#For dark haired people they bleach it out and then do the colour they want to do

[thegeorgiatennantblog]

[luveline]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

spencer comforts you with facts and affection alike when you worry you aren't as pretty as the girls on his team. requested here. fem!reader, 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Photographs can't accurately capture how beautiful Emily Prentiss is. JJ and Penelope are both gorgeous too, but it's Emily who startles you. Her hair a cool black colour and curled around her demure face, the line of her nose and her deep, dark eyes. Her lips, picture perfect and painted a soft pink.

The prettier you find her, the more your heart sinks. 

Spencer squeezes your shoulder. It's bold for him to do so in front of his friends (his family, really), he can barely show you affection in the grocery store without turning rosy. You preen at the touch, but the feeling of insecurity remains like an irksome gnat zipping around your head. 

"We didn't think we'd ever get to meet you!" Derek is saying, a casual arm thrown around Penelope's shoulders, a drink in hand. 

Rossi couldn't attend and JJ felt too pregnant, bringing your party to a solid six. It still feels like a lot of people to meet at once. 

You hold the flute of your glass in a nervous hand, fingers stickied by condensation. You have a feeling that you're in trouble, all these profilers assessing your behaviour, nowhere to hide. "No, I'm," —you raise your voice to hide the funny tremor that's taken hold— "so happy to meet you all, I promise I've been trying!" 

"Whenever she gets time off, we're on a case," Spencer says. 

Emily smiles widely at your statement. It's such an open, friendly look, it floors you. You look down at your drink and blink. 

You don't know it, but the team exchanges glances at your behaviour. 

"So, do you enjoy your work?" Emily asks. "Or hate it, like us?"

Hotch laughs and moves his pint glass onto a coaster. "I think it's safe to say that none of us hate our jobs." 

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. I can't imagine how hard it is, how hard you all work," you say. Spencer's hand drifts down your back. "But you have each other."

Emily does this thing with her eyes and if you weren't in a happy relationship, you'd probably be a puddle at her feet. "Too much of each other," she says jokingly.

She's gorgeous, and Spencer sees her every single day? You're nothing compared to her. Not smart, not strong, and nowhere near as pretty. You could never measure up. 

"Would you, um, excuse me?" you ask, moving your purse from your lap and onto the table. 

"You okay?" Spencer asks, looking up as you stand. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna use the bathroom," you say quietly. You aren't, but if you were, you wouldn't really want to broadcast that anyhow. 

You try not to wobble on the way to the bathroom. The weight of five pairs of eyes follows you as you leave, four of which are trained in the art of spotting lies. Everything isn't okay, and they know that, and by extension —all the effort you made tonight? Getting your hair done, your nicest clothes, your makeup and your perfume? It might as well be a huge blinking neon sign that says you're trying really hard, and it doesn't make a lick of difference. 

You sidle into a stall, pulling the lid of the toilet down with a tissue and sitting on it heavily. Elbows on your knees, you hunch your back and hide your face in your hands, breathing in the smell of bleach through quick breaths. Water drips somewhere near the sinks, the cacophony of the restaurant hushed. 

You've never felt naturally pretty. With Spencer, it hasn't ever mattered. He's never given any indication that he cares. But… 

"Loser," you mutter to yourself. 

"Hey, Y/N?" Spencer asks, his voice bouncing off of the tile. 

You freeze. "Two seconds!" 

"You're not really using the bathroom," he says incredulously. 

"Says who?"

Spencer laughs, his tone wry, "I know you really well, you realise? Like, better than I know anyone else on the planet."

"Then you know I'm having an authentic pee and need my privacy." 

"Come on out." 

The ringing of the lock slotting free is like an announcement of your embarrassment. Spencer's standing a half a foot from the doorway, keeping his distance from the no man's land that is the ladies room. You're going to use it to your advantage, only he holds out his hand expectantly. When you take it, he pulls you out of the bathroom and firmly into the restaurant hallway. 

You can't escape his concern, nor his hands as they cup your face unexpectedly. 

They feel as nice as they look, deft fingers pressed to your skin like you're one of his puzzles to decipher. 

"What upset you?" he asks. 

"Nothing your friends did, I promise." 

"But something." He smooths a hand down to your shoulders. He's not quite frenetic but certainly close to it, searching for a problem he won't find on the surface. "You're insecure about something," he deduces. 

You cringe bodily. "I'm not." 

"What is it? Is it your necklace? It really is nice, the colour goes with your skin. It's understated." 

"It's not my necklace, Spence." 

"Then what is it?" 

"I just…" You pull his hands from your neck and collar to hold them, looking up into his melty brown eyes wishing he weren't so hard to say no to. "Feel like you could do better." 

He frowns. It's a pout, and endearing, but not what you want to see. 

"I love being with you, I just think, you know, you're so handsome, and you have all these pretty friends," you say.  

"You think you're not pretty?" he asks. He sounds gutted, if a little confused. 

"Not like her." Your voice quivers. 

The first time you got upset in front of Spencer, he wasn't sure what to do. He ended up putting an arm around your shoulder, your brand new boyfriend out of his depth. You've both had some practice at comforting one another now, and any hesitance Spencer held is gone. He wraps his arms around you like he's afraid you'll fall over, the crease of his stressed brow smushing against the side of your face. 

"Don't think that. Why would you think that?" he asks quietly. 

"I know I'm not pretty like some girls," you say, surprised by the ferocity of his reaction. 

"You don't know that, because it's not true. You're beautiful." He squeezes your side between his fingers, something contemplative about the way his thumb curls upward. "Do you know how many books I've read?" 

"Thousands." 

