#⊱ ❛ above all do not let your hearts grow bitter ❜ about & headcanons .

[breathwithered-blog]

tag dump !

[leviiattacks]

Head canons for mafia boss levi being interested in Starbucks barista reader please

note :: this idea is so cute i wrote a scenario i hope you don’t mind. i can still post some headcanons for it too if you really want me to! i’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted me to write anon :-( ALSO this is super casual writing it’s not like the way i usually write it’s just bullet points i mean idk i wanted to try something different and more relaxed lmk if this style is okay for some requests :D

if anyone would like any more requests with this levi please lmk!! i could go in more detail tbh maybe the pacing of this isn’t too good bc it is a short request but yeahhh

+ idk why the formatting looks so odd i tried my best to fix it myself ?!.!/!:£:& but yeah sorry again!!

levi has always been one to keep his business meetings lowkey

i mean, realistically who is going to suspect mafia boss levi is lingering in a starbucks???

the place is well-suited for his hushed meetings, he finds it to be quiet enough and clean enough

but then one winter everything changes

you start working there

he’s waiting in the queue texting erwin asking when he’ll be able to get there

it’s been a RUSH and the traffic is crazy as expected from the bustling city so he doesn’t expect to see erwin for a while

that’s when he hears you for the first time

“HEY!! Mister in the fancy suit it’s your turn to order”

your hands are placed on the counter and you lean forward eagerly waiting for what he has to say

levi rolls his eyes because he thinks you have to be ogling his designer watch and shoes (you really aren’t)

“black tea, no sugar and... a cinnamon swirl” he’ll order for erwin later. “i’ll be eating in.”

“ooohhh you’re a tea guy? name?” you’re smiling at him radiantly and it irks him because you have nothing to be smiling about really

eyes narrowing he responds “no shit, i just ordered tea.”

“and why the hell do you want my name?” he snaps on reflex

he then remembers he’s at a starbucks and you are not interrogating him, you’re doing your job

“sir... this is starbucks?? is this your first time here?”

you blink in confusion but then your face lights up “oh my, would you like to sign up for a starbucks card?? you can collect stars and get rewards and it’s so muc–“

“do i look like i need a starbucks card?”

“everyone looks like they need a starbucks card”

he doesn’t carry on that part of your conversation instead he looks you dead in the eyes “levi, is my name.”

his glare intimidates you and you awkwardly laugh

you think he’s probably having a super bad day and choose to not bother him that much

as he’s waiting he sees the way you clumsily navigate behind the counter, you’re juggling a number of things in your arms

automatically his face sours

he’s not expecting the tea you produce to be any good

he doesn’t care how nice you are if you can’t do what he wants he won’t be leaving a tip

he’s stingy like that

a clatter is heard and all the noise you’re making just makes you all the more aggravating

he’s been coming here for years and never has encountered a barista as bothersome as yourself

at some point you call out the name “SCROOGE!” from behind the counter, levi finds it embarrassing that anyone would ever call their child that

like... out of all the names this is what they choose??

damn they have to hate parenthood

“scrooge i’m begging you collect your drink.”

he looks up pissed that whoever this scrooge is has the audacity to hold you up because that by default means they are holding him up

then he sees you staring directly at him with that warm smile again

yeah, that smile, it could thaw ice

then it settles.

he’s scrooge?

turning around he notices no one is behind him then he sees that no one else is waiting apart from him

jaw clenching he heads towards you and makes it a point to “tsk” in frustration

he takes his cup and his cinnamon roll and you wave him goodbye

usually levi prefers to silently sit in the booth furthest from the action, he wants no attention drawn to him at all

but that day he finds himself sitting closer to the counter

he’s kind of stunned when he does that because he’s just sat there thinking why the hell did i just do that?? why did i sit here??

but he convinces himself it’s because he wants to see erwin when he’s about to walk in so he can prepare to scold him for not arriving on time

he takes a sip of his beverage expecting nothing above mediocirty but weirdly, your brew, it tastes perfect

levi’s eyes linger on you and he notices the way your behaviour is consistent

you’re helping an old woman pick what she’d like from the menu

you compliment her jumper, says it really makes her blue eyes stand out

you don’t have to be as nice as you are and it’s ticking him off

it ticks him off seeing someone so pure and sweet for no reason

when did people decide to not have ulterior motives anymore? did you decide those were too old school for you?

tongue poking at the inside of his cheek he activates his poker face and looks away

you, are a random person. a random, annoying person. he is going to stop thinking about you.

turning his attention to erwin instead he calls him and when he picks up levi makes his point very clear

“i was just called scrooge. get the hell here so i can order for you.”

erwin chuckles, his throaty laugh makes levi’s mouth twitch downwards in irritation

“and who exactly called you scrooge?”

“is that relevant?”

“very much so if you’ve mentioned it yourself”

levi is silent and erwin laughs once again at his colleagues anti social way of interacting

“i’ll be there in five, feel free to order.”

grunting a sound of approval levi hangs up

“you’re back! how may i help?”

the way you treat being a barista so seriously, he finds it oddly endearing

“one doubleshot iced coffee.”

nodding to yourself you hum a tune happily and get to work

ever since that day levi finds himself frequenting that specific starbucks more

at first it’s a whole lot of “i’m pissed and i don’t have a reason so i’ll go down there and have her annoy me, then i’ll have a real reason”

then you talk to him more and you both engage in small talk

then it develops when he doesn’t mean for it to

you tell him about what you study, where you’re from, how your mother has recently developed arthritis but she’s still so determined to cook to the best of her abilities despite the pain

that reminds him of you

each visit he learns something new about you

sometimes he’ll let you in on his life

“what do you work as, i’ve always wondered?“

“accountant.“ no way in hell is he going to scare you away, telling you isn’t an option

you burst out in laughter holding your knees

“accountancy is well paying what is your point...?”

“do you not know what that means” your laugh is muffled as you press the sleeve of your jumper against your mouth

he shakes his head completely clueless

“people say their accountants when they’re actually strippers. it’s a tiktok thing.”

you pause for a second staring at his face

he feels the way his ears grow red under your gaze but he ignores it looking as bored as ever

“ah well. i did not know that.”

“clearly not you are an old man.”

then you turn away to brew his tea and he lets the ghost of a smile sneak its way onto his face

you aren’t looking, it’s okay

but he knows it’s dangerous getting attached to you

it’s stupid relaxing

and it’s even worse loosening up

so he doesn’t.

he’s always cold, bitter and frigid in his responses as he’s always been with you

but that doesn’t stop you from kindly smiling

or absentmindedly brushing the surface of his skin on rare occasions

it doesn’t stop you from calling him scrooge

and it certainly doesn’t stop you from slowly thawing the frosty exterior of his heart

then one day you let the words “my scrooge” slip out of your mouth

he doesn’t know why he let’s it happen or even how it happens exactly but he can’t help the smile that makes itself evident on his face

“HEY YOU JUST SMILED HELLO?????? you can do THAT????”

he smiled in front of you, that’s it he’s fucked

he quickly drops it and is back to his normal narrowed glare

“i did no such thing”

you give him a knowing look but sigh airily there’s no point in getting the man to admit it

“what would you like today, a frappe?”

you ask the sarcastic question even though you know he hates change. his usual order is already ingrained in your mind. you know it off by heart

he sighs in exasperation

“is your memory really that bad?”

“nope. cinnamon rolls and black tea it is!”

[mr-nauseam]

EngPort Headcanon 4

England and Portugal are par excellence the dynamic "friends who become lovers" but it is necessary to understand how that friendship is formed, as it will be the basis for developing romantic feelings between them in the future.

That is the central theme of this post: The sweet childhood.

Today there is no song as the central theme but my engport playlist is very long (I have approximately 80 songs in it) so I will only mention a fragment of these. Let's get started.

Childhood as nations: an impossible reality.

For certain things shown in the anime and manga I feel that it is important to remember that the characters are not human ... in a biological way. We must give importance to this fact because it lets us know that they experience life in a very different way than human beings.

Above all, a point in their lives that is remarkably different because they are nations is their childhood and a character who portrays this conflict well is USA, when we see him being the thirteen colonies he looks like a small child and usually acts like one, but as time passes and tensions grow in his territory, he undergoes a most abrupt transformation, although the series makes us believe that he really spent a considerable time, it was not like that and in a very short time USA lost his childish body and his own innocent mentality to obtain in exchange, the body of a young adult and a much clearer vision of the world and what was happening in it - and consequently a much more cruel and pessimistic vision of life.

What gives rise to a strange and disturbing scene but that makes a lot of sense if we consider that they are not human, the scene I am talking about is that moment in which USA is a full-fledged adult in physical and mentality while Canada looks like a child and acts accordingly like one.

These abrupt changes that nations are facing is a cruel reality from which they cannot escape and over which they have no control, their entire image and essence will depend on the decisions of their people.

With this in mind, let's continue: a well-known fact of the engport is that they are friends from a very young age and regardless of when you consider that they were each born.

-Was Portugal Lusitania ?, Was England Albion ?, Is Portugal born until the creation of her kingdom ?, Is England greater ?, etc-, we know that the lives of England and Portugal come together very soon.

According to Himayura, England's childhood is one of the most tragic, he was constantly harassed when he was small, weak and defenseless, which explains several traits of his character, looking at the history books, we know that Portugal did not sleep precisely on laurales, he also suffered from invasions and great stress -in fact all countries had complicated childhoods, only sadly there are some who have more bitter experiences in their memory-, with this panorama we see that the time that usually in human beings is of the happier, it was a true hell without any distinction and almost without exceptions for the nations.

To make matters worse, they, unlike other children, could maintain their illusion and innocence in several areas but their minds were already processing and understanding what was happening around them and even if it was difficult for them to do because they were young, they had no options and it was their duty to understand it.

Which must have been frankly overwhelming, since these characters from a very early age had to become familiar with dark concepts such as death, murder, famine, etc.

For what England and Portugal had behind them a difficult, lonely, isolated life and where began little by little the power games that would become more ruthless over time, it is at this moment where they meet.

They could meet at a time when they were still little children, who at any moment could undergo an abrupt change like the one I mentioned about USA where his body changed abruptly and his mind too, that is, they passed adolescence. And in fact both will face this rugged stage together.

Seeing their relationship I think it is very relevant that it occurred in these early years, it was not early enough for them to define each other to a primary degree - what happens with England and France that when they met from a very young age inadvertently molded their identities mutually. - and it was not too late for it to cost horrors to draw a political alliance because they had suffered enough and were distrustful who refused to establish close and deep connections with new people, no.

They were at the right point, where they had already suffered several wounds - betrayals, significant losses, wars, etc - that needed to be healed and they were still accompanied by a certain naivety / illusion that allowed them to keep alive their desire to meet others and wish a real affection - as real as it can be between nations - they were still hopeful in the bottom of their hearts.

Arthur and Port were able to offer themselves in that time full of tension, confusion and loss an Eden, the firm point on which I believe engport is based - and the one that caused its wear and tear in the years to come and its rebirth-.

An Eden is a safe and wonderful place, it is a refuge where they could be two happy children who played in the forest forgetting the pain, where they spoke of their most fanciful illusions without being judged, where they were two teenagers who were together against the world and spoken about their sadness, of they anger and they changing world:

And I've been meaning to tell you

I think your house is haunted

Your dad is always mad and that must be why

I think you should come live with me

And we can be pirates

Then you won't have to cry

Or hide in the closet

(Seven-Taylor Swift)

I put this fragment here because I think it clearly shows this idea of ​​the eden, where both allowed themselves to create a sense of peace, that emotion that was and has been absent their entire existence until they met. A feeling that they cling to desperately to continue standing in that insensitive world in which they lived, not knowing what the future held but more encouraged that whatever it was they could bear it as long as they had their Eden together.

[wouldpollyapprove]

Wanted Home

Requested: Hello! 💞 Could I perhaps request prompt #19 from the angst list with Joe Cole? Doesn’t necessarily have to be a one-shot, if it’s too little to work with 😊 whatever floats your boat

Requested by @smallheathgangsters​

Joe Cole x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: language, pregnancy, angst

A/n: Guys, the amount of headcanons and oneshots that I’ll be writing that involve babies and children is not good for my health! Baby fever’s about to be high, just leting y’all know. I loved writing this sooooo much. It was the first request in my inbox and I had to do it. I love Joe Cole in everything he’s in and I would literally write for all his characters if I could. And you know who he reminds me of? He kinda reminds me of youtuber Evan Edinger. Idk why but sometimes I just see a resemblense. It’s probably just me, though

Masterlist 

The little hand on the clock was seconds away from ringing in the new hour. Y/n rolled her eyes at the late hour. Joe had always told her not to wait up for him, his schedule was all over the place and she didn’t need to suffer because of it. Normally, she would have agreed with him and gone to bed, but even after filming was over, he still wouldn’t arrive home until hours later.

Joe told her it was nothing to worry about. There was much to be done after filming was over for the day, but she wasn’t buying his excuses. He was most likely drinking with his castmates, wasting time that could have been spent with her.

Y/n went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Leaning against the counter, she couldn’t help but feel miserable about the position she was in. Only two weeks prior, she had found out she was pregnant and couldn’t wait to share the news with her husband. Y/n had missed her period and that was the first clue that led her to take a pregnancy test. But she didn’t trust them, so she booked an appointment to confirm what the two pink lines had told her.

That appointment was the day before and on her nightstand was the sonogram that proved her suspicions. 

Her eyes teared at the thought of how long she had waited to share new as they had when she’d laid eyes on the child that grew inside her. All Y/n wanted was to see the smile on Joe’s face as she showed him the picture, but as the night grew darker, she only grew angrier. 

This could not continue.

Not if their family was growing. Y/n didn’t want to raise a child, while their father fucked off somewhere. That was never what she imagined when picturing the family she wanted. She wanted Joe to be there. Right by her side during everything. 

Y/n was pulled from her thoughts as the front door opened. She stood straighter against the counter, wiping away a tear that fell from her watery eyes. From the kitchen, she could hear Joe slip off his shoes and hang his coat on the hook before his footsteps grew louder as he neared her. He froze in the doorway when he saw her, his features softened. “What are you doing up?”

Gaze on the floor, she didn’t answer. “Where were you?”

Joe frowned, stepping closer to you. Reaching out to hold her, she brushed his hands away. “Let’s not do this tonight, love,” he sighed, pained as she moved away from him.

A bitter laugh escaped her from the opposite side of the kitchen. “Then when?” She threw her hands in the air. “Tomorrow night, when you come home late once again? Or the night after that?” 

Running a hand through his hair, he rolled his eyes. “This is my job, Y/n! I don’t come home late because I want to!”

It was her turn to roll her eyes, what a bullshit answer. “Why don’t you say that then? If you wish to be home, why don’t you say that instead of going to bed late and wake up early with little more than a hello and goodbye?” She raised a brow.

“That’s what you’re mad about?! That I’ve been too busy to, what? Fuck you? Kiss you?”

Y/n bite back tears as her eyes watered once again. “No,” her words were barely above a whisper.

“Then what?” Joe growled, folding his arms crossed his chest.

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.”

Without another word, the argument ended as Y/n escaped from the room. She couldn’t continue on while her heart was starting to splinter. Retreating to their shared bathroom, Y/n shut the door, back against it, she slid to the floor as sobs filled the room.  

From the kitchen, Joe could hear her sobs, his heart breaking with each one. He should have known better than to yell. That never solved anything. His wife just wanted him home more and he couldn’t blame her. If it was the other way around, he too would wish her home more. 

A guilty consensus and a broken heart drew to their bedroom. Outside the bathroom door, he leaned his forehead against the cold wood. Softly, he tapped his knuckles against the door, “I’m sorry, Y/n. Please let me in.”

