#Vought international

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Promotion” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| Being Black Noir’s new handler and him becoming obsessed with you since Mr. Edgar himself assigned you to him.

| SFW, vought employee!reader, (TW: Noir is kind of stalking the Reader, who’s uncomfortable but adapting mostly)

| 1k+ words

“You want me to…what?”

“Be Noir’s new personal handler.” He fans his hands out on the table with a shrug and gives you a disarming smile. “You’ll be expected to parlay direct mission instructions from me, accompany him to said missions and stay with the deployment team. I expect you to give written reports on his performance at the end of every day, active mission or not…”

Your eyes continue to widen as his barrage keeps going. This job would require you to be present for everything short of Noir wiping his ass and even then you’ll be outside the restroom.

Mr. Edgar finishes, gives you an expectant look, and you clear your throat.

“And, what if I don’t want the new position?”

“I don’t see why not.” He shrugs, “I mean unless you don’t think you’re good enough for the promotion. Then I suppose I’ll just have to tell Ashley her recommendation was for naught.”

You laugh.

“No no, that’s fine. There’s no need to tell her anything…” you gulp, watching the man just look back at you before taking a second more to inhale, “…ex-cept that her recommendation payed off.”

He tilts his head and it feels like his eyes are boring through your own, boiling your brain to mush. Your voice is small as you push the rest of your words out in one exhale.

“And that I’ll be starting my new position tomorrow. Sir.”

You stretch a smile across your face and hiss out a sigh of relief as that finally gets the man to respond.

He instantly reanimates, reaching atop his desk to hand you a secure black portfolio made from hard plastic.

“That’s great. I’m glad you decided to take on this new journey, Ms. L/n. May it serve you well. Have a good day.”

You don’t dare drop your smile as you take the offered portfolio and shove it under your arm.

“Right.” You take a moment to mourn the loss of your old job before nodding, “Thank you for the opportunity, Sir. You have a good day as well.”

The older man nods back at you, attention immediately gone back to his computer monitor afterward. You blow out air from your nose and then turn on your heels.

It’s not until you’ve left the board room that it hits you.

“Shit.”

The man had just played you. Goddamn Edgar and his resoluteness. Once he’d decided to “ask” you about the upgrade in position he never intended for it to be an actual request.

You rub your temple and head to the restroom. At least you had the rest of the hours in the day before tackling your new job.

You hunker down in the stall after peeing to look over the papers Mr. Edgar gave you. As you're skimming through a whole lot of shit marked “classified” or “redacted” you have the stray thought to be glad that Translucent’s creep ass wasn’t here to ogle you and be all in your business anymore.

Thank the higher power for small mercies, you suppose.

All the snippets of information you're gathering are kind of baffling. Legal name: Earving (of all things), biological male, six foot two, African-American (that’s fun; may be the reason he took such a liking to you too, not many black people made it to the top floors of Vought after all). You dog-ear a packet about some sort of imaginary animals he sees in his mind before looking over a page about a severe peanut allergy. Hmm.

By the end of the day you’ve nearly gotten all the way through Noir’s portfolio, and you’ve also worked up an itch to get out of your skin that means you’re not working overtime worth a goddamn.

At six o’clock on the dot all of your crap is already quite thoroughly packed, your former workspace - barren thing that it already was due to regulations - was cleaned out and ready for the next poor soul, and you’re in the elevator heading for the sub-level garage.

Dead stare locked onto the floor numbers you become acutely aware of the bags weighing your eyes down.

“Fuck,” you sigh.

Black Noir's Personal Handler.

Despite Mr. Edgar’s clear efforts it was more than a little known open secret that personal handlers rarely got to retire. Madelyn Stillwell’s death might’ve been something none of you dared discuss for fear of either Edgar or - heaven forbid - Homelander catching wind and putting you back in your place, but it was a pattern of the job that you all were well aware of.

Though you’d take Mr. Edgar’s culling over whatever Homelander could possibly come up with.

Something about his blonde, blue-eyed, ass didn’t sit right with your spirit.

Far as PR and wrangling went though, short of maybe Starlight, any wrinkles Black Noir managed to make would be the easiest to smooth out.

Plus, even with you and Noir having some form of a pre-established relationship it was in no way dependent or built upon you being Noir’s emotional epicenter like Madelyn and Homelander’s weird…dynamic was.

You had seen and heard far too much in your years working for Vought to think for a second that there wasn’t something dark and twisted going on with The Seven, but Noir still seemed mellow in comparison to the rest and their constant ego trips and dick measuring.

You had zero clue how letting the fully covered man teach you a few notes to a song at the Christmas party when everyone was drunk off eggnog and watered down booze and sitting with him when he was crying on the floor once led you to this.

Sure the silent man and you had somewhat hit it off - so far as you were one of the few non-supers he didn’t intimidate or just flat out ignore - but to be made so intimately in charge of him seemed like a bit much.

Noir had seemed endlessly patient with you as he played for you and then eventually decided he’d teach you how to play the piano yourself, the sides of your bodies’ shifting incrementally until you were pressed flush to one another in both of yous concentration, so you could really only hope he kept that same levelness with you as his handler.

You bank the corner, work bag and portfolio on the same arm, and fish out your keys so you can unlock your trunk and shove your shit inside.

Hope truly was the name of the game here unfortunately. You could only hope Noir kept up his “good” streak, and that that streak wasn’t just a farce that you were now in charge of covering up. Hope that he didn’t end up getting angry or reckless and making you one of those *redacted* cases with a ‘cause of death, unknown’ attached to your name, because you could do nothing to stop him if he wanted to kill you.

Shiver racking up your spine and turning your blood to static, you snap your trunk closed, turning to leave when—

“—Fucking Christ!”

Eyes gone wide and spit having nearly choked you from your sharp inhalation before your exclamation, you do your best to appear composed as Black Noir himself steps out from a conclave of shadows to stand in front of you.

The Devil, you find yourself thinking. Had he been following you this whole time?

For his part Noir doesn’t move aside from cocking his head to the side.

Steadily, you force calmness onto yourself. Ignoring that your voice is too high when you call his name.

“Black Noir,” you say, trying to seep the professionalism back into your tone while smoothing down the creases in your pantsuit, “surprised to see you here. What can I do for you?”

The smile you offer him feels wonky even as you command the muscles up, but it’s the best you can do with your heart hammering against your chest as if it wants to run off and leave you behind.

For a couple more beats the man doesn’t do more than size you up presumably before finally - as you were weighing the pros and cons of just getting in your car despite his presence - raising a hand to point at your trunk.

You catch on to his meaning fairly quickly, your smile dropping to something more natural whilst you huff a tiny laugh.

“Oh yeah, guess Mr. Edgar must’ve told you. I’m your new handler - you know, if you had one before that is. I don’t…actually know…” you trail off, shifting on your heels when Noir only continues to keep his stillness.

“Mhm,” you mutter, rocking backwards, just staring until finally Noir shifts and there’s suddenly a pad and pen in his hand.

He flips casually to a clear page before starting to write and you’re fairly sure this is the first time he’s ever actually ‘talked’ to you.

Huh.

Not long after does the pad get flipped over and brandished to you. You click your teeth together.

‘Edgar says you’ll do good,’ he scribbles, writing absolute chicken scratch and letters far too large on the medium sized pages, before flipping the pad back to himself and writing some more.

‘Believe in you!’ and a whole bunch of smiley faces is what meets you once he lets you see.

You blink. Noir puts the pad back wherever he had it initially to give you two thumbs up.

You muster a slightly bigger half smile for his efforts.

“Thanks Noir,” you say, words more sincere than you’d been expecting.

A nod and an eternity more of silence and staring is what he gives you in response.

You’re getting ready to shift, to awkwardly relay that you’d like to be getting home soon, when Noir stiffens suddenly - and isn’t that startling, a man so tall and so strapped with sharp explosive deadly things going so alert like that - head tilting like he’s listening for something.

A few seconds go by like that where he doesn’t do anything else and you fight to keep yourself still, smile gone and part of your lip caught firmly between your teeth.

