#it's just some homeless bum

[codenamesazanka]

.........Did Deku ever smiled when he was 'saving' Shigaraki/Tenko?

Not just a slight upturn of the corners of the lips, but an actual smile. The smile Nana promoted; the smile All Might whenever he saved people has that Deku aspired to; the smile that Shigaraki resented because he was never saved.

(We never see Shigaraki/Tenko smile big either, despite that being Nana's wish for Kotarou - a life full of smiles and joy, and presumably wants for her grandson too now that she sort of reconcile with him)

(the League all smiled)

It's not a certain thing - iirc, the Todoroki Save didn't have smiles either, and neither did the heteromorphs - but for Shigaraki and Deku, who had connections to All Might and Nana, it would be weird for them not to smile?

Perhaps the saving isn't actually done?

*

(below is cope fantasy)

It would be nice for Deku to realize he didn't actually save Shigaraki/Tenko, and has to go do so. Plus like. He started out the series asking if a Quirkless person can be a Hero. When he saved Tenko's heart, he had to do so via OFAFO-vestige-landscape-whatever. When he gave a final blow to AFO and that technically help brought Shigaraki/Tenko back, he was using the last embers of OFA. He's a hero, he saved everyone, yeah, yeah. But has he done so entirely without a quirk?

Idk how that would work. How do you bring back someone who had been disintegrated without some magic power? How would he even know to go save Shigaraki/Tenko one last time if he thinks Shigaraki/Tenko is dead???

but i'm seeing these images in my head that maybe. maybe. Deku goes to visit Spinner to give him Shigaraki/Tenko's last words, and Spinner explodes on him. He basically let Shigaraki die. How could he call himself a hero when he didn't save someone. Heroes won and it really didn't change anything.

And maybe, Deku is shaken by that. Thinks long and hard about the lessons of the war. Maybe he goes on a walk. Comes across the Nana Hand in the wreckage. It has that microdevice that AFO put in it that let Kurogiri know where to warp to - meaning location data. Strangely, there's information there that Shigaraki/Tenko is... somewhere?

We get the Nine (movie character) ending, where it turned out Shigaraki/Tenko survived, ending up on an island somewhere. How??? idk. regeneration kicked in again. Kurogiri actually managed to warp Shigaraki/Tenko away. Tenko's original quirk came back and it's Revival. Whatever. Point is, Shigaraki/Tenko's alive, but sees no point in going back. Like he told Spinner, Shigaraki Tomura fought till the end but he failed, so he's not Shigaraki Tomura anymore. He failed his friends. He throws Deku's words back at him - if he comes back, the sadness will only continue, so he can't go back. Who is he even, anymore? His entire life was being a puppet. He's a hollow shell.

And Deku has to save him from this. Tell him he's actually not. His friends are waiting for him. Deku's been thinking, the League has points, so he'll work to change Hero Society. He's going to college and getting a degree in social work or whatever. Hero his own way. And Shigaraki/Tenko... didn't he say he wanted to be a Hero for the Villains? He should do that. Deku tells Tenko that he can be a Hero too, smiles as he says this.

And that gives Tenko hope. And Deku has finally saved someone with a smile, using no quirk.

(And it would also be nice for Shigaraki/Tenko to get to be a Hero for the Villains and save his League. somehow. idk. Still want them to go Karma Houdini and become vigilantes.)

[tariah23]

White liberals are wild man…

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage

18+ 3k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, somnophilia, drugging, eventual smut. gif | AO3 | fanfic directory

Homelander was born with only one terrible poverty: loneliness. He's been starved of love his entire life, made sick by his hunger for it, but he believes you might have the cure. If you want to survive, you'll find a way to give it to him.

Homelander has never been able to understand people who bird watch. Of all the things a mundane person could do with their abysmally mediocre life, why devote what little free time they have to observing a creature even more dull than they themselves are?

Perhaps it's the gift of flight. By far, it is the ability of his that garners the most attention. Or maybe it's the power trip one experiences when observing something simpler and weaker than yourself for sport. The novelty of becoming endeared by their strange little behaviors and quirks. It's this line of thinking that eventually walks Homelander down the path of people watching. During his downtime, in the quiet moments he spends perched atop skyscrapers and apartment complexes, he finds himself watching the people miles below him scurry about like insects through a colony.

Over time, he begins to recognize regulars. People moving back and forth, day in and day out, no different than ants moving grains back and forth. He has to laugh. It's no wonder god abandoned man. Man is fucking boring.

Even the god they made for themselves thinks so.

To ease the monotony, he concocts little stories for the ones he recognizes. He imagines the kinds of lives they live outside of their commutes and the routines he observes. He names one of them Peter, and every day he invents a new reason Peter is yet again running late for his train. Because he's always late, Peter never stops for the woman selling street meat on the corner across from the station.

Homelander imagines that the meat she peddles is people, and that she's got her eye on that speedy little rabbit, Peter.

And then one day, he notices you.

It isn’t that you’re especially beautiful or noteworthy. Just like all the other busy little bees, you go about your same routine each and every day of the week. Sometimes you're in a rush, other times you enjoy your stroll. Regardless, you always find time to stop and give money to the same homeless man occupying one of the few alleyways protected by an awning. Sometimes you linger to chat, other times you can only stop long enough to drop something into his hands.

It isn't always money. Oftentimes you have food for him packed neatly into a little take-out box. Despite the packaging, it looks homemade. You always have a warm smile for him, even when you’re obviously frazzled.

To the rest of the world, this man may as well be fucking invisible, but here you are handing him a box of home cooked food like he's someone who matters. Homelander is the world's greatest hero, and yet some bum on the street is being fed with more love and attention to detail than he ever has.

It's a goddamn joke. More and more, it becomes apparent to him that you’re pathetically lonely. After a few days of observing you amongst the others, he starts trailing you more actively, forgetting all about Peter and his eventual butcher.

He wants to know more about you.

You live alone, working and cooking for only yourself and your stray pet. Sometimes you cook for your coworkers or the odd friend who stops by before leaving you alone all over again. He watches from a distance while you toil away, cooking more food than you’ll eat in a week for people you see for a fraction of each of your weekdays. It couldn’t be more obvious that you’re desperate for someone to take care of.

In a way, he can relate. 

Maeve has been more distant than ever, choosing to engage him only when there’s a camera present. When it’s only the two of them, she just drinks until he barely recognizes her. Madelyn has begun her “fertility journey,” words that set his teeth on edge, and has barely had a real moment to spare him as of late. The rest of his team doesn’t help abate his loneliness either; Marathon is a washed up hack who can barely sprint these days, Lamplighter is only ever interested in clubbing, the Deep couldn’t hold a conversation in a bucket, and Noir is a mute.

And so he soothes his solitude with thoughts of you. When he isn’t with you, he daydreams about it, imagining what life would look like if your worlds were to intersect. The more he learns about you, the more vivid his fantasies become, and the more intensely he aches when he still finds himself alone in his bed at the end of each night.

It spurs him to visit you more and more.

One particularly warm summer night, you leave your window wide open. He takes it for the invitation it is, drifting towards it under the cover of dark. Your screen is loose and pops out noiselessly. Not exactly safe, even if you do live on the fifth storey.

You just never know what might come lurking out of the shadows.

Slipping into your living room, he’s met with the sound of white noise playing from your bedroom. Is it the sound of the streets below that bother you? You’d never hear it from his penthouse a hundred feet in the air. You could leave the windows open all you like and hear only the roar of the sky, not unlike the ocean waves your phone is poorly mimicking.

He could take you to the actual ocean. A beach house far away from the buzzing neon lights and incessant honking and revving of traffic. Walking through your apartment, he makes his way to your tiny kitchen. The one in his penthouse puts yours to absolute shame, and yet the only thing in it that’s ever been used is the fridge. He’s certain he’s never opened the double oven or so much as turned on the gas range. Meanwhile, your kitchen is riddled with use, each cupboard stuffed with mismatched cookware and the like. It smells of grease and spices and love.

The sad irony of it is almost too much to stomach. You don’t belong in this cramped little sardine can. You should be in a proper kitchen. 

You should be cooking for him. The thought comes to him like a flash of genius. Of course. That’s the answer that will solve both of your little dilemmas. If he is a bird watcher then you’re a songbird snared in a net. It would be inhumane of him to leave you to die before you’re ever appreciated–ever seen–by anyone who matters.

You would worship him for rescuing you. His wealth and power would see each and every one of your material needs met with ease. You would never work for anything again. All you would ever have to concern yourself with was being loved and loving him.

He walks to your room with a hand pressed absently over his heart, cradling the anxious little bundle of nerves that have gathered there. He can tell by your breathing that you’re deep asleep, and yet he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he approaches.

His first time being so near to you after weeks of simply observing.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he steps towards you. The sound of him is masked by the ambient noise spilling from your phone, not to mention the fan you have pointed directly at your bed in a desperate attempt to save yourself from the summer heat.

