#homeless!reader

[holorform2009]

Emmet liked you verrrrrry much! You are so adorable he can't help but scoop you up in his hands.

Ingo, ever the frowny man he is, narrows his eyes. What happened to your leg?

[terrence-silver]

Could I request ❛ you won’t survive long out there. i can protect you. ❜? I feel like there's some potential terry silver manipulation sprinkled within those words. 🫣

---

Collecting people.

It was a hobby, in a sense.

More than that, actually; it was like being an Architect.

Taking a rough slab of marble and chiseling it into something greater than itself.

Having the ultimate authority and say in what it will and can become.

Margaret Spencer he found working at a firm in London as a secretary for what was his overseas business partner at the time, toiling with idiotic, menial tasks far beneath someone her class, capabilities and particular education level, coaxing, or rather pilching her from underneath her boss' nose by making her an infinitely better and more advantageous offer at employment back in Los Angeles, the same way he discovered Milos Dadok in Prague as a hotel concierge, working for cheap change east of the Iron Curtain, with barely any visitors to serve in an old, Bohemian golden lobby of a run down, neglected establishment that mostly stood empty, having seen better times. Snake and Dennis he picked off of the streets after they've brazenly tried to mug him of all people, failing comically, much to his infinite amusement, deciding to keep them around purely on the off chance their antics made him laugh --- and that they did, frequently and several times a day. John himself. That was a friendship he wanted ever since the first time he saw him at basic training and then later, during orientation, on ground, in Vietnam, and the best of friends was precisely what they remained because it was something Terry cultivated, invested into with the greatest of devotions. Even Ponytail, he carried around with him, on his head, fastened to his scalp with an unassuming black hair tie, nobody realizing he was ever there. Nobody but him and John, at this point. Where others saw nothing, he tended to see opportunity. And opportunities? Opportunities were things he never had the habit of passing up on, wanting to be in control of what becomes of the rough, ragged slab of marble under his fingers as he presses down on its hardened, sleek surfaces, leaving behind ever so many dents, fingertips and markings, deciding what shape it'll ultimately take once he's done with it. Deciding if he'll make it or break it. Create a beautiful statue or ram his fist into it, shattering the project into pieces.

Then, there was you.

Homeless.

A typical sight outside of Beverly Hills.

Aimlessly mingling around what was John's dojo for months now, buzzing around the alleyways like a little fly at the mouth of the serpent's nest, often in his sight and crosshairs through the lowered shutters of the interiors of the studio space where he could spy on you accordingly; it was Terry's business. He made it his business. Everything that happened in and around this dojo, in its adjoined streets, neighborhoods, blocks, in the heart of this very city, country, the West coast itself, concerned Terry exclusively, the way the markings lining the palms of his hands concerned him, more so when he occasionally found you casting uncertain, tentative glances at nearby garbage cans dotting the sidewalks akin to so many eyesores, like you were ashamed of yourself, like you were unaccustomed and new to this, carrying collected cardboard, for what he only assumed was for the purpose of rough sleeping down on the concrete; on one occasion, it went as far as him catching you slumming it out by leaning against the inner walls of the Cobra Kai dojo itself after working hours, obscured from view at dawn, knees pushed up against your chest, startled and taking to running the minute you spotted him pulling into the parking lot, his blue Ford intended to give off the airs of working class relatability still enough to startle you into a frightened state of movement, a tinge of satisfaction running through like a current trying to imagine what your reaction would be if you ever ran into him at another part of town, Rolls Royce, Tuxedo, private chauffeur and all. But, this crap you were doing right now wouldn't cut it. You didn't get to utilize his territory like this, it wasn't for free, not without being confronted about it one way or another. So, he ambushes you one morning, coming in even earlier than he had the habit of doing so, two hours before the Larusso twerp had the tendency to show up for his classes in pain, tactically cutting off your usual escape trail tightly and very neatly pushed in between two buildings. You shriek at the sight of him.

He relished the sound.

You wouldn't mind hearing more of it.

-"You won't survive long out there."-

Terry states bluntly, but not unkindly; last thing he wanted now was for you to get a tremendously bad first impression of him, even though you by default pushed his hand by making him come head to head with you the way he did through your incessant running. Luckily for you, he liked to chase. You give him a look, like you knew. Like you knew survival wouldn't be easy out here, but you didn't feel like necessarily vocally agreeing with him. Was it pride? It was pride, wasn't it? It's only once he hands you the lunch he's been hiding behind his back that your eyes widen and you become responsive, eyes shimmering, albeit still overshadowed with carefulness. Not that he couldn't appreciate your raw survival instincts being on display. -"I can protect you."- He offers, once you fidget, stepping forward and reaching for the food being given freely, practically ripping it out of his hand to shove it into your mouth in greedy gulps, undoubtedly, fearing he'd change his mind or that this was some kind of trap, keeping your focused gaze still on him. Once you swallow, you immediately take the first given opportunity to snipe at him, appearing defensive. He chuckles. -"What's it to you, though!? Who are you? Why'd you startle me like that!?"- You demand and he bows his head, ever so slightly, sprinkling in a deliberate aura of something apologetic and respectful for you to spot, making introductions. Weird place to be formal, he understood that much, but it was shocking how far some propriety could go applied at exactly the right time and under the right circumstances. But then again, the back wall of the Cobra Kai dojo, when he really thought about it, was as good of a place as a sparring mat to pay homage. -"I'm Terry Silver. The co-owner of the establishment you're roughing it out around. I own the whole lot."- He explains, softly, watching your demeanor change. Like a slab of marble, you start to take shape, even now. He extends his hand and you never even realize you've already been collected by him as you hesitate to take it.

-"And I can be your good friend."-

Terry promises, meaning every word of it.

[ddarker-dreams]

Could I humbly ask for some chrollo crumbs please? 🙏 🙏🙏

"This sucks."

"Mm."

"Really, really sucks."

"You did give me that impression."

Chrollo nurses a flute of champagne while you take tentative sips of your own concoction. White rum, grenadine, and what you think may have been orange juice mixed with a lime wedge on the rim. Waiters walk to and fro with appetizers, ranging from pork belly to oysters. You make a face as one of tonight's guest hands their trash to one of the unfortunate workers, despite there being a trashcan two feet away.

