck letting Her handle it, that was the fucking line. 

Ben shot to his feet, letting the table crack further under his fist, and Muller’s words faded off. 

“Don’t ever fucking speak to her like that again in your pathetic, pussy life,” Ben growled. “Or I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Soldier Boy-“ 

Ben ignored MM’s low warning. “And you should count yourself real fucking lucky, because otherwise I’d break your fucking skull right goddamn now.” 

Muller cleared his throat, and a flash of fear crossed his face. “Careful, Soldier Boy.” Muller said, voice less smug and assured as he straightened his already too-straight tie. “Or we’ll find some Agent Orange and put you back in the box, and she won’t have anyone to do her dirty work.”

Ben could hear the fucking drums. He hadn’t heard the drums like this in months, but they were pounding in his head. Not from Muller—he could throw his against the wall and crack his spine without a thought—but from the thought of leaving Her alone. Failing Her again, leaving Her and Ryan to fight Homelander alone. And the drums beat with the knowledge that She’d burn herself out to wake Ben up, and he could never fucking let that happen- 

“You won’t get near him,” She hissed. “Or I’ll burn your dick off, and your fancy house down. And you,” Her wrath turned to Mallory, her words measured and toxic. “Are fucking pathetic. You know this is the wrong call, and you’re just letting it happen. Actually do something to kill Homelander, or deal with the consequences of him being alive.” 

She stood, looping Her arm through Ben’s. We need to leave, now. 

We’re not going fucking anywhere without the V- 

Ben. Her voice was firm in his head, and Ben realized her heart had slowed. Trust me. 

“Oi, where are you-“ 

“We’re done here,” She announced over Butcher, giving the team sharp, pointed looks. “Thank you,” She gave Mallory and Muller a too sweet, toxic smile. “For absolutely fucking nothing.” 

The rest of their team exchanged confused looks, their mouths opening and closing in protest, but She was on a strange sort of warpath. Pulling Ben behind Her into the hall, barely looking back to see their team scramble up as she turned to face Ben. 

Take my phone.

What the fuck are you- 

We’re not getting the V, Muller is the leak. 

How do you- 

He said Agent Orange. You told me Frenchie used that for his gas, that Sage based Hers on. Nobody except the Boys, Homelander, and Sage know that. It’s him. But we’ll be fine, you just need to play the music-

How the goddamn Christ is music going to help-

Neuman said they had a backup of V, that isn’t under the pentagon's control. I’m going to find it, and I need you to play a song, any song, really fucking loud. Don’t stop until I tell you to. Please. 

Ben nodded, putting Her rapid word in order in his own head. They didn’t have the V. There was more V, that wasn’t under the pentagon’s—Muller’s—control. She needed him to play music. Ben could defiantly fucking play music. 

He took Her phone, and she glanced behind him as their team stumbled into the hall. 

“Love, we ain’t fuckin done here-“ 

“Listen to me, Butcher.” Her voice was controlled and firm, and Ben glanced up from her phone to see that sharp, almost hazardous focus in her eyes. “We need to go now. I need to have my back here, please.”

Butcher blinked, and—by some fucking miracle—nodded. “Let’s bloody get a move on, then.” 

“Butcher-“ 

“Nah, Mate.” Butcher cut off MM with a shrug, sticking his hands in his pockets. “We ain’t gettin shit out of those cunts. Let’s cut our losses and move.” 

“That’s,” Annie frowned, watching Butcher carefully. “Uncharacteristically forgiving of you-“

“What can I say, I’m a changed fuckin man. Let’s go.” 

MM, Annie, and Hughie exchanged looks, but before they could protest further, Ben felt Her bump his shoulder, her eyes fixed behind him. 

Now. 

He didn’t think about what he was playing, because it didn’t fucking matter. It was fucking loud, and it caused the team to jump slightly and give him odd looks, but She nodded. And that’s what fucking mattered. 

And then She fucking vanished, like she had at Red River. Something rushed through Ben’s body—indescribable and elusive and not wrong but strange—the world practically stuttered, and She was gone. 

Annie’s mouth fell open. “Where-“ 

“Oh, shit.” Hughie looked over at Ben, his voice muffled by the blasting vocals and drums and guitar. “She’s-“ 

Ben didn’t want to talk over the music. He didn’t understand how this weird fucking power of Hers worked—She’d explained it a few times, and he’d still gotten lost in Her pretty eyes and big words—and now wasn’t the time to pull experiments with it. So, he just gave Hughie a sharp nod, and waited. 

Butcher didn’t seem phased by this in the goddamn slightest, looking around the hall and rolling his eyes before starting for the exit. 

A secret service agent blocked his path, and an argument started about turning off the music and where is the sixth member of your party—MM grunted something about the bathroom, and they seemed to buy it—but Ben didn’t fucking hear any of it. She was taking too long, there wasn’t any telling where the fuck She’d gone, and Ben could feel Her tugging him with the Pigeon instinct—he was worried out his damn mind, and She’d never get to know he’d called it that—from deep in the building. 

Then She started drawing closer, back to Ben, and the instinct started to grow electric and feral. She was closer, and something felt sick, and he should just fuck this and go fucking find her- 

She was walking down the hallway, and, without a word, looped Her arms through Ben’s. 

Go. 

Ben didn’t stop playing the music—despite the many people in suits glaring at him—as She half-marched down the hall. Her face was too neutral, almost statue-like, and she still wasn’t speaking. Ben could swear he could hear Her fucking singing, like a ghost or phantom on the wind, but Her mouth was closed. 

They made it out. The rest of their team still looked tense and confused, and She was still being so fucking weird, but they’d made it the fuck out. Ben knew She was with them—he could feel Her humming and taut somewhere in his head—but she still didn’t speak. 

Butcher started driving, and when they crossed the lines out of DC, Ben finally felt a tug of his arm. 

Off. 

When the song stopped and Ben looked back to Her, tucked against his side, her eyes were far away, and he could hear Her fucking brain moving. 

“You gonna bloody explain whatever the fuckin hell you just pulled-“ 

“Drive, Butcher.” She snapped, eyes still glazed over. “Fast.” 

The ride was silent for another ten minutes. The didn’t have the V. They were out of fucking options, and they still had to figure out the Cornucopia, and they were fucked- 

Ben. 

He glanced down at Her, and found her staring at him. What- 

I got it. 

You- 

I followed Mallory and Muller to the oval office, which is like, really small by the way- 

Ben grunted Her name, trying to keep her perfect, too fast mind on one track. What the fuck did you get. 

The location. Of the executive V. It’s in a warehouse in Boston. 

Ben nodded slowly. So let’s go fucking get it. 

We need to deal with Edgar first. She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. No loose ends. We can’t get this wrong. 

She squeezed Ben’s hand—resting on her waist—and cleared her throat. 

Ben frowned. You’re telling them- 

Everything. “Butcher, pull over.” 

“We’re on the fuckin freeway-“ 

“So find a rest stop or take the next exit.” 

Ben could hear Butcher’s sigh, but the ass wasn’t stupid enough to keep arguing—not when Her tone was so flat and forceful, her face painted in a tight, resolved look—so they were parked within two minutes. 

“Can I, uh,” Hughie coughed. “I need to go to the bathroom-“ 

“Hold it, lad.” Butcher twisted in his seat, shooting Her a glare. “The fuck was all that-“

“I’m going to talk, and you’re all going to listen. No talking until I’m done.” She looked around the team, leaning forward. “Got it?” 

They got some nods and mumbled agreements—everyone glancing at Ben’s set, purposefully unreadable face like he had shit to say—and She let out a long, heavy breath. Ben’s hand moved to Her thigh, steadying her heart a little further, and she began. 

“We have a leak. I caught it when we met with Edgar, who’s probably doing some cloak and dagger double-agent bullshit, because he knew stuff only Sage and Homelander would know. And I wasn’t sure, but then Ashley jumped ship and confirmed it-“ 

Annie blinked. “Ashley-“ 

“Jumped ship.” She snapped, fingers tapping on Ben’s hand. “At Red River. Don’t get mad at Hughie, I told him to keep it quiet while we were in DC. Ashley’s staying with Neuman, and they’ve both confirm that there’s a leak in either the government or CIA. It’s the government, because it’s Muller. I don’t,” She sighed, chewing on her lips. “I don’t know what the fuck Muller is doing, or what Sage promised him to flip, but it’s him. It’s probably the real reason why we didn’t get the V, but it’s fine. I,” She reached into her jacket, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. “Fixed it. Neuman told me there was an off-site stash of V for the government. Off the books, probably part of a deal for the government to help fund Red River. And I’ve got its location.” She leaned forward, passing the paper over to Annie. “Boston docks warehouse. We’ll need to take care of Edgar first, but that’s it. That’s our shot.” 

The limo was silent as MM and Hughie leaned over Annie’s shoulders, all three of them reading the paper—likely just some fucking evidence—and Butcher scowled at the air. 

“So,” Butcher drawled. “All we gotta do is go to Boston, nab some fuckin V from the federal government, and we’re bloody golden and set?” 

“Unless we fuck up,” She shrugged. “Yeah. And we can clean up Muller and Ashley after, but I think we need to clear Edgar first. He’s actually dangerous, and I’m not sure if he’s playing us or Sage. Muller’s just an idiot, and Ashley’s out of the picture for now.” 

“All she told you was there was a leak?” MM looked up from the paper with a frown. “Nothing else?” 

“She recorded Sage. And if she’s trying to infiltrate us, I burned out her tracker and she doesn’t have her phone. Neuman will keep an eye on her, and she won’t get anywhere close enough to us to get useful information for Sage.” 

“And how do you know Muller is the leak-“ 

“Butcher,” She cut off MM with a sigh. “What did Frenchie use to make the gas, when you met with Homelander and Sage in January?” 

Butcher frowned, something flashing in his eyes. “Agent Orange.” 

She nodded, and turned to Hughie and Annie. “And what did Sage base her gas on?” 