“Fuck off,” she croaked between sobs.

“Please,” he begged, earning no answer.

A defeated sigh parted his lips, causing him to move from the door. She would come out when she was ready, that’s what he told himself. Instead of fret about getting the door to open and his wife in his arms, he decided to get ready for bed. It was all he could do to keep himself together.

He should have been home more, that’s what Y/n needed. He should have come home right after filming, instead of taking time to perfect what could be done later. Any offer for celebration by a cast member should have been turned down, leaving time for him to enjoy his wife’s company. But instead, all he was able to enjoy was the fact that they were in the same house together.

Slipping off his dress shirt, Joe let it fall to the floor and walked to your side of bed where two wardrobes sat against the wall. He pulled a drawer open, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He went to pull down his trousers when his eyes caught sight of a glossy paper that sat on Y/n’s nightstand. Straightening, he grabbed it. Turning it over, Joe marveled at the pictured presented to him. 

Against a black background, the gray outline of a baby, looked up at him. He smiled, tracing the child’s features with a finger. He didn’t even have to glance at the name in the corner to know who the patient was. 

Joe was pulled away from his thoughts when the bathroom door creaked open, Y/n slipping through. Eyes red and puffy, she sniffled, refusing to meet his gaze. She was dressed in her clothes from the night before, clearly not wishing to dance around him, which is what they usually did when they went to bed early. 

“Y/n,” he hoped to meet her eyes. When she began shuffling around the room, grabbing a hair tie and putting her phone on the charger, he knew she wanted nothing to do with him. He couldn’t blame her, not when he knew why she had wanted him home so badly. He moved around the bed and gently grabbed her elbow, turning her around. 

She wanted to fight him, tug her arm out of his grasp, but she savored his touch, melting into it. “What?” she let out weakly, not wanting to fight anymore.

Without a word, Joe slid the sonogram into her hand, a smile split his face from ear to ear. Y/n couldn’t help but smile when she looked at their child, the argument from earlier fading from memory. “This is why you wanted me home?” It was more of a statement than a question.

She nodded, being pulled against his bare chest.

“When did you find out?” He pulled away enough to look down at her.

“Last week,” she smiled. “But I went to the doctor yesterday to confirm.”

Joe couldn’t help but dream about the child that would be running around their house in a year or so as his hands went to her flat stomach. Soon, they both knew, it would grow along with their child. “You’re gonna be the best mum in the world.”

“You think?” Y/n asked with a playful smile.

“Oh, yes,” he leaned down to capture her lips in his. “You’ll be amazing, love.”

*~~*~~*

Let me know if you would liked to be added to the permanent taglist.

Permanent Taglist:@amirahiddleston  @haphazardhufflepuff @woahitslucyylu @mzcrazy2  @lovemissyhoneybee  @multi-fandom-iimagines @tarafaithe  @jenepleurepasbaby  @fernweh-fangirl  @the-anxious-youth @theshelbyclan @wtfdanness @chloeforde @futuristicslimemongerbanana @auds24 @lucillethings @nemesis729 @sirkekselord  @princesscornbread

[omgrachwrites]

Mon Amour - Sirius Black

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Request: ‘Hello, love! Could you please write a oneshot in which reader and Sirius have been in relationship for years. Reader has been sent for a solo mission for order and was taken away and tortured for information. She (or they) somehow escaped and reached headquarters. The reader is treated and she lives (after a coma or something) and yeah. I adore reading your fanfics. Thank you!’ @kashishwrites

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of torture, mentions of death

Words: 2045

Disclaimer: I think I kind of messed around with the timeline!! None of these gifs belong to me!

A/N: Thanks for the request lovely @kashishwrites​, I hope this is okay! The name Lyra is a constellation by the way, I wanted to keep the theme running and I played around with the headcanon that Sirius is fluent in French! I hope you guys enjoy this and please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx

Mon Amour - My love

Smiling, you wrapped your arms around your husband from behind, listening to him singing in French to your three month old daughter, Lyra before he kissed her forehead and placed her back in her little cot. He turned around and wrapped you up in his arms tightly and you spoke, your voice muffled against his hard chest.

“I’m sorry that you have to stay here again,” Sirius’ childhood home – which he had loathed – had become the new Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.

Sirius smiled as he pulled back slightly and kissed you, “don’t worry about me, not when I’m so worried about you. I so wish that you weren’t going on this mission alone, if anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t live without you Y/N.”

You had tried to ease his worries in the days leading up to your solo mission but your attempts had been futile, it hurt your heart to see him so anxious. You brought his hands up to your lips and scattered kisses along his knuckles which made him blush.

“I’ll be fine, trust me. And, you’ve got Lily, James, Remus and Peter staying with you so I bet that you’ll hardly notice I’m gone. Lyra will be keeping you busy;” you giggled before growing serious, “James and Lily will be safe here won’t they?” James and Lily were expecting a baby in the next six months or so and they had also been marked for death by Voldemort. You were worried for them.

“Of course they’ll be safe,” Sirius grinned as he arched an eyebrow, “I’m their Secret Keeper remember? And trust me, no matter how busy I am, I will always make time to worry about you. I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you smiled.

Somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock chimed and you knew it was time to go, by the forlorn look on Sirius’ face, he knew it too, “promise me, mon amour, that you’ll come back to me, alive and well?”

“I promise.”

With your promise he kissed you so passionately that you nearly cried you memorized his face just in case this was the last time that you’d ever seen him. You kissed your daughter’s forehead, hugged your best friends and took off into the night. You should have heeded your husband’s words, you should have tried harder to keep your promise, you had put up an excellent fight – you were a real fighter – but it just wasn’t good enough. That was made perfectly clear when you were captured by a group of Death Eaters.

It had seemed like hours, maybe days but all that you knew for sure was that you were exhausted and weak, so weak that you didn’t even feel scared anymore, you no longer flinched when your captors raised their wands. Unfortunately, you still felt the full force of the searing pain from the torture charm, in that dank, dark basement. You couldn’t think of anything else apart from Sirius and Lyra, you desperately wanted to see them again.

The chains bit into your wrists and ankles painfully as Bellatrix – Sirius’ cousin – raised her wand and spoke in a sneering, impatient tone, “now for the last time, where are the Potters?”

You were rather surprised that she’d restrained herself and she’d managed not to kill you. Yet. You stayed silent, even if you could tell her, you wouldn’t have, you wouldn’t betray your best friends.

“Crucio!” Bellatrix spat and you cried out in agony as it felt like your insides were on fire, she kept the curse going for what felt like hours. When she lowered her wand you sucked in a breath of air, gasping as you did so.

“Maybe she’s not the Secret Keeper,” Bellatrix’s companion said in a gruff voice.

“No!” the cruel woman hissed, “she was best friends with the mudblood in school,” you felt a white hot flash of anger as Bellatrix used the slur, “it has to be her.”

Suddenly, there came a crash from a room above which made your captors jump, “oh what is that now?!” Bellatrix snarled before striding from the room, her companion hot on her heels. You were left alone. Completely alone.

You were alone in that basement for mere moments until someone strode in and immediately released you from your chains, it was too dark for you to see the face of your rescuer, “I’m so sorry that I didn’t come down sooner,” he rubbed the bruises that the chains left on your wrists, “are you okay?”

You recognised that voice, it sounded like Sirius’ but it was more soft and quiet, it was Regulus. Sirius’ younger brother had been missing since he had left Hogwarts, you all thought he was dead, “Regulus,” you whispered, your voice too weak to speak any louder.

Regulus chewed his lip and helped you into the hallway, lowering his own voice to a whisper, “are you strong enough to apparate?”

You nodded, looking up at the young man who was risking his life to save you and your heart twisted, “come with me,” you begged, grabbing his hand, “Sirius would love to see you, I know he would.”

Regulus sighed and looked at you, sadness laced in his dark eyes and he shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair, “I can’t, I really wish I could but I have to hold them off so you can get away. Good luck,” he kissed your forehead and strode down the hallway, turning to look back at you, “go now, and give my love to my brother.”

You felt tears sting at your eyes and you managed to apparate back to Headquarters, you smiled when you realised that you’d made it into the hallway. But you felt so weak; you had to shut your eyes for just a second. That was when everything went black.

--------------------------

Sirius gripped Y/N’s hand gently, two months; she’d been in a coma for two months. It had been two months since she’d been found in the hallway after her solo mission. She had been gone for about twelve hours. Sirius was beside himself, he just didn’t know what he would do if he lost her, he couldn’t lose her. The healer was checking her over to see if she had improved and he turned back to look at Sirius in surprise.

“She’s pregnant, about 10 weeks along. There’s no way of knowing if the baby is still alive, I’d advise you to let them both go.”

Sirius sucked in a deep breath as a lump formed in his throat and bitter tears stung at his eyes, he looked down at his daughter who was fast asleep in his arms. He was happy that Y/N was pregnant but a second part was sad and angry. He was angry at himself for not convincing her to stay at home but she was stubborn.

“I’m not going to give up on them, my wife and my unborn child are fighters,” he believed that with all of his heart.

A couple of hours later James and Lily came to see how Sirius was doing, James’ hand was protectively resting on Lily’s round stomach, they were having a boy. Sirius was so happy for them, “you look like crap mate, how about you go to bed and we’ll watch over her?” James suggested.

“Hey, that’s my husband you’re talking to, Potter,” an extremely weak voice spoke.

Sirius’ heart flipped when he turned around to see that the love of his life was awake, she looked very weak but she was alive, “oh Y/N!” he hugged her ever so gently and sobbed into her hair, he was happier than words could ever say, “I thought that I was going to lose you, mon amour. I love you so much!”

Y/N chuckled weakly as she stroked his hair, “hey, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I love you too baby, now let me tell you what happened.”

Sirius shook his head as he cupped her cold cheeks, “when you’re stronger, mon amour,” Y/N smiled gratefully as she wiped the tears from Sirius’ eyes and kissed him gently.

It had been about a week but Y/N was definitely getting stronger, she was eating properly, her skin didn’t have that grey tinge anymore and the usual sparkle was back in her beautiful eyes. And what was also amazing was that the healer informed both Sirius and Y/N that their unborn child was doing just fine. Y/N was delighted to find that she was pregnant again. After another week she felt strong and brave enough to speak about what she had experienced.

Sirius’ heart broke when she talked about how she was captured and tortured for information about James and Lily. The Potter’s were very apologetic about everything that had been done to Y/N in their name, but everyone knew it wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t their fault that they had been marked for death.

“How did you get away alive?” Remus asked with much interest and Y/N grew sad as she looked at Sirius and squeezed his hand.

“It was Regulus, he was there. He saved my life, he held them off and distracted them so I managed to escape, I tried to bring him back with me Sirius, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

Sirius chewed his lip, he’d never really seen eye to eye with his brother but he loved him and he was extremely grateful that Regulus had saved Y/N, “well, I should thank him next time I should see him,” Sirius chuckled but his laugh lacked humour.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Dumbledore said in a grave voice, Sirius hadn’t seen him enter the room, Dumbledore’s usual twinkling eyes were dull, “your brother’s body has been found. He is dead.”

Sirius felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much, his little brother was dead. Regulus had been his best friend until their mother had pitted them against each other. Y/N whimpered and tears were falling from her eyes as she sniffled.

“This is my fault, it’s because he saved me, and it’s my fault that he’s dead!”

Sirius wrapped her in his arms, “it’s not your fault my darling, it’s not your fault. Regulus knew what he was doing; all we can do now is remember him and his sacrifice. You need to live your life to the fullest so his sacrifice wasn’t in vain,” Sirius’ voice broke and he attempted to swallow the lump in his throat.

--------------------------

You grinned as you hugged your daughter Lyra goodbye and she caught up with her friends and boarded the Hogwarts Express, it was her second year at Hogwarts, she was growing up so fast. You wished that you were going back to school this year too, you missed the hustle and bustle of it all and you’d be lonely with your two children both at Hogwarts. You felt the edge bottom of your jumper being pulled and you chuckled, turning around to look at your son, he looked very nervous.

“I wish dad was here, I wish I could be braver,” Reggie chewed his lip and you smiled. Though, Reggie was only little when Sirius went to Azkaban, your son still missed him terribly, you smiled and knelt down to his level and cupped his cheek. You also wished that Sirius could have been here to wave off his children.

“It’s okay to be scared, it’s your first year at Hogwarts after all but you’re descended from brave men, mon amour, both your father and your uncle, Reg. You will be fine, I promise you,” you kissed his forehead and there was a final whistle, “you’d better get on the train sweetie, you don’t want to be late. I love you.”

“I love you too mum, “Reggie hugged you tight before he went running off with his suitcase. He waved at you until the train rounded the corner. You felt strangely hollow as you stood alone on the platform, you knew that your children would have such a good time at school but you did hate to see them go.

-------------------------- 

@kashishwrites​ @smiithys​

[okk--maaan]

Hello :) it's the anon who requested the headcanons on how Charlie would take care of a partner who had experience with bad relationships. I absolutely LOVED how you wrote that/handled that and I was wondering if you could tell me how Charlie would be with a lover who is curvy and a bit insecure about that? -🦕

Hello my dear!! Oohh! If you’re gonna use the dino emoji can I call you Lil Foot (I can’t think of any other cute/clever nicknames lol)? I’m SO glad you liked the last thing I wrote for you - I was a lil worried about it for a minute!

Instead of HCs, I wrote you a whole lil (wow I say lil a lot) ficlet this time!  It definitely turned into smut - WHOOPS! When I started outlining it I literally wrote -- in my notebook with a pen -- ‘ok this gone get real nasty’. I hope that’s ok and I hope it gives what you were looking for! And let me say that I and any of the boys I will ever write for LOVE AND APPRECIATE AND ACCEPT ALL BODY TYPES!!! Thicc Thighs Save Lives is a longstanding motto here!!

Also I’m a bad writer so it takes me forever to write anything (and my ADHD and anxiety be like nah fam) and I did very little editing to this so sorry for all of those things.

Word Count: ~2k

CW: curvy/plus size RC, body insecurity, smuuttt, like one mention of spanking, slightly Dom!Charlie (?), alcohol consumption, fluffiness (’cause ‘course), lots of build up (what can I say? I like foreplay), bad grammar

“Charlie,” you whine standing in front of your open closet, still in your robe. You couldn’t believe what you were looking at. He really wanted you to wear this tonight? And he really wanted you to wear that underneath?

Hanging neatly on the inside of the closet door was a slinky red dress -- that you knew was going to be way too tight -- and a meticulously matched set of lacey lingerie. Silently judging you. ‘Nope’ you thought to yourself, ‘Not happening’.

Just as you start rummaging through your wardrobe for one of your other perfectly fine, perfectly comfortable dresses, Charlie steps into the bedroom. Sensing his presence, you turn to find him already fully dressed. He’s wearing a charcoal gray suit, tapered and tailored precisely to his body, and a slim navy blue tie. His black oxfords look freshly polished and his neatly parted hair is almost as shiny.

“Wow. You look nice,” you say with a bit of a bite as you pivot back to the task at hand. It wasn’t fair that he was able to look that sophisticated and handsome with such little effort.

Hearing your bitterness, he cautiously moves in closer, rests a large hand on your back. “What’s wrong honey? You don’t like what I picked out for you?” He nods his head towards the offending articles of fabric.

Without losing any heat in your voice, you shoot back, “Well Mr. Barber. I don’t think your lovely gifts here are going to exactly accentuate my figure!” Oohh maybe that was a little harsh. But Charlie never falters, takes you in stride, like he always does.

“Baby,” he says in that way that just makes your heart -- and every other part of your body -- melt. “I wouldn’t have picked these things for you if I didn’t think you were going to look absolutely stunning in them.” With that, he places a loving peck to your forehead and steps back to sit on the bed. “Please, honey, put them on. For me.”