Then Noir’s giving you a nod and leaving just as silently and unseenly as he had come.

You wait another two-three beats before scrambling into your car. The sound of your lock engaging sounds like salvation and the steering wheel feels like a lifeline as you grip it with stiff nearly foreign fingers.

God.

You force a deep breath into your lungs, make sure it comes out more steadily than it came in.

At least Mr. Edgar didn’t dump you onto Homelander’s lap. Something in you shrivels up and dies at the mere prospect. You nod, your hands flexing on the steering wheel.

This was definitely better.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This is a semi companion story to “Pandora’s Melody” if you’d like to check that one out as well.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[fatum679]

Homelander & John

– When we were kids, alone in the bad room, I got us through it, right? Don’t I always? – Always. – No matter what? – No matter what. – And now, I’ll get us through this. Just as long as you and me stick together.

[seeds-and-sins]

Four Letter Word - Soulmate AU Part Three

Pairing: Homelander x Reader

Rating: M (BAD WORDS, abusive themes, Homelander-esque expectations)

Description: Homelander and you are soulmates, but you can't stand the way he treats you anymore.

Part Two

Tagged: @midnightprincess18

Hiding things from Homelander was like hiding warm bodies from an infrared. He could see the lie-or just a fragment of one-from hundreds of miles away, smell it on you the moment you entered the building, hear the nervous tremble in your voice that was near undetectable to average human ears. You had become well adjusted to his capabilities. Granted, surprises or any sort of secrets were prohibited. You tried to plan a birthday party for John one time and the response was-well-needless to say, he wasn't pleased. So, you learned to keep absolutely transparent with the Homelander on everything; all of his questions were answered with the full truth, any feeling or hint of uncertainty was made known to him. It was impossible that it not be.

In almost every capacity, Homelander was the perfect lover. He knew exactly what you needed when you needed it. He could detect the faintest skip in your heart rate, the sweat beading on your brow, the scent of arousal. He was always attentive, asking about you, doting on you, complimenting you. In this regard, he never failed to please you. However, as far as never getting a second away from his unrelenting and ravenous nosy self, that was slowly starting to get to you.

The tensions started after he had admitted, on live television, before the entire planet, that you were his soulmate. Even then, when you told him everything was fine, he knew otherwise. He eventually apologized for his transgressions against you that day, but it didn't help the fact that you were now the second most mentioned person on the news. From that point forward, something was off. And it was only getting worse with each passing day.

John was keeping something from you, that was for certain, but the total transparency you offered him was never quite reciprocated. You asked him about it, but he never cared to give you a direct answer or at least an answer that was truthful.

Then, Translucent went missing, John told you.

Then next, Starlight, the newest member of the Seven, was admitting a sexual assault on national television. The Deep was suspect to dozens of other accusations that followed.

Then, A-Train was never around, and anytime you ran into him in the hallway, he was sweating profusely and struggling to catch his breath.

"I'm fine!" A-Train obviously wasn't fine.

And Black Noir never had any drama, but with the way things were going you wondered if you just hadn't found out what was wrong with him yet. Because then you found out that Maeve's alcoholism and depression had been keeping her hauled away in her penthouse suite.

Meanwhile, John, Homelander, your lover, was on the television every other day, ranting and raving about things that made your blood go cold. First, with that plane crash. Then, the news interviews gone wrong.

The icing on the cake was when a video leaked on the web and, soon, the news, depicting the possibility of super humans existing in other countries, with deadly intentions.

Maybe you worked too much. If you had been around more often, you would know about what was going on. Maybe if you had been with him more, he would have spoken to you sooner. Instead, all of the distant looks, empty kisses and promises, it built up in your very being, your soul. Until you couldn't take it any longer. You were hurt.

You stormed to the Vought meeting room, where Homelander stood at the far end of the table. The leftover, broken members of a team you once respected sat around that table: Starlight, Maeve, Noir, A-Train. You didn't care who was there. You didn't care who was listening. You needed to let everything out. From the edge of your sight, you noticed Ashley in the corner. The room was already thick with discomfort, but when you walked in, it intensified.

John's cape flicked as he turned to face you, those gorgeous blue eyes looking at you with confusion, the fragile New York skyline laid out in the scenic view behind him. You didn't think you had the courage to do it until you saw him. He spoke your name, that lackluster smile pulling his lips, he recovered his surprise, greeted you as if he hadn't been avoiding you for nearly a month.

"I'm leaving you." You said, confident, sure, no hint of any lie in that tone. John's smile fell, you saw A-Train's eyes bulge and he tensed up. The whole room knew what he was capable of. At any point in time, he could go off and destroy everything in his path. Maeve's eyes darted back and forth, between John and you, she was preparing herself for the worst.

"Okayyy, maybe we should-" Ashley's awkward attempt at finding a solution was thwarted by a stern hiss from between Homelander's clenched teeth.

"No. You're not." He shot back.

"Yes. I am." Tears brimmed the corners of your eyes, "I care about you. I love you so much..." You spent everything in you not to cry. "But you are a horrible fuckin' person, John. Horrible." Even his shock was evident at that utterance. You could hear his gloves squeak from the force of his fists clenching, all the way at the other side of the room. "I can't do it anymore." You inhaled a deep breath, glancing around the room at the stunned and horrified expressions of Homelander's teammates and then you left.

As soon as you disappeared from the room, he was hunching forward over the table. There was a harsh silence as everyone tried to figure out what would happen next. Would he rip his way through the building? Would he start killing people one by one? Would he go on a rampage in the city? The only one to have broken up with Homelander was Maeve and it appeared to be a mutual decision at the time. And Maeve wasn't his soulmate, the idea of bonded soulmates ever so much as considering a breakup was foreign to the world. They were either together, or never together, that was it. Homelander stood to his full height, he lifted his chin.

"What were we talking about?" He said through clenched teeth, the utterance was rough and husky, strained, everyone physically leaned away in their seats.

"Um-uh-um-I think-"

"Starlight." A-Train shot out, "We were talking about Starlight." Starlight blinked, quietly looking around the table for any sort of protection as Homelander's burning rage redirected itself back to the topic at hand.

After that meeting, Homelander barreled out of the room and went looking for you. He was a fuming mess. No one in the hallway dared to get in his way.

How dare you? He was nothing but good to you. How fuckin' dare you?

He was preparing his entire rant on the way to his penthouse, but when he got there it was empty. He frantically searched with his x-ray vision, then he stomped into the shared room and noticed that all of your clothes were absent from the dresser.

He wasn't freaking out.

No.

He wasn't-

Homelander flew through the windows of his penthouse, glass exploded outward from his exit. He went oil a rage through the city, searching for you. Car alarms were going off, people were staring at the sky as sonic booms bounced around from the speeds he was going. He searched around the tower, then he searched the streets near the tower. You weren't in the subways.

His chest was tight, he couldn't find you anywhere.

You were serious! You left him!

Homelander couldn't let this happen. John couldn't let this happen. He could already feel his control slipping, bit by bit. For so long, he relied on you to keep him together. You made him feel human. You reminded him that he was not just a superhero, or a celebrity... Or a god. You reminded him that he had a soul.

He swiftly flew back to the tower. At this point, everyone was on alert. He was charging through the hallways in long and hard strides. People were ducking into rooms, hiding behind planters, pushing themselves as far up against the walls as they could possibly go. He stopped at the surveillance room. Before entering, he could hear the friendly chirping and the clicking away of computer keys. As soon as he was spotted, the room of employees went drop dead silent.

Homelander didn't care who's day he ruined, he randomly picked someone.

"You. Search everywhere." He commanded lowly, gripping the head of their seat so tight that the chair might break completely. "I'm looking for my soulmate." He watched the screen as the frightened employee rushed to work. The blue glow made the tears brimming in his eyes glisten.

He was almost on that edge. He was almost gone. He didn't know what he would do without you.

"John..." A calm and reassuring voice sounded at his side. He stood tall and his head darted in their direction. It was none other than Madelyn Stillwell. "What's wrong? Talk to me." Homelander felt suffocated, he felt like he couldn't breath.

