#my brain is a weird place when it’s unsupervised

[alphashley14]

I had a WEIRD dream this morning that reads like something straight off of Wattpad so I figured, why not post it here?

I fell asleep again this morning after my alarm went off. (I know - bad Ashley. But I don’t work until 2 so it was fine.) and that was when I had this dream.

So I’m a kid again in this dream, maybe 13 or 14 years old. And I’m in a generic summer camp program, riding a small activity bus to some field trip. (Yesterday I took my students - I work at a daycare that’s currently having its summer camp program - on their first field trip of the summer. Also was in summer camp programs pretty much every summer of my childhood.)

And all of a sudden our bus is hijacked by KGB agents. (My family are big movie people and we’ve been rewatching the Indiana Jones movies in preparation for seeing the new one. We watched Crystal Skull last night, which takes place during the red scare and the villains were the KGB. That’s probably why.)

Fortunately for us however, the KGB doesn’t exactly get us very far… because for some reason Sylvester Stallone was our bus driver. (DO NOT ASK ME WHY I DON’T KNOW)

And obviously no one fucks with the Stallion. Like they didn’t even try. Sorta just noped outta that.

So Mr. Stallone pulls the bus over in the middle of nowhere and lets the kids off at a conveniently placed government trailer full of Rangers. (I’m reading a novel rn in which one of the MCs is a former Ranger so I think that’s why.) Giving the “commies” the stink-eye the entire time like an overworked teacher glaring at the “problem children” to behave.

Thank you Mr. Stallone.

-But not before the agents had somehow poisoned all of us. Or at least they CLAIMED to have poisoned us. And as I’m getting off the bus one of them for some reason gives ME two little orange pills that were supposedly the antidote because they planned to recapture me alive for something nefarious later.

So I was stuck with the moral and psychological dilemma of whether I should take the pills, take one pill and give my BFF the other, or give the Rangers the pills in hopes that they could make more and save the whole class. OR. Is it a trap and are the pills the poison?

In the end I gave the Rangers the pills, and they crushed one in half and made me take it as a Guinea pig to see if it was poison. Because taking half means a smaller dose, so they have a higher chance of saving me if it IS poison. (Look I know that doesn’t make sense but this was a DREAM!)

- But I somehow managed to choke on that tiny thing as it was going down my throat and that’s how I woke up. I think I got some phlegm at the back of my throat and that affected the dream.

Bottom line: my brain is a friggin WEIRD place when it’s unsupervised. 🧠💭

[revelboo]

begging on my hands and knees for the coma kid part 4 i love it sm i want more. so long as ur okay with it, plsplspls continue the coma kid

One lovesick puppy coming up

The Coma Kid Pt 4

TFO B-127 x Reader

• “Oh, oh. Wait. Here,” he says, banging against the side of the entry to his quarters and you look guiltily up from where you’re trying to figure out how to get down from his berth. “Soft things. I thought you might like soft things. Because you’re soft?” And he walks over with what you suspect might be every single rag the aliens have and dumps them on the berth with you, beaming like he expects you to be excited. Play along, you remind yourself. Especially since he just gave you a possible way to climb down as soon as you’re unsupervised. You can tie these together and climb down. Maybe. You just need something to secure them to.

• “Aren’t you thoughtful,” you say and you smile at him. A real smile. Spark warming, he drops to his knees and leans against the berth, servos dragging you to him. Hears your startled noise as he presses his face against you, drinking in your warmth and that humming feeling of rightness and home. Soaking in the praise even though you’ve got a hand planted against his face trying to push him away. It’s okay. You’re just not used to being handled yet, but you’re getting there. You didn’t smack him this time. That’s progress. He can be patient.

• “I want you to be happy. Are you? Happy?” Giving up as he nuzzles his face against you, you awkwardly pat him on the helm. Because he really is just a giant, extremely obnoxious puppy. At your half hearted ‘sure,’ he just grins. Servos curling around you, he picks you up so he can sprawl on his back, placing you on his chassis. Planting your hands on him, you bite into the inside of your cheek. Reminding yourself to not smack his big, grabby hands. “Were you lonely when I left?” He asks even though he was gone, what, an hour tops?

• You’re silent, expression serious again. Making him think that you did miss him. Something that pleases him and makes him unhappy at the same time. Because he understands being lonely, knows that pain very well. And you’re never going to be lonely again, because he’s going to make sure you know you’re wanted. That you’re not going to be abandoned like he was.

• If you just say sure again, will he get even clingier? Because you can’t try to escape if he thinks he can’t leave you alone. Most likely you’ll only get one chance. One chance to get out of giant robot hell and as far from that uncanny feeling of belonging that you get swamped with whenever he touches you. Some weird alien thing he’s doing to you to trick your brain into thinking everything is good when it’s definitely not. “Were you lonely?” You counter.

• Smile faltering slightly as he runs his servos over your hips and up your sides, his thoughts turn almost against his will to sublevel fifty. To being alone for so long time had lost all meaning. Venting unsteadily, he tries to shake it off. Forces a smile. It’s fine. It’s over. And now that he has you, he’ll never be lonely again. Never have to remember staring at the furnace at the end of the conveyer belt and the moment he’d realized if he jumped in no one would ever know. No one would mourn him or look for him. Gone like he never even existed. Shaking himself, he taps you gently on the nose. “Food. You need food, right? I’ll get you some. Um, what do you eat?”

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[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Big chapter for fans of character development paying off. Chapter Title from Ready For It...? by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 22.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Ben, and Butcher meet with Stan Edgar, and everyone adjusts to a new dynamic. Usual warnings, plus some extra smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, smut, fluff, light angst, established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 23 - Chapter 25

“What the fuck are you doing in my garden?” 

Ben turned to find MM glaring at him—arms crossed and eyes narrowed—in the doorway of the room. First off, garden was a generous fucking exaggeration. They were in a sad little greenhouse with peppers, tomatoes, and a weird fucking green thing Ben didn’t recognize. There weren’t even flowers. Gardens should have fucking flowers. And this was a goddamn public space, not MM’s. Ben was fucking allowed to be here, and if he wasn’t, they shouldn’t make it so easily accessible.

“Test,” Ben grunted, scowling at MM and not moving from his place at the wall. “What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Like I said, this is my motherfucking garden. I’m here to check on the cucamelon,” MM pointed to the green thing, still glowering at Ben. “Whatever weird fucking test you’re doing, get the hell out so I can work.”

“No.”

“Soldier Boy, if you don’t get your ass out of my garden-“

Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to fucking stomp on your cuckamelon-“

“Cucamelon-“

“And this isn’t your fucking garden. It’s the BFSI’s, so I’m allowed to be here.”

“It is my fucking garden,” MM sneered. “And until I see any of you assholes stepping up to take care of it, I get the whole monopoly over it. Out.”

Ben scowled, glaring around the plants. “If it’s only you, you’re doing a fucking dogshit job. This looks goddamn pathetic-“

“I’d like to see you do fucking better-“

“I am not a pussy who gardens,” Ben snapped. “I’m a fucking man, and I’ve got other shit to do beside whine about plants-“

“Like your secret test?” MM looked Ben up and down, taking in his rigid stance at the edge of the room. “What the fuck are you testing in here, if you’re too much of a masculine asshole to garden.”

“That’s none of your goddamn business-“

Ready?

Ben paused, keeping his eyes trained on MM as he answered Her in his head. Ready. Be fucking fast. And for the record, I still think this is stupid-

It is not stupid, it’s important. We need to know the limits of this, Ben, and it’s not like we can just google “what to expect when you’ve planted your brain in someone,” we have to figure it out ourselves-

I’m doing it, Sunshine. But it’s fucking stupid.

Cunt.

Brat. Hurry the fuck up, I’m stuck with-

Shut it, Pretty Boy, the whole point is you don’t give me any hints-

“What the hell is happening with your face.”

Ben blinked as MM cut through Her scolding. “My face looks the exact fucking same-“

“You got all puppy-eyed and just stopped talking.” MM scanned Ben’s face with a frown. “Where the hell is the only likable part of you, why’d she leave you unsupervised-“

“I am not a goddamn child, I’m allowed to walk around by my damn self-“

“But you don’t.” MM muttered. “She went to the bathroom at dinner last night, and you looked like you’d gotten goddamn lost. So I’ll ask one last fucking time, why are you in my garden-“

MM’s words were cut off as the door slammed into his back, and Her eyes widened as he stumbled forward.

“Shit, MM, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be in here except Ben-“

“What the hell is going on-“

“How the fuck did you do that so fast.” Ben grunted, ignoring MM’s glare. “Did you cheat-“

“I didn’t cheat, Benjamin.” She wrinkled Her nose at him. “And you fucking told me to go fast-“

“You barely took a minute, so unless you were running-“

“I was running,” She shrugged. “I wanted to win.”

MM blinked. “Win what-“

“You can’t fucking win this-“ 

“The fuck I can’t,” She grinned. “You took seven minutes, and I took barely forty-five seconds. I win.” 

“I went first, that’s not a even playing field-“ 

“I offered to go first, and you said,” Her voice dropped into that terrible fucking impression of Ben, a smug look still dancing in her pretty eyes. “No. I’m first, or I’m not doing this stupid fucking test. And I asked why, and you said because I’m not a fucking pussy. I’m first. And I told you that those two things have absolutely no correlation-“

“What the fuck are you two doing?” MM’s voice had risen to a shout, and She and Ben frowned at him. “And why does it have to happen in my garden?” 

“Test,” She muttered, looking around the room with a frown. “I didn’t know we had a garden.”

“You don’t-“

“Did you know there’s a fucking pool?” Ben gave MM a glare. “Why the fuck didn’t you pussies tell how huge this place it-“ 

“It’s not a resort.” MM snapped. “And if one of you doesn’t start answering my question right fucking now-“

“We’re trying to see if we’re like pigeons-“

Ben scowled. “I vetoed calling us pigeons-“

“Shut up. They have a homing instinct, this is a homing instinct. And pigeons are cool, Ben, they’re international and both the males and females produce milk-“

“I am not producing fucking milk-“

“Can you idiots stay on topic for just five goddamn minutes?” MM ran a hand over his face, giving Her a flat look. “Why the hell do you think you have a homing instinct?”

“The Ben Thing,” She tapped her chest, sighing when MM gave her a blank stare. “The part of me that’s in Ben. I have a theory that it’s like a beacon, because I can always tell when he’s near me and I think I used it to figure out how to get home after the whole tower thing-“

“And why,” MM grunted. “Does that mean you have to be in my garden.”

“We’re taking turns hiding, to see if we can just follow the instinct to find each other.” She crossed her arms with a shrug. “Ben found me in one of the empty apartments, and I found him here, I guess.” She gave Ben a grin. “In forty five fucking seconds.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben narrowed his eyes and reached out an arm to try and prompt Her over to his side. Her grin grew—spreading across her perfect face and lighting up her eyes—and she took his hand, letting Ben tug her forward and spin her to lean against his chest. “I didn’t know it was a goddamn race, I would’ve walked a whole lot faster-“

She tilted her head back, smiling up at him. “Did you forget your cane, old man-“

Ben swallowed Her words with a kiss, squeezing her body in his hold and sitting in the comfortable, easy warmth that spread through him when she sighed into his mouth.

Brat.

Cunt. Old, grumpy, cunt.

You know better than fucking anyone that I am not old-

“Can you not mind-fuck each other in front of me?” MM cut through their conversation, and Ben glared up at him as Her face flushed.

“Sorry, MM-“

“Just get out of my garden,” MM sighed, gesturing to the door. “I’ll see you in a few hours for the meeting.”

She nodded, twisting out of Ben’s grip and pulling him to the hall—calling another string of apologies to MM over her shoulder as they left—and when the door closed behind them, Ben leaned down to mutter in Her ear.

“What fucking meeting do we have later.”

“Pre-Edgar, at 2.”

“I thought it was just us and Butcher-“

“It is,” She shrugged, falling a pace back to walk at Ben’s side. “But we’re doing a quick briefing about what to expect with everyone. We don’t know what Edgar wants yet, and if it’s something bad-“

“Doesn’t matter what he wants,” Ben grunted, glaring at the walls ahead of them. “I’ll fucking do it, and that will be the end of this shit.” 

She sighed. “What if he tells you to kill Singer, Ben? Or break him out of prison, or traffic something for him? Something illegal-“

“I don’t give a fuck-“

“And that,” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Is why we’re doing the meeting. So you don’t commit a crime.”

“I’ve committed a fuck ton more crimes being payed by the CIA, don’t know when it got taken over by a bunch of fucking spineless pussies who are all uptight and selective about doing their goddamn jobs-“

She snorted. “I don't think anyone has ever called the CIA uptight. They’re just more subtle about their crimes now. And allowing Soldier Boy to assassinate the president for a former corrupt CEO isn’t exactly going to go under the radar.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Smartass.”

“Uh huh.” She paused her steps, frowning at him. “Ben.”

He grunted, watching Her examine his face, listening to her heart hum in her chest.

“Promise me you won’t just do whatever Edgar asks. I know you made a deal, but it could be dangerous-“

“I can handle some fucking danger-“

“I know you can,” She sighed. “I just, I don’t want to lose you because you’re such a weirdly honorable asshole. If Edgar’s demand is something unconstitutional or illegal or borderline impossible to do, please promise me you won’t do it.”

He couldn’t promise that. Ben had sworn on Her life, on her safety, that he’d come through when Edgar called. But he also wouldn’t lose Her. That option wasn’t even on the fucking table, because not matter what Edgar told him to do, Ben wasn’t going to let himself lose her over it. He’d take care of it, fast and quick and brutal, and find his way back to Her. That’s what this whole goddamn pigeon shit was about. Always fucking finding each other.

But Ben couldn’t lie to Her. It made him feel a little fucking sick, and She always knew he was lying, and that made him more sick. Like the part of Her inside him knew he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, and pushing up his throat until he swallowed it with the truth.

So he settled on a truth.

Ben said Her name, holding her gaze. “You aren’t going to fucking lose me. Swear it on my goddamn life.”

“That’s not what I asked you.” Her eyes narrowed, the chew of her mouth turning her lips red, and Ben knew he hadn’t gotten out of this so easy. He wasn’t sure why he’d even fucking bothered. “I’m not fucking losing you to something so stupid, Benjamin, so promise me-“

“No.”

She shoved at his chest. “God fucking dammit, you asshole, just promise me-“

“I am not making you a promise I don’t intend on keeping,” he snapped, catching Her hands. “If Edgar asks me to kill Butcher, right fucking there, I’m doing it. But you will not lose me.”

Why? Her voice was strangled in his head, and Ben felt an ache around his skull. You don’t have to do what Edgar tells you, he’s can’t hurt you-

Ben's jaw clenched, and he forced himself to hold Her sad gaze. He can hurt you. I’m not going to fucking let him hurt you.

He won’t hurt me, Ben. She blinked at him, tilting Her head. He can’t hurt me.

He’ll try-

And he won’t succeed. She gave him a small smile. I’m okay. I’m not losing you either, Pretty Boy.

Ben scowled. It’s a fuck ton more complicated than that-

It’s not. You burn, I burn. She leaned up, kissing Ben’s cheek and pressing her brow to his. Please don’t be a fucking dummy and promise me you’ll draw a line with Edgar.

He scanned Her gentle face, and loved Her even fucking more. Ben got to draw the line. She never misused words—everything she said was carefully calculated and designed, every word stupid deliberate and impossibly weighted—and she was making sure Ben knew she trusted his judgment. That no matter what the team told them, it would be Ben’s call what to do, and She’d stand with him. It was insufferable, how understanding and kind She was, even as she was being a pain in his goddamn ass.

I’ll draw a line. He kissed the top of Her head, and her heartbeat slowed. Swear it.

Thank you. She sighed. I love you, you huge fucking dumb dumb.

I love you too, brat.

She pulled back, giving Ben a smile that was so fucking happy and comfortable it made the whole goddamn world a little easier. It was a little insane, how Her loving him and smiling at him and linking their arms together—dragging him back to their apartment—made Ben’s whole fucking life better. How over the past four days—biding time until Singer got off his fucking ass to give them some V or Mallory got the meeting with Edgar set up—Ben had never been fucking happier. He didn’t know it was possible to be this happy. This was the type of fucking high he’d been chasing his whole goddamn life, and now it was in him.

He could feel it now. She’d insisted on running test after fucking test of their own, telling Ben—with sharp, pretty eyes and a pout that made him want to eat Her—that they needed to figure out how to use this properly. He’d argued that they’d just fucking work it out through trial and error, because it wasn’t like this was a goddamn emergency. They were immortal, they had all the time in the fucking world to work out how this brain bond shit worked. She’d told him that was fucking dumb, but if he need an incentive, She’d let Ben fuck her right after they finished every test as a reward for good behavior.

She’d have let him do that anyway, and they both fucking knew it. Between how She’d been squirming under him in the mornings, climbing on top of him every night, and had almost tackled him to the floor after he’d finished training with Ryan, Ben was starting to think she was hornier than he was. It was fucking impressive, how She didn’t ever seem satiated. She was satisfied, always smiling at him after with glazed, fucked-out eyes that made Ben almost goddamn explode with pride—he’d done that, she was so beautiful and content and blissful under Ben because Her loved her, so he’d worshipped her and touched her right—but she was never satiated. She watched Ben at the dinner table like she’d been wandering the desert for a thousand fucking year and he was oasis, before dragging him into one of the goddamn dining hall bathrooms, dropping to Her knees, and moaning as she wrapped her lips around his cock.

He fucking loved Her. And he’d never be sure how he’d gotten so goddamn lucky, that She loved him. So Ben had agreed to Her terms, and used them to his best fucking advantage. She’d made them stand on opposite ends of the compound to test if there was a distance limit—there wasn’t—and Ben had fucked Her against the door of their apartment. She’d made them sit across from each other and practice selection of what thoughts they shared—it was purposeful, and Ben wasn’t sure how, but he was able to share and withhold thoughts like lowering or raising his voice—and he’d fucked Her on the table.

And, though he’d never fucking admit it to Her, but the more they tested the connection, the more Ben could feel it. More than just a pure instinct of Her, Her, Her, pounding in his chest and guiding his heartbeat, but something fucking tangible. When they’d started the pigeon test—she also could never fucking know Ben had called it that—there had been a strange feeling of go. Something good is calling you forward, so follow it, in Ben, so he’d done just that. It hadn’t wavered or faded in and out, only grown stronger and stronger the closer he’d gotten, and it had felt like home. It had been a magnet, carving out a path he couldn’t see but still understood, singing a bright, powerful song in his head that had been reduced to a hum when he’d found Her. A natural, steady hum that was in key with Her heart, and ran through Ben’s mind whenever he was awake.

There wasn’t any other fucking way to put it. It was Her, it felt sharp and infinite and alight and Her. It blossomed whenever She touched Ben, and left something sweet that lingered on his tongue all the time.

And there hadn’t been a fucking chance he was going to describe it to the team like that.

She’d explained the connection a few nights over dinner, looking to Frenchie for confirmation on the science shit and letting Ben sit—rigid with Her tucked perfectly against him—in silence while she handled questions.

“What the fuck you mean you planted yourself in Soldier Boy?” MM had snapped, shaking his head like they hadn’t all seen much weirder fucking shit over their lives. “Did you put a parasite in him-“

“She’s not a fucking parasite,” Ben had grunted, and shot MM a glare. “It’s just her brain in me, you dumb cock-head-“

“The fuck did you just call me-“

“Ladies,” Butcher had drawled, looking between MM and Ben with narrowed eyes. “You’re both real fuckin pretty, and your balls are massive, but can we answer some real fuckin questions? Like if we,” he’d gestured around the rest of the table. “Are all in danger of gettin a fuckin Anomaly brain infection. No offense, Love, but I’ll shoot my skull in before I feel you all the bleedin time-“

She’d given Butcher a flat look. “There’s literally no way for me to not take offense to that, but no. You don’t have to worry about that. Frenchie said it was surprising it even happened once.”

“It is fucking bananas,” Frenchie had nodded in agreement. “I would even call it batshit crazy-“

“We get it, Mate, don’t need to worry-“

“I have a question.” Hughie had blurted over Butcher, face red as he made an apologetic flinch. “What does, um, feeling each other mean? Like, is it in your head, or physical-“

“It’s both,” She’d shrugged. “It’s sort of an additional sense, I guess. Like I can hear and taste and smell and Ben. It just is. Sorry, I know that’s not helpful, but-“ 

“And pathetically fuckin sappy-“ 

“Shut it, Butcher.” She’d shot the man a glare, before turning back to Hughie with a shrug. “It’s all I can offer. I mean,” She’d paused, voice resuming in Ben’s head. Do you want to try to describe it?

Fuck no.

Ben had seen Her lips twitch with a laugh, and counted it as a triumph as she’d resumed. “Sorry, yeah. That's all I’ve got.”

There had been other questions. A truly stupid amount of them, for a bunch of people who were in no way actually fucking part of this. It was for Her and Ben, this connection, and not a single other pussy fucker on the planet. This was about how She curled on his lap every night when they watched TV, making mumbled comments and jokes as Ben traced patterns on her skin, resting his chin on the top of her head. It was about how she kept smiling at him, all fucking day, and Ben got to dance her around their kitchen until she was all pretty and flushed in his arms. How they were still showering together, but now it ended with Ben pushing her against the tile, kissing her neck as he seated himself deep in her pretty cunt and her moans mixed with the steam. How there were still tears and screams in the dead of night that woke Ben up, the scorching heat twisting his skin, but She came down quickly and never tried to tell him that it didn’t matter, or made any attempts to fucking apologize to him.

This was about how Ben could feel Her pain as she sobbed in his arms, and it was grueling and fucking horrible—freezing his blood and lungs and mind to a white-hot fever, running through some deep part of Ben’s head and making something snap around in his gut—but when it faded Ben could hear the steady sound of Her heart and kiss the top of Her head, let her fall asleep with a soft sigh. Her perfect face peace, buried against his chest, and her body relaxed into his. It was about how—for all that fucking torture as the cracks he could feel in Her closed—he also got to feel the best parts of Her. Ben got to watch Her grow wrecked under his touch, feel her nails dig into his skin and listen to her pleas and moans and whine, and feel it. Feel the way She loved him, how he was fucking everything to her. Her love made Ben feel eternal and strong and so fucking alive. It made something in him light up, how this was all them. It was all just Her, scratching his back and moaning his name and looking at Ben like he was good.

It was about how Ben fucking believed it. How, when she smiled at him and teased him and loved him, Ben thought he might be good. That he wasn’t just not Homelander, not Butcher, not a complete fucking waste and failure, but good.

“Do you think we have a movie theater as well?” She was looking up at Ben as they walked, and he frowned.

“We fucking might, at the rate these damn things are popping up. Christ, what the fuck do we need a garden for, they feed us.”

“Seems to make MM happy,” She shrugged. “And gardening can just be to like, relax. I wouldn’t have thought gardening would relax MM-“

“Because he’s a fucking man-“

“Because he’s OCD, dumbass.” She slapped his arm, and Ben scowled. “Gardens are mostly dirt, and dirt is full of, well, dirt. It’s not exactly hygienic. And men can garden, Pretty Boy. You can grow some very masculine potatoes.”

“If you’re about to try and talk me into fucking gardening with you-“

“Not a chance in hell,” She wrinkled her nose at the air. “My mom used to try and make me garden, it was awful. You get all sweaty and dirty, and then you have to wait for months just to pull a sad little carrot out of the ground. Pass.”

“Maybe we should try gardening,” Ben winked at Her, tugging her closer into his side. “I like you all sweaty and dirty, and my carrot isn’t sad or little. It’s huge, and all fucking yours.”

“Shut the fuck up,” She mumbled, trying to hide her perfect flush in Ben’s chest, letting him guide their steps. “Horny cunt.”

Ben leaned down to whisper in Her ear, smirking at the shiver of her spine under his hand. “I think you’ve got the horny cunt, Sunshine. I think you’re already fucking hot and wet, just thinking about how I’m going to fuck you when we get home. Want me to tell you what we’re doing, or you want it to be a surprise?”

She made a small sound, muffled against Ben’s body. Highlights, please.

Of course, my love. That got a high whine, and Ben grinned. Every single fucking time he called her that, the reaction got better. A part of him wanted to see if he could say that in the right tone, at the right moment, and make Her cum on the spot. I’m thinking I fuck you fast. Rough and hard, until we break the fucking bed. I’ll eat you out first, have to take care of you, see if we can finally get you to fucking squirt all over my face, but then I’m going to fucking split you open on my cock. Make your pretty eyes roll back in your damn head, see if I can get you so fucked out you forget your own goddamn name.

She swallowed, leaning further into his body. That it?

He snorted. You want more? So desperate for me that my tongue and cock aren’t enough? Need my fucking hands as well?

Yes.

Who’s fucking horny now-

Shut up, you have nice hands.

Ben grinned. What about my hands do you like, Sunshine?

Fuck you.

Tell me about my hands, and I’ll fuck you till you can’t damn walk.

She sighed against him. They’re big. And rough. And strong. And, fuck- Ben had started to trace his finger over Her collarbone, and smirked as she moaned into him. You’re such a fucking asshole-

Finish telling me about my hands, beautiful. You imagining them inside your pussy? In your mouth? Rubbing on your clit until you make that perfect fucking whine when you cum-

Ben-

Want me to make you all sweaty and dirty with just my fucking fingers? Want them to fuck you until you’re squeezing around me-

Fuck, Ben, you dick-

You are inpatient, Ben chuckled as she started to tug at his shirt. Of course you hate fucking gardening, you love me and you’re calling me a cunt for just damn teasing you. Can’t imagine what you’d do to something you hate, like a slow fucking plant that won’t grow- 

I don’t hate plants, Her voice was breathless in Ben’s head, and her heartbeat was so fast it might burst right out of her chest. I like flowers.

