#wait no not lunch

[taffywabbit]

i have lots of flaws but i do at least take a fair amount of comfort knowing that, if i were a customer NPC in a fast food/retail management game, i would be one of the chill early-level ones that can wait a super long time before they start getting impatient, and you breathe a sigh of a relief when you see them show up in a harder level

[zu-is-here]

<– • –>

[ayilings]

breaktime

[faeriekit]

Feet on the Ground

loose phic phight fill for @oldfashionedbattlehymn

warnings for: murder attempt, discussion of child death

********

Danny wakes up in a garbage bag.

It isn’t as gross as it sounds. Danny’s the only thing in there, and it’s not like the lack of air is going to kill him; he could rip his way out, but honestly, going intangible is just as effective and twice as easy.

And, of course, once he’s phased his way out of the dumpster behind the gas station, Danny is very, very grateful that he didn’t even try. Everything else in there is….eeugh. He shivers.

Well. It’s got to be early morning now—it’s dark. There’s no other cars on the highway. Even the gas station itself is closed, and the stars have already lost their spark.

Time to head home.

*

Danny wakes up behind the gas station. Again.

…Okay?

The first time, Danny had just assumed he’d fallen asleep somewhere weird while flying around the neighborhood, but a second time is a pattern. It’s definitely not his fault this time either, because there’s no way he would have duct taped his arms and legs together or slapped a gag on his mouth.

That’s kind of. Ominous.

Danny frees himself of the garbage bag first— and thank goodness he doesn’t have to breathe— he floats himself out of the bag and the dumpster, which had…thankfully been given a good scrubbing since last time? There’s some other trash, apparently, but nothing sharp enough to cut through his durable, tape-based bonds. It takes some finagling and some eye lasers for Danny to finally get his arms free.

And. Hoo Boy. There’s no more liberating a feeling than peeling tape off your mouth, even if your mouth skin kind of comes off with it and you bleed a little. But it’s fine! It’s green, which means it’ll heal.

Fabulous. Danny zooms off invisibly into the night, more than willing to put the night behind him.

*

…Okay, the third time is what makes it more than a coincidence.

Danny shucks out of the bruise-tight ropes around his wrists, torso, knees, and legs, spits out his gag, and flies home. He finally has to give into the inevitable, and attempts the last resort:

“Jazz?” he whispers, slowly rocking his sister in her bed. Jazz mumbles in her sleep.

“Jaaaaazzy…” Danny tries again, trying not to look either too spooky or too imposing. Jazz’s reflexes are such that—

The laser she keeps under her pillow goes off. Danny loses a few millimeters of hair, which means that her aim is getting better.

 He doesn’t have any trouble seeing in the dark (or, uh, not anymore, anyway), but it’s easy to see Jazz’s sleepy squint as she pulls herself somewhat upright. More like a shrimp with scoliosis, but, well. You know.

“Whuh,” Jazz asks. “...Danny?”

“Hey,” Danny whispers, a ghost at her bedside. Jazz grunts. “Uh. What does it mean when you keep waking up in a trash bag behind the gas station?”

Jazz blinks. Jazz rubs her eyes. Jazz blinks again, looking more sleepy than coherent but at least somewhat aware of her surroundings.

“Garbage bag?” Jazz asks blearily. “You were in a garbage bag?”

“Yeah,” Danny whispers back. “My legs were tied down?”

“...Danny, were you murdered?”

Danny stops.

“Huh?” says Danny.

*

“So, if you look here,” Tucker points out, finger not quite touching the glass of his CRT monitor, “That’s when Danny gets murdered.”

There is a collective eeew from the assembled viewers— Jazz, Sam, and Danny, all crowded in Tucker’s room.

“Yeah, Tucker agrees. The light from the black-and-white footage flashes in the reflection of his glasses. “Here’s where he’s tossed in…there. And this is when they tossed him in the dumpster.”

There’s no sound on the gas station surveillance footage, but Danny imagines that his body clanged on the way in. What the hell. Danny got murdered behind a gas station, and he didn’t even notice?!

They watch the archived footage of a Ford F-150 driving off the property, and then Danny’s dead body being unceremoniously tossed in a dumpster. It’s kind of surreal. No one had noticed. There was no one to report the crime committed.

“I can’t believe that guy just clocked you over the head, like that,” Sam points out. “It’s just a regular car jack. It shouldn’t have gotten you in the first place.”

The observation isn’t appreciated.

