#so I might actually get back into Ben 10!!

[ask-pink-ben]

(OOC) Is anyone still active out there/looking forward to more Pink Ben stuff? I'm getting back into old fandoms so I think I might actually revive and revise Pink Ben. LMK through reblogs if you want it to happen! :)

[came0dust]

was gonna not post these until i finished the thing i was preparing for with them but i also want it to be known that i am not dead. as usual, note transcriptions, rambles, and extras under the cut

looking at a model sheet pose of os ditto, i drew the top right one just to get a sense of his design in particular. though i didn't post any of it, i drew some ov ditto around 2 years ago when i watched the classic continuity, but i wanted to switch things up. i drew the bottom right one next

in order, my thoughts were as follows

[drawing of ditto in a more dynamic pose, done after looking at some more reference material and then working more from memory]

rightmost dark text: "wait..."

[ditto mr beast meme bc i had a sudden realization and had to make it real and also mess with expressions on him]

leftmost dark text: "anyways"

magenta text, counterclockwise from top: "neck kinda long", "idk what his head actually looks like at this angle", "what is shape [wrt his hands]", "[wrt legs] was worried they were too long but actually? seems good (thumbs up)"

most of the rest of what i drew on this canvas was in the interest of just getting a feel for this specific ditto design but i was also in a call with a friend and sent a picture of wildmutt while i was talking about designs in ben 10 captioned "the original beast", and i knew what i had to do

text: "he cant tell where the camera is"

lastly, the text in the top middle of the canvas says "obligatory pogchamp". i wanted to fill some space and pogchamp is just one of my default expressions at this point tbh. anyways have a process video (which also has a bit of a peek at what i was actually preparing for)

[a-killer-obsession]

OKAY I DID IT, I FIGURED OUT THE LAYOUT

Disclaimer: it seems like the size of the ship changes every time we see it, but the newest eps vs wano seem pretty consistent so I went with that and used Wire's height for scale

Floor layouts under the cut ✂️

Edit: you can find clearer/more detailed versions here

Layout based on the 31 member crew that Oda confirmed. I also took in to account that a significant portion of the members are fucking massive, so everything is bigger which matches the scale it's drawn in. Floors are approx 5m high with 2m wide doors in most places, which makes sense when a good portion of the crew are 3m tall.

Sorry about my handwritting lmao I'm so tired but I have serious brainworms and couldn't sleep

The specifics:

Kid's Floor

Of course he has his own floor

Quarters include his own private dining space which I imagine would also include a workdesk, bedroom with king sized bed and probably a couch, walk in closet, and bathroom definitely large enough for a massive tub

Workshop also has bathroom entrance for when he's feelin lazy

Ladder space in the middle goes straight through, this is so crew going to the castle deck don't access his floor

Commander's floor

Heat, Wire and Killer have their own rooms and a private lounge just for them and Kid

Heat and Wire share a large bathroom, definitely big enough for normal bath

Heat and Killer have king sized beds, Wire's bed is almost as wide as a king but mostly it's made especially long

Small decking that runs the whole way around, unspoken rule that crew aren't allowed there since windows peer into commander's rooms

Killer could probably fit a drumkit in his room 👀

Cannon Deck

We get peeks of this in the anime and in Oda's notes but they're fuzzy so I just did my best

Made a mistake tho, cannon platform should be whole way around back like a U shape to account for 3 cannons facing backwards, total 9 cannons

Theoretically this is where the helm should be so uh that's where I put it

Screenshots make it look like they also store a lot of other weapons here

Main deck

Forecastle includes navigation room with bookcases, central table, and desk for paperwork

Forecastle also has infirmary with two longer than normal beds to account for larger crewmates, and a desk for crew doctor to keep notes

Door between nav and infirmary cos Kid is lazy

Kitchen and pantry. Given the rooms are 5m from floor to ceiling I imagine that pantry would have a small mezzanine accessed by a ladder to take advantage of vertical space (and would be a sick place to nap)

Galley/dining hall contains 3 bench style tables, seating 10 large crewmates each, with one extra fancy chair at the end of one for Kid

Lower deck

Did my best to do some math to figure out how many larger than normal beds were required and decided on 6 bunks for 12 larger crewmates

Additional rooms for average sized crewmates include 4 rooms with 2 bunks each, and one room with 1 bunk, making for a total of 30 beds below deck. That means, counting the commanders for the 31, there are currently 3 empty beds, so a few rooms aren't complete full

Probably looks like fuck all space but its actually significant for a ship living quarters

According to google you only need 1 toilet per 10 people and 1 shower per 40 but that seems like BS. Bathroom has 4 large, accessible sized toilets, 4 showers, long benches down the center and a long counter with plenty of space and mirrors for makeup, given how many crewmates wear it

Also, storage room. Could be converted to extra room for another bunk

Hold

Access via ladder

4 cells. No toilets, you get a bucket ✌️ tbh might not even have beds but there's room for em anyway

Desk in case they need to keep an eye on prisoners

3 storage rooms, but i think one of these would actually be a torture room. Probably the one by the desk.

Mechanisms for power and water are probably in one of these rooms as well as a lot of materials for ship repairs

Also of note

Crows nest is definitely big enough for a bench, definitely big enough for... activities. Not as big as the Sunny's though I dont think a gym would fit, I think it'd be more likely that gym equipment is kept on the cannon deck

Idk if the mizzenmast is supposed to go all the way through but that physically can't happen with where the helm needs to be based on screenshots so ✌️

Crows nests are definitely access via climbing nets

Please absolutely feel free to use this as a reference for fanfictions, but I'd appreciate a shout out if you do 💖

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 10: Brother Dearest

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!) Soldier Boy calls the reader "Petals."

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Only One Bed (This chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 9.7K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Manipulation, Gaslighting, Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Sexual Tension, Shouting, Anger, Talks About Weed, Super Manipulative Trash Man Being Introduced, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: Back to our regularly scheduled angst...

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

It feels like you've only had thirty minutes of sleep when your body jerks upwards out of your bed to the sound of crashing and the shattering of pottery, followed by someone who doesn't sound like Ben shout "What the fuck?"

It had been a few days since you faced the supe with the ability to liquidize his form and after about five showers that included you scrubbing the skin of your body raw with both a luffa and a sugar scrub and gargling with Listerine until it felt like all your taste buds were burned off, you felt that you had rid yourself of the oppressive smell and taste of the supe.

Ben and you seemed to be falling in to a familiar pattern, he walked with you to work before going off to see what Butcher had planned for him and if he could Ben would always show up at the end of your shift to walk you home. Though each time he was less than friendly to Jake, who was still trying his upmost to get Ben to talk to him rather than Ben's usual half-grunts, shrugging shoulders, and death glares.

It wasn't working and you stopped trying to get Ben to be more friendly towards your boss, but it didn't make it any less unusual that Ben kept walking with you to and from work.

When you asked him why he walked with you he said that "You shouldn't be walking alone" which of course prompted the conversation of "I don't need a babysitter" and "I've been walking to the store for two years by myself" and him not listening to anything you said. That last bit was becoming more and more normal for the two of you.

So you rationalized that Ben was trying to be nicer to you because he wanted to try to be sort-of friends and you tried not to think about how it was making you have more feelings for him.

It was difficult not to like Ben when he was acting more friendly. When he actually made an effort to have conversations with you or sat with you quietly while you read or when he was walking with you to and from work and stopping along the way to get you coffee or your favorite tea. It was confusing to you why he was doing that, why someone who was so focused on sex was doing sweet things for you after you told him that you wouldn't sleep with him and was making you have deeper feelings for him.

So like a normal person you threw your frustration into your crocheting. Over the past week you had finished Annie's sweater, made four cat toys for Bean, and were currently working on a long cardigan sweater to send your grandmother who called last week to check in and had told you she needed a new one.

Ben had come with you to the craft store and hated every second of it. Not to mention each time you added a bundle of yarn to the basket you made him hold, he would ask "What the fuck are you going to do with that?" to which you responded "Learn quantum physics." Though Ben had been impressed with the knitting needles, thought that they could be useful enough to use for self defense and had embarrassed you when you turned around and found him trying to mime stabbing someone with them while the other people in the store watched him in horror.

You rolled out of bed and threw open your bedroom door before barreling down the darkly lit hallway and sliding into the living room on your crocheted leaf socks. "What is it?" You shout prepared for attack.

Unfortunately when you slide into the room, you do so with too much enthusiasm and you slip and fall, landing on your back with a loud groan.

That one hurt.

"You alright Petals?" You hear Ben ask from somewhere above you. It's not said in a teasing way, it's said in a growl.

Is he mad at me?

"Yep just testing if gravity is still working. It is, if you were curious." You cough out a laugh as you get up and realize that Ben isn't on the couch, he's standing in the middle of your kitchen holding someone by the lapels of his black oversized army jacket against your refrigerator.

Oh that's why he's mad.

The man is rail-thin, dressed completely in black, with hair so blond you sometimes thought it was white, buzzed over his head, and although you can't see his face you know that he'll have a set of dark blue eyes that sometimes turn black when he's angry and a pair of dark hoops curving over his right eyebrow. Ben is holding him up so high that the man's feet aren't touching the ground.

You hadn't seen your brother Darren in at least a year, not since he dropped by to crash on your couch to tell you that his buddy Roach, yes that is what he called him, was opening a restaurant and asked Darren to be his business partner. He had walked you through the technical lingo and acted enthusiastic about the prospects, told you that it was his dream to open a restaurant, but he was having a problem coming up with his half of the cash. Darren had asked you for a small loan and you'd scrambled to get it together for him.

But after about three months  Darren called to tell you that it fell through and that he was onwards and upwards trying to "make his way in the world" which by now you knew was Darren speak for "could you please send me a little more money to get on my feet." Your grandmother had stopped giving him money ages ago, but you couldn't, he was family, your only brother and you loved him.

"Darren?" You say hesitantly.

"Hey sis!" Darren smiles when you turn on the light in the kitchen, looking too happy for someone being smooshed against a raspberry and blackberry covered refrigerator.

"You know this guy?" Ben glances at you over his shoulder. He's not wearing a shirt again and you're trying very hard not to focus on how good he looks without one. The muscles on his back are flexed from the exertion of holding your brother up against the refrigerator and Ben isn't breaking a sweat.

Lifting a person probably feels like lifting up Bean to him.

"Yeah he's my brother." You take a step forward and hear something crunch beneath your foot. Your gaze drops to the floor and you understand exactly what the loud crashing noise was.

The strawberry plant that usually sits on the small kitchen table that you shoved under the window is on the ground. Shards of painted pottery litter your floor in every direction, the strawberry plant smooshed under a boot print that matches up with Darren's infamous buckled motorcycle boots. The same ones he'd had since high school that he'd tell anyone who listened he won in the same bar fight that he got the thin scar on his chin from, when in reality he got them at a thrift store down the street from your grandmother's house and the scar from when he tripped and hit his chin on the toilet when he was fifteen and trying to learn how to shave.

Must have come in the window from the fire escape.

Most of the window had been blocked by a tangerine and lemon tree that you had encouraged to grow, but now the tree was pushed to the side off kilter and the window was open letting in the warm summer breeze.

You didn't understand why Darren did that when he still had the key that you made him when you moved in.

Ben drops Darren unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor, who lands with a loud "clunk” from his boots, but your brother doesn’t look upset. He rubs his hand over the top of his head as if adjusting his buzzed hair with a sheepish smile while Ben steps back onto one of the pieces of pot on your hardwood floor, but doesn't wince.

Darren notices your gaze on the smooshed strawberry plant and the shattered remains of the pot it was in. "Ooo, sorry sissy." He frowns. "But I'm sure you can fix it can't you? That is what you do." Darren emphasizes it by waving his hand around you apartment at the numerous plants covering your walls.

You crouch down and pick up the remnants of the plant gingerly, cradling it to your chest. "Um, yeah." You force a smile, trying not to think about how important the pot was to you. It was the last thing you had of your grandfather, before he passed. It had been one of your favorite memories, sitting out on the back porch in the middle of a thunderstorm painting flowers and dots and zigzags on the terracotta pot that housed the strawberry plant that you grew on the tray of your high chair the day your powers developed.

Darren knew how much the pot meant to me. He had one too before he used it for air-rifle practice.

You put the plant on your kitchen table, before taking the broom from the hook on the wall. "Why didn't you just use the door?" You tried to say it in an upbeat way, but it fell flat.

"I was excited to see my favorite sister." Darren grins pulling you into a hug.

He smells like he always does, a bit like cigarette smoke, beer, and the stale smell of weed. But when he pulls back and sees that you're still frowning, his own mouth begins to descend into an exaggerated pout. "Did you not want me to come by?"

"Of course I did." You say, but you weren't sure. "I just thought you would call first or use the key that I got you not come through the window."

“Oh stop being so dramatic.” He pats you on the head. “I’m here now so what’s going on? You got a boyfriend-“ He gestures to Ben. “Who is also a supe?”

“Ben is my roommate.” You emphasize the word roommate before Ben can say boyfriend. That was the last thing you wanted him to say in front of Darren. You'd never hear the end of it You begin to sweep up the pieces, trying to fight the urge to cry over the shattered remains. You knew that crying in front of Darren would only make him tease you about being "too sensitive" so you kept it down and figure that you can cry about it later.

"Uh huh." Darren eyes him. "So he's got super strength?"

"Why do you care?" Ben grouches, crossing his arms over his chest, but he doesn't look away from where you're sweeping up the pieces.

Darren shrugs and holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Touchy Touchy. Just making conversation dude. I mean, you're living with my sister." He breezes, but you notice Darren stand up a little straighter when he talks to Ben and you wonder if he was embarrassed by how easily Ben was able to man-handle him.

Ben opens his mouth, but you interrupt whatever he was about to say. "Darren what are you doing here?"

He brightens with the question. "Oh it's so exciting! My friend is starting up a business and-"

"You need money?" You interrupt, trying not to think about how much you could spare from the already measly sum in your bank account to help him. This month hadn't been the best and after rent and utilities you probably could only spare 70 dollars or so, but even that seemed to be pushing it.

"No nothing like that." Darren waves a hand. "I just needed a place to crash because I'm going to go meet him tomorrow."

"Oh-"

"And he wants to meet you."

"Huh?" You look up from the small pile of shards at him. "Why?"

"He said that he wanted to meet the sister who I'm always talking about." Darren shrugs, before pulling a blunt from where it is behind his left ear, and lighting it.

He talks about me to his friends?

"Uh-huh. I think that I've met enough of your friends." You reply continuing to sweep more pieces into the pile.

You were using the word "friends" hesitantly because Darren seemed to go through them so often that you didn't think that it was worth it to learn all their names. And also because one time you had run into one of the "friends" Darren made and he had proceeded to chase you down the block shouting words about your brother that were not worth repeating.

"I think you'll like this one." Darren eyes Ben again. "I showed him your picture and he said that you were classic."

You miss Ben stiffen.

"Please stop trying to set me up. I'm fine." You could feel your cheeks heating because you knew that Ben was watching you.

The last time Darren had tried to set you up you found out half way through the date that your date was his weed dealer, whose idea of a romantic first date was to take you to a gentleman's club and then try to see who would be into having a threesome. Needless to say you were underwhelmed and blocked his number. The only good thing that had come of it was the gummy bear edibles you'd nicked from his pocket when he was flirting with one of the dancers and Annie and you had enjoyed the rest of the evening giggling and eating copious amounts of pizza and snacks.

"I don't know, he's better than the last one. Definitely has more money and he's sophisticated." Darren breathes out a cloud of smoke and you wave your hand to dissipate the smog.

"Charles Manson would be better than the last one, Darren."

"Manson had hundreds of followers and was treated like a god. I think you're being too picky." Darren rolls his eyes at you while he takes a hit from the blunt.

"Only you would see Manson as a role model." You grumble under your breath crouching down to sweep the pieces of the pot into the dust pan. "But if you really want to stay here you can take my bed."

A part of you were expecting Darren to protest, to care that you wouldn't have anywhere to sleep, but he doesn't argue with you.

“Great! Thanks.” He takes a few steps towards the hallway, the cloud of smoke following behind him like a dark omen, before he stops and glances back. “You got anything to drink?”

“No. Fresh out.” You lie without looking up. You didn’t want it to mix with whatever the hell that was in his system, because with Darren it was always something.

“I swear it’s like you don’t even think about me.” Darren flashes a wide grin, but the joke kind of hurts.

As he goes you dump the pieces into a plastic grocery bag, hoping deep down that you could glue it back together, but even you know that it's probably a long shot.

Maybe I can make the bigger pieces into something else? File down the sharp edges?

Ben is still standing in your kitchen, his arms crossed, listening to Darren go down the hallway and into your bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

The door opens again and you hear Darren mutter, “Out stupid cat," sending a fuming Bean hissing down the hallway. He trots into the living room indignantly and you stoop down to calm him down, leaning the broom against the kitchen table as you do.

Ben is quiet, but you can feel the room heat up a few degrees for a second almost as if he's angry. “Does he always talk to you that way?” Ben’s voice is low.

“He’s high.” You continue to pet Bean, not looking up. “He’s not usually so-“ You search for the word.

“Fucking rude?”

You stand up with a sigh. “You sound like Annie.”

“Oh so she doesn’t get along with him either? Shocker.”

“Ben.”

He was bristling slightly, annoyed, teetering on angry. “Fine.” He mutters.

You turn your attention to the trampled strawberry plant, gently dragging your fingers over the petals repairing the damage with a wave of your hand as you do, until it looks better than it had a few moments ago, and place it in a plastic black pot temporarily. You were again, trying not to be too upset about the way that Darren entered your apartment, but it was like him to do something like that, like him to break things that you thought were important without a second thought for how you felt.

Your relationship with your brother was hard and sometimes it felt like you were the only one trying, but you didn't want to give up on him. He was the only family that you had besides your grandmother. When your parents died, Darren pulled away, stayed out late drinking and doing whatever drugs he could get his hand on, and had multiple flings with women in the neighborhood that weren't exactly single. Your grandmother had cut him out completely, but you couldn't.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, just kind of tired.” You sigh, closing the window that Darren pried open to get into the apartment. When you turn back you realize just how close Ben is standing to you, so close that you can feel the warmth radiating out from his skin and into the air.

His fingertip lightly presses the scrunch between your eyebrows. "You're lying." Ben says it quietly.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?"

"Tell me when I'm lying. It's infuriating."

"Why?"

"Because it's the 21st century and when someone lies because they don't want to talk about how they really feel, it's common courtesy to just say 'ok' and move on!" You snap, grabbing the bag of smashed pottery. You immediately felt bad. You didn't mean to snap at him, but you were upset about Darren showing up unannounced even though you told him each time he came into town to tell you, but he never did, and about him breaking one of the only things in your apartment that had sentimental value to you.

Ben frowns at you for a minute, and you think that he's going to come up with some kind of retort, but instead he says  "Okay."

"Thank you."

You watch Ben's gaze drift back into your living room. "You can take the couch.”

It surprises you. You were just going to camp out in the bathtub and will the moss to make a pillow beneath your head. "But where will you sleep?"

“I can sleep on the floor.” He shrugs. "Don't need a bed. And I've slept enough anyway-"

“Ben you’re not going to sleep on the floor because my brother decided to show up in the middle of the night. It’s unfair.”

It was. You didn’t want Ben to curl into a ball on the floor and try to find a comfortable position, not after he'd spent the last forty years in a Russian Lab without a bed and probably without a pillow.

He shouldn't have to suffer because my brother never remembers how much I hate surprises.

“Well I’m sure as hell  not going to let you sleep on the floor.” Ben shouts.

"I can sleep in the bathtub. The moss is actually really comfortable-"

"In the fucking bathtub? You're kidding right?"

"No. I've done it before-"

"When?" Ben suddenly looks murderous.

"The last time Darren was here I didn't have a couch and-"

"That fucker made you sleep in the bathtub?"

"I mean he didn't volunteer any other options and Darren can't fit in there so-" You try to reason with him, getting confused as to why Ben was suddenly looking down the hallway like he was going to haul Darren out by the lip and make him apologize.

"I'll be fucking damned if you sleep in a fucking bathtub!"

“What is it with you being chivalrous at the most inopportune times?” You stamp your foot in frustration.

You didn’t want to sleep in the bathtub, but you were willing to if it meant that Ben had a soft place to sleep. The moss wasn't all that bad, it was squishy, and the bathroom was kind of cozy in your apartment because of all the plants you had in there.

“Forgive me, but when I grew up it was considered common courtesy to give things like beds to women. And what kind of man would I be if I let you sleep in a mother fucking bathtub?” He shouts back, using the words you had used earlier to yell at him for pointing out your lie.

“Well if you sleep on the floor then I’m going to sleep in the bathtub."

“Fine.” Ben seethes.

“Fine.”

You stand there with your arms crossed and eyes narrowed refusing to back down. Ben mirrors your stance, before he loses it.

“I think it’s fucking ridiculous that no one is going to sleep on the couch. So why don’t you just shut up and sleep on the couch?"

“Because it’s your bed!”

“I bought it for both of us to use!” He snaps back.

You glare at him, tapping your foot, before you glance at the large couch.

Honestly, when it was in the pull out position it was about the size of a full bed, maybe a little bigger, more than enough room for Ben and for you. The thought seemed almost too crazy to consider… almost. Your mouth dips into a nervous frown, anxiety electrifying in your veins.

“I mean it’s-“ You clear your throat. “It’s big enough for both of us.” You say quietly.

Ben looks at you like you’re crazy, body going taunt. “I thought you said you didn’t want me to fuck you.”

“I don’t want to fuck me Ben, but I don’t hate the idea of sleeping with you. I mean I don’t think you’re going to do anything while I’m asleep."

Ben looks angry all over again. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again! I’m not a fucking rapist.”

“No. Ben I mean-" You were waving your hands in front of you nervously trying to find the words. "I’m not saying you’re a rapist. I’m trying to tell you that I trust you and-“

Ben’s expression slackens. “You trust me?” He interrupts you in a whisper, sounding almost as if he can’t believe it, his face twisted into an emotion that you can't recognize.

“Well yeah.” Your cheeks flame bright red. “I mean we’re kinda friends and I trust my friends. I mean, do you think that I would let you live here if I didn’t trust you?"

Ben clears his throat, but doesn't say anything. "Um-" His eyes flick to the couch then back at you. "I don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with." He says gruffly.

"It doesn't make me that uncomfortable." You reply, but you're already trying to figure out the mechanics of how you can sleep on the couch with him, without touching him.

"Uh-huh." Ben raises an eyebrow.

"It's okay. I'm going to get my pillow."

"I'll get it."

"But-" You begin to say, but Ben ignores you and stomps down the hallway.

Why does he want to get it?

He doesn't even bother to knock when he goes into your room and you can hear a quiet scuffle, followed by your brother shouting "What's your problem man?" and Ben's retort of "Just shut the fuck up and go to sleep." 

Ben is still grumbling something under his breath when he comes back into the living room, but he holds out your pillow for you. "Here."

"Thanks. But what did I say about you going into my room?” You hoped that the joke would ease some of the tension that you were holding in your shoulders.

"I think we threw all that out the window the other night. Don't you think Petals?" Ben smirks.

Right, the other night when he broke down my door and let me squeeze his hand.

"Maybe." You hug your pillow against your chest. "Do you-" You cough to clear your throat. "Do you want the inside or the outside?"

His eyes flick to the front door and then to the hallway. "I'll take the outside."

"Okay." You stand there awkwardly for a minute and even though you were the one who suggested this idea in the first place, you suddenly feel anxious.

I can do this. I can lay next to him and avoid touching him. What if I snore? Or drool? Or say embarrassing things? Oh fuck what if I start to have a dream about him with him literally laying right there.

“Petals, if you don’t want to-“

“I want to. I just need to wrap my head around it and I don’t want you to sleep on the floor.” You take in a deep breath and climb onto the couch, pushing yourself as far as you can into the back cushions. You don't look at him when he gets in behind you, leaving about a good three inches of space between your bodies, the two of you back to back.

It's quiet for a few minutes, but then you feel the couch begin to shake lightly and you realize that Ben is laughing.

"What's so funny?" You turn to look over your shoulder at him.

"I was just thinking that it's about time I got you into my bed Petals."

"Shut up." You snort and turn your body enough to hit him on the shoulder, which makes Ben turn over to face you.

His dark hair hangs long over his forehead, his eyes shining, and his signature smirk pulls at the end of his lips. "Make me."

Fuck. You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the flush that threatens to rise against your cheeks, when you think about kissing him to shut him up. All that did was remind you of the kiss you shared in the hallway the night he first slept in your apartment which then lead to how close he was to you and that only brought back memories of his beard against your neck outside the party. The flush that finally breaks through is coupled with the immediate blooming of the apple tree at the end of the couch. The delicate flowers fluttering open as if they were winking at the two of you.

Shit, maybe he won't notice that.

Ben glances up at the tree above the two of you confused. "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?" You ask innocently.

"You made the tree make the fucking flowers."

"No, I didn't." You hit your pillow to rid yourself of an imaginary lump.

"Yes, you did. You also did it the other day when you were reading your book." Ben's eyes roam your face as if he's searching for the answer.

Oh right, when I was reading my book and it started to get a little bit steamy and everything in the room started flowering like it had been a long winter… Honestly it kinda has been a long winter, but I'm not going to think about it right now when he's this close to me. I can't believe he noticed that.

"Does it mean something?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Nope."

Ben smirks his eyes drawn to the center of your forehead where you know the scrunch is giving away your lie. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Nope. Goodnight." You turn over and stare at the back cushions of the couch. Hoping that he’ll just drop it.

He doesn’t.

"It means that you're turned on, doesn't it Petals?" Ben's breath is warm against the back of your neck, making goosebumps trail over your arms and you fight to keep control of the blooming.

"No, it doesn't."

"Do I turn you on?" You can hear the smile in his voice.

"No, and it’s not what it means."

"Uh-huh. So when I do something like this-" Ben reaches out to touch the small of your back and trails his warm large hand over the curve of your right hip.

