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TORTURE THE BLOND MAN MORE

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Pet the Tiger

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Never Gone (Homelander x Reader)

Homelander doesn’t like you, the new telepath on the Seven. You don’t make him feel better.

Warnings for mentions of prior assault, prior torture, smut, and a lot of telepathic fuckery. Darker than my usual stuff, so be forewarned. This is me taking out some frustration on Homelander.

Homelander does nothing to disguise the loathsome stare he’s shooting your way. Your seat at the other end of the Seven’s signature table puts you at the perfect angle to receive his silent wrath. No one present in the room can miss it, and everyone works hard to avoid his glare - except you. You seem blissfully unaware of his seething gaze, instead listening very intently to Ashley. You nod along with her nonsense. That just makes his anger worse. Up until now, Homelander has successfully avoided your introductory period to the Seven. He hasn’t so much as given you a hello; his first week meeting Starlight looks downright friendly in comparison to his treatment of you. There was a damn good reason for it. The only reason you’re here and on his team is because of fucking Stan Edgar. The CEO was silently furious with him for his public digs at Vought’s policies concerning foreign terrorists. The words “cowards” and “corrupt” may have slipped out during a conversation with Cameron Coleman. Edgar’s solution was to bring on a new “hero” to keep Homelander in his lane.

A telepath. Homelander avoided anyone with even the slightest inclination towards telepathy. Who could blame him? They were freaks. Mindstorm was a bunker nut, Mesmer was a washed-up child actor, and the kid at Godolkin is a mess of teenage hormones. It was a clear insult to Homelander that mere hours after his interview, you joined the Seven.

To make matters worse, you were doing well. The public loved your commitment to social justice and mental health reform. You had made quick friends with Starlight, and even Maeve seemed to tolerate you. Homelander was the only one who recognized what you were. You were a snake in the garden, slithering your powers into their minds before anyone realized the sin you brought.

Ashley’s voice vaguely entered his line of thought as she called out to him. “What do you think, sir?”

Homelander didn’t bother looking away from you. “Hm?”

Ashley stutters and looks to Queen Maeve for assistance. All the hero can do is shrug. Homelander’s hatred towards you is strange, but far from the most bizarre thing he’s ever done. Ashley swallows heavily and makes another attempt. “I-I…I was wondering if the premiere lineup for the summer made sense, sir.”

He’s still staring at you. You finally turn and make direct eye contact with him. You blink in surprise, as if you are only just now discovering his glare. Then, in a move that nearly springs him across the table to break your neck, you lift a hand and wave. You wave. 

“Looks great, Ashley,” Homelander finally speaks without looking at Ashley, and stands so suddenly that half the room flinches. “I think we’re done here.”

Ashley holds her presentation clicker lamely in her hand. “U-Uh…sir, we still have to discuss-”

“We’re done,” He repeats. Normally, the jolt the woman gives would amuse him - but he’s in too foul a mood. He waves at the door. “All of you, out.”

Homelander does not need to repeat himself. Everyone is jumping out of their chairs, either out of fear or relief to be free from another meeting. You are the last to stand, and he catches you with a finger pointed at you. “Not you. Stay.”

You pause halfway to standing. Several members of the team shoot you glances, but you do not return them. They seem worried about what state your body will be in in the next hour, but you don’t seem to care. Homelander barely bites back a growl and turns to face the city skyline. It’s a calm spring day. The sun reflects off the skyscrapers, turning New York into a masquerade of mirrors. Distorted, but beautiful. It’s a day when he particularly enjoys flight. Maybe he’ll go for a fly after reminding you of your place.

The door shuts, and the two of you are alone. Homelander hears your footsteps as you slowly approach to stand beside him. Your heart is steady, slightly elevated. You don’t fear him. He hates you for it.

“Is everything okay?” You ask him, your voice so reeking of innocence he almost believes in its sincerity. Almost. His hands, folded underneath his cape, clench around one another. He turns to look at you out of the corner of his eye, scanning you up and down. Your blood pressure is slightly higher than it should be, but there is no other sign of stress in your body.

His gaze narrows. “We haven’t spoken much since you joined the team…how’re you enjoying New York?”

You tilt your head, pausing before you reply. “It’s…fine.”

He scoffs a laugh. “Fine?” He reveals a hand from under his cape to gesture to the expansive windows. “The biggest city in the world in the greatest country on Earth, and it’s fine?”

You smile politely. “It’s…more than fine? It isn’t home yet. But it is beautiful. I’m excited to learn all of its secrets.”

Homelander growls under his breath. “Oh, I’m sure you are.”

Your head cocks again, and he’s reminded bitterly of a puzzled puppy. “What do you mean?” You ask.

“Answer me this,” Homelander turns to face you fully. He takes a step closer in the action so you must tilt your chin up to maintain eye contact. “How many dicks did you have to suck to get here, huh?”

Your brow furrows. “I-”

“You do not belong here,” He hisses the words as he takes another step closer. “I don’t need a telepath on the Seven. You are weak, and the second you fuck up, you’re gone. This is my team, not Edgar’s. You understand?”

