POV: You're Watching The Boys Season 4 Finale

POV: you're watching The Boys Season 4 finale

"Your Mother's Daughter"

I can only bring myself to write poetry when I'm broken when I'm tear-streaked and raw and the burn of the salt runs down my face like acid. It's the only time I recognize myself the only time my reflection is someone I understand.

But God, I am so fucking ugly, so disgusting, so fucking abominable - when I cry, when I grieve.

I look just like her. I fucking look just like her. And a million miles away, she sleeps just fine.

I tug at the crimson thread that binds us together - but when I look down I see that I've only snatched my own intestines out, the patter of blood like children's feet on wet grass.

bloody mary! boo

Guys, I have something else to post

Would you or would you not be interested in reading some personal blurbs/poetry I cooked up? It's a lil dark, but I figure if you're reading my Homelander fic, maybe you won't be too put off?

I also want to know what pieces you all like - currently, I'm stuck on "Prayer for the Recently Damned"!

Chapter 11: Ultraviolence

gm!! Homelander and Reader FINALLY say I love you!! Ignore the gif, this is a love story!

The woman clung to Homelander as he breezed above the crowd at Voughtland, grinning alongside him as the cameras flashed and the masses screamed his name. She didn't need them, but watching the world give him the praise he deserved filled her heart to bursting. Yes, she thought, pressing a kiss to Homelander's cheek. This is exactly how it should be. The two of them, soaring above them all, collecting their worship and kissing the traces of it from his mouth. The people below could spend the rest of their lies trying to match her devotion to him, to see what she'd seen in his eyes, but they'd never do it. Still... it warmed her from within to watch them try.

As he lowered them smoothly to the ground, she kissed him one more time, an indulgent grin lighting up her face as Homelander dipped her dramatically for the crowd, giggling when his lips graced her throat. He could feel the spike in her pulse, Homelander marveled, nibbling at it lightly. She was excited - not even for her own brush of fame, but for him, finally receiving his dues. She was happy, for him.

They rose to a standing position, looking around the amusement park, a mile-long bundle of tickets in her hand. Homelander had scoffed ('I can get us into any part of Voughtland,'  he'd said, exasperated), but the woman had insisted, fixing him with a puppy dog gaze that had broken down his defenses ('yes, but it's about you having the most tickets!' she'd cajoled) And so he'd bought $500 worth of them, fighting the boyish grin on his face as the Voughtland attendant had to replace the ink in the machine to print them all.

She grabbed his hand, making a beeline for the photo booth and slipping inside, feeding the tickets into the machine and selecting the romantic border, Homelander's hands hot on her waist.

Snap! Homelander and the woman, beaming into the camera.

Snap! The woman's mouth opened in mock surprise, pointing at him as if to say, Can you believe it?

Snap! The couple, wrapped in an embrace.

Snap! Homelander, his face the picture of delight and surprise, as the woman turned to him, drawing her tongue up his cheek, the lascivious glint in her eyes unmistakable. 

Homelander turned to her, a growl building in his throat, pressing her against the wall of the photo booth, his hungry gaze raking over her fully. "Don't start," he whispered dangerously, licking his lips when her pulse raced in response.

"I can't help it," she murmured, taking him into her arms, kissing him deeply. "You'll have to take me in hand.. make sure I behave myself..."

Homelander kissed her hard, fingers tangled in her hair - but the moment would not last. At the sound of a child's petulant whine, they parted, rolling their eyes, and exited the booth, collecting their photos, Homelander's copy burning brightly in his pocket.

The woman unfolded the map of the amusement park, pursing her lips. "Where to, Captain?" she asked him playfully. Homelander grinned.

"Hmm... I don't know, my intrepid explorer. What say you to... the Whack-A-Moles?" A flash of something dark crossed over her eyes when she grinned, and Homelander felt his own pulse jump. She really was... just like him. They walked over to the Whack-A-Mole station, pushing past people in line, each grabbing a mallet and smiling warmly at each other, before attacking the moles with a voracity that made the attendant eye them warily. The woman set forth valiantly, smashing down on the plastic moles like her life depended on it, eyes narrowed, a cruel little quirk on her lips. Homelander paused in his appraisal of her; the way her hair flew around her, the chaotic glimmer in her eyes, the thud of her heartbeat... it was like he was watching a mirror of himself, incensed from the heat of battle. She panted out her breaths as she raised the mallet high above her with both hands, bringing it down with a force that rattled the machine.