You clench your teeth together to try to stop the power that rushes out of your body with the contact, but it's too late, the Jasmine that creeps along the brick wall behind the tv explodes, the smell of Jasmine wafting over to the couch where Ben and you are laying.

Ben laughs, shaking the couch beneath you.

"Shut up. It's so embarrassing." You moan into the pillow curling further in on yourself and pulling the crocheted blanket over your head, blushing so deeply that you were sure you looked like a giant raspberry.

“It’s not embarrassing Petals.” Ben chuckles, pulling the blanket down from your head. “It’s kinda cute.”

You glare at him over your shoulder. “I will kill you.”

Ben contemplates what he’s going to say next. "So when you're fucking someone-"

"If you finish that sentence you're not going to wake up." You warn, knowing exactly where he's going with this.

Ben only laughs at you. "Come on Petals, I'm curious. Plus you're so adamant about not sleeping with me that I guess I'll never see when you c-."

"Fine!" You shout turning around to face him again, cheeks beet red. He's still staring at you with that ridiculous smirk that makes your legs weak and sends warmth pooling into the pit of your stomach. "When I have an orgasm, I do make everything bloom. Happy?"

"I mean I'd be happier if you'd let me witness it and if you'd let me fuck you." Ben's hand is touching your waist, his thumb teasing the edge of where your t-shirt meets the top of your sleep shorts.

"Ben, we've talked about this." You say it mostly to remind yourself.

"I know." His smirk dips into a frown and he withdraws his hand from your body.

You chew the inside of your cheek thinking about how hard this is and how much you wished it could be different.

"It's okay." You whisper, because he might not have apologized, but you could see the frustration on his face. "Really, it's fine."

Ben doesn't say anything, only continues to look at you with an unreadable expression, so instead you say "I'll see you in the morning" and you turn over to look at the cushions on the back of the couch, hoping that you're able to fall asleep before he does.

Mike's screech of "I Will Always Love You" is not as loud in the living room as it is in your bedroom, but it's still enough to wake you up. The room is lighter in the morning, the gentle pulse of sunlight filters through the leaves of the plants, but sends a warm glow over your body.

Actually, you were already warm, really warm, warmer than usual.

That's weird why am I-

You inhale sharply when you realize why you're so warm. Your body is pinned into the couch cushions, because Ben is practically laying on top of you. Your back is flush against his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, and his face is pressed into your hair.

This isn't good.

Ben mutters something in his sleep and tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you even further against his chest, and shifting his hips in a way that makes you realize that this is a lot worse than you thought. Because you can feel exactly what makes Ben so cocky begin to get excited.

Fuck, this really isn't good.

"Um Ben?" You whisper, but he doesn't wake up, instead he moans something into your hair, and shifts his hips again in a way that makes your heartbeat stutter in your chest.

Fuck. Really not good.

You knew that Ben was attracted to you, knew that he had wanted to fuck you since the moment he first saw you, so you weren't surprised that this was happening, and there was a part of you that enjoyed this. Laying in bed with him, feeling his warmth transferring to you, having his body relaxed around you as he pulled you deeper and deeper into his chest. The warmth was lovely, you didn't do well in the cold and being with Ben meant that you'd never have to worry about that again. It was moments like this that you wished you never let Ben move in, not because you hated him, but because you liked him too much.

"Ben." You say it louder.

"Hmm?" Ben groans. "If no one is dying then don't wake me up Petals." He murmurs, obviously not understanding what the problem is. You wait another minute, lying beneath him and trying to think about a way to get out of this, when Ben realizes what he's doing.

He raises his head from your hair blinking at where you're staring at him over your shoulder with wide eyes.

"Morning." You whisper.

"Morning." Ben returns, but it's barely audible, just a marvelous deep rumble that you can feel vibrating up through where he's laying on top of you.

Ben doesn't move, his eyes are a soft pine, like fresh sprigs in spring sprouting from the highest branches to stretch towards the early sun. You can't move, you feel frozen beneath his gaze, watching the gentle way the light kisses his bold features, the smooth dip of his bow-like mouth, the rough edge of his strong jaw, and the proud bend of his nose.

His arms loosen from around your waist, but he turns you towards him, so you're pressed chest to chest, without looking away from your face. Your hands are pinned between the two of you, resting against his bare chest right over where his heart beats beneath your fingertips.

Ben's green eyes trace your features, dropping to your lips before raising once more to look you in the eye as if he's asking for your permission. You know what he wants, can see it in the way he watches you, and see it in the way that his head tilts towards yours. Your lips tingle in anticipation, your heart beat loud like the thunder in a summer storm that rattles the windows of your grandmother's home. You can't draw a breath because you know if you do it'll be full of him, until all you can do is breathe him in and sink into his body until there's nothing left of you and everything left of Ben.

You're not sure if it's because you're still a little bit sleepy or if it's because Ben is so warm or if it's because all the hard edges of Ben that you've grown accustomed to have smoothed over and all you see is the version that Ben was only around you. The version who sat with you when you had a nightmare and refused to leave, the version who walked you to work every morning, the version who sat with you while you read your book, and the version who seemed to care more than he was willing to admit. But the longer you lay there with him the bigger the urge is to pull him closer.

Your hands smoothly travel up Ben's chest feeling the strength beneath the palms of your hands before you lock them behind his head, tangling loosely in the dark strands of his hair at the nape of his neck.

The apple tree at the end of the couch begins to shed flowers down on both of you and Ben’s eyes flick up to it for just a second before he smiles. It’s the first time you’ve seen him have a smile like that, one that looked so easy, so genuinely happy and you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t think you wanted to make him smile like that all the time.

Ben leans forward to close the distance between the two of you, his lips warm and inviting, his forehead just barely resting against yours, but before your lips touch, your bedroom door opens and slams into the wall with a loud crashing noise that makes you jolt back away from him, breaking the spell.

"Good morning sis!" Darren crows walking in to the room. "Oh sorry, did I interrupt something between you guys?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

"No." Your voice sounds high and squeaky, because he had. You're not sure what would have happened if he hadn't come in, well, you did. Ben was going to kiss you and you wanted him to.

This is getting too complicated.

Ben only frowns at your brother from his position on the couch. The two of you are sitting up now, side by side as if nothing happened, but you can't shake the memory of the warmth of his body soaking into yours as he curved himself around you, almost as if he wished to protect you even when he was asleep.

Is that why he wanted to sleep on the outside?

"Sure." Darren smirks. "Do you have anything to eat around here? Or do you only have all this shitty fruit?" Darren frowns at the raspberry and blackberry vines, the strawberry plant, the apple tree, and the lemon and tangerine trees.

"Oh." You shake off the insult. "There should be some cereal in the cabinet"

"I hope you got the name brand stuff this time."

Maybe I'd be able to afford the name brand stuff if someone stopped coming around and asking me for money.

"If you don't like anything we have, I'd suggest going to the diner across the street." Ben says tightly emphasizing that he lives here now.

"No thanks bro. I'm kinda short on cash these days." Darren replies finding the Lucky Charms cereal and pouring himself the last bowl without a second thought.

"Oh really?" Ben says standing from the couch to glare at your brother. "And what exactly is it that you do Darren?"

Darren leans back against the counter eating his cereal, but you can see the tight way he's gripping the spoon. "I'm an entrepreneur."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Ben-" You start to say, unsure as to why Ben was giving your brother a hard time.

"It means that I invest in other opportunities." Darren stabs his cereal with the spoon.

"And if you're so short on cash, how do you do that?" Ben presses.

A dark look passes through Darren's eyes. "What exactly are you getting at?"

"Well you've been here for maybe six hours and the only thing that I've seen you do is break in, take your sister's bed, and insult her." Ben takes a step forward into the living room. "So to me, it kinda looks like you just sit on your ass like a fucking pussy and mooch off of your sister, because you're not man enough to get a real job."

"What the fuck is your problem man?" Darren puts down the bowl. "I don't understand where all this hostility is coming from, but I don't have to explain myself to you. My sister and my relationship is none of your business, and I've been here a lot longer and I'm pretty sure that I'll be here longer than you-"

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Ben growls.

"Whoa wait a second-" You stand up from the couch.

"You have no idea who you're talking to." Darren's voice is low, his eyes leveled on Ben. "You shouldn’t start a fight you can't win."

Ben's lips tilt into a smirk. "Trust me, it's not going to be much of a fight."

"Whoa!" This time you plant yourself between the two of them, one hand resting on Darren's chest. You can feel a deep thrumming buzz coming through the material of his band t-shirt and into your hand and for a moment you're surprised, because your brother wasn't a supe.

Then where is it coming from?

You shake it off. "Let's all just take a nice deep breath."

Ben's eyes are still narrowed at Darren, refusing to back down from a fight, which was like him. And as much as you loved your brother you knew that he tended to have a bad temper, and the last thing you wanted was to clean up the mess when Ben pulled out his spine and reenacted Predator in your small kitchen.

"Ben please." You say it quietly, glancing at where he's towering over the two of you.

You can hear the audible click of his teeth when he unclenches his jaw, his eyes no longer the soft pine they were when you were wrapped in his embrace, but now blaze a dark green. You know that he's about to say something, but Ben's phone rings and continues to ring in the silence, until Ben sighs and turns to pick it up, but he doesn't seem happy about it.

You drop your hand from Darren's chest with a sigh, but happy for the interruption. "Why do you have to be like that?" You ask your brother.

"Me? He started it!" Darren fumes. "Boy, you really know how to pick 'em sis."

"What do you mean? We're not together, we're just friends! And wait, this isn't about him and me. He lives here and if you keep dropping by, you're going to have to be okay with seeing Ben."

"Why can't you just move in with Annie? She's better to look at anyway." Darren rolls his eyes and picks up his bowl of soggy cereal.

Maybe to you. You fight the memory of Ben in the towel still wet from his shower that you witnessed the other day and successfully stop the flush that tries to creep into your cheeks. It's followed again by how wonderful it felt to drag your hands up Ben's chest and catch in the dark strands of his hair. The fruitless tomato plant behind Darren's head begins to swell with bright red tomatoes the size of your fist.

I've got to get that under control.

The memory of Ben figuring out exactly why that happened around you flits through your mind bringing an inescapable wave of embarrassment. The day you'd found it out was when Annie and you were watching Vampire Diaries for the first time in your bedroom back home and as soon as Damon Salvatore walked onto the screen the blueberry bush next to your bed suddenly exploded. Not to mention the first time that your high school boyfriend Newton kissed you in his parent's cornfield, the entire crop suddenly came back tenfold in the middle of winter.

"She's moving in with her boyfriend Hughie." You say, trying not to sound disappointed.

When you first moved to the city, you had wanted to move in with her, but she was apart of the Seven, and when she finally decided to move out of Vought Tower, it was because she wanted to move in with Hughie, not because she wanted to move in with you. It stung the day she told you, and you'd be lying if you said that you were not still a little upset about it, because it felt like she had chosen someone else over you.

"Oh right, that's still going on. Don't know what she sees in that wimp."

"He's sweet. You don’t know him. And I don't know why you’re acting jealous, Annie and you have never gotten along-"

"Because she's a bitch! I can't believe you're still friends with her after all this time."

"Hey don't talk about her that way. Annie is my best friend, practically my sister."

"Right." Darren rolls his eyes again and swings the spoon in a wide arch. "She's always been a bitch and now that she's Starlight she's even worse. She's always had that stick up her ass even when we were kids-"

"If you keep talking about her that way, you can leave." You say simply, feeling your temper begin to flare.

You didn't give a fuck if Darren insulted you or made fun of you, you did however, care if he spoke poorly about Annie. Annie was family to you, Annie had been with you a hell of a lot more than Darren had when you parent's died, she hadn't pulled away from you and vanished into thin air when you needed someone to hold you or when you couldn't sleep or when you woke up screaming or when you couldn't stop crying.

That being said, Annie and Darren had never gotten along, not once in all the years that you'd been friends. Whenever Annie came over, Darren left, and vice versa. You weren't sure why they couldn't get along, but you did think it was infinitely better than Annie being secretly in love with your brother. He never had a lasting relationship in his life that was worth remembering. The longest relationship he'd been in was with his buckled combat boots that he never took off.

Darren lets out an annoyed sigh, but you watch remorse and sympathy drip into his gaze. "Fine. But I just want what's best for you. You know that right?" He puts his hand on your shoulder, his eyes softening. "Come on sis, you know that I'm just looking out for you? I love you, you're the only family I have left that actually cares about me."

Your heart breaks with his words, hurt that he feels like your grandmother doesn't care about him and that he felt like you were the only person in the world that he meant something to. Sure he'd messed up more times than you could count and did occasionally disappear whenever you seemed to need him, but he was your brother.

You sigh. "I know Darren. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so mean before."

"It's okay." He glances over to where Ben has just hung up the phone and is glaring at Darren's hand placement on your shoulder. "I guess I should go get dressed."

"Okay."

"But you're coming with me to meet my friend right?" Darren looks at you with a hopeful expression.

"Um... Well I'd have to tell Jake that I'll be a little late." You say slowly not wanting to disappoint Darren. "And I don't really like leaving him high and dry-"

You didn't like calling out from work, in fact you hadn't missed more than a handful of days in the two years that you'd been working there, because you genuinely liked going to work. Being there was like coming home, surrounded by the healing energy of the plants that thrived under your watchful eye.

"Come on the plants will survive without you for an hour or so." Darren smiles. "Do you want me to beg you sissy? I really want you to come with me. It would make me so happy."

"Well, okay." You concede. "Let me just text Jake."

"Yes! I'll be out in a minute and then you can change okay?"

"Sure."

When Darren struts off down the hallway, Ben joins you in the kitchen, glaring at Darren's back as he disappears into your room.

"Who was on the phone?" You ask him while picking up Darren's bowl and scrape the remaining soggy cereal into the trashcan under the sink.

"Butcher." Ben grunts. "Said that he got a lead on the electric supe, but it's all the way in Boston."

"Boston? But that's so far away. Why would he have an operation there and be picking up cars here? He can't be in two places at once."

"No idea, but Butcher said the lead was solid." Ben shrugs.  "And he said that he's getting everyone ready to go right now and that I need to get over there so we can get on the road."

"Everyone's going?" You ask disappointed. The thought of the entire team being gone for a few days made you feel lonely. They were kinda like your extended family. You also felt a little left out that Butcher hadn't asked you to go.

"Yeah. Butcher said that he would have asked you to come, but he knows you work most of this week anyway and that he thinks that it'll be alright if you stay here." Ben rubs the back of his neck, but seems hesitant. "Are you going to-" He clears his throat. "Are you going to be okay?"

You didn't miss the way his eyes flick down the hallway to where your brother is.

Is he worried about me?

"Why? You don't want to leave me with Darren or something?" You joke with a snort.

"No."

But Ben looks away when he says it in a way that makes you think that he's lying.

"Believe it or not Darren used to babysit me when I was little and I didn't die or get brain damage-"

"Not to your knowledge."

"Why are you so worried about me?"

"I'm not! I just-" Ben crosses his arms over his chest annoyed. "I don't think you should go meet his friend."

"Why not? I've met plenty of his friends. They're all very dude-bro. At least he has a type."

"I have no idea what that means."

You roll your eyes, before you consider something else. "Wait, are you jealous or something?"

"I am not fucking jealous!" Ben sighs. "I just think that maybe you should use your head Petals."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"You going to meet his creepy friend without knowing exactly where you're going or what his friend is going to 'make you do'."

"Make me do? Ben where the fuck do you think my brother is taking me? Do you think he's selling me into the sex trade or something?" You look at him incredulously.

Does he really think so lowly of my brother? He'd never do anything like that. Darren cares about me, he's just guarded and a little rough around the edges.

"You're too fucking trusting Petals!” He explodes.

“What? I am not too trusting.”

“Yes you are!”

“No I’m not. And why are you yelling at me? Why are you mad?” You reply in confusion. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a big deal about this. I've met his friends before."

“I’m not mad I’m just fucking trying to-“ Ben clenches his jaw so tight you can see the muscle pop on the side of his face. “You’re just so damn kind and too damn stupid to see what’s directly in front of your face!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You plant your hands on your hips staring up at him, not expecting Ben to look so angry, but he does. His arms are folded tightly over his bare chest, his muscles tense, and his eyebrows are pulled together. “Are you really telling me that it’s stupid to trust my brother? He’s my brother! Not some random dude I met on the street-“

“He might as well be! In the fucking five minutes he’s been here he’s been nothing, but be a total dick to you!”

“Oh well excuse me Ben, but I’ve known him for more than the five fucking minutes that you have-“

“Exactly! You should know better!” Ben is getting angrier now and you didn't know where all of this was coming from, especially because of how you'd spent the morning and especially because he was acting differently than he had been the past few days. "You care way to much about other people and you shouldn’t! People like him look for people like you. People who are too stupid to know any better. People who as so trusting and innocent that they take everything at face value."

You stare at him with your mouth open, anger and hurt swirling together to form a cold dagger shoved straight into your heart. You didn't understand why he was doing this or why he was getting so angry.

Oh sweetie, you really thought he cared about you? It's all just an act don't you see? The little voice in your head whispered in your ear.

And it made you furious.

"I am not some innocent little girl Ben. I am a grown woman and I don’t have to listen to your toxic Hemingway Code Hero bullshit." You turn back to the sink prepared to wash out the bowl, but Ben grabs on to your wrist and spins you back to look at him.

"You should listen to me! Because caring about people who don't give a shit about you is going to get you fucking killed or worse!" His grip is tight on your wrist, but not enough to bruise. His skin burns against where his hand wraps around your wrist and you worry how much longer you have until Ben goes Nuclear.

You wrench your wrist from his hand.

"At least I have people who care about me! And yeah, maybe I'm a little trusting, but I'd rather be too trusting than push everyone away before I get a chance to know them." You shout back shoving your finger into his bare chest. "You might think that you're some big strong macho man, but if you actually dropped the fucking macho act and acted like you gave a shit maybe there'd be more people willing to be in your life and willing to care about you! Maybe that's why your entire team  collectively said "fuck you" and stabbed you in the back! Maybe that's why Vogelbaum wanted to start from scratch with your fucked up son because they knew you were too much of a asshole to admit that you need someone and didn't have the common decency to give anyone a chance!"

"I don't need anyone." Ben's gaze turns murderous at the mention of Homelander and his old team.

"I think you do, but I think that you try to bury the real you underneath all this bullshit and-"

"You don't know anything about me Petals." Ben growls, taking a step forward so that he's leaning down over you, the air warming with the heat of his anger, a slight glow emanating from the middle of his chest.

The counter is pressed into your back as he pins you there, so differently than the other day you were in the same position.

"You think just because we’ve talked a few times and because I sleep on this fucking couch every night that you know me?" He laughs cruelly.  "I'd rather have no one than be saddled with someone like you who struts around like a fucking tease with stars in her eyes trying to romanticize every single damn person she runs into. It's no wonder you haven't found a man to fuck you, because you're too busy chasing after a stupid fantasy version of a man who doesn't fucking exist and latching on to assholes like your brother who do nothing but use you!" Ben's eyes have shifted into the darkened pits again, the ones that seem to be ready to drag you beneath the raging waves.

"And I'd rather have no one than someone like you who's too insecure about his own masculinity that he feels the need to project a fucked up toxic "together" version of himself and pretends to care about other people to manipulate them into getting what he wants." You spit back, your eyes shifting bright green.

Every plant in your home begins to tremble, the energy from them flooding through your body, strengthening you, merging together as they prepare to bend to your will.

Ben's expression turns murderous, his lips pulling back in a snarl, prepared to no doubt spit back something that he'd be unable to take back, but Darren walks back into the kitchen wearing a fresh pair of clothes.

He's oblivious to the conversation that Ben and you just had and drops his arm over your shoulder. “What did I miss?”

You feel your eyes shift back to normal, but the anger and frustration still war in your chest, beating against your rib cage, begging to be unleashed. Ben doesn’t respond instead he only glares at you.

“Alrighty then.” Darren snorts when neither of you fill the silence, not sensing the tension in the air. "Don't worry there Benny, I'll take good care of her. I always do." You miss the glare that Darren throws Ben over your head.

But just for a second you think that Darren may have heard more of the conversation between Ben and you than he was willing to admit.

Ben's jaw is tight, eyes still blazing with his own anger and annoyance. "Do whatever the fuck you want. It's not like a give a shit what happens to her." He states before he stomps down the hallway and slams the bathroom door so loud that all the dishes in your kitchen cabinets shudder.

You weren't expecting those words to hurt as much as they did, but it felt like you had taken a two by four to the chest.

"What's his problem?" Darren asks.

"I don't know." You grumble, because you didn't.

The shift of conversation from Ben almost acting concerned about you going with Darren to him insulting you was giving you whiplash. You didn't understand why Ben had said those things to you, why he had yelled at you for being "too trusting." You didn't think that you were too trusting. It wasn't weak to love someone or care for someone else, but you guessed that was how Ben saw it. You wondered if it was because of what Countess did to him or if it came from his trust of his team or if it was ingrained in him from when he was a child.

Does he really think I'm too trusting? I mean he saw how long it took me to trust him? Or how long it took me to warm up to him? Or I guess, sort of warm up to him?

"Are you going to change?" Darren presses, looking down at your soft shirt and sleep shorts with a frown. "You should. Maybe wear something different than those overalls though. Kinda want you to make a good impression you know?"

"Yeah. Um. I guess I'll go now." You murmur walking down the hallway. For a moment you pause outside of the bathroom where you know Ben is, and you're unsure what he's doing because you don't hear the water running, before you go into your bedroom.

You stand there for a minute, taking in a soothing breath, but it does little to calm your racing heart. The anger and frustration you felt began to crash over you and you feel frustrated tears begin to trail down your cheeks.

You weren't sure if it was what Ben had yelled at you or what you had yelled at him, all you knew was that you were hurt and you were happy that Ben was going out of town for a few days, because you didn't think that you could look at him again, not without throwing him out of your apartment on his ass.

A/N: I know, I know, maybe I'm a little addicted to the drama and the angst. And oh my word slow burns are so hard, but I promise that I do have a plan of when the two of them do finally get together and it IS GLORIOUS.

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

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@reidtomewinchester

[typeofraccoon]

Hiii um can I request a fluff five x reader fic where the reader is also an adult stuck in their teenage body, and has a demeanor similar to Lila, they’re like super smart but always some of the most off-the-wall shit that doesn’t really sound smart at first but after a minute of thinking you’re like ‘oh shit Ok yeah that makes sense’. (Sorry if this doesn’t make much sense btw)

-rem

Part Of It

Five Hargreeves x Reader

Five Hargreeves Masterlist

I'm gonna make this kinda in an au where s3 didn't happen and Lila went with the Hargreeves instead of just leaving at the end of s2 and Ben's alive like actually alive not a ghost.

Also sorry if this isn't what you were thinking of.

Warnings: Not proof read, unfinished? and I basically had this finished so I just went through some of it and decided to post it. Even though this isn't too long and might not make sense.

Word count = 1,144

Description: Your remarks make even Five confused sometimes but it's part of why he loves you.

As the sun shone through the window and past the open curtains you rolled over in your bed reaching out next to you. After not feeling anyone you open your eyes squinting at the light that was flooding into the room. You sit up rubbing the sleep from your eyes getting ready to open them again.

When you had opened them you slung your legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed your slippers. Once you had put your slippers on you planted your feet on the ground and pushed yourself up off the bed. Now standing you walk towards the closet to get ready for the day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were now making your way to the kitchen to get a morning coffee and hopefully find the person that was missing from your bed when you woke up.

As you were walking down the stairs you saw Lila walking up them towards you. She smiled at you and started to talk "Fives in the kitchen making another pot of coffee."

You look at her questioningly with an amused grin on your face already knowing what she meant but decided to ask anyway. "What do you mean another pot?"

Her grin widened as she lifted a mug in her hand while saying "Diego isn't awake yet, and both me and him need our morning coffee." As she finishes her sentence you notice another mug in her other hand. "There was just enough for two cups, luckily."

You both chuckled a little before saying bye to each other walking the opposite ways again.

Now you knew that Five wouldn't be cheerful in the morning already but with Lila having taken Fives coffee you knew it would be easy to piss him off. You were already thinking of some way to distract Five from Lila so that he wouldn't be plotting revenge for the rest of the day.

When you walked into the kitchen you noticed Five hovering over the coffee pot mumbling something under his breath. You smile slightly realising that this is your chance to try and scare Five. Something that he had never given you any chance to do before and had actually said that you'd never be able to do.

As you snuck up behind him you got ready to say what you had planned in an effort to also distract him from what you were about to do as well.

When you were close enough to him you started talking relatively loud before wrapping your arms around him. "You know that if you lived for 70 years you'd have spent like 10 years of your life on Monday."

You felt Five jump slightly your smile grow wider at your successful attempt at scaring him even slightly. You let go of him and Five turned to face you. When you could finally see his face he looked confused and you smiled sweetly up at him.

You were looking at him innocently as if you hadn't just said something that you knew he had to think about. Then Five turned back around to the coffee pot and picked it up getting ready to pour coffee into his cup.

As he started to pour the coffee into his cup he spoke to you. "What do you mean by that?"

When he finished talking you started to clarify why you had brought it up. "Well think about it you're technically 58. So in 12 years you'll have lived 10 years of your life on a Monday."

You were looking up at him with a sweet smile on your face as you were talking. When you had finished talking he had filled his cup up with coffee.

When he went to place the coffee pot back in it's rightful place you quickly grabbed his cup and walked to the table. By the time that Five had realised that you had taken his cup you had already sat in one of the chairs and started to sip from the cup.

Five looked at you with a fed up look before sighing and turning back around. But you noticed his mouth turn into a slight smile just before he managed to fully turn around.

"Did you really have to take my coffee?" He said while going to take out another cup from the cupboard.

You watched his movements "Yep." You responded to him with a smile.

When he had grabbed another cup he turned back around to look at you before starting to talk again. "Even if that was correct wouldn't all the time travelling change that."

