Chapter Text
Chapter One: Not in Kansas Anymore
All Anna remembered when she closed her eyes bracing as a truck steamrolled into her body was a sudden pressure then a popping sound like bones popping out and then back into place. Her form felt like it no longer fit its squelching slopping shape. When she opened her eyes she expected to find her organs hanging like garlands outside of her abdomen.
Instead, she opened her eyes to a room filled with applause. There were too many lights to make out the room clearly but she swore she could feel the electricity ticking away in the wires above. The hum was like a buzzing hive of wasps angry and sharp under her fingertips.
Anna’s first thoughts scattered through her mind like a startled bird’s plumage exploding against buckshot. She moved a hand to her face to shield her eyes from the light and screaming applause. But her hands were not her own. Her hands were manicured unlike her own bit down nails.
“What the fuck is happening…” she whispered, but the voice came out too high, too light. It was not her voice and her mind vomited only panicked nauseous worry.
Then she caught her reflection on the teleprompter glass. Blonde. Glossed. Blue eyes like glassy marbles that caught the stage light and threw it back like a perfect doll. She was Annie January. Starlight. From the fucking Boys universe.
She stepped forward but the body felt wrong. The yellow boots stumbled over the polished stage before she regained her footing.
There was no way she was inside another person. It was not possible yet still Annie’s body stumbled forward at her command closer to the podium.
Her borrowed body brooked no argument; it still breathed, moved, sweated as if it were always hers. The crowd saw no difference between them and the stadium only grew louder as she neared the microphone.
The Deep was talking now, saying Annie’s name and Anna’s jaw moved in perfect sync, mouthing lines she didn’t know she knew. Each word felt like an invasion of Starlight’s autonomy. She could almost hear Annie’s ghost humming beneath her skin, a buried instinct to smile wider.
Anna forced herself to smile. If she was truly here, then this wasn’t a dream or delusion, and she didn’t have time to understand what was happening. She needed to play her part.
She inhaled. Her lungs weren’t hers, but the air was real enough.
The crowd was chanting now—“Starlight! Starlight!”—and Anna felt the rhythm guide her pulse.
If this was real, and not a dream. Not a psychotic break. Then she wasn’t just in The Boys. She was Starlight in the Boys.
Oh, this is bad. Really bad. If she was actually in The Boys, then this wasn’t a fresh start. This was a script.
And she’d already watched it. The Deep with his pants down. Homelander in the elevator, hand closing around Starlight’s throat like it was nothing. She knew exactly how this went.
Nope. Not doing any of that. Not getting face fucked by the fish-guy or choked out in an elevator. Not playing the part the way Annie did.
Then what?
On stage, under blinding lights, the crowd waited for Starlight to address the audience. Okay, think later. Perform now.
Inside her golden avatar, Anna finally addressed the crowd. “It’s an honor to be welcomed as a member of the Seven.”
The massive bronze door slid open with a metallic hiss. The Deep entered first, his stride confident, but his voice dripped with a weird mix of arrogance and insecurity. He sounded like a teenager trying to prove to an adult he’d finally grown-up. Anna followed, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor.
The Seven’s sanctum stretched before her, cold, vast, immaculate. The air conditioning unit hummed overhead which reassured her that the world she’d been dropped into still followed some of the rules her old world did. Every monitor pulsed with meaningless data, numbers scrolling faster than her eyes could ever hope to follow. She wondered if the feed was calibrated for one particular Supe.
She tried to steady her breathing.
This is it. The big scene. The one that causes Annie to lose faith.
“Wow,” she whistled, stepping into the room trying to keep her eyes big with wonder and not dread.
Deep grinned over his shoulder. “Pretty cool, huh? Oh—hey, check this out.” He gestured toward the glowing wall of displays. “We’ve got two worldview satellites in geocentric orbit. We can basically read a getaway car’s license plate from three hundred and eighty miles up.”
He said it like he’d said it a hundred times but she’d bet money he had zero understanding of how any of it worked.
