#slow burn about a robot learning love

[ooeygooeyghoul]

"Just sit tight and I'll have you good as new in no time."

AU in which Shiun is an android and Thancred is mechanic that found him in the dump and dragged him to his shop to fix him.

Solution Nine, along with the Arcadion, has an active robot fighting ring and Shiun quickly becomes a rising star with Thancred's help.

[bueckets]

The Hit List | Part 1

Pairing: fuckgirl!Paige x Mechi Student!reader

Genre: romance (eventually), slow burn, enemies to lovers, kinda funny?, smut (eventually), cat n mouse

Description: When an overworked engineering student's late-night CAD project gets interrupted by a very drunk, very lost basketball star stumbling into the wrong dorm room, she learns that some defensive plays work better in love than on the court.

What starts as a case of mistaken identity turns into an unexpected game of cat and mouse when UConn's golden girl, Paige Bueckers, can't seem to take a hint– or maybe just doesn't want to. Armed with nothing but sarcasm, an overprotective stuffed bear named Mr. Gummy, and a borrowed team jacket that definitely isn't helping the situation, our engineering hero finds herself drawing up plays to defend her heart against college basketball's most persistent point guard.

They say offense wins games, but defense wins championships. When you're trying not to fall for a girl who treats the court like her kingdom and your personal space like a suggestion, maybe it's time to admit some battles aren't meant to be won.

WC: 11.2k

Authors Notes: i had first written this for jkxreader on my other blog (whoretan) however plot deviates heavily after the first encounter, um, kinda fuck girly paige, but kind of just a love drunk idiot too

Chapter 1: The Unexpected Guest

Your eyes burned as you stared at the CAD model rotating on your screen, the internal combustion engine you'd been working on for the past—what was it now, eight hours?—still refusing to cooperate.

The familiar workspace of SOLIDWORKS had become both your best friend and worst enemy over the past three years at UConn, but tonight it felt particularly vindictive. You'd been trying to get the timing belt assembly to properly mate with the crankshaft for what felt like an eternity, and your deadline was creeping closer by the minute.

"Did you hear?" Riven's voice cut through your concentration as she burst through the door, her designer backpack hitting her bed with enough force to make your desk lamp wobble.

"Hear what?" You didn't bother turning around, instead zooming in on the problematic area of your model. The project was due in six hours, and you were nowhere near having it stress-tested. Sleep was starting to feel like a distant memory from another life.

Riven paused in her tracks—you could practically hear her jaw dropping in that dramatic way she'd perfected since freshman year. "Paige Bueckers was talking about how Q’s jump shot is worse than a middle schooler's."

The absurdity of the statement finally forced you to tear your eyes away from the screen. Your neck cracked in protest as you turned to face your roommate, who stood there with her perfectly manicured hands on her hips, waiting for your reaction. Three years of living together had taught you that Riven wouldn't let you focus until you properly acknowledged whatever piece of gossip she'd brought home.

“That’s literally ridiculous.”

Riven tilted her head, eyes rolling toward the ceiling in that characteristic way of hers. Six seconds of contemplation later (you’d learned to count), she shrugged and pulled out her iPhone, probably to text the women's basketball group chat about the latest drama.

Your roommate, much like all the other Huskies superfans, didn't care whose reputation a particular player tarnished. She'd much rather get on their good side, damaged reputations or not. It was a dance you'd watched play out countless times since freshman year, when you'd first been assigned as roommates.

Back then, you'd thought the random housing assignment would be a disaster—the sports-obsessed sorority girl and the robotics team president seemed like a recipe for mutual hatred. But somehow, your differences had created a strange balance. She dragged you out of your engineering cave occasionally, and you reminded her that there was more to college than chasing after basketball stars.

"Caitlin bought Kate those new custom Nikes." Riven thrust her phone in your face, revealing a photo of Clark's teammate happily posing with pristine white sneakers. The caption read, 'Thanks for the gift bb, @CaitlinClark22'.

You squinted at the screen, trying not to think about how those shoes probably cost more than your entire semester's textbooks. The basketball elite weren't just known for their court skills—their NIL deals were equally legendary. Every starter came from successful programs, the kind that built training facilities and had courts named after their alumni.

"What a lucky bitch," Riven sighed, flopping onto her bed.

Apparently, your roommate wasn't the only one who didn't care for her reputation. Last week, she'd blown up your phone with about thirty—maybe sixty—texts about how her sorority sister had seen Caitlin making out with someone else at The Tavern. Looks like those custom Nikes must've been an apology.

You looked up at your starstruck roommate with pursed lips. Riven caught your expression and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, she's being messy. So what? Those shoes are like two thousand dollars with the custom work, that's my fucking meal plan right there."

"Remind me again how you're a neurology student?"

Riven clutched her chest with an open hand, gasping dramatically. "Wow. I see how it is." She threw herself backward onto her bed with the theatrical flair of a soap opera star.

You couldn't help but grin, even as your eyes darted back to your computer screen. The smile quickly died on your lips.

Oh fuck.

The CAD model still sat there, mocking you with its incomplete state. You'd managed to complete maybe forty percent of the assembly, and the entire thing needed to be fully rigged and stress-analyzed by nine AM.

This was the cost of your procrastination, another dinner sacrificed to the gods of engineering deadlines. At least you had a good excuse this time: you'd spent the weekend helping the robotics team prepare for their upcoming competition. Being vice president meant putting in the extra hours, even if it meant cramming your actual coursework into impossible timeframes.

"I have to finish this tonight. Do not bother me with any more basketball drama." You spun your chair back to face your screen, not bothering to check if Riven was sticking her tongue out at you. You could picture it anyway, she had the maturity of a twelve-year-old sometimes.

Five and a half hours later, you finally pressed the glorious 'Submit' button on Blackboard. You turned off your PC with such violence that the desktop nearly toppled over.

"Never doing that again," you groaned, slumping into your chair and letting your head fall back against the cushion. Your neck felt like it had been replaced with concrete somewhere around hour six.

"You literally say that every time," Riven quipped from her side of the room.

If you had any energy left, you would've gotten up and punched her in the ass. Luckily for her, your eyes had started doing that thing where they drooped shut every few seconds without your permission. You'd decided about thirty minutes ago that your chair was an acceptable substitute for a bed. The walk to your actual mattress seemed about as feasible as climbing Mount Everest right now.

"How do I look? Good enough for the party?"

Fucking hell. 

You summoned what little remained of your core strength and groaned as you forced your chair to swivel around. The sight that greeted you was, admittedly, impressive, even through your exhaustion-blurred vision.

Riven wore a black dress that hit just above her knees, with strategic cutouts along her ribs. The laced-up black heels she'd spent twenty minutes struggling with (while whining very fucking loudly) completed the look perfectly. She'd devoted the last hour of your project completion marathon to preparing for KK’s birthday celebration.

“Which party?” you croaked. “The one where everyone’s fighting or the one where they’re pretending nothing happened?”

Her nose wrinkled in that way it did when she was trying not to laugh. "You're so annoying."

Yeeeaaah, definitely the messy one.

You watched as Riven stumbled toward her drawer, rummaging through three compartments before pulling out a neon orange tiny bag. And when you say tiny, you mean tiny, it couldn't have been more than two inches across.

"Can you even fit anything in there?"

A wicked smile spread across her face as she opened the toy purse, pulling out her student ID and a tube of lipstick. Of-fucking-course. “Minimalist chic, baby. Besides, I don’t need much. Just the essentials. I'm serious. Tonight's gonna be fucking legendary."

“Legendary,” you deadpanned, swiveling your chair back to your desk. “Try not to end up on Barstool again.”

You swore she lunged forward, ready to attack you with her miniature weapon. But her phone rang, which happened to be a far more pressing matter. The assault could wait. Riven pressed the phone to her ear with a smile that would have made the Cheshire Cat proud.

"Are you here? Yeah, I'm ready. You have the Pink Whitney? Okay. Bye."

She turned back to you with that same manic grin. "I'll get you back for that later. Bye!"

And just like that, Riven leaped out of the room, her neon orange bag and its singular tube of lipstick disappearing with her into whatever chaos awaited at the UConn house.

The sudden silence in her wake felt almost oppressive. You sat there for a moment, contemplating your life choices. The clean lines and precise measurements of your engineering models never gave you this much drama. Maybe that's why you preferred spending your nights with SOLIDWORKS instead of at parties—machines were predictable, logical, and they never started drama about anyone's jump shot.

After nearly crawling your way across the room for what felt like thirty minutes (but was probably closer to five), you finally made it to your bed. Or rather, to the base of your bed. The problem now was getting on top of it. UConn, in its infinite wisdom, had given everyone the tallest fucking beds in existence.

Tall enough that all of your belongings fit underneath it so they could make the rooms ten times smaller by doing so. You sat on your ass, glaring at what felt like a sixteen-foot space between you and the mattress. You could, theoretically, just fucking get up and with one last surge of energy jump onto it. But the soft cotton of your fuzzy rug was suddenly hugging your back, tucking you in, cradling you like a loving parent.

Fuck it, the floor isn't even that bad. You've slept on much worse—like that one time freshman year when you passed out in the robotics lab after a forty-eight-hour building session. At least your rug didn't smell like motor oil and desperation.

Your head lay flat on the floor, the hardwood never felt softer. Riven had left hours ago, and you'd managed to successfully knock out on your chair for a bit. That was until you jolted awake, sweating out of every crevice of your body, and made eye contact with your actual bed. You'd said goodbye to the chair and began the voyage to your proper sleeping place. Clearly, that wasn't going as planned.

It was too late now to dwell on what could've been. Tomorrow, you'd start anew. Just like every time she partied, Riven wouldn't be back for two or three days. You'd have a full day to sleep on your actual bed without the mention of UConn and internal combustion engines.

You turned to your side, the fuzz tickling your chin as you nuzzled into it. Sleep was just starting to creep in when—

"Taylor! Tay baby, please open the door!"

The hairs on your arms rose and a fart you hadn't realized you'd been holding in released into the air. Some drunk player had the wrong door.

“Wrong room,” you called, hoping they’d get the hint. With a shaky breath, you nuzzled deeper into the carpet.

Not a second later, a bang erupted through your room. "Tay, please. I'm so sorry. I fucked up."

Your heart thrashed in your chest. Could you not have one night of peace? One night of tranquility to enjoy your own company? One night to enjoy sleeping on the hard floor?

"Taylor, for fuckssake." The asshole nearly knocked the fucking door off the hinges.

First, you're going to knock her the hell out. Then, you'll find out where Taylor lives and knock her out, too. Maybe you could work it into your next robotics project—a robot specifically designed to punch drunk athletes who can't read room numbers.

"Tay, please—"

You jolted upward and ran to the door so fast you probably broke several laws of physics. Swinging the wooden panel open like a madwoman, you yelled, "Listen asshole, I don't know who Taylor is and I don't give a damn. It's late as hell and some of us actually enjoy sleeping!"

Said asshole leaned against the door frame of your room, a Nike-covered foot tapping against the floor as she pressed a finger to your lips. "Shhhhh, baby, I said I'm sorry."

Your throat locked and you nearly laughed at the audacity. Did this fucker really not notice you weren't Taylor? Through your sleep-deprived haze, you managed to register a few details about the intruder: tall, athletic build that made your mouth go dry, honey-blonde hair falling in waves around her shoulders, and wearing what looked like exclusive UConn team gear. Great. A drunk basketball star. 

Said basketball star happened to also push herself off the door frame and trudge past you, right into your room as if she'd been there a million times.

Much like you wanted to before your carpet trapped you, the stranger leaped onto your bed, stomach flopping onto the cushion of your mattress. She muttered something you couldn't hear as she grabbed your favorite pillow and brought it close to her chest. She was snuggling your Mr. Gummy.

You were going to go to jail for assaulting a Division I athlete. Yeah. This was the end of your girl boss engineering career. Goodbye feminist STEM icon. Hello convict. All those years of suffering to get into UConn just for you to catch a case over the Greek Goddess, Nike, herself. At least you'd submitted your project first, might as well get credit for that before you went to prison.

"Babe, I don't remember your bed smelling this good." She'd gone into a fetal position, kicking off her—yep, definitely team-exclusive Nikes. Maybe, just maybe, you'd knock her out and then sell her shoes on StockX. The proceeds could cover your legal defense.

You rubbed your forehead with the back of your palm, wiping away the stress sweat that had accumulated. You swung your head out of your door, looking left and right, then repeat. Empty. Fuck. Fuck, and fuck.

You paced back and forth a few times, biting on the edge of your hand. You can't pick this goddess off your bed. One, she's drunk as hell. Two, she's... You gazed back at the stranger, somewhere on her journey to your bed she'd tossed her UConn warmup jacket to your floor. Leaving her in a fitted tank top that left nothing to the imagination.

Who needs that many shoulder muscles? The definition in the arm that hugged Mr. Gummy was sculpted by years of perfect jump shots. Each shift of her body revealed new curves, like a living Nike ad designed specifically to torment sleep-deprived engineering students.

Holy hell. Get a fucking grip.

Okay, so you can't drag the basketball star off your bed.

Plan B it is.

You trudged into your room, taking one last look at the hallway. Should you close the door?

If someone did hypothetically walk past would they think you drugged her? She was slurring her words and hugging your favorite bear while you paced back and forth like you happened to "accidentally" slip something into her Gatorade.

You closed the door.

You needed to call Riven. You could care less that she was at the beginning of her three-day rager, you weren't going to wait till the next morning when Nike would wake up and start accusing you of kidnapping UConn's star point guard.

You slowly walked toward your desk, making sure to avoid the panels on the floor that creaked every time someone stepped on them. Empty. You pushed your chair back to see if it happened to fall earlier. Empty.

The air stilled, and you shook your head. No. No. She was laying on it.

You'd chucked your phone onto your bed after deciding to finally start your project. You had to call Riven. There was no other choice but to tell someone. And given the fact that your contact list included your parents and Riven, she was looking like the most optimal candidate.

As silently as you could, you tip-toed toward your bed and did a quick examination. Near her head? Nope. Mr. Gummy? Nope. Legs? Nope. Hip?

Yeah.

Maybe you would go to jail after all, for assault.

You better get an A on that fucking project.

You took a step forward, awkwardly climbing the edge of your bed to get closer to your phone. Which was nicely tucked right under the curve of her ass, your camera barely peeking out as if it was taunting you.

Shit. How are you going to pull it out?

Your face contorted as you inched closer to the basketball player, thumb and middle finger clutching the edges of your phone and lightly tugging backward. She huffed out a soft groan. Dear god.

It's not budging.

In and out. Breathe.

You tugged again.

Something thudded against the floor.

Your eyes left the phone and gazed to the floor where your Mr. Gummy lay sacrificed to the floor demons. Uh oh.

You turned back to retrieve your bear when your eyes locked with hers. Her very open eyes.

She was smiling.

"Baby I didn't know you were so handsy."

You stared. That's all you could manage to do—stare at the face of the beautiful drunk idiot in front of you. And holy shit was she beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made you question if UConn's recruitment standards included a mandatory photogenic quota for certain players.

The idiot had a playful smile playing across her stupidly perfect face. Taylor must be a lucky girl. Not lucky enough, though, considering her girlfriend was currently in a stranger's bed. How drunk did someone have to be to not recognize they had the wrong person?

"C'mere," she grabbed your arm, pulling you to your side as if you weighed nothing. A strong arm locked around your waist and began rubbing circles on your stomach. The motion sent shivers down your spine that you desperately tried to ignore.

"Missed you, n' I'm sorry baby," she slurred into your ear. Her voice was much softer now, a warm whisper that made your whole body tingle.

Taylor, I'm so sorry.

The words shot straight between your legs. You hadn't been touched in almost two years. Sue me. A gorgeous basketball star was rubbing your lower stomach while she told you—her girlfriend—she missed her. This had to be some kind of cosmic joke. You spend three years avoiding athlete drama, and now the universe deposits one directly into your bed?

You needed your phone. Pronto.

"Listen— I—" You raised a clammy hand to lift her, attempting to wrap your fingers around her wrist to lift it. Your engineering brain was trying to calculate the exact force required to remove her arm without waking her up further, but all mathematical ability seemed to have short-circuited.

"You're so squirmy tonight," she intertwined your fingers.

What the fuck are you supposed to do? You inched your body further away in an attempt to shrug her off. A move that, in retrospect, was about as well-thought-out as trying to integrate calculus while drunk.

Nike thought otherwise. She pulled you closer until her front was pressed firmly against your back, her breath warm against your neck. You could feel the defined muscles of her stomach through her tank top, her body radiating heat that made your head spin.

FUCK.

You'll wake up with a gay panic and a warrant.

"I'm really tired," you squirmed against the death grip around your waist. For someone supposedly blackout drunk, she had the grip strength of someone who'd spent their life fighting through double teams.

Just pretend it's not there. You do not feel anything. Just toned arms and her—

"G'to bed baby. I'll make it up— make it up to you n' the morning." Nike lifted herself to place one last sleepy kiss against your cheek.

Two minutes later, Nike’s light snores vibrated against the back of your neck, warm breath caressing your skin. You wouldn't be able to move her off you. You had no clue where your phone was. Her hip could very well have fully consumed it at this point, creating some kind of phone-eating black hole that physics hadn't yet discovered.

With a sigh, you closed your eyes, pretended there wasn't a Division I basketball star sleeping in your bed, and prayed that you wouldn't end up in some viral TikTok before noon. At least if you did become internet famous, you'd already submitted that goddamn CAD project.

Your last thought before drifting off was that Mr. Gummy better not tell anyone about this.

"OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL!"

Are you being robbed? Is someone being murdered? You jolted upwards to see Riven staring at you with an open mouth, her perfectly applied makeup from last night now resembling a raccoon's Halloween costume.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of sleep. What's her problem?

She pointed to your bed and you turned your body to the side. Oh.

Oh.

Nike was rapidly blinking, those unfairly long eyelashes fluttering as she was most likely realizing you were not Taylor. The morning light streaming through your window illuminated her features in a way that should be illegal before coffee.

You laughed nervously, hands flailing in front of you like a malfunctioning windmill. "It's not what it looks like."

"Why is Paige Bueckers in your bed?"

Paige Bueckers? The same UConn Basketball Star Paige Bueckers? No fucking way.

This Paige had cuddled Mr. Gummy half of the night before opting to trap you in the bed with her. There was no chance that this was the same Paige Bueckers that had NIL deals with Nike and Gatorade and had laid waste to half the NCAA. 

Paige—definitely Paige—groaned beside you, hands rubbing her face. "Taylor's going to kill me," she mumbled underneath her breath.

"No, we— we didn't. We." You pointed between yourself and Paige, your brain short-circuiting like a poorly wired circuit board.

"Listen, sweetie, I'm sure it was the time of your life, but this was a one-time thing." Her voice had that practiced smoothness of someone who'd given this speech before, probably more times than the number of equations in your thermodynamics textbook.

Your eyes bulged out of their sockets. Was she serious? Did she think you two—? And she was okay with it? Now, this fits the description perfectly of the cocky superstar Paige Bueckers was known to be. 

Your face burned hotter than an overclocked processor. "We did not have sex. You came in here drunk off your ass screaming about your girlfriend."

By the time the word girlfriend left your mouth, Paige Bueckers had already jumped off your bed with the agility of someone who definitely wasn't as hungover as she should be. She snatched up her UConn warmup jacket from your floor and was halfway down the hallway before you could blink.

What an arrogant little asshole. Your muscles quivered with the urge to strangle her. That is if you ever saw her again. Which, given your luck and UConn’s campus, was probably inevitable.

"How long have you and Paige been seeing each other?" The empty spot beside you filled with Riven's weight. "Is that why you never wanted to come to the games with me?"

"Riven, you have five seconds to get off of my bed before I strangle you."

"You can't avoid this conversation forever!" she called out as you stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you tried to process the reality that you'd just spent the night cuddled up with Paige fucking Bueckers. The same player whose name had been carved into the unofficial NCAA hierarchy since before orientation. 

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the memory of how her arms had felt around you, how her breath had tickled your neck, how her—

No. Absolutely not. You were not going to join the ranks of college students who'd lost their minds over a basketball star. You had bigger things to worry about. Like whether your CAD project had uploaded properly. Or if you could ever look at Mr. Gummy the same way again.

The next few days passed in a blur of classes, labs, and actively avoiding any location where you might run into Paige. You'd even skipped Tuesday's Engineering Club meeting, sending your vice president a detailed email about needing to catch up on work. It wasn't entirely a lie—you did have work to catch up on, considering you'd spent half your study time calculating alternate routes to class that avoided the usual athlete hangouts.

But by Thursday afternoon, your luck ran out. The library was supposed to be safe—the one place on campus where the basketball players rarely ventured. They had their own private study rooms in the athletic center, after all. Which is why you'd let your guard down, settling into your favorite spot near the engineering section to catch up on your reading.

The peaceful atmosphere was shattered by two girls settling at the table across from you, their whispered conversation carrying clearly in the quiet space.

"So yeah, I like totally made out with Paige in the team room. We almost knocked over Coach's whiteboard, isn't that hilarious?" The prettier of the two said as she placed her MacBook on the wooden table, her voice carrying that forced casualness of someone trying very hard to seem unbothered.

Her friend laughed and took a sip of her Starbucks, a lemonade, probably sugar-free, because of course it was. "So how was it?"

Paige's latest conquest giggled and opened her laptop, trying to seem as uninterested in the conversation as possible. You'd seen this play before, the carefully crafted nonchalance that masked the inevitable disappointment when Paige moved on to her next target. You'd bet your entire scholarship that she'd gone home crying after being ghosted, only to watch Paige pretend she didn't exist the next day.

By this point, you'd given up all pretense of studying chemical processes and electron movement. You'd reread the same paragraph in your textbook sixteen times, your brain more interested in this glimpse into the life of your unexpected bedmate. So what if you're being nosy? Everyone is nosy, and besides, you'd mentally checked out the moment these two sat down.

"She's such a good kisser.” Her friend's mouth dropped open as she placed her half-empty cup onto the table, grabbing her friend's shoulder with one hand. The former nodded, still giggling, "Sarah, I know. She like totally picked me up against the whiteboard."

Are they not aware that people can hear them? That they're in a public space? You glanced around the library, which was half-empty as usual. So maybe you were the only one eavesdropping. Still, you wouldn't go around a library of all places announcing your hookups to the world.

"Hey buttercup," an eerily familiar voice purred in your ear.

You jolted, arms flailing like a malfunctioning robot, inevitably colliding with your pencil case and sending its contents scattering across the floor. Various writing implements rolled under nearby tables like they were making a break for freedom.

You turned to lock eyes with a very, very familiar pair of hazel eyes. Shit.

"Do I know you?" You asked through gritted teeth, trying to ignore how good she looked in her fitted Nike training gear. The amount of exclusive team merchandise on her body probably equaled your entire semester's expenses.

Why would Paige, of all people, be looking for you? If you remembered correctly, she was the one to so diligently inform you that whatever happened was a one-time thing—even though nothing had actually happened.

Paige's eyes crinkled at the corners as her lips tugged upward into that infamous smirk. She leaned forward, resting one hand on the edge of the table, the other on the back of your chair, effectively caging you in. "Don't play dumb."

She was in your bubble. Way too close for comfort, especially since you'd been planning on never having to interact with her again. You groaned and leaned backward, roughly pushing your chair back to give yourself space to lean over and pick up your scattered pens. The move was partly practical and partly designed to annoy her.