You thought for a second while drinking. "I mean... that would depend on if you time travelled perfectly then technically my point still stands" As you finished talking you were looking at him.

Five had grabbed the coffee pot once again and started to pour it into his new cup while he was looking right at you. He sighed before an adoring smile was brought to his face and he chuckled slightly before he responded. "Fair enough."

He placed the coffee pot back where he had just placed it a couple of minutes ago. He brought his cup to his lips and took a sip of the coffee before he started to walk towards you.

He smiled lovingly at you and sat in the chair next to yours before he started talking trying to continue the conversation. "So when I actually do turn 70 then I will have spent at least 10 years of my life on a Monday."

You looked at him excited. "'Exactly! See that's still interesting."

When you finished the sentence you laughed slightly while looking up at him. Meanwhile he just rolled his eyes at you while taking another sip of his coffee.

He looked into your eyes before starting to speak to you again. "So since you're so certain about that. Do you know how many years we will have been together in 12 years?" As he was finishing his sentence he leaned closer to you and smirked once again.

You leaned in closer to Five as well and closed your eyes confidently with a smile on your face. "Well actually it will have been about nineteen years since we first met and about fifteen years since we started dating."

Five smiled lovingly at you and leaned back slightly to take another slightly longer sip of his coffee. When he brought the cup back away from his lips, his smile still prominently glued to his face he started to lean back in towards you while placing his cup on the table beside him.

Once Five was a couple of inches away from you he spoke again. "Sorry but you're wrong there darling. " When he finished his sentence he chuckled slightly. "By then we would've met seventeen years ago and it would have been dating for fifteen years."

[fizzy-blood]

Okay but how would the creeps react to a like feral s/o (biting scratching growling barking meowing) the whole nine yards?

(sfw and nsfw plz)

Creeps with a Feral!S/O🦷🥩

Hi! I didn't really know which creeps you wanted me to write so I just wrote for all the characters I've written for before (not Ben though because I don't write smut for him and not Tim/Masky bc MH and Creepypasta are different) I also wrote for Jane bc I love her and I just want to start writing things for her ^_^ (also Fem!S/O for Jane but the rest are Gn!S/O)

WARNING:18+/NSFW content ahead!! If you are a minor and want to read the SFW content then go ahead but please do not read through the NSFW headcanons. I know I can't stop you but please-

[Biting, scratching, bondage, I think that's all?]

Ticci Toby🪓🌲

(SFW)

HE'S GONNA MATCH YOUR FREAK /hj

But seriously, he really won't mind how you act...

Actually least likely to get upset with you over it!

He can't feel pain so biting and scratching is fine with him (he thinks it's cute when you bite him and will probably bite you back)

And with any weird sounds like hissing or barking or meowing.. Whatever you do... He's fine with it.. (Unless he's overstimulated, he won't be able to handle it so... 😞)

He might end up with those sounds as some form of tic... (That's actually kinda cute wait-)

Overall I'd give it an 8/10.

(NSFW)

REMEMBER HOW I SAID HE LIKES BITING AND SCRATCHING YOU??

PLEASE DO THE SAME TO HIM. DO IT.

He likes it when you leave marks on his body..

Actually... Likes is an understatement...

HE NEEDS YOU DO BITE HIM.

It's actually kinda cute how pathetic it is

I also feel like he'd be more submissive with someone more feral... Have fun!!

Eyeless Jack🫘🩻

(SFW)

Finds it a bit odd at first but gets used to it after a while..

But please give him a heads up before you bite him, he doesn't like it when you do it out of nowhere..

But he does find it cute when you make weird sounds (just please don't be too loud)

Probably won't bite you back if you're human.. But if you're some sort of creature? Probably will...

Like... 7/10? It has its ups and downs but it's still nice 🥰

(NSFW)

NGH- I WANT HIM...

OMG WHO SAID THAT⁉️

But if you being feral makes you bratty with him? He'll get you to shut up soon...

He'll also probably cover your mouth (if you try to bite his hand he'll just ignore it)

But if he doesn't ignore it he'll probably just briefly mention it.

Just kinda... Makes you go mindless (BTW I'M GONNA RE-WRITE MY GENERAL NSFW HEADCANONS FOR HIM AT SOME POINT SO-)

Laughing Jack🍬🎪

(SFW)

I think he'd actually be good at dealing with any bullshit-

Like... He does get bothered sometimes but he does know how to entertain you so you stop what you're doing..

Also if you bark at him he'll just bark back.

It's just normal to him??

I dunno man, the way he acts is just odd in general so 🤷‍♂️

Anyways... 8/10. Actually knows how to deal with everything pretty effectively and is fine with you biting or scratching him up (it really doesn't do anything to him, not even leaving a mark)

(NSFW)

My LJ doesn't really feel sexual attraction and I doubt he feels any sexual desires (he doesn't even have a dick so...)

I dunno what to write about this.. Like.. He's fine with sex if you want it but it wouldn't be much different from my normal NSFW headcanons for him..

Jeff the Killer🔪🩸

(SFW)

You know how middle school boys bark at people? He does that to you.

Is it meant to be affectionate? Who knows... But he does it if you meow or bark at him.

He just thinks it's weird tbh.

He also pushes you off of him or away from him if you try to bite him.

You hiss every time and he just makes fun of you for it (that part is sorta meant to be lovingly but it can come across as just plain mean).

6/10 in my opinion!

(NSFW)

He actually likes it when you bite or scratch him during sex?

I think he might have that masochistic sadist mix in him (HE GOT THAT DAWG IN HIM‼️🗣️💥💥/j)

But go crazy! He's fine with it during this time so feel free to do whatever.

Nina the Killer🔪💖

(SFW)

She thinks it's really funny, also kinda cute!

She isn't a huge fan of the scratching though...

Biting is fine but please give her a heads up (like with EJ)

She does really like the meowing and barking, also finds the hissing to be funny most of the time!

But the hissing can also tell her if she's aggravating you (she sucks with boundaries, please be patient with her😣)

ALSO IF YOU LIKE BEING PET SHE'D PROBABLY DO THAT WHILE YOU SLEEP SO-

Mmmmm.... 8.5/10

(NSFW)

I actually don't have a lot of NSFW related headcanons for her in general so... Oops?

I'll probably come back and post some general headcanons when I'm done but... Idk🤷‍♂️

But.... I think she'd be really sweet and loving, like?

The thing with the petting, she'd do that to keep you calm during sex (AGAIN, WHY IS THAT ACTUALLY ADORABLE TO ME??)

I'll get back to you when I figure out more stuff.

Jane the Killer🔪🖤

(SFW)

She found it so annoying when you first met, but she's just used to it now... She actually kinda finds it endearing now!

Specific things like more soft meowing or just generally softer and quieter sounds-

(It makes her experience cuteness aggression)

She doesn't really like scratching or biting in any context so...

But she'd probably find something for you to chew on or maybe make you some sort of scratching post.

Sometimes she feels like you're just a big fucking cat... (She's a cat person so it doesn't bother her that much)

9/10 (I want to be held by her)

(NSFW)

She puts a gag in your mouth and will probably tie you up... This is probably so you won't scratch or bite her-

(But let's be real here... You both kinda got a bit too into it)

Like Nina, she's normally pretty sweet and is also normally very gentle...

But other days?... I'll just say that she gets kinda... Intense? I'll probably go more in depth in a separate post but you get the general idea (I think)

BUT MMM

She's good at making sure you don't slip out of your restraints... very good.

DONE! YAY! YIPPEE! I hope you enjoyed this and I hope this is what you asked for? If you want more of this feel free to send another ask with some different characters or even just ask for more stuff with a character I already wrote for. My ask box is open so feel free to send some requests if you want! Again, I hope you enjoyed it!

-Fizz

(Cryptidcore dividers are by @sister-lucifer)

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This Chapter of No Love Lost is brought to you by blatant Jennifer’s Body propaganda, Too Much Plot™, acidditties infinite patience, and readers like you. Thank you. Chapter Title from Guilty As Sin? By Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 18.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: A new plan is made, and the team takes a trip to Staten Island. Usual warnings

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 10 - Chapter 12

You’re up against the wall. You weren’t sure how you got there—it was all a blur of teasing and mock fighting and getting just a little too close together—but you knew something had snapped. One of you had started this, this furious kiss that might be like a drug, that might ruin every other kiss you’ve had, will have. You think you’ll blame Ben later because he has no actual proof it was you that moved first and you can talk circles around that man for days. Most of the time. Right now you’re not sure if you know any words expect Ben and fuck and please.

Ben’s standing over you, his arms caging you between his body and the wall. Your hands are tangled in his hair, pulling him down to you so that this never ends. One of his hands has dropped to your waist, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re off the wall, pressed against Ben’s chest and wrapping an arm around his neck to stay steady.

His arm wraps fully around your body, the other hand leaving the wall to tangle in your hair, raising you slightly off the ground. You moan, and suddenly the arm around your waist drops to right below your ass, lifting you completely before all but slamming you back into the wall with a groan.

“Ben,” you gasp, wrapping your legs around him as his teeth pull at your lip. “Fuck, please-“

 He chuckles, leaning back slightly. “You want me to fuck you, Sunshine?”

You whine, trying to return his mouth from where it’s torturing you—just a breath away—to where it belongs. Against yours, forever. Things like talking can be secondary, because this can never stop. “Ben, please-“

“Words,” He teases, and when he says your name it vibrates through his chest, through your blood. “I know you know how to use them.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, still trying to pull him back forwards. “Please.”

“I’ve never seen you speechless before. If this is all it took I’d have kissed you months ago.”

“Ben-“

“Words.”

Your indigence manages to push through your desperation. “That is a word, fuck-“ you hiss, because Ben’s pushed his knee up to rest between your thighs. “It’s a proper noun.”

His head drops to your neck, kissing bruises that vanish in seconds. “Can’t stand being wrong, can we?”

“Wasn’t wrong, you-“ Your head can’t fall further back, so he’s moving up, up. Kissing at your ear, your cheek, your forehead and nose and everywhere else but your mouth. “Fuck, Ben.”

“That’s what you want?” He teases. “Say it.” 

You’re past dignity. “Please fuck me, Ben. You absolute cu-“

He cuts you off, kissing you long and heavy until there's no breath in your lungs to keep going.

“Bed?” He grunts, and you nod frantically.

You blink, and suddenly you’re on your back, still between Ben, still resting your legs on his hips, but the surface behind you is now soft. The bed is already squeaking slightly as Ben kisses you into the mattress, and you don’t realize that you’ve started to grind against him until he pulls back with a groan. 

“Fucking quit that, or you won’t get what you want,” Ben snaps, and you can feel him, long and hard against your leg. You test your luck, pushing up into him one more time, making him moan against your ear.

“Plea-“

The word isn’t fully out of your mouth before Ben’s pulling away from you, weight moving off your body and making you push up on your elbows to try and bring him back. You barely have a chance to see him kneeling at the edge of bed—your lower body having somehow gotten exposed along the way—before you fall back with a strangled gasp as his mouth finds your pussy.

His beard is scraping at your inner thighs, his tongue is pushing inside you, his nose keeps brushing against your clit, and one large hand is managing to hold you still as you try to buck off the bed.

“Fuck, Ben, please-“ you moan and he growls against you, moving faster-

A snore tore through the air, yanking you from the hands of sleep in an instant. Still in bed, still on your back, and, torturously, still pinned down by Ben, who was all but passed out above you. 

You were starting to lose your mind. Over the past week, Ben had solidified his habit of pulling you under him in the night, tangling your legs together and pushing his head into your shoulder as his arms covered your chest. It would’ve been sweet if—over the past week—you hadn’t been waking up every morning with an ache between your legs, covered in sweat and filled with an insatiable need for the very man sleeping above you.

You never moved. You couldn’t move. Ben looked so peaceful when he slept, and it made the Feeling warm and easy. His voice would roll through your body as he grumbled incoherently under his breath, his face would bury into you as he held you tightly, and you just weren’t cruel enough—to Ben or yourself—to wake him. You always waited until he let out the low sound that signaled he was leaving sleep, and then you’d start whispering his name, pushing at his arm slightly until Ben woke himself.

The pitfall to this plan was that you’d be trapped under Ben—horny and still half asleep—trying to fight yourself from doing something really, really stupid. Like kissing his pouting lips that looked really soft, or tracing his sharp jaw from his chin to his hair, or pulling him further into you just to be closer, feel his warmth and strength as he breathed against you. This was not a plausible long term way to exist. It was starting to become distracting, how much you wanted him. Yesterday morning he’d reached over you in the kitchen and you set the orange in your hand on fire. You’d somehow managed to play it off as being startled, but all you could think about for the rest of the day was Ben’s body and how it had pressed against yours in that split second. The thoughts followed you into your dreams, and the current position you were in wasn’t doing you any favors.

Time began to move in a cruelly slow passage. You might have been held under Ben for days or mere minutes, but it felt the same. He was right there, touching you so casually, and you couldn’t do anything about it. It had clicked, when you’d woken up from a safe and peaceful sleep last week, that the Feeling didn’t feel inseparable from your own self anymore. It was Ben. Your… attachment and care and ease with him. You were an adult, and you could admit that maybe it was just Ben. That you wanted him matching you step-for-step, holding you peacefully, and fighting that consuming thirst for just him, him, him forever.

And you knew where the catalyst lay, in that very thought. That was too much. It was more than infatuation, it was something deeper you didn’t really have a word for. And you knew that Ben wasn’t capable of that feeling that now sat under your skin with the fire. He didn’t want it—not with you—and you don’t blame him. But you don’t think you could do anything else, anything that wasn’t everything. You were an adult, a grown woman who had a PhD and was perfectly capable of living with the man she liked not liking her back. It would fade, or pass, or change back into something neutral and platonic. And if it kept growing and growing to affection and fervor and desire and undying-

You’d live. You’d find a way to live.

When Ben finally started to move, that low sound from his chest rolling through yours, it felt like mercy. You might have exploded—burst into a million pieces of want and desperation—if he hadn’t.

“Ben,” you whisper, tapping his arm where it holds you. “Wake up.”

His response is a low, muffled grumble. “No.”

“It’s noon.”

“So?”

“I’m hungry.”

 “Go fucking eat, then.”

You sigh. “I can’t, not until you move.”

“Tough shit.” Ben doesn’t move, if anything he might be holding you tighter.

“Please,” you poke his shoulder. “I need to shower.”

 “That’s not my fucking problem.” His words are becoming more firm—less slurred with sleep—and you can feel the tight content sitting in his chest. “You should’ve showered last night.”

“All the hot water was gone,” you frown at the ceiling, poking him again. “Because someone took their sweet fucking time.”

“You could’ve just used the damn guest bathroom.”

“You could’ve just used the guest bathroom. It’s not my shower that’s broken.” You almost jump when you look down at him, finding his eyes open and watching you with a heavy look. Your words stumble a little, mouth suddenly dry. “I’ve told you I can just call Mallory-“

“I don’t need the CIA in my shit any more then they already fucking are,” Ben mutters. “It’s not worth it.”

“Easy to say when you’re the one who gets to take hour long showers in my bathroom-“

“Our bathroom, Sunshine.”

You snort. “Our bathroom? Seriously?”

“It’s my bedroom too now, my fucking bathroom as well.” He sits up slightly when you giggle again, “what’s so fucking funny-“

“Nothing,” you shrug.

“Liar.” Ben’s propped up on an elbow, slightly over your body as he glares down at you. It’s not doing you any favors. “You have that shit-eating grin when you get to teach me something fucking dumb. What.”

“You won’t like it.”

“I’m not a sensitive pussy, I can fucking handle-“

“Communism, Ben. I’m laughing because ‘our’ is a communist sentiment.”

You feel irritation strain against him, but there’s no drums, no fury. “I ain’t no fucking commu-“

 “I know. That’s the joke.” Still on your back, you stick your tongue out at him. “Jokes are funnier when you explain them, you know.”

Ben drops back to his side of the mattress, and you mourn the loss of his warmth. “Just for that shit, I’m not cooking tonight.”

“It’s my night anyways, dumbass.”

“And you’ll be blowing up the kitchen alone.”

You roll your eyes. “A girl blows up the kitchen one fucking time, and suddenly it’s all she’s ever done.”

“Twice,” Ben’s smirking when you look at him. “Pizza.”

He’s right. Five nights ago you’d tried to bake a pizza by hand, and destroyed the counter and several cabinets. And he knows he’s right, because he’s already got the cocky told you so look in his eyes, the one that appears when he wins an argument.

“Shut up,” you mumble, climbing out of the bed as Ben laughs behind you. “It’s not my fault pizza is so easily flammable.”

Ben sits up against the headboard, and you can feel him watching you move around the room. “I think you’d find a way to make stone ‘flammable’.”

“Everything in the world is flammable, Ben. That’s how melting temperatures work.” 

“Fuck off, brat.”

You flip him off, moving to the bathroom and closing the door with a lock.

Ben had, in a remarkably short amount of time, made himself at home in your space. His razor was near the sink, shampoo next to yours in the shower, and his shield was—for reasons you still didn’t fully understand—sitting against the wall.

“Why does it have to be in the bathroom?” You’d asked, and he’d scoffed as if it were an insane question.

“Because.”

“That clears absolutely nothing up.”

“Don’t fucking worry about it.”

You’d frowned, following him into his own bathroom for the last of his items. “See, I wasn’t worried, but now I am. This is a big house, there’s definitely space-“

“I want it close.” He’d grunted, stepping into the shower for toiletries. “That’s it.”

“Close to where you shit?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He’d turned back to you, arms full. “This is everything.”

You’d looked around the room. “What about your toothbrush?”

“I don’t brush my teeth.” He’d pushed past you, and you’d followed his long strides back down the hall, gaping at his back.

“You don’t brush your teeth? For what possible fucking reason?”

“Don’t need to. Waste of fucking time.” Ben had glanced down at you, expression almost confused. “You don’t need to do that shit either, now. You have a better healing factor than I do.” 

You’d blinked. “It’s a good habit.”

“Whatever,” he’d shrugged. “Not my damn time you’re wasting.”

After that conversation, you’d bought him a toothbrush. It was still sitting—bristle and dry—next yours, but it made all of it, made Ben, feel more concrete. Like some form of evidence that you were sharing a room, and he wasn’t sick of you yet. That he’d forgiven you enough to only roll his eyes when you suggested he use it.

He’d forgiven you. By some miracle, he’d completely and totally forgiven you. You’d played it all in your head a million times, trying to see if there had been a break in his words, a falter in what you’d felt from him, any sort of evidence that he was lying. But he wasn’t. You’d watch him bend a knife in half because it “wasn’t working properly” or make snarky comments at the show you’d be watching, and all you could feel from him when you grabbed his hands or your legs brushed together was ease. His words, his offer, looped and looped in your brain, and began to carve a groove.

Do you seriously fucking believe that Homelander would take you and I wouldn’t fucking burn everything to get you away from him.

You can always fucking be around me.

I trust you. I give a shit about you.

You picked the words apart. Trying to find a divot or crack to show that Ben was lying, that you needed to have doubt and tread carefully.

To get you away from him.

Away from Homelander. Not back to Ben, away from Homelander.

You can always fucking be around me.

Always.

I trust you. I give a shit about you.

He’d forgiven you. Fully, completely. And you didn’t know what that meant.

I give a shit about you.

You’d expected him to be gone from the bedroom when you finished your shower, so you changed slowly in the lingering, humid steam. But you open the door to the bedroom and find him exactly where you’d left him, looking bored and sullen.

“Who takes long fucking showers now?” He mutters under his breath, and you blink at him.

“I thought you’d just go downstairs,” you say blankly, trying to read his face. “If I’d known you were waiting-“

“I wasn’t waiting.” Ben snaps, standing in one quick, abrupt movement. “I needed to shit.”

He pushes past you, into the bathroom, and you call as he closes the door, “there are like, four other bathrooms!”

You hear his shouted response through the door. “Shut the fuck up!”

Taking a step to the hall, you hesitate, glancing back at the bathroom door. “Is it a long shit?!”

There’s a pause, and then, “What?!”

“I’m going downstairs! If it’s not a long shit, I can wait-”

“I can shit by my goddamn self.” You can almost see his frown through the door. “I don’t need fucking help.”

“I wasn’t offering help, you asshole, I was offering to wait. So we can go downstairs together.” It sounds stupid as you say it, but you can’t bring yourself to take it back. 

There’s another second of silence, then a gruff, “Fine.”

You hum, glad Ben can’t see the heat on your face, and drop back onto the bed. You expect to wait a few minutes at least, but the toilet flushes almost immediately and Ben pulls the door open with a grunt.

“I’m hungry.” He snaps, and you stand off the bed with a shrug.

“Join the club.”

“Fuck off.”

You laugh to yourself, following him down the stairs. “Thoughts on dumplings?”

“What?”

“For lunch. I saw a recipe in the book yesterday.”

He makes a tight face at you from the bottom of the steps. “I don’t fucking want oriental food.”

“Jesus Christ, Ben.” You sigh, shaking your head as you move a pace ahead.

“What? The fuck is wrong with-“

You stop at the counter, turning back to face him. “Do you still have my racist grandpa list?” You ask, half joking with your brows raised.

He stills in the doorway, and you could swear he’s almost blushing. “Yes.”

“Oh,” you blink, having expected it to find its way to the trash weeks ago. Shaking your head slightly, you say, “Add ‘oriental’ to it.”

“It’s upstairs. I’m not going all the fucking way back upstairs just for a stupid damn list.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to actually use your brain for once,” you walk to where the cookbook—a few pages burnt and heavily beaten but still in one piece—is laying near the sink. “Think that old man memory can retain one word until you go upstairs again?”

“Brat.” Ben sits down at the counter, and you flip him off.

“Cunt.

“Any word from the pussy-squad?” He asks, and you throw your phone into his chest.

“Check yourself.” You sigh, turning back to push through the cabinets for flour and salt. “We should really just get you your own phone.”

“I’m fine using yours.” 

“Yeah, you’re really making a huge sacrifice, using my phone.” You turn around, watching him glare at the screen, tapping it aggressively with a single finger. “Need some help there, Pretty Boy?”

“This thing is fucking stupid,” he grunts, eyes scanning the screen. “And I’m doing damn well fine on my own, Sunshine.” He looks up at you with a cocky grin. “Starlight says they’ve got something.”

You tense, feeling air become tight around your body. “Something?”

“She says there’s a lead- goddamnit!”

You move forward, pulling the phone from Ben’s hand. “Oh, shove it up your ass.”

“I was using it-“

“My phone,” you snap. “I reserve the right to take it back whenever.”

“It’s fucking rude-“

You blow a raspberry at him, ignoring his indigent expression to read the message on the display.

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

MM got a lead a few days ago from A-Train, Hughie just confirmed it. We’ll be over tonight, need to move fast.

You look up at Ben. “They’ve got a lead. They’ll be here tonight.”

“What time?”

You re-read the message. “Doesn’t say.”

“Assholes.” Ben grunts, standing up to walk to your side. “Do we have all the shit?”

 “What?”

“For the dumplings.” He says, voice bored as he scans the cookbook. “I’ve fucking starving.”

 “Aren’t you worried-“

“Worried is a little fucking dramatic. I’m vigilant, because I don’t trust those fuckers, or whatever goddamn ‘lead’ they have.” Ben looks over at you, eyes narrowed. “But we’re not about to whine and fret about it all day like pussies. We’re going to make shit-ass fucking dumplings, and you’re going to stay out of your own fucking head.”

“I wasn’t going to whine,” you grumble, even though he’s right. You’d already begun to spiral into what confirmed meant, and why the lead was from A-Train, or what about made you need to move fast.

“Sure, Sunshine.” Ben says dryly, nudging you with his shoulder. “Go get me some fucking rice wine.” He scowls at the page. “What the living fuck is rice wine.”

You lean over him, ignoring the rush of warmth when you touch him, and read where he’s pointing. “I’ll look it up. Can you start-“

Before you finish your sentence, Ben is roughly turning the oven dials, heating the front burner.

“Thanks,” you give him a smile, and he waves you off. As he walks past you to the fridge your arms brush, and your heart does a somersault into your stomach.

Rice wine, as it turns out, was an incredibly self-descriptive name for an alcohol that was fermented in rice. Given that the CIA hadn’t deemed it necessary to provide any and a grocery run wasn’t really in the cards, you made the executive call to use white wine instead. Ben supported your decision, informing you flatly that “booze is booze, Sunshine, and I'm not going to be a fucking pussy about it.”

In the week you and Ben had been trying to cook, this was the first time neither of you tried to break something in frustration. There was one close call, where Ben had failed to crimp the fifth dumpling in a row, but managed to restrain himself from smashing them all in vengeful fury. You offered him to take five—saying you were capable of doing this part yourself and he’d done more cabbage squeezing than you had—and though he’d taken a step back with a scowl, he didn’t leave the kitchen.

“I thought you could go set up the TV?” You look up at him, raising your brows. “I can do the rest myself.”

“Do you want me to go?” Ben says your name, eyes narrowed at where you were fixing the lines on one of his dumplings.

You shrug. “Doesn’t really make a difference. You just don’t have to stay here.”

He doesn’t respond, only leaning against the counter and watching you in a silence neither of you try to fill. You can feel Ben’s eyes following you, and trying to dissect what that means is more than enough to keep your mind off the lead.

When you turn to move the now-well-crimped dumplings into the skillet, you almost yelp when you find Ben—having moved impossibly quietly for a man of his size—right behind you. He silently takes the dumplings from your hands, dropping them into the skillet without a word and glaring at them as they cook.

“Plates,” he grunts, and you snap out of your state of mindlessly watching Ben to walk to the cabinets.

Setting them down next to the oven, you stand at Ben’s side with your arms crossed. “How’s the bomb?” You tap his chest, and he shrugs, eyes not moving from the dumplings.

“The fucking same.”

“Really?” You lean forwards slightly. “Because I can’t remember the last time it went off.”

“So?”

“It used to go off like, all the time. At least twice a week.”

Ben gives you a flat look from the corners of his eyes. “Say what you fucking mean.”

