2.2k | Homelander x gn!Reader | Angst, Pre-established character death and such discussions. Kinda Slow Burn-ish As always, cross posted to Ao3
The greatest superhero to ever live supposedly gave his life six months ago in a blaze of glory. But you swear you caught a glimpse of his cape in the halls of Vought tower your first day.
You're left with nothing but questions. Is there even a body in that casket they put in the ground?
Authors note: Hey look at me, I'm not dead. Trying to get to drafts. This will be multi-chapter and I'm planning on having fun with it! Divider credit
It’s pouring rain over Manhattan, just like the forecast said.
For once, you can’t blame the clouds. You’ve felt like rain a while too.
The piles of undone laundry and dishes in your apartment that you've been putting off attest to it. But you've put yourself together for a big day. Rain be damned.
The puddles of rain are pooling in the cracks of the concrete under your boots. It's silly, but years ago you might’ve splashed and played in them, back when the world wasn’t such a big place. You try not to think about it too long, but you do. Just like how you’ve already overthought every interaction that’ll follow after you step foot through Vought’s doors.
You're always worried about the 'afters' of things. Repercussions and worries keep your mind occupied. It's a bad habit really, overthinking.
The wind undoes everything you’ve meticulously styled in the mirror this morning, but you keep your head up and simply persist. There’s a sea of new opportunity waiting for you after all. For once in a long time, you're determined.
The interview was the hard part, and that’s over. It leaves nothing to worry about. Worst of it's past.
When you graduated college, Digital Marketing Specialist wasn’t really what you imagined to be your future career. But an opportunity at Vought was a one in a million. Maybe one in a thousand. They were willing, after all. You hopped on it.
You catch wind of a conversation you'd rather not hear, meandering around the puddles. One that you've heard all too often before.
"He can't really be gone. I'm waiting for them to make it a stunt."
"Yeah, he's like the strongest dude alive. He wouldn't just up and die."
Every time you think you've forgotten, you're reminded. Homelander's dead. You're not going to work under your childhood hero. Vought's posterchild, the best of the best for as long as you can remember. A perfect superhero—no, the perfect superhero, or so everyone thought. Until it all was over.
Funny, ever since his funeral, seems like all Vought wants is more and more new employees.
They've been making frequent changes to their staff. Creating a new image for the company and rebranding the Seven must be a lot of work, if you had to guess. He was their shining star after all. You don't dwindle there long. Maybe this would be a steppingstone on a bigger journey, or maybe you’d climb the ladder. The hazy fog hiding your future is just a little lighter today, and you can daydream. It carries you through those first few steps through the door.
You take the new employee orientation in stride. Surely, there are only so many NDAs to sign right off the bat because you’re working with social media and marketing. It’s just something you shove to the back of your mind. Especially as you give your first overly zealous handshake to your new supervisor. But no matter what you do, it feels like you'll never have that energy you can't put a name to.
Nothing to worry about, you remind yourself. But she has sharp eyes that notice one of your buttons has come undone.
She leads you along your new office first, as you diligently follow behind and try to fix yourself. Appearance-wise, the space it occupies is nothing compared to the marble and accents throughout the rest of the building. It's dreary and bland. The repeating greyscale only occasionally broken by splashes of color from sticky notes and desk décor.
You catch glimpses of the posters that adorn the three walls that aren’t windows. All different members of the Seven advertising who knows what.
It's hard not to notice Homelander’s posters rolled up beside the trash can when you walk past. He was always your favorite.
He was always everyone's favorite.
And people still talk about him.
They probably always will, given what happened. Ultimate sacrifice and all. It’s easy to wear that smile he used to and try to look on the bright side. At least this place is more detached from the rest of the building. Bigwigs don't cast sideways glances here. It feels detached, like its own little world hidden in a maze of cubicles and computers.
You’re happy to hide in it, make it cozy. Forget about things.
With a generic introduction, you’re finally acquainted with your new office family. Not many disengage from their work to look up from their cubicles. But you wave and say hi anyway. It’s awkward, sure.
You're terrified someone will take note of how terrible you look compared to everyone else. Dressed in second-hand business attire, just trying to do your best.
But overall, it’s not half bad. Nobody notices, somehow.
You're happy to be shown around, to see the inside of a place everyone always wants to see. The marble clacks underneath your feet as you follow your new supervisor around the floor and take in the sights, trying your best and failing miserably to maintain direction.
It’ll take some time to get adjusted to. Just like the robust cafeteria and lavish break room you have access to now.
Not to mention the elaborate coffee bar too luxurious to even imagine relaxing in. That's all everybody drinks here is coffee, all hours of the day.
Maybe just this once you can convince yourself you deserve these finer things. As intimidating as it all may be. You made it after all. You work for Vought. Nothing to worry about, right?