You clearly weren’t built for this paltry life. Mary was no one before God chose her for greatness. Is that not what he’s about to do for you? It’s the will of a god that elevates you.

He kneels by your bedside, bringing himself face to face with you. Your breathing is even, each huff smelling faintly of mint. Your lips look soft, slightly parted in sleep. Everything about you is gentler, more relaxed than you ever are in the day to day grind of your life.

You could look like this all the time without it. He has the power to change your entire life with nothing more than a couple of numbers shifting from one space to another. Money has always been inconsequential to him, so abundant that it hardly means anything anymore. You, however, are ruled by it.

For the first time in his life, he recognizes the power in his wealth.

He brushes the tips of his gloved fingers along your cheek, down your jaw. He’s never used his hands so tenderly as when he traces your sleeping eyelids with his fingertips, imagining what dreams chase behind them and make them flutter.

You don’t stir. 

Emboldened, he follows the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, imagining how soft you would feel against the bare pad of his finger. Leaning in closer, he indulges in the warmth of your breath tickling his lips. You’re a sound sleeper, the thud of your resting heart beating steadily in his ear.

Closing his eyes, he bridges the distance between your lips, pressing his own lightly to yours. For a second, he thinks he’s woken you, that you’ve caught sight of him and your heart is drumming loudly in his ears. He draws sharply back, but sees that you’re still deep asleep, your features peaceful.

It’s his heart that’s racing, a thundering sound that blocks out every other noise in the room. He’s breathing shallowly, excited in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. There’s a flush crawling up his throat, and it’s at that moment he breaks out into a wide, wondrous smile.

There’s no question of it now.

He has to have you.

The plan to acquire you ends up requiring very little setup. If Madelyn cares why Homelander’s suddenly spending so much, she’s yet to make a comment. 

Bitterly, he thinks it likely that she’s glad to see him distracted. 

He starts preparation by appropriately stocking his kitchen; you’ll appreciate the supply of ingredients, he knows. The quality of what he obtains for you is leagues above what you can afford, as is the cookware. He buys you new clothes, jewelry, imagining every step of the way how you’ll look in each piece. How you’ll look as he takes them off. He’s seeking to upgrade your life in every conceivable way, like bringing a cat home from the pound and teaching it the meaning of luxury.

You’ll want for nothing. You’ll be so grateful to him. And you, the sweet and perfect little thing that you are, make yourself painfully easy to ensnare. You come home under the cover of dark like clockwork, perfectly oblivious to his approach. You’ve just managed to fish your keys out of your bag when his hand closes a kerchief over your mouth and nose, stifling your cry. His other arm slips around your waist, holding you steady. The cloth smells overly sweet, ether-like, and though that scent has no effect on him, you respond to it almost immediately.  “Shhhhshhshh,” he soothes, letting the anesthesia do its job. Fuck, you feel good in his arms, back held tight to his chest, your delicate hands prying at his wrist as you kick, claw and scream–albeit muffled–into the cloth. He holds you with ease, keeping you close to his body, angling you in such a way that you won’t hurt yourself.

Despite your tenacity, you fight a losing battle. Your efforts grow weaker and weaker as you lose your grip on consciousness. He hushes you all the while, encouraging you. “That’s it, let it go. I’ve got you, I’ve got you...” Finally your head falls back against his shoulder, your face lolling into the crook of his neck, the rest of your body falling slack in his arms. He pulls the cloth away from your mouth, tucking it into your bag for now. He turns his head to yours, lips barely ghosting along your forehead. He takes in a deep breath of you, his eyes falling shut. Beneath the sickly sweet smell of the chemical mixture he knocked you out with, he can smell the remnants of your perfume. It’s not his favorite fragrance, but the underlying warm scent of you is intoxicating. He’ll collect whatever belongings you decide you want with you when he returns, if anything, but he doubts you’ll miss much. Your stuff will seem like a heap of rags and garbage by comparison. He’s looking forward to how the perfumes and lotions he’s bought you will smell on your skin, and how you’ll look in the clothing he’s picked for you. He adjusts you into a bridal carry in his arms and gently kicks off from the ground, holding you firm to his chest. The city is beautiful at night, a landscape of stars mirroring that of the sky above it. He’s always loved it here, and yet he’s shared it with a painful few.

Madelyn never lets him take her to the skies. Maeve had been wowed initially, but she had quickly grown disillusioned with it. With him.

You’ll be different. The trip back to his penthouse feels agonizingly slow, but he maintains a lesser pace to keep the wind from rashing your skin, savoring the featherlight weight of you in his arms at last. He lands deftly on his balcony, stepping through his open reinforced glass doors. After laying you down in his bed, he takes a moment to slip off your shoes, setting them aside. He eases your purse off of your shoulder, and places it on the nightstand. After sprawling a thin blanket over you, he takes a step back and puts his hands on his hips to admire the perfectly domestic scene he’s set.

Slowly, he breaks out into a smile. His bed swallows you up, makes you look small and lonely. He’s the missing piece, of course. He’s already looking forward to seeing himself complete the picture in the mirror above you. He imagines coming home to you like this, curled up in his–no, your shared bed, blanket pulled up over your shoulders to block the chill left by his absence.

Oh, how you’ll miss him when he’s gone.

You’ll have nothing and no one to concern yourself with except for him. No burdens, no dread, no stress. You’ll live in peace and security the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, spoiled rotten by the bounty of all that he is.

Neither of you will ever be lonely again.

Tilting his head slightly, he listens to the sound of you. Your breathing is shallow, the beat of your heart steady. Normal people don’t realize it, don’t have the capacity for it, but a heartbeat is as distinct as a fingerprint. Over the years, he’s learned to read them as such. He’s memorized yours. There isn’t much for him to do in the time that you’re asleep. He knows precisely how long you’ll be out; the anesthesia blend he gave you was straight out of Vought’s lab, and the dose he gave you leaves him with at least an hour before the two of you meet properly. The anticipation is enough to make him giddy. For all that Homelander knows about you, there is plenty he does not. The externals of your life have only provided him so much, but that will come in time. He didn’t bother with perusing your social media accounts, not being particularly proficient in them himself. 

Besides, he wants getting to know you to be an organic experience.

He remembers to take your phone out of your bag and dispose of that rag he used to dose you while he’s at it. He unlocks your phone the way he’s seen you do a dozen times before, and spends some time ensuring that no one will be expecting you anywhere any time soon. All it takes is one quick email and you no longer have a job. A few social media posts later, you’ve informed anyone who might think of you that you’ll be enjoying an impromptu sabbatical in Europe.

The power of technology. After that, he pops your phone into the safe behind one of the dozens of portraits on his wall.

When he hears you starting to stir, renewed butterflies start fluttering about in his stomach. You have no idea that your entire life–no, your entire perception of reality–is about to change. No more dodgy commutes, no more living paycheck-to-paycheck. You’ll be free to admire the world from the lap of luxury–his lap, to be specific. You make a quiet moan, the chemical fog wearing off gradually. He moves swiftly to your bedside, primed with a welcoming smile, hands on his hips. “Riiiise and shine, sleepyhead,” he coaxes, leaning forward at the waist. Still disoriented from the drugs in your system, you stare at him as if you’re dreaming. He doesn’t blame you. In almost every other reality, there’s no explanation for the fact you’re seeing America’s favorite hero, the Homelander, standing above you. He knows the side effects of the drug have left a strange buzzing in your ears, and that your tongue likely feels heavy and cottony. He’s already got water for you on the bedside table. “Home…lander?” You manage to get out. His smile broadens. That’s the first time he’s heard you say his name. You look cute like this, bleary-eyed and needy. He’s grown accustomed to seeing you as a put together provider, self-sufficient and tending to the needs of those around you, but rarely your own. Seeing you unraveled feels like a secret intimacy for him alone. “The one and only,” he preens. Now that you’ve seen him posed valiantly by your side, he takes a seat on the bed next to you, reaching out to brush his gloved knuckles along your forehead. He attributes the slight flinch to your drug addled confusion. Poor thing. If he’d had an alternative to using a sedative, he would have preferred that.

Not that it matters now. You’re finally here.

( chapter two )

[digitaldiarystuff]

Misunderstood

summary: You and Jude go on a late night drive when he gives you a present and you freak out

pairing: Jude Bellingham x Y/N

genre: angst/ fluff

————

When Jude had to bail on your dinner date you were pretty bummed. You realized his schedule was hectic and you couldn’t meet everyday but tonight you put so much effort in your looks and felt sad. You didn’t even bother changing your dress and went straight to depression mode bringing out ice cream as dinner. You were halfway into the rom-com you were watching until your phone started buzzing.

“Hey baby.” you said a little sleepy.

“Hey love, are you at home?”

“Where else would I be Jude, of course I’m at home.” you sarcastically said.

“Okay then come out.”

“Are you here?” you exclaimed ecstatic about meeting your boyfriend. You missed him so much and desperately needed him to hold you.

“Yes Y/N just come out here.”

“But where are we going, all the restaurants are closed.” you said realizing it’s well past 2 a.m.