You give him a sweet smile. “I think you know what I mean.”

“Fuck you.”

“Uh huh,” you poke his shin with your foot. “Still not ready to admit I was right?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Ben drawls, picking up the skillet and turning away.

“It’s not that hard. You’ve even been sleeping better.”

“That has not a fucking thing to do with this.”

You frown at his back. “I mean, I’d say less PTSD induced nightmares is a pretty good sign-“

“Correlation isn’t fucking causation, ” Ben says your name in a mocking tone, and you huff.

“I fucking taught you that, you dick.”

Ben turns with your plate in his hands. “I’ve told you to stop teaching me shit, and you won’t fucking listen.”

“Shut up,” you grab your food, stuffing a dumpling in your mouth. “Maybe if you weren’t such a dumb-dumb I wouldn’t have to tell you everything.”

“Manners, brat. Don’t you know it’s not polite to eat with your mouth full?”

You stick your tongue out at him, and a large crumb falls from your mouth. “Cunt.” You swallow quickly. “And I still think the PTSD is getting better, no matter how much you bitch about it.”

“I’m not fucking bitching.”

“If you weren’t, you’d admit I was right.”

Ben takes a long, over dramatic sigh that ends with you receiving an impossibly strong death-stare. “Fine.”

“Fine?” You tease, even as a grin overtakes your own face. “That’s all I get? Fine? Not thank you, you queen among women. You were, as always, right, and I, Benjamin-“ you pause, frowning at him. “Do you have a last name?”

“Of course I have a fucking last name. And I’m not saying a goddamn word of that.”

You pout. “Rude.”

“Yep.” Ben starts to walk down the hall, and you follow behind, speaking through a mouthful of your second dumpling.

“Is it something embarrassing?”

 He glances back at you. “The fuck are you talking about.”

 “Your last name. Is it embarrassing?”

 “No.”

 “Is it long?”

 “No.”

 You fall back into the couch, kicking your feet up onto the cushions. “Are you not going to tell me?”

 “No.”

 “So you will tell me?”

 “No, I said-“ He pauses at your wide, cocky grin, rolling his eyes. “You’re a fucking menace.”

“Yep. Why won’t you tell me?”

“It hasn’t been my last name since the damn 40s. It died when Soldier Boy was born, and I don’t want a fucking thing to do with it.”

You tilt your head at him. “Cause of your dad?” He gives an annoyed, low sound of affirmation, so you nod. “Ok.”

He frowns. “That’s it? Just ok?”

“You don’t have to tell me, I was just curious.” You give him a half-smile. “I get it, if I had to carry my mom’s name everywhere, I’d hate it.”

“We’re both too good for them,” Ben grunts., and you wrinkle your nose in thought.

“Are we?”

“Yes, we fucking are.” He snaps. “My dad was a fucking pussy, and your mom sounds like a bitch. I’m not-“

“A fucking pussy?” You finish, and your smile is full and toothy. “Does that mean I’m not a bitch?”

He scoffs. “Of course you’re not.”

“Say the full thing.”

“What?”

You lean forward. “Say the whole sentence. Say ‘you aren’t a bitch,’” you say your own name sweetly. “So I know that you mean it.”

Ben glares at you. “I fucking mean it, Sunshine. I’m not a-“ 

“Liar, I know.” You grin. “Prove it.”

With a deep sigh, impressive scowl, and laziest voice you’ve ever heard, Ben says your name. “You aren’t a bitch.”

“Was that so hard?”

“You’re lucky I put up with you, beautiful.” Ben mutters, and your heart feels warm and full.

“I could say the same for you.” You nudge him, forcing yourself to ignore the beautiful part because you’ll go insane trying to find reason in it. “You’ve been blessed with my infinite patience, Ben. Never forget that.”

Ben looks you up and down—like he’s trying to find a piece of you he’d missed before—and when he finally meets your eyes, his own are firm. “I’m going to say something, and you have to swear not to lose your damn mind.”

“No promises.”

“Sunshine.”

“Fine.” You grumble, placing your plate on the floor. “But you have to swear that it’s not something weird.”

“You didn’t want to see your sister because of your shit fucking plan.”

You wrap your arms around your body, holding yourself tightly. “Doesn’t-“

“If you say matter I will revoke all your favors right fucking now.”

“That’s not how it works.” You mutter, keeping your eyes firmly watching your lap.

“Fucking try me.” You feel Ben’s hand rest on your shin, and something that stings your heart rushes through your body. When you look up he’s frowning, but there’s no anger behind it, and his gaze is careful. “We’re not doing your plan. You should tell her you’re not dead. She needs to know.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” You say softly, nails digging into your skin. “What if the lead is a dead end and I-“

“If it’s a dead end, we’ll find another fucking lead. And another, until we find one that does something.” He squeezes his hand against you, and heat moves through your body. “You’re not going back. That’s fucking that.”

“Okay,” you breathe, and even after Ben nods sharply, neither of you look away. You swallow, forcing yourself to speak. “I’ll think about it. About telling her.”

Ben grunts, but still doesn’t turn back to the TV. “Once this is over, you’ll fucking have to if you want a damn life.”

“Not if I go with you.” The words fall out of you before you realize you’re saying them. Your heart stumbles around in your chest, mouth falling open, but Ben’s already speaking.

“You should still fucking tell them. They can come visit.”

You blink. “Visit?”

“They aren’t going to ship me off to fucking Mars, Sunshine.”

“Yeah, I got that. I just didn’t think you’d want visitors.”

“I don’t give a shit. They’re your family.”

“They think I’m dead.” You frown. “They think you’re a terrorist. They’ll have questions.”

“Then we’ll fucking answer them.”

“We don’t know where you’ll be going, what we’ll be doing-“

“Probably some shit-ass island,” Ben grunts “And I have money. We’ll be fucking fine.”

“Well,” you frown. “We don’t know what island, and all your money is gone-”

“The fuck do you mean gone.” Ben cuts you off, sitting up rigid.

“Everyone thought you were dead,” You say carefully. “Dead people don’t get money.”

“But I wasn’t fucking dead,” He snaps, scanning your face. “I was fucking alive.”

“I know that. But I’m not the government in the 1980s.” You frown. “Did you think all your money was just, sitting around and waiting for you?”

“I didn’t fucking think about it!” Ben looks remarkably distressed. “I didn’t think anyone had laid their pussy ass hands on it!”

“I mean, it’s been like 45 years.”

“So fucking what? It’s my goddamn money!”

“Ben,” you place your hand over where he’s still holding you. “Calm the hell down.”

“I’m fucking calm!” You try to hold your amusement as his voice raises, feeling his genuine anger and shock through your body.

“I can see that,” you say dryly, and Ben scowls at you.

“Get off your fucking high horse,” he snaps. “You’d be fucking angry-“

“If my death was faked and my life was taken away from me?” You give him a bored look. “Gee, I wonder what that’s like.”

He pauses, still glaring at you. “Smartass.”

“Yep.” You shrug. “You’ll be fine, Ben. Part of the CIA deal was livable compensation. And you could get a job.”

He glowers. “A job?”

You snort. “It’s this thing normal people do, where they provide service in exchange for money-“

“Shut the fuck up,” he squeezes his hand again, and you hope he doesn’t see the flush of your face. “I know what a job is.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Brat,” he grumbles. “What fucking job could I possibly get.”

“Well,” you tilt your head in mock thought. “With the forty year gap in your resume-“

He gives a huff, but you feel the amusement shooting through him. “Not funny.”

“A little funny,” you dismiss, continuing. “You could do construction, or be a bouncer. You’d kill it at any physical labor. You be an ok birthday clown if you weren’t such a grump-“

“I am not a grump-“

You talk over him. “Now, my personal vote is escort. And if I go with you, I think I’d be an amazing pimp. We could build an empire, earn all your money back.”

Ben snorts. “Why do I have to be the whore?”

“You’re doing it for free right now,” you try and keep your face straight, but are unable to hide the delight in your voice at his adorable frown. “And I’d be a terrible whore. We’d be out of business in a week.”

“You’d be a great whore,” Ben’s voice is shockingly indigent. “You’d make a fortune.”

You frown, unsure if it’s meant to be a compliment, or why you can feel his offense so strongly in your body. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” he grunts. “And I’d be a better fucking pimp anyway.”

“Holy shit,” you laugh. “You’d be a terrible pimp.”

“And what makes you think you’d be better, Sunshine?” He sneers, and you shrug with a smile.

“For one, I don’t call escorts whores. And I’ve read about your business endeavors in the 80s. I never would’ve tried to open a Soldier Boy themed bar and grill, and if I had I wouldn't've served green-dyed rocky road ice cream as the only desert option.”

Despite the annoyance you can feel through him–proven by the tick of his jaw and glare—Ben asks, “What would you have done.”

“Mint chocolate chip.” As you’re grinning at Ben’s scowl, you realize that he’s distracted you again. For a second you’re almost resentful—not loving how easily he flashed something shiny for you to ramble about and how fast you took the bait—and then you realize his hand is still on your shin, and that you’re not gripping at your arms or cutting into your skin anymore.

“You think you’re real clever,” he mutters, and your smile widens.

“Of course I do. I’m the brains, you’re the beauty. That’s what makes the business model work.”

Ben is giving you a cocky smirk, and you don’t hear your words until his rush of smug satisfaction hits you. “I’m the beauty?”

“Well, yeah.” You try to act bored, nonchalant. Like your heart isn’t fluttering and your body isn’t warm. “We’re both the brawn, you’re definitely not the brains, and I’m not the beauty, so we divide-“

His hand on your leg tightens its hold. “The fuck do you mean you’re not the beauty?”

“I mean, I’m not ugly.” You say passively. “But I’m not-“

“Not what?” He snaps, and you blink at him.

“I don’t know, Vought level.”

“Vought level?”

“Yeah. Sparkling, jaw-dropping, brand-worthy.”

“What makes you fucking think that?” He’s glaring at you, like you’ve personally offended him. You can feel something strong, something confusing, pounding through his chest. “You’re plenty jaw-dropping.”

“I’m not being self-deprecating,” you frown. “I’m stating fact-“

“That’s not a damn fact.”

“I’m not upset about it,” you frown at him. “I’ve got other good qualities-“

“Well, you’re still fucking wrong.”

His grip on you is so tight, you’d be worried about bruising if that was possible. You can still feel his anger, and though it’s not aimed at you it’s still powerful. Tight and loud.

“Ben-“

The entrance door bangs open, and you both look up to see MM entering the house, Hughie only a few steps behind.

“Good, you’re already dressed-“ MM cuts himself off as he passes the kitchen. “The fuck happened in there?”

“Cooking,” you say sheepishly, craning your neck to see if anyone else is coming through the door. “Is it just you guys?”

“Everyone else is in the car,” Hughie explains, and you frown.

“Everyone?”

“It’s all hands on deck,” MM says shortly, still glaring at the kitchen. “It looks like a bomb went off.”

“Several almost did.” You stand, Ben’s hand falling from your leg. “What’s going on? Annie said there was a lead-“

“We’ll explain on the way,” Hughie says nervously. “It’s a little time sensitive.”

“We’re not going fucking anywhere-“ Ben rises, glowering at Hughie. “Until you tell us the goddamn deal.”

MM pulls his gaze from the kitchen. “You’re going wherever the fuck we tell you.”

“The fuck we are-”

“We are,“ you whack Ben’s arm, giving him tense look of don’t be a fucking dick. “Time sensitive, Benjamin. They’ll explain.” 

Ben shoots MM and Hughie distrustful glares. “It might be fucking stupid-“

MM scoffs. “We’re not the ones who come up with stupid plans.”

“That feels targeted,” you mumble, and Hughie gives you an apologetic look.

“I promise it’s worth something,” he says, looking between you and Ben quickly. “We wouldn’t put you in danger,” Hughie says your name gently, and you shrug.

“I know.”

Ben snorts, muttering just loud enough for you to hear. “You do that enough by your fucking self, Sunshine.”

You stomp hard on his foot, giving MM and Hughie a smile. “Let’s roll then.” As they turn, slightly confused looks on their faces, you stick your tongue out at Ben.

“You’re so fucking mean,” he complains, following you out the door.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes. “You love it.”

Ben grunts, and you walk a little faster so he doesn’t see the flush on your face or accidentally touch you. That might send you into cardiac arrest.

MM wasn’t lying. It’s all hands on deck. Frenchie and Kimiko look up from their silent conversation as the doors open, Annie’s jittering slows as Hughie takes his spot next to her, and Butcher is glaring at you as Ben helps you climb into the van.

“Well, aren’t I just tickled that America’s golden couple decided to join us,” he sneers, and you flip him off, waving to Kimiko.

I’m glad you’re here, she signs. This is a good plan, you’ll like it.

You smile. So I shouldn’t be worried?

Only the regular amount.

You laugh, and Ben nudges your shoulder.

“The fuck did she say,” he mutters in your ear.

You keep your response quiet, walking to sit along the edge of the wall. “That I’ll like the plan.”

“Are any of you pussies going to actually fucking tell us the plan?” Ben raises his voice, and you roll your eyes.

“Drama queen,” you say under your breath, and he subtly whacks your leg.

“Remember last week,” Annie starts, leaning forwards as she addresses you. “When MM asked you about where Homelander was holding you when he started the V?”

You take a heavy breath, nodding. You’d answered his text best you could—somewhere near the Hudson, south of Albany—but at the time you’d just ran. In any direction, as far as you could without collapsing. Eventually you’d found an interstate highway and followed it until you found somewhere to rest and take stock of your surroundings, but that was miles from where you’d started.

“Well,” she continues, voice a bit softer even as the van’s engine begins to rumble. “A-Train gave us some documents about Vought-owned spaces in the region, and Vought scientists who lived near them.”

“We don’t know if Homelander was even using a Vought building-“ You protest, but Annie shakes her head.

“He probably wasn’t. But he would’ve needed easy access to Vought supplies. And we found a warehouse in Climax, New York-“ 

You feel Ben stiffen next to you, and shoot him an I heard it too, but please shut up look.

He returns it with a fucking killjoy eye roll, but stays quiet.

Annie, oblivious to the exchange, continues. “That stored compound V, along with a lot of other experimental chemicals. There were also seven Vought chemists and biologists who lived in the area, all of whom died six months ago, and each one had a close-casket funeral.”

You swallow, bile that tastes like guilt rising in your throat. You’d burned them alive. There might not have even been bodies to bury. “If you- If you show me a photo-“ Ben leans into you slightly—hand finding your thigh—and you can speak without choking. “I could identify them. They were the only people I saw for the four months after Homelander moved me.”

You can feel something sharp shot through your ribs—Ben’s ribs—living a stinging trail in its wake.

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Hughie says, glancing at Annie. “We should’ve just done that.”

“What did you do instead?” You ask, frowning.

Hughie gives you an embarrassed look. “We kind of, uh…”

“Jesus, Lad, just bloody say it.” Butcher mutters before giving you a wolfish grin. “We visited the families. Asked ‘em about what fuckery their beloved spouses and children got up to.”

“You harassed families about this?” You ask just as Ben says, “And did they fucking tell you anything?”

Butcher ignores you, answering Ben instead. “Most told us to fuck off, but one said that her dear husband always seemed fuckin guilty about something. Said he’d come back haunted.”

You feel the fire under your skin. Haunted. He’d felt guilty, for what he was doing. To you. But he’d kept doing it.

Your voice is slightly cracked. “I don’t see how that’s a lead though-“

“We asked her if she knew where he had worked,” Hughie says. “Like what town or city, and she said he never told her because of the NDA Vought made him sign, but that he always came back with donuts from this one shop. We looked it up, and it was near the warehouse.”

“From there it was real bloody easy,” Butcher drawls. “Hughie worked his fucking little geek magic, and we checked finance statements of a few shops in the area. A few cunts who were buying donuts and coffee are currently six feet under after an accident six months ago. Terrible thing, all their faces exploded, like a bloody laser hit them. Wanna guess who they fuckin worked for?”

You shake your head, but Butcher isn’t waiting. “The one and only rich bastard, Tek Knight.”

“That could be a coincidence,“ you say nervously. “I don’t think it would hold up as evidence.”

“It ain’t fucking evidence,” Butcher grins. “It’s proof that someone who ain’t Homelander or bloody dead might’ve known about project Anomaly. It’s a solid fucking lead.”

“So we’re going…” You trail off, looking around the van for someone to explain. “Where?”

“Well, Love,” Butcher leans back. “I happen to know from a few informants that Tek Knight runs a gentlemen’s club in bloody Staten Island. Real classy joint, underground, need a password to get in type shit.”

“Informants?” You give Butcher a flat look, and he rolls his eyes.

“Had to do something with all the threats I made last week. I didn’t get fucking shot just to waste a perfectly good mole.”

Hughie stares at Butcher, agape. “You got shot?”

Butcher waves a dismissive hand. “I’m fine, it ain’t a big deal.”

“Well, yeah,” you frown. “Because I healed you. It was bad,” you say to Hughie. “Big shot, right on his chest.” 

“Got blood all of the fucking floor,” Ben mutters, and you scoff.

“You’re not the one who had to clean it up, Ben.”

“I offered-“

You glare at him. “You said ‘I’ll hold the bucket’. That’s not cleaning, it’s barely helping.”

Hughie coughs, returning your attention to him. “Um, the shot?”

“Oh, yeah. It was bad.” You shrug, tapping your leg as you look at Butcher. “You never actually said what happened.”

“I was getting your fucking plan ready,” Butcher over enunciates the your, glaring around the van as he does so. “Making sure Homelander would hear about you and not think twice of it. Had my own little double agents, took a shit ton of effort to get them, too. And like I said, I ain’t about to waste all my hard work.”

“So they told you about the club?” You ask, and Butcher smirks.

“They didn’t tell me just about the club. They told me the password, and that Tek Knight’s there, right fuckin now.”

“And that’s where we’re going,” MM called from the front. “Hopefully that motherfucker will have some answers.”

You almost ask but what if he doesn’t? What if there’s nothing? but Ben squeezes your leg, and you look up to find him watching you.

This will fucking work, his face says. And because you can feel his resolve, that protective concern wrapping around your body and through your blood, you nod.

You’d been to Staten Island once. The Senator had been attending a fundraiser in New York and insisted on taking you and your siblings to the National Lighthouse Museum, because he was the most boring man in the world. You’d asked to go to the Met, or the zoo, or at least the Empire State Building, but no. The National Lighthouse Museum. Now, years later, you were slightly taken about by how similar everything looked to your hazy childhood memory. Brick and stone and trash against the curb.

“Why Staten Island?” You ask, and Hughie shrugs.

“It’s cheap, I guess.”

“Isn’t Tek Knight a billionaire?” You point out. “That’s like, his whole thing.”

“Does not stop him from being cheap,” Frenchie mutters. “Every cheap man I have known holds millions of dollars behind his back.”

“Well, if it’s a high end club, you would think he’d want some modicum of luxury in his location.” 

Butcher snorts. “I think this ain’t the type of place that requires luxury, Love.”

“You said it was a gentlemen’s club-“

“It is. Of sorts.”

“Of sorts?” You snap, wide-eyed. “I swear to god-“ 

“It’s an indulgence. For rich pricks who need to get away from their wives and have some fucking fun.”

“Butcher,” Annie says slowly, coldly. “Are we going to a sex club?”

“No,” Butcher’s face is scornful. “They don’t do the sex in the club. That’s for after.”

“After?” You gape. “After what?”

“The performances. Bunch of classy broads whose daddies didn’t love ‘em enough, competing to get the richest cunt pay to take them home and do coke off their tits.” He winks at Ben. “You’ll fuckin love it, gov.”

Ben’s grip on you tightens, and you feel hot anger in his chest. “Fuck you.”

“Aren’t we sensitive,” Butcher jeers, “Gone soft, have we?”

You narrow your eyes at him as you cover Ben’s hand with yours, feeling his anger barreling towards fury. In a miracle of timing, the van comes to a stop right when you think Ben might punch a hole through Butcher’s chest.

As you exit the van, the alleyway around you is abandoned in the night, a few closed doors looking like they lead to very abandoned buildings.

“Are you sure this is it?” Annie voices your thoughts, looking at MM with concern.

“This is the address Butcher gave me, ask him.”

“This is right,” Butcher looks around, hands in pockets. “Frenchie, got the costumes?”

Hughie’s face pales. “Costumes?”

Butcher ignores him, shouting, “Frenchie?!”

“Oui, in the back.”

“Go bloody get them.”

Frenchie frowns, but disappears back into the van, Kimiko following after signing lazy asshole at Butcher.

“What do you mean costumes,” Hughie pushes further. “Like disguises?”

“On the money, Lad.”

“You said we had the password, Butcher,” MM glowers. “The fuck do we need disguises for.” 

“They ain’t gonna just let us in,” Butcher says. “Even if they don’t recognize us, Soldier Boy and Starlight together are a dead bloody giveaway that somethings shady. We’re goin through the back, passwords just a failsafe.”

“So why do we need costumes?” MM snaps.

“Blendin in, mate.” Butcher shrugs as Frenchie exits the van, with a set of folded outfits. “Let’s get fucking moving, we’ll change inside.”

After Butcher shatters a window that sits around knee-height, Kimiko drops through it with another glare and scowl. A few, stressful seconds later, one of the steel doors opens down the alley, and you follow the group down steep stairs and into one of the creepiest fluorescent lit hallways you’ve ever seen.

“You ever see The Shining?” Ben mutters in your ear, and you nod, glancing back at him.

“When I was thirteen, at a friend’s sleepover. I wanted Jennifer’s Body, but I got outvoted. Why?”

“This creepy fucking hallway reminded me of it.” You can hear the tone drop that means he’s frowning, feel his confusion as his hand brushes your arm. “What’s Jennifer’s Body?”

“Teen horror movie. Megan Fox gets possessed by a demon and murders a bunch of men about it. It’s hot.”

“Hot?”

You nod passively. “Her dress is kind of ugly at the end, but she’s so pretty it works. We’ll watch it later.”

There’s pause. “You like it?”

“The movie, or Megan Fox?”

“Both.” He says, and you hum an agreement.

“Megan Fox is objectively hot, and it’s a great movie. I mean, it’s trash, but that’s what makes it great. You’ll like it.”

“Fine.”

“Hot ladies and murder, Ben, it checks all your boxes.” You shoot him a grin over your shoulder as you follow the team into a side room, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m already fucking sold, Sunshine.” He says, stopping at your side. “Calm the hell down.”

You wrinkle your nose at him as Butcher starts to direct everyone’s role in the plan.

“Me, MM, and Soldier Boy will be rich cunts. Try and squeeze some information out of these haughty fucking pricks.” Butcher points at each person as he speaks, and Frenchie passes them neatly folded and pressed suits.

“I’m not wearing a fucking suit,” Ben grunts, glaring at you for aid. You just shrug, half because you pick your battle carefully and know you’ll lose this one, half because you really want to see Ben in a suit.

“Don’t look at me, Pretty Boy. I’m not the one you have to convince.”

“And you don’t get to pick and choose this shit, motherfucker.” MM snaps. “You don’t get special treatment.”

“Aren’t I not allowed anywhere without-” Ben’s grumble of your name is cut off by Butcher’s snort.

“We’ve got enough of Frenchie’s Soldier Boy Special to knock out the whole bleedin state. You’re wearing the suit, Gov.”

You shrug half-heartedly, giving Ben an apologetic look you can feel his exasperation at through where his arm is brushing yours.

Fucking traitor. His frown says.

You grin. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Frenchie and Kimiko will be staff,” Butcher says. “Talk to some of the waiters and shit, see what they’re hearin.”

Nodding, Frenchie sets a stereotypical waiter’s uniform down on the floor for himself, and passes one to Kimiko.

Why are we staff? She signs at Frenchie with a frown, and he shrugs.

Because, you nudge Kimiko with your foot, signing when she looks. Your dick is too big for those insecure, money hungry assholes, they’ll start crying about it.

She grins, and you look back at Butcher in time to hear the last instructions.

“Starlight and Hughie will search the back courtesy of our very own songbird.” He turns to you with a smirk, saying your name. “I hope those pipes are warm and ready.”

You blink, speaking slowly as fire starts to itch in your throat. “What are you talking about.”

Butcher’s smile grows. “Figured we’d put your talent to use. You’re going on stage.”

Everything feels white-hot along your lungs and brain, and your mouth is dry. “What the fuck did you do.”

“Signed you up for the talent, Love.” Butcher's tone is passive, bored, and you might start screaming. “I hear exposure therapy works wonders.”

“Holy shit, Butcher.“ Annie gives him a look of disbelief. “What the hell is your problem?”

“We needed someone backstage, workin the girls.” Butcher shrugs. “She’s the easiest in.”

You take a deep, heavy breath, pushing the fire down and meeting Butcher eyes steadily. “Is this because we dropped the plan? Is that why you’re being such a fucking child?”

“I ain’t got a clue what you’re implying.”

“Butcher,” you say, slow and careful in your words. “I can’t do this. You don’t want me to do this.”

“Because of a little fuckin stage fright? You don’t get any exceptions either-”

“No,” you grip yourself tightly as you cut Butcher off. “I just need you, for once, to trust me. You don’t want this.”

“I think I’ll manage to live,” Butcher sneers, and something in you feels fraught.

“I can’t fucking do this,” you look desperately around the room. “Somebody else has to do this. Annie can sing, have her do it.”

“But she’s recognizable,” Hughie says sorry, his face a picture of guilt.

You whip around to MM, saying his name in a plea. “You can’t let him do this. It’s not just stage fright, I can’t sing in front of people.”

“They probably won’t put you on stage,” MM frowns. “And even though he’s being a fucking dick about it, he’s right. We need someone backstage.”

“No,” you shake your head in disbelief. “You don’t understand.”

“Look, we’ve all bloody heard you,” Butcher says lazily. “And MM’s right, you probably won’t even go onstage. We all gotta make fuckin sacrifices.”

