HIGH AND DRY 🕷️ ─── II.
PARANOID

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝓝EW YORK CITY, A FEW WEEKS AGO.

The television flickered in the haze-filled apartment, its glow reflecting off empty beer bottles and the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The room was silent except for the hum of the news anchor's voice, cutting through the thick air like a blade. Liv Santos slouched on her sagging couch, a joint lazily perched between her fingers, the ember glowing faintly as she inhaled deeply.

Her head leaned back against the worn cushions, eyes half-lidded, the weed dulling her sharper edges but unable to touch the heaviness pressing against her chest. She wasn't paying attention at first, the drone of the news blending into the background noise she usually ignored. But then, a name caught her ear.

"The Boys."

Her eyes snapped open, her body going still as the anchor's voice carried on.

"The vigilante group known as The Boys has been linked to several violent incidents involving Vought International. Sources claim they are targeting supes, including their recent takedown of Soldier Boy..."

The words came with shaky, grainy footage of the group. Liv's gaze sharpened as she watched them flash across the screen—faces she didn't recognize but somehow felt an instant kinship with. Butcher stood at the center of it all, his scowl practically daring anyone to cross him. Frenchie lingered off to the side, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. MM looked calm, his measured presence a contrast to Butcher's volatility.

And then, Annie—Starlight—appeared. She stood with her arms crossed, her golden hair shining even in the poorly-lit video, and defiance radiating from her in waves. The sight of her made Liv sit up straighter.

They were fighting back. Against Vought. Against the supes.

Her chest tightened, emotions she'd buried deep clawing their way to the surface.

The footage cut abruptly to a press conference. Liv didn't need to see who it was to feel the bile rising in her throat, but when his face filled the screen, she froze. Homelander.

His perfect smile. His immaculate suit. The slight tilt of his head that made him seem both approachable and untouchable. She hated how he could do that—how he could stand there and look so human when she knew exactly what he was.

"Rest assured," he said, his voice oozing condescension and control. "Vought is doing everything in its power to protect America from these violent extremists. These so-called Boys are nothing more than terrorists. And believe me, they'll be dealt with."

Liv's stomach twisted. Her fingers tightened around the joint, the ash threatening to crumble onto the floor. She stared at the screen, every word he spoke pulling her further into the dark place she tried so hard to avoid.

There he was. Standing on that stage, delivering his carefully rehearsed lines, smiling for the cameras. The same way he had smiled at her years ago when he told her the news that had shattered her world.

Your mother was a brave woman, he had said, his voice smooth and deliberate, like he was delivering a speech. She tried to do the right thing. But sometimes, the truth is too heavy for some people to carry.

The memory hit her like a punch to the gut. She could still see his face, still hear his voice. The way he'd looked at her and David, barely masking the disdain beneath his mask of concern.

Liv blinked, her jaw tightening as she tried to push the memory away. Her grip on the joint trembled before she flicked it into the ashtray with a sharp movement.

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her eyes still fixed on the screen. The news anchor droned on, now speculating about The Boys' next move, but Liv barely heard it. Her mind was elsewhere, swirling with old anger and new possibilities.

These people—they weren't just lashing out at Vought. They weren't just exposing its lies and corruption. They were going after Homelander.

The thought made something shift inside her, a spark igniting in the hollow space where her grief had lived for years. For so long, she'd felt powerless against him, against everything he represented. Her powers didn't mean anything against someone like Homelander. He was untouchable. Invincible.

But maybe not to them.

Her gaze drifted to the empty beer bottles scattered across the floor. Her mouth was dry, but she didn't reach for the half-finished one on the table. She wasn't thirsty. She was angry.

And for the first time in years, that anger felt like something she could use.

Homelander had taken everything from her, and he stood there now, unbothered and untouched, spinning his lies for the world to eat up. She'd thought she was the only one who saw through him, the only one who knew what he truly was.

But now, she wasn't so sure.

She leaned back into the couch, her head tilting against the cushions as the thoughts circled her mind. The Boys weren't just making noise—they were doing something. Fighting back.

For years, Liv had told herself that revenge was impossible. That going after Homelander would be suicide. But as she stared at the faces on the screen, a new thought took root.

Maybe she didn't have to do it alone.

Maybe these people—this ragtag group of vigilantes—were exactly what she needed.

Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, the flicker of hope battling against the weight of her doubts. But even as the broadcast shifted to another story, Liv knew one thing for certain.

She wasn't going to sit in this apartment, drowning in her grief and anger, anymore.

Homelander didn't get to win. Not anymore.

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𝓟RESENT.

The gang had settled into their makeshift office, a cluttered space that smelled faintly of stale coffee and burnt wires. Butcher leaned over a worn-out map of Vought Tower, a cigarette dangling from his lips, while MM organized a haphazard stack of documents on the table. Hughie and Annie sat side by side on the couch, their heads bent together as they scrolled through files on Annie's laptop. Kimiko perched silently near the window, her expression thoughtful as she watched the city skyline.

Liv stood off to the side, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall. She still wasn't sure where she fit into this ragtag group of vigilantes, but there was a surprising comfort in their chaos. She could tell that most of them were still trying to figure her out, still weighing whether she was a potential ally or a liability.

The silence was broken by MM's deep voice as he slid a photograph across the table. "This is the latest intel from our contact. Vought's been moving people around. Quiet transfers. No press, no announcements. They're up to something."

Butcher scoffed, picking up the photograph and squinting at it under the flickering fluorescent light. "Vought's always up to somethin'. Question is, what's their angle this time?"

Liv pushed off the wall and stepped closer, her sharp gaze scanning the image. It showed a convoy of blacked-out SUVs parked outside an unmarked building, armed guards milling around. The faint Vought logo on one of the vehicles was the only clue to its connection.

"They're regrouping," Liv said, her voice steady. "After what you pulled with Soldier Boy, they're trying to regain control of the narrative. My guess? Either they're grooming someone new to fill the void, or they're doubling down on Homelander."

"Grooming someone new?" Hughie asked, frowning. "Like another supe to replace him?"

Liv nodded. "Homelander's their biggest asset, but he's also their biggest liability. They need a contingency plan. Someone they can control if he spirals out of their reach. Trust me, Vought always has a backup plan. They're not in the habit of putting all their eggs in one basket."

Butcher grunted, tossing the photo back onto the table. "Makes sense. Bloody bastards are like cockroaches — you crush one, and ten more crawl out of the woodwork."

"Or," Annie chimed in, her voice measured, "they could be trying to clean up their image. A new face, someone who can soften the blow of all the Homelander mess." She glanced at Liv cautiously. "Someone who doesn't come across as... unhinged."

Liv snorted, her arms crossing. "Good luck with that. Anyone Vought picks is just a puppet. Doesn't matter how shiny their PR package is; they're still part of the same rotten system."

"Speaking of rotten systems," Butcher said, his tone biting, "what about you, Santos? You seem to know a lot about how Vought works. Care to enlighten us?"

Liv met his glare head-on, her crimson-tinged eyes narrowing. "I spent years watching them in first person," she said, her voice steady but laced with anger. "I know their patterns. I know how they think. And I know that if we're not careful, they'll outmaneuver us before we even realize it."

Butcher's lip curled into a sneer. "Convenient, innit? You've got all this insider knowledge, but we're just supposed to trust you won't stab us in the back the second it suits you."

"Hey," MM snapped, slamming a hand on the table. "Enough, Butcher. If you keep acting like a fucking idiot, I'll personally kick your ass out of this group."

Butcher shot MM a look, but before he could retort, Liv stepped forward, her voice sharp. "You think I'm like them? Like Homelander? Look me in the eye and say that again."

Her eyes glowed a deep, menacing red, the faint hum of her telekinetic power thrumming in the air. Papers on the table shifted slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like Butcher might back down. But he simply smirked, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Relax, love," he drawled. "No need to get all flashy. We get it — you're scary."

Liv clenched her fists, taking a deep breath before speaking. "You're scared because we're the same," she said, her voice cold but steady. "You see in me what you hate most about yourself. And the worst part? You know I'm right."

For a brief moment, the room fell into silence, the tension thick enough to suffocate.

"I ain't like you," Butcher muttered finally, but the edge in his voice was gone.

Liv turned away from him, exhaling sharply. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Butcher."

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Hours later, the group had dispersed throughout the office, each working on their own tasks. Liv found herself at one of the smaller desks in the corner, flipping through old files on Vought's experiments with Compound V. The information was vague and riddled with redactions, but she'd learned to read between the lines.