"Listen, if it was up to me, I wouldn't be here either." Paige grabbed the chair to your left and pushed it closer to you, dropping into it with that natural athlete's grace. "I've been to your room every day since Sunday and you haven't been there once."

Welp. Why the hell would she be looking for you?

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware I was supposed to be waiting in my room for you." You shoved the pens back into your pencil case, gripping the zipper and tugging it closed with perhaps more force than necessary. Looks like the library was no longer a safe haven.

"I lost my phone and you're the only person I remember being with that night," Paige groaned, turning her head.

Does she truly remember that night? Remember that you two didn't actually hook up but instead cuddled? You wanted to convulse at the memory of how safe and warm you'd felt in her arms. How right it had—no. Absolutely not.

"Oh fuck," she mumbled, her expression shifting from annoyed to something closer to panic.

Your eyes followed her gaze to see what had caused this reaction.

Ha. Ha. Ha. In your face, superstar. You couldn't help but grin as you realized the two girls were still very much present. Not only present but staring at you and Paige with expressions that suggested their jaws might actually detach and hit the table.

Paige leaned back in her chair, sending them a small wave and a—was that a wink? Your eyes nearly rolled directly out of their sockets. How much more predictable could she get?

You didn't bother to look back at the two girls to see their reaction. You could guess it anyway—probably swooning in their chairs, maybe even planning their own strategic "accidental" encounters with her. You wouldn't be surprised if they were already planning to show up at her next practice session.

"Anyways," Paige turned back to you, her voice dropping to that low register that definitely didn't do things to your insides, "Have you seen it?"

You shook your head, closing your textbook. Time to get the hell out of here. "No, I haven't. Sorry."

"Are you mad about what I said? Is that why you're holding my precious phone hostage?" Paige's hand shot out to land on top of your textbook, preventing you from shoving it in your bag—or directly at her stupid, perfect face.

"Mad about what exactly?" You grabbed her hand and tried to shove it off the textbook. She didn't budge. Of course she didn't, you'd seen her arms during all those ESPN highlights Riven forced you to watch. "I do not have your phone."

Within seconds, Paige's hand slid off the textbook only to trap your hand against it instead. She moved to the edge of her chair and leaned forward until her lips were at the shell of your ear. Her warm breath hit your skin and you had to resist the urge to squirm. "About what I said in front of your roommate, sweetie."

Your blood ran cold. Does she think you give two shits about what she said in front of Riven? That she made your roommate think you two were secretly hooking up and that she would undoubtedly eventually let it slip to her sorority sisters? Who will tell the rest of campus? No. Not. At. All.

Asshole. She's a no-good little asshole with too many NIL deals and too little accountability.

You turned your head to face her, ignoring the fact that you were now inches apart. If you weren't so pissed you might've paused to appreciate how her eyes looked up close, how they seemed to hold more mischief than all the troublemakers in Cambridge combined. But now wasn't the time for character studies.

You held her gaze, noting the slight knit in her brow that suggested she wasn't as confident as she was pretending to be. "Listen here Bueckers, whether or not you want to keep pretending like we hooked up or not is none of my business. I do not have your fucking phone, and if I did I would've thrown that shit into the Charles River by now."

You yanked your hand away from her grasp and turned back to your desk. You managed to successfully toss your textbook into your bag and rise from your chair without another word from her.

Before making your very dramatic exit, you turned to face her one last time. Might as well make it grand.

Paige hadn't moved an inch since you'd stood up. She stared at you with a raised brow and that infuriating smirk tugging at her lips. She found this amusing? Found humiliating you in the library a good pastime?

You bent over your chair, placing one hand on her shoulder and leaning in until you were at the shell of her ear. She stiffened under your touch, and you felt a small thrill of satisfaction. What the fuck are you doing?

You leaned in further, so close that your chest pressed flat against your arm and her body. So close that your lips actually grazed her ear as you whispered, with all the venom you could muster, “This might work on your little groupies, but, I’m not interested.” 

The last thing you saw as you straightened up and walked away was the shocked expression on her face, like she couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Good. Let her be confused for once.

You managed to make it all the way to the library exit before your hands started shaking. What the hell had gotten into you? You'd just essentially declared war on one of the most prominent athletes at UConn. The star player who could probably get you banned from every sports event without blinking.

But as you pushed through the heavy doors into the crisp fall air, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it. Maybe it was time someone stood up to the mighty Paige Bueckers. Someone who didn't want anything from her except for her to leave them alone.

Your muscles were still tense from your library encounter as you trudged up the stairs to your dorm room. The familiar hallway felt longer than usual, probably because every step reminded you of how spectacularly you'd just antagonized UConn's star player. At least you'd managed to get through your thermodynamics lab without dwelling too much on the way Paige's face had dropped when you'd—

No. Stop fucking thinking about it.

You fumbled with your key card, missing the reader twice before finally getting the door open. The first thing you noticed was an envelope on the floor, likely slipped under your door while you were in class. You bent down to pick it up, ready to toss it in the recycling with all the other campus spam, when Riven's voice cut through the room.

"What's that?"

You jumped, nearly dropping the envelope. Your roommate was sprawled across her bed, still in her scrubs from her hospital rotation. She must have gotten back early.

"Nothing," you muttered, but it was too late. Riven had already launched herself off her bed with surprising agility for someone who'd just finished a twelve-hour shift.

"Oh my god," she squealed, snatching the envelope from your hands before you could protest. "These are courtside tickets to Saturday's game!"

Your stomach dropped. Sure enough, two tickets peeked out of the torn envelope in Riven's hands. But what caught your eye was the note attached.

Found my phone in the team room. Who would’ve thought, right? Peace? - PB

"We're going," Riven declared, already pulling out her phone. "I'm texting the group chat right now. Do you know how impossible these tickets are to get?"

You reached for the tickets, but Riven danced away, holding them above her head like a prized trophy. "We are not going."

"Oh yes we are," she grinned, typing furiously with one hand while keeping the tickets out of your reach with the other. "Everyone's going to be so jealous. How did you even get these?"

"I didn't—" you started, then stopped. How exactly do you explain to your basketball-obsessed roommate that these tickets were some kind of weird peace offering from Paige Bueckers? A peace offering that felt more like a challenge, especially given that note.

"Earth to engineering nerd," Riven waved her hand in front of your face. "You're coming to this game. No excuses. I've already told everyone you're finally embracing the Husky spirit."

You groaned, falling face-first onto your bed. Mr. Gummy stared at you judgmentally from his spot against your pillow. Even he seemed to be saying you should have thrown those tickets away the moment you saw them.

"I have to study," you mumbled into your comforter.

"You always have to study," Riven countered. "But how often do you get courtside tickets from Paige Bueckers?"

Your head shot up. "How did you—"

"PB?" Riven held up the note, smirking. "Please. I may be pre-med, but I'm not stupid. Also, her signature is literally on every piece of UConn merch in the campus store."

Great. Just great. Now you had no choice but to go to the game. If you didn't, Riven would never let you hear the end of it. She'd probably drag you there anyway, study plans be damned.

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer some escape route from this situation. Instead, all you could think about was how you'd have to sit courtside—courtside—and watch Paige play. Watch her make those impossible passes, sink those perfect three-pointers, command the court like she was born to do it.

And she'd know you were there. That was the worst part. This wasn't just a peace offering—it was a power play. She was making sure you couldn't ignore her anymore.

"Fine," you sighed, already regretting the word as it left your mouth. "But I'm bringing my thermodynamics textbook."

Riven's squeal of delight was probably heard all the way in the engineering building.

You grabbed Mr. Gummy and hugged him to your chest, wondering how exactly you'd gone from successfully telling Paige Bueckers to fuck off to having courtside seats to watch her play. The bear offered no answers, but you could have sworn he looked a little smug about the whole situation.

The next two days were a special kind of torture. Riven had taken it upon herself to become your personal "game day preparation coordinator," which apparently meant forcing you to sit through endless highlight reels of UConn's recent victories. By Friday afternoon, you could probably recite Paige's stat line from memory—not that you'd ever admit that to anyone.

"You can't wear that," Riven declared as you pulled out your standard comfort outfit: UConn Engineering hoodie and black leggings.

You glanced down at your clothes, then back at your roommate. "Why not?"

"Because we're sitting courtside," she emphasized the word like you were a particularly slow child. "People are going to see us. The cameras might even pan to us during timeouts!"

The mere thought made your stomach churn. "That's exactly why I should wear this. I don't want to draw any attention."

Riven was already shaking her head, diving into her closet with the determination of someone on a mission. "No way. If Paige Bueckers gives you courtside tickets, you dress for the occasion."

"She didn't give them to me," you protested, even though technically she had. "They were just left under our door."

"Right," Riven emerged with an armful of clothes. "Just like she just happened to end up in your bed that night?"

You threw Mr. Gummy at her head. She dodged, laughing as the bear bounced harmlessly off your desk lamp. "We are not talking about that again."

An hour and approximately seventeen outfit changes later, you finally escaped. Your excuse about needing to pick up materials from the engineering lab wasn't entirely a lie—you did have a project due next week. The fact that the engineering building was on the opposite side of campus from the athletic facilities was just a bonus.

Lost in thought, you didn't notice the person exiting the coffee shop until it was too late. Hot liquid splashed across your chest as you collided with what felt like a brick wall of muscle.

"Shit, I'm so sorry!" A voice that definitely wasn't Paige's (thank god) exclaimed.

You looked up—and up—into the concerned face of one of UConn's basketball players. The Croatian accent and defensive intensity were legendary enough that even you, perpetually sports-oblivious, recognized her from Riven's endless team discussions.

"It's fine," you managed, trying to ignore how the hot coffee was currently seeping through your shirt. At least it wasn't your engineering hoodie—Riven would've killed you if you'd ruined her carefully planned outfit for tomorrow.

She was already pulling napkins from her pocket, dabbing at your shirt with a look of genuine distress. "Let me buy you a new coffee. And shirt," she added, eyeing the growing stain.

"Really, it's fine." You stepped back, ready to bolt. The last thing you needed was another interaction with a basketball player.

But she wasn't letting you off that easy. She grabbed your wrist with surprising gentleness for someone known for her aggressive defense. “Nah, I insist. I'm Nika, by the way. And I really do feel terrible about this."

Before you could protest further, she was steering you back into the coffee shop. The barista's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Nika—clearly a regular customer—but otherwise maintained their professional composure.

"The usual for me," Nika called out, "and whatever she wants." She turned to you expectantly.

You mumbled your name and order—"Just a black coffee"��trying to shrink into yourself. Several students were openly staring now, probably wondering why Nika Mühl was buying coffee for some random engineering student.

"And a chocolate croissant," Nika added, ignoring your attempt to protest. "Trust me, they're amazing here."

You shifted uncomfortably as she paid, very aware of the wet fabric clinging to your skin. Nika seemed to notice your discomfort because she shrugged off her UConn warmup jacket and held it out to you.

"Here, you can't stay in that wet shirt."

You stared at the jacket like it might bite you. The same style jacket Paige had left on your floor that night. The one that probably cost more than your textbooks.

"I can't—"

"You can and you will," Nika insisted, pushing the jacket into your hands. "There's a bathroom right there. Go change before you catch a cold."

Something in her tone brooked no argument. You found yourself in the bathroom before you could really process what was happening, staring at your reflection as you zipped up the warmup jacket. It was slightly too big, making you look like a kid playing dress-up in their older sibling's clothes.

When you emerged, Nika had already claimed a table in the corner, your drinks and the promised chocolate croissant waiting. She waved you over with a smile that somehow managed to be both friendly and slightly intimidating.

"So," she said as you slid into the seat across from her, "what's your major?"

"Engineering. Mechanical." You picked at the croissant, wondering how quickly you could eat it and escape.

Nika's eyes narrowed slightly, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Engineering— wait." Her eyes widened with recognition. "Holy shit, are you that girl?"

You froze mid-bite. "What girl?"

"The one from the library! The one who told Paige—what was it?  ‘That you’re not one of her groupies’?” Nika's grin spread across her face like wildfire. "No wonder she's been such a mess lately."

You choked on your croissant. "What?"

"Oh my god, this is perfect. You're also the one she—" Nika cut herself off, studying your increasingly red face with growing delight. "The one whose room she crashed in after KK’s party?"

Your face burned hotter than the coffee you'd been wearing moments ago. "How did you—"

"Paige tells me everything," Nika leaned back in her chair, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Well, eventually. Had to drag this one out of her after she spent three days moping around practice like someone had stolen her favorite pair of Jordan’s.”

"I didn't steal anything," you protested automatically. "Not her phone, not her—"

"Oh, she knows that now," Nika waved dismissively. "Found it in the team room yesterday morning. Right where those girls said it would be." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Though I have to say, watching her spiral about it was pretty entertaining. She's not used to people calling her out like that."

The implication hung heavy in the air. You remembered the library girls' story about making out with Paige against the whiteboard. Something must have shown on your face because Nika's expression softened slightly.

"Look, Paige is complicated. She's not used to people seeing through her bullshit." She took a sip of her drink, considering her next words carefully. "Those tickets? That's her way of saying she fucked up."

"By accusing me of stealing her phone?"

"By letting you think she didn't remember that night."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "What?"

Nika's phone buzzed before she could answer. She glanced at it and grimaced. "Speaking of her royal highness, I'm late for film." She stood, gathering her things with practiced efficiency. "Keep the jacket. Consider it compensation for the coffee attack."

You watched her head toward the door, your mind spinning with questions. Just before she left, she turned back with a knowing smirk.

"See you tomorrow at the game. Front row, right?"

The door chimed as she left, leaving you alone with a half-eaten croissant and more questions than answers. You looked down at the jacket, at the way the UConn logo seemed to mock you with its pristine embroidery.

Somehow, in trying to avoid Paige Bueckers, you'd managed to get tangled up in her world anyway. And tomorrow, you'd have to sit courtside and watch her in her element, all while wearing her best friend's jacket.

Mr. Gummy was definitely going to judge you for this.

"No." You glared at the suspicious red cup Riven was waving in front of your face. "Absolutely not."

"Come on! It's tradition!" She pushed the cup closer, its contents sloshing dangerously near the rim. The sharp smell of cheap vodka mixed with what you assumed was cranberry juice wafted toward you. "You can't go to your first real game sober."

You turned back to your mirror, adjusting Nika's warmup jacket for the hundredth time. The number 10 stared back at you, a constant reminder of yesterday's coffee shop encounter. You'd tried to talk yourself out of wearing it, but everything else felt too casual for courtside seats (according to Riven) or too formal (also according to Riven).

"I'm not pregaming a basketball game at three in the afternoon."

"It's four," Riven corrected, checking her phone. "And yes, you are. The team's already been at Gampel for hours, and we need to leave in thirty minutes if we want good spots for warm-ups. I refuse to let you sit there reading thermodynamics while history happens right in front of us."

You spun around, hands on your hips. "History?"

"Yes! We're playing Notre Dame. It's huge." She thrust the cup into your hands with such force that some of it splashed onto your fingers. "And you're wearing Nika Mühl's personal jacket. Do you know how many people would kill for that?"

"I got it because she spilled coffee on me," you muttered, but took a small sip anyway. Just to shut her up. The drink was surprisingly not terrible— mostly juice with just enough vodka to warm your chest.

"Right. Just like Paige 'accidentally' ended up in your bed." Riven made air quotes with her fingers, nearly spilling her own drink in the process. "And then 'accidentally' gave us courtside tickets."

"Can we not talk about that?" You took another sip, larger this time. The warmth spread through your limbs, making everything feel slightly softer around the edges. Maybe Riven had a point about the drinking thing.

"Oh, we're definitely talking about it." She flopped onto your bed, somehow not spilling a drop. "You're wearing her best friend's jacket to watch her play. This is like, next level psychological warfare."

You choked on your drink. "It's not warfare! I just didn't have anything else to wear."

"Mhmm." Riven's knowing smirk made you want to throw Mr. Gummy at her again. "That's why you spent twenty minutes adjusting it in the mirror."

"I did not—"

"You did! You were all,” She stood up, mimicking your earlier movements with exaggerated precision. "'Oh, should I zip it up all the way? Maybe halfway? What if I push up the sleeves?'"

You drained your cup in one go, grimacing at the burn. "I hate you."

"You love me." She was already mixing another drink, this one slightly stronger than the last. "And you're going to thank me when Paige sees you in that jacket and loses her mind."

"She's not going to lose her mind," you protested, but accepted the fresh drink anyway. "She probably won't even notice."

Riven's laugh echoed off the walls. "Oh honey. Paige notices everything. Why do you think she's the best point guard in the country?"

The walk to Gampel Pavilion was a blur of Riven's excited chatter and your growing anxiety. The drinks had taken the edge off, but your heart still raced as you approached the arena. Students were already lining up outside, many wearing jerseys and carrying signs. Your hand instinctively went to the zipper of Nika's jacket, suddenly very aware of what you were wearing.

"Stop fidgeting," Riven hissed, pulling you toward a separate entrance. "You look hot. Own it."

The security guard barely glanced at your tickets before waving you through. The arena was already humming with energy— staff rushing around with equipment, the band setting up in their section, early arrivals claiming their seats. 

Your courtside seats were exactly where you'd dreaded they'd be: directly behind the UConn bench. Close enough to hear every word, see every expression, feel every moment of tension.

"This is insane," you muttered, sinking into your seat. The court stretched out before you like a stage, the overhead lights making everything feel surreal.

"Look." Riven nudged you, pointing toward the tunnel. "They're coming out for warm-ups."

Your heart jumped into your throat as the team emerged, led by the coaching staff. Players filed onto the court in perfect formation, their practice jerseys a sea of navy and white. You spotted Nika first— impossible to miss with her distinctive playing style, already intense even in warm-ups.

And then there she was.

Paige moved with that effortless grace that made everything look easy, her ponytail swinging as she dribbled two balls simultaneously. She hadn't looked toward the crowd yet, locked in that pre-game focus that elite athletes got.

"Here we go," Riven whispered, her phone already out and recording.

You watched as Paige went through her warm-up routine, each movement precise and practiced. She worked her way around the three-point line, barely seeming to notice as shot after shot swished through the net.

Then she turned to grab a rebound, and her eyes swept across the courtside seats.

You saw the exact moment she registered you. Her hands froze mid-dribble, the ball bouncing away forgotten. Her gaze locked onto the number 10 across your chest, then slowly traveled up to meet your eyes.

The intensity in her stare made your whole body flush hot. You watched as her jaw clenched, that familiar muscle ticking in a way that sent heat straight to your core. Her eyes darkened with something that looked dangerously close to possession.

Nika appeared beside her, saying something that made Paige snap back to attention. But not before you caught the way her gaze lingered on how her best friend's jacket fit your frame.

"Holy shit," Riven breathed, still recording. "I think you broke her."

You slumped lower in your seat, already regretting letting the vodka convince you this was a good idea. "Shut up."

"No way. This is better than any reality show." She zoomed in as Paige missed her next three shots in a row. "Look what you did to her."

"I didn't do anything," you protested weakly, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from Paige's form. The way her practice jersey clung to her shoulders, how her muscles flexed with each movement, the intense focus that had returned to her features – though you swore you caught her glancing in your direction between plays.

This was going to be a very long game.

The game started exactly as you'd expected— with Paige absolutely demolishing Notre Dame's defense while you tried very hard to look anywhere else. It wasn't working.

"Did you see that pass?" Riven screamed in your ear for approximately the eighteenth time. "She didn't even look!"

No, you hadn't seen the pass, because you were very deliberately studying the fascinating architecture of Gampel's ceiling. The vodka buzz had worn off about twenty minutes ago, leaving you hyperaware of every move, every sound, every time Paige jogged past your seats during transitions.

The worst part? Nika kept sending you these knowing looks from the bench, like she was watching her favorite rom-com play out in real time. You were starting to regret not bringing your thermodynamics textbook after all. At least differential equations made sense. They didn't smirk at you or have perfectly defined arm muscles or—

"Time out, Huskies!"

The players jogged toward the bench, and suddenly your personal space was invaded by very tall, very sweaty athletes. You tried to shrink further into your seat, but there was nowhere to go. Especially not when Paige dropped into a crouch right in front of you, ostensibly to grab her water bottle.

"Nice jacket," she said quietly, just loud enough for you to hear over the timeout huddle. Her eyes traveled down your body in a way that made you feel like you were wearing significantly less than a full warmup jacket and jeans.

You opened your mouth to respond with something witty, something that would put her in her place like you had in the library. Instead, what came out was: "Your friend has good taste."

Paige's eyes darkened, that same possessive look from warm-ups returning with intensity. "Does she?"

Before you could dig yourself into an even deeper hole, Coach Auriemma's voice cut through the tension. "Bueckers! Get your ass over here!"

You watched as she jogged back to the huddle, trying to ignore how your skin felt electric where her gaze had lingered. Beside you, Riven was practically vibrating with excitement.

"I got all of that on video," she whispered, waving her phone in your face. "This is going in the group chat."

"If you send that anywhere, I will reprogram your phone to only play the Barney theme song."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

The timeout ended, and the players returned to the court. You noticed Paige was playing with even more intensity now, if that was possible. Her crossovers were sharper, her passes more precise, like she had something to prove.

"Twenty bucks says she's showing off for you," Riven muttered.

"Thirty says you're delusional."

But as you watched Paige sink another impossible three-pointer and turn slightly— just slightly - in your direction before jogging back on defense, you had to admit that maybe, just maybe, Riven had a point.

The game continued in a blur of strategic timeouts (during which Paige found increasingly creative ways to end up near your seat), incredible plays (that you definitely weren't watching just to see the way her muscles moved), and Riven's running commentary (which was getting progressively less about basketball and more about the "tension that could be cut with a knife").

By the fourth quarter, UConn had built a comfortable lead, and you'd developed a concerning familiarity with exactly how Paige's practice jersey clung to her shoulders when she was sweating. This was not information you needed in your life. You had CAD models to build, robots to program, a future in engineering to secure. You did not have time to notice how her hair had started falling out of its ponytail in these impossibly attractive wisps, or how—

"Game! Huskies win!"

The final buzzer snapped you out of your completely professional analysis of athletic biomechanics. The crowd erupted as players from both teams exchanged handshakes and hugs. You stood, ready to make your escape before—

"Leaving so soon?"

You turned to find Paige standing right there, still slightly breathless from the game, her presence filling your entire field of vision. Up close, you could see the flush of exertion on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the slight curl of her lips that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

"I have studying to do," you managed, proud that your voice came out steady.

"On a Saturday night?" She stepped closer, and you caught the faint scent of her perfume mixed with sweat. It should not have been as attractive as it was. "After watching me put up thirty points?"

"Thirty-two," you corrected automatically, then immediately wanted to die. Beside you, Riven made a sound that might have been a squeal or a laugh.

Paige's smirk grew wider. "So you were watching."

"It was kind of hard to miss, considering where we're sitting." You gestured to the courtside seats that had started this whole mess.

"About that," she ran a hand through her hair, and those loose strands fell perfectly around her face in a way that had to be practiced. "I was thinking maybe we could—"

"Paige!" Nika's voice cut through whatever she'd been about to say. "Media's waiting!"

You'd never been so grateful for press obligations in your life.

Paige's jaw clenched in frustration, but she recovered quickly. "This isn't over," she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear. Then she was gone, jogging toward the media section with that natural athletic grace that made everything look effortless.

You stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Your skin still tingled where she'd been standing close enough to touch.

"So," Riven's voice broke through your daze. "Still think she hasn't noticed you?"

"We're going out," Riven declared, already rummaging through your closet without permission. "No arguments."

