You’d been categorised early on. Joining the seven solidified your only attribute- at least to them. Not your strength of abilities, but your looks. The lines and curves of your body. The intensity of your eyes. Everything. To them you were nothing but a vessel to be looked at, used to sell or promote products.

You’d signed the contract. You knew what joining the seven would entail. Photoshoots, posters, movie premiers, etc. Modelling shoots where you wore trousers that barely hung over your hips. Shirts that were too tight. It was all humiliating.

And he amplified it.

“Give us a smile would you.”

Homelander called over the bombardment of snaps elicited from various cameras. You could see the vague outline of him, stood beside one of the producers. Ashly cowering in the corner looking pale and sickly. Homelander would invite himself to these shoots, bark commands and you, unknowing of what else to do, would listen.

He didn’t like how the attention had shifted from him on your arrival. And he aimed to make you suffer for it.