He hums. A hand grasps at the back of your neck. "Thousands of books. I know so much, especially about the human body. I know that falling in love can make some people feel the same effects as cocaine. Staring into their eyes can synchronise your heartbeats." He encourages your head back. "Butterflies are adrenaline and when I look at you I can't get them to stop, even if I know it's chemical." Spencer's eyes are lit with something you don't often see directed at you, a furious conviction. "What we think we know isn't always fact, so if you think you're not pretty…" He nods his head gently to the left. "There's only really one thing left to do." 

Your heart feels like it's being juiced. "What's that?" you ask. 

He grabs your hand and puts it on his chest. Fingertips to his breastbone, he holds it flat. Sure enough, even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, you can feel the rapid capering of his pulse. 

"It's like that pretty much any time I look at you." 

"Spence…" 

"I know it's bad," he says.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Yeah, I did a lap before I came to find you– No!" He laughs, giving you an admonishing look. "Why would I mess with you? How could I?" 

"I don't know." 

He dips in to kiss your frown. "You're so pretty," he whispers. "So, so pretty. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, no matter what you think." 

You don't believe that you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, but you believe that he believes it. He has no reason to lie to you, nothing to gain. He could've said, Hey, you're pretty, and left it at that. He could've been angry with you for leaving the table for something some people would say was superficial. But Spencer's your sweetheart. 

"Do you want to go home, angel?" he asks, looking at you worriedly. 

"No." You don't even have to think about it —you've done enough thinking. "I don't want to go home. Sorry, Spencer. I feel better." And you'll stay out all night if he's going to call you angel again. 

"Well, let me know if you need me to tell you again." 

The chances of you surviving such an ardent speech a second time are low. "I won't be doing that." 

Spencer shrugs. "You'll let me know, even if you don't think so. You have a tell when you're upset." 

You spend the rest of the night making up for your disruption (which Spencer's friends immediately dismiss without questioning), shepherding the crisper curly fries on to Spencer's plate because he likes them that way, and begging him to tell you what your tell is with subtle pleading glances and a hand on his knee. Nothing inappropriate, but affectionate nonetheless. 

He doesn't tell you no matter how much you ask, and maybe it's the drinks or the way the scone light kisses his cheeks in a warm buttery light, you can't find it in you to be mad. 

"Keep your secrets," you say, chin tilted upward. You're failing to glare at him, too much love in your eyes for it to be believable. 

"You're beautiful," he says back, mirroring your expression playfully, before leaning down for a chaste kiss. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! if you did, please consider reblogging, it makes a big difference to me<3 have a good day!

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Hey ml! Can you do the greasers (separate) with a read who dyes her hair a lot! And changes it up a lot! Thank you!!

Summary: The gang x a reader who dyes their hair a lot

Warning: none

Author's Note: none

PONYBOY CURTIS

Pony has had some crazy run ins with hair dye, from bleaching to having Soda and Steve dye his blond hair red while he was sleeping as a 'prank'

It washed out to a light pink and he was so frustrated. He met you when his hair was still tinted pink, you complimented it despite its bad apply job.

He was so embarrassed that he saw you ( a pretty person ) when he looked like that. He actually stayed away from you for a while until the pink was fully washed out.

Once it was washed out he started talking to you and trying to hang out. He realllllly loves your hair. he likes running his hands through it.

He'll always suggest a new colour for you to try out and will buy boxes of dye for you.

JOHNNY CADE

Johnny finds your hair so cool, he didn't know people could get hair in 'unnatural' colours like blue, green, etc.

He likes when you have hair that stands out, like a bright colour or a pattern like skunk highlights etc. He says it makes you easier to find in a crowd.

He really tries to keep you away from his parents though, because they are ultra religious and he doesn't want them to get the wrong impression of you.

His favorite hair colour of yours is blue, he likes it when its really dark because he thinks it really compliments your eyes and makes you look good.

SODAPOP CURTIS

Soda has never really ( like Johnny ) been around a person with 'unnatural' hair. Mostly because he prefers the middle class parties and not Bucks where a lot of people have dyed their hair to match their party outfits.

He's really enamoured by your hair, constantly touching it (with your permission) because he thinks the dye might rub off onto something else. For example, if your hair is under your jacket, he'll pull it out for you.

He will never EVER let you dye his hair though. He likes it sure but he prefers his natural hair and he thinks his hair could fall out. Maybe when your older though.

Soda likes it when your hair is blonde with hints of green, purple, etc. Pigeon hair basically. He thinks its so cool how it looks metallic and stuff.

STEVE RANDLE

I feel like Steve has tried out hair dye once. He put it over his brown hair so it didn't show up very well, but he had hints of red in his hair for about 5 months.

He loves it when you dye your hair red. He secretly really wants you to dye his hair but knows he cant pull it off like you and his mother would be really unhappy.

He always likes it when your hair is patterned and has hints of red in it, skunk highlights with red for example, he thinks its so tuff and it matches your vibe.

He will let you dye his hair ONCE, with some convincing and the promise of 'it will wash out soon'. He loved it but he's glad it washed out quickly because his mom was on his BACK.

TWO BIT MATHEWS

Two Bit always had a thing for people who dye their hair. Partially because soc girls are unreachable and they dont dye their hair but also because it makes you look badass.

Think Ramona Flowers, he's your scott pilgrim. He's always making sure your hair is healthy and that it doesn't 'fall out' because, in his words, "You won't have anything to dye if you have no hair,"

He loves sitting in the bathroom with you, watching you dye your hair as he drinks a beer. The conversations between you two are always super good when you're together like that.

His sister has seen you around so much that she's asked for pink hair. You and Two Bit sat together with her, putting pink eye shadow in her hair so it would wash out after a day.

DARRY CURTIS

Darry thinks the dark colors make you look extremely sultry and beautiful. He loves it when you do a dark raspberry color or dark blue. He livess for it.

He will never dye his hair though, even if you try to convince him. He's firm on his belief that his natural hair looks best.