“Just come to me.” he said and hung up. Rude, you thought but the excitement to see him was too much that you grabbed your coat and skipped like a little girl to his car.

“I missed you so much.” you said as soon as you were seated and reached out to his side to hug him. He always brought comfort to you.

“Oh my god baby you look unreal.” he said as he’s eyeing you without shame. “And I’m here looking like a homeless man”

You chuckled “I don’t think homeless people wear Prada.”

“Some of them do, no seriously I saw one of them the other day full on rocking Givenchy.” he said and you felt all your stress lifting. Jude always made your mood go up immediately.

After that he reached for the back seat and grabbed some takeout.

“I know you skipped dinner so I brought you some.” he said and you smiled seeing how well he knew you.

“You’re the best.” you said as he started driving to a spot where you could overlook the city and eat in peace. Even though Jude’s career and his social life was a little much sometimes, these calm moments were your favorites. Just you two enjoying each other’s company with no distractions.

As soon as he pulled up, you grabbed the Chinese food from the packages and gave him his chopsticks. You ate and talked about your day and the things that bothered you since you were both drama queens. This was a fun conversation you had everyday, you told each other everyone who made you mad and gossiped about them.

“And then he said I should eat less because I gained 0.5% fat.”

“Oh no he didn’t.” you fake gasped and laughed. Jude was so extra sometimes.

You spoke for a few more minutes until you remembered something.

“Oh god, what am I even gonna get your mum for her birthday? What if I choose something hideous?” you panicked and Jude calmed you down saying how much his mum loves you and would love anything from you.

“But since we’re on the subject of presents.” he said and opened the console in front of you.

“I got you a little something.”

You noticed the blue bag immediately. It was Tiffany, and small. You felt your heart beating and started panicking. Your friends made some jokes about you being already married with Jude since your relationship was going on for 2 years and strong but you always avoided the subject. Coming from a broken household, with separated parents, you were always afraid of marriage from a young age. Jude knew that and respected your ideas though he always said he wanted to spend eternity with you.

But seeing a small box in a Tiffany bag has made you anxious, surely Jude wouldn’t propose to you right? You knew that but you couldn’t hide your horrified expression as his burrows furrowed.

“You don’t wanna open it?” he asked.

“Jude, what’s in the box?” you asked warily.

“Baby, open it and see.” he was confused about your reaction.

“Jude I need you to tell me what’s inside it. Please.” you begged getting more and more agitated.

“Y/N what’s going on? It’s just a gift, I saw it in the store and thought you’d love it.”

“What is it?”

“Y/N what are you so pressed about? This isn’t a complex situation, you grab the bag open it and thank me. Why are you acting weird love?”

When you said nothing, he snatched the bag from you and opened it himself.

“It’s just a fucking necklace, I’m not proposing to you.” he laughed a little trying to lighten the mood until he saw your face.

“Y/N I”

“I’m sorry Jude, I’m so sorry.” you started sobbing from guilt. You freaked out about nothing and have been rude to Jude. He immediately realized what’s going on and you could see his eyes fill with guilt as well.

“Baby, shh it’s okay. It’s not your fault I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“No no it’s my fault, I freaked out on you. I’m sorry, I’m just a weirdo who doesn’t appreciate you enough.” he held you against his body and helped you calm down. After your sniffles stopped he leaned back and held your cheeks to make you look up at him.

“Y/N you don’t owe me any explanation, I love you with all your weirdness and flaws just like you love me. I want to spend my life with you, you’re it for me with or without a big commitment and ceremony. I want you next to me but would never push you, I’ll always be with you.”

You smiled at him and realized you’re the luckiest girlfriend ever.

“Thank you Jude, for everything and for the record I want to spend my life with you too.”

He kissed you with love and you happily reciprocated.

“I can’t believe you thought I’d propose like this. You really don’t even know me at all.” he said looking offended and you giggled.

“Now let’s see this necklace, do you want to put it on me?” you said and turned your back to him as he pulled it and clasped the back. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“But you do know me.”

“Of course I do.” he said and kissed your temple after seeing the pendant on your neck.

[allwormdiet]

Worm Cast Impressions (Arcs 1 to 7)

Easy money says some of these characters are about to fucking die so I'm pausing now to jot down my impressions of everybody who's managed to make an impact (and one or two characters whose lack of impact is kind of impressive)

Undersiders

Taylor Hebert: Character of all time. Simultaneously sanest and least sane person in the entire universe. Deeply concerned about keeping hold of her moral core, constantly innovating in ways to inflict violence on her enemies real and imagined. Has never fully finished thinking her actions through once in her entire life, people keep thinking she's the most cautious girl they know. Her first kiss was partly because she liked the boy and partly because she wanted to piss off her bully. I am cheering for her more often than not and I am so scared of what this story is going to do to her.

Brian Laborn: I want to study him in a lab. Team leader entirely by default, as near as I can tell. Hates using violence as a means of control, really good at using violence as a means of control, seems to default to using violence as a means of control when he's upset. I don't think he's normal about women. Desperately trying to be so so so boring, thinks he's perfectly rational even though he is just as unhinged as his teammates, I suspect that he has built a mental prison with twenty layers of protection around all thoughts that would suggest he is anything other than Normal and Strong and Reliable. Maybe turned on by efficient displays of violence?

Lisa Wilbourn: She is so charming and I am so scared of what's actually going on in her head. I think Taylor's best friend but definitely her biggest enabler. Stop lying and let me know what is going on in your head, I know more about Alec and Rachel than I know about you. Concerned that she's only nominally concerned about Coil being a heinous fucker. Desperately hoping the air can be cleared so I stop worrying about whether she's going to destroy Taylor or something. She has to know Taylor is a wannabe hero.

Alec: The fact that he's really only done one thing that I consider morally in the wrong is kind of incredible when looking at the fact that he's a recovering sex cult enforcer who started living something approaching a normal human life as a homeless preteen. He's had three years to jury rig a sense of humanity and morality mostly on his own and the end result is a selfish lazy jerk, and yet the fact that this is what he's managed to come up with on his own is, without sarcasm, worthy of a fucking prize. He's actually really good at this all things considered. Actually a little bummed that he didn't oppose Coil for the whole Dinah creepfest.

Rachel Lindt: Rachel Lindt is maybe the best character so far. Autistic dog girl who only tolerates human society so she can better feed and care for her animals. I'd say something like "I'd kill for her" but there's no way I could do that any better than her dogs and she'd call me stupid. Only thing against her at this point is the slur usage, which is rough to deal with, but I suspect part of that is just being written in 2011.

Loved Ones

Danny Hebert: You sad bastard. Please survive long enough to reconcile with your daughter. I know he can't provide any material support for the problems his daughter has been dealing with, that the bullies are too well-protected and there's basically nothing that he can do about parahuman shit, but I wish she would allow him to be there for her. Maybe he'd be uncool about it, sure, but maybe not. Makes me sad to think about.

Aisha Laborn: This girl is in dire need of someone to have her back and also, like, pay attention to her; Brian is the closest one to actually doing it but I don't think his best efforts are enough. I know she's gonna be an Undersider in the future so hopefully I get to have a more thorough impression of her, and one that's not marred by the fucking Mercedes metaphor, Jesus Christ that was a rough passage to get through.

Protectorate

Armsmaster: I'd probably like him more if he wasn't so up his own ass about being in charge and earning glory. My suspicion is that he's basically a good guy with some bad habits that nobody can check him on, which has spiraled out of control. Might unironically consider a teenage criminal his nemesis, which is funny but not a great sign of his priorities.

Miss Militia: My prior complaints about her possibly inappropriate response to holding Regent hostage are entirely subsumed by the fact that the last twenty-six years of her life have been lived on terms set by the Protectorate. She was nearly devoured by the machinery of empire and now she's become a component of empire that feeds upon others, and she hasn't even realized it. She never had a goddamn chance.

Velocity: Nothing to really say about him, except there has to have been a way to design his costume so that a teenager with unaugmented strength couldn't take him out with a single blow to the testicles.

Assault and Battery: The name theming feels a bit weird (what, if they got a third would their name be Coercion?) but whatever. I like the idea of a duo with complementary powers, I guess, but there's not really much else here.

Dragon: On the one hand she's in charge of the Birdcage and is friends with Armsmaster, but on the other hand she clearly hates the Birdcage for what it's made her complicit in, and maybe Armsmaster is good to have as a friend. Jury's out, unlike on Canary.

Wards

Gallant: The best way I can think to describe this guy is "blandly nice." It's like if "inoffensive" could be a personality trait. Glory Girl could do better than him, probably, but to be fair she could also do a lot worse.

Clockblocker: I think he's the funny one? Or at least the deliberately unserious one, which is the same thing. The first character confirmed to have developed entomophobia as a result of Skitter, probably not the last. Stopped a bomb from destroying the East Coast which feels like it should get more attention.

Vista: World's most powerful thirteen-year-old. Who deployed her to stop that bomb and fight those Nazis. I want names.

