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xieyaohuan · 1 year

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All God's children took their toll, Chapter 1: Caught in a Mind Storm

Summary

Hughie's gone missing. Starlight knows who's got him. She will get her boyfriend back. No matter what it takes. No matter what it takes. Aka Starlight and The Boys kidnap Homelander in a desperate attempt to find Hughie

Pairings

Homelander/Everyone, basically (see AO3 for more detailed tagging)

Notes

I've been meaning to write some Homelander whump, so I've decided to take this year's Whumptober prompts out of order and and try to string them into a HL whump long fic.

Chapter 1 written for Whumptober prompt No. 9 THE VERY NOISY NIGHT Sleeping in Shifts | Tossing and Turning | Caught in a Storm

Warnings for Chapter 1: swearing; HL is his own warning; Mindstorm is his own warning

Read on AO3

Five minutes, Homelander thinks as the East River rushes by a mere 100 feet below him.

This dumb mission should take him no more than five minutes: one minute to fly there, three minutes for the actual rescue, and another minute to fly back to Vought Tower.

He’s not supposed to go this fast at such a low altitude - rules laid down in some contract between Vought and the Government of the City of New York - but it’s not like anyone can stop him or he will ever have to listen to any more lectures from Madelyn about scaring residents or accidentally crashing into a skyscraper, as if that would ever happen to him.

The rescue is in an abandoned warehouse in Flushing. He’s been given an address, and that’s all he needs to know. In and out. Check and done.

There’s no one to wait for this time, no crowd of nosy onlookers, no equipment to set up to capture the moment. No cameras, no press - something something about the board wanting to keep things quiet, Ashley told him. Has to be someone famous who got themselves kidnapped this time, someone rich enough to buy Vought’s discretion. Homelander couldn’t care less; he just wants to be done with this and move on with his day.

He zooms in on the warehouse and crashes through a window on the second floor. Maeve used to tease him that he did it for drama, but the truth is, the shards of glass feel comforting on his skin; it’s a cool tingle when he gets the speed just right, intense without being unpleasant. Sometimes you have to settle for the small pleasures in life.

Cameras or no, every save is the same, and it’s the monotony of it all, the way things never change that’s so fucking exhausting. Why should he care about mud people who keep getting themselves into trouble? Vought is wasting his time, time that he could use to do the things that really matter, things that would make a fucking difference.

Yet here he is, once again doing their bidding.

Homelander scans the hall, his eyes effortlessly piercing through stacked wooden boxes and crumbly gray walls. There’s a man on the floor above him scuffling around, doing god knows what.

He’s about to fly straight through the ceiling to confront and kill the guy when he catches sight of his victim. She is all the way on the other end of the warehouse, tied to a chair, facing away from Homelander and - what the fuck? He knows that light blonde hair, and that white and gold cape that is now tied into a knot and hanging down from her shoulders. Could it be? Could it really be her? Her, the youngest member of his team, ungrateful, disloyal, a disappointment like the rest of them, but, for better or for worse, still his to protect today.

Homelander flies closer, more slowly this time.

Her eyes are covered, and her hands are tied behind her back. Anyone could wear her costume, but it’s her unmistakable smell, that unique beat of her heart, rhythmic if slightly too fast now.

“Starlight!”

No wonder Vought wanted to keep this one quiet. Wouldn’t want to put a dent in Stan Edgar’s freshly minted golden girl. They may have put him on leave, but Homelander can’t shake off the feeling that the man is still pulling the strings from behind the scenes. He’ll need to find a better way to get that smug bastard out of the way for good.

Starlight turns her head, and he can tell that she’s been crying. Her make-up is smeared all over her face around the blindfold.

“Of course they sent you,” she scoffs, and for a second, Homelander is taken aback by the pure, unadulterated hatred in her voice, the loathing, the bitterness. He thought he’d be used to it by now, but it still stings every single time, even from her.

“No gratitude?” He steps closer and places one gloved hand around her neck, squeezing lightly. The neon lamp above his head flickers, and her eyes light up briefly underneath the blindfold.

With no cameras around, he could end her here and now, blame it on the kidnapper upstairs, be done with her once and for all. They’d probably even let him deliver her eulogy, and how sweet that would be. He’s going to write his own speech, and he’s going to make it a memorable one. He can practically hear the shutters of the cameras, the soft sobs his words draw from the crowd as he talks about Starlight and her dedication to Vought, to the Seven, and most of all, to him, Homelander, her one true love.

Homelander snaps out of his day dream. He can kill her any time he wants, snap her neck, throw her off a roof, strangle her in her sleep. No need to hide behind a kidnapper, if he does it, he wants Vought to know it was him, wants them to know they pushed him too far, left him with no other choice than to kill her. They should know better than to keep doing this to him.