Anna nodded, following the script. “That’s just… wow. I mean, God—Starlight was working with a shitty police scanner.” She cringed because that probably came off like she was referring to herself in third person.
The Deep chuckled. “Yeah, well, not anymore, you’re not.”
Thank god for the Deep’s simple mind. If that was Homelander she’d be one step closer to getting throat pinned to the wall.
The Deep moved toward the massive conference table. “Oh, and wait till you check out the dining hall—we may or may not have stolen Miro from Gramercy Tavern. He’s fan-fucking-tastic.”
Anna pointed toward the head of the table. To her surprise there was nothing particularly special about Homelander’s seat. It was just another corporate rolling chair positioned at an irregularly shaped table. “That’s his, isn’t it?”
The Deep winced, his smirk fading completely. “Homelander’s, yeah.” His eyes lingered on the chair like it was currently occupied by the volatile superhuman himself. Then his smile returned as he looked back at Starlight’s open expression. “But you’ll have your own soon.”
He slid the chair out for her. “Go on, give it a test drive.”
Anna shook her head, because sitting in Homelander’s chair was tempting fate. She wasn’t putting her ass cheeks anywhere near Homelander’s sacred throne when the guy could identify Hughie from a sweat droplet. If he found out she dared to press her perky little ass into his seat the flying psycho would laser her tits off.
“No thanks.” She gave the Deep a frantic shake of her head. No. She absolutely could not sit in Homelander’s seat.
The Deep’s head curled to the side like a dog. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, recovering quickly. “It’s just really weird standing here.”
He tilted his head. “Weird?”
Weird, she thought, because one second I was asleep in my bed, and now I’m standing inside a moment I used to watch on my TV screen, pretending to be someone who isn’t me.
“I don’t know, I just used to imagine what this place would be like. Guess it's different now that I’m here.”
The Deep smiled, relieved to be back on familiar ground. “Yeah, I get that. You know, on my first day, I felt like a total fraud.”
“Yeah,” Anna said, forcing the ghost of a laugh, trying not to reveal she never thought much of the Deep’s power set to begin with. The guy was a messier Aquaman. “I think everyone does.”
He turned toward the window. “And hey, we’re a team now. We’ll help each other out.”
Then came the line that started Annie’s worst day ever.
“I bet growing up you had a poster of Homelander on your wall, huh?”
Anna’s mind snapped into crystal clear focus because under no circumstances was she sucking Kevin’s webbed super-dick.
This is it. The pivot point. Keep it light. Keep it normal. Avoid talking about Annie’s school girl crush on the Deep.
“Obviously,” she said with an easy laugh. “Doesn’t everyone? He’s the best Supe, no qualifiers, full stop. Homelander is the best of us.” She hoped to god focusing on Homelander would kill any interest the Deep had in her. “What’s it like working with him?”
Deep blinked. The shift in topic threw him. “Uh—Homelander? Yeah, he’s… he’s something else.”
Anna took a step closer, her tone staying casual. "What's that mean?"
"Intense," he said reluctantly. "You always know when he's in the room."
"Intense?" She knew exactly what he meant. 'Intense,' she thought. 'That's the word for the guy who probably has a breast milk sommelier on retainer?' Homelander was a straight-up psycho with control issues. Intense was a surprisingly articulate word for the Deep to use—his awkward stab at neutrality when what he really meant was fucking terrifying.
"Nothing." His laugh came out shallow. "He's got a lot on his plate."
She caught the way his shoulders tightened, the way his eyes flicked toward the chair again.
So that's a no, she thought. He's terrified of him. 'Join the club, fish-guy. I've seen season two. Terrified is the correct response to the man-baby with heat vision.'
“You must’ve learned a lot from him,” She was of course fishing, but with the Deep it was a shallow pond. Pretty much everything he thought she could already read on the surface
Deep gave a short, snort. “Yeah. I learned what not to do, mostly.”
Anna arched her brow. “Like what?”
He paused, lips parting like he might answer. Then he shook his head and waved it off. “Nothing. You’ll be fine. He probably won’t be too hard on you since it’s your first day.”