Kid Win: No sense of proportion on this kid, my god. Shooting a laser cannon meant to deal with threats that are theoretically rated higher than Lung into a bank filled with hostages? He's lucky nobody died.

Shadow Stalker: What the actual fuck is going on with her. Who hunts other human beings with broadhead arrows? That's for making someone bleed to death. If she was doing it to the fucking Nazis then that'd be fine, but no, it's Grue and Taylor we've either seen or heard about her getting rough with. Either the Protectorate knows she's a maniac and is letting it rock until she gets herself caught, or else they don't realize what she's doing in which case someone is not doing their job.

Browbeat: Absolute nonentity, to the point it's almost distracting. The description of the bank fight suggests he lost to Regent, which I think means that Regent got close enough to a guy with super strength to knock him out with a taser and didn't get his block knocked off. No wonder the Protectorate wants to trade him out, dude's got nothing going on.

PRT

Director Piggot: I don't like the organization she works for, because the vibes beyond the city level feel rancid, but for Piggot I mostly just sympathize with her. She's trying to corral a bunch of teenagers and adults, who all have some kind of horrific trauma shaping them and also giving them powers that are baseline as dangerous as a fucking gun, into something resembling a fully effective government agency, with no signs of support from the other cities or the higher-ups despite the fact that the literal fucking Nazis have her heroes outnumbered and have apparently had it that way for decades. Let this woman take a vacation or something.

New Wave

Glory Girl: Absolute nerd who seems to love being a superhero, and also making Nazis ragdoll in her spare time. I'd love to end it there, but unfortunately she's got some bad habits; girl desperately needs to kill the cop in her brain and get her impulsiveness under control, the fact that she ragdolled the Nazi on accident and threatened to pull favors in the judicial system to send a first-time offender (and Tattletale) into the Birdcage don't reflect great on her ability to keep a lock on things in high-stress situations.

Panacea: Pathetic girl who is clearly sitting on a pressure cooker of issues. I know what those all are but I'm not going to comment on any of it until we're actually there. For now it's mostly just a pity thing.

Azn Bad Boys

Lung: I was harsh on his characterization at first but I'll admit with time and context I'm not nearly as quick about that. He definitely still sucks, the guy literally murders his lieutenant as a matter of bruised pride and making his life more convenient. Also still cannot shake the feeling that he was basically idling in Brockton Bay for most of his career with the kind of power he has on tap.

Bakuda: She's a monster, but that also kind of oversimplifies things. She's clever, arrogant, grandstanding, and gleefully violent, even as she has the capacity to admire the architecture that another Tinker has crafted and to treat Lung as something resembling a friend. I don't think there's a world where she triggers and is, like, a good person, but I think this was one of the worse lives she could have wound up living. Also, y'know, she's dead.

Empire Eighty-Eight

Kaiser: Rancid smug piece of Nazi shit. Stupid too btw, why are you bothering with street-level robberies and extortion when you own a fucking pharmaceutical corporation? Why are you fighting out in the streets and meeting with other Nazi capes when you could be acting through proxies and bankrolling far-right parahuman cells across the country? Like I'm glad he isn't smart enough to think like that but fuck me.

Purity: Like, actually for real dumb as a bag of hammers. Kaiser barely has to try to wrap her back around his finger and she divorced him; Tattletale barely has to try to get her to back down and she thinks Tattletale exposed her identity to the public. Truly nothing in that skull of hers.

Hookwolf: Nazi capes fuck off

Stormtiger: Nazi capes fuck off

Cricket: Nazi capes fuck off

Rune: Nazi capes fuck off

Night: Nazi capes fuck off

Fog: Nazi capes fuck off

Wait does Coil's gang genuinely not have a name

Coil: Everything about this guy just pisses me the fuck off honestly. He presents himself as some kind of lesser evil, a firm but gentle hand that can guide all facets of the city to a brighter future, but he doesn't have the intelligence or vision to back any of it up; he displays nothing but brute force manipulation tactics involving bribery and blackmail, he's tunnel-visioned and cruel to the point that it ruins his own long-term plans, and before I forget everything about his thing with Dinah gives me fucking hives and I want to beat his skull in with my bare hands. I hope Taylor gets to kill him. Oh, or maybe Dinah.

Nameless sniper: Actively cooler and more competent than Coil.

Travelers

Trickster: genuinely cannot trust a man wearing a top hat in the year 2011, not even as a bit

Sundancer: what the fuck went so wrong with your life that your power is The Fucking Sun

Faultline and Co.

Faultline: Ironically not a super strong read off of her in terms of personality. Seems generally pretty cool going off of how she interacts with and leads her team. Very funny that she has a rivalry with Tattletale.

Newter: Little worried that he's selling his body secretions as a drug to other teenagers but if a parahuman only has one red flag that's pretty good actually

Gregor the Snail: This dude rocks, actually, love the vibes he gives off. Shame that people hate him for being fat and a mutant.

Labyrinth: Would like to see more of her when she's back in reality, otherwise not much to go off of. Cool power.

Other Parahumans

Scion: Fucking creepy

Marquis: probably Panacea's dad, calling that shot.

Paige McAbee: Justice For Paige McAbee.

Dinah Alcott: not really a character yet so much as a particularly horrifying MacGuffin but Jesus Christ what an awful fate

Uber and Leet: Gamers should be more oppressed. Also they beat the shit out of sex workers on a livestream and aren't considered serious enough threats to be consigned to the Birdcage, which feels pretty bad.

Heartbreaker: Haven't even met this guy and he sounds fucking awful. Please god somebody take him down.

Normal Humans

Emma Barnes: I need to understand what's wrong with her. Something happened that gave her the temperament and skillset of a CIA torture technician before freshman year of high school and she turned that onto her best friend for reasons totally unbeknownst to us.

Sophia Hess: I don't know I feel that the one bully who does the most physical harm and acts the most aggressive is the black one. Pretty bad I think. She's also clearly got something going on in her head but tbh that feels like it's going to be more straightforward than whatever is wrong with Emma.

Madison Clements: I feel like she's just here so that Taylor could be bullied without overusing the other two. What's your stake in this? Why do you give a shit? Does it matter? Probably not.

Mr. Gladly: I hated every teacher I ever knew who acted like this and I hate him even more for being utterly useless in protecting a student from blatant harassment. Fuck off.

[anavilante]

Not his omega.1

Part 1: John Encounters Gale Again After a Year Since Civil Flight School Graduation

After a year apart since graduating from civil flight school, John unexpectedly runs into Gale, his former roommate and crush. Once a proud and accomplished pilot, Gale is now a homeless omega, pregnant and struggling to survive. This shocking reunion forces John to confront the harsh reality of Gale's situation and the changes that have occurred since their time together.

Word count: 1.4K

You can find all the released parts of the fic Not His Omega at this link.

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John stopped the car a block from his destination and chose to walk, knowing how difficult parking was near the small grocery store. He could have gone to a closer market, but they didn’t carry his favorite cheese, a local brand he really liked.

With his hands in his coat pockets, he entered the tiny shop. There were only two other customers: a jittery guy arguing with the cashier and a scruffy-looking man in baggy clothes and a baseball cap.

What a crowd, John thought. He sighed, hoping to finish shopping quickly so he could get back to the peace of his living room, the hum of the TV, and his soft couch.

He picked up some deli meats, a few fruits, and a bottle of milk, intending to head to the cheese shelf. But the shabby-looking homeless man was lingering there. John didn’t want to get close—the guy smelled like a dumpster, as if bums had thrown up into it, and then cats had peed on it. He didn’t want to be within a block of him, let alone in the same small room.

But the vagrant was hesitating, and John got tired of waiting. He decided to push past the homeless guy, grab his cheese, and leave. As soon as he took a few steps toward him, John froze. His keen alpha sense of smell, despite being overwhelmed by the unbearable stench that irritated him, picked up something else: this dirty guy was an omega—a fairly young one. And not just any omega—a pregnant one.

John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His disgust shifted to regret because pregnant omegas shouldn’t look like this. They should be protected and cherished, valued by their alphas, surrounded by care, love, and tenderness—not wandering alone, reeking like vomit.

Finally, he understood why the ragged man had been lingering by the cheese shelf for so long. He's hungry, John realized. He’s trying to steal food. He noticed the omega hiding a packet of cheese in his baggy jacket, where a couple of apples were already stashed.

He approached the guy, fighting the unbearable stench, grabbed his wrist, and said:

"Don’t do that. The guards here are pretty nasty betas, and if they catch you stealing, they’ll beat you, and you don’t need that. I’ll pay for the food if you’re hungry, just don’t do anything stupid."

The guy gasped and finally looked up at him. John thought he was losing his mind because staring back at him from under the grimy baseball cap was Gale Cleven.

His best friend and roommate from flight school, the best pilot of them all—handsome, reserved, intelligent, blond, the perfect boy Gale, or Buck as John used to call him. He had been in love with him throughout their time at the school but could never bring himself to admit it honestly.