"She's gone." He choked out, sniffling to keep the snot inside his nose. "She left me." Madelyn appeared sympathetic, John wanted to convulse in disgust when she placed a hand on his shoulder. The only person he wanted to touch him was you. Perhaps Stillwell had a physical hold on him before he found out your existence, but that was long ago. Now, he had a soulmate. He had a soulmate that loved him.

"Why even bother, John?" She reasoned, sending him a sad smile. "Why would you want to be around someone that doesn't want to be around you?" Homelander stepped from her reach and she visibly frowned.

"She does want to be around me. She's just confused."

"Maybe this is for the best."

"This is ridiculous!" He shoved the employee away and began agressively typing at the keys, pulling every traffic camera, security camera, every snap photo in the subways, every credit transactions under your name. He found nothing. He didn't understand. Vought had access to some of the most deeply integrated data bases in the world and he still couldn't find her.

"John, maybe she'll come back. If she misses you as much as you miss her." Homelander fled the room, leaving behind a disoriented employee and an annoyed Stillwell.

That night, Homelander stood at the rooftop of Vought tower. It was where he had met you, it was where you both exchanged your first words. He pressed his hand over that same burning phrase that rested on his chest and he stared into the distance. Expression completely devoid of emotion, not a single tear more.

Homelander had fallen off completely.

...

This was agonizing. You thought you could take it, but it was only getting worse. You felt sick, you could barely move without being in pain. Maybe you were just going through a bout of depression. Maybe it would wear off with time. You didn't know for sure. What you did know was that you couldn't keep driving. So, after a few days on the road, sleeping intermittently in the car, you found a motel in Nevada.

You figured you needed to rest someplace that wasn't the front or back seat of a car. The motel was small. It appeared to only have about ten rooms in total. The old woman at the front desk was kind and she didn't ask questions. Every time you had stopped for gas or went through a drive-thru, someone recognized you.

"You're Homelander's Soulmate." They would state in awe, and then they would proceed to ask you every question they could think of about Homelander. What's his favorite food? Is he a good boyfriend? Do you love him? Are you guys going to get married? Are you going to have kids? And maybe that's why everything hurt so bad. The bond between soulmates went beyond the stars, connected people that were hundreds of miles apart. All that you felt away from Homelander was pain. Horrible, excruciating, blistering pain.

The moment you entered your room, you showered and changed into a comfortable pair of clothes. Then, you laid on the bed and cried. You cried for what must had been hours. This routine proceeded for the next few days. You didn't eat, you barely slept, and you just laid there. It was like death. You felt like you were dying. Your thoughts were filled with Homelander. He didn't want you. He didn't ask for a soulmate. He could have done without.

The words on your wrist, meant nothing anymore. After meeting John, you began looking at them with a fondness, your heart would swell. Now, they haunted you.

Well, you're a fuckin' idiot.

Yeah, you were.

After a week of hell, you heard several knocks at the door. You didn't know who it could possibly be. It took all of the energy you had left to get up and answer it. You looked like how you felt, a mess. You were wearing baggy sweat pants and a tank top, nothing else. You didn't even have the energy to put a bra on. Imagine your surprise when you answered the door and it wasthe old lady that owned the motel. She had a sickeningly sweet smirk on her face, that was damn near uncomfortable, and she had a tray of cookies in her hands. Your favorite cookies. How was that even possible?

"Thought I'd check in on you, deary, made you some cookies." Your eyes narrowed at her, they were already squinted from the bright light blaring in from behind her.

"Um..." This woman went from not giving two shits who you were, to checking in on you. You were suspicious.

Suspicious of what? She was an old lady. Harmless. It's not like Homelander was hiding under that wrinkly face.

"Thank you." You replied in a tired voice. Geez, was that you talking?

"May I come in?" You bit your bottom lip, anxiously glancing behind you.

"Okay." You moved out of the way enough for her to squeeze in. You were certian the room was a mess. You hadn't had the energy to pick up after yourself, but the good news was there was no food anywhere because you weren't eating. "Sorry, I just um-"

"You're going through Soulmate Seperation. It's a brutal thing. I went through it when I was your age." You squinted at her, cocked your head in confusion.

"I'm sorry..." You crossed your arms. "How did you know-I mean-"

"Like I said, my dear, I went through the same thing." She sat down on the edge of the bed, placing the tray beside her. "Come. Sit. Have a cookie." You blinked between the tray and her, then shut the door and followed her requests.

"How did you get through it?" Your words came out as a whisper as you eyed the cookie in hand, a tear slowlt trickled down your cheek.

"Well, I had to go back to them eventually. It hurt too bad. But I realized that we could work things out."

"I mean..." You sniffled, then took a giant bite. "He's perfect. But he doesn't love me."

"I'm sure he's obsessed with you." This cookie was really freaking good right now. And you were salivating for more. You hadn't eaten in days.

"He barely noticed me until I told him I was done with him."

"Remember. He's going through the same thing you are right now."

"You think?"

"Absolutely." You frowned at the thought. You didn't want him to hurt. You didn't want to only enhance the burden that this must be on him.

"Eat some more cookies, honey."

And you did.

...

One second you were eating cookies, the next second you were passed out on the bed. The old woman's body morphed into that of an overweight middle aged man. He picked up the phone and made a call.

Moments later, a team came in to collect your unconscious body and you were being taken away.

When you woke up, you were surrounded by a familiar smell, fresh pine, rain, it nearly made you cry as you gripped the sheets in closed fists.

John.

This was your bed. His bed.

Your eyes fluttered open and you were staring at a piece of paper, and written on that paper was a scribbled message.

Answer the phone.

You squinted at the red lettering, your vision blurring in and out of focus.

Then, as if on a cue, a phone began to vibrate. It was next to the note on the end table. You sat upright, glancing around at what used to be your bedroom, your home. Your face felt wet, tears were sliding down your cheeks. You shoved the covers off of you and reached for the phone. The caller ID was from an unknown number. You gulped, stared uneasily at the golden double doors leading into the bedroom. Everything was just as you had left it. It was as if you had never even left. You felt ana che in your chest at the thoughg.

Why were you even here?

How did you get here?

The vibrating phone drew your attention again. The buzzing stopped. You snatched the phone with lightening speed and stared as the missed call appeared on the screen. Not even a few seconds later the number appeared again and the phone shook in your hand like a storm in a bottle.

You looked around one more time, eyes landing on the message in red ink.

You hit the button and brought the phone to your ear.

There was a sigh on the other end, the person cleared their throat, before speaking your name.

Your eyes darted around.

"Y-Yes."

"For security's sake, I'm not going to inform you who I am, let's just say I am someone higher up on the chain."

"Vought's chain?" He didn't answer you.

"We don't have much time. Homelander is to arrive back from a press conferance in an hour. In that time, I suggest you clean yourself up. We have taken the liberty of returning your personal items to their former places-"

"Who are you?" You fumed, rising from the bed. You stormed over to the dresser and, in fact, found that the drawers were filled with your clothes. "So what, I can't make my own fuckin' decisions, now?"

"Not when those decisions pertain to Homelander."

"My choice has nothing to do with him."

"Respectfully, your choice nearly threatened all of humanity." You shook your head.

"I'm not that important to him." There was a sigh again and you wanted to scream. This man had some audacity, whoever he was.

"You believe whatever you want, but in the meantime you'll make up with Homelander and play nice. Pretty soon you'll be free of this burden..." Your heart jumped into your throat and you felt like your breath had been sucked from you completely. "And at that time, Vought will compensate you for your troubles."

"What do you mean burden?" You inhaled sharply, "Do you-Do you-Are you saying you can remove our soulmate marks? Are you saying that you can seperate soulmates?" He didn't answer you again. Grief hit you like a freight train, it was overwhelming.

"You have less than an hour. If you try to run away again, we will have to take stricter measures. Am I clear?" You didn't answer, still caught in your thoughts over the harsh reality that was just dealt to you. Remove soulmates?! No. No, no, no. You didn't want that. You never wanted that. You couldn't even imagine what...