Not to be outdone, he smashed the moles on his side in turn, teeth bared in a wolfish grin as he heard the squeal of the metal beneath. The woman looked over at him, breath catching. He looked like a god of war, like Mars' reincarnate. A vision of him, covered in blood, flashed before her eyes, and she swallowed down a moan. There would be plenty of time to divulge this fantasy to him later, she thought, returning to her mission.

Finally, the game was over, and the attendant handed them their tickets, which, added to their comically large reserve, slipped out of her hands as she reached for it. A child behind them watched, eyes wide - and the woman was struck with an idea, turning to give him her share of the tickets.

Homelander quirked a brow. "Why'd you give him our tickets? He didn't even win," he pouted. The woman graced his arm with her hand. "Because... I'm with the richest, kindest, most generous man alive, who takes such good care of me. I don't need to worry. And besides," she said, jerking her thumb in the boy's direction, "Look how grateful he is." Homelander looked, annoyance fading, as the child jumped up and down, waving heartily at Homelander, eyes shining. 

"Better to let them see you provide - it's good for them, in the long run."

Homelander felt something within him swell at her words, her acknowledgement, and licked his lips, and the thought came to him that she'd picked such a public place for Valentine's Day on purpose, to tease him until he lost control, and pulled her into a dark alley somewhere. He grinned darkly, hand snaking around her waist. There would be time for that later, he thought, pressing a kiss to her temple as they carried on.

They visited the hot dog eating contest, their lips curled in equal parts fascination and disgust at the contestants, cheering all the same when the man they'd betted on won, sat in on the theatrical rendition of the Seven's first battle as a team (' I hit that guy way harder when it happened,' Homelander whispered into her ear, grinning when she laughed), and won another bushel of tickets that Homelander made rain from the sky when they guessed the weight of Porkchop, the city's largest pig: 2,500 pounds. Homelander reveled in the sound of the crowd's cheers, thinking that maybe the woman had been right about letting the masses see him as benevolent; it was different from their fear, or their subservience. It was almost akin to... love. Adoration. He twirled in the air, the woman's arms wrapped around his neck, drinking in their cheers, kissing her deeply as the descended.

I'm in love with you, Homelander thought, the force of it shaking him - and he pulled her into his arms, lifting her off her feet and onto his back, her weight solid against his back, a shimmer of something softer in his eyes as he faced the amusement park.

When she'd suggested coming here for Valentine's Day, at first, Homelander had been derisive - almost angry. She'd claimed to know everything about him, tracked his every move for years... and yet, she'd wanted to go to a place that only filled him with the memory of his solitude, his exclusion from public life. He'd been to Voughtland so many times that he thought the idea of returning would make him sick; all those events he'd hosted, leaving backstage because he couldn't stand to see the couples embrace... all the times he'd watched the Seven huddle into that photo booth without him... he would have chosen to get as far away from this place as he could. But she'd changed that ugly memory into something precious, something worthwhile. Maybe that had been her plan - to bulldoze over the memory of those who'd hurt him, and plant the garden of their love in its place. To tear it all down, to make room for the effigy of their union.

She'd done this for him, as much as she'd done it for herself, Homelander realized. The world seemed to go silent as the thought travelled through him. He looked up into her face, the back of her head eclipsing the sun, closing his eyes contentedly when she bent to kiss his forehead.

The woman pointed then, eyes sparkling at the scene before them; the kiosk section, a mini marketplace within the amusement park. Homelander craned his neck, looking to see what had caught her eye, when he finally saw it, a slow grin lighting up his face. He lifted them off the ground, speeding towards the stands.

"I'll take this one, please!" the woman said, pointing to the biggest shirt on the rack, a replica of his suit, with matching shorts - and Homelander almost pulled her off of him and laid her on the concrete. His suit. She'd wanted to show the world she was his.

The man at the kiosk traded her the shirt for her tickets, and she bent down again, lips grazing Homelander's ear. "We should go somewhere more private. I don't want to wear anything else," she whispered to him, tone dark and honeyed. Homelander swallowed, flying them into the changing stations.

They clambered into the changing room, shooing guests out of the stalls and locking the door behind them - and instantly, they were on each other. Homelander stripped the clothes off her body, letting them flutter to the ground, when he felt a spike of anxiety grip him at she worked at the collar of his suit. At his reticence, she relented, and he let out a small, relieved sigh. It wasn't that he didn't want to; he did. It was just... he was Homelander. The thought of shedding his suit, especially in public, filled him with a deep sense of unease. In the dark of her apartment, it had been different - safe. But under the fluorescent lights of the Voughtland changing room, he stopped cold. A flit of worry crossed his mind - would she push him? Or worse - not see his disquiet and try to strip him anyway? Homelander buried the panic in his eyes, waiting.

