#ultra glossy lip

[plumslices]

2024 Favorites

Midori B6 Grid Notebook + Clear Cover: I’ve become a notebook always with me person. I love this size bc it can fit in a pocket but it’s big enough to actually be useful.

Tide pen: self explanatory. I hate stains

Marin Lip Treatment (unscented): As five of you may know, I’ve been looking for a new favorite lip balm for a couple years. Happy to say Ive found it! It’s glossy, slippy and smooth, leaves lasting moisture. It’s everything Ive been looking for.

Mantes-La-Jolie by Astier de Villate: Quite literally everything I’ve ever wanted in a scent. I got a sample and became obsessed with it. Thought about it for months and months. I decided to get the small bottle as a souvenir during a NY trip in June. It’s mint, basil, bergamot, mate, eucalyptus, and drifts to an earthy green slightly floral powdery scent. The opening doesn’t last all day but the experience is worth it.

Systane Ultra PF preservative free eye drops: These give my extremely dry eyes relief when nothing else will. Preservative free drops work better for me.

Chomps Beef Stick, Jalapeno

Bioderma Atoderm Intensive: I have really dry skin and this does it for me.

Avene Cicaflate: This has become genuinely the only thing I use on my face. IM FREE. I break out so much less, I love zinc.

Hatch 2 Alarm Clock: Ok…..this has changed my life. *disclaimer* The new app design sucks and I hate it, but it happened after I already loved it. I’m a hard sleeper and can fall into disordered sleep easily. It’s a sound machine, an alarm clock that still works if your phone is dead(!!!) as long as the schedules set, does gentle light wakeup. It’s been so worth it for me 😵‍💫 I would trade everything on this list for this

Poy-Sian Inhaler: Menthol, Eucalyptus Oil, Camphor…my favorite smells in the world. I use for nausea, motion sickness, congestion.



[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content. satoru/reader. dark dark DARK, bad end au, sorcerer breeding programs, consent is not a thing for sorcerers, all sorts of bad shit.

ultra dark dystopian au where the public knows what cursed spirits are and jujutsu society isn't controlled by the higher ups.

it's controlled by the government.

sorcerers are national assets. tools, property, born and raised to be weapons against cursed spirits.

they're taken from their mothers at birth. indoctrinated and trained in facilities until they're old enough to be sent out to kill curses. they start somewhere around 13. most of them don't reach adulthood.

with attrition rates so high, where are they getting all this fodder?

special grades like satoru gojo don't spend most of their time out in the field.

as soon as he was of age he's sent to a suitable mate. breeding stock like him should create more sorcerers.

for what? to be killed?

the questions come to his mind every now and then, but he knows they're useless. he doesn't think much about why things are the way they are.

he's a weapon. he's been a weapon his entire life. this is what he's good at. what he's meant for.

however he feels about his life, satoru gojo was born and bred for sorcery, in every universe. he loves it. what do the details matter?

things aren't so different for satoru in this au. he wakes up, kills curses, creates new sorcerers, gets maybe 3 hours of sleep and does it again.

he doesn't get to pick who or when he's bred with. he's a stud. his partners are broodmares. sorcerers who managed to survive the meat grinder of exorcism.

when satoru gojo meets you, he doesn't know you. doesn't even know your name.

he doesn't need that to get you pregnant. he's sent to a room, locked in there with you, crystal-clear instructions on what you're meant to do.

it isn't his first time doing this. it's not your first time either, he's sure.

it's not romantic. it's not even sexy. it's quiet, practical, and methodical -

but oh. oh, does it feel good.

he doesn't know if it's just your body, or if this is something you actively do but it feels like you're clenching around him, like your cunt is embracing him and refusing to let go.

you're touchy, too. touching his face, his hair, his body. satoru is used to roving eyes (he's instructed never to say no; after all, what if a woman who fucked him bore a sorcerer child?) and hands.

but your hands aren't greedy. they're tender. gentle caresses like the sigh you make when he buries himself to the hilt inside you.

he nearly jerks at the feeling of your lips on his neck. kisses littered up to the underside of his jaw, featherlight fleeting. ghostly, even.

when he's rutting into you, quick, efficient motions to get him closer to the edge, you meet his ice-blue gaze and press your lips to his -

it's the first time he's been kissed on the lips.

he remembers your eyes watering the first time he penetrated you. next time, he makes a point to whet his fingertips, rub over your clit, kiss your breasts, your neck, until you're dripping over him.

he doesn't know why. it's unnecessary effort. all he has to do is release inside you.

but he supposes if you're both stuck here for a while, it might as well be... nice.

and it is nice. this time he feels one of your hands grasp his, a strange feeling churning in his gut as you guide his hand to your clit.

with just a few careful swipes, timed to the rhythm of your hips bucking into him, the sonnet of your little gasps and moans, he watches you start to shiver and quake.

you clench around him and something inside him lights up, tugging, bright and hot and bursting along with his climax.

it's never been like this before, never been this good. you squeeze around him like you're milking him, panting with your mouth slack and opened wide, eyes glossy and dilated.

irrationally, he leans in to cover your mouth with his, lap at your tongue, steal away your desperate breaths and feel you moan and squirm beneath him.

when he moves to pull out, your arms dart around him, holding him close. like you don't want him to leave.

and even though it's never been like this, even though he's never tried this hard or liked it this much, satoru still thinks this is the strangest part.

laying there, bodies entwined, chests rising and falling as you fall asleep against one another.

it's warm. it's hot and sweaty and full of the stench of sex and bodily fluids, and it should be disgusting, but it's not.

maybe he's just too tired to care. when his six eyes finally close, the darkness that embraces him is warm, enticing, and absolute.

he can only just make out your heartbeat within it.

there's a few days of that, until your fertile period is over and you part, without words.

in fact he can't recall if he even spoke to you. you might not even know his name, though he's rather infamous, and with his hair and eyes he's hard to mistake.

satoru thinks about you sometimes. in the dead quiet of the night when his brain refuses to stop churning. in the midst of battle.

in the beds of the others he's meant to breed, cooling bodies laying against him as he brings himself to climax inside them and then pulls away.

it doesn't even feel that good anymore. not now that he'd had it with you.

sometimes he wishes he'd never had you. most times, he wants you there with him.

none of it matters. he knows that. he kills curses, he mates with fellow sorcerers. they're walking wombs, and he's a sperm donor. an impersonal exchange.

the worst is when he's summoned to fight a curse that seems just a little too low grade for him.

usually because the sorcerers originally dispatched failed.

in jujutsu sorcery, failure is death.

but high-level sorcerers like him aren't usually dispatched against lower level curses. it's almost invariably weaker sorcerers - younger ones.

it takes him an instant to exorcise it. seconds, really.

how many people died trying to do what was second nature to him?

how many of them were children?

it's his fault, in the end. for not being able to be everywhere at once. having to breed more to replace the sorcerers that wouldn't have been lost if he didn't have to spend so much time breeding.

the system churns through sorcerers like a meat grinder. anyone who comes out alive is squeezed for raw material, to make more of them.

an unending marathon. all that's waiting for them on the other side is death, death or being reduced to breeding stock.

he wonders what happens to female sorcerers who can't be bred anymore. are they just worked until they die?

do they ever get to see their children?

it's been years. if he'd gotten you pregnant then his children might be old enough to be sent out by now. if he has any children.

at the rate they've been having him fuck, he must have at least a few.

where are they? where are you? useless questions.

there's only been one fellow sorcerer he was able to keep track of throughout the years, and he...

well. he won't be seeing him again.

but he does see you again. years later.

do you remember him? he remembers you. how many others have you been bred with? was there a dark, long-haired sorcerer among them?

someone with sharp violet eyes and a warm smile and large hands? did you have any children by him?

is there anything left of his friend in this world?

the questions bubble in his chest, staining the back of his throat like bile.

if he asked, he's sure you would answer. you smile when you see him.

but instead he buries himself inside you, in your arms, your tight embrace. this is the only time he gets to feel good.

is this the only time you get to feel good, too? during this week of your fertile window, when they send you in to anonymous sorcerers to get fucked pregnant?

breeding stock, he remembers. what will be done with you when you can no longer bear children? what do you have to look forward to?

satoru wants to ask. did you have any children by him? did any of them survive?

but instead he buries himself in you to the hilt. until you keen and stretch underneath him.

even if he did ask, you wouldn't know.

you hold him too tightly for a brood mare, for an encounter that will only last as long as your fertile window.

do you yearn for these moments, too? do you miss him, do you want to see him again?

did you bear his children? did you want to show them to him when they were born? did you want him there?

did you - you're looking up at him hopefully, arms that hold him close, it's time to leave now and your eyes are wet and empty and your shoulders drop as you lay back on the bed limply -

geto was right.

[remotewatch]

nothing but a sentence 🩸

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1.8k wc

summary: period sex with jack for anon ‼️ hope you enjoy lovely 🤍

cw: period sex, period head, certified boyfriend material jack, domestic bliss, whereee did all this fluff come from, sacrilege if you squint, messy eating, unprotected sex (VOTE IF YOU WANNA RECREATE ETC ETC), shoutout to my darling editor Sabrina @mystardustmelodyyy for saving this from limbo 🙏

minors dni get off my lawn

At this point in the relationship, Jack manages your period more than you do. You tend to forget that it requires actually going out and purchasing supplies unless he calls you from the pharmacy to complain.

“Why would they stop carrying ultras? That’s so fucked up! And the boxes are getting smaller, it’s sick what they’re doing to you guys!” It’s too easy to picture him waltzing around with three cases of san pellegrino under one arm and an overflowing snack basket in the other, phone pressed between his ear and shoulder while he yaps about pink taxes.

“Do you want canned or fresh lychee? Never mind, I’ll get both.” he decides before you can respond. “Did you want anything else?”

“I want to sleep,” you mumble. You were currently being throttled on two fronts by nauseating cramps and a vicious migraine, leaving no energy left to manage his shopping list. It was hard enough just to reach and grab the ibuprofen without alerting your uterus that you had moved, yet he’s still talking as you doze off:

“We’ve got edibles and melatonin in the cabinet, but I’ll get some mag glycinate, and are you SURE you don’t need…”

“Dealer’s choice, I trust your judgement,” you murmur. “When will you be home?”

“Alright, fair enough. I’ll be back around 6.”

“See you then. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He finds you wrapped in two heating pads, face pressed into the couch, full water glass in the same spot he left it on the coffee table.

“I feel like I just died,” you groan, rubbing your eyes and tentatively stretching your legs.

“Come on, you gotta hydrate,” Jack rustles through the grocery bags looking for a loose water bottle with a sport cap before pressing it against your mouth. He frowns and doesn’t take it out when you try to move away.

“At least half a glass, come on. I’m following orders here.” He’s very gentle not to flood your mouth and make you cough, but you can see his eyes flicker down to watch your lips wrap around the cap (he’s only human, after all).

“Thank you,” you croak when he finally sets it down, voice slightly less raspy than before.

“Do you want a tea? I’m making you a tea.”

He’s off rustling through the kitchen for the ginger lemon amid the boxes of just ginger or just lemon, but despite his best efforts, the noise is killing you. Every shut drawer sounds like a door slamming with this headache, and Jack sounds like he’s still speaking into your ear even though he’s mainly talking to himself.

“And I’ll get started on dinner-what would you like? I’ll figure something out, don’t worry. Oh, also! I got those vaseline body balm rollers you like.”

Your eyes shoot wide open and light up as he trots over to hand you your treat.

“Oh my god, and you found the cocoa butter kind! You’re the best!”

The rich, nutty scent of the balm floods the room when you unscrew the top and gives you a second wind. This and a shower will fix you for sure, just as soon as you can make your way to the bathroom.

Jack fills in the blanks as soon as you look back up at him apprehensively and start with the vague gesturing and “would you mind…”

“Of course not. There’s no need for you be walking right now, that would be crazy!” If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d be swooning at the way he effortlessly scoops you up and walks over to set you down on the glossy teak shower stool (a million percent worthwhile at times like this).

“Do you want any more help in there?” It sounds like a joke, but you know he’d wash you in a heartbeat if you asked. You can’t help matching his smile.

“I think I’ve got it handled.”

“I’ll put dinner on, then.”

When you emerge, your headache has all but subsided, and while you’re still pretty out of it, the heat has done wonders for your cramps and stiffness. You can’t be bothered to do anything but throw on a pair of thinx and flop down onto the bed, slathering on more of your new balm just to keep smelling it.

Jack knocks at the open bedroom door with your tea and a fresh glass of water.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were baking in here,” he teases as sets them on the nightstand. “Dinner is on in 30 by the way.”

The idea of leaving your bed right now sounds about as appealing as getting all your teeth pulled, but you’d never dream of eating on the scrumptious new Matouk linens; the utter disrespect!

“Can you just put me back to sleep instead?”

“Sure, of course. You want a gummy or-“

“Jack!”

“Right, got it!” And he’s skittering off to grab a vibe and towel while you untangle yourself from heating pad cords.

Jack is nearly skipping coming back from the hallway closet with a fistful of toys before rolling you as little as possible to tuck the towel under your lower half. As soon as he’s back within reach, you grab a handful of his hair and drag him down to kneel next to you. He nods at the pile of silicone on the nightstand as he playfully snaps at your elastic: “Are we feeling manual or automatic?”, but you’re already bucking your hips up to shove the underwear down your thighs and wincing at the sudden movement.

“You ok?” He drops the playful tone immediately and furrows his brow in concern. You throw your arm out to grab a toy at random, landing on a satisfier. Perfect.

“Ask me again in ten minutes,” you sigh dramatically to lighten the mood, but you’re still not feeling great.

“Roger that,” Jack bites back a smug grin -as if he’s ever needed all ten- and crawls gingerly into bed to snake one arm under your waist and accept the toy with the other.

It has to be some sort of sick joke how you’re this unbelievably sensitive when you still feel so shitty. Every single nerve ending in your clit is humming in tandem with the pulses of the satisfier; the delicious sensations ricochet up and down your body enough that even your eye sockets feel tingly.

He’s entirely absorbed in making you cum and tuned into every move you make, still glancing up now and then to check for any hint of discomfort. As much as he’s committed to pleasing you, he can’t conceal the blush creeping up his neck and down from his temples, nor his ragged breathing. There’s barely enough time to acclimate and enjoy it before you feel yourself getting drawn right over the edge.

“You’ve got it-don’t fucking move-so good to me, Jack, fuck-thank you,”

You screw your eyes shut on pure instinct while your orgasm rolls through; one of your hands fumbles for purchase in his curls as he mouths sloppily over your breasts. When you manage to take another peek at him, his eyes are all crinkled up like he’s smiling while his mouth remains focused on the task at hand. A little tug on his hair and he’s cheerily licking his way down your abdomen, really letting his tongue drag so he has more time to grind against your thigh. You can already feel the wet spot forming on his boxer briefs, such a romantic!

“Having fun down there?” you purr. Jack jerks his head up, revealing a red splotch on the point of his chin.

“God, yes. Can I lick you? Please?” You’d think he’s the one who’d just came from how breathy he sounds. You cross your ankles between his shoulder blades and readjust your grip on his hair.

“Always.”

For once, Jack shows some restraint eating you. It’s all broad, slow licks in time with your heartbeat; he falls right into a natural rhythm that reminds you of crashing waves. His fingers lace together across your stomach like he’s praying, and each adoring exhale only adds to the effect. Every time he dives back in after catching his breath, a new drip flows out hot and coppery to coat him from the nose down. It’s such a perfect mess; the harsh-edged, gleaming paint job stretching ear to ear and the little smear between his eyebrows make him look like he’s been baptized in your blood.

It’s a wonder he can even hear your faint whispers of “Jack, just-just fuck me, please,” over how shamelessly he’s dragging his face through you, but he’s always been something of a miracle worker.

There’s a long, indulgent slurp like a bathtub finishing draining that makes your thoughts blur around the edges before he allows you to pull him off you and slide your feet languidly under his shorts. You’re way too sleepy to be of much help, but he’s happy to shove the waistband low enough to tuck under his balls and half wipe his mouth with the back of his hand as he crawls back up to you.

The blood pools sluggishly towards the high points of Jack’s face, and a drop splatters onto your cheek before he can stop it. Without hesitation, he swoops down to lap it up and kiss a fainter mark in its place. Barely audible, you somehow remember to pant a reminder into his ear.

“You just gotta be careful right now, my cervix is like-”

“-right up front, I remember. I gotcha, no worries,” he presses another sticky kiss to your temple as he pushes halfway in, abs clenching to keep from slipping too deep. He’s delightful as always, but each thrust is winding your nerves tighter, making your clit ache just as much as the rest of you. Fumbling once again at the nightstand, you find another vibe designed to rest snugly between you two so he’s got both hands free to rest his chin on, just rocking away while he watches you drift off. When he hits at just the right angle, you back bows up hard enough to audibly crack in relief. Those waves of relaxation mixing with the constant rumbling from the toy overwhelm you once again, dissolving what’s left of your discomfort and tugging you towards unconsciousness.

Jack can’t hold himself back when he feels you practically sucking him back in on every outstroke, and a brazen whine bursts from his throat as he pulls out, freeing a gush of pink tinged cum. It only feels natural to lean up to kiss him and lap the residual streaks from around his lips.

“Feel better?” he sighs against you, grinning so wide the drier patches on his dimples crack and start to flake off onto the towel.

“So much better,” your words slur together, and the rest of your thoughts scatter once your heads falls back onto the pillow

“You want a hot washcloth?”

“Mmmm,” It takes you a second to piece the simple sentence together; you’re still blinking away the residual stars from your vision.

“In ten minutes?”

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Can y’all please let me know if the long chapters are harder to digest? Because I love writing them, but if they actively impair enjoyment of the story I can start to cut them in half. Chapter Title from DEVIL by Shinedown.

Word Count: 13k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Everyone has a lesson in actions and their subsequent consequences. Emphasis on mental health issues warning for the chapter: specifically suicidal ideation and PTSD.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 6 - Chapter 8

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

Free will was cruel, and you had some choice words for whatever had given it to you. "Words,” meaning several unspeakable acts of violence, a wide variety of cuss words and vulgar phrases that would leave even Ben agape, and at least one loud, feral scream.

Free will had allowed you to attend a fancy party at Vought, a party that put you in a silk dress and winged eyeliner with glossy lips. Free will had let you do one, two, three shots and gotten you tipsy enough that when the elegant woman with strawberry hair had asked if anyone wanted to sing on stage, asked the crowd if there was at least one guest who wasn’t tone deaf and could do a passible rendition of Moon River, you’d raised your hand. Free will had made you not do a fourth shot, so that when you started to sing you didn’t stumble around the stage, missing notes and embarrassing yourself, but had put on a perfect show, singing and swaying in time to the music.

Later, you had learned that the woman with the strawberry hair had been killed later that night, and Free will had allowed you to feel sorry about it. Free will had you visit her grave in the dead of night in a thunderstorm, and let you sing Moon River one last time.

Free will had allowed you to cave when Butcher and the Boys had found you in a different graveyard, only a month later. Free will let you stick with them all the way to the barn. Free will was what had you coming up with very, very stupid plans.

Not this plan, though. You loved this plan. You loved this plan enough that you hadn’t waited even a half hour after thinking of it to call Butcher, or two minutes after Butcher had screened your call to turn around and call MM instead.

“What’s wrong?” MM had picked up after two rings, and you could almost see his worried frown with his words. “Did Soldier Boy-“

“Ben’s in the living room yelling at a documentary about World War II.” You’d dismissed. “He likes to point out all the alleged inaccuracies. I have a plan, I need everyone here by tonight.”

“Uh,” MM said your name apprehensively. “I don’t think that’ll really work.”

“Look, I know everyone’s probably still freaked out about last night, but this is really important-“

“No, that’s not it. We’re fine. Butcher’s still being a fucking ass about it, but everyone else- Hey!” MM had yelled away from the receiver as something banged in the background, accompanied by muffled shouts.

“Uh, MM?” You’d frowned. “Where are you?”

“Ohio.”

“Ohi- why are you in fucking Ohio?”

“Soldier Boy’s shield is here. Turns out it’s been so motherfucking difficult to get because Vought has their hands on it, and they’ve been keeping it in a warehouse in Akron.”

“I thought it had been flown from Jacksonville, with the suit?”

“Nope. Akron. We didn’t know until a few days ago, even Mallory thought it was just waiting in cargo at JFK.”

You’d glanced down the hall to make sure Ben hadn’t heard that his shield was in Ohio, a state he’d once called “America’s shitstained taint” while watching a football game. You heard him shout “fucking commies didn’t do goddamn shit about the Nazi’s, fuck off!” And decided you were in the clear.

“When do you think you’ll be done?” You’d asked, keeping one ear open in case Ben decided to stop fighting with Ken Burns’ voice and join you in the kitchen.

“If Butcher keeps it together and nobody sees Annie and tips off Vought? Tomorrow night.” MM had answered tensely.

“Ok, come right here when you get back. Like I said, I've got a plan, but it’s time sensitive.” You gone to hang up, but paused with your finger over the button. “Don’t die.” You’d added, and heard MM’s grunted acknowledgment just before the call dropped.

Somehow they’d managed to meet MM’s prediction, and all returned in one piece. The team had stood awkwardly in the kitchen—almost everyone avoiding full eye contact with you despite MM’s claim of everything being fine—as you and Ben had sat at the counter, Ben making a mediocre effort to fake some sort of hospitality per your request.

“Thanks to Ashley,” you’d started. “We know Sage told Homelander that I’m in New York and Ben’s awake.”

“Yeah, we’re really sorry about that.” Annie had said your name apologetically. “We should’ve been more careful-“

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” You’d cut her off, giving Ben’s shin a swift kick behind the counter before he could’ve said anything, his disbelieving scorn at your statement running through where your arms were brushing. “And we can use this.”

“Use what?” Hughie had frowned, and you’d continued.

“They haven’t told anyone else about it. We weren’t even sure they knew until Ashley told us. I’m not anticipating them to start alerting the media about me anytime soon, but they should’ve announced that America’s number one traitor is back from the dead and out to attack the innocent.”

“Fucking rude.” Ben grumbled, and a surprisingly bruised feeling ran through you. “All I do is help you, Sunshine, and that’s how you fucking thank me?”

You gave him a quick, half-apologetic, half-annoyed look. I’m being sardonic for arguments sake, and you know it. He’d just rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the mozzarella sticks you’d heated up before the Boys arrived.

“But they haven’t done that,” you’d continued, giving Ben one last dirty look. “Which means-“

“They’re saving it for something.” Annie had finished your sentence with a thoughtful frown.

“Exactly. Sage has some sort of plan, some dramatic and complicated way to fear monger people, turn everyone against Starlight by saying you released Soldier Boy, and have been risking public safety by letting him run rampant for your own anti-American reasons.”

“You want to get ahead of it.” MM had said, eyes narrowed.

You’d nodded, and shared your plan. Now, two days later, you were squished in the back of the van between Hughie—a well placed towel separating any physical contact—and Ben—who despite many protests was eating your burger—watching Firecracker and The Deep sing in a way that made you want to permanently remove your ears.

You visibly recoil as The Deep looks into the camera, and Ben looks up from eating to watch the video as it plays on Hughie’s laptop.

“Fish-boy sounds like a fucking constipated cowboy,” Ben mutters through a mouthful of food.

You hum in agreement. “You even sounded better on your stupid Rapture video.”

Ben scowls, taking another large bite that muffles his words. “I was fucking fantastic in that.”

“You were certainly, technically, singing.” You look up at him with a grin. “With all the passion of a dying squid giving one last, mighty squirt.”

“I don’t ’squirt’, Sunshine.” Ben grumbles, and you can see the moment every filthy thing he could say pops into his head. He takes a rough swallow, mouth opening to say something that will undoubtedly make Hughie regret volunteering to stay in the van, and you cut him off.

“Before you say anything, keep in mind that is still my burger, meaning I have every right to take it back and shove it right up your ass.”

Ben glowers at you, taking another aggressively large bite. “Bitch.” He grunts, and a piece of lettuce falls fully out of his mouth. Though you can feel his dirty look in your direction, you can also feel a spark of amusement run from where your knees are touching into your chest.

“Cunt.” You pick the lettuce off his lap and throw it into his face. “You eat like a squid too.”

“The only thing that me and squids have in common is our giant-“

“Okay!” Hughie shouts, pausing the video. “Soldier Boy, can you please not say something sexual for like, fuck, ten minutes?”

Ben doesn’t respond, invested completely in the burger, and you elbow him in the ribs.

He gives a loud cough, little bits of meat spurting out of his mouth. “What the fuck?!” When you incline your head to Hughie, Ben rolls his eyes and offers Hughie a grunted, “Fuckin hell- fine, you pussy.”

“Oh, ok.” Hughie blinks at Ben nervously before fumbling to unpause the video.

As the laptop catches up with the live feed, jumping to Firecracker bouncing over-excitedly around the now empty stage, Ben leans over you to get a good look at the screen.

“That’s her?”

“Yep.” You give the screen a glare. “Crazy brown-nosing bitch.”

Hughie lets out a noise of agreement, and Ben snorts. After another minute, in which Firecracker manages to say a record twenty-two objectively wrong things in a row, Ben grunts in annoyance.

“When I was at Vought, we had real goddamn talent, not whatever the fuck this is.”

“I know, in the 80s they managed to book a Pretty Boy squid who could kind of sing.”

Lettuce hits you in the face, and you let out a sputtering string of profanities.

“I can more than kind of sing, Sunshine. I have the voice of a goddamn angel. And that song didn’t make any fucking sense, I fucking blew it out of the fucking water- what the fucks so funny?”

“Nothing!” You try and smother the giggles that had built in you as he’d devolved into rambling ire. “You’re way angrier about this than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m not fucking angry-“

“I can feel it, Ben.” You press your leg further against his in reminder. “And even if I couldn’t, you just said ‘fuck’ so many times.”

“I’m not a damn pussy, I’ll swear as much as I fucking please-“ Ben falters slightly as the word slips out once more, and you grin at him.

“When you’re angry, every other word out of your mouth is ‘fuck’. It’s actually really funny.“

“I’m glad it’s amusing for you.” He’s glaring at you, but you can feel the rapid ebbing of his anger through your body.

“It is.” You shrug, and attempt an olive branch. “So was the Rapture video. I used to watch it all the time.”

“Really?” At your words, he’s suddenly giving a toothy, egotistical grin. “What, did you have a crush on me?”

“No,” You mirror his grin, even as you feel your cheeks heat and hear your sister’s teasing in your ear. “It was just really funny.”

He scoffs. “Like you could’ve done it any damn better.”

“Oh, I know I couldn’t have. I sing like a horse who chain smokes.” The lie slips through your teeth with practiced ease. “But nobody would be paying me whatever digusting amout they payed you.”

"Joke's on you, Sunshine. I bought a house with that money."

"Hm," you give him a toothy smile. "I think that makes the joke on Vought."

“I liked your dancing,” Hughie offers weakly. “It was… interesting.”

“See, Cocksucker gets it.” Ben says smugly, giving you a nudge as his attention refocuses on the video.

“That’s, that’s not my name…” Hughie sighs, and you offer him an apologetic, close-lipped smile.

Still leaning over you, Ben takes another bite of the burger as he watches Firecracker. “She’s got good tits,” he observes, and you tilt your head to look at him incredulously. “What?! She does!”

“You didn’t even last,” you look at the clock on Hughie’s laptop. “Five minutes.”

“That’s bullshit, I always last more than five minutes- Hey!”

You manage to fit the entire remaining burger into your mouth a once, chewing frantically before he can try and take it back from you. You give him a smug look. I warned you, Pretty Boy.

He narrows his eyes at you. I’ll make you fucking regret that, Sunshine.

You swallow, his promise of regret already catching up to you from the large bite as the food aches down your throat, and push Ben until he’s fully in his seat. “Her tits better not be nice enough that you decide to blow the mission.”

“Don’t worry, Sunshine, yours are better.” He ignores your venomous look. “And she’s with Homelander. Even the best fucking tits in the world couldn’t make up for choosing that pussy.” His eyes narrow at the screen. “I should just fucking go now, it’s been the same stupid shit for a damn hour.”

“No!” Hughie’s arm shoots out to hold him in his seat, before thinking better and pulling back just as fast. “No, they’re almost ready, please, can we just wait until they’re ready?”

Ben shoots you a look of questioning annoyance. I could just fucking go. Cocksucker couldn’t stop me, and we could all be fucking done and go home early.

No. We’re sticking to the plan. You glare back.

He rolls his eyes. Fucking stupid plan if it takes ten goddamn hours to set up.

You stick your tongue out at him, and turn back to Hughie. “Have they sent any updates? At least gotten the stage passes?”

“They aren’t supposed to check in for another three minutes.” Hughie shakes his head. “And MM’s still working on the stage passes. They’re $350 for some fucking reason.”

“I don’t need a stage pass.” Ben grumbles. “I could just walk in if you would give me the suit, none of those pussies would stop me.”

“The whole point is that you don’t have the suit. But…” You trail off, frowning to yourself. “Hughie, Ben might be right about the stage pass.”

Ben makes a satisfied “Ha!” as Hughie gives you a wide-eyed stare.

“But they can’t know he’s working with-“

“Butcher and Starlight, yeah, I know, it's my plan. But the whole idea is that he’s rogue. Soldier Boy, back from the dead once more, loose on the streets of Manhattan with no adult supervision.” You sweep your hand in a mock headline gesture, and pretend you can’t feel Ben’s indignance. “A real rogue hundred year old terrorist would not have a credit score that lets him buy Vought’s super-diamond-truther backstage pass.”

“So I can have my fucking suit-“

“No,” you snap, and Ben scowls. “That defeats the point even more than the stage pass. Your suit is known government property. It was being kept in a high-security warehouse in Florida. It would be really fucking suspicious if you were wearing it.”

“They were keeping my suit in Florida?!” Ben’s face coils in disgust. “Was my fucking shield in Florida too?! Fuck, is it still fucking there?! In goddamn, sweat-stained-“

“No, apparently Vought was keeping your shield in Ohio.”

“Fucking Ohio?!”

“This doesn’t really seem like it’s about the mission anymore,” Hughie says nervously.

“It’s not, it’s about you fucking dumbass cum guzzlers keeping my shit in goddamn Florida and Ohio- Fuck!”

You give Ben a warning glare, fingers still smoking, as he rubs his arm. “They survived it, and maybe if you put on your big boy pants you’ll manage to as well. Now-“ You turn to Hughie. “You should tell MM that we don’t need the stage pass before he spends a disgusting amount of money on it.”

As Hughie takes out his phone, closing his laptop and standing to cross the van for some semblance of privacy, Ben nudges you with a grunt of your name.

“I don’t like this.” He’s frowning at nothing in particular, and you can feel tight, solid concern through your body. “It’s too fucking public.”

You wrinkle your brow at him, eyes narrowing. “Since when do you give a shit how ‘public’ a mission is?”

“Since it’s a fucking liability. Too fucking public means too many fucking people that even I won’t be able to control.”

“That’s the point-“

“I fucking know ‘that’s the point’, Sunshine, you’ve made that real fucking clear.” Ben grunts, giving you an odd look as his tight feeling grows in your chest. “Doesn’t mean I have to like this fucking dumb plan.”

“Well,” you shrug. “I love it. It’s going to work, you’ll admit I’m a goddamn genius, and maybe Firecracker will start crying like a baby.”

Ben snorts, and a jab of his amusement hits you. But before he can make any snide comments, Hughie hangs up his call with MM and returns to where you and Ben are pressed against the wall of the van.

“Well, MM’s really not happy about it, but he agrees it’s smarter not to do the pass.” Hughie sighs. “And he says that Butcher’s on his way to get us. He should be here in five.”

You nod, turning to Ben with narrow eyes. “Repeat the plan to me.”

He rolls his eyes. “What, don’t you trust me, Sunshine?”

“To retain vital information about my plan that you’ve called ‘fucking stupid’ numerous times? Absolutely not.”

“It is fucking stupid.” He grunts.

You sigh. “Please, Ben. Humor me and pretend you give a shit for one minute.”

Ben’s leg tenses against yours, and something falters along your ribs. He scowls as he speaks in terse, clipped words.

“Get on the stage, make sure the cameras see me, neutralize that Firecracker broad, and beat her up, but don’t kill her for some fucking reason.” The last part is muttered resentfully, and you chose to pretend you don’t hear it.

“And then?” You prompt.

“Break the cameras, find you, and get back here.” He grumbles.

You nod in approval. “You have to make sure you break the cameras, Ben. Frenchie’s going to make sure that all the phones get fried, but you need to break the cameras. There can’t be any evidence you’re not working alone.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I fucking got it. Kill the bitch, break the cameras.”

“Do not kill Firecracker!” Hughie says frantically, giving you a desperate look and saying your name in a pleading tone. “Please don’t let him kill her.”

You elbow Ben in the gut as you respond. “He knows, he’s just being a fucking dick about it.”

“Fuck off, Sunshine,” he mutters. “And you should let me kill her. She’s not fucking innocent, she’s a goddamn lying bitch.”

“Nope. No killing her.” You say firmly, crossing your arms. “You only get to beat her up because we need to sell the whole ‘out for revenge’ narrative. That’s-“

“The point.” Ben finishes your sentence mockingly. “I fucking got it, Sunshine.”

You kick him again. “So prove it, Pretty Boy. No killing Firecracker.”

“What if she tries to attack me? I should be allowed to fucking defend myself-“

You snort. “Her power is being a dogshit human sparkler. Her attacking you would feel like this.” You poke Ben’s arm, and he frowns.

“I thought she was a fucking fire supe. Like you.”

“I mean, yeah. She technically is. But not all fire supes can have massive fucking horse cocks like mine.”

Hughie lets out a chocking sputter, and Ben rumbles a loud laugh that makes your stomach feel soft and warm. You’re saved from dwelling on how the feeling lingers, starting to spread through your body in time with an easy delighted, sensation that’s not yours, by the opening of the van door.

“Am I bloody interrupting something?” Butcher’s dry voice is raised over Ben’s laughter, an angry and wired frown across his face. “Or can we all stop jerking each other off and do our fuckin jobs?”

“Pull the damn stick out of your ass, Butcher.” Ben rolls his eyes. “We’re not the pussies who took a year to do recon on three fucking blocks.”

"Well, someone has to make sure you don’t blow your load all over a bunch of innocent civilians again.” Butcher sneers, and Ben’s fists curl at his sides.

“I have it under control, you fucking-“

“Butcher,” you interject, feeling something hot and bloody in Ben’s chest start to grow. “We’re ready?”

Not taking his eyes off of Ben, Butcher grunts. “We’ve been ready, Love. We’re just waiting on you bloody cunts.”

“Then let’s go.” You start to stand but have barely moved from your seat when Ben’s hands are on you, holding you in place.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ben glares at you, and you feel that weird, tight concern along your skin again.

“On the mission, dumbass.” You snap, trying to pry his grip off of your thigh.

“No.” His hand doesn’t move, and the tight feeling grows. “Too fucking risky.”

“It’s my plan, Ben. Did you seriously think I was going to stay in the fucking van?”

He ignores you, turning to where Hughie and Butcher are watching the exchange, Hughie wide-eyed and Butcher scowling impatiently. “Tell her she’s fucking staying here with Cocksucker.”

“No can do, Mate. She goes where you go.” Butcher gives Ben a mocking grin, and another weird feeling writhes in your—Ben’s—gut.

“We’re right in front of fucking Vought, there’s going to be a shit ton of cameras-Fucking hell!” Ben’s hand jerks off of you, smoking and red.

“I’m a grown ass woman, Ben.” You hiss. “I know what I’m walking into, and I know what the risks are. And seeing as you somehow forgot, I’m in charge of you. I go where you go, and that’s not up for fucking debate. I can, I will handle my goddamn self.”

“Trust me, Sunshine, I know you can.” He says, facing his still-raw palm to you. “Doesn’t mean you have to fucking risk yourself for this bullshit-“

“It’s my fucking job!” You burst out. “The whole ‘find me’ part of the plan requires me to be in the fucking crowd, not sitting on my ass with Hughie!”

“What if fucking Homelander’s there? Then what?”

A painful ardor kicks up in your lungs. “He won’t be.”

“You fucking sure about that?” Ben’s voice is dripping with unconvinced cynicism.

“Why are you being so weird about this? It’s not like-“

Butcher gives an overdramatic cough over your words. “Oi, Bonnie and Clyde. I’d let you two fuck it out, but we’re on a bloody tight schedule. She’s coming, that’s that. Now get off your arses and let’s fucking move.”

“Shut the fuck up, you pussy. We’re not done with our fucking conversation.”

“Yes, we are.” You stand up, walking across the van. “Hughie, wait a bit until we’re out of the alley, then send Ben out. Ben,” you raise your hand, dropping fingers one by one as you run through the plan. “Get on stage, blast Firecracker, give her a few light punches, break the cameras, and find me. No casualties.”

“Maybe sprout some anti-patriot shit as well, Gov.” Butcher adds. “Really bloody sell it.”

You shake your head, giving Butcher an exasperated look. “No, we don’t know what Firecracker might say. What Homelander and Sage have told her. In, violent, and out. That’s it.”

You look back at Ben with a steel gaze, to find a glower of his face you’ve never seen before. His whole body is rigid, jaw clenched, mouth in a dropped scowl as his eyes burn through you. He’s looking at you in a way you aren’t able to read, but you feel like he wants you to. Everything about his face screams that you should be able to understand it, but you can’t.

“You’re, you're leaving me here with him?” Hughie’s voice is unsteady, and when you remove your eyes from Ben you find his face has grown pale.

“It’s only a few bleedin’ seconds, Lass. He don’t bite, don’t he?” Butcher gives Ben a cocky smirk.

“Fucking watch yourself, Butcher, I’ll crack your weak fucking skull and not break a sweat.” Ben snarls, eyes still on you.

Butcher scoffs, a taunting jeer in his voice. "No, you won’t. You don’t want to upset Sunshine.”

Ben’s eyes rip from you as he stands up at a freighting speed, body tense and fists clenched as he reaches his full height. For a second, you think you might have to interfere and prevent Butcher’s life from finding a brutal and inconvenient end in the alleyway, but Ben just gives him a violent, twisted growl.

“Count your fucking blessings that I have a job to do, you pussy. And sleep with one fucking eye open, because once this is over, I’m going to drown you in your own blood.”

Butcher gives him a mocking wink and turns to walk down the alley, leaving you scramble after him.

Before you’re fully out of the van, you turn and give Ben one last look. “No casualties.” You say, and almost against your will, your face draws into a look of and stay safe.

You don’t have time to read his face before you jog after Butcher, but the last thing you see of Ben is his arms still braced at his side, his eyes on yours with an almost feral look.

You catch up to Butcher right at the end of the ally, running face-first into his arm when he holds it out, halted before stepping onto the main street.

“Fucking ow, Butcher.” You rub your face where you’d collided, and over your fingers you barely have time to register the Noir baseball cap and jacket flying at your face, managing to catch them against your chest at the last second.

“Put them on.” Butcher says, and looking over the merchandise you see him leaning out the ally, watching the flowing crowds of pedestrians. People clad in red and blue Firecracker costumes and costume adjacect outfits, a few less in dark greens and Deep trademarked Love the Ocean like the Earth and Fish and Man are One shirts, and exactly one, a bouncing little girl with a tutu and big eyes, wearing a Homelander cape.

You look back down at the cap and jacket—which is a few sizes too big—and realize both were made by Uought International, and that Noir has been spelled as Noire. Looking up, you see that Butcher has pulled a Quen Maeve sweatshirt over his shirt, and is wearing green-tinted sunglasses that have little, blue Soldier Boy brand symbols along the frame.

“You shouldn’t wear those,” you point to your nose, mirroring where the sunglasses sit on Butcher’s face.

“Why, Love, you want them so you can feel close to Ben?” He mocks, and you roll your eyes.

“No, dumbass. Right now Soldier Boy is a dead American traitor who’s going to rise from the dead and commit an act of terrorism in like, seven minutes. It’s not smart to wear anything associated with him to ‘blend in’, especially if you’re pairing it with an off brand shirt of the woman who sacrificed herself to save the world from him.”

“You know just as bloody as well as me that Maeve is picking dandelions in California.”

“Yeah, and Soldier Boy isn’t dead, he’s in the van, probably trying to blackmail Hughie into buying him drugs. The internet is a liar sometimes.”

Butcher pulls off the sunglasses with a scowl and a dirty look in your direction before dropping them on your Noire jacket. “Put on your clothes so we can get a fucking move on. We wanna get outta here before Soldier Boy sees you and carries you back to the bloody van.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and pretend you don’t hear the questioning contempt of his voice, shoving the sunglasses into your back pocket before you pull on the jacket. You give Butcher a nod and step out into the current of the street.

The walk to Firecracker’s stage is silent, both you and Butcher angling your heads down from the crowd, down from the blue, cloudless sky and anyone who may be in it. The sun beats down a warmth that is only offset by the biting of the wind, and Firecracker’s voice, projected by speakers to carry over the horns and shouts of the city, starts to claw into your head.

“Patriots, are you ready to know the truth about Starlight and how she’s been kidnapping and trafficking your innocent babies?!” Her voice has the same southern drawl you’ve heard on TV, her bubbly tone in stark contrast to her words. “We’re lucky we have Homelander lookin out for us, keepin us safe, otherwise Starlight might try to take us too!”

You drop your head further, some fearful part of your brain telling you that Homelander might hear his name from the Tower and decide to make an appearance.

Fucking risky, Ben’s voice says in your head, and suddenly you can see him in your head, that strange, angered and piercing face watching you. What if fucking Homelander’s there, Sunshine? Then what? You’ll freeze up, and I won’t be there to help.

I’ll manage, you snap back at his voice, and can almost hear his scoff.

You’ll start crying and wish I was there. You wish I was there right now. You hate that you’re walking with Butcher, who’s probably going to try and kill you instead of me.

Butcher won’t kill me. He can’t.

Never stopped him from trying before. I wouldn’t let him, Sunshine.

I’m stronger than Butcher. I’m stronger than you. I’m stronger than fucking Homelander. I don’t need your help.

But you fucking want it.

“No, I don’t!” You hiss, and only realize you’ve spoken aloud when the words come out strained, caught on a lump that has formed in our throat.

You hear Butcher snort from your side. “Who the bloody hell are you talking to?”

“No one,” you mumble, feeling your face heat as you feel his disbelieving look.

“If you’re going to lose your damn mind and go all mental, you can wait until all this is done? Would be real bloody inconvenient to have to kill you ahead of schedule.”

“Not funny.” You mutter, and are saved from Butcher’s response by arriving at the crowd, stopping next to where MM watches the show in an A-Trane shirt.

“He behind you?” MM says by way of greeting, voice barely raised over the children’s choir rendition of God Bless the USA, complete with trumpet and string accompaniment.

“Should be,” Butcher looks over the heads of the audience, scanning for something that he doesn’t seem to find. “Frenchie gonna be ready when Soldier Boy gets here?”

“Kimiko got them up on a roof across the street, and Annie will get him the electricity he needs when it happens.”

You glance behind you, hoping that Hughie can manage to keep Ben in the van a few minutes more. “We should move,” you say, turning back to MM. “We don’t want to be anywhere near the path to the stage.”

MM nods and begins to lead you and Butcher deeper into the crowd, weaving through the frenzied cheers and whoops as the choir walks off the stage. You stop at the edge of the crowd, off to side enough to avoid any crossfire, but with Firecracker still in a clear line of sight.

She’s staring down the camera, her toothy and smug smile projected on a Jumbotron as she speaks. “I don’t know about y’all, but I think Starlight should come down here and tell us why! Why she won’t show us any proof of her claims that Homelander is a murderer! When, need I remind y’all, Homelander was found innocent! Has Starlight been found innocent?” You watch her cup her ear, listening for the crowds shouted responses.

“Jesus Christ, she has to know this is bullshit, right?” You mutter to yourself, and MM chuckles beside you.

“As far as I can tell, she really believes all the bullshit she’s saying.” He says with a shake of his head. “She got this job cause her head was up Homelander’s ass for free, she ain’t gonna pull it out now that Vought’s paying.”

You hum, looking up at the sky nervously. “MM, has Hughie texted that Ben-“

You’re cut off as screams sound from down the street, and your head shoots to where you had just stood, watching as the crowd beings to franticly part for something you can’t yet see. Butcher and MM are stiff beside you, Butcher’s gun already in his hand as MM’s lingers at his hip. Firecracker’s voice has faltered through the speakers, her eyes wide and face slack on the Jumbotron. The feeling in you, the ardor against your spine and clawing at your skin, begins, and you try not to watch the sky. The sun is bright and there are no city lights, the only thing you can hear is the terrified people, but Homelander’s not here, so you’ll be fine.

The feeling is in your blood and gut, but you’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

Are you sure about that? Ben’s voice says in your head.

Shut up. You tell it, just as Firecracker lets out a shrill sound that echos down the streets.

You look up and find Ben has gotten to the foot of the stage, only his side profile visible to you. Firecracker has a shaking finger pointing at him, her mouth agape as she watches him walk closer, closer, closer. You hadn’t been sure what to expect once it began. For Firecracker to scream, beg, cry, fight, run, or collapse once it became that her life was gone from her hands. Of all the scenarios you’d traced, all the outcomes with more blood, less blood, more scream or quick silence, you hadn’t thought she start to laugh. Doubled over, cackling glee, tears in her eyes visible on the Jumbotron.

“Well, look here, folks! No need to be afraid, it’s going to be just fine! Soldier Boy here’s a guest, and he’s going to tell us all about how Starlight tricked him and forced him to fake his death!”

You watch Ben freeze on stage, and the Jumbotron begins to broadcast his tight, angered face to the steadily regrouping audience.

“Fuck,” MM breathes out. “They’re going to flip him.”

Butcher says your name roughly. “You need to get there, get him in bloody line. We can’t have him running off with Vought.”

You need to move. Every part of you is screaming that you need to go, go, get there and remind Ben that you’re watching and keeping him in check. But you can’t, frozen as you watch his movements on the Jumbotron, trying to keep control when your blood has run cold, and every breath you take is caught against that lump in your throat. You can’t move, and all you can do is watch him on stage, eyes scanning the crowd as he watches them look at him in awe.

Then your falling forward, barely managing to catch your footing before your knees hit the pavement, turning to see MM on the phone speaking in a commanding, measured tone, and Butcher reaching forward to push you once more. You take another, smoother step back before he can, but you don’t wait for him to bark an order for you to go. You turn back to the crowd with the bass of the speakers barely drowning feeling, trying to weave without touching anyone as it grows and grows.

You’re at the base of the stage now, and before you can start to figure out a subtle way to alert him, his eyes lock with yours.

What the fuck is happening. His gaze asks at it runs through you, his body turned as though he may start to move in your direction, and Firecracker's voice rings the air.

“Lovely, you brought her too!” Both you and Ben turn to where she stands, smiling and looking at you. “Our very special guest, The Anomaly!”

Your blood isn’t cold. It’s burning, everything is burning inside of you, scraping to get out. But there are people moving around you now, people everywhere, and someone is nudging you forwards to the stage until a smiling face is pulling you up and moving you right next to Ben. It’s so bright, and you’re burning, and when you turn your head out to the crowd, you see yourself. Up on the Jumbotron. And there are cameras. Cameras everywhere. Cameras that are following your movements as Firecracker speaks.

“I know ya’ll don’t recognize her, she hasn’t been around for as long as this patriot!” Your eyes tear from the screen just in time to see Firecracker playfully slap Ben’s arm, to watch his whole body go rigid as she did. “But she’s a real good friend, and she and Homelander go way back!”

You’re cold again. Cold and angry and sharp. Everything is sharp again, the faces of the audience are clear, and Firecracker’s words are no longer miles away. No, she’s right in front of you with a wide smile of teeth, and you can hear drums.

Drums.

You look down, and your foot is bumped against Ben’s. His eyes aren’t watching you anymore, fixed on Firecracker, but everything sharp in him, in you, is pointed at her.

“If fact,” Firecracker has turned back to the crowd, hands placed over her heart with a simpering face. “She and Homelander? Well they were childhood sweethearts! Supes, raised together, only having each other. And when Homelander went off to become our great hero, she stepped away from the spotlight.” Firecracker takes a large step back, turning back to you. “She didn’t want the fame. She just wanted him!”

A chorus of sickly sweet awwws ripples through the crowd, and the feeling is behind your eyes.

“Homelander was, is, the love of her life. Which is why, when Starlight and her team of devil-worshippers came to kill her, The Anomaly fought with all she had to stop them.”

It’s under your nails.

“She wasn’t strong enough, though, and they dragged her away from where Homelander had been keeping her safe to let her bleed out, far away from the man she loved.”

It’s on your teeth.

“Love that kept her alive, love that made her find another who had been wronged, another who would do anything for Homelander-“

Firecracker makes a gesturing sweep to Ben, and the world begins to blur.

“Soldier Boy! And now they’re here, to reunite with their lover, their son, and have the happy endings they deserve!”

The feeling is everywhere. Ben is pressed closely against you, and the drums are in your ribs. Firecracker is still smiling and her teeth are so white. The crowd is cheering and whooping and you’re going to crack-

Something smashes off the stage, and Firecracker’s smile drops. You make yourself follow her gaze, the movement like moving through mud, and see smashed cameras at MM’s feet. Gunshots ring out, and something above you shatters as Butcher appears, gun raised.

Firecracker’s face has contorted, cheery persona vaporized and she starts to shout in a furious wail.

“No! My cameras! My show- Do you have any idea how hard that speech was to memorize?! I worked so hard, and you ruined it you fucking-“

She flys across the stage, Ben taking large, violent strides to where she lands with a crack. You can see her fear when she looks up to where he stops above her, the light growing in his chest.

“Help!” She screams, looking around at the stage audience and tech workers. “He’s- he’s fucking crazy, he’s going to kill me! Someone- someone fucking stop him!”

The stage audience.

The tech workers.

You’re running. Words aren’t fast enough, and Ben’s too far gone for them anyway. You are, though. You’re flying, tearing across the stage and throwing yourself against Ben. He falls to the ground, the light still building, and twists to try and throw you off of him, his eyes so deep into himself you don’t think he knows it’s you.

Pressed against him, you can only feel the drums, and you brace yourself as the light in him explodes.

It’s painful. A blinding and unforgiving pain that sears through your body. Numbness follows behind it though, fast and empty relief, and when your eyes can see once more Ben is watching you with horror across every feature.

He looks like he’s going to roar at you, tear into and across you. You can feel fury and something deep into his chest that’s screaming.

Firecracker lets out a breathy, sobbing laugh from somewhere to your side, and even if nothing in him wavers, it saves you from whatever Ben was going to say.

“Shit, you're both pathetic. You can’t even take out one person?” Firecracker starts to pull herself up to her feet. “I don’t know why Homelander was so worried about y’all. You’re weak.” She reaches down, grabbing the back of your tattered Noire jacket and pulling you off of Ben. “I mean, I expected more from at least you, Soldier Boy. He looks up to you still, you know. Was so hopeful you’d flip. But,” she shakes her head sadly. “What a disappointment.”

You’re not sure how it happens, let alone where the energy comes from, but you twist in Firecracker’s hold and punch her square in the face. She drops her hold, stumbling back as her nose starts to fill with blood. You never hit the floor though, Ben’s arm looping around your waist as he draws himself upwards.

Everything is sharp and hungry anger that is driving in you—in Ben—to Firecracker. The thing in his chest is still clawing at him, and you can feel your own glacial fervor, but nothing is as strong as the hungry anger.

Firecracker doesn’t feel it though, the storm that's brewing. And she doesn’t know when to quit.

“You worthless bitch.” She sneers through her fingers, trying to plug the blood. “You frigid little whore.”

“Watch it.” Ben growls, arm tensing around your waist.

“Oh, fuck off, you fossil! She’s tricking you, sinking her little claws into her like she did Homelander, with her stupid little songs and dances!”

“Shut up,” the words don’t come out in the firm command you wanted. Your voice sounds pathetic, weak against your ears.

“Do you have any idea how fucking exhausting you’ve been?” Firecracker whines. “Everything was amazing until you came back. He was starting to trust me! And then Sage comes back, accuses Homelander of lyin to her, and says you’re alive. And all of a sudden that’s all that fucking matters! He’s just angry and hurt and it’s so annoying.”

The world is less focused.

“I’ve heard Moon River so many fucking times this week, it makes my skin fucking crawl. I don’t even get it! What can you do that I can’t? I want him, you don’t even care to stick around-“

Nothing is in focus. It’s only Firecracker, her voice, and the feeling.

“I love him, I am perfect for him, I am blessed and chosen and you’re just a lonely little stuck up slut who didn’t even wait after leaving him and everything he did for you-“

Her teeth are so white and you don't think you can breathe.

“Everything he gave you-“

You can feel ghosts of the pain, see the bright light as they push the fire into you. Can feel it now, trying to get out.

“To turn around and spread your fucking whore legs!”

Something in you snaps. Cracks, echoes through your body, and explodes. You’re everywhere, the fire bleeding from you. You can’t see anything but the white room around you, and you have to get out. So you let everything go. It’s just you and the fire, cocooning around you and keeping you safe.

Just you and the fire and something else that is gripping around you. Something in your chest that is thrashing and trying to keep you close. It feels safe too, so you let it stay as everything else continues to burn.

A deep, roaring voice is calling your name. It sounds like the thing in your chest, and it reverberates through you as if it’s pressed against you. There are screams too, broken and raw screams, but you can’t see where they’re coming from, and they don’t feel safe like the voice.

The thing gripping around you feels heavier. It feels safer. There’s no city lights, you can’t even really remember what they might look like, but there’s music. Soft and deep in your ear, wrapping around you. Putting something out along your skin. You’re getting weak, and you feel cold.

You can’t stop. Something in your head tells you. You falter, and you’re back in the room.

But you’re so tired. The grip feels safe. And the music is settling into you and feels so good.

So when the world goes black, the last thing you feel is the thing in your chest reaching for you, and you could swear it breathes in relief.

————

He’d figured it out. The tapping. Firecracker had said Moon River, and he’d realized that was it. The rhythm of the verses matched that incessant tapping of Hers perfectly. He’d taken a fucking gamble, dragging the verses from somewhere deep in his brain as she’d been consumed by the fire, and it had paid off when She’d collapsed into him. The fire still lingered long after She closed her eyes, long after Ben stopped humming. Most of the stage was ash, from the hollowed, disgusting bodies of Firecracker and a few unfortunate audience members to the still flaming stage curtains.

Ben picked her up, and her eyes didn’t even flutter. Her body was still burning, and his hands protested in pain against her skin, but he bit down his pain with ease. Ben wasn’t a pussy, and he’d heal. This was more important.

A thought that had everything in him—except the feeling he’d been keeping in his gut that had somehow managed to crawl into his chest—very fucking irritated.

Ben turned, carrying Her off the stage to get her as far away from here as possible, only to find both MM and Butcher waiting, guns pointed right at his face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growled. They didn’t have any fucking time for these dramatics. As far as he fucking understood from Her explanations, all that shit show had just been broadcast through the fucking nation. Homelander was probably on his way, and Ben wouldn’t be able to do his fucking job and wipe the floor with that pussy if She was still unconscious and the stupid fucking thing in his chest was worried.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Gov.” Butcher jeered back. “We’re not letting you off that bloody easy.”

Ben glowered at him, and his desire to throw Butcher against the nearest concrete wall was only barely defeated by the godforsaken need to get Her somewhere safe. “We don’t have fucking time for this. Move out of my fucking way, or I’ll make you.”

“Take your best fucking shot, cunt.” Butcher taunted.

“Last fucking chance to get out of my way.” Ben could hear the hitch in both their hearts, uneven from the growing steadiness in Hers.

“We ain’t moving, Soldier Boy.” MM angled his gun higher. “And you’re not taking her.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you fucking pussies!” Ben roared, whatever patience he’d managed to hold onto vanished. “Homelander is probably on his fucking way, and unless you want him to take her, we need to fucking leave right fucking now!”

Both men blink, Ben’s words hanging in the air just long enough that he was starting to get ready to just fucking push through them. He’d deal with Her anger about it later, when she was awake and they were far fucking away from cages and boxes.

But MM lowered his gun, narrowing his eyes at Ben. “You’re going to let us take you back to the safe house?” His voice had a tone of disbelief that Ben didn’t fucking appreciate.

“Fucking hell, yes. Now fucking move your dumb fucking asses before I change my fucking mind!”

MM looked over at Butcher, whose gun was still aimed at Ben’s head. “The kid’s bringing the van round?”

“He bloody should be.“ Butcher grunted, but didn’t move. “But that don’t mean shit, I ain’t trusting this cunt to go quietly.”

“I’m certainly not going to go quietly if you keep a fucking gun in my face.” Ben sneered. “I might not do jackshit to me, but it’s goddamn rude when I’m trying to fucking help.”

“Why should we trust that?” MM asked coldly, glancing down at Her in Ben’s arms. “This is your ticket out. You’re probably just going to kill us in the van while she’s still out.”

Ben fucking knew that, he wasn’t an fucking idiot. He could hear Her heartbeat, fully steady as sleep held her under, could feel the scalding heat of her body almost fully faded. When he glanced down at her face, it painted into an empty ease. But when he blinked, it would flash back to just before she’d burst. Afraid. Only pure terror on Her face as Firecracker screamed about Homelander.

She wasn’t going back there.

“I guess you’re going to have to take a fucking gamble.” Ben held MM’s stare. “Because you have five seconds to fucking move before I kill both you pussies and leave with her.”

Some part of Ben still managed to be surprised when they exchanged one last, tense look, MM’s eyes flaring at Butcher, who dropped his gun with an angry huff. When MM started to walk away, likely to where Cocksucker waited with the van, and Butcher only said, “Breathe one wrong breath, Soldier Boy, and I’ll put you right back under.”

Ben wanted to. He wanted to step just far out enough of line that he’d be justified in bashing Butcher’s smug, pussy fucking head against the curb. But he didn’t, just keeping Her in place against him until they were back at the safe house, glaring at the whole sorry fucking lot of Her team as they watched Ben hold Her in the corner. Her heartbeat stayed steady, and it kept the drum in him from bursting, aided by the thing in his chest settling back into him the more distance grew between Her and the stage, Vought Tower, and Homelander.

When they reached the safe house, Ben didn’t bother to pause, waiting only for Butcher to open the door, before he was moving through the hall in tight, bounding steps. Up the stairs, shoving the door to Her room open, laying her on the bed above her sheets. She let out a little sigh as he let her go, and Ben hated how it made the thing in his chest wake up. He had to get himself under fucking control. She was safe, he’d done what he fucking needed to, and he wasn’t about to be a goddamn creep and watch her sleep.

The seconds were starting to stretch though, as he watched Her, listened to the steady sound of her heart. She looked so fucking peaceful, and it was calming the thing in his chest.

Fuck, he didn’t like how easy it felt. Especially as she let out another small sigh, rolling over with an arm stretching out, and he wanted to touch her upturned palm. That realization snapped him out of whatever stupid fucking trance he’d been dragged into, and he managed to turn, walking towards the door.

Before he left though—practically against his will—he turned back just in time to hear another sigh and see Her body curl into the mattress.

“Sleep well, Sunshine.” He muttered and tried to ignore the last sigh released from her chest, and how if ran through him.

When Ben got down to the kitchen, goddamn fucking Cocksucker and Starlight were waiting for him.

“What are you cum guzzlers still fucking doing here?” He grumbled, pushing past them to get to the pantry.

“Is she ok?” Cocksucker asked, and Ben shrugged, grabbing a bag of half-eaten jerky from the top shelf.

“She’ll fucking live.” He ignored the flash of Her fearful face in his head, and how his grip on the bag turned to steel. “One of you better answer my goddamn question.”

“We need to talk to her,” Starlight said softly.

“Don’t hold your fucking breath, she’s out cold.” Ben snapped.

Starlight sighed. “We’ll wait.”

“No, you won’t.” Ben turned around to face her. “She needs to fucking rest.”

“Cocksucker look between Starlight and Ben nervously. “We need to make sure-“

“She did you a fucking favor.” Ben growled. “Firecracker’s not a problem anymore, and her stupid plan fucking worked.”

“She killed four people.” Starlight said tightly. “And after Ashley, we need to know that she’s still with us.”

“With you?” Ben scoffed, saying Her name in the same exasperated tone. “Her? You think she’s going to turn against you fucking pussies?”

“She’s- she’s been weird.” Cocksucker stuttered. “And you’ve gotten closer than we thought-“

“Fuck off.” Ben snorted. “I haven’t turned her, if that’s what your dumb little pea-brains think.”

“We’re not who you have to convince, Soldier Boy.” Starlight watched Ben with a frown. “I trust her. Hughie trusts her.”

“Then what the fuck-“

“Butcher,” Cocksucker said softly. “MM. Mallory. They’re worried she’s going to be a liability.”

“Then they can come fucking tell me their fucking selves.” Ben hissed. “Now get the fuck out.”

Starlight looked like she was going to push back, and Ben was ready to throw her through the door himself, but Cocksucker placed his hand on her back, and something passed silently between them.

“Fine,” Starlight sighed, giving Ben one last, tired look. “If you promise to tell us when she’s awake, I can try and hold them off.” Her eyes narrowed. “For her.”

Ben grunted. “Deal.”

And they were gone, and Ben was alone in the kitchen.

She didn’t wake up for three full days. Three, long, insufferably quiet days where it was just Ben. Three days of pacing, of eating alone, of watching TV all through the damn night because he couldn’t sleep even if he fucking tried. Three days of the awful thing in his chest making up stupid excuse to open the door to her room and check to see if she had vanished. She never had, she would always be twisted on the bed, heart steady, face empty. At some point Ben moved Her under the covers, after he made up an excuse to touch her and found her not burning like he’d been checking for, but freezing cold. Three long days of wishing She was awake, reminding himself he didn’t fucking need Her awake, and the thing in his chest roaring that he did.

He tried to push it down, and almost succeeded, but at the end of the second day he walked downstairs from where he’d been standing outside her door for a disgustingly long time—finally managing to not push in and check on her—to find Butcher in the living room.

“She’s still out.” Ben had grunted, and Butcher had only shrugged.

“I ain’t here for her. We need to have a little chat.”

“I’m good.”

“I wasn’t bloody asking.”

Ben remembered wondering in the moment if he was already in enough hot water that killing Butcher wouldn’t really matter. “You’re playing a game you can’t fucking win.” He’d warned, and even Butcher’s heart hadn’t stuttered.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a flash, Gov. But not until you fucking listen.” Butcher managed to have more intelligence than Ben thought him capable of, and didn’t wait to hear Ben’s answer before he began. “Her plan, somehow, bloody worked. Most of the media coverage is sayin that Firecracker started panicking and lying to try and keep herself alive. You’re being label as a crazed lunatic, out for revenge.”

“Then what’s the fucking problem-“

“Her. Everyone’s buying the story about Her and Homelander, thinkin you kidnapped her after we tried to kill her.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even make any fucking sense.”

“Don’t need to make sense. It’s the narrative Vought got, and they’re running with it. As far as the public knows, you’re back, out for bloody and evil revenge, and are holding her hostage to hurt Homelander.” Butcher narrowed his eyes at Ben. “And they’ve reached out. They want to meet with you.”

“They?” Ben paused, ready to grab Butcher’s tongue and make him stop talking in fucking riddles. “Who the fuck is they?”

“Vought.” Butcher said shortly. “Sage. Homelander.”

Ben snorted. “Fuck no. We’re not bringing her anywhere near that goddamn pussy and his conniving bitch.”

“Good thing they only want to talk to you, then, ain’t it.”

That made Ben pause, eyes narrowing at Butcher as suspicion had begun to build in his chest. “The fuck are you talking about.”

“One hour, a truce, just you, me, Starlight, Homelander, and Sage. At the old Starlight Fund building. Just talking.”

Ben snorted. “You dumb enough to believe that?”

“Nope. But you agree, it happens.”

Ben grunted. He didn’t trust any of it. He didn’t trust Homelander to have no ulterior motive. He didn’t trust Sage to not be plotting something. He didn’t trust Butcher to not have a fucking trick up his stupid fucking Hawaiian shirt. “And if don’t.”

Butcher shrugged. “Then this conversation never happened.”

Ben had said your name carefully, trying to feel out whatever it was he fucking knew Butcher was hiding. “What about her?”

“She’d stay here.”

Ben raised his brows at that. “You’d trust me without her?”

“Fucking hell, no. Not if hell bloody froze over. Don’t trust you with her. We’d set up something to make you go night-night if you get all nuclear. CIA got more than enough gas to put you under, they can spare some for our lovely uses.”

“How long does the offer stand?” Ben asked, pushing down the drum.

Butcher had shrugged. “Until you give an answer.”

“I’ll think about it.” Ben said. “Now get the fuck out.”

Butcher chuckled dryly. “Alright, Gov. Keep your damn pants on.” As Butcher walked, hands in pockets, down the hall, he paused as he passed Ben, and shoved something into his hands. “She dropped those on her way to the stage. Good luck when she wakes up, Mate. I’d keep her away from the telly.”

Ben had looked down at what Butcher had given him as the man walked away, brow furrowing at what he found.

Shitty, off-brand Soldier Boy sunglasses.

Ben had placed them in his room to give to Her later. But another full day had passed before she woke up, and Ben’s mind had not stilled the whole fucking time.

He hadn’t been lying. Ben thought about Butcher’s—Homelander’s—offer. Constantly. Starting with the fact that he didn’t have a goddamn thing to say to Homelander. The shock of their relation had long passed, fading into a numbness of just another fucking job for Ben to do, just another way in which he had to be alone. Then the numbness had been replaced by a blinding wrath. A disgust from what he had done. Ben wasn’t a saint, saints were weak, self-righteous whiners. But he wasn’t a fucking monster. He did what had to be done, and a little more to make sure he didn’t have to do it again. He didn’t take women and lock them in cages. He didn’t hurt people until the singular thought of him made them afraid. People fear Ben, yes. But just as much as they should.

Ben didn’t fear Homelander. She didn’t fear Ben. But She feared Homelander. A weak, fucking pathetic man who had needed to break someone stronger than him, someone worth more than him powerless, to feel big. She was worth so much more than Homelander that she wanted to help people. Worth so much more that she still somehow looked at the world and found it worth something. She found worth in fucking everything. Everything was amusing to Her, everything was beautiful, everything had value and meaning. Ben fucking hated it. It leaked into him, and felt fucking strange. Because he could hear Her in his head, saying Pretty Boy, this is an opportunity. Don’t be a petty baby and waste it.

And that was where the thoughts would loop. Ben didn’t want to talk to Homelander. Homelander had hurt Her and Ben never would. She’d find a way to use this, though, and She’d want him to go. But Ben didn’t want to talk to Homelander. Over and over until Ben heard Her heartbeat stutter, heard shuffling around in Her room, and had to fight the thing roaring in his chest to sprint up the stairs. He somehow managed to remain seated on the couch, everything in him fucking strained to stay in place as she tapped down the stairs and cleared her throat behind him.

Ben turned to find Her watching him with eyes still crusted from sleep. When She spoke, her voice was hoarse, and her words were quiet.

“How long was I out?”

“Few days.” Ben answered, trying to watch her passively, to pretend he wasn’t studying her every feature. He wasn’t even fucking sure what he was looking for himself.

“What-“ She took a deep breath. “What happened?”

Ben paused, finding her eyes again. Keep her away from the telly, Butcher had said, and Ben had immediately checked to see what the fuck he was talking about. He’d found the answer fast: photos of Firecracker’s scorched body, interviews with the families of the audience members who had met the same fate. Speculation about what Ben was doing to Her, fabricated “evidence” of Her and Homelander’s love. A complete, well-developed, entirely bullshit story about her life. Born in the same hometown as Homelander, happily giving up her life to support him, working instead behind the scenes in Vought marketing and cooking in her free time.

Homelander didn’t have a hometown, that pussies whole story was even more bullshit Vought propaganda than Ben’s was.

She wouldn’t “give up her life” to support anyone. And if she did, they’d have to hear her bitch about it until they fucking died.

Ben had once heard her call marketing “a plague upon human culture and societal development” during the third commercial break of one of his football games.

Everyone would know if She had tried to cook Homelander food, because it would’ve killed him.

Butcher had wanted Ben to lie. But Ben fucking knew She wouldn’t have lied to him. And he knew She would find out the truth somehow and be a real bitch about Ben lying to her.

“Three audience members and Firecracker died. You passed out. We got back here.”

“Oh,” she said softly, but didn’t look away, and Ben could see something fragile in her eyes fracture. Hear the taps of Moon River begin. “What are they saying?”

“They?”

“Vought.”

“Your plan worked.” Ben grunted, and the rhythm of Her heart told him she knew there was more. “But Firecracker’s bullshit stuck. I’m being painted as a revenge-blind maniac, and you’re being painted as my victim.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “If anything, you’re my victim.”

Ben felt his mouth twitch. “That’s what I keep fucking saying.”

She let out another, smaller huff of amusement before her face fell back into that soft state, her eyes still tired as she watched him. “That’s all?”

He nodded. “That’s all.”

She gave one last sigh, and it sounded so weak. He wanted to grab her and figure out a way to make her move. Get her to sit next to him and laugh so the fucking thing in his chest would let go of his lungs. Before he could, though, she turned and padded back up the stairs, her door closing behind her.

Another day passed before Ben even fucking saw her again. She’d slunk into the kitchen around dinner, hair tangled and eyes hollow, heating up a box-meal before placing it on a plate and carrying it back upstairs. The next day was the same, and Ben had tried to grab her and make her fucking talk to him, and she'd stared at him with a wide, empty gaze.

“We need to fucking talk.” He’d grunted.

“Please don’t.” Her voice had been so fucking quiet.

“Don’t what?” He’d growled. “Fucking talk to you? You’re just going to never fucking talk to me again?”

She’d given a small shake of her head. “I don’t want to talk. Please.”

“You’re being fucking weird.”

“Please.” She’d sounded desperate. “I can’t talk. Please.”

He’d never heard her say please so many times. He’d only seen her like this, a weak and fearful girl, once.

He’d hated it on the Neuman mission. He hated it now.

He hated she looked weaker now. Hopeless. He hated how he relented, let go of her, and she’d gone back upstairs and didn’t come back down. Two more days passed, and the only way Ben knew she was alive was the sounds of music coming from her room and the food that vanished from the kitchen overnight.

Ben was going to lose his fucking mind. The last time she’d avoided him this much had been the beginning, and, fuck, that had been better than this. She’s seen him and fought with him, tearing him to pieces as he did the same to her. Stood her fucking ground against him, a completely insufferable, violent, angry bitch of a woman. Even after they’d called truce on their war, she’d remained a powerfully wrathful, unrelenting pain in Ben’s ass. Now she wouldn’t stand in the same fucking room as him, and he was going to go fucking insane.

So, on the fifth day, Ben banged down her door, ready to demand she fucking tell him who to kill to fix this.

He found her curled in her bed, staring far ahead into nothing. Something hit his nose that he forced himself to ignore, and she didn’t even move as he pushed into the room.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked gruffly. She didn’t answer, so he said her name roughly. “What’s fucking wrong with you?”

“Why did you do it?” Her voice was light—frail—as she stared ahead.

“Do fucking what?”

She finally looked at him. “Why did you go back, with Sage, why did you fucking do that?”

“I saved your life, Sunshine. And you never even fucking thanked me.” Ben knew his words were cruel, shooting to hurt Her. But maybe she’d fucking fight him. Fucking do something that wasn’t just fucking sitting there.

“You should’ve left me.” She whispered, Ben rolled his eyes, and her voice raised. Not to a scream, but a high-pitched, frantic tone of desperation. “You should’ve! You should’ve left me and run! You could’ve been free, why did you do that! Why! You should’ve just fucking left me!”

This was worse, Ben knew. So much fucking worse. “Why are you being so fucking dramatic-“

“You should’ve left me to die!” She screamed. “You should’ve just left me to die! Why didn’t you just let me fucking die?!”

Ben stared at Her as she started to cry, shaking on the bed, trying to push herself further back into its frame. She’d tucked her head into her arms, sobs wracking through her whole body as she held herself, fingers digging into her skin. No smoke was rising, no tapping or chewing, just Her tears falling as she let out another, broken scream. Ben was frozen, he didn’t know how to fucking deal with this. Fuck, he barely knew how to deal with Her when she wasn’t breaking down in front of him.

Through sobs, Ben heard Her say it again. “It would be better if you had just let me die.”

Ben didn’t need the thing in his chest to tell him to move. He crossed the room in two long steps, dropping on the bed next Her.

“Look at me.” She didn’t, so Ben grabbed her wrists and pulled them down. “Sunshine, fucking look at me.”

She glanced down at where he still held her and blinked, letting out a stuttered breath. Her voice was still so weak when she spoke, “What?”

“Fucking look at me.” He growled one last time, and she finally did, her eyes still so empty. “You’re being fucking stupid.”

She gaped at him, disbelief finally filling her expression. It wasn’t the amusement or rage Ben wanted back, but it was something.

“What?’

“You’re being a goddamn idiot. Things would…” The words vomited out of him. “Be a lot fucking worse if you were dead.”

She shook her head, the hopeless looking creeping back. “I killed four people, they’d still be alive-“

"Maybe.” Ben grunted. “Maybe not. But they, along with a few more, would still be dead if you hadn’t knocked me down. Which was even fucking stupider than you’re being now, but we’ll fix that later.”

“Fix that?” She gave him a sharp look, words still choked. “I thought we agreed not to fix each other.”

“You agreed not to fix me. I made no such fucking promises.”

There was a silence for a second before She spoke again. “I don’t want you to ‘fix me’. I want to care that I…” Her stuttered, and she took another shaky breath before pushing them out. “I hurt people.”

“That’s to job, Sunshine.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered. “I didn’t even want the job anyway.”

Ben watched her, wrists still in his hands, face faraway, and eyes still lined with tears. An image flashed in front of him, of Her a few years younger, singing karaoke and crying about stupid, normal shit. Something Ben himself had never done, something Ben wouldn’t even know how to miss. The image lingered in his head, her smile carefree, singing loudly and off-key, no blood on her hands, and the thing in his chest was angry.

“Ben?” She said softly, and the image vanished. “I’m sorry.”

He scowled. “Why are you fucking apologizing to me?”

“You don’t want to deal with this, with me. It’s not- it’s not useful to cry over spilled milk-“

“Shut up,” he snapped. “No, it’s not useful. For me. For Butcher. For Homelander. You get to whine over it, because-“

“Because I’m a woman?” She asked dryly, and he glared at her.

“No, smartass. Because you’re not like us. You didn’t fucking choose this.”

“You didn’t choose that,” she nodded to his chest. “Do you get to cry?”

“I don’t cry.” He said firmly, and She tilted her head at him in a way he didn’t like. “But I get to be angry. You get to be angry. And if you need to have a little breakdown to be angry, then so fucking be it.”

“But I killed people-“

Ben rolled his eyes. “Three Homelander supporters and Firecracker. Real fucking contributors to society, I’m sure.”

“They were still people.” She pushed. “People who I killed. People who would be alive-”

“If you say ‘if you were dead’, I’ll kill you myself.” Ben snapped.

She stared at him in disbelief and something harsher flickered in Her eyes. Fucking finally.

“I’d like to see you fucking try, Pretty Boy.”

He huffed a laugh. “I’ll wipe the floor with your ass, Sunshine.”

“I’ll make you regret crawling out of your mother in the first place, cunt.” She taunted, and Ben felt a wide grin on his face.

“I’m sure you will, you bitch.” Ben gave her a sweeping look. Her matted hair, tear crusted and red eyes, the smell he’d been pushing down starting to feel fucking visible. “But you need to fucking shower first, you smell like the shit you’ve been wallowing in.”

She glared at him, and for a second Ben thought she’d keep fighting him, or worse, start crying again, but she just gave a light tug against where he still held her.

“Can’t fucking shower if you won’t let me move, Ben.” She said flatly, and Ben rolled his eyes as he let go.

“Fucking drama queen,” he muttered, and She gave him a sarcastic, toothy smile as she stood.

“Eat me.”

“I would if you’d let me, Sunshine.” He called after Her, and though she closed the door with a slam, Ben still heard her heart flutter.

He waited as the water ran and tried not to think about Her, naked, in just the other room. Tried not to think about the relief the thing in his chest had felt when she’d stopped crying, the satisfaction it felt when he’d gotten her to laugh, and the stupid fucking anger it had felt at everything when she’d broken in front of him. He didn’t let himself dwell on the way it made him sit here. Fucking waiting for her like a lost goddamn puppy. Wanting to make sure she was okay. She was fine, she wasn’t sobbing and screaming, so she was fucking fine.

But what if She’s not, you fucking ass? The thing growled. What if she’s just waiting for you to leave?

Ben fucking hated that it worked, and he stayed on the bed.

What if She needs you? It hissed. What if she wants you to stay?

Ben loathed that even more. Because it echoed in his brain, and made him listen intently for any sounds of distress over the water, made him sit rigid and alert until the door opened.

She walked out, a towel wrapped around her body. She blinked at him once, and Ben couldn’t fucking figure out if she was even surprised he was there.

“Clothes,” she mumbled, walking to her dresser. Ben grunted, and watched her return to the bathroom, the door closing behind her once more.

Maybe he should go now. It was late, it had been a weird, long fucking day. He should fucking go and put some distance between the thing in his stupid fucking chest and Her-

The door opened, and She walked over to drop back on the bed, a small smile on her face.

“You’re real shit at comforting people, Pretty Boy.”

Fine. He’d fucking stay.

“Good.” Ben grunted. “And it fucking worked on you. Didn’t even get a damn ‘thank you.’”

He felt Her hand on his arm, and looked at her face, soft and open. “Thank you.��

He grunted again, staring back at the wall, and she chuckled.

“I mean, it was still a shit job, but it was so shit it looped around into being remarkably effective.”

“Doesn’t count as a damn thank you, Sunshine, if you fucking insult me right after.”

She shrugged. “Then do a better fucking job next time, Pretty Boy.”

Ben snorted. “Don’t hold your damn breath.” She didn’t respond, and he turned to find Her watching him, lips in a thin frown with her brow gently wrinkled. “I can hear the fucking gears in your head, Sunshine.” He said. “Say what you’re fucking thinking.”

“I’m going to ask you something once. If your answer is no, you’re not allowed to talk about it again.”

Ben frowned. Every time she started a question with a phrase like that, it ended up being something fucking insane. “Okay.” He said shortly, morbid curiosity getting the better of him.

“If you want, you don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to-“

“Quit fucking edging and spit it out.”

She glared at him. “You can stay in here tonight.”

Ben stared at Her, the thing in his chest clawing against him. “What?”

“You can sit in my bed. If you want. I know you won’t sleep, and I won’t sleep well, and I’d probably end up sitting in your room at some point-“

“Why?” Ben cut off Her rambling, frowning.

She held his gaze, her uneven heart the only sign of her nerves. “I don’t-“ she sighed. “I don’t want to be alone. You’d just be sitting here, nothing else. But if you don’t-“

“Fine.” He answered, and the thing in his chest roared.

“Oh,” she paused, and Ben was pretty goddamn sure She’d expected him to say no. “Okay. Good.”

She pulled herself under the covers, looking up at Ben from her back. He didn’t like what that made him feel, and how easy it would be to just pull Her against him and keep her there.

“Thank you.” She said with a small smile. “No insults."

“Whatever,” Ben grumbled, leaning back in a pointless attempt to find a comfortable position. “Just saving you the fucking walk to my room.”

“You’re a saint,” she mumbled sarcastically, eyes drooping. “I’m sure this must have been very hard for you.”

“I’ll live.” He said, watching Her. “I need you functional, Sunshine. Small, stupid fucking price to pay.”

“You need me?” She breathed out, a sleepy smile on her face.

Ben rolled his eyes. “You burn, I burn.” He echoed the words she'd said before. “I’m not going to let you fucking burn. You don’t get away from me that easy.”

“How sweet.” She whispered, eyes fully closing. “I won’t let you burn either, Pretty Boy.”

Ben wanted to protest, and tell Her that he wasn’t sweet, just practical, and he—despite the protests of the thing in his chest—didn’t need her at all. But Her breathing became steady and even, fast asleep in seconds at his side, and he couldn’t fucking bring himself to wake her. So Ben just studied Her sleeping face, not empty, not twisted in pain, a soft smile playing on her lips. He should fucking go, She was asleep and that’s all She’d fucking needed from him. But he stayed in place, and watcher Her like a fucking creep. Her peaceful face, smooth heartbeat, and gentle breaths soothing the thing in his chest. Ben need to get himself under fucking control, he was being fucking pathetic.

But he stayed, all fucking night, unable to move and barely capable of looking away. And the more of the night that passed, the long he watched Her, the more he realized she was pretty. Really fucking pretty. He hadn’t been fucking blind, he’d known she was pretty before. Thought about it more than he’d ever fucking admit. But fuck, this was different. She was really, really goddamn pretty. And then She rolled over, settling so she was comfortably pressed against him, and he realized she was beautiful. Like one of those stupid, overpriced paintings art-pussies in the 70s had tried to sell him. But real. Fucking beautiful, in a way that made him unable to look away, that made him feel fucking stupid.

Beautiful in a way that made him stay at Her side the whole night, frozen on her bed with her body against him, all the way until the sun started to leak into the room.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

heartless guttersnipe

or: roses are red, violets are, uh...

gn!reader, no content warnings, ultra-sticky gooey fluffy stuff. magenta? i hardly know her! written for sylent for the skyside holiday exchange – hope you’re having a wonderful festive season and a happy new year! inspired by on the street where you live from the musical my fair lady. lasko going round the mulberry bush in 900 words or less.

It’s Saturday afternoon, and it’s the million-dollar question.

Is it weird to like purple paint so much?

Not a conventional question, to be sure. But it’s not as if Lasko has ever been the conventional sort, so that’s probably for the best.

It’s not even really purple – it’s lilac, apparently, which you seem to think is far superior, and he’s not about to try and argue over it.

How has this even happened? Not so long ago, he’d never really thought about lilac at all, the colour or the flower. He never seemed to notice it anywhere, never chose it for any particular reason. It’s not an especially common colour, is it? It certainly wasn’t in his mind, at least, so why would its absence be anything of note?

Not anymore, though. It’s as if it’s everywhere he turns, bright and beautiful, effortlessly drawing his eye like nothing else ever has. Lilac, lilac, lilac. He notices it all the time, something pleased and warm fizzing in his mind every time – it’s like he dreams in lilac, now, the vague impression of some sweet haze drifting through his head. It’s airy, pleasant on his tongue, light and soft like angel cake.

The smell of wisteria, thick and heady. If he were any less sane, he’d think he was going mad.

He’s not upset about it, though. It’s not a bad thing. How can it be? It’s his favourite thing to see, he’s looking forward to it all week. It’s smooth and cold against his fingertips, glossy in the afternoon sunlight, steady and heavy and solid. It’s ringing in his ears, burning in his chest, and his legs ache but he won’t say anything.

Perhaps he’s been right all along. When you put it in so many words, it does seem like a slightly strange obsession. He’s not going to deny it. But that won’t stop him, doesn’t change it – because it’s not actually about the paint at all, is it?

It doesn’t have to be purple. It could be red, it could be green, it could be blue or pink or neon yellow, for all the good it would do him. If all the lilac in the world disappeared tomorrow, why would he care? The colour doesn’t matter – it’s never mattered, not to him, because what really matters is that lilac means… oh, god, it’s because lilac means you.

Orchids blooming under his tongue, delicate lavender that drags him down to sleep. Maybe it’s silly, but it’s true, it’s always been true. Ever since that very first Saturday, hands full of flowers and twenty minutes early, he can’t keep it out of his head.

He keeps coming back, and no matter what he does, it’s always the same. When it’s pouring with rain outside and he’s leaving wet footprints all over the thin carpet in the corridor, when it’s Sunday night and you’ve both got work tomorrow, when the lift is out of order and he’s gasping for air as he staggers up the flight of stairs between the fifth and sixth floors that he swears is steeper than all the others – it’s lilac paint he sees, silent lilac paint that says hello and waves goodbye.

You can’t blame him, can you? Of course it makes his heart race, of course it fills his head with light and his voice with laughter. Lilac paint means he’s here to see you, it means that any minute now, you’ll open the door and wave him inside, and he’ll be swept up in the lovely storm that is your voice, your smile, your hand in his. It’s the pastel background to all his dreams, the brilliant sky at sunset. Blackberry kisses stain his lips like a bruise, sweet wine dripping down his shirt.

Lasko takes a deep breath, shifts his weight, and rings the doorbell.

It’s a very ordinary scene. It happens every day, in every town in every place – the bell rings, and then the door opens. Two moments that come as a pair, and only a tiny gap in between. Anticipation, the lightning flash of nerves, white hot and blinding. The sound of footsteps, slightly muffled, coming closer with every second. There’s no time to think about silly questions, not now, no time to think about anything but what’s on the other side of the door.

Is it weird to like purple paint so much?

Well, perhaps it’s true after all. Perhaps it really is a pointless obsession, a symptom of the lovesickness. The stars in his eyes glitter like amethyst, fingers sticky with plum juice – cut him open and he bleeds violet. Knowing it doesn’t change a thing, because it’s far too late for him, doomed romantic as he is.

The sky is brilliant and blue, and there’s someone on the doorstep, million-dollar questions be damned. It’s bright, it’s sweet, it’s kind. Aubergine, amethyst. It’s glossy paint in the afternoon sun, it’s a handful of flowers in purple paper, and it’s always Lasko Moore, heart in his throat and stomach in knots, staring at a few inches of lilac-painted wood and waiting for you.

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

masterlist

[bnomiko]

Man, I'm torn... I was looking forward to this, but now I'm not sure if I want it at all. Same studio (Wasp) as the Pegasus J. Crawford I first posted about here, but dare I say, Pegasus came out better? Ugh, kinda regret not getting Pegasus if that's how it's gonna be...

Guess I'm mostly disappointed in that they didn't copy the Cospa design (below) more closely, with Yami's jacket draped over his knee (instead of strangely billowing behind him?) and a card loosely held before his lips (now he's just angrily holding the Puzzle). He just looked so sassy yet relaxed in the original, and it's a huge miss to not have more (non-chibi) merch using this artwork because I love it.

And look how goofy and shy Yugi came out, versus the almost intense look from the original design. We went from a guy confident and able to stand up on his own to, "Teehee, I'm on a sofa." Not. A. Fan.

Also gonna die on the hill of "stop giving Yami ultra glossy clothes" when he's in Yugi's school uniform, which definitely isn't made of vinyl or pleather.

[neonpaperlanterns]

While I am content to wait for the initial story I requested. And grow more and more excited for it as time passes.

I wish to request a little comfort story of a sort.

Kickin chicken (after successfully leaving the factory) coming across a scared and lost child in the woods and comforting them while looking for their family whom were having a picnic somewhere nearby.

Ending with the parents begrudgingly accepting Kickin joining their picnic. Possibly ending with a little "Can we keep em?" From the rescued child

-Sunny Anon.

[A/n: I hope it is okay that I named the child after you. Also any of the bigger bodies are just cyrtid material. Imagine encountering one in the wild. Horrifying.]

Lost in the woods

Kickin hated to admit, like really really hated to admit it, like really super ultra mega hated to admit it but he was lost. 

Very, very lost. 

He had thought turning around and trying to retrace his steps would have helped but it just made it so much worse. Everything looked the same to him. He tried to remember landmarks or just things to identify where exactly he was but all he saw were trees and more trees. It was insanity! 

Huffing Kickin dropped rather unceremoniously onto a log. It wobbled from the force as he dropped his head into his hands.  

He wished Hoppy was here or Bubba or DogDay. Just someone else who could take the lead and he wouldn’t be alone while lost in the woods.

Or alone in general. 

POKE

Kickin jumped at the sudden jab to the back of his arm. Pivoting forward he flailed as he tried to spin and stand at the same time. Tripping over his own feet he somersaulted forward and tumbled along the ground until he made contact with a tree. Tiny branches and leaves rained down on him as his world spun. 

When did everything get all upside down? 

He blinked owlishly as his legs hung over his head. Ah, he was upside down.

As he was trying to orient himself, high pitched giggling rang through the woods. Fumbling his way into the right position he whipped his head up to see a little kid with a rather pointy stick in hand just absolutely losing their mind with laughter. He doubted that they were much older than seven. Their little face was turning red as they fell back onto their butt. 

“You poked me!” The sound of his accusation caused all laughter to cease. The child’s expression became pinched as they stared at him with wide round eyes. He watched as their lower lip jutted out and began to quiver, how their shoulders started to shake. 

Oh no.

“Hey, hey no need to cry. See I’m just a rad silly chicken.” Kickin sang as he did a cartwheel.

“Tada!” Landing solidly on his feet he struck a pose. He saw their mouth twitch slightly but their eyes were still glossy so he wasn’t out of the danger zone just yet.

“Check it.” Wiggling his arms up and down he moon-walked backwards. Making beatboxing noises he tried to do the worm. Doing it on a forest floor was not his smartest idea but he could hear the beginning of tiny giggles so he kept going. 

His arms were starting to get sore as he pushed himself up into a handstand. He tried and failed to balance on one hand and tipped backwards.

“Oof.” The wind was knocked out of him as he lay sprawled out on the ground.

“Are you okay?” A gentle prod at his foot had him raising his head slightly. The kids shoulders were hunched and had the stick pointed at him. But they didn’t look on the verge of tears anymore, really they looked more sheepish than anything.

“Yeah.” Sitting up slowly he watched as they shuffled backwards.

“Oh I’m KickinChicken. What’s your name?” He asked as he situated himself into criss-cross applesauce. 

“I’m Sunny.” They blinked up at him. “Why are you a giant chicken?”

“Why are you a tiny child?” He shot back. The kid looked down at their hands like he just shook their entire world view. 

“Why am I a tiny child?” They whispered. 

“Where are your parents?” He inquired, attempting to redirect a potential existential crisis. They were too young for that.

“At the park.” They answered matter of factly. 

“Where’s the park?” He asked matter of factly.

“I don’t know.” Sunny shrugged. 

“So you don’t know where your parents are.” It wasn’t a question and it seemed saying this out loud clicked something for Sunny because suddenly big fat tears began to roll down their cheeks. 

Oh no.

Kickin panicked as the kid wailed. He didn’t think any amount of dancing or cartwheels would fix this.

“Hey no, it’s okay. We’ll find your parents. I promise.” He stood up and reached out to Sunny. “Come on, let's go. We’ll find them in no time.” They didn’t budge and continued to cry. Not really sure what to do, Kickin scooped them up. He wanted to ask which way they came from but he doubted he would get an answer so he just went forward. 

Bouncing Sunny in his arms he started sing talking. He sang about the trees, the sky, a bird he just saw, even the rock he stepped on. It sort of seemed to work, their sobs turned more into hiccups as they interjected about a bug. 

As he continued to walk and as the sky was getting darker he started to hear voices. 

Voices were good. Picking up the pace he spun on his heel and bound towards what he assumed were people. Getting closer he could just make out the muffled yells of someone calling Sunny’s name. He was running now as the trees began to thin and there was a peek of a grassy field.

“Sunny! Sunny, where are you?” The concerned voice of a woman had said child perking up.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Sunny chanted as Kickin broke the tree line. 

So Kickin forgot something very important as he watched Sunny’s parents run towards them. He forgot that he was a giant, probably monstrous looking, forever grinning chicken. 

And that terrified most people.

Sunny’s parents were not the exception.

Their gait became uneven and their expressions shifted and morphed into a mix of worry and fear. It made something sour settle in his stomach. 

“Mommy! Daddy!” Sunny squirmed in his arms as he let them down. He watched as they darted straight into their parents' waiting arms. Averting his gaze he kicked his foot along the ground as he listened to the happy reunion. 

Kickin wasn't sure what to do now though but a tug at his arm halted any forming ideas as Sunny was suddenly dragging him closer to their parents.

They did not look pleased.

“This is Kickin. I found him.” Well they weren’t wrong, they did find them. “He does dances and cartwheels.” He wasn’t entirely sure where this was going and shared the confused look on the parents' faces.

“I see.” Sunny’s mother spoke softly as she tried to grab her child but Sunny wasn’t paying attention and started monkey climbing up Kickin’s leg.

“Sunny, honey come here, please.” Their father asked but his request went ignored.

“Why were you in the woods?” The child turned chimp asked and honestly he felt bad for the parents. They fidgeted and twitched forward as Sunny used him as a jungle gym.

“I was uh lost. Like you.” Sunny nodded sagely.

“Then we should bring you home.” They turned to their parents. “Right?” The kid tone brokered no argument. 

“Well that depends.” The dad coughed into his fist. “Uh Kickin where do you live?” The man looked ready to faint.

An awkward laugh left Kickin as he juggled Sunny. “Um, I don't live anywhere?” Sunny let out a rather dramatic gasp.

“What?!” They yelled as they kolaed around his arm. “You don’t have a home?” He shook his head at their question. Sunny turned a desperate look to their parents.

“He has to come home with us!” Once again said with the confidence that only a child could have. Their parents spluttered as Sunny was already climbing off of him and heading towards somewhere. One of his fingers wrapped firmly in their tiny little hand.

“You’ll like our house. It’s tall, like you. And you can stay in my room and we can build forts and you can meet my cat. And~” Sunny pitched their voice lower as if they were telling him a secret. “You can help me get the snacks high up.” It was sweet to listen to Sunny ramble about the snacks and how he was going to love all the toys they had and how they would be able to watch cartoons together. 

He wasn’t sure if things would work out exactly how the kid pictured or if their parents were actually going to go along with it. But he had wished to not be alone and he would give Sunny anything for answering it.

[share-the-damn-bed]

Omg! there's a new Stranger Things x Colourpop collection!!!

[b0kksu-gone]

[ higuruma → sms ]: Hi. Sorry, this is so late. I meant to text earlier, but got caught up with work. [ higuruma → sms ]: Are you free right now? Just for a quick meet up. I'll be at that one cafe you took me to the first time. [ higuruma → sms ]: ... Probably outside since they're closed, but come anyways.

And outside he is. Situated at one of the small tables that's soaked up the entire early winter's chill. Hiromi's almost shivering despite wearing a full suit at this late hour, but there was no time to spare. If he'd gone home to change then it would've passed midnight, and that would've defeated the entire purpose of this.

So he waits .... And waits ... And waits until a lone figure finally appears around the bend. "Ah, you made it. Here—" A glossy white box is lifted from his lap, and he smiles ever so slightly. "Happy birthday. I got two different types of cake. I know you like the strawberry one, but thought— well, it's only fair if I get another to make up for the tardiness. So a tiramisu to remind you of me." Caffeinated, layered dark, bitter but smooth.

{ ★ TORU! sms: } oh hey! don’t worry about it 

{ ★ TORU! sms: } Yeah, I was just finishing up some reading, got home late myself but give me ten? I’ll be there

{ ★ TORU! sms: } alright, alright, let me throw on a hoodie at least - don’t want to freeze on you

     There’s flowers from home && reminders to come back when the time permits.  The exhaustion that weighs within his body from the day's events && the papers that needed sign off, who knew being the strongest came with such mundane tasks? The train ride is blissfully quiet, no one thinks about the strange young man with snowy hair, fingers pressed into the ultra modern coat && fluffy scarf nestled against his nose. Willowy structure pulls into view, he leans over the other’s shoulder, looking at him pensively, “Night cap?” the mischievous grin spreads, dimpled cheeks && fanged teeth. Pausing, his expression drops, the bravado && arrogance that walks with each step suddenly softens - he appears timid, younger than he allows for himself to be seen as, lips tightening into a purse then somber smile that cannot be explained. “Oh, you remembered?” he must have said something in passing, the reality that the passage of time was still trickling, almost startling Satoru he somehow saw another year.

   “You shouldn’t have, really, I’m sure you’re exhausted” it’s a simple gesture but one that causes his mind to race. The contrast of flavors caused him to snicker, espresso with thick cream && slightly bitter, smooth, brooding - Higuruma was like that, wasn’t he? Satoru was not one to hesitate, to think twice, instead he moves quickly && soft kiss is pressed against his cheek.

      “Thank you, it really does mean a lot but you know, I heard this wild theory that cake is better shared together - makes it tastier. Why not come back to my place so we can share? Tell me about your day”  

[raisoramizu]

Chapter 2: Desires and hope TW: NSFW

Pain came before the light.

Adam reopened his eyes, clenching his sharp jaws in irritation. He tried to move, but he couldn't. The clinking of chains holding him in place made him panic, causing him to jerk his shoulders in an attempt to break free, but nothing—the chains were unyielding.Looking closer, he saw they were golden. It took him less than a second to recognize the angelic metal, and he froze, his eyes widening.He was inside a massive room with an ultra-modern design; the black and blue tones cast everything in a dim twilight. Despite the low light, he could clearly perceive his surroundings: walls on three sides, a grayish reflective glass—almost like a mirror—stood in front of him, with speakers mounted high above. There were no visible windows or doors; the room was sealed.

< What the fuck is going on...? > he growled, his eyes, blackened down to the sclera, darting up toward the speakers and then to the mirror, as if searching for someone to confront. But all he saw was his own reflection. Sitting on the ground with his brown hair plastered to his still-bloodied face, he leaned against the opposite wall. He wore bloodstained black jeans and boots, but his chest was bare. His arms were locked behind him by multiple loops of golden chains, ending in two tight cuffs around his wrists. He hadn't changed much—except for his eyes and the horns that emerged unpredictably. His chest was still covered in hair, and his belly was still round. Someone had tended to him; there was a slightly dirty red bandage secured to his wounded side.

< Oh, holy shit, it really is him! It's Adam! > Vox exclaimed, his bluish claws digging into the desk as he leaned forward toward the frosted glass that looked into the room where Adam was being held. He was on the opposite side of the reflective glass.

The control room was small, with a few computers and monitors. Its main purpose was to observe and communicate with those on the other side of the wall without being seen. Behind him stood Valentino, his arms crossed over his chest, a cigarette holder in one hand and the other resting under his chin. His heart-shaped glasses cast a perplexed gaze at the glass. He wore his red fur-lined coat draped over his shoulders and a hat from which his antennae protruded, one looking a bit scruffy.

On the opposite side stood Velvette, nervously fiddling with her massive bicolored pink and purple tails. She was staring at the transparent wall while holding her phone, dressed in a cropped top and wide-striped pants matching her hair color.

< What do we do with him now...? > Valentino asked, half in disgust.

< We need to try to bring him to our side > Vox huffed, sinking back into his swivel chair and running a claw over his TV-shaped head, topped with a small hat with antennae sticking out. He was jacketless, wearing only a shirt with rolled-up sleeves that revealed the glossy black skin of his forearms, and a striped vest with a bow tie.

< Not dressed like that, though... > Velvette replied nervously, glancing up at the other two from her short stature. < ...don't ask me to take his measurements for clothes; I'm not getting close to that guy! >

Valentino took a drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke around the room. Shifting his weight onto his left leg, he sensually pushed his hip out and parted his lips in a sharp, mischievous smile. < Now that I see him without a mask and shirtless, he's quite a big boy. Maybe he'd fit in the 'Bear' category... or 'Big Boy,' hmm," > he purred seductively. < ...Yes, I know just what to do with him. We'll make millions; leave him to me > he said, lowering his violet face toward Vox.

< Our main goal is to use him against those at the Hotel. He almost managed to kill Alastor; he's a valuable asset > replied the TV Demon as Adam began to rage in the isolation room.

He was thrashing about, trying to break free from the chains and spewing random curses. He managed to get up from the ground despite his restrained hands, using the wall behind him for support. < I swear, whoever you are, I'm gonna smash all this shit! > he snarled, baring his teeth, his sclera blackening again.

Vox pressed the button to activate the speaker.

"Stay calm; you're not in a hostile place."

The distorted voice of the TV Demon echoed in the room, stopping Adam in his tracks, his eyes wide.

< Oh, no...? > Adam shot back. < And who the hell are you...? Why did you bring me here? > he yelled, his nerves fraying as he scanned the ceiling, trying to spot where the cameras might be. Mostly, he faced the reflective glass like a mirror; his appearance was truly terrible, even worse than how Lucifer had left him after beating him up. At least he no longer had a black eye.

"My name is Vox; I control all the media in Hell. It seemed like you needed a hand... or would you have preferred to bleed out in that filthy alley?" Vox continued, silencing the First Man.

< .. >

"We know who you are, Adam. We can help you take revenge on Lucifer and his daughter. We're coming in now; stay calm."

< Don't fucking order me around! > Adam burst out in anger, taking two steps toward the reflective wall, his eyes wide and his face twisted with rage; his sharp teeth—now his own—were clenched so tightly that he was drooling. Seeing his own face contorted like that, he flinched. He really was a fucking demon.

< Are you sure about this? > Valentino asked, perplexed, the red slits of his gaze wide, his cigarette holder frozen mid-air.

< I'm sure; I've got everything under control, and I have... > Vox responded, placing both hands on the armrests of his chair and suddenly standing up, distorting the expression projected on the screen that replaced his face into a sinister, drooling smile. < ...my methods > he concluded, his large red eyes electrifying with loud static.

Pressing a button, the TV Demon lifted the reflective screen, which disappeared into the ceiling, merging the room containing Adam with the control room. The four of them were now face to face, separated only by a desk. They stared at each other for endless seconds before Vox broke the silence with his magnetic, charismatic voice, like that of a perfect salesman.

< Oh, so here we have the great Adam; it's an honor for all of us! > He began to circle around the desk, spreading his arms and raising his bluish claws toward the ceiling in a gesture that was both welcoming and somewhat submissive.

Adam was tense; every muscle in his body was tight. Despite being injured and chained with his arms behind his back, with the look of someone who had seen far better days, he was intimidating. He was taller than Vox, taller than all three of them. He was bulkier, and his red eyes, with their inky black sclera, didn't bode well. With those eyes, he followed the TV Demon's movements as he approached, clearing his throat with a cough, his big smile tinged with stress.

< As I said, I'm Vox... over there are Valentino—Val—and the lovely Velvette. Together, we are three powerful Overlords, known as the Vees; we control every corner of this damned city. >

The other two hadn't moved an inch, staring at the scene with tension and perplexity.

< .. > The TV Demon felt anxiety rising as he approached the former Angel, bringing a claw to tug at and loosen the bow tie that had suddenly become too tight. < With us, you could— > He tried to continue, but this time he didn't finish. With a sound of chains, Adam lunged like a ram—horns and all—at him, but not with all the strength and speed he could muster in his current state. This allowed Vox to transform into a bolt of lightning and disappear into a speaker before being reached.

For a moment, large black, membranous wings sprouted from Adam's back and vanished as he crashed, with a groan, against the wall, causing Valentino and Velvette to jump back, retreating deeper into the shadows of the control room to distance themselves from the scene, terrified.

< I told you! You can't reason with him! > Velvette screeched, both irritated and scared. But Vox reappeared, quickly reforming behind Adam and stomping on his chained arms behind his back, slamming him hard against the wall, making him collapse to the ground, cursing. < Fuck! >

Sweat began to pour down the TV Demon's screen. His expression was distorted with rage but also anxiety—a fear that didn't stop him from bending over Adam, digging his claws into his shoulders to bring his face inches from his.

< Calm down! ...calm down eh-eh > he shouted, swallowing hard, and repeated more carefully, widening his large almond-shaped eyes that began to whirl, red and black, electrifying his pupils into the other's, hypnotizing him.

The demonic aspect of Adam dimmed; the horns disappeared, and his eyes returned to two different shades of red, wide open and reflecting the same spirals.

< It's splendid ♥! > Valentino exclaimed, clapping two of his four hands together while ash fell from the cigarette stuck in his holder. < ...with this, I could make some crazy Snuff Movies. Look how violent he is! >

< SHUT UP! > Vox thundered, unleashing a torrent of wild electric shocks that caused a monitor on the desk to explode, making Velvette and the Moth jump back. He chuckled nervously right afterward. < Heh-heh—eh... don't rush, dear Val > he said between breaths, his voice shifting again to a more affable, almost musical tone. Still not looking at his companions, he stood between Adam's spread legs, bent over him, pinning him against the wall with his claws.

< Now, back to us > Vox continued, his eyes still whirling hypnotically into Adam's. He swallowed down a lump of tension. < We know who you are, the great Adam, the First Man. Everything started with you; for us, you're a... celebrity. We saw what happened... and we can help you get your revenge. Tell me, is there something you desire—something we can trade that would benefit both of us? >

The First Man was completely enveloped in the hypnosis, his mind loosened from its shackles. He felt every emotion muted, a sense of calm overtaking him. Even his desires seemed distant, overshadowed by the influence of this Sinner with a TV for a face. Yet, the question penetrated his haze. What did he desire? There was something, and he had to answer.

< I want... to meet Lute > he muttered, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

< Lute? > Vox repeated, both intrigued and surprised.

< I think that's the exorcist who was always with him, his Vice Commander > Valentino chimed in, taking a final drag from his cigarette.

< Ah, yes! Of course, nothing could be simpler! > Vox lied smoothly, removing his claws from Adam's shoulders and standing up straight. < I have just the solution for you! > he continued, snapping his fingers. The PC monitors around the room swiveled to face Adam, projecting images of the Hazbin Hotel's exterior from different angles.

Adam blinked a few times, confusion and disbelief washing over his face as he took in the images.

< I destroyed that shitty hotel... > he murmured.

< Yes, you were truly amazing! Holy shit, I saw it all live! When you hit Alastor, it gave me a hard-on! > Vox laughed, visibly excited. < ...But thanks to Lucifer, they rebuilt everything. >

On the screens, Adam watched as the Seraphim casually chatted with Charlie while entering the hotel.

< He's the only one who can get you in touch with... Lute > Vox said smoothly. < And we need some 'eyes' inside the Hotel. >

Adam gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing on Vox's face with a renewed intensity. < Oh wow, and what makes you think I'd make deals with filthy sinners? > he growled sarcastically.

< Oh, my dear, but you're a Sinner now, too! And besides, we don't want a deal, just an exchange of favors > Vox chuckled, backing away a bit. < Why don't you take some time to think it over here in this room? Take a bath, let your wounds heal... we have all the food you could want and the finest drugs to clear your mind. Interested in some women...? > He snapped his fingers, and the screen changed to show two voluptuous, violet-skinned Succubi passionately entwined with each other. < Have you ever tried Succubi? They can do things that in Heaven they can't even imagine. They'll let you do anything you want—no complaints... unless you like them to squirm and cry. We're in Hell, after all! >

Adam's eyes widened, locking onto the scene playing out on the screen.

< Anything you want, here at VoxTek! > the TV Demon announced with fervor.

< Tsk, I'll handle getting you dressed, handsome! > Velvette chimed in, cheekily placing a hand on her exposed hip.

< Nothing could be simpler > Vox repeated, a sinister and drooling smile lighting up his screen.

....

Charlie and Lucifer emerged from a portal of golden light that opened up directly on the steps in front of the Heaven Embassy in Pentagram City.

It was a relatively bright day—if one could call it that—in Hell. There were no signs of acid rain, and the usual chaos of the city seemed somewhat subdued. The Princess, looking well-groomed with her long blonde hair tied back with thin ribbons and wearing her red suit with a black bow tie over a white shirt, took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the sulfur-tainted air as she gazed up at the top of the tower. The tower, in its stark white and gold, was an eyesore against the black-and-red backdrop of the city. The clock and annual countdown were there, but no numbers were displayed: the extermination had been canceled.

So why had the angels summoned her? And why had they specifically summoned her? A sense of unease tightened in her chest. Every encounter with Heaven had always led to something tragic. But Lucifer's hand on her shoulder eased her anxiety, calming her with a sigh.

She turned to look at her father, glancing over her shoulder. He was watching her with concern, but his lips held a gentle smile. < It feels strange for me to say this, but everything will be fine this time. And it's because of you that I believe that, Charlie > the angel's smile grew wider, bringing out a bright and hopeful smile from his daughter. < Yes! > she nodded enthusiastically, then hesitated. < Are you sure you don't want to come inside with me? >

Lucifer stiffened suddenly, his lower violet eyelid twitching nervously over his left eye. < Hhhewh, absolutely sure! > he replied, exhaling sharply and clutching his red and white striped vest. < My opinion of them hasn't changed, but I'll wait for you right here at the entrance. > Twirling his cane with the apple ornament at its tip, he gestured toward the grand, ornate double doors as she made her way inside.

Adam had awoken in Hell suddenly, thrown into a whirlwind of chaos so quickly that he hadn't even had time to process his new reality. The searing pain in his chest and the desperate face of Lute, her tears falling, were the last things he remembered from his life as an angel. He'd been stabbed with an angelic weapon designed to destroy the soul, and yet here he was—a Sinner, trapped in the very world he had always despised and sought to annihilate. How had this happened? Why hadn't the dagger destroyed his soul?

But his bigger problem now was that, in this state, he no longer had any real purpose. What could he do? Go to the Hazbin Hotel and beg them to take him in, to redeem himself and return to Heaven? How would he even begin to face them? And if he did meet Sera again, what kind of person would he be by then? Everything he had always believed in was shattered, crumbling like a house of cards. He had been wrong, or else he wouldn't have ended up here. They had won, and now his only hope was to find Lute. Was she still alive? Lucifer would never help him, but... perhaps he had the right leverage. After all, what did he have to lose now? He was lost, and he might as well embrace that perdition.

He tried to enjoy it as best as he could, but the sense of being in the wrong place never left him. That damned feeling had plagued him for months every time he was with a woman who wasn't Lute. Because, yes, only with her had he ever felt he was in the right place. Still, he wasn't one to suppress his instincts, his needs—especially after succumbing to trying a drug to "clear his mind" of intrusive thoughts.

And so, in a haze of confusion and overexcitement, he found himself with one of the two Succubi they had thrown at him in his room. He'd taken a relaxing bath, eaten well, and then let himself go... into anger. It was rage that moved his body as he destroyed the bed and tormented the demoness beneath him. She didn't seem to mind, though. The room was enormous and ultra-modern, filled with every comfort imaginable: motion sensors for everything, psychedelic lights, a mini-fridge stocked with alcohol, neon lights—it looked like a room from a Love Hotel, complete with a mirrored ceiling and red lights cutting through the darkness, casting suffocating and thrilling shades. In Heaven, he could have only dreamed of such things.

Then there were the sex toys. He wasn't one for toys, but there were too many of them, and they tempted him. He felt like the star of one of the many Hellish pornos he'd secretly watched in Heaven.

He was on his knees on the bed, his thighs between the spread legs of the Succubus lying prone beneath him, her chest and face mashed against the mattress, her wrists cuffed behind her back. With one hand on her spine, he pushed her down while thrusting violently, wet slapping sounds filling the room as he drove his hips against hers, penetrating her as deeply as he could.

His other hand gripped her tail at the root, which coiled around his forearm, jerking its red tip. He lifted it, fixing his intense red eyes on her ass, plugged with an anal toy that his abdomen kept striking, making her whimper beneath his harsh curses. He felt her pleasure dripping down his thighs and soaking his balls, sweat running down his forehead, sticking his hair to his skin, his heart pounding wildly. She was so damn wet, her body made even tighter by the object invading her anus. It was a horribly delicious sensation, yet he was taking forever to come. Was it the drug? Or just Hell? Could Hell really be a place like this?

The only Hell was Lute, damn it. Why did he keep thinking about her? This wasn't the time. The Succubus beneath him was beautiful, with glossy violet skin and such round curves that his fingers disappeared into her soft flesh. He hit her so hard the bed slammed against the wall, crushing her against the headboard, making her drool on the mattress and choke on her own chestnut hair because she had no way to pull it out of her mouth.

He was drooling too, despite his dry mouth and the thirst burning in his throat. He was so overheated that the bandaged wound on his side felt like a distant memory, and then... damn, he had the other one pressed up against him from behind, her breasts hot against his neck. Those were damn nice, too.

The claws of the other demoness slid across his forehead, sinking into his wet hair and pulling his face back, forcing him to press the back of his head against her chest, feeling her breasts bounce against his shoulders and cheeks. He needed air, some kind of relief, but instead, he found those claws slipping into his mouth, over his tongue slick with saliva. Her sultry voice whispered, < When's it my turn...? > Into his ear, pushing him annoyingly close to his limit. His eyes rolled back with a muttered < Shit... > as he pounded even harder, driving himself through an orgasm so intense it filled him with anxiety, a lump of fear stuck in his throat. What kind of orgasm was that... damn it.

PIRIPI' PIRIPI' The ringtone of a cell phone rang out, and an incoming call appeared on Vox's screen with a photo of Valentino. The TV demon was seated in his control room—an enormous circular chamber accessible through a long corridor and an electronic door, lined with countless screens of all sizes surrounding a central desk filled with controls and his black swivel chair.

Irritated by the shrill ringtone, Vox reached out with a pair of claws, directing the call to one of the screens so that his annoyed expression appeared on his monitor head.

"Amorcito, it's the middle of the night. What are you still doing there?" Valentino's sleepy, round face appeared on the screen, hatless, with a pillow behind his head. < I'll be there soon > Vox grumbled, furrowing his brows and turning the corners of his sharp mouth downward, picking up his coffee mug from the desk. Valentino glanced around, trying to see what he could of the Control Room. "Are you keeping an eye on Adam...? Has he settled in?" The Moth Demon's question came just as high-pitched moans erupted from the speakers, accompanied by the sounds of violent, rhythmic thrusts—when the First Man switched to the other Succubus, causing a moment of silence between the two in the room. < ... > "..." < Maybe a bit too much. Let's hope we haven't overdone it; if he forgets the exorcist, who will convince him to go to the Hotel? > Vox muttered, leaning back in his chair with an irritated shrug, taking a sip of his coffee. < My hypnosis doesn't have much effect on him; his will is tough to crack. Tomorrow, we'll send him to the Hotel and hope that bastard Alastor doesn't cause trouble. It took him two days to regenerate from that angelic weapon wound, but how the hell did that piece of shit do it...? >

Valentino's expression shifted to one of mild annoyance as he raised his eyebrows, a hint of tired curiosity in his gaze. "Well, at worst, I'll just use him for my films. Make sure to save some recordings; I want to see them, you know..." His tone was so lascivious it caused Vox to shoot him a sharp, crackling glare.

< Oh, sure... you want to see them strictly for work purposes, right? > the TV Demon replied sarcastically, slamming his mug down on the table.

Valentino stared back at him, perplexed, his sharp red eyes piercing without his usual glasses. < Get ready; I'm coming over. I'll show you what I'm filming tonight > Vox said, massaging the bulge in his pants as he pressed a button to turn off the screens. The action brought an excited flush to the Moth Demon's cheeks.

...

[dawnettsemporium]

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[jloversjlo]

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[mangoposts]

mina I need to know what products u use like for makeup cs I don’t js wanna get stuff if it’s not worth it (I have like 13 things in my cart rn😭)

pls tell ur recs like all of them I don’t care😣

I made a post for this before which was more in depth but i can’t find it 💔 These are in my routine and i love them

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Loreal telescopic waterproof

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[quotes121sworld]

Aisleyne Horgan-Wallace goes wild on the beach in Mexico #AisleyneHorgan-Wallace

The sunburnt Aisleyne Horgan-Wallace hit the beach on Sunday in a very racy nude swimsuit that showed off her tan lines.The former Big Brother roommate, 44, looked sensational as she frolicked in the sand and soaked up the sun in Mexico.The reality star put on a very busty show in a beige swimsuit, which was adorned with cut-outs along her torso and back and featured an extremely plunging neckline.The racy number also featured a high-leg cut and thong that showed off her tan lines and peachy bottom and surgically enhanced cleavage. After relaxing on the lounge chairs, Aisleyne slipped into a chic lace blanket and took a trip to the crystal blue waters.

Ouch! Sunburnt Aisleyne Horgan-Wallace flaunted her incredible figure - and tan lines - in an ultra-low-cut nude swimsuit on a beach in Mexico on Sunday

Wow! The racy number also featured a high-leg cut and thong that showed off her tan lines and peachy bottom and surgically enhanced cleavage. When she got back, she picked up a copy of Jay Shetty's book Think Like a Monk and snapped a few selfies.Sporting a radiant makeup palette and glossy lip gloss, the beauty tied her blonde tresses back in a low bun. The beauty complemented the summery look with a selection of silver jewelry.Aisleyne recently caused a stir when she walked to the train station in nothing but sexy lingerie.The TV star showed off her incredible curves in a leopard print set by Rose Intimates.Posing on the platform, she raised her arms above her head and struck a sultry pose as she gazed into the distance.She enhanced her enviable body with a pair of simple black heels.The blonde beauty left her curls natural, cascading down her shoulders and down her body.

Wow! Aisleyne put on a striking display in her ensemble

Hot thing: The former Big Brother flatmate, 44, looked sensational as she frolicked in the sand and soaked up the sun before returning to the UK

Beauty: The classy number also featured a high leg line and thong that showed off her tan lines and peachy bottom

Learning: She picked up a copy of Jay Shetty's book Think Like a Monk and snapped a few selfies

Chic: After relaxing on the loungers, Aisleyne slipped into a chic lace blanket and took a trip into the crystal blue watersTaking to Instagram to share the snap, she wrote: "I only look up to Tesco babes because the THIRST is real...it's like a jungle out here...and a leopard never changes spots."Her daring snaps come after she sparked concern among fans after sharing a cryptic message on her Instagram Stories in December.She shared a picture of a person deep underwater falling to the bottom.The quote read, "Sometimes you don't realize you're actually drowning when you're trying to save everyone else."After receiving worried messages from fans, the reality star told his followers she was "depleted". Thanking them for their support, she wrote, "You guys have so much empathy, I love reading your messages."She added, "Sorry if my stories are depressing... I post real life because it helps me and others... I don't do fake happy posts xx."

Lounging: The beauty relaxed on a lounger as she soaked up some well-deserved sun

Gorgeous: Using a radiant makeup palette and a swipe of lip gloss, the beauty tied her blonde tresses back in a low bun

Details: The eye-catcher complemented the summery look with a selection of silver jewelry

R&R: She seemed to be making the most of her lavish trip

Wow: Aisleyne's stylish ensemble made her look like she stepped off the pages of a glossy magazine

Beauty: She showed off her tattoos and naval piercings in the skimpy outfit

Me Time: After breaking a sweat, the reality star slipped into a chic cover-upThe star has previously been going through a difficult time after suffering a miscarriage in August last year.Sharing the heartbreaking news, she said: "It hurts every time but even more this time."Aisleyne has tragically suffered three miscarriages and one stillbirth while trying to have a child, with doctors confirming she has Rhesus negative, a rare blood disorder that is threatening her chances of carrying a baby full-term. The TV star was devastated to lose her fifth child, and Aisleyne tragically admitted she had "never been more ready" to have a baby. In a series of messages, she wrote: "Everybody knows I've been through this before."But I've never been so excited and happy and ready for a baby as I am this time. And he too.

'I'll only be at Tesco for a moment, babes': Aisleyne recently caused heads to turn as she walked to the train station in nothing but sexy lingerie"It hurts every time. But this time. Even more. Is that in order? Do you understand?'Aisleyne has always been open about her heartbreaking quest to become a mother. In June, the TV personality admitted she's "starting to panic" that she won't be able to have children.she said The sun: "I'm really starting to panic that it's just not going to happen with me," before adding that she's aware that her woman's body "clock" is always ticking.She added, "I just have to hope and pray that I haven't let it be too late to have my miracle baby." Read the full article

[lifestylesdr]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Bestie So Plush Hydrating Lip Gloss Julep High Shine Hydrating Lip Color NIB.