You looked up from your laptop, where you'd been desperately trying to focus on anything other than replaying the game in your head for the past two hours. "I have to—"

"If you say 'study' I will literally scream." She emerged with your one decent going-out top, the black one with the low back that you'd bought on impulse and worn exactly once. "You just watched UConn destroy Notre Dame from courtside seats while Paige Bueckers eye-fucked you in front of the entire student section. We're celebrating."

"She wasn't—" You cut yourself off, heat creeping up your neck. "And anyway, shouldn't she be celebrating with her girlfriend?"

The words tasted bitter in your mouth. You'd been trying very hard not to think about Taylor, about how Paige had crashed into your room calling out her name, about how clearly serious it must be if she was that desperate to apologize. The fact that she'd spent the entire game looking at you like... that... well, it just proved what everyone said about her, didn't it?

"Oh my god," Riven threw the shirt at your head. "Put this on. We're getting drunk and you're going to tell me everything you're overthinking about right now."

An hour later, you found yourself at The Tavern, nursing your second Moscow Mule while Riven recounted the game to anyone who would listen. The bar was packed with students celebrating the win, most still wearing their UConn gear and riding the high of victory.

"I just don't get it," you said, mostly to your drink. "Why is she suddenly so interested? I'm literally nobody. I spend my Friday nights debugging Python scripts and building robots that occasionally catch fire."

"Maybe that's exactly why," Riven waggled her eyebrows. "You're different. You don't worship the ground she walks on."

You snorted. "Right. Because what Paige Bueckers really wants is someone who told her to fuck off in the library."

The doors to The Tavern burst open, and suddenly the energy in the room shifted. A new wave of celebration swept through as the team arrived, fresh from their post-game duties. Your stomach did a complicated flip as you spotted Paige among them, now changed into fitted black jeans and a white button-down that should be illegal. Her hair was down, falling in waves that your fingers definitely didn't itch to touch.

"Speak of the devil," Riven smirked. "Want to test that theory?"

"Don't you dare—" But Riven was already waving enthusiastically, catching Nika's attention. The Croatian player's face lit up with unholy glee when she spotted you.

"Engineering girl!" Nika bounded over, dragging a very amused-looking Paige with her. "Still wearing my jacket, I see."

You started to unzip it, but she waved you off. "Keep it. It looks better on you anyway." She shot Paige a meaningful look that made your cheeks burn.

"I need another drink," Riven announced suddenly, grabbing Nika's arm. "Come show me where the team keeps their secret stash."

"We don't have a—" Nika caught on quickly, grinning. "Oh, right. That secret stash. This way."

And just like that, you were alone with Paige at the crowded bar, your body humming with awareness of how close she was standing.

"Subtle, aren't they?" Paige smiled, and for once it wasn't that practiced smirk. It was something softer, more genuine. She signaled the bartender, who materialized instantly. Must be nice being a campus celebrity.

"The usual?" The bartender asked Paige, already reaching for a bottle.

"And whatever she's having," Paige nodded toward your nearly empty Moscow Mule.

"I can buy my own drinks," you said quickly, reaching for your wallet.

Paige's lips twitched. "I know you can. But consider it part of my ongoing apology for the whole bed situation."

You raised an eyebrow, fighting to keep your voice steady. "You always apologize to your drunken mistakes with expensive drinks?"

The moment the words left your mouth, you wanted to snatch them back. But instead of looking offended, Paige just studied you with those impossibly intense eyes.

"Only the ones who let me cuddle their stuffed bears."

"Mr. Gummy," you corrected automatically, then immediately wanted to die. Again.

The bartender returned with your drinks, and you grabbed yours perhaps a bit too quickly, needing something to do with your hands. The Moscow Mule was perfect – strong enough to blame your burning cheeks on the alcohol.

"So," Paige said after a moment, looking far too comfortable for someone who'd just been called out on their drunken mistakes. "Engineering, huh?"

You nearly choked on your drink. "Are we really doing small talk right now?"

"Would you prefer I go back to staring at you from across the court?"

"I prefer knowing where I stand," you shot back, the alcohol making you braver than usual. "Because last I checked, you had a girlfriend you were pretty desperate to apologize to."

Something flashed across her face – regret? Embarrassment? "Taylor and I it's complicated."

"Isn't it always?" You couldn't quite keep the bitterness out of your voice. You'd heard enough stories about Paige's "complicated" situations to fill a textbook.

She turned to face you fully, and your breath caught at the unexpected vulnerability in her expression. "Look, I know what people say about me. Some of it's probably true. But Taylor and I have been over for months. That night... I was drunk and stupid because she'd started seeing someone new, and I handled it badly."

"By trying to crawl into her bed?"

"By accidentally crawling into yours." Her voice dropped lower, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. "Which, in retrospect, might have been the universe doing me a favor."

You forced yourself to meet her gaze, ignoring how your heart raced at the way she was looking at you. "Does that line usually work?"

"I don't know," she smiled, and it wasn't her usual cocky smirk. It was something smaller, almost shy. "I've never used it before."

Before you could process that, a commotion erupted near the pool tables. You both turned to see Riven attempting to teach one of the team's shooting guards proper form, which seemed to involve a lot of unnecessary physical contact.

"Ten bucks says they end up making out in the bathroom," Paige said, amusement coloring her tone.

"Twenty says Riven chickens out and spends the next week telling me about all the signals she thinks she missed."

Paige laughed, and the sound did something dangerous to your insides. "You know your roommate well."

"Well enough to know she's going to interrogate me about this conversation later."

"This conversation?" Paige shifted slightly closer, and you caught that intoxicating mix of her perfume and something uniquely her. "What's there to interrogate about?"

You gestured vaguely between you. "This whole... whatever this is. Where you're suddenly interested in small talk about my major and making jokes about the universe doing you favors."

"Maybe I just want to know more about the girl who told me to fuck off in the library." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "While wearing my best friend's jacket, no less."

"That was an accident—"

"Was it?" She was definitely closer now, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in her eyes. "Because from where I was standing, it looked a lot like a challenge."

Your grip tightened on your drink. "Not everything is about you, Bueckers."

"No," she agreed, her voice soft but intense. "But the way you've been looking at me all night? That might be."

The air between you crackled with tension. You should step back. You should remember all the stories, all the warnings, all the reasons this was a terrible idea. You should—

"There you are!" Nika's voice cut through the moment like a bucket of cold water. "Coach just texted. Team meeting tomorrow morning got moved up."

Paige's jaw clenched in frustration, but she recovered quickly. "What time?"

"Eight AM." Nika's eyes darted between you and Paige, her expression far too knowing. "Sorry to interrupt."

"You weren't," you said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly judging by Nika's raised eyebrow.

Paige turned back to you, and the intensity in her gaze made your breath catch. "We'll finish this conversation later."

It wasn't a question.

You watched her walk away, trying to ignore how your body still hummed from her proximity. Nika lingered behind, grinning like she'd just won a bet with herself.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I've never seen her work this hard for someone's attention before."

"I'm not—" you started, but Nika was already following Paige, leaving you alone with your thoughts and a half-empty Moscow Mule.

Riven materialized beside you moments later, her eyes wide. "Okay, what the hell was that?"

"Nothing," you mumbled into your drink. "Just Paige Bueckers being Paige Bueckers."

But as you watched her gather her team to leave, she turned back just for a moment, catching your eye across the bar. The look she gave you was pure heat, a promise of more conversations to come.

You were so beyond utterly fucked.

[andypantsx3]

BY THE BOOK : MIDORIYA IZUKU X READER

SUMMARY: When your pro hero boyfriend comes home to find you studying, he suddenly takes a great interest in helping out. You find his methods... questionable. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft, hysterical literature (reading out loud while sexually stimulated), pro hero deku, deku still has ofa, support tech grad student reader, slight intelligence kink, gn + afab reader, cunnilingus, established relationship, aged up characters, fluff (3k) NOTES: Hi guys! I have been in survival mode as of late and the writing has been slow going; my sincerest apologies for how long it’s taking me to burn down my @ficsforgaza backlog. But I finally had the time & energy on my hands this weekend to work on this one and I had such a blast!! I hope I’m not too rusty—and if I am, I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it regardless lol. Love you and thank you always for your patience. Happy Holidays!!

Sometimes, you thought you could tell your boyfriend was near, even before you heard his key in the lock.

It was something to do with his power, you’d always suspected—as a support engineer unduly interested in other people’s capabilities, you’d spent hundreds of hours turning it over in your head. It was the unnatural immensity of other people’s powers, you thought, pulling and coiling just beneath the surface of Izuku’s skin. In close proximity, after prolonged use, its presence felt like a shiver up the back of your neck.

You felt the barest hint of it now, an unsettled feeling creeping into the marrow of your bones, and you sat up on the couch just as you heard the scratch of Izuku’s keys at the door.

One For All fit cleanly into Izuku’s own unwavering intensity somehow, like the last piece of his puzzle. Though one would certainly never think so looking at him as he spilled through the door, pink-cheeked from the cold, all bright eyes, sweetly angelic features, and a riot of wild green curls. He looked windswept from the biting winter breeze. He also looked too kind to be carrying the sort of power he did—too sweet and eager and lovely.

“Look what the wind blew in,” you grinned at him over the back of the couch, after assessing he was well. Your eyes tracked the sinuous movement of those broad shoulders as he yanked his mouthguard over his head, the flex and pull of his bicep as he hung it beside the door. He was moving without pause, no sign of injury or muscle strain , and his suit was intact. Ordinarily you didn’t mind if there was a bit of shredding about the abs as long as he came back to you whole and hale, but in the winter you didn’t like him wandering about risking the chance of frostbite.

Your heart fluttered when Izuku returned your smile with one of his own, so beautiful and bright, chasing away the cold he’d tracked in like a warm sliver of sun.

“Lots of small, easy fights today?” You guessed, judging from his intact suit but clear whiff of power about him.

Izuku scrubbed a hand through that riot of curls, exposing the reddened shell of a cold ear. “I only had to use blackwhip a couple of times,” he said as he shouldered the door closed behind him, the muscle of his thighs flexing enticingly as he stepped out of his boots.

You gestured at the pot of soup you’d left warming on the stove, and the veritable pile of crusty bread beside it. Warmth and carbs, exactly what you would have wanted if you were a pro hero fresh off a long day of patrolling in the snow.

Izuku’s eyes fixed on it with an obliging amount of interest, and he almost tripped over himself in the genkan in his haste to get to the kitchen. “I love you,” you heard him say, muffled through a mouthful of bread, heard the clatter of the silverware drawer and a bowl being placed on the counter.

You smiled and turned back to the book in your lap, a particularly dry, knotty text on robotic imitation learning that had had your eyes drifting closed for the better part of an hour. It was the last you’d need to get through for your Wearable Technologies graduate course, and something you were deeply interested in incorporating into your design practice. You could train a piece of equipment on how an individual pro hero moved and deployed their quirk, and use predictive modeling to deploy assistance functionalities within milliseconds if you got it right—such as immediate cooling in pro hero Shouto’s temperature vest the moment he ignited an arm.

The implementation was going to be so cool—but the theory was so mind numbing.

You felt the couch sink in beside your feet, and Izuku peered interestedly at the title in your lap.

“Introduction to Robotic Imitation Learning,” he echoed, and you could hear the note of excitement in his voice. You suppressed a fond smile, knowing he was already thinking through the same applications you had—he was just as much of a nerd as you were.

“Introduction to Snoozing and Napping,” you grumbled, turning back to your page. “There are only so many words on the Kalman filter framework a brain can handle before the human mind shuts itself down.”

Izuku hummed in interest around a spoonful of soup, propping himself up against your leg. The exterior of his suit was still cool from the outside, and he groaned with relief from the warmth of your skin, even as you hissed at the chill.

You knew he wanted you to go on, so you generalized for him. “It’s an algorithm used for robotic motion planning—you not only take measurements of the thing you want to model but you account for uncertainties to predict the probability that something is going to happen.”

Izuku nodded, taking another spoonful of soup, gesturing for you to go on.

You summoned up the willpower to explain joint probability distribution, pleased when Izuku easily managed to follow—he’d always been a quick study, especially of anything that could be employed in the service of heroics. You’d long thought if he hadn’t been gifted his quirk, he would be an insane support engineer.

He managed to finish his entire bowl of soup in the time it took you to explain, and housed another two slices of buttered bread with the sort of alacrity you’d only ever seen in pro heroes and professional athletes, making you smile while you spoke.

His spoon clinked softly against the edge of the bowl as he set them aside on the coffee table, and he hooked his chin over your knees as you finished explaining. In the setting sun from your windows he looked especially lovely, the kind, angular planes of his face brushed in gold, softening the spots of his freckles.

His eyes were especially bright, the way they always were when something in particular had caught his interest, and he smiled at you again over the tops of your knee caps.

“I admire how smart you are,” he told you, in the simple, straightforward way he always gave out compliments. It was like a shot to the heart every time, and you could feel your face warm with the praise even after years of receiving similar compliments.

You reflexively flapped a dismissive hand. “Not smart enough to have internalized it all! I have mostly been falling asleep to it,” you promised him.

He tilted his head, a green curl falling into his eyes. “I know you won’t have a problem when you’re awake.”

You shifted your legs with embarrassment, and a long fingered hand came up to cup the front of your thigh, as Izuku turned more fully towards you. You could feel the warm, hard planes of his chest against your shins, the line of his jumpsuit’s zipper pressing insistently just below your knee.

“Gotta try to impress you somehow,” you joked, your skin prickling as Izuku’s fingers absent-mindedly drew a pattern across your thigh. You could feel the heat of his hand through the thin material of the leggings you’d lounged around in all day, the chill finally chased away from his skin now that he’d come inside and warmed up.

“You do impress me,” he said in his soft, gentle tone. Which made your cheeks and nose burn hotter.

You knew you did, and the steady faith Izuku had in the people around him was one of your favorite things about him. It still made you feel like a middle schooler with a crush to think about, though, the intensity of your feelings too much for one body to handle.

“I will study hard to live up to your faith in me,” you promised, unable to help the goofy smile you knew you were giving him.

Izuku’s chin shifted against the tops of your knees, and he pressed his mouth to the knob of your left one, leaving a smiling kiss. “Tell me more?” he asked, fingers still sliding softly over your thigh.

“I’ll read it to you as I go, then,” you said, turning back to the brick of a tome, propping it up more firmly on your stomach as you adjusted yourself against the couch arm. Izuku’s eyes watched you over the top of the pages, that emerald gaze tracking your face closely.

“‘The algorithm works via a two-phase process: a prediction phase and an update phase’,” you began, trying to turn your attention away from Izuku and back to the text. “‘In the prediction phase, the Kalman filter produces estimates of the current state variables, including their uncertainties. Once the outcome of the next measurement (necessarily corrupted with some error, including random noise) is observed, these estimates are updated using a weighted average, with more weight given to estimates with greater certainty.’”

Izuku’s long fingers traced firmer lines across your thighs, almost like he was taking notes. He layered another kiss along the line of your knee, eyes glittering at you as you read.

“‘The algorithm is recursive,’” you continued, “‘It can operate in real time, using only the present input measurements and the state calculated previously and its uncertainty matrix; no additional past information is required.’”

You almost jumped as Izuku’s mouth trailed lower, into the space between your knees, leaving kisses along your inner thigh. His fingers gently pulled one thigh away to make space for him in between, and you cleared your throat, trying to return to the text at hand.

“‘Optimality of Kalman filtering assumes that errors have a normal–that is, Gaussian–distribution,’” you read on. “‘The following assumptions are made about random processes: Physical random phenomena may be thought of as due to primary random sources exciting dynamic systems. The primary sources are assumed to be independent gaussian random processes with zero mean; the dynamic systems will be linear.’”

Izuku let out a soft breath, insinuating himself further between your thighs. Your own breath came out a little uneven as he bent over you, mouth tracking dangerously towards the inseam of your leggings.

You paused, but Izuku fixed you with a look of his slightly-darkened eyes. “Please—keep reading,” he said, his tone a little lower than it had been a minute ago.

You swallowed in shocked understanding, skin tingling. You felt yourself nod, as Izuku’s fingers strayed to the waist of your pants, dipping below the band.

You let him slowly peel your leggings down, your underwear with them, adjusting as needed to make it easy for him, even as you tried to return your attention to your textbook.

“‘Regardless of Gaussianity, however, if the process and measurement covariances are known, then the Kalman filter is the best possible linear estimator in the minimum mean-square-error sense,’” you quoted, nearly squeaking when Izuku pressed his mouth to your hip, his curls tickling the skin of your belly. His hands gripped either side of your thighs, palms square and rough against your skin, and you tried not to shiver with the feeling.

“Um—���Although there may be better nonlinear estimators’,” you said, then nearly jumped out of your skin when Izuku pressed his mouth to the core of you, only the strength of his grip stopping you from accidentally kicking him in surprise.

“Oh my g—uh! It—um—‘It is a common misconception perpetuated in the literature that the Kalman filter cannot be rigorously applied unless all noise processes are assumed to be Gaussian,’” you managed, before your cut off into a groan as Izuku layered a hot, sweet kiss over you, tongue dipping carefully between your folds. “Ah-–Izuku—”

Izuku petted a thumb gently over the top of your thigh to show he was listening, even as he swiped his tongue over you again, a long, firm stroke that had your thighs flexing in his hold. He laved over your clit, sucking ever so slightly, and your grip almost tore the edge of your textbooks as it tightened.

“Keep going,” he urged briefly, then did it again, punching a groan out of you.

“Extensions—oh—‘Extensions and generalizations of the method have also been developed, such as the extended Kalman filter and the unscented Kalman filter which work on nonlinear systems,’” you read on, voice shooting up nearly into a squeal when two of Izuku’s long, firm fingers pressed into you, as his mouth moved over you again.

“Ah! Oh my god—the—um, the basis—-” you said, breath growing short. Izuku’s fingers unerringly found the spot inside you that made you twist in his grip with the ease of long practice, and his jaw worked as he kissed you so shockingly filthily. You could feel something already starting to build up behind your navel, a fluttery lightness, an insatiable insistence on more.

“‘The basis a hidden Markov model—oh, fuck—such that the state space of the latent variables is continuous and all latent and observed variables have–ah!--Gaussian distributions,’’’ you recited, your voice tripping up further into a register that sounded more like begging than reading.

Izuku’s fingers worked you, long and thick and perfect inside you, as his tongue drew unrelenting circles around your clit. Stars seemed to spark in your vision, and your eyes squeezed shut, losing your place on the page as your hips flexed into his face. You felt suddenly very floaty and lightheaded, and not at all in a position to keep going.

Still, you tried to refocus your attention.

“‘K–Kalman filtering has been used successfully in—oh—multi-sensor fusion—ah, ah!--and distributed sensor networks–fuck, please, Izuku—to develop distributed or consensus Kalman f-filtering,’” you said, your tone nearly a cry.

Izuku groaned softly, sucking gently as his fingers curled inside you. It made your veins spark under your skin, your legs shaking in Izuku’s hands. You abandoned your grip on your book to seize the arm of the couch, clawing desperately at the fabric.

“Please, Izuku,” you cried, hips bucking towards his mouth.

The book tumbled off your stomach but you hardly noticed, gaze refocusing on the way his eyelashes fluttered as he licked you. His fingers played gently within you, a maddening press that was simultaneously too much and not enough, and his other hand came up to slide under your sweater, plucking gently at your nipple.

You lost yourself to the feeling—caught between the mind-melting curl of his fingers, the delicate suction of his mouth, and the careful pinch of your nipple. A delicious heat curled through you, waves of unbearable pleasure, and you could hear yourself babbling nonsense—garbled syllables of Izuku’s name, and every entreaty you could think of, a hundred thousands mores and oh pleases.

Izuku abandoned your nipple to pull you more firmly against him with a strong arm curled under your thigh, pressing you even harder into his mouth.

You muffled a scream in the sleeve of your sweater as he sucked you harder, tongue laving over you in loving strokes. Only his terrible strength held you down as you writhed beneath him, and then his fingers twisted in a way that had your vision whiting out—and you were suddenly thrown out over the edge of your pleasure.

Izuku licked you through it as you squirmed and begged and cried out his name, your climax seeming to last for eons.

You were panting hard when you finally slumped into the cushions of your couch, the ceiling seeming to swim in and out of focus before your eyes. When you gained enough control of your body again you looked down at Izuku, finding him watching you with a satisfied, almost shy curl to his mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” he told you, emerald gaze glittering with sincerity. “You’re so smart.”

Impossibly you felt your heart swell with even more love for him, and you seized his shoulder, dragging him up over you so you could kiss his mouth. The taste of yourself on him was embarrassing yet thrilling, and you petted a pleased hand through Izuku’s wild mess of curls as you kissed him.

“Well you are amazing,” you told him, swiping a thumb over his cheek fondly, smoothing over his freckles. A gorgeous watercolor of pink washed over his cheeks and nose at the proclamation, and you could hear his fingers flex in the cushion beside your head.

The sight of him flushed and waiting over you like another small something inside of you, like a pilot light, and you let your mouth pull into a wry grin.

“I hope you know I learned nothing though,” you said casually, your plan for your next steps already forming in your head. You let a hand trail carefully down Izuku’s flank, tracking towards his waist. “I think maybe I might need a few rounds for it to really sink in.”

Izuku’s ears went red against the green of his hair, and you felt your smile widen. “Maybe you could read it to me this time?” you asked, guiding him to roll under you, retrieving your book from the floor as you did so.

You settled yourself on the tops of Izuku’s thighs, feeling the hard press of him against your core, as you placed your textbook into his waiting hands.

Izuku’s answering smile was all the permission you needed. You directed him to start from the beginning of the chapter, and he did so in that soft, lilting tone of his you so loved. And then your fingers trailed up to the zipper at his collar.

It was time to return the favor—wholeheartedly.

REFERENCES: Kalman Filtering (Wikipedia) I took the passages our Reader recited from here because I do not actually understand Kalman filtering at all and could not organically come up with feasible text for her to read through. Sorry in advance to the author of this page lol.

[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!

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 4, Wave 2, Poll 4

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and round here.

Zuko-Avatar: The Last Airbender

Qualifications:

Zuko is sight impaired and has PTSD. Zuko is bisexual.

Propaganda:

Zuko is sight impaired and has PTSD. Zuko isn't queer in canon to my knowledge

Yang Xiao Long-RWBY

Qualifications:

She is canonically wlw (has been for years but specifically kissed and got together with her now girlfriend in the latest season) and uses a prosthetic arm and has been shown to struggle with PTSD due to the traumatic nature of losing it during the show.

Canonically had her right arm chopped off, uses a prosthetic. Has PTSD. Is canonically in a WLW relationship.