“You don’t care about the sacrifices,” you hiss, the brittle thing in your body snapping in two. “You just hate me because I’m a supe and you can’t control me. I’m not scared to go onstage, I fucking can’t. I’ll-“ you choke over your words, pushing down the truth. They’d heard you sing. They hadn’t been in the room with you. They hadn’t seen what it did.

Ben's hand is on your back, and you feel the rage in him. Violent and bloody and making the world focused. From the corner of your eye, you see him glaring at your team, the look on his face murderous.

You take a deep breath, steady your heart into even beats, your world sharp and cold as your words become measured. “I don’t have words for how terrible an idea this is.”

Butcher shrugs. “Well-“

“But I’m going to power through and find them.” You sneer. “It’s a dogshit, idiotic, fucking insanely stupid idea, so much that I’m almost fucking impressed! It’s so batshit crazy that it makes my brain hurt, makes me wonder how fuck you’ve gotten away with not dying yet.” You take a rushed breath. “But I’m going to do it. I’ll do it, because I said I was going to do what it takes. But I will never,” you say every syllable long and clear. “Ever, fucking forgive this.”

Annie says your name apologetically, even as she takes a step back. “I’m sorry, but it’s the only way-“

“I know that,” you say, holding your ground. “And I know you don’t hate me. I know you’re afraid of me, and I get it. But you don’t trust me. I don’t know why, but none of you trust me. So I’ll do it, but you don’t get to be mad at me or disappointed in me when it goes sideways.”

You snatch the last thing Frenchie is holding, a dress, and don’t flinch as you hold their nervous, shameful expressions.

“Bathrooms are down the hall,” MM mutters, not meeting your eyes. “We’ll get changed and split up. Everyone keep their phones near them.” 

As everyone filters out, Ben holds you back. “We can fucking lea-“

“We’re not leaving,” you say flatly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You look like you’re about to damn explode,” He says your name with a frown, and you roll your eyes.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t do that,” Ben growls. “Don’t lie to me. I’m not afraid of you, I trust you, and I came to terms with the fact that nobody can control you a long fucking time ago. It’s one of the things I like about you. So don’t fucking lie to me.”

You make yourself hold your eyes to his, but you can’t keep your voice controlled. “Ben, I have to tell you some-“

Hughie pushes the door open, looking between where you and Ben stand, close together with his hand on the small of your back. “Sorry,” he stumbles words over each other. “Annie and I just, uh, we can’t go without you.” He’s still not glancing at you for more than a second, even as he says your name. “So, whenever you’re ready.”

Forcing your head not to turn back to Ben, you nod. “I”m coming,” you say, and hate the bitter tone in your voice as you walk into the hall.

You find the bathrooms with ease, Annie leaning outside the door in the same clothes from before, and push past her through the swinging door.

Kimiko is there, sitting silently on the sink in her waiter uniform. You give her a small, joyless smile before pushing into one of the disgusting, grime covered stalls. The dress you’ve been given is short, low-cut, and feels like poison on your skin. When you walk back out, fully changed, Kimiko jumps down from the sink, moving to grab your hand firmly.

You blink at her, feeling the genuine guilt and sadness running through her, without any pity or fear.

“I’m not mad at you,” you say gently. “You couldn’t have done much.”

She shakes her head, releasing her grip to sign I’m still sorry. They shouldn’t have done that, even if it’s important.

“I’ll live. And I know they mean well.” Even if the words feel hollow, you say them anyway.

Doesn’t make it okay, she signs furiously. You’ve sacrificed.

“But-“

You have. Just as much as all of us. You didn’t choose to be this, just like me. It’s not your fault you’re a supe, you shouldn’t be punished for it.

“It’s different. They all trust you.”

They can hurt me with weapons. I heal, but they can hurt me. They can’t hurt you. So they do this instead.

You sigh. “This won’t hurt me. It’ll just be….” You watch your reflection in the mirror. “Bad.”

Why?

“Because,” you give her a sad smile. “They’re right not to trust me. I keep too many secrets.”

Secrets?

“The third V shot, it-“

For the second time, right before you can lift this weight off your chest, the door opens.

“We need to go,” Annie says. Just like Hughie, she won’t look at you either.

You nod, giving Kimiko a closed-lip, grimacing smile, and follow Annie out of the bathroom. Hughie’s waiting outside, foot tapping with his hands on his hips.

“Are we ready?” At Annie’s nod, Hughie gestures down the hall. “Butcher said he marked the door. I don’t know what that means.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Annie reassures him, and you follow them further down the hall. 

“They’ll have a different dress backstage for you, this is just to get you in the door.” You blink at Annie as she drops a step back to talk to you. “I’m really sor-“

“Save it,” you say flatly.

“If this works, it’ll be over soon. All of it.” Her voice is soft, like you’re fragile. “I know you said you can’t-“

“Annie.” You keep your eyes ahead, make your voice firm. “For both our sake, please just stop.”

“We’re here.” Hughie stops any further attempts to apologize from Annie as he points to a scratch mark on the frame of a red door. He says your name in that same, delicate tone Annie was using. “You’ll go first, Butcher said to find the ‘sleazy greased cunt’s office’. Just, uh, prop open the door or something and we’ll follow.”

You nod, and—without another look to either of them—walk through the door.

The difference is immediate. Lush, carpeted floors. Clean walls. Everything smells like smoke and spice and all the lights are a soft yellow. You walk carefully down the hall, and stop when you reach a door that’s been left slightly ajar, enough to fully see inside the room. There’s a middle aged man at a desk, wearing a gray suit and an egregious amount of hair mousse as he scrolls through something on the computer. Glancing back at the door—sporting a silver plaque reading Talent Office—you decide it’s more than an educated guess that he’s the sleazy greased cunt Butcher was referring to.

Steeling yourself, you knock.

The man looks up almost immediately, a crude smile crossing his face. “Well, hello there. How can I help you, sweetheart?”

“Are you in charge of the talent?” You ask, making your voice sweet, eyes doe-like, and expression naive and innocent. It takes an active effort to keep your lips from curling in disgust at the once over he gives you.

“Read the sign, gorgeous.” You want to wrap that too-big tie around his throat, even as you give him a simpering pout.

“Oh, sorry.” Breathy laugh, inflate his ego, don’t rip out his slimy hair. “My friend said he found me a job.”

“Your friend?” The man asks, frowning slightly. “Angry brit?”

“Yeah,” you silently curse Butcher, both for the situation he’s put you in and not giving you enough information about it. “I hope he didn’t give you enough of a problem? I can go-“

“No,” the man stands, moving from behind his desk. “You’re just fine where you are. Dude seemed protective, but seeing you, it makes sense.” He chuckles, and the sound crawls along your skin. 

“Oh, thank you.” This smile is making your cheeks hurt, and you move your hand behind your back so he doesn’t see your nails in your skin. Or that the marks don’t stay.

“Yeah, I’m liking what I’m seeing.” He winks at you, and you wonder how easy it is for eyes to burn. “I’m gonna get the big boss, you stay right here beautiful.”

You want to rip out his tongue. He doesn’t get to call you that. Nobody gets to, except-

“Oh,” you shake your head slightly, trying to seem shy while physically forcing the thoughts out of your head. “I’m sure you don’t have to bother him-“

“Nah, he’ll love to see you.” The man reaches up, rubbing your arms as he moves you slightly to the side. “Don’t go anywhere.”

With one last awful wink, he’s gone.

You feel your phone buzz in your hand.

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

Are you in? 

Not yet, you text back. Butcher was right, Tek Knight is here.

Annie’s typing, but before she can send the text, you hear a voice coming and look up sharply. You barely manage to turn back into the terrible persona you’ve chosen for yourself before Mr. Talent returns, another suit-clad man at his side.

This one you recognize. Grossly expensive suit, short hair, wolf-like smile and cold eyes.

“Tek Knight,” you reach out your hand, making your voice soft and of wonder rather than fevered disgust. “It’s a honor, sir-“

“This her?” Tek Knight looks you up and down, slower than Mr. Talent had. “Nice.”

“Thank you,” you say, bowing your head instead of punching his.

He ignores you. “And someone vouched for her?”

Mr. Talent nods. “Yes, sir. Mean guy, sounded British over the phone. Said she sounded like an angel.”

“He your boyfriend?” Your mouth falls open when you realize you’re being addressed.

 “No, just a friend. Wanted to help me out, I haven’t had much luck finding a new job.” 

“Good,” Tek Knight’s nod makes your stomach churns, his eyes still scanning over your figure. “She’s got the looks. Smoking hot.” You have to physically bite your tongue. “Can you dance?” 

“Enough,” you say truthfully, even if the words are sugary. “I know how to put on a show.”

Tek Knight nods, speaking to Mr. Talent without looking away from you. “Put her on stage. Tonight. And tell me when she’s up.” 

You think the shock in your body might stop you from ever speaking again. You just stare, mouth open, as Tek Knight gives a click of his tongue and walks away. You don’t even have a mind to try and play it off as graceful shyness, or humble disbelief from being chosen. The fire is loud in your ears, time moving too fast. The world isn’t blurry, it’s too sharp, bright and far away. Mr. Talent is talking with a hand on your lower back, but you can barely feel it, and you can’t really hear him. All you can think is no. He’s guiding you down the hall, through another door, and all you can do is stumble where he pushes you forward.

“…and we’ll need your measurements, sweetheart.” Mr. Talent’s words manage to find their way into your head as he pushes you down into a chair, across from one of those dressing mirrors you’ve only seen in movies. “We can find a dress that fits fine until one of the girls will make you something special.”

“Oh, that's not necessary.” Your voice is quiet, and you’re not faking nervous humility anymore as you try to stand on shaky legs. “I can just-“

“All of our talent gets custom outfits,” Mr. Talent speaks over you, hands moving to your shoulders. Holding you in the seat. “We’ll figure out your sell, and you’ll get one too.”

“My sell?”

He winks at you in the mirror. “Your brand, darling.” You wish he would settle on one nickname. “Are you sour or sweet? Hot or pretty? Heartbreaker or girl-next-door? Gentle or a little spitfire? What’s your pitch? Why should they take you home?”

“I don’t-“

“Now usually, we’d wait a few shows before deciding. But I think the boss might want you to fit to him.” A painful lump is sitting in your throat. “And luckily, I know what he likes. Candy!”

You frown—confusion pushing through your clouding fear as you think you might be about be covered in whipped cream and chocolate—until a pink-haired, acrylic-nailed woman appears from seemingly nowhere at Mr. Talent’s side.

“What’s up, Mikey?” She’s talking to Mr. Talent, chewing gum loudly through her words, twisting a large and gaudy diamond ring on her finger.

“New girl. I’m putting her on in an hour, get her ready.”

Candy scans over you through the mirror, a pouting frown on her face. “She new new?” At Mr. Talent’s nod, she gives him a worried look. “Shouldn’t we wait-“

“No time for regular training, boss’s orders she’s on tonight.”

“Boss’s orders?” Candy's mouth falls open for a second, and Mr. Talent just shrugs. “Does that mean-“

“Full special. She’s singing, make sure it matches.”

Candy nods, and with that, Mr. Talent is gone.

“What’s your name, babe?” Candy asks, her nails combing gentle through your hair, holding your gaze in the mirror.

You tell her truthfully, and she hums.

“How’d you end up here?”

“My friend got me the job.”

“Friend? How’d she know about this?”

“He’s into shady shit.” Truth. “But he just wants what’s best for me.” Lie.

“He?” Candy makes a sour face, and when her hand falls to your shoulder you feel genuine concern running through her chest. “He ain’t your boyfriend, right?”

You shake your head. “You’re the second person to ask me that,” you say carefully. Her heart flips slightly, so you push forward. “Would it be a, like a problem if he was?”

“They don’t like us having those types of attachments,” she says flatly. “Makes the clients insecure.” You glance at the ring on her finger, and she chuckles slightly. “My wife don’t count to them. It’s exotic, sexy. Not a threat.”

“That sucks,” you mutter, and she just shrugs. 

“I get to keep her. Get to be happy. Most girls here don’t get that.”

You watch Candy reach to the side, pulling to her side a trolley of makeup and products that would put Annie’s to shame. “How long have you been here?”

“Almost ten years. Longer than anyone, even Mikey.” She examines lipsticks as she speaks, glancing between your reflection and the colors. “Been dancing twenty, ballet, but this pays better than any arts center.”

“So you know everyone?” You make your tone casual, curious. An innocent girl at a new job. “Even Tek Knight?”

Though her face is neutral, Candy’s hand brushing your hair from your face betrays something sour in her gut. “Most everyone. And he’s a fine boss, but that’s all I know about Tek Knight.”

“What about the other staff?”

“Lot of turnover,” she pulls your hair fully back with a clip. “Mikey said you’re singing?”

The stone in your gut and itch in your throat returns quickly. “I don’t know, I don’t have anything prepared.”

“They’ll take care of that.” Candy moves around to stand in front of you. “You just gotta put on the show they want.”

“Oh,” you swallow, and Candy must notice, because she gives you a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, you’ll do great. Just play up whatever they tell you to by a hundred.” At your confused expression, she continues. “If they want us sweet, we make it sickly. If they want us hot, be the sun. Mysterious, be Agatha Christie.”

“I don’t know what they want from me though.”

“You’re getting the boss special.” Candy explains, holding your chin up as she begins her work. “He likes them gentle but fierce, cute but hot, a good chase but an easy catch. “

You try and keep your face still as you respond. “That doesn’t make any sense. Those words are oxymorons, you can’t be both at once, it’s a Madonna-whore complex-“ You cut yourself off at the amused look on Candy’s face.

“We know that.” She says. “But they don’t care. They want a toy, not a woman. Lucky for us, they pay a shit ton for toys.”

You give a small sound of acknowledgement, falling silent as Candy continues her work, and when she steps to the side your face is painted—lips red and eyes shimmering—with every strand of hair in a careful place.

“Gorgeous,” Candy smiles at you. “You’re up soon, feel free to warm up while I get your outfit.”

As she leaves the room, you watch yourself in the mirror, the person almost unrecognizable. You can’t do this. Not just because it will give everything away, because the secret you’ve buried too deeply and piously will be revealed. Because there’s no way to know what will happen. You don’t get to pick the song, they could give you one that sends you into a dreamscape or conjures fireworks, or one that sends you into childhood. Into the white room. You can’t do this. Even your team didn’t think it would come to this. It’s not too late to run. You could find Ben easily—you don’t think you could miss him in a crowd if you tried—and tell him the truth. He’d help you leave, he’d always help you leave. But no matter what, you need to find him. Tell him first. The last secret, he needs to know before anything else happens. You need to tell him, now-

Candy returns, holding a long, silky dress. Passing it into your hands, she gives you a kind smile.

“You’re going to do great, they’ll love you.” You don’t want them to love you, you need to find Ben. Before- “You’re next, I’d get changed now.” Candy squeezed your hand, and you feel genuine worry for you, paired with nervous hope. “Good luck.”

You’re rooted in place for a minute after she leaves. There has to be a way out of this, you heard the door’s lock click, but there has to be a way. You can’t do this, you have to go find Ben-

Only the buzzing of your phone pulls you from your head. 

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever

Starlight says you’re not answering her.

If you’re not dead, get your shit together.

You glare at the messages before dropping your phone next to the dress, running its material through your hands. It’s cool and smooth, and when you finally manage to make yourself change into it, it feels like a snake skin. Flowing around you, cold and slimy and wrong.

“You ready, gorgeous?” It’s Mr. Talent—Mikey, Candy called him—pushing through the door and letting out a bone-chilling whistle when he sees you. “Hot damn, yeah you are.”

“I, uh-“ You need to find a way, at least delay this. “I still don’t know what I’m singing.”

Mikey winks at you, holding out a sheet of printed paper. “I took care of that for you, beautiful.”

You force down the fire pinching at your nose and lining in your tongue, taking the paper and reading along the printed lyrics. Your chest starts to contract, lungs and heart pushing up against your ribs.

It’s a song about sex. You recognize it, you’ve heard it before, and it’s a song about sex. It’s not subtle or coded with innuendos. It’s just a song about sex. Plain and blatantly simple. And when you look up at Mikey, he’s smirking at your flushed expression.

“I don’t want to do this one,” you say, trying to sound docile and timid. You want to scream and burn, but that’s not an option. You need to play your hand, a naïve girl who is nervous to sing about sex.

“Bosses orders.” Mikey winks again. He should just sow his eye shut at this point. “We can put the lyrics on a teleprompter-“

“I know the song,” you shake your head, borderline frantic. “I just-“

“Of course you do, you little vixen.” Mikey looks you up and down again. “Oh, you’re going to kill it sweetheart. Just put some of that sweet honey on it.”

You don’t know what that means. You don’t get time to ask, though, because you’re herded further into the backstage area. You leave the mirror and makeup to stand behind a red curtain where you can hear applause and taunting laughter.

Mikey leaves your side for a heartbeat, and you hardly notice, too occupied fighting the coal-tasting fear in your mouth. He returns, ushering a large, bald man in an all-white suit along with him.

Mikey says your name twice, tone a little sharper the second time when the first only received a blank stare. “This is Mr. Great, he’ll be on piano for you.”

“Mr. Great?” You repeat, looking the newcomer up and down. His suit is somehow both too tight and too loose at once, he’s wearing round sunglasses that make him look like a dollar store Ray Charles, even as the high collar of his shirt and toothy smile give him an aura of Elton John.

“It’s my stage name, honey.” Mr. Great extends his hand, and when you shake it you feel almost inflated pride and grimy amusement. “You can call me Steve.”

You will not be calling him Steve.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Great,” you say his terrible alias kindly, an overly excited smile plastered on your face.

“Pleasures all mine,” Mr. Great says your name, the grime pulsing through his hand into you, and you hold down bile in your stomach. “I’m sure we’ll make a great team.”

Mikey’s tapping on his phone, glancing up as you pull your own hand from Mr. Greats grimy one. “All set, sweetheart?”

You nod. This is happening, now way out. Not as Mr. Great is smiling like a snake and Mikey is taking you in one last time. You still try, just one last time. “Are we sure I’m ready? You haven’t even heard me sing-“

“You’re ready,” Mikey dismisses. “And they,” you loathe the way he says that word, long and cold. “Don’t care how well you sing. You’ve already done the important part.”

“The important part?”

Mikey winks one last time, already turning away with a smirk. “Look like something they want.”

You watch him leave, giving a small start when you feel Mr. Great’s hand rubbing the small of your back.

“You’ll have them eating out of your hand, darlin.” He turns you around to face the velvet curtains. “Remember, it’s all in the hips and smile.”

“What does that-“ Mr. Great is gone before you can finish, ducking behind the far end of the curtain as applause sounds loudly from the other side. You really wish these people would stop talking in indecipherable and cryptic metaphors.

A blonde, curvy and full lipped woman opens the curtain before you, walking past you in a smooth strut that turns to a slouched, glowering stance once the audience is muffled once more.

She doesn’t look surprised to see you, pulling out a cigarette and addressing you wearily. “You new?”

You nod, words reduced to lumps in your throat.

“Good night to be new.” She hums thoughtfully. “Boss is here. Lots of good pickings for bidders. You a singer?”

“How did you know,” you manage to ask.

“Saw Steve. Good luck, new girl. Confidence is key.”

With that, she’s gone, and everything feels vile and sharp and bright.

You hear a voice that might be Candy, but cheerier and faster than you’d heard before, saying your name. Growing louder as wolf whistles and cheers start to sound.

Confidence is key. Hips and smile. Put sweet honey on it.

All the advice ringing in your head is pointless—this is going to hell and chaos no matter what kind of show you put on—but that doesn’t scratch the words from spinning through you.

The curtain opens to bright lights and shadow-cast bodies behind them. Candy’s gesturing you onto the stage, and your feet move of their own accord. She gives you a squeeze, gentle on your arm, and walks down stairs off the side, leaving you alone, elevated with a microphone and cold sweat in the spotlight.

You’re saved from trying to greet your audience, trying to find words that aren’t panicked or fearful by the first notes of the piano. It’s setting a rhythm—a little longer of an introduction than the song usually has—and you take the time to search the crowd. Tek Knight is watching in the back, behind a roped off, throne-like booth that he leans forward on. But your gaze is pulled away, because there is something you can feel, something angry that’s rioting against you. Something stone like watching you.

You lock eyes with Ben, his handsome face just barely visible from the back of the room, just before your cue hits, and you have to start the show.

The lyrics are pulled from your brain, sensual and explicit with flowing low notes that you force warm emotion into and belted high notes you make breathy. Time has become long, because the song is only vocals—no longer instrumental breaks—and you can’t control what’s happening. But you can’t look away from Ben either. It’s like his eyes are pulling you, removing you from your body to just watch your own show.

It starts almost deceptively simple. Hazy fairy lights floating through the room. Ocean-like mist against skin, everything smelling like pine trees and coffee and gunpowder. Gravity feels less powerful, the sky is opening up to stars and moons as everything is cast in a soft glow. And you still can’t look away from Ben, even as the room gasps, half-entranced and half-bemused. You can’t look away, not as the instrument accompaniment fills the room, drowning out Mr. Great’s piano but amplifying your voice. You can’t look away, not as the chorus hits and your singing seems to split into echoing harmonies, your body swaying in time with the music.

Then you’re yanked back into your body, because you feel someone behind you and when you turn—never missing a beat—it’s Ben. Not real Ben, still in the silently watching crowd. Fake Ben, smiling at you the way Real Ben would, eyes glimmering the way Real Ben’s do. Moving with you, hands on your hips and body pressed to yours. You can’t feel anything from him, no amusement or anger or desire, but you can’t stop. It’s like you’re under a spell, the rest of the world fading except for you, the imagined Ben before you, and the true Ben who you can still hauntingly feel.

The song starts to move too fast. Fire is spreading across the stage and you don’t know if it’s real or just another effect. Soft steam is rising, and the pine smell is growing stronger. You’re dancing with Fake Ben, his hands are tracing along your waist and resting on your hips and it feels so real. You reach up to touch his face—still holding the microphone in one hand—and even his smirk looks like Real Ben’s. His hands have all the same callous’ he moves the same way Real Ben does, and when he spins you—pressing your back to his chest—you can hear his heartbeat. It’s one second off from Real Ben’s.The song drops into a slower tempo, a rest before the finale, it’s all moving too fast away from you. Fake Ben falls to his knees, and when the high note comes he picks you up, spinning you around as the whole room becomes flooded with light. You feel high.

And you can still feel Real Ben.

In barely a second it’s over, and Fake Ben disappears into shining mist with the rest of the song. You’re in a dark club, alone on the stage, illuminated by the spotlight as the room hangs in silence.

The first person applauds, and everyone erupts. You look out into the crowd—you need to find Ben—and he’s right where he’d been before. His mouth is closed, stiller than a statue, and his shock and confusion and something hot and loud and powerful is coursing across the room into you. It’s his, you’re certain. It’s not yours, or Candy’s as she pulls you backstage, or Mr. Great’s as he claps your back. You know it’s Ben’s. You just do.

You’d bet the world on it. 

The blonde woman, Candy, and Mr. Great are all trying to talk to you, but you can’t hear them. They sound as if they’re speaking gibberish, and everything is so bright and you can’t feel anything but Ben. Almost on instinct you try to walk back onto the stage, to find Ben, but you barely push the curtain aside before Candy is yanking you back.

It’s enough though. All the world comes crashing back, violent and acidic, when—in those split seconds—you see it. 

Tek Knight is gone from his throne.

Like you’ve been re-animated, you turn to Candy, words harsh and fast. “I need to leave. Now. You need to pretend you’ve never met me, and get as far away from here as you can.”

“What was that, are you a supe?” Candy’s panicking, arms frantic.

“Yes. Kind of. Not really. I mean, Vought-” You stumble through the words quickly, shaking your head. “Look, there’s no time. You need to listen to me. You’re in danger.”

Candy yells your name. “You need to fucking explain-“

“I can’t. You need to go, get out, right fucking now, I can’t let more people die because of me-“

“Because of you?!” Candy’s voice is shrill, and you feel her panic as you try to herd her to the exit.

“You need to go, I’m so sorry, you need to-” You choke on the words when you see Mikey coming down the hall with anger in his eyes. You don’t look at Candy as you say “run”. 

Mikey barely has time to speak before you’re barreling past him, down the hall, trying to re-trace your step. Outside of your adrenaline consumed mind, you know going out onto the stage, where there was a crowd and you knew the team had been was the better idea. But all you can think is get away, far, far away. There’s no smoke filling your vision, everything feels frozen over in your body, so you just run.

You’re moving too fast to see the foot, stretched out to block your path.

Falling forwards, your hands don’t catch you on the ground before someone is grabbing your arm. You never hit the ground, being yanked back and pulled to the side. A door slams behind you, a white and flickering ceiling light turns on, and you’re in a storage room. Surrounded by dresses, costumes, feather fans, ribbons, and Tek Knight. Towering over you, hand still gripping your arm, pushing you back, back, back into a wall.

You try to burn him, but everything is so cold. All you can feel is your blood and his disgusting satisfaction. No matter how hard you try, you can’t feel any itch of flame below your skin. 

“It looks like I won the fucking lottery,” Tek Knight leers at you, arm pinned to your side, and says your name. Your full name. Your real, full name that’s carved into stone in Boston. “Sister Sage told me to look out for you, little girl. She was complaining about some sort of fucking security breach, told me to look for you.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir-“

Tek Knight’s laugh is a crude, over-enunciated cackle. “Don’t play stupid with me, Bitch. You’ve been giving me problems. I designed that fucking security system, and now Homelander and Sage won’t get off my ass about it-“

You drop any buttery, over-innocent persona. Jig is up, gloves off. “I thought your company designed that security system.” You sneer. “I read that fucking article about the lawsuit, asshole. All you did was take credit for someone’s work.”

“That scientist was a fucking liar,” Tek Knight hisses, slamming you back into wall, your head hitting concrete. “He was just jealous of me, because his wife wanted to sleep with me more than that blue-balled nerd.”