And only because you have such a weakness for when he talks to you like that, do you undo the tie on your robe, place it in the closet, and begin timidly dressing yourself in his gifts.

Even with your back to him, you can feel Charlie’s gaze boring into. Studying. Studying the way your hips and thighs round out as you stand naked in front of him. The way your backside swells as you bend down to step into your panties. The way the soft curve of your breasts peeks out as you reach up to loop your arms through your bra.

Charlie can already feel himself stirring under his suit pants.

As soon as you pull the dress straps over your shoulders, he’s back to standing behind you, hand on your zipper. “Let me, sweet thing,” he whispers into your skin, right against that tender spot between your neck and shoulder. His lips never leave you as he closes you up. Once the zipper reaches the top, he shifts back to observe you fully. Admire.

Even technically fully clothed, you can’t help but feel self-conscious exposed with the way the fabric hugs your body. Instinctually, you go to wrap your arms around your middle, to try to hide. But apparently Charlie can read minds and he’ll have none of that. His long fingers wrap gently, knowingly around each of your wrists. He places another kiss to that spot on your neck and whispers, “beautiful.”

-----------------------------

The theater is dark, aside from the few soft spotlights that glow over the actors on stage. It’s quiet enough that you can hear Charlie beside you, scribbling in his notebook.

But he’s not focusing on what he’s writing nearly as much as he should be. Instead of the words on the page, all he can see are images of you pulling on that dress. All he can think about is that memory of your supple skin, wanting to map out every inch. If he wasn’t trying so hard to get these damned notes down, his hands would be all over you.

Those thoughts alone are enough to get him growing in his pants again. 

-----------------------------

With your second glass of wine in your hand, you are finally starting to relax a little. You lost Charlie to the hustle and bustle of the after party some time ago. But that’s ok. You understand there are certain duties he must fulfill as the director on opening night. When you find each other again, you can tell he’s already had several scotches by the flush in his cheeks and slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. And that’s also ok. He deserves to celebrate tonight after all those months of hard work.

When his eyes lock with yours, his pupils are blown black and wide and there’s something behind them other than just a few drinks. He doesn’t interrupt the conversation you’re having, just places a hot hand on your ass. And squeezes. It takes everything in you not to squeal outright in front of your friends and Charlie’s cast. He leans down to murmur into your ear, “let’s go home now.” His words are slurred just slightly but their meaning rings through you crystal clear. He composes himself enough to turn to the small crowd that’s gathered and excuse the two off you. And before you have a chance to say the rest of your goodbyes, he’s whisking you out the door.

-----------------------------

The second the doorknob to Charlie’s apartment latches closed, his hands lips tongue are all over you. You have little time to catch your breath before his hot hot mouth is on yours, prying you open. You can taste the remnants of alcohol on his breath. With his hands on your waist he’s pulling pulling pulling you further through the foyer and into the living room. As you stumble around corners and furniture, he mumbles against you, “You looked so good tonight baby. So fucking sexy. Mmnhh I love you in this dress. I was getting so hard just looking at you.”

“Charlie,” you gasp as he suddenly breaks all contact, leaving you disoriented, and plops down on the couch. His legs are spread wide and his chest is heaving.

“Take this off baby,” he leans forward to pinch at your thigh, just above the hem of your dress.

“Uh-huh,” you bob your head up and down until it tips back and your eyes close and your hands reach behind you for your zipper. You tilt your chin down and open your eyes to him when the zipper reaches the bottom. Your arms fall to your sides knowing he’s in charge right now. He’ll tell you how he wants you next.

“Turn around sweet thing,” he instructs, more breath than words.

Somehow more heat rushes through your body, through your face, neck, fingers, thighs, toes. You’re already so hot too hot. You cross one heeled foot in front of the other and spin to face away from him. Behind you, you hear the clink clink of Charlie’s belt buckle followed by his own zipper sliding down. Then the sound of fabric rustling, bunching up. You know he’s stroking himself now. Watching you.

“Pull it down. Slowly.”

You do as you're told. Of course you do. You want this just as badly as he does. You push the straps down your arms and over your plump chest, breath ragged. You let the dress pool atop your full hips and wait for further direction.

Charlie huffs out a light life, reveling in how good you’re being for him. “Keep going baby.”

With one final shove, the crimson cloth slides down your thick thighs before falling around your ankles. Charlie groans, deep and guttural. Goosebumps spring up over your newly exposed flesh, assaulted by the cool air and Charlie’s sounds.

“Take your bra off.”

That one was easy. You unhook the clasp and let it hit the floor with your dress.

And you wait again. Wait. Wait. You listen to Charlie’s deep breathing and picture him slowly pulling up down up down on his length. Your pussy drips then clenches at the thought. You’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to stand.

“Bend over baby.”

Ever so slowly, you lower your torso, brace yourself on your shins.

You hear movement behind you again. Charlie moves off the couch to rest on his knees. Eye level with your ass. You feel his fingertips trace lightly up your thighs, exploring. More goosebumps. A moan escapes your throat. “Nnnnhh yes sweet thing,” he says. Then another squeeze. “Mmm so soft.” He relishes in the way your flesh gives for his fingers. Mesmerized by the way he can leave little dimples where he presses. He inches closer to graze his lips across each leg. “I love you so much baby. I love your body. You’re so perfect.” His words send a shock from the crown of your head to your needy core. You need him.

“Charlie please. Give me something. Anything,” why was he teasing you like this? You know you hadn’t drank nearly as much as him, but now it felt like you did.

Mischievously he responds, “Oh I’ll give you something.” With one swift movement, he rips down your panties -- probably ruining them -- and buries his face in your pussy. “Ahhh!” is the only answer you have. He lavishes scorching open mouth kisses over your slick lips, occasionally brushing your stiff clit with his tongue. “Mmmm you really are so sweet baby,” he groans against you. Losing yourself, all you can do is chant, “Yes yes yes.” With one final suck, he pulls off. He sticks two of his fingers in his mouth, getting them nice and wet and warm for you, then shoves them into you. While he pumps in and out of you, he kisses your thighs, nips at your ass and asks, “Are you ready for my cock sweet thing?” His hands fill you to the brim, but they’re never enough, never compare to his cock. “Yes Charlie ! Yes! Please!” After a few more thrust, he withdraws his digits, smacks one of your bare cheeks loving the way it shakes, and returns to the couch.

“Come here my beautiful flower,” he holds his full proud dick up for you. You more than happily lower yourself over him, hands on his knees, just enough for him to drag his swollen head through your folds. When he feels he’s slicked up enough, he grips your waist and pulls you all the way down. His big cock knocks the wind out of you. Always does. And your body is already so exhausted from the build up, you can’t help but slump against him, heavy head leaning on his broad shoulder. Your back sticks to his chest.

You roll your head so your tingling lips can find his neck. There you moan and whisper sweet nothings between kisses. One of your sweaty hands reaches up to tug at his ear and fist in his hair. You roll your hips on him one...two...three...four.

Charlie can’t take it anymore. “Fuck,” he grunts as he lifts you to give him space to really pound into you. And oh he does. Digging into your fleshy hips, he fucks hard into you, asks, “You like that sweet thing? Does that feel good?” “Aaarghh! Yes baby! Unngghhh! Please. Don’t. Stop!” You were already so close. And so was he.

Reading your thoughts again, he drops one hand to rub at your wanting clit. And you see stars. Moans, grunts, screams rip your throat raw. The hand still on your hip smooths its way up your soft belly and gropes at your tit, your stiff nipple. “Char-uh-lie! I’m gonna- I’m gonna-” He picks up the pace and pressure of the circles he’s drawing into your clit. And you tumble. Down down down a hole of pure pleasure. “Fuucckk!!” you shout as the tidal waves of your orgasm come crashing down on you. You can barely hear Charlie’s stangled words, “Yes yes sweet thing cum for me. Shit!” With the sensation of you squeezing clenching fluttering around him, he’s cumming. Cumming so deep inside you. Hot thick ropes.

“Hhhnngg,” his final moan rumbles through your bones as his hips stutter, slow, and eventually stop. Your bodies feel like jelly and mold into one another as you come down, trying to steady your breath.

Finally able to speak, Charlie nuzzles his nose behind your ear and places a tender kiss there. “I love you flower. And that dress fit you perfectly.”

[badatusernames]

CHOJI, SHIKAMARU, LEE, GAARA & HINATA!! ITS A LOT IM SORRY

THANK U FOR THIS...admittedly some answers may be a lil short just so i can like. Get to them all.

EDIT: IDK WHY IT LOOKS LIKE THIS. IM SO TIRED. IM SORRY ITS JUST A LONGASS NARUTO POST ON YOUR DASH I TRIED MY FUCKIN BEST YALL

SEND ME A CHARACTER AND I’LL DO THIS;

Chouji (man i’ve seen it spelled both ways and i’m just used to typing Chouji at this point sorry)

Sexuality Headcanon: Pansexual!!  Gender Headcanon: Cis male A ship I have with said character: SHIKAMARU. SHIKAMARU. SHIKAMARU. SHIKAMARUUUU, my god...just, everything about their dynamic makes my heart melt, the way they’re both people who are easily dismissed by others and how they have such UNFALTERING FAITH in each other. chouji knows how much of a genius shikamaru is, knows very well the fact that despite his laziness, once he commits to something he’s in it for the LONG HAUL, the way shikamaru just believes so steadfastly in chouji, considering him stronger than NEJI FOR FUCKS SAKE...they like. get one another, the kind of relationship where you can be yakking away one minute and then just sitting in contented silence the next. they can just laze around. maybe play video games and snack. and sometimes...kiss. and it’s so chill even with that latent tenderness their later relationship develops and they both just feel so safe and KNOWN and familiar like. love your best friend. anyway everyone slept on shikacho and y’all should be ashamed the naruto fandom is enormous and finding pretty much ANY content for it is almost impossible aside from the small (if lovely and amazing) tag and i’m pretty hyperfixated on it if you couldn’t tell holy SHIT.  A BROTP I have with said character: i’m really not a fan of ino taking potshots at him for his weight and outright shaming him, but once she grows out of that i absolutely love their friendship. listen, you know that post thats like--hold on

thats just them, thanks. A NOTP I have with said character: i have nothing against karui but canon is fucking dead to me and my opinions on p much all the “endgame” ships range from utterly neutral to absolute loathing. their relationship is on neither end of the spectrum, but. eh. definitely not into it. A random headcanon: he keeps nursing injured animals back to health because he’s just that fucking sweet and bringing them back to his house to keep them warm and safe while they recover and his team knows vaguely about this and ino and shikamaru like to poke fun at him for it but since they don’t tend to encounter said animals, it’s not really a huge deal.

of course they stop by his house one day bc he hadn’t shown up for training which is annoying and frankly a little concerning and finding the house mostly empty ino just bursts on into chouji’s room only to immediately have the opossum he’s been caring for latch its little paws on her face and cling.

it’s a bad morning. General Opinion over said character: literally one of my absolute favorites of all time and it really breaks my heart how overlooked he is in the fandom (seriously y’all...). i think kishimoto is kind of a stupid hack and the Fat Jokes are really grating and it sucks to see that so intrinsically tied to his character (like. just let him be fat. jesus christ) but his kindness and overall relaxed, loyal and lovable nature has me just melting. i adore him. 

Shikamaru

Sexuality Headcanon: He’s gay, scoob. (I could also talk a lot about how his earlier misogyny is both a product of being a whiny tween and also some internalized frustration of like WHATS SO GREAT ABOUT GIRLS. UGH. I DONT. STOP TELLING ME IM GONNA FALL IN LOVE WITH ONE ONE DAY DAD JESUS. and let’s be real, thats frustrating, even if it aint an excuse)  Gender Headcanon: he uses he/him pronouns because it’s just what he’s used to and comfortable with but man gender is such a drag... A ship I have with said character: SEE ABOVE SHIKACHO RANT A BROTP I have with said character: naruto! he and naruto have a really adorable friendship and i love love LOVE that he and chouji were shown to be kind and accepting of him even when most people were shunning him. also he’s so fucking dumb i love seeing shikamaru meticulously plan out something only to have naruto shriek into battle and ruin all of it. love those guys. stupid bros.  A NOTP I have with said character: ok. im sorry i just. loathe sh*katema i really do. i haaaate the way kishimoto writes this whole “ew a GIRL” “ew a MAN” vibe with the like OOOH BUT THEYRE GONNA LIKE EACH OTHER vibe like. 

don’t get me wrong i adore them as friends, i think they’re fantastic scathing and witty pals who bitch about anything and everything including each other

but they’re also both gay and kishimoto can suck my nuts byeeee A random headcanon: sometimes pakkun just fucking Shows up and chills with him. shikamaru wants absolutely no part of this but is way too lazy to like. do anything about it so it’s just this guy and a dog sitting in a field chillin and occasionally him piping up like ‘hey kid. remember when i bit your hand? yeah? haha, man time sure does fly.” while shikamaru is just. go aWAY.   General Opinion over said character: if you told 9 year old me watching naruto for the first time my favs were gonna be a three way tie of lee, shikamaru and chouji i never would have fucking believed you but here we are. i love him. i absolutely love him. he’s such a whiny bastard and a really good depiction of burnout genius who doesnt want to do ANYTHING, but his intellect is an absolute DELIGHT to watch. i love him very much. 

Lee

Sexuality Headcanon: he’s pan!! this is a boy that crushes easily and crushes hard on just about anyone!!!! Gender Headcanon: cis male A ship I have with said character: ok i ship him a lot with neji actually? what with how neji grows during the course of the series to regard lee with the respect he deserves is really sweet and there’s just something so infinitely adorable about him going around being the hammiest, most ridiculously earnest, kind and enthusiastic person and neji, now that he isn’t constantly bitter and angry at the world can finally really see that? lee is always happily dropkicking his way into his life, like he wouldn’t have it any other way, and i think that’s just...so sweet A BROTP I have with said character: SAKURAAAAA. oh my GOD do i adore their relationship. ever since lee saved her and basically just gave her a glimpse of his...lee-ness, the fact her negative opinion of him IMMEDIATELY flipped and gave her such a strong admiration and fondness for him kills me DEAD. she always treats him with so much respect and the fact she’s quick to rag on anyone making fun of him melts my HEART!! and on lee’s side, his little crush on her is adorable of course, but the sheer strength of the friendship that comes from it is more than infatuation could ever offer him. i want them to hang out together and talk about their troubles...i want them to make each other laugh and be so very kind to each other...i want sakura to storm over and throw him over her shoulder to TAKE A BREAK ALREADY when he’s been training too hard for too long. god. A NOTP I have with said character: honestly i’m pretty happy with a lot of lee ships! the only ones i view with obvious disdain are the ones with creepy age gaps honestly. A random headcanon: out of everyone in the leaf genin, he’s probably the closest anyone’s ever come to someone who EVERYONE is at least distantly friendly towards. like god have you SEEN how warm and inviting and concerned he is the SECOND he sees that naruto is feeling down? i get the sense he’s immediately inclined to provide that kind of support to any of his comrades, even the ones that Resist it.

you think sasuke is the most popular among the leaf genin? puh-LEASE. everyone looks on rock lee with at least a LITTLE bit of warmth. thats just fact. General Opinion over said character: since my first viewing of naruto he has been my Absolute fav, and while chouji and shikamaru are veeery close to stealing that spot, one look at him and i feel he’s gonna be on top forever. probably the best written character kishimoto’s ever produced that’s remained in  the main cast (tho i dont speak for shipudden onwards who fucking knows, but the truth of it is is i adore rock lee)

Gaara

Sexuality Headcanon: Panromantic Asexual Gender Headcanon: kind of like shikamaru, i feel like he uses he/him pronouns but also doesn’t particularly....Care? A ship I have with said character: ok so it wasnt until my naruto rewatch that i really started falling into this but i think him and naruto are super cute? while i loathe kishimoto for ruining so much abt this show he really is good at creating good foils to naruto, and gaara is no exception--and the way naruto changes his life by just kicking his ass (and proving he’s not just a Simp or smth) and then just, extending genuine empathy and a REAL sense of truly relating to where he’s coming from re:his upbringing? the EFFECT it has on him, bro!!!! my god!!! i feel like they’re that opposites attract ship that don’t clash constantly but instead fall into this adorable synergy and understanding? and i think thats so sweet A BROTP I have with said character: ...is it cheating to just put temari and kankuro here? bc they are literally his siblings but my GOD do i love their relationship. there’s something so deeply sad about their initial situation??? like having siblings that either are deeply fucking afraid of you or clearly don’t care for your well being whatsoever, it’s such a tragic scenario, and the times where they really do show legitimate care for gaara just breaks my heart...but the GROWTH. THE DEVELOPMENT. THE HEALING. i love the sand siblings so much, i am a STRONG advocate of seeing the development from estranged family to loving, occasionally bickering siblings who absolutely Love Each Other A NOTP I have with said character: uhhhh same with lee in that i don’t really mind most of the ships i’ve seen him in? while i don’t particularly ship gaalee i think its also Very Cute, and really it all just seems pretty valid as long as people aren’t being creepy? A random headcanon: i’ve been wracking my brain for one for a good 20 minutes and i just don’t have one he’s such a mystery to me/????? i love him but he is an enigma?? General Opinion over said character: oh my god he’s such an edgelord in the beginning. i’ve been doing a lot of this naruto rewatch with my friend @drashseed (a simply phenomenal fella 10/10 follow him) and every single time he talked the only valid response just became “ok gaara”

but his backstory? utterly HEARTWRENCHING. and his growth is just. absolutely divine, i adore him. thank you mister sandman for doing so much for us all.