"Don't-" The line hung up on the other end. You went frantic. You tried to dial the number back. It never rung, it went dead. "No. No. No." You dialed the number again. It never rung. It went dead. "Please." You cried, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead, you stared at the ground in disbelief.

Could they take him from you?

Isn't that what you wanted?

Didn't you want to run away from all this?

No. Not like that.

To be seperated from Homelander, for eternity. To have a piece of your soul ripped from you? You would rather than die. You rather be sucked into an abyss of nothingness before you allowed that to happen.

You put the phone down and rushed to get ready for Homelander's arrival.

...

"If she puts me on the spot like that again, Ashley, I am going to rip her fuckin' head off?!"

"Okay, okay, let's slow down. I'll talk to her okay? There's no need for that." Homelander halted in his furious step and faced Ashley, who came to an uneasy stop on her heels. He pointed a finger in her face and snarled.

"You better, or-" He paused, the anger immediately falling from his expression. His eyebrows furrowed and then he stood a little taller.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. I promise I'll fix this. I-"

"Shut up." Homelander growled lowly, his head twisted and he stared toward the closed bedroom doors. "Get the fuck out." He commanded, Ashley didn't waste time and she booked it out of the pemthouse. John straightened, his eyes glistened and he faced the bedroom doors.

His boots thumped against the marble floor, one after the other. Before he made it to the doors, you pulled the doors back and revealed yourself. He flinched away as if he had been stung, neck craning his head back, his jaw went tight. You weaved your fingers out in front of you and stood in quiet eith your head bowed. You had showered, brushed your teeth, put on perfume, pretty much anything to make yourself look far more presentable than you were.

You didn't know what to say. All you knew was that you wanted to rush into his arms as soon as you saw him. The feeling was suffocating, being so far apart for so long, seeing him and still not being able to touch him.

You wished you hadn't ever left.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was strained and he was intently keeping himself out of arms reach. He looked fine, unmarred by any feeling, aside from irritation. It was as if the pain and suffering that your seperation had caused in you, had done nothing to him. He was invincible physically, mentally, and emotionally. He was Homelander.

You lifted your gaze to his and he rolled his eyes to look away.

"I missed you." You answered in a mere whisper, swallowing down the thickness in your throat. He crossed his arms, his back turned to you for a moment before he twisted and pointed at you.

"You've got some nerve coming back here, thinking I would take you back after what you did." You wiped a few stray tears, held your chin up.

"I had my reasons for leaving."

"Oh yeah? Because I'm what? A horrible fuckin' person?! Do you remember that?!" You blinked at him, chewing on your bottom lip. "I wouldn't forget it." He crossed his arms again, body rigid and straight. He looked so composed. He was more angry than hurt. But perhaps, you hoped he was angry because he was hurt.

"John..." You began, maybe if you had just told him your feelings before none of this would have happened. You couldn't lose him. That wasn't happening. That wasn't an option. You loved him too much. "I thought that-"

"Leave." He sternly shot out, interrupting you, like he always did before, never giving you a chance to speak.

"No." You cried, unable to hold your tamed expression. He closed in on you like a lion to it's prey.

"Yes." He hissed through clenched teeth. "Besides you've already been replaced. I never needed you." You held your hand over your chest, the sharp pains that flickered there incapacitated you. His eyebrows furrowed, one gloved hand came up to the crook of your arm to steady you. His touch burned like a fire, but the excruciating pain you were feeling never subsided. You dropped to the ground, Homelander called your name, but you weren't able to answer. You whimpered, expression clenching with a sob, a fist clutched over your chest. You sniffled and shook your head.

Fuck this.

"This was why I fuckin' left." There was no physically matching the Homelander, but when you shoved his arm away he released you. You stood up and then walked back toward your bedroom.

Punishment be damned. You were going to get the fuck away from him. You couldn't play pretend that everything was okay anymore. Not after that.

The evidence was substantial. Homelander wasn't fazed at all by your absence.

"John, these past few months have been terrible." You got your bags, opened them and laid them out on the bed. "I feel like an accessory rather than a lover to you. You lie to me. You sneak behind my back. Jesus Christ, if I fuckin' did that to you, people would die." He frowned, finally listening to what you were saying. "You don't fuck me anymore. You don't kiss me. We don't watch movies together or stay up all night talking to each other anymore. And I miss you." You were going back and forth between you dresser, shoving clothes and any of your belongings into the suitcases. "I thought I could leave. I figured, 'Well, he doesn't care much about me anyways.'" You stared down at the mess of clothes and sighed. "I was right. You're a terrible fuckin' person."

You might as well just die. You couldn't keep living like this.

"I gave you everything." He snorted in disbelief, held his hands up and gestured around. "I put you on a fuckin' pedestal."

"Sure, John."

"You're crazy!" He chuckled maniacally, "You don't even know what you're talking about. You're the one who hurt me! You left me!"

"Because you wouldn't listen to me!" You spun at him, wanting nothing more than to slap him. "Accusing me at every turn, telling me that I need to watch myself before I go too far. Maybe you're the fuckin' crazy one!"

"Watch yourself!" He growled.

"Do you see?!" You crossed your arms and shook your head vigorously. "And then you replaced me?! With who?" You sobbed, then began to nervously nibble at your fingers. "We might as well not even be soulmates anymore."

Homelanders eye's were closed shut, fists clenched at his sides.

"If you're going to kill me, do it now." You plopped onto the edge of the bed. "Because I'm not sure I could even live without you." And you were staring off with a blank stare when Homelander flooded your vision. He stepped out in front of you, then crouched down to your level. You couldn't believe he would do such a thing. He grabbed your hands in his, thumbs caressing your knuckles.

"I could never." He admitted in a choked breath. It was then you noticed that his own eyes were glistening with tears. "I didn't mean to-" He cut himself off, turned his head away. You cupped his cheek and forced him to gaze up at you.

"Please tell me you're feeling this too." You pulled one of his hands up to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. "I'm hurting, John, I-I-I can't do this anymore." He rested his head on your lap, caressed the fingers of free hand along your thigh.

"I fucked up." He whispered, "I didn't replace you. I could never." Tears finally spilled out of his steely blue eyes and you whimpered at the sight. He did care. "You can't leave me." He added in the silence, "You can't do that to me ever again."

"Then, show me that you love me." You breathed, leaning your forehead into his. "Tell me things and make time for me."

"You should have just told me how you fuckin' felt." He cleared his throat, scowling as he looked away, still resentful. He just didn't get it, did he.

"You wouldn't let me." You released his hand, but it remained there. "I'm not going to do this again. I'm a human being, John. Is that so hard for you to see?" His fingers stretched up toward your chin and he caressed at the flesh there. "You're human too." You whispered, his eyebrows furrowed and he stared deeply at you in confusion. "You are." His head craned away, he licked his lips and then his expression went stern.

"Don't do it again." Was all he said. He stood to his full height, towering over you. "Don't do it again, or I will kill everyone." You heart stuttered. He was dead serious. "If you leave me again, I'll wipe this fuckin' earth clean and you're going to watch me to do it." He paused, then his eyebrows flicked up. "Do you understand?"

You nodded.

"Say it."

"Y-Yes." You replied in a stutter, a tear slid down your cheek and you swiftly wiped it away.

"Let's have dinner." He began walking toward the double doors. "To celebrate your return, we'll go wherever you want."

"Okay." When he disappeared around the corner, you allowed your heart to drop and you inhaled a deep breath of panic.

Was this worth it?

Did you even want to be his soulmate anymore?

[quantumleper]

The Boys | Season 4

[buttherainbowhasabeard]

The Boys: Why the Gruesomest Show on TV Is Also One of the Greatest

Brash. Brazen. Bonkers. Brutal. Bloody. Bawdy. Bizarre. On the surface, 'The Boys' is a show I should absolutely loathe, yet I love it. Why? Because it’s like nothing else I’ve ever seen before, and that makes it exhilarating! 