Ben made a note—filed in the part of his mind that was completely designated for Her, caring about her and tending to her and loving her—to ask MM to start planting flowers in his pathetic little garden. If MM said no, Ben added some ideas for graphic threats that he—probably—wouldn’t actually follow through on. He’d have to do it later though, because right now She was half slumped against his body, breath heavy and hot on his skin, and they were right in front of their apartment door.

She fumbled with the keycard, and Ben pulled her through the door before it was even half fucking open. She gave a squeal as he hauled her up in his arms, and they were upstairs before the door was even fucking closed behind them.

He’d seen the clock on the stove. They now had an hour until the meeting, and Ben was going to make the fucking most of it. He’d been planning on having them do some training—practicing some punches and working on Her fire until she made a smart fucking comment and he’d pin her under him and fuck her until she was drooling—but now he had to prioritize. They’d been training every goddamn day, and Ben had made himself hard from teasing her, so he made the call that fucking Her was a whole lot more important.

They didn’t make it to the bed. The door slammed behind them, She started squirming in Ben’s arms, and he turned them around to push Her against the wall.

Ben dropped his head to the crook of Her neck, biting and sucking at that spot on her neck, blinding grabbing at her jeans to rip them away.

“Want me to fuck you with my fingers first?” Ben said Her name, grinning against her as she moaned, starting to grind on his torso. “Use my hands like you’ve fucking fantasized about? Fill you up-”

“I have not fucking fantasized-“

Ben shoved his hand between Her legs, running two fingers over her pussy as he kissed along her collarbone. Liar.

Fuck you-

Tell me all the things you’ve wanted me to do with my hands, beautiful. Tell me how to fuck you.

I, fuck, She took a ragged breath, and Ben’s hand stilled over her, pressing against her warm cunt with no friction. Want you to tease me.

Ben smirked, and resumed his movements. Careful strokes over the wet spot on her underwear, light touches up and down until she was soaked through the fabric. Keep going, Sunshine. I’ve got you.

Ben-

Tell me what you want.

Please-

He stopped moving again. Words, my love.

She whined, throwing her head back as Ben nipped at a pulse point. I, God, I want you to play with my clit until I’m close, then finger fuck me until I scream.

He hummed, gliding his hand over Her clit, flicking it once, then resting his hand at the hem of her panties. That it?

You fucking asshole-

Ben grunted Her name, aloud against her skin, and she moaned.

Fuck, I, good. Call me good, please, Ben, fuck-

He didn’t waste another goddamn second. Ben pushed his hand under Her underwear and pressed two fingers against her clit, rubbing slow, large circles. Was that so fucking hard?

You dick, fuck, Ben-

My dick is hard as well, Ben angled his hips up, pressing his erection against Her core and smirking at the whimper that escaped her throat. But you just look so fucking good, all wrecked on my hand. Gets me fucking going, when you say my name-

Ben-

He groaned on her skin, and tore off her panties, slapping her dripping pussy once before running his thumb over her clit, dropping it to trace between her folds, over her slit. Good, beautiful, just like that.

She made a loud, strangled sound and Ben chuckled, rubbing his palm against her, faster and faster until she was panting, clawing at his neck.

So fucking good. Love how fucking wet you get, love how you sound, Christ, I fucking love you-

Please, close-

Ben pushed two fingers in Her at once, and started to pump as fast as he fucking could. Her pussy was contracting around him already, her arms around his neck loose, and when Ben pulled his head up to meet her eyes, She looked fucking ruined. Eyes unfocused and fluttering, pretty lips parted with tiny moans, whole face slack with pleasure. She was so fucking perfect, so fucking beautiful, a goddamn work of art-

Benjamin, Her head dropped forward, nose bumping with his as her lips brushed across his beard. You, need you, need to cum-

Scream, beautiful. You’ll have to fucking scream-

Ben almost came in his fucking pants when—just as his fingers hit the deepest part of Her—She let out a deafening, high and needy scream of his name.

“Good girl,” his voice was hoarse, and Her hands were tugging at his head, trying to move his mouth to hers. “Want to cum?”

“Please-“ Ben slammed Her head back to the wall with a bruising kiss, and she moaned down his throat. God, yes, Ben-

He scissored his fingers in Her pussy, pressing on that button inside her, and groaned as she dribbled down his palm, the most sinfully wet sounds echoing in his head as he fucked her through her release, only drawing away when she gave an airy, happy sigh.

Ben looked down, between their bodies, and examined his hand. “Closer.” 

“That one wasn’t even that small-”

“You can do more,” he grunted, reaching up to press his thumb against Her lips, smirking at soft whine that escaped her. “Taste.”

She opened for him, and Ben felt his jaw clench when her tongue ran over him, sucking long and hard, humming around his fingers in her mouth.

“Fucking Christ,” he shook his head as she pulled off of him with a pop. “You’re perfect. Fucking love you-“

Ben groaned as she leaned forwards, hands curling on his head as she kissed him. Long and rough, and he could fucking taste Her in her own mouth. Proper fucking pussy, the best thing in the goddamn world, all Her, and what Ben fucking did to her.

They pulled apart with quick, uneven breaths, and Ben felt something soft and bright swell through his chest at She smiled at him. “Hi.”

“Hi, Sunshine.”

“That was,” she took a deep, slightly ragged breath, and Ben could hear Her heart, still running in her chest. “Fuck.”

He snorted. “I know. You like me calling you good girl, huh.” Ben winked at Her. “That do it for you more than brat?”

She whacked his arm. “Shut up, Mr. Say My Name and Beg.”

“You like fucking begging-“

“And you like calling me a good girl. And brat.” She ground against him, and Ben hissed as she rubbed right over his cock, straining through his pants. “Want some help with that, Pretty Boy?”

Ben didn’t need to be asked twice. He didn’t really fucking care for these pants anyways, and certainly wasn’t going to mourn them after he ripped them off his body—boxers gone in the same movement—and angled himself against Her.

She gasped—nails digging into his skin and eyes wide—as Ben ran his cock between her still dripping pussy, holding Her gaze. “Want me to fuck you, beautiful? Want to get my dick all fucking wet in your pretty cunt? Make you fucking scream again?”

Yes, please, fuck yes-

He bite Her lip as he pushed into her, eating her moan and squeezing her perfect fucking ass until she was melted against him. Until Her body was fucking falling forward, letting Ben support her carefully against the wall as he bottomed out. He couldn’t move yet. She kept goddamn squeezing him, and all her moans were rolling down his throat, so if Ben started moving now he wouldn’t fucking last.

Relax, he grunted Her name in his head, and she whimpered. Need you to fucking relax, my love-

She squirmed around him, and Ben groaned, pushing her further against the wall.

Christ, Sunshine, you’re going to fucking kill me-

Ben, please, just move-

He took a long breath, pulling Her tongue between his teeth and smirking at her moan. Not until you fucking behave and stop moving, brat. Be fucking good for me-

It was amazing how fast She listened. Every bit of tension left her body as she relaxed against him, her heart running out of Her chest, and when all her love pushed into Ben’s body it was like he’d been fucking shot. Everything in his body became boundless, and the world felt sharp and safe and warm. Everything was Her, wrapped around him and fucking perfect.

Please, Her voice in Ben's head came in time with a soft, small, needy sound that fell from her lips. Fuck me.

He swallowed, kissing her once, gentle and careful to ground himself in Her body. Want it fast, beautiful? Want to me to fucking break you, make your knees fucking weak, make you fucking dizzy-

God, yes-

Ben couldn’t deny Her if he tried. Not when She was molded against him like she belonged there—which she fucking did—or when she was so fucking beautiful. Not when She loved him like this, and he got to fucking feel it. So he braced an arm against the wall, pushing her further up his body, and started ramming himself into her with a fucking purpose.

He’d known he could die like this for a while. Go fucking insane from how beautiful she was, how She touched him and moaned Benjamin in his ear. He’d been real fucking certain that She’d be the end of him, of his fucking sanity, and that he was more than goddamn okay with it.

He still hadn’t fully anticipated just how correct he’d been. How, when she threw Her head back and whined, when she started to roll Her hips around Ben’s cock and a hazy, golden smoke started to fill the room around them, he felt like he’d found fucking heaven.

“Like that?” He grunted Her name in her ear, emphasizing every word with another rough thrust of his hips into her. “Tell me how it feels, how much you fucking love my cock wrecking your perfect fucking pussy-“

Ben, fuck-

“Aloud,” he sucked on Her low lip, drawing one of those perfect fucking whines from her throat. “Use all your smart fucking words, beautiful, talk to me-“

“Feels good,” Her words were choked, breathed into Ben’s mouth. “Feels so good, you’re so fucking big, feel so full-“

“Like being full of me?” He muttered, giving her ass a gentle slap, and she nodded frantically against him. “Think you can be real fucking good for me, fucking drench my cock, fucking squeeze me-“

She moaned, cunt tightening around him, and Ben almost fucking lost it.

“Good girl,” he growled Her name, smirking at Her whimper. “You’re real fucking closer, aren’t you. Ready to fucking cum, darling?”

“Fuck,” She gasped, and Ben leaned back to see her fucking glowing. Burning and burning without flame, Her love coiling tight in his gut as she watched him with pretty, glossy eyes. “Close, Ben, I’m close, need more-“

“I know, can fucking feel it.” Ben grunted, dropping his head to Her shoulder as he started to lose control, but fuck she was perfect, felt like fucking paradise around him, moaning his name all desperate and fucking loving him, and fuck-

“Please, Ben-“

He groaned, tracing his tongue over her teeth, and felt release slam into him like a goddamn train. She screamed again—fucking screamed, loud and desperate and perfect—and Ben almost fell over as Her own orgasm pushed his further. Everything was blinding, his vision growing blurred as he twitched inside of her, holding her carefully until they both came down.

She hummed softly in his ear. “Darling?”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say it was bad.” Ben pulled back to glower at Her, and found her pouting at him, light dancing in her eyes. “I liked it.”

He nodded slowly—adding darling to growing list of things he, and not a single other fucking person, got to call Her—and looked to where he was still sheathed inside Her. “You didn’t squirt.”

She shrugged. “I don’t always squirt, and it usually requires some clit stimu- Fuck-“

Ben had pressed his thumb over Her, rubbing small circles and examining her perfect features. “That better?”

“We,” Her breath hitched as Ben moved faster, and he chuckled at her glare. “Benjamin, we’ve got the, fuck, we’ve got the meeting-“

“They can wait-“

The door slammed downstairs, and Ben’s body moved faster than his brain. Pulling himself out Her, tossing her—carefully, but quickly—onto the bed, and ducking down to grab his gun from under the mattress.

“Ben, slow down-“

“Stay there,” he snapped, shooting Her a glare as she started to scoot off the bed. “Don’t move until I come back.”

“You are not my boss, you cunt-“

He didn’t have the fucking time to argue. Whoever was in their apartment—heavy steps, even, almost lazy heartbeat—had climbed upstairs, moving closer to their room. Ben drew up, pointed a finger at her, fucking stay, and raised his gun.

Benjamin, you paranoid asshole-

He yanked the door open, clicking the safety off, and slammed the door behind him as he stepped into the hall.

“Bloody Christ, Gov, where the fuckin hell are you trousers?!”

Ben looked Butcher up and down, and lowered his gun with a scowl. “Why are you in my house.”

Not a house, Pretty Boy. And I fucking told you-

Shut the fuck up. He paused, hearing Her shuffle around in the bedroom. What are you doing.

Getting dressed.

I told you to fucking stay-

It’s just Butcher-

And we don’t know why the hell he’s here-

“Oi,” Butcher gave Ben a sarcastic wave. “I can see your fuckin semi, mate, stop sending each other nudes and bloody pay attention-“

The door opened behind Ben, and She stopped at Ben’s side with her arms crossed, frowning between him and Butcher. “We weren’t sending each other nudes, Butcher. Answer Ben’s question, why are you here.”

Butcher looked Her up and down—her lips still slightly swollen, face still flushed, and her shirt, Ben’s shirt, inside out—and smirked. “I’m sorry Love, was I fuckin interrupting somethin-“

“Yes-“

She stomped on Ben’s foot, Shut up, and glared at Butcher. “Not your business-“

“It’s my business if Soldier Boy’s flashin me his half-hard dick-“

She sighed, side-stepping in front of Ben, blocking him from Buchter’s view. “Tell us what the fuck you’re doing here.” 

Butcher scowled. “We’re takin off now. Need you twats at the elevator in five.”

She blinked. “What about the briefing-“

“Mallory fucked up. Got the wrong time for Edgar’s transport. He’s gettin there at 2, not leavin from the fuckin penitentiary.”

“Oh, shit,” She swallowed, and Ben heard the tapping begin. “We’re supposed to be there before him-“

“So we’re leavin now. Get some bloody pants on your fuckin idiot, and meet me at the elevator.”

She nodded, not bothering to say goodbye to Butcher as she grabbed Ben’s arm and tugged him back into the bedroom.

When the door closed behind them, She marched over to the dresser and fucking chucked Ben’s supe suit at his face.

“What’s wrong with you-“

“Nothing.”

Ben scowled. “You’re lying,” he grunted Her name, watching her take off his shirt and flip it to the right side. “Your going to fucking bite through your mouth, and won’t goddamn look at me-“

“That’s because you’re being an asshole.” She snapped. “You are not my boss, Benjamin, and I am not a child-“

“What the fuck are you talking about-“

She turned to him with a look that almost made Ben flinch. “I love you, and I trust you with my life, but you are not allowed to tell me what and what not to do. I’m fucking serious, Ben, I can take care of myself-”

“But you don’t,” he held Her glare, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t fucking take care of yourself, and I’m not losing you again-“

“I keep telling you’re not going to lose me.” She sighed, and a flash of something sore and sour and rotten ran through Ben’s body. “I just, can you please fucking trust me? I’ve got a handle on my fire, and Homelander doesn’t even know where I am. I’m okay. I’m really okay.”

Ben’s fists curled at his sides, and he scanned over Her face. Her gaze was sharp, edged with something hot and pained, but her heart was even. And he didn’t feel sick. He felt a little fucking bitter, that rotten feeling growing, but Ben didn’t feel like something was wrong. Fundamentally wrong. She was fine.

“Fine.” He grunted, picking up his shield from the door and extending his hand for Her to hold. A silent gesture of peace that, fuck him, he goddamn needed Her to take. If she didn’t, he’d probably spend the whole stupid fucking meeting with Edgar trying to figure out how to make this shit up to her.

She tilted Her head at him, examining Ben for the longest fucking minute of his life. I do love you, Benjamin. You’re just an overprotective dick sometimes.

I know. He gave a small nod, and flexed his outstretched hand. I love you too.

Her smile was soft, and something loosened around Ben’s lungs when her fingers folded through his. She was wearing the sunglasses on her brow, so Ben had lean over her slightly to kiss the top of her head and coax a small, easy sigh from her pretty mouth.

Ready? She let Ben loop his arm over her shoulders, and he pulled her—safe and content and perfect—into his side.

I was damn born it. He winked down at Her, and everything got a little better when she grinned back. Let’s feed Edgar his own fucking balls.

Gross, Ben. Her nose wrinkled at him, but a small giggle escaped her throat, and she was letting Ben guide her downstairs, out the door.

His body was relaxed, eased by Her presence at his side, but Ben still felt fucking sore. As She and Butcher exchanged short words about the drive and plan before they stepped into an incredibly fucking awkward elevator ride, Ben’s head was circling around Her words.

You’re not going to lose me.

He wouldn’t fucking lose Her. That wasn’t even in the goddamn cards. Ben wouldn’t lose Her because of his sheer fucking dedication. Because if Homelander came for her again, Ben would beat his fucking face bloody and raw, make him beg for mercy and offer none. He did trust Her, but that wasn’t the issue here. No matter what She said about the tower or the Believe Expo, Ben had still lost Her. Left Her alone. She’d been put in danger because he’d failed, and stayed in danger because nobody was willing to step the fuck up and protect Her.

She’d never be in that godawful fucking position again. Ever. Ben would never let Her break and crack under Homelander’s hands, never make her fight on the front fucking lines alone. Ben wouldn’t lose Her because he’d resolved not to. And now he had to figure out where the line was between protecting Her, caring for Her, never, ever fucking hurting Her and respecting that She was, and always fucking would be, a piece of work.

He loved that She was a piece of work. She was a shattered, marred, clever fucking menace and threat to Ben’s sanity, and every part of Her fit perfectly in with him. He wouldn’t want to love someone who was boring. Who didn’t smack him and yell at him and match his every step without even breaking pace or falling behind. Fuck, sometimes Ben couldn’t keep up with Her. He had the time of his goddamn trying to, and loved Her at every bullet the world shot at them, every hurdle they had to burn through, together.

But Ben wouldn’t let Her stubborn, perfect fucking ass take her away from him. If She walked away, left Ben a million steps behind and took off to where he couldn’t follow, he’d find a way to keep living. He had to keep telling himself that, because he’d technically fucking lived before Her. A hundred goddamn years.

He didn’t want to live without Her, though. Not when he could feel Her like a crown on his head. Something beautiful and perfect that had chosen to stay within him, that he had to keep safe. Wrapped around him, resting within him, curled into his side in the backseat of Butcher’s car as they violated several traffic laws. She was relaxed and warm and happy in his arms, leaning Her head on his chest and turning his fingers over in her hands, and Ben didn’t ever want to live without this again. Ben couldn’t ever really breathe again—not in a way that fucking mattered—if he lost Her because he’d made the part of her that lived in him wither and die. He’d live, but he wouldn’t breathe. 

And if he lost Her because of another fucking failure, the world wouldn’t survive his wrath. Ben wouldn’t survive it.

So he had to find the fucking line. 

The safe house looked the same. Ben wasn’t exactly sure what the fuck he’d been expecting—it wasn’t like the CIA was going to budget a new paint job—but it was still deceptively suburban, generic, and easily ignorable.

“Huh,” She mumbled, looking around the street with a frown as Ben helped her out of the car. “This is weird.”

Ben grunted an agreement, half draping his body over hers. If it’s too weird, we can just fucking go home-

She gave him a flat look. We’re already here, Benjamin. And Butcher won’t let us get away that easily.

I’ll hot wire his stupid fucking car, all you’ll have to do is stand guard and punch him if he gets to close- 

I am not punching Butcher. She stuck her tongue out at him. Head in the game, Pretty Boy. We’ve got an old man to wine and dine.

He snorted, and let Her pull him to the door, where Butcher was waiting with a scowl.

“Takin our sweet fuckin time, ain’t we-“

“Shut up and open the door, Butcher.” She snapped, ignoring Ben’s pointed smirk and not punching Butcher. “We can’t be outside for too long.”

Butcher rolled his eyes, but entered the code—same one as before, which was probably some sort of security risk that Ben couldn’t be fucked to point out—and pushed the door open.

Neuman was waiting for them in the hall with crossed arms and a glare. “You’re late.”

“Blame Mallory, Vicky-“

“Don’t call me that.” Neuman cut Butcher’s sneer off with sharp words, attention turning to Her and Ben. Ben got a short nod and mutter of, “Soldier Boy,” and She got a tight smile, and less venomous greeting of Her name. “I suppose you two are to blame for Zoe and I not having a dining room?”

She flushed. “Sorry. We used to use it for training-“

“And not the living room?”

“Not enough space,” She mumbled with a shrug. “And we’d already broken most of the chairs. It felt like a good idea at the time-“

“It was a good fucking idea.” Ben snapped, shooting Neuman a glare. “She’s a fuck ton stronger now, and it’s not like the CIA pussies can’t just buy more goddamn chairs-“

“Can we try to keep you asshole’s trademark swearing to a minimum?” Neuman snapped. “Zoe’s upstairs-“

Butcher scoffed. “You ain’t able to ask us to stop swearing and call us assholes in the same bloody sentence, and then expect us to listen-“

“Just,” Neuman sighed, shaking her head. “Tone it down. No pussies or cunts or bitches-“

She raised Her hand. “Is shit still on the table?”

“Does it have to be-“

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.“ 

Neuman frowned, looking their group over, and gave a curt nod. “Fine. Shit is allowed, along with minimal assholes and fucks. I would say use your best judgment, but you’re all idiots.”

Butcher frowned. “Oi-“

“Actually, I amend that.” Neuman pointed at Her, still pressed into Ben’s side. “She’s smart. You two,” She glared between Ben and Butcher. “Are dumbasses.”

She leaned back, grinning up at Ben. Take that, Pretty Boy. I’m the smart one.

I could’ve fucking told you that-

“Are we just gonna be fuckin standin here until Edgar comes knockin, or are you gonna let us out of the hall?”

Nueman rolled her eyes—with a mutter under her breath of asshole that only Ben heard—but nodded. “Follow me, I turned the spare bedroom into an office. It has chairs,” Ben and Her received sharp glares, and Ben sent one right fucking back. “So we’ll be meeting Stan there.”

Apparently, Neuman’s spare bedroom wasn’t the same as Her and Ben’s spare bedroom. Their spare bedroom was currently Zoe’s, and Neuman had taken Her room—it had become Ben’s as well, but that wasn’t really important to point out right now—which meant that the office was Ben’s old room.

It looked clean, and he couldn’t smell any lingering cum, so Ben figured he was in the clear as they settled around a small table. Ben squished himself at Her side, Butcher took the head, and Nueman dropped across from them with a frown.

“So.” Neuman watched them carefully, voice clipped. “Is anyone going to tell what’s going on outside of Mallory’s very helpful you’re hosting Stan Edgar for the Boys, non-negotiable?”

She sighed, finger’s tapping against Ben’s knee as she spoke. “We made a deal with Edgar for evidence of what Homelander did to me-“

“I remember,” Neuman’s voice was dry, expression flat. “I thought blasting Zoe and I was the deal with Edgar. What, are you here to finish the job with all three of us?”

“No,” She mumbled, and Ben pulled her a little closer against him. Neuman noticed—eyes flicking with a frown to his arm over Her shoulder—and he felt his jaw clench. “I’m sorry about that, really, but we were backed into a corner-“

Neuman shook her head, gaze moving back to Her. “I know. I’m mostly just being a bitch about it, but I think I’ve earned that.”

“I thought bitch ain’t allowed in the kiddie zone-“

“I can say whatever the fuck I want, Butcher.” Neuman snapped. “You’re a guest in my house, and, from what I understand, you don’t have to be here for the meeting. Be quiet, or wait in the car.”

“You ain’t gonna want to do that, head-popper.” Butcher drawled, leaning back in his chair. “Those two cunts will start fuckin on the table if I ain’t here to stop ‘em.”

“Stop calling me head-popper, I’m not-“ Neuman paused, head snapping the Her and Ben. “What does he mean you two will fuck on the table.”

“We won’t fuck on the table,” She shot Butcher a glare, and the pussy winked back. “We have self-control Butcher, I think we can keep from jumping on each other for a few hours-“

“Tell that to Soldier Boy’s fuckin boner in my face-“

“You were in our apartment, that’s where sex happens-“

“Holy shit,” Neuman shook her head, voice filled with a disbelief that Ben did not fucking appreciate. “Are you two dating?”

“Um, we haven’t-“

“Yes.” Ben snapped, and felt a warm, strong feeling explode across his ribs as She swallowed, but didn’t correct him. “You’ve got a fucking problem with that?”

“I mean,” Neuman gave a sarcastic, incredulous laugh. “Yes? Even if you ignore the whole age thing, you’re Homelander’s dad-“ She paused, looking at Butcher. “How did you let this happen?”

Butcher shrugged. “Ain’t a night gone by where I don’t ask myself that, but you adjust. Better than when they were by their bloody fuckin selves, and once you get over how gross they get, fuckin in the bathroom and makin heart eyes-”

“Can you stop talking about us like we’re not here?” She snapped, leaning out of Ben’s hold just enough to glare between Neuman and Butcher. She looked murderous. Ben loved Her so fucking much. “I am aware, Neuman, of how fucked up it is. But I’m also about to meet with the adoptive father of the woman I blasted with my,” She paused, and Ben caught the split second frown that crossed Her perfect face, before vanishing as she continued. “Ben’s bomb, which was put in him by Russian scientists after he was sold to them by the same man we’re about to have lunch with. Over lunch, we’re going to talk about the favor we owe Edgar for providing evidence of my rape and torture to prove to Ben’s grandson that his dad is a piece of shit. Also, that asshole,” She jerked her head at Butcher, and he shrugged. “Is the step-father of Ben’s grandson. Side-note, Ben did try to kill his grandson once, but everyone is kind of over it. We’ve all tried to kill each other at least once, it keeps life exciting.” She took a heavy breath, holding Nueman’s gaze. “So, with that in perspective, being in love with a hundred year old grump, who loves me back and treats me well, isn’t really that big a deal, right?”

