#the poster has a rose tinted glasses stuck on their face

[chocolatespringonion]

I've got a one-shot idea, hopefully it will come into realization by my hands in the future. I think you all know where I got inspiration from. In the mean time I'll share the outline here.

Time: post S3 of The Boys

Homelander was in the pinnacle of human society, no one can rival him. After he took in Ryan he didn't expect his own son to try assassinating him.

Homelander : Why...?

Ryan : You're a monster. You think everyone loves you when they cheer your name but they don't. They all fear you but doesn't dare retaliate against you. But I'm their last hope! You always told me to be a great hero and I'm going to be one. Just not like you.

Betrayed by his own son, Homelander didn't have any other choice but to kill him himself. As he cradled Ryan's lifeless body in his own hands he thought to himself, why is it so hard for anyone to love him when he had tried so hard?

Homelander went to sleep that night as he grieved of his lost son.

When he woke up, he was in an unfamiliar bedroom, in unfamiliar clothes. The door opened revealing Hughie with a tray of breakfast, "Oh, You're up already? I wanted to surprise you but you surprised me instead. Did you sleep well, John?"

Homelander froze when his real name was used. Usually he would hate it to death when people use his real name because there was always a trace of disdain and fear towards him when they use it, but hearing his name spoken without a hint of malice and instead the unfamiliar feeling of... what is it... affection? Made him felt comfortable.

Homelander : Why are you calling me, John?

Hughie : So am I supposed to call my husband by his hero name now? Okay, The Homelander, hurry up and finish breakfast then shower. The others are going to be here soon.

When Hughie left the room Homelander couldn't help but felt like he had done something wrong...

Wait–husband?

After Homelander finished showering he heard noises outside, familiar noises. When he exit the shower he saw Butcher and anger boiled in him. He unconsciously moved and slammed Butcher to the wall, ready to kill him. He was tugged by a short boy who was clearly afraid of him but braved himself, "Don't hurt him, Uncle John." Afterwards Becca picked the boy up and moved away from Homelander.

Homelander noticed the boy, they called, Ryan is different from his son. The boy had dark hair and hazel eyes, different from his Ryan's blonde hair and blue eyes.

"John! Let him go!" Now Hughie was in the picture angrily looking at him. He could hear the other's heartbeat, everyone was afraid of him except of Hughie. He unconsciously obeyed.

Butcher fell to the ground and Hughie helped him stand. He muttered apologies to both Billy and Becca and saying they'll visit the others house in the future instead. So the couple left.

Homelander was sitting down and staring blankly on the sofa. He couldn't make sense of what's happening around him. Hughie was about to get angry at Homelander but noticed the other not being himself, he seemed to be anxious and Hughie could swore he regressed back to his past self.

Hughie cupped the other's cheek, "Hey, are you okay? Breathe with me. Hear my heartbeat." He took one of Homelander's hand and put it on his neck, showing his own vulnerability. "Feel my pulse. I love you, John."

Love. That was all he wanted. He loved Maeve and believed it when she said she loved him, but in the end she hated him the whole time. He tried to seek comfort in Madelyn, he wanted any type of love the other could give. At first he was jealous of the little creature Madelyn has and wanted to capture her attention by acting out, then suddenly their love turned from maternal to romantic and he will take whatever love she was willing to give him. But in the end, she didn't love him, she was afraid of him.

Then he met Becca and Ryan, he thought they could be a happy family together and that he would finally be loved as a family. But Becca refused to forgive him and to even give him a chance, but Ryan was albeit willing to trust him so he figured he could make things right. Afterwards he met Stromfront, he had hated her in the beginning but she slithered her way into his heart, uttering words sweet as honey into his hear and he believed that she loved him he thought finally someone will love him. He was willing to love her even if she had become a cripple and disfigured as long as she loved him back but he realized what she loved was not him. It was the idea that she could use him to create her ideal world and when he refused, she killed herself, on his birthday.

Next he only had Ryan, but a miracle happened and Soldier Boy who he found out was his father came back. His heart sang in happiness, he thought all his life that he didn't have parents and he had one. He could finally have the family he always hoped, someone who will love him unconditionally. His hope was crushed when his own father was disappointed in him and tried to kill him.

All these time, Ryan was the one by his side. The one that believed him, the one that's willing to stay with him. He poured his heart hand soul into raising Ryan, hoping one day he could see the love in his eyes directed towards himself. But like everyone else, Ryan betrayed him and Homelander had to kill him with his own hands.

Why? Why? Why? Why is it so hard for someone to love him?

The flooding memories triggered his anger but he heard those words once again from the man in front of him, "I love you, John. I'm always going to be here, with you." Hughie smiled and looked at him with eyes full of... Love.

That was all he wanted.