“Oh, God.” Annie shook her head, realization flashing in her eyes. “That’s not good-“ 

“What gas does Sage have?” MM grunted, looking around the limo. “None of you motherfuckers mentioned gas-“ 

“It’s against me,” Ben grunted, and felt Her hand cover his, still on her leg. “Homelander tried to use it during the tower fight. Pussy said Sage designed it after Frenchie’s.” 

“And only we know that,” Hughie mumbled. “Us and Vought. Shit-“ 

“That’s how I know it’s Muller,” She muttered. “And that’s how I know this is it. The V is there,” She nodded to the paper, slightly crumpled in Annie’s hands. “And we’re going to get it.” 

There was another moment of silence, broken by Butcher once more.

“That it, Love?”

 She nodded. “That’s it. We’re fucking finishing this.”

End Note: For such a stoic and emotionally stunted character, all of the Ben centric chapters sure do contain a lot of emotion.

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[luna-rainbow]

Hi

Like your posts especially your Bucky posts. He is my precious cinnamon roll, and a character whose popularity makes sense.

Can you explain to me why T*ny Stark though is so popular? I just... cannot see the appeal of him. He's self-righteous, self-centred, reckless, irresponsible and very likely narcissistic.

Also, for all his fans go on about how "sacrificial" he is I do not see it. Or rather, its not actually that admirable to have to sacrifce yourself to solve the problems you created in the first place! That's just... being a decent human.

Now Cap, there's a guy. Resisting authortarinism and fighting for freedom all his life. T*ny though? He's like "yeah kill myself to kill he villain my father/me created". Nope. Not a hero.

Even in Endgame, he's selfish because he's not willing to even give his backing to the Time Heist if it might negatively impact him/his family.

Why do people see him as such again?

Thanks for the ask!

I think most people like characters for a few reasons: a) they think they are their blorbo, b) they want to be like their blorbo, and c) they want to have sex with their blorbo.

Tony, especially with RDJ's portrayal, is exactly the kind of guy that appeals to the intended audience of the comics-loving (mostly male) fanbase: who identify with Tony's "intellectual and pragmatic" over sentimental (ala Pepper) or moralistic (ala Steve), and who wishes they could be the playboy billionaire who has all the sex and buys all the toys and shrugs off all the accountability. Tony is 40 but RDJ plays him like he's 14, he's misogynist and self-centered, cocky and reckless, who won't listen to anyone else's advice because he genuinely believes he knows better until real life proves him wrong (...so many socialised males are like this...)

To be honest, on the one hand, I can see why Tony appeals to the audience. He's at once a a reassurance and a fantasy. If you take away his billionaire status, he's an extremely flawed (all the ones you've listed and more) middle-aged guy who struggles to maintain human relations and makes frequent mistakes but does strive, at least in the earlier movies, to try and do the right thing. I think a lot of people relate to that, because most of us are lonely and messed up and likely misunderstood to some degree. But he's also very much a power fantasy -- he's swimming in money (if you forget where it comes from), surrounded by fawning hot women, he has fast cars and a man cave to tinker with his hobby while his girlfriend/secretary does the real work of running the company. He then gets the ideal redemption story where he proves all the accusations of immorality wrong by doing A Good Deed, and all the fame and glory that comes with it. Yeah, some fans like to lean into how he's still ""misunderstood", but his critics in universe are the minority, and his new hero status has enabled him greater access to what is essentially political power and intelligence networks.

To me, Tony's appeal lies in his struggles and the redemption. He is a morally grey character just learning to look beyond his own needs and still occasionally relapsing into self-centered recklessness. His story was never one about sacrifice - because as you say, doing the bare minimum of fixing your own mistakes isn't sacrifice, it's being a grown up.

And I ignore Endgame XD

[mandoalorian]

let's get in the back of your cop car, officer

pairing: rookie cop!Leon S. Kennedy x f!Reader

summary: semi-au, where Leon is a rookie cop for the RPD and the Raccoon City incident did not occur.

warnings: SMUT (18+ no minors), car sex, protected p in v, choking, taunting and teasing, mention of handcuffs/being tied up, power play

masterlist

Night shift with Leon as part of his training as an officer did not go down in the way he thought it would. As his superior, Leon didn’t know what to expect of you. From his first meeting with you, it was clear that you were kind enough and strong, and with all the dedication and loyalty he could muster, Leon truly had the utmost respect for you. But more than anything else, when he wasn’t fawning over you, he was intimidated by you. In his eyes, you were goddamn perfect, and Leon found himself wondering what made you become a cop over say, a model or star actress. With a face like yours, you could easily find stardom, money and fame. He imagined asking you the question over a candlelit dinner and a glass of red wine, and he would often daydream about all of the plausible ways he could ask you out on a date.

But of course, Leon wasn’t delusional and he knew better than to believe you’d even give him a second glance or a moment of your precious time. After all, you were his boss. You were older and mature and he was just an earnest twenty-one-year-old rookie cop straight out of college. That was until the night of September 28th, 1998. 

Your loins were burning hot and you ached for Leon. Your primal need for him only grew as he pushed you down into the scratchy fabric material of the three backseats in his cop car. Your clothes had been discarded a good half an hour ago and were recklessly thrown over the backseats that you were now laying on, and into the trunk of Leon’s cop car. 

Somewhere along the drive, things had gotten heated. All grains of professionalism that were left in your employer/employee relationship with Leon had been thrown away alongside your clothing. 

“Stop squirming,” he huffed impatiently, licking a hot, wet stripe down your neck and biting down on the skin at your collarbone. Leon had wanted to live this moment from the very moment he met you. “Or I’ll cuff you up,” he brought his hand down to the silver handcuffs that were attached to his belt. “But you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?” he taunted, shaking his head. He pushed himself up so he was hovering above you and wedged his knee in between your legs. Leon ran his fingers through his tousled, dark blonde hair and looked at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. It was dark outside, the alley that he’d parked in was barely illuminated by the yellow streetlights.

You’d never seen this side of Leon. He was usually mellow,  dorky, and cute. But this Leon… you’d been teasing him all day, get him so pent up he couldn’t even do his job properly. And this is what it had come to. You grabbed onto his bicep and dug your fingers into the material of his dark blue RPD uniform. “Leon, please,” you begged, rolling your hips along his thigh. “I need you.”

Leon groaned and squeezed his eyes shut at your words, silently thankful that you were just as desperate for him, as he was for you. He’d imagined this moment during his morning glories and evening showers. He didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky. Leon’s cheeks blushed a dusty pink colour and he pressed a soft kiss atop your nose, and then nudged down to your mouth, licking another stripe along your lower lip, swollen from all the making out you had both been partaking in, begging for entry once more. You granted it to him, of course, and relished the feeling of his tongue in your mouth. Without breaking the heated kiss, Leon unbuckled his belt and along with his underwear, let his pants fall down to his knees. 

“Not much space in this damn car,” Leon muttered, clearly agitated, but you just chuckled and pulled him in closer to you. 

“Fuck me, Leon.” you weren’t asking— you were telling. You spread your legs and if that wasn’t enough of an invitation, Leon lowered himself down and positioned his manhood to your entrance, sliding it between your folds, teasing you. 

He was thick and girth and you weren’t sure what you expected of the city cop, but Goddamn, he filled you up just the way you’d imagined. Stretching you open, you let out a cry and gritted your teeth together as he held onto you for his own balance. He had stamina, and as he rocked his hips back and forth, you felt your walls tighten around him. Wet, lewd sounds of your arousal filled the car and if you weren’t getting pounded, you might have felt a tad embarrassed. Leon brought his hand down to your neck, offering it a gentle squeeze. 

“Oh— oh Leon, you trying to choke me?” You giggled as you watched Leon’s cheeks turn a darker shade of rose. 

Leon increased his speed as he railed into you, and added more pressure around your neck. Somehow— you felt as though he’d had experience doing this, despite his young age. You’d been with other cops in your department before, but never a rookie like Leon. You typically liked them older than you and more experienced, but perhaps Leon was proving to be an anomaly. 

“Baby, oh— sweet girl, I’m close,” he warned in between huffs and grunts. “Jesus, you’re so perfect.”

There he was… the cute, affirming Leon you knew from work. Even as he pounded into you, his cock splitting you open, he knew how to give you butterflies and make your heart race with the sweetest, most wholesome comments.

“Cum inside of me, Leon,” you begged, your jaw agape. “I’m safe.”

And with that simple utterance, Leon spurted his ropes of seed inside of you, painting your walls white. The second you felt his warmth fill you, you found it was enough to let yourself come undone around him. His load was huge and you wondered when was the last time he’d fucked like that.

“That was good, rookie,” you praised him breathlessly as Leon rolled off the top of you and shuffled into the seat by the backdoor. “Keep that up and you’ll be a Government Agent in no time.”

Leon chuckled and pressed a final dainty kiss to your forehead. “We should probably head back to the station, huh?”

You nodded your head and clambered into the front driver’s seat. “And Leon, just so we’re clear… I hope we get the chance to do something like this again sometime, although maybe not when you’re on duty?”

“Right,” Leon nodded, switching back to work mode. “Sorry miss,”

You laughed softly as you turned on the engine and reversed back onto the road. “Sorry? Leon, you just gave me the best railing of my entire life. I had no idea you had that side to you.”

The rookie cop felt his cheeks heat up at your compliment and on your way back to the RPD, you kept your eye on him in the rearview mirror as he slipped back into his uniform. He was so handsome, his soft features something looking like something straight out of a fairytale. He had yet to be hardened by the cruel, crime-ridden world of Racoon City.

“I had fun tonight,” Leon admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. You had just pulled into the parking lot of the RPD and could overhear the City Hall clock tower strike twelve. When the bells finished ringing, Leon cleared his throat, a wave of newfound confidence gushing through his veins. “And if it would be okay to ask, I’d like to take you out sometime… for dinner?”

You couldn’t hide the grin anymore. “I’d like that a lot, officer Kennedy.”

“Okay.” Leon beamed. “Well, I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, rookie,” you replied. “Good night.”