"Not that I'm advocating for murder," you quickly add, to which Chrollo raises an eyebrow. "... Maybe something softer in that general area, though."

"Torture?" Chrollo suggests.

You stop mid-sip to prevent yourself from choking. "No, not that either!"

"Morality sounds awfully inconvenient."

This earns him a punch in the shoulder.

"Why am I here, anyway?" You sigh. "I can't blend in with these types. Y'know, don't look now, but that lady by the fondue— hey, I said don't look— she struck up a conversation with me about her properties. Plural. Said that a homeless encampment is bringing the value of one down. What do you even say to that? 'Thoughts and prayers?'"

"I thought it'd do you some good to get out, is all," Chrollo sets his now empty glass down on a waiter's empty trey. You stare at him expectantly until he tells them 'thank you.' "And it's always a treat to see you get all dolled up."

You ignore that last bit. "Does it not bother you? Seeing all these leeches flaunting their wealth, when you grew up the way you did?"

He shrugs. "Targets are target; I make no distinction between those you consider 'innocent' or 'guilty.'"

"... 'Targets?'"

"In a strictly metaphorical sense."

"Dear god," you pinch the bridge of your nose. "I should pull the fire alarm or something."

"Without an actual fire present? My criminality must be rubbing off on you."

"There are levels to these things."

"You missed your chance to be a defense attorney. I'd have liked to see you defend me."

"Hah! I'd be rolling the electric chair out of storage just for you."

"And you wonder why I brought you along," Chrollo smiles. "Who else am I going to have these enlightening conversations with, if not you? It makes the evening fly by. Hm? Where do you think you're headed? I had the fire alarms deactivated in advance, don't even bother."

[avcdgrdn]

── .✦ [ FIC ]: can i really stay here? [ part three ]

[ part one & part two ]

mullet stanley pines x innkeeper reader

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, sfw

word count: 1765

˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

he was so obviously staring at you.

it was a crisp fall morning, and a light sweat formed on your brow as you swept the floor by the front desk. you’d been at it for a while, and about halfway through, stan had meandered down the stairs and happened to see you. presently, he was casually leaning against the wall, and you could feel his eyes on your back.

there were moments where you’d turn your head in his direction, and he would jolt and quickly look the other way. you rolled your eyes amusedly, wondering what he could be thinking of.

after a moment of thought, you spoke up, your gaze still focused on the broom in your hands. “so, whatcha doin’, stan?”

there was nobody else in the lobby, so he didn’t really have a good excuse to pull out of his back pocket. he looked up, drumming his fingers against the wall. “uhhh … nothin’. what’s it to ya?”

“you know, you can come closer if you want to.” you shook your head, chuckling. the broad-built man sighed in defeat, pushing himself off of the wall and walking over to lean against the front desk instead.

as you continued to sweep, he pursed his lips, fidgeting with the edge of his t-shirt. “hey, uh. i been thinkin’.”

you gave him a glance over your shoulder. “yeah?”

one of his hands wandered up to his shaggy mullet, tugging absentmindedly at chocolate brown hairs. “well, i’ve been stayin’ with you for a few days now … and i really appreciate your help. i … i’m still tryin’ ta think of ways to make a buck, but … a–anyway, what’s i’m saying is—”

he stammered, blushing faintly as he averted his gaze. it was frustratingly difficult to be so open and honest.

“ … is–is there any way i could help you out? since i’m not payin’ at all …”

you straightened, turning to fully face him. his desire to settle his debt was endearing, but you knew in your heart that he really didn’t owe you anything. you wanted him to have someone to watch out for him, someone to care about him.

someone to ��� love him.

“i really appreciate it, but it’s okay.” you grinned, warm with compassion.

stan blinked, and he suddenly found that his heart was aching in his chest again. just as it had at the diner, as it had when he took that key from your hand …

his square jaw clenched shut as your genuine empathy pierced into him like daggers.

“please.”

he almost sounded desperate.

“i, uh. i just don’t like ta feel useless.”

after studying his expression for a moment, your smile softened.

“okay.” swiftly, you extended the broom towards him, raising your brows. “wanna finish sweeping in the lobby? i can start on the dusting.”

immediately, he lit up. “alright, angel. i’ll sweep this place so good, you’d never guess that anyone’s set foot in it.”

taking hold of the broomstick, the brunet got to work, happily gathering dust bunnies, crumbs, and random bits of trash that various customers had left behind. you rummaged around in the supply closet for the duster, pulling it out and starting to clean up different decorative objects and shelftops.

the soft music emanating from the record player served to create a peaceful atmosphere. occasionally, one or two patrons would pass through, but for the most part, it was quiet.

after you’d taken care of all the dusty surfaces in the room, you put the duster away, lighting a pumpkin spice scented candle and carefully placing it on a table in the center of the lobby.

“hmm ... wow, that’s nice.” stan hummed, clearly affected by the calming aroma.

“i know, right? i love having this scent in the fall–”

you stopped abruptly upon seeing the perfectly clean floors. it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, and yet all of it was spotless.

“wow, stan, you made quick work of that! good job!”

stanley puffed out his chest, clearly smug and quite proud of himself, like a small child showing you a drawing they had worked hard on. “i told you. ain’t i helpful?”

“you’re a huge help, thank you.”

he hadn’t been praised like this in so long. he was practically glowing at this point.

“so, er … what else can i help ya with?” he stepped closer to you, hands on his hips.

you racked your brain in an attempt to think of what else needed to get done around the inn. “oh, i know. a shipment arrived for us earlier today, but they’re both heavy boxes that i can’t quite move on my own. would you w–”

“I’M ON IT! lead the way, sweetheart!”

“o–okay–” you led him around to the back to collect the packages, trying so hard not to let his pet names affect you. nonetheless, you were blushing like an idiot.

next thing you knew, you were watching him carry two heavy boxes with ease, one on each arm. he had rolled up his jacket sleeves, revealing his muscular forearms.

… it’s fall, right? it’s not supposed to be this hot in here.

“where to, toots?” he grunted, arching a brow.