You’re silent for so long that he nearly decides on more insults to fill the silence. Your expression is unreadable, even to him. You’re calm. You’re so damn calm. Finally, you nod. “Understood.”

He nods with a grunt. “Good. Now get the fuck out.”

You hum and fold your hands behind your back. “No, thank you.”

Homelander’s eyes widen, and he arches his neck back in shock. Perhaps he hadn’t been forward enough in his threats; maybe a physical demonstration was in order. “Excuse me?”

“I think there’s still a lot we need to talk about.” You turn to look out the window, and your brow furrows. Your hands fold behind your back, and he just knows you’re mocking his pose. “But maybe this isn’t a comfortable enough spot for that kind of talk…maybe we should move to the bad room?”

Homelander is above human feelings. He doesn’t allow fear to curdle his veins - not anymore. Then, you say “the bad room,” and something in him twitches. He refracts to a smaller version of himself and desperately looks for a reason. To find it, his entire body stills. “What did you say?”

You meet his gaze and then nod to the window. He follows your gaze and chokes. The city skies have turned into the bad room. He would recognize those walls anywhere. The white tiles were as neutral as ever, the number of nameless blocks amounting to the same torturous number. The floor was the same mind-numbing gray. The space is empty - but then, it’s not. You are suddenly standing in the middle, your hands still folded behind your back. “Is this better, John?” You ask, and when you say that name, the room echoes in Barbara’s voice.

Homelander is frozen. The room around him that was once in Vought Tower has faded into the bad room, leaving him trapped with you. He very nearly crumbles. Then, he recognizes the silence. He can’t hear the buzzing of the lights, those damned bulbs like mosquitoes. He isn’t there. He isn’t back. He’s with you. Rage overtakes him. He flies at you at his fastest speed, intent on ripping you in half. He reaches a hand for your neck, but it goes right through you. He has to stop short of slamming into the wall behind where you stand - or stood. He lands on his feet, lets out a strangled gasp, and whips back around. You’re facing him already, somehow.

“Nice try, buddy.” You’re mimicking his voice now, and it makes him gag. “But you can’t kill me in your own mind.”

So these are your tricks. Homelander storms forward, his shadow encompassing you where you stand. You don’t flinch. “Get out of my head,” He demands in a heated whisper. “Now.”

“Or what?”

The chuckle he makes is near insane. He hears it in his voice. “Oh, when I get out of here…I am going to rip you limb from limb. Slowly.”

“Hot,” You wink and turn your back on him. “Is that what all the staring is about, John? Do telepaths really do it for you?”

“Fuck you.”

“Wouldn’t be your weirdest fetish, now would it?” You reach your arm forward, palm up. Suddenly, other bodies flash into the room. It takes Homelander a moment to realize they’re all him. It’s him leaning against the wall in Vought, watching Madelyn breastfeeding through the walls. It’s him with a hired prostitute, sucking at her tits so every last drop of milk can fall into his mouth. It’s him at home, fisting his cock while he jugs down a pint of whole milk. 

“This is weird, my dude,” You say, weaving your way through the Homelander illusions like a demented corn maze. “I’m not one to kink shame, but…yikes.”

It’s not often Homelander is brought to silence. This, being forced to watch these moments of his own weakness, does the trick. His mouth is agape as you finally stop in your sauntering and land a hand on Madelyn’s shoulder. You drum your fingers along her white blouse and look back at Homelander. “Let’s talk about her, huh?”

He blinks, and the bad room is gone. Instead, he’s backstage at one of his first press conferences with Vought. He’s eighteen, maybe nineteen, and Madelyn is giving him his notes. She is also stroking his cock over his pants. She’s murmuring praise in between each bullet point. He’s a good boy. He’s being such a good boy.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Your voice is coming from behind him, but when he spins around to find you, you aren’t there. It’s just another wall backstage lined with props. Still, he hears you. “In your own twisted way, I mean. Trying to find a mother’s love and you land on a woman grooming her way to the top.”

“Shut the fuck up…” He barely recognizes his voice. Why is it so squeaky? Is this what he sounded like as a teenager? It doesn’t matter because in the next moment, he’s somewhere else. He’s in his penthouse. He’s with Maeve. She’s on top of him, riding his face like she intends to break it. His hands are holding tightly onto her ass as he moans against her cunt. Homelander remembers this night. It was about a year into their relationship when her smiles were more forced and her hand started slipping out of his. He ate her out for hours, and for a brief window, the smiles were genuine again. 

“You loved her, too.” You’re in the room again. You stand beside Maeve and him like you’re admiring a statue at the museum. Maeve is climaxing, her hands tight in his hair and her head thrown back in ecstasy. He hasn’t stopped licking her hole. You hum in acknowledgement before looking back at Homelander. “She might not have loved you, but she did love your tongue.”

Before he can reply, the scene has shifted once more. It’s still his penthouse, but there are more works of art and less auburn hair gathering on the floor. Stormfront is here. Homelander is over her, pounding her cunt so hard the couch beneath them bends. She’s screaming for him, tugging at his hair and biting his lips hard enough to draw blood in someone more human. You stand beside the couch, frowning at the sight and shaking your head. “And then we have the Nazi. How do we still have Nazis?”