“I’m sure he was really jealous of your tiny dick,” you spit, almost relishing in the childish anger through Tek Knight’s body. “And your shit fucking business ideas. Did anyone even buy those Tek Knight phones, or did they see how it shrank your dick and-”

Tek Knight’s elbow presses into your throat, a too wide smile across his face as your words turn into a long wheeze. “I’m a genius,” he sneers. “I’m going to get the reward for finding you, giving you over to Homelander.” 

The fire is still gone, because the pain and fear and panic is freezing you alive. Biting into your brain and heart and lungs and limb to hold you down in place as Tek Knight taunts you.

“He’s going to beg me to join the Seven,” your eyes feel like icicles are moving through them. “I’ll kick that diversity hire bitch out,” your tongue feels numb in your mouth. “And while I’m at it, that fast boy out too,” you can’t move and everything is so heavy, something deep from the back of your head is trying to flee your body. “and I’m going to buy you, fucking own you, you weak fucking bitch-“

Tek Knight’s eyes grow wide, his grip becoming slack as his body locks up. You can’t feel him, you’re still filled with frost along your bones and mind. It feels bigger. Doubled, consuming, and never-ending. His arm is still against your air-pipe, leaning further into you as he loses balance. Something is moving behind you both, shouts and thumps and gunshots, but everything is just cold and your head feels like air.

The last thing you see before the world goes dark is Ben, pushing the door of the storage room open with a roar.

————

Butcher had noticed Tek Knight’s absence before Ben. The room was in a chaos, some rich pussies whining about being drugged, some trying to push backstage, most just fucking confused. But Ben was locked in his seat, rigid and reeling. He didn’t know what had just happened. She’d looked at him, and started singing—that same warm and clear voice that could move mountains and armies—and the whole world had unraveled. Lights and water and nature had taken over, and Ben had wondered if the French Prick had slipped him some sort of experimental psychedelic. Then he’d managed to see MM and Butcher from the corner of his eye, wearing matching shocked and spellbound expressions. 

It had felt like an enchantment had been cast over the room. Whatever trick She was pulling, those illusions she was somehow spinning felt so fucking real. Nobody could move, or look away from Her. And She wouldn’t look away from Ben.

The Thing had been so powerful—eating him and burning him and roaring in his chest—before it had even happened. Then the clone, an eerie fucking perfect replica of Ben, was at Her side. And dancing with her, and touching her, and she was looking at it the way she did in Ben’s fantasies, and the Thing became all Ben could feel. When she’d finished, all he needed to do was get to Her. His feet wouldn’t fucking move, he was locked in place, but Ben needed to fucking find Her.

“Frenchie says she ain’t backstage, and they can't find Tek Knight either.” Butcher’s words, loud over the mayhem of the room, finally sprang Ben into action. 

Danger, the Thing bellowed. She’s in danger.

He had pushed through the crowd, up onto the stage and through performers and club staff, ignoring MM and Butcher’s calls behind him. A guard had tried to stop him as he moved further, Ben had shoved him aside, and alarms had begun to go off. More guards had flooded the halls, gunshots going off around him, but Ben had just kept fucking moving. Looking for Her heartbeat, locking into it and following it to a closed, locked door labeled Performance Storage.

She’s falling, slumping against the wall with her eyes dropping just when Ben finally sees Her. Butcher and MM are still moving down the hall, Ben’s ripped the door off its hinges, and someone is shouting after him, but it doesn’t fucking matter. Not when he’s storming across the room, tossing a still-bodied Tek Knight to the side with little effort, and catching Her before she can hit the ground.

Ben held Her, cradling the back of her head as she remained limp against his chest. He’s half aware of Butcher and MM, now with the French Prick and Kimiko, entering the room. But he doesn’t look at them, the Thing becoming tighter in his chest the longer Her eyes stay closed. They should be open by now, they should’ve been open goddamn minutes ago. Why weren’t they fucking open, what if they didn’t fucking open. Ben could hear Her heart, but he couldn’t hear her breath. Where was her fucking breath. She can’t die, it’s not even a damn option on the table, so why couldn’t he hear her breath- 

Her body shook with a cough, and her eyes blinked open, meeting his. Her hands shoot up, one pressing into Ben’s chest as the other finds her throat, scraping along it in a clawed hand. Ben—still holding Her against him—drops his hold on her head, pulling her away from where she’s leaving quickly-fading red marks along her throat.

“Breathe,” he says Her name in a low but firm voice, twice when Her head shakes frantically. “You’re fine, it’s okay, breathe.”

She makes a choked sound. “Can’t- He said- reward-“

“You’re okay,” Ben brushes the hair clinging to her sweat-drenched forehead. “I’m right fucking here, nothing’s going to happen. I just need you to fucking breathe.”

She nodded, and though there were tears in her eyes and her breaths were still weak, but Her heart grew to an even rhythm as Ben rubbed small circles where he held her hand. He was aware of the movement behind him, MM and Kimiko dragging Tek Knight up from where Ben had thrown him, the French Prick rummaging through bins to find something to tie the asshole up. Butcher, moving behind Ben and saying Her name, cold and harsh.

“Care to explain what the fucking hell that was.” He growled, and Ben pulled Her up, holding her steady and they turned to face Butcher. 

“Now’s not the fucking time-“ Ben started to sneer at Butcher, but She squeezed his arm around her and shook her head slightly.

“It’s okay, I need to-“ another long breath, Her heart still slightly erratic as she spoke softly, the words vomiting out of Her. “It’s the third shot of V. Sensory manipulation. It only happens when I sing, and-“

“I’ve fucking heard you sing, Love,” Butcher snapped. “That shit didn’t-“

“You have to be in a certain range for it to work, I don’t know. I think it’s like a pheromone or something, I can’t control it, I didn’t think Homelander even knew about it, but he,” She pointed a shaky finger at Tek Knight. “Said that Sage was telling him to look for me.”

“Look for you?” MM looked up from where he stood, keeping gun pointed at Tek Knight’s unconscious head. “Why did they think you’d be here?”

“Security breach,” She looked nervously at Tek Knight, and Ben felt her body press closer to his own. “Sage must have seen that you got those records.”

“Well, he’ll tell us the whole bloody story when he wakes up, won’t he?” Butcher turned to the French Prick. “He ain’t dead, right? That’d be fucking annoying.” 

The French Prick looked up from where he was examining Tek Knight’s body, shaking his head with a frown. “He should wake up soonish, I do not see any burns or physical damage.”

Just then, a weak, pathetic groan escaped Tek Knight, and his eyes slowly opened. His eyes found Her first, his face twisting into a half-afraid, half-furious expression.

“What the fuck did you do to me, you fucking bitch.” His voice was hoarse, but filled with wrath. “How dare you lay a fucking hand on me-“

“I’d calm the hell down, Motherfucker.” MM pressed the gun into Tek Knight’s temple. “You don’t have any sort of upper hand right now.”

Even as the pussy falls silent, Tek Knight didn’ take his glare off Her, and Ben held her a little tighter.

“Good bloody work, Mate.” Butcher taunted, taking a step closer and bending down Tek Knight’s eye level. “Followin orders like a good little cunt.”

“Fuck you,” Tek Knight spat into Butcher’s eyes. “This is fucking bullshit, don’t you know who I am-“

“We know exactly who you are,” MM snapped. “And we’ve got some questions for you.”

“I’m not telling you fucking shit-“

“See, we ain’t asking.” Butcher gave a crude smirk. “You recognize him?” Tek Knight followed Butcher pointing finger to Ben, and his face fell pale as Butcher continued. “One word from us, and he flattens you like a pancake.” 

“Soldier Boy doesn’t fucking scare me,” his voice was shaky, and Ben just watched him coldly.

“You sure?” Butcher said, brows raised mockingly. “Cause from where I’m sat, it looks like you might be pissin yourself a little, Mate.”

“What do you want? Money?” Tek Knight looked around the room, voice growing higher. “I can give you fucking money. I can give you whatever the fuck you want.”

“We want answers,” MM clicked the safety off, and Tek Knight flinched. “And you’re going to give them to us. First off,” MM angled the gun to leave a mark on Tek Knight’s temple, pointing at Her, still silent against Ben’s side. “What do you know about the Anomaly?”

“I’m not telling you shit-“

“Yeah, yeah.” Butcher rolled his eyes. “Save us the whining and answer the fucking question.”

Tek Knight shook his head. “I don’t know what hell you’re talking about.”

“You said you knew about me,” She said, voice unsteady but loud. “You said you were going to turn me over to Homelander.”

“She’s making that shit up, trying to turn you against me.” Tek Knight snapped. “I never said any of that.”

“No, she’s not.” Ben growled, and Tek Knight scoffed.

“You really fucking believe this bitch? After all her fucking lies?” He laughed as Ben felt Her shrink backwards, heartbeat picking up pace once more. “That’s right, sweetheart. I know fucking everything. I know about all your little whore powers. I figured it out, your brain manipulation. Homelander came to me, begging for help, and I saw all the clues on the cam footage.”

“Cam footage?” MM snapped, and Tek Knight fell silent at his slip. “What fucking cam footage?”

“I told you, I’m not telling you fucking shit-“

“And we told you,” Ben hissed. “We’re not fucking asking.” He didn’t let Her go, letting her continue to lean against him as he threatened Tek Knight. “You tell us what you know, right fucking now, or I’ll break your pussy brain in half.”

“I don’t know anything-“

The French Prick snorted. “You just admitted you ‘figured it out’, no?”

“It was Sage, not me,” Tek Knight said frantically, folding in half like a fucking house of cards. “I don’t know anything, I’m a scapegoat, it’s a fucking witch hunt-“

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” MM muttered. “Answer the goddamn question.”

“I don’t know anything, they don’t tell me shit, I just help Homelander when he asks-“

“Help him with what?” Butcher snapped. “We want fucking specifics.”

“I dunno!” Ben could smell Tek Knight’s fucking sweat, coming in damn buckets. “He wants guards, I get him guards! Money, I get money! You would too, the dude is fucking terrifying. Insane!”

“Yeah, we’ve figured that out,” MM said dryly. “You keep a record of this shit?”

Tek Knight shook his head. “It’s all off the book. He doesn’t pay me, but I’m on the shortlist for the Seven-“

“Jesus bloody Christ,” Butcher gave a scornful laugh. “Your head is all the way up Homelander’s puckered ass, ain’t it?” 

“He’s going to fucking kill me,” Tek Knight was panicking, moving like a damn bobble-head. “I shouldn’t have told you anything, he’s going to kill me-“

“What about that cam footage?” MM asked. “The fuck was that about?”

“It’s gone, Sage erased it after the breach. Holy fuck, this and the breach, I’m fucking dead.” Tek Knight look around at them, desperate and fucking snot-nosed. “You have to help me, he’s going to kill me, I shouldn’t have fucking called him-“

“Called him?” MM glanced up at Butcher as he spoke, and She went rigid at Ben’s side. “The hell you mean, called him?”

“Homelander’s fucking coming, I told him about her,” his nods were aimed in Her direction, and her heart was moving so fast Ben thought it might explode. “And he’s going to kill all of us, you have to untie me, right now, please-“ 

“Nah, I think we’re good,” Butcher shrugged as he pulled out a gun, and Tek Knight’s eyes barely had time to widen before the shot went off. 

“Butcher!” Tek Knight slumped forward into MM’s gun, and MM gave Butcher a pissed scowl. “The fuck was that, we weren’t done-“

“Yeah, we were.” Butcher was turning away, watching the door with sharp eyes. “This was a shit fuckin dead end, and now we’re right back where we damn started.”

She let out a strangled gasp, and started tugging at Ben with hushed, frantic words. “He said Homelander-“ Her nails were pushing into his arm, but he just held her steady. “Homelander’s coming, he’s coming-“ 

“We heard him.” Butcher’s eyes didn’t leave the door as he loaded his gun. “Frenchie, look for any weapons that cunt might have, MM, tell Hughie to get the van ready, we have to move fast.”

The door burst open, and MM fired right at Starlight who had jumped in front of Cocksucker at the last second. 

“Oh shit!” Cocksucker yelled, catching Starlight as she stumbled backwards. “It’s us, it’s just us!” 

“Homelander,” Starlight’s breath was heavy, coughing as she spoke. “He’s here, just landed at the stage.” 

“Did he see you?” Butcher demanded, catching the rounds the French Prick was tossing to him.

Cocksucker shook his head. “I don’t think so, I mean he didn’t try to laser us so that’s a good sign, but it’s all I have to go off-“

“Kid,” MM said sternly. “Not the time for rambling. Did he see you, yes or no.”

“No?”

He on his way?”

“Probably?”

“Shit,” MM exchanged another look with Butcher. “The halls won’t be safe. There got to be a back exit-“

“That's how we got in,” Butcher grunted. “It’s our best fucking bet. Kimiko and Soldier Boy will have to lead-“

“The fuck I’m leading,” Ben interrupted Butcher with a glower, gesturing to Her. “She can’t fucking walk-“

“She’s gonna have to,” MM’s voice was apologetic as he said her name, and Ben didn’t give a shit. “She’s an adult, she’ll be fine. Butcher-“

Ben tuned out the continuing arguments and planning as he looked down at Her, with hands fisted on his sleeve and legs shaking. The strangled sounds had died from her throat minutes ago, and all she seemed to do was stare at the door with terror, breaths coming jagged and short. He said her name lowly, and she didn’t even flinch.

“We need to run,” he said Her name again. “I need you to fucking run.”

All he got in response was a shaking head.

Ben stalked over to the French Prick, holding Her slightly off the ground to move with him. “Give me a fucking gun.”

“Not in goddamn hell,” MM answered before the French Prick could.

Ben spat his words at no one in particular. “I’m only taking the lead if you give me a fucking gun.”

“Give it to him, Frenchie.” Butcher’s order was brisk as he looked Ben up and down, eyes resting on where She still clung to his side.

“Monsieur Butcher-“

“Now.” Butcher snapped, turning to face the hall.

“Butcher are you fucking insane-“

“We don’t have time for bloody useless arguments, MM, we’ve got to go, right fucking now.”

Ben snatched the gun offered weakly by the French Prick, not sparing him a fucking glance. As he lowered one arm to hold Her up—wrapping fully around her waist—Ben dropped his voice so only she could hear as he began to load his gun.

“I’m going to pick you up,” he grunted. “Because you can’t fucking run right now, and I’m not leaving you. Got it?” When she was only silent, Ben angled her face to his. “Sunshine, I need to you to nod. I’ve fucking got you, understood?” 

“Ben-“ Her voice was weak, tired, afraid. The Thing was stilled from rage in a second, needing to make it better. “I’m-“

“You’re going to be fine.” He hissed. “I swear on my goddamn life.”

With that, Ben tossed her over his shoulder like a perfect, beautiful, fear-frozen sack of fucking potatoes and walked to the door as she grew slack against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Soldier Boy,” MM grabbed his arm as they passed each other. “If you screw us, motherfucker-“

Ben yanked his arm away. “This is two way road, you fucking got that? If you pussies screw us,” Ben didn’t have to gesture to Her for MM’s eyes to glance between them. “You’re going to wish Homelander had killed you.” He turned to where Starlight stood at the door. “Now are we fucking ready?” 

“Whenever you are, Gov,” Butcher drawled, falling into his place in their shit formation at Cocksucker’s side. 

Ben paused for a half second, making sure She was secure around him, before walking—gun raised and braced for oncoming fire—into the hall. 

It was quiet. Too fucking quiet. The only heartbeats Ben could hear were Hers and the Pussy-Brigades behind him. Kimiko was keeping pace with Ben’s long, fast steps, and he didn’t miss the quick, worried looks she kept giving Her. She was still unmoving, breath almost mechanically steady, and smoke had begun to rise from her body. It didn’t cloud Ben’s vision, and She’d only grown warm without flame, so Ben kept fucking moving. They were so goddamn close to being out, and everywhere was still so fucking empty. Through the door, down the creepy as shit hallway. Up the stairs, into the still abandoned alleyway. The team filtered after him, weapons not lowering for a second. The door slammed behind MM and Starlight at the rear, and—in a vigilant silence—they loaded into the van. She didn’t let go of Ben as he sat against the wall, engine rumbling to life, and he didn’t try to make her. 

Something was wrong, this was too fucking easy. The Thing, still fully focused on Her, felt wired, on edge, like she might vanish from Ben’s hands. She still hadn’t spoken, and as Ben lowered her into his lap she moved her grip to the collar of his shirt. They were getting further and further away, but something still felt fucking off. Ben didn’t fucking trust it, some sort of other shoe was just waiting to fucking drop-

Her hands raised to Ben’s face, a frantic sound escaping her as she lowered his eyes to meet hers. “Ben-“ Her voice was barely audible, and Ben leaned forward until they were almost sharing a breath. “Something’s wrong.” 

“I know, Sunshine-“

“No, no, you-“ She tugged Ben closer in a tiny movement, hands pulling at his hair. “My phone, I left my phone-“

“Where.”

“The dressing room, before it happened, I forgot it, Ben I forgot it-“

She froze, head whipping towards the front of the van as a ring sounded through the van. 

“Hughie,” Butcher grunted, cocking his head towards where his phone rested on the console. “Get that, will you?”

“No,” She whispered as Cocksucker grabbed Butcher’s phone, frowning at the screen. “Ben, you have to-“

Cocksucker said Her name, glancing back at her and Ben. “It looks like you’re calling me?”

She gave a small, desperate sound, shaking her head. 

“She lost her phone,” Ben snapped at Cocksucker, wrapping Her hands into his own as they began to smoke against his head. “Left it back at that shit hole.” 

“Answer it, Lad.” Butcher ordered, and Ben pulled Her hands to rest between their bodies and she began to shake.

“No, no, Hughie don’t-“ 

Cocksucker put the phone to his ear, eyes darting around the van. “Hello?” 

“Hughie Campbell! What are you doing with William’s phone, hm?” 

Homelander’s pathetically fucking cheery voice was muffled through the phone. Ben tried to keep his face stoned and neutral—he wanted to see what Cocksucker would do—but She wrung her hands, still held between his. 

“What’s he saying? Ben.” Her voice was rising, and the Thing grew bloody with her panic. “Please, Ben, what-“ 

“Who is it,” Butcher muttered to Cocksucker, who had gone slack-jawed and pale. “Hughie,” Butcher glanced off the road with a frown. “Who’s on the fucking phone?”

“Go on, Hughie.” Homelander encouraged mockingly. “Answer the man, don’t let our conversation stop you.”

“It’s him,” Cocksucker’s voice was unsteady, and Ben heard a cold laugh through the phone. “Homelander.”

“Are you fucking serious?” MM hissed. “Kid, that’s not funny-“

 “Put me on speaker!” Homelander’s voice was manic. “Let me talk to the gang!” 

Cocksucker dropped the phone from his ear, hand shaking as Homelander’s voice grew louder through the speaker. 

“Is everyone here? Obviously Hughie, listening to orders so well as always. William, I heard you, you rascal, too big to pick up the phone, huh?” 

“Nah, just can’t be fucked, cunt.” Butcher drawled, even as Ben could hear the race of his heart and see his scowl in the rearview mirror. 

“Delightful as always. Who else, hm,” the van hung in silence as Homelander paused in fake thought. “Starlight, probably, she and Hughie are attached by Campbell’s dick. I think I heard Marvin, and of course I wouldn’t be able hear the fucking mute. She there too?”

“What do you want, Homelander?” Starlight called from across the van. “What’s your angle?”

“I’m wounded, Starlight. Can’t I call to catch up with old friends?”

“We ain’t friends, and if we were you’d know to text,” Butcher’s hands were white on the wheel. “Answer her bloody question.”

There was a silence, the line only humming static, before, Her name was said, tight and crude in Homelander’s voice. “Is she there? I know she was here, I found her phone,” Homelander laughed. “But you know that!”

“We’re not telling you shit-“

“Oh, don’t be like that, William. It’s an innocent question. It’s not like I’m asking who leaked those records to you, or which of you killed Tek Knight!” Homelander clicked his tongue. “Unbelievably annoying, by the way. Now I’m going to have to give a fucking press statement about it.”

Butcher’s lip was curled into a sneer. “How fuckin tragic for you.” 

“Thank you! You know, nobody ever thanks me for that, but it’s hard work! I’m going to have to say so much nice shit about this asshole, you have no idea. Now, stop trying to distract me, and answer my question.” Homelander’s voice dropped in a cruel, cold tone. “Is she fucking there?”

She was searing a hole into Ben’s shirt as she pressed further into him, all eyes falling to them. Ben held their gazes firmly, letting every bit of rage for Her in his body, from the Thing, fill his face. If one of them, any fucking one of these pussies, said a goddamn word, he’d rip their spines out.

“What about Soldier Boy?” Homelander asked, and Her face shot up from Ben’s chest to meet his eyes, her hands shaking in his. “I heard a lot of people saying their last words about him. Is he there?”

More silence. 

“If one of you doesn’t speak-“

“Homelander, we’re not going to answer your question,” Starlight snapped, and Ben respected her for the first time. “So tell us what you want.” 

“Can she hear me? If she’s there can she hear me-“ 

“Talk, cunt.” Butcher grunted, and Homelander gave a dramatic fucking pussy sigh. 

“I just wanted to tell you that I missed you this time, but I’m fucking onto you. Flipping my employees, stealing my property, trying to fuck me over-“

“You call just to whine, Twat?” Butcher cut Homelander off with a sneer. “Or is there fucking point.”

“Patience is a virtue, William.” Homelander gave a tsk. “And I want to make sure that you don’t think you’re ahead. I don’t know what your plan is, but it won’t work. I’m invincible. I’ll find the leak and plug it, I’ll figure out what you're doing and stop it, because I always win.” 

Butcher snatched the phone from Cocksucker’s hand, hissing into it. “That it?”

“Patience.” Homelander growled Her name, and the Thing became molten fury in Ben. “I don’t know if you’re there, because these weak, unworthy ants won’t fucking tell me. But I want you to know that, when you come home, which you will because I will find you, I can’t wait to hear you sing again. I can’t believe you hid what V did, it’s amazing, powerful, god-like, but I forgive you. I won’t lie, I’m wounded that you didn’t trust me, but I forgive you. And I’ll see you, all of you, soon.” 

The line clicked dead, and She went limp in Ben’s arms. Nobody spoke, they wouldn’t fucking dare, and Ben just held her. The Thing wanted Her closer, even with their skin pressed together, their air the same, and their hearts in time with each other. But Ben needed to be fucking mad at her. She’d had another secret, she’d had chances to tell him, everything he knew, everything he understood told Ben he needed to be mad at her. But the fear in Her eyes was imprinted on his brain, and the sound of her pleading his name, looking to him for comfort, would ring in his ears until she laughed again.

Ben should be fucking mad at Her, but Ben and the Thing were hardly even separated anymore, not when She was so close. Not when She mattered like this. Not when She was choosing to stay right here with him. Not when She, for some stupid fucking reason, kept choosing to hang to Ben’s side.

He had to be mad at Her, to find it in him some fucking where, but the performance was echoing in his head, feeding the Thing. Ben gave up—for now—trying to find reason with it or what it meant. What he meant to Her. Because She was shaking against him, and he was keeping her secure in his arms. And She wasn’t trying to run or fight, so Ben wouldn’t either. It was just them, even in the cold silence of the van. 

It was just them, so Ben stayed right there with Her.

Thank you for reading!

Always leave a comment if you want to! They feed me, and y’all are funnier than me <3

End Note: Not to trash on my source material, but my version of Tek Knight is better and more interesting and makes me want to vomit less. Eric Kripke, you will pay for your crimes against my son, Hughie Campbell.

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

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

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

[aliesbienish]

Love at first swipe

Benedict Bridgerton x fem reader. Modern Au.

Warnings: Cheesy AF. Innuendos.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Cute smile. Check.

Kind eyes. Check.

Well written profile with no misogynistic undertones. Double check.

This guy must be to good to be true. Definitely a bot. Or married and cheating on his poor wife. Plus what girl hasn’t been screwed over by a ‘Ben’, maybe he’ll be yours.

Still against better judgement you swiped right on Mr. cute smile, and then called it a day. Closing tinder and setting down your phone, reluctantly getting up to make yourself dinner. Honestly having a partner to share the cooking load was just as appealing as the romance at this point.

Basic spaghetti made and glass of wine in hand you plopped back onto the couch to continue your next rerun of pride and prejudice, the tv show of course. At least you could always day dream of life with Mr Darcy, and if he was always looking like he just emerged from the lake then so be it.

Grabbing your phone to enter into some simultaneous mindless scrolling you saw a notification from Tinder pop up. Oh boy a new match. Maybe you needed more wine.

Of course you couldn’t help being intrigued, so you opened it up to see a new message from the definite robot himself.

Ben: Good evening [y/n], to what do I owe this pleasure?

You: Bit early to determine I’ll be a pleasure isn’t it?

I’m actually only here because I am convinced you are a bot and honestly chatting with a bot is almost guaranteed to be more exciting than chatting with a man.

Ben: I’m nothing if not optimistic. I promise I am not a bot. And before you say it; I know that it’s exactly what a bot would say but it’s also exactly what a human would say.

You: Touché. Alright Ben, prove it.

Ben: Do you interrogate all your matches or am I special?

You: You’re special. But don’t get sappy about it, I’m just suspicious that your profile doesn’t have a photo of you fishing or in front of a car.

Through many years of observation I’ve hypothesised that each human man must show one or the other.

Ben: And have you hypothesised why that may be?

You: It’s almost certainly something to do with their hunting and gathering skills. That or compensation.

Ben: And how was this concluded?

You: Well fishing is obviously a modern (and frankly boring) man’s hunting and gathering.Least amount of work and blood involved. These men want to prove they can provide, but will likely never actually do the real hunting and gathering ie. Grocery shopping.

Ben: Science seems sound. And cars?

You: Well that’s obvious. The bigger and shinier the car the smaller the 🍆.

Ben: I quite agree…but that might be because I own a mud covered beetle.

You: Haven’t you heard it’s best to keep expectations low?

Ben: And risk losing out? No thank you.

You: If you’re real, which the jury is still out, I’m sure that’s not an issue.

