Chapter Text
It had been years since he last heard the shrill, high-pitched ringing in his ears; he didn’t think he’d have to suffer through any more episodes. While he recognised the signs of his impending burnout, Homelander assumed he could power through it like he had with everything else. The nightmares should have been his first clue that he was slowly plunging into that familiar but unwelcome abyss. In the dead of night, the phantom feeling of cold hands seized him, dragging Homelander back to the tiled, empty chamber where he waited for the next line of torturous experiments to begin. The flashbacks during the day followed him like a spectre, reminding him of his past as a lab rat in mocking perpetuity.
Get in the oven, John.
Homelander had a list of people he could blame for his current condition; hell, the whole world was at fault for the deadweight on his shoulders. It wouldn’t have mattered if he avoided VNN or the internet, it was like he could feel every one of their words puncturing his skin.
Always watching, always gossiping and always taking. Every. single. fucking. day.
There was no way to stop him from absorbing it. He heard it all, saw it all, and felt everything.
Homelander was created for the public; nothing he had truly belonged to him, except perhaps the small baby blanket he had grown up with. That soft piece of fabric had been his only source of solace permitted in that barren hellhole, and even that was taken from him when he was deemed too old for such things.
He was a product made to be consumed by the masses, engineered to perfection, something to be applauded from afar, but never to be touched. Except the illusion crumbled when mistakes were made, and oh how everything fell apart so easily…
Fascist. Murderer.Villain.
The last one always made his entire body go rigid every time his superhuman ears picked up the word. What made them think they had any right to insult him? Civilians should know their place when talking about a God. Everything he’s ever done was because of them, they should be more grateful to him. He was the greatest superhero to ever exist, the world should worship him without question.
The stabbing sensation against his skin was constant, only lessening with the cries of adoration and praise. He would never admit that the criticism, no matter how constructive or practical for his image, hurt. That would be a weakness, and such a state of existence was nothing but an insult to the Homelander. He didn’t need improving or fixing, he just needed everyone to shut the fuck up and do what they were supposed to do. He had already done his part just by not lasering the whole country to ashes.
Huffing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to cease the endless racket. Was some peace too much to ask? Even on the rare occasion he was granted a break, his mind was plagued with pandemonium. No matter what he did, he could not settle his thoughts. Out of desperation, Homelander has even tried some of those new-age hippie bullshit meditation techniques, confirming what he already knew all along - that only druggy pussies benefited from it.
Without thinking, Homelander reached for his phone with a muffled groan, attempting to salvage what he could of his evening off. He lay splayed out on his bed in nothing but his underwear, having tried to get some shut-eye earlier.
He was tempted to scroll through his feed, yearning to see the positive comments celebrating him, but knew that coming across just one insult could set him off. The amount of times his penthouse had to be rebuilt after Homelander allowed the blinding rage to spill out of his eyes in scorching beams was somewhere in the double digits.
He also didn’t want to have another meeting with Madelyn Stillwell about his “problematic” behaviour. Last time she just spent it bitching about cancel culture, whatever the fuck that was. No, he deserved a night free of drama - maybe a quick listen to something from Voughtify or watch Vought+ for the hell of it. He heard the Deep was featured in some docu-series about the plight of sea turtles or some shit. Homelander could always use a good laugh, that’s all that sad seafood fucker was good for anyway.
He went to YouTube to look up the trailer of The Deep: Save the Turtles, but spotted a video in the trending tab that caught his eye.
ASMR Eating Edible🤤 Glitter Galaxy Slime Challenge💫🌌🛸 [no talking] #asmreating #eatingshow #omfg
What the actual fuck.
The video had over 20 million views featuring some D-list female supe posing seductively on the thumbnail. Confused, he clicked on the video, but immediately exited. The eating sounds were nothing short of horrific, almost making him launch his phone through the walls of his penthouse. It was disgusting. Is that really what ASMR was? And people willingly watched this crap, judging from all the views.