She has a canon girlfriend and canonically has a prosthetic arm and PTSD

She's canonically sapphic (part of a recently canonised wlw slowburn relationship) and is an amputee (due to events from the 3rd season finale) who wears a robotic prosthetic. She also suffers from PTSD which is explored in the show

Propaganda:

I will keep on submitting Yang to relevant brackets until I die. RWBY has plenty of strengths and weaknesses with writing, especially Yang's recovery arc, but instead of forcing her to push past her trauma and enter the battlefield immediately, we see her struggle with it, take time to process, and not be pushed into repression and when she chooses to wear her prosthetic, chooses to train to ready herself, and chooses to seek out her family and save lives, she isn't perfectly healed, as no one is. The show depicts her having flashbacks due to sudden loud noise, shaking hand the first few times she has to fight for her safety instead of training with her dad, and snapping at friends when they bring up Blake, the person she lost her arm trying to save (who, near immediately after ran away due to feeling she was endangering those she loved, furthering Yang's already present abandonment issues.) It isn't done perfectly but the intentions and general message sent are extremely positive and honest. She struggles less as the show progresses, and there are opportunities to consider herself less for being disabled or "become whole again" but she explicitly refutes these ideas and says that's she's better because of her failures and losses, and isn't any less whole. Her becoming disabled is also extremely tied to her being LGBT, because, as previously mentioned, she lost her arm protecting her then friend and partner, now girlfriend, directly after the villain who cut her arm off told her love interest that he would "destroy everything [she] love[s]. (Camera pans to Yang, he looks at her.) Starting with her." LIKE. He attacked her BECAUSE Blake cared for her so much and Yang ran to her defense blindly BECAUSE she loved Blake so much. When they reunite, they struggle with communication because Yang feels Blake is seeing her as weak, and through several things, mostly a climatic battle against the man who severed Yang's arm, they affirm each other as equals. I can go on but this is already too long. YANG SWEEP!!!!!

Yang lost her arm while protecting her best friend and future girlfriend from said girlfriend's abusive ex. Had a whole arc about learning to live with that loss and dealing with PTSD. Is totally devoted to and in love with Blake Belladonna and is just the sweetest but most badass character in the show.

She's one of the main characters, and just finished a 10 year slow burn romance. Plus, she has both physical and mental disabilities, but is never treated as lesser or incomplete.

Yang Xiao Long was one of the first examples of a sapphic character I ever saw in animated media with her character journey in the show being an iconic part of my teenage years and current young adulthood. The loss of her arm after a traumatic event in the show's 3rd volume was one of the big shockers of the show that nobody saw coming. Since then the show has done an amazing job in exploring both the mental and physical effects of her losing a limb, gaining a prosthetic arm and the recovery journey. Her character also has a major arc regarding handling her PTSD from both this and her past most notably in the 5th and 6th volume. Her character also has a slow-burn romance with her teammate and fellow main character Blake Belladonna which is one of my fave romances ever (it has everything: canon soulmates, friends to lovers, sunshine x grump,battle couple etc..) that has recently became CANON BABIEE!!! There are MULTIPLE characters in RWBY with various disabilities that are handled well in the narrative but i would say Yangs definitely the top FAVE!

[itonashi]

I am ME.

SUMMARY : Known around the world — a genius scientist named [Name][Last Name]. Everyone sought to be her as she was deemed perfect. A young prodigy that managed to climb up the ranks alongside her friends. She met her demise at the age of 35. It shook the world. Tears fall because of her. Will there be another her?

PAIRING : aquamarine hoshino x fem!reader

WARNINGS : implied deaths, stalking, drugs, slow burn romance, murder, more will be added.

A/N : 2k words. goddamn.. hehe enjoy and pls remember im not an expert still in the adults world neither i am that smart LOL.

4 years later...

You're 6 years old right now. Well, physically. You do not have the patience to restrain myself from not talking all the time. Your babysitter is sleeping. You're infront of a tv. Remote beside you. Maybe, you should change it to a music show?

You're bored after all. No freedom so what else can you do? You change the channel to a music show. After you change it, The MC was announcing the winner for the music show.

"Let's congratulate, B-Komachi!" The MC exclaimed and the audiences roared at the mention of B-Komachi. The members went up the stage, taking the award.

"That girl... looks familiar." You muttered under your breath. A beautiful girl with a blue purplish hair color took the mic and start her speech while giving a heart gesture.

That's the girl you met before. She was interesting to say the least. Even from a first glance, you knew that she hailed from an abusive and solemn past. She was expressionless, she talked to you without any interest in the world and show the real her. To see her become an idol.. does that means she's lying to herself right now.

What drove her to be an idol? You met her only once and yet you feel like, she would be important later on. How captivating, you hope the future is kind to her.

"And that's all from me! Ai!" She waved and giving the mic to another member.

Idol. A career that isn't appreciate enough. Some people on the world looked down upon this career. Just singing and dancing, they said. It's more than that.

Idol need to have a perfect image. One wrong step, then scandal will come for them. Especially if you're a famous group. They have to lie. They have to please their fans. One mistake and it will be talk about for years even after disbanding. The entertainment industry is dangerous. Strict to the point they could take your life.

Idol is also human. They're not robot. They also have feelings. Idols are admirable, they need to have a strong mental to handle the hate. The world is unfair to them. There's so many cases on what happened to idols for the past years and some of it is cruel.

Every career have it's upside and downside. There's no need to compare.

You broke out of your thoughts when the front door opening. You didn't even realize your babysitter already went home. "[Name]." Your father called out to you. You stand up and walk towards him with a tiny smile on your face. Your father wasn't that bad now that you have observed him for 3 years.

He looks like he love your mother dearly. Before going to work, he would always give a kiss to the cheek on your mother. Your mother would blush a little. He carry you to his arm and bring you to his lap.

"I need you to make a decision, [Name]." He said with a stern tone. You tilt your head and nod. "Do you want the easy life or the hard life?" He added, starting into your eyes with a little smile.

You widen your eyes a little "I choose the hard life!" You give an eye closed smile to your father. You felt like being silly while saying that. You expect that if you choose the hard life, he would put you into the entertainment industry. This is the time for you to reveal how smart you are to your family. You aim to be the youngest people to be scouted into the world organization you were previously in. It is possible, in that organization there's no rules for age. You learn that when a child was born in that organization from a couple.

How's that child you see as a little sister figure doing? You hope she still love drawing and painting. Your plan starts now.

Your father sae the expression on your face and laugh "That's good, [Name]. In this world, there's no one living the easy life. Next week, you will follow me visit some director." Your father said with excitement. This is probably the second time you see him that excited — the first one being the time when you talk for 'first time'

He pat you on the head and left you alone on the couch. 'Did he do that just to left me on the couch?' You deadpan at your father but shrug it off. You lay on the couch and close your eyes, gathering the information you gotten for the 4 years you have been living in this new body.

One thing for sure, one of your friends had a baby at the same year you were born. You pray for the chances to meet the child. This time, there's no mistake. You want more connections than before.

"[Name], are you excited to see a child acting on the site?" Your father is driving the car to a filming site. He said the director is someone named Taishi Gotanda. You don't really remember the great things that Taishi guy have did since you weren't that keen on keeping up with the media world.

"Yeah! I'm excited! They're the same age as me, right?" You exclaimed. "No, you're the older one there." He said. Great, being the eldest means babysitting. Well, not if the children is discipline properly.

You arrive at the site and you scan around the site for a potential connection to be made with. Your father tap your back and you follow him behind his back. "Oh, Yoshino-san. Great to have you here." The Taishi guy shake your father's hand and he noticed you behind your father. You notice his eyes and smile while waving to him. 

'This is boring.' You thought while walking a little bit away from your father. "Yoshino-chan, please follow me." A staff called out to you. You faced them and nod. "Your father said that you would only see how the process goes. You don't need to do any acting." The staff stated while leading you to a waiting room. You only hum at her to show that you're still listening to her.

'What a quiet kid...' The staff thought. The staff left you as soon as you arrive at the waiting room. You saw three kids and overhear their conversation. "Bet her acting was so bad they had to cut it all out! She seems to be good at buttering people up, though!" The child with red hair uttered.

The red hair proceed to be kinda rude in your opinion to other people. She left not before noticing you though. She look at you up and down and left. 'Is this how kids are?' You sweat at the child behavior. You look inside the room and saw two kids who you assume is twin because of the similarities. The annoyed expression on their face is visible, probably because of that girl? She's Arima Kana , if you remember correctly.

The girl who can flick a crying switch. Well, whatever. You bow at the twin and introduce yourself. They notice you and bow as well. "Oh, I'm Hoshino Ruby! And he's my brother. Hoshino Aquamarine but call him Aqua." The girl claim. What a weird name for japanese people.. The first thing you noticed about the pair is their eyes. It was captivating enough to lure you in. I'm sure they would become a big part of the entertainment industry. A powerful duo, they would say.

"Nice to meet you.." Aqua greet you with a neutral face. An opposite personality of his sister. A smile crawled up your face. "Soo.. why are you guys here?" You questions their presence at the filming site. "I will be acting while my sister here well.. she's just here, I guess." The boy deadpan. "How rude!" Ruby exclaimed.

You nod and cross your arm "It seems like Ruby is the same as me. I will only be watching." You hope that a friendship will bloom between you guys.

Amazing. You lightly smirk at the acting Aqua did. He only act like himself but he was incredibly creepy with it as that was what's the director aiming for. Maybe, the main part of it was because he seems mature for his age and his eyes. You just can't seem to let go of the beauty. "How did you think about it, [Name]?" Your father ask you with interest towards the young boy. "It's amazing, father. Can I start acting too?" You replied while staring at Arima Kana who was crying.

"It's never to late for you to be like your mother." Your father stated while lightly smiling at you "I can get you a role. Make sure to past my expectations." He added. Looks like the expectations for results is starting.

After that, your father have been keeping contacts with the twin since he have taken an interest on the young boy. You occasionally met the twin and learn more about them one by one. Sadly, your father couldn't keep hold of the them — Director Taishi Gotanda did.

You appear on multiple drama show as a child actor and made a name for yourself. There have been talks that you would conquer Arima Kana the child actor prodigy. You don't intend to do that but if that's what happen, it will happen. But they have to stop the  comparison because every person have their own flaws.

You even got to do some photoshoot for a child's brand. Well, this will be memories in a few years. Atleast, you get to feel being a child again. A carefree child. Because of all the acting, you had to learn new skills everytime even things that you didn't learn in your past life. Naturally, you're good at it.

I guess you would still be a genius this time too.

When the death of Ai Hoshino happened, you attend the funeral with your parent. The people grieving over Ai's death make you recall the time your parent got into a bad accident and passed away because of that. You didn't cry because you had no connection to her but it still hurts to know that the stranger you have met before when they're a teenager to died when they almost turn into a full fledged adult.

You hope the people from Strawberry Production is taking their time to heal from the loss of a staff. You can only give prayers to them.

Later on, the death of Ai was just like a wind breeze that pass every day. No one talk about it after a week. Some may move on and some didn't. Ai Hoshino may you rest in peace.

A year of being in the entertainment industry — thanks to your father. You don't care if they call you a nepo baby. You're talented, that's all that matter. You were invited to a variety show and you were excited since you can freely show your talents there. No on can say a thing about it. No one will question it.

You met the cast and greet them. It was going well until they start talking about your acting career. "Yoshino-san, you really resemble your mother and your acting skill is incredible. Mind to share a tip?" The MC compliment your acting. "I can't because I am ME. I don't think much on what to do and just go with the flow." You said with a neutral tone. One thing about the entertainment industry, they won't question what the kids say since their still not mature for their age and just let out what's on their mind. Even if you have a sharp tongue, the people will love it. They don't mind it when a kid do it. At the very least, you have to have a character that will make people love you.

That would make people remember you for a long time.

"Yoshino-san, your father said before in an interview that you are a genius. Top at everything, is that true?" One of the cast commented. You smirk "Why don't you give me a question and let me answer it? I would prefer if it's a math question, though." With this, you will make moments for yourself. The cast laugh at your confidence and gave you a whiteboard. You will be competing with the 'smartest' cast, they said.

"69 x 4."

Ding!

A ring was made by you. The questions was too easy. As former scientist, you had to count percentage so this is a piece of cake for you. The cast beside you look at you bewildered. "276." You confidently said. "Correct!" The MC exclaimed. You know that they're looking down on you. You ought to prove them wrong.

After a series of questions, the people were speechless upon your smartness. The adults didn't expect this. Your mother look at you behind the swarm of staff and smile widely. You notice it and wave a little.

Soon, the filming ended. You were tired and hold out your arms to your mother. Your mom chuckle s and carry you up to her arms and kiss you on the cheeks. "You did good, my little angel." Your mother praises you. You snuggle up to her. Even though, you are an adult mentally but you want to indulge in this child body of your of receiving parent's love.

Even an adult wants to heal their inner child.

TAGLIST : @glitch-karma @kult-o @miyakoa @pandaswitch @serbian-x @nambii @bajifairyy @lumiriai

[NEXT] [PREV] [SERIES LIST]

itonashi © // don't plagiarize, copy or edit my works.

[galaxiasgreen]

🍭☀️A Cruelty Vivid and Sweet

Slow burn angsty Ominis x F!Reader [T-Rated, 8.7k words]

"I can't lose him," he whispered, a shattering realisation. "Not like I lost Anne, and... and you." "You haven't lost me." "You are the one good thing in my life right now," he said, voice broken with rage and pain, "and we can't even talk in the hallway!" You leant against him then, shoulder to shoulder. And there it was, like clockwork. Strawberry laces. "Then let's be two normal people right now. Just... for a little while. Like before."

In which, with his relationship with you a secret, Ominis tries to pull his best friend from the brink of darkness.

Tropes: angst/ romance/ drama, slow burn, black cat x golden retriever, opposites attract, forbidden love, pure-blood culture, canon rewrite, book!canon compliant, Ominis meets the Sallow Twins, Forced Proximity, Denial of Feelings, duelling practice, the Relic Quest.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

3. A Secret Friendship

From then on, your friendship together was a secret.

Ominis' growing feelings even more so.

There was a forbidden agreement between you that, to save you, and to save himself, you wouldn't interact in the outer world. No cheerful waves in the hallways, no hanging off each other's arms between lessons. The only way to communicate was through notes, traded like secrets, a folded scrap of parchment slipping into his robe or your pocket. Ominis doubted Perry Malfoy and his cronies would bother to learn braille at his expense, after all, and this way you could keep in contact without breaking the façade.

Your grasp of it was clumsy though. In your impatience, you forgot words like the and a, your cadence was robotic and primitive, and one time you forgot the L in public, which made him snort so hard he got detention in History of Magic.

When notes weren't needed, or seemed too risky, there was the language of touch, even more heretical to his family's values, and even more seducing. Your elbow a gentle nudge to his side, in the hallways, on the front lawns, your pinkie brushing his in class, lightning through his skin. They were fleeting, these moments of connection between you, but no less potent.

No less desired by him.

Even though you were a social creature, most energised when you spent time with your friends, you took to this naturally. No matter how tedious, you lived for the notes, for the secrets you shared. Your mood improved drastically, he could sense it, freed of your previous burden.

He felt the same too. Lighter on his shoulders, his heart.

On days when the both of you felt the most daring, where the stars aligned for a culmination of your letters, you met him under the Astronomy deck, when everyone was away at the evening feast, to have a little feast of your own, an eclectic mix of sweets sent from your family and treats bought at Honeydukes. It often left Ominis feeling a little sick, but he never minded, not when it meant he could spend time with you. Sometimes Sebastian joined in – but mostly not, his attentions captivated by his search for a cure.

And, Ominis was starting to realise, by Missy.

"He fancies her sooooo much," you said to him one day.

Ominis reclined against the wood. Even wrapped in blankets by a lit brazier, hushing the cold, he wasn't comfortable – he never would be, not when this meeting was illicit, stolen from beneath the stars. But there was something about you that relaxed him enough to forget it all, even temporarily.

"Do you think it's requited?"

"Er, yeah. Those two are always flirting." You threw a popping candy into your mouth, and it crackled as you spoke. "And goodness, you should see the looks they give each other. Seb makes googly eyes every time she looks at him, and she makes googly eyes when he's not looking."

For once, Ominis was grateful he didn't know what googly eyes were.

"What's she like?" he asked, curious. "Missy?"

You waited a moment, fishing for the right words.

"Intense."

"Like Sebastian then."

"In a different way. Sebastian is hell-bent on finding a cure for Anne. He has one goal in mind. But Missy isn't driven by one thing alone... but I don't know what drives her. She's extremely good at everything she does, spells and history and theory, but she always seems... guarded."

"Naturally, you took that as a challenge."

You made a raspberry noise. "No! I just happened to stand next to her in Flying. She's the sort of person you want as your friend, not your enemy."

That alone troubled him. "And paired with Sebastian makes a dangerous cocktail."

"You think she's encouraging the Dark Arts?"

"I know she's encouraging the Dark Arts."

You didn't reply to that, as unsure as he was.

"She's not a bad person, but she's definitely... hiding something."

She had her secrets. He had his as well, but his didn't try to lead his best friend into the waiting arms of Dark magic. Into Unforgivable Curses and choices that could not be taken back.

Letting Sebastian embrace the darkness was an option Ominis didn't even think to entertain. He was family, after all. Like you were, like Anne. A steadfast companion through thick and thin, through his best days and his worst – and now, when Sebastian needed him most, Ominis would not turn away.

A choice made despite its painful consequences, he now realises.

He remembers the first time he met him, all those years ago. It was not, in fact, in the dungeons of the Slytherin common room, their beds next to each other in the dorms by fate, but earlier, when they were both eleven and the Malfoys hosted an expensive soirée to officially welcome the new incoming year into the magical world.

Ominis already had his new wand and was relying on it excessively, since he discovered with its power his senses were more acute to his surroundings. It pulsed intermittently, moulding the world around him to a language he could understand. The Malfoy Manor ballroom was lit by chandeliers, torches burning along the walls, and a hearth, twice his height, the heat from it alone enough to make the whole house swelter. The floor was polished, heels squeaking along its smooth surface, and scents interwove like tapestry, roast pork and lavender bouquets and a tangle of overwhelming perfumes. How vast it all was, how grand. He imagined this was what it was like to see, to drink in the sights greedily, the world beyond his fingertips fascinating.

Unfortunately, to everyone else, it was not as fascinating as he himself.

"Behave yourself tonight, Ominis," his mother hissed to him as she shucked her coat, dropping it with a whumph onto a tiny house-elf's waiting arms. His father hadn't been able to attend, so she had taken his place, just as callous and stern, caring as much about family connections and alliances as the rest of them did. "Make friends with the older students. They will be your guides. The Nott girls are two years your senior, for example, and one of the Lestrange children three."

"Isn't there anyone starting in my year?"

"A few." Her sneer was audible. "The Reyes have a daughter – Imelda. I've never liked her mother, so uptight and condescending. The McDowells as well, but there's a rumour her father was unfaithful, probably with some Mudblood. It's a shame. The Malfoys, Blacks, and Ellingboes all have their children starting next year."

For some reason that brought him relief. His mother didn't let go of his collar though, thrusting him in front of her society friends and their progeny, sometimes too young for Hogwarts, sometimes having already started. Questions arrowed his way were never about his personality, his likes or dislikes – always, they opened with his eyes and their murkiness and the sight he did not have. One boy even farted and asked Ominis whether he could already smell it, which earnt a cuffing from his father, and led Ominis' mother to pull him away in disgust.

"Ominis," his mother said at one point, dropping her forced, sycophantic pitch. "You remember Phineas Black? He's the current headmaster at Hogwarts."

Oh, Ominis remembered Phineas Black all right. His unpleasantness was legendary.

"You will behave, won't you, Gaunt?" Professor Black spoke down to Ominis, voice a dismissive rumble that said he'd soon forget this exchange ever happened. "Every year there's always someone making unnecessary paperwork for me. Last year a group of sixth-year Gryffindors thought it would be funny to jinx my quills to sing every time I wrote a letter. If it were up to me, I would've had them lashed for insolence."

"It's what they deserved," his mother agreed.

"Alas, capital punishment is rather frowned upon these days. I had to settle with detention instead. And scrubbing the entire Hall of Herodiana with a single toothbrush."

Staying silent, Ominis thought, was the wise move.

Soon his mother tired of brandishing him like a prized Puffskein, leaving him unattended at the buffet table to entertain her friends. Ominis was alone – lonely, when the sounds of laughter and music were suffocating from the inside. He clutched his wand, using it to navigate to the closest wall, where a cascade of belladonna draped over stone. How was he supposed to network? There were too many bodies, too much noise.

"You're Ominis Gaunt."

In the chaotic din of the ballroom, he hadn't heard the snooty boy come up. He tuned to the voice, scolding himself inwardly. Pay more attention. "Yes."

"I'm Peregrine Malfoy."

Well, at least finding the Malfoys had been easy. Ominis frowned. "You're nine."

"Nearly ten."

"You don't start Hogwarts for another year. What do you want?"

"My father says I should introduce myself." Peregrine barely gave himself enough time to pause for breath. "What's it like being blind?"

The question fatigued him. "It's like being blind," he snapped, unable to help himself.

"That's not an answer."

"I can't give you an answer since I don't know what it's like being not."

"If you can't see, how are you going to do schoolwork?"

He thought about telling him about braille, but he was smart enough to know that Peregrine didn't actually want answers. He just wanted to prod where he didn't belong.

When Ominis didn't say anything, however, Peregrine took it as a sign of composed aloofness, and dragged him over to his own clique of friends. It was an overwhelming few moments, shaking hands, first names flying into one ear and out the other, the only one he recognised being Dorothy Ellingboe – his cousin once-removed. He barely knew her, the Ellingboes being an old wizarding family that originated in Norway that extended a branch into England to strengthen the line. Yet Dorothy was a sneering, simpering girl that thought herself better than everyone else, ugly in temperament as well as voice.

"So you're blind?" asked the Fawley boy. "Why can't you just use a spell to make yourself unblind?"

He resisted the urge to sigh. He'd done this rigmarole a thousand times before.

"It doesn't exist."

"Bet it does. You just need to think about the Latin. Vide means see. Have you tried doing that?"

Never, because his parents had already done it.

"Maybe," the boy continued, "you could take a potion. The powdered root of asphodel, for example—"

"Quiet, Hector," Peregrine muttered, facing the door. "Look who's just come in!"

"No way," said Dorothy, sniggering. "I'm surprised they could afford the Floo Powder to London!"

"They look like they've just climbed out of a fireplace, all right," said the Black boy, Ominis didn't remember his name – some pompous star, no doubt. "Like those peasant Muggle chimney sweeps."

"Who is it?" Ominis asked, feeling stupid and left out.

"It's the Stone-Broke Sallow Twins," said Peregrine. "Look at what they're wearing!"

Ominis couldn't see, but he could guess – plainly adorned breeches, or a threadbare frock. He felt the shift in the room as they entered with their uncle Solomon. His mother had babbled about the Sallows once or twice – their parents had been Hogwarts professors who died in a freak accident – often accompanied with similar contempt, but she disdained almost all of pure-blood society, so who really knew what they'd done to invite so much ire.

"We should invite them over, shouldn't we?" asked Peregrine. "That's the courteous thing to do."

"Ugh, this again?" said Imelda Reyes, with an audible roll of her eyes. "Can't we just have one party where we don't butt heads with the Sallow twins?"

"You're one to talk, Imelda," Hector muttered. "Butting heads is all you do every day."

"Only because you make it easy."

"Don't be a spoilsport," Peregrine jeered at her. "Honestly, you're just as bad as Kaydence Lestrange. If you're going to ruin the fun, run along to your parents and be dull with them."

Imelda made a noise like she was going to beat him, physically throw a punch, but instead stormed off.

"Oi, Sebastian, Anne!" With no one to stop him, and Ominis a quiet observer, Peregrine called out across the ballroom. "Come over here!"

Even with this supposed history between them, Sebastian and Anne came over. The tension ratcheted up.

"What do you want, Perry?" muttered Sebastian.

"Peregrine," the boy snapped. "I wanted to introduce you, because it's polite – not that you would know politeness. You remember Hector Fawley, Antares Black and Dorothy Ellingboe, and meet my new friend, Ominis Gaunt."