“Be nice! My brother was just murdered,” Jazz scolds. Danny doesn’t think she sounds as offended as she should be. “Either way, it’s certainly an attempted murder, if not a successful one. We have to do something.”

“…Can’t we just call the cops?” Tucker asks, turning away from the computer. “I mean. Look. That’s proof. We have proof right here.”

Sure enough, there is footage. Right there. There’s Danny’s murder, in 240p black and white.

“Where’s the body?” Sam asks dryly, and. Uh. That’s a problem they’ll have to solve.

Everyone looks at everyone else. No one has a good solution.

“…Do we have to do this?” Tucker realizes at the same second as the rest of them.

Jazz looks at Danny. Danny looks at Sam. Sam looks at Tucker.

Tucker stares back at them, entirely unenthused with the conclusion they’ve come to.

“…Okay then,” Jazz exhales. “How do you want to do this?”

*

Sam ends up on top of the gas station, a cell phone in her hand.

Tucker, PDA in hand, sits in Jazz’s passenger seat. The camera feed is ongoing and recording for posterity.

Jazz taps her fingers on the wheel of her car. There isn’t anywhere better to hide than down the road and around the corner, so she does, hoping that they’re on the other end of the road from whoever’s killing her brother every night.

Danny is, of course, wandering through the neighborhood.

Losing her baby brother—on purpose—is the worst thing Jazz can imagine. She feels sick. She wants to throw him into the car and speed away, and break every speed limit law in the county on her way out. She wants to pack him in bubble wrap and ship him expedited to France.

But she does leave her brother alone. She lets Tucker look over the footage as Danny roams around town, just as unaware and unsuspecting as his last few outings.

Tucker sees the man first.

He bolts upright, eyes on his PDA. “Jazz.”

Her head whips around. They watch, silently, as someone approaches Danny’s lone figure on the doorstep outside the gas station.

They can’t hear anything. That’s the scariest part.

“Call,” Jazz demands. Tucker does.

Doubtlessly, on the roof of the gas station, Sam is dialing too.

*

So. Danny knows this guy.

And. Uh. It’s kind of embarrassing; he’d asked if Danny was okay walking home alone at night a few hours before his dumpster wake-up call, and Danny had said it was fine.

Apparently, no, it wasn’t fine. That being said, Danny hadn’t been expecting a guy in a button-up and khakis to be the guy murdering him on the down low. He kind of looks like the dude who sells you televisions and burner phones at a Wal-Mart.

The guy comes all the way over to where Danny is sitting on the thin concrete step of the gas station. His breath fogs up from the weather and his eyes rake over Danny, up and down; down and up.

“Hey,” he says, looking all the world like any other concerned citizen. Danny’s heart throbs. “It’s cold outside. You need a ride back to town?”

“…No,” says Danny, who doesn’t.

“Your mom okay with you comin’ home late by yourself?” the man asks nervously, hands going to his hair.

Danny thinks about how many times he’s woken up in the dumpster. He thinks about seeing his own body on the camera tape. Prone. Dead.

“You still keep a car jack in your passenger seat?” Danny asks instead.

The man freezes. An attempted murderer he might be, but he’s not exactly an Oscar-winning actor. “What?”

“The car jack,” Danny repeats. He doesn’t know if he’s mad the man keeps targeting him, or whether he’s grateful Danny’s the only one who’s died so far. “It’s got a lot of sharp corners. They hurt, you know.”

The man…carefully laughs the statement off, but he looks. Nervous.

Danny doesn’t really need to confront him; he only has to stall long enough that Tucker or Sam can call the cops, so that they can see this man’s face and get him on the record. But.

There’s a part of Danny…

The man looks so human. Flush with blood. Solid enough to break. Fragile enough to be made broken.

Danny still resents being made dead. This man didn’t kill Danny—not in any way that mattered, but he’s an easy target.

He doesn’t breathe. The man watches a boy sit in the shadows of a building where he’s been dumping bodies, and Danny can taste his fear.

“It hurt a lot,” Danny says, and he isn’t referring to waking up in the bags every couple of mornings in the last few weeks. “It hurt so much. I was screaming.”

The man is silent.

“Do you like to hear the screaming?” Danny asks, suddenly curious. Did he care, if Danny had screamed, or if he had been too unaware to notice he was dying? Would he have cared, if there were others more breakable than Danny that he had hurt?

He doesn’t answer.