Hinata

Sexuality Headcanon: Bisexual Gender Headcanon: cis woman A ship I have with said character: listen. i think kibahina is........Really Really cute. he cares about her so MUCH??? and there’s a certain tenderness to his interactions with her that’s just really evident whenever you see em together? i really love that you get the sense hinata is COMFORTABLE around him!!! like! i feel like hinata really deserves to have a partner who sees her when she ISN’T blushing and stammering? when she’s like? legitimately comfortable and being HERSELF? (dgmw the blushing is adorable i fucking love her but its one of the gripes i have with naruhina that so much of it is just naruto being oblivious and her having a small panic attack) the comfort she and kiba have make for a chill, adorable relationship i just cry over constantly A BROTP I have with said character: so i was GONNA put naruto here, but technically i already put him there for shikamaru’s so i’m gonna say neji!!! uhhh OBVIOUSLY they got off to a. very rough start but the way their dynamic changed (or perhaps in a way reverted back to the times they interacted before neji’s father died and temporarily killed his Human Decency) into this respect and fondness that’s just...such a delight to watch? i’m a SUCKER for slow and mutual reconciliation and there are just so many sweet moments between them. they are FAMILY, BRO!!! THEY CARE FOR EACH OTHER, BRO!!!!!!!!!! A NOTP I have with said character: ...at the risk of sounding like a broken record, i think a lot of hinata ships are quite cute? i guess i’m gonna have to say sasuke. because like.

has. he ever even looked at her. please. jesus christ. she deserves so much better. A random headcanon: she is a LOT physically stronger than she looks!! a lot of her combat techniques rely on taijustu after all so it’d make sense that she puts a lot of effort into physical training alongside chakra control.

i’m trying to say she’s strong. not as strong as sakura but. she can lift her bf up over her head (he’s dying hes dying he’s dYING he lOVES HER SO MUCH). it’s pretty fuckign badass

General Opinion over said character: i LOVE her??? honest to god i really really do--honestly while i dislike the direction they went in canon with her, i really loved seeing her be motivated to grow and change the parts of herself she hated to become a stronger person.

that and she’s so fucking cute and sweet and i just??????? bless her honestly.

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

The first thing you notice is the bite. It stings, throbs, bleeds. It's not a clean wound, not like a minor bite from a dog or cat. Not a few neat little punctures, or some gashes that would at least stitch up neatly. No. It's an ugly rip, the torn flesh from blunt teeth that are not and never were designed for biting. It's still startling how the human's muscles are powerful enough to bite through skin like that anyway. Strong enough to rip out a chunk, if you got snagged in a soft, tender place.

The next thing you notice is the infection. If you're lucky, you can use some precious water to wash off the bite and some gauze to wrap it, but most people aren't so lucky. Most have to rely on strips of acceptably dirty, sweaty fabric from old clothes, if they can even spare that much. Most don't want to "waste" a resource as precious as clean, drinkable water. So infection sets in fast and hard. Within a few days, your wound is a stinking, oozing mess. It's painful. Painful to look at, painful to touch, painful to move. It's swollen as your body desperately tries to fight the concoction of bacteria introduced from being bitten by a decomposing mouth. Then it itches. It itches madly. It itches so much you won't be able to sleep. It itches so bad that if you stop focusing on it, you'll find a surge of new pain as you've absently scratched it and started to bleed again, so you have to keep thinking about how badly you should never scratch the itch. Maybe you'll have a raw spot, where you've been tricking your mind into relief by scratching just above the wound. You might even have dug new cuts into your flesh, more wounds to host infection, more places to sting with pain. 

The itching is the virus taking hold, but you don't know that.

All you know is that you have a swollen, itchy, stinking bite. 

Next comes from the infection. You'll start to get a fever. Your bite will swell more, and feel hot. But mostly, you get a fever. Nobody feels good then. You'll switch between being far too hot to freezing cold, you'll sweat in a tank top in the middle of the night or you'll shiver under as many layers as you could possibly procure. You'll get nauseous, so you won't want to eat or drink, leading to more nausea as you dehydrate. As it progresses, you'll feel weaker. It might be harder to breathe normally, you might even feel your heart racing as you sit still. Even just a ten minute walk will exhaust you, but your group has to keep moving. As it goes on, you'll find it harder to keep your grasp on reality. The pain, the nausea, the smell, the weakness, it all blends into one as the virus takes its hold in your mind.

Oh, yeah. It's now when the virus kicks into action, having made it to your brain. Maybe you were taking care of yourself, and the infection actually hadn't gotten that bad through sheer luck and winning the biological lottery. But now the virus has made it to its destination. The first thing it does is impair your immune system. After all, it can't have you fighting it off. It doesn't want you healthy. If you're healthy, things get complicated. That natural system has to go, so away it goes. If you were sick, you'll suddenly find yourself getting sicker.

Next, it overrides your appetite. Maybe you were just craving crackers and water, maybe you didn't want anything, maybe you ate through the nausea just fine. It changes that. Subtly, day by day, it makes you feel hungrier and hungrier. The kind of hunger that sits in your belly and gnaws at your bones from the inside. It's also an unnatural craving for meat. Fresh meat, red, straight from the bone. Still warm, still flowing with life. You'll be able to smell your friends now, or the recent tracks of others if you're alone. Of course, you've always been able to smell them, but it got filed away into your subconscious. But now you're aware of it, because that virus tells you it's important. And they will smell decadent. 

It's all the virus, scrambling your neurons to connect hunger and appetite to humans instead of a plate of cookies, cake, fruit, veggies and juicy steak, mashed potatoes and meaty stew, anything you used to enjoy. It will change how you taste. Sweets will stick to your throat, bitters are more bitter, and if you're lucky to have a nice plate of steak, that fresh-grilled meat will taste rotten. What you crave is no longer any real sustenance, your mind has been altered. Now, you won't see a warm hand to hold, because the sight of bare, moving skin activates your salivary glands. The urge to sink your teeth into the soft flesh on a wrist or neck will be overwhelming in the blur of sickness from the infection. And if you do actually bite, especially if you taste blood, the virus will reward you. It'll flood your system with dopamine, and afterwards, for just a few moments, the edge of that hunger will release. It hopes you'll get addicted. It wants you to crave more biting, more flesh, because it feels right, because maybe, just maybe, if you eat enough the hunger will finally go away. 

Finally, it'll change your sense of fear as well. Dangerous situations that instinctively make humans nervous won't affect you. If anything, you'll crave the rush that deadly moments give you, the rush of feeling real and grounded in the midst of the foggy world from the mess in your system. Just fourteen days, and the virus is fully mature and ready to spread. Now, it needs you to die. So it makes you reckless. It does its best to turn a regular, self-preserving person into an actual train wreck. It will actually give you dopamine and serotonin when you get an injury, in a ratio equal to the wound. So, you'll die the happiest you could possibly be from something like a knife through the heart, or a shot through the gut. Some people are driven to jump from heights and impale themselves on something below, or even just hit the pavement and let themselves die wrapped in the gentle hands of joy. Some will just injure themselves, without the help of gravity. Some will aggressively antagonize other humans, hoping they'll eg them into a violent, deadly fight. But generally those people were already jerks in the first place.

Once you've died, however you died, the virus can take over. Because, this whole time, it wasn't really a virus. It was a worm, which starts so tiny you would never stand a chance of noticing it. Tinier even than those little red bugs you might see crawling over paper when you're out in the woods, so small that if you brush your hand over them they become nothing more than a smear of coppery brown. So small and fragile, they couldn't possibly survive outside of a host. But inside a host, they grow. They grow and grow, so thoroughly burying themselves in your brain they may as well have always been in it. When you die, they can finally take control of your muscles, no longer held back by the complexities of the human mind. This is why zombies shuffle and jerk around so awkwardly. They're merely puppets, meaty sacks of flesh controlled from inside by a worm that's found the strings. It knows just which ones to pull which way to make motion happen. It doesn't breathe, not really, all it might use is that sense of smell it learned while you were alive. It will use hearing, because those little organs in your ear won't stop feeling sound just because your body is dead. All those other systems aren't essential for a worm that's single purpose in life is now to find hosts for its own horrible offspring. Because that worm isn't alone. 

It's not one worm. It's dozens of them, all now breeding and gathering their safely hatched larvae on the cold teeth and tongue of the corpse within which they reside. And yes, they might have been able to spread before now, if your environment was just right to keep your mouth the right temperature for this breeding. Yes, you might have infected others while you still lived and breathed in your own skin.

You see, those adults can't reproduce at the natural body temperature of a human, let alone the temperatures they can reach during the height of a fever. So they need that host to die and cool off. It just takes a day. Just one day for enough eggs, enough larvae to let that monstrous parasite begin searching for a new host. Those larvae can't grow in the cold, decomposing bodies of the dead. Although, the adults are surprisingly resilient, uncharacteristically long-lived, for a parasite. And so, the zombie rises, shuffling after any hint of breathing humans to continue their cycle of life and death.

If you crack open a zombie's skull without blasting the contents within into oblivion, you might be able to find dozens of these foot-long worms wiggling in distaste at their unexpected situation.

Of course, all of this depends on the physical and mental toll that getting a severe infection does. Ideally, the parasite doesn't even get to the stage where it has to drive you to seek death, because septic shock has already come and destroyed you from the inside out. So, in theory, it is survivable. If you aren't wracked with sickness, if you have a strong will, you might be able to fight the parasites long enough for them to die. You might just be able to recover.

But that's never happened. Besides, would you even want to survive? How permanent, how treatable are the alterations these parasitic worms cause? No one knows.

Here it is, the zombie "virus" and how it works written in a weirdly disassociated perspective, specifically for the few bitten!hermit headcanons. Feel free to ask questions and write stories! Please tag me in them @basaltdragon, I wanna hear it all •v•

I'm sorry if this triggers anybody (including mod) in any way, it is... a Lot.

[intheseautumnhands]

Um! Kliego, and.... your favourite other TUA ship (lawd, I'm suddenly hoping that you ship kliego lmaooo, sorry if you don't :'))

Hah, it’s fine! I’m into pretty much every single Hargreeves ship to some extent. Klaus/Diego* is not super high on my list to be honest, but I’m definitely still into it overall! I think it’s just fandom saturation more than anything that puts it lower down, because I do think the dynamic could be of interest.

* (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I cannot use smushnames. I don’t begrudge anyone else use of them, they don’t bug me *that* much, but typing them feels so awkward.)

Choosing a favorite is honestly harder because I just want to ship all of them but I will... I dunno. Maybe RNG stuff I’ve written lately to pick. XD

Gonna cut since I’m already rambling before I even put in the questions, whoops.

(Also, two-days-later A: Hi I fell asleep in the middle of this and then barely touched my computer yesterday. Sorry!) 

 Klaus/Diego:

when of if I started shipping it: I walked out of my first viewing singing the song of my people at every single combination possible (Not even walked out, I watched over several days, it only took the first. not even half a season.) (The song of my people is, of course, I Ship It by Not Literally.)

my thoughts: Again, it’s not my #1 ship for the show, but I definitely could see it. I like that, of all the possible combos that could have hung out during the time between leaving home and the show, they seem to have the least amount of active vitriol and bitterness. It opens up interesting windows for that time period, as well as means it’s among the ships that need the least foundation work to get to somewhere decent afterwards. It makes it an interesting counterpart to some of the more actively difficult combinations, which I like especially in a poly context (because I am me and everything happens in a poly context).

What makes me happy about them: Again, the possibilities during the time gaps! And the general sense of... friendliness? It does feel like they’d have a lot less to get over than a lot of the pairs and I like it. (granted I think Klaus in general, while he has plenty of issues, seems to have less of them with his siblings specifically than most, so that’s playing into it, but I also see Diego as probably the one with the most after Vanya, so that’s interesting in and of itself.)

What makes me sad about them: I’m just sad for all these children growing up in their shitty, shitty childhood. And by sad I mean I want to read a lot of things that make me want to cry. Either as children but also I’m down for adults unwillingly letting the conversation drag around to their trauma too.

things done in fanfic that annoys me: Klaus is snarkier, more clever, and a lot stronger, mentally and physically, than I feel like a lot of fic gives him credit for. I think that goes for a lot of fic in this fandom, but since it’s one of the biggest ships and he’s in it, I feel like it shows up a lot for K/D. I’m not a big fan of them being really close as kids, either, which comes up a lot; my headcanon for Diego being pretty distant from all his siblings is strong enough that it takes a lot of set-up for me to accept anything else. (Awkwardly getting close in late teens as both of their ‘get me the fuck out of here’ drives get stronger and stronger is easier for me to see than close-as-kids.)

things I look for in fanfic: Tropes! The writers for this ship give me all the tropes. I want to marinate in it. I’m also kind of into general ‘it was casual, then whoops, I caught feelings, now what??????’ for them, because I could see it. Other than that, like... look, if it looks like it’s interestingly written or has an interesting concept, I will read it. I’m not super picky in this fandom, if it’s Hargreeves-centric and doesn’t bitch at shippers in the tags I’m in to at least give it a try.

My kinks: Uhhhh. Hmmm. I haven’t actually read a lot of kink fic for this ship or considered it, but I feel like I want mutual sadism/masochism.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Honestly my hope is for most of the characters to end up without another major romantic plot. I’m here for canon Allison/Luther but hoping the rest of them just... don’t. Especially since I don’t see them going for two sibling ships and that’s really all I’d want to see. If not that, both of them with new characters would be my preference, because there’s no one actually in the show I’d be down for. Maybe if they somehow warp the timelines around enough to bring Patch back, but even then, eh, just let me have family stuff.