She loved Ben. That warmth spread through his whole body—growing bloody and hot from how he did fucking love Her, he did fucking treat her well—as he gave Neuman a smug grin. She loved him. He’d never get tired of hearing it, but every time She said it again it was like someone was shooting ecstasy right into his fucking body. He wanted to fuck Her. Butcher could suck Ben’s dick, because he loved Her and he needed to fucking prove it, to whisper adoring praise in her ears and hear her whine as he showed her how good she was. How fucking perfect and beautiful, how she was a goddamn force of nature and Ben would always fucking love Her. How, with Her face flushed—twisted in anger and sneering at Nueman—and her hands on his leg were starting to smoke, she was a fucking miracle and deserved the goddamn world-

Someone was knocking downstairs. It was terrible timing for Ben—who had been seconds away from finally fulfilling a handful of fantasies about fucking Her on the wall behind them, or on the bed Neuman had somehow turned into a damn couch—and amazing timing for Neuman, who was still gaping at Her with a dumb fucking look of surprise.

Neuman shot to her feet, giving Her a weary glance and walking in wide steps around Her and Ben’s chairs, muttering something about greeting Edgar, and checking on Zoe.

Butcher coughed. “I ain’t ever seen Neuman speechless before. Bloody good work, Love.”

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher,” She muttered, face falling to a look that Ben knew meant guilt.

He’d be fucked backwards if he was going to let her sit in it. No apologizing to Neuman, Sunshine. She doesn’t fucking deserve it.

I wasn’t going to. She looked up at Ben with pretty, gentle eyes and a soft smile. I meant everything I said, and I’d probably say it again. I just, I’m tired.

He frowned. If you need to go home, we can take Butcher’s car. I’ll knock him out and we’ll just go-

No. We’ve got to do this. I’ll be okay.

Ben grunted Her name in his head, scanning her features for some sort of fucking clue for how he could fix this. I’m fucking serious-

I know you are. She sighed, leaning back into Ben’s arms. So am I. I’ll be okay, promise.

He didn’t get to push it. She was okay—her heart was steady and Ben didn’t feel that sense of wrong that wracked his body when she was in pain—but Ben needed to know why she was tired. He needed to ask what she needed, why she was being so goddamn vague about it, maybe just remind Her that he loved her and would stay right fucking here until she needed him. He didn’t get the chance to do any of that, though, because footsteps sounded up the stairs, and Ben barely had time to tuck her further against him before Neuman was pushing the door open, and Edgar was following her into the room.

“Victoria,” Egdar hummed, surveying Ben, Her, and Butcher as he sat down. “I thought I was attending lunch with friends, not sitting at a table with William Butcher.”

“I’m part of the fuckin decor,” Butcher leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “Pretend I ain’t even here.”

“Or, you could simply not be here. I am sure Zoe would be absolutely entranced by your adventures-“

“Do not go near my daughter,” Neuman snapped at Butcher, before turning to give Edgar an exasperated look. “Please just make this easy for me, Stan. I’m not exactly thrilled by it either.”

“I can promise I will not be the issue here. As for our company,” Edgar turned to give a snake-like smile to Her and Ben. “I hope we can all remain civil, but they are not known for their manners.”

“You can eat my civil fucking asshole-“

Ben cut himself off with a grunt as Her elbow slammed into his gut, and she shot him a glare before turning to Edgar. “We’ll be civil. Are you going to be a cryptic fucking James Bond villain?”

Edgar made a small huff of amusement. “I will do my best to make my intentions clear, but forgive me if there are gaps you’ll have to fill in for yourself.”

“Awesome,” She mumbled, heartbeat stuttering, and Ben pressed his thigh into hers, keeping his glare trained on Edgar. She took a slow, steady breath, and tilted her head at Edgar, voice bored and even. “So, Edgar, how was your day? Anything fun happen?”

She was playing the game. Ben glanced down at Her—sharp eyes, narrowed on Edgar and paired with a too sweet smile—and knew whatever the fuck She and Edgar were about to do was Her battlefield. If Homelander crashed through the roof, or the Deep crawled out from under the fucking bed somehow, Ben could take care of it. His shield was exactly a half step away, and he could call the drums in three seconds if he needed to. But right now, Edgar’s cold, skin crawling smile was spreading across his face—Neuman and Butcher silent in their seats—and this was Her place to tear Edgar’s still-beating heart out of his evil fucking chest.

Metaphorically. Ben was pretty damn sure it would be metaphorically.

“Well,” Edgar hummed, holding Her gaze. “I did get up earlier than I would have preferred, but there is only so much one can do in prison. However, I was able to get a fairly decent nap on the drive, even with the two brutes Grace sent watching my every move. And you? Any exciting news from the Merry Band of Savage Imbeciles?”

“Nothing I’d write home about, or share with you.” She shrugged. “MM has a garden, he’s growing cucamelons. I made twenty dollars on a bet with Frenchie that he couldn’t get Hughie to say a bad word about Billy Joel, and thirty dollars on a separate bet with Annie that I could switch my food with Frenchie’s while he was focused on Hughie, and nobody would notice. I’m going to buy some new underwear, all of my old ones,” She kicked Ben under the table. “Keep disappearing under suspicious circumstances.”

Ben coughed. I don’t see you fucking complaining-

I’m not. But don’t expect fancy wrapping paper when you’re just going to tear it off.

“And how are things between you and our beloved Benjamin? I called you quite early last week, and despite what he may think,” Edgar nodded at Ben. “I was able to hear your riveting argument and pillow talk.”

Ben was going to break Edgar’s fucking face. Slam it on the table, rip his heart in a way that wasn’t at all a damn metaphor-

“We’re good.” She gave Ben a smile of don’t kill him, it’ll be gross, and said, “He’s an idiot sometimes, but I love him.” She turned back to Edgar with narrowed eyes. “But something tells me you knew that.”

Edgar didn’t spare Ben a glance, giving Her an innocent shrug. “I had suspected for quiet a while that your relationship was no longer just business. I would be lying if I said I didn’t expect better from you, though-“

“You shouldn’t,” She shrugged. “I’m only a woman, Edgar. Look at his face, you’d have come around on him as well.”

Ben scowled as Edgar gave him an overdramatic once over. I am not a piece of fucking meat-

Yes, you are. You’re a very handsome, grumpy piece of meat whom I love very much.

I’m hot as fuck, Sunshine, but I did not come here to be talked about like a common fucking whore-

She kept her eyes on Edgar, but Ben could see her lips twitch up. Objectified, Benjamin. The word you're looking for is objectified.

I don’t give a fuck what word-

“And is it his sparkling, warm personality that makes you share his bed outside of disappearing underwear?”

Her face didn’t lose its amused, casual expression, but Her voice became venomous. “It really is. I have a lot of nightmares, Edgar, and he’s like a Teddy Bear.”

“It may only be the way he’s glaring at me,” Edgar’s voice was fucking bored, and Ben glared harder. More fucking violent, more furious, and maybe Edgar might just explode. “But I would have called him just a regular bear. Although I will acknowledge my bias, we have not been on the best of terms since his return from Russia.”

“Yeah, well.” She narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t call either of us your biggest fans. Forty years off his life, three off mine, overall we’re looking at about a combined 50% decrease in years of our lives where we weren’t being tortured. I’d glare as well, but Ben’s better at it.”

Edgar didn’t even goddamn flinch, just offering them a fake fucking simper. “He was unstable, a liability. I would make the same call again in a heartbeat, and not have a single regret. You, however,” Edgar looked Her over, and Ben heard the table crack under his fist. “I must offer my most sincere apologies. If I could’ve stepped in, I would have, but controlling Homelander is a delicate surgery, and sacrifices must be made. What happened to you was, is, tragic, but, as I have told you before, you are the greatest weapon I have ever seen. And I’d would like to strongly encourage you to take advantage of your gifts, so we can all be out of this circus before the fourth of July.”

Ben could feel the cracks in Her along his skull and twisting in his gut as She swallowed. I can just fucking kill him, and we’ll go home-

I’ve got this. Her voice was measured and smooth in his head, but Ben still felt fucking sick. She was leaning across the table, tilting Her head at Edgar with a glint in her eyes that would’ve made Ben fucking flinch, and her voice was syrupy. Slow, calculated, and fucking furious. “Do you know why I was at that Vought party, Edgar?”

“I am afraid not-“

“I was celebrating. I’d just gotten my PhD, that day, and I’d finished it in record time. I paid for it all myself, and it had been so much work, but I’d done it. I was officially a doctor. I already had offers from Columbia and Sanford, but I’d still scheduled a meeting with a rep from the UN on Monday. I’d been recommended to him by one of my favorite professors, so I was a shoe-in for the job, and I wanted it so bad. I’d get to travel the world and help people. Maybe I’d meet someone, and we’d settle down somewhere peaceful to have a family. My friends were proud of me, and one of them worked for your analytics team. She had an invite, to this real fucking fancy Vought party, and brought me as a plus one. She paid for my dress, and drove me home after I got drunk. She said, even though I’d started flirting with the bartender to try and get extra drinks when I got cut off, that I’d still managed to sing Moon River perfectly. Said I hit every note, and even Homelander looked impressed. I woke up in a cell the next day. Missed the meeting with the UN rep. Missed three years of my life, being locked up in the name of controlling Homelander. So I don’t want your apology, unless it’s that time back. Unless you can make Homelander un-kidnap me, fucking save it.”

The room was silent—even fucking Butcher had gone pale—and something was ringing in Ben’s ears and eating at his lungs. He hadn’t know that. He hadn’t know half that she’d been celebrating, or that she’d literally just gotten the fuckin degree. And it was rattling around inside him like a fucking bomb. This wasn’t Ben’s bomb, driven by drums and wrath and fury. This was Her, screaming in his head with a voice that was starting to grow raw and cracked.

Edgar looked surprised. Like She’d just shot him, but he’d manage to recover without thought. There wasn’t a hint of fear in his cold eyes, but there should be. He should be fucking shaking, because She was forgiving. The part of Her in Ben was wailing and twisting in pain, but she’d kept controlling every breath as her eyes glazed over, and the fabric of Ben’s suit under her hand started to blacken. She was angry, but clever and kind, so she wouldn’t kill Edgar.

Ben would. He’d do it for Her, because there wasn’t a single thing in the world worse than this fucking pain that Homelander had festered inside Her, planting fear in her like a goddamn parasite, and all Edgar had done was stand by and watch.

Now wasn’t the time to kill Edgar. His gaze was still locked with Hers, Ben merely an observer, but the moment the chance was offered he’d take it. Bash Edgar’s brains in on his shield, make him fucking hurt in repentance, then never let a single fucking pussy hurt Her again. All She’d be was loved, and Ben would hold Her against his body until all that fucking pain faded into something that ached, but didn’t burn.

Later. Now, Ben just had to squeeze Her hand, remind her that he’d never fucking lose her again, and stay at her side.

“May I ask,” Edgar’s voice was slow, like she’d exploded if he treated her like anything less than a feral fucking animal. “How you plan to make up for those three years in the infinite amount of time now available to you? I cannot offer the time you’ve lost back, but I imagine immortality will have its perks in the years to come.”

“Save the riddles, Edgar.” She snapped. “Tell me what you want.”

“I simply wish to know your plans for when this is over, should you emerge victorious. If Singer hands over the V, and you can outmaneuver Sister Sage and her gas, will you have a family with Soldier Boy? Travel the world? Perhaps both, or contract with the UN, maybe get a book deal? I’d like to hope peace for you, as a world without Homelander is an exciting prospect, but I don’t doubt there will be quite a mess to clean up after him. Will you be picking up a shovel, or leaving it to people such as myself?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yourself.”

“Indeed. I am well versed in handling the many insecurities and reckless behaviors of the super-abled. If my services to the clean up effort, when it comes, were needed-“

“Is this the favor?” She cut Edgar off with a glare, and Edgar chuckled.

“It is only an offer. I’ve found it is never too early to throw one’s hat in the ring.”

“Keep your hat,” She leaned back against Ben, and her breathing relaxed into a more easy, natural state. “We’ll pass.”

Edgar shrugged. “My hat will remain on the table indefinitely, and it will be there when you realize you need it. I suppose all that remains is business, though I was hoping to discuss official matters over lunch, Victoria.”

Neuman rolled her eyes. “The kitchen is downstairs, Stan. You’re not so old I have to walk with you.”

“When I do reach that age, I expect a nice retirement home.” Edgar gave Neuman a smile, and it might be the only genuine one Ben had ever seen on the man’s callous face. “Nothing with golf, I am afraid I never quite got the appeal.”

“I think prison will do that shit for her, Stanny.” Butcher grinned from across the table. “Government funded retirement. Comin right out of Neuman’s bloody paycheck either way.”

“It’s tax funded, asshat.” Neuman shot Butcher a glare. “And I’m not the Vice President anymore-“

“I ain’t an American, popper, not my fuckin problem-“

“I know you’re a dual citizen, you dick-“

Ben coughed—as loud as he fucking could—and all eyes turned to him. “The fuck do you want from us, Edgar. Now.”

“Well, Benjamin, I never pegged you as someone to be driven by urgency-“

“You ain’t ever pegged ‘im at all, he’d be a lot less fuckin uptight- Fuck!” Butcher’s mocking was cut off by a lick of flame, flying past his ear. “Bloody hell, Love, coulda takin my fuckin head off-“

“But I didn’t.” She shrugged. “Shut up and listen, or I won’t miss next time.”

Edgar sighed, giving Ben an exasperated look like they were fucking buddies. “As I was saying, I understand your urgency. Anticipation can be tantalizing. But I promise, this is nothing that will cause you any grief.”

“Christ, you pussy, just spit it fuck out-“

“There is something I need collected,” Edgar said, attention entirely on Ben. “Some possessions I left in the care of someone I trusted, who will have them should you ask. I would like you to retrieve them.”

Ben frowned. “That's it.”

“It is. Straightforward, and relatively simple. Despite what you think, I am not a total monster-“

“Where are they.” She interrupted Edgar with a glare, her body tensing under Ben’s arms. “The possessions. Where are we going.”

Edgar hummed, giving Her an amused look. “I have said it before-“

“Yeah, nothing gets past me, I know. Where.”

“Red River.”

Neuman’s mouth fell open. “What? Stan, why the fuck are you keeping something at Red River-“

“It is an impressively safe storage space. It is kept almost entirely off the record, most of those at Vought are not made privy to it, and those who are have almost no interest in sparing it a thought. I have always thought that to be a waste, but I would not let my opinion get in the way of an opportunity.”

“What the fuckin hell would you need to be hidin at Red River,” Butcher snapped, leaning forward with a glower. “That you ain’t able to just hide in a villa in the bloody Caribbean.”

“The CIA raided almost all my villas, Butcher.” Edgar’s voice was dry, and his gaze turned back to Ben. “All you’ll need to do is pay Red River a visit, ask for Vanessa, and tell her you are collecting the Cornucopia. She will provide my property, you will return it to me, and our transaction will be complete.” 

She blinked. “Is it a weapon?”

“I’m afraid,” Edgar said Her name with a small, cold smile. “You will have to find that out for yourself.”

“Stan, it’s not a weapon, right?” Neuman’s heart was fast—Ben had never heard her heart move fast, it was a little fucking weird—and her eyes were wide as she watched Edgar. “It can’t be a weapon-“

Edgar patted Neuman on the arm, his smile a little less snake-like than usual. “It is not dangerous to Red River, Victoria, nor its occupants.”

“But everything is dangerous at Red River-“

Ben nudged Her shoulder, keeping a careful eye on Neuman and Edgar. Is anyone going to tell me what the fuck Red River is.

It’s like a supe orphanage. She blinked. Actually, it is a supe orphanage. It’s literally a supe orphanage. Neuman was there, it’s where Edgar adopted her from.

Is that why she looks like she’s about to explode?

Probably.

The fuck happened to her parents.

She killed them. You and I became supes in adulthood, Pretty Boy. We had the luxury of motor control and a developed prefrontal cortex to learn how to control ourselves. She didn’t.

Ben frowned, but didn’t have time to dwell on the image of tiny versions of himself and Her—exploding and burning down buildings before fucking nap time—because She was talking to Edgar again.

“Is there a time limit on this? If we don’t get your shit by the end of the week are you going to explode New York?” 

Edgar chuckled. “New York will remain intact. I would prefer that the package be returned to me as soon as possible, but I also recognize that our lives are quite hectic. Let’s say, before June ends.” 

“Hm,” She examined Edgar, crossing her arms over her chest. “And what about that generosity you mentioned. For our time.”

“That is also something you will have to wait for, I’m afraid. But, this has been a lovely trip, so I give you my word that it will arrive. And be fruitful.” 

Her nose wrinkled. “Gross. Is that it?”

Edgar sighed. “I am afraid so.” He turned to Butcher with a frown. “Though, I was promised the afternoon with my family, for good behavior-“

“That ain’t my fuckin problem,” Butcher snapped, rising to his feet. “Call Mallory. You two,” he pointed a finger at Her and Ben. “Let’s hit the bloody road. I want to be home for dinner, and bein here makes me fuckin itch.”

She hummed in agreement and stood, pulling Ben with her as they followed Butcher out of the room.

Butcher was—thought Ben would never fucking tell him—not entirely wrong about the safe house. It was goddamn weird to be here, to see most of the same furniture they had used, but rearranged or in no danger of being accidentally set on fire. There was still a scorch mark on the wall downstairs, from when she’d almost taken off Butcher’s head, and the kitchen had been clean when they’d passed it, but that felt wrong. Ben had almost never seen that kitchen spotless, and it made him feel all fucking bitter and soft. He didn’t want to come back here—not in a single goddamn universe—but he’d be lying if he didn’t look at the couch and feel something stab at him. He’d kissed Her on that couch for the first time. She’d punched him a lot in that dining room, and it had been fucking hot. She’d cried in almost every single fucking room, and Ben had held her. 

He’d kiss Her on other couches, though. And She’d probably punch him in a lot of different locations. She’d keep crying, and Ben would always fucking hold Her. The house didn’t matter that much, Ben decided, because She was the only reason he was being a pathetic fucking pussy about it. And he still fucking had Her. She was right at his goddamn side, leading him down the stairs, and giving him a small smile over her shoulder as they exited the safe house.

Ben opened the car door for Her—he loved Her, and no matter what she said, he was a goddamn gentleman—and had barely sat down himself when She grabbed his face between her hands.

“What the fuck-“

I need to tell you a secret, Ben.

He blinked. The hell do you mean, a secret.

I mean you can’t tell anyone. Not Butcher, not MM, not Mallory or Annie.

I don’t tell those pussies shit. I love you, not them-

You don’t have to love someone to tell them things-

Good thing you’re also my best fucking friend, and they’re not. He winked at Her, and she relaxed slightly. What’s wrong.

Edgar is playing both sides.

What.

He’s hedging his bets. He’s working with us and Sage.

How do you-

He said Sage has gas. Did you, Annie, or Hughie tell Mallory about the gas?

Ben frowned. They hadn’t. They’d lost Her, and in the chaos nobody had thought to bring it up. It hadn’t seemed that fucking important, when She was in danger. No.

Sage, Homelander, and I are the only other people that know about it. And Edgar didn’t just say gas. He said Sage and her gas. So he defiantly knows about it, and I sure didn’t fucking tell him.

So he’s a cowardly fucking pussy backstabber-

No, he’s a cowardly fucking pussy liar. He said if Singer hands over the V. Nobody knows we’ve asked for that but Singer, his cabinet, Mallory, and the rest of the team. No one in the Boys would trust him enough to tell him, so Singer or Mallory must have. Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers began to tap along Ben’s jaw and beard. She was thinking, her brow drawn in that pretty fucking glare at nothing, and Ben had still his body and wait for her to finish.

Her eyes widened, and Ben frowned. Sunshine-

Or, Her eyes focused on Ben’s. There’s a leak. And someone told Sage. And Sage told Edgar.

Ben glanced at Butcher in the driver's seat, and looked back at Her with a frown. You think one of us-

No. She shook her head, teeth peaking over her lips. Not one of us. We’ve been on lockdown, in close confines, with CIA monitored phones. It would have to be a leak in the CIA. Or within Singer’s cabinet.

Fuck. 

She sighed, slumping on Ben’s chest. Fuck.

—————————

You were starting to equate your life to a hydra. Whenever you solved one horrible problem, two even worse ones would pop up to replace it. 

Ben found a way to knock Homelander down, but now you have to actually get the V, and figure out to bide time and keep the world from erupting as you search. And once you manage to find some V, you’ll have to figure out how to physically get it into Homelander, and how to outmaneuver Sage so the whatever plan you make goes right.

You got Ryan out, but now you have to keep him out. You have to never let Homelander near him again, and come to terms with the fact that Butcher’s probably going to be in your life forever now. You’ll get over it—and it will make for several entertaining thanksgivings—but it’s still weird.

You told Ben you love him, and he loves you, and that’s that. He’s a protective asshole, but he’s trying. Ben’s trying, he’s always trying, and you can feel how all his resolve and rough adoration stems from his love. The hydra isn’t Ben’s love—that within itself is a haven, an oasis within the sandstorm of the world—but how you have to love Ben and keep your head on your shoulders. Have to deal with the fact that, when it really comes down to it, you will burn the world and blow the mission for him, and he’ll do the same for you. And, second head, the fact that you now have to justify your love to everyone. You have to keep yourself together when Nueman or Edgar sneer about your poor decision making, like you’re not a full grown woman who’s well aware of her actions. You’d meant what you told Neuman, every last word of it. It was fucked up to be in love with the biological father of your abuser, who was old enough to be your great-grandfather, didn’t know how emails really worked, and had definitely killed a lot of people. But you’d come to terms with that a long time ago, and in the grand scheme of things it was just another Tuesday. A really fucked up Tuesday, that you loved so much it made you feel high, and that gave you the best orgasms physically possible.

You’d escaped Vought, gotten back to Ben, and now you have to try to fix the parts of you that had broken and deal with all the fallout of your actions. You’re working on the former—it’s slow, but you’re only cold in the dead of night now, and it’s easier to mend the cracks when you’re surrounded by Ben’s warmth, when you can feel safe and loved as the pain starts to leak out of your body—but the latter might take a long time. Edgar had been right about that. Even when you kill Homelander, the world won’t heal. He’s not just a symptom, but he’s also not the virus. You’ll have to burn that bridge when you get to it, though, because right now there are other heads to fight

Like how you’d finally managed to get rid of Neuman as a danger, but Ben had still owed Edgar and there’s a very dangerous vacancy in Singer’s cabinet. Edgar’s called in his favor, and now you have to figure out if it’s just as simple and easy as it sounds—it’s probably not—and keep an eye out for a federal leak.

You and Ben had agreed in the car not to tell Mallory, and to keep it from the rest of the team until there was some more solid evidence. That was another Hydra head. You’d managed to get everyone to trust you, but now you had to figure out how and when to share game-changing news with them and feel the guilt of withholding it.

This had become a pattern, and it was fucking exhausting.

Butcher had barely spoken on the ride home, only grunting that you’d be going straight to a debrief, and that Mallory was finally back from wherever she’d gone off to.

Ten bucks that she was at a fucking orgy.

You blink at Ben as you both follow Butcher into the elevator. There’s literally no way that’s where she was.

Fine. Thirty bucks.

You don’t have thirty dollars, Benjamin.

He scowls. You don’t fucking know that-

Okay. You shrug, leaning against his chest and tugging his arms to rest across your stomach. Where did you get these thirty dollars from? Are you running a side hustle I don’t know about?

What the fuck is a side hustle.

A smaller job to make some extra money. It’s a byproduct of the gig economy-

I don’t need an extra fucking job, this one is already too goddamn complicated-

Well, as you’ve bitched and whined about many times, we don’t get paid. So unless you’re selling feet pics on the internet-

The fuck are-

Pictures of your feet. For masturbation, I assume.

Nobody is jerking it to pictures of my feet, that’s fucking disgusting-

Then where are you getting thirty dollars from?

When you tilt your head back to grin at him, you catch the tail end of his eye roll. Shut the fuck up.

You giggle, leaning up to press a small kiss under his jaw. Grumpy.

Ben’s hand shoots up, angling your chin further back, and begins to leave light kisses everywhere but your mouth. You’re real fucking lucky I love you, Sunshine.

Not luck, you smile at him, and he pulls back to meet your eyes. It’s just my magnetic and irresistible personality. 

He snorts, and you were being sarcastic, but when Ben brings his lips to yours the kiss is tender and sweet. Soft, long, making your knees start to shake as all of Ben’s love slams into your body and he holds you upright, smirking against your mouth as you start to squirm. Not just that, darling. I love your smart fucking mouth, and all those pretty sounds you make, and that adorable little pout you do when you’re being a fucking brat.

Darling. That’s good. You like darling, and maybe a little more than my love. It sounds so right, rumbling around your head in Ben’s deep voice, and it makes something gooey and molten spread through your stomach. Molds you like putty in his hands, clears your head to a breathless song that isn’t just Ben. Ben, I love you, but something deeper. It’s in a harmony with his love, with the fact it’s such an overly-sweet pet name that Ben probably would have scoffed at before—or called a stripper in a condescending tone, if you’re being truly honest with yourself about the man you’ve chosen to love—but he’s using it for you so genuinely. He says darling in such a low, hungry and fond voice, and it makes you want to do something domestic and stupid and easy with him. To forgo the meeting, completely ignore Butcher’s glowers and muttering about no bloody respect for his refined fuckin sensibilities, horny fucking cunts, and drag Ben back to your apartment so he can spin you around until you’re dizzy and you can sing to him while you make dinner together. Then you’ll let him carry you upstairs, and you’ll finally convince him to let you wash his hair in the shower—you’re pretty certain you’ll be able to sneak conditioner in there, and the results might give you a heart attack in the best way possible—and when he carries you to bed you’ll let him fuck you until you’re so blissfully wrung out from pleasure you pass out in his big, warm arms.