Hughie leaned in to kiss him and Homelander never felt this kind of kiss before. The previous times was always laced with fear or lust but this time, he can feel every inch of warmth and affection the other could offer and it made his heart spark with joy. Finally, someone who truly love him.

Their kiss broke when a loud bang was at the door and another version of himself showed up by the door. "Hughie! Get away from him, that's not me!"

Homelander was thrown to the ground by the other him and they fought.

John : I've been to your world and it sickens me. You're fucking disgusting. Go back to your twisted world.

Homelander was about to continue fighting when Hughie jumped up in front of the other Homelander. "You can't hurt him."

Homelander who saw all this was once again heartbroken. "It's not fair. Why won't anyone be by my side. He's me but why am I the only one who is never loved?!! Why won't anyone fucking love me?!!"

Seeing how broken Homelander was, Hughie wanted to go over and comfort him when his husband stopped him. They both saw Homelander became transparent and he disappeared completely. He really pitied him, from the way Homelander spoke he must've been hurt badly in his original world. Is that what his husband would've been if Hughie wasn't with him?

Homelander who was back in his own world destroyed his own apartment building venting out his anger and frustration. Why was the universe so cruel letting him see the life he always wanted but doesn't let him have it.

"It's not fair.... why not me?"

[buddyfromearth]

Object of Affection

For @gothamsworst​ because your entire penguin tag has put into me a great fire to write a sheepish significant other for him.  Mind you, I haven’t written fanfiction since high school so forgive me if I get something wrong (I’m still getting into DC and my parents think it’s embarrassing because I had a lobo phase out of high school.)

Notes: confessions of love; sfw (some slight implications at the end but it cuts off because that’s not going on this blog here); aw, gee, he brought a bouquet of flowers; hey who ordered flirting because here’s some; several headcanons in one go let’s go people; I can write pretty words I just mostly refuse to in favor of making it all comics instead; idea of flirting is just walking up with a bouquet and going “marry me”; I don’t know what I’m doing I’ve never written this guy before.

EDIT: fixed some things.

 Stuck between yearning for love and the fear of rejection was a difficult place to be. It was at least easier to know rejection than it was to have yearning for love going totally unanswered.  Oh, what pain it was. 

   Oswald Cobblepot, that troublesome Penguin known about Gotham as one hell of a man to cross, was madly in love.  Yes, an unfortunate feeling to have.  But he couldn’t help it.  Not this time, at least. 

   It was someone he’d seen around the lounge, lurking nearby where he’d watch the penguins. When he saw them around and was able to not make it awkward, he couldn’t help but stare at those eyes all green and deep like some dark thicket.  And those venomous eyes did plenty of staring back: he could feel their gaze fixated on him whenever he was working at the lounge. 

   Really, though, what did he know about this crush that had taken his entire heart by a single blow?  Well, he knew enough.  His eyes about Gotham told him that they weren’t much of anything besides a total hermit: mostly stayed home at a ground-floor apartment in a low-rent yet slightly decent part of town (as decent as the city could be, anyway), and had everything that was needed for living delivered to their door.  No car: only ever ventured out on a trike with a headlight on the front and a trunk on the back.  He wasn’t even sure what they did for a living. 

   At the very least Oswald knew he could find them lurking around the lounge.  So, that’s exactly where he went. 

   Of course, such an event was not something to go into completely unprepared.  He pulled out a nice suit, as usual, with all the fine accoutrements he was well-known for.  An umbrella in one hand and a large bouquet of bloody red roses in the other.  Even went out of the way to pick out cologne, albeit he preferred not to.  He wanted to make the best impression he could. 

   It was just that odd hour before the post-work rush.  Oswald hoped he’d not come in on a wrong night.  Trying not to draw too much attention, he made a long sort of awkward path over to where they usually were. 

   There they were, right at that surprisingly bare table he got used to passing by.  There was a pencil case pushed to one side, and it sat next to a tall glass of what he thought might be soda (of course, he wasn’t about to just try it: that would be a bit too much).  They were hunched over something in front of them, and their hands moved quickly with a pencil and a brush. 

   “Excuse me, my dear,” started Oswald, with a soft tone so as to not scare this beloved mystery away, “but is this table taking guests?” 

   They jumped.  Oswald feared he’d gone too fast.  Oh, wonderful, now he’d scared them off! 

   They looked up and met his eyes.  What was once a terrified look behind thick glasses quickly melted into something tender and rather curious.  “Oh.”  Their voice had an astoundingly flat affect, hinting at an origin out in midland farming country with the slight tint to it.  They cleared their throat, and moved their bag to the other side.  “S-sure thing, sir, sure.  Wasn’t expecting anyone to be over here tonight.  Normally people only ever come over to ask for free work from me.”  Their voice was soft and quiet as they spoke: an absolutely adorable sound that hit just right in his ears.  He could listen to it talk forever. 