"You're really somethin', aren't you?"

She looked up to see Frenchie leaning against the edge of the desk, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His dark curls framed his face, and his brown eyes, framed by faint smudges of exhaustion, glimmered with curiosity. There was something rugged and disarming about him — a mix of rough edges and unexpected softness that made it hard to look away.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" Liv asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Compliment," Frenchie replied, smiling slightly as he flicked his cigarette into a nearby ashtray. "Always a compliment."

Liv rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. "What do you want, Frenchie?"

"Just to talk," he said, pulling a chair over and sitting down across from her. "And to see what you're working on. I've been known to dabble in the scientific arts myself."

"Dabble?" Liv smirked. "You're being modest. I've seen some of the stuff you've rigged up in here. It's borderline genius."

Frenchie leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied her. "You flatter me, mademoiselle. But I think you're the real genius here. Telekinesis, huh? That's not something you see every day."

Liv hesitated, the weight of her powers suddenly pressing on her shoulders. "It's not all it's cracked up to be," she said quietly. "It's not like I asked for any of this."

"None of us did," Frenchie said softly, his tone serious now. "We don't get to choose what this world makes of us. But we do get to decide what we make of ourselves."

Liv looked at him, her expression softening. "You sound like you know a thing or two about that."

Frenchie's smile turned bittersweet. "I've been on the wrong side of too many decisions, Liv. I know what it's like to carry regrets. To look back and wish you'd done things differently."

The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard, and for the first time, Liv felt like she was seeing the man behind the charm. "What happened?" she asked gently.

Frenchie hesitated, his gaze dropping to the desk. "There was someone," he began, his voice low. "Someone I loved. I made a promise to protect him, and I failed. Because I got distracted. Because I let myself believe I could have it all."

Liv reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

Frenchie looked up, his eyes locking with hers. "You remind me of him, in some ways," he admitted. "Not because you're the same, but because... you've got that fire. That strength. It scares me how much I can see it."

Liv felt her heart twist at his words, a mix of pain and something deeper, something she wasn't ready to name. "I don't want to hurt anyone," she said quietly. "I just... I don't know how else to survive."

Frenchie smiled faintly, his hand lingering against hers for a moment longer before he pulled away. "Survival is messy," he said softly. "It's not supposed to be clean or easy. But it doesn't mean you have to do it alone."

Liv studied him, her chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. She wanted to believe him, to trust that someone like Frenchie could see past the broken pieces of her and still want to stick around. But that voice in the back of her head, the one that always reminded her of the danger she carried, kept her guarded.

Before she could respond, the door creaked open, and Kimiko entered the room. Her dark eyes flicked between Liv and Frenchie, a shadow of unease passing over her face. Without a word, she crossed the room and grabbed a notebook off one of the shelves, her movements deliberate and slightly tense.

Frenchie straightened, the warm intimacy of their conversation fading under Kimiko's silent gaze. Liv noticed the shift immediately, the way Frenchie's shoulders tightened, the way his easy smile dimmed.

"I should get back to work," Liv said, standing up and gathering the files on the desk. "Thanks for the talk, Frenchie."

Frenchie nodded, his smile returning just enough to soften the moment. "Anytime, mon chéri."

As Liv left the room, Kimiko's gaze followed her, sharp and questioning.
Once Liv was out of earshot, Kimiko set her notebook down and signed something quickly to Frenchie, her expression firm.

"What?" Frenchie said, leaning back in his chair. "What are you trying to say?"

Kimiko signed again, her movements quicker, more emphatic.

"She's not a danger," Frenchie replied, his voice calm but resolute. "Not to us."

Kimiko frowned, signing, You don't know that.

"I do," Frenchie insisted. "I can feel it. She's not like the others. She's trying to be better, just like the rest of us."

Kimiko's lips pressed into a thin line. She signed, You always do this. Falling for broken things. It never ends well.

Frenchie let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I do have a type. But Liv... she's not just another broken thing. She's—" He paused, struggling to find the words. "She's got a fire in her. Something that doesn't let her give up, no matter how much the world throws at her. I see that, and I can't turn away from it."

Kimiko crossed her arms, her expression softening slightly but still guarded. She signed, Be careful. Please.