“I don’t like it,” Danny confesses. In a horrible way, it’s easy to tell his would-be murderer about his death—unlike Tucker or Sam, who witnessed it, or Jazz, who loves him, this man can’t be affected by Danny’s take on his own death. In fact, if he is hurt by the thought of Danny’s death…good. It’s better if he is. If there is remorse in him. “I don’t like to hear screaming. I screamed for so long, and so loud. It felt like forever.”

The man’s hands curl. He steps back.

Danny can’t help but to frown. If he leaves, the whole point of calling the cops will be for nothing, and he’ll be warier of coming back to where Danny’s body was dropped. “Where are you going?”

The man takes another step back. Danny rockets upright. He’s on his feet in seconds. “Weren’t you here for me?” Danny asks, genuinely confused, arms outstretched. “We’re here. You dumped me here over and over again.”

“Shut up,” the man snaps, startling the both of them with his volume. “He—you’re not real. You’re… Be quiet. I have real things to get done tonight!”

Danny’s dead heart throbs. Is there another dead kid? Did Danny let another kid get killed in Danny’s place? “Do you?”

The man loses his voice.

“We’re already here,” Danny points out. He steps closer—closer to the truck that drove his dead body around town, further from the dumpster where his body had been dropped. The disposal hadn’t been a funeral, but it’s closer than anything Danny’s ever had. “You’re here. I’m here. Aren’t you here for me?”

A choked breath. Danny gets closer. The ectoplasm in his skin is too warm and too cold—but he has no idea what he looks like from the outside. Is he glowing? Is he see-through? Does he just look like any other dead kid: a little too cold, a little too pale?

They’re eye to increasingly shorter eye. Up close, the man just looks like any other guy. Shaved in the face. Wrinkles around his eyes. A nose. A mouth.

Danny’s not afraid of him. His head tilts. “You’ve already killed me three times. What are you going to do now? I’ll just come back again. I won’t even notice. I died. I know what you look like—I know how to find you. It’ll be easy.”

The man’s pupils dilate—

And then there’re hands on Danny’s neck. And. It’s kind of painful, but Danny doesn’t have to breathe. So. He just kind of…pretends to be hurt?

He’s meant to be stalling for time. The cops are coming. All he needs is time.  

So Danny makes some somewhat dramatic sounds and kicks out with his feet, because a fight lasts longer than a passive victim. He lands a hit to the man’s stomach, and another to his chest—he doesn’t drop Danny the way Danny might have expected, but Danny isn’t going to run out of air, so this can last forever until the man lets go. Or does something.

“Stop— coming— back,” the man snarls, and suddenly sounds nothing like the dudes who man the tech counter at the Walmart. “I got you— you should be gone!” 

Danny is gone. But he’s also here. And he’s also been gone for a very long time, and he’s also getting choked out by a guy in a gas station parking lot. It’s been a rough few hours of waiting for this dude. He might as well make it worth it. 

So maybe his body turns a little translucent. Just a little. Just enough to see the streetlight through his skin, probably, and the hazy road behind them. 

Getting thrown to the concrete hurts, but, you know, not as badly as getting tossed into a wall by Skulker on a rampage. Danny’s barely going to be bruised after this. 

The guy runs to his car, and Danny frowns, scrambling back up, and, wait. Wouldn’t having bruises be better? As evidence? They better not heal too quickly, or else that’ll be it of his physical proof. 

“Where are you going?” Danny asks, more perplexed and angry than anything. Isn’t he supposed to try to kill the witness??

But the guy hauls butt into the cab of his truck— and then the lights go on and the tires start spinning, the engine roaring to life. 

If Danny wasn’t actively on camera at the moment, it would be easy to fly after the car. As it is, he’s pretty fast, but he’s not quite quick enough on his feet to chase after a pickup truck careening down the highway in the dark. 

The man’s gone in a few seconds. Honestly, Danny’s kind of annoyed about the whole thing. It would have been nice for it to work. 

Sam climbs down from the roof of the gas station, phone in her hand. “No, I just— he choked out my friend and drove off! Send someone over here already!! You— do you need the license plate again?!” 

Danny just looks at her. Sam covers her phone’s mic with a hand: “They’re saying five minutes,” she mouths. 

Great. 

Danny hunkers down, throat bruising, and Sam sits down beside him. They wait.  

By the time the cops pull into the gas station, the guy’s more than out of sight. Sam’s the one who takes the lead on dictating their story. Danny sort of doesn’t realize how out of it he is until someone tries to throw a shock blanket on him. He almost hits the guy square in the face— and Sam’s the one who has to catch his arm. 