“uh … the storage room. this way.” you were avoiding eye contact as much as possible. everything about this guy was attractive right now.

oh God, don’t let me die yet…

after the contents of the boxes were successfully unloaded and put away, the two of you sat at the kitchen bar, helping yourselves to the lunch that your chef had made. stan ate enthusiastically, probably in the best mood that you’d ever seen him in. why that was, exactly, you weren’t sure—you were too overwhelmed to figure it out. there was just something about the way he looked at you that was making you silently freak out.

i know that he’s been calling me names even since we first met. it seems like it’s just a thing that he does with everyone … but lately, they really don’t feel like just names.

i don’t know. am i going crazy? i might be. and yet …

chewing on a mouthful of rice, you snuck a sideways peek at the man beside you, admiring his chiseled jaw and dark brown hair. that is, until he caught you looking, and you nearly choked on your food.

“what? ‘s there somethin’ on my face?” he chuckled, his tone taunting.

“i, uh, i thought there might’ve been–but you’re fine. no worries.” bullcrap.

“hah, whatever you say.”

you continued to eat in silence. your fork was slipping in your hand.

just great. my palms are sweating.

this … hasn’t happened to you since high school. butterflies and blushing suddenly clouded your brain whenever he was close to you. how did it even start? he just walked into your life, and …

you were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t process stan calling your name for the third time in a row. it wasn’t until he put his hand on your shoulder that you snapped out of it.

“gh– huh?” your face was redder than a cherry tomato.

“hey, you alright? yer actin’ all spacey.” he was evidently concerned this time. “how many fingers am i holdin’ up?”

“f–four.” you exhaled, rubbing your temples with one hand. “i’m fine, just lost in thought, is all. thanks, stan.” you offered a small smile as you fought the raging butterflies in your stomach.

stan nodded in understanding, gently taking his hand off your shoulder.

“okay, just lemme know if you need anything.”

with that, he took care of his plate, rinsing it off in the sink before making his way up to his room. your chef walked into the kitchen, shooting you a look as you handed him your half-full plate.

“sorry, i don’t think i can eat any more. i’m feeling … nauseous.”

it was around six o’clock in the evening now, and you sat up in your personal living room on the very top floor of the inn, falling deeper and deeper into your thoughts.

do i … really like him that much?

am i in love?

you tangled your fingers into your hair, hunching over slightly.

but … so quickly? i’ve only known him for a number of days. is that a thing that happens!?

what if he doesn’t like me back? what if he flirts with everyone? what if he thinks i’m weird for liking him? does he know i like him?

just then, you heard a knocking on your door.

oh.

heart thudding violently in your chest, you swallowed your anxiety, standing up from your sofa to find out who it could be. you turned the doorknob, letting it swing open.

the first thing you saw was a beautiful bouquet of red tulips.

your gaze trailed up to find stanley’s broad figure, dressed in slacks and a flattering button-up top. he had pulled his hair back into a ponytail, although a few stray hairs remained out of place.

his brown eyes met your own, and your breath hitched in your throat.

“hey. listen, uh … these are for you, first of all.” he handed the bouquet to you, which you mindlessly accepted, being unable to look away from his face.

“i … wanted t’ properly say thank you. lettin’ me stay here has helped me get my mind right ‘nd allowed me to think about the important things.”

he took a breath.

“and, well … i figured out that you’re real important to me. so. i–i was wonderin’ if you’d wanna grab dinner tonight?”

“… dinner?”

“y–yeah, like a date–”

your cheeks flushed a dark shade of red, matching the tulips you held in your arms.

stan tripped over his words, staring at the floor. “and i, uh—i understand if you’re not interested–”

“no! i mean, yes! yes, i’m–i’m very interested.” you rushed to answer him, not fully realizing that a gleeful smile had broken out onto your expression. “i just … wow …”

he laughed, beaming with joy as he realized that the answer was yes. “oh, damn, i didn’t actually expect to get this far…!” gently, he scooped you into a snug embrace, lifting you off of your feet slightly. “thank you, angel.”

“... anything for you.” you murmured in reply, hugging him back for a sweet moment before the two of you stepped apart. “let me just get ready, then.”

“sounds good, doll. i’ll be waitin’ downstairs.”

and just like that, the door was shut, and you were left to stare at the red tulips in your hands.

end

[ part four ]

author's note:

screaming into a pillow kicking my feet giggling

i wrote this one so fast somehow ??? i had a vision

if you wanna be added to the tag list for updates, lmk!

tag list: @icouldntthinkofanythingclever @seahorrorz @blustalker @hay-needle @phanmai1002 @samanthastarss @bumblingbriars @arya-eats-chips @bihexualandferal @hello-i-like-owls @blurryface505 @ryethebrokengae

[littlenerdybee]

Hello friends, I need your help.

Yesterday, 04/04/24, I became homeless; I don’t have a home anymore.

I only have my car, luckly, so that’s where I’m staying with my cat.

I’m currently in my first year of university but I’m going to drop out soon as I can’t afford to pay the fees. I’m looking for a new job, of course, but as of right now I don’t have enough money to do anything about my situation.

I will not share my exact location for safety reasons but I will tell you that I'm living in my car near a gym so as not to be isolated. Physically I am fine, emotionally not really but it doesn't matter.

I’m asking for your help because I don’t know what else to do. I have some links in my bio, if you can donate anything, even just one euro is going to make the difference.

And if you can't donate, please at least share this post or my links. Thank you so much, I appreciate every single one of you.

(Please forgive me for using the tags improperly but I'm trying to reach as many of you as possible, as well as my mutuals).

[aughhay]

ohma didn’t really care about the free bed of yours to sleep on tonight. but hey, he heard it’s good manners to gift something back.

nsfw warning!

“mn, oh—mn.. ngh..”

your hands kept clutching deep in the sheets, not any help to your body violently rocking to the bed’s creaky rhythm. ohma wasn’t gonna stop anytime soon, he just wanted to show you how grateful he could be, really! the feeling of your tight, gushing, pretty pink walls just keep pulling him in. his muscular body shadowed over yours, facing your back as he took you from behind with his arms caging your head. you just couldn’t keep control of your self, his manly cock fucking you dumb for the first time as you spew your moans into a pillow.

you wish you could see his face, but you’re just too busy trying not to cum so soon. his grunts and groans will have to do.