Friend? Hardly. Ominis had half a mind to run off with Imelda Reyes, and fought to keep a shudder off his face.

"So, who did you bribe?" asked Dorothy.

"What?" said Sebastian.

"To get in, of course," she said, like she was asking about the weather. "No way Edwin Malfoy invited you."

"He invited us," Sebastian said through gritted teeth, "because we're starting Hogwarts next year."

Hmm. Ominis' mother had failed to mention that.

"Can you even afford a wand?" Antares laughed.

"Yes." A soft whip noise as he withdrew it. "Would you like to see how it works?"

"Sebastian," Anne cautioned, grasping his sleeve.

Antares wasn't deterred. "Oh, please. I doubt you know a single spell."

Peregrine laughed then, laced with taunting. "Even if he did, I wouldn't worry, Antares. It's not like that wand chose him. It's probably a hand-me-down from his dead, mud-loving parents."

Ominis was suddenly knocked to the ground, wand scattered out of his grip. There was a struggle above, and Anne's voice rose above the boys' grunts.

"Leave it!" she demanded. "For goodness sake, Sebastian!"

Sebastian shook her off, but the fury was there. "Say one more word—"

"You'll what?" spurred Peregrine. "Cry about being a sad orphan?"

"Boys," came a thundering voice. This one Ominis recognised – Edwin Malfoy. "What's going on?"

The scuffling stopped at once. There were two wide steps back, echoing in the sudden quiet of the ballroom.

"Just some light banter, Father," Peregrine said immediately, still and cool. "Nothing to be concerned about."

Sebastian hastily cleared his throat. He knew the boundaries, too.

"Nothing at all, sir."

Edwin made a noise of disbelieving. "Play nice, Peregrine. You'll all be going to school together soon enough."

But when he left, and Peregrine did too, Hector, Antares and Dorothy dogging his heels, it was with a loud snigger, one that promised that this altercation wasn't the last. Ominis wasn't sure whether anyone even noticed him, left on the ground, panicking as his wand was nowhere close. He palmed the floor in frenzy, terrified someone would tread on his hands.

"Here." Anne tapped his arm, then looped hers with his. "Let me help you up."

He stood. "My wand—"

"It's here." Sebastian pressed it into Ominis' shoulder, and he took it, grateful. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you over."

He was pretty sure it was Peregrine's elbow that went wide, since he was standing right next to him, but an apology of any kind was novel.

"Are you hurt?" asked Anne.

"Just my ego," said Ominis, which made her laugh.

"Ominis Gaunt, right?" Sebastian contemplated a moment. "So you really are blind— ow! Anne!"

"Don't be so rude!" she snapped. "He already knows!"

He did, but he couldn't help but grin anyway.

"You don't like Peregrine Malfoy?"

"Don't like?" Sebastian crowed. "I'd rather lick the underside of a Graphorn's arse than—" He seemed to remember himself. "I-I mean, you know, he can be, er, difficult—"

"It's all right," said Ominis, grinning. "I bet a Graphorn's bottom spews a lot less manure."

Sebastian let out a hysterical bark. Even Anne giggled.

"Thank goodness. We thought we were the only ones who didn't like him. He's so pretentious."

"Hector, Antares and Dorothy can shove it too," said Sebastian. "Mean gits with bad manners. They're all the same. And we're the twins here!"

Ominis tried to picture them, identical, but all he could imagine was their voices, how they inflected the same, laughed the same, spoke in the same accents.

"Dorothy is my cousin, actually."

"What?" said Sebastian.

"Oh, no," said Anne quickly, "h-he didn't mean—"

"And she's horrible."

This time they all laughed.

"I don't understand though. Why don't they like you?"

"Because we don't have money," Anne said, harrumphing as she did. "Because we live in a hamlet and not a fancy house, like this one. Stone-Broke."

"And don't forget Mama and Papa," Sebastian added. "They didn't care about blood or whatever, and taught everyone at Hogwarts when they were professors."

"Like they could turn away the Muggle-borns!"

Aunt Noctua, then, wasn't the only pure-blood to have such radical opinions. He may not have totally agreed, not when he'd yet to meet a Muggle-born, yet to have these notions proven, but it made him like these two, this odd pair the society kids disdained, all that much more.

He stayed with them for the rest of the party. The pair were hoping to follow their parents into Slytherin, same as Ominis; Sebastian liked Aurors and fighting magic, whereas Anne was eclectic, her interests broad yet undefined. Both of them shared an insatiable thirst for knowledge, and eventually even Anne caved to asking about Ominis' condition: how the wand helped him, how he sensed the world. This time he didn't mind their questions. They treated him like a person, not a pet.

When the party was over, Sebastian and Anne promised to wait for him when he arrived at Hogsmeade Station on the first of September. They promised to see their first few months together, as a team. Ominis left the party feeling lighter than he had all summer.

"The Sallows?" A hum escaped his mother's lips when he told her of his new friends. "They're poor. No money to their name, and their parents were happy to educate the Mudbloods at school. Still, they're dead now, and I'm loath to admit they both come from good breeding..."

That had been good enough.

And indeed, Sebastian and Anne had been waiting on the first of September, as they said they would, on the platform. They'd walked into the Great Hall with arms linked, taking in the new sights, smells and sounds, and rejoiced when they were Sorted into Slytherin together. Anne had sought to make her own friends and establish herself independently, free from Sebastian's influence – the last thing she wanted was to live in her boisterous brother's shadow for her entire Hogwarts tenure – but always she came back to him and Ominis. They hung about in the Undercroft, playing Gobstones, testing new jinxes, enjoying their newfound freedom and space.

Eventually she grew fond of you too, like he had. When your schedules worked, you were a tenacious quartet, three pure-blood Slytherins and one, odd little Muggle-born Hufflepuff.

Once you were all best friends. You were family.

Now the darkness threatened to ruin everything.

When the Astronomy deck was occupied, Ominis invited you to the Undercroft. It was dismal there – a reason you didn't enjoy it as much as anywhere else in the castle. Not a reason he understood, of course, but he never pretended to comprehend your particulars, nor your need for natural light. Nonetheless, you agreed on occasion. It was private, it was his, and it was safe.

Until it was no longer any of those things.

He headed down the lift to meet you, excitement brimming in his bones. December had long since arrived, and the chill along with it, weeping from the underground walls. He'd come earlier than planned, prepared to make the place as welcoming as possible. Lit torches, pillows and blankets, sweets, whatever it took.

But as the lift clunked to a stop, a female voice drifted down the hallway.

And it wasn't yours.

"Don't you think you should tell him?"

"What? About our frolicking around for the triptych?"

"It's not funny, Sebastian," Missy scolded. "You can't keep the relic a secret. It's thanks to him that you have this spellbook in the first place."

Ominis' excitement vanished, replaced with the emptiness that came after a string of broken promises.

"I know that," Sebastian admitted, "but if it works, then he'll see we have nothing to worry about. If the relic really can reverse Anne's curse, he'll see that nothing was in vain."

"He'll find out one way or another."

"It won't be from me." There was a hopeful inflection to him. "And... from you?"

She sighed. "I... suppose not."

"I promise," he said, so believing of own delusions, "it's for his own good."

Ominis threw up the gate then.

"I'll decide what's for my own good."

He sensed it then, the small things. A sharp intake of breath. Sebastian's fingers on crinkled paper – his feet moving to block the book.

"You lied to me," Ominis said, thrusting his wand at his friend. "You swore—"

"I actually said I understood—"

"Don't be deliberately obtuse. You knew exactly what you were implying."

"Ominis, please, see reason." Sebastian was calm, which was even more infuriating. "I love Anne, more than the world. Wouldn't you do anything for someone you loved?"

"You're arguing a pointless moral question."

"Am I? You have Gibby, after all."

It was like stone in his gullet.

"Don't you dare compare our situations."

"Why? It's no different."

"I'm not resorting to Dark Magic to talk to her!"

"But you are half in love with her. You're willing to risk being a blood traitor to your family for her."

Hearing him say it out loud was unfathomable.

"I— I'm not—" he stammered. "This is besides the point—"

"It isn't." He pushed past Ominis, spellbook in hand. "We're both willing to do whatever it takes. You do it your way. This," he said, "is mine."

Sebastian had gone through the gate when Ominis yelled, "Your obsession will cost you!"

His friend didn't reply. Soon the lift ascended the shaft, and Sebastian was gone.

Missy stepped forwards. "Ominis—"

"No, you don't get a say!" he barked. "You shouldn't even be here. This is my place. I didn't invite you. Sebastian shouldn't have brought you here!"

"He— he thought you'd be okay with it," she said quietly. "I would've found this place eventually."

"How? Only the Gaunts know of it!"

She didn't answer. Typical.

"I know you've been encouraging this— this madness—"

"I want to help him," she insisted, "but I'm trying to rein him in. I promise."

"Your promises mean nothing to me."

The gate opened then. In you ambled, jovial and beatific.

"Hello!" you piped. "I passed Sebastian on the way here, but he— Missy? What are you—?"

"She was just leaving," Ominis said.

Missy hesitated – a second, two. There was more she wanted to say.

Then, "Yes. I'm sorry to disturb you both."

When she left, you pattered over, joy diminished.

"Something happened, didn't it?"

He blew breath from his teeth. "Something always happens."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Frankly, all he wanted to do was scream, but telling you would do for now, though he was careful to leave out the being in love with you part. The way Sebastian threw it out there so casually... it unsettled him that these secret feelings he'd been trying to quash were so conspicuous. Sebastian was reckless and willing to do anything – would that include divulging Ominis' darkest secret? Did he have to fear the power his friend had over him now, too?

By the time he was done, both of you were leaning against the pillars, your legs tucked against your chest, his anger decaying to a low ache.

"But he doesn't know where the relic is?"

"It's only a matter of time." Ominis was certain of it.

You hummed. "I didn't realise how bad it was. Poor Anne..."

Anne, the victim in this, had her voice filched by her brother a long time ago.

"I'll write to her tonight," you said. "Sebastian has always been too headstrong for his own good."

"I can't lose him," he whispered, a shattering realisation. "Not like I lost Anne, and... and you."

"You haven't lost me."

"You are the one good thing in my life right now," he said, voice broken with rage and pain, "and we can't even talk in the hallway!"

You leant against him then, shoulder to shoulder. And there it was, like clockwork.

Strawberry laces.

"Then let's be two normal people right now. Just... for a little while. Like before."

Before. The nostalgia was painful. He missed those simpler times, when it was you, him, Sebastian and Anne, parading around Hogwarts without a care in the world.

Now Anne was cursed.

Now Sebastian was obsessed.

Now you had become a dirty secret.

And he clung to you, begging fate not to steal you too.

He smiles now, a memory coming back to him fondly. A memory of first year, after Christmas lapsed and the snow and ice were finally retreating from the grass. Exams were looming on the horizon.

And you were doing terribly in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Though you were Muggle-born and humbling to the magical world, though you knew your grades were poor enough to raise concern, you swaggered into the Clocktower Courtyard that afternoon like an untouchable knight.

"Someone's confident," said Anne. She, and Ominis and Sebastian, had been waiting for you.

"Always," you trilled. "I may be the worst duellist in Hufflepuff—"

"Try the whole year," muttered Sebastian.

"— but I have the most fun, so who's really winning?"

Ominis snorted. You swatted his arm lightly.

"You're going to fail the class if you don't get better at duelling, so," a little teasing fluttered through Anne's declaration, "we're going to be your new teachers."

"You may only address me as Professor Sallow from now on," said Sebastian airily. He paced, drawing Ominis' ear across the courtyard. "And I don't plan on going easy on you."

Your bravado vanished "Do we really have to do this? Have you all fight me at the same time?"

"Diamonds are made under pressure, aren't they?"

"I don't want to be a diamond. A nice, sturdy rock would do."

"You sound scared, Gibby."

"Of course I am! It's three against one!"

"All you have to do is protect yourself," said Anne. She stepped backwards six paces, and Ominis copied. "A simple Protego spell. Okay?"

"If I say not okay, will you leave me be?"

"Stupefy!" Sebastian cried.

"EEEEEK!" Instead of blocking, you pitched to the ground as the spell hissed on stone behind you. "Hey! I-I wasn't ready!"

"Sometimes you won't be ready!" Sebastian said darkly. Then, "Come on, Ominis. Help me."

He wasn't certain attacking you this way was the best way to learn, but, well, there was something about diamonds and pressure. Hogwarts was a safe haven, protected by enchantments more powerful than a dynasty, more ancient than a family tree, but the outside world wasn't so kind. It was cruel. He wanted you to prepare, because Sebastian was right: one day you might not get the chance.

He shifted his weight. "Impedimenta!"

You dodged that one, too.

"Ominis!"

"What?"

"You're being— mean!"

He threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Come on, Gibby! At least try!" Anne's boots scraped against stone. "Accio!"

You stumbled forwards. "Ack! P-Protego!"

"Crus Vacillare!"

A soft thud. You tripped over yourself.

"Too weak," Sebastian called. "You have to mean it."

"I-I am meaning it!" You stood. "I-It's just— hard!"

"How about we make it more interesting?" he suggested with a flinty smugness. "If you don't cast Protego successfully... we all get to eat your sweet stash."

Your gasp was unfiltered. "You wouldn't."

Ominis sighed. He would.

Sebastian danced on the balls of his feet. "Again!"

Anne's voice was clear. "Aqua Eructo!"

"P-Protego!"

Water gushed forwards, but judging by only the slight squeal you let out, your charm had been slightly successful.

"That's more like it!" Sebastian yelled. "Again! Impedimenta!"

"Prote— ah!" You were laughing suddenly. "Look! I'm sooooo slooooow."

"Gibby!" Anne cried. "Do you want us to eat your year's supply of Fizzing Whizbees?"

"And all your toffee nougat?" added Sebastian.

"And," Ominis smiled, "your strawberry laces?"

"Okay, okay! I swear I am trying." You inhaled deeply. "Give me the one-two, Ominis!"

He wouldn't attack you very hard. Despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to.

"Levioso!"

"Protego!"

Zing. The spell lanced off the shield.

"Ah!" you cried. "I-I did it!"

Anne came closer. "Only because Ominis is holding back," she sang.

"He's not!" A pause. "... Are you?"

Ominis grimaced, which made Sebastian snigger.

"Boo!" you pouted. "I-I could defeat you, for real!"

He sincerely doubted that. His family had been instilling duelling technique and practice since he got his wand, in first year. It was imperative, they believed, that Ominis learn to defend himself, use his magic to the fullest potential, to prevent their 'enemies' from taking advantage. Their words. It was why he knew Crucio so early into his education, why he knew too much about Dark Magic. He suspected there was more to it – that they feared, because he was blind, he was more susceptible to defeat. Still, he liked to think he'd done well to keep up.

But he was nonchalant with you, not wanting to pop the balloon of your confidence. "Are you challenging me to a duel?"

"Yeah, I am! Let's do this!"

He swung around to create space between you, amused – but if it helped to improve your grade, he was glad.

"Two Sickles says Ominis ends up on his arse," Anne muttered.

Sebastian let out a single, hysterical laugh. "I'll happily take that bet."

"Thanks, Anne," muttered Ominis.

"Thanks, Anne!" you chirruped.

She was right though. For someone who'd only just learnt Protego, your ego was inflated. He had been holding back because he didn't want to injure you, nor your pride, but there was a fine line between that and arrogance. He raised his wand in your direction, preparing a list of spells to use.

"Duellists, bow!" Sebastian called.

He dipped his head. Presumably you dipped yours.

"Ready?" Anne called. "And... go!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Pro— eeek!" You rolled out of the way. "Wait— let me think— Stupefy!"

The spell skimmed his ear. Well. That was unexpected.

"Accio!"

"Protego!"

A great block. You squealed delightedly.

"That's it, Gibby!" yelled Anne.

"Flatten her, Ominis!" yelled Sebastian.

Ominis scoffed. "Impedimenta!"

You parried the blow again, retaliating with your own. He was starting to enjoy the competition, the fierceness of your pushback. You traded blow for blow with him, soon finding a rhythm that worked for you.

Sweat was collecting on his brow. "Diffindo!"

You cried out then, a wild howl, and crumpled to the ground.

"Nice!" called Sebastian.

Ominis smiled.

"Gibby?"

You didn't respond. You didn't move.

Horror washed over him – he hadn't meant to hit you so hard... he only wanted to graze!

Panicking, he ran over, robes fluttering. "I— I'm so sorry—"

"Flipendo!"

Suddenly he was gyrating through the air, spinning and helpless—

"Arresto Momentum!"

Anne's spell prevented him from smacking his head. Instead, he plonked to the ground, unharmed. Then you were standing above him, clapping, jumping with joy.

"Hahah, you fell for my trick! You did!"

He grunted, sore. "It was... clever."

A mistake. You let it fuel your slightly maniacal laugh.

"I am undefeatable! Unstoppable! Un... Un-attackable!"

"That's not a word." Still he filled with pride and got to his feet. "Well done."

"Yeah, good show, Gibby. Now you won't fail DADA miserably," said Anne. Then she coughed. "Looks like someone owes me two Sickles."

Sebastian grumbled and placed the tinkling coins in her hand.

"I have you all to thank," you said, humbler now. "I will carry these lessons forever, Professor Sallow, Professor Sallow... and Professor Gaunt."

But that wasn't end of them. From then, Ominis didn't underestimate you. He duelled you again and again, testing you, noting your mistakes, but he'd learnt from his own – not to fall for your trickery again. For any trickery. It gave him a sense of peace to know, should the time come, you could hold your own now.

A time, Ominis anticipated, that would come sooner rather than later.

"Where are you going?"

His and Sebastian's clashing ideas had been left unspoken, like shattered glass left on the ground between them, neither willing to pick up the pieces.

"I don't like the accusation in your tone, Ominis," said his friend, shunting another article of clothing into a bag. Their dorm was empty, a rare moment for a Friday morning. "I'm just going to visit Anne for the weekend. That's all."

But Ominis wasn't stupid – he heard the clinking of glass, the sharp, clinical scent of dittany. Who packed Wiggenweld Potion for a weekend home? It honed his suspicions immediately.

"I see," he said at last. "When do you plan to go?"

"Tomorrow morning, after breakfast."

"May I come along? I haven't seen Anne in a while."

But Sebastian was hesitant. "I'm sorry. I just... don't think it's a good idea."

Ominis relented. For now. When he left the dorm, he summoned the house owl with a click of his fingers. For once, he didn't give a damn if he got caught – this was something too worrying to go through the discreet channels with you. He had the Quick-Quotes Quill scribble the note.

Wooden Bridge, 6pm. Urgent.

At six o'clock, during the feast, he was there, waiting, leaning against the crooked panelling and let the biting wind chop across his hair and face. The air was parched today, snow impending but hesitant to fall. Even stacked in layers, a chill ran through him.

He heard the tell-tale clop of your boots, hurrying to meet him. Your breaths came out in shuddering pants.

"What's wrong?" you asked at once. In public, yet you didn't care, coming right up to him, halting a hand's reach away. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he said. "I'm sorry to call you out here, but it's Sebastian."

"Is he hurt?"

"I think he's about to do something stupid," he murmured. "And reckless."

You sighed. "I would have so many Galleons if I bet on him doing something stupid and reckless."

A fair point, but it was especially poignant now. After the argument, the feeling of trust in his friend had eroded. Now that trust was pocked with holes, and those holes were quickly filling with suspicion.

"Have you seen Missy?"

"Today? We did some homework during our morning free period. I asked her if she wanted to finish it tonight, but she said she was going to pack for Irondale. She's going there for the weekend – some catacombs, I think, to pay respects."

Irondale wasn't far from Feldcroft.

It seemed to click for you at the same time.

"You don't think— the relic—"

"I do," muttered Ominis. "In fact, I have a feeling I know where they're going." His heart thundered. "You said she was leaving tomorrow?"

"Yep."

"Have you seen her since this morning?"

You hesitated. So that was a no. Sebastian hadn't been around since the morning either.

They've already left.

You stomped your foot. "Oh, sugar, honey, iced tea!"

"... What?"

"Sugar, honey— never mind, Muggle thing. What do we do?"

"We have to go after them. If they've had a break-through with the artefact, it could put them in grave danger."

"But if they left earlier today, they could be there by now!"

He struggled to think. "Then we fly."

"We— fly?"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"But, Ominis— I'm a terrible flier! Madam Kogawa has made me take first year classes every year!"

He wanted to reach for you, to imbue you with confidence. Flying was your weak point, he knew. You loved the sensation – not so much the control it required.

"It has to be you. I can't navigate." He didn't want to push you, but this time he insisted. The stakes were too great. "If we don't do this... Sebastian and Missy..."

"I know," you said, defeated. "Ugh, okay. Meet me at the end of the bridge. I'll get a school broom."

It took you little over ten minutes, to rush to the front lawns and snag a broom from the cupboards. He heard the one you chose guttering over the horizon, shakily hovering to a stop next to him. You took his sleeve.

"I really think this is a bad idea. What if— what if we crash?"

"We won't crash."

"What if you plummet off the side and I can't catch you?"

"I won't plummet."

"What if Ranrok's loyalists shoot us down?"

"They won't spot us."

"... You're suspiciously optimistic."

"I'm moderately realistic," he corrected. "We don't have time to waste."

"Okay." Your grip wavered, even as you guided him to the broom. "Hop on."

It was a sudden hesitation that gripped him then, stuffed cotton down his throat. Because he hadn't considered how, exactly, he would be travelling. That for this to work, he would have to share a broom with you, holding onto your waist for support.

He swallowed, though his mouth was dry, and settled over the broom shaft. Already you were close – too close for him to fathom, the scent of strawberry laces suppressing the billows of pine and lake waters that swept in from the south. His fingers hovered, mere centimetres away from your waist. Even the brush of your coat was enough to drive his mind to catatonia.

"Are you, erm," you said shyly, "are you going to hold on?"

"Y-yes," he choked out stupidly, "right."

He reached around, looping his arms around you, pulling you close. Your back fit neatly against his chest, your heat and warmth abolishing the cold, your head tucking beneath his chin, a swathe of your hair under his nose. Already he was nervous, already he gnawed with worry for Sebastian and Missy, and yet this was the moment he almost unravelled. You were his safety. You were the wind beneath him, buoyant and uplifting.

"Hold tight," you mumbled, voice a vibration through his own chest, which only made him even more delirious. "Three, two—"

You pushed with your legs, sending you both cracking into the air. Stomach yanking down to his legs, his grip cinched, and he cried out as you shot them upwards so fast he didn't get to take a breath. You were hitting max speed too quickly. Wind churned around his ears, sluiced along his toes – you might have yelled something that he couldn't understand.

You steadied the broom, levelling them with the horizon, but he didn't dare loosen his grip. Flying was terrifying, and magnificent, and it was twice as terrifying and magnificent with you.

"Merlin's beard, Gibby! Slow down!"

"S-Sorry!" you called, fear and exhilaration evident. "I'm going right. Brace yourself!"

You leant starboard, and he leant with you. Now that you were pulling on the shaft, the broom slowed to a decent pace, enough that he could hear the sky. The distant rush of train and trees, the snake of the river that ribboned through the valley, a humming thread. Wind, carding through his clothes. He rested his chin on you, and your hair curled against his face, each tendril like a cat's tail, flickering and restlessness.

A thought came to him, unbidden. What would it be like to kiss the top of your head? To draw the hair away from your neck, and place his lips there too? Desire burned through him, drunk on adrenaline and nerves, and he had to clench his jaw to dispel the feelings.