Homelander snaps his eyes to you. He doesn’t notice the way his arms tremble. “You’re getting off on this, huh?” He asks with another hysterical laugh. “Is this what you do? Get inside people’s minds and watch them fuck?”

“It makes for good entertainment, but no, that’s not my point here,” You snap your fingers. Stormfront and the past version of Homelander are gone, leaving you two alone in his fake home. The walls, Homelander vaguely realizes, are not correct. The color is too dark, a near mimic of black. He can see himself on the surface. You take a step in front of him and recapture his attention. “You have bounced from person to person - well, women mostly - in a desperate search for love. But it’s never been enough, has it? It’s always wrapped in fear, or ambition, or… fascism.”

“I’m not a child,” Homelander snaps back, though the way his voice quivers and weakens says otherwise. “You know nothing about me.”

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He recognizes the look. It’s one he’s had and received countless times. That is a smile of hatred. “You shouldn’t have spent so long staring at me.” You murmur. “I know everything.”

The penthouse is gone. He’s in the middle of a Christmas gala. No, it’s not a Christmas gala. It’s the one where the mistake started. He spots himself descending a staircase, and he’s speaking with Rebecca Butcher. She’s laughing, absolutely dazzled by him. William Butcher, Homelander realizes now, is already suspicious of his motives. Homelander’s mind suddenly spins in flashes and pictures. Rebecca Butcher, doe-eyed and gentle, agreeing to walk with him and discuss her career. Rebecca Butcher, shakily putting back on a shoe as he strokes her hair. Rebecca Butcher, wide-eyed and standing in front of Ryan.

Ryan.

Rebecca is gone, but Ryan remains. He stands as a statue beside you, an emotionless husk of the boy Homelander yearns to know. You are all back in the bad room. Your piercing gaze has hardened.

“What will you tell your son one day about Rebecca Butcher? The mother who raised him?” Your voice echoes off the walls in a cold symphony. There’s a new note to your voice that has Homelander’s spine stiffening. “Was she just another woman who didn’t meet your expectations? How weak are you to have to destroy an innocent person’s life to soothe your ego?”

Homelander’s gaze has not left Ryan’s dead stare. “Get…get my son out of here. Get him out of here now.”

“You keep forgetting that you’re in control here,” You reply. The bad room shimmers in heat. “I can make Ryan do the Macarena in a Ronald McDonald outfit if I wanted to.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Homelander’s voice breaks. “He’s innocent.”

Your frown deepens, but the anger eases. Ryan’s image fades, but doesn’t disappear. He lingers like a ghost as you walk forward. “That’s the most tragic thing about all of this, isn’t it?” You raise a hand and rest it over his chest. He does not intervene. You tap your hand to the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Underneath that cape, under all of the horrific things that you have done…you’re only human.”

You’re gone. Instead of facing you, Homelander is facing the oven in the lab. The lights go on, and he feels the heat rise from the window. Ryan is inside. He looks around, confusion and panic dawning on his face. He turns and locks eyes with Homelander. “Dad? What’s going on?!”

Homelander screams. He slams his fist against the door, he rips at the handle. Nothing. Ryan screams, banging his hands against the window as the heat rises. Nothing. 

“Stop this!” Homelander screams at you, at Ryan, at anyone. “Stop!”

The room glows too brightly for him to see. Then, Ryan is gone. Instead, he is staring at himself when he was Ryan’s age. As Homelander’s screams stop, his younger self raises them in pitch. His skin doesn’t char, but Homelander can feel the heat prickling at every nerve in his very human body. He falls to his knees. The space around him goes pure white. There is nothing. There is only you, standing in front of the fallen hero. You say nothing as his chest heaves. The heat is gone. He isn’t sure if it was ever really there.

“Please,” He finally speaks with his head lowered. He isn’t sure when he began to cry, but he feels the tears staining his cheeks. “Please. Stop it.”

You lean forward. Your lips brush Homelander’s ear as you whisper to him. “If you try to kill me when you come back, you better not hesitate. If you do, I will keep you locked in that oven forever. Never threaten me again.”

He looks up at you, blinking away the fuzziness in his eyes. His voice is a weak mockery of the hero he knows - he thinks - he is. “Why did you do this?”

Your silence is so long that it frightens him. He freezes, anticipating another change to his frayed mind. Instead, your hand comes forward. It gently brushes through his hair. His breath hitches, and his eyes fall shut again. Your voice is gentle. “John didn’t deserve any of this. Homelander does.”

“What do you think, sir?”

Homelander is in the conference room. Ashley is presenting her slides on the movie premieres. His team is watching him, their gazes lost between confusion and weariness. You are the only expressionless face. His hands are shaking. He clenches one down on the armchair, and it creaks. He slowly looks at Ashley and blinks several times. She is still there. He swallows heavily. “What?”

Instead of her usual fear, she looks confused - maybe even worried. Perhaps she’s wondering why the leader of the Seven looks at her as if he were in a room of ghosts. She slowly lowers her clicker. “I-I…I was wondering if the premiere lineup for the summer made sense, sir.”

He pretends to look at the screens behind her. He bites his inner cheek to feel pain. “Could you run through it one more time?”