Ben: Still? I’m flattered. And while it may not be an issue let’s say why would I settle for bronze when I can have gold?

FYI that’s me saying I think you’re gold

You: thanks for the clarification. You’re really into calling this early aren’t you? 10 minutes and you’re obsessed.

Ben: It’s actually been about thirty minutes if you count when I first came across your profile and haven’t stopped thinking about you since.

You: That is either incredibly honest or an amazing line.

Ben: Oh it’s both. But first and only time I’ll use it, cross my heart.

You: So what next?

Ben: Coffee, tomorrow hopefully if that’s not too soon?

You: Tomorrows great. Meet in the city? Say Leicester Square at 11am?

Ben: Done. I look forward to it.

You: You’d better be real or I’ll hurt you.

You were standing in the square outside of the cinema, your agreed meeting place. Despite the anxiety in you wanting to call the date off you’d made it. It was likely a good thing you only had 24 hours or so to think about it. Ben had been funny and endearing and so damn sure he wanted to meet you. He seemed so lovely that it defied belief, but you were willing to suspend reality.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and you spun around to come face to face with Ben. In the flesh, as handsome or in fact even more so than his profile photos.

You meet his eyes and suddenly you felt lost in them.

“Hi,” You muttered, a goofy smile plastering your face. “I’m [y/n]”.

“Hi back. My real names Benedict. But Ben is fine. Long story. It’s lovely to meet you properly.”

“Thank god we’re both real,” you laughed.

“To be honest I never had any doubt. When you know you know.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Maybe I’m just trying to manifest my own luck on the dating apps 🤷🏻‍♀️

[caliburn-the-sword]

how come ONLY mal's parentage was ever important enough to have BOTH her parents name dropped in the movies, and not only that, both MAJOR antagonists and not just sidekicks or goons?? cause like. i get that carlos and jay aren't that much of main characters as the girlies, but c'mon after mal and ben, evie was more or less THE main characters. like. when mal was getting all angsty over her dad i whole heartedly believe that evie would've been "hey i get it. yk my dad ________ was also super absent in my life. i understand you <3"

anyway here are my theories on the unknown blank parents of some of the VK's, in order of how much i believe it to be true. shoutout to @piraterefrigerator who heard me out on this and let me bounce ideas off him to try as i tried to figure out who was whose parents

evie

now, we all know that the evil queen is the gold digger of all gold diggers. now, i believe that unlike most other villains and their henchmen, the second that snow white became queen, all of the evil queen's staff would've started serving snow white, snow white is beloved, and none of the evil queen's staff actually had anything to do with her vendetta against snow white OTHER than the huntsman, who i actually don't believe is on the isle since he was good and maybe?? died?? i can't remember

while the evil queen has a killer reputation like the rest of the parents of the core4, since she has no loyal army, no threat of magic to hold over peoples' heads once they all escape the island (i believe she was a potionsmaster/alchemist rather than someone with innate magic like maleficent or jafar), and we don't really know HOW those core 4 ever actually came to power, but we do know she came to power last out of those 4 on the isle since the maleficent exiled her for 10 years

... the place that i'm going with this, is that the evil queen MAY have seduced jafar to be able to share in his power on the isle. but to prove this, i'm going to have to dive into jafar as an individual

the only 'romantic' subplots we ever see jafar in are when he's pursuing jasmine. jafar may have soley wanted to marry jasmine for legal purposes (becoming sultan) and the pedo implications were a complete accident on disney's part. and since he has no claim to that throne through jasmine anymore once he was defeated

his plan getting with the evil queen COULD have been to take back her kingdom and become the king of that kingdom once they escaped the isle, especially because we NEVER actually see jafar complain about aladdin or jasmine, whereas maleficent wants to take over auradon, the evil queen gets pissy over snow white, and cruella harps on about the dogs. not only that, the evil queen is also the ONLY formerly royal woman on the isle that we're aware of in canon

i think. jafar would have ditched eq the second that maleficent banished her because he's more afraid of maleficent than he would have feelings for the evil queen, and he took jay since he wasn't in the immediate blast range (jay isn't eq's son) which is how that all worked

i also think that evie might be one of the only girls that jay doesn't flirt with??? i could be wrong. since i haven't read the first book in a few years

but like. evie is quite racially ambiguous, so while i don't think that makes or breaks this theory, i do think it supports it

a crackpot theory for another candidate of the evil queen's baby daddy is

but that's a furry, and evie has no furry qualities

dizzy

lady tremaine and her daughters are, you guessed it, also gold diggers, and i think that they, like all villains on the isle, would have clawed onto whatever power they could, especially given that they had none of their own legions, magic outside the isle, any reputation that they could stake their lives on (in the grand scheme of things, making a girl clean the house isn't all that grand compared to people that tried to conquer kingdoms)

now. we never see the tremaines in descendants so i'm inclined to believe that they look exactly as in the animated/live action cinderella movies, aka european descent, but dizzy herself is portrayed by a wasian actress

while the descendants casting was more or less raceblind for the vk's, i'm still inclined to believe that dizzy is actually the daughter of shan yu, which effectively would grant that evil stepsister a bit of a leg to stand on in the isle

carlos

now, carlos has NO magic, and is also noticeably paler than his mother. which means his father could be any white disney antagonist, which is *check notes* a lot of them. cruella is a nepo baby, so i don't think she would've been a gold digger like others on this list. especially because, as "the bitch that wanted 101 puppies dead for her fur coat" i don't think she needed anything for her reputation as the scary crazy bitch that wants 101 puppies for her fur coat

... narrowing down her baby daddy's identity to "possibly white" and "not magic" does not narrow it down by much since i don't have any other personal taste i could attribute to her, other than perhaps hunters

the candidates are, in most to least likely, are:

because i think only a catnapper would get behind cruella's batshit dognapping plan

however, there is also this guy:

cause i think she would appreciate his hunting of an exotic animal

this guy, because i think she would like the idea of a fox fur coat

this guy, because he does animal abuse and cruella would get behind that

or, my most crackpot theory yet:

"but cal, that's a wolf!! and cruella fucking hates dogs!!"

i could argue that cruella wanted to skin that guy for a coat and was gonna get him while he was a asleep, failed, and then raised carlos to believe all dogs are bad because fuck that guy in particular. also, carlos DOES run fast enough for the sport team as like. their canonically fastest player, despite him being a little computer nerd. that boy has never run in his LIFE. so like. you could attribute having a wolf father to him being a fastboi

harry hook

as for harry, i honestly think his mother is a milf. because those good looks had to come from SOMEWHERE

also, if we're following punnet squares, harry has light coloured eyes and hook has brown eyes, so one of hook's parents probably had blue eyes, and i imagine either hook's mother or his grandparents on that side of the family would have to have blue eyes. for simplicity's sake, i'm gonna assume that it was his mother so that i can narrow it down

harry ALSO doesn't have magic, so i'm running with the assumption that his mother has blue eyes, maybe dark hair (unimportant), and no magic, and is presumably white. one woman that fits the bill is mother gothel

jay

i will be referring to this post quite a bit

i need to start this by saying, there is a popular theory that jafar swapped out his actual child for aladdin's son, and jay is actually the son of aladdin and jasmine. i think that this is a stupid ass theory, because the barrier had already been up on the isle for 4 years at that point, and if jafar had managed to SOMEHOW get off the isle, travel all the way to agrabah, swap out their similarly aged children, do you not think he would have just STAYED off the isle instead of returning with his new son to stock the store??? he wouldn't need to stock the store if he WASN'T ON THE ISLE is all i will say. also, you don't just genetically inherit your parents' ability to steal, it is a learnt skill. jafar learnt how to do it, and then taught jay, plain and simple

however, unless jay is more than 9 months older than evie but less than 12 months older than her, then his mother would be some other woman, especially because the two were raised completely separately. i DON'T think that the evil queen is jay's mother, but i still think jafar would've gone as close to royal as possible since we know he values economic status

there aren't many female villains, so the main candidates for this would've been yzma (kuzco's royal adviser, very close to successful to stealing his throne), or the other tremaine evil stepsister??? since that was a reasonably wealthy family considering their inheritance

as for yzma, i don't think she has any inate magic of her own, just alchemy, which accounts for jay not inheriting any magic like mal. yzma is also, i assume, an albino latina, but whether jay has a european mother or a brown mother i don't actually think that matters too much since he's fairly ambiguous

sidenote, i always knew that booboo stewart was indigenous but i didn't know he was also asian omg

now for the son of jafar, obviously they couldn't be raceblind when casting him and had to find someone not white for the role. and hollywood treats brown people as quite interchangeably and just casts whoever as whoever (see the oscar isaac joke that in the 'a priest, rabbi, and imam walk into a bar' joke, he can play all three), but i'm using this as my proof anyway that jay is (possibly) a son of yzma

uma

uma is unfortunately at the bottom of this list, because i actually have no idea who her father would be. like sure, it would be easy to just go and say "well the only other Black villain on the isle is facilier so it must be him" but he is SO present in celia's life and has such a good relationship with her that i refuse to believe that he would in the same beat be completely absent in uma's life. unless there are other disney villains that got racechanged in the descendants universe that we're unaware of, i actually have no idea who uma's father would be, ESPECIALLY because the only comment ursula ever makes on men is in poor unfortunate souls, but that was more her gaslighting ariel than her actual proper view on men and romance. the only thing i can say is that since ursula is in squid form on the isle naturally despite the magic ban, but uma is naturally in human form, i definitely think that uma has a human father rather than a father from an undersea kingdom. if any uma stans want to weigh in here, please go for it because i'd love to hear who you think is uma's father

[savedbythedrafts]

I have many thoughts about Bridgerton.

Was it the perfect season? Absolutely no.

But it quite honestly is my favorite season so far because it made me realise how the enemies-to-lovers trope has rotten my brain when this is what I want to see. Gentle love, best friends becoming partners.

Things that I absolutely loved this season:

-Pen's arc: In the book she gives up whistledown to become a romance author which is nice, but now we have a legitimate journalist in the house who has proved her accuracy at such a young age. People who are worried about how she's gonna get her info now that people are guarded? Um her main sources were always the maids and footmen and she is observant enough to run a column. Plus now that everyone knows who she is, people might anonymously send her reports (as happens in journalism) which gives her SO MUCH POWER. I am a journalist and I can't stress enough how incredible that is. I know book fans expected the last speech by Colin but imo her taking full control of her decisions and willingness to face the consequences makes it so much better.

-Eloise and Pen patch up: Both of them going to each other for comfort and support when the shit hit the fan made my heart warm. When Eloise comes back, I hope she knows herself a bit better and actually brings her grand ideas to reality.

-Benedict going about his viscount duties in absence of Anthony without the rage of responsibility whilst discovering his sexuality 10/10. Man was also fully involved in all of his siblings feuds, mainly whatever the fuck Gregory and Hyacinth were upto. CUTE. Actually shoutout to all the Bridgertons, they were so perfectly chaotic.

-THe FEATHERINGTONS OMG: I am the youngest daughter of my family as well as the black sheep- so unpredictable, unconventional that no one in my family gets me. That's why I relate to Pen so much and I'll defend her to death. To see the sisters and Portia realise Pen's worth made me sob. Phillipa saying I hope my daughter becomes a writer? Cherry on cake. But Portia opening up to Pen and being vulnerable and proud at the same time was so bloody well done.

-Polin: Fans being livid about the lack of spice in part 2 (minus the incredible sex scene in ep 5) is understandable but I blame the marketing for it, not the showrunners. Over the course of part 1, we saw Colin's relationship with intimacy change drastically. His want for connection becomes a necessity and if they just jumped into angry sex without actually resolving anything, it would have ruined his character development. I think it's the incredible chemistry between Nic and Luke in general and the heavy emphasis on the horniness during the press tour left the fans understandably wanting for more. But in general, their romance felt quite authentic. The Pride and Prejudice 'dancing in the room alone' callback, goofing around in the church, Colin coming to terms with what Whistledown meant to the ton and himself, Penelope's newfound confidence thanks to Colin's frequent words of affirmation, it was all good.

Things I would change to make this season better (this is turning into a full article now but read ahead if you have been here so far):

-The bloody editing: Pardon my french but why the fuck Benedict's prolonged threesome scenes not edited out? He has a whole season coming up so I don't understand so much focus on that weirdly edited scene amidst the drama. Just one shot of establishing his pansexuality (or bi but I am hoping it's pan) would have been enough? I love Ben, he is my favorite brother but this gave me the ick. To think these 3-4 minutes could have been used to extend the last Polin intimate scene. We could have had a good 5 minutes of Pen topping Colin after the BIG REVEAL but noooo. Even the subplots should have been kept short and sweet. Unlike some fans, I am not completely against the inclusion of the Mondrich family, Cressida's back story, the build up to Benedict's and Fran's actual stories, and more. But I believe too much footage was given to these even though the show clearly focuses on one couple per season. Get your shit together Shonda, this is not 20 episode Grey's anatomy, we can't focus on EVERYONE.

-Colin's anger after the wedding: Now I understand why he didn't want to have the wedding night given the stressful circumstances but him being angry till Francesca's wedding made no sense. How I would have written the resolution would have been something like this- In the hours before Rae leaves the house at night, Colin would have been reading the letters, figuring out how Pen is so whistledown at core (like he actually does the very next day but in absence of Pen). And instead of coming into the room to get a blanket, he could have brought in his own manuscript, asking her to read it as promised and taking up her offer to let her edit. This scene was literally in the book and was so easy to adapt. I would give my left kidney to see Colin sitting near Penelope, watching her powerful writing in action. Again, no spice required, just this. This would have made Pen's 'just love me' speech to Colin so good, but alas!

-Cressida: This is the arc I am most pissed off about. Eloise's reconciliation with Pen was great but completely abandoning Cressida to misery was so outta pocket. I realise Eloise is still not a fully realised character and is barely 20 (she's just a girl) but she was always kind. If I was writing Cressida's arc, I would have had Eloise come to her rescue at the end by borrowing some money from Pen and helping Cressida escape to Vienna or better Scotland. I highly doubt Pen would have minded if she knew how similar both of their circumstances were. I detested Cressida in the books because I'll be honest the books were pretty two dimensional with no real character development and just grand gestures (I'll understand if you come for me but this is how I feel, sorry). But the show made me care for her and I wished she could have found some happiness in life.

Overall, I'll rewatch it because the tiny details were so good this season I believe I can relish those till the next season. And I'll miss Polin immensely. But Shonda please, you can do better.

[10001gecs]

this post fucking sucks. its not "indicative of declining sweater quality" its ben schwartz purchasing a sweater in a different style and material

the whole POINT is that harrys sweater is kinda decadent. i cant find any sources on the specific pictured sweater, but similar aran fisherman sweaters would have gone for about $250 back in the day (almost $1000 adjusted for inflation today, altho that doesn't take into consideration other economic factors like the big mac index). it mightve been hand knit!

i also can't find much specific info on ben's sweater, but the atlantic claims its polo ralph lauren, worth somewhere around $400, probably machine knit. it claims that this indicates declining standards in clothing, but i don't think that's true. looking at the listing, it's 90% wool and 10% cashmere, which is hardly a poor textile blend. the cut is a little tighter and it isn't as heavy, but like... that's the style. you don't buy this sweater if you want a classic aran fisherman knit sweater, you buy it if you want a ralph lauren sweater that kinda vaguely looks like that.

if you want an actual aran fisherman sweater, you can just buy one. for like $200.

which, you might say is expensive. yes. i dont think its fair to say everything is getting more poorly produced, just that we've figured out how to poorly produce a lot of stuff. which means at any time, you can purchase a shitty aliexpress clone of something you'd like, for like $3. but back in the 80s, you could certainly get poor-quality, cheap clothing, but a greater proportion clothing would be well-produced and pretty expensive. fashion was closer to an investment. specifically, a fisherman sweater like the one we're talking about would be an investment. those things can last for like decades.

so my thesis is that sweaters like this (and nice clothes in general) are hardly nonexistent or more expensive than they were then. we have just gotten used to a lot of very cheap, poorly produced clothes pushing the perceived value of all clothes down.

[slutforpringles]

The latest episode of The Race podcast discusses the importance of Daniel's feedback in driving Alpha Tauri's car/team forward in the second half of last year, and why prioritising Daniel's feedback will be vital for the team going into 2024 if they want to maximise and extend on the huge performance steps they made in 2023. They also had an interesting discussion on why Daniel's style of driving and feedback has opened up more development directions compared to that of had under Gasly/Tsunoda.

Gary Anderson: And then, suddenly, they're back to where they wanted it to be; with a driver in the car that could give them confidence that the feedback was reasonable. Daniel Ricciardo, whether he's got the speed he had before or not, he is a driver that's won some Grand Prix. So, he was able to give them the actual feedback. And it looks like they were able to react to it late in the season and made the car into a better package. So what was their main problem? I think it was a lack of confidence in what the drivers were telling them. They didn't really have that. And the changing of drivers, obviously, diluted their real development direction until they had confidence in the guy that was giving it to them, which was Daniel Ricciardo, but because of his broken hand, it took about longer than they thought. Edd Straw: Yeah, I think you're right there because the drivers prior to Ricciardo were all talking about that late entry instability that was a problem. Whereas, actually, Ricciardo was saying that's not a big issue for me, but I want the mid-corner to be able to rotate the car mid-corner. And that's partly because Tsunoda's kind of the last of the late brakers in his technique. He does like to do that - I think he said to me last year when I asked, I don't think I've ever seen a driver who breaks later than me. So that was definitely the direction.  So Ben, this is probably quite a good thing to prioritise, isn't it? Taking a development direction from the drivers, primarily probably Ricciardo and what Tsunoda learns from that. That's perhaps something this team has not always had a weakness with, but perhaps a narrowness, especially given that they really focused on what Gasly liked previously. Ben Anderson: Yes, and he was similar as well, wasn't he? One of the things that undid Gasly at Red Bull, was this natural desire to be the last of the late brakers and ask too much of the car at the early part of the corner. Edd Straw: Regularly he broke later than Verstappen and then was under-rotated mid-corner and interpreted that as poor traction at exit because the car was under-rotated. Ben Anderson: Exactly. So you can see how that might have become endemic at the sister team because Gasly's gone there to be the team leader and then Tsunoda's come in under him and learned from him. And so Ricciardo is giving them a different direction. I mean Horner talked about that, didn't he, at the end of last season, how Ricciardo's experience had given Alpha Tauri the direction that Gary mentions that's so important. Something they can really focus on building the car around, rather than just listening to the same driver complaints and not really being able to get anywhere with it.

Gary Anderson: Yeah, it's really easy to say these cars gather, you know, bucket loads of data every lap they do. So the engineers can analyse the data, but the data that the car is gathering and such, is only the data that's developed from how the driver's driving it. So as you say, if you've got a driver who's just the last of the lap breakers and breaking 10 metres later than anybody else, obviously, you're on a white knuckle ride getting the car into the corner and then as you say Ed, you know, you're going to get mid-corner understeer and snappy oversteer. And if you spend all your time trying to fix the latter part, the snappy oversteer, you just end up digging a hole for yourself. So you need to get somebody in there as I say that gives you the confidence that the data you're gathering is the data from a driver who has had experience and was able to drive a good car and win races. So yeah, it all takes time to do that.  Ben Anderson: I think there's also an element of transition through the rule change from the previous set of regulations to this ground effect here, if I understand it rightly. You've got a certain amount less control now over some of how the car transitions through the different phases of the corner aerodynamically because you've lost some of those top body surfaces that used to help you manage the airflow in a bit more of a calmer way. So if you have a driver like Gasly who's quite aggressive, obviously he came back into that team under a different ruleset, maybe they had a few more tools available to kind of build the car around that style a bit more. They've lost some of those in this new era and I think that's where they've struggled kind of working around Tsunoda's driving style. Ricciardo coming in with a slightly different take focused in a different place, maybe with a bit more desire for general stability in the car, they've been able to kind of refocus and that is helping them. So I agree with Gary, I think building around that and continuing that momentum is probably the most important thing for them, around the off track noise. Edd Straw: And that's certainly I think something the team is very happy with because they had a bit of a suspicion that they were maybe being sent down a bit of a cul-de-sac by what the drivers wanted. So Ricciardo's experience has I think broadened that and should help them all round.

via: Every F1 team's key 2024 priority | The Race Podcast 

[daitranscripts]

Iron Bull Romance

Kadan

Iron Bull Masterpost

Bull and the PC lie naked in bed.

Iron Bull: Damn, that was… That was

Dialogue options:

General: Thank you for that. [1]

General: Wow. [2]

General: Is that all? [3]

1 - General: Thank you for that. PC: Oh, I needed that. Iron Bull: My pleasure. Well, maybe some of it’s yours. [4]

2 - General: Wow. PC: I’m just glad I could keep up. [4]

3 - General: Is that all? PC: Are we done? I thought that was your warm-up. [4]

4 - Scene continues.

Iron Bull: All this time, and you’ve never said “katoh.” If I’d known you’d last this long, I’d have let you pick your own watchword.

5 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: People pick them? [6]

General: I’ve come close to using it. [7]

General: I’ve never needed to use it. [8]

6 - Investigate: People pick them?** PC: People choose their own watchwords? Iron Bull: Normally, yes. It can be anything, so long as it’s not something you’d ever shout by accident. Josephine might pick “madrigal,” while Cullen would go with “phylactery.” As for Cassandra, it’d probably be something soft, like “silk” or “satin.” PC: You’re sure about that. Iron Bull: Hey, Ben-Hassrath, remember? I’ve got everyone pegged.

9 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Vivienne? [10]

Investigate: Sera? [11]

Investigate: Varric? [12]

Investigate: Cole? [13]

Investigate: Blackwall? [14]

[Back to 5]

10 - Investigate: Vivienne? PC: What about Vivienne? Iron Bull: Tough one. I’m going with “periwinkle.” She looks like a periwinkle kind of lady. [back to 9] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 11 - Investigate: Sera? PC: What about Sera? Iron Bull: Well, it wouldn’t be “shite,” or you’d never even get started. Honestly, though, Sera’s not the kind who lets you tie her down. [back to 9] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 12 - Investigate: Varric? PC: What about Varric? Wait, don’t tell me… Bianca. Iron Bull: No, it’d have to be something he wouldn’t shout during sex. Maybe “Paragon.” Or “thaig.” [back to 9] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 13 - Investigate: Cole? PC: Here’s a tough one: Cole. Iron Bull: You know, he stumped me. I actually asked him. He thought really hard about it, then finally said his watchword was “stop.” I don’t think he got it. Probably for the best, honestly. [back to 9] ㅤㅤ ㅤ 14 - Investigate: Blackwall? PC: How about Blackwall? Iron Bull: Hmm… “petit-alms.” Get deep enough under that armor, there’s a man who lived the good life once. [back to 9]

7 - General: I’ve come close to using it. PC: You’ve almost had me a couple of times. Iron Bull: Good. [15]

8 - General: I’ve never needed to use it. PC: If you want to make me use that watchword, you’ll need to try harder. Iron Bull: Good to know. [15]

15 - Scene continues.

Choice dependent dialogue:

Bull made Tal-Vashoth [16]

Allied with the Qunari [17]

16 - Bull made Tal-Vashoth

Iron Bull: I’m a better man for having met you, kadan. I just hope this made things a little easier on your end.

Dialogue options:

General: We’re together to the end. [18]

General: Is that a proposal, dear?[19]

General: I love you. [20]

18 - General: We’re together to the end. PC: You did. And no matter what happens, if we don’t make it out of this… Iron Bull: Katoh. Stop. I can’t… We’re coming out of this alive. Together. Bull pushes them back to bed. Scene ends.

19 - General: Is that a proposal, dear? PC: I just wish we’d had time for the wedding before Corypheus showed up. Iron Bull: I… what? PC: I assumed we were getting married. Iron Bull: Um… uh… PC: (Laughs.) The look on your face! Iron Bull: Oh, you are evil! Bull pushes them back to bed. Scene ends.

20 - General: I love you. PC: Not “this.” You made things easier on my end. I love you. Iron Bull: You going soft on me, kadan? The PC gives him a look. Iron Bull: I love you, too. Bull pushes them back to bed. Scene ends.

17 - Allied with the Qunari

Iron Bull: You helped me remember who I really am, kadan. I won’t forget that, no matter what happens. You’re a damn fine Inquisitor. I hope this made it a little easier for you.

Dialogue options:

General: Wait, was this a job for you? [21]

General: It has. [22]

General: It’s been fun! [23]

21 - General: Wait, was this a job for you? PC: What do you mean? You make it sound like you don’t actually… Was this just part of your job? Helping the Inquisitor relax? Iron Bull: (Laughs.) You look pretty relaxed to me. Bull pushes them back to bed. Iron Bull: It wasn’t just a job. Come here. Scene ends.

22 - General: It has. PC: I needed this. Thank you for seeing it. Iron Bull: My pleasure. Bull pushes them back to bed. Scene ends.

23 - General: It’s been fun! PC: It’s certainly been more enjoyable. I don’t know about easier, though. Some parts have certainly gotten… harder. Iron Bull: (Laughs.) You think? Bull pushes them back to bed. Scene ends.

[nekoramen]

content;

kuroo tetsuro. semi-angst, comedy, semi-fluff. best friends au, unrequited love / yearning (kuroo's pov), post-college au. mentions of bokuto x reader. 2,110 words.

warnings: brief mentions of alcohol + drinking, swearing

might be ooc; i like goofy men and kuroo is goofy

please watch 'how to lose a guy in 10 days' if you haven't already!!

it's assumed that kuroo, reader, and bokuto are all friends

"kuroo. give. it."

kuroo smirks, holding your remote just out of reach with those long, gangly limbs of his. he pushes and play-slaps at you as you try (weakly) to take it back. "dude, we have literally watched 'how to lose a guy in 10 days' for the last ten movie nights in a row now. how are you not tired of it yet."

you roll your eyes. "first of all, it's only been nine times. second," you eye him, "you are not depriving me of my man matthew mcconaughey. not tonight."

this. is. war. to be fair, he started it and you were just taking the necessary measures.

you lunge at him and your fingers find his sides. you dig and tickle him without remorse. he gasps between laughs as he tries to escape you, writhing and retreating until he was cornered and pressed against the couch arm.

