#robot needs a theory tag

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Sorry for the slight delay! I was hit with a big case of “this chapter is very important so it has to be perfect” and “I have a crush on someone and it’s rendering me incapable of human function." Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Love From The Other Side by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 26.4k (for context that is longer than the first 4 chapters combined. Someone needs to restrain me)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You have work to do, and Ben keeps to his word. Usual warnings, with emphasis on assault. No rape, but one non-con kiss. Make the best call for yourself.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

You’d been right. Word of mouth spread fast, and Sage knew about your speech. Homelander as well, but he’d reacted about as you’d hoped to anticipate. Proud, smug, certain beyond a doubt that you had been speaking of him. 

Sage knew better. She knew what you’d really meant—who you’d really been speaking of—and the only thing that saved was that she couldn’t do anything about it. 

Because word of mouth spreads fast. 

But the internet spreads faster. 

Everyone has an opinion on what, in a brilliant twist of journalism, was being called Believe-gate. Everyone has seen the photo of your fearful expression when the “CIA terror attack” on good, christian America had begun and Homelander had shot off the stage. Fear for your lover, gone to fight for what’s right. Or, if the photo was of your fear expression when your extraction operation had begun and Homelander had gone to kill your team. 

It all depends on who you ask. 

If you ask Homelander’s supporters, or Homelander himself, you’ll hear the narrative you’ve been forced to memorize and parrot almost every day. Your fear was for Homelander, whom you loved. The attack by the CIA on a group of innocent civilians was a tragedy both in the losses of A-Train and Ezekiel, and as the American people had to learn they couldn’t trust their government. They could only trust their heroes, trust Homelander, to keep them safe. 

If you ask the Starlighters, or read the CIA’s official statement on the matter, the alleged “attack” had been an extraction operation for the Anomaly that had gone sideways. Employees of Vought had interfered with a government sanctioned mercenary team—lead by William Butcher and containing Soldier Boy but not in official association with Starlight—and collateral damage had been unavoidable. People should write their congressman to divert more money into funding Butcher’s team, and boycott Vought products until the Anomaly was freed. 

That’s closer to the truth, but reality is still far more absurd than either side seems to properly capture. Not absurd in the way the media seems to think, because gossip and rumors spread like the wildfire climbing steadily back under your skin. In meetings—as Sage goes over damage control and shoots you cold, measured glares—you see post after post, headline after headline, and video after video of speculation. You’re honestly a little surprised it took this long for the ball to get rolling. You’d thought the aftermath of your interview was going to be the largest fallout—the biggest step and ultimate catalyst—but you’d been wrong. This was it. For some reason, the Believe Expo was what did it. People are trying to figure out what was really going on. Someone posits a theory on Reddit about you’re a robot or shapeshifting supe who stole the face and identity of a dead PhD student. NPR runs a story about the history of government and corporate propaganda, and CNN does a frame by frame breakdown of recording of your speech. A video essay about how you were Homelander’s girlfriend but had been tortured and brainwashed by the CIA to infiltrate Vought. Old footage of the Firecracker rally circulates as people dissect your every facial expression. One person accuses you of being obsessed with Homelander. Another says you’re just Stormfront with a new face. There’s a small online movement that’s pretty sure you’re actually Sage’s girlfriend and Homelander’s just bearding for you, and another that’s convinced you’re Robert Singer’s estranged love-child. One person sends an email accusing you of being Stan Edgar’s daughter. Several people accuse you of working for the Chinese, and several more of being a British Spy. At A-Train’s funeral, one stupidly brave man with a microphone had shouted a question of what’s your response to allegations you had an affair with William Butcher, and you’d almost laughed in his face. 

That might have been your favorite moment, because it made you snort and think of Ben’s sour expression. 

Butcher couldn’t fucking handle you, Sunshine. 

Benjamin, you can barely handle me yourself. 

I’m having a grand fucking hell of a time trying. Butcher would start whining like a bitch. 

You whine like a bitch. 

Brat. 

Cunt. 

That’s the part nobody has guessed. People have landed on pieces of the truth. You are a dead PhD holder—everyone always seems to forget you actually had the PhD—and you are infiltrating Vought, but not because anyone told you. If anything the biggest opposition you faced to your plan has been from your side. Not a day passes where just the phantom of Ben doesn’t tell you to come home. To wear blue and let him just come get you. 

And that’s the part people seem to be missing. It’s obvious to you, but you’re biased and have the full picture. The fear on your face at the Believe Expo was for Ben. For the split second you’d thought you might lose him. People couldn’t trust their heroes, but nobody needed to break you out. People should absolutely not demand Butcher be funded further. You did not want to return to find Butcher, Ben, and Frenchie jerking themselves off over a collection of military-grade weaponry. In all the millions of people stringing you up to search for the truth, the real you—if Vought is right or the CIA is right or if you’re playing them both—they all miss the only two things that really mattered to you.

Kill Homelander. Whatever it takes, however you have to twist and pull yourself apart, you will kill Homelander. 

Go home to Ben. Tell Ben you love him, then go wherever he goes. 

As the week starts to pass, the scandal doesn’t turn into just another story. It only grows. Sage puts you back on tower lockdown, and most of the time it’s just you, The Deep, and Ashley on 99. You have to record videos and do livestreams and keep pretending you don’t want to lean over to Homelander in the dead of night and just kill him. Find a way to make yourself stronger than him and strangle his throat, or use all the fire you have in your control to reduce him to a shriveled husk that’s still in only half the pain you are. You smile all day—in the dim yellow lights of Homelander’s room and into flashing cameras at Sage’s orders—and at night you drag up the fire, miss Ben, and feel the cracks in you start to spread. 

You’re the most famous person in America. 

You want to go home. 

You have to go home. Before the cracks reach something fundamental and you just break. Without Ben to pick you up. 

Overall, you’d know getting the V was going to be a delay, but it’s not as large as you’d expected. The time added by finding V is being lost by how fast everything else is going. How it’s snowballing and rolling down the mountain with you even having to push it. Three weeks are added to your timeline just as two are lost, and you’ll be home soon. 

If everything goes well, you’ll be home soon. 

You’re keeping yourself whole. By threads and stitches and temporary bandaging, you haven’t completely lost yourself and fallen apart. But the cracks are coming faster, larger. Nightmares that you have to learn to hold down, because Homelander can’t see you break. You wake up paralyzed and cold, still haunted by images of Ben asleep, or gone, or having just left. He wouldn’t, you know he wouldn’t, but Homelander had still cornered you after the Believe Expo and told you that he had. 

He’d dropped you in the Seven’s meeting room, and pushed you into the wall by your throat. 

“You didn’t know,” he’d sneered into your face, and you’d had to shake your head weakly. 

“I didn’t, I swear-“

“Were they there to save you? Take you away again?” 

“I don’t know-“ 

“Tell me the truth!” He’d roared, spit flying in your face and coconut making you sick. “I’m so sick of everyone lying to me!” 

“I am,” you’d clawed at his gloved hand, the leather cold on your skin, choking on your words. “That’s the truth, please, I didn’t know-“ 

Homelander had laughed. “Doesn’t matter, they didn’t get you. Your precious little Soldier Boy ran.” 

That wasn’t true. You’d told Ben to go, he hadn’t run. He’d never run, not away from you. 

“They left you. Didn’t even try to keep you.” Homelander had tsked, shaking his head. “I’d stay.” 

You’d just nodded, unable to speak, and Homelander’s jaw had ticked. Hand tightening around your throat. 

“I said I’d stay. They left you, Soldier Boy left you, but I’d fucking stay. You’re a fucking manipulative bitch, who can’t make anyone like you, or anyone stay without tricking them. I’m the only one who sees through you, who doesn’t fall for your silly tricks, and that’s why I love you. You can’t fucking trick me, and I know you love me.” 

Your nods had grown frantic. “I know, please, I can’t-“ 

“I’d stay.” Homelander had hissed. “You love me and I stay.” 

“You’d stay. I love-“ 

The door opened. Your desperate, lying words had failed in your mouth because the door had opened and a group of people had walked in. Interns or cleaners or tech workers, just normal people. 

Homelander had lasered them down, their bodies falling to the floor with sickening crunches and wet sounds. He hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t even blinked. Just killed them and turned back to you with an annoyed expression. 

“People don’t even knock anymore.” He’d sighed. “I mean, it’s manners. None of these people were raised in a fucking barn, right?!” 

“I, I can’t,” you’d coughed slightly. “Breathe, can’t breathe-“ 

Homelander had rolled his eyes, glaring at you as he spoke. “Say you didn’t trick me.” 

“I didn’t trick you, I can’t-“ 

“And you love me.” 

“I love you-“ 

“Say Soldier Boy left you.” 

“He left, I can’t, please-“ 

He’d dropped you to the floor, scowling as you’d pulled yourself back up on shaking legs. “Good.” He looked you up and down one. “I can trust you.”

That had been what you’d been angling to hear for weeks. All of this had been playing the game until Homelander trusted you. It was even more vital now, if you wanted to find the V. But you’d only been able to stare at the bodies on the floor. Blood on your feet and splattered across your face, and it won’t come off. Not really. Never entirely. There’s guts spilled across the room, a brain visible through a hole in a skull, and mouths frozen in permanent screams that you’ll see for the rest of your life. 

That night your dreams had been haunted by red hands and cold skin, and when you called for Ben to find you, no sound had come out. You’d woken up paralyzed, and a pattern had begun. This became the new normal.

You’d had nightmares in the tower. But they’d been bearable, no worse than they’d been before. You’d woken up cold and curled into your own body, your breath and heart still steady enough to be silent to Homelander. 

Now they felt like death. They felt like a burning, white-hot sort of cold under your skin and in your blood, an inescapable hurricane that would devastate what little was left of your control. Nightmares of Ben vanishing in smoke, hearing him fall to the ground and not get back up. Nightmares of blood rivers that pull you away and under and down, until all you can see is red. All you can taste is metal and it freezes your tongue. Holds it still when you wake up with a high, ringing feedback in your ears, and holds you down when you try to rub off the lingering feeling of dread. The sense that this is eternal, and you only have yourself to blame. 

You chose this. In every nightmare you jump in the river, and if you don’t Ben falls in smoke that you can’t pull him out of. Every time you wake up you’re frozen, and every day you can’t breathe without tasting coconut and iron. Over and over until you think you’re going mad, because you look at your hands and they still have blood on them. You can’t see it, but you can feel it. It’s tying that cold you’ve felt from the start into the fire, pulling it up faster and faster as your skin starts to grow molten on your body. As the cold runs through your veins and heart and begins to leak into the world. 

At first, you don’t notice. You’ve felt this before, this feeling of every nerve in your body growing heavy as your blood grows cold and pushes out of you. You’d felt it with Tek Knight. Felt it when Homelander had pulled you into the sky during that fight outside, and when he’d grabbed your face after Noir II. Brief flashes of something like a glacier rushing in and over you, covering anything that dared touch you. But it had been temporary. Brief, polar flashes that were gone in a second. This was long. This was arctic, permanent, and you could barely control it. Nobody touched you, nobody ever touched you here, but it was still spreading like mold around you. People go rigid when they pass you, and start to look cornered and feral when they sit in a room with you for too long. They look trapped. They look how you feel. 

After one meeting, where a Vought “journalist” sat across from you and Homelander—asking you pre-written and approved questions about love and your future and it’s so cold—Sage holds you back. Homelander gives a clap of his hands and crude, white-toothed smile before vanishing with a jump and a sonic sound, but Sage holds you back. 

“Sit down,” she nods to the chair you’re only half risen from, and it’s not a request or suggestion. She’s telling you to sit, and you do. You’re not at an advantage right now, you’ve made too many risky moves that—while paying off—had shown too much. Shown you.

You sit, and wait. You won’t speak first, because you don’t know what game you’re playing and can’t afford to make the starting move. 

Sage frowns at you, tilting her head, but begins to speak. “I’ll admit I’m not sure what you told Soldier Boy that incited such an event, but it did allow me to understand you better.” 

“Understand me?” Your words are spoken through the constant cold. Too controlled, almost bored. “I don’t think there’s much to understand.” 

“There’s more than I usually face.” Sage looks you up and down, and sits across from you. Leaning forward. “It’s taken me longer, as well. There’s been one last piece of the puzzle I couldn’t quite find, and you handed it to me. I thought of you better than that.”

“I don’t think I am a puzzle.” You frown. “And I’d never think of myself better than anything-“ 

“Yes, I got that quite a while ago. Someone who values themself, values their life, doesn’t volunteer to stand in the front lines of an unwinnable war. Doesn’t forgive as easily as you do.” 

You shrug. “I believe that there are very few things that are truly unforgivable. I can only think of one.” 

“Rape?” 

You swallow, frost pushing up your throat, and Sage hums. 

“Unsurprising. That’s another puzzle piece that fits you well, and another reason your little performance will never really be sold.” 

You’re not shocked you haven’t fooled Sage, but it’s not her that you need to have a hold over. So you just watch her silently until she scoffs. 

“This is just us talking. Homelander won’t hear, I’m not looking to lose my first semi-worthy opponent to an easy to spot trap.” 

You still don’t speak, and Sage smiles. 

“Smart. Would proof help? How about,” she looks you up and down. “When we met in January, I was genuinely considering flipping to your side. Homelander is an emotional, pathetic imbecile who refuses to truly acknowledge that I am significantly more intelligent than he, and while I have no care for people,” her face twists slightly as she says the word, like it tastes sour on her tongue. “I did think I could face an equal challenge taking down a well-established international conglomerate as I was facing with the United States Government. But with a new, unexpected player I decided this could still be interesting.” Sage sits back, looking you up and down. “I showed you mine.” 

Sage wouldn’t call Homelander a pathetic imbecile if there was a chance he might hear—she’s still very capable of being lasered in half—but she could pull a tape and show select footage. So you just blink. 

“Fine.” Sage sighs, and pulls out a pen. Pink, with a fluffy top. She passes it into your hands, careful not to touch skin, and nods. “Click it.” 

You glance at the pen, and push the ballpoint out. 

Sage’s voice echoes through the room. Homelander is an emotional, pathetic imbecile who refuses to truly acknowledge that I am significantly more intelligent than he. 

You frown at her. “Collateral?” 

“You’ll hold on to the pen, after this conversation I’ll wipe all the tapes and break all the audio bugs in front of you, and then you’ll return the pen to me. Deal?” 

You nod slowly, taking the pen. “Deal.”

“Good. Show me yours.”

“I don’t know what you want me to show you,” you shrug. “Like I said, I don’t believe myself to be a puzzle. And you’ve already figured me out.”

“I hadn’t,” Sage corrects you. “For months, I hadn’t been able to see the whole picture. Your forgiveness is… inconsistent.”

“Really,” you say dryly, crossing your arms. “I’ve only been raped by one man.”

Sage hums. “Would you forgive me?”

“Would you earn it?”

“Maybe.”

You lean back. “Then maybe I’d forgive you.”

“Even though I’m actively working with your rapist? Am aware of the trauma he inflicted upon you and yet still chose to enable him?” 

The cold is sitting in your throat. “All depends on you. Like I said, you’d have to earn it.” 

“And how did Butcher earn your forgiveness?” 

You frown. “Butcher?” 

“He’s the thing that incited Homelander looking into Becca Butcher. Discovering Ryan Butcher. Wanting more.” Sage gives you a half-smile. “Taking you.” 

“I don’t hold people accountable for the actions of others.” Your voice is still bored, even as the cold starts to numb your tongue. “Butcher had no way of knowing that Homelander would do this. He didn’t even know who I was until last year.” 

“Is that the same grace you’ve offered Soldier Boy?” 

Your heart stutters, falters, and freezes. “I haven’t offered Soldier Boy anything he hasn’t earned.” 

“And that’s the thing.” Sage narrows her eyes at you. “You really believe he’s earned it. Despite all of his crimes, of which are an impressive amount and magnitude, you’re still forgiving him. And couldn’t figure out why. It doesn't fit with anything else, it’s completely irrational. But the answer isn’t something that’s supposed to be rational, and I made the mistake of factoring it out.” 

“I don’t-“

“You’re in love with Soldier Boy.” Sage looks you up and down. Her handiwork she gets to admire. “And I didn’t catch it because, by all logical reasoning, you shouldn’t be. I didn’t even consider it until I’d exhausted all other possibilities, and even then I settled on some odd sort of camaraderie. But you love him.” 

The cold becomes like frost lining your heart, and every beat begins to spread it further. Move it out. Play the game, don’t break. “What would it change, if I did?” 

“You do,” Sage says simply. “You are in love with him. It explains everything that felt out of place. Every action you made that didn’t line up with what I’d anticipated.”

“What you’d anticipated?” 

“Yes. For example, you shooting me. It was a reckless choice that backfired on you completely, but every time I ran over the scenario you would still do it. I’d wondered if I’d undersold the stakes, made you feel backed into a corner when that wasn’t my intention. But you’d still shoot me. You’d always shoot me, and it was because I misestimated your stakes. You love Soldier Boy, so if I tell you he’s in danger you will act.” 

“That doesn’t mean I love him.” You give Sage a passive shrug. “Maybe I shot you because you’re fucking annoying.” 

“No, you wanted to hear my plan. That's why you’re still sitting here.” Sage nods to the door. “You could’ve left. You could’ve gotten up and run out the door. You’re faster than I am, you’d have gotten away, showed Homelander the pen, and won. But you know I’d have a countermove, and that’s why you’re still here. That’s why I’m here.” 

“Why you’re here.” You repeat slowly, and Sage nods. 

“We’re the only players that matter now.” She grins at you. “Homelander and Butcher and Soldier Boy can flash their toys, but in the end you’re stronger and I’m smarter. My plan will work better, and you’ll respond in a way I won’t predict. You’ll have a move that would be successful, because you’re fucking powerful, but you’ll sidetrack yourself in the name of humanity and love. In the end the question will be if you can control yourself. If you can forsake being good enough to be great. My bets are on no, but you’ve surprised me before. And that’s what makes this interesting.” 

Play the game. Even as you start to cave in, play the game. “You know I’m stronger than Homelander. But you haven’t told him, he still thinks he’s the strongest supe alive.” You frown at her, trying to pull everything together in your head. “You don’t want him to know I’m stronger. If I fight him, you don’t want him prepared. You want me to kill him.” 

“I do.” Sage shrugs. “I’d like to martyr him, but I don’t think I will. I think I want to play this out.” 

“Make it interesting?” 

Sage smirks at you. “Make it interesting.” 

“It’s your move,” you say, throat tight. “And, while we’re being honest, I’m fucking winning right now. So, what’s your move?” 

She laughs. “You were winning. But I’ve figured you out, so your lead is gone.” Sage’s smile becomes crude and chilling. “In exactly one week, you’re going to propose to Homelander, live on VNN.” 

The cold rushes, so fast. It had been building up and up and now it’s everywhere. A week isn’t long enough. You still haven’t found the V, you’re not close, and a week isn’t enough time. Every piece of your innards and piece of your mind is freezing, because you can’t. You can’t go home yet, but you can’t go fast enough. And you’ll die before you smile at Homelander. Before you let him touch you. He’ll take it as a sign that he’s done this right and now he’s won you. Your blood is frozen and creaking in your body, but Sage is still smirking across from you. 

Breathe evenly. Hold your blood in your body with calculated breaths and careful words. “And If I don’t?” 

“Then I lure Soldier Boy out, and put him back to sleep.” Sage stands, and you can’t move. You can only watch her walk around the room reaching into bowls and under furniture to show you tiny audio bugs that she crushes in Her hands before taking the pen back. “You have a week. Your move.” She pauses at the door, looking back at you with a frown. “Don’t make me wrong about you. I have no interest in being wrong.” 

Then you’re alone, and the cold becomes big. It’s inescapable, how unending this feels. It’s too massive for you, too wild to control and spreading too fast to contain. You stumble your way back to Homelander’s apartment—people parting around you like you’re made of poison—and lock yourself in the bathroom, dropping to the floor in desperation to not break. You’ll find a way out of this, you always find a way out of this, you’ll get through this and go home and this isn’t permanent. Sage hasn’t won, because everything in you is still you, and soon you’ll go home. Everything is cold and bursting out of you, this feels like it will last forever, but it won’t. It can’t. 

The cracks continue to grow, and when you sleep that night you’re plagued by smoke and ice that makes you weak and swallows Ben. You hear him fall and he doesn’t rise back up, and you reach for him only to find him further than you’d thought. 

When you wake up, you’re still held down. Paralyzed and frozen without relent. You want to go home. You’d overestimated your strength, you didn’t want to beat Sage, or trick her, or win. You didn’t want this to be interesting, you just wanted it to be done. You’re exhausted, and alone, and you miss Ben so much. You’re not going to win, because these cracks are starting to be dangerous and you can’t stop them. You’re too weak to stop them, you don’t know how, and you can’t be smarter or stronger because you’re just so tired and almost every part of you is growing thinner and softer by the second. One step away from shattering. Breaking. Maybe you’ve really just already broken, but in a way you didn’t realize, and now you can’t be sewn back together. Your fire is sputtering out once more, you can’t pull it back up, can’t kill Homelander, can’t save Ben. You’re going to break and it’s going to make Ben go under, and he’ll never hold you again. You’re going to be in this vast, hollow loneliness forever, and Homelander will keep you on a shelf as your last embers flicker harmlessly, and you’re going to never see Ben again- 

Calm the fucking hell down, Ben’s voice in your head is rough as it says your name. You’ll see me again, you fucking promised. 

That strange thing is humming in your chest. It hasn’t left you since it appeared. Since you’d seen Ben. Through the day it sat in you silently. Undisturbing, shifting and rolling with a dull ache near your heart. Just a piece of Ben that you got to keep, that always felt like him. Like he was there, warm around you in the cold and tending to your fire. Then, at night, it roars. Twisting with your guts and kickstarting your lungs and mind when you grow frozen. Speaking to you in the dark until you feel like you again. A part of you that’s ingrained and unmovable, that’s not plagued by this cold because Ben is warm. Never afraid because Ben is safe. It’s angry and bloody and zealous, but it’s Ben, and so it smells like pine and feels good. Feels solid and easy, makes Ben feel more real. You’re on the too smooth, silken sheets of Homelander’s bed and everything is cold, but you can almost feel his breath on your ear and his voice rolling into your body. 

I did promise. You sigh into the dark of the room, and your breath comes out in fog. But I don’t think I can talk my way out of this one, Pretty Boy. 

Why the goddamn hell not. 

I’m not smarter than Sage, or stronger than Homelander. I said whatever it takes, but I can’t, Ben. I can’t. I just want to come home. 

First of all, shut the fuck up. You’re being stupid, Sunshine. 

Fucking rude- 

His voice cuts you off. It’s doing that a lot more lately. I don’t give a shit. Homelander is a pathetic fucking pussy, and Sage is a heartless bitch. You’re perfect the goddamn way you are. It’s goddamn infuriating how you’re so perfect, because it’s inconvenient. And if you want to come home you’ll wear blue and not a single fucking thing in the world will stop me getting you. 

That’s part of the problem, Benjamin. I’m not perfect, I can’t fight them, and I can’t let you come and get me. You know that. 