Anna smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Guess I’ll count myself lucky then.”
He grinned again, glad to leave the subject of Homelander. “Hey, you’ll do great here. Trust me.”
Trust you, she thought, yeah right. She knew Kevin was the least dependable of the Seven and was more interested in fucking sea life than he was in helping his human teammates.
Her gaze drifted toward Homelander’s empty chair. It loomed over the room like a shadow that could swallow them both bones and all. Anna smiled at the Deep anyway. “Can’t wait to meet everyone.”
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime, sealing Anna inside a golden cage of glass and steel. The hum of the tower filled the silence around her, the pulse of the most powerful organization on the planet ticking on underneath her boots.
She leaned back against the mirror-paneled wall, exhaling for the first time in what felt like hours.
Her reflection stared back, still blonde, still perfect, still Starlight. But behind Annie’s perfect blue eyes, she saw herself, the woman who knew exactly how the story was supposed to go.
Her hands trembled as she brushed her hair from her face.
He didn’t stick his dick in my mouth. He didn’t even try.
The elevator glided down, smooth and silent. Each passing floor number blinked like a heartbeat: 99, 98, 97.
Anna’s pulse finally began to slow. She almost laughed—it came out sharp, breathless. “Holy shit,” she whispered to herself. “That actually worked.”
She remembered every frame of canon. Annie’s humiliation, the betrayal. How the light in Starlight’s eyes had dimmed in that room. And she was moving off script into a new timeline.
Her shoulders sank as the elevator continued its descent. The air felt warmer now, less sterile. She pressed her palm against the mirrored wall, tracing her own reflection like she could feel the separation between what was written and what she’d changed.
The door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing her residential floor, polished marble floors, soft amber lighting, a corridor that stretched in two directions like the fork in a road.
Anna stepped out. Her boots clicked faintly against the tile. Each member of the Seven had their own suite here or on the nearby floors, private themed sanctuaries disguised as apartments. Like a fucking corporate Disney fever dream, all the branding, none of the magic, plus a lot more casual homicide.
Homelander's penthouse was on the 99th floor—above all of them, taking up most of the floor and nearest to the Seven's meeting rooms. The Deep's was on the 95th. Hers was on the 97th, just below Maeve's apartment on the 98th. A Vought staffer had rattled all of this off during the tour, barely pausing for breath, like she was supposed to memorize a seating chart for a wedding she hadn't RSVP'd to. Oh, and here's where the sociopath sleeps, moving on. She had no idea where Black Noir, A-Train, or Translucent stayed. Those details had been lost in the verbal dumpster fire of orientation, but she imagined they were also somewhere in the 90s.
When she reached her door, she typed in her code into the panel and waited for the soft click of the lock disengaging. The room beyond was still bare, a corporate wet dream of luxury lubed up in a tacky gold theme.
She entered, the door sliding shut immediately behind her, and stood in silence. The city glittered through the panoramic window, lights pulsing against the night sky. From here, Vought Tower felt untouchable, godlike.
She let herself breathe again. Then she laughed. “One day down with zero dicks in my face. Great fucking start,” she muttered.
She sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, staring down at her hands. They were shaking less now.
“I guess it’s my story now.”
The hum of the tower filled the silence again. Somewhere far above, the others were still living out their parts—Homelander in his domain, Queen Maeve likely half-drunk in her room, the Deep likely pumping himself into an octopus in his aquarium .
Anna leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Canon’s officially broken,” she whispered.
Outside her window, a blur of red and blue streaked past. Just a fly-by. Just Homelander making his rounds, confirming the new recruit had been tucked into her room like a good little asset.
He didn't stop. Didn't look in. But Anna felt a cold prickle run down her spine anyway. She'd have to watch what she said in here.
Part Two: Hughie Mother-Fucking Campbell
Anna had been in the tower for three days so far and she had spent the last twenty minutes pretending to admire the park’s skyline while actually scanning for one specific danger: Hughie Mother-Fucking Campbell.