Now, Gale's face was dirty, tired, gaunt, with sunken cheeks covered in stubble. During the entire year of flight school, John had never once seen him unshaven. Even under the layer of dirt, the bruises and scrapes were clearly visible beneath his eye and on his cheekbone.

"Let me go," Gale whispered.

"Buck..." John said in shock. "What are you...?" He was so stunned he didn't even realize how tightly he was gripping omega's wrist, and how frightening it must have been for him.

Gale made a strange, loud sobbing sound and jerked away forcefully, accidentally knocking over a fruit display. This finally snapped John out of his stupor, and he let go of the omega's wrist. He bolted out of the store, dropping the stolen goods along the way.

The noise attracted the beta guards from the storeroom, but the brief pause they needed to figure out what happened was enough for John to shout:

“Hey, wait, wait, it’s my fault! I scared the guy. I’ll pay for everything. Leave him alone.”

Watching the fleeing figure disappear into the darkness, John approached the cashier to cover the damage.

Well, that was a trip to the store, he thought, tucking away his empty wallet and still in shock from the unexpected encounter. Everything felt like some drunken nightmare. Gale, his best friend from flight school—successful, proud, and handsome—had turned into a smelly vagrant stealing food out of hunger just a year after graduation.

A pregnant, mated vagrant, John reminded himself. And that thought sliced through his feelings like a razor. Gale has an alpha. An alpha from whom he’s expecting a child.

With trembling hands, John pulled a cigarette from the pack and nervously lit it. He couldn’t decide what upset him more: that Gale was a starving bum living on the streets or that he was bound forever by a new life with another guy. Probably both.

He walked down the street, oblivious to the light rain that seemed to mourn his carefree past in flight school, which now felt a bit naïve and childish, along with their shared year of life together.

This time, credit should be given to John's instincts; he sensed danger a second before he felt the strong, grasping hands pulling him into the darkness of the alley.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed before being pressed against the brick wall by a strong, lean, cat-like body that nonetheless reeked horribly.

It was Gale, he realized. He had been waiting for him.

"Food. Do you have food?" The omega knocked the cigarette out of John's mouth with visible disgust. "God, it stinks."

Look who’s talking, John thought.

He handed the bag of groceries to his former classmate, and Gale eagerly grabbed it, rummaging through the contents.

Realizing there was something to eat, omega settled next to the dumpster and began to tear into the food packages hungrily.

John, who had just started to recover from the shock of their unexpected reunion, asked, "What happened to your alpha?"

Gale shrugged uncertainly, stuffing his mouth with pieces of cheese using his dirty fingers, and biting into a juicy red apple as he replied, "It's a long story."

"If your alpha can't take care of you, then why don’t you seek shelter?"

Gale responded with only a gloomy glare.

"Pregnant omegas without alphas to care for them can't live on the streets, Buck, and you know that."

"Leave me alone," blonde mumbled with a full mouth.

"Buck, you should..."

"Don't you dare tell me what I should do," Gale growled, and John stepped back.

He reminded himself that he was just an outsider in this situation, not involved in the drama of Gale's relationship with his alpha, so he couldn't fully grasp the complexity of it all.

But it wasn't that simple: he was legally obligated to report that a pregnant omega was living on the streets and not receiving the necessary care.

"Who beat you up?"

The blonde shrugged irritably.

"Those damn security guards. Stupid betas," Gale scoffed. "Idiots with no sense of smell."

After finishing the contents of John's bag, the omega stood up and fixed his gaze on him.

"Do you have any more food?"

John replied, "Only at home."

Gale shifted his weight from foot to foot, frowning as if deep in thought.

"Okay."

He cautiously followed alpha to his car and sat down in the back seat, keeping his distance from John. Immediately, John rolled down all the windows despite the chilly autumn evening because being in the small enclosed space with the blonde's smell was unbearable for him.

After a while, Gale, who sat motionless pressed against the far door from the driver, said, "You didn't recognize me in the store, Bucky."

"What?"

"You didn't recognize me there until you came up and saw my face, even though we shared a room at flight school for almost a year."

"You're mated with another man, and you're pregnant, of course I didn't recognize your scent. It's completely different."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"I'm amazed how you alphas rely on your sense of smell for everything."

"Because it is the most reliable indicator and it is impossible to deceive."

"Is it?"

The rest of the journey was silent. John struggled against the urge to vomit from the unbearable smell of his companion, his heart pounding and breath hitching, while Gale drilled a tense gaze into the back of his head.

================================================

Sorry, part 1 is almost the same as the brief promo. In the 2nd part there is a development of events.

I'm tagging @bottomab @umika @amiserableseriesofevents @mazikeen because they said they were ready to read this.

[resident-idiot-simp]

More incorrect quotes

(x) @s3d-sd

Ghost: Thats where they can come from, the homeless people

Ghost: If I had a nickel for every time someone called me sexy, I'd be in debt.

Soap: Im just to thicc for pants

Gaz: There is a fine line between marriage and identify theft

Ghost walking into a dark room of rookies playing uno (Yes this is the context): Turn the lights on, this isn't a whorehouse."

Ghost: I'm hot but not in the physically attractive way.

Ghost: Suffering, suffering, suffering and pain, its nice it's fresh and it's all homemade

Soap to Ghost: We are two different breeds of white

Gaz: TI'S a queer

Gaz: This Is not like the kool aid man he goes ohh yeah I go Ohh noo

Price: I know a thing or two because I've seen a thing or two, I am farmers "bum bum bum bum bum bum bum"

Soap: (Looks at unfinished house) They ran out of gorilla glue

Gaz about Price: The homeless shelter where the old people go.

Ghost: Whenever you die and they write that check to cover your funeral make sure that bitch bounces

Soap: I swear to God and three other white dudes

Price: He's making leaving noises

Soap: Whatever clicked it clacked and I was wrong

Soap: You can take the toothpastes out the tube but you can't take the- take the toothpaste back in the tube

Soap/Gaz to Ghost: Come heeerrreee tall boy

Gaz: Go back to bring ugly plllleeeaasseee

Ghost: Speaking of toe fungus, what the hell is wrong with Britney Spears?!

Gaz: I just wanted to tell you that I woke up to go to bed

(any of the 141): Turbo virgen

Ghost: God hates me today

Soap: I have a better chance of seeing Batman then heaven

Price: They called me racist and I said no I'm sexist

Ghost: Curiosity killed the cat, and that bitch ain't coming back cause we ain't satisfied at fuckin all.

Ghost: We're balls deep in the cringe, might as well fuck it to completion

(I'll give credit for this one because it's @meowmeowriley)

Ghost/Soap: The whole bus is going to be completely underwater due to my ball sweat

(every paragraph break is a different person the one with the most on this is my practical brother.. he says some wild shit)

[jellogram]

One time in college I was walking around a nightlife area at night with my ex who was a friend at the time and we walked past this hippie who was hanging out on the sidewalk. Idk if he was homeless or just one of those beach bums that hangs around in SD but either way he was clearly blazed to hell.

So as we pass him this guy was like "Hey man, you're a wizard! You're both wizards!" and we were like "Fuck yeah, sidewalk man! We're wizards! You're a wizard too!" and he's like "Helllllll yeah I am !"

and then the guy goes "WAIT before you go. I need you both to give me something. It doesn't have to be money. It could be words, it could be wisdom, it could be whatever you have in your pockets, but you've gotta give me something."

So because I'm a little shit I start yanking on my ex's arm and I'm like "This guy is a rock singer! He's in a band! He'll sing a song for you!" and my ex is glaring at me like "Why are you doing this to me" and I'm like no dude go ahead, sing for the sidewalk wizard!

So he starts singing Good Riddance by Green Day because my ex was nothing if not a slut for pop punk and sure enough, the hippie guy knows all the words. So he sings and I sing and now we're all just singing Green Day on this street corner at like 1 in the morning.

So we finish the song and we're about to go and the guy points to me and he's like "You've gotta give me something too" and I'm like "But I sang too! That was my idea!" and he's like "No, that was his gift. You need to give me one too."

And I happened to have a can of root beer in my bag (long story) so I was like "Well, I've got some root beer. You want some root beer?" and he's like "FUCK yes I want some root beer! I have whiskey, that'll go great, you want some?" and I'm like "Nah man, that's all you" so finally we walk away.

And we met up with our other friend that we were seeing who was waiting up for us and he was like "Who were you talking to outside? Were you singing with that guy? He's fucking blazed out of his mind, he hangs out here all the time" and we're like no. That's the sidewalk wizard. And we would DIE for this man.

[stars4gojo]

Haunted

Dad!Gojo x fem!reader // fluff, little angst towards the end // 547 words // Gojo is a girl dad😆 // tsumiki & megumi both included

Gojo thinks he shouldn't meddle with other people's business since he can do whatever he wants as the strongest - he took one chance with Megumi and Tsumiki and even if he won't ever admit it out loud, he definitely thinks he won the lottery for that.