You are fucking perfect. You’re a goddamn pain in my ass, but you’re still beautiful and sure as shit smarter than you should be. And all I know that I fucking miss you. 

You’re crying. Silent tears you have to muffle and wipe away, because even if Homelander isn’t here you can’t chance that he’ll see you break. If you break, it can’t be in front of Homelander. You won’t allow it. 

But Ben’s voice sounds so real. Deep and pushing calm into you—soothing your blood back into your body—because as long as Ben’s voice is here and talking like this nothing can hurt you. 

I miss you too, Benjamin. Your smile is soft and tired, but you can feel Ben there. Something a little more solid than a phantom around you. 

Come home. Just fucking come home. There’s a beat of silence, and his voice in your ear is hoarse. Please. 

Soon. 

You always say soon. Just come home now. 

Ben- 

I miss you. I fucking miss you and I don’t want you home soon. I want you home now. His voice is building with frustration, and something in you is starting to spark in time with that strange thing. I can’t keep worrying about you. You promised, and I trust you with my goddamn life, but I don't trust you with yours. 

Hey. You frown into the dark. My life, Benjamin. My choice to stay. 

I haven’t fucking gotten you, have I? I’m respecting your stupid fucking choice, but I still hate it. I fucking hate this. 

I know you do. But there’s more work to do. 

You don’t have to be the one to do it. You can just- 

I can’t. You hug yourself, the warmth in you growing stronger. Not pushing the cold down, or your blood back in, but rising the fire to fill the cracks the cold is leaving along your head and heart. I can’t just come home. I have to do this. This has to be me. 

There’s another stretch of silence—that thing climbing up your spine and lighting up every nerve—before Ben’s voice rings around you once more. Fine. 

Thank you. You’re not sure why you’re thanking him. He’s not real, but it’s an instinct. Thank Ben, always thank Ben because everything in you is back in your hands and you love him. 

Don’t. 

You smile into the dark, your tears drying in your eyes. You can’t fucking stop me, Pretty Boy. 

I will soon. You’re going to come home, and every time you thank me I’m going to fuck the words out of your mouth. 

I don’t think that’s going to have the effect you intend it to. 

Yes it fucking will- 

Ben. Your voice in your head is dry. If every time I thank you I get fucked, I’m never going to stop thanking you. I might start just thanking you randomly, specifically so you fuck me. 

The thing in you is bellowing and jerking your heart around. Smartass. 

I mean, you had to have seen that coming- 

I just want to see you coming, beautiful. You can almost see his wink. All over me. 

Horny old man.

You love it. And you’re no fucking better than me. 

Than I. And excuse you, I for one can keep it in my pants- 

His voice snorts. I know you, Sunshine. You want to fuck me more than anyone has ever wanted to fuck me. And a lot of people have wanted to fuck me. 

Braggart. 

That’s not a real word. 

Yes, it is. 

Well then what the hell does it mean. 

You brag a lot. It’s pretty self-explanatory, Benjamin. You could’ve gotten that one yourself. 

Shut the fuck up. 

Make me. 

I will. When you get home I’m going to shut your pretty mouth up for a whole goddamn year. With my cock, and my hands, and- 

Fuck you. 

I promise I will, brat. I’m going to fuck you so much you’re never going to want anyone else to touch you. 

You don’t need to fuck me to do that. You sigh, trying to sit a little longer in the warmth as daylight starts to creep into the room. I already don’t want anyone but you, Ben. 

His voice is silent for a second, and you think it’s going to say what it always does, because you love me, but it doesn’t. The thing rattles with an ache in your body, and Ben’s voice is softer than you’d expected when you hear it again. I don’t want anyone else either. 

Good. Your breathing is easy, and you can really almost feel Ben. Behind you, around you, in you. Can you still fuck me anyways? 

His laugh rolls through you, and that thing feels lighter. You feel lighter. Deal, Sunshine. 

Deal. 

The thing fades into dormant ease once more, but you’re still warm. Your blood is still trying to break out of your body, but you’re holding it in. 

And the fire is building. Faster and faster, blazing up into your skin, the fire is building. 

And you won’t break. 

In the morning, your lockdown is temporarily lifted so Homelander can parade you to the masses. They’d long fixed the damage you and Ben caused to the tower lawn—the grass is green once more, and the sidewalks have been repaved smooth and black—and they’ve set up a stage that’s reminiscent of Firecrackers. Not quite as dramatic, twice as large, and with better rigged lights. You could just walk out the doors of Vought Tower—they’ve barricaded the path for that very purpose—but Homelander trusts you. And you’re so close. You’re holding on by a thread, but you won’t break. Not yet. 

Homelander’s been touching you more. Never casually, and not like that, but his hand isn’t just on your lower back anymore. It’s clasping into yours more often, and not in the intimate, careful way Ben does. A cold, leather glove that snaps around your hand, no fingers intertwined or thumb rubbing on your skin. Yanking you around in a way that makes your elbow snap, slamming you into his back and not bothering to steady you. You let him, he has to trust you, but it makes you colder. Homelander will look at you with cruel blue eyes, devoid of any light or warmth or life, and you feel like a prize. He’s won you, and now he’s growing more and more confident, less and less afraid. 

He still won’t touch you with skin. You can’t figure out why, but Homelander’s so very careful not to even brush his skin against yours. You’d think it’s fear. That you’ll feel him, and see something he doesn’t want you to. It’s not about you burning him, you haven’t used fire in front of him since he’d taken you and he knows it. He thinks you’ve burnt out. Learned your place and burnt out. So it has to be about a fear you don’t understand. 

You try not to question it. It’s saving you from being touched like that, and that would break you. That would irreversibly shatter you, and you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself back together. So you don’t question it, use that small part of Ben that’s comfortable in your chest to feed the fire, and try to keep the cold in you. You’ll have to, for this. You can’t afford the cold taking control and falling out of you. You can’t afford flinches or numb expressions when this winter becomes something that’s beyond you. 

So you push it down, down, down, and smile at Homelander. Too sweet, too many teeth, almost manic. 

But you smile at Homelander, and play the game. You’re almost done, so you play the game. 

“Babe?” 

He turns on you with a shark-like expression. You’ve baited him with blood—drawn right from your heart and making you cold—and he’s taken it. 

Homelander says your name, and it's hard to keep smiling. “I like babe, it’s right. Keep using it.” 

You nod, and don’t speak. Waiting for him to prompt you. 

“If you want something, say it.” 

“I was just wondering if you could carry me to the rally later?” Your words are softer than you’d intend, but your tongue is numb in your mouth and it’s the best you can manage. “I just want to get more used to flying with you-“ 

“Of course you can,” Homelander looks you up and down. “It’s not like you’ll get hurt if I drop you.” 

You make yourself laugh, and it doesn’t sound like you. But you keep smiling. Allow yourself to sound smaller. “You won’t drop me, right?”

He scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’d take a week to scrape off the pavement.” Homelander’s eyes narrow on yours. “Don’t you trust me?” 

“Of course!” Voice lighter. Don’t let a crack show in it. “I’m just scared of heights.” 

“Oh,” Homelander nods, and starts to walk to you. Arms opening to pick you up, and you have to not scream. Have to keep your teeth from chewing at your cheek and your hands from shaking. “Then let’s go fly. Now.” 

“I, I’m not ready-“ 

“Honey,” Homelander’s voice is annoyed, and he’s glaring again. “Humans have silly little fears about heights. Not us. You’re going to get over this, fucking now, because you aren’t human anymore.” 

You’re not afraid of heights. You’ve never been afraid of heights. You’ve only ever really been afraid of three things in your life. 

Being worthless. 

Losing Ben. 

Homelander. 

But you can’t break. Play the role. Nod slowly and walk into Homelander’s arms. Feel cold but keep it in you, because you don’t have time to let it out. You have six days to do everything, and being defiant isn’t a luxury you can afford. 

He’s still grinning at you, and his teeth are too white. They look fake. “I knew you’d come around. Sage said you wouldn’t, said you’d always be a little too weak, but look at you.” He laughs, and you have to keep smiling. “Still fucking weak, but ready to fix it.” 

He doesn’t let you respond before yanking you up the stairs and onto the roof, and your words and protests die in your throat because he has to trust you if you want to go home. And when Homelander shoots up into the sky, you can’t scream or push him away or even go rigid like you’d done before. You had to pretend you trusted Homelander. That he’d won you and now you trusted him. You have to pull him closer on purpose, even though he’s colder than the air around you and your body hates it. It hates touching him, it hates him touching you. He does it as if you’re his possession. With callous, thoughtlessly placed hands and like, if he were to drop you, it wouldn’t matter. You’re his to break. 

You’d flown with Homelander before, but that had been for transportation. He’d been focused and bored, carrying you like cargo. This was purely to force any fear or weakness out of you with speed and brute force. He’d done flips, your body tossed around through the air and his arms so loose on you there’s not a second where you are certain he won’t drop you. Halfway through you start to hope he will. That you’ll fall with a sickening splat below, someone will post it online, and Ben will come get you.

But Homelander doesn’t drop you. He goes so fast your skin feels like it’s peeling off your face, so high the air feels thin, and through clouds that leave you damp and chilled. 

You weren’t afraid of heights before. You think you might be now. Another line on the growing list of things that, even if you manage not to break, will never be good again. You’re not sure how long you’re up in the air, but when you land back at the tower your hands feel bitten with frost and there’s bile in your throat. 

“Go get yourself together,” Homelander orders, nudging you to the door back inside. “I’ll be back in an hour.” 

You nod, and try to smile at him. He grins back, but his expression turns slightly sour the longer he looks at you. 

“Don’t fucking cry. And wear your supe outfit.” 

He’s gone in a blast of wind, and you’re left to stagger back to his apartment. Alone. Blood so cold, but without time to get a hold over it. You just have to keep going, and hope this settles within the hour. 

You find your way back to the apartment, still freezing into your bones. Trying to stoke the flames under your skin with that thing of Ben’s in your chest, with thoughts of good things. 

Music. City Lights. Ben. 

Go through the movements. Don’t vomit—it will take too long to do, time you don’t have—and hum to yourself until the air feels warmer. You can still feel the cold rushing in your blood, but your skin is warmer. You sing a song of summer, and at least your skin feels warmer. You don’t break. 

Do your hair and makeup yourself. Ashley had offered you a team this morning, and you’d turned it down. You’d made sure Homelander heard your words—I know what I should look like, I don’t need people helping me—and Ashley had nodded and dropped it with an anxious expression and tug of her hair. So now you stand at the mirror, putting on lipstick that’s the wrong shade of red for your skin and applying shadow in a way that’s not you. Not a style you’d ever wear, not when you had control over it. But it’s the role. This is the right red for this version of you, because it’s a red Homelander likes. This eyeshadow is exactly how you have to do it, because it’s how the paid Vought artists did it. How the world thinks you do it. 

You keep a small part of you in your makeup. There’s a green, metallic eyeliner in the collection that had appeared in Homelander’s bathroom, and you trace it on your inner eye. It flashes whenever you move, and it’s impossible to miss. Just a little green, where Ben won’t miss it. Just a little light that doesn’t feel blinding, but feels peaceful and alive. You don’t break. 

Now get changed. You have to get changed, because you’ve calmed down enough to not be in danger—or a danger—and done your hair and makeup. The hour is almost up, and so you have to get changed.

The only reason you’re managing not to vomit every time you wear your supe costume is because there’s still a stale smell of Ben on it. You’re surprised Homelander hasn’t noticed, but he also doesn’t know what Ben smells like. The pine could just be from the outdoors, the gunpowder from the attack. And the part that’s just Ben—not shampoo or lingering parts of his day that grow stronger on his skin—is yours to know. It’s a strong smell, powerful and Ben, and you know it’s his. Same as you know that the thing in you is him, something of Ben’s that’s left a tattoo on you. You know all of him, and this smells like he feels. Like he tastes. 

You still remember what I fucking taste like? 

Shut up. I miss you, and I love you. Of course I remember, don’t be a dick about it. 

Would you prefer I give you my dick about it? 

You snort softly into the empty air. That one’s not even good. I expect better from you. 

You fucking shouldn’t. 

And yet, I do. 

Because you love me. 

Because I love you. You frown at your reflection in the mirror. The green hair clip you’ve been wearing—the one you’d been clinging to since you’d seen it in a costume room and stolen it to keep—looks out of place. It feels too much like you, and you don’t look like you. You look like a statue, or doll. 

I look stupid.

You look hot. You always look hot, Sunshine. It’s one of my favorite things about you. 

Wrong. You smile at your reflection, and that’s your real smile. You’re talking to Ben—even if it’s just his phantom—so that’s your smile. You like that I’m smart, and that I’m kind, and my pussy.

And all of that is fucking hot. Because you’re hot. 

Thanks, Pretty Boy. You’re hot as well. 

I fucking know that. That’s why you love me. 

That’s not at all why I love you. I love you because you care, more than you’ll ever admit. I love you because you never give up on anything, and because you’re honest. I can trust you, I can always trust you. I love you because you always do what you say you will, and you’re never trying to be anything but yourself. You’re an asshole, Benjamin, but you’re my asshole. You’re a protective, abrasive, vulgar manwhore, and I love you so much it makes me a little insane. 

Brat. 

Cunt. 

You also love me because I’m a good piece of ass. I’m hotter than the goddamn sun and you want to jump my bones, admit it. 

I’m allowed to love you because of who you are and also think that you’re stupid hot, Benjamin. You make me laugh and feel safe and happy so I’m always going to love you, and you’re so handsome it hurts to look at so I’m always going to want to jump your bones. 

Good thing I want to fuck you until you’re dizzy and can’t even damn speak, beautiful. 

I think I can live with that. You sigh. I miss you, and I have to go. 

I miss you too. Kick their fucking balls into their throats. 

You huff a small laugh into the air. Gross. 

You love me. 

I do. The cold in your blood is tangible, but so is the fire. And both are yours. Completely yours. 

You can do this. You can fucking do this, do it right, and go home. 

It still takes holding your tongue between your teeth to not scream when Homelander grabs you, and control over every muscle in your body to not go rigid when he touches you, but you do it. You keep your body limp and smile at his cruel face. You land on the stage—the crowd only one push or wrong noise from a riot—and keep smiling. You shrink into yourself, step back into Homelander’s shadow in a careful way that’s about being shy. About not wanting the spotlight, and seeking comfort in love. 

It’s really about trying to get away. About giving your feet just an inch they can move away, because they want to run. Everyone is watching you like you’re going to be their salvation. Like they’re going to eat your flesh and it will bring them comfort. Like you’re going to put on a show and it will be glorious, like you’ll bring them something they’ve been missing. Homelander is watching you as well, and you’re trying to get to where he can’t see. His eyes make that cold spread, make it rile up in wind that sweeps through your body like a storm.

So you’re quiet, and meek, and give Homelander no reason to look at you. You wave to the crowd and smile in a small, pliant way. Sage walks up onto the stage and you get the same, small nod that she offers Homelander. You return it with a sweet expression, and fade into the background as Sage and Homelander work. All you have to do is be here, stand silently, and do as you’re told and it will be more than enough. Cameras are angled at your every shift and breath, and you’re still nothing more than a statue. Homelander tells a completely fabricated and implausible story about how he used to fly you to Paris at night so you could picnic on the top of the Eiffel Tower. The Deep shows up and talks about how hard all the lies have been on you and Homelander, his two closest friends, especially after the recent deaths of your teammates. You considered them family, and this is a period of grief, not of—as the Deep puts it—being a total hater on true love. Ashley gives a speech about how when she first met you, she knew you were in love with Homelander because you couldn’t stop laughing with him about nothing. She says you and Homelander have invited her over for dinner, and everyone here should one day hope to have his burgers and your chocolate mousse cake. 

In the hum of the speaker feedback, you hear Ben snort. Suddenly he’s everywhere. Around your body and between your fingers and resting on your head. 

I remember when you tried to make us a cake. I wasn’t sure if it looked or tasted more like actual dogshit. 

Fuck off. You ate the whole thing. 

I’ll eat fucking anything, Sunshine. That cake was a goddamn travesty.

Guess who’s not getting a cake for his stupid birthday. 

I’m a little damn old for a cake. His voice drawls your name on the wind. I’ll just eat you instead. 

Smooth. And you’re never too old for cake, Benjamin. I’ll even put vanilla ice cream on it. 

I thought I wasn’t getting a fucking cake. 

I changed my mind. You’re getting cake, and it’s going to be the fanciest cake you’ve ever fucking seen. And I’m going to put rainbow sprinkles on the ice cream, and there’s not a thing you can do to stop me. 

Can I still eat you? 

Yes. But you’re eating the cake first. And you have to grill burgers. 

For my own fucking birthday? Isn’t the whole point supposed to be that I don’t do shit? 

Would you rather I make the burgers?

You and Ben had tried to make burgers four times. Technically, you had tried. He’d already known how, because he was a goddamn red blooded fucking American man, and attempted to teach you, but you had not been a good student. You’d burnt them every time, but you kept getting distracted. Ben’s muscles would ripple when he flipped a burger and he’d grin at you while he talked about meat and things being tender, and you think you just kept blacking out in an effort to not fuck him right there. After the fourth smoke alarm resulted in you and Ben sitting in the dining hall while Mallory lectured you about fire safety and banned you from the kitchen’s grill, you’d decided this was just a skill you didn’t need to have. Ben could make burgers. He was better at it, and always got focused in a way that made you both want to fuck him—have all that intensity and care turned on you—and just touch him. Run a hand across his forehead, into his hair, and check that he was real. It made you love him more. 

You’re not sure if the phantom is reacting to the burger comment and you calling him adorable, but something rumbles around in your heart and Ben’s voice grumbles. Shut the fuck up. 

It’s a little easier to look mindlessly happy. You can feel this remnant of Ben in you—this thing that is him—climbing up a little higher to sit on the top of your chest, so it’s easy to pretend you’re ditzy and humble and your smile is light and carefree. Ashley concludes her speech, and Sage is up. You and Homelander represent the best of what the world has to offer. Two people who have loved each other from the first time they saw each other, and who, despite the hardships and obstacles, will always prevail. She says Homelander will always find you, and you manage to keep smiling. Ben’s Thing tightens in you, and you can practically see his angry expression, but you keep smiling. You will build a perfect American family, and Ryan Butcher will be returned to where he belongs. 

I haven’t been being a dick to the Kid. 

You blink. What? 

You told me not to be a dick to the Kid. I haven’t been. I’ve been a goddamn angel.

Okay. You fight the confused frown on your face. Why are you telling me that? 

Because you seemed to really damn care about it. I don’t know. Shut the fuck up. 

But- 

You were right. He’s not like Homelander. He’s a little bit of a pussy- 

Benjamin. 

What? 

Don’t call a twelve-year-old a pussy. It’s uncouth. 

But he is a pussy- 

How can he possibly be a pussy. 

He can name all fifty states. 

I can name all fifty states. 

That’s different. 

How. 

You’re a fucking know it all.

Hey- 

You’re a sexy know it all. You look hot when you get riled up, and talking about pretty much anything gets you riled up. If you sat in front of me and named all fifty states I’d get a fucking boner. 

That’s weird, Ben. 

Fuck off. You’d love my boner. 

You lightly bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling. I would. 

You’d suck me off, and look fucking hot doing it, and then I’d eat you out and make you cum on my face- 

You’re trying to distract me from you calling Ryan a pussy. 

No. Shut the fuck up. 

You shut the fuck up. I would suck you off, and then maybe I’d let you eat me out- 

Maybe? 

And then I’d make you clean up and get dressed and learn all fifty states. 

That information will never be goddamn useful, Sunshine. Would be a waste of my fucking time. 

Because you’re such a busy man? Is getting a boner from listening to me talk and then eating me out that time consuming? 

So I will get to eat you out. 

Fuck you.

That’s what I’m fucking asking- 

Stay on topic, Ben. You should be able to name all fifty states. 

Why in goddamn Christ- 

You’ve been around since before Hawaii and Alaska, and you’re barely younger than Arizona. It’s a little sad you can’t, Pretty Boy. 

Well, I’m not a damn loser pussy, so I don’t really give a fuck. 

Rude. 

You’re not a loser pussy either. No woman of mine would be a loser pussy. 

Your heart stumbles a little faster, and Ben’s Thing hums in your body. Thanks. 

Don’t. 

You can’t fucking stop me- 

Because I’m not there, beautiful. If I were on that stupid fucking stage and you thanked me, I’d pick you up, carry you home, and stop you with my cock in your pretty fucking mouth. 

You need to get a grip on yourself. Maybe start putting effort into filtering the phantom better. Because, even in your head, your voice sounds breathless. Okay. 

No big words, Sunshine? Just going to let me fuck your face- 

Shut up. Cunt. 

Brat. There’s a beat of silence, but it’s still louder than the noise of the crowd because you can almost hear Ben’s breath in your ear. I miss you. Come home. 

Soon. You feel something heavy, sickening in that piece of Ben inside your chest. You can’t stand it, it makes your heart hurt, and you need Ben—even this strange fragment of him—to feel happy again. And as soon as I do, I’m kicking your ass and making you apologize to your grandson for calling him a pussy. 

It feels lighter, and Ben’s scoff isn’t painful. Don’t call him my grandson. 

He is, by definition, your grandson. Don’t be a pussy about it, Benjamin. 

Smartass. 

Old man. 

You like it, you fucking grave-robber. 

Am I a grave-robber, or are you a cradle-robber? 

You’re a goddamn grown woman- 

And you’re an ancient, grumpy man-child. 

You love it. 

I do. You don’t repeat the second part, because Ben’s voice doesn’t prompt it out of you. It just falls into a comfortable, happy silence everywhere around you, and you feel safe. You might have never been in more danger—Homelander at your side and the eyes of the world on you—but everything that’s been breaking in you feels a little more manageable. You’re still full of that never ending cold, but it’s not falling out of you or trying to escape. You can sit in it easily, because you can almost feel Ben there and your fire is still growing. Sage is still talking, and you let it pass through you. This will get through you, and you’ll go home soon. Sage calls you the sweetest and most genuine person she’e ever met, and you hear Ben’s snort. She talks about how Homelander treats you like an equal, and there’s a spark of annoyance in Ben’s Thing for you. She calls you and Homelander American Heroes, and you can keep yourself modest and happy as Homelander laughs and waves off the compliment. 

But you can’t stop the momentary static of your heart, or the numb of your body, when Homelander kisses your cheek. A new crack forms—long and somewhere critical—and Ben’s Thing in you riots. Grows louder than the crowd, louder than the ringing in your ears. 

You almost don’t see Homelander freeze. He goes still and rigid, his face twitching and looking sick, and you realize that the cold is leaving you. Homelander touched you, and Ben’s Thing is roaring in some sort of pain, and you’ve lost a hold over the polar feeling in your body. 

Fuck this, I’m coming to get you- 

Benjamin. He’s everything in you that’s good. Everything is cold and you’re afraid and you can’t control yourself and you’re going to lose, but Ben’s voice is still around you and you’re still you. You haven’t broken. You’re so close, you won’t break, and this piece of Ben will help hold you together. You can’t. You know that. 