Ashley blinks, but the muscle in her back relaxes. “Y-yes, of course,” She turns and clicks back to the first slide of the presentation. “As you can see, we think premiering with the Deep’s sequel would help introduce the cycle best…”

As she rambles off her demographic research, he turns to look at you. You’re watching him. You give him a curt nod and look away.

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shitty doodle is this anything

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Homelander's Influence as depicted through Milk

aka Audience: "How much do you want to think about milk?" Lea: "Yes!"

Alright, this is the weirdest meta I have ever written. But. I am begging for a 'hear me out'. So, I was recently reading up on some old Hannibal meta, as you do, and it mentioned how dark water in the show is used as a sign of Hannibal's influence. Like: characters drowning in dark water, characters standing in dark water etc. It's a symbol. And then my mind mentally flashbanged me with the image of Ryan cuntily sipping the milk.

Quick disclaimer: This is not a debate on the morality of involving your offspring in your quasi-sexual fetish. We ignore that part of the milk and focus just on how it's used in S4.

I hate this already. Let's go before I reconsider.

In 4x01, we have one milk scene involving Homelander and Ryan towards the end of the episode, after Homelander celebrates being found "not guilty" in his trial. He's sitting on the sofa with Ryan, enjoying a glass of milk the way other dads enjoy whiskey. Ryan also has a glass.

Ryan's glass is untouched. Homelander asks if he intends to finish the glass, claiming they're celebrating his victory. Ryan just shakes his head, and then they have a conversation about Butcher and how Ryan shouldn't forgive him for throwing him away like garbage. Ryan stands his ground and insists that Butcher isn't evil on the grounds of Becca loving him.

Homelander is trying to manipulate Ryan, and it isn't working. If the milk represents how much influence Homelander has over Ryan, then here, there is no influence. Ryan refuses to drink the kool-aid entirely.

In 4x02, Homelander buys Ryan (and himself, it's really important that Homelander always sees milk-drinking as a community activity and father-son bonding experience) the infamous creamy, delicious milkshake to lift Ryan's spirits after the murder of Koy.

He actually, once more, asks whether Ryan wants the milkshake. Ryan does not, in fact, want the milkshake. What Ryan wants is a hug and some reassuring words that he is not a monster, but they don't come. Instead, Homelander insists Ryan should be a monster and shouldn't care for the puny human race.

Ryan remains unconvinced. The milkshake remains untouched. Homelander gets angry about it this time. Like, really angry. Once again, his influence over Ryan is blocked off by Ryan's innate sense of morality and deep love for humans, except this time, Homelander actively withdraws both his influence - and his love. And the milkshake, which he takes away from Ryan as punishment for not obeying.

BUT now we have 4x05. And Homelander has learned. Homelander has evolved. He has switched tactics by actually listening to what Ryan is saying. Ryan wants to help humans, so Homelander helps him become a hero: by slapping the everloving shit out of Adam Bourke. He has found his way in. Has wormed his way past Ryan's defenses and morality by giving him the option of doing good - and still being cruel about it at the same time. This is actually one of Homelander's smarter tricks, perhaps the best one after his Syria trip.

And, well, we all know how that ends. Ryan finally drinks the milkshake. Willingly. Having ungodly amounts of fun.

[anotherhomelanderblog]

Hannibal 2x06 "Futamono" || The Boys 4x03 "We'll Keep the Red Flag Flying Here" || The Boys 4x07 " The Insider" || The Boys 4x08 "Assassination Run"

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Honestly, I'm at a point where I wonder if I am really so delulu for Homelander that I am missing something, but I swear, a lot of these people who post 'Homelander Wins Worst Father Award' legitimately have never seen a bad dad. In their lives.

Is he a good dad? I think he's an okay-ish dad in general, and a shockingly good dad for how damaged he is. Fatherhood is the only thing awakening some semblance of self-awareness in him.

He's being unintentionally terrible from time to time 'cause he suffers from untreated mental illness, though Ryan actually shows a pretty mature awareness of this and honestly just seems to file these incidents under 'Dad being Dad' without feeling hurt by them. Ryan himself also shows no signs of fear of his father and speaks up against him with zero hesitation, and that's after getting to know him more personally and living with him for two years (he was scared of him before). The only time Ryan professes to being scared of his father post-moving-to-the-Tower is when Mallory tells him they should physically fight (the whole 'he's stronger' thing, I think there was definitely fear there, but we're talking about normal parenting here and not fighting your dad to the death in a battle for humanity).

But is he the worst dad ever? In a show that canonically has fathers driving their kids to suicide and beating them up within an inch of their lives? I really don't think he is. It's another one for the 'evil character automatically must be evil father' list, where people can't differentiate between what a character does in general and what a character does specifically to his kid.

As a comparison: Billy Butcher, you know, famously Ryan's stepfather, is currently debating with himself about whether to straight-up kill Ryan because Ryan is 'too evil to live' despite not actually having done anything evil. Ever.

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He can do whatever the fuck he wants to me... 😘

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Interesting reddit comment confirming that there is gonna be a major battle in S5 of the boys for Homelander, most be pretty big if it took almost 10 days to shoot.

As to who the person posting is they are an IRL friend of Starr.