In this day and age of remakes, reboots, sequels, and prequels, 'The Boys' is a revelation. It takes everything we’ve come to know and love about the superhero genre and turns it on its head. Actually, it smashes its head in and flies off, covered in blood, with a big grin on its face. 

This alone is a great antidote to the "superhero fatigue” that so many of us have been suffering from. With the DC Universe currently in a Chapter 1 reset, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe in the midst of a very busy Phase 5, ditching the genre (and all the films, TV shows, and spin-offs you have to watch to keep up with it) has been beyond tempting.

In showrunner Eric Kripke's cleverly subverted script for 'The Boys' (based on a comic book series by Garth Ennis and Darick Robertson), each superhero, or "supe,” as they are dubbed in the show, is a satirical spin on a classic DC or Marvel character, even down to their collective name, The Seven (based on the Justice League).

However, unlike the more moral idols it takes its inspiration from, 'The Boys' is an R-rated romp that explores the ramifications of giving ordinary humans superhuman powers. Behind all the muscled supersuits and PR-manufactured wholesomeness, our heroes have become outright antagonists, and the so-called vigilantes have become our (anti)heroes.

Soldier Boy is an angry and arrogant take on Captain America. Homelander is a narcissistic, sadistic, and volatile version of Superman. Queen Maeve is Wonder Woman, if she were reduced to a cynical sidekick. All-American girl Starlight is an amalgamation of Mary Marvel, Stargirl, and Dazzler. Kimiko possesses a feral quality akin to that of Wolverine. Tek Knight is a BDSM-obsessed Batman. Black Noir is a masked mercenary in the same vein as Deadpool (minus the sass). The Deep is a dumb, perverted parody of Aquaman, and A-Train is a reckless Flash or Quicksilver. They even have their own Nick Fury of sorts, in the form of Vought International SEO Stan Edgar.

In the era of corruption, celebrities, and social influence, real-life supes would definitely abuse their powers and gaslight the public into believing every bit of righteous bullshit that came out of their mouths. They only (and begrudgingly) do good deeds to get more follows and likes, and most don’t like each other either, viewing teammates and partners as competitors rather than comrades.

This dark, disturbing, and at times hilarious take on the genre is what makes the show stand out amongst the rest. It easily offends, distresses, traumatises, titilates, and grosses you out. But it’s not just done for headlines and shock value. Every single chaotic, cruel, and unpredictable action is there for a reason. It forms part of a character’s motivations, it propels the plot forward, or it sets up a new and exciting direction.

Casting is another ingenious ingredient in the supe soup that is 'The Boys'. Household names (Antony Starr, Karl Urban, Giancarlo Esposito, Jensen Ackles, Simon Pegg, and Jeffrey Dean Morgan, to name a few) are mixed in with relatively new names (Erin Moriarty, Karen Fukuhara, Tomer Capone, Dominique McElligott, Aya Cash, and Colby Minifie). However, all performances are stellar. There isn’t one specific actor who carries the whole show or steals every scene (although Starr can be the most mesmerising). As an ensemble, they all have a role to play, and they play it scarily and consistently well.

Every episode is an intense mix of gratuitous violence, gore, sex, nudity, language, and drug use. Characters engage in orgies, bodies are mutilated and torn apart, heads are blown clean off, religious views are ridiculed, and political agendas are exploited. There are supes who are sexist, supes who are homophobic, supes who are racist, supes who are ableist, and supes cloaked in woke ideology purely for the purpose of infiltration and manipulation.

That being said, and for a show that always feels one scene away from being banned, 'The Boys' has shown incredible restraint when it comes to its ending. Five seasons was what was planned, and five seasons is what it’ll be. Despite top ratings for each season, a loyal fanbase, rich source material, and the potential to introduce dozens more supes and storylines, 'The Boys' can clearly see the value of quitting while it's ahead, and I salute them for it.

I’m confident that the fifth and final season will be f**king diabolical, and I can’t wait!

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Bad Product

By devilsmaydare

[comicchannel]

Funko Pop Television The Boys Soldier Boy (Unmasked) - 1407

Link para compra BR: https://amzn.to/3Xhra9S

Buy here: https://amzn.to/48zzViF

[winchestergirl2]

Vought International Today, Vought can confirm A-Train is being deployed overseas effective immediately. We have to keep all details confidential, both for his safety and the safety of the free world. Let’s wish him good luck and especially, God speed!

[trendfilmsetter]

Upcoming new series set within THE BOYS universe.

GEN V Season 2 - Releasing in 2025

THE BOYS Season 5 - Releasing in 2026

THE BOYS: MEXICO - Still in development

VOUGHT RISING - Still in development

[tearueful]

Vought is proud to unveil its plan for the future of entertainment today at #V52. This is only the first stage, Phases 7 through 10, with 9 more phases coming soon. Most projects are on time, with only a few minor delays for reshoots of reshoots! [x]

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

—

“Pandora’s Melody” (Black Noir x Fem!Reader)

| It’s your first Christmas Benefit since working for Vought and you’re starting to chafe a little at all the rules. Least the music’s finally getting good tho.

| SFW, office rules, workplace discrimination(?), Vought International’s dress code policy & casual disregard of The Crown Act

| Pic Source: The Boys (s1)

| 800+ words

“Don’t fuck this up,” Ashley had said, sweaty handkerchief that was far too drenched to mop anything else up clenched tightly inside her fist, and a closed lip smile straining her spotty red painted lips.

And for your part you’d smiled back, nodded your head like a heavily - and repeatedly - hit bobble head; eager to keep your position and even more desperate not to be seen as the unfriendly black girl lest you lose your job.

To your credit it’s not until far later in the evening when everybody’s inhabitions are totally fucked, the camera crews and reporters are gone, and even most of The Seven have left to do things far less beneath them than attending a company mixer that you loosen the hold your heart’s keeping on Ashley’s words just…a bit.

Suddenly the music gets a little less mind numbingly fucking boring too and your mood gets a little less sullen, and even with your mandatory three inch heels shackled to your feet you finally begin to feel the music. So bobbing along, and finally downing the singular glass you’d been nursing the whole evening, you find yourself searching out whoever’s creating the new and far more engaging melody.

Your heart almost stops when you realize it’s Black Noir at the piano, gloved fingers flying over the keys, quite literally the only hero still bothering to attend this thing.

When a quick glance up shows that even Mr. Edgar’s no longer in attendance - though never unseeing you’re sure - you start talking mostly out of shock. You’ve never really been this close to any of the hero’s before now.

“Good - ah - good choice,” you murmur, “Hapless is really just such a downer for a Christmas Benefit.”

Muscles tense and breath short, fingers clasped together behind your back like a vice, you wait a beat for his reaction.

When all he does is kind of glance your way though you nearly breath out a sigh right in front of him before catching yourself, and you feel so free that for a second you want to take your hair down from its “more professional” slicked back bun so you can really feel the music through you.

Instead you untuck your dress shirt to quell the urge. Fuck, your pantssuit was starting to feel increasingly more suffocating the longer you worked here. At this point you felt like you’d end up buried in the damn thing then forced to partially exist as a pantsuit wearing ghost for the rest of your forever unrest for good measure—

—annnd think positive thoughts. The music is good, you want to sway. You settle for keeping up your subtle head bop and adding a few soundless taps against your thigh to the mix.

After he doesn’t slice you in half - or some other such gruesome death dealing action - you take another few moments to identify the song Noir himself has begun playing.

It’s lovely, and as much as you want to close your eyes to visualize the song’s name a bit better in your mind you opt not to so you can continue watching the way that Noir plays.

It’s more graceful than you’d expect (but considering the way you’d seen him train that was a little foolish of you). The silent hero’s fingers move across the keys like a true virtuoso, hands gliding from note to note with hardly a thought but still exactly right. In the entire time that it takes you to place the song he doesn’t miss a single beat and doesn’t lose his tempo; not a thing about how he plays looks or even sounds off.

Normally you’d be remiss to label anything perfect, but if there were ever an exception…

…Noir’s playing was perfect.

A small smile stretches your plush lips.

Delightfully so.

“The Minute Waltz,” you say after finally placing the song, only shuffling in place a little.