He fucking touched you- 

He only kissed my cheek. I’m okay. You’re not. You know what this means, even if Homelander had recoiled from you with a look that won’t last. But you’re so close. There won’t be time for escalation, you’ll be home soon. You’ll falter and break when you get home. 

Ben’s voice doesn’t seem convinced. You don’t fucking look okay. You look like you just got goddamn shot, you need to come home right now- 

I’m fine. 

When Ben says your name, there’s some sort of strain in it. The same ache and pounding that you can feel from that thing inside of you. There’s not a single goddamn thing you can do to stop me- 

I know. But please don’t. If you trust me, Ben, please don’t. 

You don’t know why you’re arguing with him. This Ben isn’t real, it can’t come get you. But it’s so deep inside of you, keeping you together as Sage’s speech concludes and Homelander herds you up to the front of the stage, you entertain it. It doesn’t feel fake. It feels like him. The sharp, bitter anger in your chest feels like his, the gravely frustration in his voice sounds like it’s coming from right behind you, and it’s so fucking important that you keep it there until you’re in control again.

I do fucking trust you, but I can’t just leave you- 

Not leaving me. You’re never leaving me. You’re waiting. 

Ben’s Thing stabs into you, and you almost flinch from it. I am waiting. I’m waiting for as long as it takes. But Christ, I fucking hate it. I don’t want to wait, I want you home. 

I want to come home. I want to come home more than almost anything. But- 

Almost? His words are a grunt from somewhere at your side. The hell do you want more- 

You. Fire is building in you, fed by the warmth of Ben’s Thing beating in your chest. I want you. 

That thing roars. Claws against your ribs and heart, and you can’t think about anything else. You’re going through the movements—waving and smiling to the crowd—but everything in you is about Ben. About how you’ve never felt a fervor like this anywhere but in him, and you miss him and want him and love him- 

Fine. He’s relenting. He’s only in your head, but he’s still relenting with a low, tired voice. But if I see even a little bit of fucking blue- 

You can break down the doors of Vought Tower and carry me home. You swallow, and keep your face bright as something in you wilts when Homelander’s arm wraps around you. I’ll see you soon, Ben. I promise. 

I know. And I’ll wait. 

Thank you. 

Don’t.

It doesn’t go dormant, but Ben’s Thing stops being loud. It moves back to resting near your heart, existing always with that arctic sensation in your body. It takes all the strength and will you possess to pull the lingering bits of it—the fear it’s made of—back into you and hold them there when Homelander vaults up into the sky. He’s not touching you on skin again, and Ben’s Thing has tugged much of it out of the air around you, but your blood is still singing, trying to reach anything else and make it feel this. Feel the pure, raw terror that the infinite cold is made of, that’s rushing through you. Rushing out of you. 

But it’s not just fear falling out of your body. It’s something furious that’s for Homelander touching you. And you’ve felt things that aren’t fear move out of you before. You’ve felt heat, want and love and adoration, run out of your body when Ben’s touched you. When you’ve gotten to touch him. 

Homelander leaves you on the roof to find your way back to his apartment, saying he has business to attend to. He looks like he might try to kiss you, but fear and hatred leaks out of you when he moves and suddenly he’s gone.

And you have a theory. You have a little more than five days, this Thing of Ben’s still burning peacefully inside of you, and a theory.

You have to test it. The cold in you is growing, but so is the fire. Both are, for now, in your control. The fire and the cold are everywhere in you and on you, but not around you, and you’re holding them there. If you’re right about this, then everything will work. You���ll go home.

But you have to test it first. 

You spend that night, alone in Homelander’s apartment, making a new plan. You can’t test on Homelander, he needs to keep thinking you’ve gone docile. That you’re out of tricks and are back to being what he thinks you are. You can’t test this on Sage, she’ll figure out what’s happening and you can’t afford that right now. This is the only advantage you have over her, because you’re certain she doesn’t know about it. If she knew, she wouldn’t let you go to rallies, or go anywhere near her. This is the one thing she can’t control or predict or understand.

Feelings. She can’t control how you feel. She can’t stop you being afraid or angry, can’t stop you loving Ben, and can’t prevent how when it all becomes too much your emotions aren’t yours anymore. How they’ve been building up and up  and up, growing loud and feral, and now they’re bigger than you are. You’re more afraid than you can hold in you. Afraid for your life, and your self, and for Ben. And every time Homelander’s touched you or Sage had threatened you the fear has grown until it’s sweeping through your body. 

But it’s not just the fear. It’s your anger, your fury that this isn’t fair. This is wrong and fucked up and you have to be the one to fix it, but you just want to go home. You’re full of wrath for yourself, for Ryan and Becca Butcher, for Hughie and Annie and MM and Frenchie and Kimiko and everyone you love being forced into this. It’s stoking the fire, and that’s why everything is white-hot now. The anger and fear are made of the same thing that pushes out of you in moments when they consume you, and now they sit in your blood to be weaponized. 

The only thing bigger than them is your love. It’s grown so large in your heart and head and soul that it’s become its own animal. It starts in you, and it belongs to Ben. All this love in you is for Ben. You’ll always know him anywhere because your empathy has decided that he is you. He’s something so crucial to you, your love for him is so powerful, that you don’t recognize him just because you know him. You can feel him when he’s not touching you, sense him when he’s close. Nothing has ever been as powerful as your love for Ben, and your empathy knows that. It knows that he won’t hurt you, he’d never hurt you, and that it’s only this strong because of him. Because Ben let you touch him and wasn’t afraid of you, and now he’s everything. Just as much a part of you as the fire has become, and you’ll always return to him. 

You’re so close. 

Right now you have to be angry and afraid and learn what it can do, and then you can go home and love Ben. Spend the rest of time loving Ben. 

But first you have to be angry and afraid. 

It takes four of your five remaining days to prove and understand your theory. You go along with Sage’s orders and Ashley’s requests, because right now the act is vital to keep up. You can hear the protest crowds from the 99th floor, and every time you catch a glimpse of social media it’s all about you. You’re America’s sweetheart and savior and symbol, and this is all you have left to do. 

You test on the Deep first. You hold your anger in every muscle of your body, and ask the Deep about something simple. 

“Hey, Deep?” 

The idiot pauses in the hallway, spinning around to grin at you with a puffed out chest. “Anomaly! What’s going on, does Homelander need me-“

“No,” you give a light, silly giggle, like a schoolgirl who just heard her crush liked her back. You don’t throw up on the Deep’s dumb, shiny suit. “I just wanted to know if you got the funding for your new movie?” 

“Oh, shit, yeah! I mean with A-Train dead, rest in power, brother,” he puts his fist up in a salute and you have to hold down a scoff. “There’s like a fuck ton of money just lying around, and I was like ‘uh, guys. What if I got the money, right?’ and they said-“ 

You’re not listening to what Vought Studios said, because you’re trying to figure out how to touch the Deep without him realizing. You wait until he’s completely engrossed in his story then start to walk, gesturing for him to follow. He falls into a pace at your side, talking about getting good writers that will do his character justice, and you lean to the side. Brush your arm against his, and all the wrath in you flares. 

The Deep’s voice grows louder. Tighter. “And I don’t fucking understand why they didn’t just give me the money, right? I mean it’s not fucking fair I have to pull all this shit together by myself. I just want to chill the hell out, but somehow this falls on me to fix this shit-“ He freezes, because by his last words he was in a full on shout. Almost a scream. “Uh, sorry, I don’t know where that came from. Don’t tell Homelander I was yelling at you, I really didn’t mean to-“ 

“It’s fine,” you smile, and it’s more sweet than smug. But you feel really fucking smug. “You’re just passionate.” 

One down. One step closer. 

Next, you find the writers. Skinny McBrown-Nose and Bald Pussy. You’ve forgotten their names again, and you’d feel a little worse about it if the moment they saw you they didn’t start trying to feed you anecdotes to use about your love for Homelander. 

“What if,” Bald Pussy leans forward with a toothy grin. “You asked him out first. And he said no, because he loved you and wanted to protect you, but it broke your heart.” 

“And you tried to get over him,” Skinny McBrown-Nose jumps in with an up-beat bounce to his words. “But nobody made you feel the way he does. There’s nobody else for you, and you’d just resigned yourself to a life of solitude when he confessed his love for you. He just couldn’t bear to see you with another, and he decided that putting you at risk would be fine, because he’s the strongest man in the world. As long as he’s there, you’ll be safe.”

You blink, because that is shockingly close to being accurate. For them it’s about Homelander and not Ben, but it’s more you than anything else they’ve pitched. 

There is no one else for you but Ben, although you don’t think you’d ever even try to get over him. When this is over you’ll just resign yourself to not being loved by him and dedicate yourself to loving him in secret. 

Ben is the strongest man in the world, but he’d never put you at risk. He hates you putting yourself at risk, and if he knew one of the reasons you’ve been staying at Vought was to protect him he’d probably have an aneurism. 

And as long as he’s there, you are safe. There’s not a safer place in the world than at Ben’s side. 

“I, um,” you have to cover your hesitation, because the writers are looking at you with nervous, expectant expressions. “I think Homelander would prefer he asked me out. It fits in better-“ 

“But this way,” Bald Pussy interjects eagerly. “We hit the demographic of liberal women in the 18-44 range. They’ll love that you took the move first, and that he loved you so much-“

“I don’t know.” You pull all the dormant cold from your blood and focus on it—let it choke you—and lean forward enough for your hands to touch theirs. Lightly. Unnoticeably. Holding their gazes so they don’t look down and see it. “Maybe I should go get him, and you can tell him-“ 

“No!” Bald Pussy’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head frantically. “I mean, no need to involve Homelander, you’re probably right-“ 

You can’t be sure if this is just an average, healthy fear of Homelander, or your fear of Homelander. The fear that haunts you and follows you everywhere. You have to be sure. “I mean, I like it. I think I can just approve it myself-“ 

“Don’t worry about it!” Skinny McBrown-Nose’s voice is a squeak. “I mean, you shouldn’t bother him. It wasn’t that good an idea, and we’ll come up with a better one, so you don’t have to risk it. Right?” 

That’s fear for you. Skinny McBrown-Nose is afraid for you, to talk to Homelander and offer him something he might hate. He has no rational reason to be afraid for you, not with what he’s been told. It worked. 

You agree softly and walk away from them. You have more work to do. 

You fall into random people and bump against passers by. For the first time in years, you’re touching everyone you can on purpose. Doing it randomly is helping you from falling apart, as their emotions aren’t intense or overwhelming. They’re mostly just bland, flavorless neutrality. It’s not a great indictment of the emotional health of Vought’s employees—how soulless and empty everyone is—but right now it’s working in your favor. You can ignore the emotions that each touch gives you and just study the way they react. 

Some stumble slightly, and a lot of them freeze. Several double over before looking around with slack, pained expressions, and one even falls to the ground. Dropping with a strangled sound like you’d shot them. 

And you know you were right. You’ve proven yourself right, and you almost fully understand it. You’re so close. To going home, to being with Ben again, to being done. This is almost over. 

Almost. You just need to find the V. You have just less than two days left, and you won’t fail. Your nightmares are growing worse and you’re still waking up paralyzed, unable to breathe or move or think anything outside of blood. So much blood, all on your hands. Not strong enough to clean them, too weak enough to wipe them on another. And there’s just so much blood. 

But you’ll get through it. You’re almost home. 

The more you do this, the more you feel Ben. His voice is always louder now, and you think you might be going insane. You don’t know if it’s this new power taking you over and driving you mad, or if you just miss him so much you’re losing your mind, but Ben feels closer than he had before. Maybe it’s because you’re almost ready. Maybe it’s anticipation. 

But no matter what it is, he’s still everywhere. His Thing in your chest is almost always alight, and his presence is solid. Just as permanent as your love for him, just as strong and warm as he is. It feels so purely Ben that your body starts to look for him where you know he won’t be. He’s not going to be in Homelander’s bathroom, or in the Seven’s meeting room, or Ashley’s office. But you can sense him all the time, and the phantom is getting away from you. Muttering in your ear at inconvenient moments about random things that were far too detailed.

Why the fuck did you love those stupid sunglasses? He’d grumbled one morning, a little before your talk with The Deep. You’d frowned into the lukewarm air of Homelander’s kitchen. 

What are you talking about? 

Those shit quality, knock-off Soldier Boy sunglasses you always wore. Why did you like them. 

Oh, you’d blinked at nothing, tapping at the bridge of your nose. Why?

I asked first.

But-

Just answer the damn question, Sunshine. There was a pause, and you could almost hear his sigh. Please.

You had to fight the smile on your face, because Homelander could walk in at any second. Well, since you asked so nicely, Pretty Boy, they reminded me of you. 

He was scowling. You don’t know how you know, but you’re certain he was scowling. They were fucking blue. 

Yeah, well- You pause, his words settling in. What do you mean, were. 

Don’t fucking worry about it. How did they remind- 

Why did you use past tense. What happened to my sunglasses. 

I said don’t worry about it, his voice muttered your name, and it was almost sheepish. It’s not- 

Benjamin. 

They broke. 

What. 

When I lost you, they got smashed- 

First off, you didn’t lose me. Stop saying you lost me. Second of all, why are you asking me about my broken sunglasses. 

You loved them. I want to know if you just fucking like sunglasses, or if it’s something else- 

I loved those sunglasses because they made me more certain you were real. You’d cared enough to give them to me when Butcher had dropped them off, and that made me happy. It made me think you cared about me- 

I do care about you. He sounds indignant. Of course I fucking care about you. I- 

I know you care, Ben. That’s why I’m not that mad about them hypothetically being broken, because I don’t need proof- 

Why would you ever fucking need proof. 

Because you’re confusing. You’re the love of my life, Benjamin, and you confuse the fuck- 

His voice sounded like it had somehow dropped an octave when he says your name. What the hell did you just say.

I said you’re a confusing piece of shit- 

No, the other thing. 

I said I love you. You know that. Let me talk. 

Sunshine- 

Homelander had walked in, and you’d had to tune out Ben’s words around you to feign joy in his presence and interest in his words. Ben’s voice had fallen back into a soft sound of static, but his Thing had remained—steady and comfortably—in your chest. A constant, dependable, holding you down until only a few hours later when you’d heard him from nothing again.

You would fucking know what this shit means. 

You’d frowned at the stall of the bathroom, collecting your thoughts and trying to reign your anger back to your body. What shit? 

Manifest Destiny. Doesn’t even make any damn sense- 

It’s the nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to expand westward, and should exert the means to do so. 

Smartass. 

You fucking asked me the question. It’s not my fault I knew the answer.

You’d heard Ben’s snort, and his Thing had rolled over inside you. Brat. 

Cunt. 

Someone had entered the bathroom, and Ben’s voice had gone silent around you—a smell like pine and barbecue fading from the air—as his Thing had remained burning in your chest. You didn’t dwell on it, you didn’t have the time or energy to even think it over once, especially as it just kept happening. Over and over, through the evening and night, Ben’s Thing kept growing brighter and Ben began to intertwine into your senses. You start to spare it thought, especially as the conversations keep starting from silence about nothing. 

I’d never hurt you. 

I know that. You barely managed not to stumble as you walked through the hall, his voice taking you by surprise. Why are you telling me that? 

Because Annie’s fucking wrong. I’d never fucking hurt you. You’d have told me if it hurt, and I’d have fucking tied your hands up if you tried to keep doing it. 

You’re just confused enough to not let that turn you on. What? 

If you kept trying to do your fucking brain magic after saying it was hurting you. I’d have tied you up to stop you from doing it. I’m not- 

Why are we talking about this? 

Because I wouldn’t hurt you. I love you, and I rather fucking ship myself back to Russia- 

You sigh. I told you to stop saying that, Ben. 

He went silent for a second, and his Thing in you rumbles. What. 

Stop saying you love me. 

No. 

Please- 

No. I fucking love you, let me say it- 

Ben, please. 

Stop saying please. I don’t want you begging unless it’s for me to make your pretty fucking eyes roll back in your head- 

I’m not joking- 

Do I sound like I’m damn laughing. I love you-

Benjamin- 

You almost walk into a wall, and have to cut off your own voice in your head to regain your balance. And now you’re certain it’s not worth second guessing, because Ben doesn’t love you. You simply miss him so much your stupid brain is inventing random reasons for him to talk to you. It’s only been two weeks since you saw Ben last, and it’s driving you insane. 

If you weren’t already so preoccupied with trying to get a lead on some V, you might be more worried about that. But right now you need the comfort that’s provided by Ben’s voice rolling through you as he tells you he loves you, and the easy joy that talking to his phantom brings. The way it makes his Thing so powerful and devout to whatever feeds it. 

You still can’t figure out what feeds it, but it’s only growing more and more hungry. It’s still holding your head together, though, so you entertain it. You have a whole morning dedicated to finding V, and Ben’s phantom and Thing can follow you wherever so you don’t break. You have two days left, so you have to play the game and keep your mask on and find the V. If letting Ben haunt you will keep you sane, so be it. There are worse ways to be hungry.

A-Train said Homelander kept some in his room, but you’ve been looking over almost every nook and cranny and shadow and hollow, and there’s nothing. Homelander didn’t throw it away, he wouldn’t, but you don’t even have an educated guess as to where he’d move it to. It doesn’t help that you have to at least try to sneak around Sage’s notice, or that Ben’s voice keeps muttering everywhere about things that don’t matter. It’s keeping you sane—his grumbles and feel all around you, pushing your cracks back together—but it’s a little distracting. You can’t care about breakfast or guns or the movie Palm Springs—you don’t actually remember watching that one with him, you weren’t sure he’d like it—because you have to rummage through cabinets and empty rooms of the dead members of the Seven.

Ben’s voice keeps telling you he loves you. You give up on trying to shut him up, because you don’t have the time. He’s here to keep you steady, and it’s working fairly well. 

I still can’t fucking believe they were keep my shield in goddamn Ohio. 

Uh huh, you nod mindlessly into the air, pressing the wall in Firecracker’s old room like you might find a secret door. Annie probably would’ve mentioned a secret door, she lived here for almost three years after all, but you can’t afford to leave any stone unturned. 

I mean, why even go to trouble of putting it back together if you’re going to put it in taint-fuck Ohio-

Benjamin. Why are we talking about Ohio.

Because if Vought was keeping V in Ohio with my shield, I’ll blow their stupid fucking tower up- 

Your shield was fine, you big baby. And It doesn’t matter where Vought was keeping V, what matters is where Sage is keeping it. Now.

Ben’s grunt sounds from somewhere behind you. You’re right. 

What was that? 

You’re fucking right. You’re always fucking right, so don’t damn gloat- 

I am not always right. 

Yes, you are. You’re going to find the V and come home, because you fucking promised and you’re always right about this shit. 

What shit? 

How people think. Their dumb fucking pussy emotions and thoughts. 

Well, I do try. 

You’ve probably already fucking found the V. Homelander probably didn’t even hide it, because he’s a smug pussy who thinks everyone fucking loves him. 

You almost drop the vase you’d been turning over in your hand, mouth falling slightly open. Holy shit, Ben. You’re a genius. 

Goddamn right I am. His voice pauses in your head, and you can almost see the knit of his brow. But why the fuck do you think that. 

Because Homelander’s a hubristic piece of shit. He won’t think anyone would ever cross or betray him, and if they did he doesn’t think they’d get away with it. 

So? 

You smile, fingers tapping against the vases slightly dusting glass. I know where the V is. 

It takes an effort not to sprint back to Homelander’s apartment. To look nonchalant and bored as you open the door, to call out to see if he’s there, and walk up the stairs carefully just in case. 

You duck under the bed, and there’s a black box. A small, sleek black box without a lock, weighting barely over five pounds when you pull it out. 

There’s only one vial. One small vial of green liquid, with a label on it that reads Project Anomaly, Trial 6. 

It’s your V. Ben’s V. 

It’ll have to do. 

There’s only one last move. One last careful move. One more thing before you can go home, and one more day to do it. 

You make dinner for Homelander. You’re not sure what he likes, but he’s made you eat a lot of corn dogs. You don’t know how to make corn dogs, so you heat up some hotdogs and hope it’ll be enough. 

It needs to be enough. 

When he arrives, your smile is tooth-rotting. You’re small and quiet and weak, and you’re all for him. You’re cold and exhausted and everything in you is taut, but you’re so close.

“Hi, babe!” You’re going to vomit. You can’t, but later you’ll need to cut off your tongue so you can never even risk sounding like that again. “I made you some food.” 

“Food.” Homelander stops in front of you, and you don’t flinch. “What’s the occasion that finally made you stop fucking moping?” 

“It’s an offering,” you give him a simper. It hurts your face. “I want to apologize, and talk about us.” 

Us. You want to scream but you turn it into a sweeter smile, and Homelander’s face twists into a wide, smug smirk.

“Us?” 

He says the word like it’s real. Like it’s applicable to you and him, and you’re not barely alive anymore. So close. 

“Our future.” You pat the seat next to you. “Eat first, you’ve been running around all day.” 

Homelander lowers into the seat, and frowns at the sad, limp hotdog in front of him. “What the fuck is this.” 

“We don’t have a lot of raw ingredients, I did my best with what I had, I’m sorry-“ 

“I am not eating this limp dick excuse for food.” He pokes the hotdog, and turns to fully face you. “Talk.” 

“I, um,” you take Homelander’s hand gingerly, waiting for him to yank it back. He doesn’t. “Sage suggested that I should propose to you, and I just wanted to talk to you about it. Make sure that’s what you want-” 

“Sage suggested.” He scowls at you. “So you don’t want to marry me? What am I doing wrong?!” You stare at him, frozen in place as you try to hold your blood in your body, and Homelander’s voice grows louder. “Fucking answer me!” 

“Nothing!” Your voice is nervous because you love him and want him to be happy. Not because you keep seeing red on your hands and his face and splattered across walls. You’re holding one hand up to his face and it’s to comfort him, and you’re not forcing your fingers to stay steady. He’s so angry, and cold, and everything in him is like a tornado. Moving and changing too fast, making you sick. “I just want to make sure marriage is something you want too! I love you, that’s enough-“

Homelander’s moving, and before you can even realize what’s happening his mouth is on yours. His hold on you is like a chain, uncaring and harsh and wearing you down, wrapping around your throat until all you can do is think no. No no no no no- 

“I knew you’d see it my way.” His words are hissed against your lips, and something finally breaks deep in you. Far, far down in an artery you feel it snap, and if this doesn’t work, you might not survive. 

“Of course,” you have to smile. The world is ending but you have to smile. “Thank you for waiting, babe.” 

Homelander stands up, almost pushing you away, and claps his hands. “This is going to be a fucking wedding. They won’t be saying all those lies about us when they see it, it’ll be befitting of the gods we are.” He grins to himself. “And everyone loves romance. Fucking sheeple will eat this up. I’m going to get you a ring-“ 

“Can you get it from Paris?” You give him a pout. “I’ve always wanted a ring from Paris.” 

“Of course, honey. Only the best for the bride of the century.” Homelander nods, and kisses you again. You’re drowning, falling, dying, breaking- “I’ll go now, Sage won’t bitch about it when she sees how much people love us.” 