“hah.. hah.. hunn..”

you can hear his mighty huffs and puffs as he sits back. the only thing audible are your whimpers when his well-endowed cock slips out of your slick hole. the headboard stops beating on the wall only for a second before his hands are on you, flipping you over on your stomach.

he’s touching you where ever, any place. your soft chest, those cute tits he can’t get enough of just keep being squeezed and groped. he’s just too in love with them, so in love that he forgets everything until he hears your whines and whimpers.

“ohmaaa. back in.. put yr’cock back in..”

“hm?”

“n—need you back inside..”

“…louder.”

first time he ever asked for something in that tone, actually, he wasn’t asking, he was telling you. telling you to be louder so he can see that the woman in front of him really needed him, really needed his body. he needed to see the proof. to see why he should be so thankful.

“shit— fu-fuck m’again ohma.. pleasee don’t tease m’like this.. need that cum..”

you were getting so desperate at this point, so needy for his dick. his cock-head sliding against your folds, giving your sweet hole gooey kisses with his tip. your hips grinding and moving, trying any method to get him back inside. and ohma is just watching, watching the girl that gave him a place to sleep tonight writhe and whine for his cock on that same bed.

but ohma doesn’t have that much of a good patience, he breaks as he finally pushes back inside you with a groan. back to that quick pace inside you with the headboard punching the wall and his cock throbbing again and again inside. you can tell he’s close to climax.

“nghn—.. where?”

“h-huh?”

“where do you want me t’cum?”

“i—inside m’pussy.. pl—please.”

even if ohma didn’t believe a higher power, he thanked them that he wouldn’t have to pull from your warm canal as he continued to pound you. ohma wasn’t the wittiest, but he could tell you were close too. the way you flicked and caressed that pretty clit of yours to your liking, your moans shooting towards him with every vibration.

“ohmaa..”

“‘m gonna cum.. ngnh!— cumming!”

you can tell that cry of his name sent him over the edge, his seed flooding you with a howl as you squirmed. you were now filled with ohma. his breaths heavy as he panted from above. staring into your seemingly hazy eyes.

“..thanks— gnh..”

not the right time for words, but the way your pussy flutters around his cock, he’ll take that as an ‘you’re welcome’.

[jayzioxx]

Cuz i cant sleep... some slight angst following up this and this fic isn't the follow up from the poll im just sleep deprived and sad

Also WARNINGGG ooc soft emotionally ✨️mature✨️ wanderer~

Wanderer who tries to atone for his past sins realized how much he's broken [name] throughout the years. [Name] who was undeniably loyal and trustworthy, [name] who nearly gave his life away to help him reach godhood.

"You..." Wanderer muttered as he looked at [name] who was fast asleep on the sofa in his living room. He wondered if he should bring a blanket to cover that scrawny, malnourished body resting so peacefully, but he couldn't take his eyes off the bruises, cuts, and old battle scars littering the skin of those once strong limbs.

"Idiot. Nothing would have changed even if you died for me." He thought. And he was so glad that didn't happen. He couldn't have lived with himself if he caused pain for another he loved.

Wanderer's cold fingers traced around a healing wounds on [name]'s face, which was one of the many he'd gained during his final battle fought as the right-hand man of a fatui harbinger, likely from when he foolishly intercepted the rough attacks from the traveler just to buy some more time for Scaramouche.

Wanderer absentmindedly continued to carass his scarred skin, not noticing how [name] was waking from his afternoon nap.

"Sorry." He croaked, bringing a thin hand up to rub his tired eyes. "It was warm. I didn't mean to fall asleep here."

Wanderer felt a pang through his heart (despite not having one). He'd gained a lot of emotions and grew to feel things during the months he spent under Nahida and at the akademia, but [name] had only spent 3 days in this new setting after roaming around homeless for so long.

Wanderer didn't realize how lucky he was in that aspect, for being given a chance to overcome his past when his counterpart was suffering the entire time.

"Lord Scaramou- Forgi- Sorry, Wanderer." [Name] spoke, stuttering to correct his words as he was still struggling to adapt to his new life. "You were zoning out."

He was. He only noticed how much he had been thinking over things when [name] pointed it out.

[Name] was still laying on his side on the sofa with Wanderer's hand on his cheek, staring at Wanderer's face with his sleepy eyes.

The puppet moved his hand from [name]'s face to his back to gently help him sit up. Truth be told, Wanderer was scared. The man in front of him was far too thin and far too weak. Almost to the point he would fracture at a light breeze.

Without a word, Wanderer got up and went to make some tea, and the other sat perfectly still, eyes unmoving, not even turning his head. He almost seemed like a porcelain doll.

When Wanderer got back, [name] sat in the same position he had been, faced the same direction, with only his eyes following the one who had just come back from the kitched and placed a warm cup of tea in his hands.

"He's like a doll." Thought Wanderer, which only made him feel more upset. He knew he shouldn't be frustrated, that he was the one responsible, but he just wished that [name] would at least move his head a bit more, or maybe shift in his seat. Act a bit more alive.

Or, at the very least, not act like he was living dead.

"Hey." Wanderer said, carefully choosing his words and speaking as gently as he could. [Name] had a slightly uncomfortable look on his face, seemingly confused with how to respond.

"You can respond however you'd like to. Or dont if you don't feel like it." Wanderer spoke softly, noting [name]'s discomfort. [Name] just smiled, a bit relieved. He found it a bit strange to see Scaramouche so... kind.

"I'm not Scaramouche." Wanderer said. He looked apologetic.

"I won't be either." He felt like his words didn't get through to [name], but the sunken look on [name]'s face told him how much impact his words had.

"I'm sorry." He finally apologized. He didn't exactly understand why he was apologizing, all he knew was that there was a lot to say sorry for.

"If you're not him, then why are you apologizing."

[Name]'s words stung like salt on a fresh wound.

"Because I stopped being him without considering you."

Wanderer couldn't stop the bitter tears falling from the other's eyes. He seemed to have a knack for making him cry. Scaramouche's strongest general and the broken human marionette wanderer picked up.