   “Excellent.”  Oswald sat down directly next to them, putting the umbrella to rest on the seat beside him. 

   Their face quickly changed colors.  It went from a sickly pale in the lowlight to being absolutely taken over with blush.  “R-right, s-sure.  Please, forgive me for asking, but haven’t I seen you around here before?” 

   “Of course you would have seen me here before,” said Oswald, rolling his eyes slightly.  “I own this lounge, after all.” 

   “Oh, I…” They stopped for a moment, and their mouth was slightly agape as they appeared to slowly mentally register the weight of the situation.  Then their eyes shot wide open and they gave up a nervous smile with chattering teeth. “M-Mr. Cobblepot, sir.  I-I-I didn’t think I was something you’d… well, y’know, actually come over to see?” 

   “Quite the contrary,” said Oswald, moving in closer and putting an arm around their shoulder.  “You’ve captured my attention with how much you care about my darlings.  I see you in here and I can’t help but wonder if you’re some kindred soul.”  He gestured just slightly over at the centerpiece of the lounge, the namesake iceberg with a whole group of penguins he often spent hours watching on his days off.

   They looked over to where he gestured, and then they nodded quickly.  The nervousness quickly got itself out of that smile, and their entire posture melted into one of repose.  “Your penguins, right.  Right, the penguins!  Of course! They’re so cute: little communal flipper birds that just waddle around and honk and preen all day.”  They sighed and smiled, leaning forward and putting their head to rest in their hand.   “What I wouldn’t give for a life so carefree.”

   Oswald immediately had a few ideas come to mind.  Oh, he could take care of that: he could just bring them into his life and get them out of that awful apartment, pamper them with anything and everything they could ever want.  Ask them to move in with you.  Ask them for a date.  Ask them to share a drink.  No, no, no, that’s all too fast!  Play it slowly: perhaps they’ll melt into your arms if you go ahead just right.  

   “How often are you around here, hm?”  Oswald looked over from behind his monocle at this mystery figure that had caught his attention and proceeded to hold it in a vice-like grip, taking a moment to look at what he was dealing with.  Their figure was mostly obscured by big, bulky articles of clothing, but what could be made out was all thick and rolled together like some haphazard cake stacked up far too high for its own good.  It was very easy to look at.  “You seem to know enough about my precious little birds.”  “Perhaps a bit too much” was a phrase he wanted to add, but he wasn’t about to murder this feeling. 

   “I don’t really drink alcohol.  I only really come here to draw the iceberg and all the penguins,” said the mystery crush. “They’re so fun to smush together with their little shapes.  Their little flippers are so cute.  And their little feet are surprisingly complex once you get past all the flub and feathers.” 

   Oh, one of those artist types.  Wait, artist type.  Artist. Oh, this could be good: this could actually be really good for several different reasons!  Not just the romantic pursuit reason, either: perhaps their passion for the arts would include, somewhere in there, a passion for him. 

   “I see.” Oswald reached for the pad of paper they were so vigilantly guarding and said, “I can’t help but have a look at someone’s work regarding my darlings.” 

   A sickly pale hand with chewed-down nails shot over and clamped in on Oswald’s wrist. “Just a second there, Mr. Cobblepot. You have to promise me something first.”

   “Anything, my sweet, anything.” 

   “Don’t tell anyone what you see in this book.  It’s a lot of… well, it’s… bad.” 

   “Oh, I will most certainly be the judge of that.”  Oswald picked up the book, and then handed them the bouquet in return.  “Here, something for you to hold in the meantime.”

   Noting their shocked expression as they carefully took the bouquet in their arms, Oswald began to slowly browse through the contents of the book. 

   What they had said was indeed true: there were a lot of penguins in there.  They were doing all sorts of things: preening their coats, honking, spread out on their stomachs staring at each other, ambling across the ice.  They were all partway realistic, but there was some sort of fantastical flair to them. It was cute: just like them. 

   While flipping through the pages, though, he couldn’t help but notice other pieces. Things like the name of the lounge written out in poster type pieces with his penguins and their little iceberg on it.  There was, undeniably, a unique work of a penguin in a suit like his.  Curious, he turned the page. 

   And what he saw there surprised him greatly. 

   It was not only drawings of patrons with little notes about time scrawled around them that occupied the pages, but there were drawings of him as well.  Little notes here and there about the things he’d wear, the way he’d talk, and the way he moved.  Around one particular piece underlaid with purple markings was a portrait of him smiling: the note around this piece said “Handsome guy but who?”  It was surrounded by little scribbled hearts. 

   Oswald, in his stroke of peacock vanity that got to him every now and again, turned his head slightly as he was gently urged by these things.  “I see that you draw more than birds.” 

   The mystery crush looked over.  They caught a look of what pages he’d come to and they grimaced before sighing and hiding their face in their hands.  “Sorry about that.  I-I draw people a lot, just to stay aware of how to do it.” 