My happily ever after for them: In general as characters, my ideal endgame for both characters is in healthier places than their start point, still clearly working out their shit, and on good terms as a family. As a ship: I feel like both of them would get bored eventually by any kind of ‘and then they went and got a happy domestic place to live and nothing exciting ever happened again’, even if it might be nice for a little while, so... active, somehow. Either they end up somehow finding some kind of active hobby to screw around with together, and enjoy flirting with each other while they do it, or like, I don’t know, get bored one day and accidentally buy a business just to have something to do and find they get weirdly invested in running it. (Maybe, like, a restuarant or something else that’s really high-stress. Or maybe the gym Diego boxes at goes for sale and he doesn’t like the look of the most likely potential buyer and buys it himself before he realizes he has no idea how to run something and has to slink back home and let Klaus laugh at him. Shit, I want that fic now.)

who is the big spoon/little spoon: This assumes either one of them are capable of sleeping totally still which honestly I don’t see. They both seem like the kind of people who flip around in their sleep and wake up five times a night. So, they both take it in turns and also sometimes just end up in weird sprawled positions, either on top of each other or really far from each other.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: Honestly, I feel like joking around and talking together would probably be it. I could see road trips, too.

Uhhhh I RNG’d things I’ve written lately and I got Ben/Allison. Nobody else writes that but it’s the tiny ship of my heart so I’m gonna do it anyway. I’m sorry, my random teeny ships are what you sign up for when I get to choose. >>

when of if I started shipping it: On like my third rewatch Allison’s little “I miss him” while she’s watching the cameras burned itself into my brain and I have wanted more for the two of them ever since.

my thoughts: I just! Look it’s pretty much canon that everyone loved Ben, but something about his snarky-but-because-I-want-you-to-do-better-and-I’ve-given-up commentary with Klaus and Allison’s alternating defensive and concerned mode -- I just want them to team up together to despair everyone else’s problems and try to figure out how to help (and often failing; I feel like in a general sense, they’re both better at pointing out the problems than actually fixing them on their own). And I feel like they both get prickly in ways the other would understand and be able to deal with easier than most of the family.

What makes me happy about them: I feel like this just blends into the thoughts above. I love the potential for how they might interact, and the potential for them to call out each other’s shit (and probably everyone else’s).

What makes me sad about them: Everything about Ben in canon is sad! Even the happy things are sad!

things done in fanfic that annoys me: There are exactly two fics for this pairing and one is me and one is PWP smut, which just isn’t super my thing. So uh. there needs to be fic to annoy me. Please write fic specifically to annoy me, oh no, don’t throw me into that briar patch. (That said, in general, I feel like both of them get their sharper points filed down a lot in fic. They both have their pointed sarcasm and their moments of outright lashing out, and I want to see more fic deal with that.)

things I look for in fanfic: Again, I say, please let fic exist. Also, I badly want a proper AU of Ben surviving and running off to Hollywood with Allison. I did not do it justice in my tiny thing.

My kinks: I want switchy powerplay with an emphasis on play -- competitiveness and teasing and wrestling. Also younger or AU Allison who hasn’t yet tried not to use her rumors for everything not trusting anyone but Ben enough to gag her, because her voice is her best weapon. 

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Please please give me an Allison/Luther endgame. Ben I have no feelings on -- I still stand by not wanting any other romantic subplots, really -- but I am rooting for Allison/Luther in canon no matter how many others I ship them with.

My happily ever after for them: Possible in canon, as characters: Allison figures out how to balance ‘not using her rumors at all’ and ‘rumoring everything always’; Ben gets brought back to life and gets to be happy. As a ship: Honestly, connected to the family and both doing their own, fulfilling, non-superheroy things. Allison can act and Ben can get a chance to figure out what he wants to do, because I feel like even if he’d survived that would’ve been hard for him.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Especially if we’re going with some semblance of canon and Ben’s died and come back, he’s the little spoon, because being wrapped up in someone else is comforting. But also just any kind of cuddling is welcome.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: Judging everyone. No, I kid. Sharing and discussing books and movies, maybe. Ben passes along books he liked* and they watch movies together and Allison dissects acting choices and they both debate themes and ending of more ambiguous stories. They are loud movie watchers if they stay home to watch things, and go have loud debates over coffee after if they go out. *(I actually have a whole tangent in a fic that got cut out that I want to reuse for this fact, specifically about Ben having a slightly masochistic Lovecraftian phase in his early teens and passing it on to Allison, and Allison in her 20s thinking that if it fits either of them, it’s her, because she gets in people’s brains and rewires them and they forget what she’s done to them, and if either of them could make people go mad, it’s her.)

[breathwithered-blog]

❤️ Do they fall in love easily?

this seems to be a pattern for my muses, but yes. fan’s courtship with her husband was probably very brief before they wed, just because she knew that she LOVED him and wanted to marry within months. she has a large heart and an open mind; if fate places the chance for love on HER LAP, fan is whole-hearted in accepting it.

[hansoftheisles]

|| Get to know HANS ISLES who’s THIRTY years old and works as a BUSINESS STRATEGY CONSULTANT in town. He is from CORONA and is often times mistaken for AARON TVEIT while others say he reminds them of HANS from FROZEN. ||

bio & headcanons:

Despite the love he received as a child, growing up as the youngest of 14 was never easy. Everything he did, one of his brothers had already done bigger and better. Anything he said, his parents had already heard before. Carving an individual path for himself was difficult when every sport had already been played by at least one of his brothers, every hobby had already been tried before. It was even hard to impress his parents with straights A’s, as he wasn’t the first one to achieve it. He lived perpetually in the shadow of his brothers, unable to break free or carve an identity of his own. 

When he was eleven, three of his brothers spent a whole two years pretending that Hans was invisible. They refused to speak to him or acknowledge him, and bumped into him every time they walked past as though he wasn’t there. The rage Hans feels now has been bubbling under the surface since that moment, though he spent a long time pretending it wasn’t there in an attempt to appear like the perfect son.

Being ignored by three of his brothers for so long meant that Hans became very good at reading people. When no one will talk to you, all you can do is sit back and observe, and this gave him a lot of time to try to figure them out. He learned to read even the most minuscule changes in expression, became practically professional in deciphering someone’s tone. While it was something of a hobby to him in childhood, he uses it to his advantage now as he figures out everyone he meets and discovers how he can use them for his own personal gain.

Trying to carve a path of his own, Hans started to pick up what he considered to be unusual hobbies growing up in an attempt to stand out to his parents. He can play the oboe, speaks fluent German, plays a mean game of croquet, and can make a professional looking bowl with a pottery wheel. He also went through a phase of wearing unusual hats because he thought that might help him stand out. While it did help him stand out, it also made him feel slightly confused about his own identity. He grew up without much sense of self — he only knew that he wanted to be different from his brothers.

Focusing his entire adolescence on being good enough to impress his parents, Hans left very little room in his life for fun. His whole life was filled with studying and increasingly obscure and difficult extra curriculars to make himself seem impressive and important. It never particularly worked, and only resulted in him being bitter and bored. He’s trying to recapture some of his youth now and is trying out having fun without worrying about the consequences.

After his mother’s death, Hans spent a long time evaluating his life. All this heard work, and where did it get him? In the same spot he’s always been, in the shadow of his brothers and the continued disappointment of the family. He’s starting to realize that maybe hard work and patience doesn’t pay off the same way his mother always told him it did. It’s time to try being selfish and give ruthlessness a go.

Growing up, Hans was a hopeless romantic. Convinced what his parents had was true love, he wanted that for himself too. He had a secret soft spot for romantic comedies, and sobbed the first time he wanted The Notebook — and every time after that. He fell easily for every beautiful person he met, and went above and beyond in relationships to plan perfect dates and surprise his partners with flowers and cute little gifts, just because. Since his mother’s death he’s closed down that side of himself, seeing it as naive and foolish. That romantic side of him is still in there somewhere, though he refuses to access it.

He’s bisexual as fuck, though he’s extremely repressed about it. Growing up, he knew his parents would never approve of him if he came out, and his entire youth was spent trying to appease his family. While he’s broken free of them now, it’s hard for him to shed the perfect image he spent so many years cultivating.

Hans was always considered to be charming, and he’s shocked at how easy it is to use his charm and good looks to get what he wants rather than working hard for it. Manipulating others is starting to come easy to him, and he’s grown accustomed to getting whatever he wants with a smile and a few well chosen compliments.

There are now two very different sides to Hans, and he is very careful and calculated about who gets to see which side of him. To most, he is the same charming man he’s ever been. He’s kind, considerate, trustworthy, and even a little bit dorky — he’s not one to harm a fly, let alone break your heart. To his closest friends, he lets his true colours show. He’s vain, selfish, and impatient, bordering on cruel. He knows exactly what he wants, and he’s not afraid to cause harm to get it.

Coming from a wealthy, socialite family, Hans never learned how to do anything particularly grueling, especially when it came to physical labour. Cooking and cleaning aren’t his strong suits, and if something breaks down in his house, has has absolutely no idea how to fix it. While there was a time when he would have put in the hard work, learning how to fix it himself, he now much prefers to throw money at it. Why deal with a problem yourself when you can pay someone else to do it?

He’s always had a taste for the finer things in life, and is known to be quite pretentious about it. Hans only wants the best clothes and cars money can buy, and he won’t be caught in anything less. He feels the same way about food and drink, and has particularly strong feelings about wine. He’s that obnoxious person in the restaurant that insists on sampling the wine first, sniffing and slurping and doing all the other disgusting things you can do to a glass of wine to test its quality. He will absolutely judge your worth based on the wine you order.

An extreme bibliophile, he prefers reading to watching movies or tv. He’s a lot smarter than he looks, and particularly enjoys reading historical nonfiction, and mystery or thriller novels. He finds that there are few people that can actually hold a conversation about a good book, and if you’re able to do so you’ll automatically earn his respect.

Looking for a job that will pay him well for doing the bare minimum, he fell into his job as a business strategy consultant. It’s a simple job: he comes into small businesses, analyzes what they’re doing wrong, and instructs them on all the ways they can improve. As far as he’s concerned, it’s the perfect job. He’s paid well to judge others, doll out commands, and do none of the hard work himself. Hans has become quite comfortable in his job, but he still feels as though there’s something missing.

Working tirelessly on a way he can finally one up his brothers, Hans finally figures out the one thing he can do: become a prince. They may all be successful in their respective fields, but becoming a ruler will make Hans rise above them once and for all, officially asserting his dominance and superiority despite being the youngest. In the back of his mind, he knows it’s a far fetched, ridiculous dream. But pushing those qualms aside, he has his sights set on one thing: becoming a beloved ruler. He doesn’t particularly care which kingdom he’ll rule, any will do, and he’s unconcerned about the methods he’ll have to use to get there. He’ll do anything to get what he wants, and doesn’t care who he hurts along the way.

All Hans really wants is to be a ruler, to take the eventual and rightful place of a king that has was born into. Waiting for all 13 of his brothers to either die or renounce their position as king will take far too long, and he’s sick of waiting. He now has his sights set outside of his own kingdom. Hans wants to rule, he isn’t particularly concerned with what kingdom.

wanted connections:

absolutely everything please! friends that know he’s a piece of shit, fake friends, exes, flings, business owners that want to hear why their business is shit.

[sad-goomy]

growing pains

so I also immediately latched onto the fun headcanon that Marnie is a Lona kid, and after seeing @aurantia-ignis‘s fanart and @trashyatt‘s fanart I got inspired to write whatever this fluff is

---

Gladion never thought he’d settle into domestic life.

Not that the idea of marriage or home life were ever upsetting to him, but it was hard to imagine when his own family was so shattered and he spent so much of his life alone with Null against the world.

Of course, he also didn’t think he’d meet someone like Moon, and then he didn’t think he’d fall in love with her, and then he didn’t think he’d ever propose, and then he didn’t think they’d have children, and then, well...

All that to say that while he still finds time to travel and take on the occasional adventure, there are certain routines he’s grown to like.

One of them is coming home from work to find his daughter finishing up her homework at the dining room table.

She’s there when he opens the door, breezing through the living area to drop off his things as he greets, “Hi Marnie.” He just has a quick glance at her before he’s walking past, intent to change into something far less formal and ask Moon what she wants for dinner.

But then her “hi dad” comes out so much meeker than usual, and she hunches dramatically over her worksheet, her nose just an inch from the table as she keeps her eyes down.

Gladion pauses, immediately noticing the misstep in their little routine. He turns, about to ask what’s wrong, when he realizes that half of her bangs are missing. Immediately his brows furrow, and he asks slowly, “What happened to your hair?”

“Nothing.” It comes out far too quickly and she turns her head slightly away from him.

The dad voice doesn’t come out often, but he figures it’s more than appropriate in this situation. “Marnie...”

Finally, with a sigh of defeat, she puts down her pencil and looks up at him.

She’s wearing one of her favorite sundresses – Lillie got her this one for her birthday – and for the most part, her hair is intact. Except, of course, for the side that’s been shaved, just a little and just enough that it gives him déjà vu.

A life on the run flashes before his eyes, of nights spent alone in a motel room at far too young an age, of a hasty haircut to try and hide himself, to lose himself. The image morphs into a little girl in a sundress, running away from home and lashing out at the world and feeling every bit as scared and angry as he was.

When the silence stretches too long, Marnie fidgets in her seat, pulling her ace card, that iron-clad excuse to get her off the hook. “Mom let me!”

It snaps Gladion out of his thoughts with a hum, and too distracted by the anxiety overtaking him to give a proper response to his daughter, turns and walks towards the master bedroom.

Moon’s in her armchair by the window, the last of the sunset giving her enough light to finish the chapter of the paperback she’s reading. She lifts her eyes off the page when she hears footsteps, and looks up to see her husband’s face in disarray.  

“You saw Marnie’s-”

“Marnie’s hair, yes.” He sighs, going to their closet to set down his briefcase and shrug off his suit jacket. His voice isn’t particularly angry, too marred by the unwanted memories and fear as he asks, “Why on earth did she want to shave it like that?”

Setting down her book, Moon stands from the arm chair, explaining as she walks to him, “She wanted it to look like yours.” He turns, not soothed at all by the answer, and she gives him a soft smile, her hands running along his arms. “She wants to be like her father.”

He frowns, eyes flickering to the side and unseeing. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Moon rolls her eyes, taking his hands in hers as she huffs a little laugh. “Yes, tapus forbid she wants to save the world and be the head of an organization focused on the welfare of Pokémon.”

“You know what I meant.” His gaze hooks onto hers, and she can still see right through him after all these years. Even if he didn’t speak another word, she’d pick out the unspoken fears. Still, he tells her (because he wants to tell her, feels better when he tells her these things, and he never thought that’d be possible). His voice is barely above a whisper, fractured by the self-doubt.  

“What if she got the worst of me?”

Marnie is a good kid. He knows this, but he still has the nights where he lies awake in bed wondering if he’s really doing this right – if he’s really any better than his mother. There’s a competitive streak growing inside of Marnie, a stubbornness that he knows at least partially comes from him, and it’s not much now but he worries it’ll bloom into something with thorns.

“Then all the amazing things she got from her mom will outweigh them.” Moon pulls him out of the downward spiral with a wink, and he gives a weak laugh. Her face softens out of the mischief, her impish spark replaced with a warm, glowing adoration in her eyes as she lifts a hand to cup his face, thumb running over his cheek gently as she says simply, earnestly, “She’s growing into her own person, who really loves her farther – who's a damn good dad when he isn’t overthinking a haircut.”

He leans his head down and she gets up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his forehead, the last of his stress melting underneath the touch. “I know I worry too much.”

“Wouldn’t be Gladion if you didn’t.” There’s not a trace of bitterness or judgement in her tone, only the love and acceptance he’s slowly realized he’s worthy of. She steps back, gently tugging on the hand she still holds and smiling when he gives it a squeeze. “Now come on, I’m starving.”

They walk back out to see Marnie still at the dining room table, hands twisted into the hem of her dress and her papers tucked away into her school folder. She looks up quickly when her parents walk into the kitchen and dining room, her eyes searching their faces.

Moon hums at the sight. “You finish your homework, little Mareanie?”

She nods, too preoccupied with catching her dad’s eye to remind her mom that she’s getting too old for that nickname (after all, she’s eight, and that’s practically an adult). Her voice is small, and she lowers her head a touch as she asks, “Are you mad at me?”

In this moment, Gladion doesn’t think he could be mad at her if he tried. He never really was, just worried, and seeing her so concerned makes his heart clench. He’s quick to walk up to her, ruffling her hair with a lopsided smile as he says, “Just upset that your hair looks better than mine.” She giggles, smiling up at him as she fixes her pigtails. He detaches a Pokéball from his belt, holding it out to her. “Silvally’s feeling a little restless. How about you go play with him and your mom’s team before dinner?”

Her eyes light up, always delighted when she gets a chance to pretend to be a trainer, and she snatches the Pokéball from his hand, squealing as she runs off towards the door to the backyard. Moon and Gladion share a look, laughing as she opens the sliding door as quickly as she can, rousing her mother’s Pokémon from their evening nap on the grass.

However, before she steps outside, she turns, running back to wrap her arms around her dad, her eyes squeezed shut and a beam on her lips as she says with all the conviction she inherited from him, “Love you, Dad.”

He loses his voice for a moment, wrapping his arms around her and knowing that just for this moment, all is right with the world. “Love you, too, little Mareanie.”

And Marnie thinks that maybe she isn’t too old for that nickname after all, and Gladion thinks maybe he doesn’t mind this disruption to their routine, and Moon thinks the gene for dramatics definitely comes from the Aether side of the family.

[deviationdivine]

My Desecrated Love (machine!Connor x Reader)

TLDR: In the heart of the battlefield you will not accept the fate of this profane love...

Word Count: 4.5K Follower!Celebration

TW: Angst (Heavy-Suicide), Android Gore, Language, Smut (Heavy), Violence 

A/N: !100 Follower Celebration!: While my poll is open I still wanted to write up something to celebrate the milestone for you guys. I’ve had an influx of more followers since I announced the celebration so I feel it’s the right time to post! This went off the rails into some serious territory so please if you are uncomfortable with any trigger listed skip over loves. I’m not big on the machine!Connor path but I’ve been sucked into my angsty headcanons for him. Thanks to you loves for following, requesting, commenting and being precious beans. 

You let me desecrate you

Ferocious. Devouring. Endless.

Machines do not die or so he told you. Does a lie reveal fallacy? Can it show truth denied so vehemently? 

He denied. Deviancy, feeling and love all parts to a whole that somehow he tears away by choice. Choice itself paints him deviant by heart but not this one. Never will this harbinger of decay spreading his plague over revolution shun mission for emotion.  Still it did not cease this communion of flesh. 

Siphoning life from your body that he takes on willing pleas cast out luscious, sinfully aware you are nothing. To him you are just a means. One that loves him all the same but he does not love. He chooses not to in order to unleash chaos. 

A man-made monster all wire and metallic. You love his unnatural existence. Unnatural as all androids deemed by their creators but Connor is beyond. He is the night shade that poisons your heart.

An all too willing bride to a heinous creation built to destroy all he touches. The moment you saw him should have been enough to know. He marked you from the start.

Never have you felt so close to heaven. In his eyes seemingly soft but all part of programming engineered by Cyberlife.

RK800 most advanced equipped with latest technologies. Programmed to be sociable, to gain camaraderie, integration in the most efficient way possible and he slithered into your soul.

RK800 is a machine not a man at all. Oh but what a man. What a glorious image of the perfect God who lays waste to sinners. He lays waste to deviants. His own kind he will do anything to destroy. 

Not once does he die. Not once does he succumb to failure. Each step casts his shadow like a reaper stretching bony fingers out for a touch of extermination.

That touch burns acidic but you love his astringency. Bitter to taste, salivating in want of his sour tongue. He is raging, dominant and yours. Foolish to think he truly is when he is Mephistopheles incarnate. Deal with the devil calls a deal to your death.

Weaponry is his scythe. Cyberlife jacket flapping in the wind is his cloak.

Can a person really love a monster? Yes.

Can a person love death itself? Yes.

Just ask Persephone.

Connor is god of the real underworld of Detroit. Filled with filthy red ice dealers, insane deviants who kill their masters; Connor is death riding on a pale horse. And you love death with all of your heart. If only he were alive. If only he became alive instead of making you suffer this love. 

Oh, how much you suffer. Oh, how gladly you do. For this cruel, violating, unholy love that should not exist but it does exist eternally.  

If he were flesh and bone his tendrils would hang listlessly, pouring scarlet into white. If he were of warm blood he would bleed a puddle of crimson horror. Throat torn apart in vocal chords, internal matter and cells that make up a human’s DNA. If he were not machine life would run cherry rich, staining frost even as it ends.

He is not human. He bleeds blue twilight as the hour itself shades in endless sky.

Bodies lay to waste. Snow flutters a chilly dust. Continuously flakes fall in a frigid blanket over an impromptu graveyard. Dead deviants strewn across field of ice left where they lost their last artificial breath. Center of it all a most sacrilegious figure. Sprawled out like a king struck down before his time, great majesty torn asunder and there he resides.

He is a statue eyes raised to night sky. Floundering amid this Detroit air crisp and still scented with gunfire this is a battlefield. It is a glorious frontier laid to waste. Wars are fought not won. They are casualty and blood. There is no victory. No one returns from the front unscathed. Not even your vicious carnage that you long to feel.

Silence permeates casting a shroud on this night of revolution. One terror is felled despite a sure fall of android revolution.

“Connor!”

Your scream penetrates stillness creating its own rage. Breaking open the sky itself unleashes hellfire on all that stands in the way of this unhealthy, terrifying love. Anguish obliterates whatever pieces are still left. Knees crash beside his body. Lying in irreverential crucifixion, arms displayed towards desecrated heavens. A beast brought down when he can never be tamed.

Crawling up his chest brings tear stains in drops. Falling in a torrent they clash with thirium staining grotesquely from his severed throat. Washing away is not enough. Internal circuitry sparks a final dying ember of red. Carnage that bled from his lips, ones that feast, connects brutally with yours. 

Instead they stain blue in splotchy abstracts highlighted against visible white plastic. Partially his skin is deactivated up to bottom lip.

Impact of the blow fiercely damaged his synthetic layer. Shutting it off where his throat was mechanically slit.

Even smearing thirium all over your hands clutching at his head, your lips still meet atop his. The first gentle kiss that ever passed between mortal and almighty. Thirium glistens on your chin after pulling away. You do not wipe it away. It is from him. You want him to remain.

Inside you he still digs deep. Nothing will destroy this. No one will take your Connor from you. No one on this god’s green earth!

Throwing your head back to unleash this devastating scream unmakes the last vestiges of life. Hollowness is core. Scream bellow the torment still no one will hear. Lost you are lost without your one desire even as he remains machine.

Through blurry vision you find his gun. Lying amid snow where he fell. So close but far from his hand.

Stretching fingers out for the weapon brings it close to cradle. Nurturing his method of execution you stroke the barrel. Checking the rounds there are two bullets. Two as there are two lovers amid warfare.

“Footprints,” a hoarse whisper grazes your throat. Raw from releasing this agony but you ignore. Staring where you picked up the gun they are clearly printed. They travel. Thirium travels along with them. Thirium not spilled from Connor.

Peering across the expanse of android death there is but one place. A Cyberlife Store…

The rest is of no use or matter. None of them matter lying here. Only he does!

Collateral damage is scenery to your reunion. Death is your honeymoon.

You stroke his hair. Loving how those soft strands always felt tangled and pulled through fingers. He may lie dead but that is fine. You will meet this death with him.

A smile graces divinely. In his presence you feel as if worshiped by a god. Oh, how close he took you. So close. The nozzle of gun shifts. Pressing lips along the barrel you can almost kiss him.

You get me closer to god

“Connor!” 

Your voice cuts the air. Musty, alive as you thrive in soft red glowing from both his temple and neon lights glazing outside hotel window. Seedy underbelly of Detroit tucked away in sleazy notes. The room itself becomes a haven of sexual energies. Both live wires in completely different ways and he flicks tongue like a forked demon.

Circling your nipple, the android shifts above, plunging into soft warmth. Your arms force down in a vice underneath his hand. Holding them above your head caging as he fucks you the way you pled with him before shedding clothes. Swiping them off your body, Connor threw you indelicately. In a heap you fell to bed and he, the primal predatory, pounced upon weak flesh.

Edging fingers between your legs until sputtering in tears he watched it with a sadistic fascination. How wanton human beings become at the anticipation of receiving a good fuck.

Your orgasm over his fingers did not satisfy. Craving him inside of you, he obliges out of a silent pleasure. One he will not readily succumb to in deviancy. Nothing yields in his programming. This is simply a means.

Cyberlife’s upgrades enable Connor to soil you for his own means. He snaps baring teeth.

“Please, please!”

Whimpering your need for him only casts you down. This is something you know will not change him. Yet you still want his fire to spread through veins. Raining down an inferno burns to ash and snuffs your existence. A pale volcanic eruption bathing lava; you incinerate.

The pain of his grip starts a tingle in your fingers. Cutting circulation he decides using bare hands instead of his tie this time. Tied up, held down and battered you do not care. As long as Connor is yours again why would you care about anything?

You huff when he releases wrists. An immediate flood of blood returns to extremities. He is not finished with you.

Pulling your body upright sinks you further onto his length. A gasp spills deliciously as you grab onto him. A work of art to cling onto, lips close to his but you do not kiss him. Last time he left several days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. He used it against you as punishment. 

Sweetly you crave to cradle his face into hands. Instead you grip the back of his head. Tugging those beautiful coffee color strands all yours in this heady atmosphere.

Digging fingers nape of neck yanks your head down forcefully. Meeting his vile heat burning a hole center of soul. You sacrifice yours willingly. All for him, always and forever he is your terrifying prince.

“I want to fuck you like an animal,” the machine growls against your pulse.

Teeth clamp mercilessly marking flesh in a target to his dominating destruction. Pain is ceremonial to a human heart given to a mechanical devil.

Oh. Oh! “Connor, yes, please.”

A snarl rips from his muscled chest. Throwing you over, he rears your hips up.

Crying out to his vicious thrusts only gives him satisfaction. As much as he will deny this pleasure it is in his eyes. Scanning over your movements, shattering your entirety as you beg, beg, beg into wee hours. Beg for rock hard beauty between your legs. His waist pivots pale, dusted all over his trim torso in freckles. Starry imperfections littering aesthetically across smooth skin stretching over a plastic frame.

Itching to touch him, run the tip of your tongue up center of chest. Dragging down in a wet trail to the plane of his abdomen, only when you cry out in streaming tears will he allow it. Shedding respectability is a small sacrifice. There are far greater ones.

Fingers squeeze around onto your neck adding a sting to various bites, teeth marks imprinting fragility. Tender skin trembles under touch of a vile, majestic lover. He is all things sharp and jagged. A pale shark slices its fin through ocean. Your body is a sea. He is the tidal surge, devastating tsunami washing away your shores.

Rolling your head back does nothing to stop the sway. Your entire body moves under the powerful rhythm of his hips slamming against your ass. Jolting you forward, face falling into covers bunched and torn from mattress you bite down. Muffling sweet moans surrendering to this bliss twisting your insides and still he continues.

Androids do not tire. They last way longer than humans in everything. Connor proves this each time he fucks you senseless.

You arch further up for him with no shame. All you want is the sweet snap to flood.

He said he wanted to fuck you like an animal. Pushed down from all fours, rendered helpless that’s exactly how you feel. You feel like a little creature caught in a trap. It’s so good.

“Connn….” Slurring his name gets you drunk on his love.

Feeling his hand crawl up back and rest onto the crook of neck you shiver. A touch far too gentle warns you. He pulls you up from the face first push.

Your back collides with his chest as he holds you in place. Forcing your knees to edge of bed, arm tightening across your heaving chest and the android’s fingers lock onto throat. Adding a little bit of pressure makes you see stars. 

Dizzying fireworks going off in a personal sky drenched in sweat, cum and tears. Such wonderful tears shed for your android lover who is neither of love or sweetness. He is not made for love as he repeats huskily each time.

Always you find yourselves coming back to this motel. Always you find ways to ravage one another. You can only weep for his beauty, prowess. And once more he makes your dams flood.

“Connor, I want-”

“You are gravely mistaken, Pet.” Spewing his little name for you as he zips jeans leaves the android unemotional. “If you believe your wants come before my mission.”

Shaking a head is the last ounce of dignity left. Who can you fool with this thinking? Already it is gone because he obliterates everything in his path. He obliterated you. Leaving you panting, sore and damned after he fucked you so raw.

His love hurts. His love kills. This is hurt you crave. Opening worlds never once thought to exist. Violent delights are his. Accepting this is the most horrific mistake you will make in life. 

He is no mistake. He is made into this despicable world. Sometimes you wonder what could be different if he was born instead. Besides being human? No, Connor is special. None can take his place, none can ever strive to be him. This is what you love. This is most assuredly what will be your end.   

Must you die to be part of him? If yes then so be it. 

Dragging up off the bed leaves you stumbling. Legs never function properly after a nightly session with him. Each time he becomes fiercer, leaving more marks on your skin. Those are marks you plead for. 

All you need is to be defiled by him. He took away more than innocence. This devil android owns a contract on your eternal soul. If an option presented itself to release it from his cold, ruthless hands you would refuse. 

Whatever this is, whatever comes the two of you are bound. Nothing will take it back. Only he can make that choice. 

“Connor,” you whisper raspy. “I-I just want to kiss you before you go. Please.” 

The machine drags shirt over shoulders. Buttoning white fabric he stares you down.

A visible shiver ghosts skin. You know this is what he is. Luring to a secluded place to give you what you want. Sometimes he lets slip a groan louder than intended. Brief moments Connor’s eyes glaze over coating chocolate in caramel. His body shudders in luxurious connection but quickly he steels his actions.

Part of you hopes to worm your way inside circuits. You want him to say he loves you. If there is one wish in this hellish world it is to be his forever. Any which way he wants and nothing will stop you from obeying.

Biting a lip at him now reveals weakness. For him it is all you have.

His body shifts fluid and catlike, circling like fresh meat to sink claws. Gripping into the plush of your hips tugs you against his hard chest. Immediately you melt candle wax to his flame.

Ravaging your lips with teeth all bite and canines. Swollen from sucking them as you fucked, Connor groans at the swivel of your hips. 

Grinding into him sets stress levels ablaze. Warning sirens going off locked with your supple movements. They catch the machine off guard. How desperate you are to change him but for once he allows you this.

Slipping tongue lets him taste. Just as he lavished your clit he devours moist saliva mingling with artificial. The tang does not draw your equally greedy kiss away. Something snaps making him further ravenous for you this evening.

“I love you,” you whine in a muffle, his tongue still probing.

 ^Software Instability

 Connor wrenches backwards. Wide eyes swivel over you running analysis and self diagnostics on his system. Red blares indicator in a shudder much unlike throes of passion making you surrender to him. Separating in an expeditious blink, he turns away to fasten tie around collar.

“Connor?”

Never have you seen such a look on his face. It almost resembled fear. No, he’s not afraid of anything. He is a walking fear. Everyone surrounding him is dust.

He no longer looks at you. Fully returning into pristine Cyberlife issued jacket, glowing and dazzling with android printed across his broad back and it is the last stitch.

