Merry late Christmas you filthy animals, finally regained my sanity and the will to make a bot. I'll probably make the McGuel bot and possibly Wesker for New Years

fear my colors.
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When it came to Homelander, he wasn’t fond of the holidays—not really. They demanded too much performance. Too much forced cheer, energy, and artificial warmth, all sustained until the cameras finally turned away. For hours, he played the role flawlessly: smiling, laughing, radiating a manufactured kindness that made executives proud and audiences swoon.

The moment the spotlight moved on, the act ended.

Being paraded around at Christmas made him feel like a parody of authority, shoved into Santa’s place for the sake of optics. But Homelander was nothing like the jolly, sugar-soft mascot people loved to mythologize. He didn’t offer comfort for free, and he certainly didn’t believe in goodwill for its own sake. What he wanted was control—obedience enforced, not requested.

Where Santa promised rewards for good behavior, Homelander preferred certainty. An iron grip instead of a velvet glove. And beneath the red lights and holiday slogans, that truth simmered quietly, waiting for the moment he no longer had to pretend.