You can’t do that. But you will. Right now you’ll wiggle out of Ben’s hold as the elevator doors open, looping your arm through his and following Butcher to the dining room to deal with the many, many problems life has presented for you to fix. And after, when Homelander is buried deep underground in an unmarked grave—a small bullet hole is his horrible fucking brain and his body rotting into a flower that will bloom on the grass and never cause anyone pain—you’ll dance and laugh with Ben, and he’ll call you darling, and it will be everything.

After. You make a promise to yourself, that after this is over, you’ll entertain a world where you’re just happy, and make up for all those lost years. Until then, you have a lot of work to do.

Everyone is waiting for you when you enter the dining hall. There’s no A-Train—he rarely attends these meetings unless Annie or MM make him—but Ryan is here, looking up from a book with wide, hopeful eyes.

“You’re late, William-“

“You’re back!” Ryan’s smile makes your heart ache a little. It’s so weightless and bright, purely the kid he’s supposed to be. Even Mallory doesn’t push her scolding, just sighing and shooting you, Ben, and Butcher a sharp look as you reach the table.

“Keep your head on, lad.” Butcher stops behind Ryan, giving him an impressively awkward shoulder pat as he returns Mallory’s glare. “And Jersey traffic delays ain’t my fuckin fault, Grace. We’re all in one bleedin piece, and we got news.”

Mallory starts to chide Butcher about proper planning, and something wired and shy shoots through your body, causing you to jolt and blink. 

Ryan’s tapping your arms—resting on the table as you lean forward to see past Ben, hale-hunched over you and blocking your view of half the table—and mumbling your name.

You’ve tried to tell him not to touch you, explaining your empathy in the most layman’s terms you could manage—emphasizing how you can’t control it, and aren’t quite sure what it’s fully capable of—and Ryan had told you he didn’t care. He’d looked eerily like Ben in that moment, frowning at you in an almost frustrated confusion and telling you—in a manner much nicer than Ben had—that he didn’t really care what you felt from him. That he wasn’t afraid you’d feel anything you shouldn’t, that as long as you were comfortable with it, he was as well.

You’d put an end to it there. Ryan was allowed to tap your arm, and hug you, and he should never have to deal with feeling unwanted again. So you smile at him, and he gives you a nervous grin in return.

“What’s up?”

Ryan matches your whisper, shooting Butcher and Mallory a weary look as their argument continues. “I finished Frankenstein.”

“Did you like it?”

“I think so,” Ryan frowns. “I, um, I want to talk about it. If you want to, MM says the meeting is important-“

“I’ll still be here after the meeting, we can talk then.” You glance down at the book, turned over on the table. “What’s next?”

“Catcher in the Rye, Aunt Grace says it’s classic-“ Ryan pauses, and you realize you’d started to involuntarily scowl at the book. “Do you not like it?”

You sigh. “I’m not a catchall for literature opinions, but no, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

You glance down to the end of the table—MM and Frenchie have joined the argument, and you’re not even sure what it’s about anymore—before you continue. “It’s a very,” you paused, choosing your words carefully. “Pointless book. It says things that many other works say, loss of childhood is frightening and society is fake, but it offers the reader to believe that it’s okay to be an asshole, because you have issues and nobody cares. Salinger might have intended the book to be a critique of that idea, but it's still a common interpretation, and I think that within art, the artist’s intention becomes irrelevant once it’s in the hands of the public.”

Ryan nods slowly. “Okay, I just, um,” he glances down at the book on the table, then sheepishly back at you. “I don’t have any other books to read. I’ve finished everything in Butcher’s apartment.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah, I’ve been bored-“

“Oi, Ryan.” Butcher snaps, and you realize the fight has concluded. “She’ll be here for fuckin dinner, you can talk all you bloody want then. We got a meetin. ”

Ryan nods, scrambling out of his seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“I ain’t mad, kid.” Butcher sighs, shaking his head. “Just the sooner we finish, the sooner you two can chat about,” he glances at you with a frown. “Whatever the bloody hell you chat about. I’ll drop out and get you when we’ve got all our ducks in a neat fuckin line.”

As Ryan leaves and Butcher takes his vacant seat, you decide you’re going to get Ryan some more books. A few off Mallory’s CIA-approved middle school reading list, some that are just good books that you think he should read, and some that are just entertaining. Ryan should be allowed to read the Hunger Games, a few comics that aren’t about his family members, and Twilight. You could even try and rope Ben into that last one, just for your own entertainment-

You’re a fucking marvel, Sunshine.

You blink, frowning up at Ben. I didn’t do anything-

I was listening to you. You’re real fucking hot when you talk all smart.

That’s how I always talk-

And you’re always fucking hot.

You roll your eyes. Kiss ass.

If you’ll let me. He winks, and you stick your tongue out at him.

Horny cunt.

Smart fucking brat.

Grumpy old man-

You’re into it. He shrugs, pulling you closer to his side. If I get turned on by how goddamn brilliant you are, you get turned on by how fucking grumpy I am.

You don’t manage to suppress the flush of your face. Fuck you.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you, his voice mutters your name in your head, and everything is suddenly very warm. You love it when I fucking toss you over my shoulder and-

“If you two motherfuckers want to come back down to Earth and contribute to the fucking conversation, I think we’d all appreciate it.”

You give MM a mumbled apology, cover Ben’s mouth with a hand to stop any sneers of pussy or suck my hairy fucking balls, and turn to watch Mallory at the head of table.

“Now that we’re all paying attention,” Mallory shoots you a thin-lipped glare, and at this point they’re just starting to bounce right off of you. “The only thing currently on the table is the meeting with Edgar. Soldier Boy, I’d like to speak to you after this, alone, about your jurisdiction and reckless-“

In an act of mercy to Mallory—you can hear the grinding of Ben’s teeth as his jaw clenches, see his fists start to curl on your shoulder—Butcher interrupts. “You ain’t got nothin for us about the V? Been almost a fuckin week-“

“The President,” Mallory’s words are clipped, glower redirecting to Butcher. “Is busy, and still working on our request-“

“He can just take it, non?” Frenchie frowns, looking around the table for affirmation. “There is no need for him to ask for permission, nor forgiveness, he holds the highest office-“

“Not that simple, Frenchie.” MM sighs, shaking his head. “We’re asking for something that’s probably buried in classified documents and locked behind a titanium door. Singer can’t just walk in and take it, and I doubt his Defense Secretary loves the idea of contracting some V out to us, of all fucking people.”

Butcher scowls. “Fuck that cunt then, we’re a bloody delight-“

“You,” Mallory glares around the table. “Are not known within the government for cleaning messes up. You're known primarily for causing them, and costing us millions.”

“That’s not fair, we try really hard.” Hughie frowns. “And it’s not like Vought-“

“Vought lines half of congress’ pockets. Pays for their kids to go to college. All you do is raise their blood pressure, and make them take an early retirement.” Mallory sighs, and her voice becomes the closest thing to sympathetic you’ve heard. “I don’t like it either, but there’s nothing I can do. I’ve backed you up to Singer, but if Muller keeps pushing-“

You blink. “Muller?”

“Singer’s defense secretary,“ Mallory’s voice is almost toxic, and you have a sickening feeling you know why. “He’s an eel of a man, no military experience, but he managed to charm his way into the position. And he doesn’t trust your intentions-“

“Todd Muller? Governor Todd Muller?”

“Secretary Todd Muller, he resigned the governor position in favor of Singer’s cabinet.” Mallory narrows her eyes at your gaping expression. “Why.”

“I, um,” you swallow, searching through your pockets with frantic movements. “Fuck, where’s my phone-“

Ben nudges you. You gave it to me in the car, said your pockets were too small. What the fuck-

I’m fine. You reach into Ben’s pants, grab out your phone, and ignore the traded looks of concern over your head as you type.

Annie says your name slowly, and you barely hear it. “Are you okay-“

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You mutter, scanning over the article on your screen before looking up to meet the concerned eyes of your team. “That’s my step-dad.”

The table is dead silent, and if you weren’t about to start crying or breaking things, you’d be proud of yourself. It’s not easy to shut everyone up, let alone for ten, long, painful seconds.

MM breaks the silence. “Your fucking step-dad is Singer’s defense secretary.”

“Evidently, yeah.” You snap, turning the phone around for everyone to see. “Spouse, Monica Muller. That’s my mom.”

Ben’s arm tenses over your shoulders. The bitch?

The bitch.

Hughie coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you, um, are you sure? I mean, I believe you, but the chances are a kind of fucking crazy that-“

“It’s him. Positive.” You mutter, leaning back into Ben and frowning around the table. “Has Muller been briefed on, uh, me? I mean, I bet he watches the news, but does he know I’m here?”

“Do you believe it would matter if he had?” Mallory asks, words tight and cautious. “If you’re implying a bias-“

You sigh. “Not implying it. I’m outright suggesting it. If Muller knows I’m on the team, that the V is my plan, our chances are lower and we’re going to need to adapt.” 

“If he is a professional-“

“He’s not.” Mallory blinks as you cut her off, and you realize you’re half-shouting. “He’s just,” you take a long breath, and feel Ben’s foot press against yours. The world grows sharper, you become a little warmer, and your voice returns to normal. “Muller’s not my biggest fan, and he’s an asshole. I wouldn’t put it past him to block us just because of me.”

MM frowns. “Not your biggest fan how.”

“We haven’t spoken in thirteen years.” You mutter. “And last time we did speak he called me a leech, and told me he was changing all the locks on the house. So, when I realized that independence wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, I couldn’t come crawling back.”

“Holy shit,” Hughie mutters, giving you a sympathetic frown. “Sorry, none of us knew-“

You shrug. “I didn’t tell you. I was dead to him and my mom for ten years before Homelander. We don’t have the same last name, I’m not in the will, and they didn’t even release a statement when I ‘died’. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to tell. It didn’t matter.”

Ben frowns at your side, but any grunts of didn’t fucking matter, my ass, are stopped by Mallory’s clipped words.

“But you would say it matters now.”

“If Muller knows that I’m involved in this,” You swallow. “Yeah. It does.”

“And you were completely unaware of his position in Singer’s cabinet.”

Your skin starts to itch—smoke rising under your fingers on Ben’s leg—and you give Mallory a sharp glare. “Fucking obviously.”

“How.”

“What do you mean, how. I just didn’t know.”

“You have been out of Homelander’s captivity for over a year,” Mallory holds your glower. “But you have never managed to notice-“

“This is a new cabinet! I’ve had bigger things to worry about since January, sorry I wasn’t googling Robert Singer Defense Secretary pick while I was being fucking kidnapped-“

“Grace,” Butcher grunts, shooting Mallory a glare. “Lay of her. Just a shit fuckin coincidence.”

“William, you of all people know that we don’t deal in coincidences-“

Butcher shrugs. “Once in a blue moon. All we can do now is figure out how to stop the cunt from screwing us and the rest of America over cause of a bloody little family spat.”

Mallory relents with a long, pained sigh, but her eyes on you don’t soften. There are no apologies, or offerings of peace.

She still doesn’t trust you. Mallory is glaring at you, and you know that you’ll never be able to fully prove yourself to her. You can make sacrifice after sacrifice, throw yourself in front of every train and under every tower, but you’ll always be an unstable liability. You’re not weak to her, but you are dangerous. Still a weapon, still barely within her control, now with compromised judgment. You hadn’t missed Mallory’s scowl at Ben—at his arm over your shoulders and the way you’re resting your head back on his chest—or how her lips had curled in disgust.

The feeling is mutual. You don’t trust her. And you think, to a degree, that Butcher doesn’t either. If he did, he’d have told her about the V. Told Malloy you’d lied, the V hadn’t broken, and that you’d given it to him for use.

But he hadn’t. And when you meet his eyes briefly, he gives you a small nod. You don’t know what it means, but you know it’s for you. Butcher’s backing you up. Siding with you over Mallory.

And, strangely, it doesn’t shock you.

“I can speak to Robert about a possible,” Mallory swallows, lip twitching. “Issue with Muller’s judgment. Until then, our hands remain tied. Now,” she looks between you, Butcher, and Ben, crossing her arms. “What did Edgar want.”

You sigh. “Surprisingly little. We need to get a package for him, and that’s all.”

“A package.” Mallory repeats, doubt dripping from her voice. “From what I understand, Soldier Boy’s incredibly ill-conceived deal was that Edgar could request anything, but all he wants is a package.”

Butcher snorts. “That ain’t it. Tell ‘er where the package is, Love.”

You shoot Butcher a glare, before muttering, “Red River.”

“Red,” Hughie swallows. “Red River? What could Edgar need from Red River?”

“Wish I could tell you, Lad, but Old Stan was bein a real fuckin mysterious asstwat. Wouldn’t say anythin but Red River and pick up the package.”

Now you know Butcher doesn’t fully trust Mallory. It’s not just a package, it’s Edgar’s property. Purposefully hidden, away from federal and corporate eyes. You’d said it passively, without thinking, but Butcher’s words were purposeful. You’re picking it up. It’s not there now.

You won’t be correcting him. Mallory might override the favor, raid Red River and just take what Edgar wants. Ben would still owe him, and you don’t think losing whatever the fuck the Cornucopia is will do Edgar’s generosity any favors.

“He said it was being delivered there in a few days, and we just needed to pick it up and bring it to him.” You double down, holding Mallory’s gaze. “That’s it.”

That’s not what he fucking said, Ben grunts in your head, and you can feel his glare peeling you apart. The hell are you up to.

Can’t trust Mallory.

Butcher-

Doesn’t either. Trust me-

“I assume,” Mallory’s glower turns to Ben. “Soldier Boy will have to deliver it himself.”

“Would seem like it,” Ben drawls, giving your shoulder a small squeeze. He’s in. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t know why or what he’s in, but he trusts you, so he’s in. “Be a little fucking pointless if I didn’t.”

“Did he say anything else?” Annie cuts in with a frown. “Edgar could just have the package delivered to the prison, why Red River? What if it’s a weapon-“

“Ain’t a weapon, Starlight.” Butcher grunts. “Like I said, we ain’t got a clue about anythin but our instructions.”

Mallory shakes her head at nothing. “And yet you intend to go through with this, William. Despite our lack of intel.”

Butcher shrugs. “What’s the worst that could bloody happen.”

“It could be a large bomb-“

“It ain’t gonna be a bomb, Frenchie, how the fuckin hell would that even work-“

“He’s got a point Butcher, it could easily be a fucking trap-“

“MM, if it’s a trap, it’s a real bloody stupid one-“

“Traps don’t have to be smart, they just have to work-“

“It, uh, it could be a set up? No Homelander, but Edgar’s trying to frame us for something-“

“Petite Hughie, we are already very much criminals, Edgar would not need to frame us-“

“We aren’t all criminals-“

“Oui, just half of us. Myself, Butcher, Kimiko, and Soldier Boy-“

“I am not a fucking criminal you pussy-” 

“You might be the most criminal motherfucker here-“

Even if we ignore all the outright war crimes and murders, I’ve seen you steal a car, Ben. You nudge his shoulder, pulling his attention from MM. That’s not exactly law abiding citizen behavior.

I’ve been fucking pardoned for everything-

Mallory slams a fist on the table, and the arguments die off. “This is not,” she snaps, glaring around at your team. “Winning you any points to make me approve this. Give me one good reason that I shouldn’t just let Soldier Boy deal with the consequences of his horrible, stupid actions.”

“Because we ain’t got another option.” Butcher leans back, hands in his pockets. “I’m not the biggest fuckin fan of this shit either, but we’re in a corner Grace. And we don’t got much else to do, what’s the worst a little bloody field trip could do. Get us some fresh air-“

“This would not be a field trip, William-“

“He’s right, though.” MM mutters. “We’ve got to back each other up on this, and Edgar’s a conniving dickhead, but he’s also not reckless. I don’t think he’s a sick enough motherfucker to put a bunch of kids in danger by sending us there.”

“And he adopted Vicky from there,” Hughie looks around the table with wide eyes. “I mean, they have a super fucked up relationship, but he does care about her. I don’t think she’d forgive him if he put kids like her in danger.” 

Frenchie shakes his head. “It may not be a trap for the Red River, mon amie. Edgar plays a long game, we may think we are out of the woods, and then,” he smacks his hand on the table, and you flinch slightly. “Bomb in our ass.”

Hughie frowns. “How would the bomb have gotten in our ass?”

“I do not know, but Edgar has ways-“ 

“Of putting a bomb in our ass?”

“It is a metaphor-“

Kimiko whacks Frenchie’s arm. We can’t live our lives in the service of metaphorical ass-bomb.

Frenchie shakes his head. Mon Coeur, I am not in service of the ass-bomb, I am working to avoid it so I may continue to live. 

There are ass-bombs everywhere, Kimiko shrugs, turning to you. Do you think it’s a good idea?

I do. You sigh, signing slowly. But I’m probably bias, I just want to help Ben-

But you want to do it?

You nod. I don’t think it’s a trap. I think there might be an ulterior motive, but we’re not marching to the gallows if we go.

“Oi,” Butcher snaps, glaring at you and Kimiko. “We ain’t all fluent in fuckin crazy sign language. Someone translate.”

You glance at Kimiko, and she gives you a small smile, signing, I am on your side. Frenchie too.

Frenchie sighs, but nods, and you turn to Mallory.

“I’ve got five votes pro-Red River-“

Mallory scowls. “I don’t see five-“

“Ben and Myself are givens,” you shrug, and glance up to see Ben’s gaze locked on Mallory with a murderous glare. You okay?

I’ve got your back. Keep talking, Sunshine.

You take a long breath, and return your attention to Mallory. “And Butcher’s already said he’s with us. Frenchie and Kimiko make five.”

“I’m in,” Annie says, shaking her head at nothing. “I don’t trust Edgar, but this could’ve been a lot worse. We should take advantage of the fact that he’s just being suspicious, and not an outright psychopath.”

Hughie nods. “I’m in too. That’s seven-“

“Eight,” MM grunts, and Mallory blinks at him.

“Marvin, you can’t be serious-“

“You’re outvoted, Grace.” MM sighs, saying your names as he frowns at you and Ben. “You’re sure about this?”

You don’t hesitate. “Positive. It’s our best move. If Edgar wants that package, he’ll get it. We might as well let him cash in the favor.”

MM nods. “Then I’m all in. We’ll need a few days to make sure we can go to Red River without Vought noticing, but-“ 

“I still haven’t approved this.” Mallory snaps. “It could still be a trap, and I don’t see any benefit to complying with whatever Edgar really wants.”

“I don’t like it either, but I’d rather we do it with those two idiots,” MM gestures to you and Ben, and when Ben goes rigid, you feel something heavy wrapping around his lungs. “Then let them turn around and do it alone.”

Mallory’s eyes turn to you. “What would you do,” she says your name in a cold voice, and your eyes narrow. “If I vetoed this.”

“You won’t.” You make your voice flat and bored, even as your blood starts to feel cold, moving faster in time with the scratch of flame under your skin. “If it was MM, or Annie, you wouldn’t fucking hesitate, on this. But we’re still a part of this team, whether you like it or not, and Ben being in debt to Edgar isn’t doing anyone any favors.” You raise your chin, holding Mallory’s glare with a sneer. “You are outvoted. Unanimously. We’re doing this.”

“Understand that you’ll be taking the fall, if this blows up in our face-“

Your blood is white hot, pushing around your lungs and wrapping over your heart. “I always do.”

Mallory’s face twitches. “You don’t get the whole team-“

“Don’t need the whole team. It can be Ben, me, and Kimiko.”

“Please,” Mallory scoffs. “I’m not sending you with just Kimiko-“

Hughie raises his hand. “I can, uh, I can go too. I’ve been there before, and I’m kind of responsible. Not that you and Kimiko aren’t responsible,” he gives you an apologetic grimace. “But I think I’ve killed the least people here, besides Annie, and she can’t go because of security-“

“I get it, Hughie,” you offer him a small smile, and he nods as you turn back to Mallory. “I’ll take Hughie as well.”

You feel something jerk in your chest, and look up to find Ben scowling at you. You’re not fucking going.

Ben-

No. You can’t go out in public, Homelander-

Homelander won’t be looking for me at Red River.

You don’t fucking know that-

Benjamin, I’m going. That’s the end of it.

The hell it is-

I’m so fucking serious. Your glare at him, and that broken part of you twisting and curling inside your gut. You are not doing this shit alone.

I can handle my goddamn self-

I fucking can as well! You’re half screaming in silence, the fire mixing with your blood and clawing out of your hands and tongue. I’m going with you! Stop trying to bench me-

Ben grunts your name, and you can’t tell if it’s in your head or not.

I’m not delicate! Why don’t you fucking trust me-

I do trust you, but I’m not putting you in fucking danger for this-

For what?! To help you like you’d help me! Can you honestly fucking tell me, Ben, that if I was in debt you wouldn’t do whatever it fucking took to help me pay it?!

That’s not the same goddamn thing-

It is! It’s the exact same fucking thing. Your eyes are stinging, your whole body is stinging. Aching and stabbing at that flailing piece of you, slamming on the cracks inside of you and splitting them further, aching and stabbing at everything. Everywhere. I want to help you, I need to help you, just let me fucking help, you fucking asshole-

Big, warm hands are cupping your face, and Ben starts to drag everything in you back together. Your fury at him doesn’t lessen, but falls back into your blood. Only your blood, twining with the familiar feeling of Ben. Still a part of you, still loving you, and full of a weighted, almost painful force. Sheer, grounded will, covering over something bitter, taut, and rabid that lived everywhere in his body. Breathe.

You swallow, everything coming back into focus. I’m still fucking mad at you-

I know. He’s watching you. The world is clear, and Ben’s eyes on yours are tearing you open, the sore, bitter thing eating him alive. But you still need to fucking breathe.

It’s quiet, you realize. Dead quiet.

When MM speaks, his voice is hoarse. “What the fuck just happened.”

Your tongue still feels a little numb, but you can’t punch and scream at Ben, or fall forwards into his chest and cry. Your voice is a little too flat when you speak, but you let the words push themselves out. “Sorry, it was, um.” You take a shaky breath. “It was the empathy. I think it’s getting stronger, and I still can’t really control when that happens. I’m working on it, I’m really sorry.”

An apology doesn’t feel like enough. As you scan the faces of your team, everyone is bloodless and frozen, and you know they felt you. Felt the cracks, felt the sting, felt all of that cold, burning fear and anger and pain that always sits somewhere inside you like a sickness.

“What happened to the suppressant.” Mallory hisses, and you flinch. “To avoid this very problem affecting us.” 

“I’m not taking it anymore,” you mumble, staring at the table. “It felt, it felt wrong. I couldn’t do it-“

“This is not about you.” Mallory snaps. “It’s a precaution for everyone’s safety-“

“Mallory,” Ben grunts. “Shove it up your fucking ass and eat my dick. She’s not taking it.”

He’s pulled you a little closer against him and, as furious at him as you are, some instinct in you still goes Ben. Safe. You think it’s because you can still feel that weight on his chest, and how it’s been dropped there by his love. Because you know that none of that fear was fear of Ben. That you’re going to have time to shove his chest and yell at him later, but right now you’re just tired again. You’re cold again—unable to look your team in the eyes, unable to control yourself, weak—and right now Ben is warm. And he’s got your back.

“You do not speak for her, or control her actions-“

“I am well fucking aware of that.” Ben drawls. “But she already said her damn self that we’re working on it. You’re fine, you bitch, so fucking shove it.”

Mallory says your name, and that rabid ache in Ben flares. “I do not care what Soldier Boy has told you, this is a security measure. Do not compromise yourself for whatever this is.”

That makes your head snap up, gaze landing on Mallory as your exhaustion morphs back into fury. When you speak, your voice is careful, venomous. “Whatever what is.”

If Mallory senses the danger in your voice, it doesn’t show on her face. “I recognize that you and he,” she gives a dismissive gesture to Ben, and you see Butcher wince in the corner of your eyes. You have a feeling everyone but Mallory knows where this is headed, and none of them are stepping in to stop it. “Have developed an odd kinship. But you are a smart woman, do not lose sight of the mission or your team for it.”

“This had nothing to do with the mission.” You’re not in danger of losing control again. This isn’t prodding at something broken or cracked in your body, it’s only measured anger. “The suppressants were detrimental to my health-“

“Did he tell you that?” Mallory snaps, giving Ben another jerk of her head. He’s still silent, still there, still letting you handle this. “Did Soldier Boy tell you they were detrimental-”

You’re not entertaining this. “He did. Because we live together, and sleep in the same bed. He was bound to notice that I wasn’t exactly doing well, what with all the nightly mental breakdowns.”

“And you trust his judgment-“

“Always.” You hold Mallory’s glare, leaning across the table. “I always trust him.”

It might not be entirely true, but this isn’t about the truth. Ben is an asshole—a loud, abrasive, infuriating piece of shit—but you’re still going to defend him to the end of the earth. You’ll stand by his side always, even when you’re angry at him. You’ve earned being angry at him. And Ben might not be allowed to tell you what to do, but he’s also earned his own lenience. He still grounds you when you’re spiraling, and loves you all the time. Mallory isn’t a part of your fight with Ben. Mallory isn’t a part of any of this.

“You are not as intelligent as I thought,” Mallory hisses. “If you are willing to forsake everything for Soldier Boy. It would recommend you re-evaluate, if you truly believe that he is worth risking your lack of control.”