Gojo is a girl dad. That much was clear when at the age of 17 he had walked in with two children and immediately formed a special bond with the 7 year old girl. 

 Although, on the first day you had officially adopted Megumi and Tsumiki you had given them a long talk, explaining how you and Gojo were not their new parents or replacements for their parents but were simply their guardians who will take care and guide them. However, all those efforts were thrown out the window two months later when Tsumiki had shyly approached Gojo one day asking him if he would attend parents career day with her. Gojo had initially hesitated about accepting the offer, knowing that walking into her school as a high schooler calling himself her dad and even using that as a career wont set the best impression. But, once Gojo noticed her lightly flushed skin as she fiddled around with her fingers shyly he had agreed to go to school with her, “just this one time.” He thought. 

Soon that ‘one time’ grown into a second, third and countless more times. He chuckles to himself as he looks back at that day. Now it’s Tsumiki’s graduation from middle school and he’s tying his tie properly trying not look like a ‘homeless bum’ according to you. 

And before she even got up on stage he was the already loudest parent in the room, cheering even louder when Tsumiki proudly walked on stage with her little hat and gown and it made you laugh when you saw how your once shy and moody daughter had turned into such confident and bright girl.  

There was also no doubt that you and Megumi had grown closer, even if you denied the fact that you don’t play favourites, megumi was clearly yours so, Gojo in return had naturally grown closer to Tsumiki simply because she was kind enough to respond to his idiotic ‘jokes’ and even going as far to comfort him when he’s butt hurt by yours and Megumis lack of reaction to them. 

So on Tuesdays and Wednesdays when you picked up Megumi to go to the field with him for baseball practice after school - Gojo would leave work early to pick up Tsumiki so he could take her out. 

Together they had countless shopping sprees, salon trips, sometimes even staying home to have a ‘spa day’ which was just Gojo sitting pretty and getting his nails, makeup, and hair done by Tsumiki and even if the nail polish was smudged, a new bald spot formed on his head and your very expensive make-up was completely destroyed (which gojo would have to replace later) you had no choice but to not be mad when you came home to the sight of your boyfriend and all dressed up looking pretty. 

Now he sits there and watches Tsumiki’s lifeless body lay still, unable to help her. He blames himself for this, thinks he should be able to help her as the strongest. There is nothing he can do but cling onto the good memories, trying to convince himself that this is just a bad dream he would wake up from but everything feels too real as yours and Megumi’s silent sobbing grows louder. 

Sorry this is so short, my brain is literally so burnt out w all the school work here is some of my other work 💓

Masterlist

Kind of inspired by Taylor swift Seven

[kitcat992]

Identity Within - Chapter 13 - Unlikely Alliance (PREVIEW)

“You have to be shittin’ me!”

Clint’s frustration wasn’t just heard in his shout. The loud smack of his hand bounced throughout the room; his palm struck the table he sat at, disrupting the lingering, ongoing silence that came from their collective focus.

It drew attention from everyone but Tony.

“Not a damn thing! I’ve been stifling through footage for hours, and not a damn thing!” Pushing himself away from the computer, Clint let the wheels of his chair take him halfway across the room — passing by Mantis on the way, still sitting cross-legged on the floor. He paid her no mind. “Facial recognition hasn’t found anything even remotely close to him, the entire state of New York is coming up empty—”

“Coming up empty for Peter, yes,” Rhodey curtly interrupted, looking up from his own monitors and locking eyes right on Clint. “For Norman, no. So you keep looking.”

There was a gravity in Rhodey’s tone that said everything he didn’t need to. A gravity that Tony had scarcely heard before — and standing off to the side of the room, with his back against the wall and his forehead heavy in his hand, Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to think back on the times he’d heard his friend sound so grim.

The situation shook his bones, seized his muscles — he couldn’t move, couldn’t think past the same haunting, indelible reality. The same one that he’d been fighting against all year, the same one he’d been fighting to protect Peter against—

It was happening.

This was happening.

Tony suddenly pinched at the bridge of his nose, hard, and swallowed a mouthful of reflux that came surging up his chest.

Osborn had gotten to him.

This was real, and it was happening.

They all worked swiftly, urgently. But when Thor had returned to the compound empty-handed of answers, and Strange still struggled with magic that was supposed to surpass them all — well, Tony fully understood why Rhodey sounded how he did.

Every minute was critical. And the minutes were passing by quicker than they could work.

“There’s no telling how Osborn got to the church.” Clint wasn’t oblivious to the Colonel’s tone. Still, his frustrations showed. “The last any camera picked up on him, he’d entered the F.E.A.S.T shelter one week ago, and it’s only safe to assume that’s him leaving exactly forty eight minutes later.” A finger pointed to the further monitor ahead, and he kept it there for some time. The tremble was almost noticeable. “You try keeping tabs on every person in New York who looks like that — that, right there, is your average vegabond drifter! I’ve got a five hundred and sixty eight results that come up for each minute of the day when trying to narrow down facial recognition to that! The man went off the damn radar, he’s as a good as gone!”

“Keep looking,” Natasha didn’t spare Clint from the obstinacy in her voice. It was a feat she could speak at all, with her focus unbreakable on the multiple different screens that she watched. Her eyes darted them without delay. “As long as Rhodey keeps these firewalls down, you have unlimited access to every red light camera, traffic camera, speed camera—”

“—and they’ve all got nothing, Nat!” Clint threw his frustration right back at her. He wheeled his chair in the opposite way, rolling back to the computers ahead — though not eager to get back to the task at hand. “We can’t pin-point Osborn when he looks like every homeless bum wandering around in the city, and that parking garage was the last place any camera picked up on Peter—”

“Recognition algorithm for identify facial features complete,” FRIDAY’s voice announced from above. “No results found.”

Across the room, Tony managed to bury his head even deeper into the palm of his hand. His fingers massaged the temples of his forehead with enough force to fracture his skull into a dozen tiny pieces.

“Try again.” Tony didn’t even look up when speaking to his AI. It wasn’t the first time he made the request. But each time he did, he prayed it would be his last.

Clint, once again, let his frustrations show — this time in the sound of a low-throated growl that overtook each keystroke his fingers rapidly made. The screens changed as he multi-tasked, typing and clicking with a nearby mouse, the haste of their situation evident in his every move.

“Maybe he vanished,” Sam suggested, twisting his chair around to face the others across from him. Only a few looked his way. “You think we have another Mysterio on our hands?”

Of the few still standing, it was Thor who turned to look at Sam — a confused furrow to his brow highlighting the unfamiliarity behind his eyes.

“Mist-tier-io,” Thor repeated, slowly — curiously. He looked to Tony, and then to Steve; both close enough to one another that he didn’t need to turn far when sparing each a passing glance. “This creature you speak of sounds very odd.”

Sam couldn’t hold back his scoff. “Oh, you have no idea.”

“There’s other possibilities,” Natasha sounded from the opposite side of where Sam was stationed. She spun her chair around, just slightly, somehow keeping one eye on the screens while she looked to the others scattered about the room. “Peter’s phone was found on the fifth floor of the Main Street parking garage. The last any camera had him, it was the fourth floor. According to the blueprints of the garage, there’s a blind spot in the turn leading up to that level. And there’s no camera’s in the stairways.”

Standing with his arms firmly crossed against his chest, Steve gave Natasha his full attention, a deep frown looking like confusion that was masquerading his concern.

Natasha knew him well enough to see that concern a mile away.

“If Norman purposefully went for dead zones, it would make sense why they both went off the radar,” she spoke what they both didn’t want to hear.

“Clever son of a bitch,” Sam muttered underneath the clacking of his keys. He pressed firmly on the spacebar before turning his chair to face Natasha. “Escape down the stairway, hide his face from any facial recognition, take Peter away from street camera’s — make a getaway, essentially creating a ghost trail. He knew what he was doing.”

Natasha looked to Sam, her brow arched high. “He planned what he was doing.”

Steve took a deep breath in and dipped his chin low, the drop of his shoulders practically taking his gaze down to the floor.

He really didn’t want to hear that.

He tried not to let his stress show, especially with Tony so close — he refused to let the man out of his sight, even if all he was doing had been leaning up against the wall, with his head buried so deep into the palm of his hand that it was a feat he could breathe at all.

It wasn’t that he was worried Tony would go and run off on his own — it was that he wanted to make sure the man knew he didn’t have to. Even if that meant never leaving his side to make that known.

Steve tried to stay composed, but even he couldn’t deny that the weight of what could be ahead of them made the daunting task of leadership chew away at his reserves.

Looking behind him to Tony, he quickly forced himself to pushed those feelings aside.

“Recognition algorithm for identify facial features complete,” FRIDAY’s voice was laced heavy with her Irish accent, and sounded no different than the few minutes that she spoke before. “No results found.”

Tony barely moved at her announcement — didn’t respond, didn’t look up — the muscles in his knuckles flexed as he squeezed at his temples, but it was all he did.

Steve noticed it.

It was less than five steps separating them. Steve was speaking before he even made three.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to him, Tony,” he insisted, reassuringly, with a tone as hard as rocks.