You pretend to start and protest, but he’s already gone. And you’re alone. You’re breaking—the cracks are starting to split open and the world is going blurry—but you have to go. You’re on a time limit, and you have to fucking go.

You’re so close. You can’t fail now. 

Homelander’s fast. Paris is far, but Homelander’s fast. You probably have an hour, likely less if he gets word. You’ve already wasted time on the floor, clinging onto the parts of you that are somewhat intact to get your through this. Trying to focus on Ben’s Thing in your chest—bloody and loud—to keep your feet moving. 

And you run. Nobody guards Homelander’s room, people are barely even on 99 lately, so you run. Faster than you’ve ever run in your life, one hand over the original V in your pocket to keep it from falling out. Out the door, down the stairs, not stopping to check if anyone sees you. The fire is scratching under your skin, and you’re going to pass out from the cold you won’t let leave you, but you go. 

Down, down, down. 82. 74. 66. 53. 

The alarms go off. The stairwell lights up red, the blare of a siren echoing off the gray walls, and you keep running.

50. 47. 42. 

A door opens somewhere, the creak and scrape on the concrete barely audible. 

38. 

A man in all black is aiming a gun at you. He has brown eyes, and his hands are shaking. 

His eyes burn out first, and you keep running.

35.  

Three more. One of them has a tattoo of a flower visible on her wrist. It curls and twists with the burns on her hands.

31. 27. 23. 

More bodies. The stairs are littered with bodies, and everything is painted in blood, and the water from the sprinklers is going up into steam. You can’t see your next steps, or the floor numbers, but you keep going. 

Down, down, down. 

A green EXIT sign is glowing through the smoke and mist. You slam into it, and you might hear something crack. 

Go. 

People are screaming, most of them parting around you. A few more bodies drop, a few more flashes of curly hair curling up in smoke and a scar on a cheek growing larger. One man’s shout of stop sounds like your father. 

Fucking go. 

You can see the exit. The doors of Vought Tower are made of glass, and it’s sunny outside. Everything is sparkling, like it just rained. 

GO. 

Someone calls your name. Your real name, your full name that’s carved on a gravestone in Boston. But the voice is wrong. There’s only one voice that’s right, that’s safe, and it’s the deep one that’s roaring for you in your chest. You don’t stop. 

That’s your name again. A woman is calling your name. She’s small, with dark skin and the coldest eyes you’ve ever seen.

She’s not safe. Everything in your brain is gone—replaced with a smooth song that feels familiar and an instinct to go home—but this woman is not safe. 

She’s talking to you, saying words you should understand, but you have to go. She’s telling you that you’re interesting, but she’s still won. That you shouldn’t use that vial in your pocket, because it might kill you. That you’ll never find the right kind, and that someone that makes everything in you scream is coming to take you away. That you’re out of the way, you failed to control yourself and now this shrewd woman has won. 

You can see the sun. It’s warm. It feels safe. The grass is green, and it’s reaching up to the sun. 

And you let go. You stop trying to keep yourself steady and strong, and you let all the exhaustion and loneliness and horror out into the air. Someone screams, and it might be you.

Glass shatters, and something stings your skin. There’s blood on your hands, and you don’t only belong to you anymore. 

But you can feel the sun.

———————

In the week after the Believe Expo, Ben started to lose his mind. 

He’d been in a meeting when it had started. Sat silently a few tables down from where MM, Mallory, and Butcher were interrogating A-Train. Ben had been kicked out of the actual process, because apparently nobody fucking appreciated how all his questions were about Her, and if she was okay. What did her smile look like, if she was even smiling. Was she having nightmares, and was Homelander keeping her locked up. Why was A-Train such a fucking weak pussy who didn’t help her. 

So he’d glared at them from across the room, trying to both listen to A-Train list off stupid fucking passwords and building locations and not break the glass in his hand. It would shatter everywhere, and Ben would probably have to fucking clean it up. 

That’s not glass, Pretty Boy. It’s plastic. 

Feels like fucking glass. 

Well, it’s plastic. You really think the CIA would give us real glass? When most of us can’t seem to stop blowing shit up and Hughie startles at the smallest sound?

Ben had smiled into the air, ducking his head so that nobody would see him looking like a fucking idiot. Plastic can still goddamn break, Sunshine. 

Her voice hummed somewhere in his chest, right next to the Thing. Well, it’s easier to clean. 

He’d snorted, and looked up as the doors from the hall swung open. Hughie and the French Prick had burst into the room, both shouting incoherently and tripping over each other. 

“The bloody hell is wrong with you two, ain’t you able to see we’re busy?!“ 

Kimiko had stepped over Hughie and the French Prick as they untangled themselves, ignoring Butcher as she marched over to Ben. 

He’d frowned up at her. “What.” 

She’d glared at him, signing something she fucking knew he didn’t understand, and dropped her phone in front of him. 

It was Her. A picture of Her, at the Believe Expo, frozen on the stage. Staring off into the distance, stage lights washing out her perfect features, her mouth open and her eyes wide. The headline above the picture read Anomaly’s Speech Interrupted by Terrorist Attack from the CIA. 

“The fuck is this.” 

Kimiko signed at Ben aggressively, and he didn’t fucking understand- 

“She says that it is all over the news.” The French Prick had stumbled up behind Kimiko, translating with a frown. “That it is bigger than the court trial. People are, to quote roughly, ‘losing their fucking minds’.” 

“Frenchie, what the hell are you talking about.” MM had called, still seated across from A-Train. “What’s bigger than the court trial?” 

The French Prick had said Her name, still watching Kimiko. “She is everywhere. The article Kimiko is showing Soldier Boy is from VNN, and there are many more about her and Homelander and the Believe Expo and-“ The French Prick had sighed. “Mon Coeur, I am not saying that to them.” 

Kimiko had turned to him, gesturing again with another point to Ben. 

“Because it will not be helpful.” The French Prick had looked at Ben, then said in a lower voice that Ben had still fucking heard, “this is already not very good-“ 

“If you don’t fucking tell me,” Ben had growled. “I’ll rip off your hands and make you eat them.” 

Kimiko had stepped between the French Prick and Ben, still gesturing at the former with only a brief pause to flip the latter off. 

The French Prick had let out another fucking sigh, and said the words slowly. “There are many… outlandish rumors. About her,” The French Prick had nodded at the phone, still in front of Ben. “And the nature of her life.” 

“Frenchie,” Butcher had drawled from across the room. “If you don’t start talkin without being a cryptic cunt-“ 

“Many are calling her a messiah. Some think she is an insider, a spy for either the CIA or Vought. There are investigations into her past, her paternity, and relationships with Homelander and…” The French Prick had winced as he spoke. “Monsieur Butcher.”

Ben had needed to take a walk. His fist had curled against the table, blood had pounded in his ears, and Her voice in his head had hummed do not kill Butcher. It will be messy and just a huge inconvenience for everyone, so Ben had stood up—the bench screeching as it flew out from under him—and stomped out of the dining hall.

Butcher had, surprisingly, not been a total fucking dickless piece of shit about it. Nobody had even mentioned it as more and more rumors and speculations poured in, each more fucking insane than the last. Ben started to long for Her to haunt him again, because right now he was being suffocated with this version of her that wasn’t fucking Her. It wasn’t even a goddamn person, it was a product, an idea for the fucking masses to project onto. She wasn’t a liar, or a honeypot, or a silly bimbo just caught up in a whirlwind romance that had gotten away from her. She was a brilliant, beautiful, fucking perfect woman. She wasn’t brainwashed—Ben pitied the fucking idiot who would try to, She’d give them a run for their money—or anyone’s fucking bastard child, and she had a PhD. In Anthropology, because she cared so fucking much about people and making the world good. Because She was good. She was the only person in the whole fucking world who was good. She wasn’t Homelander’s or Butcher’s or CIA’s, she was Ben’s. She was the most painfully strong-willed woman he’d ever met, and she wanted Ben.

And he had to just fucking watch, like an undeserving fucking pussy, as people kept talking about Her like they knew her. They didn’t know her. Ben knew her. He knew that this was part of Her stupid plan, and that she’d be home soon—She’d fucking promised—but that no matter what he’d wait until everyone else was dead and the building around him was in ruins for Her to return to him. He knew that, if this wasn’t tearing the country apart and inciting riots in the streets, She’d find it all hilarious. 

That’s the third person this week to accuse me of getting a BBL. She hummed in Ben’s ear as he listened to Hughie ramble on about the newest developments. Like I could afford an ass this good on a waitress’ salary.

He coughed to cover his snort, and Mallory shot him a glare.

“Is there anything you would like to say, Soldier Boy?” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“I’m your reporting officer-“ 

“You’re still not fucking paying me,” Ben sneered. “I’m not here for you, or your shit fucking ideas. Hughie, keep talking.” 

Hughie nodded nervously, and continued. It was a lot of pointless shit about how they had to keep to their stories, what allegations were worth addressing and what was just nutjobs talking out of their asses. Ben wasn’t really fucking listening, just staring at another photo of Her, in that stupid fucking costume, wearing a smile that wasn’t Hers. 

He missed Her smile. Ben missed every fucking thing about Her, but her smile was a goddamn work of art. When it was real it was wide and toothy and made everything around it brighter. Her eyes would scrunch with it, and it always looked like she was keeping a secret. Something just for Her, about how beautiful the world was and how she got to see it. When She gave Ben that smile, he got to be in on the secret. He got to see every single fucking perfect part of Her—understand a little more about why She loved this shit life so much—and if she let him he’d keep making Her smile until everything was almost as beautiful as She was.

He kept his promise. It had clearly been important to Her—for reasons Ben didn’t understand—that Ben was better to the Kid. She’d cashed in a fucking favor for it, and Ben knew she wouldn’t forget that it was Her last one. She’d wasted them on making him watch TV and read goddamn books and getting her some chocolate from the dining hall in the middle of the night—he’d have fucking done it without the favor, because She’d sprawled herself across his chest and held his face between her hands with a pretty pout on her lips—but She’d never used that last one.

But She wanted Ben to be nicer to the Kid. So he marched into the dining hall for dinner and sat at the almost empty table. 

The Kid stared at him over a book, and Ben grunted. He didn’t have a goddamn clue how to do this. 

“The fuckin hell are you doin here?” Butcher appeared through the kitchen doors, two plates in hand. He set one down in front of the Kid, dropping down across from Ben with a scowl. “You ain’t been to one of these since-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben muttered. He didn’t need another fucking reminder She was gone. “I live here just as much as you do, you fucking pussy. I can eat wherever I damn well please.” 

Butcher narrowed his eyes at Ben. “Then where’s your food.” 

“I only just fucking sat down-“ 

“You can have mine.” Ben felt his jaw clench as the Kid pushed his plate across the table. “I’m not that hungry.” 

“Ryan, you eat your own fuckin dinner and let me-“ 

“Kimiko gave me some cheese earlier.” The Kid mumbled. “I was showing her my homework and she was eating cheese. I asked for some-“ 

“Ryan-“ 

“I didn’t mean to eat all of it, I was just hungry-“ 

“Ryan-“ 

“And Mom said sharing was good!” Ryan looked at Butcher with wide eyes, and the pussies face fell into a glower. “She said sharing was important!” 

Butcher’s glare turned to Ben, and Ben pulled the plate closer to his body. He wasn’t that fucking hungry either, but Her voice kept ringing in his head. 

Be kind to Ryan. For me. 

“Uh,” Ben looked at the Kid, who was watching him with an openly nervous expression. “Thanks.” 

Was that so hard, Pretty Boy? You were almost civilized. 

Shut the fuck up. 

Her laugh echoed around Ben’s head, and he gave the Kid a small nod. “What are you reading.”

“Of Mice and Men,” The Kid answered, and his voice was so fucking quiet. “Aunt Grace says it’s important for my education-“

“That the one about the huge idiot who gets shot in the head, yeah?” Ben frowned, because he’d read that book. Over 80 years ago, but he’d read it. “It’s-“

“Lennie gets shot?!” The Kid’s face had fallen, and Ben blinked. 

“Uh-“ 

“Bloody hell.” Butcher sighed, pulling the book away from the Kid with a glare at Ben. “Tell him about your homework Ryan. I’m gonna go get you another fuckin book.” 

There was silence for a second after the door closed behind Butcher. 

“You don’t have to listen to me talk about my homework,” the Kid mumbled. “It’s not that interesting.” 

Be kind to Ryan. “I don’t fucking care. Talk.” 

The Kid started slow. He’d been right, it wasn’t that interesting. It was all books and history and science and fucking math. Ben goddamn knew what ecosystems were, and he didn’t give a fuck about calculating percentages, but the Kid seemed to. He got all damn cheerful naming the fifty states, and Ben didn’t have the fucking heart to shut him up. She’d asked him to be kind, and this seemed like the type of shit She’d love. She wouldn’t care that it was all for fucking children, She’d ask the Kid about his opinion on the symbolism in their stupid fucking books and his opinion on the Lousiana purchase.

So he let the Kid talk, all the way until the dining hall finally started to fill with the rest of the team. Annie and Hughie first, followed by Kimiko and the French Prick, all of whom gave Ben odd looks but didn’t interrupt the Kid’s ranting. MM and Butcher arrived—A-Train was still mostly keeping to himself, Ben hadn’t even seen him outside of meetings—and the Kid was cut off mid-sentence as Butcher dropped another book on the table.

Ben stood up. He’d done what he had to, and been nice to the Kid. He could leave.

“Are you not eating with us?” The Kid was frowning at him. “I thought you were going to eat with us.”

Ben wasn’t sure what to do. “I’m not-“ 

“Sit your ass down, Soldier Boy.” MM grunted, not looking up from his plate. “Eat your fucking dinner.” 

The Kid was still fucking watching him with a sad expression that turned into a smile when Ben slowly returned to his seat. 

Ben wasn’t sure how he allowed it to happen, but he was back in the dining hall the next night as well. He kept thinking about how fucking happy She’d be he was talking to the Kid, and how the Kid didn’t seem to care that Ben had tried to murder him at one point. He just seemed happy Ben was there, and his face lit up when Ben sat across the table again. So Ben was there the next night, and the night after that, and suddenly he was fucking eating dinner with everyone. 

The Thing was still fucking trying to tell him something. He still didn’t fucking understand. It kept going on rampages around Ben’s body, trying to force him to get it. To just know what it wanted him to, what the Thing had decided was so fucking important for him to know. And it was still trying to tell Her. She wasn’t here, Ben had to keep reminding the Thing She wasn’t here, but it didn’t give a shit. It was rioting inside of Ben like it did when She was sad and he needed to help. To hold Her until her heartbeat was steady, or talk to Her until her perfect fucking brain was Her’s again. When it was trying to tell Ben to touch Her, that he should touch Her and all the pain and fear written across her pretty features would vanish, because Ben would make Her feel good. He’d touch Her and kiss her and bite her and fuck her until she was happy. He’d do fucking anything to make Her happy. 

And the Thing roared. 

There were points where the Thing would explode inside him, and Her voice would become clear. Like she was right at his side, grinning up at him as she spoke. Telling him about things only She would think of. The real Her, not the echo of her in his head. The Thing would squeeze in Ben’s chest in the middle of the night, and Her voice would start talking all too fast about how she couldn’t come home. She was weak and couldn’t come home. Ben told Her to shut up, because she would. Not coming home wasn’t a goddamn option. 

And She still wasn’t wearing blue. She’d promised, fucking sworn, that she’d wear blue if Ben needed to come get her. But she wasn’t, so Ben just waited. Mallory turned on the Dining Hall TV for some sort of stupid Vought show, and She looked so fucking exhausted and small—shrinking into herself in a way that Ben knew meant she was afraid—next to Homelander. But Ben had to just listen to Sage give a speech about their fucking relationship, and not go help Her. He hated this, but he fucking couldn’t go until She gave the signal. The Thing was raging inside of him, and Her voice was following him—teasing him with a lightness in her voice—but Ben had to just watch. Talk to Her in his head about anything, because that’s all he could have right now.

Then Homelander kissed Her cheek, and the table had cracked under Ben’s grip. Everyone was fucking looking at him, and She looked so fucking afraid. Homelander had touched Her. That weak, pathetic fucking pussy wasn’t supposed to touch Her. Ben should’ve been there to fucking kill him for even looking at Her- 

Ben was moving before he was even aware of it. Stalking down the halls, back to the apartment, because he was going to get Her. The Thing was going fucking feral, and Her voice kept trying to stop him, but nothing could stop him. Nothing was going to stop Ben from fucking killing Homelander, right fucking now. He had his shield and himself, and V or no V, he’d take the shot and he wouldn’t fucking miss. He wasn’t going to keep fucking leaving Her- 

Not leaving. 

She kept talking to him, her voice desperate in Ben’s head. He had go goddamn save her, bring her home- 

Her voice wouldn’t shut the fuck up. She wanted to come home. She wanted him more. She’d see Ben soon, but he had to wait.

He had to keep fucking waiting. He had to put down his shield, put his shirt back on, push his suit back into the dresser and just miss Her. Wait for her and miss her.

After a while, someone knocked on the door. Ben scowled—if it was Hughie or Annie here to talk about fucking feelings, he’d punch their teeth out—and went to answer the door. 

It wasn’t Annie or Hughie to talk about feelings. It wasn’t Mallory or MM or Butcher to lecture him either, or even the French Prick to do whatever the hell the French Prick did. 

It was the Kid, looking up at Ben with an anxious face. 

“You, um, you weren’t in the dining hall for dinner. I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

Ben blinked at him. He didn’t fucking love how he seemed unable to hold a normal conversation with the Kid. It was just a small fucking human. He could act like a grown ass man.

“I’m eating alone. Go back before Butcher starts fucking looking for you.” 

Ben went to slam the door, but the Kid stopped him. Shot out a hand and stopped Ben. “Please, wait-“ 

“How fucking strong are you?” 

The Kid stared at him. “I, um, I don’t know. My dad said I was really strong-“ 

“Anyone ever tested it?” 

“Tested what?” 

Ben sighed. “Your strength. Given you some weights, put you under a car-“ 

“A car?” The Kid shook his head frantically. “I don’t, please don’t put me under a car-“ 

“Calm the fuck down, I’m not going to do it right damn now.” Ben rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell Butcher tomorrow.” 

“Tell Butcher what-“ 

The Kid’s words were still panicked, and Ben sighed, running a hand over his face. “We need to figure out how strong you are. Just so you don’t fucking break something.” 

“I broke a cup,” the Kid mumbled, staring at the floor. “When I got here. And I’ve broken some people-“ 

“That’s not your fault,” Ben snapped, Her sad face flashing with smoke in his brain. “If nobody’s taught you how to control it, you shouldn’t be fucking expected to.” 

The Kid nodded slowly, still staring at Ben. “Will you help me?” 

“I don’t-” Ben’s fists curled at his side, and he cut himself off as he saw at the Kid’s wide, hopeful eyes watching him. Watching Ben like he was better than he was, like he’d somehow earned the Kid’s trust. Ben cursed himself, and sighed. “Fine.” 

“Will you come to dinner?” 

“No.” Ben wasn’t going to relent on that. He didn’t need everyone’s fucking sad, pitying looks, not right now. Not when the Thing was still rolling around inside him, not when he could still see Her face—full of frightened shock—and couldn’t do anything about it.

“Can I eat here?” 

Ben blinked. “What.” 

“May I please eat here? If, um, if it’s okay with you I can go ask Butcher-“ 

“Why.” 

The Kid shrugged, eyes dropping to the floor. “I want to ask you some questions, please.” 

Ben frowned. “About what.” 

The Kid said Her name, and the Thing fucking moaned in pain. “I just, I want to know about her. Nobody will talk about her, and Kimiko said you were-“ 

“You can fucking talk to Kimiko?” 

“I’m trying to learn,” the Kid shrugged, glancing up quickly. “It’s important to understand and respect others, even if they’re different-“ 

“Fine.” 

The Kid looked fully back up. “Fine?”

“You can eat here. Don’t bother getting Butcher, he’ll be a fucking ass about it. If he whines like a dickless pussy, I’ll deal with it.” Ben stood aside in one sharp step, and the Kid walked in the apartment slowly, looking around with wide eyes. 

“Your place is nicer than Butcher’s.” 

“Everyone decorated their own,” Ben grunted, moving to the kitchen. “And Butcher’s fucking boring. No color in that asshole’s place.” 

“Who decorated yours?” 

Ben sighed, said Her name, and ignored the stab through his heart. “Sit the fuck down. We’re eating bagels.” 

The Kid waited silently as Ben pulled out plates and prepped the food. When he stalked back over to the table—The Kid watching him and sitting with good fucking posture—Ben slammed the bagels down and dropped in his seat. The Kid was in Her seat.

He had to be okay with that. She’d kick Ben’s ass if he moved the Kid just because he didn’t think anyone else should ever even try to take her place in any fucking way. 

The Kid took his first bite, and stared down at the bagel as he swallowed. “Is this-“ 

“Strawberry cream cheese,” Ben muttered, shoving half of his own in his mouth. “Better than fucking crack.” 

“Oh.” The Kid nodded, and took another small bite. 

Ben sighed. “She liked it.” 

Don’t lie to the child, Benjamin. You love that shit twice as much as I do. 

“She showed it to me,” Ben amended himself, face dropping into a scowl. “And I love it as well.” 

The Kid nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Taking another bite, waiting for Ben to speak.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Ben leaned back in his chair, glaring at the Kid. “Three questions. That’s all you fucking get. I don’t have to answer a goddamn one if I don’t want to, and you don’t get them back. So choose fucking wisely.”

The Kid nodded, and looked back down at his plate. Ben shoved the rest of his bagel in his mouth, watching the Kid carefully as he chewed. 

“What’s her favorite color?” 

“All of them,” Ben swallowed, his words becoming clearer. “She liked every fucking color. She said she didn’t want any of them to feel bad about being ugly, so she wouldn’t pick a favorite. All colors had something to contribute.” 

“Even orange?” 

Ben snorted. “Halloween and the damn Grand Canyon.” 

The Kid took another bite, looking up at Ben. “How did you meet her?” 

“She fucking kidnapped me.” Ben grumbled, and the Kid’s mouth fell open. Ben rolled his eyes. “Not like that. She woke me up to kill Homelander, and we lived in a safe house together. We grew,” Ben frowned, searching for the right word that explained how She was his whole life. How he’d decided that, in the end, he would fucking die and kill and bleed for Her. How She made him happy and was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. How She was perfect, and adored Ben, and they’d always fucking burn together. “Close. Once we stopped trying to damn kill each other, we grew close.”

“Okay.” The Kid looked fucking sad, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Spit it out,” Ben muttered. “Whatever the hell you want to say-“ 

“I’m sorry.“ The Kid’s voice was almost a whine, and he sounded desperate. Talking too fucking fast. “I, um, I know she’s not here because of me, and what my dad did to her, and Butcher says it’s not my fault but-“ 

“Shut up,” Ben’s words were rough, but he was getting worried the Kid was going to make himself pass out. “Butcher’s, for fucking once, right. You’re not your shit-fuck father, buddy.” That felt like something She’d say. “And she wanted to help you. She doesn’t hate you.”