At least if Homie dies in a battle is gonna be a big one.

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Two hours later…

“What did you put in my milk, William?”

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Big Homelander with a plus sized s/o??? Big Homelander carrying around and ragdolling a plus size s/o bc he's big and strong???? Big Homelander squeezing plus sized s/o gently like a stim toy?????

No matter what size the reader is, if they love Homelander then he will love them to the moon and back. Being able to squeeze them to bits is an added bonus for the king of "fidgeting mindlessly with his fingers 24/7", lol.

[anotherhomelanderblog]

★ 【K-SUWABE】 「 ホームランダー 」 ✔ republished w/permission ☆ follow btt’s fanart twitch stream!

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The Real Heroes (Homelander x Reader)

Your life as a middle school teacher is interrupted by the leader of the Seven.

No major warnings other than Homelander being Homelander.

You do not have time for an assembly today. You have a printer to fight.

“Print, you son of a bitch,” You growl, petulantly kicking the ancient machine. “This is your one job!”

The printer hisses at you in reply. Jackson, your longtime companion through the middle school teaching trenches, shakes his head at your antics. He stands at the lounge door with his coffee in one hand and your usual order in the other. “Why bother? The assembly will take up two class periods.”

You groan and throw your head back, silently cursing your principal’s heart. He emailed you all last night about the surprise assembly with SASS - “Supes and Students Succeed.” It was Vought’s latest attempt to demonstrate its support for education. It was surely a coincidence that SASS launched just weeks after Vought faced a million-dollar lawsuit. A kid in DC ran in front of a metro car to prove they were the next A-Train. He wasn’t. The kid miraculously survived, but was entombed in a body cast for the foreseeable future. His parents now had pockets lined with cash, and Vought had a cute little presentation about the importance of completing one's education—and not jumping in front of trains. The best heroes were the educated heroes, they said. Meanwhile, these little assemblies were just taking away valuable class time.

State testing was around the corner. You didn’t have time to whisk your kids away to a presentation where only a quarter of them would pay attention—and even those kids were only following along in the hopes that a superhero would make a cameo. A local hero was known to make appearances in these programs around the country; even members of the Seven were known to show up, though very rarely. The chances of that happening in your school, a place where affording working appliances was a challenge, came close to zero. You didn’t care what celebrity tried to teach your students to stop auditioning to be supes when they lacked any powers. You cared about them passing their exams. You had hoped that printing worksheets for your students to work on during the assembly - God knows they would be bored - was the best way to make up for lost classroom time. Regrettably, the printer was not on your side.

“It’s a nice break, at least?” Jackson offers a shrug. “Just babysitting for two hours.”

“I did not get a master’s degree to babysit.” You murmur, and give the printer another feeble kick. It hisses at you again. 

“Come on, grumpy.” Jackson hands you your cup and spins on his heel for the hallway. “Bell’s about to ring.” 

You and Jackson navigate the halls among the small sea of students headed for the auditorium. Every student in the school was required to come to this assembly. You didn’t know if it was a yearly mandate or if Vought had slipped your principal a few extra dollars, but this happened annually. On a random school day in the spring, usually a Monday, SASS would take two class periods and deliver its spiel to the students. Finish high school. Go to college. Don’t jump in front of trains. As you and Jackson found a post on the right side of the auditorium, backs to the wall as your students filled in the seats, you wondered if Vought realized how much of a joke this whole thing was. You’re brought out of your thoughts by a student calling your name. You look up and see Sam, one of your seventh graders, waving at you as she sits close to your post. She’s a class clown to be sure, but one of the few you’ve met with actual charm. She grins when you lock eyes. “You ready to be SASSy?”

You snort and hold your cup out towards her in a toast. “You don’t need more SASS, Sam.”

She gasps in mock offense. “SASS is critical to my education! It is my honor and privilege to SASS.”

You arch a brow with a playful smirk. “Your report card agrees.”

Sam gasps again, and her friends laugh. You can’t help but smile. Damn it. Even in a mood plagued by incompetent administration, socially unaware conglomerates, and shitty machinery, your students could make you feel lighter.

Unfortunately, the assembly had to begin. The curtains open to reveal a woman in a blue pantsuit named Tracey. Or Trixie. The microphones in your auditorium were not the finest, either. After a brief introduction and welcome, she immediately begins the standard speech about how much Vought appreciates and loves its students nationwide. They see the futures of America in this very room. She presents slides showing the statistics of salaries at Vought in comparison to degrees, and how critical it is that every youth in this school pursues their dreams by pursuing those diplomas. It is boring as sin. 

“Take a shot every time she says ‘success,’” Jackson mumbles to you.

“Double them when she says ‘we’, like they’re in on the fun,” You mumble back. 

The students, bless them, pretend to pay attention. You have to tell a student or two to put their phones away, and you glare at Sam more than once for whispering to her friends, but for the most part, the youth are taking this opportunity to rest. You don’t have the heart to wake up those who have completely fallen asleep. If these assemblies were around when you were a kid, you might have done the same thing.

“Now, I know what you’re probably thinking,” Nancy says, her voice unbearably theatrical. “Who is this lady, and what does she have to do with our success?”