He scrolled through hundreds of the same kind of content, trying to understand the appeal of this trend, but came up blank. Some creators only whispered obnoxiously close to a microphone, while others used various props involving elaborate role-play. The whole thing screamed fetish. Hell, he was certain only perverts enjoyed this nonsense. Homelander didn’t know why anyone would watch a 22-minute video of some asshole pretending to give you an ear piercing.
A quick search on Wikipedia told him what all the fuss was about. Autonomous sensory meridian response, also known as ASMR, induced a unique sensory experience, which many claimed came in the form of a tingling sensation or a state of relaxation. Homelander had yet to find anything that gave him such a reaction, the whole concept sounded beyond stupid. Watching just a few minutes of these videos had him feeling annoyed and bored. The masses loved to fill their lives with mundane, make-believe crap like this thinking they were being #mindful.
After leaving ASMR Hydraulic Press' channel, he was pretty much ready to call it quits. Sighing, he ended up clicking on one more link, expecting the same bullshit, only to be greeted by a skinny, curly-haired young man, wearing an unassuming smile on his face. There was nothing that stood out to the supe; the guy was average in appearance, unremarkable, wearing a stretched-out band tee. Just a boring, everyman living his meaningless life like the majority of the population. Homelander watched as he waved at the camera as if he were greeting an old friend. The YouTuber sat in a cramped, poorly lit room, but a small lamp nearby emitted a soft, warm glow on his person. He was holding something off-screen, as if waiting for the right moment to reveal this secret item.
“Hey guys, what’s up? My name’s Hughie, and welcome back to another ASMR video! I’m so glad we get to hang out together and chillax for a little while. But before we begin, I just wanted to quickly say thank you for all the support because we officially hit 200,000 subscribers, like that’s crazy!" Instead of emitting a cacophony of obnoxious sounds, the guy spoke gently, using a soft, but natural voice which didn't feel forced or put upon. The supe even thought it was pathetically cute how they made such a big deal of gaining 200k subscribers, when Homelander was pretty sure his own channel, run by Vought Studios, had millions more.
"Anyhoo, today I thought it would be nice to explore some poetry by Robert Frost. So sit back, relax, and if you happen to fall asleep, that's a-okay with me.” He held up a leather-bound book titled ‘Complete Poems Of Robert Frost’, fingers lightly drumming on the hardcover.“Let’s take a look inside. This is an old copy I picked up from The New York Public Library.” He slowly flipped through the thick book, its pages rustling like leaves. “…and I think we’ll start with one of my favourite poems. It’s called The Road Not Taken. This was published in 1915.” The video then moved to a shot of the book on the desk, with Hughie rhythmically tracing each word on the page as he read them aloud.
This was…different.
So far, Homelander didn’t hate it. Instead of his jaw tightening, the supe’s muscles gradually became less rigid, tension seemingly melting away the more he focused on that voice.
Listening to this stranger reading was almost pleasant, made more enjoyable as Hughie’s personality didn’t come across as forced. Homelander didn’t dare admit to himself how intimate it felt, like Hughie was right next to him on his bed, reading specially just for him instead of through a screen. It wasn’t just background noise; Hughie’s flowing words cradled him in a way that muffled the shrill ringing, muting it until it was no more. It wasn’t just the poetry itself that pulled Homelander under a blanket of safety; it was the genuine way he spoke, his warm, organic tone that one would use to chat with an old friend.
Homelander found himself fighting against it, despite the sweet sensation of serenity. The rate at which he was lulled into a mild trance was almost alarming. He was losing control, eyelids growing heavier by the minute, the more he took it all in. For the first time in years, he felt truly relaxed. His mind was entirely blank, Hughie’s soft voice neutralising the venomous thoughts that constantly poisoned his mind. He never would have thought something so simple would give him comfort.
Defeated, Homelander sank into his pillows and finally closed his eyes. Without realising what was happening, he fell into a deep slumber with Hughie’s voice keeping him company throughout the whole night.
“I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference…”