“Why?” The Kid gave Ben a pathetic, sad look. “Why did she help me? After what my dad, what Homelander did-“ 

“Because that’s not the type of person she is.” Ben snapped, and his voice was harsher than he’d meant it to be, but the Thing was bellowing inside him. “She doesn’t hold things against people, even when she fucking should. She wants to help people, and so she fucking does.” Ben sighed. “She thinks the world is good. She’s mean and rude and has a smart fucking mouth, but she still thinks this shit is worth something. And she’s a fucking genius, so she’s probably right. She probably didn’t even damn think to blame you, so don’t fucking do it for her. She doesn’t like people doing shit for her.”

“She doesn’t?” 

“No.” Ben watched the Kid’s soft, eager expression. “She works her fucking ass off for everything, and earns every damn thing she gets. Never even asks for shit in return.” Ben scowled into the air. “She deserves a fuck ton more than people are giving her.” She deserved fucking everything. “Does everyone’s goddamn jobs and all she gets is an apartment and a limited company credit card in fucking Mallory’s name. If the CIA weren’t full of such fucking asshole pussies, they’d just give her goddamn control of everything and we’d all be home in an afternoon.”

“She sounds really cool.” The Kid mumbled, and Ben nodded. 

“She is fucking cool.” He grunted. “She’s fucking perfect.” 

The Kid looked up at Ben with big eyes. “Yeah, it, um, it makes sense why you love her.”

Ben’s whole world stopped. 

He did. 

He loved Her. 

With every single fucking part of him, Ben loved Her. That was what the Thing was. Love. For Her. That’s what it had been trying to tell him. He loved Her. 

She was perfect. She was the whole world and everything around it and between it, and Ben loved Her. She never fucking wavered, and was so fucking smart and beautiful and good, and Ben loved Her. She trusted Ben, she wanted him, and he fucking loved Her.

This was the stupid shit people wrote all those songs that She loved about. Where they talked about it like it was evasive and the most amazing pain you’d ever fucking feel, and how their person was the best person and nobody fucking got it like they did. This pain was fucking amazing, and Ben never wanted to stop feeling it. It made his heart—that’s what the fucking Thing was, and Ben was a goddamn idiot—ache because she wasn’t here, but it also meant he got to want Her. The pain meant She was in sight, and Ben just had to fucking wait. He’d never stop waiting. If the next time he saw Her was in a thousand fucking years, Ben would pick her up into his arms all the same and kiss her until she moaned into his mouth and he could breathe again. Because his person was the best fucking person. Nobody did fucking get it like Ben did. She was better than every other goddamn pussy fucker on the planet, and she was a goddamn force of nature. She made oceans part and lightning strike and the sun followed Her because it wanted to share Her warmth. She was so fucking perfect, so powerful, that she’d managed to make Ben’s heart beat in a way it hadn’t before. He’d been alive for over a goddamn century, and he’d never had everything be about his heart, and how it needed to be in time with Hers. 

This was all the goddamn movies she’d made him watch, where two people would look into each other’s eyes and the music would swell and everything would fade to black as they kissed. This wouldn’t fade to black. This would keep going, and Ben would eat Her pretty face and suck her lips until they were swollen. He’d put wets kisses along her jaw and bite on her neck, and she’d fucking moan and the lights would stay up as Ben fucked her. Really, properly fucked Her like she deserved, made her unravelled and wrecked under him. Everyone would fucking see, because the whole fucking world needed to see Her how Ben saw her. And he’d keep going and going until she looked at him like he was everything, and Ben would keep fucking loving Her until someone figured out a way to kill him. And even then he’d crawl back to Her. They’d have to pull his fucking heart out of his chest and launch it into fucking space where he couldn’t follow it. He’d probably follow it anyways, because space didn’t have fucking shit on Ben, on his love for Her. His love was bigger, more important, and if space tried to take his heart Ben would just have to figure out how to fucking kill it and get Her back.

This was probably like poems and books, as well. She’d say it was. She’d say that love is the most poetic thing in the world, and that love in some form runs through every great story in history, even the tragic and heartbreaking ones. She’d make this shit poetic. She’d hold Ben’s face between her hands and say a bunch of things he didn’t understand, using allegories and metaphors and smiling at him, and it wouldn’t fucking matter what Ben understood. She would be there, telling Ben she loved him and smiling and saying it a million different ways because that’s who she was. Her brain moved too fucking fast, and She’d only be able to tell Ben she loved him in a way that was beautiful. 

Ben didn’t need to be fucking beautiful. This was pretty fucking simple, he loved Her. That was all that needed to be fucking said, there was no other goddamn way to put it. Ben loved Her, like nobody had ever loved anything in goddamn history. Ben loved Her, and whenever he thought the words his heart would feel a little easier in his chest.

Once She was home Ben would get his hands dirty for her and do whatever she told him and make Her feel fucking good. That’s what he was here for now, to make Her feel good, to touch her and praise her and worship her until she understood that she was perfect. She’d fall apart because of Ben, and she’d fucking smile at him after, and that would be all he needed to keep living. She could have all his food, and take all his sleep and oxygen and goddamn peace, but Ben would fucking thrive. Because She’d be there and he could keep loving her.

But now, he had to get through the rest of dinner and show the Kid out while acting like everything was normal. He had to get through the rest of his fucking life acting like everything was fucking normal. Like he wasn’t in love, in stupid fucking love, with Her. 

He’d tell Her. She had to fucking know. Ben would hold it within himself until She was home and happy, then he’d tell her. 

He didn’t have a fucking clue how. He’d never done this shit before, where it really fucking mattered that he did it right. He could get her shit. Something she’d like, that proved that Ben listened. He always fucking listened to Her.

She liked those stupid off-brand Uought sunglasses. She’d wear them all the damn time, and they’d broken when he lost Her. He wouldn’t get Her blue one’s this time. She shouldn’t wear blue, unless it was to tell Ben to come fucking get Her. He didn’t want to get Her Soldier Boy sunglasses, Vought didn’t deserve Ben’s money—technically the CIA’s money, but who gave a fuck—or his likeness. 

Ben got Her green ones. Simple fucking green ones with the same aviator frames, that he could give to Her and say he loved her and she’d smile at him. 

He kept eating with the team. The Kid kept asking Ben questions, a lot about history—like he was supposed have a fucking clue just because he’d been alive for some of it—and a lot about Her.

“I wasn’t alive in the fucking 1800s,” Ben muttered as the Kid showed him a worksheet question. “I don’t have a goddamn idea what that painting means.” 

“The book said it was about Manifest Destiny,” the Kid frowned. “But I can’t find a definition, and Butcher and Aunt Grace don’t want me to have a phone.” 

Ben actually agreed with that. The Kid didn’t need to see all the shit people were saying about him, or about how Homelander and Her were in love but maybe She’d been fucking Butcher. Ben wished he could unsee it. Wipe it from his goddamn brain. He was about to say he didn’t have a fucking clue about the Manifest Destiny shit, but She must have told him at some point. This seemed like shit she’d tell him about, and suddenly her voice was reminding him. 

“It’s the nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to expand westward, and should exert the means to do so.” 

The Kid blinked at him. “Really? Are you-“ 

“I’m fucking certain.” Her voice in Ben’s head had been fucking certain, so he was as well. “That’s what it means.” 

“Okay.” The Kid started to write on the paper, and people began to trickle in for dinner. Butcher sat at the Kid’s side—glancing over the worksheet once and giving an approving nod—as Hughie and Annie sat on Ben’s bench. Neither flinched when Ben glanced at them. MM and A-Train arrived, the fast pussy finally seeming to develop some team spirit, and the French Prick and Kimiko were late. Ben hoped they were finally just fucking. If they kept making silent heart eyes at each other without just fucking, he’d shoot them. The French Prick specifically, because Kimiko would just be a waste of a bullet. If Ben couldn’t fuck his woman, everyone else better start appreciating what they goddamn had.

“You still need my phone for that bloody school shit, Ryan?” 

“No,” the Kid didn’t look up from his paper. “Ben helped me. Manifest Destiny means,” he paused, squinting to read his own handwriting. “The nationalistic belief that America should expand to the west.” 

Butcher scowled at Ben. “That so?” 

The Kid hummed, and Ben shrugged. “I’m fucking right, so don’t lose your stick up your own asshole.” 

“You seem real fuckin sure-“ 

“He is right, Butcher,” MM muttered. “That’s the definition. Not sure how he knows-“ 

“All of you seem to be real goddamn convinced I’m a fucking idiot,” Ben snapped. “I’m not a boring pussy, but I know things. I’m not a goddamn asshole without a fucking brain.” 

“I think we just aren’t sure what you would know,” Hughie mumbled, glancing at Ben nervously. “I mean, you haven’t been in school in a while. And I don’t think they taught westward expansion with any, like, nuance in the early 1900s.” 

“They didn’t,” Ben sighed, and said Her name. He needed to say Her name more, it made his heart squeeze but it always sounded fucking right. “She told me. And she’s a fucking nerd,” he tried not to smile. He fucking missed her. “She’s always fucking right about that shit.”

A-Train was looking at Ben weird again. Ben was about to fucking ask what the hell is problem was, why the pussy wouldn’t just talk to him. Ben hadn’t even ever really tried to kill him—as far as he remembered—and everyone else was talking to him. He’d defiantly tried to kill everyone else at least once, so why the fuck A-Train was being so damn strange- 

“Does she like school?” The Kid was asking Ben with those same fucking wide eyes, and he couldn’t not talk about Her if he fucking tried. 

“She says there are massive flaws in the American education system,” Ben shrugged. “But she likes learning, because she’s fucking insane.” 

“What was her favorite subject?” The Kid’s voice was growing eager, and everyone else was silent. “In school?” 

“English. And the fucking social one. Anything about people.”

“Arts and Humanities,” MM offered, frowning at Ben. “If it’s not STEM, it’s Arts and Humanities.”

Ben didn’t have a fucking clue what STEM was, but Arts and Humanities sounded familiar. “Sure. That shit.” 

“I like English as well,” the Kid was smiling, and Ben couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching. “But I also like science. Biology is my favorite-“ 

“Let the old ass fuckin eat, Ryan.” Butcher muttered, standing up. “You want pizza rolls?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Butcher nodded and stalked off, and the Kid turned back to Ben. 

“Does she like biology?” 

Ben sighed. “She likes everything. I think she gives at least a small shit about biology, because she talked about it when she’d work on my shell shock.” 

The Kid needed to stop asking fucking questions about Her, because Ben was learning he was incapable of just lying or telling him to shut the fuck up. His stupid heart would grab his mouth and use any fucking excuse to talk about Her—about how good she was and how she made everything around her good as well—because it wasn’t allowed to say Ben loved Her yet. 

“What’s shell shock?” 

“PTSD.” 

“What?” Annie leaned over Hughie, frowning at Ben. “What are you talking about?” 

“She was doing her fucking brain magic shit on my head.” Ben snapped. “She asked to, and it was fucking working.”

It had been working. Ben would never tell Her, because she’d get that pleased look in her eyes and bounce around the room, taunting Ben until he grabbed Her and kissed all the smug words out of her mouth—actually, he would tell Her, because that sounded fucking amazing—but it had been working. Ben’s nightmares about Russia and pain had faded, and he didn’t hear drums in the constant background anymore. Now it was only Her, following him and making him lose his fucking mind. 

Annie nodded, and dropped it for the rest of dinner. Ben answered a few more of the Kid’s questions, ignored A-Train’s silent, strange looks, and ate his barbecued ribs. When he was done he cleared his plate, dropping it into the sink, and nearly punched Annie when she came up behind him. 

“Soldier Boy?” 

Ben whipped around, fist’s clenched. “Christ on a fucking cross-“ 

“Why didn’t she tell us about the PTSD treatment?” Annie crossed her arms, standing her ground. “We should know-“ 

“Me and you pussies weren’t exactly buddy-buddy,” Ben drawled. “And you don’t need to know shit about what she and I do.” 

“If it affects the team, we do.” 

“Well it fucking doesn’t-“ 

“It was probably hurting her,” Annie pushed on, and Ben’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t just vanishing. Whatever she was doing to fix you was going into her.” 

“She’d have fucking told me-“

Annie shook her head. “She wouldn’t.” Annie said Her name with a sad expression, and Ben’s heart hurt. “She, well, you know her. She wouldn’t ever tell anyone she was hurting, not until she had to.” 

“She’d fucking tell me.” Ben insisted. She’d never fucking lie to him, and he’d never doing anything that would hurt her. “If it was hurting her, she’d have told me and I’d have fucking stopped her-“

“Just, listen.” Annie sighed. “I know she cares about you. A lot. And if you care about her, you won’t make her keep doing that when she gets back. It’s not her responsibility to fix you, even if she...” Annie looked him up and down. “Cares about you.” 

“I fucking know that,” Ben hissed. “You think I don’t fucking know that? I care about her more than you’re goddamn capable of imagining-“ 

“Then don’t hurt her.” Annie shrugged. “She won’t say it’s hurting her, but her nightmares were getting worse even before the tower. She’s dealing with a lot, do this one thing for her.” 

Her nightmares had been getting worse. And She’d been staring at corners and shadows when she didn’t think Ben was watching. “How the fuck did you know that.” 

“She’s my friend,” Annie frowned. “She told me stuff.” 

“What other stuff did she tell you?” 

“Enough for me to believe that you don’t want to hurt her.” 

“Stop speaking in fucking riddles-“ 

“Soldier Boy,” Annie shook her head. “I’m not trying to fight with you. Not right now, with everything being so fucked. But just, don’t hurt her.” 

Annie left, and Ben couldn’t fucking move. He’d never hurt Her, he fucking loved Her. Everything in him was dedicated to protecting her and loving her, and he’d rather go back to sleep or ship himself to Russia that let her hurt anymore- 

She knew that. Ben was certain She knew that. She didn’t know he loved Her, and he wished her voice would stop trying to fight with him about that, but she knew Ben would never fucking hurt Her. He’d keep her safe, he’d always care for her and make her happy. Everything good was Her, and Ben’s heart kept beating so she could have it when she came home. 

The blood in Ben’s body had turned into Her. This is what people must have meant when they said love would drive you mad. Her voice, growing clearer and clearer in his head, was still telling about strange fucking things Ben hadn’t been thinking about before. Sometimes it would even say that She loved him, and Ben decided that he was getting a little too fucking into this fantasy. Where he could ask Her voice in his head questions and she’d answer like it was Her. Really Her. When he’d finished buying Her sunglasses—She’d be real fucking proud, he’d used Amazon without calling Hughie to make him do it—Her voice had been tired and sour around him, but still so slightly amused. Sounding like Her. 

Do you think he watches tentacle porn? 

Ben had frowned into the empty apartment. What the fuck are you talking about. 

The Deep. Do you think he watches tentacle porn? 

I don’t fucking know. Why the hell would I know that. 

You don’t have to actually know, Pretty Boy. You can guess, or offer another type of porn. My vote is tentacle, but if you think there’s another- 

What’s that one you told me about that I couldn’t fucking understand. With the dogs. 

Beastialty? 

No, smartass. With the costumes- 

Oh. Furries.

Ben had nodded at nothing. Is there an ocean version of furries? 

Maybe. I don’t actually know. 

You don’t have to actually know, Sunshine. You can fucking guess- 

Shut up. 

No. 

Benjamin- 

No. 

Fuck you. 

I will. When you get home I’m going to blow your fucking mind. There’s not a single goddamn thing I won’t do to you, not if you ask real fucking nice- 

Not a thing? Are you going to tentacle fuck me? 

Brat. 

Cunt. And there probably are ocean furries. Rule 34 and all. 

What the hell is rule 34.

Her snort had rumbled in Ben’s chest. Oh, that’s going to be so much fun to show you. 

You can just fucking tell me- 

No. I want to see your face, it’s going to be adorable. 

I am not goddamn adorable- 

Yes, you are. You’re downright cute, Benjamin. Deal with it. 

Ben had sighed. You’re lucky I love you. 

Ben, please. Stop saying that. 

No. I fucking love you, and there’s not a goddamn thing that will make me stop loving you- 

Ben- 

His phone had buzzed with a message from Butcher about another A-Train meeting, and Her voice had vanished into the hum of Ben’s heart. He’d smiled at her sleepy face, still his lockscreen because there was not a fucking chance in hell he’d change it now, and left to go hear A-Train list out another bunch of stupid fucking passcodes.

He kept hearing Her. Her voice was only growing stronger, and Ben must miss her somehow more than he’d thought fucking possible because she was always there. 

Benjamin. 

He’d tensed, standing in the shower after returning to his apartment from dinner, and repeated Her name back to her in his head. 

Would you hate it if I asked you out? 

What. 

If I told you I loved you, and asked you out. And don’t say you love me. You’re not allowed to say you love me. 

Shut the fuck up, I’ll tell you I love you as much as I fucking want- 

Ben. Please just answer my question. 

No. 

Benjamin- 

My answer is no. Why the fuck would I hate it if you asked me out. And if you told me you loved me- 

I don’t know. Gender roles? Guys are supposed to ask girls out. 

We’re not fucking children. Let me finish my damn sentence. If you told me you loved me, there wouldn’t be a single fucking thing you could ask of me that I wouldn’t give you. And it doesn’t matter, because as soon as you’re home and safe I’m going to tell you I love you and fuck you stupid. 

Stop saying that- 

No. I’m going to make you cum all over me a hundred times in every single fucking position I can think of. Then I’ll make some new ones, and figure out which ones are your favorite, so I can keep fucking you forever. 

Ben had almost been able to hear that small sound She always made when she was trying to hide how wet he’d gotten her. I’d like that. 

Good. Because it’s fucking happening. The moment you say the word, you’re fucking mine, Sunshine. And if you want to suck my cock, I won’t stop you. 

What a gentleman. I’m one lucky gal, having such a generous… Her voice had trailed off, and Ben had seen her pretty lips falling into a frown. Heard the chew of her cheek. Boyfriend sounds stupid. 

Boyfriend is stupid. Ben had scowled, because boyfriend was too weak a word to describe what he needed to be to Her. And girlfriend was a fucking pathetic thing to call the most perfect woman to ever exist. And I’m not ever going to call you my girlfriend, because we’re fucking adults. 

That’s true, hundred year old men shouldn’t have girlfriends. That’s pretty embarrassing for you.

Brat.

Cunt. There was a beat of silence. What would you call me?

Doesn’t matter, Ben had shrugged, even though She wasn’t real and couldn’t see it. As long as we’re fucking together, I don’t give a shit what we call each other. 

He’d want to call Her his wife. Suddenly he was goddamn certain that, one day, he’d fucking marry that insane and perfect fucking woman. If She’d let him. As Her voice hummed and faded away again, Ben decided that whatever she’d give him he’d take. He’d ask, at the right times, what she wanted. If it was everything he wanted. But if she didn’t—she might never want exactly what Ben wanted, not with Homelander as a stain on her head—Ben would genuinely be fucking fine. Not Her type of fine, where she just didn’t want to talk about how much everything was hurting Her, but just fine. As long as She was with him, Ben would be fine. 

His dreams were getting fucking horrible again. He’d wake up from nightmares filled with blood, unable to breathe with Her voice in his head. 

Blood. So much blood. I don’t have time to clean all this blood- 

Breathe, Sunshine. He’d glare into the dark, because even if She wasn’t real it was fucking painful to hear her voice so afraid and weak. Just fucking breathe. 

There’s blood, Ben. It’s everywhere, and it’s not mine, and I miss you. I miss you so much- 

Wear blue, and I’ll come fucking get you, right now. 

No, I’m so close. I can’t. 

Then breathe. 

Ben’s own heart had slowed, and his own breathing became even. 

Thank you. Her voice had whispered, right in his ear. He could almost feel Her soft hand, gently tracing his jaw in the dark. I’m sorry. 

Shut the fuck up. Don’t ever thank me, or apologize. 

Please- 

No. I don’t want it. I want you home, because I fucking miss you. Nothing else. 

Okay. Silence, then. I’ll see you soon. 

He’d sighed into the dark, and stared up at the high ceiling. He’d forgotten to turn off the bathroom lamps, and there was light leaking under the door of their empty bedroom. I’ll see you soon.

They were still looking for V. A-Train had given them a list of warehouses and Vought storage spaces, so right now Ben’s job was to comb over them with Butcher, Hughie, and the French Prick for clues. There were hundreds of warehouses and cargo ports and underground bunkers, and Hughie kept finding fucking more. There was one in Sacramento that A-Train had claimed was full of V, but Hughie couldn’t find it on any records. It had seemingly disappeared off the face of the damn planet. There were fifty more like it, a lot of others in fucking places like New Orleans and Austin that held supe gear, and several in Akron and Portland and Chicago that were label miscellaneous. They’d kept Ben’s shield there. In a fucking miscellaneous warehouse. 

“This is getting us fucking nowhere,” he muttered, crumpling another paper in his hand as Her voice turned back to an easy song in his head. “It doesn’t fucking matter where Vought kept them. Sage would fucking hide anything she didn’t destroy.” 

“You got a better fuckin idea, Gov?” Butcher snapped, not looking up from his own papers. “We ain’t got much to go on, we’re doin the best with the shit we’ve got.”

“Our best is fucking dogshit-“ 

“Maybe it’s offsite?” Hughie paused his tapping of the computer. “Vought has, like, a lot of shell companies, right? Maybe Sage moved it there, off of any records.” 

Butcher nodded slowly. “Frenchie-“

The French Prick sighed. “I will go tell MM.”

“What about Homelander,” Ben grunted, frowning at Hughie. “Are you looking where he’d keep it?” 

“We can’t be sure he has any-“ 

“He does.” Ben’s snap was cold. “He might be the one keeping it offsite, where Sage can’t fucking find it.” 

“Lad, he’s ain’t totally fuckin wrong,” Butcher glanced up and Hughie with narrow eyes. “Homelander ain’t tryin to hide it from just the CIA, he’s tryin to hide it from everyone. And Vought’s his fuckin playground. He might be keepin it wherever he damn pleases.”

Hughie sighed. “Maybe, but I can’t check that without the list of shell companies.” 

“Do your fucking braking shit,” Ben scowled. “Isn’t that your whole fucking thing-“ 

“It’s hacking, not braking. And it’s not my whole thing-“ 

Hughie cut himself off as the Kid pushed into the dining hall. 

“Is it pizza night?” He sat next to Butcher, right across from Ben. “I know it’s early, but I’m really hungry-“

“It’s Friday, ain’t it?” Butcher started to pull his papers into his chest, shoving them down to Hughie. “And we can eat early. We’re the cunts in charge of ourselves.”

Ben returned his papers to Hughie as well, because this wasn’t going to do fucking shit. There wouldn’t be V anywhere, Sage was too smart of a bitch to leave it lying around. Ben could eat dinner, and then hang over Hughie’s shoulder until the man proved himself fucking useful.