“Another shot,” You murmur.

“Well, we’ve heard you loud and clear-”

“One more.”

“And we think a friendlier face might help you out,” Nancy looks off stage, and her plastic grin stretches even further. It looks painful. “Are you ready to meet him?”

A few students lean forward, and you take a sip of your drink. Your principal’s e-mail hadn’t mentioned any local heroes, so it couldn’t be someone of much importance. Some vice president at Vought, maybe? A supe who didn’t make it in life to show your students an example of tragic hubris? You’re still debating who it could be when said guest walks on stage - and you nearly choke on your drink.

It’s the Homelander.

The auditorium goes insane. The children are screaming, some jumping in their seats. The adults aren’t doing much better. Some are dumbstruck, while most others are as excited as the kids. The Homelander, the leader of the Seven and the most powerful supe in existence, stands in the center of your shitty auditorium stage. He’s laughing and holding his arms out wide, playfully asking for the cheers to stop and sporadically waving to people around the room. He is somehow entirely in his element while being completely outside of it.

“That can’t be him,” You whisper to Jackson. “That…it’s a performer, right?”

“No, dude. That’s him,” Jackson stares wide-eyed at the stage, unaware his coffee has tilted enough to spill onto the floor. “There’s only one man on Earth with eyes that sky blue.”

You don’t have the brainpower to question how Jackson is so familiar with Homelander’s eye color. All you do is watch in shock as the hero quiets the crowd with a simple wave of his hand. The students all sit, and the teachers are calm. Some are still whispering to each other in amazement, but even those quiet sounds stop when Homelander speaks to the crowd at large. His voice booms without the need for a microphone.

“Good morning, gang!” He greets. Even from your far post to the right, you see the pearlescent glow of his teeth. “So good to see you all! You know, when Vought asked me to come along on some of these SASS assemblies, I wasn’t so sure. What could I teach you that your teachers don’t already, right? But seeing you all…it just really makes it worth it.”

You can feel the room buzzing with excitement. Homelander - the Homelander - is at your school. This surprise is going to be the talk of the town for the next month, at the very least. You wish you could gasp and admire like everyone else, but something about the way he presents himself prickles at your senses. He seems very aware that he hypnotizes everyone, and he loves it. You get the feeling he doesn’t believe a word he’s saying, but he’s happy to swallow the praise it gives him. He’s living up to your long-held belief that Vought sees children as nothing more than another cash grab. You shudder to think how many Homelander shirts you’ll see in the hallways for the coming weeks. 

“I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that I see plenty of heroes in the room tonight,” Homelander begins to stroll back and forth across the stage. He’s good at what he does, moving his eyes around the room so everyone can feel as if maybe, just maybe, he’s talking to them. “I see doctors, lawyers…maybe even see some future teammates. What do you think of that, huh?”

The room goes wild. Once again, Homelander calms them with a simple raised hand. You've got to admire that classroom management. He could teach your new teachers a thing or two. He stops on the stage opposite from your side and claps his hands together with a dramatic sigh. “But let’s be clear, people…you can’t get anywhere without a proper education. It kills me to think about how many kids are dropping out. I know it can be tough. Really, I do. But you have to keep trying.”

You just stop yourself from rolling your eyes. If the speech were any more scripted, you would see a teleprompter on the back wall. 

“I know what it’s like to want to give up, but you can’t,” Homelander insists with a strong fist to the sky. “The only way you’re going to make it to the top is through hard work.”

“Or being privileged enough to be born with laser vision,” You murmur to Jackson.

Maybe you’re being paranoid. Perhaps it was a trick of the crappy theater lights. But for a moment, so quick you nearly miss it, Homelander turns and stares directly at you. In that split second, your stomach drops to your feet. Your mind flashes to the latest Vought movie you saw in theaters. There was a scene where an up-and-coming supe talks to his friend about Homelander’s superior senses, how he can see through walls and smell a rat a state away - or hear a singular whisper in a noisy crowd. As quickly as you feel seen, however, he looks away and continues his speech. He rambles on about “success” and “we” and “SASS,” but it becomes a ringing in your ears. That hadn’t happened, right? He didn’t hear you. 

“In fact,” Homelander says from a segue you were too mortified to comprehend, “How about I have a student come up here?”

Every hand in the room shoots up, even the students you have to torture to get to participate in class on a typical day. Homelander scans the room with that trademark grin, and then finally settles on someone just to your right. “You. Yes, you, the young lady with the green shirt.”

Sam. She jumps up from her seat, beaming at her squealing friends as she navigates her way through the aisle. She grins at you and Jackson before making her way up the stage. It’s only when she’s officially on the same level as Homelander that a rare bashfulness takes over. Her shoulders tighten, and you’re suddenly aware of how small a 12-year-old is. She looks so very breakable as she steps next to Homelander. Your grip on your cup tightens as a confusing flash of protectiveness rises in your chest.

“Hey there, miss,” He greets, holding out a gloved hand to her. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Sam,” She whispers shakily as she holds out her hand to him.

“Short for Samantha?” Homelander asks, and she eagerly nods her head. He chuckles and releases her hand. “Beautiful name. Sam, what grade are you in?”