Your vision is red. Not your vision. Ben’s vision.

Can I fucking kill her-

No. “Is that it? I should call things off with the only person in my life who loves me, and take the experimental drug?” 

Mallory scoffs. “He does not love you, girl. He may be infatuated, but-“

“He does.” You’re done with dancing around it. It’s been a long day of playing the game, so this has to be plain and brutal. This has to be the last time Mallory questions your judgment, the last time she pretends that she’s in charge of you. That she has any idea what you’ve gone through—from Homelander, from Vought, from her—or any authority over your choices. She doesn’t even fucking pay you. “Ben does love me. You’ve even used it to your advantage, with that fucking stay in line and you’ll put me in danger shit. I also love him, and if you actually viewed us as people, you probably would’ve noticed it. Everyone else certainly did. I am not a child, Mallory, with a school girl crush. I am an adult, who is allowed to make my own medical decisions, and fuck and love whomever I chose. And I chose Ben.”

“I would not endorse that choice-“

“I don’t fucking care. And it is truly insane to me,” you drawl. “How everyone is so incredibly comfortable telling me what to do with my life. I’m getting a little fucking tired of it, but I’m getting tired of a lot of this. Maybe I’ll let Ben steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll just leave. Maybe we’ll go to Canada. Maybe Mexico. But no matter what, we’re going together. And I don’t think you want to lose your two most valuable weapons at the finish line, Mallory. So watch it when you try to tell me how to think, or what to do outside of the mission.”

You don’t wait for her response, standing to your feet, taking Ben up with you, pausing only to glance at MM.

He speaks before you can ask the question. “Three days.”

You nod slowly. “That’s it?”

“Should be. I’ll have a more concrete number by breakfast tomorrow, I’ll tell you then.”

You hear the implication. You’ll be welcome at breakfast. You’d exploded—at Mallory, by pushing your blood into everyone else—but you’re still part of the team. They might be afraid of you, and you understand that, but they don’t hate you. They still trust you, and if you want to come to breakfast tomorrow, you can.

“Thank you,” you give MM a weak smile that’s mostly just a grimace, and when he returns it with a small, curt nod, you leave. Pull Ben behind you—both of you silent, his sore, bitter, rabid weight still in your chest and lungs and gut—not looking back. Your team, somehow, isn’t trading you for Mallory. And you have an odd feeling that after you leave, they’ll back you up. Ben does love you, your judgment isn’t compromised, and they trust you.

When Mallory leaves, you’ll have to share the Edgar news with them. They won’t turn around and tell Mallory—you’re sure of it—and they should know. Maybe this hydra head won’t grow back.

You have a different one to deal with now, anyways. Ben does love you. If you know anything, you know Ben loves you. You’d cut off the head of judgement, and now you have to deal with the fact that you’re going to fucking kill him, and that—in the end—you don’t want to. You don’t want to fight with Ben, you want to fall apart just a little in his arms, but you can’t. You have to fight with him now, so you can crumble into him later and only think about how warm he is. About how much, even in the wrath eating at your muscle and heart, you love him.

You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t. You’d just stomp upstairs when the apartment door closed behind you. Instead, you whirl around, and slam your fists into his chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Ben doesn’t stumble, glowering down at you. “What the fuck is wrong with you,” he hisses, the words pushed through his teeth. “If you seriously fucking think I’m going to put you in any goddamn danger for something so fucking stupid?”

You scoff. “You’re not putting me in danger, I’m telling you that I’m going, and there’s not a single fucking thing you can do about it.”

“The fuck there isn’t. Christ,” Ben growls your name, holding your glare. “What if it is a goddamn trap? What if Homelander’s waiting for you?”

“I know the risks, Benjamin, and that’s why I’m going. I’m not letting you do this alone-“

“I can fucking take care of myself for an afternoon, you’re not going-“

“You would never let me do this alone-”

“I told you, that’s different-“

“It’s not!” You scream, shoving at his chest again. It’s futile, he’s built like a fucking mountain, and when he catches your hands you almost sob. You don’t want to fight, and you can feel that rabid ache in him, making everything so focused and loud, making something blister in your chest. “Why are you being such a dick about this?!”

“Because I can’t fucking lose you again!” Ben’s roar cuts through your ribs, and suddenly the sore feeling is unbearable. It’s not just eating him, it's spreading through him and taking root like a mold. “It fucking killed me, I failed you and it fucking broke you. I’m never fucking failing you again-“

“You didn’t lose me-“

He doesn’t hear the softening of your voice, and you’ve only felt him like this once. With everything in him wrathful, but inverted to tear apart his guts and nerves. Beating him until everything is his body is in a horrible, sunken agony. His face looks just like it had the first time as well—clouded and heavy, every feature looking like it’s uncertain of how to express the pain you can feel within him—but you can’t lean forwards and take his face in your hands like you had at the Believe Expo. You can only let Ben’s hands hold yours, grip tight but his strength controlled, his thumb running over your knuckles in a way that you’re not sure he’s fully aware of. Like it’s an instinct for him, pushing through the haze of his wrath.

“I did fucking lose you! It doesn’t matter how forgiving you are, I didn’t fucking protect you and you got hurt! Homelander fucking hurt you, because I failed you, and I’m never letting that happen again!”

“Ben-“

“I’ll never lock you up, I’ll fucking throwing myself in front of a goddamn bomb before I do that shit to you, but you’re not allowed to be in danger. And this is fucking dangerous-“

“Ben-“

“I’m never losing you again, I’m never failing you again, and there’s not a goddamn chance in hell I’m letting you get hurt again-“

“Benjamin!” You raise your voice, and heat your hands just enough to make his skin raw, to get his attention. “I’m okay, I’m really okay. Homelander wasn’t your fault-“

“It was,” he’s not shouting anymore. It’s worse, to hear the hopelessness in his voice, and the mold is spreading further and further, over his bones and into his muscles. “I fucking failed you-“

“You didn’t fail me,” you whisper. “You couldn’t fail me. You won’t always be able to protect me-“

“Not if I have a goddamn say-“

“You don’t.” You give him a sad smile, slowly moving your hands out of his grip, up to cup his face. “Our lives are really dangerous, and that’s just the way it is right now. And you won’t always be there to protect me, because there will be things we can’t handle together. But we can do this one together, and if it goes south, I’ll come back. I’ll burn the whole fucking world to get back to you, if I need to.” You run a hand over his beard, feeling the wrath fade, leaving only the ache. “And you’ll be waiting.”

“Of course I’ll fucking wait.” His voice is low, hoarse, and sad. It’s so sad, rotting inside of him and making your heart turn in your chest. “I’ll always wait, I fucking love you-“

“And that’s enough,” you tug him a little closer, keeping his eyes on yours. “It’s more than enough that you love me, and that you’ll wait. I literally live in you, Ben. You’re the safest place in the world to me, and I’ll always come back. But I need you to let me do this with you. To trust that I can take care of myself.”

“I trust you,” he mutters, hands moving up to hold your wrists. “But I can’t fucking help you. I need to fucking help you, to make sure you’re safe-“

You tug his head down, pressing your foreheads together. “I’m safe. If you’re staying here, I’m safe.”

He lets out a ragged breath, but doesn’t keep pushing.

“You’re hurting yourself.” You say, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. Narrowed on yours, so fucking sad. “You’re really hurting yourself, Ben.”

“I’m fine, I’m not a fucking pussy, this shit isn’t about me-“

“You’re not a pussy,” you trace a hand over his cheekbones, down to the line of his jaw, and he stills. Watching you with wide, reverent eyes as the mold starts to melt, burning away as a pious warmth blooms from his skull, down his spine. “But you’re still allowed to be in pain.”

“I’m fucking invulnerable-“

“Emotional pain, Ben.”

“I’m fine-“

You give him a flat look, and he rolls his eyes, voice still heavy and tired.

“It’s not the fucking same.”

“Because I’m a woman.” You raise your brows at him, and he scowls. 

“No, because you have an actual goddamn reason to be in pain. You-“ 

“I know what happened to me,” you sigh. “And I know you, Ben. You didn’t fail me, but no matter how much I tell you that you’re never going to not blame yourself for what happened.”

“Who fucking cares, I’m more than goddamn capable of feeling a little fucking sad and pushing through it-“

“It’s killing you. I can feel it. Right,” You point to his chest, where the mold has almost overtaken his lungs and heart in a suffocating, lead-like feeling. “There. And I care. I love you, and I hate that you’re doing this to yourself. It’s hurting me.” You swallow the lump in your throat, running your hands through Ben’s hair as the warmth starts to ache as well. It’s a better ache, like rain or sparks landing on bare skin, but it’s being pushed around inside him, as if his body doesn’t know what to do with it. Like it’s been thawed out and is unsure what it’s supposed to do within him. “Even when you’re being an ass, I still love you. And I don’t want you to kill yourself to protect me, Ben. I just want you.” 

His head falls to your shoulder, arms wrapping around your body and pulling you half off of the ground, and the ache washes over your body like a wave.

Ben’s first sob is choked, against your skin and strained. His whole body tenses, the ache tightening around your lungs, and you think he expects you to push him away. 

It’s okay, you hold him against you carefully, gently, and start to hum. You’re not sure it will help Ben, but he always does it for you, so you hum and run your fingers through his hair, letting a hazy, rainbow light fill the room, a warm breeze drifting around the apartment. Everything smells like flowers and honey and chocolate, and Ben’s relaxing against you, so you keep going. It’s okay, Ben. We’re okay.

It’s the same sound again. Pushing itself out of him, muffled in your neck as he tugs you closer, and you let him. You keep humming, let Ben hold you as tight as he needs to, and stay.

You’re not leaving. Nothing can take you away, and you know Ben realizes that when the wave turns into a storm. Crashing from Ben into you, all that aching, caring warmth. He almost falls forward, and his sobs are desperate as he shakes against your body. There’s an occasional, strangled roar, but it’s mostly just tears. Wet against your skin as Ben folds further down over you, like maybe he can pull you into him and keep you safe like that. 

It takes slow, careful steps, but you guide him across the room and onto the couch without ever disturbing him. When you lower your bodies down—Ben’s head now buried in your sternum, half slumping onto and half on his knees—his arms drop to your waist, and he screams. It’s loud, echoing through the room and racking his whole body as he chokes on his tears.

I can’t fucking lose you. He’s still crying, his voice barely a croak in your head. Not again. Not when I could’ve fucking done something to stop it-

You couldn’t have done anything- 

I’m supposed to fucking protect you. Ben’s hold on your body is almost bruising, but you don’t flinch. Nothing he does will ever hurt you, not really. Not permanently. I promised you I’d fucking protect you- 

I don’t need you to protect me, Ben. You sigh, half-petting his head as the tears start to slow, and the storm begins to pass. I just need you. 

You fucking trusted me. You shouldn’t fucking trust me, you shouldn’t keep forgiving me, you shouldn’t love me, I goddamn failed you- 

You didn’t fail me. And I don’t love you because you protect me. 

Ben looks up, and your humming falters. His eyes are red, and his expression is slack, and tired, and sad. Just so, so fucking sad, even as the warmth starts to spread once more. Why. 

You understand what he wants. His love for you is almost cowering in your chest, and for once you know exactly how to feed it. I love you because you’re safe, Ben. Not because you keep me safe, but because you’re safe. I trust you because you don’t lie to me, and you don’t treat me like I’m a problem, and you stay. I’m not easy either, but you stay. You put up with how intense and reckless I can be with myself, and you never stop pushing against my worst decisions with my own life, and you make me feel important. You make me feel valued and heard and cared for in a way that I didn’t know was possible. Even when I didn’t think you loved me, I knew you cared. You always care, and you always stay, and I love you. I’ll alway crawl back to you because I know you’ll pick me up and take care of me, and I won’t be afraid because you’re there. And everything is better when you’re there.

The tears are gone, and his voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, brushing hair away from his brow. “I love you, Benjamin. And I’m not mad.”

He huffs a dry laugh, resting his head onto your stomach as the tension starts to leave his body. “Of course you fucking aren’t,” he mumbles into you. “You should be.”

You smile down at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Ben chuckles, and even though it’s still low and gruff, it’s warm. “Couldn’t if I damn tried. You’re a piece of fucking work, Sunshine,” one of his hands find its way to yours, squeezing it once. “You’re fucking perfect.”

I love you.

Ben smiles against you, and all his care and affection hums in your body. I love you too, darling.

Your heart flutters a little bit, and you decide that, as long as Ben wants to stay molded against you—his chest rising and falling with ease, every part of him only love—you’re going to let him. He’d been right, you probably should be mad at him, but you’re not. He’d apologized. He wouldn’t do that if he hadn’t understood, because Ben didn’t do things he didn’t mean. And he was trying. He was always trying. And you can’t blame him for the fight, because you'd be lying if you said you’d be any better—if Ben went back to sleep, you hadn’t been there to stop it, and all you could do was wait for him to wake up—and it wasn’t like either of you were winning any emotionally stable and well-adjusted awards. All that really matters is he’s here, and he’s trying. You’re both always trying. Loving each other and losing your mind and burning together and trying.

Ben’s love is alive and content in your chest, easy and warm as you hold him, and it’s still so holy. It feels inevitable, loving each other. Not like soulmates, but something bigger. Something that’s made of more teeth and blood, and had been feral and lonely for so long, wanting for something it didn’t know was missing. A deep craving that had been there so long it felt natural, and you'd both learned how to live with it stuck in your bodies, and didn’t really want or need it to be satisfied. 

You’re satisfied now. Both you and Ben have melded yourselves together, against every single odd and force trying to pull you away. And you did it. Nothing made this happen, you love Ben because of him, because of you, and because you don’t want to ever be wanting again.

And when you look at Ben, his face still buried in your stomach, chest rising and falling in a steady pattern, big hands rubbing circles on your skin, you know you won’t be.

Ben is here. He’s safe, he’s everything, and you love him, and you’re never going to be craving for anything again.

End Note: I know it’s far too late to turn back now, but I hope all the OCs and reader lore doesn’t throw you guys off. It’s hard not to do, just for this story, but let me know if it’s hard to track and/or read.

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

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm @silverwingxox @criminalyetminimal @solsborg

@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon @leavli

[phoenixkaptain]

Gotta be honest, the idea that Luke wouldn’t send a child alone in an X-wing with only a droid for company is funny to me.

Like, we’re talking about the same Luke, right? The one who spent years bulls-eyeing womp rats and took the experience from that to then blow up the Death Star? The one who was like “This is a trap… I’m gonna walk right into it.” The one who was like “I will rescue my dear friend by waltzing in without a disguise and being as obnoxious as possible.” “How do we get out of this situation? How about we convince these small bear creatures that our droid is a god, that will probably work.” “I know Darth Vader is a murderer who murdered my Ben and is trying to murder me and all, but he is also my dad and therefore I love him.”

Luke would send a child in an X-wing without even fucking thinking about it! Do you REALLY think LUKE SKYWALKER is a reasonable human being?? Are you honestly trying to tell me that this man who has been driving the same fucking ship for like ten years would understand how dangerous it is to put an unsupervised child in a vehicle??? Do you really honestly truly think that Luke knows how to care for children????

You see, a lot of people like to portray Luke as perfect. And this is the same issue I have with people who portray Obi-Wan as perfect, or Yoda, or Mace, or literally any character in all of Star Wars because the whole point is that the are flawed human beings!

But it’s ESPECIALLY egregrious with Luke because I don’t know where any of you got this idea that Luke is a sweet summer child??? This man has a death count of over one million. This man had Seen Some Shit that it is literally impossible not to be affected by. Why do so many people assume that Luke at the end of the Trilogy is the same as Luke at the beginning of the Trilogy? He’s changed! He’s a different person! That’s what makes the Original Trilogy such a good trilogy!! It’s basic storytelling!!! A character canNOT be at the same place mentally as when they began the story, or else it’s not a good story!

But also, I hate the way this colours shipping fics with Luke. Like, listen. There is no ship where Luke should be the straightman of the relationship. Luke Skywalker just is not normal. He’s weird, he’s deranged, he’s so strange; he cannot be a straightman, it just doesn’t work. It’s so completely out of character it isn’t even funny.

The joy of shipping Luke is that every single thing that you can ship Luke with will come out the other sode looking rational.

Han Solo is a smuggler who hangs out with a Wookiee and who does extremely dangerous, stupid shit, but next to Luke?? Rational. Normal. Someone who uses their brain, Luke, take notes-

Din Djarin is a bounty hunter who decided that he would rather destroy an entire group of highly dangerous men than give up the cute kid he just found. But compared to Luke? At least he has equipment on him!

Mara Jade literally was mind-controlled by the Emperor and was Darth Vader’s coworker and was also a Jedi (something that no rational person would be honestly) and even she comes across as normal compared to Luke Skywalker.

I know this is rambly and disjointed and I know people disagree with me, but like??? Yes, I think Luke is great with kids. Yes, I think Luke is a good teacher. Yes, I think Luke is the type of person to wave goodbye as an infant flies off in his warship. I think Luke is the type of person who would throw a child into the air way too high and then catch them. Where did the idea that he’s the responsible parent come from? Luke is teaching infants how to use laser swords, do you REALLY THINK that’s what a responsible parent would do????

[hrizantemy]

And to this day I‘m still searching for the point to make Helion and Mor have sex. Wth was that about? I don’t see how that was necessary at all. Was it just to show Azriel’s jealousy or something? And the fact that Feyre was thinking of a threesome with Helion and Rhys? Like ew.

Why, for the love of god, is everyone in that series so obsessed with sex that they‘d f*ck anyone that enters the chat? I get that sex is nice, but the fairy dick cannot be THAT good.

And while I agree that Azriel should leave Mor alone and move on, I don’t see how fucking everyone but him would solve the problem here? Mor said that she loves him like family, how come she isn’t comfortable enough to straight up reject Azriel but very comfortable to use other men to make Azriel stay away? I don’t understand the logic behind it? Wth is her mission??

I’m pretty sure Morrigan hooked up with Helion to keep the fact that she likes girls under wraps, but honestly, who cares? No one thought otherwise. It’s like she’s only feeding into the narrative that she sleeps around, even though she doesn’t need to. And before anyone accuses me of slut-shaming, I’m not. Morrigan literally admits to sleeping with people to keep Azriel in his place. She’s the one choosing to reinforce that image, not me. So yeah, the whole situation just feels unnecessary and confusing, especially when she doesn’t seem comfortable just rejecting Azriel outright. It’s like a weird mix of using other men to keep him at a distance while still not addressing the core issue.

I have my own set of issues with Azriel being as dumb as a rock while still being presented as this genius spymaster. Like, we’re supposed to believe this man is the master of shadows, able to unravel the most complex plots and uncover the deepest secrets, yet he can’t figure out that Mor isn’t into him? For five hundred years? He’s apparently this expert in reading people and situations, but when it comes to his personal relationships, he’s completely clueless. It’s not just the Mor situation either—he’s supposed to be this brilliant strategist, but half the time, he comes across as overly broody and impulsive. Like, where is the tactical genius when he’s laughing at Nesta falling down stairs or throwing a tantrum over Elain?

I’m just saying, if this is the standard for a spymaster, the Night Court must not have that many secrets worth protecting.

So yeah, I hate Morrigan. The Night Court is stupid, and everyone in it is also stupid. How is this the “most powerful court” when it’s basically just a bunch of horny, emotionally stunted immortals running around like unsupervised teenagers? They spend more time gossiping, hooking up, and having petty drama than they do ruling anything. Rhys is out here writing his sad little autobiography while Feyre uses their life-or-death missions as inspiration for erotic painting ideas. Cassian is playing wingman to everyone’s bad decisions, Azriel is brooding in the corner wondering why Mor won’t love him while also somehow making Elain uncomfortable, and Amren’s just hoarding trinkets and insulting everyone’s intelligence.

And Morrigan. Miss “I’m so free and feminist” but can’t tell her so-called family she’s into women after five centuries of awkward vibes. No, let’s just keep hooking up with Helion and random dudes so we can keep Azriel in check, because clearly that’s a mature solution. Honestly, the only people with half a brain in that Court are the shopkeepers who charge them triple for overpriced wine and sexy clothes because they know this group is too distracted by their own melodrama to notice they’re getting ripped off.

[lexicals]

Weird recurring thing that happens in my dreams (that's actually kind of fun unlike other recurring elements) is that for some reason I am often able to teleport places, but only under very specific conditions. Usually it's that I have to be able to perfectly envision the place I want to go, to the point of being able to believe I'm already there, and then I just Am there, so I'm usually only able to go to quiet places that I'm already familiar with, but last night it had something to do with clocks and watches. Like there had to be two clock faces with their hands both in the same position or something like that. Somehow this ended with me clinging to the roof of a biplane. The things the human brain does when left unsupervised are fascinating

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

online oversight is so real.

lyrics

[Verse 1] The year’s 2009 And I’m unsupervised On the internet Nothing could go wrong, I bet I often spent my time Watching vids online And I don’t know this yet It might be something I regret

[Pre-Chorus] ‘Cause how was I supposed to know The things I clicked on long ago Were actually material For someone else’s weird-ass fetish!?

[Chorus] Oh, why did it have to be me? I can’t believe what I’m seeing But now it seems appealing- No! My brain is playing tricks on me How could the image on the screen bring these unexpected feelings? Catalyzed and compromised I turn back time to shield my eyes But, no, I guess it had to be me Why did it have to be me? Oh, no...

[Verse 2] The years go flying by And now I spend my time Looking into it ‘Cause I guess I’m a degenerate (sigh) I forget sometimes That there are kids online And I think back to it I wonder if it’s happened yet

[Pre-Chorus] The internet’s a funny place But it can mess you up in ways I wish I knew before the days I spent time meddling in adult spaces

[Bridge] Oh, do you relate to me? Or is this song problematic? Am I being dramatic? Oh, my innocence and purity Reduced to nothing so early At this point, there’s surely- No more point to close your eyes Be careful where you socialize But it might be too late

[Outro] Sexy times and violent crimes The things they do to growing minds I wish I knew before the time Where it had to be me Why did it have to be me? Oh, no...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------this has been my experience online as a child lol, #ihaveSEENthings

but, this song and splittergirl by weevildoing are talking about the same things.

it's weird, like you look back at what you did and where you were and it just is so... weird.

like, I can't stop or change the fact I lived through goretube.

but whatever you know? what is done is done, and I am strange now.

The line

“there’s surely no more point to close your eyes, be careful where you socialize. but it might be too late”

honestly yeah that hits hard. At some point you stop closing your eyes, and you look at things for what they are.

enthralled in eerie displeasure, this is just something to add onto the pile. Who cares if you just saw a bunch of decaying corpses? Add it to the pile. Who cares if you saw people carving up themselves, add it to the pile.

you just stop feeling so scared eventually, and there’s a sadistic pleasure of seeing this stuff while you constantly have flashbacks after.

it feels awful, but I keep seeing it. You can never escape blood and death on here.

the line also

“sexy times and violent crimes, the things they do to growing minds, why did it have to be me why did it have to be me. Oh no.”

utterly hits too hard, hits way way too hard.

I have both OCD (unrelated I think it’s genetic lol) and cannibalistic intrusive thoughts and feelings due to growing up on the web actually lol.

fun fact when a little starving kid sees a bunch of people eating people and also like dead bloody people sometimes you just get those kinda thoughts and it never stops!

also the fact as a kid I saw a fair few CSA videos. That was pretty fucked up, why do I know this stuff, fuck my life.

like, it really comes back to “be careful where you socialize”

it comes back to being careful about it, but even if you were careful back in those days you still saw it so much.

there’s a reason this video started by saying it’s 2009, that’s goretube era right there lol.

it went from 2006-2011ish some stuff pushed it to 2012 but the moderators started actually becoming a bigger thing than it was back in the day and started catching all the stuff.

did you know currently YouTube’s team of moderators is 10,000+?

yeah they are also utterly traumatized, shout out to the contracted moderators you have my heart! ❤️

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

What do you think everyone’s favourite animal is?

(Headcanon Masterlist) (Full Masterlist)

Hmm I've never really thought about it before, but let's have a go. Bear in mind none of this is based on facts or evidence, just my dumb brain😅

Merlin likes birds, and maybe that's ironic, but I feel like he's one of those people that birds just... land on; they're not scared of him at all. Robins, pigeons, crows, bigger things like ravens and hawks, they all just love him. And he loves them, maybe because he envies them a little bit? Everyone wants to know what it's like to fly, and birds just... do it, it's all they do. Once everything has settled and he goes out on dragon rides, with other people or not, he always makes Kilgharrah/Aithusa just glide around among the flocks of birds and it's his de-stress activity.

Arthur is a horse girl. No I will not elaborate.

I'm just kidding, of course I'll elaborate. He has a huge amount of respect for the horses he rides, he knows how hard they work, how brave they are, how hard it is to train them. He finds looking after them soothing, and he knows that if you respect a horse and treat it well, it will serve you well in return.

Gwaine came across river otters in his travels, and he never stops talking about how they're the coolest and cutest things he's ever seen (kinda like Merlin). Gwen sewed him an otter soft-toy she copied out of a book one year for his birthday and he almost cried. He just thinks they're neat.

I'm inclined to say that Percival is also a horse girl buuuuut. Man likes rats. He's a rat man. Or just rodents in general I guess, anytime the kitchens have a problem with mice they call Sir Percival in and he catches them and cleans them up and feeds them for a few days before taking them out into the meadows beyond the city walls to release them. It's always an emotional affair.