Suddenly, Tony shot his head up; a scoff shaking his back so hard, it pushed him right off the wall.

“There are times when you astound me with your nativity, you know,” he easily responded, smooth enough that it was almost impossible to tell he was fighting for control — of what, exactly, didn’t matter. It was clear he just needed it, any sense of control he could get his hands on.

Everyone kept working around them, determined — dedicated. But so far, they came up with no answers. Just more questions that were starting to push Tony to the brink of his patience.

Steve frowned. He could tell.

“We knew this was ahead of us with Peter,” he said, seriously, firmly, right to Tony’s face. “All of us, we’ve all been preparing for this.” Steve took another step forward, his dress shoes hitting the floor with resolute. “And we’re all prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure Norman doesn’t harm him in any way. You have my word on that.”

For what it was worth, Tony met his look — his eyes stayed as hard as Steve’s, the fear that painted his expression one that Steve wasn’t fond of seeing.

“Right…right —” Tony swiped at his nose, quickly. “Like all the people who’ve been involved in OsCorp’s experimentations?”

Tony, no different then Natasha, also wasn’t afraid to speak what no one wanted to hear.

Even Clint looked uncomfortable at what had finally been vocalized, turning back to his monitor without any remark.

Meanwhile, Tony didn’t break his attention away from Steve.

Steve didn’t look away from him, either.

“The Mysterio’s, the rock android’s, the re-assembled, violently programmed Chitauri bombs.” Tony took a step forward, closer to where Steve stood. “How about those unsuspecting, hung up of some quick cash college students who found themselves electrocuted until they became farm grown vegetables? Or the outright revolting archives of Experiment X that I saw first hand — or, I know, how about the symbiote project—”

“Stop,” Steve firmly interrupted. He shook his head, hard. “You can’t think like that—”

“—for all we know, the kid’s strapped to a table right now being dissected like a frog,” Tony choked out, forcing the words to sound through a throat that was tightening by the second. “Osborn knows what he needs — now he has it. And there’s no telling what he’ll—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

Quill wasn’t shy in interrupting what was clearly a tense conversation.

He made his way towards Steve and Tony, both whipping their heads over to face him — Tony far more agitated than Steve — but not even that got Quill to slow down his footsteps.

“You guys haven’t mentioned that this fella of yours tortures people,” Quill, for once, sounded serious in tone — even as he made a face that crinkled his brows into one long line across his forehead. He shook his head while quickly marching forward. “Not awesome, man.”

Tony couldn’t have thrown Quill a more wild expression if he had tried, with his eyes wide enough that they were a threat to fall out of their sockets and down to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he stressed, each word tighter than the last, “was I talking to you!? Does this involve you!?”

Tony’s shout could’ve echoed the R&D room, if the noises from computers and machinery didn’t already sound over their own voices. The video footage kept playing and keys continued to clack on, and each minute they stood around agitated his nerves harsher than the last. He could feel himself starting to crack at the seams.

“Dude!” Quill returned Tony’s look with his own — somewhat insulted, but still sincere. “It’s kinda hard to mind your own business when people are talking about other people being experimented on!” Quill pointed a finger firmly against his chest. “I’m part people, I kinda care about that!”

A inquisitive hum sounded not far behind Quill.

“That is right,” Drax spoke up, staying in the corner where he sat away from the others, sitting on a stool that hunched his body forward. “You are half weakingly. I forgot this about you.”

[ezgee-badally]

i woke up early this morning and considered sleeping in some more when i realised this was the perfect time to go on tumblr and sit in the living room and scroll lgetsd Tumblr while my gf slept in.

i've already cum once but i'm still so horny from watching cock worshipping videos and listening to hypno files encouraging me to be dumb and slutty for some nameless master. i want to be degraded and humiliated for getting so addicted to this feeling, for being a needy insatiable slut that wants to stick her tongue out and hump her greedy pussy against anything and everything.

Careful what you wish for. Look in the fucking mirror sometime. Literally. Go and rub your stupid dyke cunt in front of the mirror while you think of being violated and practice sticking your stupid tongue out to look pretty for men. Then you can see what we all see and maybe it’ll be easier to accept that way.

I know it’s a lot of big words for a dyke’s little cock-addled brain to process. But you’re just a dumb worthless deluded drooling drenched desperate cock whore.

After I was done using you for my sick needs, and pumping load after log into your womb, I’d program my number in your phone and give you over to some filthy homeless bum in exchange for a cigarette and leave you to your fate in a dark dingy alley….

[shallowseeker]

DEAN: Let me describe my dream home. (cuts to a MoL named Clive who changed his name and got to retire in a charming cottage-style in Topeka, KS) DEAN: I'm not saying I have to have a jacuzzi but...I really like bubbles.

It's a ruse, it's a delaying tactic, but it's also partially grounded in truth. Dean wants to retire. He wants to be a destination, not a road junkie. He wants to relax in a goddamned tub. Really, it's just a souped-up vat of water, but it's been built up so much as to become some kind of impossible luxury for most.

WELLINGTON: Look, I'm just gonna stop you right there. Judging from your cheap shoes and faded jeans, I'm guessing the only house you're in the market for comes with wheels. I prefer [not to have my time wasted] by some hayseed.

He means a trailer by, the way. It's a nod to the car, but he means a trailer. He takes one look at Dean and he sees trailer trash or a homeless bum. "These things aren't for us," indeed. The outsider status is in part...economical and class-driven. Vagrants, homeless bums, country hicks in flannel, prostitutes...they don't get to have homes in the land of dreams.

SPN 10x11

[legobiwan]

Mario and Luigi for the drabble, “When I’m with you, I’m home.”

Thanks!