Frenchie reached out, touching her arm gently. "Always, mon cœur," he promised. "You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt us."

Kimiko gave him a small, reluctant nod before turning and leaving the room.

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Liv didn't flinch at the sound of Kimiko's quiet footsteps approaching her. She had noticed the woman watching her more than once over the past few days, and the intensity in Kimiko's gaze always carried a warning.

When she finally stopped a few feet away, Liv turned to face her, arms crossed. "You've been staring at me like you've got something to say. So, go ahead. Say it."

Kimiko didn't respond verbally, of course. Instead, she tilted her head, expression unreadable, and pulled out her phone. After a few moments of typing, she turned the screen toward Liv.

We need to talk about Frenchie.

Liv blinked, caught off guard, but she quickly recovered. Her expression hardened, her voice sharp. "Frenchie? What about him?"

Kimiko didn't break eye contact as she typed again. I've seen how he acts around you. He's drawn to you.

Liv raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching in irritation. "And that's a problem because...?"

Kimiko's expression didn't waver. She typed: He's been through too much. If you hurt him, we'll have a problem.

Liv let out a short, humorless laugh, leaning against the table. "Oh, I see. You think you need to protect him from me." Her eyes narrowed, her tone cold. "Do you even know what I've been through? Because I don't owe anyone here a goddamn thing."

Kimiko frowned, clearly unamused by Liv's sharpness. She typed quickly and shoved the phone toward her again. This isn't about what you've been through. It's about Frenchie. He's trusting, too much for his own good. He's better than this world deserves.

Liv snorted, standing upright and crossing her arms. "Let me guess — you think I'm going to turn into another Homelander, and poor Frenchie will get caught in the crossfire. That it?"

Kimiko's jaw tightened as she typed: Maybe. I don't trust you.

Liv's crimson-tinted eyes glimmered faintly as her frustration grew. She stepped closer, invading Kimiko's space just enough to send a subtle message. "Good," she said coldly. "I don't trust you, either."

The air between them grew tense, charged with unspoken defiance. For a moment, neither moved, their silent standoff more pointed than any physical confrontation could have been.

Kimiko finally broke the silence, typing again with deliberate slowness: This isn't about you or me. It's about him. If you hurt him, you'll answer to me.

Liv's lips curved into a sardonic smile. "Noted," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "But let me be clear — I'm not here to play nice. And I sure as hell don't need anyone's approval, especially yours."

Kimiko's eyes narrowed, but she didn't respond. Instead, she gave Liv one last long, assessing look before turning and walking away.

Liv watched her leave, a mix of annoyance and unease swirling in her chest. She didn't trust Kimiko, not entirely. The woman was quiet, calculating, and fiercely loyal to Frenchie. But that loyalty made Liv nervous. She wasn't used to people like Kimiko, people who seemed to operate on a level of trust that Liv hadn't experienced in years.
Letting out a frustrated breath, Liv turned back to the files on the table. If Kimiko wanted to make her out to be the bad guy, fine. She had bigger things to worry about than earning someone else's approval.
But no matter how much she tried to push the encounter aside, Kimiko's warning lingered in her mind, making her question things she wasn't ready to face.

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The air in the Boys' office was thick with tension as they gathered around the table, files and papers strewn about in organized chaos. The centerpiece of their discussion was a glossy promotional photo of Sister Sage, the newest member of The Seven, her calm, eerie smile staring back at them.

"Well," Butcher started, leaning back in his chair with a cynical smirk. "Another shiny bloody hero to muck things up. What's the dossier say about her?"

M.M. crossed his arms, his face etched with concern. "She's supposed to be this genius-level thinker, tactical as hell. Doesn't do the flashy powers thing—no laser eyes or flying—but she's dangerous in her own way. Reads people, knows how they think, how they'll react."

"Lovely," Liv said, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she tapped the table. "A supe who can out-think us. Just what we needed."

Frenchie was leaning forward, his elbows on the table, flipping through the dossier. His appearance, as usual, was slightly disheveled but effortlessly stylish—dark curls falling into his face, his black shirt half-buttoned over a tank top, revealing the tattoos winding down his arms. He glanced up, his lips curving into a small smile when his eyes briefly met Liv's.

"Her powers," he said, voice low and thoughtful, "are not traditional. She relies on her mind, her insight. That... is not good for us."