His mouth twists into a cruel smile. “First that Hugh Campbell boy got himself kidnapped, and now you? God, you guys are-“ he pauses for effect and sighs, “so clumsy.” Almost like the cattle, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. She is a supe no matter how sad, pathetic and useless she may be.

His restraint is not rewarded.

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Starlight spits. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name, you sick fucking psycho!”

“Language, young lady.” His gloves creak as his hands ball into fists. “And you could really show some fucking gratitude, don’t you think?”

Their conversation is interrupted by a clattering sound. It’s Starlight’s fucking kidnapper who has stumbled through the door to see what all the shouting it about. At least that's what it looks like. Homelander thinks. This man is fucking bizarre. He’s clearly noticed Homelander’s presence because the Leader of the Seven is hard to miss, but he’s completely ignoring both him and Starlight.

Instead, he’s scuffling around, mumbling to himself, never taking his eyes off the ground. He’s got an unkempt salt and pepper beard and dark greasy hair. His blood smells like a mix of ripe cheese and trash that’s been sitting out in the sun for too long. Homelander is used to all kinds of smells, but this one is so offensive he has to suppress a gag.

“Jesus, Starlight,” he says, “You got yourself kidnapped by, what, a fucking hobo?”

Her heart rate is up, but it’s not anger. It’s fear. “Oh, for God’s sake, relax! Your heart is pounding in your chest like you think I’m about to rip it out. I’m here to save you, my love.”

He gives the man another look. Something about the guy is making him uneasy but he can’t quite put his finger on it. Sure, he’s on at least three different types of drugs, but that’s not it. Drugs or no, his vitals make no sense. His systolic and diastolic pressure are completely out of sync, but it’s his brain waves that are the most puzzling - the man should be fast asleep, yet here he is, eyes wide open and clearly awake.

Then Homelander smells it over the intense odor of the man’s blood. Not only does this guy have fucking V in his system, he’s shot up V24 on top of it. A lot of V24. Homelander doesn’t particularly enjoy killing supes, but he’s going to have to put this mad dog here down.

He walks up to the man. “Look at me.”

No luck. The fucker is pacing in circles, looking down, shaking his head, still fucking muttering to himself, like Homelander doesn’t even exist.

“I said look at me!” Homelander grabs his arm and yanks him around. Something about this guy’s face seems distantly familiar, but he can’t remember for the life of him where he’s seen this man before.

“Just look at him, you fucking asshole!” Starlight yells. She’s scared, but she’s also angry, oddly determined, and none of her readings make any sense.

Homelander is about to punch the man in the stomach and rip his guts out when he finally looks up and meets Homelander’s gaze.

Payback, is all he can think as he finally remembers where he’s seen this guy's face before. Fucking Mindstorm, what the fuck?

His eyes are black. No, they’re not actually black, those are just his gigantic dilated pupils, Homelander realizes. His pupils are like two black wheels. They’re spinning like giant maelstroms, dark water and ice, pulling him under the surface, pressing the air out of his lungs.

It feels like someone is dragging him backwards through the ground, burying him alive in their deadly embrace.

He’s screaming, but no sound is coming out of his mouth.

#homelander #butchlander #starlander #whumptober #homelander whump #posting my whumptober fic in november yay!#not tagging according to whumptober rules because I'm late and lazy sorry #my fic #mine

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between-two-fandoms · 4 years

Text

You’re Only Human

Summary: Hughie knew hiding his anxiety from the others was a mistake, but he was only human... and by this point his mistakes were the only thing he had left to call his own.

Notes: My ask box is open, feel free to leave a prompt or request! Double check with the pinned post on my profile to see what I can and can’t write. This fic is also available on my ao3 Random_Nerd3

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Their boat cut through the ocean's water and Hughie makes a point to stand on the side of the ship Butcher isn't. Lyrics play through his headphones, how sad was it that Billy Joel was the only fucking constant in his life now? With a sigh Hughie rested his forearms against the railing of the ship as Homelander's face haunted Hughie's mind. The supe's laughter was forever ingrained into his soul. He almost drowned in that fucking tub, the last thing he saw before his vision blurred was Homelander’s cold, soulless, dead eyes. “Oi Hughie,” Butcher said in greeting. Hughie made a point of ignoring him, Frenchie and Mother’s Milk might be fine with welcoming him back with open arms, but Hughie wasn’t stupid anymore. He wasn’t innocent. Butcher burned them before and he’d do it again, as long as he got what he wanted in the end. “Hughie,” Butcher said a little bit louder than the last time.

“Fuck off,” Hughie grumbled as he felt his anxiety start to bubble under his skin. He didn’t need Butcher to see him have anxiety attack. He tried to focus on Billy Joel as the familiar lyrics floated through his phone. And you’re getting a bad reputation in your neighborhood, Hughie almost laughed at the irony of the sentence. Turning away from Butcher Hughie felt the familiar tightness of an anxiety attack tighten in his chest. As if anxiety was just something he could just ‘suck up.’ As if they were magically friends… loose acquaintances at the very least… again and Butcher even had the right to offer advice.

“How long is this thing going to go on huh?” Butcher asked Hughie as he settled, leaning against the banister next to him. “You throwing yourself a goddamn pitty party like you’re a fucking emo-twat.” Hughie shifted so he was turned away from the offending man. He just wanted to be left alone, but unfortunately for him Butcher suckedass at reading body signature. “Oh come off it,” Butcher prodded, poking at Hughie’s side. Hughie curved his chest away from the attack so instead of stabbing him Butcher’s finger caught on his earbud cord and pulled it out of his ears. Hughie glared at him as he shoved the cord into his pocket, ignoring the fact that it was going to definitely get tangled up the next time he wanted to use them.

Hughie watched as his knuckles turned white due to how tightly his fists were clenched around them. He turned to face the ocean again, refusing to say anything, not that he’d be able to if he wanted. Hughie was far past the point of nonverbal, signaling to him this wasn’t going to be an easy ride. Clenching his fists he dug his nails into the palm of his hand, just barely breaking the skin. “Leave me alone,” Hughie managed to croak out, voice cracked and broken. Butcher just laughed at him,

“Okay maybe I was out of line when I popped you one but hey, water under the bridge right?” Butcher said reaching forward to clap a hand on Hughie’s shoulder. “Hey mate,” Butcher said with a cheeky ass smile Hughie wanted to wipe off the asshole’s face. “I’m sorry.” Gathering whatever strength he had left, Hughie swung his right arm wide and his fist hit Butcher’s face with a painful sounding crack.

“Fuck!” Hughie swore as his right hand flared up in pain. Focusing more on his anger than the pain, Hughie turned and attempted to launch himself at Butcher screaming, “I’m going to fucking kill you! You fucking bastard!” Luckily for both of them Mother’s Milk ended up grabbing Hughie around the waist and dragging him away from Butcher. Butcher, who had the audacity to hold up his hands as he said,

“The kid’s stark raving MM!” Hughie tried to claw his way out of MM’s arms, but his grip was too tight.

“I know,” MM said in an attempt to calm Hughie down. Glaring at Butcher MM shouted, “get out of here!” Butcher just rolled his eyes then stalked off to the other side of the boat. Hughie took a shuddering breath as MM grabbed his wrist in an attempt to ground him. “Hey you’re okay yeah?” MM asked as Hughie regulated his breathing, matching the pace MM set. Nodding shakily Hughie said,

“Yeah.” MM patted Hughie’s back and glanced worriedly at the direction Butcher left. Hughie bent over the boat, stomach queasy as he finally started to relax. He refused to look anywhere but at the horizon, ignoring the blatant look of concern on MM’s face. The two of them fell into a semi-comfortable silence, Hughie tried to pull away but MM kept him in place to ensure his panic attack really was over. “You know we don’t think you’re liability right?” MM asked suddenly. Hughie side-eyed the other man, unsure if he was really telling the truth.

“Butcher doesn’t agree with that sentimentality,” Hughie said with a scoff. MM rolled his eyes,

“It’s a good thing Frenchie and I are the only two Spice Girls who matter then. We’ve got your back alright?” Hughie turned his head,

“What are you talking about?” He asked, frowning in confusion. MM shrugged,

“You’ve proven yourself more times than I can count Hugh, and I’m not just talking about you killing Translucent.” Hughie looked down at his hands, still unsure of his worth in the group. MM grabbed Hughie’s shoulders and forced them to look at each other. “Hey, I’m trying to give you a pep talk you fucker. You better listen up.” Hughie’s eyes widened, then he nodded and leaned against the banister with his arms crossed. He gestured for MM to continue. With a sigh the older man said, “look, you saved us from… I don’t even want to think about what those bastards were planning on doing to us. If it came down to it, and Butcher goes too far off the deep end, Frenchie and I agreed we’d be there to pull you back.” Hughie winced,

“What about Butcher?” He asked, worried about the answer. MM shrugged,

“Fuck the dude. He left us to rot kid, trust me, that’s not something I’m going to forgive him for easily. We’re using him just like he’s using us.” Hughie shifted his feet then looked at where Butcher was pacing around the inside of the boat on a phone call. Maybe everything really would be back to normal… eventually...

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xieyaohuan · 1 year

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All God's children took their toll, Chapter 3: Of Men and Monsters

Summary

Pairings

Homelander/Everyone, basically (see AO3 for more detailed tagging)

Notes

I've been meaning to write some Homelander whump, so I've decided to take this year's Whumptober prompts out of order and and try to string them into a HL whump long fic.

Chapter 3 written for Whumptober 2022 Day 7 prompt: No. 7 THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER Shaking Hands | Seizures | Silent Panic Attack

Warnings: panic attack, voyeurism

Read on AO3

All is quiet except for the walls of the Aquarium rattling and vibrating.

Kimiko is sitting on the worn out couch in front of the control room, Annie’s head in her lap. They have turned off the halogen lamps in the observation room, so the monster’s tiny prison is the only source of light; it feels like watching some kind of dark, twisted and very repetitive movie in a theater.

Butcher and MM are taking a nap, and Serge has dozed off at the controls, so it’s only her and Annie left in the observation room. And Mindstorm, of course, chained to the wall in the corner, pretending to be asleep as he likes to do. Kimiko keeps a close eye on him because she knows he’s listening in on all of their thoughts, and it’s only a matter of time until he will use all the information he’s been collecting.

The clock on the wall says 4:30 am, but it’s always dark down here, so it doesn’t make much of a difference what time it is. Underneath the clock is a flip chart with their daily checklist jotted down in green marker. The first part is Butcher’s barely readable handwriting:

- Check cameras - Check locks - Check vents - Send update to M - Check generators!! - Redundancy is your friend!

The second part was added by MM:

- Drink 8 cups of water - Eat at least two meals per day (a candy bar is not a meal!!) - The dishes don’t do themselves asshole you know who you are!! - Get 6 hours of sleep

Kimiko can’t remember the last time she’s slept more than four hours; it must have been before her brother’s death.

She hasn’t slept since coming here, and it’s not just the noise from the cell that’s keeping her awake but who they’re working with and what she knows now they can do. She snuck outside to take a walk earlier, get away from this unnerving set-up for a bit, calm her nerves. Technically, there was no one to stop her, but two of Mallory’s men were following her the whole time. Of course she's known for a while now who Butcher is working with, but that doesn't make her like this any better.

Annie has finally calmed down and stopped crying, but her shoulders are still quivering. She had another shouting match with Butcher earlier when he told her to go to sleep, that she’d feel better in the morning as if things were that easy. He should know better, Kimiko thinks.

She runs her fingers through Annie’s hair, wishing she could say something to make her friend feel better, give her some comfort. At one point, she takes out her phone and starts typing:

Hughie will be okay. We’ll find him. We’ll find him soon, I promise.

Then she quickly deletes the words again before Annie looks up and sees them. She doesn’t want to lie, promise anything she can’t make true.

We’ll make the monster talk, she types. He’ll tell us everything he knows.

He doesn’t look like a monster now. He looks small, that’s the best way to describe him, trying to make himself even smaller so that he might somehow, miraculously, go unnoticed. He’s got to know that every movement, every twitch of his muscles is being scrutinized, recorded, assessed.

Kimiko has watched him go from yelling inaudibly at his captors from behind the glass to increasingly dire attempts to free himself to breaking down into helpless sobs. He is curled up into a ball now, shaking uncontrollably.

There’s vomit on the floor.

She doesn’t feel sorry for him. She used to be locked into a prison of his making. It’s only fair that he is locked into theirs now.

No. She can’t feel sorry for this man who slept with her brother’s killer, who adored a murderer, worshipped her, affirmed her, protected her until the very end. Not that he hasn’t killed countless people himself - the terrorists he created along with their victims, as if they were all the same to him. Kimiko can’t lie to herself, she wants him dead, reunited with that killer girlfriend of his; they belong together, monsters that they are.

Still, she expected anger from him, hate, rage.

Not this, whatever it is.

It’s the cell. Kimiko has been in there only once when Butcher asked her to test it, to see if it is truly supe-proof, which it is. All she could see was the bright ceiling lights and her own reflection, tinier and tinier versions of herself locked into smaller and smaller cages, as if someone had managed to imprison all possible versions of her. She was only in there for five minutes, but she couldn’t wait to get out.

Annie starts stirring in her lap, jolting Kimiko out of her thoughts.

“Is Butcher asleep?” She asks.

Kimiko nods, and Annie sits up.