Canon dictated Hughie would be here, alone, grieving, carrying the weight of a death she didn't want to be connected to. But the real problem wasn't avoiding him—it was what came later. When Homelander gathered the Seven in that conference room and announced that someone had killed Translucent, everyone else would lose their minds. Shock. Outrage. Fear. And Anna would just be standing there, face carefully blank, because she'd seen this episode. Heart rate steady. Pupils normal. No surprise at all.
Homelander would notice.
And then he'd start asking questions. Why aren't you surprised? How do you know this guy? Did you help him?
So she needed cover. A breadcrumb. If she just happened to be in the park and just happened to make eye contact with some random sad-sack civilian, then when the news broke she could gasp and put a hand over her mouth and say, Oh my god, I saw that guy. He was right outside the tower. He was watching us. It would corroborate Homelander's narrative. Make her look like a shocked victim instead of a traitor who already knew the ending.
That's all it took to dodge a skull-fucking by fate. One bench. One brief encounter. No attachment. Just plausible deniability.
She circled the fountain twice before her phone rang and she pressed to her ear. Donna’s cheerful voice exploded through the speaker like confetti.
“So how amazing is it? What’s Homelander like?”
Anna forced a bright tone. “He’s… busy! Haven’t really met him yet.” Thank god, because Homelander was the Regina George of the Super dynasty and would probably roast her eyes out of her skull if he found out she wasn’t the real Starlight.
“Oh, I forgot, I was playing mah-jongg with Patty and Trish,” Donna interrupted, her voice sailing right over Anna’s. “Patty’s bragging again about her daughter getting into law school. I’m thinking, so what? My daughter’s in The Seven! Anyway, what’s going on with you?”
Anna pinched the bridge of her nose. She has no idea what Annie talks about with her mom. She only picked up the call because it seemed cruel to ghost Annie’s mother out of the blue.
“Everything’s great!” she said too quickly. “Just, you know, busy! Gotta go, love you, bye.”
“Okay, bye honey!” Donna chirped.
Anna hung up and slumped back against a nearby bench, exhaling. “Nailed it,” she muttered to herself. “Totally normal conversation. No notes.”
She glanced around. It was all clear skies, tourists, pigeons, and no Hughie in sight. So far so good. The bench she was sitting on shifted slightly as someone sat down beside her. She froze.
Hughie was holding a sandwich, unwrapping it with the weary care of a man who’d lost something. Short brown hair, nervous energy, slightly rumpled.
“Oh shit,” Anna breathed under her breath.
“Sorry?” he asked, looking over.
She flashed a smile so fast it nearly cracked her face. “Oh! Uh, nothing. Just—bird poop. Close call.”
He blinked. “Right. Hate when that happens.”
Anna stared straight ahead. Okay, play it cool. Just small talk. Don’t connect. No emotional vulnerability, no ‘I’m having a bad day,’ no letting him open up about his dead girlfriend.
“You from around here?” he asked after a moment, his tone casual, harmless.
“Work nearby,” she replied, clipped and friendly in the most noncommittal way possible. “You?”
“Yeah, sorta. Well, no.” He gave a short laugh that died fast.
Anna nodded, pretending to check her phone. Abort. Abort. Say you have somewhere to be.
“Well,” she said, standing abruptly, “this was—uh—benchy. Enjoy your lunch.”
He looked startled and tried to smile but the effort was too watery along the eyes. “Thanks. You too.”
“Right. You too.”
She turned on her heel, heart thudding in her chest.
By the time she was half a block away, she muttered, “Nope. Not today, twitchy boy. You can keep your tragic meet-cute.”
Still, as she walked, she glanced back once. Hughie sat there, eating alone. The guilt stung. But face-fucked by Homelander's laser eyes would sting a hell of a lot more.
She shoved her phone into her pocket, squared her shoulders, and kept walking toward Vought Tower.
She’d dodged the nervous puppy boy. For the moment, at least, she was still keeping Starlight off-script. Hopefully it was enough to survive.