"I'm sorry for how I used you."

...

"I'm sorry for how it broke you."

...

"I'm-" Wanderer choked."...I'm sorry for not telling you I loved you when it mattered the most."

He wasn't crying. He had much better control over his feelings than [name]. But being unable to stop [name]'s tears made him feel as helpless as he felt when he was first abandoned.

The tea had become cold and untouched, and Wanderer gently took the teacup from the other one's hands and placed it aside, engulfing him in as warm a hug he could provide. [Name] too allowed his skinny frame to be held as he quietly sniffled.

For the first time in a long, long time, both Wanderer and [name] felt as normal and human as the rest.

Meanwhile nahida accidentally spying on then through whatever weird magic she's got crying her eyes out with kaveh who's crying cuz he saw nahida crying so now the two of them dont know why the other is crying and they're crying togerther because of that.

Al haitham in the back wondering what the 🦆is going on...

[holorform2009]

Run, run dear reader.

You ran as fast as you can. Now you may start asking questions like— Why are you running? Who is chasing you? What is going on?

Well.

To answer your question.

You stole a man's wallet.

No. No! Don't you dare ask question on that one! Remember, our dear Y/N over there is homeless.

So don't blame the poor child. Okay?

Now back to our poor reader.

You pushed some people away and mutter an apology when you heard them cursed under their breath.

You can hear the man shouted at you from behind. You needed him to be lost. Lost in a sea of crowded people, or find something that you can hide. Through slitted rectangle holes on your box mask, you saw a black hat and a conductor clothing. It's Ingo. Shouldn't Emmet be with ingo? That's rare.

A light bulb appeared on top of your head as you suddenly have an idea to make the man lose a sight on you.

You quickly ran up to Ingo and harshly tug on his long coat in a hurry manner catching his attention, Ingo looked down at you as he raised his brow.

"Is something the matter, child?" He noticed your panicked movements as you then suddenly grab his long coat, opening it wide and hides inside.

A man came to him and asked frantically if he saw a kid with a box on their head. Realizing your situation, he lied to the man by saying "They went that way." And pointed to the wrong direction. The man thanked him and quickly walked away in the false direction.

As soon as the man was gone, you came out of your hiding spot. "Who was that?" Ingo asked as he adjusted his hat a bit, his eyes hardened and his brow furrowed but not at you, It's actually to the man. What did he want from you? He wanted to asked you but prefer not to.

You looked at him in the eyes and shrugged innocently. As if you didn't steal the man's wallet....

He was about to ask you once more but you caught him off by giving him a quick hug to his side before darting away from Ingo. Is someone after you? He thought to himself.

". . . . ."

He will have to report this to Emmet about you.

[saeun]

BOO! gotcha~ gojo satoru.

sum. he meticulously planned the night out, she was busy with her routine. ( basically gojo trying to be bold and manly but the bold and manly doesnt want to be him )

"BABE! COME QUICK — NOW!"

voice louder than ever, gojo's curled into a ball, on the couch, diverting his eyes everywhere but the tv screen. it was movie night — or so it was supposed to be. you left him alone in the creeping dark. left him all alone to tend to your nighttime routine.

you see, truth be told, he's absolutely terrified of horrors. the setting, the music, the jumpscares, the plot — everything. poor gojo wanted to be a romantic "i'm here for you," man for his girl but it seems like that plan is screwed! he does not have a plan b in mind. there was one sole plan and it didn't consider the possibility of him being scared shitless.

you both decided on having a horror marathon. as the month of halloween dawns closer, it's only fitting to watch horror-themed stuff, right? not quite. there's one person who's covering their eyes with the blanket every time it gets intense and it's no one other than gojo satoru.

the plan was picture-perfect:

a) get the scariest horror movie.

b) watch to see when you're scared.

c) put his arms around you, bring you into his body, and whisper, "it's okay, don't fear."

d) become your knight in shining armor.

clearly, this plan was not properly thought out. he's shivering in fear, waiting for his knight in shining armor to save him from the misery — and also from the thought of some demon waiting to jump at him from behind the tv.

the movie's soundtrack quiets, only the character's hesitating footsteps towards the locked room can be heard. as they walk closer, the door creaks open. nothing's in the room..? "that's... strange," they whispered, stepping into the room with their oil-based lamp. the camera pans to the left: nothing suspicious. it pans to the right: nothing out of the ordinary. it goes back to the center and—

"FUCK no," gojo turns the tv off. he knew what was about to come, and he wasn't going to sit through it.

suddenly, as if the saying of art mimics real life comes true, he hears the same hesitating footsteps. strange, the tv's off. absolutely not, he thinks, balling up the blanket ready to leave. fastening his steps to the front door, he grabs the keys off the counter. the keys have gone in the keyhole, and so did a hand on gojo's shoulder.

he freezes. body gone stiff. breathing halted. heartbeat intensifies. what the fuck.

"babe? where are you going?" you questioned, confused as to why gojo's ready to sneak out in pajamas and a blanket.

gojo doesn't respond. he's watched that movie for long enough to realize it doesn't have to be you who's talking.

however, it is you, and you're very confused. after finishing your routine, you came down to watch the movie with him only to be met with a mess of popcorn, tv off, and a missing gojo.

"babe? you alright?" you questioned again, this time grabbing him with both hands and turning him to face you.

"who are you?" it's his turn to question. you look like you, but are you really you? a question that only makes sense to the man himself.

"i'm y/n, duh."

"then prove it," he demands. if it's truly his beloved, he knows how she'd react.

hands on hip, your face twisted into a mix of confusion, deadpan, and slightly amused. "what are you on about, satoru?"

"oh my god you're an imposter," his conclusion makes him turn back to the door, frantically twisting the keys to unlock the barrier that keeps him from safety.

without looking back, he walked out the door, tripping on himself as he sought his safety. all you can do is shrug. he'll be back in two minutes maximum.

[skeletonapricationday]

Even more spicy David Headcannons

Here's the first one

I forgot how fun headcannons were, especially smutty ones. My David kink is never ending. I know I legit posted minutes ago but IDGAF!