I realized I'm answering this one out of order. Whoops! Anyway, have some pre-Mushroom Kingdom conversations and lore-building as your author reminisces about the New York of the '90s.

~~~~~~

He wonders, sometimes, what their lives would have looked like if they had never left Brooklyn.

Barring a miracle - pretty bleak, in all honesty. Maybe being here, in the Mushroom Kingdom, was the miracle. He remembers the frenzied few days leading up to their disappearance. The previous few months had been a mess of unpaid bills and awful business decisions governed solely by spite and fear. They were probably a few months of missed rent payments away from eviction. They were definitely two days away from getting their kneecaps bashed in by some loan shark’s goons. 

He and Mario had gone for a walk, all the way down to Coney Island, 75th to Stillwell to Bowery, to the decrepit-looking Wonder Wheel and a depressingly empty Nathan’s Hot Dogs. It looked like the last of the hotels, some once-bright vestige of his mother’s era, had finally been condemned, tall wire fencing curling up towards the grey winter sky, a perfunctory guard which did nothing to keep out the local graffiti artists and homeless population. 

Luigi jammed his hands into his jean pockets, shivering. He couldn’t tell if he was freezing or terrified.

“What are we gonna do, Mario? We can’t stay here. If he doesn’t get us, the landlord will. You see how they’re starting to develop all that stuff around 86th Street. It’s going to travel north and we’re already behind two months in rent. We can’t stay in Bensonhurst.” Luigi sighed, little frozen puffs of air floating from his mouth. “I don’t even know if we can stay in Brooklyn at this rate.”

It was a miracle they weren’t out on the streets already. For once, their landlord’s habit of sitting around with a bottle of Thunderbird watching Honeymooners reruns and screaming at “that bum El Duque” to throw more strikes fell to their advantage. Sure, there was no such thing as maintenance in the dilapidated six-floor walk-up. But they were plumbers, tradesmen - a leaky faucet or misbehaving shower wasn’t going to be an issue.

Unfortunately, they weren’t also exterminators. 

Mario took a large bite of his hotdog, mustard splattering on the gum-stained sidewalk. It looked like something they’d hang in one of those trendy galleries that kept popping up in lower Manhattan, down around Houston Street. 

“We’re gonna be fine, Lou,” Mario said between bites, bits of bun falling from his mouth.

“We’re gonna end up homeless.” Or missing our kneecaps. Or worse.

Mario crammed the last of his dinner in his mouth, finishing off the hot dog with a few loud chews. He gave a contented sigh, licking at his greasy fingers before wiping his hands on his pants. “No, we’re not gonna be homeless. I’ve told you a million times, Lou, we could be in a cardboard box under the Van Wyck. When we’re together - “ Mario slung an arm around Luigi’s shoulder, pulling him in tight. “When I’m with you - I’m home. We’re unbeatable. And that means we’ll make it through this.”

Luigi eyed his brother’s yellow-tinged fingers and stained shirt cuff, hoping the impromptu moment of fraternal affection would pass. He could deal with Mario’s sunny optimism, usually. But living in a studio apartment one step up from a garbage dump had apparently encouraged his brother’s disposition towards a more slovenly existence. They might be home when they were together, but it wouldn’t hurt if Mario took a damn vacuum to himself once in a while. 

“Mario, I think this time - ”

“Oh, I get it.” The warm arm around his shoulder disappeared, his brother’s voice hardening. Luigi snapped his head to the side, his heart rocketing into his throat. What did I say this time?  

“It’s the location, isn’t it?” His brother gave him a searching, serious look. He looks just like Dad. He even seemed as if he were towering over Luigi, just like Dad used to, despite Mario being the shortest of the three of them. “You’d prefer a box under the BQE.”

Luigi gaped. “I - what?”

“Nah, nah, okay,” Mario waved his hands. “Let’s talk location. You wanna be by the Belt? Or maybe - “ A sly smile grew under his brother’s burgeoning mustache. “You want to move to Queens.”

“Oh my God,” Luigi groaned, slapping his forehead with his palm, pulling his hand down over his eyes. I’d move to Jersey if it got us out of this mess. “Mario, be serious.”

“I am serious! Your secret’s safe with me, bro. Even if you would betray Brooklyn like that." Luigi felt two steady hands take him by the biceps. “Besides, we’re gonna be okay.”

“Vinny Razzanti’s uncle said we had forty-eight hours,” Luigi groaned between his fingers.

Mario barked out a laugh. “Vinny Razzanti’s uncle couldn’t tell a pizza from a clock if we arranged the pepperonis the right way. The guy’s a dumbass.”

“Yeah, but he’s - “

“No, I ain’t hearing it.” Mario gently guided Luigi’s hands from his face, keeping his fingers wrapped around either wrist as he brought Luigi’s arms to his sides. “Look at me, Lou.”

Luigi swallowed down the wet desperation clawing its way up his throat, opening his eyes to his brother’s concerned, but steely gaze.

“If he comes, he comes. I’ve got a baseball bat next to the mattress and you can - “ Mario waved one of his arms in a broad gesture. “I dunno. Make some kind of exploding gadget or something. You used to want to show off your stuff to Cooper Union, right? Well, think of this as practice, you know, for the application.”

Luigi gave a small shake of his head. I don’t think home pyrotechnics meant to fend off low-level mafia muscle are going to impress the admissions committee. Not that they were going to waste their time with a twenty-one-year-old plumber’s application, anyway. That dream was long gone, buried in Cypress Hills along with their parents. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Mario’s voice broke through his dreary ruminations as he guided Luigi towards Bowery Street. “We’re gonna walk home, maybe pick up a cannoli on the way. Then we’re gonna check the answering machine. If we’re lucky - and I’m feeling pretty lucky right now - there will be a call from some lady in Borough Park.” His brother’s eyes gleamed. “No, even better, some widower in Carroll Gardens. One of those nice brownstones. She’s going to ask for our help. Clogged drains, backed up shower, toilet’s kablooey.” Mario made a slobbering sound meant to resemble a backed up toilet. Luigi thought he sounded like a dog on downers. “The whole shebang. We’ll say, of course, we can fix this, but we’ll have to charge the emergency rate. You know, business and all that. Three hours later - maybe four - boom! Vinny Razzanti’s uncle is out of the picture and we’ll be on our way to the good life.”

“You make it sound so simple, bro.” Luigi couldn’t quite contain the bite of sarcasm that accompanied that statement. 

As always, his brother took his waspishness in stride. Long strides, in fact, as they hurried past the metal skeletons that made up the Coney Island Train Yard, the whirr of traffic from the Belt Parkway rushing and thumping above them. Luigi felt like at any moment some old, rusted buckle would give way, sending a line of cabs and buses crashing into their heads.

He felt like that most of the time these days, to be honest. 

“It is simple, Luigi. You just gotta think positive. You never know what’s around the corner.” Mario tugged at his sleeve. “Now, come on. If we walk fast enough, we can get to Villbate’s before they close.”

“Alright, alright, you win, Mario. Something’s around the corner and for once, maybe it won’t be a guy with a baseball bat.” No. It won’t be a bat. It’ll be something worse. Like a flamethrower. Luigi was too tired to argue with his brother’s indomitable optimism. “Maybe we’ll get to your widower in Carroll Gardens and find the answers in her bathroom.”

Mario slapped his brother on the back. “That’s the spirit, Lou! Could be a whole new world waiting for us. Now let’s go - there’s a pistachio cannoli with my name on it and I am not missing out.”

“Hey, the pistachio cannolis are mine!”

“Not if you don’t run fast enough!” Mario gave his brother a playful push, taking off down Stillwell Avenue. Luigi watched his brother leap over a pile of trash bags, skittering between two cabs, one of which blared its horn in anger.

“Where you go, I guess I follow,” Luigi muttered to himself, adjusting his cap before taking off in his brother’s direction. And who knew? Maybe something was waiting for them around that corner.

[pavlovianpanic]

this is inferred in the main game, but is also way more discussed in cut dialogue, but it seems like the washington family does have a problem with what josh describes as "ski bums". he also infers that these people are homeless, but we kind of get the inference that there's different types of tresspassers, from homeless individuals to people wanting to go off the grid to people wanting a slick ski / snowboard spot without paying, etc. the list goes on. i also imagine their lodge gets broken into / attempted break-ins a lot. this is why it's so easy for chris to believe that all the doors are locked, no ways are accessible ... even though it's pretty clear josh is feigning the frozen lock situation himself.

the reason i'm even bringing this up is a) for meta purposes, i guess. this is something josh's family deals with a lot. this is why the stranger being there isn't like ... lost on josh's family, i guess. i mean, they don't directly know he is there actively / that it is him, but the presence of "someone" being there wouldn't be surprising to them. it could be inferred the stranger is battling against the washington family directly, but there's not too much evidence to suggest they ever directly cross paths necessarily. the entire point of the stranger ... is to be the stranger. someone unknown working without the washington family's knowledge.

b) this is a great way to get more interactions going. from an off-the-grid type muse looking for a new nest to someone struggling to find a place after being displaced to just like your athletic ski / snowboarder type looking for a place to do their thing to adventurer types that like to break-in to places, etc etc. i'm always fine for "another member of the group" plot, but this canon content (both cut and not) allows us some other options!

also ... additionally, i've mentioned josh (and likely sam, thus matt) have other friends outside of the until dawn cast. they are not bound to only each other lol

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Toji x Reader

Toji Fushiguro:

You're favorite animal is a racoon (otherwise known as the trash panda), you love giant man tits and you have a thing for dead beat dad's (be it hit men or 100 year old vampires).

First Date:

You're shift ends and you close for the night. You were the owner of a small convince store and had heard rumors of a thief causing trouble for the locals. Some claimed that their valuables would vanish over night while others claimed that they were missing articles of clothing. One resident even returned home to find that not only had his shower been recently used, but his house was now littered with empty beer bottles that had been purchased the night before.

Seeing how convince stores are frequent targets for robbers, you decided to not take any chances and keep a baseball bat on you for safety. You were just about to leave when you heard one of the store windows shatter. Oh no. This was it. You raised your weapon defensively. "STAY BACK! I'M NOT AFRAID TO USE THIS!" To your surprise it was now quiet. You slunk around the aisle hoping to find the perpetrator but all you found was the empty remains of one of the many refrigerators.

"What the fuck is going on? Who robs a store just for a pack of booze?" Suddenly you heard the cash register open. By the time you got to the counter, the money was already gone. "Shit! There goes today's earnings!" You then noticed what appeared to be a thin trail of slime. Clearly not caring about how bizarre your day was now, you decided to follow it. The gooey path led you to the dumpster bin outside. "Gross. I can't believe I'm doing this..."

You lifted the lid and saw what appeared to be a homeless man? He was oddly muscular and you suddenly had the urge to make him wear one of those mega milk shirts. You then shook your head. You were here for your money, not to ogle some bum. You grabbed him by the collar. "Hey! Wake up!" No response. You then slapped him a couple of times and you realized you weren't making any progress. In the end you just decided that screaming into the unconious man ear was the best course of action.

The stranger was now starting to wake up. "... Megumi? Is that you?..." You then threw a half eaten apple at the man. "Who the fuck is that!?" He sighed with relief. "Oh thank God. I still have time to pay the child support." He then looked up. "And who are you?" You were starting to wish that you had just gone home. "I'm the one you just stole from! Now give me my money back before I break your kneecaps!"

"In afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Suddenly a purple worm appeared and vomited up all of your cash. "You know what? Keep it!" The man cursed under his breath but then regained his composure. "Are you insinuating something? And here I was on my way to buy some lottery tickets but I'll just take my business else where." Honestly, you were starting to take pity on the pathetic mess in front of you. "Dude, look I don't care about it anymore. Just let me help you."

You learned the man was named Toji. He didn't tell you much but you figured that he had left everything behind. You let him use your shower and then helped prepare him for bed. Now Toji was all snuggled up in his sleeping bag (aka the disgusting giant worm creature). "I just wanted to say... Thanks." You waited for him to fall asleep and then you somehow managed to put his body into your car trunk. You then pull up to an animal shelter. "Sorry Toji, my landlord says I can't have pets." You gently place him into a box (marked 'for free') outside the front door. Oh well. Now he was someone else's problem.