The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, and a rush of cold, filtered air hit her face. She stepped out into the Seven’s headquarters. The room was cathedral-bright—sunlight streaming across polished steel and glass, the city laid out below like a toy kingdom.
Anna planned to be early to her first day on the Seven. In the show Annie came late because she’d been traumatized by the Deep’s disgusting penis which meant she missed the welcome speech and missed a vital opportunity to build rapport with Homelander. So, this time she showed up early planning to be so friendly he’d hopefully decide against taking his temper out on her as the Boys slowly destabilized him.
Homelander stood near the window, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his shoulders drawn broad, back rigid, cape draped to look perfectly heroic.
Right. This was an apex predator in his natural habitat. She had to be careful. If she made a bad impression it would follow her through every interaction with the petty man.
Anna’s heart rate ticked up a beat, from the stress. She couldn’t challenge a creature like Homelander. She couldn’t afford to meet his stare head-on unless she wanted to trigger something territorial.
Instead she needed to feed him treats like an aggressive dog she couldn’t afford to startle.
She straightened her sleeves, slipping into Annie January’s warmth like a well-practiced lie.
“Morning, Homelander.”
He didn’t turn.
Which, considering his super hearing, meant he’d clocked her arrival the second her shoe brushed the floor. The whole silent treatment was deliberate. Shoulders squared, cape hanging just so, staring out at the city like he was waiting for a camera crew that wasn’t there.
Jesus Christ. What a dork.
“You’re early,” he said.
Anna kept her voice light, pleasant, marketable, even as something tight and cautious curled under her ribs. If he decided he didn’t like her, this conversation could end with her scattered across the windows.
“I thought I’d be respectful. First day and all.” She shrugged palms up, head tilted, her smile tighter than a nun’s asshole.
Only then did he turn—slow, theatrical, like the reveal at the end of a trailer. Expression already set: stern, composed, heroic. The leader of the Seven had entered the chat.
"You're different," he stated. Not a question. An observation, like he was cataloging her.
She knew how this worked. She'd watched every episode, read every breakdown. Homelander ran on two things: admiration and fear, and he preferred the first but would absolutely settle for the second. The key was to give him enough of the first that he never felt the need to remind her what he could do.
So she let her gaze linger on the cape. Just a beat longer than professional.
"I like the cape," she said. "That was your idea right?
His expression flickered—surprise, maybe, or the start of something pleased. "Yeah, it was. Most people don’t remember that.”
"Most people are probably too busy trying not to pee their pants."
A short laugh. Genuine. He looked almost startled by it himself.
Anna relaxed a fraction. Good. This was good. Keep him warm, keep him engaged, keep him seeing her as something pleasant instead of something threatening. She knew what happened to people Homelander found threatening. She also knew what happened to people he found useful, they stayed alive.
"People don't usually say that to my face," he said, faintly amused.
There it was. The opening.
She could have played it safe. A simple I'm not most people—professional, neutral, forgettable. But safe wasn't enough. Safe didn't make him like you. Safe meant you were furniture. And furniture got broken when he was in a mood.
She needed him to remember her. Needed him to feel good around her. Needed him to file her under keep instead of break.
So she smiled. Not her stage smile. Something smaller. Almost private.
"You know," she said, tilting her head, "it must be exhausting."
His brow flickered. "What?"
"Being up here all the time." She gestured vaguely at the window, the city sprawling below. "Looking down at everyone. Never having anyone who can just... stand next to you. Without wanting something, or getting scared."
The words came out softer than she intended. Not pity, she was careful not to let it tip into pity. Just... acknowledgment. Like she saw something no one else bothered to notice.
She'd meant it as admiration, really. A way to say you're so far above everyone else, that must be lonely at the top. The kind of flattery that made him feel powerful and understood.
Then he blinked.
Not the slow, predatory blink of someone in control. A real one. Fast. His mouth parted slightly.
"No," he said quietly. "No one ever says that."
Anna's smile held. "Maybe no one's been paying attention."