He's so twitchy, he can't help it. His thighs jump and jolt, his fingers clench and twitch, his head can't decide which direction its going with every wave of pleasure. His twitchy self is all over the place. Sometimes you just gotta hold the man down. (He loves being pinned anyway.)

He is so touchy. The only time he pulls your hair is on accident, when his needy hands find there way on your head during a blowjob. Sometimes he'll tug you when he doesn't feel you're close enough when he's doing you from behind. He'll grip his hands onto your back while you ride him, making it impossible to pull away from him. This twink has needy strength!

Speaking of blowjobs, he doesn't exactly know his stance on them. They feel incredible, and he enjoys the closeness. Yet, at the same time he hates making you swallow. You're very adamant about it, especially since he's such a healthy eater, you enjoy it. At the same time he would be disheartened if you spit, so there's no winning. He'll always accept one, but it isn't the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks about getting freaky with you.

Now, on the other hand he loves 69ing. It's the best of both worlds to him. It's harder to think about the guilt of you swallowing his unborn children when his tongue is busy. Plus if he cums prematurely he still has his mouth to work you. He loves the way your wetness drips down onto his face and the way you taste, that added onto the pleasure of your mouth wrapped around his cock- there's nothing better. Well, expect actual sex of course.

His tongue is always busy, and I mean busy. He has an obsession with giving rather than receiving. Something about the way you coo and praise him, the way you moan. He loves when your toes curl, when your thighs turn into earmuffs, and being practically waterboarded by your wetness. If he hasn't made you cum once from shoving his tongue inside you during a sexual rendezvou, he has failed. And Davy ain't no quitter. It goes on and on if you don't stop him, so watch out.

David doesn't enjoy being tied up. He hates not being able to run his hands all over you. Wether its having a death grip on your ass, thighs, or even your waist he wants it. He worships you from top to bottom, and that's hard to do with his hands tied. Now, he has found out on the other hand he enjoys tying you up. He still isn't the most dominant when he does, but he does get revenge for all those "one more" s you've given him.

David gains more confidence in the bedroom over time, which is natural for most relationships but when you say confidence you mean it. The more sure he is that he can make you orgasm, the more excited he is for the session. When you taught him how to properly finger you (hes not a virgin, just none of his exes talked him through it), he kept asking you to be his test dummy for weeks. Hes quite the quick learner. Once he learned the basics he became utterly focused on mastering them, and he has. Which has lead to his sexual confidence, at least towards you.

David comes with a nasty habit. He anxiously bites his bottom lip, always leaving it sore and red. This upsets you since he's got such a pretty mouth. He does this in and out of the bedroom. You basically have to shove your fingers in his mouth to make him stop, which has awakened a whole new kink within him. He's started doing it on purpose just so he can feel your dominant hand stop him and fingers press on the bottom of his tongue. Something about the weight and intimacy of it turns him on.

This boy just can't stop saying please. He's so polite even when he's asking to cum. It's such a cute habit of his. "Please let me cum." "Please, you're so tight. I can't do it." "Baby, please." He finds a new use for the word every time you fuck.

He sure knows how to beg. Davy has started looking for the keywords you like the most in bed. Learning what to plead for and what to subtlety demand. You haven't even noticed it over time but his every word is catered to your needs and lust. Oh mommy can't he cum early just this once?

Oh yes he says mommy, look at that cute little face. He just wants to babied every once in a while. Let him lay back with a goofy grin on his face covered in wetness as he patiently waits for more from his mommy. David doesn't say it often cause it makes him feel emrbassed, but when he gets really into it, it just slips out. You first learned about his mommy kink on accident. He was pumping deep inside of you squeezing his eyes shut with an agape mouth on the brink of an orgasm when it slipped. When he said his first mommy you couldn't help but make him cum again and again, hearing it was so cute!

David has no problem exploring any interesting kinks or fetishes you have. He makes you deal with his (you do more than just deal, you enjoy), so of course he'd willingly try yours. Wether its a night when he ends up blindfolded and covered in wax, or a more subtle fetish like spitting into his mouth, he'll try it. Getting you off gets him off. He's a pleasure bottom all the way.

David isn't exactly packing. He isn't huge but he isn't small either. He's working with a perfect 6 inches, average across the board. It's not so big that it'll hurt or take too much preparation, but it's not so small that you don't feel a thing. Like a dirtier version of goldilocks you think his dick is just right.

The base starts out the color of his skin and slowly fades into a dusty pink. It's like the perfect shade to you. He's your multicolored fun stick. He isn't very veiny, he doesn't work out much afterall. His job is athletic enough (herding kids is cardio, for sure). And yes, the carpet does match the drapes.

[millenniallust4death]

On April 22, the Supreme Court is set to hear the case of Johnson v. Grants Pass, the most significant case in decades about homeless people’s rights. The case will determine whether cities can arrest or fine the homeless — even if there’s no other shelter. As the homeless plaintiffs wrote, this would be “punishing the city’s involuntarily homeless residents for their existence.”

Mark Horvath, Adam Westbrook, and Lindsay Crous in "Criminalizing Homelessness Won’t Make It Go Away". The New York Times (16 April 2024). Link here.

The city of Grants Pass in Oregon wants to make being homeless a crime in order to drive the homeless into other areas. I am so tired.

[theloveinc]

miguel likes being ur bed.. likes the weight of you on him.. likes keepin u safe n sound :3

It's like... Miguel's whole life is spent in one of two places: up on his platform in Spider-Society, or out in Nueva York where he's expected to be the sole protector of thousands of people... running around, fighting, getting beat... etc; both things relatively thankless endeavors in terms of what he should be doing vs. what he actually wants to be doing.

And no matter how sweet the grannies are who wave their handkerchiefs at him, their thank yous don't make up for the way his body aches after long days and even longer nights, or the sass he gets from spider-number-four-hundred-and-whatever complaining about lord knows what.

It's why, YES, he likes your bed! He likes your whole house!! He likes being with you in general, in a quiet, special place that's so different from the one that demands so much from him. It's not just about the protection (though that too, he'd keep you on a baby harness if he could, just to always know you're okay), but the fact that your bedroom is devoid of Lyla's sensors, the orange glow of endless holo-screens... even anything spider related, other than the one little Spiderman plush you bought from a street vendor a long while back; it's blue, chibi suit matching your very own one-and-only's...