"stop, stop, please! okay, okay," he wheezes and goes limp against the arm in defeat. you relent with a cackle. in the few seconds you take to pluck the remote from him though, there's a few things he lingers on:

you, hovering above him with your knees planted on either side of him, body almost pressed against his. you're warm.

that wide, dorky grin of yours. the absurd frenzy in your eyes when you get competitive and a little childish.

the brush of your hand over his. it's tingly.

the flips in his stomach and the tightening of his chest when you've pulled away.

kuroo swats at the thoughts. they keep creeping up from your persistence to watch this god-forsaken movie combined with his love for antics but nope. nope. nope. stop it. head empty please.

he doesn't think further on it anyways (as least not too hard) because 'how to lose a guy in 10 days' is playing (yet again) and to be honest, it's so fucking good. not that he'd ever make you privy to that thought; partially because he doesn't want to admit that he actually likes it after the countless times you'd badgered him to watch it while he refused and hated on it for no good reason. (he gave in on your birthday. no regrets.)

mostly, though, it's because he quite likes the routine. he steals the remote, you fight for it, you... fuck. stop. don't think about it.

"tetsu," you whisper.

"hm?" he snaps his head towards you, eager to escape his brain. you're silent, brows furrowed and poor lip gnawed at ruthlessly. he slowly leans towards you, stone-faced.

a blink, two, and he drawls out in his raspiest voice, "why… so... serious?"

you splutter out a laugh and he grins. it's wonderful, your laugh. it’s wind-chimes on a clear spring day, the crash of a cool summer sea on his skin, sunrays filtering through a cloudy sky. his gaze lingers on you, but you soon turn away back to the screen.

"____. i know your husband is very handsome, but are you okay?" he gently pokes your shoulder. "you seem down. don't wanna talk about it with your bestie?"

you cringe but he pulls another chuckle from you. your bestie, dependable as ever, can always put a smile on your face, you'll give him that. even if he's annoying 99.999999% of the time.

you beckon to your cat charlie from his post and he trots over, his grand fluffiness and all promptly plopping into your lap. you pet him a few, gentle purrs as your reward.

finally, you face kuroo again. "i'm gonna do it," you squeak out.

kuroo hums. "do what?"

"it. that." you nod towards the screen. kuroo blinks back at you.

"i'm... gonna ask him out. bokuto."

you blink at kuroo. he blinks back. matthew (ben) gets up from his stadium seat yet again for a soda.

"you're gonna ask him out... like you said you would the last ten times?"

"charlie." you point to kuroo. "attack."

"meow."

you just had to get the 0.00000001% saint of a cat.

"i really will this time though," you sigh. even you can’t convince yourself of it.

"it's okay to be nervous. you're great and i'm sure he'd be so freaking happy to go out with you." he smiles at you. "you can do this. you got this." he knows you won't do it, but he knows proper bestie behavior.

you stare ahead but he can see you biting back a grin.

"okay," you finally mutter and turn to him, shoulders untensed. "thanks, tetsu. i think i really can do it."

"of course." you both concentrate back on the movie for some time until he leans back over. "i know this is your favorite comfort movie, but did you choose it specifically to try and manifest andie?”

you tense.

"you gonna channel her? all her charm and confidence? oh god… the craziness...? yours isn't fake though. poor bokuto doesn’t know what’s coming," he teases.

you punch his arm but you can’t hide your sheepish smile. "stop perceiving me."

+++++

it's another three fridays until you and kuroo have another movie night. such is the life of a new college grad, working overtime and grabbing drinks with coworkers until your respective projects finally die down a bit and you can both find some time.

"kirin secured!" kuroo calls out as he bustles into your apartment. it’s been too long since he’s been here. since he’s seen you. "i don't know how you like this stuff. beer is fucking disgusting. soju is where it's at."

"first of all, don't yuck my yum. second, fried chicken is literally the best but i still got you your favorite beef skewers without complaining when, frankly, you're wrong and it should be fried chicken tonight."

"you're literally complaining."

you stick your tongue out at him.

kuroo sets out the food on the coffee table in front of the tv as you lay out pillows and blankets for some royally cozy floor seating. once the both of you sink into the sea of softness, you hand him the remote.

his brows surpass his hairline. "you don't wanna choose?" he asks.

you shake your head, grinning wide. "you've put up with me for so many movie nights in a row, i can let you have this one time."

"wow. how generous of you." he snickers. maybe he can finally blow off the dust that had been collecting on his to-watch list.

"so, what’s got you celebrating? did you get a good performance review?" he asks as he endlessly scrolls through the list on his phone.

"mmm..."

he looks up. you still don that big, dorky smile. "what? what is it?"

unable to take it anymore, you abruptly grab his shoulders. "i did it."

he responds with a blank stare.

"oh my god." you roll your eyes. "i did it! i fucking did it, kuroo!" you shake him violently. "i did it!"

"you have to realize i can't read your mind," he says, his head nearly snapping off.

"i asked bokuto out on a date!"

he clasps his hands over yours. you stop shaking him. "...really?" he says slowly, quietly.

"yes!" you exclaim. "and get this—he said yes! like, immediately! he seemed so excited about it too! god, i, i can't even believe i did it, well to be honest i had a couple drinks that day with my team but i called him and he came and i just did it and he said he was literally thinking about asking me out too but he kept chickening out and he was so sweet and helped make plans while he drove me home and he made sure i got inside before leaving and—"

"that's... that's great." he pats your hands.

but all too sudden for his heart, especially after your spiel, he’s tugged into into a crushing hug.

“thank you, tetsu,” you murmur. you pull back a bit and somehow you’re not the least fazed by the closeness of your faces. “i couldn’t have done this without you. for real. your words helped me find the courage, you know?”

kuroo’s heart dissolves in the pit of his stomach, but he still manages a smile. “of course. and i meant every word.”

he turns back to his list, letting his smile fade but you add, “god, i’m so excited for tomorrow.”

he eyes you. “tomorrow… is your date tomorrow?”

you’re practically vibrating in your seat and you happily pull off a cube of meat from your skewer. “yep!” you say between chews.

kuroo forces the corners of his mouth to curve upward again. just a little bit longer. “that’s great!” he cheers and sets down his phone. he picks up the remote and quickly clicks through a well-known path before pressing play.

“how to lose a guy in 10 days?” you say incredulously, wide-eyed and head tilted.

he nods. “yep.” you’re still staring in his peripheral. “i just need it,” he relents with a sigh.

“you… need it?”

he looks pointedly at you for a few seconds before slowly turning back to the screen. “matthew mcconaughey.”

+++++

curse bestie behavior.

he shouldn’t be here. not when you’re getting ready for your date, not when you’re grinning ear to ear thinking about said date, not when he’s nauseated thinking about you grinning ear to ear thinking about said date. no.

your singing floats softly from your bedroom to kuroo in the living room. he sighs, gazing out your window to the neighborhood while cradling charlie. it’s a beautiful sunny day. disgusting.

he holds charlie up facing him. “i can do it. i can do it. right? you believe in me, don’t you, charlie?”

“meow.”

“thank you. i appreciate it.”

there’s a creak of a door behind him, and he turns. you’re stunning. he glances at the floor because he’s sure his heart has leapt out of his chest but no, somehow it’s still stuttering in there. you look so magnificent. and most noticeably, happy.

“good?” you ask, fidgeting with your fingers.

“of course! you look great,” he replies with a tight smile.

“thanks," you reply, beaming and far too giddy to note how quickly the corners of kuroo's mouth droop.

he watches you pace around, gathering your things and alternating between checking your appearance in your camera and your text messages.

"____."

"hm?"

he opens his mouth but you fill his sight with that poor gnawed lip, worry creasing your brows, and your tremor from all the capped anxiety and excitement.

he closes his mouth and walks over to you, passing you charlie and placing his hands firmly on your shoulders.

"don't worry," he says, confident and assured. "you'll be fine. he'll have such a good time with you and i'm sure you will too." he gives your shoulders a light squeeze. "i'm sure of it."

you breathe out a heavy sigh. leaning forward, you lightly tap your forehead on his shoulder. "honestly i think i'm gonna throw up, but that helped a lot. thanks, kuroo. seriously."

you pet charlie, visibly more relaxed from kuroo's words, and he's able to give you his first sincere smile today. he wants to savor this, you and him, you being any bit happier because of him. he soaks up the sight of you for another beat before opening his mouth again.

but a ping of your phone jolts you. you thrust charlie back into kuroo's arms, grabbing your things and quickly glancing at your phone before rushing to the door.

"wish me luck!" you exclaim with a frantic wave of your hand before you disappear from sight.

kuroo deflates and looks down at charlie. round green orbs blink back.

"you're right," kuroo nods. "i'm gonna do it."

he bolts for the door and steps out, eyes locking onto your figure, a bounce in your every step.

"____!"

you halt and glance back. you're beaming from ear to ear, maybe the biggest smile he's ever seen on you. it's blinding. several feet behind you, he sees bokuto leaning against the passenger door of his car. he's grinning as per usual, and seeing kuroo, he gives an enthusiastic wave.

"what's up?" you call back.

kuroo stares at you for a moment, lip between his teeth and chest rising and falling several beats too quickly.

finally, he simply raises charlie above his head, simba-style.

"charlie says 'have fun,'" he musters weakly, accompanied by a small wiggle of your furry companion.

you giggle and wave back at the pair before bouncing over to bokuto.

kuroo hurries back inside, closing the door and leaning back against it. he sinks his face into charlie's unending fluff, releasing a huge sigh.

"fuck," he says, muffled.

"meow."

fuck indeed.

[bridgertonbabe]

I hope you can answer this question,

How would the family group chat pop off when Araminta suffers an unfortunate accident?

BSSG Group Chat

Michael: Hey @ Sophie Franny's just told me after Greg told her that Hy told him that Daph told her that El told her that Ben told her that Arabitcha's in hospital? Is it true? 👀

Gareth: please be true 🙏

Gareth: even if it's a sprained ankle or something weak like that

Simon: Yeah so long as she's suffering ✨✨✨

Phillip: Last El heard they're still at the hospital with Posy and Hugh

Lucy: omg she went to the hospital????

Kate: Only for moral support for Posy!

Kate: No way in hell would she be there otherwise.

Penelope: Yeah Ben wouldn't let her step one foot in that hospital if it wasn't for the purposes of being there for Posy.

Gareth: well maybe with ben being there her life support could be "accidentally" pulled out

Simon: Yeah or her LVAD wire being cut.

Gareth: the fuck's an lvad wire?

Simon: You've never watched Greys Anatomy?

Gareth: you watch greys anatomy?

Simon: Daph watches it and tells me all about it.

Michael: Oh really? Is that so?

Michael: Because I definitely seem to recall you having an in-depth discussion with Franny about the show.

Lucy: yeah I remember that!!!!!!

Simon: ...

Simon: Ok fine! Daph got me into it, I didn't want to like it, then I convinced myself I liked it ironically, but now I guess I have to accept that I actually like it unironically. You happy now?

Michael:

Gareth:

Penelope: 🤭

Kate: 😂😂😂

Simon: fuck off @ Gareth don't act like Hy doesn't make you sit and watch drag race with her

Gareth:

Phillip: If it's any consolation I willingly watch Love Island with El

Phillip: There's something so endlessly fascinating about good looking people having to actually make an effort with each other when they're all used to being the ones being pursued in the real world.

Kate: Hang on Eloise watches Love Island?!?!

Kate: I could have sworn she said she hates dating shows like that

Penelope: She very much does but it doesn't stop her from watching them obsessively

Phillip: I could lie and say she hate-watches them or even watches them unironically but deep down she loves them.

Penelope: Very much so

Penelope: But she will absolutely deny it if you bring it up so don't bother

Kate: Believe me I wouldn't dare raise any subject with Eloise that could result in her vehemently getting defensive for 10+ minutes

Phillip: That's fair

Michael: Well I watch Say Yes to the Dress - and I was the one who got Franny into it

Lucy:

Michael: Oh come on I don't mention it that often!

Phillip: Did you completely forget the time you invited us round for a boys night and made us watch back to back episodes of it and nothing else?

Simon: surely you must be aware that your love of Say Yes to the Dress is absolutely no secret whatsoever

Michael:

Sophie: Yeah you've sent me screenshots of dresses you think I might like if Ben and I were ever to renew our vows.

Kate: Same here! You even add suggestions for dresses for a vow renewal on the beach, in a rustic barn

Kate: Omg Sophie

Kate: What's happened?

Michael: What's Arabitcha in hospital for?

Gareth: please be something that inconveniences her the most 🙏

Penelope: yeah please let it be more than a sprained ankle 🤞

Simon: Wishing nothing but the worst for her 🙌

Sophie: Well

Sophie:

Lucy:

Phillip: Wa

Phillip: Wait fr?

Kate: Omfg are you serious

Michael: Say more now

Penelope: @ Sophie WHAT IS TAKING YOU SO LONG TO CONFIRM OR DENY

Simon: CONFIRM OR DENY

Gareth: sophie please istg

Sophie: She's seriously actually dead for real fr.

Gareth: and to think i was worried it would be a sprained ankle at best

Gareth:

Michael: Holy shit

Lucy: how did it happen???

Sophie: I just want to state for the record that Ben didn't pull her life support plug or cut her LVAD wire.

Kate: That's a shame for Ben, he'd have loved to have been given the opportunity.

Gareth: hy too

Sophie: She was actually being her absolutely lovely self and having a go at some poor shop assistant demanding to speak to their manager or whatever and she literally dropped down dead mid-rant.

Penelope: omg

Gareth: she really went

Gareth:

Phillip: So she died the way she lived

Kate: Being a bitch right to the very end

Simon: What I'd give to have been there to witness that

Michael: Maybe if there's CCTV in the shop we can ask the owners if they could be so very kind to send us the footage

Penelope: Is Posy ok? Obvs she was a bitch to her too but is she feeling any sort of way about it?

Sophie: When we were told she did start to cry but then we realised her sobs were actually laughter and she was hysterically cackling with relief and she said "well thank fuck for that"

Phillip: Oh I was the same when my dad died

Simon: Same just minus the tears

Lucy: And how are you feeling about it all @ Sophie ?

Sophie: I don't know really

Sophie: I sort of don't feel anything?

Sophie: Maybe it hasn't sunk in yet, like I haven't properly processed the fact she's actually gone, but yeah right now I'm just of sort like eh, you know?

Michael: I think that's to be expected.

Phillip: She put you through shit and was nothing but awful to you but because of who you are you've naturally always been the bigger person and taken the high road, you haven't let her diminish your self worth and you've gone on to live a wonderful life that she could only dream of having. Whether you process her death and feel any type of way about it or still feel eh, you're always going to be better than her in every possible way; so don't you dare feel bad about yourself for feeling any sort of relief or joy from her passing.

Michael: 👏👏👏

Kate: Exactly what he said ↑

Simon: And like Phil said, don't you dare for a second feel guilty for celebrating her death

Penelope: And even if you want to be the bigger person and not celebrate, we'll all celebrate on your behalf don't you worry

Sophie: I really appreciate it guys 🤗💖💖💖

Sophie: And if you'd all like to go ahead and send your celebratory reaction gifs and memes please be my guest x

Penelope:

Simon:

Phillip:

Kate:

Gareth:

Michael:

Lucy:

Gareth:

Penelope:

Gareth: hy's ecstatic btw

Gareth: and is claiming full responsibility

Gareth sent a photo

Lucy: omg is that voodoo doll????????

Penelope: Why am I not even remotely surprised

Gareth: according to her she threw it down hard on the floor a few hours ago

Gareth: and now that she's dead naturally hy believes it's all down to her

Kate: Just so long as she doesn't start making dolls for every single person who wrongs her or anyone in the family. We don't want her getting any ideas.

Gareth: yeah tell that to the doll she made of my dad and is currently slamming against the wall 💀

[torgerandsuzanne]

This weekend, all the major movers and shakers in Formula 1 have descended on Silverstone for the British Grand Prix. On track, seven-time world champion Lewis Hamilton will attempt to slow Max Verstappen’s seemingly inexorable charge towards a third successive title. Off it, their respective team principals, Mercedes’ Toto Wolff and his nemesis, Red Bull’s Christian Horner, will also do battle. But arguably the most significant power move made in motorsport this week may already have taken place. Its architect was none other than Susie Wolff, wife of Toto. And just quietly, she is hoping she may have triggered a revolution.

As managing director of F1 Academy, a new all-female single-seater series, she is currently thrashing out what she believes could be a ‘game-changing deal’ with F1’s 10 teams, which she hopes will boost female participation in motorsport like nothing before.

......

Leaning back in a chair in the library of the Monaco Yacht Club, Wolff lets out a snigger. ‘It’s true,’ she nods. ‘He really did once describe me as a donkey!’ We are talking about her husband, Toto Wolff. The donkey reference actually cropped up in an interview the couple gave to Ben and Georgie Ainslie’s Performance People podcast last year. In the YouTube version of the podcast, you can see Susie, by this point in hysterics, miming someone digging a hole ever-deeper. The exchange is a window into their relationship: playful, loving, with Susie giving as good as she gets. But it also says something about both of their characters. Toto is a high performer, there is no doubt about that. And Susie? Well, ‘donkey’ may be a bit harsh for a woman who once gave Hamilton a run for his money in karting. But she knows what her husband meant. ‘Don’t underestimate the donkey,’ she says, grinning. ‘It gets there in the end. I do have a lot of tenacity.’ She is going to need it in her latest role. 

There have been various attempts down the years to drive female participation in motorsport and achieve the ultimate breakthrough: returning a woman to the F1 grid. Wolff believes F1 Academy is different. For starters, it is the first all-female series launched and owned by Formula 1 itself. That means it is in F1’s interests for it to succeed. So whereas W Series, for instance, was given an enviable platform by the sport the fate of F1 Academy is far more intertwined with the brand. Not only will it compete on the F1 circuit from next season, but the two series will collaborate far more closely. Wolff cannot speak just yet about what that might look like, as the finer details are still being ironed out. Suffice to say there are some very exciting plans in the offing that she hopes to announce soon. ‘I think there are some forward-thinking team principals in Formula 1,’ she says. ‘I certainly feel a real commitment from within the paddock to help change things now.’ ‘When I met them all after my announcement in Bahrain, I said to all of them, “Please don’t think of this as a ‘woman’s thing’ being run by a woman. This is for the greater good of this sport. I hope it will add value to Formula 1 long-term. And we need to be on this journey together.” So far, the response has been very positive, I have to say.’ Wolff smiles. ‘But F1 Academy cannot just be about 15 young women racing. And we cannot have the sole purpose of trying to find the next female F1 driver. We have to stand for something much more. It’s about creating opportunity. How are we making motorsport accessible to girls? That’s why I’m spending a lot of my time in the world of karting right now, trying to understand, OK, who’s out there racing? At what level? What is stopping girls from racing? I think that’s where we’ve got to be really proactive. Because that talent pool is what we need to grow.’

......

Wolff is uniquely well-placed to do so. Born in Oban she had a typically outdoorsy upbringing. Both she and older brother David, were put on skis and bikes as toddlers. Her parents, owned a motorcycle dealership and her father raced bikes competitively, so racing was ‘in the blood’. But, Wolff says, she was ‘never a typical tomboy’. ‘I had my Barbie. I had my dolls. I liked that stuff. But I also loved going fast.’ Eventually the family got a second-hand kart and that was it, although Wolff insists it was just ‘for fun’ until she was taken to a Formula 3 race at Donington Park one year and watched Jenson Button win. ‘That’s when I was like: “This is what I want.” After that I started racing in the European and world championships.’ It was at that point, too, that Wolff began to experience sexism for the first time. She had always been ‘the only girl’ in karting races. Or at least one of very few. But as her participation became more serious, so too did the feeling of being not just different but unwanted. ‘Funnily enough, half of my battle was with the parents of my competitors,’ she recalls. ‘For them, it was not wanting their sons to get beaten by a girl.’

Sometimes her own teams, supposedly on her side, were just as culpable. When she reached DTM, the German touring car championship, Wolff was famously made to drive a pink car. ‘I hated it,’ she says. ‘It was such a cliché. No one wanted to be overtaken by that car.’  Wolff recalls one particularly awkward episode when three-time F1 world champion Niki Lauda came to watch his son Mathias. ‘Mathias and I were teammates and it was a real thrill that Niki was coming to watch,’ she says, wincing. ‘So anyway, he walks into the garage, and all the drivers were in there, and without even saying hi to Mathias or anything, he took one look at me and said to Mathias: “Whatever you do, beat her.” Even Mathias was embarrassed.’ ‘Years later, when we obviously became friends at Mercedes I brought it up and Niki was like, “Yeah, I know. But I knew it wouldn’t have been helpful to Mathias if he got beaten by you.” I said, “But Niki, I was an impressionable young driver.” Obviously he was of a certain generation. But I think that still exists. That stigma. Not wanting to be beaten by a girl. The preconception that women are bad drivers. We have to change that.’

.....

In other times during Wolff’s career it has been double standards that infuriated her. Male drivers could advertise products or cash in on their celebrity. But when Wolff did the same she would be accused of ‘using her body’ to further her career. This is someone who had, and still has, a genuine interest in fashion. ‘It was frustrating,’ she admits. ‘I turned down loads of things. I remember being questioned about one shoot, with Vogue Japan. “What? You’re going to turn down Vogue? No! It’s one of the top titles…”’ ‘Ultimately, I think it’s about finding a balance and doing what you’re comfortable with. I had one golden rule. I would never date another driver. I wanted to look after my reputation and just be someone that was seen as credible. But I think this idea that you just put your helmet on and race and nothing else matters… that’s not the case. Take Lewis. What he brings to the table is his outstanding talent on track. But also, all of the stuff he represents off-track. So if anything, I look back and say, I should have gone even harder.’

.....

Does she believe she was held back? Wolff shakes her head. ‘I think I fulfilled my potential. If I look back now, with more perspective, I wasn’t one of the most talented. I had a lot of tenacity and a lot of determination. A lot of thick skin. So I look back with no bitterness whatsoever. There were a lot of tough moments, I won’t lie. But I also met Toto, which led me to where I am now.’ They met in 2009 when Wolff was competing in DTM. Toto, 11 years her senior and with two young children from a previous marriage, was the co-owner of HWA AG, which ran the DTM race programme for Mercedes. He proposed one year later on a boat in Venice (well, on a boat back to the airport after his original plan to propose at a romantic restaurant was scuppered when a couple they knew sat down at the next table) and they were married in Capri in 2011. Inevitably their relationship, her subsequent role at Williams, and rise through senior management positions at Venturi Racing, a Monaco-based Formula E team, to F1 Academy, have led to allegations of nepotism. 

‘I am completely fine with that because in the end, I know the truth,’ Wolff says. ‘I got the drive with Williams after I met Frank at a DTM event at Brands Hatch and told him I’d done a school project on Williams as a 12-year-old girl and it was always my dream to drive an F1 car. At the end of the conversation he said, “I’ll give you 25 laps at Silverstone.” It kind of snowballed from there. How much of that was Toto? It’s impossible to judge. But I feel I grabbed my chance.’ ‘Toto was never on the radio telling me how to drive a Formula 1 car. He wasn’t holding my hand telling me how to run a Formula E team. I did all of that on my own two feet. I know I’ve got what it takes to be successful, I don’t need Toto to open doors for me.’ She pauses. ‘I think in some instances, it can be very helpful having the Wolff surname, in others very unhelpful. But I wouldn’t change it for a second.’

Marrying up their schedules can’t be easy. The couple’s main home is in Monaco, but when we meet, Toto is back at the factory in Brackley, having just returned from the Canadian Grand Prix. He will fly out to take over parental duties from Susie when she heads to Zandvoort at the end of the week. ‘I don’t think we’re dissimilar to many couples who have busy jobs,’ Wolff says. ‘I have Toto’s schedule on my phone so I always know which country he is in, or at least when he’s coming home. And we just have to prioritise. If that means Jack and I jumping on a plane to wherever he is to make it work, we make it work.’  Wolff admits it is her who generally compromises. ‘Someone has to,’ she shrugs. ‘And right now it’s me, for sure. I’m based here. And Toto is in and out. It’s a big advantage that I understand the industry so well; why he has to be away, why he has to stay longer at the factory. All of that means I’m not giving him a headache at home when he does return. I get it.’

Have Mercedes’ recent struggles on track made things more stressful? ‘Actually I’d say he is in a better place than he was a few years ago,’ Wolff replies. ‘I think he had a moment in lockdown where he didn’t know whether he wanted to stay in the sport. But now he has really got the bit between his teeth again. Sometimes I’m in a room when he’s on a very difficult call and I’m starting to feel, “F--k, this is some serious pressure!” But he can just pile it on. It’s definitely one of his strengths.’ In 2021 the couple moved to Monaco from Switzerland, although they also keep a place in Oxford from which Toto can commute to the factory. ‘Believe me, I never imagined I would be living here,’ Wolff says, laughing. ‘Obviously I started coming out a lot when I joined Venturi. I’d leave cold, grey England and land here in blue skies. I just started thinking, it’s not so bad out here… It works for us now.’  As you would expect, Jack attends a school with the sons and daughters of other international jetsetters. ‘His best friend is Augusto Farfus’ son. Naila Rosberg is a year older, her sister is a year younger,’ Wolff says. But really, she insists, they do not have a lavish lifestyle. ‘My son spends every school holiday back in Scotland because I want him to have that balance. You know, this is a bubble. It’s not quite reality. So he goes camping with my parents.’ As for the Monte Carlo nightlife, Wolff says, ‘We keep ourselves to ourselves. The buzzing social life is just not my thing at all. You find your tribe but we spend so much time away, I’d much rather stay in during the evening than go out somewhere.’

Susie's interview with The Telegraph where she talks about F1 Academy, sexism and double standards she experienced as a female racing driver and her relationship with Toto.