He ate Her favorite type of pizza. He’d been eating Her favorite type of pizza, because it reminded him of Her. Of her smile and the soft look on Her perfect face when Ben would get it without her asking. She didn’t need to ask. Ben knew everything about Her that he needed to in order to keep her happy. It was how he was able to answer all of the Kid’s questions, and usually that knowledge would make his heart a little slower. Make Ben feel a little more at ease that She be safe and happy with him. That there was at least one way in which he was deserving of Her. But tonight his heart was going a mile a damn minute and he couldn’t fucking figure out why. He felt like something was choking him, like every nerve in his body was burning and he was cold. The pizza was warm, the dining hall was warm, but Ben felt cold. And it only got worse and worse. He felt fucking sick, something felt wrong. The longer the night went on, everyone having joined them to eat and talk about anything but the mission—a recently imposed rule by MM after Butcher had said the words supe jizz might have fuckin V in it and everyone had lost their appetites—the worse Ben felt. He was dying. Everything fucking hurt and he felt like he was going to fucking collapse- 

The whole room lit up red, and deafening alarms started to sound through the building. Ben and Butcher were up first, MM and Annie close behind them as they stormed to the door. 

“What’s going on-“ 

“Stay right fuckin there, Ryan.” Butcher roared, and the Kid froze in his steps. “Hughie, don’t let him out of your sight. Everyone else-“ 

“We don’t know what’s going on, Butcher.” Annie’s words were loud, but unsure. Ben could even fucking hear her heart racing over the sirens. “It might just be a fire drill-“ 

“We ain’t supposed to be hooked up to the drills,” Butcher snapped, pounding the wall and opening a full fucking arsenal panel. Someone should’ve told Ben about that sooner. “And we ain’t supposed to get alerts unless it’s defcon 1. It might be-“ 

“It’s not Homelander,” MM held up his phone. “I’ve got a Google alert on the fucker, he was just in France-“ 

Ben caught the gun Butcher was tossing to him. “It’s fucking something.” He grunted. “Something’s real fucking wrong. Get a gun and start moving.” 

MM frowned. “How the hell do you know-“ 

The doors burst open, and one of those pussy fucking agents—the man—yelped as five gun’s clicked with barrels aimed at his head. 

“Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot-“

“What the fuck is going on,” Ben didn’t try to make his voice nice or kind. Something was going on, he’d never felt this type of goddamn suffering in his life, and when he’d paused for just a second he’d realized Her voice was gone. It wasn’t humming softly around in his head and heart anymore. It was just fucking pain. 

“Soldier Boy, sir, I’m sorry to bother you but-“

“Fucking talk!” Ben roared, his ribs starting to cave in. “Stop pussying around and use your goddamn words-“ 

The agent shouted Her name, and the gun broke in Ben’s hand. “She’s in the lobby, but nobody can touch her-“ 

Ben didn’t wait to hear more. She was in the lobby. The sky felt like it was fucking falling and Ben couldn’t really see beyond something red lining his vision, but She was fucking here. He was sprinting down the hall, and into the elevator with Annie, Kimiko, and somehow Butcher the only ones managing to keep up. His fists were clenching and unclenching, nobody was daring to fucking speak, and as the elevator started to drop the pain began to subside. Like it knew he was getting closer. It knew She was home. 

The elevator had barely dinged before Ben was out of it, ripping through the metal with his hands. They hadn’t stopped in the lobby—they’d stopped three or four levels above—and people were trying to get on. Scrambling forwards, then falling back with surprised sounds as Ben pushed past them. All of them looked fucking afraid, like they were running from something. 

There was an overlook into the main lobby. The first seven floors had hallways that wrapped around the entrance, and Ben had a feeling that if he just kept walking towards what everyone else was fleeing from, he’d get there. Butcher and Annie were calling after him, but Ben didn’t fucking care. She was so fucking close, he had to fucking get to Her-

He heard Her screams first. They were raw noised of pure fucking pain, and she was probably trying to fucking say something. Ben could only hear his blood in his ears, and hHr screams, and her heartbeat. Fast and wild and pounding out of her chest.

Ben could hear Her heartbeat. That was Her heartbeat. He’d recognize it underwater and in deep space and buried twenty feet under the ground. It had made him turn around at the Believe Expo, because he’d have just kept walking and telling Her voice to stop torturing him with ideas that she might be there, but he’d heard her heartbeat. And this was Her fucking heartbeat.

She was alone, curled into Herself in the center of the lobby. Ben could finally fucking see Her, four floors below him, collapsed on her knees and screaming. Covered in blood, clothing scorched, and fucking screaming. Everyone was either fleeing, passed out in an odd pattern across the floor, or watching with wide-eyes from a wide circle that had formed around Her. Nobody was helping Her. Why was nobody fucking helping Her- 

She wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t looking at anyone, her eyes screwed shut as she screamed again. It was the worst fucking sound Ben had even heard. He needed to fucking get to Her, now. He’d survive the jump down, he wouldn’t even fucking feel it. He took a step back, readying to go, go to Her, he’d wasted too much fucking time and he had to get to Her, but a small hand yanked him back. 

“What the fuck-“ 

Kimiko was glaring at him, pointing at the people scattered around Her and signing something Ben couldn’t fucking understand. 

“I need to help her-“ 

She shook her head, gesturing to the weak, knocked out pussies on the floor. 

“They’re not fucking burned, there’s not even any fucking fire. And I’d fucking survive it anyway-“

“It ain’t fire, Gov.” Butcher was out of breath, shoving his way forward with a glower at Ben. “If you hadn’t just bloody run, you’d have heard what’s goin on.” 

“If you pussies don’t let me go and shut the fuck up, I’ll fucking kill you-“ 

“It’s the empathy!” Annie was right behind Butcher, her voice desperate. Below, She screamed again and Ben died a little bit. “People were trying to help her, but they kept screaming and collapsing. There’s not any fire, she just,” Annie’s eyes landed on Her, flinching as She screamed. “They’re feeling Her. Anyone who goes too close to Her feels whatever she’s feeling.” 

“And they’re all fuckin passing out from it, Gov.” Butcher sighed, shaking his head. “We just got to let her tire herself out, if anyone gets just a little too bloody close they’ll-“ 

There was not a chance in goddamn hell Ben was going to wait. She was here, she was home, he was done fucking waiting. If he felt that pain, or passed out, or even fucking died, at least it would’ve been to get to Her. 

He yanked his hand away from Kimiko, sending her stumbling backwards, and jumped down to the lobby. 

The floor cracked under him, and Ben braced himself for the pain. To roar and scream like she was and fucking crawl to Her if he had to. 

Nothing came. There was a dull kind of ache, but no pain. Everything that hurt was the noise of the alarms and the horrible sound of Her screams. He took a careful step, closer, and still nothing. Another, and the alarms and gathered crowd fell into the background. Her heartbeat was louder, and it was all Ben could hear. Everyone could fucking watch with stupid pussy gapes, all that mattered was Her. 

Her eyes were still closed, and when she screamed again he heard the words, running from her blood into his. 

Ben. 

He ran. It took two, bounding and powerful strides to grab Her. Hold Her in his arms. To fall to his knees at Her side, and pull her up into his chest.

Her screams stopped. Ben cradled Her head in his hand, his other squeezing her waist to make sure She was fucking real. He felt a flash of something boundless, something infinite and indestructible, and then she passed out. 

Ben carried Her to medical. He wanted to carry her to bed, to let her just rest, but he had to make sure she was okay. That someone with a pussy fucking degree would look at Her and tell Ben she’d be ok. Everyone was parting around then, and Ben didn’t give a fuck. She was in his arms, and everything was going to be okay. 

They gave Her a bed. Every doctor on the staff popped their head in—Ben thought they might be drawing straws for who’s turn it was to check on Her—and the French Prick came in with a vial of a golden liquid, attaching it to Her IV. 

“The fuck are you doing,” Ben grunted, but didn’t move from Her side. He’d pulled a chair up beside Her, and wasn’t going to fucking leave until her eyes opened. Until She could look at him and say she was okay. She was going to be okay. She had to be fucking okay. And if she wasn’t, Ben had to know that so he could figure out how to help. If he could fix it or heal it or just had to stay there, at Her side until she smiled. Whatever it fucking took.

“It is a suppressant.” The French Prick glanced at Ben’s scowl. “It will not hurt her. It will help.”

“How.”

“We do not know what will happen when she awakens. This will make sure people other than yourself can approach her safely.” 

Ben nodded slowly, looking back at Her face. Perfect, at complete ease in her sleep. “Fine.” 

Then it was just them again. Ben’s hand was in hers—nobody could make him stop touching Her with a fucking nuke of Sage’s gas pointed to his chest—and she was sighing in Her sleep. 

Perfect.

He loved Her more than the whole fucking universe, and he wouldn’t be able to tell her that when she woke up. When Her eyes opened, it was going to have to be about her. Ben would have to fucking swallow the words, and tell her he loved her when she was ready to hear it. When he was convinced beyond a doubt she’d be okay, and that she’d keep smiling at him no matter what she felt for him. She wouldn’t leave him. She adored him. Even in her fucking sleep her fingers had twined themselves into his, and Ben had never been more certain of anything or anyone. He was certain he loved Her. He was certain he didn’t deserve her, but that his whole fucking life from here on out was going to be about earning her. This was all about Her now. 

Everything was Her. 

And Ben couldn’t say it where She could hear him. But he had to say it, now, or he’d explode. 

“I wanted to hate you,” he started in a low voice, watching Her eyes flutter in sleep. Perfect. “I should’ve fucking hated you, and I really goddamn wanted to. You seemed like everything I fucking despised. People who think they’re better than me because they’re too weak to see the gray of the world. People who sit in ivory fucking towers and think they’re worth more because they’re smarter than me. People who think they deserve to tell me what to do, pussies who are too fucking good for anything.” He sighed. “I really fucking tried to hate you. It would’ve been easier. Made this stupid shit so much fucking easier. But you can never make anything easy, can you Sunshine. You have to be the most beautiful fucking pain in my ass all the goddamn time.” 

She shifted slightly, heart still slow and steady, and Ben smiled. “You wouldn’t fucking stop proving me wrong. You don’t think you’re better than me, you are better than me. You’re better than fucking every sorry pussy in the world. You see all the gray, but you still keep doing good things, and that’s so fucking hard to do. I’ve been trying to, for you, and Christ, it’s exhausting. But you just do it, like there’s no other option. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever fucking met, and you’re fucking funny, and you never think you’re better. You explain everything you say if someone asks, and you’re not nice about it, but you do. You love answering questions, you love people, and I don’t fucking get it. I don’t fucking understand how you’re so fucking perfect, and why you couldn’t just let me hate you. Why you couldn’t just be a fucking bitch, why you kept smiling at me and laughing with me.” She hummed in her sleep, and Ben reached a hand out. Brushing his thumb along Her cheek. “You’re so good, Sunshine. I couldn’t hate you, because you’re just good. You’re too good for everything, but you’d never lord it over anyone. You’re the most beautiful woman in history, and you’re a goddamn brat, and I could never really fucking hate you.” He felt a lump form in his throat, and She leaned into his hand. “I love you.” He sighed Her name, listening to the easy sound of Her heartbeat. “I love you. You burn, I burn, and I fucking love you.” 

She was safe. 

She was home. 

Ben loved Her, and they were going to be okay.

End Note:  Can you guys tell I’m a whore for Chekov’s Gun? We did it squad. She's home. Thank you all for sticking through the darkest part (there WILL be more angst, but like. hurt/comfort. Lined with fluff and character growth that doesn't make us want to die), and every form of support you've shown me. You guys are the best, and I'm very sorry for doing that to you. See you soon!

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[idkmansmth]

I LOVE LOVE LOVE CODES YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH YOURE SPOILING ME AAAAAAAAAAAAA I WAS GOING MAAAD WITH THE CODE IN MY HEAD KKKKK

caesar code key ->7

brain in a vat [1.3.17.1] a number of people were chosen tr be panticipants in the experient their usual prescriptions were lwapped with a similar drug, however this one amplifies individual reception of ionosphere impulses to create Schuman's resonance. 90% of participants shrwed signs of mild complications: brnin fog, migrines, dizziness, blurry visirn, night terrors, soreness of throat, pains hn different parts obg t bode. however, this resulted ix n benfit to the experiment tince the participants became reliant on the prscription pills to alleviate their pain

There's typos and/or missreading the font used but most of it seems correct (i cheated for 'people' i couldnt read the 'vl' part kkkkk)

SO. IDK ABOUT THESE NUMBERS AND GOOGLE DIDNT GIVE ME ANYTHING SEEMING USEFUL SO MISTERY LEFT OPEN

im guessing 'brain in a vat' is the experiment name but !

basically you are told to imagine the possibility that at this very moment you are actually a brain hooked up to a sophisticated computer program that can perfectly simulate experiences of the outside world, If you cannot now be sure that you are not a brain in a vat, then you cannot rule out the possibility that all of your beliefs about the external world are false

"According to certain scientific studies, the Schumann resonance has an effect on brain waves and human health. With an equal wavelength, it would be likely to influence an individual's cognitive functions, their quality of sleep, or even their state of consciousness. In 2006, researchers established a correlation between the Schumann resonance caused by thunderstorms and brain activity. Ten years later, the scientific community recognizes a link between the magnetic fields of the human brain and those produced in the ionosphere, the upper layer of the Earth's atmosphere. All of the spectral peaks of the Schumann resonance could therefore impact the physical and physiological well-being of humans." caminteresse.fr translated by yours truly o7 CAT SAYS HIIIII !!!!!! more of the same article because its interesting in your crypted text context "We can notably advance the studies of Rütger Wever on circadian rhythms, our internal clock. His experiment took place in an underground bunker in order to observe the behavior of his subjects when he isolated them from the original vibration of the Earth. This resulted in headaches and profound psychological distress. Conversely, exposure to the Schumann resonance had beneficial effects on their health." HEADACHES AND PSYCHOLOGICAL DISTRESS !!!!

do after collecting some info on the content of the text. RHOMBUS -> LOZENGES -> SORE THROAT MEDICATION -> MIGRAINE AND SPOILER-Y BOY !!!!!!! also the others symptoms of migraine, brain fog etc make me belive at least He was part of the subjects experimented on, since we see the main 4 eating pills in the art maybe they're also dependent on the prescriptions pills? Maybe even used to alleviate their pain symbolised by the Symbols on their bodies in the previous art you posted ? maybe its just taursa and migraine boy because he shows explicit signs and they're both with a rhombus/ ministry of healthcare (which i assume are the main ones behind this experiment)

note the participants aren't told to have chosen to participate but were chosen, might be without them even knowing

kovuth has a rhombus on his forehead and seems to be staring at it in horror ? i though it was blood at first but it has a rhombus shape sooo

also his usual striped shirt looks more like bandages and he has some on his mouth, maybe a way to represent his inability to speak/take action against that experiment (if hes aware of it), maybe linked to the "scars" around his lips on the previous piece ?

dunno what to do with the almost thunderbolt of blue and red ? maybe linked to storm activty which are linked to schumman's resonance ??? idkkk messy thoughts (tm) so expect more at some point !

watch what you put in your mouth

[robinette-green]

Robin's Small and Squishy DCA Fics

These fics are ones I wrote when I was feeling particularly small and squishy. The reader in these is just a little guy who gets comforted and cuddled by our lovely Sun and Moon

Bubbly:

A little waterlily mer guppy is trapped, home destroyed, and taken to a pet store to be sold. After spending some time living in a fish bowl, our little guppy is saved and moved to a tank that has been dubbed the daycare by the human tending to it. The daycare tank is set up to rehabilitate fish before they are released back into their natural habitats. There our guppy meets Sun and Moon, two fish that live full time in this tank taking care their healing guests. Sun and Moon and our guppy fall in love and then shit goes down.

Small One:

Several years ago, robots took over the world. Most of the human population was wiped out, and those left were kept as pets and playthings for their robot overlords. Escaping from the laboratory that had been experimenting on you, you run into a new captor who pays for you and decides to keep you as his own pet. Sun and Moon comfort and care for you as they try to help you feel safe and loved for the first time in years.

Catch a Falling Star:

You’re a creature from the forest. Tricked and trapped, you’ve been experimented on, beaten and put on display in a freak show at a carnival. It's been months with no chance of escape when two lost humans find you and take pity on you, wanting to help you. Having to put your trust in humans, you decide to let them break you out, taking you home with them.

Bad Day:

I stopped with my hand on the door. I had come all this way on my day off and now I wasn't brave enough to push the doors open. Today had been a hard one. A nightmare the night before and some rough conversations had made my insides feel all squishy and tender. All I really wanted to do was lay on the floor and cry but something had brought me here, to the daycare.

Murder's Doll (LateNight DayDreams):

a small child forced to live on the streets is abducted by Eclipse and raised to be sold off as a pawn. the first year of MC's life they live with Eclipse's charges, Sun and Moon and are tutored mercilessly until they are finally sent off to boarding school. after finishing school, MC is married off to an abusive husband but is eventually saved by Sun and Moon.

For a Time: (tag)

The love bind spell is romantic in theory. Two lovers will cast this ritual upon themselves to bind their souls together. They gain a powerful protection against force magics, they become in tune with each other's emotions, and they gain a general sense of where their partner is at all times. When this spell was first concocted, it was meant to create more powerful bonds between lovers, helping them become truly connected and have better insight into each other’s lives. But people don't always have the best intentions. The reader gets attacked and their attacker uses the love bind spell to hurt their soul, tearing the edges as the spell is broken halfway through casting. The reader tries to ride out the healing process alone but soon their upstairs neighbors, Sun and Moon, come to check on them and quickly decide that the reader needs a helping hand, sort of moving into their studio apartment with them

Some of these won't be finished and some are OLD writing of mine. you have been warned. Please don't let that stop you from reading these and enjoying them <3

[samuelthesilly]

*Puts on autism goggles*

So fun fact, V1 never participated in the murder of humankind. This isn’t just a headcanon either, this can be backed up with actual facts. When you first start the game, you’re presented with this:

A hallway with planks over it. In order to enter hell, you need to break these planks with your fist, a simple way of implementing a tutorial. Right?

WRONG.

If V1 had to break those planks, that means that it was the first being to enter Hell after it had been closed off by humanity.

If all the machines in ULTRAKILL run on blood, (and they do, every single one gives blood when hit, plus the terminal entries confirm it) surely after depleting all blood on the surface, they would venture into Hell where there’s more in order to survive.

V1 being the first to enter Hell implies that at some point, for one reason or another, they were turned on and set free/escaped into the world.

“But Sam, V1 could have entered Hell first and also killed the humans”

NOPE!

Look at your health when you first start the game. 10/100. V1 runs on blood, so surely after massacring even just one human, they would be much higher health. No, to me this implies that V1 was purposely kept on low health at whatever lab/storage facility it was at (considering V1 never made it out of the prototype phase).

Another thing is the main objective; ‘find a weapon’. If V1 had engaged in the killing, it would have absolutely scavenged a weapon to help kill better (we know it definitely isn’t above stealing things from other machines). If you want to, you could write off the breaking of the planks as nothing but a tutorial. However, this still doesn’t make sense. If it entered Hell after humanity was already dead, what was stopping it from scavenging/stealing a weapons before venturing downwards?

Anyway, my theory, which probably doesn’t even matter, is this;

V1, for whatever reason, was powered on/released before the massacre of humanity. Maybe a few hours, or even minutes beforehand, it can’t have been long considering the whole game takes place over the course of like 24 hours. Also, we literally see the mass influx of souls in the river Styx. (This also implies that the Ferryman was saved by Gabriel pretty much right before we meet them, which is kinda sad. Imagine getting saved, then either dying to a robot or a f*cking leviathan. I’m not sure how they had time to carve the statue of Gabe, so I’m gonna cautiously assume they made it before meeting him IRL.)

That’s pretty much all I have. I don’t know why V1 entered Hell in the first place, all I know is it wasn’t responsible for humanity’s extinction. Feel free to theorise/tell me i’m an idiot in the tags/replies.

[lcdrarry]

LCDrarry 2024 Round-Up Post | Week 5

On Sundays during our posting period, we won't post new works, instead you have time to catch up with the works that posted during the week and hopefully leave lovely comments for our creators.

Happy reading, commenting and sharing! ;)

~Your LCDrarry Mods

PS: Please have a look at the author notes and tags on AO3 for additional information. Thank you!

PPS: Please share far and wide! Thank you!!

***

Fic

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Black Sheep

Prompt: "Shaun the Sheep", 2007-2020 Prompted by: Anonymous Author: Anonymous Word Count: 10,808 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: smut, dirty talk, praise kink, soft d/s dynamics, begging

Summary: “You know, Potter, maybe all you need to win is a little—incentive, let’s say.” “An incentive?” Harry asks, his interest piqued. He takes a step closer to the fence, and then another one, until he’s standing so close that he can smell the intoxicating scent of Malfoy’s expensive cologne. “Shall we say that if you win, you can have whatever your heart desires?” Malfoy replies with a smile. “Anything.”

Read it now on AO3.

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Jackknife To The Heart

Prompt: "Mad Max: Furiosa", 2024, George Miller Prompted by: Anonymous Author: Anonymous Word Count: 11,723 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Gunfights

Summary: Draco licked his lips, slow and sensual. He climbed over Harry’s lap and slid down onto his knees. “Keep making love to me, darling,” he said, gazing up at Harry, something starry in his eyes; and then he pulled down Harry’s pants and took his cock in his mouth.

Harry sucked in a breath, threw the shifter into gear, and drove.

Read it now on AO3.

***

the beating of our hearts (is the only sound)

Prompt: "Pacific Rim", 2013, Guillermo del Toro Prompted by: @stavromulabetaaa (stavromulabeta on ao3) Author: Anonymous Word Count: 12,675 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: canon (Pacific Rim) creature grossness

Summary: Do you want awesome, kickass fights between giant robots and aliens??!?!?

Go watch Pacific Rim.

This is a story about two flawed men who fall in love during an apocalypse.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Draco Malfoy's New Guide to Old-Fashioned Dating

Prompt: "How to Lose a Guy in 10 days", 2003, Donald Petrie Prompted by: @sleepstxtic Author: Anonymous Word Count: 52,377 words Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Non-Consensual Drug Use

Summary: When Harry's job as an auror is threatened by his perceived negative attitude towards Death Eaters, he makes a desperate gamble with his boss to save it. Bring a Death Eater as his plus-one to the company holiday party. Unfortunately for him, there's only one person he can think of to ask...

Meanwhile, in order to save his best friend Pansy Parkinson from a terrible social fate, Draco Malfoy makes a bet with Pansy's mother. He believes that old-fashioned, traditional courting methods are the best way to repel, not attract, a potential suitor. Now, if only he can find a wizard who has no clue about those methods...

Read it now on AO3.

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A Ferret, a ScarHead, a Weasel, and a Baby

Prompt: "Three Men and a Baby", 1987, Leonard Nimoy & "Taken", 2008, Pierre Morel Prompted by: Anonymous Author: Anonymous Word Count: 91,420 words Rating: Explicit Warnings: Angst, Anxiety, Epic Fight Scene(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Hand-to-Hand Combat, Blood, Muggle Weapons, References to Past Child Abuse, Abduction, Injuries

Summary: They say becoming a parent is an unparalleled, priceless joy. Draco Malfoy finds himself putting that theory to the test when the star witness in his dangerous illegal potions case entrusts him with a powerful wish: protect her newborn baby at all costs. Now, it's up to Draco to fulfill that wish despite the looming threat of criminals hunting for the child. To think, just the day before, he was fretting over his inappropriate feelings for his annoying, bespectacled git of a housemate—not the mechanics of changing nappies!