His ears turned pink.
Oh.
Oh no.
She knew everything about Homelander. She knew he was starved for genuine warmth. She knew he'd been raised in a lab without a single person who looked at him like he was anything other than a weapon or a product. She knew he would crawl inside the smallest scrap of affection and make a home there.
She knew all of this.
And she had just told him she saw his loneliness and didn't run from it.
"You think about that?" he asked. His voice had dropped. Lost some of the performance. The hero pose was gone, his shoulders had curved inward, like he was leaning toward her. "What it's like for me?"
Anna's heart stopped.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to smirk, maybe make a comment about how impressive he was, and she'd nod along and everything would be fine. He wasn't supposed to look at her like she'd just seen him. Not Homelander the symbol. Just... him.
But of course he did. Because from his perspective, this was her first day. She'd never met him before. She had no reason to be strategic. She was just some new hero, standing in front of him, acting like she actually saw the weight he carried.
To him, that wasn't manipulation.
That was real.
And Homelander had been waiting his whole life for someone to see him.
"Doesn’t everyone," Anna tried to build space, because what else could she say? "They ought to."
He blinked. Not the slow, predatory blink of someone in control. A real one. Fast. Almost disbelieving. His mouth opened, then closed. His ears were still pink.
Oh fuck me raw.
She had just handed him a blanket and asked if he wanted to stay awhile.
He stopped moving.
It wasn’t dramatic, no visible anger, no flash of menace, just a small, strange pause, like a kid being called by the wrong name. His smile hesitated, then fell away. The proud angle of his shoulders slipped, just a fraction, before he noticed and stiffened again, too late to hide it completely.
His eyes darted to her face.
“…What?” he said.
The word came out thin. Not commanding. Not amused. Almost… unsure.
Anna immediately backpedaled, mistaking the shift for irritation.
“I just mean, the pressure. The job. Being you. All of it. Sorry, that was worded badly.”
She gave a quick laugh. “First day.”
Homelander didn’t answer.
He swallowed. Actually swallowed.
His jaw tightened, then relaxed, then tightened again, like he was trying to decide what expression he was supposed to be wearing. The posture he’d so carefully built for this meeting, leader of the Seven, America’s hero, untouchable, wobbled before he forced it back into place.
“I just…” He stopped. Restarted. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”
It came out softer than he meant it to.
For a second he looked… young. Not physically, in the eyes. Like something had knocked him off-script and he didn’t have a backup line. He shifted his weight, cape rustling, gaze flicking away from her and back again, as if he wasn’t sure where he was supposed to look.
Anna laughed, forced. “Yeah, that was probably too personal.”
She thought she’d defused it.
But Homelander was still staring at her, not with suspicion, not with calculation, with something closer to confusion. He was a child that had been handed an object he didn’t recognize and was not sure whether it was important, but wasn’t ready to let the object go.
“Well,” he said finally, forcing the heroic tone back into his voice like armor that didn’t quite latch properly, “you’re… a part of the team now.”
He watched her for a beat longer than necessary, something unsettled and oddly quiet in his chest, not anger, not pride, not triumph, just the strange feeling of being noticed in a place he kept locked. And he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do with that.
The elevator chimed again. The others filed in, Maeve, A-Train, Translucent, Black Noir, and finally The Deep. Homelander’s entire posture changed in an instant. He lifted his chin, voice swelling to full performance volume. “Everyone, let’s welcome our newest member, Starlight!”
Anna smiled, trying to feign the picture of bright gratitude. “Thank you. It’s an honor.”
The Deep leaned forward, offering a practiced grin. “Welcome aboard. Seriously. You’re gonna do great.”
She nodded trying to keep her reaction small. The last person she needed on her team was Kevin. “Appreciate it.”
Homelander’s eyes flicked toward her again. Approval.
Fuck me. She hated being on the receiving end of his attention.
The other members didn’t notice, but Anna did. His attention was on her not obviously but she could feel the weight of his gaze.