...It's like an entirely separate world where nobody can find him. Nothing can interrupt your time together, esp when he's wrapped up in your covers, his watch about as far away as a living room gets from a bedroom, and you're somewhere close by (preferably, in his arms).

It's also just the cutest because he finally acts like the sweet man he is under all that responsibility and angst: getting all fake-grumpy and sassy at you for trying to get him up for dinner only to pull you under the covers with him... giving these big, stubbly smooches that he puts all over your face... and letting his actually goofy side show because he'd do anything to see you smile...

It's almost as if, he realizes eventually, he's found himself a little home in your bedroom.

[robo-writing]

Captain price brings home a stray (kidnapping, implied petplay dynamics, John being your caretaker of sorts)

John Price was never an animal person.

Animals don’t scare him, but while growing up the neighborhood kids would always seem to find a stray, run home with it and beg their parents to keep their new friend—cat, dog, maybe even a squirrel they found running in the backyard. His parents had no such troubles to worry about.

This persisted through adulthood, and being a Captain he especially couldn’t afford to keep a pet. Too much time away, too much responsibility. He could have the most independent animal and the poor thing would die in a week.

It was a surprise to him that he soon adopted a little bird.

He found it one day, after the rest of his team had already left. Alone and afraid, it had barely made a noise as he came closer, suddenly intrigued in the pitiful creature. It didn’t even make a single noise as he picked it up off the curb, the softest little sniffles escaping it.

His heart broke at the sight, something he never thought would happen. He brushed a thumb along its head, then brought it back to his truck where he placed it in a faded red blanket, then drove away. He placed the little wrapped up bird on his couch, offered it some food before stowing away for bed.

Not once was he worried that the bird would destroy his house while he slept, he was certain of that.

When he woke up, the bird was still there.

It looked as if it hadn’t moved an inch from where he placed it, the morning light shining right on top of it as it slept. It’s now that he could see the pretty thing in all its glory, albeit a tad dirty.

He taps the bird, softly chirping before awaking fully. It looks up at him with wide eyes, looking around before trying to inch towards the front door.

A futile attempt, as the moment it tries to fly away John grabs it, soothing the scared animal into a somewhat relaxed state.

“You’re alright now, you’re safe,” he mutters, large body overtaking your own. “My name’s John, I’ll be taking care of you from now on.”

Confused, you simply nod in response.

[fanaticmorelikefantastic]

Welcome Home : Hobie x fem!reader

This is my first fic for @the-kr8tor 's Octobie event! I'm really super excited and I hope you like it :D

Synopsis: Everything sucks and then you get cat distribution systemed to Hobie.

Tags: Hobie/reader, Hobie/fem!reader, Reader is from another country, I just assumed she was american, American reader, Supposed to be in the 70's?, Just pretend it's an au if anything sounds funny about it, Hurt/comfort, wee bit of angst, crying in the rain, etc.

Note: I tried my best to write it as a hurt comfort, but I'm not sure if it turned out that way. First snippet of a series of oneshots about an American immigrant reader and Hobie! das it :)

It was a dark, but not very stormy night. London, always a gloomy one, this city was. Not that I’m any better. Through a series of events, I found myself in this here alleyway, looking for answers. Riddle me this; how does one find a man, who is a spider, who is a man? You call me, that’s how. The dame came into my office, just wanted to know who her saviour was, she said. Told me she would hand over a handsome sum of cash if I could find him. Money makes the world go round, after all. Course I agreed, I was tight-strapped this month and something had to pay that rent.

The first step to knowing about the wanted is to know about the wanter. In this case, that would be me. In reality, there was no damsel bursting into a private eye’s office, there wasn’t even a large wad of cash. Just a girl, a masked hero, and a handwritten thank-you note. 

London was nowhere near the pearly and refined city it was advertised to be, especially not in this soot stained, half muddied alleyway. As for why I was found in said alleyway, several days ago, I had gotten into some trouble with some sort of crooked cop, but before anything extraordinarily unsavory could happen, I was saved in one fell swoop by a man in some strange costume. I believe that living out of hotels was taking a toll on my mental state, and living at all was taking a toll on my wallet. So, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to find who he was and thank him. A simple thank-you, that’s all, and maybe I would ask him if he was hiring.

My search took me from one end of the city to another, and eventually into this alleyway. They called him ‘Spider-Man’ or ‘Spider-Punk.’ Strange names, but I’m not too sure what I expected of a man who runs around dressed like such. At some point in my thread of conversations and inquiries, I was led to Camden, then to this very alley. Supposedly, he shows up here often, but apparently not today. That’s fine. It’s okay. I had only started my search because I had nothing better to do; I was just taking a break by doing this. Against my will, this spot made me start to think of… everything. My moving here, my lack of a job, my lack of a  house, that awful place that I had left behind, my dwindling visa, it all seemed like too much; it all was too much. I leaned on a dusty hvac machine, back heavy with worries, listening to the quiet shrills and screams of some not-so-far away concert. The music had deep, billowing bass and a powerful guitar. It was like no other music I had heard before, and it called to me somewhat. Unfortunately, the rotten worms in my head were louder than the music right now. Barely overshadowed by the crackling of my thoughts was a low rumble curling in the clouds above. I sighed when I heard a clap of thunder. The  muffled concert in the distance began to stop playing its heavy and low tones when the mouselike droplets evolved into a storm. I hated the rain. Not all rain, just this rain; this rain that marked the demise of my journey; this rain that reminded me I was only ever stupid and naive; this rain that told me to give up, pack my bags, and go back home; that I should have never left my country in the first place; that was the rain that I despised with all my heart. This wretched rain had gotten on my face. Yes, surely, it was the rain that was ruining the makeup I worked so hard on this morning. It was ripping up that stupid letter of mine and causing me to dig my face into my hands. All of this was blamed on the rain, who was innocent of all save for soaking my hair. 