Which is how in the next minute you end up seated next to him after his head had snapped to you - and honestly you’d half figured he’d stopped minding you by that point so you’d been plenty surprised to find out otherwise.

Black Noir had stared you into submission with exactly one incline of his head to convey his invitation in any clear manner until, with held breath and a prayer, you’d sat down beside him where he’d made room on the piano bench.

Then it’s touch and go as - with your heart firmly in your throat and hoping to god you don’t screw anything up - Noir takes to eventually wanting you as more than just a captive audience. He plays a few simple chords, pauses, then looks over to you until after not too long you begin copying him.

By the end of the function your heart’s settled and you can slowly, but steadily, get through the entirety of Gymnopedie No.1 - with Noir pushing the pedal of course.

He even gives you a little silent round of applause once you’ve played through it on your own.

Like that, Noir at your side and surrounded by all the drunk limp dicks you work with tripping and throwing up over themselves, is the first time you feel like a real part of Vought.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!

Um, I just wrote this tonight at random and with a cold so if there’s mistakes no there isn’t. Also, it’s Christmas and I figured I had a themed fic in me tonight so here you go and Happy Holidays (I guess)!

Don’t question how the Reader-Insert knows the names of these songs, it doesn’t matter.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[fatum679]

"All those years… That they burned me and that they pumped me full of poison, I held onto the hope…

...That you would come. That you would save me"

This is literally a horror movie. He didn't have a chance to be normal.

[seeds-and-sins]

Light My Fire - Part Eight

Pairing: Ben "Soldier Boy" x Reader

Rating: M (Crude Language, Curse Words, Sexism, minor references to sex, WARNING: talks about death and self-harm)

Description: Phoenix tries to rectify the missing pieces within herself, but she struggles to figure out how.

Tagged: @tonixe@chernayawidow , @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites, @ophennie@virgoelf-blog , @my-obsession-spn, @capricxnt @demodemo909 @boywivlove

Song: Gypsy - Fleetwood Mac

"FUCK!" Homelander yelled, the tv remote broke in his closed fist. One of the flat screen televisions in the meeting room was set to channel 8 and Starlight was all over the news. Her little video had gone viral, her resignation given, Homelander thrown under the bus, this was all out war. Homelander was fuming, Ashley was gnawing her nails down to the skin, the Deep was posted at one of the chairs around the table, Agnes was sitting a few seats down from him sipping on a cup of coffee.

And you were standing there, arms crossed, staring blankly at the screen.

You were so tired. Physically, mentally, and emotionally drained from everything. Just from living really.

When was the last time you slept again?

"Okay!" Ashley squealed, "We'll fix this. We'll fix this. Please. Oh my god! Fuck!" Your eyes slid shut, her panicking died in your ears, the world silenced for a moment.

"Phoenix!" Your eyes shot open, Homelander was staring at you with a look of desperation plastered on his face. "What do we do?" Your hands tightened around your biceps and your teeth dug into your bottom lip. What do we do? More importantly, what should be done?

"We don't have time to worry about Starlight." Your voice came out hoarse, in a low whisper. The room fell quiet. "She has a loyal fan base, but they aren't as loyal as our people. I wouldn't worry about her." Homelander nodded virgorously, licking his lips. The desperation in his boyish eyes faded and what replaced it was a sharp coldness.

"You're right. We've got to find Soldier Boy."

"But we need to make a statement!" Ashley's shrill made you roll your eyes.

"Go take a fuckin' Xanax, Ashley!" You commanded, holding up an admonishing finger. Ashley's lips shut with a resounding pop and she straightened, fear crawled up her spine and glued her to the floor. "I'll talk. I know how to charm a crowd. It'll put this off until we can get shit under control." Your command came out more as a question, Homelander's jaw flicked from side to side before he nodded. "Come on Agnes." The older woman rose from the table without protest, following after your quick strides with a waddle of her own.

...

"Good Evening!" You crowned your fingers and propped them up on the podium. "I appreciate you all being here for this impromptu press conference. Given the situation, I'm sure you know there are a few things that Vought needs to address."

"Where's Homelander?" A journalist shouted from the crowd, flapping his hand above the sea of heads to get Phoenix's attention.

"Homelander is off handling more important matters." The crowd broke out in shouted questions and mixed words, journalists reaching over eachother as they attempted to flag you down. You begrudgingly pointed at a woman in the front row.

"Isn't this important? Starlight has resigned? What is the future of the Seven? Why are you up there when you're not even on the team?" It went silent as everyone waited for a response, or rather, a staccato of responses to answer a staccato of questions. You paused, thought about the significance of your next words, what they would mean. You found a camera and stared into it.

"I want to make myself very clear..." Your voice penetrated the air, the room was thick with the tone that every syllable carried. "Starlight isn't a priority. Everyday Homelander, I, and many other heroes are trying to keep you all safe. We fought overseas so that the super villain threat could be contained. I underestimated the enemy and now the super villain threat is here. Us heroes need to be doing our jobs, not starting petty battles over social media. If Starlight wants to play her games and spread her lies, slander us, she is welcome to do so. But Homelander and I are going to focus on what is important: your safety, your lives."

An intense stillness blanketed the crowd, a few camera flashes. One journalist had the gull to raise their hand, when no one else would, not after a speech like that.

"What are your thoughts on the deathes of the TNT twins? Your former colleagues?"

Good. I'm glad they're dead.

"And your friend? Crimson Countess?" Your head tilted to the other voice, you swallowed and looked down at your fingers.

"Countess wasn't my friend, and neither were the Twins." You shook your head. "Not anymore at least. Not when they turned their backs on..." You paused. Me. -- Ben. "On you. The people. Some of the strongest heroes I knew for their time, and only Noir and I remain. The others worried about their luxury condos, their ratings, movie deals, royalties. None of them cared about what really matters. I don't mourn them. I don't think I ever will."

"But what of Soldier Boy? You were there when he died, did you mourn him?"

"I-" You had to take a deep breath, the emotions that swelled in you had nearly knocked you off your feet. You cleared your throat and held back tears. "I did. I do."

Soldier Boy was still dead to you.

"Soldier Boy died so that all of us could live."

...

 🎶 So I'm back to the velvet underground.  🎶 

 🎶 Back to the floor that I love... 🎶 

Three Xanax, two blunts-going on three-and half a bottle of whiskey later, you found yourself laying on your bed in a mess of comforter and pillows. Your suit was discarded somewhere, leaving you down to nothing but your underwear. And you were just laying there, staring up at the ceiling as you smoked from a blunt and sipped from a bronze filled glass. Your record player sung in the background, mellowing out your already distant mood.

 🎶 To a room with some lace and paper flowers 🎶 

 🎶 Back to the gypsy that I was 🎶 

 🎶 To the gypsy that I was... 🎶 

What did you have?

John?

He kept you around as an extension of himself rather than as someone he cared for. You were the arms of his authority, fingers curled around your enemies with a vice grip. In reverse, he was a reflection of you in many ways, uncaring, erratic, impulsive. You knew he didn't care about you. Not truly. You weren't sure he was capable of it. Maybe with some admiration, some approval, but love was a distant thought in John's head. He only ever craved it from others. And you were more than able to provide in the past, giving pieces of yourself to John without a second thought. Now you had no more pieces left to give.

 🎶 And it all comes down to you. 🎶 

 🎶 And you know that it does when. 🎶 

 🎶 Lightening strikes maybe once maybe twice. 🎶 

Your fans?

You would rather burn them all alive, throw them in a furnace and walk away. They didn't love you. They loved the image of yourself that you fronted, but they didn't know you.

 🎶 Oh and it lights up the night. 🎶 

 🎶 And you see your gypsy (ohh, ohh) 🎶 

 🎶 You see your gypsy. 🎶 

You?

That was all you had. Herodom was a quiet life, a lonely one. But it was never about saving people or doing some good in the world. As much as Starlight thought she was making a difference, the world would never change. There would always be criminals. There would always be greedy politicans and corrupt agents of the law. The world was cold and callous and it never retreated.