Uh. Oops. 

Jazz and Tucker roll in, hardly pretending to have not been nearby; Jazz wraps her arms around him, and Danny lets her. 

Sue him. It’s late. He’s tired. 

“...And I can’t believe you weren’t able to get down the road in time to catch a man who choked out my best friend,” Sam snaps, which, aw! Danny’s a best friend. The cop she’s attempting to strip down for parts looks less sympathetic than Danny feels. “You’re barely a ten minute drive up the highway! What were you doing, meandering?” 

“No,” the cop grits out, eying Sam like a bug on his shoe. “We were telling the officer down the road what to look out for.” 

Apparently, jamming the gas down hard enough to bust your speedometer gets you pulled over at the speed check. 

The night is over before Danny knows it. Someone gets him to the station, someone takes photos of his bruises and takes his statement. Someone calls Mom and Dad and then Danny’s in the GAV, half asleep and exhausted beyond belief. 

He falls asleep on the couch, Mom’s fingers in his hair. 

*

It’s not like the Amity Park police tell them anything, but Jazz is the one who finds the report on the news. 

She records it on the TiVo for him. 

“Eustace Miller, from Tennessee,” Sam reads aloud, knee to knee on his couch. Tucker adjusts his glasses. “Looks like he was already on the run.” 

“Or as good as,” Tucker agrees quietly. “Looks like they’re pinning a couple of cold cases to him.” 

They watch; there’s pictures of him from his hometown, and from the towns he would visit on his joyride across the country. There were pictures of his family. There were pictures of kids Danny would never meet: kids who were already dead, and who had been for months. Years, even. 

They’d looked so happy in the photos from when they were alive. 

…Danny could relate. 

Jazz turns the report off that night, thumb on the power button. And that’s all it takes for Danny to stop waking up in a trash bag. 

[time-slink]

wanted to acknowledge joel’s ogreness at least once :D

[mobius-m-mobius]

If it’s all the same to you… I’ll have that drink now.

[lovebeatriceplz]

Hiii ! i wanted to know if you could make more Larry’s headcanons??? i love him so much help-

I've been meaning to do this forever but skl started and I'm rlly busy😭

My Larry Johnson headcanons pt. 3 🧚

General and dating

- Fast driver, turns those corners like it's nothing.

- Calls you up at very odd hours of the night/day. Doesn't actually have anything to say, he just wants you to talk to him.

- Enjoys comfortable silences.

- Obsessed with the feel of you, not even in a dirty way. He wants to be in your skin.

- Smells like pine needles and smoke (trust me he told me).

- Wiggles his finger in your ear when he wants you to pay attention to him.

- His humor is either eye watering, floor rolling, perfectly timed comedy or literal dad jokes, there's no in-between.

- Silent treatment does not work on him, you'll end up speaking very quickly.

- Snores like "honk shoo, honk shoo"

- Sensitive scalp, the second your hands are in his hair he's struggling to keep his eyes open.

- Teaches you (or tries to-) anything that he's good at/ interested in. So now you have basic knowledge on guitars, drums , painting, colour theory, video games and.... Hamilton??😧

- He was a theatre kid ok🙄.

- Listens to Mother Mother.

- His love languages are all of them, loves hard.

- Adores gifts, or anything that he receives from you. He's keeping it forever.

- Has ghosting phases, unfortunately. I doubt that they last long (like a day) but he always comes back around.

- Loves matching anything, clothes? Jewelry? Shoes?, he'll do it.

- Licks any part of you he can access then pretends like nothing happened.

- He wants to get close to anybody your close to, and wants to love anything that you love. It's one of the many ways he shows that he cares.

- Silly little guy <3

[clippy]

these things are like bugs to me idk

[negativegrl]

he's lived so many lives...

[marimeeko]

After the fifth time that Katsuki pops up at UA, surprising Izuku with Bento for lunch, calling him "sensei" in a cocky(affectionate) tone, Kouta just stops at Izuku's desk on his way out of the room and asks him point blank,

"So are you and DynaMight actually dating, or what?"

Izuku sputtering and dropping all of his paperwork and avoiding the question out of sheer dumbfoundedness.

Then, the sixth time that Katsuki barges in, as he is thrusting the bento into Izukus hands as usual, Kota raises his hand, and stands up from his seat and yells out,

"DynaMight, sir!! Pardon me, but are you dating Deku-Sensei??" And the whole class gasps and whispers. Katsuki appears just as dumbfounded as he looks wide-eyed at Kouta and the students.