He's always been a little curious to what your natural hair colour is though. When you dyed it back to your origional colour he was over the moon happy and thought it looked sooo good.

He also enjoys sitting with you while you dye your hair. He'll even wash out the dye in the sink for you. He likes being connected with you especially while you do something you like.

DALLAS WINSTON

Dallas has seen so many girls with coloured hair because he practically lives at Buck's parties. However he's never seen someone with hair like yours.

You managed to take care of your hair so it was still silky and smooth but it had such pretty colouring and it was patterned which kinda blew his mind.

He literally was so blown away by how cool your hair was and was really pissed when he saw he wasn't the only one who noticed and that there were a bunch of guys coming to talk to you.

He made it there first tho and struck up conversation. It ended as you two dating!

He'll never dye his hair, he's a bit too insecure for that and doesn't want to look 'less tuff' in anyones eyes. But he'll smoke a cigarette while you dye yours and splash water at you to annoy you.

[starlightsuffered]

Christmas Retreat (p1)

Info - shy reader, reader with curly thick hair, British reader, mention of cigars and ass

I was so happy to finally get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. I couldn’t believe I’d been fortunate enough to win a several week, all expenses paid vacation to a small winter resort.

I was ready to get away from the feelings the holidays brought up. I’d let my family know I was taking this amazing opportunity and would be almost completely disconnecting. I promised my mum would get a postcard but that was about it.

I didn’t know how much service I would get anyway, but I liked that I wouldn’t feel too pressed to check in.

I needed this break from real life. I imagined the point of this free gift was an advertising mechanism. Let people stay for free and test all their amenities, then blast the reviews everywhere for business.

I hadn’t expected to win, but I’d been walking home from work one day and the small resort had looked so cozy it made my heart ache. On a whim I’d signed up. I was alerted a month later that I had been selected. It was the sort of thing that did not happen to me.

On the train ride I listened to Hozier and watched the scenery. We were going far into the country. The snow was getting deeper and building more scarce. Finally, we were at the adorable cottage looking resort.

I was bundled off the train and made the trek to the door of the place. I lifted my hand awkwardly and knocked.

An older woman with bleach blonde hair and very few wrinkles though I was sure she was older than fifty, opened the door. She was beaming at me immediately.

“Come in, come in!” She said cheerily. I could already tell she was one of those people who was happy all the time. This would be a bit taxing.

“Ur thank you,” I nodded. I made my way into the warm room. Everything was red and gold and white. It all looked so warm and nice. I couldn’t believe how similar to the pictures it was.

“You can call me Margret,” the cheery lady explained. She was listing things off at a rapid pace that I truthfully wasnt paying attention to.

Many people were already here. I guessed they were the other winners. A very tall older gentleman with deep frown lines was the closest to me. Two women with dark hair were holding hands and whispering. In fact, many of these people seemed to be couples. I counted at least five pairs I assumed were together. Among the singles was a woman with a great ass and cranberry coloured lips. There was a very anxious looking older woman who made me think of a grandmother.

“Y/n, we’re so glad you’re here, come come over to the couches,” Margret said. She took my arm in a surprisingly tough grip. She shoved me down beside the older gentleman. He smelled like dust and cigars.

“Welcome all, I know a few people are in the kitchen making some tea -“ Margret began. I realised suddenly that she was American. I was curious why an American was running this but I wanted to listen to the instructions this time.

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re all super excited for this break. Lovely, lovely weeks away from the hustle and bustle of real life and into a winter wonderland.”

Margret actually clapped and jumped up and down. I was a bit turned off by the over the top enthusiasm. However, it seemed genuine and not faked.

“Now, before we begin our first activity, I’d love for everyone to please mingle and meet,” she exclaimed. That seemed to be our signal. People were getting up and talking. They shook hands and smiled and did many things I didn’t want to do.

I hopped up and made my way to the corner of the room. I got out my phone and pretended I was being very busy. I desperate wanted to put in my AirPods so no one would approach me.

“Hey,” said a deep voice. I looked up and nearly tripped. The most gorgeous man I’d ever seen was standing in front of me.

“I’m Timothée,” he said with a crooked smile. His hand was outstretched. I almost wanted to look behind me to see if he were talking to someone else; but I was against a wall.

He was somewhat tall, and he had gorgeous flawless skin. His baggy sweater didn’t hide his slender figure. His hair was curly like mine and his eyes were soft and green. He looked like a prince. His jaw was strong and he was just the definition of handsome.

“Y/n,” I stuttered. I took his hand. I felt something jolt inside me as he shook it. My heart and mind were racing.

“What brings you here?” He asked. He lifted a tea cup that had candy canes on him. I wanted to lick the rim where his lips had touched.

“I w-won a contest,” I said.

“Oh nice, I paid,” he chuckled. “It looked cozy and I was happy to get away from things.”

“Me too,” I agreed. I couldn’t believe he was talking to me. As I looked around to see his other options. The girl with the nice ass was checking out the back of Timothee. He must have a nice ass too. I wanted to look now.

“You’ve got a lot of hair, bet it keeps you warm in this weather,” Timothée chuckled. I was beet red now. I did have very thick and long hair.

“Kinda,” I said awkwardly.

“You seem interesting though, you’ve got a good vibe,” he nodded to himself. He quirked his head to the side and his eyes ran up and down me. I wanted to shrink into myself or blend into the wallpaper.

“We’re like the same age and both here alone. We should hang out. It’d be nice to not be strangers with everyone.”

I was too in shock to answer before Margret trilled out an order to finish up. She gathered us all near the fire place. I was hot enough as it was when Timothee chose to stand next to me.

“As you can see we have some LOVELY trees here,” Margret pointed to some evergreens. “We are going to have teams and have a tree decorating contest for a prize!”