“I know you’re here to watch me,” she says, “make sure I don’t do anything stupid, but the more time we lose-” her voice breaks and she’s fighting the tears again. “The more time we lose, the lower the chances we’ll find Hughie alive. Butcher should know this.”

I know, Kimiko signs and nods just to make sure Annie knows she agrees. He should. For someone who likes to fantasize day and night about “making that cunt squeal and beg and regret the day he was born,” Butcher seems surprisingly terrified of the messy reality of making him talk now that he has him. Kimiko doesn't blame him, but he'll need to get over himself if they ever want to get out of this nightmare.

“Have you ever hurt someone before?” Annie asks. “You know, have you ever-”

Kimiko nods again.

She’s tortured plenty of people. They made her do it in the camp.

“I want you to teach me.”

Kimiko knows she should say no, absolutely not.

Instead, she gets up, walks to the kitchen and returns with a glass of water. Wetting her finger, she starts drawing on the floor: all the things she has seen, all the things she has done, all of the things she’s had done to her - just water on gray stone as she is reimagining the horrors of life in the camp, and it feels odd to share, wrong but freeing. The water will dry, and the images will be gone, and that’s good; some things are not meant to be recorded so permanently outside of the human head.

Her water drawing skills are lacking, and Annie has trouble understanding some of the blotchy images, so Kimiko takes out her phone and starts typing into her notes to explain, erasing the words as soon as her friend has seen them.

Annie nods. “That should work. That’s good. That’s very good.” For a moment, she seems content revelling in her little revenge fantasy, the illusion of victory.

I understand, Kimiko signs. But you will also hurt yourself. You will be-. She stops mid-sentence. It’s a stupid thing to say, and she’s glad her friend probably didn’t catch her meaning.

Bad man, Annie signs back. Deserves. Serge has taught her a few of the signs they use. Kimiko appreciates the effort, though it can be hard not to take offence at the patronizing nature of the simple language the others use around her. Whether they speak to her in sign language or address her in English, they always seem to assume her to be so innocent. Even Serge. No, especially Serge.

“We need to go in,” Annie insists, snapping Kimiko out of her thoughts. “Please. You and I, we can go in together and-” She nods at the half dried water drawings on the floor. “You can teach me directly.”

Kimiko takes another look at the cell. The monster is still shaking, but he has somehow managed to pull a piece of his cape around his shoulders to cover his face, hiding from the bright, flickering light and his own reflections. They may not even have to do much. In this state, he might talk just in exchange for a semi credible promise to be let out of his prison.

“Please,” Annie says.

Okay. Kimiko nods. I’ll go in with you. She just wants this to be over, find Hughie, end the creature in that cage, get out of here, never have to think about this place ever again.

Her friend actually looks surprised. There’s something else in her eyes that she can’t really place.

She gives Annie’s hand a quick squeeze. Okay. Let's do it.

Serge is still asleep in the control room, but his eyes snap open as soon as Kimiko enters.

I need you to open the doors for me, she signs. We're going in.

For a second, Serge looks at her like a puppy, confused and sleepy. When he realizes what it is she’s asking, he panics. “Butcher is going to murder me, mon coeur.”

Please, Kimiko insists. For Annie. For Hughie.

“Are you even sure he’s the one who took him?” Kimiko knows Serge has his doubts, but she can’t believe he’s starting this discussion again now of all times. “Wouldn’t he, je n’sais pas, just show you his corpse, all bloody and mangled? It’s what he does, non?”

Annie looks like she’s going to slap him. “Well for starters, he knows Hughie is missing,” she says. “He was gloating about it to me! And besides-”

“He coulda overheard it somewhere,” a familiar voice says. “cunt’s got super hearing, case ya didn’t notice.”

Butcher is standing at the door to the control room, wearing black boxers and a dark floral print shirt, tapping his crowbar against the door frame, looking tired and cranky. “Can’t leave you people alone for five fucking seconds, can I.”

“You and I both know he didn’t 'overhear' it, Butcher,” Annie says. “Nobody even has a fucking clue Hughie is missing. We didn’t exactly advertize the fact.”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t agree,” Butcher says, and Kimiko can tell he’s trying to sound conciliatory, but lack of sleep and perhaps his overall disposition are preventing him from being very convincing.

“You can either go back to bed, Butcher,” Annie says, “or you can come with us. I don’t care which one you choose, we are going in.”

For a moment, Kimiko is worried that they’ll start yelling at each other again, but then Butcher seems to recover his old self again. “Well, what are you fucking waiting for,” he says. “Let’s go.”

#whumptober #homelander whump #homelander #kimiko #panic attack #captivity #posting my whumptober fic in november yay #not tagging according to whumptober rules because i'm late and lazy sorry #my fic

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