Now was not the time. In fact, there was no time when such thoughts were appropriate.

Yet they came to him nonetheless.

"W-We're going between Irondale and Feldcroft," he pushed out through gritted teeth, through his useless feelings. "South of the mountain peak!"

He feared landing with you even more than take-off, but by some miracle, you managed to shakily jettison them between a cluster of trees, on an even patch of grass. The ground came up hard though, and he took the brunt in his knees, crying out as he fell to the side, the handle tangled between his legs. You stumbled off the broom into a patch of honking daffodils.

"Ack— Gibby?"

"I'm okay!" you chanted, voice pilfered by the tooting flowers. "Just bruised my bum! You?"

"I bruised my everything."

"... Touché."

You came over, sliding the broom from beneath him and helping him to stand. The touch was innocent, and yet your hand in his, with the flight fresh in his mind, hyper-aware of the proximity of you, stoked his cheeks to flames and his heart to a marching drumbeat.

You let go almost instantly, but it was enough.

"Well," you said, "that wasn't so bad."

"We almost died," he muttered. "Twice."

"My lowest record yet, so be grateful. Are we close?"

He withdrew his wand, and the scenery fell into place in his mind. The evergreen honeysuckle, dotting the nearby dirt paths, wending through the uneven terrain of the countryside. A flash of hard, callous stone. A funny taste of smoke and ash, like an unpleasant bonfire. Strange. Nonetheless, you were close – very close, in fact, that he recognised the nearest stretch of fencing, leading towards the Feldcroft Catacombs.

"It's just south of here," he said. "Let's go."

When you reached the cave entrance, the great stone wall had been moved. Someone was already inside, and casting Revelio showed that it was not too late, that the footsteps before you were fresh. You propped the broom aside and went to go in, but he reached for you, held you for a moment – that stupid feeling stirred within him again.

"Wait. Let's— let's think. I don't think it's a good idea they see us."

"Why?"

Truthfully, he didn't know. Perhaps it was only to see what they were doing. Perhaps it was only so he could have you to himself, just a little longer.

"We ought to be cautious," he amended.

You gasped, suddenly excited. "Ominis Gaunt... are you suggesting a stealth mission?"

"Hardly," he retorted. "Let's just— keep our distance."

"Okay." But you were practically bouncing. "We have to catch up to them first. We'll need to be quick."

"Lead the way."

So you closed your hand in his, and led him inside.

The way was dark and cold, a bone-deep sort of eeriness. You cast Lumos, and he did too, to help you see. Together you ran across the dust-ridden earth, over bones and rat droppings and the splattered blood of spiders, pricking the air with a tangy note. You shuddered when a few of the babies crawled into view, but it seemed that Sebastian and Missy had cleared the larger ones out.

Still, you didn't let your fears daunt you. It was quite something to feel your determination, vibrating through your touch, the tremble that went through you as you held his hand to guide him. It gave him courage and might, especially when the quiet sank deeply into him, an omen of trouble to come.

Only at the heart of the catacomb did familiar snippets of voice quell the silence.

"They're close," he whispered to you.

You cast Disillusionment, and he quickly followed. Your boots steps were light, but still the ground crunched. It was enough to let them pursue, closer and closer, until the voices crystallised.

"The relic must be nearby," Sebastian was saying – the desperation in his voice was like nothing Ominis had ever heard before. "I can feel it."

Missy tsked. "Stay focused. I believe there's another chamber ahead – and we have yet to face any of the matriarchs."

"Bet they'll be thrilled when they find their friends dead."

They hurried ahead – you followed.

"Thank you," Sebastian said suddenly. You stopped, causing Ominis to bump into the back of you. "Thank you for doing this."

"It's nothing."

"Nothing? You're risking your life for me, and for Anne."

She didn't reply.

"Why?" he asked into the brazen silence, surprise tinting his voice. "Why are you helping me? I know you partway agree with Ominis, and you barely know Anne. You barely know me."

"Can I not help anyway?"

"No one wants for nothing."

Missy was quiet a moment.

"Perhaps. I'm not entirely altruistic."

"So?" he asked again. "What's your price?"

And she said, "Redemption," like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Redemption?" you muttered to Ominis, at the same time Sebastian said, "Redemption for what?"

But Missy simply scuffed a rock. "Come, we're nearly at the end."

Intense and guarded indeed. You crept forwards on light feet, and Ominis dogged your heel, unsure what to make of the conversation.

There wasn't time to dwell when the spiders descended, great hulking beasts that shook the ground, all the way through his feet. He felt you stiffen beneath your grip – the sight of them must've been terrifying.

"T-There's so many—"

Still, Sebastian and Missy had charged in, spilling enemy blood against the walls.

"S-Should we help them?" you asked.

Ominis hesitated. "No. Perhaps— perhaps it will deter them."

But of course it didn't. The spiders kept coming, vicious wave after vicious wave, and yet, Sebastian and Missy's resolve never puddled.

"Depulso!"

Missy sent the spider soaring. Unfortunately, it landed on its feet.

Right next to you.

Disillusionment wasn't strong enough so close. The creature heckled, then screeched, sucking up venom through its body, guttering, preparing to shoot—

"No, look out!" you yelled.

It spat venom and you shoved him, hard against the ground. The concealment broke, but the venom hissed against the rock face where his head had been.

"Sorry— it was going to hurt you—"

"No time." He got to his feet, helped you and readied his wand. "Ready?"

"Can't really say no." Then, loudly and brashly, "Confringo!"

The spell blasted the spider backwards. Despite your terrible fear of spiders and insects, you ran into the fray and zapped another off its perch above. Pride reared through him again. That duelling practice, all those years ago, had not been for nought.

"Gibby?" Sebastian yelled. Then, with even more shock, "Ominis?"

"Less talking, more blasting!" he said.

One by one, the spiders were felled. It seemed endless, the onslaught – when one died, three more would surface their way up to take its place. He worried for you, panicked nearly, but remembered to trust you to defend yourself. In fact, you all shielded one another, in tune like an orchestra, thrumming to each other's beat. Sebastian's Exploding charms gave you the opportunity to flee when you were overwhelmed. Missy froze the spiderlings to let Ominis deal with the mothers. Then there were moments he couldn't explain – moments where even magic didn't seem to be the answer. Explosions like lightning, striking down their shrieking enemies, the air charged with a sharp tang of it. Always it followed Missy like a storm cloud, she its wild epicentre.

"Ominis," she called, "watch out!"

The spider had been in front of him – he was certain of it. But suddenly it was not, and Missy was stomping down, crushing shell and bone beneath her boot. How, when it is twice the size of me?

He let the questions fester until the spiders were all dead. Hot breath escaped him in shallow bites, there was foreign blood splattered on his front, and his arm was sore from casting so much, so frantically – but he was alive, and so were you, and Sebastian and Missy.

"What..." Sebastian managed a long breath. "What the hell are you two doing here?"

It was the offence he took that boiled Ominis' blood.

"I could very well ask you the same thing," he snapped back, advancing on Sebastian. "You told me you were going to see Anne!"

Still, Sebastian did the unthinkable.

He turned away.

"I knew it. You are here for the relic!" Ominis yelled. "Don't you dare, Sebastian—"

"Or what?" Sebastian challenged, swinging back to face him. "Why are you so determined to stop me? To stop me from helping Anne?"

"Because you are losing yourself! Because the Dark Arts seem harmless until it is too late."

"Anne is in pain every damn day!"

"A Dark artefact will. Not. Work!" His wand hand shook. "It will not reverse the curse and it will require a sacrifice too steep to pay!"

"You haven't tried! You can't possibly know what will happen!" He laughed suddenly. "Your family is broken, Ominis. You don't understand what it's like for me to fight for mine."

He was enraged, but a new feeling came swooping in, extinguishing and final. Hurt.

"That... that is a low blow—"

"Wait," Missy said, perturbingly cool. "Let's not argue."

"Yes," you agreed at once. "We can compromise."

"And you?" Sebastian scoffed at you. "Are you going to stop me, even though you love Anne too? Are you going to side with Ominis because you always do?"

Your reply was injured. "T-There are no sides, Sebastian—"

"If you're going to stop me, then there are sides!" he bellowed. Ominis heard the wooden whip of his wand. "I'm taking that relic. So step aside."

Ominis gripped his wand tightly.

"I will not."

"Stop," snapped Missy, and this time, she was no longer composed. She was firm, commanding. "We're not fighting. That's absurd."

"Only one of us gets our way," Sebastian muttered. "Are you going to strike me, Ominis? Are you?"

"Sebastian, go stand over there. Cool off, for goodness sake." Suddenly someone hooked Ominis' arm – Missy, dragging him away. "You, with me. Gibby—"

But you were already heading towards Sebastian. Ominis hoped you were talking it out, telling him why it was a bad idea – he had to trust that you could convince him.

He yanked off Missy's grip. "You can't seriously think taking that relic—"

"I know it's risky," Missy hissed at him, "but Sebastian has made up his mind. There's no convincing him otherwise. I tried."

"Not hard enough!"

"He's relentless, Ominis. The only thing we can do now is to let it play out, and minimise the consequences."

It was so ridiculous he laughed. "What was it you said you sought? Redemption?" He flung the word back at her. "Tell me, how does encouraging Dark Magic redeem you?"

By the elongated pause, he'd cracked through her impervious armour.

"How did you—?" Then, he was met with cold steel. "My reasons are my own and not for you to know. I'm trying to take the middle path here, but you're both being impossible."

"I'm trying to stop him making a stupid mistake!"

"And are you willing to ruin your friendship over it?"

His next words rammed themselves back down his throat.

Because the answer was no. He wasn't.

"Ominis," and he hated how perfectly reasonable she sounded, "there will be no talking him out of this. He is beyond reasoning now. So you either step aside, or fight. Your choice."

He knew what it was like to steep in the Dark Arts. He understood its allure, its false promises. Yet even so, he couldn't possibly let these years slip through his fingers like sand. He couldn't possibly release all the joy and jokes, the laughter, the pranks and brotherly love shared between the two of them. Sebastian was an anchor in the perpetual raging sea of Ominis' life. Anne had already been taken from him too soon, and you were teetering close to the edge, risking so much with his family's hatred encroaching you.

If Ominis lost Sebastian, he lost everything.

"You—" Anguish tore him from within. "I... I will step aside."

"A wise choice."

"But I will not stop fighting for him. I won't."

She didn't reply. She merely called Sebastian over to the relic, which fell into her pocket for safe-keeping, and then they were leaving.

"For what it's worth," Sebastian said as he passed on the way out, voice broken with his own hurt, "I... I'm sorry we can't agree on this."

Ominis didn't respond.

They left.

He was alone with you.

There was nothing to say, nothing that could be said. He felt his chest breaking, fracturing into pieces, slowly but surely taking his resolve down until it was lying in dereliction before him. A lump that had swollen in his throat became painful.

Why? he wondered. Why does the darkness haunt me so?

You didn't have to say anything. You simply took his hands in yours, rubbed your thumb over his trembling knuckles.

And he fell into your arms, and cried.

[MASTERLIST][FIRST][PREV][NEXT]

Thank you to my tag list: @cordidy @witchyafterdark If you'd like to be added/ removed, please let me know 💚

[Divider credits]

[t-a-a-1]

The Darkest Hour

(TFP Optimus x Female Reader)

Summary:

After being labeled as crazy for trying to report that robot aliens exist on national television, you lose your job and move to Jasper City. In a drastic turn of fate, you meet Optimus Prime. You and Team Prime get together to find ancient relics that are vital to the Autobot's cause.

Along the way, you and Optimus start to develop feelings that go beyond comradeship.

But what happens when he discovers you've been lying all of this time?

……..

This story is a slow burn. Eventual smut. Optimus develops an unhealthy attachment (he is smitten, obsessed) to you but nothing OOC. Lots of yearning, craving, hurt, betrayal, erotic and that good stuff. Ok bye. In case of any questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, requests, etc, you may message me here. Thank you for reading! For A better reading experience you may read this story on Ao3.

>>> https://archiveofourown.org/works/60642838/chapters/154846393

Ch.1: The Crossroads Of Destiny

"During times of war, there is no good or bad. Everyone is a victim and an abuser. But it's good to remember that the best thing a person can do is to be kind and show mercy to the enemy."

Everyone needs a pep talk once in a while. Even Optimus Prime.

After the death of Cliffjumper, there wasn't much morale going around in the base. Just a very uncomfortable quietness. It was like an unspeakable agreement between Team Prime to never really speak of their feelings. Whether it had become customary to lose the ones they cared about, they didn't see the point.

It's a war after all.

"It takes one act of kindness to change people's hearts and everyone has the ability to change. Together we can transform this hateful world into one of peace."

Nonetheless, he found comfort in the small things. He wasn't fond of human entertainment but he deemed it necessary to learn the current happenings of the world. That was the main reason he installed a TV in his private quarters. With all the main news channels. He wasn't surprised to see robberies, murders, abuse and the constant wars. He was too familiar with it all.

But one day as he passed by one of the channels he found something, or rather someone who caught his attention.

"I believe anyone can be a hero."

The reporter always had something good to say. Just like him, this individual has been through countless wars and witnessed many misfortunes. Optimus knew this because he would never miss the news just to watch this specific reporter. Or if he did, he made sure to record it so he could watch it later. This human had somehow become a small hope for him. Encouraging words when he needed it the most.

"But the world will always need a true leader in the darkest hour."

And Primus knows he needs it.

.

.

.

"Reporting to you live, (Reader), CNF News."

You should have stopped being so biased and giving your opinion on everything when your boss first told you to.

You hated watching your old reports but you needed to see what was so wrong with them for CNF to fire you. Now you can see why.

Hero? Hope? Peace? Love?

You were young and stupid to believe in all of that. You had grown now and after seeing so much malice in this world, your opinion had completely changed.

Now you were in Jasper City. Not so much of a city more like a town. With its small population, they had a local news station that was willing to give you a job.

"I have insiders in the government telling me that aliens are real! I even have footage and locations where they have appeared!"

That was one of the few things you told your boss before he fired you. Of course, it wasn't just that. Your ticket out was trying to report your findings live on national television, with video, graphics and all. Of course, the station cut you off the broadcast the moment you started to sound like crazy.

But it was enough to ban you from all major broadcasting companies. Not even print media would accept you. Not the New York Times, not The Wall Street Journal, not even lifestyle magazines wanted you.

You had so much information to share. Like how you were able to track down locations that lead to items of alien origin. You didn't know what the items were for but by investigating ancient legends, you assumed that they were important.

"So, (Y/N), what are you going to be reporting on?"

Your new boss came into your small office. Not really an office but rather a desk that you shared with the other ten people.

"I've been investigating and on a few forums, it says that this town has a government base not too far from here," you typed in your laptop and quickly flipped it to show your boss various pictures. "Apparently, the base is used for weaponry manufacturing and other .... Illicit activities."

"Look, when we hired you, we didn't need a crazy alien believer," he put a hand on his eyes and moved it down his face, clearly frustrated. "We just needed someone who met deadlines."

"But isn't our job as journalists to bring the truth to the people? Don't you want to know where your taxes are going?"

"Look, this is Jasper City, the most interesting thing that has ever happened here is a pig that gave birth to another pig with two heads," he pointed to the wall and you followed it with your eyes. It was indeed, a newspaper cut out of the birth of a mutated pig.

"There is a new coffee shop opening tomorrow, why don't you report on that instead?"

"But, Mr. Jones-"

"Coffee shop. Tomorrow," he said in a commanding tone. "And upload the package on the rundown before midnight."

.

.

.

You pulled out a lighter and started smoking a cigarette on the outside of a bar. You were planning on coming down from your car and drinking a beer. However, after careful consideration, you didn't want to deal with strangers. You didn't want any 'Are you new to town? Haven't seen you around."

You knew that would happen, after all, you came from a small city before moving to New York to be a reporter. Now you are back to a smaller town you weren't even familiar with.

You had gone to the coffee shop opening and turned in your report before the deadline.

From reporting on corruption, war and crimes ... you went to reporting ... whatever this was.

You looked outside your car and noticed a military vehicle parked in front of you. Two guys in uniform come out of it, stretching their arms and yawning.

"Do you think it's safe for us to let that box unguarded?"

"Yeah, it's just some papers. Nothing to worry about. We are close to base anyways, we deserve a beer for our hard work."

One of them carelessly put the truck's keys in his back pocket and as you expected, it fell to the ground.

"Old job, here I come."

You were in the back of the truck, looking at the documents that weren't too impressive. It was stuff you already knew. Alien artifacts were located in different parts of the world. Nothing new. Still, you decided to take pictures of it with your phone. You needed more time to read them, maybe they contained something you didn't know.

Nonetheless, you knew that wherever these documents were heading was going to be more interesting. So you decided to leave the truck keys in the front seat with the hope that the men wouldn't even question how they got there.

You were right. It was too easy to predict men.

You were heading to somewhere unknown, miles away from your new home and somehow it felt more liberating. Could you be killed by the government for doing this? Probably. But then again you've survived worse and you have nothing left to lose.

You hid and didn't make any sound. It's probably been around two hours of driving.

Everything was going smoothly.

Until the truck came to a complete stop. You almost hit your head as you lost balance.

Then, the vehicle moved uncontrollably as you heard the sound of a missile impacting it. You recognized the sound, you'd heard it before. Countless times while reporting the wars.

You did not only hit your head but other parts of your body as the truck rolled multiple times through the dry desert.

You were dizzy but still managed to hold onto the box. You saw the two soldiers come out of the truck, holding guns. Next, you heard shots.

You heard heavy steps. The type that made the ground tremble.

You came out of the truck, not caring anymore if the military men saw you. Curiosity was always your weakness and you needed to know what made a five-ton truck flip like a coin.

You held into the box like your life depended on it. Stepping into the fuel that was leaking from the truck. You saw the soldiers, helplessly shoot bullets to that thing.

A thing.

That's the best way you could describe it.

Made of metal. 20 ... No, 30 feet tall. Robot. Silver and grey. Red. Sharp ends. With missiles and guns at its disposal.

You stared at it with awe. It was good to know that you weren't crazy, that you were right. On the other hand, you don't know if you will live long enough to tell the world about it.

The enormous metal creature pointed at you with one of its missiles.

"You, give me that box."

It spoke.

You knew that aliens must have their ways of communication but speaking perfect English was something you didn't imagine.

"I won't ask again ... Give me that box."

He wanted the documents. You didn't know why nor wanted to find out. It didn't take much for you to realize that you indeed had important information. So much that an alien came looking for it. But your body didn't respond. It was your first time seeing something out of this world. In the dark night and the starry sky of Nevada, you suddenly felt so little. So insignificant and the realization made your body unable to move.

Then, there was light.

That of metal clashing. Of the little chemical reaction when two metals collide.

Another creature. Bigger and taller. Stronger. Red and blue and silver.  Punching in the face the creature that was threatening you. They engaged in a battle too fierce to be in front of.

Your attention was drawn towards the men who lay on the floor unconscious. The soldiers must have been knocked out during the intrication. Dropping the box, you ran towards them as the two creatures fought against each other.

You thought your ears would explode from each impact, from each crash. You checked their pulses, they were breathing, but you knew you were too weak to move them, especially with uniforms on.

"Give me that box."

You ran towards the box, falling in the way as the ground trembled. You have to think fast. Two titanic robots, fighting. The first one spoke to you, demanding the box. The second one came in to fight.

Who was good? Who was bad? You weren't sure. You only knew one thing.

This box was important. It's content at least. You weren't a hero but you knew this was bigger than you. Maybe the information gave the robots a way to conquer the Earth. Regardless, you couldn't afford to think about it too much.

The box was made out of carton. For such an important thing, it sure wasn't guarded safely. But this was the United States Government, you didn't expect much. It was already covered with fuel from the leaking truck.

People say smoking cigs is bad. Well, at least you always carry a lighter with you.

The aliens keep fighting. You thought of them as aliens because you couldn't describe them better than that. They weren't green and skinny, nothing like you imagined. They were more like giant robot aliens. Aliens that had guns and that each bullet was so loud that you felt your entire body shake within.

You dropped the lighter on top of the box and it immediately caught on fire. You ran as fast as you could away from it, as you knew that the fuel would travel to its place of origin, the truck.

The truck explodes, and you use your body to cover the bodies of the still-unconscious men.

"NO!"

You hear one of the creatures scream. Both creatures had their attention on the truck on fire. However, the silver one took a step back and in a blink of an eye, he transformed into a jet. It flew away and it went away just as fast.

You couldn't even afford the time to be in shock.

The red and blue creature slowly came towards you. It kneels in front of you and its face is covered by what you consider to be a battle mask but somehow, it made it disappear. Its face moves closer and closer, observing you, moving in ways that are not human. Yet, you didn't feel threatened, it's as if it was amused with your presence.

Suddenly, you hear whimpering and grunts of pain. One of the soldiers was waking up.

"Did ... Did we win?"

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"She wants to talk to you, Prime."

It wasn't like Optimus was waiting around because he didn't trust Agent Fowler's procedures. It was mostly because Ratchet was having difficulty opening up the groundbridge again.

"She's actually a very prestigious reporter ... before she started ranting about aliens, I mean she was right, but you know what I mean."

The whole area was guarded in a 100-meter diameter, not another human would enter without Fowler knowing. A few helicopters had arrived at the battle scene, fastly constructing tents. One is for the medics to treat the injured soldiers, and the other is for you, for a questionnaire. Everything was quickly contained.

"Why don't you take her for a ride and convince her to sign the confidentiality papers? ... I hate to use brute force on women."

He sees you walk out of the pre-made tent. You had a small blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Optimus sometimes forgets how delicate humans can be. The nights in the Nevada desert can be extremely cold and deadly for a small organism like you.

He looked at Fowler and the agent wasn't budging. He was waiting for him to take the next step.

Optimus vents heavily and transforms himself into his human-based design. A semi-truck with 18 wheels. He slowly drove towards you and when he got close enough, he opened the pilot door as an invitation to go inside.

You seemed hesitant but ultimately you walked towards him and got inside the truck. He closed the door for you and drove off into the distance.

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You couldn't keep your hands to yourself. You touched the steering wheel, the windows, the seats, the radio buttons, the stick shift. Everything looked and felt like it belonged in a regular truck. Yet, it did not feel inanimate. It all feels somehow alive. You were quiet, literally, inside a robotic alien.

"I do not wish to be rude, but would you be kind enough to stop touching me?"

The alien spoke to you.

"Oh, forgive me, does it hurt?"

The truck stays quiet. But you can feel that the hot air coming out of his vents becomes hotter for a few seconds.

"My name is Optimus Prime from the Planet Cybertron. I am-"

"The leader of the Autobots? And you are in a war against the Decepticons?"

Silence. It was even comical to you. The bot was probably tired and the last thing he wanted to do was deal with a pesky human. Not like you cared much.

"Yes," he simply responds. From this point forward, you knew that this is how most of your conversations with him would go. Short and straight to the point. You'll easily find common ground with him.

"Fowler gave me the rundown of things."

"Then I must ask ... why are you hesitant to sign the confidentiality contract?"

You didn't know where he was taking you. You thought that he is probably driving for the sake of it. He is a truck, after all, he must enjoy the drive. But the night is dark and everything around you made it eery.

"I am a reporter ... If I sign that contract my career is over. Can't talk about the government ever again," you weren't completely lying. "And I just happen to love exposing corruption."

"I know."

"You know?"

"I've seen a few of your works,' Optimus said, making a small pause. His voice is very pleasant, nothing like you expected from a robotic alien. "You speak of truth."