But she didn't push; she kissed him, slowly, removing her hands from his collar and pulling him close instead, and he moaned out his relief, pressing a hand to the wall as she mouthed at his pulse, her lips kitten soft. She palmed at the tent in his suit, eyes ravenous now, bending low to kiss him there, too, before the whisper of her pants sliding off her body, like sand in the wind, sounded in his ears. She stepped out of them smoothly, tongue laving across him as he shuddered, licking up to his neck as she rose to her full height, before she looked him in the eye.

"I want you to burn it off of me," she whispered, tugging at her shirt. Homelander licked his lips, a question in his eyes. Use his lasers? On her? He almost refused, imagining her flayed corpse, smoking and gruesome, crumpled on the floor beneath him, the idea like a nightmare. But then she reached forward and kissed him, murmuring of his power, her desire to see it, to feel it... and he felt that hunger from before return, swirling viscous in his eyes. She trusted him.

So, fixing her with a heated glance, he started, the red glow of his eyes dancing across her face, between her eyes, down her cheek, her lips... settling onto her pulse, growling when she bit her lip.

Come on... she thought, rubbing her legs together. Please...

Homelander let out a gusty sigh, kissing her once, before pulling back, and painstakingly dragging his lasers down the front of her shirt, the hint of heat grazing her flesh as he went. He couldn't stop the gasp that left him as the article ghosted off her body, peeling from her skin and onto the floor, his lips parted as she stood bare before him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and he unzipped himself quickly then, sliding into her and chasing the moan that poured out of her with his lips, kissing her open-mouthed and reckless.

Cradling her in his arms, he rutted into her, her hands in his hair, gracing his cheek, her lips all over him - he nibbled her earlobe, pressing into her tightly. She moaned for him, the sound unrepentant, as he worked them to the edge and back. Usually, he wouldn't go so far as to take her in public - but she'd wanted this, wanted him. Pushed him, really, Homelander thought ruefully as he tweaked her nipple. She was right; he would have to take her in hand  - she was trouble. 

"Burn them," the woman whispered hotly, gesturing to her clothes on the floor. "I never want to see them again."

Homelander's jaw dropped, brow furrowed as she pulsed around him, voice threadbare and reedy. He held onto her tighter; in that moment, as he looked into her flushed, gleaming face, he saw the rising of the sun, eclipsing all else - and he pressed his lips to her jaw, floating away from the tangle of fabric, before incinerating the last vestiges of her clothing into dust, biting his lip till he tasted blood when she moaned into his ear at the sight. He kissed her, once, twice, three times, the room's tension fading with the delicate curl of smoke, dancing from the ashes of what once was.

They stilled then, breathing in each other's pants, before he deposited her lightly onto her feet, smiling dazedly as she donned the Homelander set, delivering a small steam of saliva onto the pile of ash before they unlocked the changing room door and left, laughing boisterously at the long line of patrons who'd clearly heard the commotion in their wait.

Homelander carried the woman bridal-style in his arms, sweeping her into a dizzy circle, her laughter weaving around him. "I can't believe we did that!" she squealed, grinning wildly. Homelander chuckled. "Me, neither - you're a terrible influence," he teased. She batted her eyelashes. "Who, me?" He dipped his head to kiss her, lips soft. "Yes, you..." he murmured, sighing when she looped her arms around him. "Just terrible... downright rotten, really. Someone should stop you."

The woman feigned remorse, pouting her lip as she looked up at him. "There must be some way to resolve this..." she said teasingly. Homelander pecked her on the lips again. "Maybe there is," he breathed, lowering his feet to the ground and looking up at their destination: the Tunnel of Love. "But... we'd have to negotiate at a location of my choosing... that's standard business practice, after all."

The couple made their way to the Tunnel's seats, and strapped in, the woman's eyes glowing with warmth as the soft, rosy lights engulfed them. They sailed slowly along, the faint churn of the water beneath them, and the woman faced Homelander, taking his hand in hers.

"You know... I've never told anyone this, but... I've never celebrated Valentine's Day before." Homelander raised a brow. "Really?" 

He remembered, in the beginning, in those searching days, imagining a life for her in the wake of her absence online. She had no following, no platform but a lonely blog, her voice faint as vestiges of perfume on the breeze - and so he'd crafted, envisioning the full image of her. She was... private. Quiet. Loyal. Perceptive. Perhaps she owned a cat - something to love. Enjoyed sipping her coffee on the balcony in the early morning, had a favorite book store, rapport with the employees. That had angered him - the thought of a shy smile shared between her and this mystery bookkeep, maybe one day, his number scrawled on her receipt, in the corner of the book's page. 

But as he'd come to know her, to let her know him... he realized: It wasn't true. None of it. She hadn't been the girl he'd imagined, the one with the warm get-togethers, the bookkeep lover... she walked into an apartment that she'd stuffed with furniture that would hold her, because nobody else would. A vision of him, frozen and alone, on his Mount Everest settlement, played through his mind. She held him close, because she knew the bite of the winter.

"I... me, neither," Homelander said quietly, holding her close. He sat his chin on her crown. "This... was the best Valentine's Day I could have asked for. You.. really did this for me, didn't you?"

The woman nodded, her smile soft. "I wish I could give you everything," she breathed. Homelander felt his eyes grow hot.

You do. You already do.

I love you, she thought, pressing him closer.

Homelander felt a quaking within him, the same as when she'd shut the door on New Year's. He'd wanted her to see him then, he recalled, chest tightening. Even now, even as they'd merged into a new being entirely, he felt that longing, resting heavy on his heart. He bent to kiss her instead, a soft croon escaping him at the feel of her pulling him in.

Call me John, he thought, heartbeat crashing into hers. Say it now. Please.

They lost themselves in each other, her hands carding through his hair, murmuring her love for him into his mouth, the hushed whisper of his fingers across her skin making her shiver. She held him in her arms, first with him resting his head on her chest, the lull of her heart melting him - and then, with his head in her lap, eyes closed as she smoothed his hair.

The ride came to a gentle halt then, and Homelander reluctantly rose, his face warm as she smiled at him. He stood, offering his hand to her, and they walked out of the tunnel together - to be met with a swarm of fans, cheering, applauding. 

They clamored for them, shouting their support, their love, Homelander thought, face split in a genuine grin as he took photos with the fans, the woman. He held children on his shoulders, kissed babies, posed with men and women dressed as him - but in the hoard of the Americana-colored commotion, something caught his eye: a flash of darkness, a glint of black steel. All of a sudden, all was wrong; one moment, the woman was in his arms, grinning up at him, and in the next - she was gone, whisked away and banished from his sight, like she hadn't been there at all.

Homelander wheeled around at once, the once-wanted throng of fans now suffocating in their unwelcome embrace. He spun wildly, pushing past them, calling out the woman's name - but to no avail. She was nowhere to be seen.

Not that the fans, the fucking fans, seemed to notice; they clambered for more of his time, someone even having the gall to touch his face in their desperation. He bored his gaze into them, shoving them away and stalking hurriedly through the crowd, heartbeat racing.

Where had she gone? Homelander craned his neck, bursting free from the masses and into the sky, scouring the area. Fuck! They were all wearing that damn costume - she was wearing the costume. Regret pooled in his gut, cold and suffocating. Why had he burned her clothes? It had seemed so sensual before, but now she was just another face in the crowd. He swooped lower, calling for her again, fist clenching at the crack in his voice.

Had this been her plan? To teach him the meaning of love then disappear, like some fucking Ghost of Christmas Past? 

Had someone taken her?

Was she even fucking real?

The thought pierced him, and suddenly he saw it - him, sitting at the coffeeshop alone. No wax warmer on his mantle. Him, lying his head on the cold seat in the Tunnel of Love, his heartbeat the sole, lonesome sound echoing in the rosy chasm.

His eyes burned hot for the second time that day - and fueled by that monstrous ache within, he unleashed a torrent of aether from them, the warmth radiating from him like rays of the sun. Instantly, blood erupted onto the scene beneath him. He veered dangerously low, shutting off the blast, searching for her again, finding nothing, and hissing in rage. His vision sparked red as he zoomed by, skating a hand along the ocean of carnage as he went.

The screams of the patrons rang in his ears, so similar to the praise from before - just as useless. He listened for her voice, her call - and grit his teeth only when the terror of the people answered him.

He blasted through the crowd, viscera flicking across his face and into his hair, and for a dark moment, the thought that it was her blood raced through him. He bit back a moan, a sob, and fired on, a growl building in his throat.