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker

[factorialsotherfandoms]

too tired to write a new thing like I wanted to, please take Arthur and Rubens set late in episode 3 I finished off. AO3 will be tomorrow or even later.

It is still dark when Arthur wakes up, and at first he is not sure why. Dante is a heavy weight against him, while Balu continues to babble nonsense in his sleep. Carina is curled up on the more comfortable of the three chairs, hair fluttering slightly with her breath.

Rubens-

Rubens is missing.

Arthur does not pretend that that is what woke him up - Balu is the obvious suspect - but…

Rubens is probably just grabbing some water, or using the bathroom, or maybe even taking a godforsaken hour of the morning shower so he gets first dibs on the hot water. All of these are perfectly normal, harmless, even sensible reasons for him not to be in the room.

But Arthur… Arthur thinks in needles and claws and bloody corpses, in bleeding wounds and missing friends. Clarissa had never joined them, but for Rubens to have left?

Arthur is not going to sleep until he is back, not like this, not when Senhor Veríssimo entrusted the safety of this group to him.

He gives it a few minutes, and Rubens does not reappear. It gives the anxiety time to convince Arthur that it is rational, especially when…

Something happened between Rubens and Clarissa, the two members not accounted for. Something Arthur could not quite read between the lines of, and something that /hurt/. She doesn't mean to hurt people, Arthur is sure of that, but Rubens doesn't know her, and with an already fragile mental state…

Clarissa is most likely keeping her distance from the group, listening for trouble if she even manages to rest at all.

But, if she has taken issue with his presence again…

It is that dread which moves Arthur. He pushes Dante aside, and gets up. He did manage to lose his shirt last night, but his trousers could do with being swapped out.

No matter, he has someone to find.

He quickly checks over the group nearby - all still there, all still breathing - before he searches.

Not the bathroom, not the kitchen, not the gates with Clarissa and not returned to their room. Arthur's worry is just pitching towards hysteria when he finds him, sat on the floor of the garage and staring at a washing machine.

One that is turned on.

"Rubens?"

Arthur tries to ask softly, but it atill makes him jump; Rubens startles, grabbing at his chest and leaning away. It takes him a moment to calm down, then he looks over. He tilts his head in acknowledgement, but does not speak.

"You okay?"

Rubens shrugs, and turns back to the washing machine. Only once he is firmly watching the drum does he reply "I'm okay."

Arthur could leave now; he knows where everyone is, and he knows that they are safe.

But that did not even sound like an attempt at a convincing lie.

And there is just /something/ about this scene…

He cannot do it, not when he thinks Rubens is must giving him a rote answer, not a true one.

Instead of returning to bed, Arthur comes closer. He sits down next to Rubens to find not one but two washing machines turned on. One is large and top opening and smells strongly of bleach, while the other is smaller, front opening, and Rubens is watching the colours spin.

It is yellow, and black, and it does not take much to guess just why Rubens' current outfit is so much cleaner.

"What are you doing?" Arthur pretends to be interested, just to try and work out what is going on.

"Laundry," Rubens looks at him like he is stupid.

"I can see that, but…" how does Arthur ends this tactfully, but also in a way which Veríssimo would approve of. "What are you washing?"

"Mine," Rubens points to the smaller washer, then after a moment the larger one. "Infirmary."

"… Ah." Maybe not Arthur's first choice of things to clean while restless, but the infirmary had been covered in blood. It makes sense, though, even if Rubens is a self-taught medic; Arthur does not envy him trying to treat Balu on a dirty bed, and with equipment taken from blood-splattered boxes. "Hopefully we won't need it again…"

Balu had a huge chunk of his face ripped off. If it had been anyone but Balu in it's line of fire…

Rubens makes a small, doubtful noise; experience would have Arthur agree with him.

The only reason you don't need the infirmary, in their line of work, is if everyone who was injured did not make it back alive.

And the Leones keep their fridges on a different floor.

There's nothing good that Arthur can really say to that; he stays next to Rubens, also turning to watch the washing machine. He waits for Rubens to say something, though he is rapidly learning that it is a fool's errand.

Someone who will not start a conversation makes this difficult, but nothing Arthur has not dealt with before.

One of his closest friends was always much the same.

…

It's only Rubens' second mission without his usual partner, likely following the death itself - a death that for Rubens, as the medic… Arthur can't conceptualise it.

Not really.

To think about the quiet man beside him trying to hold a long-term teammate's body together, only for them to die beneath him…

It has to have been the Johnny that Clarissa mentioned. It cannot have been long ago he died - far more recently than Clarissa and he lost their families.

… The idea of this mission, so close to something like that, then to have it thrown in his face when he tries to help…

Arthur feels a little bit sick.

"About what Clarissa said," Arthur sees Rubens twitch and… And he wishes that isn't what this was. "She's just upset. Don't take it to heart, yeah? I was hoping a trip would help her heal a bit, but with this going on…"

Rubens does not acknowledge that, but he does turn to face Arthur.

"It will be okay," Arthur lies. "Even if we cannot see it, even if we do not live to see it… it will be okay in the end."

What end? He doesn't know. An end. After Kian, after all this, when whoever remains alive can sleep in their beds.

Rubens sighs, and turns back to the washing machine. It looks a bit like he shakes his head, but Arthur is not sure.

They sit a while longer. The spinning pauses for the drum to once again fill with water, drain, and begin again.

Slowly, slowly Arthur feels a cautious weight on his arm. Rubens only presses a little weight into Arthur's side, but it is noticeable.

Not wanting to scare Rubens off, Arthur makes sure to stay very still.

"Arthur?" Rubens' voice is quiet, barely audible with two washers spinning ever on.

"Yes?"

"… too loud."

Here? Why doesn't he-?

Oh, right, no Rubens' doesn't mean here.

He means back where they are sleeping. Explaining why he is out here, in a way Arthur struggles to even pretend to believe.

"Balu is kind of noisy," Arthur agrees. "There's probably some actual bedrooms, if you want somewhere else to sleep."

Rubens pauses, then shakes his head. "It's fine."

"Rubens-"

"It's fine," he says, then gestures to the washing machines. "Dry, then sleep."

Both machines have a while left on their wash cycles. Something still feels off about Rubens, and Arthur… he's known people who have felt off in similar ways before. It is not a sensation that makes him feel comfortable leaving him alone.

Not when Rubens is now fully leant on Arthur's arm.

"I'll wait with you," Arthur offers. "Once I'm up, I don't fall asleep."

Another lie, but if Rubens is half as socially anxious as Kaiser…

Quiet, again, for another few cycles.

And then, more quietly, only just caught in the brief second where the washer changes direction… "I want Johnny."

Arthur cannot sit impassive any more; he frees his arm from Rubens, only to tuck it around his shoulder and drag him close.

"I'm sorry," Arthur says, of the death of a man he never met. "I-… I'm sorry, for whatever had you end up with us."

Rubens doesn't reply, but he doesn't pull away either.

And so silently they sit, watching the washing machine continue to spin.

[altbite]

You’re Kinda Cool *Konig Headcanons*

Konig x Alternative!Reader Headcanons

hehe konig is husband material.

ANyway, GN!Reader is an alt person who has dyed hair - that is mohawk, piercings and tattoos. Because alt is also a very wide range of sub cultures and styles, I will do my best to make it that way/not mention a specific sub culture so it can be inclusive. Also idc if it wouldn’t be realistic, take it or leave it lmao, very much based on personal experience and inspired by the fact i dyed my hair today

+ some 141 headcanons because i can :3

__

The first time he sees you, he is taken aback by your looks: Dyed hair and pierced. He couldn’t decide whether he thought you were attractive or intimidating

To the rest of 141, this was normal. They saw you change your hair more frequently than your clothes.

Konig was fascinated nonetheless. You looked cool and he wanted to be your friend but was too awkward to approach you.

When he saw you talk to other recruits, you were this sarcastic, dark humoured person who bullied them. His first impression was you were kind of a dick.

This was your way of showing love and friendship towards people.

He got more bewildered when he saw how nice you were to strangers and not the first impression he got of you.

He realised he might’ve judged you prematurely. His impression of you was probably the same way people saw him: tall, intimidating and probably mean due to his size

Once he actually got to know you though, you two got along great.

You two kept up with each other and some of the wack shit you said and did. You two had some of the most pointless theories and questions that spiralled into debates. It often made you laugh so hard, it hurt.

He always compliments you on your hair, and gets secretly jealous because he’s always wanted to try dye his hair but didn’t want to stand out more than he did.

When you were bleaching or dyeing your hair, he would watch and keep you company.

Konig enjoyed watching you experiment with your hair.

One time you asked him to help you out, and he panicked a little. You giggled at him and told him its not that scary and you’d guide him

With your mohawk, it was somewhat of a struggle to shave it and dye the back of it so you used Konig’s presence to your advantage.

You asked him to help you shave and poor guy was stressed and took his time to perfect it and not accidentally fuck it up.

He did pretty well, even if it took twice as long.

When it came to bleaching, he thought your hair would fall out if he helped so he refused to go near you.

It took a lot to convince him thats not how it works if you do it properly.

Konig would watch and study you and how you do things, learning and mentally taking note. He really wanted to help, he was just nervous.

When you got to dyeing your hair fun colours, you asked him which one to go with and do the one he picked. It made Konig blush and giggle knowing you took his suggestions on board.

He would eventually start helping you with these things. When it came to shaving your hair, he would volunteer and eventually he did it without asking. It was his little job for you. Especially if he had feelings for you or you two were dating. He loved being in your bubble and being useful.

He would also help with bleach and hair dye. You let him experiment with colours and combinations. He was living his emo/scene life through you.

Konig had wanted to dye his hair too but he was too afraid to ask you. He was also afraid it could damage his hair or something would go wrong. He would overthink a lot about this.

He eventually asked if you could do his hair like yours. You were a fit of happiness and giggles as you agreed profusely.

You did a test strand first to see how his hair would react and give him a chance to feel it out before fully committing.

He really liked the strand that he kept it for ages. You would dye it for him different colours.

It was a bonding experience for you two. It also got messy most of the time and both of you would have dye on your hands as you refused to use gloves.

You have attempted to convince him to dye his eyebrows. He is not a fan. Stands there cross armed, shaking his head.

He loves your piercings. Has asked you a million questions about them. Big boy has a fear of needles so he would never get anything done himself. Asks you about pain and healing and all.

Has helped you picked out jewellery.

He is afraid to touch your piercings in case he hurts you.

Konig goes with you one time to get a new piercing and faints before you even get pierced. It was jaw dropping at first but funny afterwards.

Is fascinated by your tattoos. Depending where they are on your body and what your relationship is, he will traced them.

Always slaps them out of boredom.

Accidentally slaps you too hard sometimes and leaves you with bruises and feels bad.

Watches you and Ghost talk tattoos, flabbergasted because he doesn’t understand what you guys are saying. Thinks you two are sadisctic

The boys have all helped you with your hair before. Soap managed to fuck it up once and you banned him from coming near your hair

Soap is kinda salty you won’t let it go but you take too much pride in your hair.

They all saw the strand you did for Konig and Gaz and Soap begged you to do them. Ghost glared at you to not come near him and his hair. Price just sighed in disappointment that you were influencing his boys like this. He does think your hair is cool however.

You shock everyone when you have a normal hair colour because they aren’t used to you being,,,normal.

Konig mostly loves your music taste. There are some questionable songs in your playlist and he doesn’t understand why you some them.

You made him a personalised playlist and he made one for you.

You have taken him to concerts of your favourite bands and even if he isn’t a fan, he is genuinely happy to be around you and enjoys watching you have fun.

He was not prepared for how loud you get at concerts. thats not the only time you get loud tho

—

That’s it for now. I cant think of anything else to add but feel free to comment or repost with more headcanons of your own! Also requests are open if you want anything specific :]

[michellemisfit]

Tag Game Wednesday

Thank you @spookygingerr for making this week’s tag game, and @energievie @lingy910y @jrooc @suzy-queued @deedala @crestfallercanyon for tagging me

this wednesday's tag game we're talking hairrrr 👩🏻‍🦰

what is your current hair like?

@rutherinahobbit just gave it a bit of a re-dye so it’s mostly dark brown, with some bleached streaks. It’s got a bit a low key Cruella deVille / Skunk vibe going for it :)

what is your natural hair like?

Brown. Straight. With a cowlick front right.

what’s you favourite hair style/colour you’ve had?

Ah man, don’t make me pick! So much of my hair has been awesome!

Ultimately I think it was my rainbow faux hawk though. That was AWESOME!

And then I gave Jerry the Alpaca a matching hair do when I took him to Pride. Good times.

what hair style/colour do you find most attractive on other people? (if you have a preference)

I love intricate braids (because I suck at doing them!!!) and undercuts and colours. Just… interesting stuff, y’know? Think Natalie Dormer in Mockingjay!

what’s your biggest hair regret?

I don’t really have any. It’s hair. If you dye it and it looks bad you can cut it. If you cut it and it looks bad you can cut it again. Worse things have happened at sea, y’know? But I was pretty said when I eventually found a single exception to my claim up to that point of ‘I can pull off any hair colour, platinum blond to jet black…’ - turns out I can NOT pull of ginger. That was sad. Was ginger for two days and freaked the shit out of myself and Ruth every time we looked at my hair. Dyed it dark auburn very sharpish after lol 🤷🏽‍♂️

what’s the longest your hair as ever been?

I never felt very girly, and therefore I never wanted to have long hair. Also I hated my mother brushing my hair (so painful!!) so the shorter the better. Then I got a bit older and tried growing it out. This is the longest it ever got. That’s me at… 17/18 maybe?

what’s the shortest your hair has ever been?

We had an open day at the farm where we sheared sheep and humans for charity. It was so much fun!! This is me and my sheep Willow, before and after.

what’s your go to style when you’re due a hair wash?

Alice band. Which ironically always leads to people telling me how cute I look. And then I feel the need to confess that I had to Alice band the hair because it was just THAT filthy, it couldn’t be loose anymore… hahaha

That was fun! I’m tagging @rutherinahobbit @heymrspatel @gallawitchxx @vintagelacerosette @too-schoolforcool @darlingian @palepinkgoat @crossmydna @celestialmickey @creepkinginc @rereadanon @the-rat-wins @tsuga-of-mars @ian-galagher @iansw0rld @ohkate @lynne-monstr @faejilly @sickness-health-all-that-shit @junemermaid @blue-disco-lights @sleepyfacetoughguy @francesrose3 @stocious @thepupperino

[silverdynetrutherr]

i wrote this little fic about kerry and v in the tower ending and got upset when nobody really read it sorry i’m shallow like that so here it is in full;

it’s not very long and if you do read please lmk what you think 🙏

Kerry’s hair had grown longer, reaching his shoulders generously now. It was darker than that platinum blonde colour he used to have. It was a silver now, loose curls created shade to make it look greyer. It wasn’t very often soft, courtesy of the product he used to curl it. Kerry’s hair was never naturally curly. He had been through phases in his life where he had loose curls, waves, more like. Now he was more concerned about heat damage, and tended to avoid hot curlers where he could. When the loose curls fell out, in the shower, in harsh winds that he always loudly groaned at, it was about an inch longer, and looked brighter. It looked soft today.

Where Kerry’s head was laid on V’s lap, V took note of all the times he had thought of Kerry’s hair. And all of the other intricate, minor details about him. Like the way his left eye twitches when he sleeps, the way V was sure it was right now, the way he got silently frustrated when his knuckles wouldn’t crack, the way stopped for a second look every time he saw a picture of the ocean.

He was snoring lightly, as he always did, lying on his left side, sound asleep for a short while in the afternoon.

In the home they had, outside of the city somewhere, a quieter place, they sat on the couch which had excessive, eccentric blankets. The floors were wooden, a dark, rich mahogany which complimented the walls.

V ran his hand over Kerry’s head repeatedly as he slept, he hadn’t intended to soothe him to sleep but the gentle, even breaths had indicated it had happened anyway.

It was quiet, to both of them it’d be known as silent. All that could be heard was gentle breaths and distant cars owned by peaceful people. There was a just as peaceful light that bled into the room, that grazed and graced everything it touched like discreet glitter. The room was warm, it was summer. V’s chest felt warm, he was in love. Light shone in through the windows, dulled into fragments, streaks that lit up the room still. On the only slightly dusty windowsill, there were equal streaks on the wood that were sun-bleached lighter, evidence of living, and open curtains.

His hand moved to brush over Kerry’s cheek, moving stray hair behind his ear, careful not to wake him up. He wanted everything to stay exactly like this. Where he could watch the curtains sway with the breeze, where he could run his hands over Kerry’s head and look at the way the rings on both their fingers glimmered in the light. Where he could think uninterrupted.

And he thought about, often, how it had been five years since he had been sat on that AV with Johnny. The sun bled in through the wide open door in a similar way to how it was now. He didn’t remember the date, he didn’t think it would be significant enough an event to do so. But he thinks of how it had gotten to that point. He thinks of every moment shared, every word said and those he couldn’t remember that he had with Johnny. It was a story, a timeline of events that felt so distant now, before growth. The memory of that specific moment, or, of several moments only hours between one another; calling Reed, discussing with Johnny, boarding the AV, and the others.

It had been five years since he had sat on that AV, feeling his brows tense together in sorry determination.

There was something in him, then, that kicked, screamed, and begged him to leap off onto the nearest building and look for another way. A pulling force that yanked through skin, bone and soul, that wasn’t strong enough to stop him.

He had looked at Johnny, and only truly being able to recognise what he had felt for him then and there, when the sedatives kicked in. He had loved him.

‘Soulkiller’ suggested that the use of the relic was to connect two souls, something deeper than a mind, or the person hoarding it. It was an intricate interlocking of the integral parts of someone’s being; their soul. Johnny had died before. He had died in a violent, painful way V wouldn’t have wished on anybody. And then he got to know him, feel him within every nerve cell that fired a signal, shared substance, it was followed by love.

He made the choice to let that go. He made the choice to take all that was left of Johnny’s soul, and to trample every hope, wish and dream he ever had, and every moment they had shared together. But then again, they were never singular moments. What they had was an unbroken line of shared existence, one moment, prolonged. V made the choice to make it so that nowhere, in any place on earth, feet on ground or metaphysical, would be home to Johnny. V thought about it a lot, like he was now, and had done for the past three years he had spent conscious.

There was nowhere for Johnny to sit.

Where was he going to sit?

There were two fighting forces on the AV, two colliding ideals which V had of what his future looked like. He held both very dear to him, ever the dreamer. One, in which he really could have seen himself laughing with Johnny in murky or luxurious bars after gigs, the one that he could have seen himself scoring jobs from the top fixers, and not needing to ask if Johnny would tag along. He would have made a name for himself, and been able to feel Johnny’s heart beating fast under bones he alone owned. The other, in which he really could have seen himself spending days and nights in Kerry’s villa, on the couch watching whatever Kerry wanted to put on. Sitting on the floor on rainy days, chin on his knee as he listened to Kerry bounce ideas for songs around in his head. Falling asleep to quiet distant rock songs in the dark, with his forehead pressed to Kerry’s nape. Going to crazy expensive restaurants, hating the food and opting for cheap pizzas at Caliente’s. Late night swims in the pool, watching Kerry perform to filled out stadiums from the stage wing. Kissing, laughing, feeling, knowing. Such a plausible, tangible life that V knew Kerry wanted, and only wanted with him. Only one of these ideas would have ever been possible. Kerry had a home, a career, friends, connections, income and a body. Johnny had none and V had jumped through these loops of justification for years, and years, and years. And he wonders if he was there again, making that decision, would it be the same.

And he knows it would be. The same way he knows Kerry’s left eye twitches when he sleeps, the way he got silently frustrated when his knuckles wouldn’t crack, the way stopped for a second look every time he saw a picture of the ocean. The way he knew that he never could have felt Johnny’s skin on his own, the same way he knew it would not feel better than the way Kerry’s felt. V could think in circles for the rest of his life, but the fact was that he didn’t want anything more than what he had now. He didn’t want to ‘find another way’ to save his life when it did not exist, and it did not exist. The fact was that nothing in the world would have stopped him. No single thing on Earth or anywhere else could have changed his mind about using the neural matrix, not a two-year coma, not Kerry literally being in space, and not V’s love for Johnny. Not when Johnny had loved him just as much, and forgave him so easily, like there was nothing to forgive.

And he looked at the framed photograph of himself and Kerry, on the small table by the couch, which captured the two before they had moved out here, a moment where Kerry had grabbed V’s face and kissed his cheek. He was trying to be annoying, but the photo only showed V laughing, and there was nothing to forgive. Kerry had once told him to take his own advice. For all the times V had told Kerry that everything with Johnny was in the past, that it didn’t matter anymore, he only realised that it was easier said than done after Johnny was gone, again. But Kerry got through, he had done it. Through one last gig, grenades and fire on water, Kerry had outgrown it. And V was doing it. Through strokes of his cheek, meals indoors, quiet, and an amulet in the bedside drawer. He was doing it.

Kerry started snoring on V’s lap. The attitude of ‘fuck everything else’ was learned, as was peace. Getting to know Kerry on a deeper level than braindance music videos and billboard advertisements was, by all accounts, a blessing. V had seen his face all his life, known his voice the same way everyone did. The learning of the pattern of his soul, his integral being, what made Kerry Eurodyne, Kerry. It was special, like the first daffodils that blossom in spring, not only because there were so few who could say they had seen Kerry at his most vulnerable, most relieved, most disappointed, most ecstatic, his core, but because nobody else breathing shared what Kerry had in his soul. His spirit, unique and rare, he was someone that you could look for in every person that you had ever met, will ever meet and still never find him, not a trace. V had noted that despite all people being people, individual with their own stories, hopes and dreams, every person could be found in another, a shared list of defining aspects that stopped them from being unique, and made them common, carbon copy cut-outs of the average person. Kerry was the kind of person poets wrote about, made art with words about. His comprehension of emotions, his movement through them, fluid and unsteady. The way his thoughts, feelings always materialised into perfect, physical expressions, the way his actions reflect his story like fire on water. How deeply his emotions were felt, like the roots of a tree, foundation. The way he recognised patterns in his life, and had several surf boards in his villa, just for when he wanted to go to the ocean. Of course, he could not surf. So, the way he had several surf boards, but could not surf. There were lines, after lines of ways V could have put into words what he felt about Kerry. He didn’t believe that he could have done it justice, he was no poet, or writer, not like Kerry was. But he had the rest of his life now to learn more about him, see his habits and the strings of his soul that burned when they were played, and he had the rest of his life to see that even if he was no poet, no lyricist, he could think. And fuck everything else, Kerry had his head laid on his lap as V thought. Fuck everything else.