"It's the only way you can fight a war without violence," you try to be vague without giving out too much information. You can't trust someone you just met, especially not someone from another planet.

"And maybe the only way to win one."

"What do you wish for? What would make you sign the contract?"

"The truth," you said. "I want the truth."

"I will sign the contract under one condition," talking was one of your strengths. You let out one important fact, leaving you vulnerable. It was a risk but you needed to create the illusion that there was trust.

"I have the information that was in the box, stored in my personal phone. If you let me accompany you in retrieving these ancient items, I will sign those contracts without complaining."

Suddenly, Optimus comes to a slow stop. The middle of nowhere in Nevada's desert. Just a couple of mountains, some big rocks, and cactus. And of course, a clear night sky.

You see that the bot had locked the doors. You mentally curse yourself. Did he have some type of power that could read through you? You should probably have done better research before lying.

"Why do you want to venture yourself in such matters?"

It was your time to shine.

"No matter how much I try, the truth is not enough to fix my world. At least it won't happen during my lifetime," you say words that your old self would say. Maybe a small and tiny part of you still believed in it.

"I heard your world is not even habitable because of the war. Even after that, the Autobots and the Decepticons won't stop fighting."

"I was just taught a quick rundown of everything so I am sure there's still much to learn but," you think carefully about what you are going to say. It's cheesy and cringe but you could only hope that this robotic alien is a fool and can't see your human nature of deceiving others.

"By learning and telling the truth, you can build the base of a new future for your planet. I can't fix my world but I want to help fix yours."

There was no reaction from him. You started to get worried as seconds turned into minutes. He wasn't stupid either. He was testing you to see if you would break or say something suspicious.

"I'll allow you to accompany us during our expeditions if there are no risks."

You were about to let out a heavy sigh of relief but you stopped yourself. For all he knows, there was nothing to worry about since you were not lying.

"But you will be under my surveillance," he adds as he starts to drive once again. "Starscream has seen your face, we can't afford for you to be alone for long periods of time."

That's going to make your work a bit more complicated but you had to do everything in your power to get your old life back.

"It's a deal then."

Optimus makes a sharp turn, instantly making you fall from your sit. He wasn't the most delicate. He probably didn't even measure his own strength.

"We'll start immediately."

"Immediately?" you rubbed your head, surprised he didn't even apologize. He probably doesn't care or Cybertronians have different manners. There's much to learn. "Well, as long as I am back for work on Monday it should be fine. But can we leave tomorrow morning? I want to go home and rest."

You felt the hot air from his vents coming out stronger than before for a few seconds. You assumed this was his way of sighing, with much disappointment.

He didn't say much after that and you just waited until he spoke to ask you for directions. .

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.

You were renting a small home in the suburbs. You weren't sure if semi-trucks were allowed but one night should be fine. Prime wouldn't fit in your garage but the driveway gave him enough space.

Optimus opened his door for you and you jumped out. Stretching your legs felt nice, it was a bit chilly outside but nothing compared to the coldness of the desert. Turning to look at the Autobot, you wonder what you could say.

"Do you need anything?"

Did he drink water? Or oil? Did he need a bath? Did he even bathe?

"No."

His voice interrupted your thoughts.

"Alright then, if you need something, let me know," you said, trying your best to get some conversation going. "We are leaving as soon as the sun comes out."

He doesn't say a word. You didn't blame him, it was too much to expect him to trust you just after a couple of hours of knowing each other, and it's not like you could blame him. You wouldn't trust yourself either.

"Goodnight."

He doesn't reply.

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.

.

"I'll return in two days. I am on a special mission to seek for a Cybertronian relic. I was assigned to work with a human. I am unsure if the subject can be trusted. I'll keep the human away from the base until I conclude their trustworthiness. I'll explain more later. Do not worry."

Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee looked at the message on the data screen as Ratchet read Optimus's message out loud.

"Seems like he had an interesting patrol night," Arcee said as she looked at Optimus' vitals on the screen. They looked normal. "Shouldn't we go with him?"

"If Optimus needs backup, he will ask for it," Ratchet also keeps looking at Optimus' vital signs. There weren't any abnormalities, nothing that would require him to come to the base. "Besides it's not like we can go to him even if we wanted to. I am still trying to fix the groundbridge."

This wouldn't be the first time Optimus would be assigned a solo mission by Agent Fowler. Everyone knows that as the leader, Optimus has to be on constant missions, taking jobs that are too dangerous. Not because he didn't trust the abilities of his team-mates but because he didn't want to risk the spark of the others.

"It's better if we stay here in case we find an energon mine."

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.

.

You did not dare to write your findings on the laptop. You weren't stupid. You knew very well that the wifi and your laptop must be rigged by the government by now. Watching and revising every search.

Instead, you opted for doing it the old way. Writing today's events on a notebook and little by little, fill it up with more information and most importantly, evidence.

You could already imagine it. Getting your job back. Being recognized as the best reporter of all time. The one who exposed the government and told the world about the existence of alien life. You will be set for life. You won't be a simple reporter anymore. No. Maybe, you'll become the CEO of CNF. Or even better, have your own news station.

That's if the government doesn't kill you before. You have to be extremely careful.

You look outside your window and see Optimus Prime. Agent Fowler didn't tell you much. Just that's he is a sentient being, with a strong sense of justice. Leader of the Autobots, a group of soldiers who fought against the Decepticons to gain control of their home planet.

Oh, how much you hated soldiers. Whether they were fighting for a good cause or not, it didn't matter to you. They all had blood on their hands. They all were guilty. Especially leaders who make others fight their useless war.

But your hatred won't get Optimus to trust you and you need to get as much information from him as possible.

You sigh. You were new here as well so you have a lot of boxes lying around. Nonetheless, you remember seeing an old tarpaulin in the garage, probably from the previous renter.

You look out the window again. It shouldn't hurt to try.

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.

.

Optimus finished texting to Agent Fowler. A simple text that explained the current situation and his next steps.

It had been a long night. He thought his patrol was going to go as smoothly as others before. But nothing turns out as he expects it.

He still doesn't know how you convinced him to let you come. It's not like he doesn't know who you are. He has never missed one of your reports. Regardless of everything, all the war, the pain and suffering you've seen, you always ended things on a good note.

It was the kind of thing he needed.

Words he needed to hear.

He is always wary of people. Of anyone in particular that hasn't proven to be worthy of trust.

And you?

He just knew you for a couple of hours. He would be lying to himself if didn't admit his spark glowed for a small moment when he saw you.

Against the lack of his better judgment, he wanted to accept you immediately. To show you the base, for you to meet everyone and become that individual with unbreakable morals that keeps the team together.

A duty bestowed upon him ... that he so wanted to share with someone. He has been carrying it for so long, it has become too difficult to carry it by himself.

Can someone ... Can anyone ... Please, help him?

He feels something on the back of his fifth wheel and suspension.

Optimus doesn't respond, pretending to be in resting mode. However, he is always alert. No matter how tired, he tries to be awake in between sleep cycles in case something happens.

That's how he noticed you approaching him, carrying a large plastic cover bigger than you. Dragging it and carelessly putting it over him.

He is curious but doesn't say anything.

"There you go, big guy."

You patted your hands and you finished covering him up.

"I don't know if you get cold but you can't never be too sure."

He sees you walk away, shivering a little as you enter your home once again.

A part of him wanted to answer your question. But he is left without words. Would you even care to listen to him? Care enough to listen to his long explanation about Cybertronian biology?

He wants to say so much. The archivist in him has so much knowledge to share, yet no one would listen.

"I don't get cold. At least not on these temperatures."

That would be the easy answer. The not-so-boring one.

But if given the time and patience, he could tell you all about the biology of it and the reason for it. About how their bodies were perfectly made to the image of Primus.

And you?

He wonders about the things you could share with him. The things he could learn from you.

You know the land better than him and have experienced things in this world that he has yet to experience ... or maybe never will.

He is so lonely. That's the truth of it all. He craves for a connection.

But of course, he won't allow it. Not to himself. Not ever.

At least, under the starry night, covered by a dirty tarpaulin, he can pretend that his worries no longer exist. As his only worry is the ache of his spark wondering if the stranger in the house could become what he needs.

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Ch.2: >>>

https://www.tumblr.com/t-a-a-1/767425691778203648/the-darkest-hour?source=share

[sophios-draws]

lego dimensions portal dialogue!!

i compiled some of the silly ones (see end for notes)

GLaDOS

I always thought it would be wonderful to have a deep, emotional connection to someone… until I met YOU. (to chell) (gayass line #1)

Well, well, well, look who’s back. You must love science almost as much as me. (to chell) (gayass line #2)

Oh well, if it isn't the grand return of King Moron and his Mute Princess. (to chell and wheatley)

Well done. It seems you have mastered the graceful and noble art of ‘bouncing’. (to chell re: repulsion gel)

Very good. With the accelerative power of Propulsion Gel at your disposal, you need only worry about your wits being slow. (to chell re: propulsion gel)

What’s wrong? You look tired. Would you like a break or a nap? Maybe I could get an associate to rub your feet for you if I’m not boring you too much. (to batman et al.)

Did I mention I had a cake made JUST for YOU? Unfortunately none of the typical ingredients were available, so it consists mostly of sawdust and leftover propulsion gel. If anything, I think that just gives it even more of a personal touch. (to chell)

Wheatley

Oh dear. Someone booted up on the wrong side of the BIOS this morning, if I’m not mistaken. (to chell re: glados)

Ugh. Uh, I must have forgotten to, to carry the zero… And ummm… Let me try again, let me try again. I don’t suppose you know what, what’s Pi? Is it three something? (to batman et al.)

Seriously, where do you learn that stuff? What is it? Textbooks? Is it, um, online courses? Um, I mean, do you have to go to some kind of y’know, retreat, where you wear robes and things? And there’s some chap with long hair and a guitar? (to chell)

You want to say, “I TOLD you, Wheatley. I SAID you were too hard on those poor little mutant boxes, whose only ever crime was trying to make their daddy proud. And now they’ve run away from home, each of ‘em hiding GLaD-knows-where, scared and alone in some dark, dingy corner of the lab.” (to chell re: frankenturrets) ("glad" instead of "god"... checks out)

Keep it up! Although no mad rush, ‘cause I’m actually working on an apology speech… which I think is… is… quite beautiful. (to chell re: frankenturrets)

Ah! You all came back! I never thought I’d be so happy to see your little improvised-robotic faces! But I am, I am! And… what I want to say is… *throat clearing* if you don’t want to step on buttons, then DON’T step on buttons! Alright? Don’t step on a single one! Not even if an orphanage is burning down and the only way to activate the sprinkler system is to step on a button, don’t do it! Don’t… Well, you probably SHOULD do it in that case, but other than that, you know, do what you wanna do. You’re strong, independent mutant boxes! Think for yourselves, be yourselves! (to frankenturrets)

Cave Johnson

Caroline… I think I’ll have extra cheese on my ‘four cheese burrito’ today… throw in a side of coleslaw too. Oh wait, is this thing on?

Caroline, hold my calls. I need to go see a man about a mule. What was that? Alright. Good. Mule. Gonna go see him in the bathroom. Back in ten. (??? sir what is this about ???)

You might have noticed some safety warnings on the walls. Just ignore ‘em. I keep telling the Bean Counters danger’s just a natural part of science, but boy they don’t want to hear it. Like telling a paradox to a robot – makes their heads explode.

Now, the lab boys were adamant that I do not give you any hints on these tests. To be honest, they think I’m spoiling the results just by talking to you. Hizenstein Uncertainty Principles and so forth. I’ll give ‘em something more practical to be uncertain about. Their next paycheck. Anyway, overruled. If you think I’m affecting your decisions in any way, don’t be afraid to speak up. I’m not made of glass. That reminds me: Caroline, do we have a wing made out of glass yet? Let’s get on that, Caroline. (we know what became of that...)

Rick

And luckily for you, Rick the Adventure Sphere – just call me Rick – is here to show you how it’s done! You best get your ointment ready, sweetie, because with this assault course right here, you are going to FEEL THE BURN! (to chell) (no amount of context can save this line)

i watched playthroughs of the lego portal content and its pretty neat. there are three chunks of portal content: the starter pack aperture science level, the portal 2 level pack, and the portal 2 adventure world. downloadable voicelines are only available for the first of those three, afaik. the lines i included here are a mix of all three, transcribed directly from the youtube playthroughs. there are a lot of really good lines that i didnt include so if people are interested ill post more

[nor-4]

For the first time.

I wanna cry so bad tumblr didn't post the part two this just because my net is slow n now i have to restart over again. I'm so disappointed, this will probably the bad version of pt 2. :(

Pairings - Mike Schmidt ft Mean!Reader.

After learning about the whole animatronics thing it weirded you out but yet you are curious, after seeing how they act it made you think that maybe they are just a child.

You headed home from the pizzeria, you just knew that you had a strong bond with abby. Everything that came out of you when it comes to abby is just normal.

As you were about to go to sleep you decided to snoop around the old box of your belongings when you were a kid, you found a crayons and a empty drawing book.

You love to draw when you were a kid so your mom used to spoil you with them, you wanted to give this to abby. Never in your life have you ever really cared for a child.

A whole 12 hours had just passed and it's your shift again, you were walking to work until vanessa saw you and gave you a ride since she is about to go to that old pizzeria anyways.

"Hi vanessa, hi (y/n)." Abby greeted as she started running on where the animatronics are, "Mike.." Vanessa said as you turned at her hearing her tone gives you heart attack you just knew that she is mad. "So you knew about the animatronics?" Mike asked as both of them started talking about the animatronics as you continued sweeping the place.

Suddenly abby asked for help and started making a plan about doing a really big fort for her and her friends, "Maybe we can use the table as a fort.." Vanessa said as an idea for the fort.

They started working on it same goes the animatronics helping as you are still cleaning after the fort was finished abby started calling you so she can lay down beside you.

Vanessa excused herself to go get a cloth because it's about to rain and we need a "roof" mike followed her to the stock room as i sighed staring at the ceiling.

Being left out like this makes you heart ache, you always hated this kind of feeling especially when you were a child.

"okay everyone. Now pick your partner for the project." Your teacher joyfully said as you were at the corner of the room watching your classmate scattered around looking for their partner, disclosing their hate with each other if needed just so they won't be partners with you.

You bite your lower lip thinking someone will ask you if you wanted to be their partner, but sadly you were placed on the room where students are on an odd number.

"Hey (y/n) you don't have a partner. Do you want to have a group project with the others." your teacher asking you if you want to push yourself over people who doesn't even want to be close to you, "No ma'am I'll just work by myself." You politely said through the loneliness you are feeling.

You hang your head low playing with your fingers holding back your tears as you feel their eyes burning into you as if you did something unforgivable.

"Hey (y/n) are you okay?" Abby asked concernly as she sat up to look at you, "I'm fine abby don't worry about it." you reassured abby with a smile.

"How about we go for a dance?" Abby asked as she stood up same goes the animatronics as the bear type of robot started singing as abby is dancing while holding your hands.

Abby stood up to the stage as you told her to be careful as you were distracted by hearing vanessa and mike fighting over something that you don't want to know. It's your first time again hearing someone fight so seeing it makes you feel like you wanna cry.

You grew up with an alcoholic father and a workaholic mother, they often yell to each other, destroying things and almost killing each other.

Everything happened so fast you heard vanessa yelling something as you felt something hot hit your face almost hitting your eyes, you ran on where abby was as you saw her laying down on the ground.

"Abbyy.." you said as you lightly shake her hands as a cough escaped her mouth from the smoke, "What happened?" abby asked as she stood up as you scoop her for a hug reassuring her that everything is an accident.

You guys packed up your things because vanessa had said that mike and abby needs to go home and get abby some rest. You are on the car with abby as she hugged you from your tears on hearing them yell outside, she doesn't understand what is happening at the moment as she just comforted you based on how you feel.

You wiped your tears as you feel mike had entered the car, "She looks angry.. Why does everyone look at you that way?" Abby asked on sight after seeing vanessa angry, you wanted to dissappear on sight but mike insisted that you shouldn't be out walking this late.

Drive home is quiet since abby had already fallen asleep and you are still a bit awkward around mike, you carried abby to her room as soon us you guys got home cause abby was clinging into you.

You set her down to her bed she looked at you as if she wanted to ask something but just let it go, "Goodnight (y/n)." abby said as she closed her eyes from her tiredness. "Goodnight abby.." you whispered as she was already asleep.

You are about to left the house since your home is just near here might as well just walk it, until you were stopped by mike who is sitting outside looking at the sky as if something miracle is about to happen.

"i didn't hear anything from you earlier.. Everything all right?" mike asked as you sat down beside him and was taken a back by his question, you never thought you'd have this kind of conversation with him it feels so cozy, comforting and peaceful.

"I'm gonna be honest with you.. I feel left out earlier." You said as you were playing with your fingers again, "I know, i wanted to help you but i couldn't.. It's vanessa." mike sighed as he stopped in the middle of the conversation.

He started talking about his brother and everything they went through he feels like vanessa is stopping him from finding out everything, he describes his trauma to you as if he had met you for a very very long time.

"And you know.. I really liked you, i thought i was just going crazy until i started thinking about you the most random times.." Mike said as he looked at you as you look at the moon as it lights up your beauty, "I liked you too mike, you are a very nice man. I thought i was just bored and then i started feeling something as if I'm jealous." You stated as you looked back at him.

He wanted to cherish this moment with you, if he had a three wishes from a genie he would wish two times to comeback to this moment and the third wish is he wanted to live every years he had with you.

"Since you had confirmed that i have a chance with you. (Y/n) will you go out with me, i know i won't be a perfect man for you but i will do my best. I promise i will never disappoint you (y/n) just plea-" You cut off mikes speech mid way with a kiss as you hold both of his hands. "stop it you dummy, yes i will go out with you." You said as you smiled at him while he looked like he is about to cry.

"(Y/n) i really love you. I will earn your reciprocation of my love." Mike said as he kissed both of your knuckles as you giggled on how loser he is being, "I know you will mike.." You laughed as he admire you gosh he is about to melt.

"Can you please stay just this once?" Mike pleaded as he wanted to cuddled you up and make everything up to you since you confesses that you feel left out earlier, "Yes mike.." You stood up as you brushed your pants.

"And it won't be once mikey." You told him as you pressed his nose with your point finger as both of you giggled like a high school lovers.

Mike guided you to his room as he pulled out a shirt and pajamas for you since he doesn't want you to sleep on a work shirt, unexpectedly you stripped infront of him as he closed his eyes as if he doesn't have any permission to see you.

"Mike stop being a coward, we are together now." you remarked as you put on the pajamas as you helped him get his vest off so he can change his shirt, he was still shy so he changed pretty fast which made you giggled.

You lay down on the right side as mike was on the other side, he cuddled up to you it's not like those tensed up cuddle this one is the comfortable one. Both of you have been longing for this a very long time ago plus both of you are tired so the sleep is very cozy for mike. Pretty much he sleeped through the night without taking a sleeping pill.

[tropicalcontinental]

Entity Kevin (Rogue AI that just wants to learn what it can about humans and their lives. Is quite upfront about doing this instead of the usual slow-burn. Will stick around as long as the person is interesting. Still somehow manages to be the best anti-virus around. Will not let himself on your computer if you're boring by his standards.)

He also steals and retains information by eating it. He is unsure why he was programmed like this.

Y'know the drill (more yapping below)

Thinking about what Kevin would even be in the Swap!AU that's in my head, and it kinda came down to either him being that AU's Souler, or something else completely.

I settled on something else completely since I feel like Zander is the closest in relation to Souler (being his victim and all, while Kevin is like, somewhat related.) (Zander fills Souler's role, somehow.) So instead of a Paranormal Mercenary interested in the supernatural, he's an entity himself interested in humans. And also he's an anti-virus program because why not (inspired by Digital Satan, Kevin's own anti-virus and assumed experience with coding, and a pinch of headcanon.)

But instead of being obsessive or whatever, I feel like it would be funny if Kevin is just looking for any remotely interesting humans after getting bored of being just an anti-virus/BonziBuddy esque software (he accidentally gained sentience, as one does.) He stays on your computer and sticks around for as long as you are interesting before dipping to find someone else.

Doesn't mean he can't be nosey and get all your personal information and still be a Rogue AI that doesn't understand personal boundaries, but it comes from deep curiosity instead of crippling loneliness and using your personal information to persuade you to not delete him.

He also may do his job as an anti-virus while changing random stuff to your files for fun because bored Rogue AI gotta bored Rogue AI. Still boasts about being the best anti-virus on the market (validity to be inclined towards true.) Also a pretty good Entity Deterrent (entities impede on his human research so they get dealt with.) He may also wish to be human, but it's more of a desire to observe beyond his digital confines than be with anyone in particular.

In short, someone get this guy a robot body he needs to go into Sociology. Entity!Kevin is this world's Little Mermaid, except there is no love to be found along the path of knowledge. Just more information.

[agentoffangirling]

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. to Janani K Jha songs, bc why is everything she writes so AoS-coded?

Achilles Heel: Very self explanatory, I feel, a song about being the other's weakness, FitzSimmons

Thanatos (End of Us): Another romance song, being together even if it kills, so very Huntingbird (I think that's the ship name?)

Ms. Protagonist: The loss of innocence from childhood to adulthood, so very s1 Skye to s7 Daisy Johnson. Could also apply to Jemma over the seasons

Library Card: A song about growing up as a nerd? Jemma Simmons

Golden Age: Really could be any woman in the MCU, but since this is more about the hidden and misunderstood women of history, I feel like it's better suited to the "background characters" of S.H.I.E.L.D., for lack of a better word, such as Victoria Hand and Piper

Sunday Crossword: Philinda struggling to convey their feelings, slowly falling out of love and ending as friends

Machine Learning: Fitz. 100% Fitz, oh my god, it's so him. It's literally a song about not knowing how to socialize and always feeling like a robot

Three Specters: Daisy in season 5, feeling lost and thrust into a position of power with little preparation. The song specifically describes being haunted with past memories, which is so her in those moments

Prophecies: Technically a song dedicated to the artist's parents of how they sacrificed everything for her, Daisy's family dynamic w/Coulson and May

Two Roads: Honestly I had a hard time with this since it's about choosing between the safe path and the new one. I'm going with Mack always having to choose between his personal life and S.H.I.E.L.D., especially since he's always threatening to quit (and never does)

Rome (Outro): the collective trauma everyone had by the end of the season and finally taking time for themselves. The song is basically about calming down and taking it slow

Slow Burn: Being in a relationship that just consumes you in all the right ways, that makes the both of you better is so Dousy (OTP frfr)

The Maze: Stuck in a mental/physical maze that you struggle to get out of is perfect for the Framework arc

Hellbent: About literally going through hell, about agency. Melinda May, SPECIFICALLY after the situation in Bahrain

Gladiators: The team fighting any opponent, but the season 7 finale would fit best

Royal We: Staticquake. It's a song on toxic codependent relationships, and I am not loathe to admit (sorry Staticquake fans), that the way Lincoln's death leaves Daisy is quite close to what the song describes

The Siege: Deke Shaw, especially with how much shit the team they gave him later on (May could also apply to this, bc one of the lyrics is "and no cavalry will cave")

Weird Hills: Ward's betrayal on the team; the song is all about trusting someone who called themself a friend only to stab you in the back

Polyxena: A song about sacrifice and being used to further the story. Trip's death

The Judgement (I Think Too Much): The main lyric is "you think too much with your head and not enough with your heart", very Aida becoming Ophelia

Cut the Cord: While it's technically about "dreaming a release from validation" as Janani puts it, I also think this fits well with the whole prophecy subplot of s3b and Daisy trying to subvert it

Nike: Phil Coulson, how his death is always weaponized against him but everyone forgets about him all the other times

Library of Alexandria: the lost innocence of S1, Bus Kids and how we never see them happy following s1

[the-derpy-duck]

I really like rescuebots.