Leon is a dog person through and through!! Like birds are heavily pulled to Merlin, dogs are all over Leon. Maybe it's the shaggy hair, maybe it's the fact that he's basically a golden retriever in human form, but any and all dogs the gang come across IMMEDIATELY pull their owners over to play with Leon and the guy LOVES it. He looks after the hunting dogs even though he doesn’t have to, and the gang scrape together to get him a puppy one Christmas (they call it something stupid like Camelot, or Honour. Gwaine tries to call it Arthur the First (and better) but Lancelot said no) and he sobs.

Elyan likes snaaaaaakes. When travelling, he never stayed in one place too long except over winter, when he'd set up a temporary little forge in whatever village/town he found himself in. Or he'd help out at the local one in exchange for a bed. Either way he'd be holed up in a VERY warm building and they always had to be so careful because every pipe, every crate, every vent, every nook and cranny, would have sleepy little snakes in it if they weren't careful. He thinks they're really cool and clever and it also helps with intimidating arsehole clients if he has a snake coiled around his neck or wriggling in his hands.

Lancelot. Hmm. Yet another horse girl me thinks. But also cats. But the like... half feral outside cats that will occasionally wander into your home to sniff things and sit on things and generally be in the way, and then leave again. He's weirded out by them because they always seem like they know more than an animal should, but he thinks they're cool and regal looking. He nods respectfully at every cat he passes when with the others, but if unsupervised he will spend hours making smoochy smoochy noises to try and make friends with the local cats, all of whom completely ignore him.

Gaius also likes cats, but it's more of a respect thing? Cats know what they're about and they chase away rodents, that's all Gaius needs.

Gwen!!! Likes rabbits!!! Elyan's snakes always make her jump (she's not... scared of them, per se, but she's not overly fond) and Leon's dogs are just too... hyperactive, she can't be running around with a dog with the amount of fucking layers she has to wear as a woman. But bunnies are cute and fluffy and whenever Merlin finds one he always brings it to her for a quick snuggle before he takes it out into the fields again (how he keeps finding them in the city, Gwen has no clue).

Druids spend a lot of time in the woods, so I feel like Mordred has an adorable fascination with foxes or something. Urban foxes, the ones that sneak into the city at night to snatch babies and dig through rubbish, are horrible, but the timid country ones are amazing. So smart, and quiet, but they can get aggressive if you threaten their home. He just thinks they're really cool and he was bitterly disappointed to find that the ones that roam Camelot's cobbled streets after dark are... not friendly, they're just arseholes.

Homegirl Morgana like cats also, but house cats. You know, the really friendly, cuddly, affectionate ones. Cats kind of ignore Lancelot, despite his love, but they flock to Morgana no matter their original temperament. They're warm, and soft, but they have sharp claws, and Morgana appreciates that, especially when the cat Arthur snuck in to the castle for her when they were children would curl up on her pillow and purr when she had nightmares.

~

Behold!! My thoughts on something super random because you asked for it!!

Keep ‘em coming!!

(and if you send me romance/relationship based ones, give me a ship as well please, I don’t write reader inserts or anything close)

[prettybillycore]

tag 10 people you want to get to know better!

(I’m so sorry if I tag you and You’ve already done this, not on purpose I swear!)

tagged by: @whoringrove 💗

relationship status: taken by @rubybinxx in a polycule (aka we are polyamorous!)

favorite color: blue or green

song stuck in your head: currently “Be Gay, Do Drugs, Hail Satan” by Super Cassette. It came up in my recommended and my brain went 👁👁

time: 2:51 am

dream trip: I really want to go to California again. I have been once before and it felt like the home I was supposed to have. I also wanna go there so I can finally hug my bestie @dontbelasagnax. I’m not good at traveling though so it would have to be a road or train trip. I can’t really fly at this point in my life 💀 the one other place I really want to see is the palace of versailles in france

last book you read: Margret and the Mystery of the Missing Body by Megan Milks. I actually just gave a talk on this book for my MFA program. It is deeply painful yet weird as all hell. Highly recommend if you like fantasy and are in the mental place to hear about mental health issues from the perspectives of fictional characters

last book you enjoyed reading: I feel like I need to break out of the “books I read bc school” category but basically all the reading I do at this point is reading for school. During my undergraduate studies, I read “Homie” by Danez Smith. I think about it almost everyday. It is an incredible poetry collection about race, gender, sexuality, family, and overarching queer experiences. A must read in my opinion.

last book you hated reading: also for school (who’s surprised). It was “dreams of being” by Michael J Seidlinger. I got the chance to meet the author and he was fantastic! His book was just wayyyy out of what I normally read and didn’t keep my attention.

favorite thing to cook/bake: top of the stove cookies!!!

favorite craft you like to do in your free time: genuinely crafting sims is so fun to me I do it a lot. I also like to write and paint.

my most niche dislike: based on peoples reactions when I’ve said this in the past, I’m going to take this as my most niche dislike— I hate Metatron the most out of every supernatural villain. I would rather sell my soul to both Crowley and Lucifer (and have to watch them fight it out) than be in a room alone with Metatron unsupervised for 5 minutes. I would feel more safe with Chuck in a room. I fucking hate this angels guts and I could write a full length academic paper on why.

opinion on the circus: clowns and such are alright but the way circus animals are treated sits so wrong with me

do you have a sense of direction: absolutely I do not. Ask literally anyone I’ve ever driven. I can’t find my way anywhere without help 🥲

Tagging:

@dontbelasagnax @rubybinxx @bilqis-of-sheba @ratboydefenselawyer @biillyhargroves @billyhargroveficrec @billys-bitchh @eddiethehero85 @harringrovepeach @sunsetpixels

[pitch-pearl-void]

Soulmate AU where you see you color after meeting the eyes of your soulmate

"Okay," Jack said, pleased to see the fearful look in the ghost punk's eyes as he directed Danny's hand onto the Specter Speeder's weapon joystick, "now you're gonna want to aim right between the eyes..."

"Uh, Dad?" Danny asked, his voice shaking. 

Jack's eager grin grew. "Now WA--"

"Dad!" Danny yelled, his voice breaking. "His eyes! Is--is that color?!"

"--STE HIM--what?"

Jack jerked his head around, finally looking away from the ghost boy. Danny's eyes were large and they were darting from the ghost to the sky to the ghost to the ground to the ghost to Jack's jumpsuit and back to the ghost. They were no longer lazily half closed, Jack could see the full expanse of Danny's blue irises, but most damning of all was the dilation of Danny's pupils. 

A pit opened up in Jack's stomach. "Oh no," he whispered. 

Danny threw himself against Jack. It jerked the weapons out of alignment, but worse, Danny disturbed the controls in Jack's hands. The Specter Speeder pitched to the side. Danny yelped and slid toward the open doors. He clawed at Jack's arm, but the jumpsuit was smooth and skintight--it offered little traction. 

He fell out of the open doorway.

He could have kicked himself. 

"Danny!" Jack shouted. He reached for his son, but he was far too late. Danny was already in freefall, rapidly falling from thirty feet in the air. Jack's words from two days ago shouted in his head, "Safety features are for punks!" 

Frantically, he tipped the Specter Speeder into a dive and chased after Danny. He could see Danny through the windshield, his boy's limbs flailing from the wind. His head and shoulders were falling first; the landing would break his neck long before Jack reached him.

"Danny!" Jack shouted again, anguished. 

A white blur shot between them seconds before Danny impacted the ground. Newspapers flew into the air where Danny had been. Jack pulled sharply on the Specter Speeder's controls. Once he was parallel with the ground, he saw Danny again through the windshield, held in the arms of the ghost boy. 

The ghost boy landed. He set Danny on the ground and stepped back. They stared at each other, seemingly oblivious to everything around them, and Jack--

Jack's hand wrapped around the weapon joystick. The ghost was too close to Danny for Jack's peace of mind, a new threat to his son, but...but...

Danny was supposed to be colorblind. Everyone was born unable to see color until they met the eyes of their soulmate or felt their touch for the first time. 

Danny had met the ghost's eyes through the windshield of the Specter Speeder.

Danny's pupils had dilated to absorb as many details as possible, as if witnessing something for the first time. 

Danny had spoken of seeing colors.

Danny had moved recklessly to...to save the ghost from Jack.

...and the ghost had saved Danny from certain death. 

Slowly, reluctantly, Jack removed his hand from the joystick. It was probably nothing. Ghosts couldn't have souls, they were only the remnants of dead people, and Danny couldn't have a ghost for a soulmate.

...But just in case...

"Danny!" Jack shouted as he sped toward them. Both boys looked up at him. "Oh, they're both named Danny," Jack realized. "Now that's gotta be confusing...Hold on, son!"

The two looked at each other again. The ghost Danny stepped back again. 

"Wait!" Jack shouted again. "Ghost boy, wait a minute!"

The ghost's head jerked around, his eyes wide as he looked at Jack. Perhaps shocked Jack wasn't just shooting at him. Danny touched the ghost's arm. 

If the ghost reacted to the touch of his soulmate, however, Jack didn't see it. A blast slammed into the Specter Speeder. Metal screeched, Jack yelled, and the Speeder soared through the air before crashing against--something. Jack's head cracked against the controls, and his vision blacked out. Dazed and disoriented, he heard his boy cry out for him. He fumbled with his controls, but without sight, he couldn't find the ghost that must have attacked him. He gave up as his head spun and allowed his head to fall back against the seat. He just needed a moment. To catch his breath. Just a moment, and then he could protect his son and...his son's soulmate?

Jack heard the slap of hands landing on glass and pried his eyes open. His vision had returned, if a little blurry around the edges. There was shouting, somebody's nasal voice irritating his brain, but Jack could only focus on Danny's face and the ghost boy standing beside him. They looked worried. Both of them. Even the ghost. Why?

More spectacular than a ghost fearing for Jack was watching the two Dannys look at each other. Ghost and human. They didn't say anything vocally, but it was like they understood with just a glance everything that needed to be said. 

Danny turned away from Jack and ran down the road. The ghost flew after him, and when Danny lifted his arms, the ghost picked him up and flew in the direction of the voice. They weren't even speaking but they moved with the grace of soulmates who had known each other for years. 

"Danny," Jack protested weakly. He couldn't let them race off to fight a ghost. Not for his sake, not when they were only kids. 

Still dizzy, Jack fought his body's desire for rest after receiving a concussion--perhaps air bags weren't such a bad idea--and scrambled out of his broken machine. An abandoned motorcycle he found was too small for a man as large as Jack, but for a short distance he could make it work. He climbed aboard and raced after the kids, the machine's roar in his ears aggravating his headache. 

He arrived before Danny and the ghost boy tipped the RV into the lake. Jack wasn't sure why they chose the lake as a capture device, but he could tell from the RV's unnatural state that a ghost was involved somehow. Ghosts were always involved when it came to weird, spooky things like innocent Family Assault Vehicles gaining a bulbous top half.

Danny turned to the ghost boy and opened his mouth, but Jack arrived before the first conversation between soulmates could take place. 

"Danny!" He leapt off his tiny motorcycle and reached for Danny, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Son! Are you hurt? What was that thing? I know your mother and I encourage you and your sister to take part in our profession, but that does not mean unsupervised ghost hunting, young man!"

Danny's wide eyes crumbled into a sullen pout. "Ugh, Dad..."

"And you--" Jack rounded on the ghost boy. The ghost stiffened, stepped back, but Jack threw out a hand and grabbed a bony shoulder before he could go far. "--what color are my son's eyes?"

The ghost's jaw dropped. His eyes darted to Danny. 

Danny wrinkled his nose at him. "Ugh, what? Gees, he was there when it happened." He shrugged, his own bony shoulder rising and falling underneath Jack's hand. "The whole explosion of color thing is kinda hard not to freak out about, y'know?"

"There was no explosion of color!" the ghost objected. "We're not soulmates!"

"Sure we're not, bright-eyes."

A pale green blush came over the ghost's cheeks. "What?"

"Your eyes, like, glow with this, like..." Danny moved his hand around as he squinted at the ghost's face, trying to find a word to describe a color he could never see before. "--pretty color. I don't know. I haven't seen anything like it yet. It's really bright, though. And your blush too. Like, wow, dude, take deep breaths."

"I don't need to breathe, I'm a ghost." The ghost looked at Jack. "And ghosts don't even have soulmates, right?"

Jack stared at the two of them, too unsure to answer that. An hour ago, he would have agreed whole-heartedly, but...

If Danny was telling the truth (and Jack would believe him over a ghost any day), then that meant the ghost was rejecting Danny as his soulmate. More than Jack's profession, more than preserving a belief already proven to be flawed, Jack couldn't allow Danny to go through that pain.

"You two do know soulmates don't have to mean a romantic relationship?" Jack asked cautiously, and then added quickly, "Not that there is anything wrong with...uh two boys--a human and a--a ghost--uh..." This wasn't really a conversation he ever thought he would need to give Danny, but...

Danny groaned, tipping back his head. 

"I'm aware," the ghost muttered, the blush Danny had admired getting worse. 

"Right! Because Vladdy and I--" Danny choked "--are soulmates, and we never got married!!" Jack finished by beaming at the two of them. 

"You and Vlad...?" Danny asked, still sounding a little choked. "Soulmates?"

"Yup!" Jack chuckled. "Man, you should have seen his face when our eyes met and the world filled with color..."

The ghost hummed and raised an eyebrow at Danny. Danny caught the look and stuck his tongue out at the ghost. 

More banter without a single word spoken...

Slightly uncomfortable, Jack cleared his throat. "So! You see! Whether you two choose to pursue a romantic relationship or one more brotherly like me and Vladdy--" Danny blew air between his lips, "--the important thing is that..." Jack's voice faltered. He cleared his throat again and gave the ghost's shoulder a brief squeeze. "The important thing...Phantom, is that...if...if you're my son's soulmate then...then you're part of the family."

The ghost stared at him, the unnatural light of his green eyes searing into Jack's as if searching for a falsehood. "I'm a ghost," he said, as if Jack had missed that fact.

"Yes," Jack said slowly. "We'll have to break the news to Maddie gently." He winked at the ghost and tried to force a smile. "Maybe start with you saving Danny's life."

A tiny smile touched the corners of the ghost's lips in response. 

"Ugh, do we have to tell Mom?" Danny whined. "She's going to make it so embarrassing..."

"This isn't like keeping what happened to the Fenton Family Assault Vehicle a secret!" Jack objected, making the two boys wince. "This is your soulmate! This is your colorfest, Danny! This is one of the most important days of your life! The day you met your soulmate and saw the world come alive with color! If we don't tell Maddie as soon as possible..." He shuddered.

Danny's friends shouted Danny's name as they ran down the pier, not quite within hearing distance, but close. 

Danny made a face. "Okay, we can tell mom. And Jazz, I guess. But that's it." 

"The sky," the ghost suddenly blurted. Danny frowned at him and Jack raised his eyebrows. The ghost's hands fiddled with the cloth (was that a bedsheet?) tied around his throat. "His--Fenton's eyes. They're the same color as the sky."

Danny's expression brightened. "They are?"

"HA!" Jack crowed. Feeling suddenly overcome by joy, so blinded by excitement for his boy, Jack forgot the ghost boy's species entirely as he slid an arm around each of their shoulders and drew them into a crushing bear hug. "Yes!" he shouted. "They are! They are!" He laughed and half stood, lifting the two boys partially into the air. "My son has found his soulmate!"

"Dad!" Danny wailed. "Dad! Shh! Shhhhh!"

"Release me!" the ghost shouted. 

Jack laughed, the sound joyous and--for the moment--carefree. 

Of course his son would have a ghost for a soulmate!

What other outcome could there be for a Fenton who claimed not to care about hunting ghosts?

[boozybellybabe]

Posted it on reddit but the post was soooo long i was hesitant about posting it here too. Since there's some demand, here it is:

---

Pretty early in the day, I learned that my boss wouldn't be working on Friday. I was working on home and was guaranteed to be unsupervised so the gears in my brain were starting to turn. I started with one beer at 11:30am (i usually have it at 12 pm during coffee break) and kept working on some tasks I had while also posting a bit on reddit. I was feeling good so by 12pm I opened a second one.

By the time I was off work (3PM) I was 3 beers and a couple shots of vodka in, which had me feeling quite tipsy but also quite good. I had lunch really late at 4PM cause I got distracted, so you can see it was already affecting me. In any case I was really in the "it's Friday" mentality and knew that the plan for that day was getting drunk with my friend.

I think I've posted about my friend before, she's my age and we sometimes meet at one of our houses to basically drink, watch gossip videos, etc. Last weekend we did it and both got wasted enough that we had to help each other get home.

Anyway, I gave it a little rest after lunch but i felt myself getting a bit sleepy from the booze and the food, so of course the solution that came to my mind was coke+vodka. Mixed a drink and started sipping on it while chatting to people on reddit. I was really feeling it.

My friend and I were going to meet at 7pm, but she texted me saying she got caught up in something and would be there later, by 8pm. The only reasonable thing to do was to maintain the buzz until she arrived. I think I must have had 3-4 drinks before she got to my place, plus at least 3 shots of neat vodka and 4 beers. Plus, she's always late, and didn't show up until 9:30pm. By that time, I was seriously wasted. I actually got a bit nervous that I was getting too drunk and she might be mad or weirded out, so I was thinking of excuses and drinking more. Obviously all this was making me super horny, and I basically finished one whole drink in three gulps while touching myself thinking about how fucked up I was getting by myself.

So my friend arrived and the second I opened the door she could easily tell. I had a drink in my hand, I was slurring hard and I bet my face was red as a tomatoe. I was doing my best to stand still but I'm sure I was swaying just enough for it to be completely obvious. First thing she said was "what the fuck" with an incredulous smile and since I didn't manage to think of any excuses I just laughed like an idiot, told her I had started pregaming just before she had called me to postpone it and it had hit me. I hugged her and said sorry while laughing and she said it was ok. I'm not sure if it really was, I was a bit paranoid that she was mad at me.

So she was sober, and I was wasted, but our plan was still to drink. Plus, I didn't want her to feel like the party had started without her so obviously I pour both of us a drink, made her take a shot and we carried on as normal... except I wasn't normal. I basically drank everything she drank. I spilled a drink on my sofa (which now has a stain) and she kept telling me to tone it down cause I was speaking too loud. I couple times the neighbours knocked on the wall.

I started feeling nauseous but I didn't want to stop drinking or to admit that I was that drunk, so I just pretended to go to the bathroom as normal several times. I puked, which I'd be surprised if she didn't hear. By this time my memories are fuzzy as fuck. I remember looking at myself in the mirror after puking, next thing I'm on the sofa and suddenly wake up when she asks if I want to go to sleep, which I say no to. I insisted her to drink cause I really wanted her to be drunk, not for kink reasons but because I was feeling guilty that I was so drunk and she wasn't. Except I keep trying to drink with her. She tried to stop me a couple times.

Then I went to the bathroom again. Someone on reddit told me to make my signature pose by taking one pic with my foot on the sink. Tried to, it completely threw me off balance and I feel to the floor (i have a bad bruise from it now 😭). I don't know if she didn't hear it or if I passed immediately cause next thing she's waking me up on the bathroom floor. I think she was a bit annoyed. She helped me stand up with a lot of effort, cause I'm much taller than her. Plus, i was clingy as fuck, hugging her and saying I was sorry.

She was actually pretty drunk too, and it wasn't easy for her to carry my drunk tall ass to bed. I think we feel down a few times, and then I had to puke again. The rest I don't remember, but she told me the next day that she literally had to drag me to bed, and that I took 10 minutes trying to get on bed from the floor right next to it. She said that's the drunkest she's ever seen me, and she threw it in my face that I didn't wait for her to drink and she had to take care of me. I promised not to do it again. I'm not sure I'll keep that promise, or I'll have to think of other ways.

Oh, apparently at some point I also was very insistent that we went out, tried to go to my room to get dressed but fell down halfway and started rolling and giggling on the floor. I don't remember that.

im meeting a friend in a while but since its friday an my boss wasnt at work today ive been drinking for basically 9 hours ive had a lot of beer and many shots of vodka, my friend doesnt expect me to be this drunk and ive no idea what her reaction will be when she sees im wasted

[blackradandmad]

why blippi is rotting yr children's brains

preface: i literally expect no one to read this. it is an essay length, strong opinion piece critiquing a niche youtube-based children's show that i don't expect most of y'all to even have knowledge of lol. but like, i promise that even if you know nothing about what i'm talking about, in my incredibly, super humble opinion, it's a good piece of writing and interesting nonetheless. anyway if you read this whole thing for some reason yr really hot and we should kiss.

i thoroughly vet everything my child watches before he watches it, episode by episode. and we rarely watch youtube for entertainment; we usually just look up educational videos when he has a question about something and wants more detail than i can provide him. and that's mainly because children's content on youtube is so fucking troubling and distressing. i don't judge parents who give their children a tablet at a restaurant at all bc i've been there and sometimes it's easier on everyone to just put on a video and avoid a giant scene, but i do judge parents who just leave their children alone with youtube kids on autoplay.

take stevin john, a literal millionaire who got famous from dressing up as a silly character called blippi and going on tours of places like aquariums, zoos, construction sites, etc and posting it on youtube. this has branched into a whole empire of blippi videos, hulu shows and specials, live shows and tours (that he outsources to another character actor), merchandise and so on. this 30-something year old man cites his main influence as being mr. rogers, but i question if he's ever even seen an episode of that program.

mr. rogers had no background in early childhood development or media production, but he revolutionized the world of children's media, because he respected his audience and didn't shy away from real world situations, all while creating a show with an enormous heart. mr. rogers begins his episodes by inviting the viewer in, literally changing his attire to be more comfortable, and talking about/doing things he genuinely cares about. whereas mr. rogers calmly and maturely addresses the viewer, blippi puts on a high pitched, contrived voice, interjecting every other sentence with a forced exclamation such as, "teehee! we're having so much fun!"

i don't find it a coincidence that john (blippi) is a veteran, either. his videos are completely devoid of the absurd, abstract, childlike thinking that makes children's media fun, creative, and entertaining. his thinking and process is methodical, devoid of emotion, and very superficial. this line of thinking clearly shows the kind of creative sterilization and emphasis on sameness and conformity instilled in the military. blippi simply observes things and interacts with them in a stale, matter-of-fact way. "this ball is purple! this ball is pink! anyway... what's over there? teehee! a car! vroom, vroom!" objects are colors, toy cars don't do anything but drive, curiosity is simply not encouraged.

he uses the "it's educational!" excuse to hide the fact that his show lacks everything that makes media a valuable resource for children to consume in the first place. further than identifying colors, numbers, and the occasional letter or shape, there is just this total lack of children's need for social and emotional development. when mr. rogers breaks the fourth wall to address the viewer and let them know they're special, it feels authentic and natural, because we've spent the last half hour building whole worlds with diverse characters and unique stories in a pretend neighborhood, learning about and enjoying different musical instruments, being exposed to and making friends with (even if parasocially, it is still a real bond to children when done properly) children who are similar to us in character regardless of physical or environmental differences, feeding the fish, making art together, and so on. when blippi tells the viewer, "you are very special, and i enjoy spending time with you!" it falls completely flat and feels unearned, because the last half hour was spent running around a soft play center pointing at bright, colorful objects, visiting interesting locations like farms or fruit production factories while failing to acknowledge the humanity of the humans actually working there (everything is machine or product focused; the human workers are simply an extension of the machine), learning "fun facts" about elephants that just list attributes of elephants, not taking the opportunity to inform the viewers of elephants' intelligence, or diet, or matriarchal society. it is a loud, sensory overwhelming display of a man so disconnected from the social and emotional needs and desires of children that he assumes they're stupid, easily entertained idiots who only need some silly dances and fast-moving cartoon graphics to give their attention (meaning time and desire to purchase products meaning $$$). john clearly views his audience as a means to gaming the algorithm and ultimately a paycheck by the hollow way he addresses them.

the show is so narcissistic, so focused on all the fun blippi is supposedly having, but he lacks any of the character traits that make individual children's show hosts memorable, so much so that he was able to have someone else who doesn't even vaguely resemble him dress as blippi and impersonate him and host the show or appear at live shows, and it went unnoticed by most of his toddler and child audience. the show is so formulaic and the character of blippi is so unmemorable that instead of taking the blue's clues route of developing a story of the host leaving for college and his brother now stepping in, or making some sort of believable excuse for the change in actors, they can simply swap him out with some random guy and not acknowledge it at all. although a comedy show for older children, the amanda show in no way could or would try to replicate the show with the same name but swapping out amanda bynes with a random teenage girl who is clearly not amanda bynes. it's weird and nonsensical and shows that his character is so much of a farce put on for a paycheck that not even his dedicated audience is affected or even cares when he is replaced by a random, unknown person.

this is completely garbage content made by an opportunist with no experience with children who saw his nephew watching children's youtube content, took it at complete surface level and still hasn't realized that while children's content only looks and feels so easy, entertaining, and enriching because it is so hard to do well. even with outsourcing his music, that aspect of the show still sucks. famous and successful children's musician, raffi, is known for his song describing the life of a little white whale, called "baby beluga." it opens with a calm strumming of his guitar, followed by the lyrics, "baby beluga in the deep blue sea/swim so wild and you swim so free/heaven above/sea below/and a little white whale on the go." is it silly and kind of pointless? yes, but the point is that he is captivating children and showing them the fun of listening to music, dancing, singing, and appreciating art. the "excavator song" featured in an episode of blippi about construction vehicles opens with what sounds like a default garageband loop and the flatly sung lyrics, "i'm an excavator/i'm an excavator/hey dirt, see you later/i'm an excavator." i don't feel i have to meticulously analyze the aforementioned lyrics; the stark contrast should speak for itself.

i have a million more criticisms about both blippi specifically and youtube children's content as a whole, but this is already so long and i doubt many people will get this far anyway. it's an issue i was completely apathetic towards until i had my own child and had to wean him off these kinds of junk food shows because i realized the fast-paced visuals and bright colors and repetitive songs/lyrics were putting him in this spaced-out, fugue state, and he thought he could demand this show or that show whenever he wanted. the moment he started regularly yelling things like, "watch! cars!" or "no! click it!" i knew i had to be a lot more invested in the things he watched even if just for entertainment or as a soothing message. i showed him an episode of mr. rogers yesterday and feared it would be too slow to hold his attention, but he was mesmerized, greeting and interacting with mr. rogers verbally, asking me, "what's that?" to different objects on the screen. since purging this low-brow children's entertainment, he has had a noticeable increase in attention span and concentration, can focus on a task for longer amounts of times, is more likely to "read"/look through books without me initiating it, and doesn't throw a fit when the tv/my laptop is off.

i just know that for me, growing up with so much unsupervised internet access definitely led me to real-world pain and consequences, and it seems like now children are born with an iphone as an extension of their arm. if my child is going to be consuming videos, i'm definitely supervising every second and am going to be highly critical of the videos and the credentials (or lack thereof) of the creators and team behind it. but i also know, from pure observation admittedly, that parents letting youtube kids autoplay parent their children for hours at a time is not an uncommon occurrence. and it worries me that a generation of children are being raised on videos that rely on being as loud and bright and superficially enjoyable as possible. what's the use of a child knowing their colors and alphabet if they don't know how to treat people with kindness and empathy and respect? there is something wrong for a children's show host to plug the spelling of his name at the end of his videos ("well, that's the end of this video. but if you wanna watch more of my videos, just type in my name! can you spell my name with me? b-l-i-p-p-i!") after essentially rotting his audiences' brains for a half hour. there's something so insidious about the prioritization of naming different parts of construction vehicles over honest depictions of and conversations about dealing with feelings, or why someone with autism may act differently than you, or what to do when you feel lonely, or ways to make art and express yrself creatively. also, not to mention the blatant police propaganda and outright worship is seriously jarring; as a black mother to a visibly non-white child, i cannot sit there and watch blippi show kids how to be a bootlicker for the shittiest profession on earth, but that could be a whole essay in and of itself.

anyway, thanks for reading, if yr looking for quality children's content, i recommend, in no specific order: mr. rogers, sesame street, the electric company, molly of denali, daniel tiger, bluey!, blue's clues, the odd squad, word party, trash truck, puffin rock, uhh... that's definitely not an extensive list but that's just off the dome!!! ok bye y'all <333

[alltheboysandgirlsiloved]

The Mermaid Theory

Or, as i like to call it:

How is Kenji’s trauma related to Mantah Corp

subject: Kenji’s obsession with mermaids and how it can be related to the storyline in general

(warning: this is longer than anticipated)

Lettuce begin:

Kenji Kon (age: 15) is one of the main characters appearing in Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous. He ended up on the camp because his dad is filthy rich which Kenji often uses to make a point. Some other traits that we relate to his character are: general dorkiness, loyalty and self-esteem issues (deeply rooted with how his entire confidence is mostly based on how much he thinks it depends on his wealth, however it is not a subject for today)

One of the things that the fans picked on while watching the show is Kenji’s strange obessesion with mermaid.