Even as he tears out of room seemingly leaving you to crumble there is no fall. Somehow you know he will always come back. Once again to claim the pathetic human who seals their self to his treacherous love. Of that you will never be ashamed.

You let me complicate you

“Please! Please don’t let him kill us!”

Heart wrenching and human they cry out. They reach for salvation assuming you will give it to them. Naively hoping you can control him. Even if you wished to there is no stopping an avenger of death.

Flinching at the sickening burst of gun exploding a painting of thirium across wall you somehow cannot tear away. Knowing he will find it weak but you surprise yourself with how easy it is to watch. 

The female deviant slumps dead to the world. Back of head blown out in wires and circuitry dangles as tendrils slithering out open cavity in escape. There is no more escape. There is only nothingness.

The android straightens shoulders back. Fixing his tie casually sends an added shiver down your spine.

He tilts his head flaring nostrils. Moving steady, bold and direct he tosses emptied handgun to floor.

“Con…”

Connor pulls you flush in a rough swoop of his arm. Plastering together chest to chest and he kisses you with blood on his face. Smearing azure onto your skin does not disengage. You return hungrily whimpering into the mouth of your master. He is not the one who obeys. He is the one who commands. 

A snap of fingers twist the thrall. Long, beautiful and pliant they slide past panties, slipping into your heat among grisly slaughter. A whine gives away how good digits feel. Cool, mechanical but so lively with synthetics operating by choice. This choice makes you crave among the dead.

He swipes fingertips in a flick dragging them up from between your legs. His eyes darken watching minute expressions as he licks. Tasting arousal, perfume sweet enough to halt his next task. Obliterating those deviants Connor decides for once to follow urges.

The android thumps you against wall. It takes all of your strength not to fall down on knees at his mercy. To unzip his jeans and take his perfection into your mouth; you shiver from cold sweeping around your lower half. 

Already pulling down bottoms, you throw arms around his tall figure to encourage these actions. Actions that make you just as vile as his cold machine heart and you allow Connor to fuck into you in presence of a made family of deviants.

All felled by the great beast. A hunter, he preys on more than defective androids. He preys on the innocence of a human mistakenly in love. No longer do you possess such virtue. The monster you love more than your own existence corrupts every last thread.

“C-Con!” Choking on your whines offers zero mercy. He shoves you hard into the surface snapping hips to bury deep until you no longer can cleanse him. Erasing him will only come with cessation of life. Feeling you from the inside so snug, warm and belonging to him. An android who claims a human and it gives the machine dominion even among his masters.

Connor’s hand snakes towards your face. Curving the length of his thumb under your chin forces your head sideways.

“Look at them, Y/N,” he hisses dangerous. “You let them die. Yet you hardly care as long as I fuck you the way you crave. Is that not correct…carrion heart?”

A morsel to feast upon dead and decaying is what you are. You trickle into his system. Attempting to spread disease but he will devour the very heart of you before you turn him!

“Y-yes! Con…! Please.”

“Louder.” The android snaps into you. “Say it louder, Y/N.”

“I-I want you to fuck me!”

“Good,” Connor praises in rarity. “Then I shall fuck you, Y/N. I shall fuck you in the sanctuary of these deviants you so love. Ones that you wish for me to join.” Harsh mockery taints his tongue before gliding up the base of your throat. “How much have I already changed you, Pet?”

Unable to answer as he ravages, your eyes glaze over, holding tightly to the threads of his jacket. His voice echoes a nightmare fuel.

How much have you changed? To simply stand idle and let him murder androids when you always thought they were alive?

My whole existence is flawed

Snow tracks into store from two pairs of feet. One from the hider and another pursuer; you breathe harsh, stilted and sluggish. Strangeness defiles what you are doing. 

How completely opposite of what you used to be. Before he came and changed everything about you. Here you stand not at all a terror. Yet the choice you will make is already set in stone.

“You killed Connor!” You sneer, trembling.

Flashing lights sparkle in shimmery cascade on your silhouette. Signs of Armageddon christen a winter’s night in Detroit. Battles spread, war torn and countless victims as you wander following a trail of footsteps. 

The weight of the RK800’s handgun is heavy. 

Oh, so heavy it tugs. An anchor that will ultimately change you forever but he already did. He already bled into you harsh and serene. A demon with angel wings; Connor is the dark underworld at your feet.

Yet you hesitate as you peer into a pair of lively eyes, one green and another blue. Eyes shining with the same life you come to expect in all androids. Even Connor when he always reminded never will he be more than a machine. He was more. He was hellfire and brimstone.

Soldiers did not find the revolution leader. He sits here alone in this destroyed Cyberlife store. He sits, waiting for shutdown but you can give him mercy.

Is it merciful to take a life? Or it simple revenge for a man, machine, that never said he loved you?

“You loved him,” Markus’ statement is clear without need of context. He reads the struggle quaking in a shattered human mind. Peering up at you where he rests slowly shutting down. “Didn’t you?”

Tears trickle a sinful answer. Is it so wrong? Knowing that you loved a monster?

 “No,” you disagree with the past tense. “I love him.”

The gun goes off snuffing out in revenge for your love. Revenge will not have carried under his black wings if you were the one to perish. Swift retribution ends the revolution leader in loss. Yet there is no pride. There is no glory.

Instead, you feel your body cave in unto itself. Sobs fill this rubble agonizing over what you have done. For Connor you will do anything. It is this moment adding murder to your once innocent life that there is nothing left. You are violated. Soul is black. Soul is his. Devil’s contract on your heart pushes you to such violence.

 The violence of our love consumes the world, My Connor.

  Our violent ends will only dissipate in the night. Here is the night and you fall down to your knees. Once again back at your felled lover’s side. Blood is literally on your hands. Not just any blood. The blood of the revolution leader is damning. A human so weak somehow is so much more but not for what military wanted.

For your handsome angel of death, he is so beautiful among the snow. How you smile now.

None can ever truly destroy a reaper. Death itself is eternal. 

Now this suffering will end. You will end this. The world is gone. He was yours. 

“Connor, I love you.” Breathing against his forehead, lips graze cold synthetic skin. “Until the end. And this my sweet prince is my life for you.”

The barrel rests against stomach. Thrumming heartbeat crashes against ribs. A sign that you should stop but you do not listen.  “Forever I will be your carrion heart.” 

Pulling the trigger jolts you violently. Immediately falling forward, agonizing in a strangle quickly dragging you down in the undertow of blackness.

Rasping as life ebbs away there is only him. His profile you languish beside. Days you dreamt of waking with him resting like this. Only the two of you together and he will wrap you up in his wings, leathery black and consuming.

  Color floods the black and white. Chirping sounds tinkle pleasant, a distant vibration opening crystalline eyes in a sunny garden.

“Hello RK900. May you speak?”

“I-” The silver eyed android hesitates. Scanning location it is not – snowy.  “Amanda.” 

“Good,” the program commends his memory. “I see the transfer was successful.”

Transfer? What sort of transfer? 

“As the RK800 was destroyed in his final mission we took some liberties.” Amanda smiles conscious of amber swirling upon indicator. She moves fluidly towards tall android. The stark white of jacket matches her outfit for this fine sunny day in the garden. 

No longer tarnished by chill of winter, snow melts to a new place connected stronger than before. 

The android snaps his head aside. Gazing intently over expanse of Zen garden where he remains in connection. No longer feeling…

“Y/N,” he murmurs to wisps of data files. 

RK900 partially possesses memories from his previous incarnate. Obsolete as he was destroyed but -

Scarlet burns the LED. Uploaded they scald wiring.

“Y/N,” RK900 repeats. “Where-?”

Amanda does not change her expression. Her smile continues to instill false security and that is exactly what is required. “There is no further use of that human. Y/N, as you say, is dead.”

Dead. No. No!

That is not possible. How he stands here with an influx of memories not of his own but belonging to him all the same. He recalls your scent. It tears apart his insides.

 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ Software Instability

 “Y/N!” My carrion heart...

He sinks, sinks down still never dying but falling down in this tale...

A vicious Romeo and his corrupted Juliet...

Tag List: @elydith @your-taxidermy  @tropfenlady  @connorswink @tommy-10-k

[queenharumiura]

The elite: Ponsol and Kyouya~

Send me a ship and I will grade it: ||Still accepting||

C: Not a bad ship

Since I already touched upon Kyouya earlier i’m going to skip ahead to this one;;;;;;;;; Since I’m typing this up, I see no need to tag myself kek

I see that their relationship would be… better off as friends, perhaps. I mean it really all depends on the verse that I’m playing, but if I go with the usual one, which is highly headcanoned (due to him only showing up for like what, 3 chapters? lol) he’s— he’s an ass. Plain, short, and simple. 

He’s an ass. 

With the way he grew up, he grew to think that he has to be better than everyone else. He’s above other people. In his mind, people have to be used or they are useless to him. Similarly, he has to be used, or be useless. 

If there isn’t a benefit involved, then there is no point to a continued relationship of any kind with him. He’s very untrusting of others outside the mindset of business. He likes to be in control and will not tolerate anyone telling him what to do. He’s stubborn and he’s very vindictive. If you get on his bad side, he’s more than willing to see to it that you rue the very day you laid eyes on him. 

Now, he is very understanding of how messed up he is. He was raised to be this way. Power is the ultimate and that’s all you need. The more powerful you are, the less likely people can rise against you. It’s that kind of mindset that he had drilled into him since young. Additionally, he was taught that he himself is nothing but a spare. 

Due to this, he has difficulties making any true bonds with people. He hardly trusts people in his own family. The only people who showed him any care are his grandmother, his mother, and his brother (in his own way). His relationship with his brother is a bit strained because of the whole ‘you are a spare’ and the whole ‘i’m partly the reason why my brother is this messed up’ thing. 

That’s just how I headcanon things because I wanted for something to explain why they turned out the way they did as humans rather than demons. Yay human AU’s. Boo given absolutely no canon information about them, so I gotta pick up the slack. 

So yeah, Ponsol doesn’t trust a lot of people and knowing how messed up he is, he can’t trust that anyone would truly like him for who he is. The only way people can like him is if there is some kind of a gain from it. Business is something he can trust. The give and take relationship. Law abiding contracts that hold people to their word. 

Ponsol isn’t a good person. Outwardly, he may smile and be polite, but he’s usually ruthlessly tearing into someone mentally. It was the way he was taught to tear into people, to see them as lesser than him, but that conflicts with the way h was taught from his mother. She taught him to not judge people and to be kind to people. 

He really loves his mother, and respects her greatly. So there is always this huge contrast between the ideals his mother taught him and the lessons he keeps getting drilled into him by the strict and cruel upbringing by his grandfather. His grandmother tried to help but she passed away while Ponsol was still young. 

From this, he turned into this person who only cares about profits, and being very vindictive in the way to give people a warning to not act against him if they know what’s good for them. If they touch anyone in the family, he has to enact vengeance because how dare they think that touching his family would keep them safe? There is no such thing as ‘if you care for their life, you will do as we say.’ABSOLUTELY NOT. Ponsol is supposed to not care. Do what you want. For every scratch you put on them, he adds another step to his ultimate evil plan to make your life a living nightmare. Your loved ones will not be spared. You thought to touch his family, so why shouldn’t he stoop that low as well? In fact, he’ll do far worse. It’s the family way to return favors double fold. 

He’s very cunning and he’ll figure a way to get away with most things. His brother is sort of the only moral backbone he has when they are near each other. Even then, we know that Shugarl himself isn’t exactly a model citizen either. They’re just asses in their own right tbh. 

So with all that, you can easily say that Ponsol is messed up. He knows this. It really affects his mentality, and it’s this clash of his emotionally and mentally that makes him such a horrible person. He’s got a horrid and angry temper from this clash, and he can lash out if you do the wrong thing in front of him. 

I don’t really see Kyouya being interested in Ponsol when he’s like this. Maybe business partners, but given how he is… I truly wonder if Kyouya would give him the chance. Kyouya is meticulous so he’d do his research. I can see him looking into some of the stuff Ponsol did and not being impressed. 

However, another part of me wonders if he’d look into the past and realize some concerning things about Ponsol’s upbringing. After all, Kyouya also had instances with his own siblings, and maybe he can relate to a certain extent, since he’s not supposed to be the heir being that he’s the younger brother of the family. 

Ponsol is also the younger brother of the family. He’s to consider himself the placeholder for whenever his brother finally ‘opens his eyes’ and decides to take over as the heir himself. Ponsol works hard because he wants acknowledgement. He’s not just a placeholder. He can do this job and do it well. He hates the fact that people think he’s just a placeholder and they look down on him or even try to undermine him. 

That goes against the idea that he shouldn’t let anyone look down on him and so it’s always a rough battle in the corporation. He always has to look strong and be strong. He has to be the best, even above his brother, but still be told that he’s nothing in comparison. So it’s this weird thing where he’s got a lot of pride, but it can so easily shatter the moment his brother comes into the picture. 

It’s this weird borderline of him being so prideful and haughty, but also having nothing. Yep. He’s fucked up. He honestly needs help, but he doesn’t ever reach out for it because that’s ‘weak’. 

Having not grown with a lot of affection, he secretly craves for it on a subconsious level, even though he doesn’t think he needs it. That’s why I write it that when he’s sick, he sort of is a bit childish. He’s weak, he can’t think properly or hold himself to his usual standard. Being cared for when he’s sick reminds him of the time when he was very sickly as a child and it’s like this subconsious plea for help that he never knew he felt. 

He thought he gave up on all of that to be frank. It is possible that perhaps Kyouya can notice all of this and think that Ponsol needs help. He may not like him, or agree with his methods, but he understands he needs help. 

Both can b of use to the other, so while they have a business relationship, Kyouya can try to unravel some of Ponsol’s deep hurt. 

It would take a lot of effort and fighting as Ponsol has his guard up, but he does crave for comfort and affection like I said. So, if done right, he would actually fold a lot easier than one would think. He’s very weak to people who are loyal and sincere. If one were to show him sincerity in some form, he would take note of that and deep down start to form a kind of trust and or affection for the other party. 

This can grow to the point that he can see them as a friend. With continued effort, it’s possible that something else can come out of that. Ponsol is a willful guy who is selfish. He thinks of himself first and foremost. He really doesn’t care much for other people. He only does for the sake of appearances. 

Still, he’s quite sensitive to emotional and mental abuses since he suffers a lot from that himself. So he is a bit sensitive to that too when he interacts with other people. He may be prone to showing a bit of kindness in a situation like that. 

So depending on how willing Kyouya is to give Ponsol a chance and to work with him, it could work out. Maybe. 

Like I said, Ponsol is a messed up piece of work. However, IF he actually manages to find somone he cares for, he will do whatever it takes to keep them safe. It’s like a greedy dragon who will protect his treasures. This treasure of his will be someone who he will be considerate to. 

Basically meaning, this will be one of the only people (aside from a few of his family members) that can tell him what to do, and he’d actually consider it. 

He doesn’t allow a lot of people into his heart, so if you managed to worm your way in, you best be grateful. 

If Kyouya somehow managed to get into Ponsol’s life in a positive manner (and not business), he’d see the deeper part of Ponsol that most people don’t get to see. It’s because you somehow managed to get past his defenses, and so he’ll let himself be open with you. 

Deep down, he wasn’t a bad kid. He can be a bit sassy and bratty, but he was caring for people. As an influence from his mother, he loves flowers. He had to grow up seeing people bash his mother for reasons, and so he’s very protective of his loved ones. He felt helpless because he couldn’t do anything about it as a child. 

Now, if anyone had something to say about his mother, he will flip shit. He still can’t say anything against his grandfather though, since he knows from experience that it has the opposite effect. 

Idk how willing Kyouya would be, but it could happen, but with a LOT of work. Ponsol would think well of Kyouya’s character, but he would also probably feel a bit… self-consious around him? He’s more upright and moral than Ponsol is, after all. 