Tried to keep spoilers to seasons one and two sorry. Long post ahead.

It was the first transformers thing I’ve ever seen and it’s so funny. Like not in a ‘I’m laughing at it’ way but in a ‘it did a funny on purpose’. Please watch just one episode it is so good and Peter Collin voices OP in it. They make fun of politicians and I was NOT expecting that. I spent five minutes laughing at the first joke involving the mayor because it was so unexpected. RBA is also great. There’s one episode where the children think that one of them is gonna get kicked out and near the start of the episode Hot Shot makes a comment and at the end of the episode it gets brought up again and it might have been because it was 3 am and I was delirious but I laughed way to hard at that joke. Anyway Rescuebots is so good the end of season 1 was so fucking intense and dark. Like wow they went there. But the show is never so dark that it becomes miserable.

Heatwave is so great I love him even though I think he would hate me. His character growth is so slow and subtle but it does exist. He cares so deeply for Cody and the rest of his team and even if he’s a jerk about it he will always prioritize their safety. And his relationship with Kade? I just— I don’t know how to describe how it makes me feel. They don’t like each other but they do care about each other. They aren’t friends and won’t ever be friends but they have a genuine connection with each other. They are so similar that it makes them incompatible in a way that works. They are different, Kade is more openly rude and is definitely not a leader. Kade is selfish and an attention whore, Heatwave is also selfish. Heatwave also wanted to go join Optimus Prime’s team at the beginning of the show. But when Prime later offers him a spot on the team Heatwave wasn’t willing to leave his team. Also, in the episode where Tidal Wave first appeared he was willing to overlook his own poor treatment (although he was visibly pissed) but when Tidal Wave kept insulting Blades (notably after Blades was late because he was helping save someone) Heatwave went to defend him. Heatwave didn’t care that doing so might make him look worse in the eyes of OP, because he doesn’t only care about that anymore. Also it is entirely possible that Heatwave is the one singing the intro and no I will not explain that. Heatwave is an asshole but he won’t tolerate poor treatment of himself, his teammates, or the people he cares about. He doesn’t want to be apart of Griffin Rock’s community because they have only ever seen him as a mindless robot but he does view himself as apart of the Burns family. His relationship with Blurr steadily improves and they both grow to not dislike each other. Also with Kade their is an episode where this old lady is insulting the robots and Kade is genuinely about to get into a fist fight with her over the issue. Kade also has series issues with peer pressure, which is funny to me. I like heatwave a lot, I love the way his anger is portrayed and how despite him being the way that he is he dose show love and care to others.

Also Boulder is just so nice and there’s this music thing that plays whenever he’s learning and I love himmmmmmm. I like that he didn’t have an antagonist relationship with Graham, he was genuinely interested in earth and learning more but Graham was anxious because he didn’t know as much as Boulder, and it wasn’t in a ‘I’m upset your smarter than me’ but a ‘I feel so inferior to you and am assuming that you are being condescending because why else would you be talking to me’. But when he gets over that they work well together, Graham is willing to give up going to a really really good school to stay with Boulder (although he gets to take courses online/remotely. Idk how he got to go to school you just need to know he stays on the island) which shows how far their relationship has come. Boulder also being the first of the rescue bots to get a Dino alt mode was great and I loved those episodes, especially when Optimus was just playing with the other rescuebots. They were just having fun together and it was nice. Boulder is so genuinely kind to others and his interest in nature and the world around him is so charming. He wants to hug Heatwave and I want them to hug so much. Heatwave you know you want to hug Boulder. Also the fact that he can use echo-location is amazing and I love it.

You will acknowledge that RB had some level of body horror and you will appreciate that fact. Because it is explicitly stated that Baldes is

A. Afraid of heights

B. Originally a ground vehicle

C. Had no choice in his alt mode and was a victim of circumstance

He went from being on the ground to not having wheels that is fucked. Worse things could happen but holy shit dude. And it’s not like he chose this! He does get over his fears (mostly) and although he has a lot of anxiety he is willing to put himself in danger to help others. Yeah it will take A LOT to get him to that point but he will do it. When Danny and him are surrounded by fire and are about TO DIE he apologizes to her. The rest of the team come in to save them but like- they were going to die. They thought that they were about to die. Third episode in a kids show. And it’s not like Blades and Danny had a great relationship, Danny was an asshole, especially to Kody, and she wasn’t patient with a helicopter that wouldn’t fly. Blades is stubborn and terrified, it doesn’t matter what Danny does because flying is something he never wants to do. But Danny asks him to trust her and he does and she flys them to safety. and they become besties. Blades is also gay. You can’t tell me that he isn’t gay and that him and Bumblebee aren’t robot boyfriends. It is all but cannon the creators of the show tweeted a picture of the two hugging when gay rights became a thing in the US. But his ~friendship~ with BB is great and I love it. Blades also seems to have some form of anxiety and it very much affects his daily life. His nervousness affects him during rescues and that gets him into trouble with Heatwave. I have anxiety and I do love Blades a lot so I don’t know how much of this is actually in the text or just projection. I also find it interesting that he used to be a medic, I love medics in Transformers and it makes sense for a rescue team to have a medic and it makes sense for that medic to be Blades. I also think it’s really funny that he is NOTHING like his G1 counterpart (apart from the name and alt mode of course). Because G1 Blades was a lover of violence and that’s funny to me.

Danny and Cody’s relationship is also really interesting to me. Danny takes out her anger on other people, mainly Cody, and she doesn’t realize that she’s doing it until Cody brings it up to her. She genuinely apologizes to him and says that she will do better. It isn’t really brought up again so I assume that she stuck by her word. Also she plays soccer and is better at it than everyone else in her family and I love her for that.

Chase has survivors guilt. Like that’s just a thing that exists. And he is so determined to try and find this group and help them even if there is literally no way that they could be alive and Cody backs him up and Heatwave lets him go but gives him a direct order to come back alive and Chase has been shown to be unable to go against direct orders and AGAHHASGAHAHBA. It’s just so- it was a good episode. For some reason I thought that Chase and Heatwave had a power struggle, which I’m really happy they don’t because it wouldn’t make sense. I think I thought that because of TMNT but there is nothing in the show that would indicate Chase would want to be a leader. And he really respects Heatwave, although he may disagree with his judgments and decisions he won’t go against Heatwave. Which is also a flaw as his refusal to disobey orders has lead to conflicts. His whole ‘follow the rules’ also has a lot of funny jokes. Like when he’s singing to the baby robot (don’t ask) he interrupts the song to say that the rescuebots don’t condone the reckless behavior that’s taking place in the song. Also the body swap episode is perfect. Literally nothing could be done to make it better it is the best body swap episode. But Chase is such a silly guy. Him and Whirl are the best cops (sorry Jimmy). Chase is also really great in RBA. I love him and I’m so attached to this guy. I love his relationship with Chief Burns and how nicely they work together. I like that half the cast is like ‘yeah my human is a jerk’ and the other is ‘I love my human they are so cool’. It’s just. Silly and nice.

Cody, buddy, my dude, HOW THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE ACCESS TO EVERYONE’S SECURITY SYSTEMS? Your unhinged and I love you for that but wow. It’s not even out of character. It’s 1000% something he would do and have access to. Cody is also just great. He forms such genuine friendships with others and you can really tell that he loves rescue work and his home. He’s able to befriend just about ever cybertronian that appears on the show. His connection with Blurr is more than half the reason why he chooses to not go back to velocitron (which totally isn’t destroyed), he befriends the recruits in RBA and is a major voice of reason, and the bond he has with Heatwave is a primary part of the show and if it didn’t exist then the show wouldn’t make sense. Cody is a mediator who helps the others work through their issues with their partners and he’s the main thing that connects everyone. Because everyone loves and cares about Cody and they aren’t willing to just abandon him. They are a family, all of them, and they aren’t going to abandon each other. Family is a strong theme in rescue bots, the bonds that the characters share are so strong and interpersonal. Heatwave cares deeply for the other members of his team, he orders chase to not die. The Burns family has extended to include the rescue bots and arguably Dr.Green and Frankie. The season three finale is fucking perfect with this theme, they are willing to kill themselves for these humans and the speech they give to the family oh my god- Moving on from this—

Salvage is southern. He is southern I love that I love when transformers have accents it’s one of my favorite things ever. Like TFA Blitzwing is one of my favorite characters in part because of the accent. The southern accent suits him I think. I like the connection he has with Blurr. He wanted to help the humans and he’s generally really chill. He finds great fascination with garbage and when he asks if he can keep some Cody and Boulder are like ‘uhhhh I guess’ in a way that’s like holy shit this guy is weird. He recyclessss. I don’t really have A LOT to say about him but I really like him he’s sweet and he is southern. I’d need to rewatch seasons three and four again if I wanted to talk more in depth about him.

I do have a bit more to say about Blurr. To me, he reads as someone who has AD(H)D. The way he struggles to understand why he should work with others, his impulsiveness that comes back to bite him in the ass, his want to move and race, and the way the others talk about him and compare him to Salvage remind me of my own experiences. Specifically how Chase and Blades talk about how they don’t want to teach Blurr reminded me of how I assumed teachers or coaches would think of me. The way Heatwave acts also reminded me of a few teachers. Blurr is an impulsive ass. He sucks so much but also theres a non zero chance that his home planet was destroyed (RB is apart of the alined continuity) and he’s being forced to adapt to a world that is unwilling or unable to accommodate him. I am both annoyed with him and empathetic towards his problems. He views himself in a very positive light but also he wasn’t going to just leave Salvage. When he’s awoken he questions where Salvage is but he also lies about saving the humans. He’s greatly flawed and I probably wouldn’t like to be around him but as a character I love him. I have a hard time watching the second episode that has him in it because it makes me feel bad about myself and that’s understandable. I see him as everything that’s wrong with myself and bit more but I like him? He has an almost antagonistic relationship with Heatwave that improves and he is apart of Heatwave’s greater arc throughout the alined continuity, he learns and improves his teaching methods. He doesn’t like Griffin rock and he has very few reason to like it, the people there don’t know he’s sentient and professor asshole is running the place. He only really has Cody and Salvage as friends and Salvage isn’t on Griffin rock. Blurr also doesn’t die. I like that he doesn’t die please stop killing Blurr it hasn’t happened a lot but come on!

Quickshadow is so cool. I love her she’s fanatic. That’s it. That’s all.

Also the humans are great in this show. I don’t think I’ve seen a transformers show where none of the human characters annoyed me, but rescue bots comes very very close. The villain is a silly silly dude but he’s also a dictator. It’s kind of weird in tone but I do like him as a villain. Dr.Green is amazing and I love him. He’s like if G1 wheeljack was a human. Frankie is amazing and I love her friendship with Cody. They give off the vibes of being besties and I love them for that. Kade is an asshole but their is an entire episode about how he has more than one dimension and cares about his family and friends and girlfriend. He hyped up his brother (Graham) and it’s so sweet. Also Graham is great and I love him. He works well with Boulder and they are genuinely friends. They enjoy spending time together and it’s just nice. Danny is wonderful even with her anger issues. She does seem to improve with Cody and I like that, I like that she is able to get better because it mirrors my own relationship with my sibling. The fact that she also becomes friends with Blades and they banter is great. The humans in Rescue Bots feel necessary to the story. Even the towns folk feel like they belong. I watched half an episode of RID 2001 and I don’t know how necessary he was but their are definitely some shows that don’t need human characters. Also their is a person from Ohio in the show who came to watch birds. Not to shit on human characters, I like a lot of them, but sometimes they can be annoying. Rescue Bots is a great show and the humans work. The environment is also really interesting for a transformers show. Like robots working to help save and protect people in a town is so fun. It’s just fun which is what I think a TF show should be. TFP is great but I watched it in congruence with Rescue Bots and that contrast probably made me like it more. Also Dinobot OP is cannon to Tfp and I love that.

I think the reason I love this show so much is because it’s so nice and sort of calm. Like the situations the characters are put in are really dangerous but the show is made for kids. They aren’t gonna be scared or die. When Blurr died in TFA I was so badly affected by it. The show does take place during a war, but the war isn’t relevant. The characters aren’t actively fighting and because of that they can just relax. The moments when they are playing games are some of my favorites because they let me get attached to them and see them be happy. It also gives small insights into the dynamics and characters. Like Chase is playing a Cybertronian version of chess with Heatwave and Heatwave is frustrated that Chase always wins this game. Chase is better at thinking ahead and strategizing than Heatwave, which makes sense. It also shows how close these characters are to each other, that Heatwave and Chase would play this game together enough to the point that Heatwave would make that comment and be frustrated about it. It’s like the parts of g1 that are just silly for silliness sake. The reason why I watched so much of G1 is because of these little moments. Rescuebots is also superior to TFA because, unlike TFA, RB doesn’t misuse international waters and try to claim that the lakes between America and Canada count as international water. They don’t. If you are in a lake between USA and Canada then are either in America or Canada. The boarder is a fucking line.

Oh and the theme song is the best theme song. I don’t fucking care how good you think tfa’s intro is, RB’s intro gives a perfect summary of the show, the characters’s backstory, and what will be happening. It destroys the tone of the episode and it is PERFECT. So fucking funny when a serious moment is happening only for A ROUTINE PATROL WITH FOUR BOTS IN SATUS- to interrupt it. So good. I am not a functioning human, all I can think about is this fucking show. It is so good, I love the characters and world so much please watch it people it’s great, it’s unhinged, it has a musical episodes and it’s unironically amazing.

So yeah, I am going to get that Chase legacy figure and I will fight a seven year old for it. Hasbro please make all of them I will give you an unreasonable amount of money for a really big High Tide I don’t know the actual name they use for it but please Hasbro please.

Unrelated but if anyone has any links or a copy of the 500 page critique of the Michael Bay TF films please send it to me I really want to read it.

[walking-tornado]

Chobits is an asexual fantasy and yall feel weird because a show has never catered so hardcore to demiromantic asexuals until Chobits.

I highly recommend reading it to watching the anime. The anime deviates quite a bit from the manga and cuts a lot of important details from the last arc. Spoilers ahead for the end of the show, i will get into basically everything soooo be warned.

Feel free to fight me in the comments, i love discussions :>

At its core Chobits is a romance between a human cishet man- Hideki- and a female asexual Robot/Persocom -Chi-. Its a slow burn romance, where Hideki is given time to observe the complex relationships around him, before coming to a decision, while Chi has more of an introspective journey of finding out what she wants outside of her programming.

Chobits explores quite a number of themes and ideas about romance and the nature of sapience:

The most glaring is the idea of Human/Persocom relationships and romances. Is a Persocom with complex enough programing sapient? Is it enough that the human observer believes their Persocom is sentient for it to be? When a Persocom consents, does it really?

We see people become obsessed with their Persocom who can do anything ,without question, to the point where they neglect their spouses. At the same time we see people who are wholeheartedly in love with their Persocom, and who endure the societal pressure to seek human companionship. We see characters who create a Persocom duplicate of their deceased loved one, and their emotional struggle.

We are shown the effects of the sociatal pressure on women to rise up to the beauty and "perfection " standards that these dolls bring to the table.

Okay okay buuuut wait WalkingTornado, isnt this that one anime where her power button is down THERE?!?!

Yes, thats the one. Its treated as a comedic hook in the first chapter because Hideki has zero experience and background information and we see the world though his extremely naive eyes.

After learning from those around him about the nature of a romantic relationship with a Persocom, he is hit with the magnitude of that perticular design choice. Chi has no innate desire for sex, and should she have sex, her fundamental personality will be deleted and changed forever.

And Hideki, accepts to enter a purely romantic relationship with Chi, and consents to not have sex with her ever, despite being allosexual.

He doesnt ask if they can move/remove the button, he doesnt ask if he can possibly have oral, he doesnt ask if he can date someone on the side, he doesnt ask her to sacrifice her being for his sexual benefit.

He accepts her as she is and respects the now completely asexual nature of their relationship.

Now onto the negatives: The asexual being a robot is nothing new, but is it problematic? Maybe, but considering that so much media has trouble accepting an Asexual as not a broken/ill/hasnt met the right person/traumatised/low libido/nun who has to get over themselves and just have sex like the rest of us, Chobits with it unusual premise, does a good job of portraying an asexual romantic relationship using an unconventional premise.

I pray for a future, where asexual representation in media gets to a point where we can look back and snicker that hehe they thought we were all robots. But till then, i will defend Chobits as my go to Asexual media to my dying day.

[thecrappyportalmaster]

Screw it

Makes you look at my new Skylanders ship: Wolfgang x Fiesta.

Skylanders Fiesta Headcannons

I think I’ve said it before, but I headcannon Fiesta as gay

He and Moneybone dated for a while until Fiesta learned the truth about Moneybone and helps the Skylanders beat him in Swap Force 3ds (yes that part actually happened according to his bio)

After Wolfgang’s reformation, he and Fiesta bonded over their love of music and played songs with each other.

It was was a slow burn, but eventually they started dating.

They write love songs for each other you can’t change my mind.

Fiesta still gets letters from Moneybone sometimes, ranging from romantic poetry to borderline threats.

Since he can’t leave the underworld, Moneybone will sometimes send his robots out to capture Fiesta, but they haven’t gotten close to him.

[gay-disabled-characters-showdown]

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 5, Poll 5

Please be civil in the notes. We will block people if we feel it is necessary. A character being canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included. This is not a competition of who is better representation.

Check out the other polls in this round here.

Yang Xiao Long-RWBY

Qualifications:

She is canonically wlw (has been for years but specifically kissed and got together with her now girlfriend in the latest season) and uses a prosthetic arm and has been shown to struggle with PTSD due to the traumatic nature of losing it during the show.

Canonically had her right arm chopped off, uses a prosthetic. Has PTSD. Is canonically in a WLW relationship.

She has a canon girlfriend and canonically has a prosthetic arm and PTSD

She's canonically sapphic (part of a recently canonised wlw slowburn relationship) and is an amputee (due to events from the 3rd season finale) who wears a robotic prosthetic. She also suffers from PTSD which is explored in the show

Propaganda:

I will keep on submitting Yang to relevant brackets until I die. RWBY has plenty of strengths and weaknesses with writing, especially Yang's recovery arc, but instead of forcing her to push past her trauma and enter the battlefield immediately, we see her struggle with it, take time to process, and not be pushed into repression and when she chooses to wear her prosthetic, chooses to train to ready herself, and chooses to seek out her family and save lives, she isn't perfectly healed, as no one is. The show depicts her having flashbacks due to sudden loud noise, shaking hand the first few times she has to fight for her safety instead of training with her dad, and snapping at friends when they bring up Blake, the person she lost her arm trying to save (who, near immediately after ran away due to feeling she was endangering those she loved, furthering Yang's already present abandonment issues.) It isn't done perfectly but the intentions and general message sent are extremely positive and honest. She struggles less as the show progresses, and there are opportunities to consider herself less for being disabled or "become whole again" but she explicitly refutes these ideas and says that's she's better because of her failures and losses, and isn't any less whole. Her becoming disabled is also extremely tied to her being LGBT, because, as previously mentioned, she lost her arm protecting her then friend and partner, now girlfriend, directly after the villain who cut her arm off told her love interest that he would "destroy everything [she] love[s]. (Camera pans to Yang, he looks at her.) Starting with her." LIKE. He attacked her BECAUSE Blake cared for her so much and Yang ran to her defense blindly BECAUSE she loved Blake so much. When they reunite, they struggle with communication because Yang feels Blake is seeing her as weak, and through several things, mostly a climatic battle against the man who severed Yang's arm, they affirm each other as equals. I can go on but this is already too long. YANG SWEEP!!!!!

Yang lost her arm while protecting her best friend and future girlfriend from said girlfriend's abusive ex. Had a whole arc about learning to live with that loss and dealing with PTSD. Is totally devoted to and in love with Blake Belladonna and is just the sweetest but most badass character in the show.

She's one of the main characters, and just finished a 10 year slow burn romance. Plus, she has both physical and mental disabilities, but is never treated as lesser or incomplete.

Yang Xiao Long was one of the first examples of a sapphic character I ever saw in animated media with her character journey in the show being an iconic part of my teenage years and current young adulthood. The loss of her arm after a traumatic event in the show's 3rd volume was one of the big shockers of the show that nobody saw coming. Since then the show has done an amazing job in exploring both the mental and physical effects of her losing a limb, gaining a prosthetic arm and the recovery journey. Her character also has a major arc regarding handling her PTSD from both this and her past most notably in the 5th and 6th volume. Her character also has a slow-burn romance with her teammate and fellow main character Blake Belladonna which is one of my fave romances ever (it has everything: canon soulmates, friends to lovers, sunshine x grump,battle couple etc..) that has recently became CANON BABIEE!!! There are MULTIPLE characters in RWBY with various disabilities that are handled well in the narrative but i would say Yangs definitely the top FAVE!

Ballister Boldheart-Nimona (Film)

Qualifications:

He has a boyfriend (and then they have a sort-of-breakup but they're back together by the end) and he has a prosthetic arm.

He’s gay and missing an arm.

He’s explicitly gay, in love with a man. He loses his arm then builds himself a prosthetic while on the run like a badass.

His boyfriend cut his arm off :( he uses a prosthetic now.

His arm got chopped off after being falsely accused of killing the queen, he spends the rest of the movie with a prosthetic metal arm. His arm was also chopped off by his lover, Ambrosius Goldenloin, during said false assassination.

His boyfriend cut off his arm

Canonically has a boyfriend and built his own prosthetic

Qualifies by both being canonically disabled (amputee) + canonically gay

Propaganda:

Please plz plz vote for him

His boyfriend cut off his arm. He made himself a prosthetic. He used his arm to block someone’s sword. He kissed his boyfriend. He has sad wet cat eyes, which isn’t relevant but still. He has them.

He’s so GOOD even though he’s having like the worst day ever (specifically talking about movie but webcomic also applies). He has the biggest wettest eyes how can you not root for him????

People love him! He kinda looks like a sad, poor little cat. A real soggy wet kitten man.

Let's see. He and Ambrosius are lovers, or at least boyfriends, from the moment they're introduced. Ballister gets his arm chopped off by Ambrosius during the false assassination. Ballister spends the rest of the movie trying to convince Ambrosius and the kingdom of his innocence, with a metal arm replacing his missing one. It originated the phrase "Arm Chopping is not a love language!" Did I mention he's a main character too?

Is a science nerd, built his own prosthetic arm with his non-dominant hand, accidentally adopted a trans chaos demon of a 1000yo being

A knight, Nimona's best friend and father figure of sorts, but the plot mostly revolves around him- Ballister is framed for murder and has to hide while trying to figure out who framed him and how to prove he's innocent. Nimona becomes his sidekick (he didn't want one, she just showed up at his place one day like a very chaotic stray cat) and together they form a great duo against the corrupt government. This is complicated by Ballister's ex Ambrosius, who accidentally cut off Ballister's arm and is a bit brainwashed by government propaganda. Oops. You should watch Nimona it's great 💞🦈

The qualifications and propaganda paragraphs correspond, @foulfirerebel is the fifth submitter, and there were at least 7 others.