“Get home safe,” Leon smiled before slipping out of the cop car. You gave him a little wave goodbye and watched him find his own car in the parking lot. If anyone found out about tonight, you would be in a lot of trouble. Hell, you’d probably even lose your job.

But maybe he was worth it.

[cinnamonnangel]

ASTRO 101 - THE HOUSES (PART II)

SEVENTH HOUSE - I BALANCE

(The Seventh House is ruled by Libra and Venus.)

House of marriage, personality and character of our partner, partner’s job

Civil partnership, bilateral relations, long and committed relationship, close friends, closely associated with, opposite side, associations, union, consultancy

Terms of relationship and behavior

Joint ventures, hostilities, adversary, rivals, competition

Traits we feel lacking in ourselves, the parts of us that are in us but have not been revealed and that we have difficulty in accepting

Lower back, skin, external sexual organs, bladder, ovaries, blood

International relations, military or civil wars, treatises, arbitrators, illegal criminals, marriage and divorce rates, foreign trade, public relations

EIGHTH HOUSE - I DESIRE

(The Eighth House is ruled by Scorpio, Mars and Pluto.)

House of death - natural or unnatural, accident, suicide, fire, drowning, diseases, corruption, crises, surgery

Sex, sexuality, erotism, desire, fantasies, fetishes, sexual life

Alteration and transformations, sharing

Heritage, money that comes to us beyond of our control, money that comes to us from others, inheritance from husband

Tax, alimony, debt, heritage, loan, lottery, gambling

Robbery, fighting, theft, slaughter, butchers, coroners, harassment, rape

The fears, privacy, feel rage towards, abomination

Psychology, occultism, parapsychology, subconscious, spiritual psychology

Genitals, groin area, colon, sex organs, gall bladder, rectum, urogenital system

International debts, international financial agreements, charges, stock certificates, interest rates, foreign exchanges, credits, fuses, mortgages, pension funds, legacies, mortality, life-critical, suicide

Surgery, morgue, surgeons, laboratories, nuclear forces, sewage, organized crimes, terrorists, detective, demimonde, arms, underground sources, cabalistic subjects

NINTH HOUSE - I ASPIRE

(The Ninth House is ruled by Sagittarius and Jupiter.)

House of wisdom, mastership, higher education, academic trainings

Cults and thoughts, abstract reasoning, moral evidence, philosophizing, religious cult, reflection, abstract thoughts

The house where we deepen the information we get from the 3rd house

Distant relatives

Society's mindset, social law rules, social and moral rules, harmony with society

Expedition, long trips, distant travels, foreign countries, foreigners, exterior, crew, communication instruments, media, broadcast

Hips, thighs, sciatic nerves, lower spine, liver, autonomic nervous system

Foreign relations and trade, courts, laws, judges, minorities, companies, advertising portfolios, religion and clergy, the country's philosophical and religious tendencies, migrations, long-distance communications, fast-moving news, broadcasting, popular culture, foreigners

Universities, airlines and transport, maritime transport, ministry of foreign affairs, flight attendants

TENTH HOUSE - I USE

(The Tenth House is ruled by Capricorn and Saturn.)

House of profession, honor, social status, public esteem, dignity, business, character, reputation and career

Glory, name, fame, recognition, way of life, purpose and power

Social roles, status in society, the part of society that sees us, social identity, prestige and title

Marital status, our partner's family, parents, father, authoritarian leaders

Skin, hair, knees, teeth, bones, joints, skeletal system, reputation

Government, the state's reputation by foreign countries, heads of state, powers, executives, leaders, celebrities, notable personages, public figures, uplands

ELEVENTH HOUSE - I KNOW

(The Eleventh House is ruled by Aquarius, Saturn and Uranus.)

House of friends, groups, associations, endowments, a circle of friends, people around us, hives, social environments and organizations

Goals, future plans, hopes, goals of life, wishes, happy news, wealth, fortune, expectations from life and dreams

Income from career, colleagues, international friendships, audiences we offer ideas, incoming wealth, gains, profits, writings

Social media, mass media and virtual communities

Endowments associations, politics, parties, establishment, the masses

Lower leg, calves, ankles, electrical impulsive of the nerves, circulatory system, elimination

Allied countries, social institutions and administrations, legislative changes, national mobilizations, revolts, revolutions, organizations, erosions

TWELFTH HOUSE - I BELIEVE

(The Twelfth House is ruled by Pisces, Jupiter and Neptune.)

House of tribulations, secret matters, troubles, subconscious, covert and covered topics, privacy, loneliness, ermitage, place of isolation

Thoughts, anxieties, and fears underlying repressed consciousness, spiritual life

The things we hide from others and are afraid to tell, our shadow sides, psychological problems

Karmic transmissions, burdens and problems we brought from the past

Secret enemy, backfriend

What kind of pregnancy our mother had, our condition in the mother’s womb and the emotions transferred to us in the mother’s womb

Fantasies and fetishes

Feet, all bodily fluids, the lymphatic system

Secret enemies, secret organizations, private affairs, spies, psychics, fortune-tellers, wizards, deep and secret affairs, criminals, thefts, assassinations, drugs, addicts, dark business people, unemployment and strikes

Hospitals, prisons, rehabilitation centers, mental hospitals, faith houses, orphanages, clinics, charities, overseas

[mlb-a-rewrite]

Fixing Lila Rossi

Oh boy, do I hate Lila. Not only is she a bad character, but she's a badly written character too which is a far worse crime imo.

At first, I was tempted to just write her out entirely but then I thought, "What the hell, might as well see if I could make her work" and I'm glad I did.

In the show, Lila is a conniving manipulator. She is constantly scheming, but why? Her reasons for what she does are never made very clear, but that's not her biggest crime.

Lila joins the class randomly and immediately begins lying and deceiving. When Marinette discovers this, Lila begins attacking her and when Marinette speaks up about this, everyone sides with Lila, including Marinette's best friend. For so many episodes, for so many seasons, Lila is a cruel manipulator, and that entire time Marinette and Adrien, two of the most well-liked people in the entire class, are ignored when they speak up against Lila.

I think this is all incredibly dumb and it makes me very angry to think about it so I reworked her character entirely.

The first thing I figured out was Lila's motivations. Why is she the way she is? What are her goals? How far is she willing to go to get what she wants?

The easy conclusion I came to was that Lila wants the luxurious glory of wealth. She comes from a poor family where she's been neglected and pushed to the side her whole life. She wants the power that comes from money. She wants people to look at her and envy her like she has done to others her whole life.

But the more I thought about Lila the more I realized her motivations are more than that.

Her whole life has been lived in uncertainty. She never knew if she would be getting dinner that day or if she'd be able to stay in her home. She never knew if her parents were in a caring mood or a cruel one. She never had any control over her life, and she is tired of it.

Lila wants money because it gives her control, but she also wants to control people. She befriends people to get what she wants or to gather information to force them to do what she wants. She never lets anyone have a leg up on her, because that is surrendering control.

Even if the person she is interacting with doesn't play a role in her master plan, she doesn't want to risk the chance that they might. Vulnerability and authenticity give people access to Lila, to the things that anger her and make her sad, and so she never lets anyone in.

Yes, Lila is driven by a desire to accumulate wealth and fame, but those are just pieces of the larger puzzle. Ultimately, Lila has lived a life where she is powerless and she decided years ago that she would rather be dead than continue to live at the whim of others.

[tears0fsatan]

                ♰          ・        𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑!

✦ ⊹ ˚˖ warnings... nsfw! minors, ageless blogs and fem aligned do not interact, servant dom m!reader, sub perv!solomon, dub con, imbalanced power dynamic, oral (giving), edging, mindbreak kinda

 :¨·.·¨ ♥︎  a.n... sick in the head sol got me giggling like a schoolgirl hes such a neat lil freak

 #﹏𖣠ㅤHEART SHAPED HICKIES MASTERLISTㅤ. . . ㅤ !! ( ☠️ )

being the most powerful sorcerer humanity had ever seen, solomon had more than he could ask for. he was no short of money, fame, glory nor power and yet, a corner of his heart still felt empty. he had all he could've ever asked for and was in a position where at the slight raise of a finger, he could get even more. everyone that ever crossed his path bowed down to him with no questions ask, whether it was from fear or reverence he didn't care, but all of humanity adored him.

so when his newest manservant came along, bowing down with faux reverence, his interest was piqued. he saw the way you looked at him, with curiosity of why people thought of him so highly and refusal to believe in him blindly, he wanted to study you, find out why you had such defiance for higher authority.

that was why the sorcerer called on you more often than any of his other maids and servants, he wanted to see the way your face scrunched up in slight annoyance whenever he cheerily called on you, asking for the simplest and dumbest shit. it was also why he gave you a "special" uniform, one shorter and skimpier than the rest of your coworkers uniforms all for the sorcerer's gratification.

the grumbles you would whisper under your breath only served to turn him on, solomon wanted to see just how much he could get you to do while muttering curses. he loved to watch your cute behind as you tidied his clean room, putting things that were just a millimetre out of place back where they belonged. it was horribly time consuming and both you and the sorcerer knew that it was purely out of solomon's sick, twisted pleasure, but you were in no place to complain.

you could always feel the burning gaze on the back of your thighs every time you entered his room, the way the heated stare would trail upwards and scanned your body as though he could see right through your clothes made you feel self-concious, made you feel like you were prey. you knew very well the thoughts that crossed his mind when he openly stared at your exposed legs, the nasty thoughts a master shouldn't be having for his servant.

as long as the sorcerer did anything physical, you could handle it. the humiliation, the embarrassment, the dirtiness; it was nothing new to you, years of hardened experience made you apathetic to such feelings.

but of course, one day it did turn physical… sort of?

a small, fleeting touch grazed your back, one so soft and light you would've easily believed it was just your imagination had it not been for the smug expression on the sorcerer's face. it confused you to no end, the gap between the two of you was impossible to cross in the short amount that it took to touch you and you turning to look at him.

goosebumps broke out across your skin, the eyes he looked at you with burned with a brighter intensity than normal and for some reason, you couldn't tear yourself away. a feeling of defiance flared up within you, one that told you to put solomon in his place, to show him that he was no better than any other human who worked their ass off and to put him in his place.