It’s something you try to internalize as you walk in tandem with your new supervisor, making your way back to the elevator. Walking past corridors and offices, traversing the endless maze you’re bound to be lost in later despite her best efforts of a tour. Her skirt barely accommodates her rushed wide strides you're barely able to keep up with.
“There are certain floors off-limits. Without even looking at you, she explains that the underground levels and the medical wing are off-limits.
You nod along and give a quick, “Yes, ma’am,” and try to keep from falling behind.
“And 99. Unless you’re given special permission, that floor is off-limits for lower-level employees.”
That’s all I am? You think, your attempts at staying on the bright side faltering.
But something catches your eye before you can respond.
It’s the blue you see first, out of the corner of your line of sight, down the last corridor. There just long enough for you to dart your eyes left and watch as it disappears around a corner.
Deep blue followed by unmistakable red and white. Stripes, too long for a regular flag. You even catch a glimpse of gold for the split second it graces your vision. But in the millisecond it takes to turn your head, it's gone.
If you weren’t wiser, you’d think it was Homelander’s cape. The Homelander.
It wasn’t a regular flag. Couldn't of been. It flowed too languidly, just like how it used to be carried on his shoulders, strong enough to carry the weight of the world.
But Vought wouldn’t do that to him. They wouldn’t let someone else wear his suit, right?
Wouldn’t it be wrong?
“Hey, earth to newbie.”
Your eyes shoot back to your supervisor, now standing facing you with her hands on her hips. She taps her foot against the ground in displeasure, her once friendly eyes turning judgmental as she looks you over again. “Are you just going to stand there and waste more time? Come on,” she sighs, turning on her heel to leave as she beckons you along behind her.
You burn bright red with embarrassment, following behind and trying to push the sight out of your mind.
You attribute it to your nerves, and nothing more.
Beyond the raindrops coating the glass outside, the sun starts to peek through. So you muse over that instead and let your thoughts carry you somewhere else.
The cubicle they allot to you is nice, and the chair is comfortable. At the very least, it’ll keep you sane during the long shifts staring at the screen in front of you. Writing and researching. A dozen other specialists and analysts work through the day, keeping the coffee bar busy as you sign digital forms and click through endless new employee trainings. Occasionally, you think back to that unexplainable sight earlier.
There are no publicity stunts planned, no specials, and no memorial photoshoots. You can’t help but scavenge through the schedules you have access to now, looking for a reason.
Despite all your efforts, you can’t find any rationality as to why someone would be parading around in one of his suits. He had to have had multiple, couldn't of been the suit.
You catch yourself wondering if he was buried in that red, white, and blue or in something more modest. Only his family got the privilege of seeing him one last time.
Everyone wanted to see him again. Who wouldn’t? But rumor has it, there wasn't much left of him anyway.
His folks were too heartbroken to speak publicly. They were, like the rest of the country, immersed in the day of mourning. But now that you think about it, you’re not sure if you’ve ever seen anything about his family. Just the origin movies with terrible actors.
For a moment, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—you’d actually caught a glimpse of him. If all those Reddit theorists questioning his death might be onto something. But it’s just wishful thinking you shrug off.
The long hand of the clock barely graces 5, and the department slowly files out the door without you noticing. Too preoccupied. Being the determined person you are, you stay behind to finish the training early. It gives you more time to muse about what you saw.
Hopefully it'll get a genuine smile out of your supervisor when tomorrow rolls around, and you'll make up for today.
Over your shoulder, the shorthand of the clock ticks by 5, trudges past 5:30, and crawls over 6. Unaware, you finish the final module of the information safety training and sigh. When you stretch your back, your chair creaks, the only sound in the office. It's palpable, the satisfaction of completing a task.
Nothing to worry about. That is, until you become aware of the silence surrounding you. Your smile falters then.
There’s no incessant tap of keyboard keys or overheard phone calls. Suddenly, you’re all too aware of the time that you let slip past as you peek above the walls of your cubicle.
Not only is the social media department absent of the hum and chatter, so are the adjoining offices.
Oops.
Somewhere along the line, the rain stopped falling. Now the sun’s climbing down out of the sky. At the very least, you won’t have to catch a taxi in the rain; just trudge through the puddles again. It’s muggy past the windows, the clouds still looming, and the humidity fogging your view of the city.
But it’s a lovely sunset past it all. Despite everything.
You mull it over as you pull your jacket over your shoulders and grab your bag, damning yourself for staying so late. There’s something to be said about hard work and dedication, but no one would be around to hear it anyway. So you log off and slip out.
It’s a short trip from your office and down the hall to the elevator. But the sound of your footsteps echoing off the marble as you go makes it feel like a mile. You swear there isn't a single thing in the building alive, besides you. All you can hear is your own heartbeat.
It’s honestly the slightest bit unsettling.