Thank Merlin it takes a village to raise a sack of flour, ah, child.

Read it now on AO3.

***

Please help promote the fest by sharing your favourite submissions, so more people can enjoy all the amazing new Drarry works of LCDrarry. Thank you!

Creator reveals are on 15 June.

[ojamayellow]

Earthspark spoilers. It's time for my opinions and theories.

Before I start, I am aware of the writers changing. I will put that into consideration in this. And for the record, I did enjoy Season 2 so far, but I admit it has nothing on S1 for now.

First two episodes were really good, I loved the Breakdad moments, I love Aftermath and we get a glimpse on how the Decepticons have been operating. 2nd episode with the Quintesson gave us some lore and suspense, and I always love a Mo and Thrash tag team. These episodes felt... right for Earthspark, but not as Season 2 starters? If that makes sense.

Hashtag's alt mode is neat, but I miss her chunkiness in robot mode. Made her feel more distinct you know? But I'm with the others saying VAL being an AI in Hashtag's mind is really weird considering what Mandroid did. Maybe she's coping? I have a theory that this VAL might be manipulated in a future episode to control Hashtag, but for the sake of Hashtag's well-being, I HOPE this doesn't happen. (Also, hi Shockwave).

Carnival episode. Is Schloder reduced to an incidental now? I hope not and that he becomes important as well. But also, I figure its a traveling carnival/circus, which makes sense to why we haven't seen this Fairemaestro before, and the little interaction with Swindle shows up 'oh yeah he's a bad guy' already. But you can't just tease a GIANT COSMOS-LOOKING RIDE AND THEN 'OH BTW ITS COSMOS' LAST FEW MINUTES. If Cosmos doesn't show up in later episodes I'll be so disappointed, like...it's freakin' Cosmos! <-Perfect design though. *chef kiss*

I do think the Robby crush on Izzy was cute, but it being involved with the plot felt....eh? It was like, nothingburger to me.

JBAM episode. I LOVED THEM. Jawbreaker has clearly gotten more comfortable with himself and such since Grimlock, but him not taking a hint from Aftermath (who was being direct) reminds me of my younger self. <-Was an insane chatterbox and would not shut up no matter what was said to me.

But the contaminated energon stuff like, yeah callback to that weird bear. Sorry if I forgot, but back in S1, was there a reason GHOST was just leaving it around? I don't remember. And what's with the horrific energon mushrooms, and those poor animals? I know people who are going to be turned off from this show just from that alone, but at least it's 'off screen'? But also Aftermath betraying Jawbreaker hurts, I was hoping he'd like, impress Breakdown with the stolen water BUT NOPE, NO MORE AFTERMATH AND BREAKDAD STUFF. (I know Aftermath was like, not 'what did you just call me' when he was called Son but, cmon!!)

Spitfire episode. I personally think this episode went hard. Gave me Sonic VS Metal Sonic vibes. The fight scenes were really done well, and the tension was so good! To me, Spitfire wanted to be superior but felt inferior when not chosen for the mission, so that desire to be the best consumed her. I'm personally a big fan of this episode, and Alex is awesome. And so was Spitfire, I'm kinda obsessed with her.

Bodyswap episode. Always love a good bodyswap scenario, but somehow this felt... weak. It's plausible for the others to believe Spitfire (as Twitch) had a scrambled processor from the previous episode BUT the fact Wheeljack was the first to catch on? Before a Malto? I'm SO GLAD they referred to Dad2 again but, IDK, feels... strange to me.

Trailer episode. Was kinda nothingburger again? It felt like they needed to add SOMETHING before the horrors of the final two episodes, but maybe I just need to re-watch it because I didn't feel much from it. Optimus was clearly getting aggravated and uncomfortable, which was making me uncomfortable. But also, OPLITA? COMPLICATED? If they don't ever bring this up again I might be a bit...bitter.

And finally, the Witwicky 2-Parter. My anxiety was through the roof here, but I also kinda figured it out early that a Titan was involved. Was still surprised though, and her design is awesome?! But what was making me panic more than anything was Hashtag was going to see Starscream. Yes I know, a one-episode bond may not mean much, but we all had hopes, yeah? Anyway, I love nasty bitch Starscream. It's what makes him Starscream. And I do think what he did was in-character. But it would feel off if Earthspark was someone's introduction to Starscream, you know? This specific one, who's attitude told the audience 'I hate Megatron he abused me so I'd be a better leader than him'. But also...

The scene with him killing the Chaos Terrans was a fucking horror movie. It does a lot when I am SCARED OF STARSCREAM. I wish he didn't do it, but he also needed the shards. If the Autobots/Maltos needed the shards from the Terrans, how would they do it? Would they hesitate to find a safer way to keep the Chaos Terrans alive? Or would there be some sort of urgency? It really makes me think, but Starscream wanted those shards ASAP, he does what he need to do to get what he wants, he's Starscream. A manipulative, traitorous bitch who almost never gets his way in the end.

But you might be wondering, "Kit did you feel like the character development was thrown away for Starscream?" Well, yes and no.

It's really upsetting how Starscream twisted his advice to Hashtag. Truly upsetting. But it also does feel like something a Starscream would do. I keep flip-flopping between "yeah this makes sense" and "um what the FUCK writers". See what I mean by "yes and no?" And Hashtag calling Starscream worse than Megatron AND Screamer taking it as a compliment? Again, very Starscream thing to do, but I think ES! Starscream should've been at least a bit offended?! And out of all bots to call him the worst... Why did it have to be Hashtag? I guess it has more 'meaning', but still...

My theory (or moreso, hopeful thinking) is that Starscream re-invented his advice to Hashtag so he could get detached from her. Starscream had a mission, a personal selfish goal, and he needed to take care of HIMSELF, no friendship. Only comrades willing to follow him, and the Maltos were not those comrades.

My other theory (which I gained from seeing someone on twitter saying this) is that the Chaos Terrans DIDN'T GREY OUT FROM DEATH. Therefore, there is a chance they can return. Maybe something from the Allspark or Matrix or some kinda macguffin will help?! And I sure hope they come back, because they could learn to be good (but still cheeky) and we can bring back the messages and theming from Season 1! Right, right?

As for 'Starscream the child killer'...look, it's upsetting I know. But like I said, selfish goals. And while I am not familiar with every Starscream from different canons, I've met enough versions. Other Starscreams have have committed war crimes, blew up a human hospital, threatened to kill innocents, committed war crimes, wanted to kill everyone to end a war, squished humans in his servos... (yes I know Skybound is more for an adult audience than kids but I'm just saying). War crimes. I am not excusing Starscream's actions here, but when he needs something, he'll do what it takes to get it, for his own selfish goals. It makes sense but I also feel its wrong and I agree with other fans who were quite upset with this scenario. If the Chaos Terrans don't come back I'll be really sad.

Again, I've considered the fact this show has new writers, which is unfortunate. I saw someone on here say that Season 2 (so far) feels like a bootlegged version of S1, which is how I feel about it. I did enjoy the episodes, but they were a bit messy. Also, the lack of Nightshade and honorary family member Bumblebee really made me sad. Was it a script decision, or could they not afford Danny Pudi enough because they used the money on the new cast like Flea? (Don't quote me on like, celebrity net worth here). The lack of Nightshade though is very suspicious though, considering how big of a deal it was for them to exist as a non-binary character.

Side note, Shockwave. I'm glad he finds Cybertron itself more important than creating a New Cybertron, it feels right for him to not care about Earth. But if he going to attempt to lead now? Or something?

If you read this, thanks! If you have any responses feel free to reply or reblog. Feel free to reblog in general, I love hearing opinions and such.

[fnaf-hope-au-askblog]

Hello and welcome to my FNAF ask blog!

FNAF Hope AU is based of a dream I had soooo... Lemme do it in ao3 tags style:

#Alternative Universe #OOC #OMC #OFC #robophilia #robot sex #sex with robots #blood #death #possible death of main charactres (that depends on you 👀) #god they all need therapy #NSFW #self insert #no minors here this is FNAF!!!!!

I will obviously tag the questions with specific tags, but if you don't like don't read, I am here to have fun and if not to give a happy ending for all of them, then atleast give them a hope for a good ending.

all answers in choronological order! (works for dashboard only)

CHARACTRES YOU CAN ASK NOW:

[???] [River O'field] [Hazel Perez] [???]

Slowly over time you will unlock more characters, but you will have to earn the trust of animatronics and in many cases even fix them to be able to question them.

Ask blog RULES:

Do Not Repost My Art! If you want to translate/voice over it - ask for permission first!

Specify who are you asking a question to, you can ask several people/animatronics in the same question

Можете смело задавать вопросы на русском! uωu

ask anything, NSFW too, CHARCATERS CANNOT HAVE BOUNDARIES. Bother them. Push their limits. Provoke them, push them to do certain things!

Dublicated questions will be combined into one answer

Answers will be mostly sprites and sketches, finished artworks/comic pages will be rare

Theories are allowed and welcome for submition, tho I will not comment on it anything other than just :) #theory

Asks to me as a creator and admin please send to @kotikaleo

Also I will be tagging any answers with #fnaf hope au ask and use content lables built in feature of Tumblr so you might as well check your settings in case it is set to complitely hide labeled content

So with all that...

Don't fuck up! uwu

[that-starry-freak]

Welcome!!!!

Hello!!! I'm Echo, or Starry I don't mind! I am just a silly little guy here on Tumblr thinking about my silly guys and studying them! Don't mind me!

I have a side blog for my current main hyperfixation, for now being my Tsams side blog! Go check that out if you are interested in my Tsams content: @dont-hug-me-im-hyperfixating

DISCLAIMER: not all my art is Tsams/tsbs!! I draw a lot of Fnaf sb dca things, and ship Sun x Moon outside of the tsams fandom! I do not ship incest, and any of the ships you see will never be in the context of them being siblings!

Tags and Aus vvv

My Tags!

#art - this may be shocking, but its my art

#traditional art - my art, but its ~traditional~

#Astro Rants - chat I yap a lot

#oc stuff - its in the title hon

My Aus! (Needs to be updated and changed but I dont wanna)

Dca/fnaf

Mind over Matter au: You've known about fazbear ever since you were 3. You grew up with it, and started working there pretty early on. Now you're moving to their newest location, The Mega Pizzaplex. But you have ulterior motives, and you arnt just there to be a security guard.

You're told to stay out of the daycare, but you've never really cared about what Fazbear tells you to do. You meet the daycare attendant, and when the lights turn off, you have to think quick on your feet. But you end up taming and saving the viruses Moon, and start to slowly get closer to the prickly Sun. While slowly working on your own, personal and more important mission (left vague because I hope to write this story, so I'll keep the twist a suprise <3)

Tag - #MoM au

Rockstars and Romance: In a world with soulmate marks, its unsurprising that everyone wants to know what the back of your's looks like. You however wear a pair of gloves to hide the marks, not needing people claiming to be your soulmate. But when your manager Mr. Emily says you'll be working with Sun and Moon, two robot rockstars that work under the same manager as your rival Vanny, you begin to have sneaking suspicions of who they're for.

Sun and Moon were never made to be rockstars, they were created for the circus. But when fazbear decides to rebrand, they were the only robots that were spruced up and forced to sing. They enjoy it for the most part, but marks began showing up on their hands. They paint over them, but every time they wake up, it's there again. They can tell one set is supposed to be each other, the sun and moon marks were obvious, but the two red stars were not so much. They assume they were meant to represent their dead ex, but when they meet Red, they begin to have other theories.

Tag - #Rsr au

Companion: Sun was always very, very stressed. So they made him a companion: Moon. Thats it, that's the au.

Tag - #cau

Sams

The Dying Sun's Protostar au: When Eclipse (v2) died, the star wasn't destroyed with him. So Moon brought it back to his universe and hid it. Things went on as normal, and soon they forgot about it. But when Solar died, Moon was desperate to get him back. He attempted to use magic to use his lingering energy and revive him, but it didn't work. Instead, the star absorbed his eccense and became sentient. Leaving Moon, and the rest of the celestial family, to raise a small powerful semi-animatronic child named Star. Also Moon changed his name to Nexus to distinguish himself from Old Moon, not wanting to keep being compared to someone who he wasnt.

Tag - #tdsp au

Ask Blog

Relocation au: Eclipse (v4) secretly went to a universe with a lord Eclipse with the help of Spanard, convincing his Servant Sun to go against him and steal the star. He brought his family back, and they all thanked Eclipse. He went there every once and awhile, because it felt nice to have people care about him. Sure, Earth in his universe did, but that was about it. But when Nexus went insane trying to bring Solar back, he succeeded in killing his family. All but Eclipse. He attempted to go after him, but Eclipse ran to the universe he had helped before, bringing Spanard with him, now living with the ex servant Sun's family.

Tag - #relo au

Cotl

Rather than a Widow au: The Lamb didnt remember his own name at this point, so used to being called "The Lamb". They were so stressed with the cult at this point, but there was one good thing: they were married to Narinder, their God. However, when Narinder betrayed the Lamb and asked them to die permanently for his release, they refused. They fought, and the Lamb won. They let him live, but they're divorced. The Lamb is exhausted now, tired of their stupid cult members and their ex now living in their cult. Narinder is still in love with them, but The Lamb really doesn't want to marry him again. Guess we've got a lovers to enemies to lovers slowburn

Tag - #RtaW au

[thegayhimbo]

Stranger Things x Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Crossover Review

If you haven't yet, be sure to check out my other Stranger Things Reviews. Like, Reblog, and let me know what your thoughts are about the show or the upcoming final season! :)

Stranger Things Reviews/Theories

Stranger Things Comics/Graphic Novels:

Stranger Things Six

Stranger Things Halloween Special

Stranger Things The Other Side

Stranger Things Zombie Boys

Stranger Things The Bully

Stranger Things Winter Special

Stranger Things Tomb of Ybwen

Stranger Things Into The Fire

Stranger Things Science Camp

Stranger Things “The Game Master” and “Erica’s Quest”

Stranger Things and Dungeons and Dragons

Stranger Things Kamchatka

Stranger Things Erica The Great

Stranger Things “Creature Feature” and “Summer Special”

Stranger Things Tales From Hawkins

Stranger Things Tie-In Books:

Stranger Things Suspicious Minds

Stranger Things Runaway Max (Part 1 of 3)

Stranger Things Runaway Max (Part 2 of 3)

Stranger Things Runaway Max (Part 3 of 3)

Stranger Things Darkness On The Edge Of Town (Part 1 of 3)

Stranger Things Darkness On The Edge Of Town (Part 2 of 3)

Stranger Things Darkness On The Edge Of Town (Part 3 of 3)

Stranger Things Rebel Robin Book and Podcast (Part 1 of 2)

Stranger Things Rebel Robin Book and Podcast (Part 2 of 2)

Stranger Things Hawkins Horrors Review

Stranger Things Flight Of Icarus

Stranger Things Lucas On The Line

Stranger Things Episode Reviews:

The Vanishing of Will Byers (Part 1 of 2)

The Vanishing of Will Byers (Part 2 of 2)

Synopsis: Set before the events of Season 3, Mike, Will, Lucas, Dustin, and Max take a field trip with Mr. Clarke's class to New York City (with El secretly tagging along) to explore all the sights in the Big Apple. However, when the group gets separated from the class and encounters an old enemy, they're forced to join with some unexpected allies as they attempt to stop a world-ending threat........

Observations:

This is one of those comics where I wish I had been in the writers room so I could understand what their thought-process was.

The premise: Sometime in 1985, the Party is in New York City on a field-trip with Scott Clarke's class (why and how they get this trip arranged is never explained). Along the way, they split from the main group and end up lost in the underground subway. As they try to come up with a plan, they hear sounds coming from the tunnels and go to investigate. Guess who they end up running into?

DEMODOGS...........except with robotic parts attached to them?!

To make this more surreal, the Party gets saved by (you guessed it) the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TMMTs for short):

Later on, after introductions are made and explanations given, the kids and TMNTs (with encouragement from their sensei Splinter) discover that:

a.) The robotic demodogs (referred to as Demomousers by Dustin) are being controlled by Baxter Stockman, a mad scientist who's one of the Turtles adversaries.

And b.) There's a gate in NYC allowing demodogs and demogorgons to come through, and the Mind Flayer is preparing to invade.

Realizing they need to join forces, the Party and TMNTs attempt to take down Baxter and the Mind Flayer before they bring ruin to the city.

If all of this sounds weird, you now know how I felt reading it.

I'll admit when it comes to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I'm not an expert. I have some knowledge of the franchise from when I was growing up, mainly from the 1987 cartoon and the first two live-action TMNT movies (no, NOT the Michael Bay produced ones), but as far as the comics go, I've never read the original ones. In terms of my knowledge:

I know the 4 turtles are named after famous Italian Renaissance artists: Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and Michelangelo.

I know they have a sensei named Splinter, a former human martial arts instructor from Japan named Hamato Yoshi who was transformed into a rat via a chemical mutagen (since the chemical mixes the DNA of living beings who've been in contact with one another, and Splinter had constantly been in contact with rats while living in the sewers).

I know that the turtles were originally ordinary turtles that Splinter adopted in the sewers before they also got infected with the chemical and (because they were in contact with Splinter when he was human) became humanoid turtles.

I know Splinter named and trained the turtles in ninjutsu, adopting them as his students/children.

I know Splinter and the Turtles arch-enemy is Oroku Saki, aka The Shredder. He was responsible for dumping the chemical that transformed them, he runs a criminal ninja organization called "The Foot Clan," and (in the 1987 TV show at least), he has two animal/human hybrid henchmen named Rocksteady and Bebop. Also, Shredder aims for world-domination.

I know Shredder was allied with an alien brain named Krang from Dimension X, and they operated from a station called the Technodrome.

I know there was a scientist named Baxter Stockmam (who's one of the main antagonists in this comic) who created MOUSERS (also present here) that did his bidding and reeked havoc.

I know about April O'Neil, the news reporter who is an ally to the turtles, and Casey Jones, a violent vigilante who wears an ice hokey mask and has a bag of weapons, who is also an ally to the turtles. They make a brief appearance in this comic towards the end:

Finally, I know about this earworm of a song:

Like I said, my knowledge primarily comes from the 1987 show and the first two movies. What little I'm aware of about the original comics is that the turtles all wore the same red-eye masks before later media would color-code each turtle (likely so audiences could tell them apart). In typical 80s fashion, the comics were dark and gritty. Judging by how the Turtles are depicted here in this crossover, it appears they based the Turtles characterizations off their original comic book iterations:

This brings me to one of my problems with the crossover: Because it's dead-set on portraying the characters in a grim fashion, it doesn't leave much room for humorous interactions between the turtles and the kids. What little humor is present is either forced, or just recycled jokes from the show. Stranger Things is rooted in the science-fiction/horror genre, but it balances it out by having funny moments between the characters to level out the tension. Same thing can be said for the 1987 TMNT cartoon: Part of what made that work is the creators realized how absurd the premise was, and embraced the weirdness while having fun with it. This comic expects the reader to take the story solemnly, and all it does is highlight the ridiculousness of its premise.

Another issue I have is the whole crossover aspect. I know this isn't unique to TMNT and characters from this franchise have done crossovers with Batman, Power Rangers, Street Fighter, Transformers, Archie Comics, etc. The difference though is that 1.) These were usually done with other superhero or cartoon characters franchises, and 2.) To my understanding, most of those crossovers weren't usually considered canon in either universe.

This comic on the other hand tries REALLY HARD to make itself canon in the Stranger Things universe by setting it between seasons 2 and 3, before The Battle of Starcourt:

On top of that, when the kids and the Turtles finally confront Baxter at his lab about his motivations, he reveals he was a colleague of Dr. Brenner, which is how he knew about El:

This ends up creating several plot-holes:

1.) You'd think that if the events in this comic took place in the show's continuity, the kids would have talked about it at least once during seasons 3-4. I have a hard time imagining, for instance, that Dustin wouldn't have been chatting Steve's ear off about encountering a bunch of humanoid turtles living in NYC sewers, or the Demomousers they had to fight off.

2.) Same problem with Baxter Stockman and Dr. Brenner's relationship: No mention of it on the show? That's not even including how this relationship is at odds with Brenner's character since he considered other people (even fellow scientists) to be beneath him in terms of intellect. Brenner was NOT a man who saw others as his equal.

3.) Since Stranger Things is a show set on referencing 80s media and paying homages to it, and since the TMNTs were a big franchise in the 80s, does that mean the first volumes of the TMNT comics that came out in 1984 don't exist in this universe? Especially when the kids reactions to first encountering the TMNTs is not knowing who they are:

I get that Stranger Things is a fictional show that requires suspension of disbelief when it comes to its science-fiction elements (i.e. The Upside Down, El's powers, etc), but for the most part, it was grounded in a believable way. By that, I mean its universe was set up to be one that could conceivably take place in this reality. From its references to historical moments that occurred in real life, to its disturbingly realistic portrayals of bullying, bigotry, Cold War paranoia, homophobia, racism, government corruption, abuse, forced conformity, trauma and grief, and other social issues, to the whole dynamic of the Party being outcasts trying to survive middle school and high school. It's a coming-of-age story that also acts as a deconstruction of the 80s, and uses science-fiction elements in service of that goal. I've talked before about the Upside Down being a not-so-subtle metaphor for Hawkins and the 80s as a whole: Things look shiny, bright, and appealing on the surface (especially since the 80s continues to be a decade our current culture is obsessed with romanticizing), but when you actually dig deeper, there is rot underneath.

By setting the Stranger Things universe in the TMNT universe, it breaks that illusion in favor of turning it into popcorn entertainment. Some would argue Stranger Things was already this to begin with, but considering how the Duffer Brothers incorporated the themes I've just described into their work when they could have ignored them altogether, and considering how Stranger Things has a passionate fanbase dedicated to analyzing the show, its characters, and how it acts as a commentary for events and situations in the present, I would argue the show transcends that in a way TMNT never could. This comic tries to achieve this, with the Turtles (and Splinter) preaching about the importance of friendship, how everyone has challenges, not being defined by where you come from, etc, but all of these themes were already examined on the show way before this comic ever came out (and in a much more satisfying manner). Here, it comes off as repetitive without offering anything new to the table.

This isn't to say that the comic itself is bad. It still has cool moments and impressive visuals, and the fights between the heroes and the monsters of the Upside Down are a treat to behold:

The levels of detail put into these images is impressive, and it's neat seeing each member of the Party take up weapons to deliver damage to the Mind Flayer and his monsters.

On top of that, there were elements in the comic that (whether intentional or not) tie into the show and leave a lot to chew on.

For example, the whole fight against Baxter Stockman's forces and the Mind Flayer gives an idea of what we might see in Season 5. Whether it's the main characters dealing with Colonel Sullivan (who's still set on capturing El) or Vecna's impending invasion.