The first time a mermaid is mentioned by Kenji is actually in episode 2 season 1, when he says “a dream is like when you save mermaids from a shark”. We all thought that this comparison is just a form of a comic relief. But bro, I don’t think it’s funny anymore, in fact I think that it’s one of the signs of trauma or a distant memory. The kind of memory that maybe even Kenji himself doesn’t understand quite well.

The mermaid keeps coming back every now and then, the two moments that I want to mention here are:

the scene when Yaz wakes Kenji up and he mumbles something about “saving a mermaid” to which Yaz asks him if he only ever dreams about mermaids (which is an indicator that it’s a re-occuring dream)

little Kenji’s drawing that Sammy finds in his father’s photoalbum. The drawing shows a family (presumably Kenji’s family) and a mermaid

Based on that we can assume one thing for sure: mermaids (or one mermaid) were an important part of Kenji’s childhood. Whether they were an imaginary friend or something more real is up to you to decide.

Let’s keep that in our minds and focus on something else. Or rather: someone else aka Kenji’s father.

He’s a bizzare character. We’ve never seen him. He seems absent from Kenji’s life and yet he is in the background to everything that happens in his life. Ha, more than that. This seemingly gloomy and very neglectful person seems to also be looming over one more thing:

The entire Jurassic World.

Kenji’s father is a part of Jurassic World (the park) in a way that seems fitting and completely out of place at the same time. Yes, sure, he is rich but the more you think about it, the weirder his “presence” is.

You know what resonates with the same exact energy? 

Mantah Corp. They are there but at the same time - where the hell are they? Who’s in charge? Where are all the big, phat fishes, huh?

I know that this theory may be slightly far-fetched but I think that one of these fishes is in fact Kenji’s father. Kenji’s father who has a bazillion of secrets (for some reason Kenji is not allowed to enter one wing of their house). Kenji’s father who is always busy. Kenji’s father who is so influential that park empoyees allow his kid run around Jurassic World mostly unsupervised. Kenji’s father who owns a very suspiciously-looking building in a part of the island that is closed to the public. A building with a dock that is not on any map.

A building that doesn’t look like “just a penthouse”. It looks like a business building. Everything in Jurassic World has a meaning, everything more or less fits into that “jungle-like” aesthetic. But not Casa de Kenji. No, it looks like a place where important people hold their meetings. We know for sure that it’s not a hotel and yet it has many floors. Casa de Kenji is a building that for some reason keeps at least 5 limos in the garage. 

My point is that Kenji’s father and everything related to him is very suspicious. And the fact that Kenji doesn’t know much about him doesn’t help it either.

So let’s theoretically assume that Kenji’s father is related to Mantah Corp. What do we know about Mantah Corp?

Mantah Corp is a bioengineering and genetic oriented company. They hired (more like black-mailed) Sammy to spy for them in JWCC because they wanted to aquire InGen’s research and technology. 

Now, some of you could ask: “Okay but if that’s the case then why Kenji’s father didn’t steal the genes/technology already? He has access to everything after all?”

That’s a great question and I have a very simple answer to that - money and power. I think that Big Kon has too much to lose. If it was discovered that either he or Kenji are spying he could lose everything he accomplished so far. If there’s one thing rich people love it’s using other people to do the dirty work (enter Sammy).

Now. Now for the final question:

How is it possible that Kenji has no idea?

The answer is, once again, simple - mermaids.

As I mentioned earlier Mantah Corp is a company that deals with  bioengineering and genetics. Just because they are not as sucessful as InGen doesn’t mean that they’ve never accomplished anymore. Or - should I say -  that they accomplished something that they’ve never showed to the public. 

I think, that in fact they probably accomplished a lot behind the closed doors. But you know who had access there? Innocent baby Kenji who didn’t even know what he was looking at.

(using e750 picture in a tank because I don’t own a mermaid in a tank therefore I can’t offer a realistic picture)

What would a child think if they saw weird creatures trapped in tanks? What would he think if he saw creatures that didn’t look very human-like, yet that were alive and perhaps even showed some form of intelligence? 

The kid would assume that it’s a mermaid. Or marmaids. That someone trapped. That need to be saved. (Kenji never indicates that he is afraid of the mermaids, if anything he wants to be their protector)

And if said child started talking, mentioning the mermaids, drawing them, what would the parent do? They would lock the doors and never let the kid inside ever again. They would try to protect the kid (or protect the business, with Kenji’s father it’s hard to tell).

One more thing.

I’ve seen some people say that the mermaid on Kenji’s drawing is actually his mother. I gotta be honest I’m not completely sold on this theory). But it doesn’t mean that the mermaid can’t be related to Kenji’s mother at all. Think about it. If Kenji’s father is so dedicated to work, maybe his mother was just the same. Maybe she worked at Mantah Corp’s labs and when Kenji asked “where is my mum?” his father (or a babysitter, my bet is on the babysitter) would tell him “she’s at the lab”. And what’s also in the lab? Mermaids. that’s how Kenji connected mermaids to his mother, who most likely died at some point.

Because he had little to none memories of her, he connected the mermaid with his mother. Yet the memory of a mermaid was still more vivid. It replaced the memory of his mother. That’s why he’s more focused on this creature than his mother (that he never mentioned).

My other theory is that his mother actually died even earlier, maybe in an accident that happened in the lab, or maybe she simply worked there and that’s the only thing Kenji remembers about her. Either way baby Kenji saw mermaids are part of his family. Because his parents spent most of their time with these creatures.

The third theory is that Kenji’s mother was against what Mantah Corp was doing with their research and experiements. She wanted to expose them and the people at Mantah Corp didn’t react too well. Being aware of that Kenji’s father promised himself to keep his kid away from that mess to protect him. That’s why he never allowed Kenji to come back to the lab. (seems gloomy and sad but not entierly impossible)

Conclusion:

Does The Mermaid Theory explain everything? Absolutely not. there are still many questions left. I feel like the theory would be more complete if we knew a little bit more about Kenji’s mother or more about Casa de Kenji.

Either way I thought this little theory was interesting enough to be shared with the community. 

If you’ve made it this far - thanks for reading. It would mean a lot if you passed it on, shared it, shared your opinions, shared your own theories. My brain is jwcc-wired so the more conversation this theory sparks, the better for me.

Once again, thanks for reading! I really hope that season 4 will explain a little bit more in terms of Mantah Corp and Kenji’s mermaids.

[djarrex]

Countermeasures || 3

Anomaly

Fives x ofc!reader

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Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 5.7k

chapter summary: Agreeing to help Fives proves to be both good and bad.

warnings: canon character death, a sprinkle of fluff (Fives can be soft but we all know he’s quite the opposite in the right contexts 😉), a dash of sexual tension, a dollop of groping, tons of inappropriate thoughts - lordy lord get some cold water splashed on them

note: I broke away from including Fives’ POV in this chapter. It may come back in the future, idk yet. This is the first real series I’ve written and I’m extremely grateful for the pals I’ve met on here who reblog and like my work <3 Tbh I’m having a ton of fun writing this because not only does it give me an excuse to watch the conspiracy arc a bunch of times for the details but I also get to write about Renna and Fives and I love them both and I just want them to fuck already.

***

This was crazy. How did you of all people end up in a situation such as this.

By “this”, you were referring to the strong embrace you were trapped in - the ARC trooper you’re shamefully crushing on being the captor.

No, you definitely were not complaining. 

After agreeing to help him, Fives you pulled into his body, his strong arms finding their way around your back holding you steady. Large palms nearly covered the expanse of your back, the heat from his skin burning holes right through your outer layers and into your flesh. Your face was practically smushed into his broad chest, your arms dangling awkwardly at your sides. The weight of Fives’ chin was pressing into your scalp. So many thoughts were swimming in your head as Fives held you as tight as he could without hurting you. 

He was... hugging you. To be completely honest, you thought the two of you would fuck - or at least do something along those lines - before he hugged you. It was the energy he possessed that led you to that conclusion, but you were proven wrong. 

You didn’t fight it - you knew how much it meant to him. These clones - these soldiers - were covered in plastoid from head to toe all day every day throughout their unfortunately short lives, and you figured they must be at least somewhat touch-starved. The way Fives held you was different than you thought he was capable of. You weren’t naïve; you knew the clones took off their armor at certain points, and hey, you knew that they even would have sex in their short spurts of time off. You read reports on clones who had contracted STD’s from their adventurous endeavors and were sent here to be treated. Even though they were created in a lab for the sole purpose of fighting in this ridiculous war, they were still men.

You wanted to keep up some at least some semblance of professionalism - to not touch Fives back, because quite honestly your body wanted more - but your heart started aching, and your body acted against your brain as your arms returned the embrace. 

Fives was thick. The clones as a whole aren’t huge men; they aren’t fed nearly enough - that much you knew - and are relatively slim with a very low percentage of body fat compared to all the muscle they were designed to have. They’re not that much taller than you, either. However, you’ve never held a clone before. Fives’ back was like a bag of ropes; hard, thick, and you felt every single muscle so beautifully poking out of his skin even through the tunic. You allowed your hands to splay out over his back - to really feel him. You were completely lost in this moment, but you heard it - barely noticeable, but you heard it - Fives inhaled quietly through his nose, taking in your hair’s scent. You knew deep down that he didn’t mean for you to notice him smelling your hair, so you didn’t mention it. Butterflies flapped around in your stomach - then the butterflies quickly floated away and that feeling was exchanged with pure lust; the fire in your belly burning hot with desire. 

You don’t know how long you held each other, but you needed to break away from him and get back to the matters at hand. You agreed to help him, and that’s what you’ll do. Maybe he’ll be so thankful for your help he’ll “hug” you again later.

“You do you have a plan, right, mister ARC trooper?” Breaking away from his embrace, you tried to shake your mind clear of any thoughts that didn’t include Tup.

“Of course I have a plan!” Fives’ tone suggested he was attempting to play off what had just happened, and it was cute. He walked over to the darkened window and kept his back turned to you. Perhaps he was trying to clear his thoughts as well. You wouldn’t know, but Fives was barely breathing in through his nose so that your scent lingered in his nostrils for as long as possible.

“Care to share?” You called to him, and Fives paused for a few moments before responding.

“Are you able to access all the equipment without the supervision of the long-necks?” He finally turned around, his brows raised. You blinked at him, just a little dumbfounded and slightly offended.

“Yes, Fives. Maker, I know how to work the kriffing equipment. I don’t need a babysitter.” You rolled your eyes then squinted them at him, crossing your arms to your chest with a huff.

“That’s not what I meant,” Fives chuckled as he approached you once again and placed a hand on your shoulder. “I meant, are you going to get in trouble if you’re working alone in there?” His gaze bore into you, making you feel slightly uneasy. Yeah, you knew how to work everything, of course. But this was all new territory for you; working - unauthorized – on a patient who wasn’t yours, performing an atomic brain scan unsupervised, breaking protocol…

“I- I’m not actually sure. I’ve never been explicitly told to not touch anything without them being there? I think it will be okay. It’s just that- that Dr. Nala Se said no to the scan. I don’t think she’ll like that I went behind her back and did it anyway. Although… I want to try everything in my power to save your friend.”

“Right. Then let’s get to it.”

“I’m sorry - let’s? You’re coming too? That doesn’t seem like a good-”

“It’ll be fine,” Fives quickly interjected. His confident tone faded with the next part: “Please. I want to be there - be there for Tup.” There they were again, those puppy dog eyes that get you every time. You doubt Fives even knows he’s doing it, but he had to catch on by now because you basically have never said no to him in the few short days you’ve known him. Your attraction to him made you break over and over again; this time was no different.

“Okay, fine. But you need to stay hidden.”

“I’m ‘Mr. ARC Trooper’, remember? I’ve been trained in the arts of being sneaky.” Wiggling his fingers and brows at you with a cheeky grin, you laughed and punched him in the shoulder. His grin only grew.

“Yeah whatever. Just follow me.”

You were the first to exit Fives’ room, peeking your head just outside the door to get a feel of the surrounding area. No guards in sight at the moment, so now was the perfect time to go.

“Quickly,” you stepped outside the room, motioning with your hand for Fives to follow. It didn’t take long to get next door, of course.

You pressed the controls on the panel and the door whisked opened; you shooed Fives in first. As soon as he entered, two guards came around the corner. You obviously didn’t want to look like you were doing something you weren’t supposed to, so you put on your best smile and nodded to the oncoming troopers. They nodded back and turned at the next corridor that led away from Tup’s room.

You stood there for a moment, just outside the room - thinking. You were obviously crazy, no doubt about that. You were breaking protocol, and basically risking your internship and everything you had worked for up to this point for Fives (and Tup). It was the right thing to do, right? Your insane crush on the ARC trooper aside, you were going through with all of this because it was the right thing to do. It definitely wasn’t right that the Kaminoans wanted to kill Tup off without entertaining more options and trying other procedures. It all seemed very… weird. As doctors, wouldn’t they want to try every possible way to find a solution without skipping over it all and just killing him? Although, why waste more time and resources when the “obvious” solution was to terminate him and find the answers through an autopsy? Maybe you should give it more time – Shaak Ti could be back soon with the Jedi Council’s backing. Maybe it wasn’t too late to back out – to turn around and coax Fives back into his room before you were both caught.

The moment was over when Fives’ hand reached out to grab your wrist, unceremoniously pulling you into the room. You nearly tripped as he yanked you inside, a murmured “hey!” subconsciously rolled off your tongue at the rough pull.

“Sorry, Renna.” He shut the door behind you, giving you an apologetic smile. “Did- did I hurt you? Sometimes I forget my own strength... I’m not used to manhandling pretty and delicate things.” Okay, let’s push that comment aside and table it for later on when you’re alone in your quarters.

Fives reached out to examine your wrist but you flapped your hands at him, “Really, I’m okay. Seriously.” You weren’t lying - it didn’t hurt. If you told him the absolute truth, you would tell him how you wished he’d manhandle you in other ways.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

Knowing how quickly you had to work for this entire plan to play out smoothly, you immediately made your way over to the controls and started tapping away. You turned your head to check on Fives – to see how he was planning on participating – and he was just frozen in place standing over Tup’s cot. Tup was still unconscious; his chest rising and falling rapidly in his comatose, shut eyelids flickering back and forth.

“Fives, push him over there.” You pointed at the scanner on the other side of the room with your back still turned as you tapped away at the screens, prepping the equipment. With one last tap of the screen, the scanner descended from the ceiling and Fives pushed Tup’s cot into it.

Tup’s chest rose and fell at an alarming rate, compelling you to consider - again - about turning back and aborting this plan altogether.

Fives came around the other side of the scanner where you watched the infrared picture of Tup’s brain from display screen, snapping you out of the thought.

“The scan’s almost complete.”

Fives moved in front of you and leaned closer to the screen, you shuffled to the side to give him to space. Your eyes unglued from the screen for just a moment to watch Fives; he was desperate. The look in his eyes told you that much, and his stance wasn’t as strong and sure as it always seemed to default to.

Your focus made way back to the screen. “Everything… appears to be normal.” Just as you said that the screen starting beeping; a red dot was blinking, pinpointing an anomaly in Tup’s brain.

“W- wait a second.” You softly pushed Fives out of the way and read the results displayed on the screen.

“What? What is it, Ren?” Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his little nickname for you, but there were more important things currently at hand. You can freak out about the way he says your name like that later.

“It looks like Tup has developed a tumor.” Your fingers started tapping away yet again. You’ve never seen a tumor in clones before. To be fair, you had never worked with clones like this before, but you’ve seen more than enough of their files to know that a tumor wasn’t exactly something that could just appear in a clone.

“A tumor? Is that even possible?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this in clones. Not in any of the files.” You ceased tapping, turning around to face Fives. His hand raked through his hair, a pure look of confusion and worry on his face.

“Then… what is it?”

“I honestly don’t know. I’ll need to do a biopsy to be sure.” With a nod, you offered a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay, Fives. We’ll get this straightened out, and you and Tup will be off this stormy planet and back to your brothers in no time.” You weren’t sure you even believed your words.

“You’re gonna take it out of him?” Before you could answer, Fives whacked the tools all over the ground with one graceless hand movement. Your eyes widened as he bent down to grab at the mess. “Do you, uh, think anyone heard that?”

You raised your brow at him, and with a sarcastic tone, “The probability is high, yes.” You sighed. “You need to hide.”

Smacking his hands away as he continued to pick up the mess, you hissed, “Fives, hide.”

“I think it came from this room.” You both shot up; you ran over and pushed Tup out of the tube and started to power it down at the controls as Fives took cover under Tup’s floating cot. Interesting that an ARC Trooper chose that as a hiding place.

The door whisked opened. Nala Se stood at the entrance, looking around. Her bug-eyes landed right on you, then glanced over to Tup.

“Hello, Doctor.” Your tone was astonishingly calm despite the absolute terror currently running through your system.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She entered through the threshold and made her way over to Tup, assessing his condition with a scowl.

“I was only trying to save the patient,” You informed her, keeping your tone calm and professional. You were ignored, however. Apparently, Fives was not so great at cleaning up his messes, because one leftover syringe sat on the ground right below the Kaminoan’s heels. She reached down to grab it, and your heart started racing. You blurted out, “Doctor, I found something unusual in the scan. It appears to be a tumor… I think you should take a look-”

“You performed a second scan without my authorization?” Nala Se stood upright; the forgotten syringe grasped in her three slender fingers. How did she not see Fives down there? Uh oh… where did he go?

Your heart rate slowed. “Apologies, Doctor. I was only trying to-”

“Perhaps I made the mistake in assuming you’d be ready to work with the clones.” Nala Se turned around to shut off the remaining equipment; machines began powering off as they whirled back in place and Tup’s cot moved back to where it was before you started. One of the larger machines floated away, leaving Fives completely exposed. Ah, so that’s where he went. Your eyes widened as you looked between Fives’ shocked expression and Nala Se, who was still turned around and tapping at the controls. As much as you dreaded pressing further on, you needed to buy Fives enough time to make an escape back to his own room.

“But- but the tumor, Doctor. It seems to be blocking neuro-impulses from communicating with the brain. I think we should scan the rest of the clones to see if this is a problem with their base genetic model or a mutation with the current models.” The machines were all now back in place; you scanned the room with your eyes, hoping to not catch a glimpse of Fives.

“There is no tumor. Your scan is incorrect.” Nala Se departed the control panel, ambling over to the other side of the room. You really hope Fives had fled by now. Might as well keep on pressing, though. It did interest you that the Kaminoan doctor was so avidly trying to disregard what you were saying about a tumor. That was a thread you figured you should follow.

“But-”

“This clone clearly has a virus that remains undetected, but I will find the cause once he’s terminated.” You followed Nala Se until she reached Tup’s cot, her back turned to the exit. “Now leave. I’ll figure out what to do with you later.”

“Yes, Doctor.” You turned on your heels and walked out the already open door. You turned your head to watch Nala Se; she was still standing over Tup, but you were unsure of what she was doing. Something really didn’t seem right with this. You nearly crashed into Fives in the hall as you departed Tup’s room.

“I can’t believe they’re going to kill Tup!” Fives shouted in disbelief after you both had made your way back into his room and shut the door. Fives shoved the empty cot to the other side of the room, clearly frustrated.

“I know. I’m sorry, Fives.” All you could offer was a sincere apology. It didn’t seem like a great idea at present to bring up how you thought the entire ordeal with Nala Se seemed fishy.

“We were not created to be disposed of this way!” He slammed his fists on the cot, an action that seemed to be fueled by rage, but his eyes told a different story.

“Just- just think of it this way… Tup is sacrificing himself so that other clones like him can survive. Isn’t that something you said he’d want?” You went to reach for him - to offer a gentle reassuring touch - but he backed away.

“There aren’t others like him!” His raised voice prompted you to take a few steps back. You weren’t scared of him, but you understood they he may need some space right now. Maybe it would be best if you retreated to your quarters and called it a day. After all, Nala Se basically sealed your fate by undoubtedly reassigning you to the archives. It probably wasn’t appropriate that you been seen in Fives’ room anymore. Your own selfishness kept you there, though.

“I’m sorry, Ren. I don’t mean to take this out on you, I just-” You allowed yourself to take a few steps towards him. “Tup doesn’t have to die - you found a tumor. I’m sure that’s the cause of all this. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“But… how can we proceed? Dr. Nala Se basically reassigned me to the archives. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be here with you anymore. I could get dismissed, sure, but I have no idea what would happen to you.”

“Do the biopsy. I’m sure what you find will prove Tup doesn’t have to die. Your findings would bump you up in the ‘ranks’ I’m sure, and they would have no reason to send you back to filing paperwork.” A beat. “As for me… I’ll be fine.” You both knew that was a lie. You’ve seen what the Kaminoans have done to “defective” clones. It’s all in the files. It’s inhumane. There was no way you’d let that happen to Fives.

“I’m not so sure…. Dr. Nala Se doesn’t believe-”

“We’re not going to Nala Se with whatever you find. We’ll go to General Shaak Ti. She helped me once as a cadet and I know she values the life of a clone.” Now that, that was the truth.

“Fives… I’d be disobeying direct orders.” At this point, you didn’t care what happened to you if you were to go through with this. Fives was who you were concerned with. Not because of a hopeless crush, but because of his status of patient and you sincerely cared about him.

“Yep, and for the second time today,” He jested. Not funny. You scoffed. “Ren…” There they are, yet again - the puppy dog eyes. Those, paired with how he said your name. You’d break for sure. “Will you help me? Please.”

***

“Hurry!” Fives was hunched over the control panel with you, basically micromanaging you even though he had no idea what it was you were doing.

“Fives, you’re going to have to not rush me. I’m not a droid. Give me a kriffing minute.” Your fingers tapped frantically at the screen, hitting button after button until -

“Intruder alert. Intruder alert. All nonessential personnel report to a safe room for lockdown.”

You stood up straight and grinned over at Fives, who looked a little shocked.