Everyone on this floor abandoned the place hours ago, leaving you behind. Far below you, various security and analytics departments work around the clock. You're sure of it. Far above you, the Seven go about their lives in their penthouse apartments. But from where you walk, it’s like being the only soul here.
You keep your head on a swivel, instincts on high alert as you walk.
But nothing decides to dance in the corners of your vision this time.
A sigh escapes your lungs as you step on the elevator. Embraced by the slightest bit of comfort, knowing you’ll be downstairs with other people again as you slip past security on the ground floor. But something feels off as you lean forward and press the button to head down. The air isn’t sitting right.
The bright yellow button for the 99th floor is lit, the place you’d specifically been told to not go.
Your brow creases as the button for the ground floor presses underneath your finger. Without really thinking, you assume whoever it was changed their mind and got off below you, so you press the button for the 99th down. Hoping it goes off.
It stays illuminated underneath your fingertip regardless.
You press it again once, then twice.
And it still stays lit.
There would be something wrong with the elevator as soon as you step inside, wouldn’t that be your luck? What would you say if anyone caught you up on the Seven’s floor? The most you can do is hope and pray once it reaches the top, it’ll let you go back down.
You close your eyes. If you’re lucky, there won’t be any witnesses to the cardinal sin you’re committing.
Accepting fate, you open them and gaze down the hallway as the metal elevator doors slide closed in front of you, sealing you inside. But the second they close fully and the elevator begins to move, you freeze.
It’s not just your reflection staring.
You can distinguish the unmistakable silhouette of patriot blue, draped by red and white behind you in the reflection of the hazy metal. Artificial light even bounces off the golden eagles on his shoulders as if he’s right there with you.
Menacingly staring straight past you is none other than Homelander himself. It has to be.
For just a second, those hopeful theories pop into your mind again. Maybe he's not dead! Maybe it was all just a hoax, and your favorite hero is here. Alive and well.
But then you remember you got on the elevator alone. Empty.
He doesn't move, doesn't blink. Doesn't even breathe.
Currently sending subliminal messages to Ridley Scott to make another Alien film that features David. Ooooo you suddenly wanna continue his story so badd oooooo~
In regards of the Trump government scraping all trans inclusion in its queer information portion of its websites I have made this thing. Spread the word. Don't let them pretend we never existed.
P.S: Don't like! Reblog! <3
EDIT: Well this got a lot of attention! I got a few users asking to print or repost my art and I am unimaginably grateful to everyone's interest, especially since it's a really simple drawing I made on a whim haha! Anyone who is looking to print these out to hang or hand out or repost on another platform is free to do so, although I ask you to credit me and let people know it's from my Tumblr profile! If anyone wishes to do anything else with my art or post and wants to clarify what I consent to then they can message me privately and I'll explain! <333 all my love to my queer siblings
EDIT: I made an LGBTQIA+ version with a focus on trans and intersex folks, it's on my pinned if you prefer this version of the acronym.
No matter how progressive or well-read you are, there are always going to be moments in your life where somebody pushes back against something that's so culturally ingrained you never even considered it before. And you'll say "Huh, it never occurred to me to challenge this but you're right" and that doesn't mean you were "morally toxic" before, it means you're a non-omniscient human capable of growth.
Other physically disabled people, can you please recommend me non-fiction books about physical disability? Because trying to find them myself is only getting me autism moms and inspiration porn.
au where eggman is some egotistical unethical tech ceo that visits his local coffee shop everyday and harasses the customers and employees, but for some reason the owner is head-over-heels for him and keeps letting him get away with it
obsessed with mass market paperbacks. their pleasing rectangular proportions. how they fit badly in a hoodie pocket so you can drag them around everywhere with you like a temporary little buddy. the way they fit in your hand because they're MADE for human hands and not as bookshelf decoration. the way the pages feel when you riffle them gently with your thumb. How pristine and crisp they look when you get them and how creased and folded they look when you're done, even if you try to be nice to them. how that wear is okay, how that's correct actually, because they're made with the philosophy that books aren't meant to be PRETTY, they're meant to be read. that little ripple new ones get on the left side from where you hold them when you're reading, the way the ripple only goes as far as you've read, because u change stories by reading as they are changing you. how you can find thousands of these creased and folded and loved little dudes in every thrift store and used book shop and neighborhood library and you can instantly see the ones that someone carried around in a backpack for weeks or read to pieces or gave up on halfway through because they wear being read like fresh snow wears footprints. I love these poorly made, subpar little rectangles so much. truly the people's books.
its so embarrassing when i'm reading a pretentious book and someone says "what are you reading!" and i have to be like "um it's uh. fear and trembling? by kierkegaard? well yeah it's um. philosophy. no i'm not in school. just reading it. for fun i guess. ha ha.....yea" like god just shoot me now
vaporwave
kaledo-art
discoholicmusic
turnnoffyourmind
izzy806