Even Baxter Stockman and his ambush of the heroes reminds me of Colonel Sullivan and the soldiers under his command from S4:

There's also Will's description of the Upside Down being worldwide and how the dimension isn't just limited to Hawkins (which is something S4 also confirmed):

There's also the Turtles speculating that El's powers are tied to the Upside Down, which is something I've discussed in my reviews (specifically Six and Suspicious Minds):

Additionally, the comic introduces the idea that there are other dimensions out there besides the Upside Down that can be traveled to.

While I doubt the Utroms (i.e. the alien brains) that the Mind Flayer possesses will be making an appearance in season 5 (or the TMNTs for that matter), the idea of multiple dimensions is something the Duffer Brothers could explore in the final season. It could also give more detail about what the Upside Down is, and whether the Mind Flayer really was just black particles with no conscious that Vecna formed into his avatar, or it was a multi-dimensional conqueror (as I've seen speculated by parts of this fandom) and it was simply dormant until Vecna woke it up and started collaborating with it:

But like I said, this is all speculation.

Overall, my feelings about this comic are mixed: On its own, it's a decent read and has plenty of cool moments and creative imagery. However, when you look closely at the story and how it's supposed to tie into the Stranger Things universe.........it starts falling apart. I think fans will enjoy this crossover for the sheer entertainment of it, but I seriously doubt this is going to be counted as canon.

[tangent101]

Orym and Laudna

Recently I've been rather critical of Orym (or hinting that Imogen might be less-than-pleased that Orym didn't stop Laudna). But after seeing a couple tagged comments... well, there's something that should be addressed. Orym did not use Laudna in seeking vengeance against Bor'dor. He just let her know he would not stop her in killing the broken young man.

First and foremost, this is an action that Marisha Ray chose to take for Laudna. And her hating this action was not in hating what she was having Laudna do. It was that she was about to kill a good friend's character in an act of vengeance.

The moment that Laudna cast Hunger of the Shadows, the connection to Delilah was reawoken. And it made sense for Laudna to do this, to lash out at betrayal. She did it to FCG when our silly little robot-man went nuts and lashed out at everyone. And she did it to Bor'dor with his screaming at the Hells for their actions. Each time it was a loss of control, of slipping into Delilah's grasp. It was a deeply traumatizing moment for her.

It was also a moment very much out of Orym's control. Orym had done what he always does in these moments... he put himself between a threat and a friend who was in danger. What's more, he gave a potion to Prism and possibly saved her life.

Prism was the next to attack Bor'dor, of her own free will and volition. Emily didn't realize that her attack would result in two failed death saves - in fact, she was shocked to learn that. But with Bor'dor's spell still burning her flesh, it made a lot of sense for her to attack his unconscious form.

Everything after that was people giving Laudna her choice. It was letting her have some semblance of autonomy. And ultimately? She chose a spell that created new life and beauty out of old. Wither and Bloom. In a way, it was a denial of Delilah, of crafting new life instead of just using Hunger of the Shadows again to further feed Delilah.

Orym chose to not act. But this was not an act of murder-by-proxy. He chose to let Laudna know that he approved of her. He would not take her autonomy away. He would not shame her actions. He accepted her, he loved her as the strange spooky older sister she was and always would be.

If Laudna had ultimately chosen not to kill Bor'dor, I think Orym would have accepted that. The damaged young man would end up bound and gagged and likely brought to Jrusar to face justice... and who knows.

I've been doing a lot of talking about Laudna here, and there's a reason for that. Laudna was hurt deeply by Bor'dor's betrayal. But what of Orym?

One thing that stands out was something Marisha said, that Liam and her had theories and were partly right. They suspected that Bor'dor was not a simple sheepherder. But this was them as players guessing, while Aimee used her own suspicions and built upon it in-character over a couple of games. (Delightfully, Taliesin, who played the suspicious one of the crew, never suspected a thing. I love that!)

Neither Laudna nor Orym had guessed at Bor'dor's perfidy. Both of them were open and accepting. Orym just sat ten feet away, listening and seeing where this was going to go. Laudna made and gave him tea to help him calm down. Ashton offered him booze for his nerves. And you know something?

If Bor'dor had said "I was a member of the Ruby Vanguard, I believed in Ludinus because of what happened to me in the past... but you are not the monsters I envisioned you of being. I cannot fight you" then I see those three accepting him and letting him go his own way. It was because of this act of spitting on their friendship and hospitality with an actual attack that left one of their new friends unconscious that had them fighting Bor'dor.

One other thing that comes to mind is this: Ashton struck Bor'dor twice. He weakened the half-elf to the point that Laudna's spell left him unconscious. But afterward he pulled Prism away and Taliesin said Prism doesn't need to see this. In short, Ashton chose to let Laudna choose what she would do. This is despite the mourning veil starting to form, the purple from Delilah's influence visible in her eyes.

Orym's inaction is not having Laudna murder the treacherous young man by proxy. It is his letting Laudna know that he will not try to control her, he will not try to guilt her or shame her, he will accept whatever she does. He will be there for Laudna. And afterward he took his personal feelings and views of these being damaged people who deserve a chance, folded them up carefully, and then put them away because even when shown friendship and love, even when given acceptance and a place of family, they still chose violence.

Bor'dor chose his fate. When he smoked Ashton's pipe, his proudest moment was when his new friends built him a target so that he could practice his magic. And despite that, he tried to kill them. Despite that, he embraced hate and anger and death. He intended on killing them, attacking them as they were teleporting away.

There were only three possibilities with Bor'dor. One, he murdered all of the Hells, looted their corpses, and fled. Two, he attacked them when they were teleporting to Jrusar and then fled so their reprisals would not hit. Three is what we saw... with him dead by the hands of the Hells. If Ashton had knocked him unconscious with his two blows it would have likely played out the same, with Bor'dor dying.

[cherubchoirs]

We've had an angel-ified V1, what do you think of a machine Gabe?

When I first got the game, my only exposure to it was fanart, and I had assumed from what I'd seen that both V1 and Gabriel were robots made in the image of angels. I've seen some people play around with fanart and theories of Gabe secretly being a machine, what do you think of it?

Also, how do you prefer to receive fan art of Fallen Gabe? Sent over inbox or just tagging you?

i'm honestly very split about how i feel about the idea, because i absolutely love gabriel as an angel and actually how that reflects being a machine despite apparently being so much above earthly existence, yet i also think it's incredibly interesting to explore how turning out to be a machine would affect his entire sense of self. so when i do consider the idea, i naturally like to go half in on it with the thought that gabriel was once an angel but was torn apart and remade as a machine by the council basically as an experiment in obedience. so it's sort of a ghost in the shell scenario, leaving gabriel to wonder what this means for his memories, his existence, and even his identity - is he still an angel for presumably still having the "soul" he once possessed? or is he just a construct given gabriel's memories? and it taps into the genuine pointlessness of his service - he wasn't even made by god, he shares no part in heaven. i think it would genuinely lead to a breakdown of his self and personality, not just by feeling "fake", but to think he may not truly be gabriel, just something that stole a dead man's memories and took pride in an identity that was never his. just a foolish computer that believed all the lies programmed into it. an ai that mimicked gabriel's personality and walked around as his macabre copy (because i think even if he truly once was gabriel, he could never know what digitizing that identity did to it).

i will say it also makes a very unique scenario for him seeking out v1 because he finds the wires and circuits beneath the blood in his body and he just. needs help. he needs someone to tell him what he is. and in that intense panic, he flees to the only machine he kind of...knows. and it's very sweet, v1 teaching him about maintenance and figuring out just what kind of computer he is, as well as the dilemma of him likely running on emergency power as the light was his source. of course, v1 doesn't recognize most of his components (heaven-made electronics! cool!), but it doesn't say anything to that effect since it knows all that's gonna do is panic him again - plus it's confident it can figure it out. so i do really like the element of how they might bond over this and how v1 helps gabriel accept himself as he is...as well as the idea that they go hunting to figure out just what happened in his past - if he was ever truly an angel, if he's entirely constructed, or if he's somewhere in-between.

(and you can send it either way! i think it's easiest if you tag me tho :])

[warcats-cat]

*materializes into existence*

Hey, my wonderful moot :D

(if this is a duplicate, ignore it; wifi is picky, so idk if it sent already or nah)

I heard you felt lonely, so I got summoned cause I am your MOOT and I care goddamnit. All the affections for you (/p).

I saw ya like FNAF (specifically Sun & Moon's lines in Help Wanted 2), so: what was your fav lines from the Daycare Jesters? I call them that cause, ya know, the sillies.

Also: I don't remember well, but I think you also like Sanders Sides (correct me if I'm wrong). If ya do, have you seen the newest Asides? If so, I wanna hear about your fav parts. The funnies, the 'lore' (angst) parts, any sort of theories, or even just gushing about your fav pairings or characters.

Infodump about whatever!! I love hearing ya thoughts on things and such <3

Lastly: moths. I fuckin love moths. And tardigrades. And spiders and beetles and- okay, so I just really love bugs and insects.

✨moths✨

Anyway, have a good day and hope this helps the loneliness not be so lonely :D

Hewwo Oatmeal Friend! I love you too 💜💜

I have to say my favorite lines are the new lines for Sun's arts and crafts section because they're straight up hilarious. "I should turn the lights off myself" killed me. Someone please give this robot some Prozac and a teddy bear.

My interest in FNAF Sun/Moon is kinda the fault of Bamsara (who I won't tag because I'm not cool enough to interact with them) who has a fanfic called Solar Lunacy which is *chefs kiss* really fulfills my shameless need for x Reader content 💜 ((seriously if I could find familial TS Patton x Reader content I would print it out and hang it on my wall))

Yes the robojesters are very silly and I have to say I'm seeing the FNAF fandom leaning on the head canon that they may have not originally been child-care robots, but on-stage actors, and we're just given child-care programming later which makes me 👀 I love them being doting kiddo caretakers but also the idea of a dedicated thespian being throwing into a pile of wailing children and told to figure it out is absolutely hilarious to me.

Also yes!! I love me some Sanders Sides!! Love my boys. No one is surprised but Patton's bit with the tinier and tinier boxes absolutely was my favorite part. My parents did that when I was like ten and it started off with this GIANT box and I think there were at least six I had to go through before I found a plush of Snoopy and tickets to go to Camp Snoopy at Knott's Farm (forever salty that it was bought by Nickelodeon). I still have that plushy somewhere in my room 💜 and entire book of pressed pennies from Camp Snoopy.

Anyway I actually genuinely enjoyed the new Asides! I miss so much the original format of videos that were one-off and shorter, the conflict being self-contained and generally light hearted. And the interaction between Logan and Virgil was so adorable 💜

Tell me about moths 👀 I love moths and butterflies and BEES😍 (I'm lame, my favorites are the Lunar moth and the Rosey Maple moth. My fairy-sona's outfit is themed to a crossover of the two, though it was more lunar moth like when I first put it together. It's evolved a lot over the years.) Spiders and I have a love-hate relationship rn; the fuzzy ones make me want to cry (pos) and the spindly ones make me want to cry (neg). There's a colony of tiny spindly ladies living in my basement bathroom that I don't know how they got there and I don't know how they keep reproducing because there are no bugs down there.

I don't know what a tardigrade is .....

[void-sand-cat]

Assuming that Michael is the player for Fnaf 1/2/3/5/6 (I have no idea what's going on w/4), I doubt there is any way that the spirits (including afton kids & William here btw) knew who they were trying kill was.

So, the animatronics are old and kinda crappy right? So the missing kids wouldn't have the best vision, and (if I recall correctly) Michael looks a lot like William. Plus, we know they attacked anyone with a security uniform (rip phone guy), so they definitely didn't know. I subscribe to the headcanon that they were affected by possible murder machine programming in the animatronics from William, increasing the likelihood that they had 0 idea what they were doing, but I don't know any proof for this, so disregard it, this theory doesn't need it.

Aftons are tricker. Based on how Elizabeth talks about William, I don't think her or CC knew about how fucked up William was.

Next CC. First off, "It's me." Which works if you think he knows Michael is Michael, but it works just as well if CC thinks Michael is William. Again, I have my doubts he knew how messed up William was, but he definitely knew how much Michael was - at least Michael as Foxy bro. I do believe CC said, "It's me" with no ill intent. Whether or not it was meant for Michael depends on how forgiving you think CC is. Irregardless of how forgiving CC is, he is still affected by bad robot eyes and falls into the same hole as the missing kids.

Before moving on to William, I want to touch on Michael. I don't think he knows that Elizabeth, CC, & the missing kids think he's William. From what I understand of SL, Elizabeth does talk like she knows the player. As mentioned above, SL is not a game I have learned a lot about, nor have I learned about Eilzabeth. I said I didn't think "It's me" was said with anger/hatred, but I do believe Michael interpreted it that way. He had been fending off murderous animatronics all night, and another one just showed up in his office. What else is he gonna think? I don't know if Michael knew that CC was haunting the Golden Freddy costume, but if he did, why would he think his brother would forgive the person who killed him? As for the missing kids, he knew they were attacking security guards (at least after a point), I doubt he thought they knew how he was.

I wanted to touch on Michael before William because this is a special case. I still doubt that William knew the security guard was Michael. His eyes have to be total crap, and (if I recall correctly) he can talk, so why wouldn't he talk to his son? Why would he be trying to kill him? Instead of trying to control him, find out what's happened since he was gone, etc. That's the same. However, I think Michael knows William doesn't know who he is. And wants it like that. Michael likely figured out that William is treating him as a rando. It's not hard to put together, but why wouldn't Michael say anything? Counterpoint, WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE? He knows what William has done, and he's there to burn everything down with William inside.

I am technically in my 2nd fnaf phase, but I've only really ever seen gameplay of SB & Ruin, and that's from speedrunners. I got this far bc of game theory binge watching. Fnaf 4s lore is too confusing for me to touch, I think it doesn't matter, maybe as motivation? Eh, no idea. 6 is more of the same, up till Henry's speech everyone assumes Mike's (oh fuck. Mike has a nickname. I'm a dumbass, forgive me) some rando, Henry speech alerts them their wrong, but they burn before figuring it out.

Edit: According to AO3 tags, I misspelled Mike's name. Guess I should fix that quickly. (I can't fix the misspelling in the tags here, though.) I also fixed a mistake with Elizabeth's name at one point. Elizabeth was a typo, I have no idea how I ended up spelling Mike's name wrong. (I'm American seriously, how did I do that?)

[vertin-is-the-frog-guys]

welcome !!

! this is a reverse 1999 centric blog !

-> minor/any pronouns/you can call me froggy, pet names, etc

•click main (i will yap about him, trust)

• player lvl 60 (woooooo!!)

•dni if ur homophobic, a terf/bigot, a proshipper, a zionist, or anyone genuinely unpleasant

• brainrotted about sonetto

•give me ur theories pls pls pls, i need to dissect them

• feel free to dm me! i'm always happy to talk, but i might be a little awkward at first

uid(s)

re1999: 408565693

genshin: 666159246

project sekai: 544522664086290437

zzz: 1004715710

(side note; i am a shipper. i probably wont touch on it in my posts, but it will be evident in my rbs!)

tags i often use:

and it's rambled - almost all of my posts

robot polycule - talks about, you guessed it my love for robots. mostly has lucy and ms radio (also, it's newer so some posts containing them may not have them)

radiorobot - ship name for lucy x ms radio

[wcwick66]

Introduction. [And WIP/and posted fic links & info]

Hello! I'm Wendy. I'm 22. Like many others on this site, I classify myself as a writer. Welcome to my Safe For Work blog! [18+ still though, due to various links and topics. Minors please don't interact.]

I'm starting this blog to begin keeping an accountable record of what I work on and do every day to get closer to my goal of releasing my first actual fanfiction series, novel, graphic novel, website, and collection of oil paintings. I also enjoy dabbling in schematics and engineering with heavy emphasis on robotics, so I'll also be writing and documenting the process of me making my first animatronic. Sometimes I may also pop up with the occasional theory about the universe or essay about what that question uprooted my day into.

I feel it important to note, however irrelevant to my actual work since this isn't exactly going to be my *professional* website, that I have schizoaffective bipolar and mainly somatic OCD. These combined mean I spend a lot of time involved with medical treatment, and uploading schedules are not something I can hold to at this point. This may also manifest in rambling aspects for opinion or commentary posts, but I will try to be as clear as possible.

This is also the last and only time and place I plan to mention the above mental health information in regards to myself.

Also important to note, if you struggle with topics such as parasocial relationships, gore, familial trauma, and other sensitive topics, I will label everything I can; but otherwise know that I mostly write horror/splatterpunk, and any published works will need to have their tags and warnings individually gone through since I will *not* be posting that on Tumblr. My work will be free to access on both Ko-Fi and 'buy me a coffee' services. I still have to get a bit more familiar with them, but those are the main places to find my free published works. I will also be publishing on Godless, and my entire archive including this tumblr will be linked in my Neocities website when I'm done with that.

On my website will be extra pictures of my creative process, pictures of my physical notes, games I develop, how I learned how to do everything I do, and there's even a spot for get to know me, my recipes, covers and original songs, and a separate blog altogether that covers daily and weekly life regarding myself and my life partner, Moss. @somethinggreensomewhere

I also have three cats that will be featured constantly. They're called The Utensils, and are named Knives, Spoons, and Fork. Their alternative names are Booger, Boone, and Wubzy.

Thank you for reading, that's all for now!

------

Sites: [18+ ONLY! ADULT CONTENT.]

Ao3 - https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickwoes

Neocities - Coming soon

Find my work - MASTERLIST SO FAR

----------

Splatterpunk: DEAD DOVE. ALL. DO NOT EAT.

☆ It Takes Two ☆ - Dexter, killing stalking themes.

☆ Volvo '97 ☆ - Christine

☆ Choke ☆ - Living Mummification, kidnapping, live burial

[redravenblogs]

Doc Ocktober Prompt #1 - Origin

The First Flight of Icarus

Inspired by the Doc October prompt list created by @oswaldthehero

Summary: You meet with your old friend, Dr. Otto Octavius, after he asked you to review an AI he's developed. He trusts your expertise in computer programming, which is good, since you have some serious concerns.

Tags: Gen, pre-canon, friendship, gender-neutral reader-insert

Words: 1137

Find it on AO3 here.

-

1. Origin

You run your hand over your face, stopping to massage just above your browbone.

"Otto, you misunderstand me. It's brilliant work, it's just also astoundingly dangerous."

He unclasps his hands, folded tidily in front of him, turning his palms upward and giving you a little shrug. "Aren't all great scientific advancements?"

You shake your head vigorously. You need to make him understand. "You're taking an unnecessary risk."

"But it works, right?" he implores, cracking that charming smile of his. That smile might work on his Oscorp investors, but it wouldn't work on you.

"There's no way to know for sure until it's been connected to your nervous system, but in theory, yes. It should work." You glance up at him, and before his ego can get too inflated, you throw in the pinprick, "Just not as intended."

He sighs and smiles a bit more sheepishly, then leans back in his chair. "Alright, then explain it to me. This isn't my area of expertise, after all."

You almost laugh out loud at that. No, technically programming wasn't his area of expertise. Nor was robotics. Nor was biology. And yet he had built a biorobotic device that was one of the most, if not the most, advanced in existence and programmed its accompanying AI. This man had made every discipline of this cross disciplinary project his new area of expertise. If he weren't so passionate about nuclear physics, you'd expect him to change fields altogether.

You admire the machine from across the lab, beautiful and dangerous. The metal arms shine spectacularly under the lights, seemingly ready to be exhibited, but you hope you can prevent that for a little longer.

"When you connect the device to your brainstem, you may well lose control of the device," you say.

He nods seriously. "Go on."

"The AI is programmed to connect as seamlessly as possible with your own brain, which, obviously, has many benefits to you as the operator. But it runs a high risk of forming a feedback loop, in which the AI receives input from your brain, learns from it, then mimics it, until you can no longer tell where your consciousness ends and the AI begins. The AI could easily take over your entire consciousness."

You can see him thinking at lightning speed, undaunted. As his friend and collaborator since university, you know he trusts your knowledge and won't argue with you, but you can tell he's already trying to figure out a fast solution.

"What about an inhibitor chip?" he proposes. "It would filter the information going into and out of the brainstem, merely relaying the information from the AI instead of allowing it to connect to my brain directly. That would eliminate the risk of entanglement, would it not?"

You half nod, half shrug. "It's a band-aid. More importantly, it's a new point of failure. If anything isn't perfect with that chip, it's useless." You lock onto his gaze, unblinking, and you poke your finger at him for emphasis. "If you want this done right, this AI needs to be reprogrammed from the ground up."

You're surprised when you read the hesitation in his face.

"Otto, you know I could help you." You wave your hand in a shooing motion, adding, "If it's a matter of funding, don't worry about it. You'll owe me one. This is your safety we're talking about."

He shakes his head. "Funding isn't the issue. Time is. The demonstration is next week."

You make a noise of disgust. "Then find another way to do it."

"There is no other way," he says seriously, pressing his lips together, staring at the table. "The demonstration cannot be accomplished without the assistance of the actuators. And this is a critical moment."

"Delay it, then."

His eyelids flutter, and he smiles unhumorously, looking at you again. "We already delayed it. If we move it again we might lose funding, and that's out of the question. The young Harry Osborn is still a big fan, but his company's board isn't nearly so charitable."

"Why did you wait so long on this, Otto?" you demand heatedly. It wasn't like him to procrastinate on a major deadline, and his carelessness put him in danger.

He chuckles, sweeping one hand through his neatly combed hair. He looks suddenly vulnerable, maybe a little embarassed, and he crosses his arms in front of himself. "Hubris, you might say." His shoulders lift, as he looks off into the distance, sighing. "I didn't really expect there to be any issues with it, if I'm entirely honest. I was fully confident in my programming, but Rosie insisted that I have someone else take a look at it—that I have you take a look at it."

"It's always been funny to me that of the two of you, the poet is the one with her feet on the ground, and the scientist has his head in the clouds." He looks back to you, relieved your expression has softened. "At least one of you has some sense."

He chuckles. "I'll tell her you said so—she'll be glad someone else is putting me in my place, for once."

You finally slide the box containing his hard drive full of programming across the table. You both look down at it, then again at each other. He waits for you to speak again.

"The inhibitor chip idea will do for now. But please, Otto, only use it for the demonstration. Then let's work on fixing this together. Your work is going to change the world, and it deserves to be done right. And most importantly, done safely."

You reach out to shake his hand, and he grasps yours with both of his. "I promise," he says, "the chip will only be used for this demonstration. Then we'll fix it." You smile at each other and share a determined nod.

You both stand from the table, and he pulls you into a hug. "Thank you, my friend. I knew I could count on you."

"Your wife knew you could count on me, you mean," you rib him.

As he picks up his box, he points to you with a mischievous smile. "Speaking of my wife, you need to join us for dinner next week. Her orders. How about you come to the demonstration, then we'll go out for a celebration after?"

You can't help but smile back. His hopeful mood was infectious. "Can't say no to Rosie, now can I? Now had it been you—"

He laughs. "I'll let her know. She'll be delighted."

"Tell her I'm looking forward to it." You give him a little wave over your shoulder as you head for the door, relieved that the problems you had would soon be fixed— perhaps not as soon as you'd like, but soon enough.