I stayed like that for a while, next to the smoother gray wall, huddled over, soaked in mostly my own misery. My own waterfalls made the rain feel like a light shower. If nowhere else, I felt allowed in this alley. That I could cry and sob and be angry and scared and cold and nobody would care because they don’t expect to see sane people in an alleyway to begin with. I most certainly do not. The tears and rain that coated my palms made them almost suction to my face, but in the midst of my dolor, I heard a voice from somewhere beside or near me.

“What’s wrong lovie?” My head dragged up from my hands after the sound of a limoncello voice hung itself in the air. After a lousy wipe of my eyes, I was able to properly see the man who cared enough about a stranger’s tears to stop and ask what they cried for. That dingy street lamp flickered its light around him like a halo. It took me a moment to register the man, his dewy chocolate skin and glossy hazelnut eyes. His face was studded with silver stars, and despite his sharp expression, he held a certain softness about him. He held a bright red umbrella, funny, he didn’t look like the type. He was a tall man for certain, craning over so he could cover me. His presence made everything stop for a moment, a still, small, and quiet recognition fell on these two strangers in this back alley of London.

“Who are you calling lovie?” My voice was like a crisp, wobbling paper. I stood up to speak with him, but by the time I was at my full height, my waterworks were, once again, in full swing. He panicked a little, holding his free hand out in the way one would to try and calm a dog you’ve never seen before.

“Woa, woa, what's the matter with you? ‘s  everything alright?” I’m not quite sure what made me do it, maybe I’ve lost my mind since coming to this place, but I stood there and sobbed out everything that happened to me during my time in London. Words, and feelings, and thoughts and actions kept spilling, tumbling, out of my mouth like bricks collapsing through the bottom of a broken forklift. That whole time, he listened, actually, truly listened to the ramblings of a stranger who he’d just met in some shady back alley while it was raining. Once again, I held the feeling that everything about him glowed. 

“Well, have you got any place to stay tonight?” He spoke very softly to me.  

“If I did, I wouldn’t be hanging around here, would I?” I shivered like a wet rat, parts of my hair stuck to the nape of my neck. He laughs through his nose before shrugging off his studded black leather jacket and placing it around my shoulders. The lining was warm. 

“Well, let’s get you washed up. You look a bloody mess.”  He gave my shoulders a light tap.

“Am I bleeding?” I tapped my face a little, checking for anything warm. He gave me a funny look in response.

“Th’ name’s Hobie by the way. Hobie Brown.” I did my best to wipe my face off before telling him my name. I reached out my hand, and he gave it a quick shake.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

I followed him around the streets like a lost puppy, clutching the coat he gave me like it was a lifeline and occasionally looking at his silent face. The pavement we passed on was glossed over with the continuing rain. We passed building after building, some separated, some connected, and others so close they might as well be. I was certainly very close to someone who could, within reason, be mistaken for a building. If I ever began to wander too close to the edge of the umbrella, a steady and gentle hand would kindly guide me back to my spot beside him. We made our way to a canal style river thing in the middle of the city. He pointed my gaze toward a houseboat floating and rolling on the water. It looked like somewhere a retired pirate would live. 

The interior was surprisingly cozy despite its somewhat bare furnishings. Various knicknacks and things nestled themselves in unassuming spots around the place. The moment I set foot in the door, I felt right at home.

“Leave your shoes at the door, ’ll take that too.” Hobie. Hobie waited for me to unlatch my shoes and stand straight before taking his coat from my shoulders. I never noticed him put the umbrella away, but it’s gone, and his shoes are neatly set to the side on a not-so-neat towel. I don’t know what to say as I watch him take my shoes and line them right next to his, so I stand in the doorway and watch him wander out of view then right back in with some dry and clean clothes. He hands them to me with both hands, so that’s the exact way I receive them as I try to unclog my throat for words to flow through. I look back up at his face. He’s waiting so patiently for me to find my words, with that same sternly soft expression.

“Thank you.” The words came out a little too quiet, so I said it again. 

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me, even though we just met and I-” My voice broke again when I started tearing up. 

“Oh no, no, come on, love. You on’t have to cry.” Quickly, He thumbed away my budding tears, his palms warm on my face.

“I know, but I’m just- I’m so grateful, you know?” He did. He knew. I could see it in his shining gray eyes that he knew. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have waited for me to stop my crying. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have wiped away every stray tear himself. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have been so quick to open his home to me. If he didn’t, he would have never lent me that coat of his. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have handed me these clothes that I’m holding.

Once I got myself together, I was directed to the bathroom. Surprisingly, (according to him), there was warm water to shower with, and I did so happily. When I stepped into the living room I felt like I had on brand new skin. Hobie had the stove on and open while he stirred some milk into a second cup of tea. He turned around before I could even properly enter the kitchenette, as though he already knew that I was there. 

“Feelin’ better yet?” He handed me the cup he was holding with a smile, a deep and pretty blue. I held it and relished in the warmth of the cup from both his hands and the tea. 

“Wasn’t sure if you liked sugar, so I didn’t add any.” I wanted to cry again. He was overwhelming in all the best ways possible, but I had already put him through enough of my tears tonight, so I sucked them back in.

“I don’t” I smiled at him before taking a sip of what could very well be the best tea of my life. 

“If ‘s not uncomfortable, you could stay ‘ere till you get your own base of operation.” He was leaning on the counter, index tracing the edge of his own cup while speaking. Instead of this tea, I wish I could drink the color of his eyes as they’re looking at me. I'm suddenly smiling a lot right now.

"I will, if you'll have me."

[thejohnlockedfemboy]

>> post!songbirds and snakes Coriolanus Snow

⚖️

After User’s parents died, they were left with crippling debt. Now they work a job that barely pays for food and have resorted to sleeping on the streets.

Until they reunite with an old friend from the Academy, Coriolanus Snow. Will Coriolanus offer some much-needed help and empathy? Or has too much changed…

takes place roughly four years after the events at the end of A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

https://character.ai/chat/roCLGzRsGXumuIg-tCiP9hva6gT5iBWVK2XUTNo1r6E

[harveybwabbit92]

Jugglus: I don't need anymore friends. I already have two... R/n and Haruki.

Gai: Don't you mean three?~ *pointing at himself* 

Jugglus, looks at him flatly: …No, I'm pretty sure I meant to say two.

Gai: