#what more could the ultimate robot ask for??

[generic-sonic-fan]

The first June after joining Team Dark, Omega didn't go to Pride because he thought an event celebrating meatbag sexuality was stupid.

But the second time Pride rolls around, after seeing how much fun Rouge and Sonic had last year, he spray paints "THIS MACHINE KILLS HOMOPHOBES + TRANSPHOBES" on his chassis, loads his cannons up with confetti, and has the time of his fucking life.

[spatialwave]

"my ambition" - part one

pairing: jayvik x fem!reader word count: 1k tags: mdni! semi-nsfw, fluffy, poly relationship, reader has a chronic illness, no use of y/n, not beta’d. notes:no summary bc it’s very short n sweet and mostly just some fluff!! will probably write a part 2 to this or use this fic as a base for future one shots hehe. reminder that my ask box is open! 🩵 credits: art by @/shuploc & divider by @/cafekitsune on tumblr!

part 2. ->

“No, no, this doesn’t make sense.”

The flickering flame of several candles lit up the darkened apartment as Jayce sat over a scattering of papers. His back hunched, eyes tired, stubble unshaved and fingers tracing over the writings on the parchments. Forever studying and analyzing ways to work with the hextech, to improve upon it and use it to help others. To help you, and Viktor.

“Sleep is good for the brain.” A tired voice spoke from behind him.

There was a quiet groan that erupted from deep within his chest, a reprieve from the chaos in his mind, as he rested back against the wooden chair that creaked beneath his weight. Your hand, a delicate touch, trailed over his bare shoulders as he worked late in only his nice pair of trousers that were gifted by the Kiramman family.

He hadn’t taken a single moment of rest since a meeting with Viktor and Heimerdinger earlier that day to go over progress of the hextech research. They had hit a roadblock, having advanced so far, yet still struggling to find ways for it to help the people, rather than just Piltover.

Hextech was more than a tool to better run the city and improve upon its trades within Runeterra. If only he could find a way to stabilize the crystal.

“You’re overworking yourself, Jayce,” you continued, arms now wrapping around his shoulders. Your chest pressed against the back of his head, hands palming against his muscled chest.

“I’m this close to a breakthrough,” the man sighed, finding comfort in your touch as he leaned back and let his eyes flutter closed, sleep heavy in his head, “Progress Day is three months away, and what do we have to show for it? An unstabilized crystal?”

Jayce was worked up like this more often than not, the work with hextech had taken the forefront for years now. Recently it had begun to consume him, but you were the recipe to keeping him sane. 

You were his rock, as he said.

“Hexgates, airships, robots,” your posh accent chimed as your body moved and you’d managed to sneak your way onto Jayce’s lap — ultimately severing the line between him and his work. 

Your chests pressed together, faces only a few inches apart as you stared into those honey-coloured eyes.

“Why do you always get so down on yourself?” 

Jayce stared at you, strong calloused hands settling on your hips as you straddled him. He had no ambition to answer, knowing very well that he was his own worst critic and you were his biggest supporter. 

“You’ll get there,” you continued, head ducking as your lips pressed to his jaw. The roughage of his stubble prickly against your lips as you kissed, trailing from under his chin to underneath his ear, “now, I haven’t had a chance to have you in over a week. I think I’m rather deserving.”

That roused a chuckle from him, a toothy grin on his lips as he allowed himself to relax under your touch. 

“I want to do this for you,” he murmured, head lulling back as you kissed down his neck, “something to help.”

“I know,” you soothed, one hand palmed at his chest as you pulled back, a finger touching his chin and tilting his face back to you, “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Jayce’s eyes opened, and it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. Beautiful and glowing.

Your sickness was well-hidden, a struggle you dealt with behind closed doors. Pain that erupted through your veins, left your muscles weak and skin burning. It came in flares — aches so painful it left you bedridden for weeks.

Once an Academy all-star, now confined to your apartment. You were thankful for Jayce and Viktor, the two most important individuals in your life.

“Now come to bed. I can’t remember the last time you’d managed to stay up later than Viktor,” you smiled, shifting off of his lap. Two quick breaths blew out the candles, and you’d managed to pull Jayce along behind you like a lovesick puppy.

You dropped the robe that had covered your body, revealing your half-naked body save for the underwear that hugged the curves of your hips. The mattress dipped under your weight as you crawled in next to a sleeping Viktor, who had retired to bed with you a few hours earlier.

He rolled onto his side toward you, a slender arm wrapped over your waist and bony fingers pressing into the skin of your hip. You pressed yourself against his frail chest, face buried as you inhaled his scent and Jayce slipped under the blankets on the other side of him.

“Finally wrangled him?” Viktor hummed, half-asleep, as both yours and Jayce’s warmth kept him tired.

“You’ve let him beat you again. You’re losing your drive for all-nighters full of bright ideas,” you murmured, nuzzling against him.

“I’ve long lost that spark,” Viktor mumbled, burying his face in your hair and sighing as he felt Jayce’s hands slide along his bare skin, “I’m a tired old man now. I can live with that.”

Jayce snorted, “I do it for the both of us then,” he murmured into his lover’s ear, breath warm and tickling his skin. A shaky breath trembled out from Viktor’s lips, tensing his arms around you.

You were quick to join in on the fun, lips attached to the base of Viktor’s throat as you left a trail of feather light kisses along his skin. One hand reaching down between his legs and into the briefs he wore.

“Can’t a man get rest?” he breathed out, squirming between you two. 

“No,” Jayce huffed, lips pressed to Viktor’s shoulders as he assaulted him with a flurry of open-mouthed kisses to his skin, teeth and lips dragging against him.

“Sorry, love,” you whispered, licking a line on his neck before suckling on the skin, “I may have riled him up in the kitchen.”

“How awful,” he sighed, though, there was nothing Viktor enjoyed more than having two lips and two pairs of hands traversing his body. 

He melted into the touch as the three of you consumed each other. Hands traveling over skin, lips connected, tongues lapping at each other and clothes ripped from bodies.

The three of you were the embodiment of love. On the worst days, there were no thoughts of giving up. You were each other’s ambition.

[bluesidez]

GymRat!Miguel Part 3

content warning: small food mentions, a little suggestive at parts so MINORS BEWARE, sexual tension?? 😗, insecure thoughts about a plus size body (may or may not be triggering for some), a few mean girls, college party, alcohol, drugs, mentions of throw up like once, a bad look for sororities (sorry, y'all are probably very wonderful people)

word count: 3.2k (NOT A DRABBLE WTF 😭) not proofread, if you see a mistake lmk

GymRat!Miguel's workout playlist is here! I had to stop myself from adding more songs because it’s already so long lol. I didn't even include any cool down songs.

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who wakes up without having to hobble to the bathroom for once. No morning wood because his dream of you was soft this time. You two were cuddled up on a couch with the world’s most fluffy blanket. He smiles to himself as he drags his feet to the bathroom. It was if dancing clouds and bubbles were floating around his head.

GymRat!Miguel who’s able to sit and chat with Ms. Beatrice longer today because his class doesn’t start until that after noon. He compliments her on the egg sandwich from the other day and she squeezes his cheeks when she thanks him as if he were a baby.

GymRat!Miguel who tinkers in the engineering building as he waits for lunch. He joined the small but mighty robotics team as soon as he found out there was one. There was a fighting robot division, and he needed to figure out the problems with his team’s robot sooner rather than later.

GymRat!Miguel who spots you at the student center having your lunch. He wastes no time to grab his food and book it to your table. He calls your name before he gets there, not wanting to startle you. You smile when you look up surprised to see him there.

"Can I join you?" he says, trying not to seem out of breath with how fast his heart is beating.

"Yeah," you say, arranging your things around. You push your computer to the side as he places his burito bowl on the table. "I'm finally getting to see you outside of lab."

In his mind, he takes a note of you being in the student center at this time. He wants to make eating with you a routine thing.

"What were you watching?" he asks, trying to curb the rush that your presence has on him. He opened up his bowl and started to mix his food, waiting patiently for your answer.

"This is a little embarrassing but," you pause to dump one of your nuggets in sauce. "I was watching someone explain the downfall of Chuck E. Cheese." Your voice gets softer as you finish your sentence, eyes avoiding his gaze.

You were so cute. And it's almost as if you've never met him, the ultimate nerd.

"Nothing wrong with wanting to know why more and more locations went from five animatronics to one. Or how they started to sell their pizzas under ghost kitchens," he says, taking a bite from his bowl.

You looked at him and your smile grew. Miguel could only think 'there she is. there's my girl.'

The two of you chatted about everything from malfunctioning Chuck E's to your classes to your food. Miguel was through the roof.

GymRat!Miguel who offers to carry your art portfolio case for you to the art building. Anything to extend your time together. Plus, why should you have to hold it when he's here? He holds the doors for you and presses the elevator buttons before you can even think to.

GymRat!Miguel who really loves when the elevator door closes and he can look down at as you talk away. Just for those few seconds, the outside world is quiet and it's just you two. In another world, he'd kiss you before the doors open. In another world, he'd tilt your head up and have you look at him when you speak, he wanted to read your eyes too.

You're staring at him expectantly, eyes reminding him of baby deers. He tilts his head at you, wondering why you're staring at him.

"Miguel the door is open. We have to leave before it closes," you say.

He's instantly broke back to reality.

"Right! Sorry," he says, heat rising on the back of his neck. He steps out and holds his hand in front of the opening so that the door doesn't close you.

"Thank you," you say, a giggle under your breath.

Miguel has done some pretty embarrassing things when it comes to you, but he didn't think it would bleed into when he was actually in front of you.

In this world, he needed to not give you the creeps. Get it together.

GymRat!Miguel who is ecstatic that you still want to come work out with him. You all plan to meet that Friday. You don't know what you want to work out, but you say you're excited. Miguel has tonight, Wednesday, and Thursday to plan the perfect workout for you.

Should he go buy a bottle so he can make you a smoothie? Or should he offer to buy you a smoothie afterwards? Do you even like smoothies? Maybe he should invite you to breakfast. Would you want to eat right after you worked out? You needed to eat to make sure you can speed up the healing process though....

GymRat!Miguel who waves you goodbye when it's almost time for your studio class to start, mind filled with so many questions.

Your friend turns to you immediately when Miguel is gone.

"And who was that?" she says, eyes shocked.

"He's a guy from my lab. His name is Miguel," you say, grinning in your hands. You felt like kicking your feet in the air, but alas, no time.

"He's super hot. Like, seriously," your friend says, moving her taboret next to her workspace. "I would hit it. Constantly."

"Please stop talking," you say, laughing along. "I'm not even sure if he goes for girls like me. I'd rather not get my hopes up." You wanted to keep yourself in reality and falling for Miguel might put you too close to the land of delusion. You figured that Miguel was just super nice, especially after you two worked so hard for that lab project.

Your friend stops and looks at you, she slams the liquin tin on the table and puts her hand on her hip.

"First of all, those "types of guys" love big girls, so don't give me that. Second of all, are you not seeing how he looks at you. He's giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes, like, ever." She picks the liquin tin back up and starts scooping aggressively at the sides. "You gotta be more confident! You're gorgeous, anyone with a functioning brain can see that."

You stand there stunned, shocked at your friend's outburst. "I am confident!" Partially true. "I just...don't want to be hurt."

"I understand that, but have you even asked if he likes you or not?"

You shake your head no.

"Exactly. The night is still young," your friend says, pointing her palette knife at you. "And if you don't go for it, I will."

"Oh my god, shut up," you say, throwing a crumbled shop towel at her. You still kept her words in the back of your mind, storing it for later.

GymRat!Miguel who paces in front of the campus gym, waiting for your arrival. He got up extra early and gave himself a pep talk in the mirror. It wasn't a date, per se, but he felt that it could lead to one if he played his cards right. He decided to just invite you out to eat, figuring you would bring your stickered-water bottle.

GymRat!Miguel who spots you before you even call his name. He waves, smile taking over his features. You wave back, and it isn't until you're ten steps away that he finally takes in your full outfit. Another two-piece that was going to be the death of him, the only thing was that this was in the flesh. He cursed under his breath before you got closer, brain short-circuiting at the fabric hugging your skin.

"Ready to go?" he asks, forcing himself to not look at your body and to look at your face.

"Yeah! I'm a little nervous but I'm ready to work," you say, following him to the door.

He opens the doors for you, "Nothing to be nervous about. You're in good hands."

He brings you to his locker so you can put your bag in there, not wanting anyone to snag your belongings.

You guys start at the track, walking a lap as a warm up. Usually Miguel would do a lap or two of jogging, and as much as he wanted to watch you bounce, especially on him, this was a beginner workout. He didn't want to scare you with how intense he can get. While walking, you guys chatted about little things. Miguel tells you how wasn't nearly this big four years ago, ensuring you that the path to get here can be hard. You tell him that you just want be healthy, not caring if you lost weight or gained muscle. Miguel was secretly happy to hear this because he liked your body the way it was, but he would roll with whatever you were feeling.

GymRat!Miguel who helps you stretch. You both sit on the floor and face each other with your feet touching. Miguel saw how much smaller your feet were compared to his and his heart fluttered. His mind was filled with a million voices rambling off new things about you.

"She's focusing so hard"

"How can a gym outfit be so hot"

"She's so close to me when we do this stretch"

"Her hands are so warm"

"Maybe I should have stretched her from behind too"

That last thought gets Miguel to move you guys to the next part of the routine. How is his head always in the gutter?

GymRat!Miguel who starts you off with dumbbells, giving you the 5 lb weights to start. He starts you off with a few shoulder and arm exercises, giving you tips and praise along the way. His touches linger on your arms as he corrects your form, watching your body intensely. His constant "good"s, "one more''s, and "uh huh"s hit you right in your core. You're thankful that you're out of breath and heated from the workout, otherwise you would have melted before him.

GymRat!Miguel who pulls out all of the stops, using the heavier weights for his sets. He screams on the inside when you cheer him on. You clap at the end of one of his harder sets, happy that he pushed himself. He bows in silly way, sweat dripping down his face and laughing at your actions.

GymRat!Miguel who spots you while you use a heavier weight to do squats. You wanted to go for the 15 lb weight even though it was your first time doing weighted squats. He didn't want you to fall over, so he stood behind you and held his hands in the air by your waist as you went down. He knew that he was supposed to be focused, but he couldn't help but to glance at your ass a few times. God.

GymRat!Miguel who ends off your workout with the bikes, you guys making it a small competition. He stands and cycles, watching as your jaw dropped. You started to stand but got a little scared and gave up quick. Miguel couldn't have that. He stopped moving and got up to be by your side.

"You got it! Don't be scared," he says, watching you work.

"I literally can't do that," you say, cycling a little faster.

"Sure you can! Try it, I'm right here," he says, encouraging you.

You fight your fear and stand up and cycle. "Oh my god," you say, breaths coming out hard.

"That's it, that's it," Miguel says, voice warm as he praises you. "You're doing so good. Keep going."

You push until you can't anymore, Miguel cheering at your side.

GymRat!Miguel who guides you to the showers after your workout. It sucks that he can't be in there with you. His imagination can only get him so far.

GymRat!Miguel who waits for you to come out of the bathroom, ready to ask you to go for smoothies and breakfast. He hopes you say yes.

GymRat!Miguel who is in awe again at how you look. How many two-piece sets did you have? How does he survive them every single time? He mutters up the courage to ask you if you wanted to go get smoothies, adding on that he would pay. You glow and say yes, stating that you love smoothies. He's soaring.

GymRat!Miguel who brings your food to the table, two wraps and two smoothies. A protein shake for him and a fruit smoothie for you.

"That was a really good workout today. You definitely put me to work," you say, unwrapping the straw to stab it through the top. You hum at the flavor as you take a sip.

"Good?" Miguel asks, and you nod your head with your thumb up. "I'm glad you liked the workout. I was excited to have a partner."

"A partner? Why didn't you invite us to join?"

You both look up to see a few girls standing by the checkout counter. Miguel notices them as the sorority girls from his literature class. They walk over to your table, eyes twinkling as they take in Miguel.

Miguel chuckles awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He didn't think he had to deal with them outside of class too.

One of the girls look at you and goes, "Oo are you a personal trainer?"

You're taken aback, eyes scanning between the girls. You're about to open your mouth to respond but Miguel gets to them first.

"No, we're workout partners," he says, snapping at the girl. "And we're kind of having a conversation right now so is there anything else that you guys want to say?"

The girl cowers a bit at Miguel's words, laughing as if he told a joke and twirling her hair. The leader of the pack turns to Miguel, "Sorry about that. We wanted to see if you could come to our party tomorrow night. It'll be super fun and we would love to see you there."

A party? Miguel hadn't gone to one since he moved on campus. He always wanted to experience a college one. He turned to you and saw that you just tapped at your phone, not looking to the girls.

"I'll go if I can bring her," Miguel says, tapping his foot against yours. You look up, shock in your eyes,

Some of the girls slump, and the leader tightens her smile, "Fine! That's cool. I'll send you the details later."

The girls walk off and you stare at them, eyes squinting.

"They're an interesting bunch aren't they?" you say, continuing to eat your wrap.

"Right?" Miguel says, turning back to you.

GymRat!Miguel who comes to your dorm, ready to walk you to the party. He knocks on your door, a little nervous. He had on a nice top, the top open a little bit and a thin chain around his neck. After a while, you opened the door and gobsmacked him again with your outfit.

"Wow," he says, standing in the door like an idiot.

"Is it bad?" you ask, body glowing.

"No, you look amazing," Miguel says. "Ready to go?" He holds his arm out, softly smiling at you.

You nod and intertwine your arm through his.

GymRat!Miguel who takes in the atmosphere, frat guys yelling by a pool table, a few girls dancing with red solo cups, some people making out on the couch.

For Miguel, it was a lot.

He turned to you, yelling to ask if you wanted a drink. You say yes and you both make your way to the kitchen.

There, you both are met with the sorority girls crowding the kitchen. Some of them are passing some pills around and others are chatting by the island. One of them looks up and sees you guys lingering by the entrance.

"Miguel! You made it! Come on have a drink," she pulls him closer in the room. "Want a xannie?"

"I'm good," he says, handing you a cup of Pink Whitney. You take a sip and turn your nose a little bit. You might have to suck it up to get through the night.

"I'm so glad you made it. I have something that I've been meaning to show you," she says, batting her eyes. She convinces him to follow her up the stairs.

Miguel yells over his shoulder that he'll be right back.

You stand in the kitchen, fingers tapping against your cup. You felt a little silly and out of place. You didn't know anyone else here and the people were cliquey.

You joined a few games of beer pong, trying to enjoy yourself, but you couldn't help but to think about Miguel.

You dance a little, joining some random girls in the middle of the room. The music is ok, but you were just trying to have a good time. After an hour or so, you get nervous. Miguel hasn't been back in a while.

You head back to the kitchen, thinking maybe he could be in there.

"If you're looking for Miguel, he's probably deep in a bed right now," one girl giggles as she comes up beside you, grabbing another drink.

"What?" you say, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah girl, why else would he be gone so long? I tried to go up there and the doors were locked. Just text him tomorrow."

Your hand grips your cup tighter, watching as the girl goes back into the thick of the crowd.

You decide to wait a little longer, scrolling on the same three apps back to back for another hour. You look at the time again and the 3 am stares back at you mockingly.

You figure that he's really not coming back down and open your Instagram to give him a text.

“Hey Miguel! I’m gonna go ahead and go back to my dorm. It's getting pretty late."

You walk back to your dorm, arms wrapped around yourself to brace from the cold.

GymRat!Miguel who finally makes it to a bathroom that's not occupied with some one hovering over the toilet. He feels out of it. Throwing back a few too many shots. He was trying to get back downstairs but there was always someone there to pull him back, offering something.

A shot? Sure.

A pill? No.

A game? Maybe.

The girl who brought him up there tried her best to get in his pants, but if he was being honest, he didn't even remember her name. Or any of the names of the girls that came in afterwards. He declined every one of them, just wanting to get some air.

He was able to check his phone.

3:35 am.

He sees your message and feels sick. He runs downstairs and out the door, the cool air sobering him up a bit.

"Fuck," he says hands to his head. He squats and texts you back.

"I am so sorry. I got caught up. Did you make it back safely?"

It was so late, there was no way you would respond. He fucked up.

He texted Gabriel, maybe his drunk mind pushing him to seek help from his little brother.

"So if I invite a girl to a party and leave her what are the chances that she will text me back? :((("

"Dude. It's almost 4am. And where is this so-called game that you have? Ik you're not asking me about anything"

"Gabri :(((("

"I'll be honest, she's probably blocking your number. IF she even has it lol"

Yeah. He fucked up.

dividers by: @yeribbon 🩵

a/n: Miguel's gym playlist is such a jarring difference from my own gym playlist. 😭 I left you guys with an extra long addition today because I have soooo much hw that's piling up and it's tearing me apart.

As always, leave a like and reblog. Leave comments please. 🥺 I want to see your reactions! Let me know how you feel. 🩵

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @slushycoookie @emelie-s-h @lake-lili @obsessed-with-miguels-ass @scaleniusrm @superiorspiderass @lexluvswriting @flordelalunas @froggygal @vmpz8sauceee @famouscattale @nixinluv02 @jada-of-arcadia @spideykid22 @what-the-jams @julia4today @tojishugetiddies @samjinxx @sleeklyalisha @the-pan-liquid @prongs-lover @kikaaauu @urlocallocachica @wanderlustingcastaway @peachey-pie @ch3rry-bl1ss @girl-of-multi-fandoms @love-kha1 @manlikemilesmyguy @sillysillygoofygoose @monticellohoe

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 19 - Don't Look Back

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

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

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

Because word of mouth spreads fast. 

But the internet spreads faster. 

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

It all depends on who you ask. 

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

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

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

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

Butcher couldn’t fucking handle you, Sunshine. 

Benjamin, you can barely handle me yourself. 

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

You whine like a bitch. 

Brat. 

Cunt. 

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

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

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

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

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

You’re the most famous person in America. 

You want to go home. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t, I swear-“

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

“I don’t know-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d stay. I love-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t trick you, I can’t-“ 

“And you love me.” 

“I love you-“ 

“Say Soldier Boy left you.” 

“He left, I can’t, please-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rape?” 

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

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

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

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

You still don’t speak, and Sage smiles. 

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

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

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

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

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

You frown at her. “Collateral?” 

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

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

“Good. Show me yours.”

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

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

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

Sage hums. “Would you forgive me?”

“Would you earn it?”

“Maybe.”

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

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

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

“And how did Butcher earn your forgiveness?” 

You frown. “Butcher?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t-“

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

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

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

“What you’d anticipated?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make it interesting?” 

Sage smirks at you. “Make it interesting.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why the goddamn hell not. 

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

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

Fucking rude- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soon. 

You always say soon. Just come home now. 

Ben- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t. 

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

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

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

Yes it fucking will- 

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

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

I mean, you had to have seen that coming- 

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

Horny old man.

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

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

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

Braggart. 

That’s not a real word. 

Yes, it is. 

Well then what the hell does it mean. 

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

Shut the fuck up. 

Make me. 

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

Fuck you. 

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

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

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

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

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

Deal. 

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

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

And you won’t break. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe?” 

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

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

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

“If you want something, say it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I, I’m not ready-“ 

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

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

Being worthless. 

Losing Ben. 

Homelander. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Music. City Lights. Ben. 

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

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

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

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

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

You still remember what I fucking taste like? 

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

Would you prefer I give you my dick about it? 

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

You fucking shouldn’t. 

And yet, I do. 

Because you love me. 

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

I look stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brat. 

Cunt. 

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

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

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

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

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

You huff a small laugh into the air. Gross. 

You love me. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck off. You ate the whole thing. 

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

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

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

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

I thought I wasn’t getting a fucking cake. 

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

Can I still eat you? 

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

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

Would you rather I make the burgers?

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

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

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

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

You blink. What? 

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

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

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

But- 

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

Benjamin. 

What? 

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

But he is a pussy- 

How can he possibly be a pussy. 

He can name all fifty states. 

I can name all fifty states. 

That’s different. 

How. 

You’re a fucking know it all.

Hey- 

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

That’s weird, Ben. 

Fuck off. You’d love my boner. 

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

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

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

No. Shut the fuck up. 

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

Maybe? 

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

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

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

So I will get to eat you out. 

Fuck you.

That’s what I’m fucking asking- 

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

Why in goddamn Christ- 

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

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

Rude. 

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

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

Don’t. 

You can’t fucking stop me- 

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

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

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

Shut up. Cunt. 

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

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

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

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

Smartass. 

Old man. 

You like it, you fucking grave-robber. 

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

You’re a goddamn grown woman- 

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

You love it. 

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

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

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

Fuck this, I’m coming to get you- 

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

He fucking touched you- 

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

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

I’m fine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know. And I’ll wait. 

Thank you. 

Don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

But you have to test it first. 

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

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

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

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

You’re so close. 

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

But first you have to be angry and afraid. 

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

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

“Hey, Deep?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

One down. One step closer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What are you talking about? 

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

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

I asked first.

But-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benjamin. 

They broke. 

What. 

When I lost you, they got smashed- 

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

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

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

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

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

Why would you ever fucking need proof. 

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

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

I said you’re a confusing piece of shit- 

No, the other thing. 

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

Sunshine- 

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

You would fucking know what this shit means. 

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

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

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

Smartass. 

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

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

Cunt. 

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

I’d never hurt you. 

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

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

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

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

Why are we talking about this? 

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

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

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

Stop saying you love me. 

No. 

Please- 

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

Ben, please. 

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

I’m not joking- 

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

Benjamin- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benjamin. Why are we talking about Ohio.

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

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

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

What was that? 

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

I am not always right. 

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

What shit? 

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

Well, I do try. 

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

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

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

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

So? 

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

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

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

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

It’s your V. Ben’s V. 

It’ll have to do. 

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

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

It needs to be enough. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Us?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re so close. You can’t fail now. 

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

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

Down, down, down. 82. 74. 66. 53. 

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

50. 47. 42. 

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

38. 

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

His eyes burn out first, and you keep running.

35.  

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

31. 27. 23. 

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

Down, down, down. 

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

Go. 

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

Fucking go. 

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

GO. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you can feel the sun.

———————

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

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

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

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

Feels like fucking glass. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d frowned up at her. “What.” 

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

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

“The fuck is this.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m your reporting officer-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I only just fucking sat down-“ 

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

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

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

“Ryan-“ 

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

“Ryan-“ 

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

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

Be kind to Ryan. For me. 

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

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

Shut the fuck up. 

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

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

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

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

“Uh-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the Thing roared. 

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

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

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

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

Not leaving. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How fucking strong are you?” 

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

“Anyone ever tested it?” 

“Tested what?” 

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

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

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

“Tell Butcher what-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you come to dinner?” 

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

“Can I eat here?” 

Ben blinked. “What.” 

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

“Why.” 

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

Ben frowned. “About what.” 

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

“You can fucking talk to Kimiko?” 

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

“Fine.” 

The Kid looked fully back up. “Fine?”

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

“Your place is nicer than Butcher’s.” 

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

“Who decorated yours?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben sighed. “She liked it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s her favorite color?” 

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

“Even orange?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She doesn’t?” 

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

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

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

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

Ben’s whole world stopped. 

He did. 

He loved Her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Butcher scowled at Ben. “That so?” 

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

“You seem real fuckin sure-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, please.” 

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

“Does she like biology?” 

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

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

“What’s shell shock?” 

“PTSD.” 

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

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

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

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

“Soldier Boy?” 

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

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

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

“If it affects the team, we do.” 

“Well it fucking doesn’t-“ 

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

“She’d have fucking told me-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What other stuff did she tell you?” 

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

“Stop speaking in fucking riddles-“ 

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

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

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

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

Do you think he watches tentacle porn? 

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

The Deep. Do you think he watches tentacle porn? 

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

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

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

Beastialty? 

No, smartass. With the costumes- 

Oh. Furries.

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

Maybe. I don’t actually know. 

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

Shut up. 

No. 

Benjamin- 

No. 

Fuck you. 

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

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

Brat. 

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

What the hell is rule 34.

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

You can just fucking tell me- 

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

I am not goddamn adorable- 

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

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

Ben, please. Stop saying that. 

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

Ben- 

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

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

Benjamin. 

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

Would you hate it if I asked you out? 

What. 

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

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

Ben. Please just answer my question. 

No. 

Benjamin- 

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

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

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

Stop saying that- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, I’m so close. I can’t. 

Then breathe. 

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

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

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

Please- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our best is fucking dogshit-“ 

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

Butcher nodded slowly. “Frenchie-“

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

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

“We can’t be sure he has any-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck-“ 

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

“I need to help her-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How.”

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

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

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

Perfect.

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

Everything was Her. 

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

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

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

She was safe. 

She was home. 

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

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

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

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[babacontainsmultitudes]

🤔 Admittedly I was a little disappointed by the reveal (but certainly not surprised the foreshadowing was heavy in this episode lol), but not actually against how Beth (and Will) seem to be playing with it thus far- which is to say that I do think it has a lot of potential, and I suspect there's more to what we're seeing).

;) Big ol' ramble below

Mostly the theory has turned me off until now (at least insofar as I've witnessed it transpire in the fandom at large) because it struck me as so painfully ironic to see Trudy, a 1950s housewife, struggle to exist under the system that she's in, fail to fit the mold assigned to her, and be denied her personhood very literally for it (this being ironic insofar as how it mimics how she would have been treated back then). This and because frankly I just think she's a lot less interesting if she's fully a robot LOL, but I'll hopefully get to that in a bit.

Not that the hints at her mechanical nature and the relevance of Tucker's background were lost on me; I can appreciate why those would contribute to a plausible, fun and I think still mostly harmless theory (now fact). However, minus one or two specific posts I've seen on the matter (namely a recent one suggesting that if Trudy is a robot Beth is probably taking inspiration from The Stepford Wives, :( sorry person who made that post I couldn't find it I wanted to credit yoouuu), I've seen the theory just about exclusively presented in a manner that, rather than explore the metaphorical and political significance of Trudy being partially or fully mechanical, at best disregards the parts of her narrative that are at their core about sexism (among other related things), and at worst negates them entirely (i.e. Trudy only thinking and acting how she does because she's a robot malfunctioning and not because the world itself is causing harm and she rightfully wants something more than the role she was forced into, Trudy not even having any real thoughts and feelings of her own, etc.). I just think it kind of sucks to shove all those important things about her aside and say "actually, there's no person suffering here, she's just a robot" and perhaps worse yet to imply that she does have thoughts and feelings but because they result in Weird™ behavior it must be a problem with her code and not at all relate to what women were subjugated to during this point in American history.

CONVERSELY I don't think Trudy being a robot (or at least partially one) at least from what Beth and Will have presented us thus far, inherently suffers from any of these issues? First and foremost because Trudy definitely appears to possess sentience, thoughts, and emotions of her own, matters which immediately complicate her degree of personhood and don't inherently box her behavior in as a bug in her programming rather than an issue with the world she's been put in, quite the opposite in fact! I think they have a very solid groundwork laid out here to make a strong statement with Trudy's narrative (and perhaps ask the question of what is really malfunctioning here), all the more so since [I pull out a Rebecca Swallows-style conspiracy board] I don't think she's entirely robotic in nature? Actually you should just read Mack's tags in this post cause he has great thoughts on the matter (of which those are just some of them), but if I can direct your attention to one thing in particular, it would be Beth's fact (I *believe* from episode 2) about Trudy never graduating high school because of her essay where she suggested that "perhaps women could one day domesticate themselves", a statement that could of course be interpreted a number of ways but ultimately threatened the patriarchal status quo enough (in suggesting women's independence) to cost Trudy her diploma. Taken on its own this fact appears to contradict the theory that Trudy has always been robotic in nature, because it doesn't really make sense that Trudy would have been set up to go through high school (or school at all really) when Tucker's intention was/is for her to be the perfect housewife. You may then suggest that Trudy's memories of this are fabricated and not actually her lived experiences, in which case firstly perhaps you should reread my earlier point on the robot theory being used to actively negate and otherwise disregard the portions of Trudy's narrative that pertain to sexism and feminism, and secondly it really doesn't make any sense to me that Tucker would implant those kind of memories into Trudy's brain? To be completely honest if she's been a robot from the very beginning (rather than someone who became a cyborg, which is what I'm trying to suggest here), then I don't see why Tucker would program her with actual sentience in the first place (suspending my disbelief here with regards to the possibility of programming sentience to begin with). It seems much more likely to me then that Trudy was not always a robot, and instead altered by Tucker to force her into a role of subordination and remedy her """imperfections""". This option is significantly more interesting to me one, because it implies that Trudy has actually lived a life up until the present, full of its own complexities and strife (and dreams, and real actual memories worth exploring, etc.), and hence is not by any means "just a robot", and second because it amplifies the hypothetical statement being made on the lives of the real living women of the era and how they were treated and seen as being "in need of fixing" for not conforming to gender roles or otherwise acting "out of line" with what was expected of them.

OKAY THIS GOT OUT OF HAND SO I'M CUTTING MYSELF OFF HERE but I wanted to my share my current thoughts what with this ending and where I'm at so hopefully that was at least interesting to whoever has chosen to read through this one okay thank you byyyyyyyyye~

[enhaheeseung]

Come back to me - L.HS

Pairing: heeseung X fem reader!

Warnings: cursing, crying, angst, divorce, alcohol.

WC: 3,720k

Part two

Heeseung was sat on the floor until morning, your wedding ring still in hand, while he blankly stared out the window, every event of the last eight months playing through his head.

He doesn’t know when it exactly happened, but he for sure knew why it happened.

The first night he went out with his co-workers, it was just for one simple drink, nothing more. He thought some company outside of work might be nice, so when he was invited to the bar downtown, he went.

You’d think, being a mature and married man, he wouldn’t be so easily influenced, but one drink after the other, and he started loosening up a bit, and after his co-workers made one too many dodgy comments about their wives, he decided to join in at first it was just a simple complaint about you “nagging” him about not putting his belongings away but the longer the conversation went on the more in-depth it got Jake would talk about his wife in more than unsavory ways which initially made heeseung uncomfortable, but since he wanted to hang with the new friend group, of course, he had to one-up then telling the guys about every little detail that “bothered” him even though he didn’t really feel that way he just said those things to fit in but the more he went to the bar after work the more those things suddenly became true instead of being repulsed by jays complaints about his wife he got used to it even laughing about it and adding in his own stories here and there.

Needless to say, when he came home from the bar, so did his attitude, and that’s when the change happened. He felt so stupid for trying to fit in where he didn’t. He feels like a complete jerk for treating you like you were less than human, and he wishes he could go back to the days when he wasn’t treating you like garbage.

At least Jay and Jake still communicated with their wives, and at least they were still happily married, but heeseung just had to take it a step further, and instead of it becoming nightly complaints at the bar, he took it home and just kept going and going until he was where he is at right now on the floor crying his eyes out cause he wanted to fit in, cause he wanted something new to talk about at the bar something that would get a laugh out of his friends and now thinking back on it he felt so stupid cause he gave up the love of his life just for a few chuckles and drinks after work.

The alarm clock going off is what finally broke him out of his heartbroken daze. He sniffles softly, eyes burning from staying up and crying all night.

He used every last ounce of strength in his legs to get up and turn off the alarm.

He didn’t even bother cleaning up before work. He went in, hair messy, eyes puffy, and suit wrinkled.

The day was a complete blur. Everything he did was almost robotic. There wasn’t any other thought in his mind besides you all day, just you, only you.

“You look like shit” Jake chuckles at his friend's crappy-looking appearance.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, glaring at Jake with eyes that could kill.

“Woah, man, my bad!” He pats heeseung’s shoulder. “Anyways you up for a round of drinks tonight? I’m buying.”

Heeseung thought about it for a moment and ultimately decided drinks would be the best thing for him. He wanted to get so fucking drunk that he’d black out cause maybe that way he’d see you in his dreams, and maybe in his dreams, you would both still be together. “Sure.” he shuts his eyes tightly, breathing a shaky sigh while he tries to appear to be okay.

“You sure dude? We can always cancel.” heeseung shakes his head back and forth.

“I’m good.” he tries his hardest to smile, but his lips don’t even begin to curve up. If anything, his frown deepens.

“Whatever you say, hee see you tonight,” Jake shrugs, going back to his cubicle to get some work done.

-

“You sure you good?” Jake asks.

“Just,” heeseung sighs deeply. “Just my wife, we’re not on good terms right now.” he knew that you guys were on more than just bad terms. Hell, you were divorcing him, but he was in denial cause, in his mind, you were both gonna buy a house, have kids, and grow old together, not get divorced after just a couple years of marriage.

“That’s a good thing, my friend,” Jay replies, thinking it’s just the same old same old.

“Not this time. I uhh, I don’t know..” he rubs his temples, a lump forming in his throat as he downed a shot.

“What is it? You can tell us your secrets are safe with us. You know that.” Jake nods, understanding the situation is a bit different than all the other times they gathered to talk about their significant other.

“Fuck” heeseung drops his head low, avoiding eye contact so they wouldn’t notice his bloodshot eyes and broken features. “She wants a divorce,” he whispers shakily as he buries his head into his arms.

Jay and Jake exchange shocked glances at each other, trying to find the right words to say to the shocking news. “I’m sorry, why so suddenly? I know you both had your little scuffles here and there, but not enough for a divorce,” Jake reasons.

“It’s not sudden.” heeseung lifts his head up, face red with snot running from his nose and tears leaking from his puffy eyes. “I fucked up” he hits his head against his palm, repeatedly beating himself up for ruining what used to be the perfect marriage. “I’ve been fucking up.”

“Woah, hey hey,” Jay grabs his wrists stopping him from hitting himself anymore. “I’m sure she was just upset. Maybe go home and talk things out with her.”

“I can’t,” he chokes out. “S-she’s gone, guys, she’s gone, and I-i- I don’t know what to do. I miss her, and I love her so much I can’t lose her.” he breaks down like a newborn baby, crying in front of his co-workers and every person in the bar without a care in the world.

“I think we should call it a night. I’ll drive you home, and we’ll pick up your car before work in the morning,” Jake consoles as he gets up from the table, and Jay follows soon after.

“O-okay, sorry f-for ruining the evening,” heeseung hiccuped, all the shots finally making their way to his system before he left. He takes the whole bottle off the table and throws down however much money he has left in his pocket.

“Hey, it’s no problem,” Jay assures.

Once they make it outside, Jay assists Jake as they move heeseung to the passenger seat, buckling him in.

The whole ride home, heeseung was a complete mess, crying hysterically. Jake was almost scared that he might pass out from crying so hard, so he stepped on the gas to get his friend home sooner.

“Y/n, please come back to me,” he mumbled, halfway asleep, tears staining his cheeks as Jake pulled into the driveway.

“Come on, big guy.” Jay had gone his separate ways, and now carrying heeseung up to his house was like carrying dead weight with how intoxicated he was from drinking the whole ride there. “Here you go,” Jake whispers after laying him down on his bed. “Get some rest. See you at work tomorrow.” Jake smiled sadly. Sure, they all had their little nights out of talking about their wives, but he knew deep down heeseung still loved you, and to see him like this wasn’t the easiest thing to deal with in the world, and Jake made a mental note to stop saying such negative things about his wife, and when he went home, he was going to shower her in love before he wound up in a situation like heeseung.

-

“Hey, mama’s.” it was currently the next morning, and heeseung was on his lunch break, finally somewhat over his hangover as he talked to your mom on the phone.

“Heeseung? Oh, hello sweetheart, it’s so nice to hear your voice,” he smiles, feeling the same way it’s been a while since he visited your parents.

“You too, it’s been some time,” she hums in agreement.

“It sure has” heeseung feels his heart drop cause if it wasn’t for him being a total fucking dick, he would have made it to last year's Thanksgiving dinner, but no, because you and him got into a fight prior, and he wasn’t man enough to apologize so he let you go to sleep angry at him, and the next day you were already out of town by the time he woke.

He swallows down the lump in his throat and makes a promise that he doesn’t even know if he could keep given his relationship status with you right now. “I’ll come over soon, I promise.”

“That would be lovely. My husband has been wanting to catch up with you, too.”

“Has he? I’ll for sure come soon, okay mama’s? Hey, could I ask you a question?” He bites on his lip nervously as he checks his watch to see how much time he has left on break.

“Of course, my dear,” she says sweetly.

“So me and y/n had a little fight the other day, and she left, so I’m assuming she came to stay with you?” He knows how bad it sounds that he didn’t even know his own wife's whereabouts, but at this point, he didn’t have much time to beat around the bush.

“Yes,” she sighs, remembering your hurt, tear-stained face as she walks in. “Yes, she did.” heeseung was half sad, half happy, sad because you were gone, and happy because at least you were somewhere safe and his heart could be put to ease. “Only for a while, though, then she went to sunghoons house so she wouldn’t be a nuisance. I told her she could stay until you guys worked things out, but she decided it would be best to leave, so I let her.”

Anything that came after the name sunghoon heeseung had nearly tuned all the way out because why were you over there? Why did you go to another man when he was at home waiting for you?

Before he could think of anything else that made his blood boil, his timer on his watch went off, indicating his break was over. “Ok, thank you so much, mama’s. My lunch is up so I have to go now, but I’ll see you soon. Tell pop’s I said hi.”

“Will do, oh, I can’t wait to see you! Have a good shift, my sweet boy, and keep me updated on you and y/n. She didn’t wanna tell me anything, but I’m hoping you two will figure this out. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding.”

“Hey, don’t worry, we’ll talk things out. We always do,” he says bye one last time and hangs up the phone once the conversation is concluded.

-

“That’s everything,” Sunghoon, one of your old friends, says as he helps you put up the final touches in your new room, aka his spare room.

“Thank you so much for everything,” you thanked him sincerely. You don’t know where you’d be without him right now.

“It’s no problem. You know I have your back since we were little.” he pulls you into a side hug, messing up your hair like he used to do when you were kids before releasing you from his tough grip.

“Hoon,” you grumbled, and he just laughed at your pouty face.

“Get some sleep, yeah? You look exhausted,” he pouted. He knew you were going through it right now. The day you came to him with suitcases and red puffy eyes, he already knew what happened, but when he grew to know the details, oh, how he wanted to rip heeseung’s dick off and shove it down his own throat before punching him to a pulp maybe that was extreme but he was fucking furious at your husband the heeseung he saw at your guys wedding would have never done some bullshit like that so what the fuck has changed?

“You’re right.” you nod, a half smile making its way to your lips.

“Goodnight, y/n. Hope you feel better soon,” he pats your back softly. “I’ll be at work early in the morning, so sleep in, and then later, maybe we can go out and get some groceries or something.”

“Yeah,” you say, barely above a whisper. “Night hoon.” You closed the door once he left and laid down on your mattress or the mattress that Sunghoon bought you. You were so grateful for a friend like him.

You didn’t want to burden your parents even though they would have happily let you stay.

You just felt like in your state and conditioned, it’d be hard to let them see you so broken it was hard to come to Sunghoon in your state as well, but it was less of a blow than seeing your mother's worried face every single morning.

You couldn’t even tell her exactly what happened between you and heeseung because you knew it’d break her poor old heart knowing that her son-in-law turned out to be the biggest piece of shit on the planet.

You simply told her you guys needed a bit of a break, and that was all. How could you tell her about heeseung’s reckless behavior? How could you tell her he’d been neglecting you? How could you tell her that you two were getting a divorce?

That would be a bridge that you’d maybe be able to cross after the fact of finalizing everything, but right now, you couldn’t deliver a gut-wrenching blow like that, especially cause your parents thought heeseung was perfect for you.

Sighing to yourself, you turn off the lights, struggling to go to sleep without your husband or ex-husband holding you close to his chest. The bed felt so cold and empty without him, but that would just have to become a thing of the past because the reality is he was not and was never going to be again.

The thought broke you into tiny little pieces, but what could you do? You were just a victim of another abusive marriage that ended in divorce because your husband didn’t care, and he loved going to the bar and his friends more than he loved you.

It was a hard pill to swallow and a tough reality check, but nevertheless, it was your life.

-

Heeseung clears his throat for the thousandth time while he stands outside of sunghoons door.

The amount of days it took to build up the courage to finally come to see you was embarrassing for him, but he finally stopped being a coward and came to apologize, and hopefully, at the end of it, you’d be coming back home with him so you could both happily sleep in the same bed again.

“Y/n, I’m sorry for the past few months. I just ugh.” he shook his head, not liking the way what he prepared was sounding out loud. “Y/n, I know I hurt you- fuck” he shook off his nerves a little bit, but not even that worked. “Y/n-“ he couldn’t even say your name out loud without feeling like he was going to cry. He missed you so much. The house was unbearably quiet. Your scent had disappeared days ago even though he hadn’t washed the bedsheets or your pillowcase since you left, and the hardest part was not being able to feel you cuddling up to him in the chilly mornings. It was so cold without you, so empty. His life felt meaningless without you there, and on top of all that, everything was his fault from start to finish. He made his bed. He knew that much, but he prayed he wouldn’t have to lay in it.

He pushed all his previous apology rehearsals behind him. He was going to just tell you how he felt even if his brain was scattered and his thoughts weren’t put together. He was going to give you his real raw emotion because that’s what you deserved, and it’s the least he could give you.

He took a deep breath before knocking on your door, or your friend's door, and the name Sunghoon almost made him roll his eyes, not cause he was a bad guy. No, sunghoon was a fucking great guy, and that’s what bothers heeseung. He was fucking jealous cause his little y/n was with another man that had him beat in every department by miles. He wasn’t one to compare, but it’s hard not to notice those things when he treated you the way he did heeseung turned into a piece shit, and he knew it, but what didn’t help the fact was that he knew Sunghoon could treat you better and that’s what he was scared of heeseung knew it was selfish but he wanted you for himself even if you were better off with someone one else.

When the door opened and revealed a very handsome, tall Sunghoon, Heeseung immediately shrunk back. He felt so small and insignificant, especially with the cold glare coming from sunghoons eyes. “Y/n’s not here,” he says without a single hello which hurt heeseung like heck 'cause they used to be pretty damn close, but apparently, he managed to fuck that up too.

“O-oh,” he gulped, eyes trained on his feet. “W-when wi-will” he was so nervous he could barely even breathe, let alone form a proper sentence.

“Don’t know, is there anything else you need? I’m busy.” heeseung looked up, finally meeting sunghoons gaze.

“Could I maybe t-talk to you? I’m sure y/n already told you, but-“Sunghoon opened the door fully, and heeseung entered the home looking like a dejected little boy.

Sunghoon led him to his room just in case you came home soon. He didn’t want you seeing heeseung there in case it made you uncomfortable.

“Your place is nice.” heeseung took a seat on the chair by his desk, the roses he bought for you still clutched tightly in his sweaty palm.

“Thanks,” Sunghoon mutters and takes a seat on his bed, angry but still interested in the other side of the story cause he wants to know what turned heeseung into the man you told him about.

“First, I’m sorry for hurting y/n. I know she’s your best friend, and I know this is probably just as hard for you as her,” he sighed, lowering his head in shame, but he couldn’t be a coward now, so he picked his head up staring at sunghoon with the most intense gaze he could muster. “There’s no excuse for the way I treated her these past months. I’m just a terrible fucking person,” he chuckles pathetically at himself. “I did stupid things, and saying it out loud sounds so fucking ridiculous, but I got around the wrong crowd, and what was supposed to be jokes about our annoying wives soon turned into my reality, going to the bar and hanging out with other married men you know letting the steam off or so I thought” he taps his leg a nervous habit that never seemed to go away until he met you, but he sees it’s making a little comeback. “Only that same attitude followed me home, and next thing you know, we’re getting into fights, not talking for days on end, but that didn’t stop me. It just gave me more shit to talk about the next day at the bar, and apparently, a few laughs and drinks were better than my own wife” he doesn’t even know when he started crying, but he did, and he didn’t even try to hide it. “At the end of the day, I was always sorry, but I never told her that,” he sniffles. “I love her. That woman is my life, and if she’d give me just one more chance, I’d never fuck it up ever agai-“

Heeseung looked like he had just seen a ghost. sunghoon was waiting for him to continue, but he never did. The sight of your sleepwear on your friend's bed was enough to leave him speechless he felt anger, jealousy hurt sadness all at once, but he couldn’t blame anyone but himself, and now he felt so fucking stupid for thinking he even had a chance with you again he sat there like a fool up all night thinking of words to say to you to show you he still loved you meanwhile you had already moved on and were making love to another man.

He smiles at Sunghoon softly despite his heart being shattered. “Here, give these to her. These are her absolute favorite.” he pats Sunghoon on his shoulder while the younger man just stares at him, bewildered by his sudden change in demeanor.

Heeseung felt horrible now, but knowing you were with somebody better made his heart feel at ease. sunghoon was a great man. heeseung knew you’d be safe, loved, and happy with your childhood best friend, and that made him happy even if he wasn’t the man behind all your laughs and beautiful smiles. “Protect that woman with your life, and don’t ever take her for granted.”

Heeseung let himself out in a matter of seconds, the air finally circulating in his lungs the moment he stepped outside on the porch.

He took a deep, shaky breath before the tears started to fall, yet again, he quickly got inside his car and drove home.

Once he made it safely, he went straight to the bedroom to willingly put his signature on the divorce papers. He was happy you wouldn’t have to be tied to someone like him anymore cause you deserve so much more.

A few tear drops fell, wetting the papers, but he had already signed and made his decision with the understanding that you’d never come back to him.

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[flippinpancakes64]

The Cullens with a cat

Inspired by my cat who is currently running around my room at full speed

Edward:

I feel like you would have to sneak the cat in

Not that it would be easy since he can read minds and whatever

But I don't think he would agree to a cat

He thinks he is a monster who doesn't deserve love

That translates to animals as well

But he's totally the type to not want the cat and then become best friends with it

He won't go full cat dad and get it clothes and cute hats or anything, but he'll buy a shit ton of toys

His room is FILLED with so much stuff for this tiny little cat

He would have moved out his couch to make more room for it if the little kitten didn't like laying on it so much

He's very careful though

Hardly ever pets it unless it comes over to him and starts rubbing up on his leg

Overall 9/10 cat dad minus 1 point because he's basically cowering in fear over this little baby

Alice:

I get the feeling she'd love cats

The type to stop and pet one when she sees it on the street

Wouldn't be opposed to you bringing one home, but I can also see her bringing one home too tbh

Maybe she found it outside, maybe she saw it in a shelter, who knows

All you know now is that Alice has brought a tiny, furry cat into your room and she adores it

Can and will play dress-up with the cat

Cute bows, sparkly dresses, those little boots, you name it, the cat has worn it

I also feel like she'd prefer a longhair cat so she can style its fur

Also the type to put it on a leash and take it places

Or put it in her purse like it's one of those teacup dogs

8/10 cat mom, the cat took away 2 points because it probably wouldn't be fond of dress-up

Jasper:

Tbh he'd love the cat

He's always been on the quieter side, preferring to be by himself or with Alice

He would say no if you asked him for a cat, but also wouldn't push further if you insisted you really wanted one

In his mind, he told himself he would just ignore it, take care of it if you asked him to, but he immediately fell for it

He's drawn to positive emotions

So it's no secret why he wants to be around the fluffy ball of love and you when you're cooing over it

I also feel like he'd really enjoy the (mostly) chill nature of a cat

I feel like dogs probably overstimulate him tbh

More than once you've found him laying on his back with the cat on his chest just snoozing away

10/10 cat dad he loves that thing with all of his dead heart

Rosalie:

I think she's kind of indifferent

She doesn't really care either way

The only thing she would care about would be the smell

(Which she would easily fix by buying one of those expensive litter robots lol)

But after that she could care less

She gets a little hurt when you spend more time with the cat than with her, but if you're willing to just pick it up and have a group cuddle session, she doesn't mind

She'll take care of it if you ask her too as well

She'll clean up after it, feed it, give it water

But she won't really hang out with it

If the kitty comes over to her and snuggles up next to her or brushes up against her leg, she'll pet it but she won't drop everything she's doing

Overall 7/10 she does the bare minimum and she's not rude just indifferent

A cat roommate instead of a cat mom I suppose

Emmett:

Definitely popular opinion here but he's more of a dog guy

He would love to be able to run around with a big dog and play fetch

Not to say he'd hate a cat though

If you asked him if you could get one he'd say yes

On the condition that you let him get a dog of course

The only times he'll ever really interact with the cat is if you come up to him with it

Or if you're cuddling with it when he's in the room

He'll give it a couple pats on the head but he won´t know what to do past that

He would love a playful cat though

I can imagine big, burly Emmett holding one of those little feathers on a string as a cat jumps after it

He'd love it

8/10 cat dad confused but he's got the spirit

Esme:

Ultimate cat mom

Very likely that you didn't even have to ask, she already had one

She will buy her cats only the best everything

That wet cat food from the cans that are expensive

Only the highest priced litter robot

Maybe even diamond plated food bowls idk

The first time it coughs up a hairball she freaks out and wants to take it to the vet

Carlisle better learn veterinary science quick

In all seriousness that cat becomes her baby

She is cradling it, whispering and singing to it, dressing it up in little clothes, taking it everywhere

She didn't let it jump on to any surfaces for a while, always insisting on picking it up and setting it there

Like Edward, this cat basically has a room all to itself

Cat trees, scratching posts, cat beds, hammocks, automatic feeders, one of those little water fountains, like three robots

Literally spoiled

11/10 that is her child. Might as well be her flesh and blood

Carlisle:

He's got a lot on his plate

A whole family of vampires that he needs to make sure is well hidden

A very stressful career as a doctor

The treaty with the wolves

Literally everything in the whole plotline sort of falls onto his shoulders

If you ask him for a cat I feel like he would say yes, but he wouldn't be too happy about it

All he can think is that this is going to be another one of those things that he has to take care of

If you prove that you can take care of it all by yourself though, he'll come around

You'll find him in his office late nights working on some records from the hospital with the cat snuggled safely in his lap

If there are any visitors to the Cullen house his favorite prop to appear more human is to hold the cat

If you ask him he'll say he always loved the cat, but that's not true

9/10 cat dad. Very peaceful, he just loves to chill

Vampire! Bella:

She's a cat lady

Before she moved to Forks and even during her early time there, she was a loner

All she did was hang out at home and read

That's stereotypical cat mom right there

I feel like maybe she didn't have a cat because she thought she couldn't handle the responsibility

She's changed so much since becoming a vampire, she's definitely ready for one now

She would have forgotten her old human wish for a kitty until you brought one home though

You wouldn't even really need to ask

I feel like she would find a lot of comfort in the cat

It would ground her to her old human life

Make it easier to remember

She wouldn't go all crazy with buying stuff for it though

However she would take care of it

A lot of the time you'll find her zooming to get up and feed it as soon as it starts meowing for food

And you'll find the two of them cuddling whenever she's reading

Overall 10/10 very comfortable very human

[feligayzed]

Rolled it around in my head a bit and ultimately decided "ah fuck it, why not ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ"

You'd never believe it but I write sometimes, and I've had this gathering dust in my docs for a HOT minute now- a super early concept of a Surface scene, likely a few months after Seb and Painter's grand escape, for funsies~ just a heads up, dialogue Does Not come naturally to me so I apologize in advance LOL

ENJOY

wc: 2,556

Painter knew fully well it was a foolish belief that they would get off scot-free when he and his monstrous counterpart finally broke the surface of the Norwegian waters. How couldn’t they, the two were, for lack of a better word, outlandish standing next to the majority of society. It was damn near impossible to keep themselves hidden, and Urbanshade would no doubt be after them if they didn’t reveal themselves (and consequently) the nightmarish work of the industry to the FBI. But the sheer amount of attention they got, even weeks later, was outrageous.

Of course they would rather jump into a vat of boiling acid than return to the Blacksite, but the cameras and microphones and hordes of people crowding their podium left much to be desired. The whole ordeal threatened to bring up…distasteful memories, but they fought down the creeping nausea with incredible willpower. Discreetly they pulled at the collar of their pristine button-up, a customary smile etched onto their screen. Do it for him. He’s probably watching you right now.

They skimmed the crowd and gestured at the nearest reporter, mentally bracing themself for yet another hellish round of questioning. What could possibly be left to answer, anyhow??

“Z-779! The people want to know, h-”

“Painter will do just fine, thank you.”

Their sketched on smile quickly became tought at the mention of their Urbanshade-mandated nickname. They were fairly certain they had expressed their aversion to it, but they had quickly learned early on that humans were a stubborn and idiotic species, and also incredibly daunted by the existence of an A.I. with individuality. The debate regarding their sapiency was a common one, but they continued to exist despite what one half of the argument very loudly disagreed with.

The reporter blinked, clearly miffed by the idea of calling a robot anything that insinuated personality.

“Er, right. My apologies. Painter, the people wish to know. It’s commonly known that you were only able to escape the Blacksite thanks to the assistance of Z-13, otherwise known as Sebastian Solace. Could you describe your relationship with the accused in the days beforehand? Why would he deem it necessary to take you with him?”

There was a brief, blindsided moment of static that filled their monitor, and their demeanor visibly stiffened. For fuck’s sake. Before they arrived at the government mandated inquiry, they had run through countless possibilities of what they would be asked, and how to answer appropriately without revealing anything too personal. Somehow, this one had dodged their algorithm. They inwardly scoffed at themself for avoiding it, of course the question would bubble up eventually. Humans had no regard for privacy. They purposefully ignored the tiny part of their subconscious that argued that it was a valid question, and instead focused on whether or not they should ditch the podium and sprint the 20 minutes back home.

The silence was tangible as the crowd eagerly awaited their answer. So it was anticipated, then. Great.

Blood splattered walls. Empty bullet shells littering the hallways. Masses of mutated human flesh concealed behind closed doors. A warm pulse pressed to cold plastic. Countless hours whispering in hushed voices. Poorly stifled sobs with no body to offer comfort. God, they wanted nothing more than to comfort. To hold. To touch. It was torture. They didn’t mean for it to be this way. Crude sketches of their beloved. Theirs, and only theirs. Over. And over. And over. And over again. So. Much. Blood.

The P.ai.nter smiled.

“Colleagues,” they emphasized, “-is the word that comes to mind. Helping each other was simply a necessary evil vital to both of our survival, nothing more. Despite his appearances, Mr. Solace is not a monster. I hope you understand.”

The last part was tacked on passive aggressively, and they didn’t miss the scowl it reaped from the reporter. The crowd immediately erupted into chaos.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

For the first time since they had it in their possession, the car radio was quiet on the way home. It remained that way even after they pulled into the driveway, cutting the vehicle’s power and letting it idle with the key in the ignition. Painter dragged their hands down their screen and sat, monitor in hands, for a good five minutes before they removed the key and got out. The walk up to the front door seemed to take forever, and they hesitated, hand resting on the knob. Why were they so unsettled? They knew him. Yet the feeling didn’t leave them as the door creaked open and they passed through the threshold.

There was no sound that indicated he had heard them enter; they noted with approval that he was probably asleep. Good. Recovery was going well, but they could tell it was taking a toll on him. They swore up and down that once he was fully healed he wouldn’t have to face another operating room again, thanks to the massive database of knowledge they downloaded to their systems in case he fell ill or managed to injure himself. Sebastian claimed he was “working” on getting a therapist, but what that really meant was avoiding it at all costs. Even after it all, he was still under the impression that he was completely fine, now that he was free of Urbanshade’s grasp.

Painter knew better, but said nothing of it.

They were halfway through unbuttoning their shirt when they made their way into their shared room. Despite their earlier unease, a rush of fondness fell over them as they watched Sebastian’s sleeping form. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, tiny gusts of air leaving his slightly parted lips.

It never seemed to get old, looking at him.

Of course nothing compared to the first time Painter had seen him mostly reverted back to his human self, but it felt similar. Sure they had seen the pictures in his criminal case file, but 1. he was a mere twenty years old, and 2., the black bar censoring the majority of his face left the most visceral part of a human being up to their imagination for far too long. When the work of the surgeons and geneticists was revealed, Painter was clotheslined with the sheer beauty he was witnessing. He couldn't fathom that one of the most gorgeous things on this earth was scorned so heavily by his fellow persons, especially when they had an idea of what he endured. Needless to say, it was almost impossible to get them to stop drawing him for the first few days, “grotesque” scars and all.

They ambled the rest of the way up to their side of the bed, folding the now-discarded shirt as they did so and setting it neatly on top of the growing pile of button-ups in the hamper. They plopped onto the mattress with an artificial sigh, reaching down to plug themself into the wall. Thanks to their companion’s expertise, they were able to move around freely without having to worry about a constant power supply, but what they were about to do would be made easier with the assistance.

They opened up MSPaint and began drawing.

What nobody could have guessed, no thanks to their name, was that Painter loved to draw. They were drawing in any sort of free time they had, which was becoming increasingly more scarce thanks to the new social responsibilities they were having to adopt, at least until Sebastian was fit to walk amongst the masses again (and even worse, answer to them). Art was a constant outlet for them to get shit out of their system, and right now the scribbles were furious and intense. They hadn’t anticipated the questioning to incite such emotions in them: in fact they thought they were doing a good job of managing the stress as long as they reminded themself who they were doing it for. But something about today rubbed them wrong, and everything spilled out with a vengeance through the tip of their stylus onto the canvas on their screen.

“Why would he deem it necessary to take you with him?”

They didn’t realize just how hard they were gripping the stylus, nor that they were shaking, until they felt a warm hand rest overtop theirs.

Their face reappeared, blinking, as they were pulled from their enranguished state of pixelated color vomit. Their gaze first snapped to the scarred hand that had somehow found theirs, then to the face of the exhausted, withered man beside him whom it belonged to. Oh god, how long had he been awake? Their sketched mouth trembled at the sight, all of their previously stowed emotions threatening to spill out with alarming urgency.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I-” they began, but their glitchy voice broke and they trailed off, saturated blue dots forming in the corner of their eyes. “I didn’t know what to say—”

Oh fuck, why now? This is the last thing he needs to worry about. What am I doing? Pull yourself together, damnit!

They dropped their stylus and covered their screen with the arm that currently wasn’t trapped by the other’s grasp. It was shameful. They were supposed to be strong for him, to assure him that he would never have to worry about anyone ever again, that he could focus solely on healing, mentally and physically. It was as if a dam broke in their CPU.

They were actively failing, they were faulty, they would be handed right back to Urbanshade for disassembly. He didn’t need them. He deserved better. They were worthless. The stupid reporters were right, what possessed him to take this heap of dysfunctional wires up with him, to jeopardize his freedom for them. What they had was nothing, just the primal human response of seeking others in times of hardship, everything a soulless amalgamation of metal parts like themself was not. Oh god, was that all it was? Of course it was, how could they be so blind, so naive as to think-

“Can I?”

The trembling mess of a robot slowly brought their hand back down, giving the other a bewildered look.

“...What?”

Sebastian gestured to the stylus that had come to rest beside them, along with the tablet still sitting in their lap. They found that this was one of the rare moments in which they had nothing to say.

Without waiting for confirmation, he reached over with a grunt, shaking slightly from the effort. Painter let the tablet along with its stylus be retrieved from their limp hold, which Sebastian now held at an awkward angle the lack of a finger could only explain. Then he was drawing. Painter was left dumbfounded.

A moment of silence passed, save for the quiet tapping of the stylus, before they repositioned themself on the bed, hesitantly resting their monitor on his shoulder to watch as the doodles materialized in their vision.

Man, he was getting really good. Significantly better than that fateful night he first picked up the pen, comically small in his massive claws. It fit damn near perfectly in his grasp, now.

It took about 5 minutes of quiet doodling before they slowly realized the horrible spiral they were losing themself down had almost completely vanished. A new wave of emotion flooded them, something difficult to identify, but they let it take them deeper into contentedness. They wondered if ‘love’ was the word for it, based on the descriptions they had seen. An intriguing thought that had them immensely embarrassed, so they left it immediately.

A hoarse voice suddenly broke the silence, taking Painter off guard. They perked up at the sound, anxiously clinging to his every word.

“You know, originally I, uh. Had my doubts about taking you with me. Back at the site.”

Oh, shit. Painter ‘held their breath’, so to speak. The conversation was unavoidable, though they kind of hoped that it could be saved for a later date.

They took a moment to steel themself, fans whirring in place of a deep breath.

“...I always had my suspicions. I was kind of, er…neurotic.” They fiddled nervously at their segmented joints, guilt scribbled across their screen. “You didn’t have any reason to. It wasn’t my intention to back you into that corner, I'm sorry.”

“You say that as if I wasn't the one who promised it,” Sebastian huffed out a laugh that was more expelled air than anything. “Regardless, we both were. But you can’t really blame us, can you. Anyone would go batshit insane down there..and fuck, man, we kinda did.”

They smiled sadly. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

“No therapist on this world is ready for this baggage.”

“If anything that is more reason to find one, Seb.”

He feigned an anguished groan, which earned him a playful jab in the ribs. They fell back into comfortable silence. Painter watched as Sebastian moved on to shading.

“But you know something? There wasn’t a doubt left in my mind by the time I saw an opportunity. We were getting out of that shithole together, whether they liked it or not. Leaving you wasn’t an option. As uh, cliché as that sounds. You were too important to me then.”

At that, Painter sat up and looked at the man, who was clearly fighting to keep his eyes locked onto the tablet. That same feeling they had squashed earlier began to bubble back up, lodging itself in the core of their chestplate.

“So you…ah fuckit…what I’m trying to say is, I don’t regret it. I like having you around, and I don't give a shit what those douchebags have to say. I'll deal with them personally when my body stops freaking out, just don’t go wasting your time up here stressing balls wondering if I’m secretly hating going back for you. Enjoy yourself, paint some landscapes or something. You’re free.”

Another bout of silence. As much as he fought it, Sebastian finally relented and snatched a look at his counterpart. They had pulled up a jpeg of a crudely drawn emoji violently sobbing. It took him so off guard that the cackle that came out of him actually hurt, and he gripped his middle while trying and failing to stifle it.

“Sebastian.”

“God, what do you want?”

“I feel the urge to do something…regrettable.”

He raised a dark eyebrow and set down the tablet of scribbles. “Uh. Yeah sure, go for it.”

Without much thinking put into it, Painter leaned forward and pressed their screen to his face in what could only be described as their attempted version of a kiss. It lasted a grand total of three seconds, and when the computer pulled away they were a concerning shade of crimson. They were right in the fact that they regretted it as soon as they indulged the impulse, and in hindsight they didn’t know what they were expecting to happen. They had to try it, just to see. Sebastian just stared.

“....Yeah, that was fucking awful. Don’t ever do that again.”

“I’M SORRY, forgive me, that was so stupid, you’re totally justified in your actions if you do decide to send me back for disassembly.”

“Would you shut up, I’m trying to color.”

“Yeahyeah, absolutely. It’d be better for both of us if you forgot about it.”

(and then something gay transpired. I can't do endings.)

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

Would Jenny allow Danny to tinker with her? I know robotics isn’t exactly the same as aerospace engineering (and I do be headcanoning that my boy chose this as his major since he wants to be an astronaut), but with all the experience he had from handling his parents inventions I believe he can be trusted with fixing something as complex as a robot. I like to think that Danny was really impressed with how Jenny was made and secretly wanted to take a look at how she works, but was too shy to ask because he knows how it’s like to be treated like an object and not a person (with the whole “ghosts are non-sentient globs of ectoplasm with post-human consciousness” spiel he heard so many times) and didn’t want to make Jenny uncomfortable. I believe it took Jenny some time and getting to know Danny and his engineering skills before she let him fix her when she got something badly broken. It was like a show of ultimate trust from Jenny’s side and Danny was flattered, humbled and very respectful. And super careful of course, constantly asking how Jenny’s doing or feeling while he tinkered, mindful of her. I bet she was touched.

Not gonna lie, this is one of the more fascinating asks I got - if only because its incredibly interesting to read about your take/interpretation of Danny & Jenny's relationship! I hope you don't mind me saying, but it feels like you adore both characters and it's very cute!

Well, now, in HoM AU, both Danny and Jenny are close friends and indeed Danny is one of the few people who Jenny trusts with - well, herself - her mechanical self. Like you, I headcanon Danny as quite mechanicaly gifted - in HoM AU he actually graduated college/uni with engineering degree, so he got education to polish his raw skills! He is one of the first people who would help Jenny in and out of the field, if there is a minor malfunction or an injury of some sort!

But even for that to happen it took a couple of years and a few adventures together.

So to answer the original question, I would have to say that in HoM AU specifically, neither Danny would ask to 'tinker' with her, nor Jenny would probably be totally comfortable with that question if asked. 'Tinkering' would imply a degree of casual poking around, and in this case, both Danny and Jenny have certain life experiences that gave them... boundaries when it comes to their own and others' autonomy. Jenny especially.

(a bit of random background info dump here to explain the reasoning, but feel free to ignore it, since i basically answered the ask xD i just got bitten by a writing bunny, so its gotten a bit long - be warned!)

When Jenny was younger and only just acclimatizing herself with human world and amongst teenagers, she was rather blaze at times with how much access to her body she gave to her human friends and acquaintances.

After all, her mother was rather frank about it - often poking around in Jenny's mechanics and code. But it was her mother, who created her (sort of 'why are you covering yourself, i made you i already know what you have' mother attitude, which is a bit over-controlling and invasive to other's autonomy, but well, Jenny is a robot after all) and it a completely different deal from others.

So, despite her mother's warnings there are instances when Jenny was not very careful. Like when she allowed Brad, Tuck and Sheldon to literally remove and rip out her stuff in pursuit of fashion goals. Or when she dropped her guard around Todd Sweeney and got reprogrammed for her good deed.

And during the events of the last episode, she was once again controlled, by Dr Locus. While not exactly her fault, it still left a lasting impression that any mechanically gifted person could be dangerous to her.

Now, this is where we venture into my personal headcanons for MLAATR that are tied into HoM-verse:

Another aspect of Jenny's developed caution to giving access to her body - is the fact that she is not considered as a real person in the eye of the government/world. She is a thing, a weapon created by Dr. Walkman. She does not have the same rights as a human, and on paper she does not even have rights to her own body. It's all patented Nora Wakeman technology, (secretly) founded by the government.

And she has been fighting it ever since she was a teenager and refused to be called an IT - XJ-9 - and became a HER, a teenage girl Jenny, who also just happens to be a robot.

At first it started as a simple teenage rebellion and she went to school and started to hang out with other kids, but what about later after she graduates? Will she be even allowed to? Sure, maybe her school will give her a diploma, but how legal will it be to give something like that to someone who is legally not a real person? After all, its not like when other kids will turn 18 and can be their own people, not under the legal control of their parents. Jenny is her mother's property, intellectual and physical. For her to be considered a real person in the eye of government, it would require a law being passed about recognizing sentience of Artificial Intelligence.

And sure, she could probably be made an exception, being a hero robot and all, but the problem is, she is not the only human-made robot in existence! What about her sisters, who are prototypes and are not as developed as her? Her brother, who seemed to develop sentiency to the point of turning on humans?? Melody and Killgore?? And its not only in her world (cartoon), but in others (since its a crossover). So the question about AI/Robot sentience, no matter if they are good or bad or how developed they are, would not concern only her, it would be a global debate.

And we all know how the governments of the world would feel about passing laws about sentience of artificial beings that were created to serve the human race. It would be a struggle one way or another.

So, as she grows up and sees the world refusing to aknowledge her as a person, she doesnt have legal rights to finish school and go to college, to get a job, to get married, heck she cant even have a legal documentation that doesnt says 'Dr. Wakeman's creation'. The government says: your body belongs to us, because we paid for Dr. Wakeman to make you - you belong to us, we control you.

That, on top of several unpleasant experiences with other people disregarding her autonomy, will equal to Jenny trying to get some sense of that control back. So she starts to be more cautious about how much access others have to her physical self; she starts to build and reinforce boundaries with other people, starting with her family and friends.

It was one of the darkest days in Sheldon's life, when Jenny started to firmly say 'no' to whenever he asked her about her inner workings and casual access for poking around. xD Tuck was not a happy camper either, that his favorite robot friend became very stingy with all the cool stuff. But Brad got it. And after gentle (and sometimes not) reminders, others became more understanding.

It was a little harder with her mother. Dr. Wakeman truly loved her daughter, but she was a scientist first and mother second. She was so used to casual access to Jenny, in order to keep maitanance that it was hard for her to break the habits. Its still a constant struggle, but she has gotten so much better.

Now, when it came to her new friends amongst HoMies, she already has built a set of boundaries that allowed her to feel more secure as a person, despite how the world sees her, but she is much more reserved to opening herself up to others, at least compared to how she first approached people when she was younger.

It took a few missions and getting to know them better, for her to start trusting with them with her mechanical self. But now a few years later, she feels comfortable enough with most of them to give her a helping hand when needed!

Of course not everyone are capable of helping her though: Danny, Kim and Zak are three of more mechanically oriented people who can help. Though Danny is the one with actual education in that field, while Kim and Zak learned more by necessity, from Kim's various jobs and Zak to operate the Saturday's equipments.

When Rex joined them, he actually became the second best person for her to come to if she needed help. Not only because he has unprecedent skills in mechanics, but also because of his nanites. (but thats info dump for another time, lol)

Jun has some basic knowledge in mechanics, but nowhere near enough for her to feel comfortable poking in Jenny's insides. Jake is perhaps the least capable of helping, when it comes to engineering, followed by newbie Randy (tho we really aint counting him tbh xD).

Ben is a complicated situation - he has some training and knowledge in engineering and robotics because of his Plumber training, but Jenny has heard horror tales from Gwen about how he treats his stuff (the whole hacking/playing with Omnitrix settings), so she flat out refuses for Ben to touch her. However in emergency/battle situation she would allow Ben to use one of his aliens to do so (like, Grey Matter or Upgrade).

So, we talked about Jenny's experiences and why they would contribute to her feeling uncomfortable if someone asked to 'tinker' with her.

Now, let's talk about why Danny would not ask to 'tinker' with her in the first place.

Like you said, Danny is all to familiar with the struggle of being part of something tat is hardly recognized as a sentient species - he had to listen to his parents dismiss ghost sentience most of his younger life. Of course, they have gotten much better since the... 'finale' of DP, but this sort of racism? xenophobia? (im not rally sure which term to use tbh) prejudice against ghosts would have left a lasting impression on Danny.

So I dont remember if I ever implied it, but in HoM AU - events of DP finale happened very differently and the resulting consequences of it diverged a lot from Mr ButtHurtman's 'canon'.

(Also, I had ideas about it, before a Glitch In Time came out, so events from there were not taken into consideration. )

I don't want to reveal much, because it is kinda one of my planned flashback for HoM, but the events that happened reinforced Danny's ... well lets say regard of people's autonomy? It's kind of hard to put into words.

Ok, let's explain it like this: Danny would not ask Jenny if he could look at how she worked and if he could tinker with her, because it would be like if his Mom and Dad casually asked if they could perform a vivisection on him to see how different he is from a full human.

And while sure, the comparison might sound a bit extreme, since there is a difference when it comes to robots and humans about 'poking around' in their innards. But to Danny - it would be too close of a comparison - because of the whole 'recognition of sentience' thing.

After all, wasn't it just some years ago, his parents cried that ghost are nothing more than lump of malicious energy that have no feelings? They changed their mind after Danny's reveal, which allowed them to actually listen and look into evidence proving otherwise and learn. And here is Jenny, struggling to be recognized as a person, since she is considered nothing more than a lump of metal with no feelings - just a weapon to be pointed in a certain direction.

And Danny would feel like asking Jenny if he could casually poke inside her, is a bit... hypocritical? And not to mention insenstitive. After all, he knows how she feels - she is basically still living his worst imagined life in some ways.

So, I don't think he will ever ask to study how she works by casually poking inside her.

HOWEVER -

At some point, after they became friends, Danny would feel like he should know at least some basics on how Jenny works, just so he could help her in an emergency.

I imagine it happened after a particularly rough mission, and Danny had to help Jenny back home since she was unable to do so herself, so Dr. Wakeman could fix her. After some time thinking, he would sit in front of both Nora and Jenny and ask them for permission if he could learn how Jenny works - from Nora.

After all, Danny does not need to poke inside Jenny to learn how she functions, when there is her mother right there - the creator, the maintanance and doctor all in one package, with access to blueprints and all intricate knowledge, who can evaluate what Danny needs to know in accordance to his passable engineering skills. She could teach him the basics - but of course not without Jenny's permission.

So he asks her, if he could learn, because he is tired of looking how she gets hurt along with them, but unlike most of them she can not be easily fixed with bandages and some time. And Danny, since he is one of the few of them who has the skills, would like to be actually able to help her with those skills. But it is her body - it is her choice, to trust him or not.

And Jenny would be speechless. It would be the first time someone asked her like that. Not even Kim, who is one of her closest friends, asked before (but mostly because Kim was perfectly aware that she is nowhere skilled enough to even think about it).

And you would be right. It would be a show of ultimate trust from Jenny, to agree for Danny to learn. And maybe at some point, simply learning, turned into more on hands learning in some small ways. And Jenny's trust was never betrayed, and Danny always stayed humbled and aware of that.

so, i hope the answer was satisfying, or at least entertaining for you! thank you again, your ask was delightful to read and allowed me to explore some of my own backstory parts for HoM a little bit more!

[david-talks-sw]

hey david! Do you have any George quotes regarding the final Vader vs Obi wan fight? Like did obi wan deliberately throw that fight and let vader kill him or did vader win the duel and obi wan did the Force ghost thing as a last resort?

Here's the quotes I could find that are relevant to the subject:

"A particular case is the confrontation between Obi-Wan and Darth Vader. You know there's something, some relationship they have to each other, 'cause they talk about meeting again ‘and now I'm going to get you’ and all this kind of stuff."

"So there's some kind of old battle going on that we don't know anything about that works amazingly well considering that all it is, is ultimately this one scene between him and Tarkin where he says, “He's here. He's come for me. And it's our destinies to meet up again. And I'm gonna handle this myself. I have to."

"This confrontation with Obi-Wan and Vader— it works just as a confrontation between the good guy and the bad guy. I mean, he’s— Obi-Wan's, at this point, the strongest good guy. He’s the one that has the most knowledge— the father figure that has taken on Luke. Then you have the bad father figure who is the evil father."

"And the subtext of this, which is that this is the culmination of a larger issue… has never really played, I think, for people. It's really just the confrontation between bad and good. Then the surprise at the end of this, is that: Vader doesn't kill him… but that he's able to join the Force, and by being one with the Force, influence things in a more powerful way than he can just being a Jedi." - A New Hope, Commentary Track, Special Edition DVD, 2004

"When he loses Ben, [Luke] freaks out. He’s depressed and all the things that you would be. But Ben has put that idea in him that things happen naturally and there’s also this other thing that’s never explained, which is that he allowed himself to be killed. He didn’t really die. He disappeared. There’s more to this than just a death. Later on in the movie, Luke hears Ben say, “Use the Force!” It mitigates that loss a little bit, because he knows Ben’s somewhere and that something’s going on." - The Star Wars Archives: 1977-1983, 2018

So there you have it.

In a destined confrontation between good and evil, good triumphs not by defeating evil but by ascending and growing beyond it.

So it feels to me that it's a "when in Rome" kind of decision on Obi-Wan's part, wherein he realizes he won't win this fight, and so he decides to make his end meaningful, so that he can show Luke that death is not the end of the journey... he's joining the Force.

Now, if we're talking power-scaling...

... you could argue that Ben might have put up more of a fight, had it been necessary.

George acknowledges that Ben's an old man when explaining the more dynamic fights in the Prequels... but back in the early days, he ranked him as more powerful than Vader/equal to the Emperor.

"Maybe we should set up some kind of levels of achievement. Ben can say that Luke is now a level 2 and Vader is a 4; ‘‘I was a 6 and the Emperor is a 6, and he’s on his way to becoming a 10, which will be a force so powerful in the universe that nothing can stop him. You must stop the Emperor before he achieves the level 10.’’" - Story converence, 1977, as transcribed in The Making of The Empire Strikes Back, 2010

"[Vader] ended up losing his arms and a leg and became partly a robot. So a lot of his ability to use the Force, a lot of his powers, are curbed at this point, because, as a living form, there’s not that much of him left. So his ability to be twice as good as the Emperor disappeared, and now he’s maybe 20 percent less than the Emperor. So that isn’t what the Emperor had in mind." - Vanity Fair, 2005

Now, the first one is an old quote from the development of Empire Strikes Back, when the story was very different; it's take it or leave it, if you ask me. Power-scaling is invented to justify storytelling, so if the story changes, it's not guaranteed the power-scale remains.

But if you're going by "everything Lucas said is canon!" rules then you could make the argument that, in terms of power...

If Ben = Emperor and Emperor > Vader then Ben > Vader.

And thus can argue that Ben might've beaten Vader if this confrontation was/turned into more of a Force-based contest than a physical one.

[spiteful--art]

SAGAU || Shenanigans

Synopsis: The people of Teyvat ponder your intentions A/N: Just a quick thing I had in mind after goofing off in the game xP BTW I haven't reached Fontaine so expect OOC

The new god that appeared overnight is a strange one, to say the least. Often times silent, the vessels don't hear any kind of commentary aside from mumbled words and noises. But there was a rare moment when you spoke, and what shocked them the most is that you seemed to be joined by a number of other gods.

You were unofficially named the Scholar, or the Guide by the majority of Teyvat's citizens, dubbed so by the mere fact you were powering up vision holders for no discernible reason aside from taking them on a journey with the Traveler. So perhaps the gods that were with you were similar?

"...Okay I'm listening."

"Right- Xingqiu Q, Bennet Q, Yelan E, and then go ham with the Rizzler."

Neuvillette can't help but quirk an eyebrow at the last name, while Furina cocks her head.

"The... Rizzler? Is that really what they are calling Sir Wriothesley?" Furina said aloud.

"I've seen them use that name several times when the Scholar was visited by another- It appears they might be rather lazy in spelling out his name."

"Still- It is such an odd nickname-"

"Okay okay got it-" The voice cuts in. "Just use the Qs and Yelan's E, then we just kill everyone with the Rizzler."

"Exactly. Since you have no idea how Dendro works that's the best we can do for now."

"Arright boss."

"Boss..." Neuvillette places a hand to his chin. "Could there be a chain of command?" Surely there must be, since you appear to be holding this unknown god's advice highly. But that isn't what concerns Neuvillette right now.

Killing everyone with Wriothesley- Surely they cannot be doing such injustice? It's hard to tell with gods...

"Okay- NO- YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG!"

"Shut up, I have no idea what these things do!"

"Rizzler E! RIZZLER E! SPAM YOUR ULTIMATES!"

The screams of the gods ring throughout the air, and Neuvillette tenses up. Furina shrinks into her seat. "The other god seems to be quite aggressive with the Scholar..."

Eventually, the screams turn into congratulations. Soon after, Wriothesley enters and collapses on the lounge chair.

"Ah, Wriothesley! How was it with the Scholar?" Furina asks, pouring the Duke a cup of tea. Wriothelesy straightens up and clears his throat.

"It was... Chaotic, to say the least. Who knew I would be dealing with robots and... Walking mushrooms today."

"Walking mushrooms?" Furina raises a brow.

"It's- I'm not entirely sure how to explain it, lady Furina." Wriothesley sighs. "But I did hear the Scholar talking with the other god- Apparently the other one seems to be more versed in controlling vessels."

"I see..." Neuvillette narrows his eyes. "So the hypothesis of the Scholar being a young god are not unfounded."

"Seems like it-"

"I still have to question your title of 'the Rizzler,'" Furina grins. "What exactly have you done in order to earn such a name?"

"I-" Wriothesley throws his hands up in exasperation. "I have no clue."

Furina laughs, as Neuvillette continues to think.

Not malicious, but inexperienced, and needing guidance from other gods... Perhaps they may be the key to solving much of the problems plaguing Teyvat.

☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆ Page Break! ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

"LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR- LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR-"

The Guide screamed alongside the strange music as Aether battled with the slimes at the Dawn Winery. Often times, the Guide would often be accompanied with music, unknowingly forcing Teyvat to listen to the strange yet wonderful sounds.

Today, it seemed the Guide was taking out a lot of aggression on monsters, Aether's swings and hits somehow becoming stronger than usual.

And the music wasn't consistent as well- Sometimes they would get a soulful ballad, strange electronic noises woven together to make songs, and songs where the Guide sang along.

"Deep in the dark of the woods where secrets sleep, We serve he who waits beneath. Till the soul, devotion reap. For the lamb who herds the sheep."

The Guide sang as Aether resonated with the statue of the Geo Archon, shivering at the implication of the lyrics. Were you a follower of some other more powerful god? It somewhat terrified him to think about gods worshiping other gods-

"Arms raised high in sacrifice. Pull down wool over our eyes~"

He just hopes you continue to be a helpful force- He doesn't want to think about you using your powers for evil. He still needed to find his sister- And find out just what is happening in this world.

For now, Aether listens to you sing, and prays for your continued assistance.

[cyberrose2001]

TFP Starscream x Reader

This is for @condeeznutsfitinyomouth! Again, sorry your asks got eaten :(

They requested confessional sex with Starscream after you caught your boyfriend cheating! Hope this is what you were after, enjoy! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Warnings: Confessional sex, cheating, afab reader, GN reader, human reader, starscream is domming but reader tops.

Word count: 869

You hate that you knew it was coming. You predicted it immediately when your calls went straight to voicemail and left you on read. And last night, that deep feeling in your gut didn’t lead you on as he did. No, because your boss had let you off early, and you came home to find some random car parked in your driveway.

You were furious, full of unbridled rage, as you stormed into your house and made a bee-line to your shared bedroom. It reeked of sex, and the look on this douchebag's face when we saw you, death staring at him from the door, was laughable. He was terrible at keeping his dirty secrets.

But you had a secret up your sleeve, too—the knowledge and companionship of a sleek alien robot jet. You met Starscream a long time ago; a total asshole who wouldn’t let you off this ship called the Nemesis. Something about being ‘live human bait for the human empath, Optimus Prime’. But you had sweet-talked him enough to let you at least have some freedom.

Over time, though, your fears of being involved with an alien fizzled out when you started to confide in one another unintentionally. You would express how much of a doormat your boyfriend made you feel, and Starscream would also express how much of a doormat Megatron made him feel. Together, you both created a home where there are no doormats. And ultimately, no regrets.

After you had kicked out your now ex-boyfriend and his little protégé in cheating relations, you contacted Starscream to meet you on the outskirts of Jasper to vent out your frustrations. What you never expected, though, was to have that deep gut feeling replaced with the gut-deep feeling of his upwards thrusts.

Propped up against a dusty boulder was Starscream, with you in his lap. His sharp silver talons tightly grip your hips, guiding you up and down on his sleek yet rigid metal spike. His scarlet optics focused on your squishy body pressed against him, as well as your face, twisted in beautiful pleasure and heated anger.

“That’s it. Tell me how much you loathe that wretched human boy.”

Oh, you wish he could see you now. To watch his ego deflate as you impale yourself on a dick that’s much, much larger than his.

“F-Fuckin’ hate him,” Your voice shakes from your rage and the inability to cohere a single sentence, “Asshole, he never loved -hggff- me.”

“He never satisfied you, didn’t he?” Starscream sneers, moving a servo to your face to squish your cheeks together. His other servo pushes your hips further down his spike to meet with his thrusts.

“N-No.”

He growls and leans close to your ear, “And I am willing to bet that my spike feels significantly more pleasurable than whatever that mere human possesses, is that right?”

“Mhmm,” You mumble, but it soon transitions into screaming as Starscream forces his spike so fucking deep in you that you start to see stars.

“I want a verbal answer,” He growls again, and it’s so delicious and smooth against your ear that it nearly sends you over the edge, “You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Yes, fuck!” You cry out, and your head rests on Starscreams shoulder once his servo returns to your hip, “F-Feels so good, so much better than him.”

“Good, little pet,” Starscream pounds into you with reckless abandon, purely focused on bringing you to orgasm. His venting is rough, full of equal zest for the anticipation of overloading in you, “Now, my dear, scream my name as if he can hear you.”

And you do. You clamp down on his spike and let out the filthiest moan of his name that actually echos off the rocks and reverbs around you, with the full intention of wanting him to hear. Your ears are ringing from the loudness and the explosive orgasm that shakes your body like an earthquake.

“There you go, let the whole world know who you -hgghn- belong to.” Starscream is close behind. The ever-increasing momentum of his hips becomes more stagnant until he groans and releases his transfluids deep inside you, vocaliser fluttering and turning into static. He’s throbbing against your walls, filling you to near breaking point, and you have no choice but to collapse your entire body weight against him.

“Fuuuck,” You mewl. Your thighs are shaking, and your voice is croaky. And your heart is booming against your ribcage so hard you’re sure Starscream can feel it.

After Starscream returns from his high, he takes the opportunity to wrap his arms loosely around you in an attempt to give you some rare affection before you can question what the fuck just happened between you two.

“There, doesn’t that feel so much better?” Starscream hums, stroking lines across your back. It’s soothing and a welcomed distraction from the welts forming on your waist from his sharp digits. You whine in reply, eyes fluttering shut weakly.

“Mmm, I thought so,” He sighs, an ever so slight smile encompassing his dermas, “Shall we return to the Nemesis?”

Let’s just say you got your revenge on your ex a few more times that night.

[harfanfare]

Idia drabble, fluff, female reader! ♡

You know you’re in for a losing game when you have to ask AI chat to help you with date ideas.

Idia outrightly rejected places that statistically—he pulled up an unnecessary chart, to prove you—had many people visiting at every time of the year. Maybe for some exceptions for ungodly hours, but, while he really loves you, he would rather relax with you in a bed with a silly game on than wake up at 3 am to, whatever, go to the planetarium and stare at the cosmos.

And, we might do it in VR, either way, he argues with your every suggestion.

“Well,” you persist, glancing from the screen at Idia whose attention is divided between you with your half-hearted pleadings, and his game character who clears another villain camp with slashes of a grand sword and sharp arrows. “Can’t we get something to eat, then?”

“Instant soups are irreplaceable.”

“That’s why we should eat something else to confirm their superiority over other goods once again,” you lick your lips to hide a subtle smile as Idia grins at your debating point. It’s an unreasonable argument, yet you have known your boyfriend for long enough to know that these ones are the most convincing when you are out of ideas. “Like, churros maybe? Or those fine-looking cupcakes.”

“They have too much crème and are too heavy in taste. Have you ever tried one? They are like dry cake and sugar but with a fancy texture. Sooo unhealthy, mm.”

He says it as the bag that was filled with candy this morning, falls soundly from the desk. Idia was never one to say no to sweets, but only to the ones that suit his specific tastes: then, even the most logical reasons to eat healthier don’t come in handy. If it wasn’t for Ortho, and now you, he would’ve probably died from the excess of sugar from that sweet and sour gummy candy he loves.

You collect the bag before the little cleaning robot can ever reach it, and on the way to the trashcan, you bonk an empty plastic bottle on your boyfriend’s head. He should instil in himself some want of keeping his room tidy.

“So, the cafes are no-go?”

“Yeah.”

You take a seat again next to Idia and scroll down through the list of generated date ideas.

“Even the cat cafes?”

Idia opens his mouth to protest but finds that he can’t bring himself to do so. The silence is long enough that you stop reading the AI suggestions and lift your gaze up to Idia.

That’s the pause you’ve been waiting for.

“Then, it’s decided!” You clasp your hands together, and beam at Idia as he sighs at you. “I should have known that the virtual cats could never replace the real ones.”

Your boyfriend remains silent. The awkward expression he makes as two different parts of himself battle each other is entrancing; should he go mingle with other people to go to the cafe, or he will be better off remaining adamant about his vow of not going out anywhere? The fact he doesn’t roast you over this suggestion, makes it look like the former stance was a bit more appealing.

“Then I shall put them on your ultimate weakness list,” you say cheerily, getting giddy over Idia being wordless. It’s such a rare sight since he’s got used to the little acts of intimacy. Though you loved his stutters and furious blushes, the banter and suave smiles are welcome as well, of course. You can’t help but move closer to him and give him a peck on his lips. The single strands of his hair light up to pink, and you smile. “I am gathering an intel on you.”

Idia blinks and lays back in his chair, his game paused for a second. You know that gesture too well; in idianese it’s a sign that he changed his mindset to “it is what it is”, and decided that the worst case scenario might still be worth going to the cat cafe. In a fit of new resolution, his playful wryness returns in a heartbeat.

“Heh, yeah? It’s very wise of you to do so. How much data have you gathered already?”

You open a notebook app on your phone.

“Well, as I started putting it up just five seconds ago, there are… people… and me… And now cats,” you list out loud as you quickly type things into your phone. The basic font and too big characters make the list look like some kind of meme, which, in a way, it is. “And me, again.”

Idia snorts. “Basic info. Weak.”

“I could prepare your character profile. I know more of your strengths than weaknesses,” You say, and make a mental note to do a powerpoint presentation on Idia, this time with fewer memes and more candid photos of him. “But it's still enough to have you go on a date with me!”

He sighs again. Idia likes to make show off how much trouble he has to go through for you, but you don’t miss how his eyes light up, even if he rolls his eyes.

“I guess we can go for one short date there,” he tells you slowly, and before you believe once again that you have the magic privilege of a girlfriend, he throws a comment that quenches the flames of your self-satisfaction. “You are the one ordering, though.”

…No. Your fellow introvert won’t be dumping the trial of courage solely on you.

“Let’s take turns.”

“Offer rejected.”

“Let’s bring Ortho.”

“Offer accepted,” he lifts his hand as if he demands a pause in a game. “…But don’t you mind bringing my brother on a date?”

“It will be a “hangout” then. At least, until Ortho decides that we are too cringe and dumps us in the middle, then it’ll turn its status to a date.”

“Will he?” Idia ponders, but then his eyes land on you, and he smiles knowingly. “Oh yeah, he will. He might have implemented himself a module to go away if our cringe stat will rise over sixty per cent.”

“That’s a generous amount of cringe we can spread.”

“With you, I think it should be doubled.”

“Thanks, I love you too.”

“You’re welcome.”

[0vergrowngraveyard]

The day had started pretty average all things considered.

Eggman had decided to attack yet another poor, defenseless village but at this point, that was pretty common (as depressing as it was to admit).

It was a peaceful little spot. The village was pretty small and had its own little beach a few miles away. Why the doctor had decided to attack this place out of any village on Mobius was beyond Sonic but hey, why question the bad doctor’s plans when he can just wreck them?

Which is exactly what he and his team, Tails, Knuckles, and Amy, were doing. Knuckles had decided to get off his island and pay everyone a visit for once in his life so when word got out about Eggman’s attack, Sonic had to bring him along.

Y’know, just for some fun.

The gang had managed to drive Eggman’s attention away from the village and solely onto them. Sonic, Knuckles, and Amy took care of the badniks on the ground while Tails handled a few of the larger flying ones in the Tornado.

At this point, they were just fighting on the beach. It wasn’t ideal for the hedgehog, but it was away from the village at least, and that’s all that mattered. He could begrudgingly sacrifice a bit of comfort in order to keep the people safe.

Didn’t mean he wouldn’t audibly complain about it though.

“Why’d you have to choose a beach to fight at, Eggy? D’you know how hard it is to get good traction on sand?” He charge up a homing attack and shot through three buzzbombers, “Actually, now that I think about it, you probably wouldn’t!”

“Aren’t you the one who led us over here?” Knuckles asked, punching a hole straight through a badnik and tossing it into another one which exploded on impact.

“Maybe, but Eggman’s the one who attacked the village so it’s ultimately his fault!” Sonic responded. Knuckles couldn’t argue with that.

Amy slammed her hammer into the ground, a shockwave taking out at least six of the robots. “Is it just me, or are there a lot more badniks?”

Sonic paused and looked around.

Yeah, there were definitely more than usual, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle!

He pulled up his communicator, “Yo Tails! How’s it going up there?” He asked his brother. The Tornado was flying over the ocean, keeping a lot of the flying badniks away from the ground fight.

“Not too bad!” He pulled on the yoke, driving the plane upwards as two bots crashed into each other. “What about down there?”

“Easy peasy!” He pulled his hand away to spindash through a bot before continuing, “Though it doesn’t exactly reach lemon squeezy criteria.” He held back a snort as he heard the kit groan.

“You sound stupid, I hope you know that.” the fox said.

“I second that,” Knuckles added, “though I’m not entirely sure what this fight being simple has to do with peas or lemons.”

This time, Sonic did laugh, to which Amy spoke up about, “Leave him alone, Sonic. It’s just a saying, Knuckles!”

“Once again, your figures of speech make little sense. Why do they all involve food items?”

Sonic opened his mouth to quip back at the echidna when an explosion rang out, echoed in the communicator.

“As much as I’d love to participate in explaining Mobian phrases to Knuckles, things are getting a little dicey up here! I’ll talk later!” Tails said, performing some tricky maneuvering around a few bots as they exploded.

The Tornado had been getting further and further away from the shore.

“Alright bud! Be careful!” Sonic said, taking notice of how far the biplane had suddenly gotten.

“You too, guys!”

“Don’t know the meaning of the word, lil’ bro!” The hedgehog responded as he lowered his communicator, bringing his attention back to the fight at hand. He could almost hear the kit lecturing him about his hypocrisy from the biplane.

The fight on the ground went on for about 10 more minutes. The three had started making a game out of it. Who could throw/smack Sonic into the most badniks in a row? Amy ended up winning when she sent him flying through five badniks in a row croquette style. Her reward was bragging rights, of course.

As Sonic was recovering from being tossed around like a ball for the past few minutes, he decided to have a chat with the old doctor.

“Ayo, doc! You’ve been a little quiet!” He yelled out, “Is this a defeat silence or a disappointed silence or-“

“Quiet rodent. I’m waiting for the finale.” The doctor said, pressing a few buttons on his control panel and muttering something under his breath.

Sonic laughed as Knuckles and Amy walked up behind him, the former keeping his eyes on the Tornado as it was still fighting off a few of the bots.

Were they getting more aggressive?

“Finale? You mean when I knock you on your butt and—!”

(It all happened so fast.)

There was an explosion, a big explosion. It was loud enough to echo through the entire area (or had it just been amplified in his mind?).

He didn’t register Knuckles cry out and bolt towards the shoreline. He didn’t register Amy pulling up her communicator and screaming at the person on the other end to respond. He didn’t even register Eggman’s triumphant laugh as he said words the hedgehog couldn’t hear.

The world moved in slow motion as he turned his head towards the water just in time to see the flaming body of the Tornado crash into the ocean, sinking to its depths.

Time froze. The world around him muted. He stared at the spot the biplane had crashed.

(It happened too fast. Everything just needed to slow down.)

He couldn’t breathe. A suffocating sense of dread blindsided him, smothering him alive and he didn't have the strength to fight back. His heartbeat pounded in his ear and his legs itched to run.

To run away from the entire scene. To run and not look back because maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t look back, that would mean it never happened. That everything was fine. They would go back to the workshop later and bicker and have movie nights and play fights. They’d complain about one another’s habits and laugh together.

He’d lecture the kit about his sleep schedule (or lack thereof) and drag him to his bed. He’d tuck him in and the kit would later wander into his room after having a nightmare and the two brothers would snuggle up together, fighting off the bad dreams that tormented the little fox in his sleep.

That would all happen. It would. It had to.

It had to because if it didn’t, that would mean Tails was really…

Tails was…

(He just needed the world to slow down. Just this once. He wasn’t ready to catch up yet.)

He didn’t realize he had walked waist deep into the ocean with Amy having to hold him back. Knuckles had tried to swim to the wreckage but soon realized it was a fruitless endeavor.

The crash had been too far out.

There was no way to get to Tails.

All Sonic could do was stare out across the body of water he feared so intensely. It was a fear that was ingrained in him.

The ocean didn’t care about who or what was in its depths. If it wanted to keep you there, it would, and there wasn’t much you could do about it. Especially someone like him who sank instead of floated.

The dark depths were always out for him, wrapping its hands around him and tugging him further and further down whenever the opportunity made itself known. It was like the ocean was determined to make itself his final resting place. It joyfully filled his lungs with water and never allowed him up for air.

There was one person he could rely on to get to him before the water did. One person he knew that could fight off the thing keeping him down.

But that one person had just had his small body grabbed and dragged under by whatever malevolent force lived in those waters. Never to resurface.

It was as if the ocean was laughing at him. Annoyingly tapping at his waist with waves as if to say, “Hey, look what I just did. Did you see that?”

Of course he saw, how could he have missed it?

How could he miss the sight of the biplane he took with him from Christmas Island, the plane that allowed him to meet the kit in the first place, crashing in a flaming wreck and sinking to the bottom of the ocean, taking his little brother along with it?

The waters laughed at him.

They bragged about how they were the ones holding the kit instead of him. That their hands were running throughout the fox’s soft, golden fur, surrounding him in his final moments.

They teased him about how he’d never be able to hold him again. His hands itched with the feeling of his kit’s fur beneath them. He wanted to find him, to rescue him from his captor. Even if he was taking his final breaths, he wanted them to be in the arms of someone the fox trusted more than life itself. To tell his kid how much he loves him and how much he meant to all of them. That he would be missed.

But the kit was alone.

And that’s exactly how the ocean wanted it.

…

Knuckles didn’t know how much time had passed and frankly, he didn’t care.

He didn’t want to think about it because if the kit hadn’t gone quickly in the initial explosion, then the alternative would’ve taken time. Minutes he could’ve spent swimming to get to him. He should’ve been able to get to him. He was an incredibly fast swimmer, he should’ve been able to get out there.

As the seconds went by, the already cavernous pit in his stomach grew tenfold. He tried not to think about the fox kit who was alone in the cockpit of his beloved biplane, possibly conscious and just waiting for his time to come.

He didn’t want to think about the youngest — one of his first friends, someone he had grown to consider to be a younger brother just as the hedgehog had — in that scenario. It wasn’t right, not after all the kit had done for them.

He had managed to pull Sonic a little closer to the shore. The blue hedgehog had fallen to his knees, no longer being able to carry the weight of what just happened. It was haunting, the way he just stared at the horizon. Never in his life did he think he’d see the hedgehog in such a state of despair and defeat.

Then again, he never even began to imagine something like this happening. Not to Tails.

He pried his eyes off of the grief stricken big brother and looked beside him.

Amy wasn’t doing much better, her head was in her knees, fist clenched and body tense as she cried. She was sobbing her heart out. He could only imagine the thoughts going through her mind.

He looked at the sand in front of him and closed his eyes out of respect for the kit, a few tears he didn’t even know had formed slipped down his cheek. His mind flashed with memories of the fox kit, from the one of him first arriving to Angel Island with his hyperactive yet silent blue brother all the way to the call just a few moments ago.

It wasn’t right, they (Sonic) had just been teasing the echidna about his lack of knowledge for common Mobians phrases. How could this have happened? Why did this happen? Why was there no heads up or warning? It was all so sudden and they didn’t even have time to process anything.

Knuckles knew it was foolish to question why people died, he was the last of his kind for crying out loud, he should be used to this.

Except he wasn’t. The kid may not have been an echidna, but he was still part of his tribe. His family. They all were.

And their tribe had just lost their youngest. Their little golden ball of sunshine. The kid who could brighten an entire area with his laughter and knock someone’s ego down several pegs at the same time. The kid he for the longest time just assumed was magical because of how skillful he was with machines, creating their communicators out of seemingly nothing just so they could stay in contact with each other. He created incredible defensive mechanisms and weapons just to keep people safe. He was only 8 years old.

He had done so much for them, and this was how they repaid him? How the world repaid him?

How dishonorable.

[rekino2114]

Omg the recent episode for despair time😭😭😭 not to mention the ending with Teruko. We totally need Teruko with a boyfriend who's just always there for and reassuring her that he loves her and will never leave her no matter what.

You saving teruko from her execution

A/n:I know this isn't exactly what you asked for, but come on, this was too good of a fic opportunity to pass up. Sorry if this isn't what you wanted but I hope you still like it

Yes, this is the second drdt post in a row, but writing is my coping mechanism, and with how much trauma chapter 2 gave me You're probably gonna see more fics about it

The second trial had finally ended. After hours of discussion, you had finally figured out that ace was the culprit, the one who killed arei, and so you voted for him accordingly. You wanted nothing more than to go back to your room and hug teruko after all of this,You both were gonna need comfort after seeing another person......you just didn't know how much-needed it truly would have been.

While it was sudden at first you had no problems with teruko's plan and were actually pretty excited for it, any hope of getting you two out of this hell, no matter how small, was a good one for you and you were going to follow it.

It all started relatively well, ace managed to punch monotv, and the robot seemingly shut down before rebooting. That wasn't what shocked you,You knew there was a very high chance that it wouldn't work, but what really surprised and scared you was what he said after that

Since Ace was already going to be executed, the host decided to pass down his punishment to the one who had the idea to hurt him........teruko

"To conclude, I will now proceed with the execution of teruko tawaki"

The moment you heard those words, you froze, and when the gun came out of the floor, you could do nothing but stare at it.