As Homelander launched into his “we are the light of the world” speech, she kept her gaze forward, her thoughts ticking quietly beneath her calm exterior.
This is fine, she told herself. You can handle him. You can handle all of them. You’ve got him purring for now, but don’t turn your back. Keep the treats coming until you find a way out of the cage.
Homelander’s voice rolled over the room like thunder wrapped in velvet.
“Now that we’re all here,” he said, “let’s make it a productive morning.”
Anna wearing, Starlight’s bright, public smile, sat two seats from him. The chair was comfortable, leather smooth under her palms, but it still felt like she was sitting in the lion’s den.
The others looked various degrees of bored. Maeve leaned back with her drink, A-Train scrolled his phone, and The Deep seemed intent on flexing in his reflection. Translucent lounged invisibly, his chair creaking with invisible weight.
Canon said this scene devolved fast, Anna thought. Merchandising, egos, petty squabbles, and Homelander doing damage control. That part would thankfully be predictable.
“Three weeks before the release,” Translucent’s disembodied voice started, “you can’t walk down Fifth without bumping into some bootleg Homelander shirts. Copyright infringement’s costing us one-point-two billion a year, money out of our pockets.”
A-Train’s head jerked up. “You get four points on the backend? What the hell?”
Homelander chuckled at first, letting the noise simmer. He spread his arms, palms out. “Hey, hey, come on. We’re the Seven, not Wall Street.”
He was supposed to be laughing here, a PR poster come to life. Instead, he glanced to Starlight. His eyes lingered too long.
Oh. That’s new.
Canon Homelander didn’t check in on Starlight during this scene. He played crowd control,charming, detached, aloof. But this Homelander was tracking her, watching her reaction at each flare of tension like a little boy watching mommy.
Anna straightened, careful not to flinch. Shit, she gave him too many treats. Not ideal. She wanted to keep him docile and not encourage him to seek her approval outright.
Maeve muttered, “He’s right, it’s not worth fighting over,” and went back to her drink.
Homelander’s gaze flicked back to her. “Do you agree with Maeve, Starlight?”
Motherfucker. Really a dominance display? This early on, fuck, fine. She forced a smile, something approachable, humble, harmless.
“Who cares about profit splits and copyright infringements,” she said. “Leave that to the lawyers. Aren’t we supposed to be above all that?”
There it was again, that subtle flare of pride in his chest, like she’d just handed him a medal.
Treat, delivered.
“Exactly,” Homelander said, voice booming. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
He gestured grandly to the others. “We are above it all.”
The Deep nodded. “She’s got a point.”
“Thank you,” she said, tone even. Inside, her pulse ticked faster. Fuck, why was he singling her out? She was in his field of view too early, this changes the orbit.
Translucent muttered something about capitalism. Homelander ignored him.
He kept his focus on her, voice turning softer. “You remind me of what we’re supposed to be.”
Oh super fuck me, she thought instantly. He’s getting emotional. That’s bullshit attachment behavior. Canon Homelander doesn’t even notice Annie, not here, not yet. And Anna sure as shit did not want him deciding she’s going to become a member of the family he always wanted the Seven to become for him.
She met his eyes, forcing the warmth to come. “Just trying to do my best.”
He hummed, and the following nod of approval made her cringe. “Good answer.”
Then he turned to the rest of the table, but even while he lectured them about hero work, his attention looped back to her between sentences, like a ball rolling along the same groove.
He was watching her, she realized. Not staring. Creep. More like figuring out which of his canned inspirational speeches would make her blush and clap the hardest.
The rest of the team was too busy trying not to piss themselves under his laser eyes to see where they were actually aimed. But she saw it. She felt it, that gross, sticky need for validation he oozed.
“We’re the Seven, for God’s sake. Whether we’re out there or in here, we represent hope.”
His hand did its usual dramatic slash through the air, but his eyes, like two needy blue searchlights, zeroed back in on her. Oh, for fuck’s sake. He’s trying to get my approval points. This whole "aw-shucks, we're just humble heroes" routine was meticulously crafted for Annie-small-town-girl-from-Des-Moines-Iowa's consumption.