you licked your chapped lips, brushing off the intimidation that rolled off him in waves and slowly inched closer towards him. he watched your every move like an eagle stalking its prey and you realised you were already damned when you found his heated gaze more exhilarating than menacing.

how you ended up on your knees with his cock in your hands remained a mystery, but the flush that coated his cheeks was far too much of a treat for you to pass up. the sorcerer didn't say a word, only watched you with unfocused eyes as if to taunt you to keep going and boy did it fire you up. you were determined to drag him down to your level, even if it meant going along with what he wanted in the first place.

it all paid off of course, the moment you kept eye contact with him as you pulled down his zipper with your teeth and a suppressed whimper crawled out from the back of his throat, you knew that you had made the right decision.

the second his dick was released from its tight confines, it bounced up and stood proudly against his lightly toned stomach, exposing just how excited he was to finally have you in such an erotic position. you quickly glanced at the smug smirk that you swore was permanently etched onto his face at that point and made a promise to yourself; that you would do everything in your power to wipe that stupidly enticing look off his face.

to say that his size didn't intimidate you would've been a lie, because in all honesty, it was an intimidating size. it wasn't that you hadn't seen his cock before, there had been moments where you had "accidentally" walked in on him in his boxers or nude and caught a glimpse at the third leg that hung from the lower half off his body. from the fleeting glances that you had of it, he was roughly the same size as you normally, so the sense of foreboding didn't creep up on you until you were face to face with his cock at its biggest.

nevertheless, you pushed aside the feeling of unease and reminded yourself of his pleased expression and your resolve came back in full force. you started off lightly, giving his red tip a kittenish lick, blinking back in surprise when a few beads of precum trickled out of his head. you looked up at him, your own smirk playing on your lips now that his cock had given away how keen he really was.

a few more airy moans filled the air as your licks grew longer, soon you took the entirety of his head into your mouth, cringing slightly when his precum touched your tongue. you continued to maintain eye contact and felt the satisfaction bubble up within you when you witnessed the fall of his facade in real time. little by little, his smirk dwindled, soon reduced to his teeth sinking into his lower lip to snuff the sounds that fought their way out.

to think, you would one day be capable of reducing the great and mighty solomon to such a state, head tilted back and muttering rough obscenities under his ragged breath, body flushed and covered in a slight sheen of sweat. who would've thought the pervert that preyed on his new servant was so sensitive, precum dribbling out of his leaky tip so much so that it spilled out of the corners of your mouth.

you could feel his heartbeat thrumming through the bulging vein on the underside of his dick from where it sat heavy on your tongue, betraying his usual unreadable demeanour. he was just as excited and turned on as you were and now that you were on your knees with his cock in your mouth, all sense of reason flew out the window and he let his emotion show.

your tongue traced the vein on the underside of his cock before you came off his dick completely, a string of your spit connecting your lips to his length as if chasing the warmth of your mouth. your hands, which had strictly stuck to his thighs or played with his balls, moved down to clamp around the base of his cock.

"admit it. you're a dirty pervert who likes to watch his servants do absurd chores in revealing uniforms, aren't you?" a loud, uncharacteristically high pitched cry rang out at your hand harshly tightening its grip around his cock, the sound sending a shiver down your spine at the upper hand you had over him.

teary, half-lidded eyes looked down at you, his right arm coming up to cover his mouth in an attempt to muffle the whimper that bubbled out of his throat when you didn't let up. you raised an eyebrow, shifting backward to fool him into thinking you'd stop all together.

"aah! i'm a dirty pervert!" he cried out, wet with desperation and need. unfortunately for him, the sound just went straight to your dick and you realised then just how much you liked the sound of him in such a pathetic state. when you still kept your tight grip on his dick, a gargled sob fell from his pretty lips followed by fat tears rolling down his cherry red cheeks.

"i'm, i'm a dirty pervert who likes to watch his, his servants do chores in revealing uniforms!" only after his admission did you relent, releasing your hold on his leaky cock. "please, please, please.." his knees buckled underneath him and he had to grip the table he was leaning against until his knuckles turned white in order to keep himself upright.

if only his devout followers could see him now, all whiny and begging his servant to make him cum.

© 2023 TEARS0FSATAN. please don’t translate, modify, repost or plagiarise my works anywhere.

[slocumjoe]

A ramble about Preston Garvey and a self-indulgent revision of the entire Minuteman questline

TDLR: The Minutemen faction sacrifices writing and Preston’s character as a means of shoveling errands and busywork at the player.

Preston’s issues as a character are entirely Doylist, meaning the fault of outside forces. His writing, his concept, his themes, those are solid. This is not a racehorse that broke its leg and was still sent down the track, like some characters. This is a horse that was hale and hearty, but they made it run in circles around cars in the parking lot instead of putting it in the race. 

This essay is not going to be my most coherent one. Preston’s issues are so apparent, so in your face, it kinda feels like a waste of time explaining it. Just look at him and anyone with two braincells to rub together can see. But a lot of things in Fallout 4 sticks with me, even when I’m not in a Fallout 4 mood. Preston is one of those things. So neglected, so misused in the game, I couldn’t stop thinking about the bastard. 

Before we get into what Preston is, in-game...what was he meant to be?

And you know what? 

He’s close to Danse, post Blind Betrayal.

Preston Garvey started his military career as a fresh-faced, bright-eyed young man, who wanted to be another gun protecting the Commonwealth against whatever would harm it. He always had his faction’s best interests and ideals in mind. The first to wave the flag, the first to say the motto, the first to pick up a gun for it. He didn’t want heroism, or glory. He wanted to make the world a better place. It sounds cookie cutter, cliche, so sugary-saccharine. But this is the wasteland. This is in a world where everyone else seems content to succumb to futilism, to pretend there is no Better for the world. 

Preston Garvey is, inherently, part of a rebel army. The Minutemen were a militia, a guerilla army of farmers and their children, banding together against the oppressive totality of raiders, mercenaries, anyone who would rather gnaw on bones than build to ensure everyone was taken care of. The Minutemen are the fuck you, we want to recover and heal faction, to the raiders’ fuck you, I have a right to wallow in the ruins.

The legend herself, the icon, the Queen, Ursula K. LeGuin once said;  “The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist; a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain.” The MInutemen might look like your average, boring heroes (we’ll get into why), but it is inherently badass to look at the literal End of the World and decide, no, actually, we don’t want to lie down and die.

Preston Garvey is not a boy scout, the Minutemen are not mall cops. They are furious, determined, and most dangerously, optimistic. 

A young Preston Garvey joined under a blue banner, served under it for years...and watched as people who saw money, power, glory, took that banner and tied it into a noose.

Joe Becker died, and having not chosen someone to take over as General, all of the colonels squabbled for the position, wanting the fame, the cushy office. These people weren’t Minutemen, not at heart. The faction had grown so large, there was bound to be people looking only at the resources, what was in it for them. Preston, still a young man, but quickly losing his naivety and faith in his fellow Minutemen, watched as these colonels dropped their altruistic acts and demanded they get theirs.

And then Quincy happened.

The Minutemen were in disarray, following the Mirelurk invasion of the Castle, lacking a home base and their radio communications. But Colonel Ezra Hollis, potentially the last Colonel who gave a shit, heard that Quincy was under siege by Gunner forces, and he led his small, out-gunned squad to do whatever the fuck they could, until another Colonel came to provide the needed fire support. Hollis’ Minutemen succeeded in driving the Gunners back, and holding them off, but their help from Colonel Marbury never came. Preston watched as his Colonel refused to give up and let Quincy fall...and he watched as Clint, a ten-year veteran, betrayed everyone, chose money and a winning team over what was right. 

Quincy fell. Preston Garvey watched as the refugees fell in a line, running for safety. Watched his comrades, who he had been fighting against impossible odds with for days, dropped with them. 

Preston Garvey died, and I can tell you where. At one house, to the right, down the street from the museum, where the last other Minuteman lay dead in a yard. Where he became the Last Minuteman. Even if there were others who would call themselves such...they weren’t Minuteman, not really. The real Minutemen tried to save Quincy. Everyone else, who gave up, never believed at all.

Preston was still fucking furious at the hedonistic cruelty people indulged in and called inevitable. But he was alone, a failure, and had lost any reason to believe that there was a possibility of continuing. A point, a reason, yes. But the optimism...without that, there was no Minuteman army. 

Preston is Danse Post BB, because he’s freshly disillusioned from his faction, horrified at the truth and betrayal. He has lost his identity, his values, unsure of where to go, if there’s anywhere to go. And then...salvation walks down the street of Concord, and walks him and his group back up the road to Sanctuary. Sanctuary.

And then comes in the fucking dialogue system (FDS) and the fucking radiant system (FRS), armed with folding chairs, to beat Preston Garvey’s rich character into a bloody, twitching pulp. We cannot talk about Preston without talking about how his faction questline plays. We simply have to, because it’s like a shotgun wedding from hell.

Let’s start with the very first quest in the Minutemen. Preston, while running for his fucking life from gunners, then ferals, then raiders, has somehow heard through the grapevine/radio he doesn’t have that Tenpines has a Corvega raiders issue. He asks you to do it because he’s busy guarding Sanctuary. Okay.

You go to Tenpines, Corvega, and back, and whoop, you are now Minuteman general. 

You START THE MINUTEMEN as THE LEADER. Even fucking MAXSON waits for you to at least bump Danse off before making you a Paladin, but nope! Starting at the top, ending at the top. This kills progression in all senses. There is no sense of gaining ground, the Minutemen start with a General. Skyrim gets mocked for making you the leader of all factions, but good god, at least you had to earn it by sticking with them. 

So, bad start. 

Then you do some settlement stuff...which is handed to you in the worst fucking way. The FRS. 