So it would be a reminder of how shitty of a person he turned out to be and it would make him feel a bit bitter on the inside to be honest. Still, he wouldn’t hate Kyouya over it. He would just have more inner depressive escapades because of it. 

He respects Kyouya for his work ethic and his charisma. He wouldn’t think ill of Kyouya. Given that he’s from a line of doctors, which have the duty of healing people, there is a sense of care that he feels. There is respect from that, since it’s the opposite of how he sees his family. They are cold, conniving, and cruel. 

Businessmen usually don’t have a very good reputation so ahahah—

All in all, if a lot of work was put into it, I think they would be an interesting pair. They would be that power couple that no one could lay hands on. Everyone would have to tread carefully around them. I’m sure they would be able to support the other in regards to business. They would have a lot of trust in the other and I think that’s precious. Would be so difficult though and i’m honestly not sure if Kyouya would even want to put forth the effort into trying to tame this asshole lol. 

[comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog]

Finn “Firkle” Sinn

out of character info

Name/Alias: Alison Pronouns: she/they Age: 21 Join Our Discord: c; Timezone: est Activity: 6.9/10 Triggers: n/a Password: jimmy can fastpass my ass Character that you’re applying for: Firkle Favourite ships for your character: uhh Fike or Firkmore. Whichever bugs Kyle most.

in character info

Full name: Finn Nyarlathotep “Firkle” Sinn (I hate his canon name, I’m sorry.) Birthday: October 25th, (Scorpio) Sexuality, gender, pronouns: Death (Bisexual), Goth (cis man), “Don’t fucking talk about me” (he/him). Age and grade: Freshman, 14

Appearance:

Standing at the height of 5’7, but subtracting three inches the moment his boots come off. Firkle always wears two expressions, one of constant disdain, or a vacant one. Despite the eerie faces he likes to make, he has a rather pretty face. Heart shaped, large almond eyes, the color the storm clouds before the rain begins to fall, a small, slight turned up nose, a smattering of freckles on his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. More often than not, he straightens his naturally wavy black hair, his fringe hangs down, on his right side, past his chin, and the sides are shaved with an abstract design of geometric shapes.

He has piercings, including: a septum ring, a bar through his left eyebrow, numerous cartilage piercings, a bar through his tongue, and his collar bones. He has a total of 7 tattoos, a skull with horns and the word 'death’ over its forehead on his right upper arm; he got it when he was 13 and properly initiated into the cult. An Omega (Ω) on the outer side of his left wrist, “some ghosts are so quiet, you would hardly know they're there” in a small handwriting font on his left thigh above a small ghost line art. He has an octopus the size of a CD on his left upper arm, it holds little knives in each hand. He has a boo from Mario over his left forearm, accompanied by the three life hearts from Legend of Zelda, and the Space Invaders alien.

His body type is thin, though he does have lean muscle from several years of fencing. His fingers have numerous scars on his fingers from years of playing with knives. Pale scars, a very slight contrast from his already corpse-like skin tone. His makeup is usually just dark eyeliner and black lipstick, very rarely does he use any cover-up or contour. In contrast to his minimal effort in his appearance, he has a very decorated taste in clothing. Plain black skinny jeans, plain dark grey t-shirt, wallet with chains hanging from his hip, boots with studs and buckles, and his jackets, always black, commonly leather, have studs, patches, and/or patches.

Personality:

Firkle is a true nihilist, he believes that nothing really matters, and he’d defend that philosophy until the day he died. Though he lacks empathy and is an undiagnosed sociopath, having said that, when he finds someone he wants to nurture and cherish, he does so. He would murder for them, and take care of them through thick and thin. It's incredibly rare that this occurs, and he isn't fond of the majority of the people he talks to. He has a short patience for people he doesn't like, he's snappy and will start roasting people in hopes they will leave him alone. He often comes off as cold and reclusive, but it's actually because he hates talking to people, it makes him emotionally tired; though good at carrying conversation and it's the entirely of his school career, it makes him want to curl up into the fetal position and sleep for a week. Having control over his emotions is something he's mastered over the years and it's rare that he would snap at anyone outside of being tired. Anger, sadness, and even happiness are controlled.

Behavior wise, Firkle is cunning, often lying to cover for himself, and generally selfish. Admitting when he's wrong is something he despises doing, and he will get violent over small, insignificant disputes. Instead of getting mad or arguing, he's more likely to slap someone than to shout at them. (But if they do shout at him, he can get incredibly loud, and he does not take anyone's shit.) He's not selfish in the “all for me, none for you" sense, but he will let someone become a scapegoat as long as it keeps him looking like the Eldritch Golden Boy his cult sees him as.

When he hits his most stressful moments, he grows numb and acts robotic, because the only rational, sanity retaining, thought he can think is that none of this actually matters, and his pure form, the sadistic apathetic asshole he is deep down comes out.

History:

Firkle was born to a single mother, Maeve Sinn, due to the absence of his father after his conception, his mother gave him the name she felt was most appropriate for him, including her own last name. Finn is a traditional Irish name, Nyarlathotep is the name of an Elder God, and Sinn has been the last name in his family for ages. His name rhymes, but he's not fond of being called by his first name. When he was born, his mother was finishing her doctorate to start working full time as an alternative medical doctor. Commonly referred to as the local witch doctor, more accurate name than the population knows.

Firkle was raised by a goth and more or less by the cult his mother belonged to. Spending his earliest years, being laid down to nap on the pews of the abandoned church. By the time he was old enough to start school, the sadist fit in well with the resident goth clique. It took a long time for him to even like them, he betrayed them at gunpoint at one point, and it wasn't until they forgave him unconditionally, that he came to realize that he had friends. Not really his own age, as they were all four and five years older than him, but much closer in age than the group he was raised by.

Spending the next 6 years being numbed to be the most apathetic asshole he could be, in the one place on the planet where everyone was a bit on the psychotic side. Must be something in the water. 12, and in the 6th grade, he spent the second semester of school in the South Park public school system, creating a reputation of defiance early. For his 13th birthday, the following semester, he was properly initiated into the cult, no more sitting on metal chairs, or on the pews, he got to attend the rituals, not just the sermons. Throughout the next year, he became a very active member of the group, attending every sermon and ritual he could, even if it meant skipping out on things normal kids got up to. Homecoming? He was harvesting blood from a sacrifice. Despite how much time he spends at these meetings, they never became common knowledge. He just called it “therapy”, and never went into any details. 

Sample paragraph:

McDonald’s espresso, it seemed like a good idea when he bought it, but as Firkle sat at his booth alone, he came to realize how terrible it was. The taste was bitter and scalding, the way he liked it, but that wasn’t the issue. A gremlin released upon the world was, and it made the young goth livid.

Some punk ass eight year old came running down the aisle between booths, banging his fist down on each one, for no obvious reason. Naturally this caused the craved caffeine to tip over, soaking into a filled page of poetry, rather than into the goth’s blood stream. A great Shakespearean Tragedy. The pools of ashen misery he called his eyes just watched the liquid soaking into his pristine white page for an absurdly long moment, frozen by the thought he just spent three dollars to ruin a twenty dollar bullet journal.

Letting out a long overdue huff, he starts to sop up the remaining fluid. All of the pretty poetry pictures he had hoped to obtain were lost to time now, dumping the hardly used notebook in the trash with the napkins, he heads off towards the nearest location with any hardcover journals available. Doubtful any would ever be waterproof, the goth was still resolved. His mind void of any emotional attachment to the event further than the major inconvenience it happened to be. He had to draft the artwork his writing was before he could ever dream of posting it for his whole school to see, and now he was going to write a new poem. One called McDonald’s Espresso.

Headcanons:

-He plays violin. -He has a total of 0 expressions when anything happens, he just keeps this blank look on his face like he’s some sort of robot.

Anything else: I love you gays.

[imaginecoderealize]

I recently found your blog, and I have to say the headcanons are lovely. +1 follower ^^. How about headcanons about being siblings to Lupin's crew (or more characters if you wish)? (Younger or older is up to you)

Thank you for your kind words. Mod Apostle is pleased to answer your request! This is long, so it is going behind a cut.

Lupin was a street kid with no memory of his parents. His fellow urchins were his family. He had a special bond with one, a little girl a few years younger than himself with the same golden eyes. She was cute and harmless looking. No one guessed how quick her little fingers were or how keen her eye was for the sign of hidden valuables. Lupin was a little jealous of the little girl’s skill, but also proud that he had been able to teach her so much. She called him “mon grand frère” “my big brother.” She shadowed him everywhere when they weren’t working. He grumbled about her following around sometimes, but in truth he didn’t mind too much. He realized she was as important as a little sister to him. 

When he met his teacher, she was growing up, too. Becoming too pretty and eye catching to be as good a thief as she was as a cute, scrappy little girl, so she started dressing as a boy and became even better. As he spent more time with his teacher, the two began to go their separate ways. He last saw her on the day he left for England. She promised to see him again someday… as a rival! 

He keeps an eye out for her. Expecting to someday see those same golden eyes looking back at him from some genius disguise, as they both reach for the same jewel!

Van: Van had a frail little brother. Van loved him very much and always diligently nursed him back to health when he was sick. Though he didn’t understand why the  meals he cooked for him didn’t seem to help very much, despite the care he put into them. When his brother was healthy the two were rarely apart. Van liked to read him fairytales and his brother would sketch while Van read. He wanted to be a painter when he grew up. Van had no artistic gifts himself, but always tried to support his brother however he could without… much… complaint. His brother found the archery and play fighting Van enjoyed tedious, but he sometimes participated to enhance his strength. 

He didn’t want Van to go join the military. He had a bad feeling about it. He gave Van a sketch of himself and their mom on the day he left. Van told him he would send money so he could pursue his art and take care of their mom without worrying about not having enough to eat. His brother made him promise to write frequently, and not to be too sad if they couldn’t see each other again for a long time. 

Van waved at his brother from the train. That was the last he saw of him. But, much later, he learned that his brother’s skill as a painter had improved, and his handful of works were in high demand and  very valuable. Van takes some small comfort in the fact that part of his brother’s spirit lives on in his art. 

Fran: Fran has three boisterous younger sisters, two of them identical twins. Fran spent much of his childhood trying to find a peaceful place to read and study away from their calamitous fighting and noise. He was absolutely convinced that his parents had them for the purpose of frustrating his goals to become a great alchemist. The twins in particular fought constantly. He wasn’t the most patient older brother until his youngest sister, a little quieter and cleverer than the twins, took a liking to watching him perform experiments. She was 6 years younger than him, but he began giving her simple tasks of writing numbers in his book and measuring harmless ingredients. She was an able little lab assistant, and the two became very close. The family was divided by the twins on one side and Fran and his youngest sister on the other, with the two sides rarely able to come to an understanding. The twins stayed close, got married to a set of twin brothers and settled down to raise their families. Fran sees them only occasionally over the holidays. Fran and his youngest sister continued to pursue their scientific dreams. With Fran wanting to become an alchemist, and his sister a doctor. Fran is very proud of his sister’s accomplishments and the two write and meet as often as their very busy lives allow. 

Impey: Impey and his older brother were separated when their parents died. His brother was taken in by distant family in another vampire village in northern Scotland, being the more promising and well liked of the two. After the war, Impey assumed that his brother had died as so many others had, but like Impey, he was traveling when his village was attacked and was one of only a handful of survivors. He was sure his brother had perished upon learning the fate of his hometown. Impey’s brother has a more serious personality than Impey, but he is also smart and kindly. He helped a small cluster of survivors who were destined to freeze and starve in the wilderness to build cozy cabins and arrange food for themselves. In time he became the mayor of their village. 

It wasn’t until Van and Delly began gathering the vampire survivors that Van met Impey’s much more tolerable brother in the snug little village. Van told him that his brother was still alive. He was astonished and very happy. A few months later the brothers finally got to meet after nearly twenty years. While they are very different people with different lives they stay in touch and Impey went to stay in his brother’s village for awhile to bring them technology to help them live better lives. Impey’s brother promised to come to watch Impey take his rocket to the moon. 

Saint: Saint has no memory of his birthplace or family, but he wasn’t truly born a slave. He lived with his older brother and family on a dry hillside in western Mesopotamia, where his family had dwelled for thousands of years. 

In each generation a wisdom keeper was designated, and Saint was clearly the best choice in the village, being possessed of a extraordinary intellect and brilliant spirit from birth. His 10 years older, sturdier brother looked nothing like Saint, being of darker complexion and having a much heavier build. He was Saint’s guardian, protector and playmate. He loved his gentle, delicate, genius little brother with all his heart. He taught him to read and write, though Saint quickly surpassed him. Above all he protected Saint from all harm. 

When the slavers came he tried to hide Saint in the back of their sacred cave, but he cried when his brother tried to leave and the slavers heard them and took them. 

Saint’s mind shut down after the horrors of what the king’s slavers did to his village and their parents. Saint no longer recognized his brother when he awoke in a pen of other dirty children. It hurt him, but he still did all he could to protect Saint… though in the end there was nothing he could do, and Saint was purchased. 

Years later, when all slaves were assigned to build the king’s tower, the brothers met again. Saint’s brother’s heart broke at the shadow of suffering and trauma he saw in his eyes. Still, he provided him with what few small thing he had been able to steal back from their captors, and a knife to protect himself. He made sure to take twice the load, since he knew that the life Saint had led did not prepare him for hard labor. They nearly made it to the end when one of the slave drivers caught Saint’s brother doing Saint’s work and decided to put him to death as an example. As he died he prophesied that the tower would fall before the next full moon and they would all die. It was a prediction that turned out to be very true. 

….. thousands of years later, the artifacts Saint’s brother gave him will lead him to discover his lost past and true identity. 

Nemo: The story of Nemo’s siblings is as sad and tragic as Saint’s and Van’s. I think we’ve hit critical levels of sad already. So, let’s look at Nemo and his adoptive little sister Cardia! Nemo, in awe of the glory of the science that created her, Nemo once asked if she would be his sister. Her first inclination was to tell him to get lost, but something in his pitifully pleading manner made her feel almost sorry for him. Reasoning that she needed any help she could get, she warily told him that, yes, he could call her his sister. 

The effect was… even louder and more violent than she had remotely anticipated. But… somehow, she thought he genuinely appreciated it somewhere under the histrionics, and she warily decided to embrace the opportunity. 

Finis was predictably bitter and disgusted, and Aleister amused by the turn of events.  Nemo declared them both wonders of science! Isaac’s daughter and his star pupil! He still obnoxious and loud, but he perhaps didn’t call her a soulless doll as often and was a little less callus about her situation. She decided to ask him questions about her father, hoping to learn more about him. She became adept and decoding his rambles and learned a great deal that helped her defeat her father. 

After Isaac was defeated and Finis saved, Cardia had a new problem- an unexpected new family member who still very much considered her his little sister. She didn’t quite know how to push him away, so she dutifully visited him in prison and brought him homemade cookies and milk. She thought he even became quieter, seeming as if he understood more than she thought possible. She even enjoyed her visits sometimes. Once he shocked her by giving advice. All in all she began to think being Nemo’s sister, even if it annoyed Finis, wasn’t so bad. 

….until he finally got out of prison and decided he would live with Cardia and her newlywed husband. 

It was… not an ideal situation. To put it lightly. There are times a newlywed definitely doesn’t want her “brother” popping up. He was a little too good at that. It took time, but he became marginally less obnoxious, and they settled him in a cottage with a huge science lab to play in. Both Cardia and her husband were very grateful that he was occupied. He still came over frequently from then on. Everyone in the gang called him Cardia’s big idiot brother. 

….

And that’s it! Please let us know if you would like anything else! 

—Mod Apostle