And you had nothing.

You were a victim of the chaos. Vought took you in, molded you into something vile and morbid, tossed you around in a bag of salt, and hurled you into the world for their own profit.

You were an experiment.

Your lips wrapped around the end of your blunt and you took a drag. Smoke flowed from your nostrils, it floated up toward the high ceiling and you watched it swirl until it faded completely.

Your head drooped to the side and your face wrinkled as if you were about to cry, before you suppressed that urge.

 🎶 To the gypsy that remains. 🎶 

 🎶 Faces freedom, with a little fear. 🎶 

 🎶 I have no fear, and have only love. 🎶 

 🎶 And if I was a child and the child was enough. 🎶 

 🎶 Enough for me to love. 🎶 

 🎶 Enough to love. 🎶 

Through a blurry haze, your half lidded eyes spotted a figure at the open double doors leading into your bedroom. You shifted a little, squinted, then slowly sat upright.

"Ben?"

He was dressed in his full suit, arms straight at his sides.

"Hello, hot stuff." He answered casually, stepping closer. He sent you a boyish smile that reminded you of his older self, all cocky, all confident, all play, no work.

"What are you-" The blunt dropped from your hand, hitting the marble floor. "What are you doing here?" His eyes darted down your body, hovering over your naked torso a little longer than necessary before raising back to your face.

"You didn't need me?" You dropped your head, a firm hand cupped on your jaw, the touch burned into your skin and your gaze was being directed back to Ben. He felt so real. He felt solid. He felt tangible.

 🎶 She is dancing away from you now (Oooh). 🎶 

 🎶 She was just a wish, she was just a wish (ooh, ooh). 🎶 

 🎶 And her memory is all that is left for you now. 🎶 

"Am I hallucinating?" Your palms rested gently on his chest, Ben's thumb scaled your cheek and he sighed.

"No."

 🎶 You see you're a gypsy. 🎶 

"This is a dream, sweetheart."

"Of course it is," You sniffled.

"You wouldn't be able to hallucinate, even if you wanted." Another voice chimed and when you glanced over, it was Vogelbaum. "Your body can't sustain the affects of foreign substances long enough for that to happen." He was in a bloodied labcoat and his words were slightly muffled through a gas mask. Your expression lit up with panic and your head was being yanked back by Soldier Boy's hand.

"Don't pay attention to that piece of shit." Soldier Boy drew you closer with his other hand at your hip. "Just look at me."

"Why is this happening? Why am I dreaming about this?" You whispered, Ben's hand moved to cradle the back of your head.

"Because I'm the answer." You blinked at him, then tiredly moved into his body. Your arms wrapped around him and you hugged him. Ben enveloped you in return, his strong and bulky arms holding you close...

"You even smell real."

"That's what happens when you smoke a lot of dope."

"Also, the cannabis you were smoking no doubt contained traces of LSD." Vogelbaum again. You squeezed your eyes shut and Soldier Boy grunted when your arms tightened around him.

"Can he just shut up for fucks sake?" Soldier Boy inhaled deeply and he exhaled with a sigh.

"You want my advice?"

"Not really." He grabbed your shoulders and drew you away at arm's length.

"Sometimes you gotta take life by the balls, kid." You blinked at him, your head sinking toward your chest. Soldier Boy rolled his eyes before grabbing under your chin and lifting your head again. "Remember back in the day. We didn't let anybody get in our way. We owned this fuckin' place."

"Oh no." You breathed, your palms rose to your cheeks and Soldier Boy relinquished his hold on you so you could pace away from him. "It's happening. This is it. I'm having the worst mental breakdown of my life. I'm going to destroy the world."

"Only in theory." Vogelbaum piped in again, "Theoretically your body can reach temperatures bordering that of the sun and in that instance-" Soldier Boy's shield came hurtling toward him out of nowhere. The Scientist disappeared in a puff of smoke before the metal could touch him.

"I hate that guy." Soldier Boy's head tilted as he considered you. "Listen..." He emphasized with raised hands. "The only person who understands you right now is me." He stepped toward you, and you hunched in on yourself in defeat."You have me. I'm your answer."

"You're also a figment of my imagination."

"Nah, honey, I'm out there. I'm alive. Come find me."

"You want me dead out there." Soldier Boy's lips quirked up in a handsome smirk and he shook his head.

"But, sweetheart, I don't."

...

When your eyes opened, they opened slowly, the blunt had burnt out in your bed sheet and your body was sprawled out across the bed in all different directions. You blinked at the ceiling, thinking about your dream, thinking about him. The thought left a gross taste in your mouth, your stomach jumped and a weight settled in your chest.

Gosh, you wanted to die sometimes, didn't you?

What was this? What were you doing here?

Why don't you just leave and give all this up? Just like you always wanted.

Because you can't.

You were tired.

It took a few minutes of blank staring before you rose from your bed and travelled out of your room.

"God help me!" You heard a voice exclaim as you entered into the living room. It was Agnes. She made an effort to cover her gaze from your nude figure. And after all these years, she still hadn't gotten used to your ways. You squinted at her, stumbling toward the onset of the kitchen.

"What are you doing here? I told you to leave." Agnes nervously clenched and unclenched her fingers, finally lowering her hand to look at you. Your eyes connected, Agnus' wrinkles creased with a furrowed brow, with concern.

"Homelander wanted me to stay. He's worried about you." You groaned, pouring yourself another glass of whiskey and downing it back with a wince.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." You poured the next glass, sipping from it as you held Agnus' expectant gaze.

"John just wants to make sure I'm on his side." You replied in a dull tone, hunching over the countertop.

"Are you?" You didn't respond. Not immediately. Your eyes flitted around the penthouse and you took in the expanse of space that had been your home for decades.

"Maybe I don't want to be on a side anymore, Agnes." You placed your glass down and stalked over to a wall that held various photos and movie posters and memories from the old days. You scanned each photo, as you had hundreds of times, with a trained eye.

"Please. Tell me what's wrong."

"Everything I do, it doesn't matter." Your eyes paused on a familiar face, and you felt a sadness engulf the entirety of your heart.

He was so good to you. Always trying to comfort you. Always at your side when you needed him.

"Do ya'maybe want to talk about it?"

"No."

You would go find him. That was final. You were sure of it. Screw everyone else. This man. He would be the one you went to. He was the one you needed. He would tell you what you needed to do and he would be genuine. Above all. He would be genuine.

"I'm heading out for a little bit, Agnes. Alone." You took quick steps toward your room.

"Wait, wh-where are you going? Homelander told me to watch you." You didn't respond, turning to close the double doors into your bedroom. At the last glimpse between the cracks, you saw her plop onto the couch with exasperation.

[spocks-husband]

This turned out so yummy ough

[scenestamps]

Homelander drinks firecracker's breast milk

Post : https://scenestamps.com/scenestamp/01j1ytz63e3mawfapts63k2e83

[ladymonterosa]

The thin line between love and hate

Second part: "Jordan"

26 september 2022

The classroom was now empty, and the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning. I had just finished answering the endless questions from the new students, trying to appear patient and approachable. It felt like I had been in their shoes just yesterday, but in reality, a whole year had passed. Now, with the second year just beginning, my role as a technical assistant and my new ranking in the top 10, my life at God U was becoming increasingly intense.

My phone vibrated, interrupting my moment of quiet. A message from Professor Brink: "Jordan, please come to my office as soon as possible." I sighed, knowing I couldn't ignore such a request.

I made my way to his office as requested. Brink represents many things to me... a mentor, a guide, and one of the few who had believed in me from day one. He had seen something in me that others had yet to recognize. He had taken me under his wing, teaching me not only the complexities of the subject but also how to navigate the labyrinth of academia. I felt indebted to him, and perhaps for this reason, I was always willing to fulfill his requests, no matter how demanding.

I arrived at his office door and knocked lightly. Brink's voice responded from inside: "Come in, Jordan."

I opened the door and found myself facing him, welcoming me with a smile. "Jordan, please have a seat," he said, pointing to a chair across from his desk. I sat down, trying to mask my nervousness.