She clears her throat, but it does nothing to disguise the timid squeak of her voice. “Seventh.”

“Oh, wow. Great grade. I remember loving that year,” Homelander tilts his head, his hands falling to his hips. “I’m gonna ask you a question, Sam. Is that alright?”

Sam nods quickly, but doesn’t speak. His grin widens in amusement. “Sam, one of the most important things SASS does is honor our teachers. Teachers are the real heroes of our country. Right?”

Another nervous nod.

“So, I need a favor, Sam,” Homelander gestures out to the audience. “Who’s your favorite teacher out here? Who’s someone that’s really helped you out to be your best SASSy self?”

She barely deliberates for a moment. To you, it happens in slow motion. She says your name and points at you. Homelander’s eyes find you immediately. Jackson was right; that sky blue shade could only belong to him. The hero looks surprised for a moment, as if he didn’t expect Sam to have such a quick answer - or didn’t expect it to be you. Then, he says your name as if he’s known it all along and holds out a hand. “Why don’t you come on up here?”

The room was loud when Sam was called up, but it’s an explosion for you. Your students cheer like you’ve won the lottery. Jackson starts clapping beside you, his coffee cup nowhere to be seen. Your limbs are jelly. You stare up at the stage and momentarily debate running out the door, starting a new career in another country. Then, Homelander laughs. “C’mon, don’t be shy! Give me the privilege of meeting you.”

He had heard you.

Your hands are shaking as you hobble towards the stage and up the small set of stairs. To keep yourself from having an episode, you focus on Sam. She is grinning from ear to ear. When you get close enough, she hugs you. You’re only half aware of hugging her back, and then letting go to look at Homelander. He’s not as tall as you imagined, and there are more lines on his face than you’ve seen in the movies - but he’s gorgeous in an unsettling way. His face is a series of perfect angles, his hair perfectly luminous under the stage lights - and those eyes. They belong less to a man and more to a snake curling itself around prey. You once again restrain the urge to flee. Homelander repeats your name and holds out his hand. Instinctively, you reach out to shake it. His long fingers curl around yours and squeeze. You’re well aware this man is capable of juggling monster trucks, but the squeeze is so gentle. He holds your hand like it’s made of porcelain, and his release of it is far too slow.

Homelander repeats your name as he looks back out at the audience. “So, let’s hear more from the teachers who know what SASS is all about.” He looks back at you so quickly that you almost jump. “What can our students here do to become future heroes?”

You had nearly forgotten you’re on a stage in front of the entire school. You swallow heavily and clear your throat to keep your voice from sounding like a mouse. “They…they can remember that they have their teachers to rely on. We’re here to help them be the best that they can be. And don’t forget to read. Or do their homework.”

There are some laughs from your students. It keeps you from cringing at your own cheesy words. Homelander moves to wrap an arm around your shoulders. You’re shocked at the warmth that radiates from him. He smells clean and fresh, like linen drying under a spring sky. His hold is still shockingly gentle. “And what can Vought do for teachers?” He asks, this time looking at you. From this close, there’s something about his grin that seems to challenge you. 

You stare, unblinking. “A new printer would be nice.”

Your coworkers reward you with laughter and loud clapping. The camaraderie brings you some ease from the way Homelander is staring at you. There is something about the stare that seems to see past you, past your skin, to something you aren’t aware of. You know he has X-ray vision, but you don’t think he’s analyzing your rib cage. What does he see, and why do you get the horrible feeling it’s pissing him off?

Finally, he laughs and uncurls his arm from you. “Well, I’m sure we have the budget for that,” He teases, and claps your back. If you were a weaker person, the clap would have made you stumble forward. Luckily, you keep your balance. You swear his eye twitches. “Let’s give another round of applause for them, huh?”

It all becomes a blur after that. Homelander announces your and Sam’s names again, and thanks you both for “helping SASS with its mission.” You notice he barely looks at Sam as he gives this goodbye. He switches from looking out at the audience to looking at you, his gaze trailing your form in a move too obvious to miss. You manage to follow Sam back down the stairs and answer her whispered comments of awe with nods and vague hums. You watch as she sits back with her friends and giggles excitedly with them. Jackson tries to talk to you, at some point asks you what cologne Homelander smells like - you’ll have to check in with him on this secret Homelander obsession later - but your mind is elsewhere. Homelander is making his goodbyes. He’s thanking the school for having him and reminding everyone about how much he values education, students, and teachers. You don’t hear the end. When everyone is back to looking at him, you sneak your way out of the auditorium.

The day passes in a haze. You don’t go to the teacher’s lounge for lunch. You don’t monitor the hallways the way you usually would. You hide in your classroom, grading papers and crafting lessons and doing everything in your power to not think about that assembly. When you have classes in the afternoon, you focus on your lecture. Your students try to ask you about him, but you silence those questions immediately. Luckily, your teacher glare is only slightly less unsettling than his stare. You manage to make it to the end of the day without hearing about him. Jackson checks in and asks if you need a ride home, but you quickly decline your friend's offer. You’re going to work late tonight. You’ll need to condense two days of lessons into one for the classes that had the assembly.