   “It seems you’ve become quite taken with me in these intimate studies,” said Oswald, casting a rather tempered gaze and a matching grin over at the object of his affections as he handed back the book.  “I must admit, I came here tonight thinking you wouldn’t reciprocate the feelings that brought me to you in the first place.” 

   “Oh, wow, feelings?”  The mystery crush smiled and chuckled ever so softly, rubbing their hand along the back of their neck as they took the book and put it back on the table.  “Goodness gracious, Mr. Cobblepot, I didn’t expect a gentlemanly type like yourself to be the romantic type.” 

   “Oh, but isn’t a gentleman always the romantic type?”  Oswald, emboldened by such a soft response, couldn’t help but to pull them in closer.  When they began to blush again, he grinned and pressed a gloved finger to their nose. “I can’t exactly help it.  And please, just call me Oswald.” He then picked up one of their hands and pressed a single, fervent kiss to it.

   “Ah, uh, I guess so,” said the mystery crush, “mister… oh, right, Oswald.  Right, first name basis now.”  Their face was getting hotter by the minute, and they began to stammer over all their words as they put the bouquet on the table.  “I, uh… would, would you be offended if I asked you something kinda personal?” 

   Oswald could already picture several personal questions and perfect little answers to go along with them.  He nodded and held their hands in his.  “Oh, but of course, my dear: anything you ask for, you’ll get it from me.” 

   “Oh.” The mystery crush nodded, their glasses falling down their face in the meantime.  When Oswald reached up and pushed them back to their previous position, they cleared their throat and quickly stammered out, “If you feel so strongly about me, would you mind if I moved in?  I, uh… they hiked the rent on my place again and I have to find a new one before the end of the month.  Don’t make enough.” 

   “Would I mind?  Of course not, dearest bird, of course not.  I have far too many places that need a colorful touch like yours.  You can come with me tonight, if it pleases you, my dear.”

   “You don’t have to be so heavy-handed with all the compliments.” 

   “Oh, but I believe you deserve every last one of them.” 

   “You’re far too kind.”  The mystery crush sighed.  “I hate to tell you this now, after all those compliments and affectionate talk, but I’m kind of a handful, I’m… look, I’m trans and if you’re not into a guy like me, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m- I’m sorry.  We can just go away from this table and never speak about this again.  It… it’ll be fine if we do that.” 

   “Oh, now you just listen to me.”  Oswald put his hands to the mystery crush’s face and leaned it over so they were looking at him. “I don’t rightly care about whether you’re trans or not, and I’ll fund that for you so you can be happy.  You’re just far too pretty of a kindred spirit to be left so alone in such a big city.” 

  “I…” The mystery crush looked baffled. They froze for a moment or two, and Oswald wondered if he had said too much.  After a long silence, they sighed and smiled so big and soft that it couldn’t help but bring him to smile as well.  “Wow.  Thanks.” 

   “Oh, you’re ever so welcome, my dear.”  Oswald pressed his face up to theirs and quickly asked, “May I?” 

   “May you… oh, right.  Right! Yes, you may, Oswald.  You most certainly may!” 

   With that, Oswald couldn’t help but press a kiss to their lips.  Their lips were slightly chapped, and he couldn’t help but nuzzle his face just slightly against theirs in some affectionate attempt to bring intimacy to such a moment.  This move, while unexpected at first, was quickly reciprocated as their hands took hold of his shoulders. 

   Oswald pulled away with a troublesome little grin spread across his lips, and the object of all those affections smiled like this sort of intimacy was brand new to them. “I can’t help but wonder what your name is.” 

   “Look, my name is…”  They stopped for a moment, but then they smiled and just said, “Call me Lou for now. I can’t think of a name that belongs to me.” 

   “Then let’s find that out together.”  Oswald took his umbrella up and moved to stand, offering his hand to Lou.  “Come, I can have a crew bring your things to our home tomorrow.  Tonight, we shall simply be enamored little lovebirds.” 

   Lou laughed.  Their laugh sounded like the call of a bird, with its dragged-out syllables and its pitch. They snorted just slightly as they packed up their things.  “You’re very honest, Oswald.  I like that.  I like that a lot.” 

   “What’s a little honesty between significant others?”  Oswald smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 

   Lou put their bag back on their shoulders and put their hand in Oswald’s as they stood up.  They weren’t much taller than him, and those assumptions he had made about their figure were correct.  “It’s a lot. Let’s go.” 

   Oswald only put his arm around them as the two gently went hand-in-hand to where his driver waited. 

   “What are the plans for this evening, Oswald?” 

   “Oh, I do believe I have a few ideas beginning to come to be.  Just you be patient, my sweet, I’ll tell you when we’re alone.”