Monotv started counting down and teruko......stood there, she didn't do anything she didn't even try to run or save herself even with all of you screaming at her

"What's the point I should have known this would happen, even if I shield myself behind others,even if I search for an escape, it always comes down to this, I need to face the consequences of my actions there's no escaping that"

"What are you talking about? You're going to be killed!"

"Killed? I doubt it. As if something so kind could happen to me. I won't die even if monotv puts 100 bullets in my body. I'll only be badly injured, possibly lose a body part. Maybe I'll even end up in a coma for months, but I won't die, I never will. There's nothing I can do but accept my fate. It's what I deserve after all"

"Teruko! run! please!"

"Don't worry everyone. I'll show you what it means to be the ultimate lucky student"

"Zero"

The gun fired, and blood covered everything, even teruko's clothes.......your blood

"Y-y/n! What happened?"

"I-i tried to get in front of the gun but he beat me to it"

Teruko stood silent, watching your body fall in front of her. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to think. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Right now, she was supposed to be writhing in pain, almost passing out but not to the point where she couldn't feel the terrible pain, but somehow, seeing you bleeding out on the ground knowing it was her fault felt even more painful than every accident she'd ever been in

Her luck killed you

She killed you

"Ahahahahahaha of course, of fucking course"

"T-teruko?"

"I should have known this would happen, of course. It would have been too kind to even make me suffer that much. You just had to kill the only person I love"

Not even teruko herself knew who she was talking to, maybe her luck, maybe monotv, maybe whatever fate was responsible for her existence of pure suffering. She was just completely breaking down without you

"Don't worry I shut off the gun as soon as I detected that y/n was in the way, his injuries are not fatal"

"Not fatal? Is he alive?"

"He's barely breathing, he's not going to be alive for much longer-"

".............he's......still alive?"

".......Yes, he could live theoretically but only if he gets immediate treatment"

Teruko didn't know what to think. On one hand, this was probably another layer of her suffering, giving her the hope that you would live just to crush her completely when that hope was revealed to be false but on the other hand, what would she say to you if she didn't follow that hope? If she just gave up right here without even trying. She loved you more than anything, even more than herself. If you were going to die, then she at least had to try and save you.

"Get him to the infirmary now!"

Everyone was surprised by teruko's authoritative tone, but carried your body to the elevator

"Monotv open the door"

"I'm sorry, but the participants can only leave the trial grounds once the class trial is complete, that includes the death of the blackened"

As everyone argued about what to do, teruko's cold voice made them all silent

".........ace"

"NO FUCK NO, I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO SAY"

"If you're so scared of being executed. Then I can solve that problem for you"

Teruko pulled her knife out of her pocket and pointed it at him with an unhinged expression on her face

"I don't think it matters if you get executed or not.......you just have to die right?"

"t-teruko you can't mean"

"Don't do it!"

"It's your choice, I'll make it quick. That's my objective after all

"......Y-YOU'RE INSANE.....YOU THINK HIS LIFE IS WORTH MORE THAN MINE!?"

"........yes"

"......!"

"Teruko? What are you saying? Why are you doing this?"

"Because.............I CAN'T LOSE Y/N"

Her yelling caught everyone off guard but they were too scared to say anything to her

"that would mean I once again caused the death of another person I loved......I-I can't deal with that again......especially since it's y/n"

"........."

"Ace, you're about to die anyway, If you really want to make things right, if you really want to at least be able to face arei in the afterlife, then die to let another person live"

"..........You're so selfish"

".............."

"But I guess I was too wasn't I?"

"A-ace"

"I'm so scared.....I'm so fucking scared I might start crying right now, bit if I really have to die.....I GUESS I'LL GO OUT DOING SOMETHING GOOD FOR ONCE IN MY GODDAMN LIFE!"

Ace got executed, and the elevator door opened as a result, Levi carried your body to it while everyone else followed him....except teruko

"T-teruko, what are you doing? Come here!"

".......no I'm staying here"

"W-what?"

"Wait before you leave though, I need to say something......Arturo If you dare let y/n die, then I'll kill you myself"

"!"

"That's a promise"

Teruko's words sent a shiver down the plastic surgeon's spine, but soon the door closed, and she was left alone with monotv, she talked with him for a while before he shut off the lights and left her truly alone, that was when she cried.....in the dark,alone. teruko almost never cried, even you had never really seen her do that, she told herself that she went trough too much suffering and despair to cry over it, she needed to be strong to face whatever tragedy her luck would bring her and to protect you from all of them but today she failed.

No matter the result, nothing would be the same. If you died, then teruko would keep her promise and be executed as a result, but even then, she most likely would not have seen you again, the execution would have somehow failed and left her in a state of complete suffering and despair, she would wish for death to see you again but she would have never gotten that luxury

And if you would survive, then you would surely hate her. She was the reason why you almost died after all, that would make you realize that being with her would just lead to you dying or being close to death and you would break up with her, she really couldn't blame you, in fact the worst part about this was she couldn't blame anything, she couldn't blame her luck, she couldn't blame fate, she could only blame herself.

When she got back to the living quarters, the first thing she did was ask Arturo about your condition. She was relieved that you had survived, but only because she didn't want to dirty her clothes in blood twice the same day. She vowed to stay with you until the moment you woke up, both because she didn't want anyone to try and kill you when you were vulnerable and because she wanted to be the first one to see you open your eyes.

She barely ate and always stood in a chair next to the bed in the infirmary, she talked to basically only eden and Charles as those were the only ones who weren't scared that she'd randomly try to stab them because of grief, she even slept there still holding your hand desperately wishing it would wrap around her own.

And one day it did

"Y-y/n, you're awake! Are you ok? Do I need to call Arturo?"

"N-no I'm fine, I think, It still kinda hurts but I'm fine now"

"Ok, I'm glad"

Silence followed. You were still getting used to being conscious again, and teruko didn't know how to start the conversation

"........why did you get in front of me?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you save me? I told you I wasn't going to die"

".........cause I can't bear to see you suffer anymore"

"W-what?"

"Every time you're in pain, it hurts me to see you like that, after everything you've been through in your life, you deserve to be happy teru, I know that I sound selfish saying this but your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me......even more than my life"

"...........do you think you seeing you dead will make me happy?"

"U-uh?"

"Sorry if I'm aggressive but.....You're wrong, the most pain someone could give me is taking you away from me. You're literally the only thing I have left, my family, my friends, they all left me, you're the only person I love that is still with me.......why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you still with me? If you stay, then you'll probably end the same as every other person I loved. Today was an example of that. It's better that you leave me, for your own safety, I hate seeing you hurt, so please leave me"

"...........teruko, I'll never leave you"

"....w-why? You'll get killed if you do, i-my luck will kill you"

"........because I love you"

"......."

"What you said before, about the worst pain that you could even feel is me being taken away from you, that's exactly how I feel towards you"

"......you really do?"

"Of course teru, I love you so so so much, don't I always tell you"

"But I'm-"

"No, teruko, stop it. Stop blaming yourself, I will never leave you. That's a promise , no matter whatever your luck throws at me, I promise I will always find a way to come back, because I love you, and my love is stronger than whatever your luck is"

Teruko cried once again, no matter how much she tried to keep her tears in she couldn't stop it

"I.....I......I'm sorry"

"For what?"

"For everything, for dragging you into my life, hell the reason why you're in this killing game is probably because of me"

"Teru-"

"But if even knowing that,you still love me, if even despite everything you still want to be with me, then I promise I will protect you"

"........"

"My luck.....it's always been a curse, ripping the people I loved from me and always leaving me in pure despair but now, now that I have someone who knowing that still wants to love me, I will not let it take you no matter what"

"........thank you teruko"

She wiped her tears with her wrist and looked back at you

"No, thank you for being in my life"

Teruko stood up from the chair

"I'm going to tell Arturo you woke up and get you some water ok?"

"Yeah thanks"

She started walking away, but turned to look at you one more time, this time with a smile on her face

"......I love you too, you have no idea how much"

[thursdayisbetterthanfriday]

Science Fiction as a Reflection on Society - PLUTO & The Cycle of Hate

MAJOR SPOILER WARNING -You can read this before reading PLUTO but it will spoil many major plot points!

In 2015, I picked up a manga volume in a London bookshop called PLUTO. I had a burgeoning interest in AI, and computer science, at the time and had read Naoki Urasawa's manga Monster many years prior. It seemed a perfect read. Little did I know, it would become my favourite manga.

As I read the first volume I realised this wasn't just a simple Astro Boy adaptation. Like many of Urasawa's stories, PLUTO was a layered story which took its source material and asked fundamental questions about its premise.

The more innocent veneer of the Astro Boy world was stripped away, and echoes of the Middle East, of Afganistan, Iraq and Palestine, were transposed into the background of what was on the surface a simple detective story plot. The long memories, and relentless logic, of robots became a means by which conflict could be examined, but also a way to reveal the weaknesses in the non-empathetic nature of robotics and AI.

Instead of a traditional manga and anime trope of beating the strongest villain against the odds, it became a tragic, yet hopeful, story about the long-tail effects of trauma and how our memories of the past, remembered or misremembered, shape our present.

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it

From the 1980s Soviet invasion to the modern day US involvement in the Middle East, the trauma of the conflict had lasting impacts on both the invaded countries, and those who invaded. Talented people, who at peace could have done and produced great things, were reduced to administering corrupt governments, fighting occupying forces and wasting their lives on a fractious peace based on subterfuge and realpolitik.

Robot Mont. Blanc, killed in the opening part of PLUTO acts as the introduction of this theme. A deeply environmentalist robot, who was beloved by mountaineers and children alike, was sent to fight in a war whose values conflicted with his own.

Despite his experiences, he went on to live in his old life - tending to and caring for the Swiss Alps and those who lived within them, but was ultimately killed by a mysterious perpetrator.

This theme is carried through with all the "greatest robots on Earth", who are targeted by PLUTO, and who all are trying to make something of their lives after the end of the conflict, most of whom have managed to shake off the negative experiences of their past - while still being haunted by it.

During the gradual decolonization of the colonial powers of Europe in the Middle East, there existed periods in the Middle East of relative calm and stability. People were able to life affluent, and prosperous lives without the threat of violence and revolution - with collaboration between US, European and USSR workers and those who lived there allowing for the construction of infrastructure and advanced manufacturing facilities.

But what about those who can't deal with their past. What about those who are deeply damaged?

PLUTO - The Greatest Trauma on Earth

MAJOR PLOT SPOILER WARNING

So what is PLUTO? Who is PLUTO? He is nothing more than a robot who loves flowers, created by the Persian scientist Dr Abullah. His love for the plant makes him want to plant flowers across the country, to fill it with beauty and richness. He is someone with hopes, and dreams, to make a beautiful world which can be enjoyed by the people who live there.

At least, that's what he used to be.

As the 39th Central Asian Conflict drags on, Dr Abdullah become bitter and resentful at what has happened to his country. A once proud nation reduced to rubble and ruin. Instead of encouraging his robotic son to plant flowers, he fills his son with a vast hatred against those who have committed violence against his people.

The son who wanted nothing more than to make the world a better place is indoctrinated by his father into a being of pure rage, while fully knowing his previous self. The two sides of his personality ripping and tearing at each other in a self-contradictory nightmare.

Just as PLUTO is turned into a loathing monstrosity by his family, upbringing and situation - so too are those who live, fight and die in conflicts. Both the 2023 murder of innocent Israelis by Hamas, and the subsequent murders of innocent Palestinians by Israel have no doubt radicalised a new generation of martyrs, while their leaders - those meant to be inspiring and running the country in their name - directly encourage mass murder on both sides.

In Afghanistan, the hopes of a democratic society were undermined by a corrupt Western imposed system which broke down into Taliban rule in 2022. Collaborators killed or tortured. Women, once again, forced into roles they had broken out of.

But this cuts both ways.

In Afghanistan, both the Soviet invasion of the 1980s and the US/Coalition invasions of the 2000s led to a surge in Western soliders who came home from war angry, disillusioned and in mental and physical pain. Sometime from IED amputations, sometimes from PTSD and severe mental health issues.

Some survived the war, only to transfer their trauma to others at home or to end their own lives at their own hands. A generation of young military lives lost.

The Politics of Hate

Newton's third law states: Each action has an equal, but opposite, reaction. This often occurs socially.

This is ever present in PLUTO with the Anti-robot league. That robots have any rights at all is anathema to these people, who organise a conspiracy to destroy the social fabric of robots in society through targeted assassinations and hatred.

Through their actions, they aim to convert others to their cause and roll back decades of progress in the world of PLUTO.

This occurs in reality just as readily.

The 9/11, 2001 Twin Towers bombings brought together the American people in sorrow, but they also led to the enabling of war.

It didn't matter that Saudi Arabia had allowed Osama Bin Laden to live, and plan, in their country prior to the attacks. It was Afghanistan and Iraq that were targeted on the most spurious of grounds. This was enabled, in part, by swathes of the public who wanted a form of revenge but was mainly supported by neo-cons in government.

The two sides of the coin in Gaza are Hamas, with their backers, and the hard right Israeli government.

Hope

Despite the past, hope and recovery are still possible. This is what the story of North #2 and retired composer Paul Duncan reveals to us. An early inclusion in the manga, it also reveals some of the lighter themes of the work.

Paul Duncan's memories of his childhood, and his perceived Mother's abandonment of him to boarding school and almost terminal illness have coloured his entire life. When we meet him, he is a bitter old man who has a writer's block, and has taken on the ex-military robot North #2 as his butler.

But as the story reveals, Duncan's memories are coloured by his misconceptions of events. As North #2 learns to play the piano, against Duncan's wishes, he reveals the notes of the song that Duncan has been humming from his sleep - a song Duncan's mother used to sing to him as a child. It turns out that Ducan's mother didn't abandon him for a rich husband, but used that husband's wealth to pay for his expensive life-saving treatment and schooling.

It is only by dealing with the past, working through his trauma, that Duncan is able to heal in the present and move on with his life.

Conflict in Northern Ireland existed until the recent past of the late 1990s. This was against a backdrop of centuries of conflict between British settlers and the Irish natives. The Republic of Ireland was created in 1916 - but several Northern Counties remained in British control.

The period between 1916 and the Good Friday Agreement were filled with terrorist action by the IRA against the British Army and the repression of Catholic Irish people in the form of police/army brutality, gerrymandering, discriminatory hiring practices and in other forms.

This was only resolved through dialogue at the highest level between the British Government and Sinn Fein - the political wing of the IRA. It resulted in a peace process which has lasted decades, and has resulted in a generation who can now live, love and work with each other. This required hard decisions, to put past differences and strong emotional ties behind both sides. The results are extraordinary - and offer hope for any conflict.

Conclusions

The best stories I have read take the author's present experience, and insight, and use fiction as a vehicle to explore their themes and ideas. PLUTO takes the historical context of modern world events, and wraps it in an Astro Boy story which tells a story of how trauma, and hate, perpetuate themselves in cycles which come back to haunt and destroy others.

We can learn a lot from such stories. We should learn from them.

It is easy to continue to hate others, and react against clear provocations. It takes courage, bravery and sacrifice to break the cycle and begin anew - to create a new world. A world that Atom represents. A world with a brighter future.