When you finally journey out of your classroom to go to the lounge, you’re alone. There may still be some teachers lingering around the building, but it’s well past the time when any students with afterschool clubs or sports would be here. The school is big enough that even if you have company, you feel alone. You feel safe. This time, when you try to print your papers, it’s successful. The printer takes pity on you and prints all of your worksheets without a problem.

“If this is your attempt at a truce, I’ll allow it,” You mutter to the machine. “We’ll see about tomorrow.”

The printer beeps.

After tucking the worksheets into your backpack, you make your way to the school parking lot. Your keys are in your hand as you open the door to the cool outside air. The sun is just beginning to set, tinting the sky red. The color is dull behind the Homelander’s cape. You know this because he is standing on the sidewalk in front of you, hands folded behind him. You briefly wonder if you have finally lost it and have begun to hallucinate. Then, he speaks. “Who were you talking to?”

You blink as you try to make sense of…anything. When Homelander’s brow furrows at your silence, you manage a reply. “The printer.” Your voice sounds a lot higher than usual.

Homelander blinks back at you, and then huffs a laugh. It’s a much harsher sound compared to the chuckles he was making on stage. “Do you only talk about printers?”

Your fingers tighten around your keys, and his eyes follow the movement. You manage to shrug your shoulders. “When your work revolves around them working, they come up a lot.”

“Well, that thing reeks of ink,” He says, nodding to your bag. “So, it worked?”

You nod. “Yes. It’s survived another day of me not killing it.”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes that looks far more genuine than anything he saw on stage. He saunters forward a bit, hands still clasped behind him. “So what’s your deal, huh? Why do these kids really like you?”

Something in his tone seems annoyed. If he weren’t the world’s most famous superhero, you would think it was jealousy. You shrug your shoulders. “I…I’m not sure. I guess I’m honest with them.”

He frowns, unimpressed. “Honest.”

“Yes?”

“You think these brats like you just because you’re honest with them?”

Another flare of protective instincts. “You’d be surprised how rare that is for kids.”

Homelander is silent for a long moment, watching you like you’re a puzzle missing one more piece. You drum your fingers against your keys. There’s a silent implication that you’re not supposed to leave. He’s even managed to angle himself so you can’t see your car, and you decline to wonder if that’s intentional. Instead, you offer a question. “Why’re you here?”

His frown now looks insulted. “Excuse me?”

“I mean…I assume Vought has left,” You say for quick damage control, gesturing to the nearly empty parking lot. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment. Then, he takes another few steps closer to you. He is just short of your personal space. “You know what happened when I walked on stage? Those kids lost their minds. Their hearts were pounding like a bunch of little rabbits. But you know what happened when they saw you?”

You slowly shake your head as you try to convince yourself his tone hasn’t become menacing. He grins, and it is all sharp teeth.

“Their scrawny little hearts beat faster. Most of their pupils fucking dilated. And the smell…” His nose wrinkles in disgust. He’s close enough now that you have to tilt your chin up to meet his piercing gaze. “They adore you. And I just want to know why those jars of snot love a teacher they see every day more than they love me.”

You’re at a loss for words, but he’s looking at you like he expects an answer. You loosen your hands on your keys. If you’re about to be ripped in half by a supe whose reputation is a farce, you may as well be truthful. “Because I care about those jars of snot. And because they know that SASS is a bunch of horseshit.”

He scoffs. “You think you know better than Vought?”

Your eyes narrow. “I know I do.”

He’s been silent for so long that you fear he may have glitched. You wonder if you’re about to be lasered in half in a middle school parking lot. Then, finally, he chuckles - and it’s back to that fake laughter you heard in the auditorium. “Well, they sure make teachers feistier than they did when I was a kid.”

You say nothing, your gaze tracking his every movement as he steps away from the shade of the school building. The setting sun reflects off his hair as he winks at you. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, teach. I’ll see you soon.”

Then, with a casual wave of his hands, he launches into the night air. You shield your eyes from the onslaught of wind and dirt. By the time you remove your arm, he’s gone. You stare up at the sky, your keys lightly shaking in your hand. 

~-~

The next day, you walk into the teacher’s lounge to find a brand new printer. A quick Internet search reveals it to be the most state-of-the-art and expensive printer available to the public. Your principal casually mentions that it came from an unnamed donor. The note written on printer paper, which you find on your desk, makes it less anonymous.

More to come. - Homelander

[anotherhomelanderblog]

One of the many fun things being normal about Homelander makes you aware of is the way his roots darken and lighten across the show (are we meant to assume people ever believed he was a natural blond? With those dark brows?). Obviously, it just coincides with whenever they've decided Antony needed a top up his poor poor scalp, but I really like how it fits the theme of Homelander constantly trying to project this perfect, stylised image of himself while the darker (heh) truth of who he is is always threatening to peep through.

Also, his roots seem especially prominent at the start of S3 - in my memory, at least. He's at a low ebb at that point, so I kinda associate him letting his roots go with that depressiveness too. I mean, as a brunette who has experience going fully blonde and slowly watching the dark roots creep back in, I can confirm it does give you an Ugh sort of feeling. Totally fits with how low he was because he'd been muzzled by Stan etc.