Where is Preston getting this information? How are people sending it out? Ignoring the logistics...it’s just boring. You talk to Preston sometimes, and he always says Go Here, Do This, Come back. Do this enough times, Preston wants to retake the Castle. At this point, you don’t have any men, it’s just you and Preston- wait, who the fuck are these people?! We’ve had soldiers this whole time?! Who hired them?! You take the Castle and it’s admittedly cool, if not a pain to restore for all your- okay, wait, I can only bring settlers? Where are all the men I supposedly have, there’s three soldiers here! Three soldiers, this is just a Clearing the Way radiant quest, but the moving in folks helped me kill the mirelurks! 

Ugh, fine. You keep traveling, Preston gives you more- Preston?! I killed a Mirelurk Queen specifically for the radio tower, so I could get quests from the radio! Why is Preston still dispensing quests? It discourages you from talking to him, because you’ll get busywork cluttering your quest log. You can’t talk to Preston Garvey. You can’t fucking talk to him without doing him a favor first. 

Y’know what makes this even more abominable? You are said to have soldiers, who could be doing this instead! Why am I going after kidnapped settlers when we have soldiers?! The General still has a kid to find and the Institute to explode! SPEAKING OF...

The Commonwealth Provisional Government was started by the Minutemen, and ended by the Institute. This is never brought up again. And it’s not even Preston who talks about it, it’s Nick. The Minutemen have very real reason to want the Institute gone, and a good excuse to get the player to want to destroy the Institute beyond “grrr synths/they took my baby.”

Anyway, you go get artillery from Ronnie Shaw at some point, build it in your settlements, and...make your farmers man them. Not soldiers. I know you can deck out your settlers with armor and weapons, but the fact that you have maybe 5 constant, non-random encounter soldiers, all at the Castle, is...it makes it feel hollow. Where is my army, Preston? Who am I leading?

So, you do the Main Quest, blow up the Institute. Blah blah. Blow up the Brotherhood, too. Blaaaaah.

Either way, let’s get into fixes. And by fixes, I mean, complete rehaul.

First thing’s first. The entire questline is bad. It’s radiant quests and then boom boom Institute. It starts and ends the exact same way, you being the general. Second thing, we need to go back to the old dialogue system; no more YES, NO, WHAT, SARCASTIC. Actual dialogue. Back to Fallout New Vegas’s system, that relied on all stats and perks. Actual conversations with branching paths.

Saving Preston at Concord is fine. Works. It’s the first radiant quest that sucks ass. Throw that system out entirely, and I do mean entirely. Don’t save it for anything, it needs to go. It cannot remain. No being sent to Tenpines because Preston heard from a little birdie.

Instead, you work with Preston and the survivors to fortify and set up Sanctuary.

First, you work with Preston to shore up Sanctuary’s defenses. As you work with him, he’s polite, but curt. Professional, but not warm, open. He expresses gratitude, but definitely not trust. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know what your motives or wants are. You can tell him about Shaun, but he’s still not sure about you. He can’t afford to be and will tell you that outright, but...he needs someone to go see if anyone survived Lexington or Concord. He knows his other Minutemen split up with other survivors, he doesn’t know if they made it out. You can offer to go find them, or stay and protect Sanctuary. If you go, the other survivors will set up Sanctuary on their own without your help.

If you stay and Preston leaves, you plant crops with Marcy, getting to know her and potentially, she cracks and shows some vulnerability. She doesn’t soften right away, she’s still traumatized, but you get to see why she’s the way she is now. She just lost her baby, her home, all of her friends and family. Was just failed by the people who swore they’d protect them all. Betrayed by them. 

Then, you work with Sturges to get a water pump/purifier running. Sturges will tell you about Quincy in some detail, explain how it went to shit. He talks about how the Minutemen were needed more than ever, but crapped the bed at the last minute. Sturges says he thinks there’s a place in the world for the group, but with the last living soldier clearly reeling from everything that’s happened, he thinks it’s safe to say the Commonwealth is on it’s own. 

Next, it’s the bed situation with Jun. He barely says a word, only quietly thanking you for your help. If you choose the right dialogue options, he’ll say you remind him of Colonel Hollis, very brave and kind, even when it was a bad idea to help. Hollis didn’t survive, but you did. Maybe it’s not all bad, maybe Hollis wasn’t wrong, just of bad luck.

After, no matter who goes to find the bodies of the other Minutemen and Quincy locals, some Corvega raiders attack Sanctuary when they come back. It’s only a small scouting party, looking for Mama Murphy. You kill them, and Preston is freaking out and about to pack up and keep everyone moving farther. It’s up to you to calm him down and offer to go kill them. If you’ve picked certain dialogue choices before and Sanctuary has a high defense score, Preston will join you on the trip to Corvega. It’s on this journey + throughout it you can tell him about the fate of his comrades, or he tells you. If he doesn’t accompany you, you two talk about it when you get back to Sanctuary after killing Jared. 

Either way, It’s here that Mama Murphy tells you about Diamond City, not in the museum.

You do the main quest now, and when you get to Diamond City, you overhear people talking about the Quincy massacre, and what a shame that the Minutemen are gone. Someone talks about how McDonough forced all the ghouls out, and they moved up to the Slog, but now the Slog is having mutant troubles. From there, you can go decide for yourself if you want to do the Minuteman questline. The first few quests were just to organically show you the settlement system, dialogue system (the old, good one), and dungeon crawling, the explore-loot-return loop. It’s here that the Minutemen branch off from the main quest.

If you choose to save the Slog, you have the option of saying you’re there on Minuteman business, even if you’re not a Minuteman. Choosing this is what gets you in the faction proper. 

You can keep finding settlements and offering help. Doing this, Preston eventually catches word through Diamond City Radio and demands to know what the fuck you’re doing. You have a lot of options to choose from, but only the altruistic, optimistic ones will earn Preston’s trust. Anything else, he might just try to kill you, if you, like, say you’re doing it for money. But if you’re doing this for good reasons, he’s on board. Surprised, unsure this will end well, but...hey, if you want to try, he won’t stop you. If Sanctuary has enough settlers, defense, and you’ve turned enough settlers into guards (which have a different character tag, when assigned to defense posts), Preston will offer to accompany you, and that’s how you get him as a companion.

So, you and Preston wander around, doing quests, and helping out settlements. Help enough settlements, they’ll realize hey, we’re all on good terms with this Minuteman, and this person who’s basically a Minuteman...let’s just get the Minutemen back, yeah? People band together, settlements you’ve provided for will get settlers on their own. Eventually, people at settlements approach you and offer to help, what needs doing? If you have a settlement quest/errand, you can assign them to it, and they’ll complete it for you. This snow-balls until you’re taking over the Castle, for all these guns-for-hope to gather around and manage trade routes and work. You get the radio tower. You get an army. You get artillery, automatically built at every settlement in a designated spawnpoint.

It’s here that, by popular vote, you’re offered the position as General...but you can turn it down. You can hand it to Ronnie, or Preston. Both of of them agree, no, the people and the new Minutemen want you, but they’ll take it if you pass enough dialogue checks. Ronnie will run the Minutemen like a hardass, fierce and cynical to deter a second collapse, but Preston runs it like a community. He believes that cynicism was what killed the first Minutemen, and that constant reminder of who and what they do this for will keep motives pure. No matter the general, the Minutemen are now a solid force in the Commonwealth, stronger than ever, making everyone piss their pants. And it got this way because you wanted to help. 

It’s at this point that Preston’s conversation about his depression unlocks, and his romance. 

But the fun begins when the Gunners take a modicum of offense to all this.

Sanctuary is put to the sword, the Castle is attacked, and best of all, the old Colonels show their face, either on the side of the Gunners as bosses, or trying to weasel their way into the Minutemen again. Preston loves killing all of them, hates sparing or talking them down. These fuckers left him, Quincy, the Commonwealth to die, they are traitors, they are pure scum. 

The Minutemen, they fight back. You take squads into Gunner camps and clear house, take it over. People stop working with or hiring the Gunners because they don’t want to piss off the General, whoever that is. The Gunners aren’t on the ropes yet, but they’re staring down Minutemen barrels and it’s only a matter of time before this explodes into someone getting wiped off the face of the earth. 

Somewhere in-between looking for the Institute, you get kidnapped by Gunners and taken to Quincy. They’re using you as either a hostage, intending to kill you to prove a point, or torturing you for fun, taking the piss out of the idea that the puny militia could ever stand up to- hey, why am I hearing gunfire?

Preston and the Minutemen storm Quincy, putting it under a siege not even the Gunners could ever have hoped to accomplish. If the Minutemen were dog food, the Gunners are kitty treats. It’s a swift, brutal execution of every green-wearing bastard. They don’t even have time to prepare before Preston himself kicks the door down and frees you, then runs back out to continue bashing people’s heads in with his rifle. You meet up with Ronnie, and she points you down Preston’s warpath, gently asking if you can go stop before he gets himself killed trying to throttle Clint. As you chase him down, you see Clint up on the highway, looking down, before he walks away, presumably to meet Preston. 

You can go find Preston, kill Clint before he gets to him, or go kill Baker first. If Preston gets to Clint, you’ll hear him screaming bloody murder before they start the fight. They’ll fight until you go finish Clint off. Once Clint drops, Preston has something of a nervous breakdown. Ronnie and other Minutemen show up, she takes over and tells you to finish clearing Quincy with the other soldiers while she gets Preston out of the fight. You can listen to her, or insist you stay with Preston. If you stay, you clear the way for Ronnie’s group to get back behind Minutemen lines just outside of Quincy. Baker can be killed by NPC Minutemen, so you don’t have to worry about it too much.

The Minutemen have Quincy again, Preston is recovering from his panic attack, and Ronnie is foaming at the mouth at the idea of going at Gunner HQ. You can agree or disagree. If you’ve been killing the Colonels, Preston will think that the Gunners are in such bad shape, it’s only a matter of time before they kill themselves with infighting, just as the Minutemen did. If you’ve spared the Colonels, he’ll want to finish off the Gunners, as they’re still too organized and armed to leave alive. If Ronnie is General, the Minutemen attack Gunner HQ anyway, no matter what, but if not, the player can influence Preston or make the decision themselves.