"Kouta!" Izuku balks, but then Katsuki suddenly grins mischievously. Izuku doesn't trust that look...

"Well, brat, maybe I SHOULD date him, then I could make sure Sensei doesn't forget to eat every day, right??" Katsuki looked entirely too pleased at the louder gasps and chatter that came from the students. He has a wicked grin as he turns his sharp red eyes back to Izuku.

"K-Kacchan, what are you doing?!" Izuku stammers, beet red and grabbing his arm. "This is not the time for--"

"If you don't want me disrupting your class, then stop leaving your Bento in the fridge!!" Katsuki scolds Izuku before swinging himself back out of the open window. There was a fresh wave of gasps and excited murmuring at the insinuationthat the two lived together. "We're ROOM MATES, OK?" He adds hastily, pointing his finger at the noisy classroom of kids.

He drops out the window and blasts off.

Izuku is left, stood at his desk, hands planted and hanging his head, trying to collect enough of himself to quell the riotous theories now flying around his classroom.

Kouta stands at his own desk amidst his unruly classmates, eyes narrowed as if he had just realized something, "I knew it!" He hisses.

"You're the worst," Izuku texts Katsuki later.

"I know" katsuki replies.

"Now eat your fuckin food or I'll stop making it for you."

--

I think I was inspired by this art post ^^;

[tsuchinokoroyale]

The birria tacos craving level is encroaching on catastrophic

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

The ''Are you trying to romance me?'' meme but with Barnaby and Howdy

i belted this out in like a half hour flat <3 bc Yes

[professorsparklepants]

Bridgerton but it's the Starks. Is that anything.

[litfeathers]

In all the excitement over the HD Hollow Mind paintings getting released, and in the resulting discussion and theorizing of the Wittebane story, I haven’t seen anyone bring up something that is potentially a HUGE part of the puzzle. Which makes sense, because it only appears for a split second in Yesterday’s Lie:

Hopkins shows this picture, says “disaster struck”, and then tells us a bit about the Wittebane brothers, namely that they met a witch and were lured into another world.

There are two options here.

1) The meetinghouse caught fire and started the witch hunt that we see in the HM paintings. The same one that ended with this:

…and it’s entirely possible that Evelyn is the one who blew up the meetinghouse. Why? *shrugs* The witch hunters pissed her off? In any case, that sequence of events would track what Hopkins said (meetinghouse catches fire, witch hunt is called, Caleb and Philip are separated from the pack, and they find Evelyn).

But if this sequence of events is slightly off? He says exactly this:

We know that Caleb was sneaking around with Evelyn for a while before he left. Look at Philip’s hair here vs his hair in the above painting. Time has definitely passed. He even has his ponytail and adult hair noodle.

Further evidence that time has passed? Masha says “they used codes to travel between worlds.” Which I take to mean that the lovebirds traveled back and forth a bunch.

This is where theory two comes in.

Hopkins said the brothers were lured into the BI. We know Caleb left with Evelyn first, and some time later Philip followed them. We don’t know the exact details, but keeping in mind that the fire could have happened at any point before the “luring” (ie Caleb leaving)…

What if this is our scenario instead:

2) Caleb got caught hanging out with a witch, and was arrested. Evelyn blew up the meetinghouse to save him, spiriting him away in front of the whole town. Philip spends years trying to find a natural portal and finally succeeds, entering the BI at Eclipse Lake. He tracks down his brother and the witch.

We know what happens next.

And here’s the kicker: in that new painting, we see Philip watching his brother leave through the portal all happy and carefree.

This seems like just one of many trips. Caleb might or might not know Philip is there. But in any case, it is probably not what Caleb expects to be his last trip. He doesn’t have any possessions with him. He’s not under any sort of duress. And unless he was a MASSIVE jerk, he does not seem to be concerned that he is leaving his little brother forever.

But. What if this is an important memory because it’s the memory of Philip finally catching Caleb in the act?

What if this is the moment that led to Caleb getting caught (perhaps the next day when he returned home), setting into motion the events that required a rescue from his cell in the meetinghouse and for him to escape to the BI permanently?

I mean…what if Philip rattted out Caleb?

[tsubaki94]

Phantom Comic Ch.4

Page 9<-–>  Page 11

Begining

Masterpost

[buwheal]

I cant draw shit on these roads‼️