None were spared from his wrath in the wake of this theft - theft of joy, theft of love. Theft of her. Homelander hovered then, a dying remnant of his soul begging her to call to him, pleading with his thoughts, lip just shy of quivering. 

Please, answer me.

Please, at least have been real.

But no answer came, the silence ripping him apart, leaving him mauled and bloody. Homelander climbed higher, his face twitching, eyes trained on the roller coaster thirty feet away - and sent a jet of heat in its direction, the thunderous echo of its collapse tinny in his ears. All at once, the screams stopped.

Homelander let out a ragged breath, running a slick hand through his hair as he took in the destruction, gray smoke billowing into the sky. He sat on a ruined chair, head in his hands, the orange sky the sole witness to his despair, when the cry came, desperate in its shout.

"Homelander!"

Homelander whipped his head around, heart clambering up his throat, and rose at once, eyes wild. He hovered, calling out the woman's name, the ghost of hope flickering on his voice.

"Homelander!!"

He flew to the sound of her voice, skidding to a stop before her, taking her in with disbelieving eyes. She walked to him slowly, her wide eyes trained on him. She looked hesitant - afraid.

No. Please.

She couldn't be afraid - she'd promised him. And yet, there she was, shivering and withholding - scared to touch him.

No...

Homelander closed the distance, hands on her cheeks, his plea just shy of bursting from his lips, when she launched forward, kissing him hard, wrapping him in so tightly he could feel the pulse in her wrist against his neck.

"Where did you go?" he whispered frantically, eyes searching hers. She panted into his mouth. "The Seven. They took me. Just outside of the Tunnel of Love. Sage, Maeve, Noir, Deep... they took me, and told me all of these horrible things, told me I shouldn't have come here... trying to take me home. Trying to take you away from me."

Homelander darkened, his grip on her tightening. 

"That won't happen. Never."

But even as the thought calmed him, the memory of the horror on her face unsettled him, left him raw. It had been one thing, to tell her stories of his destruction, fables of the monster within... but now she had seen it, smelled the rotten tang of blood in the air as he pressed her to him.

She thought back to just moments earlier, the fantasy of Homelander as Mars, adorned in blood like so many droplets of rubies, clinging to his face, running down his chin. Had this really been what she'd wanted? Was this the fantasy, actualized?

No, she thought, wiping a freckle of blood from his cheek. It was better.

Because she hadn't lied to him - not once. Not about the asylum, or her hatred for the cold, or the shrine... but especially not about the murders.

Maybe she saw it as inevitable, she remembered, taking him into a kiss, the shower of blood sprinkling around them, turning the world rosy. Maybe she was angry for him.

Or maybe, she considered, pulling back to face him, heart pounding. Maybe...

"I love you," she breathed, eyes shining like the birth of stars. Homelander exhaled, crushing her to him. Her heartbeat found his then, and they stood, the slickness of the blood clinging them together.

"I love you," Homelander whispered, nodding. He pressed his forehead to hers.

The woman took a deep breath before she spoke again, eyes... almost amused. "You know... there's still one last thing we didn't get to do," she said, looking up at him. Homelander quirked a brow. She pointed to the Ferris Wheel.

"I also didn't win you that teddy bear..." he said almost sheepishly. She chuckled. "That is true... but I seem to recall someone saying something about getting me the world's largest teddy bear." Homelander laughed. "Oh, you recall, do you?" The woman pecked him on the cheek, face glowing.

Homelander wrapped his arms around her again - she was real, he thought, soothed - and flew them to the top of the Ferris Wheel, where the faint sound of sirens reached them. The woman turned to him, worried.

"Vought will likely stage the scene - oh, look! There they are!" he said, pointing down at the Vought personnel who'd arrived, cleaning up scorch marks, framing the carnage into something new.

"Probably a terrorist act," Homelander mused. The woman giggled. "They're like... worker bees," she said thoughtfully. Homelander felt something in his heart give at her words, the glow of the setting sun ethereal behind her head.

He leaned to kiss her one more time, the hint of blood on their lips, and she melted into his arms, sighing into him.

Best Valentine's Day ever, indeed.

consider the sperm whale and the squid. an ancient rivalry that dates back millions of years. we know the whales eat the squids. we know the squids do not make it easy for them. we know this because of the scars the whales carry, scars on the outside of their body, and on the inside as well. how badly must you want something to endure wounds inside your mouth? inside your gut?

consider the whale, who is harmed by what sustains her. consider the squid, whose flesh is soft and delicious but refuses to go down easy.