Laying siege to Gunner HQ cements the Minutemen’s place as the strongest army in the Commonwealth. With this ending for the Minutemen, non-important/notable raider hideouts will be cleared automatically, either because soldiers killed them, or the Minutemen were so oppressive, they couldn't find anyone to raid. Other factions will speak more carefully to you, be gentler when describing their intentions. Maxson and other BOS soldiers, if you join them, will mention that being so close to the Castle was unintentional, and they’re nervous about the Minutemen turning their artillery on the Airport. You’ll have a harder time getting the Brotherhood to go to war with Minutemen in this ending. Everyone in game will acknowledge what the Minutemen become, through your efforts.

If you let the Gunners dissolve, you’ll see Gunners having left for raider groups, groups of them killing each other, Gunners trying to get in with the Minutemen. Those Gunners, if you’re general, you can take them on, kill them, or turn them away. General Ronnie will kill them, General Preston’s choice depends on if you have been more merciful, or grudge-holding. People will comment on the Gunners wasting away into little more than scavengers, and with enough time, if you go to Gunner HQ, you find it empty and abandoned. People are less scared of the Minutemen this ending, as they didn’t obliterate the most dangerous local  army in a show of total force and revenge. The Brotherhood is more likely to go to war with you, less intimidated, but the Railroad will offer their spy network if you agree to help them rehabilitate and save synths, provided you’ve spoken positively of synths.

Either ending, the Institute will try to destroy the Minutemen, as they destroyed the Commonwealth Provisional Government in the past. But now, the Minutemen have the firepower and intel to destroy the Institute, or take it over, if you so choose. Even if you don’t follow Shaun, if you choose to or convince General Ronnie/Preston to spare the Institute and use it for the Commonwealth’s benefit, you are left with it under your control, enforced by the Minutemen. 

So. What does this revision do?

I dislike when people portray him as an innocent, gentle little sunshine boy, and not as an army vet who survived where none of his fellow soldiers could. This man has an edge to him. He isn’t a small sad puppy, he has something of a mean streak in canon. In this revision, Preston has opportunities to demonstrate layers of his character, showing how his trauma and guilt has effected him. You get to see it for yourself, rather than hear about it. You can see him break down in Quincy, you can see him resist the idea that strangers can have good intentions, you can see him rebuild his hope for the Minutemen and himself. And you can also see him lose patience for people who have wronged him, want to cut down anyone who would threaten his people, be kind of irrational and lashing out.

I also dislike that the Minutemen have no visible effect on the wasteland, nothing you can actually see. No one else sees it, either. Here, people will acknowledge the Minutemen’s power. And, c’mon, in game, you are the only one doing anything. In this rehaul, you get things started, but people will be active participants in restoring the Minutemen, will build settlements for you. You can go decorate and fiddle around, but you won’t have to worry about water, food, beds, and defense, they’ll get it sorted themselves. The busywork is also passed off to soldiers, who you could potentially catch in the action as they clear out mutants or save kidnapped settlers.

And the finale of facing off against the Gunners, and either destroying them, or brushing them off as a decaying tantrum with guns, gives the Minutemen something to do for themselves, beyond the Institute. You’d have to lock off Quincy and Gunner HQ, so the player can’t clear them without going through the questline, but that’s fine, other quests do that. But the Gunners are never brought up, not really. It also lets Preston confront his greatest trauma and come up victorious, even if it hurt, and when deciding on the fate of Gunner HQ, lets him evolve as a person and take influence from the player, depending on their relationship. 

I think, as the de facto companion for his faction, Preston’s arc needs to be directly tied to it. The other companions don’t really have this either, but Preston got the short straw in that he was his faction. Everything came from him and was turned in to him. He became a dispenser for quests instead of one person in this group, with his own ideas about how to run it, his own fears and guilt about how it failed the first time. He doesn’t reflect the Minutemen, their ideals. Who they are as a collective.

Deacon, Danse, and X6 have their own massive writing issues, but it’s clear that they are representations of their factions. Deacon is an all-over-the-place trickster type trying to keep shit together, the Railroad is a clown car trying to smuggle slaves to safety. X6 is a cold, ruthless, logical Terminator, the Institute are cold, sterile, ends-justify-the-means scientists. Danse is a stern, no-nonsense soldier with a good heart under the Power Armor, the Brotherhood is a tight-knit brotherhood, an army with good intentions that often forgets who those good intentions are meant to serve. 

Preston...he’s a good guy, a traumatized one. The Minutemen...you have 5 nameless “Minuteman Soldier” NPCs, and Ronnie. So...the Minutemen is Preston, Preston is the Minutemen. He isn’t allowed to be Preston, who is a Minuteman. He’s Preston the Minuteman. 

That’s a damn shame.

[drowningyoursorrow]

MONEY POWER GLORY

james patrick march x gn! reader (requested)

summary. - a man made you forget all of your glory's but that's all you'll ever be good for. w/c. - 3.5k

| heads up ! swearing, smoking, drinking

EXHAUSTION consumed you as you finally escaped the crowded room, everything was loud and obnoxious. If you knew you had to smile this much, you might've not even came after all. Pretending for many people was too exhausting, especially when you could tell their true attentions.

It was obvious, everything about everyone was. By the way they looked at you and studied what you spoke about, they either hated you or loved you. If they hated you, all they would try to do is put you down in some way or another, it was amusing. And when they adored you, they kissed your ass so much, honestly you wondered if they even noticed how much they did it. You preferred it when they disliked you because they never really asked for any favors on their behalf.

But when they did like you, all you would be asked is if you could do this, if you could do that, if you could say this or say that. Sure, you loved what you did, and you acknowledged the consequences of upcoming fame and fortune. But what you didn't expect was the sudden loneliness that came with it, how everyone suddenly only wanted you if they needed you. It was harsh not knowing who to trust and when you'd eat out alone.

This was expected. Just like tonight, you attended an event because it would've been rude not to. It was this old hotel that brought everyone back to it, apparently it was an anniversary for the opening. You can't really recall the details, but what you did know was that the interior was decked out so eloquently.

The architecture and decorations is what made you want to check it out because it would be strange for just a celebrity to look at a hotel. With no purpose in staying, just studying the place. It would be quite odd, and your PR team would rip your head off if you appeared crazy.

When you went, everybody dressed accordingly to match the hotel, as if they were in the 1930s. You loved themed events because it made everything less boring and more interesting than it really was. Your outfit was meant to fit the era that the place was built, so, you obviously went over the top. And it seemed to make more flock to you and everyone wanted to know where you got what, it was too much.

That's how you got to where you are currently, socializing was just too much at the moment. And so you found your way around the halls and stared aimlessly outside a window, chain-smoking. The view wasn't the prettiest and the eeriness that surrounded you was a bit suffocating. But finally having some time to yourself was worth it.

Drawing out a heavy sigh, you wondered how your life would end up if you continued like this. In the beginning, you wanted to become famous, you wanted to be a star. You were so oblivious back then, it was so painful. But finally having everything you ever wanted, which made you push away the insecurity and doubt. This was still your dream.

You contemplated your thoughts a bit more, adjusting your outfit before you headed back downstairs. Preparing yourself to be thrown into the pit of greed and attention. Making your way back down to the crowd, you headed near the bar this time, wanting to order something. But the risk of someone drugging it was too high at the moment. So, you opted to just observing everyone instead.

There was an elegantly adorned lady, she didn't look like she fit in with this group. No, she was far better than whatever you and these people were, something you wanted to be. Her beauty didn't deter you, finally you acknowledged who she was with. A more refined looking man, who had his hand on his chin as he listened to what the woman was saying.

They were awfully close, you wondered if they were lovers. The two of them undoubtedly were the best looking in the room, almost as if they were made for this theme. He looked more professional and had a cane alongside him, leaning on it slightly. He really went all out. Impressive.

As you watched the two of them interact, his gaze shifted upward and onto you. It made you shiver, his look was dark, and his eyes were almost soulless as the two of you made eye contact. Now realizing how creepy you were being, you quickly turned away. Mainly embarrassed.

To wash away the shame, you quickly ordered a drink, whiskey, strong enough to let you let loose for a while. You were tense the whole time you were here, might as well relax for a bit, right? Quickly shooting down the drink to forget about your obvious staring from before. You swore to yourself you hate people that do that, and yet you do it yourself. How hypocritical of you.

"That looks almost too strong for someone like you, might I say." A strong accent spoke from behind you, quickly turning around, and you realized who it was. Awkwardly coughing up what you were still swallowing, before finally settling down. Your face burned, and you didn't want to look back up at him, great start so far.

"Seems so, uh- sorry for staring earlier. I just thought-" "Staring isn't the matter at hand right now, dear, why aren't you squabbling with the rest?" You paused, squinting your eyes as you finally looked back up at him. Unsure of his strange choice of words. "Squabbling...?" "Do you always focus on peripheral things? Or are you just curious?"

He spoke in an amused tone as his eyes scanned every part of you, a cheery grin was placed on his features. Awaiting your answer with expectant eyes. "No, just. Never mind, but I'd prefer to be myself, I guess?" "That so? Seems fitting I suppose, I'm March. James Patrick March." He held out his hand waiting for you to shake it, and you did, his grip was firm and his hands felt carefully calloused.

"I'm _, have I seen or heard of you before? Apologies, but your name sounds very familiar." This caused his grip to fall as his jaw tensed before a smile broke from him once more. "I guess I just have one of those names and faces, but no. I am no celebrity, I'm the host of this event." he held up his hands as he showcased what was going on behind him, a prideful look on his face. "I own the place."

You paused, remembering where you had heard of him from, that notorious serial killer way back when. That's why he looked familiar, he must've been a descendant, the genes were strong. "Oh right! That's where I know you from, wow, you look so much like him." James gave you a confused look, unsure of what you meant but decided to brush it away. "Mm, you wouldn't mind if I drank with you, would you?"

You were unsure of him, he was pale as the sun and had a suspicious glint behind his eyes. Sure, he might've been the most handsome man that you've ever had the chance to lay eyes on. And maybe his accent was peculiar, but it did make you swoon even more for his charm. "I don't see why not." You teased him with the same accent he had, and he only furrowed his brows but widening his smile, seating himself beside you.