Anna smiled on cue, pretending admiration, filing every second away for later. Yes, good speech Homelander make sure you hit all your bullshit talking points.
“Now let’s talk about who we saved this week.” He sat back down gingerly tucking his cape back behind him. In canon, Homelander barely interacted with Starlight until much later in the series. Now, he was noticing her too soon.
Homelander smiled at her again and turned to Black Noir.
“Let’s start with you, buddy.”
Anna exhaled quietly, fingers clasped tight beneath the table, relieved he wasn't making her speak again.
Anna’s apartment in Vought Tower looked like a hotel suite someone forgot to check out of, sleek, sterile, aggressively white in a way that felt more like denial than décor. The city outside glowed blue against the windows, lights branching like circuitry across the dark.
She sat cross-legged on the couch, still wearing Starlight’s boots, a cup of cold coffee untouched on the table.
The first official team meeting had ended hours ago, but it was still playing on repeat in her head, every flicker of movement, every shift of tone.
He looked at me way too much, she thought, rubbing her temples stressed at the idea of him deciding that him and Starlight needed some one on one time. Every five seconds he checked back in, like I was a mirror he couldn’t stop looking into.
She leaned back and stared at the ceiling.
In canon, Homelander’s focus was always outward, approval point, cameras, branding. Annie didn’t exist to him until she pushed back, and even then it was less desire and more “oh look, a talking ant.”
But today he’d been attentive. Almost… curious.
Anna exhaled. “Okay, maybe he’s just off-script. Early-stage co-worker curiosity, not anything creep-tastic.”
She grabbed her tablet and opened the public Vought feed. Homelander’s face filled it instantly in a dozen press clips. The man was omnipresent, TV, billboards, slogans, America’s favorite smiling threat.
She studied his grin on-screen. “Canon Homelander was down bad for Madelyn Stillwell,” she muttered. “Borderline attachment disorder. Mommy issues in a cape. That’s where his energy’s supposed to go.”
She took another sip of cold coffee, grimacing. “So maybe it’s fine. Maybe I’m just a novelty, the new team member who said the right things at the right time.”
He measures everyone, she reasoned. Of course he would with Starlight as well. Control freak with a god complex. The trick is giving him something to measure that feels flattering, not competitive.
She stood, pacing to the window. Her reflection in the glass still wearing Starlight’s face, golden curls, perfect smile. Behind it, Anna’s sharper grin glinted like a warning.
“Alright, John,” she murmured. “You want validation? I can hand-feed it to you.”
If Homelander liked her, that meant safety. At least for now. Vought’s hierarchy ran on fear and proximity to him was an insurance policy.
In canon, Annie had been terrified of him, and he’d sniffed it out immediately. Anna wasn’t repeating that mistake.
She sank back onto the couch. “Okay. Step one: keep the ego petted. Step two: don’t flinch. Step three: watch for the dead eyes.”
The dead look was a tiny rupture where his smile stretched too wide and the eyes stopped playing along. Every clip had it if you slowed it down enough.
“Because the second the eyes go dead,” she said quietly, “the treats stop working.”
A notification pinged: Vought schedule update.
Tomorrow: Welcome press shoot with Homelander and Starlight, 10:00 a.m.
She groaned at the thought of more one on one time with Homelander. “Of course.”
Her reflection caught her again in the window. She tilted her head, testing the smile she’d worn all day. It looked fine. Polished. Professional. But the eyes gave her away, sharper than Annie’s ever were. You can handle him, she told herself. He’s dangerous, but he’s predictable when flattered. Keep the leash short, keep your voice soft, and never turn your back.
Her smile widened slightly. “Friendly terms aren’t bad,” she mused. “They’re leverage.”
Outside, far above the tower, a streak of red and blue skimmed the clouds, his nightly patrol, half ritual, half territorial piss-line. Homelander looping the city he claimed to protect.
Anna watched him fade into the horizon and whispered,
“Good dog.”