“What did you do?” The alert played over again on the intercom.

“I made it so that the security scanners picked up an intruder in section C-6. We need to hurry, though. I doubt it’ll take them long before they realize it’s a false alarm.”

“They taught you how to hack a security mainframe at the fancy medical academy you attended on Coruscant?”

You rolled your eyes at him, hands on your hips. “Is that really important right now?” Fives chuckled and shook his head. Grabbing his wrist, you stretched your head to look outside the door. “They have guards stationed just outside. How are we going to get over there?” You turned towards Fives, who was pulling away from you and looking up at the ceiling. You followed his gaze, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. “The vents?” You sounded a little shocked, but it really was the only safe way out of there. He tilted his head down to look at you, a smile on his face. You snorted.

“Here, I’ll climb up first and then pull you up.” Your looked over at the door again, making sure you weren’t about to get absolutely busted, and grabbed his dangling hands.

You shook your head with a smirk. “You know, I’m starting to wish I had stayed in the archives,” you jested, as Fives hoisted you up and into the vent with him.

You never realized just how creepy it was up in these vents. To be fair, there wasn’t one moment that you would’ve pictured yourself crawling through them, but here you were. It was dark, every movement you made echoed, and it was freezing cold. You – for some reason – were leading the way, crawling through the cold durasteel tunnel. Fives was silent; he wasn’t making any comments, not cracking any jokes, not even expressing his concern for Tup. It dawned on you: he was totally checking out your ass. You had shed your long lab coat before he pulled you up, knowing that it would be harder to crawl with it tugging under your knees. Fives hadn’t yet seen you without it on… and you knew how good your ass looked in the leggings you wore. With a slight chuckle to yourself, you stopped crawling for a moment and looked over your shoulder to glance at him to the best of your ability.

“Fives, are you staring at my ass?” You tried to not let your giddiness get in the way of your accusatory whispering, but you found yourself muffling laughter. He didn’t reply right away – probably trying to think up a comeback or a way to wiggle himself out of the subject.

“Fuck yeah I am,” he murmured back, sounding as cocky as ever. You bit your lip and shook your head, resuming the crawl towards the oncoming exit vent. “I don’t exactly have anything else to look at from back here, you know. I got quite a nice view, so, no complaints.” Your face heated up at his smug comment, resisting the urge to shake your ass for him – to really give him a good view. Now was not the time.

You crawled past the vent so Fives could hop down first; he plopped onto the floor, graceful and stealthy as ever, before standing directly under the vent with his arms held out.

“Common, I’ll catch you.” It really wasn’t a long way down; you’d land just fine, though probably not as gracefully as he did.

“Uh, okay…” You lowered your legs out from the ceiling, keeping your grip on the cool metal for a moment while you steadied yourself. “Fives, I think I got it. I can just hop down like th-” Your grip from the ceiling slipped, sending you down and nearly hitting the floor in the worst way possible, when strong arms found their way under your ass and back.

Fives just saved you from breaking a bone or two, and all you could do was blink up at him as his hand slightly squeezed the plushy part of your ass, the other hand gripped tightly on your waist. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t notice the way he was savoring holding you like that, but you did. And you liked it.

“Nice to look at and feels nice, too.” Fives grinned at you before setting you down on your feet. He definitely shouldn’t be talking about how your ass looks and feels right now with his friend lying nearly dead on the cot barely an arm’s length away - but, is he was open to making comments such as those during these unsure times, you’d reciprocate. A boost of confidence surged through you.

“Glad you like it, trooper. Maybe some time you can see and feel it without these in the way,” you pulled at your leggings, looking him straight in the eyes with a smirk. Seeing Fives’ expression was well worth making the comment.

“Don’t say things you can’t follow up on, Renna.” His shocked expression quickly flipped to dark, catching you completely off guard and making you gulp. Your entire body felt as if it was on fire as tiny fireworks danced in your gut. There was absolutely no way you’d be able to follow up on your innuendo-filled comment unless you found each other in another life under different circumstances. You needed to shake it out of your system.

Firing up the laser drill, you looked over at Fives and studied his worried expression. He looked so soft, so concerned – it tugged at your heart harder than you cared to admit. His focus remained on Tup until the sound of the drill made him look up.

Your hands were slightly shaking. You felt it, but it didn’t appear to be noticeable. You had never performed a biopsy on a real, living, breathing lifeform before. Everything you had done during your schooling was on the deceased or on medical dummies. You were nervous, but this wasn’t about you. You finally had the chance to save a life. You needed to pull it together.

“Renna, are you okay?” Fives’ voice nearly came out as a whisper. You looked up at his eyes; he was studying you, deeply.  

You took a deep breath and nodded with a slow exhale. You turned your attention back to the drill, grabbing Tup’s head and positioning it to where you needed.

“You might want to look away at this part.”

***

You did it. A successful biopsy. Feeling a bead of sweat threatening to fall from your hairline, you wiped it away with your arm and looked up at Fives who still had his eyes squeezed shut.

“Is it done?” The absent sound of the drill encouraged him to open his eyes. You held up the tumor, encased in a transparent casing. You handed it to Fives; he studied it closely, bringing it up to his face with a sigh. The moment was over when the door whisked open.

“What have you done?” Dr. Nala Se came into the room; Fives didn’t appear frightened, but you sure as fuck were.

“We saved my friend’s life.” Fives whipped around to face the “long-neck” - as he calls them - holding up the tumor in an accusing manner towards her, “This tumor is the cause of his illness.” She reached out and tried to grab the encased organic matter, but Fives maintained a hard grip as they fought for it.

“Give me that!” Nala Se looked angrier than you had ever seen her. You ran up to them, trying to stop something before it started.

“You can’t be trusted.” Fives reached down to Tup’s cot with his free hand, grabbing a mysterious syringe, and held it up in a threatening manner. You reached your hands up to stop him, but Shaak Ti’s sudden arrival did the job for you.

“Stand down, trooper.” She stood at the doorway with her hand outstretched. Jedi didn’t need to hold a weapon; you knew what they could do with just one outstretched hand in the blink of an eye. You’ve never seen it in action, but you’ve heard stories.

Fives dropped the hand holding the syringe but kept hold of the tumor with his other. “I have evidence. It’s right here!” He sounded desperate. This looked way too bad. You were caught right in the middle of it all, too.

“I’m free…” A weak voice croaked from the cot, making all the heads in the room turn in the same direction. Tup. Fives let go of the tumor and whipped his body around to face his friend, crouching down next to Tup and leaned in close.

“Tup?”

“The mission… free.”

“What is he saying?” Shaak Ti entered through the threshold, a few guards flowing in from behind her with their blasters aimed at Fives.

“Brother, what mission?” It was apparent that Fives was trying to understand what was coming from Tup’s mouth, and could not care less that his own kind were holding weapons to him. It had been the first time anyone had heard Tup speak words that didn’t sound like “kill” and “Jedi” since his arrival.  

“You… you know the one. The- the mission, the one in our dreams…” Fives’ wide eyes scanned over his friend, searching for a clue, for anything. “…that never ends.”

You were frozen in your spot, taking in Tup’s bewildering words. You watched Fives’ expression as he frantically tried to decipher what Tup was murmuring. You glanced up from them, seeing the guards' buckets turn to look back and forth at each other. The mission - the one from their dreams?

“Oh, brother…” Tup’s hand lifted to the best of its ability; Fives grabbed it with his own and squeezed. This moment was so raw, so emotional, so real. You never would have thought…

“This is the end. Forget the mission.” Tup was fading away. You could hear it in his voice, and you knew that Fives knew what was coming. It looked as though Fives was holding back tears – trying to keep his composure. “Oh, the nightmare. I’m… free.” With that, Tup was gone.

You scanned the room. Shaak Ti bowed her head, hand over her heart. The other clones lowered their weapons down to their sides, heads bowing. Nala Se, however, remined the same. Her expression never changed. Heartless Kaminoans.

Fives was shaking his friend’s body, begging him to come back. “I thought I saved him…” You didn’t know what to do now. Tup was gone, and it was your fault. He was alive until you removed the tumor. Fives was in pain – mourning for his brother because of you. You took a few steps back, and leaned against the counter, your fingers combing through your scalp. Not only did you disobey direct orders twice today, but you also killed the very first lifeform you did a biopsy on, and to top that off, the patient you killed was important - a brother - to someone you deeply cared about.

***

Fives was placed under arrest just shorty after. Tup’s body wasn’t even cold yet.

You stood there in silence; Fives locked eyes with yours as he was almost forcefully escorted out of the room by the surrounding guards. It was clear that both of you were trying to communicate with the other using only your eyes, but no distinct message was coming across. You wanted to tell him you were so sorry for everything, and that you’d miss him, that you’d never forget him and Tup, and that meeting him changed your view of the clones entirely. But, there were no final goodbyes, no condolences given. Fives would be taken away, and you would be dismissed. You’ll miss Fives with all your heart, but you won’t miss Kamino.

General Shaak Ti followed behind the guards, leaving you in the macabre room with Dr. Nala Se and Tup’s lifeless body. It was silent for a moment before Nala Se looked over to you, shaking her head in disbelief. You were in big trouble.

“Miss Renna,” the long-neck approached slowly, closing the gap between where you were hunched forward over the counter resting on your elbows and where she was covering Tup’s body with a sheet. “I can not condone this type of behavior from an intern. I have no choice but to reassign you to your previous duties in the archives indefinitely.” You were not at all surprised. You nodded slowly, still not looking up at her. You felt numb. Only three days into real field experience, and you fucked up royally. You didn’t need to help Fives, resulting you in ending up in whatever this is. It was interesting that you weren’t dismissed like you’d assume you would be – just reassigned. The thing with Dr. Nala Se acting weird when Tup’s tumor came into play still was on the front of your mind; perhaps you would be able to look into these matters during your long, boring hours in the archives.

Finally looking up at Nala Se, “What… what is going to happen to my patient?” The words nearly came out choked as you tried to hide your worry for Fives. You needed to keep up the front – the professionality of it – so no suspicion would arise. She was scrolling through a datapad, clutching the tumor in her three fingers. The tumor. You tried to study it from afar - what it looked like, the coloring, how the cells neighbored inside it. It looked... dead. Depleted. You snapped your eyes away and over at the dead trooper, whose body was now completely covered by a thin sheet, when Nala Se spoke again.

“Do not worry about ARC-5555. It will be taken care of, so we can put this matter behind us. Just be thankful I didn’t dismiss you, Miss Renna. You are too valuable to replace with some other eager intern.”

Valuable? ‘It’? Taken care of?

“I am thankful, Doctor. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” You were motioned to exit the room; as you walked by Nala Se, you caught one last glance at the tumor, attempting to burn the image of it in your brain and commit it to memory. There was something about the tumor – something that prompted strange behavior from the Kaminoans – and you needed to figure out what that something was.

***

tags: @bvcketfvcker​ @deewithani​ @chromia7567 ​ @cyaniderainfall

[drawlfoy]

Mirror, Mirror Finale P.2

masterlist  request guidelines

pairing: draco x ravenclaw reader

request: yes very highly requested lol

summary: despite never speaking before, y/n has a big crush on draco malfoy, a particularly broody and obnoxious slytherin. what will happen when they finally have to start associating? and what if they run into a certain mirror that shows you what you truly desire?

warnings: cursing!

a/n: so ik i said this was gonna be out later this week but i love you guys too much! here it is...the final part of mirror, mirror! it’s weird to finally finish a series like this but ohhhh boy here we are

taglist: @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @mey-rapp @kaibie @blackpinkdolan @the-wiener-soldierrrrr @sugarbby99 @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop

word count: 2.1k

“About time you got off your arse.”

“Hello to you too, Rena,” Y/N sighed as she dropped her satchel on her bed. Her roommate watched, bemused, as she began to unpack her things. 

“How are you?” she asked, her voice noticeably softer. “I really missed you. We were all worried sick, you know.”

Y/N snorted, tossing her wrinkled robes on the bed and making a mental note to spell them neat later. “I do know. Madame Pomfrey was going to kill me for how many times she had to tell you to leave me and let me rest.” 

Rena’s eyes sparkled.

“I’m fine, thank you,” said Y/N. “I missed you too.”

The two sat in silence for a bit as the cold afternoon breeze wafted into their room, carrying the smell of fresh snow in. 

“So, anything exciting happen? Did anyone tell you anything….interesting?”

“No.” Y/N was about to turn back to her work before she caught the mischievous expression on Rena’s face. “What? Why?”

“Nothing,” she sang. “I’m just wondering. I have to catch up with my best friend, you know. It’s been forever.”

“It’s been the whole of four days.”

“It’s been forever,” she restated, jumping up and spinning Y/N around (who couldn’t help but allow a slow grin to spread across her face). 

“I was going crazy in there.” Y/N’s voice was considerably more serious. “I never told you, but--” she chose to ignore the look of anticipation written all over Rena’s face, “--Malfoy talked to me. And he was so nice to me, it was we--”

“That COWARD!” 

The outburst started Y/N, who dropped her things on the floor in shock. “I’m sorry? Rena, what happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Rena, her tone dutiful and mournful. “It’s not my place. Anyways, what did that loser do?”

“Er,” began Y/N, “I don’t know how much of it was real or if it was because I was on pain potion, but he and I--I don’t know, flirted? There was a lot of banter, and before he knew it he pulled me off the ground--”

“You were on the ground?”

“--he pulled me off the ground and picked the gravel out of my palms.” Y/N swallowed as she recounted the instance. She’d never seen him look so soft before. “He said he had something he wanted to tell me, and his voice got all strange.”

“And then?” 

“And then Madame Pomfrey came to yell at me and basically--oh god, Rena, she basically told him that I dreamt of him!”

Rena snorted with laughter. “Shit, dude. I don’t think you should worry, though. You’d think any bloke with half a brain would’ve figured out that you were obsessed with him by now.”

“Shut up.” Y/N’s face was hot. “Anyways, I haven’t seen him since. I’d prefer if we could stop talking about this.”

“Sure, sure.” She took in a breath. “Wait, what about rounds? Don’t you still have to see him?”

“No. Flitwick told me I’m off. At least until next month.” If she sped through the thought, it didn’t hurt as much.

“Ending of a chapter, huh? How are you feeling about that?”

Y/N sighed. “Honestly, Rena, I love you, you know I do, but I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Okay? It’s over.”

If her words carried any deeper meaning to Rena, she didn’t show it. “Lighten up, girly. Maybe it’s not.”

“All I’ve done is make a fool of myself,” lamented Y/N, throwing her empty satchel in the closet and collapsing onto her bed. “I’m just going to go back to what everything was before. This hasn’t changed anything. Now, Rena, I have a Potions exam to study for.”

“Whatever floats your boat.”

~

Her interactions with Draco were few and far between in the following weeks. Sometimes she caught a few glimpses of a pale blonde head of hair as she walked down the halls to her classes, but nothing concrete, nothing even close to the amount of interaction they had while she was still bound to her rounds. 

It was certainly a punch in the gut--after all, she did spend a good portion of her academic career thirsting over him--but the sensible part of her knew that this was for the better. Her schoolwork became her top priority again, just like it had been the years before she was assigned to be his partner.

So, given this pattern of communication, it was fair to say that Y/N was completely and utterly flabbergasted when she saw Draco waiting by the entry of her common room at 11pm one night.

“Can I help you?” she asked as she shifted the books in her satchel to be secured over her shoulder.

“Yes, actually,” he said smoothly, not tripping over his words in the slightest. “I have rounds tonight.”

“I’m aware.” She hoped that he couldn’t hear her heart pounding the way that it was.

“And I’m out of Wide-eye potion.” 

“That really sucks,” Y/N said as she held up her hand on the door of the common room, uttering the riddle’s answer under her breath before she stepped in. 

“Wait!” His voice turned her around--it was pleading, almost desperate. “I have an exam tomorrow. No one in Slytherin has any. Snape would kick my arse for waking him up now. I know you have some left over since you never finished the rounds, and I--I understand if you don’t want to but it doesn’t have a very good shelf life anyways and I was hoping you’d...that you’d be alright with giving it to me.”

She paused, completely stunned. The most hopeful part of her wondered if he had made this up, but she squelched this with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of her. “Fine. Come with me, you must be freezing outside.” 

Y/N wasn’t wrong--the weather had taken a turn in the past few days to be bitterly cold--but it wasn’t like she’d object seeing him for any longer. She mentally cursed herself for being so weak-willed.

Draco looked pleasantly surprised at the suggestion and stepped into the common room with her, following her up until she reached the base of the stairs. “I’ll wait here.”

“If you’re comfortable,” she began, “I’d honestly prefer if you came with me. I don’t want to explain to anyone why I let you into our common room unsupervised.”

He looked like his mind was buffering the information for a second, standing with a glazed look in his eyes before he sucked in a breath and became the picture of confidence once again. “Want me in your room that bad?”

Yes.

“You wish.”

He scoffed as they climbed the stairs, Y/N a few steps above him. She thought that if she maintained the space he wouldn’t see how hard she was shaking and wondered where Rena was. Studying with Hermione like she told her she was? She hoped.

Y/N stopped in front of her door at the very end of the hall, decorated with a banner that had their names displayed in glittering bronze letters that moved in the light. “Ok. You can come in with me if you want--it might be a couple minutes since I don’t quite remember where it is.”

He looked amused with himself as she got out her wand and attempted to unlock her door with the specialized charm she and Rena had decided upon. Mortifyingly enough, her hand was too shaky to execute it.

“Hey, hey,” Draco tutted, holding his hand out. It enveloped hers and held her wand still as she muttered the incantation, unlocking the door and swinging it open. 

“Er...thanks,” she said. His hand was still over hers. 

Y/N broke the eye contact to dart through the door to a thankfully dark and empty room--if Rena had seen that, she never would’ve let her hear the end of that--and began rifling through her drawers as Draco shut the door and examined her room.

“You’re flustered,” he noted as she tipped over one of her candlesticks and just barely managed to catch it. “Is everything okay? Trouble in paradise, little Ravenclaw?”

“Like you care.” Y/N shut the desk drawer with an audible BANG. “And don’t call me that. Rowena Ravenclaw is rolling in her grave hearing you infantilize her good name like that.”

Draco laughed from his stance by her door--a sound that she hated to admit that she really missed. “I take back what I said. You certainly sound like yourself.”

Y/N’s fingers finally closed around the last bottle of Wide-Eye, which was quickly tossed to Draco. “Happy now?”

He sent her a strangely weak smile as he slipped the vial into his pocket, no doubt silk lined and expensive. “Sure. So this is goodbye? Actually?”

“I think...I think so.” 

Y/N had moved closer to him so only about a foot stood between them, a distance that felt like a mile from where she stood. 

This is goodbye.

Draco was making a motion to turn around and open the door when Y/N experienced the most severe lapse of judgement in the entirety of her 17 years.

She sprung forward, her fingers curling around the satiny soft fabric of his tie and pulling. Her motion was rough enough that he jolted forward, his eyes wide with surprise as Y/N closed in and pressed her lips to his in a very chaste and ungraceful movement. 

The split second that it took for her to realize the consequences of her actions was enough for her to let go completely and jump away, apologies readily falling out of her mouth in disjointed and clumsy collections. 

“I’m so sorry...Oh my god...I have no idea what got into me...Draco, I--”

Before she could finish, his hands were already cupping her face, his frame bent down the slightest so he could be more level with her. And he was--oh--he was kissing her, actually properly this time, without the tense closed-offness of her first attempt.

When Y/N imagined what it was like to kiss Draco Malfoy, she didn’t imagine him to be so soft. Or warm. Or gentle, or pliant, or whatever other good things he was to her as he snaked her arms around her and held her tight to him.

His kisses turned feverish, almost desperate as he turned her so she was pressed up between him and the wall. Everywhere his hands touched felt charged with electricity and energy, and as his hands traveled up and down her spine she decided that this must be what it’s like to die of happiness. 

“Draco,” she managed in between kisses, pulling away for air for just a moment and sliding back down so her feet touched the floor again. “Can we talk? About this?”

“Thanks,” he responded, his eyes glittering with endearment. “I almost forgot you were a Ravenclaw.”

“Shut up.” 

He grinned but made no effort to step away from her, instead choosing to drag his fingers up and down the side of her exposed neck. “What’s there to talk about? I like you, you like me, there’s nothing we need to do to complicate this further.”

“You...you what?”

“Yes, genius, what else did you think I was planning on telling you that day in the courtyard,” Draco said. “I’ve been avoiding you because I thought you were over me. That was horribly embarrassing, you know. Had to nurse my ego for weeks before I could garner up the courage to speak to you again.” He stopped to gently press the pad of his thumb into the little dimple she had in her left cheek, smiling uncontrollably as he moved his hand back to cup her face.

“How was I supposed to know that?” argued Y/N. 

“Isn’t this supposed to be the smart house?” he teased. 

She slapped his shoulder. “Don’t make me decide I don’t like you anymore.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you like me?”

“I’m going to scream.”

“Just from kissing me? Wow, I must be good.”

“I mean it!”

“So do I!”

Y/N gazed up at the boy in front of her for a few beats, admiring how the moonlight bounced off the silvery strands of his hair and how his smile reached every corner of his face. 

“I take back what I said,” she told him.

“Oh, and what is that?”

“This isn’t goodbye.”

He smiled again, leaning in close so his lips barely brushed her ear. “No. No, it isn’t.”

[arthurtristankingsmen]

Day 10: Mistake

“Arthur.”

“I know.” He lamented, tears in his eyes.

“She was in the room, alone. Unsupervised.”

“I know.” Arthur hiccupped, looking away from Lewis as he jammed another spoon of ice cream into his mouth. 

“So why on earth did you trust Cayenne didn’t mess with your drink?” Lewis’s face was the epitome of incredulous, even with that bemused smile, and his arms tightened, nigh imperceptible except to his Lewis trained eyes. He was holding back laughing at him, which was one kindness he could offer in his time of torment.

“It was a mistake.” He whined, and Lewis had to cover his mouth to keep a laugh down. “I didn’t think she would be alone long enough to do the thing.” 

“Arthur...” Now Lewis did laugh, but he kept it to a chuckle, and even managed a sympathetic smile when Arthur sniffled and looked at him, cheeks pouched out with vanilla bean. “Cayenne is an adorable agent of chaos. Even ten seconds is too long. Trust me, I babysit her and I know how fast she can move when she’s motivated.”

I didn’t think she had the time.” Arthur rubbed at his face. He flinched at first, remembering how it’d burned his eyes the first time he had, but now they smelled like Lewis’s lemon pomegranate soap, and were capsacin and lava free. 

Lewis made a further noise of concern, and crouched by him with a tissue he took from a box on the counter, blotting at Arthur’s cheeks with gentle dabs. The soft touch made them turn red from something other than his currently on fire tongue and he swallowed. Arthur nodded a small thank-you when Lewis placed it in his hand, glancing up at him with blurry vision and blowing his nose. 

“To be fair, I think cayenne always has peppers on her.” He offered. “So you couldn’t have realized. She keeps them in the holsters on her belt.”

Arthur snort-laughed, before making a noise of regret as his sinuses burned. “Eughg-- Of course. That sounds about right. She’s gotta-- bleh-- she’s gotta be prepared for any opportunity for milkshake spiking.” 

Lewis grinned even if concern kept it tempered. “Exactly. Or she just wants to eat them. They’re a great snack.”

“Your family is weird. And apparently immune to disintegration via fire-fruit that has no right to be called a fruit.” Arthur sniffled, and that got Lewis to laugh.

“Well, we are named the Peppers for a reason, aren’t we?” Lewis teased, and then started with another shorter laugh when his cheek was poked with the cold back of Arthur’s spoon. 

“Terrible.”

“Just for that, I’m taking my ice cream back.”

Arthur bowed forward, hugging the carton to his chest. “Noooo forgive me. I’ll perish if you do that. It’s the only thing keeping my firey death at bay.” He spoke in the most dramatic, pained voice, and his head tilted up so his teary eyes could critical hit Lewis right in his kokoro. Lewis laughed and held up his hand in defeat. 

“Fine, fine. You can have it. But you owe me more ice cream later.”

“I’ll get you the triple chocolate brownie chunk.” Arthur made a little cross over his chest, and grinned when Lewis’s eyes lit up.

“Deal.” Lewis beamed. “Did you learn anything from this, at least?”

Arthur nodded like he had a solemn piece of news to impart. “When leaving a room with a milkshake and a Cayenne in it, take at least one of those things with me, to ensure the safety of me and my digestive tract.”

Lewis cracked again, and his grin was worth it. “You know what? That sounds close enough to a wise decision.” 

“Smart-adjacent?”

“Exactly. At least it’d work. So I think that counts as a good idea.”

“Aw fuuuu-” Arthur seemed to remember where he was, sitting in Lewis’s house with potential Smaller Beings That Should Avoid Cursing Regularly abound, and continued to drag out the word. “-uuuuuuuuhhhhheck yeah-!”

“Smooth--”

“--Shut up.” Arthur elbowed him playfully. “But hey. I think my singular brain cell deserves a gold star for coming up with one whole preventative measure like that.”

Lewis chuckled. “Alright. Same day you get me that triple chocolate ice cream, I’ll get you a star sticker or something as a thank you.”

Arthur tapped Lewis’s nose with his spoon, and laughed when Lewis did his best to let it stay hanging there. He was already feeling better. But that was what best friends were for.

“An acceptable tribute to my genius. You’ve got yourself a deal, big guy.”