Brink started with the usual questions about the beginning of my second year. I told him about my classes and the projects I had in mind. He listened attentively, nodding occasionally.

Then he asked how the introductory course "Combatting Crime," which I had to cover in his place, had gone.

"How did the introductory lesson go, Jordan? It's always a challenging task to manage a room full of freshmen."

"It went pretty well, I think," I replied, trying to recall the highlights. "The freshmen were curious and full of questions. I tried to be as clear as possible, but it's always a challenge to keep everyone's attention. Some seemed a bit lost, but I think I provided them with a good overview of the program."

Brink nodded, his gaze attentive and evaluative. "I'm sure you did a great job. It's not easy to take my place, but you've proven to be up to the task. First impressions are crucial, and I know you were able to communicate the importance of our work."

I felt a slight sense of pride at his words. "Thank you, Professor. I tried to convey the passion and dedication necessary to tackle such a complex field."

"I'm sure you succeeded," Brink said with a smile. "Your experience and enthusiasm are evident."

Then something changed, and his gaze became more serious.

"Jordan," he began, "I didn't ask you to come to my office just to have a chat, but because I need your help. I need your involvement in a matter that requires trust and discretion. You are one of the people I trust most here, and I know you won't let me down."

My heart started to beat faster. "What is it about, Professor?"

"You need to keep an eye on someone for me," Brink continued. "It's about a first-year student. She's a very promising girl, and I'm certain she will do great things in the future... but she needs someone to guide and protect her. Moreover, the Council is very interested in her well-being since she is the only beloved granddaughter of one of Vought's major investors."

Beneath the surface of my obligatory acceptance, a tide of conflicting emotions simmered. The thought of having to babysit a girl who probably had never faced a real challenge in her life felt like an insult to my intelligence and abilities. I hadn't enrolled at God U for this kind of thing. I'm here to learn, to grow, to become the best in my field. But I couldn't show my reluctance to Brink. He had invested time and energy in my academic and personal development. How could I say no to someone who had believed in me so much?

"Of course, Professor," I replied, trying to maintain a neutral tone. "I'll do my best to ensure the girl feels comfortable and safe."

Brink smiled, apparently satisfied with my response. "I knew I could count on you, Jordan."

Before leaving his office, I realized there was still one important thing I needed to know. "Professor, one more thing. What's the girl's name?"

Brink nodded, as if he had anticipated the question. "Her name is Astrid Steenwijk."

*＊✿❀ ❀✿＊*

I left his office with a heavy heart, trying to accept the idea that this assignment would be just another way to demonstrate my loyalty and gratitude toward him.

I sat down at my desk and tried to focus on the documents in front of me. They were lab reports and statistical analyses I needed to review for an ongoing project. But despite my efforts, I couldn't get my mind off what Brink had just asked me to do. Every time I tried to read a line or analyze a piece of data, the name Astrid Steenwijk crept into my thoughts, disrupting my concentration.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to calm my mind. But that name kept echoing in my head. Astrid Steenwijk.

Who are you? Why does your name sound so familiar to me? And, more importantly, why is everyone so concerned about your well-being? What makes you so valuable in their eyes?

Time passed, but nothing changed.

After a while, I realized it was useless to keep forcing myself. I had to confront this obsession somehow, or I would never be able to work.

With a sigh of resignation, I abandoned the documents in my hands and turned on my laptop. I needed to know more about this girl, to understand who she really was. Maybe getting to know her story better would help me overcome my reluctance and approach the task with more objectivity.

I put on my headphones and played some music to help me concentrate. Then, I opened the browser and started searching for information about the girl. I typed her name into the search engine and hit enter, waiting for the results to appear on the screen.

The first result that caught my attention was an article tracing the branches of the Steenwijk family tree. As I scrolled through the article, I discovered that my little freshman was the only daughter of Sansa Steenwijk, a wealthy heiress of European descent. Sansa had been one of the most prominent figures in high society, frequently appearing on the covers of fashion and gossip magazines. But her life had tragically ended just hours after Astrid's birth due to post-operative complications that left no hope. The news of Sansa's death had shocked Europe and the world, sparking countless speculations and theories.

The identity of Astrid's father, however, was shrouded in mystery. Despite much speculation, no one knew for sure who he was. Many had guessed he might be an equally influential figure, but no concrete evidence had ever emerged. This lack of information added to the aura of mystery surrounding the Steenwijk family.

I continued reading the article and learned that after Sansa's death, Astrid was entrusted to her closest relative, her uncle Alexander Steenwijk. Alexander, Sansa's younger brother, had never married and had no children of his own. The idea that a man of his stature had chosen to dedicate his entire existence to his niece deeply struck me. Alexander was described as a reserved and powerful figure, a man who had built an economic empire and who now, in addition to managing his business, had devoted himself entirely to raising and protecting Astrid.

I kept reading, finding another article that discussed Alexander's social and financial position. He wasn't just a magnate: he was one of the wealthiest and most influential men of the last century. His name was tied to large multinational companies, billion-dollar investments, and philanthropic donations that had changed the fate of many communities. His influence extended beyond the business world, touching politics and culture as well. It was clear that Alexander would leave nothing to chance when it came to protecting his niece's legacy and safety.

After gaining some understanding of the Steenwijk family, I decided to focus on Astrid herself. I opened other articles, including some from tabloid newspapers that turned out to be surprisingly informative. I discovered that Astrid was currently engaged to a certain Michael Miller. The name wasn't unfamiliar, but I didn't know much about him. I kept reading and learned that Michael was a promising tennis player, a talented athlete who had already won a few important tournaments and was ranked among the top 100 tennis players in the world.

The sources reported that the two had met during their first year of high school at one of Europe's most prestigious private schools. Michael also came from a wealthy family, though not as influential as the Steenwijks. The two had officially started dating at the age of 16, and their relationship had often been in the media spotlight, mainly due to the notoriety of both.

However, things seemed to have changed recently. According to the sources I was reading, a few months ago, Michael had cheated on Astrid with a model, and the scandal had made the rounds in the tabloids. This raised an eyebrow: cheating on a girl like Astrid Steenwijk wasn't just a mistake; it was a choice with potentially devastating consequences. Since then, no official statement had been made about a possible breakup, but there was a significant detail: no one had seen them together in public since.

The image of Astrid that began to form in my mind was very different from the one I had initially imagined. She wasn't just a spoiled girl who had always gotten what she wanted. She was a young woman who had lost her mother at birth, grown up under the strict protection of a powerful uncle, and now found herself dealing with a turbulent relationship with a boy who had betrayed her. Despite all the power and wealth, her life was far from free of difficulties and complications.

I turned off the laptop and removed the headphones, letting the silence envelop me as I reflected on everything I had discovered. The information I had gathered gave me a new perspective on Astrid, and in some way, I felt I better understood why Brink had entrusted me with this assignment.

I realized that, although I had initially been reluctant to accept this task, something had changed.

As I was lost in these thoughts, my phone vibrated on the table, breaking the silence. I looked at the screen and saw a message from Luke. "Hey, Jordan! Don't forget we're training together this afternoon. See you at 6 at the usual spot, okay?"

I smiled as I read the message. Luke had always been a pillar for me, a trusted friend I could vent to and discuss anything with, whether it was academic issues or personal problems. Training with him was an opportunity to unplug, to escape the stress of classes and the responsibilities I had as Brink's technical assistant.

I checked the time and realized there were only a couple of hours left until our meeting. I decided it was better to get ready and set aside everything I had discovered about Astrid for a while. I needed some time for myself, to recharge and approach the issue with a fresher mind.

I quickly replied to Luke's message: "I'll be there. I really need to blow off some steam today. See you later!"

After sending the message, I got up from my chair and stretched, feeling my tense muscles relax slightly. It was amazing how heavy it could be to sit for hours reading and analyzing information.

Then I got back to work, this time with a new perspective.

Time passed quickly, and it was time for me to get ready for the workout, grabbing my bag with everything I needed. I left my office and headed toward the campus gym.

1° part ; 2° part ; 3° part