And so the two of you did, you drank and talked about nothing and everything all at once. You didn't know you could enjoy having small conversations with someone you never met before, he had a strange vocabulary as well. Which made it more intriguing as the two of you discussed and debated on whatever you could.

James was a gentleman, he spoke carefully of topics and only discussed things revolving around you. He was curious, the more you told him of yourself. Apparently he didn't really know who you were, and instead of taking it as a blow you took it as an opportunity. He was far from boring and had this certainty about him that made you lean into him whenever you spoke.

The liquor seemed to not have much of any effects on him, far less than it did on you. You never took your drinking well and it really showed, your words were more slurred and you hoped that you didn't look messy. Although it looked as if he wouldn't mind.

He was flirtatious, commenting on your outfit, your hair, your personality, how you spoke, and all of that. Usually you hated it when people tried to 'butter' you up but James showed no ill intentions. Just interest. Drunkenly you spoke about your troubles with fame and how you feel as if people only talk to you if you'll help them. It was stressful but James listened, he had a certain look of dismay as he listened.

"Well. So far, I like how you are, right now. If I were to use you for meaningless matters, it'd only be for your company."

You smiled at that and he stared at you with content, laughing it off with each other. The guests eventually piled out and left, you hadn't realized how late it was but you didn't plan on stopping talking to James.

Eventually you both had to part ways but you swore that you'd find him once more when you can. And with that the two of you parted ways, even just meeting the man you felt as if you didn't and couldn't leave. The last look you had of James was his waving you off as you exited the building.

Oh how he wanted to take you that night, but something inside of him stopped himself. He was unsure of what it was, it confused him greatly because he's never had trouble like this before. Maybe it was because of your ugly crying to him, to a stranger you've just met. It made him pity you in a way, as if he was made to be the one to look after you. James is never truly genuine.

Weeks have passed before you could make time to visit 'James Patrick March' again and you were ecstatic. It was peculiar to be happy over such a thing, over someone you haven't even known for a whole day. Loneliness really did get the best of you. You attempted to look as casual as you could, not wanting to overdress like you did before.

When you arrived back to the hotel, you were uncertain on how you would ask for him. Recalling him mentioning that he was the owner, maybe he was just being flamboyant. No. He's not the type, or doesn't look like the type to just put that out there. But before you could embarrass yourself any further, there he was in all his glory. Leaning on the railing on thee second floor of the main entryway near the elevators, looking downward at you.

"I was starting to believe that you would never come back, what a pleasure to have you here."

Making his way down the stairs, still holding the cane from before but with a different suit. Was he always this luxurious?

"Apologies for the delayed meeting, I've been busy but I finally managed to free my time."

He only gave you a hum as he stood before you, studying your get-up, his brows furrowed shifting his gaze at you. "Nevertheless, it's my honor to have this meeting. I see you dressed for a more casual setting, no?" Embarrassed as you realized what you put on, suddenly wishing you had a different outfit. Awkwardly laughing, "ah yes I may have but I'll remember next time!" "Next time? Eager aren't we."

Feeling your face burn as you avoided looking at his questionable stare. "I'm only teasing you dear, I look forward to future encounters. Here come sit." He led you back to the bar, situating the two of you into a corner.

You both were back at it again, catching up on what happened or mainly you were. James just mentioned he didn't really have anything interesting to share, he was all ears for what you had to say. Amused at your scheduled appointments or whatever weird stories you had to share. He was a very attentive listener and loved hearing what you had to tell him.

James never believed he'd waste his time just listening to someone talk his ear off. But you were, expressive in a way, a way that had him wanting to know more and more. What you did, why you did it, if you enjoyed it, and the things you want to do.

That's how it was whenever the two of you spoke, he'd mention small details about himself and switch it back to you. Slowly you did learn more about James, he wasn't like anyone you've ever met. He was something better.

You two eventually grew close and before you knew it the media believed that you were having an affair there. The 'Hotel Cortez' grew popular and attracted flocks of people, you mentioned this to James. Apologizing, it seemed a little pretentious to say it was your fault but he agreed. Only mentioning that it was good for business. The more the merrier.

You were well off to afford your own jewels, gifts, whatever you needed. But whenever James gave you luxuries you felt as if they were invaluable, adorning you with gems. It was his way of marking you, since he couldn't leave the place. Whenever he requested to see you on the digital screen, there his gifts laid. Covering you, making others wonder where you got so many all at once.

You loved how he spoke, how he dressed, how he walked, how charming he was, how certain he was about things. You loved how his cold skin felt intertwined with your hands and how it felt when you kissed him. You loved how you felt safe and comfortable with him and his proud accomplishment which was the hotel.

It made him feel light.

You helped him forget all of his little dark thoughts and messed up past, his terrible experience with his ex wife. As if his dead heart started beating again, you could never know about that. His cold skin felt warm in your grasp, he felt warm with you.

James soon turned too busy to interact with you one on one. Once dead hotel became a blossoming industry, and he needed to do his duty as the owner. As long as you were there, so was everyone else, fans. Your solitary was just like everywhere else now, being crowded with fans and cameras. Even when you were in a room it felt as if everyone was everywhere.

You mentioned this to James but he only brushed it off saying they'll eventually get bored. The exhaustion came back and you couldn't do it anymore, he stopped listening, stopped caring.

"Why don't we spend any time together anymore James? Hm? I always make time for you can't you at least make time for me. Just once?"

"You know I can't darling. The hotel has never been this popular and if I fall behind just even for a second. I could be done for and we both don't want that." His tone was smooth but his patience was wearing thin from your constant interruptions. It caused you to fall silent, not wanting to stress him any further.

Sighing, he spoke more calmly, holding your hands as he spoke, "I apologize, but I need you to attend a gathering with me tomorrow night."

"Why do I have to go again? We've been doing this a lot and maybe I just want some time alone with just us."

"The people love you dear that's why, we wouldn't want to disappoint right?"

His words made you fall silent, you wasted most of your time in the hotel. You pushed away so many opportunities just to spend more time with James, to be free. Realization hit you hard, was it all worth it now? Just being shown off to others, people that don't care about anything but your status. Has James turned into somebody like that?

Pulling your hands out of his, you felt your breath get shaky as you dreaded to ask the question. The question you shouldn't even accuse of him of doing, but you couldn't be too sure. He sensed your hesitation and offered his caring embrace. Only pulling away once more from him, replying in a shaky tone.

"James... Are you- are you using my audience to attract more guests to this hotel?" You avoided looking at him but you just felt him tense, be couldn't lie to you. He never could, you've been lied to for all of your life and he didn't want to put you through that once more.

So he felt as if he had no reason to deny it, he did love you. He loved how you laughed, how you smiled, how you said his name, how you were different from everybody else. But ever since your continuous arrival, more and more have been showing up just to check a glimpse of you. Your contact attention to this place brought other celebrities, which just kept drawing in more crowds.

And he finally realized how you were helping him, but of course you wouldn't see it that way. How he saw it. That's why he was holding it from you, he knew that it would only be for too long. Before you found out.

So, when James shamefully looked downward from you. That told you all you needed to know and you felt your eyes well up and your heart break. He shouldn't see you like this anymore.

"_ I was going to tell you but it's meaningless it-"

"Meaningless? I confided to you about this! About only being used for favors, I helped you and you don't even want to spend time with me anymore. You're an add hole James, you said you were different...- you said you only wanted me for my company! Not my glory."

You shoved pass him, not caring who saw your messy eyes and messy hair. The worst part of all was he didn't come after you, as you turned the corner to the elevator all he could do was stare at the ground.

Fucking asshole.

You should've never fallen for how he spoke, how he dressed, how he walked, how charming he was, how certain he was about things. You hated how you felt safe and comfortable with him and what you really hated. Was this god forsaken hotel.

Everything felt numb, you couldn't see anyone or anything, making your way down to the lounge was a blur. You felt your feet run out of the hotel and you could feel yourself collide with an upcoming truck.

Only faint lights and screaming was heard, your ears were ringing terribly and you felt limp. You saw Liz dragging you back into the front of the hotel, determination and worry on her face. She's always been respectful toward you and you loved her company. Not knowing why you're thinking about this now, you only gave her a grateful smile. In which she returned. You were unsure if this was how you wanted to go out but you were ready for it.

Then everything went black.

There you stood, in front of the entryway as you watched everyone pronounce you dead on the spot. How you were dragged away, what was happening?

Why did you suddenly feel so cold?

Somehow, everything clicked. You weren't stupid you were dead but not really dead, alive in a way but not really there. You were pale, awfully pale, and your coldness made you feel almost empty as you traced your skin. It felt just like... James. Why was he so old timely and why was he freezing all of the time, why did he appear whenever you called so quickly?

He was always gone faster than you could've realized and was often in the random areas fast enough. Why did you have to only realize this now? You thought of yourself smarter than that, you couldn't believe it.

Immediately when you felt his hands intertwine with yours, you realized that he was indeed James Patrick March. The serial killer. He expected you to come back to him, to hold him and finally understand him. But instead, you shoved him off of you.

You didn't need to say anything, your eyes said it all. The pain and betrayal evident on your features. You only ran off, you were never going to forgive James for all the things he's done. You felt sick that you loved someone so terrible so heartless, how could he?

You were stuck with the man you hated and James was going to do everything he can to get you back.

..............................................................................................................................

- Didn't really go into the fucked up part of him, sorry if you wanted that - This was very rushed - Not proofread whatsoever

Hope you enjoyed and if you have any requests or questions please dm!

[talonabraxas]

Mystic Eye of Surya Talon Abraxas

Surya Mantras For Eyesight, glow on face, longevity, financial prosperity, success and glory

1- "Om Ghrini Surya Aditya" Recitation of this Mantra nullifies black magic. Evil spirits get destroyed with mere pronounciation of this Mantra. Recitation of this Mantra is best for acquiring world-wide fame. It gives prosperity, male offspring, glory and educational success. It is auspicious for health, longevity, materialistic success and memory. Recitation of this Mantra gives instant results.