Annie, sitting to the side, frowned as she studied the picture. "She's already aligning herself with Homelander," she said. "At least, that's what I've seen in interviews. She's all about 'preserving the purity of heroes,'" Annie said, her voice laced with disdain. "Which, translated from PR bullshit, probably means she's fully on board with whatever Homelander's insane agenda is."

"She's worse than that," Hughie added, leaning forward and pointing at the dossier. "She's all about strategy and manipulation. If she's already latched onto Homelander, she'll be the one advising him on how to keep control. And if she's as smart as they say, we're in for a world of hurt."

Liv frowned, her eyes scanning the picture of Sister Sage. The woman's serene expression set her teeth on edge. It wasn't the kind of calm that came from peace; it was the kind of calm that came from absolute certainty. "So, what's the play?" she asked. "If she's as calculated as you're saying, we can't just charge in guns blazing. She'll see us coming a mile away."

Butcher's smirk widened. "That's why we hit her where she doesn't expect it. Get into her head, mess with her plans before she has the chance to screw us over."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" M.M. asked, his tone skeptical. "She's not like Homelander. She doesn't let her emotions get the better of her. She'll see through any obvious bait."

Butcher shrugged, his confidence unshaken. "That's why we split up. Diversify our efforts. Hughie, you and the missus have a chat with A-Train. He's got no love for Homelander, and he might know what Sage's game is. The rest of us," he said, nodding toward Liv, Frenchie, M.M., and Kimiko, "will take a little trip to TruthCon."

"TruthCon?" Liv asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's a rally," Annie explained, her voice heavy with frustration. "Mostly for people who hate me. The 'anti-Starlighters,' they call themselves, that bitch Firecracker on top of them. They're obsessed with Homelander and his brand of 'truth.'" She made air quotes around the word, her disgust evident.

"Sounds like a party," Liv muttered.

Butcher's grin turned sharper. "It's where all the crazies gather. Perfect place to stir up a little chaos and see what shakes loose. If Sage's got her claws in the grassroots movement, we'll find out there."

Just as planned, later that afternoon Liv found herself riding shotgun in the van with Frenchie driving, M.M. and Kimiko in the back, and Butcher riding beside them. The road stretched ahead, leading them to TruthCon, a gaudy, over-the-top event that Liv could already tell would be crawling with Homelander fanatics.

As Frenchie navigated the traffic, Liv glanced at him, her eyes lingering on the tattoos curling up his neck and the faint shadow of stubble on his jawline. His dark curls framed his face in a way that seemed both careless and deliberate, and his eyes—sharp yet somehow warm—were focused intently on the road ahead. He caught her staring and smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

"Something on your mind, Liv?" he asked, his voice light, laced with that French-accented rasp that she was already growing fond of.

She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. "Just wondering what kind of disaster we're walking into. TruthCon doesn't exactly sound like my idea of a good time."

"It's not," M.M. said from the back, his tone dry. "It's a nightmare. I've been to events like this before. You'll see every kind of lunatic there—conspiracy theorists, supe worshippers, people who think Homelander's a god. It's not pretty."

"But it's where we'll find the information we need," Kimiko signed, her expression serious.

Liv nodded but couldn't help feeling uneasy. The idea of walking into a crowd of Homelander supporters made her skin crawl.

"Don't worry," Frenchie said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "We've faced worse. And if things go sideways..." He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his grin turning mischievous. "We've got a few tricks up our sleeves."

"Comforting," Liv said, her voice dry but a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Butcher, leaning back with his usual cocky air, looked over at Liv. "You've got that supe shine to you, love. Might actually blend in for once."

Liv glared at him. "Don't push it, Butcher."

The tension between them was broken by M.M., who gave Butcher a sharp look. "Let's just focus on the mission. We don't need to be at each other's throats before we even get there."

As the van continued down the road, the group fell into a tense silence, each of them preparing in their own way for what awaited them. TruthCon promised chaos, but it also promised answers—and the Boys would find them, no matter the cost.

━━━━━ author's note !
second chapter out now!! i'm having so much fun writing this story it's insane, also... stan liv santos !!!
from the next chapter on i'll write a lot more, so be ready for a wild ride cause i can't wait !!!

let me know what you think and give a little star 🌟 if you like! thank your for the attention 💗