2-"Om Hreeng Ghrinih Surya Aditya Shreeng" This Mantra is auspicious for pleasing Lord Sun. It gives unlimited glory and complete success in accomplishing all tasks.

For Mantra Siddhi recite this Mantra 10,000 times. This Mantra has lot of power to grant male offspring. It gives everything like improved eyesight, lustrous skin, money, wealth, animals, land, sons, friends, spouse, power, semen, education and destiny.

Everybody should recite this Mantra in the morning and in addition to that Arghya (water) should also be offered to Lord Sun to make your day complete and useful in all respects.

[thorn-rosed]

Why is all we ever do is seek for glory and success?

Until the glory becomes prison, and the success turns to stress

The high gave us wings, but they were made of paper

Oh lord, take me back to before this torture chamber

I do not care about the money or the fame

Fuck no, it doesnt matter if they don't know my name

Barty Crouch Jr ;

The italian drummer and background singer seems like the heart of the group. He is energetic and outgoing, a little bit crazy and the absolute fan-favourite. Fans have been questioning his sexuality for the past few years, but it wasnt until the last pride month he finally made a statement: "I don't give a fuck about your gender. If you're hot imma smash you. Hell, I'd go down on a car it looks at me right way." Barty is accused of having an affair with Evan Rosier, due to flirty comments or making out on stage. How serious this should be taken can only be guessed, because neither of them made a statement to this yet. The background singer is streaming on Twitch every Monday, Wednedsay and Saturday at 10pm MET.

Evan Rosier ;

He is french, he is unsettling, and he is probably the bands' biggest unknown syllable. While he seems to be quite comfortable around his friends, the bassist seems tense and out of place as soon as the camera is turned on. Yet, once he is surrounded by fans or not under pressure, Evan is pretty demanding and creepy. With statemente like "I am the only god." or "If you dare to visit me tonight, I'll cut you open and fuck the insides." he is often target for criticism. The latter quote was a statement towards Barty, which people rumour Evan has an affair with.

Regulus Black ;

Born into a family with old money and a good reputation, the youngest son of the black empire was supposed to follow the family tradition and inherit his father's companies. This was after Regulus' older brother Sirius ran away and distanced himself from the family, making Regulus the only heir. But to his parents' disappointment, the musician decided to follow his passion instead, and became the guitarist of the band "Magic Mayhem". To everyone's shock, Regulus was spotted on what seemed to a date with his brother's best friend, James Potter, not long after that. A month later they confirmed their relationship, and said that it had going on for a few years already.

Pandora Rosier ;

She's calm, collected and exzentric: Pandora Rosier, Evan's twin sister, is the angel of the group. There are barely any who can say a bad word about her, though she does seem weird from time to time. For example, often she tells people their future or blesses them. Pandora labels herself as a witch, and even people who normally dont really believe her, seem to trust Pandora automatically. This could be part of the witch-thing, or simply be her calming aura. The singer impresses fans with her big vocal range, making her able to sing almost everything from metal to opera. And Pandora has a hidden talent! As a child she learned to play the violin, and according to herself, she still does it quite often. So far this talent has not been used for any songs, but perhaps it will one day!

I just want back my peace, want back my old life

Before the devil is here, with that grin and his knive

Because he knows that he can hurt me

he knows I can't fight what I can't see

And the reason for it all is, oh yes!

That all we ever do is seek for power and success

[underpaidimmortal]

all my oc refs gathered in one place!! they are all on artfight!!!

and now for a little info abt all of them since i never talk abt my ocs on here:

钟千鹤 (Zhong Qianhe): Dungeon Meshi OC, in an adventuring party with @consultingdemiwitch's OC Liuxiang. Their mother is a halfling and their father is an ogre/oni. The two parents met on a dungeon research trip and fell in love yet could not live together due to societal norms, so Qianhe spent much of their childhood being shunted around two homes over long distances. While both the ogre and halfling communities generally are tight-knit as both are quite discriminated against, a biracial child such as Qianhe attracted the ire of many people in both groups. After setting out on their own, they decided to learn magic despite their heritage leading to discrimination and a low mana tolerance. When they arrived on the Island, they met Liuxiang and ventured into the dungeon, seeking glory and a chance to prove themselves in the real world.

周 (Chow) or Brother Chow: Yet another OC created in part with @consultingdemiwitch, this time for an original story starring the Cantonese Triads. Currently a low level-grunt harbouring delusions of grandeur and an aspiration to be a powerful boss as the glory of the Triads grows weaker day by day. He's really bad at spending money, hence the fancy dress clothes that end up racking an exorbitant dry-cleaning bill when they get blood on them and the totally epic tiger tattoo on his back. He hasn't seen his family in years. He can cook awesome street snacks. 3. 张意秀 / Iseult Zhang: Former vamp(ire) opera actress, film star and current mercenary/receptionist. In her world, she rose to fame quickly with the help of her film star girlfriend, who then turned her into a vampire after being outshone by Iseult. Nowadays she does assassin/mercenary work and moonlights as the mercenary company's receptionist. She's also a total ladykiller (literally and figuratively) and DEFINITELY wants to marry Mercury's mom. 4. Retrograde: What happens when you take a shoujo princely bad-boy type character and give them assorted tons of shonen protagonist teen angst? After forcibly having freaky jellyfish psychic powers and awesome hair thrust upon them, Retrograde now spends a lot of time trying to keep their school uniform intact... to no avail. After meeting Mercury, they start to embrace their role as the story's "protagonist", but there are other secrets lurking beneath the surface... 5. 巫煌精 / Mercury Wu: The REAL protagonist of the story. A nervous-looking guy whose main problem at the beginning is the terrible stomachache brought on by contaminated egg waffles. Things get stranger very quickly as ridiculous fictional premises and tropes bombard their ways into his life, including: some cocky bad-tempered prettyboy yelling at them constantly, a MILF-adjacent vampire who really, REALLY wants him to go away and fuck his mom, a cute little robot with a tragic backstory heavier than its submachine bazooka and a girl whose arrival literally means the end of the world. Just great.

[amuseoffyre]

Today is apparently my day for Ricky-based meta.

Thinking about the way people underestimated Ricky based on their own experience and personality.

Stede doesn't think in terms of fame or glory, he became a pirate for freedom and to belong somewhere, while Ricky is all about the fame and glory-hunting.

Jackie is used to a lesson being learned when she punishes someone. She didn't expect him to rain down hell on the entire republic for it, holding her accountable. She *did* however know enough not to trust the British and had a contingency in place to get rid of them.

Zheng knows how to press peoples' buttons but most of the people she gets on her side are pirates, people who are in a life where they don't have many choices. Ricky isn't one of them - he has choices, money, status. She saw him as weak and malleable, but missed how petty he is.

Ricky is an unstable element in the whole situation. He seems like a damp squib. But the latent cruelty is there from the word go. He speaks of the pirates of the Republic like they're beneath him, as if he's above it all. He doesn't try to fit in because he doesn't want to.

What he wants is to be a petty little King. He's so wrapped up in his 'minor prince' thing and he wants to be the top of a tree somewhere, since he can't be in real life. He still thinks he can be the ultimate pirate by dint of *checks hand* killing everyone with navy ships.

He claims he wanted to emulate Stede, but from the word go, Stede has thrown himself into the pirate world (never felt so at home!) and embraced it all while Ricky was arrogant about it and keeping them at arm's length because "these rubes" don't deserve his condescension.

For Stede, piracy was something he did because he felt he had no other choice. He needed to escape before his life drowned him. For Ricky, it's an opportunity to make himself powerful and famous instead of some minor little royal with no influence. If he can't get it directly he's more than happy to burn the entire pirate world down for revenge and to get the praise and respect from his peers in England, while still claiming domination of the pirate world to/from the pirates themselves.

Izzy sees right through him. My headcanon has always been that Izzy has been in the Navy, so he would have seen all the younger sons of the aristocracy who ended up as officers in the fleet. We saw what the Badmintons were like. Ricky is like that, except even higher ranked.

Izzy knows these twats. He has experienced their pettiness, their maliciousness, their belief they are superior by dint of which fanny they fell out of. He takes one look at Ricky and laughs in his face because he can recognised a rancid syphilitic twunt when he sees one.

[crobones]

SEVEN THE ORIGINAL DEADLY SINS

Perry - Lust; second youngest usher (i'm includine lenore), second level of hell, name's on the tin, bruv

Camille - Gluttony; they do not require food as sustenance, they need information and fame. she was in that lab for info on vic that she didn't really need at all.

Leo - Wrath; his rage and anger towards life falling apart (and the cat as well, of course.) he also showed the most compassion to any of his siblings, and when love is lost, anger is only the second step

Vic - Sloth; threw money at a problem she refused to actually do the research to solve. can't see progress without putting in the effort

Freddie - Greed; Morella wasn't a person to him, she was a trophy he coveted. like envy (as he and Tamerlane are twins) greed has little patience for sharing

Tammy - Envy; gets her rocks off being cuckolded but can't stand the thought of him having an affair with one of the sex workers. yes, the mirror kills her, but the light bathes her in green

Roderick - Vainglory; unsubstantiated pride. the man should have been a poet, he didn't have the brains to be so cocky, or the charisma to sway people into putting him above the rest - other people did the work for him

Madeline - Acedia; a form of sloth that mostly translates to the inability to form affections towards loved ones or have empathy for those around her. she was afraid of death more than she wanted power or glory, she just knew power would help her achieve her goal. what truly caused her downfall was her complete and utter apathy for her brother and his children.

Eliza and William - Pride; Eliza was too prideful to either leave her job, too prideful of her misconstrued idea of love to pursue a relationship with someone who could help parent her children, and too prideful of her religious beliefs to see a doctor. and William was too prideful of a man to admit his affair or acknowledge his children, obviously

and seeing as I'm taking some slight influence from the levels of hell (see: dante's inferno), it's no mystery where one would put Lenore. she's purgatory. her only sin was being born unbaptised an Usher.