It was a guilty truth, the way V felt about the entire situation, his whole life. Because he didn’t regret a thing.

When it came down to it, to the core truth, Johnny had no chance, even without V. Even if V had let himself die, merge into another person until there was none of him left, what would Johnny have become? He had made up his mind long ago, about life, about Kerry.

Johnny wouldn’t have made more music, he had tied that part of himself to Kerry, and it was gone. Realistically, he would have caught a bus somewhere else, have found and made his own way. It was not what either Johnny or V had wanted for him. It was always all or nothing.

There was no all, there was nothing.

There was no beating heart, no breathing lungs, only an artificial psyche filled with hidden love, boundless compassion and none of it mattered. There was nothing to save, and V had already saved Kerry and fuck everything else.

He had given up, they both had. And while V and Johnny had discussed that choice, somewhere in the sky, Kerry sat somewhere in Westbrook, waiting with a bouncing knee for a call from V. To say hi.

He ultimately ended up waiting two years for that call. In that two years V had spent under, his entire world had passed him by, like a rough ocean wave he was too far below the surface to feel. When Kerry had picked up that call, coming from the all white room to the Crystal Palace, V felt grounded. When Kerry spoke to him, with nothing but an ecstatic celebration, it was a lifeboat. And then V had seen it was all for something. Unlike Johnny, V was never all or nothing, he saw the way Kerry spoke, realistic, accomplished and he had something. He had waited four months, in which he had seen his home and the wider world move, shift and change into something he didn’t recognise. He was navigating a foreign world, one without Arasaka, without his favourite fixers, without everyone he had made a bond with and one in which all he had was waiting. A world in which he was just a face in the crowd. Those four months were long. He watched the sun rise every morning, and set every night, before he had worked up the nerve to take himself to Kerry’s villa. He had told himself he was just going to tidy the place up a bit, having assumed it was still in a state. He was right. But after everything was clean and tidy, and V almost didn’t recognise the place, he didn’t leave. Everything in the house had its place, where it fit and belonged, and the only place V belonged all along the West Coast was there, alongside it all. He didn’t know what he and Kerry were, if Kerry had moved on. That was what he had spent so long working towards, anyway, if V was the one that taught him how to be individual, not waste his life in mourning, in faithful waiting. He hadn’t known what Kerry would want when he came back home.

But there was one aspect that V had failed to take into account. Kerry had matured, become a great version of himself in which he could find his own way, his own happiness. Kerry was not codependent like he used to be, and it was good. But what V did not understand was that despite all his growing and his learning, that was just the way Kerry loved. How he did it.

Kerry carried his love within his soul. A part of him, as was V. and V could only see this, this overwhelming entirety when he had felt Kerry’s lips on his again.

And the rest was history, everything that came before was history. V had wrapped his arms around Kerry and they had shared this moment in which they just talked, thumbs stroking over hands, connection.

The day that Kerry had come home, the two had learned so much more about one another, and everything that they had both feared fell away. Kerry thanked V for tidying the place up, and for coming back to him alive with a promise of ‘surviving one year with a rockstar’. It was unsaid, it didn’t need to be sworn in words that V would more than survive, and do so for more than just a year, for many, many to come.

Kerry stirred in his sleep, breaking V out of his chain of thoughts, a flow that only one person could have interrupted. V notices that his hand had never stopped stroking over his hair, and the sun had moved through the sky until it shone through the window in an unfortunate position, right over Kerry’s eye. V rested his hand on Kerry’s cheek as he raised his hand to cover his eye, groaning. He shuffled, using V’s knee as leverage to push himself to sit up. He rubbed over his face and the sun on his hair made it look white. V huffed a small laugh.

‘Sleep okay?’ he murmured, moving his hand to resume its position on Kerry’s cheek, and his hand followed to place his hand over V’s.

‘Mhm. had a dream about you,’ Kerry said, blinking slowly.

‘Oh yeah? ‘Bout what?’ V leaned in a little closer, and Kerry laughed as lightly as V had.

‘What, you couldn’t tell by the noises i was making?’

‘You were only snoring, unfortunately.’

Kerry laughed, shoving V’s shoulder. ‘Looks like you’ll have to fuck me better than dream Vincent, tonight.’ he said as he leaned in for a short kiss.

‘You’re the boss.’ V smiled.

Johnny might’ve been a faceless memory, and V might have only been a face in the crowd now, but out here, where the sun shone through the window, and the trees swayed in the June breeze, there were no crowds. And if there ever came a time again in which the two were lost in one, which was sure to happen, V knew Kerry would spot his face from a mile away, standing out. And that was enough for V.

It was everything.

[1p2p-heta-suggestives]

2p romano nsfw alphabet pleasee

Read more is here so people don’t accidentally read this kind of content without wanting to.

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

• If he doesn’t immediately fall asleep, he’ll cook them both something to eat and get drinks. He tries to stay up until they fall asleep first but, really, it’s more likely he will first.

B - Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

• He’s another person that likes all of himself, he has days where he’s insecure but most of the time, he’s just thankful for what his body does for him

• He likes things like stretch marks, he thinks they’re absolutely beautiful, so if his partner has any then they’ll always be his favourite

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

• He prefers people to cum either on his face or in his mouth, no preference between the two

• He doesn’t care except the fact he gets to cum. Back, stomach, face, hand, thighs, wherever.

D - Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

• Has done nude modelling a couple times, he has the photos hidden away in his room somewhere and he will show if someone asks about it

E - Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

• He’s very experienced, he has a bit of a reputation amongst everyone for sleeping around, especially with humans

F - Favorite position (This goes without saying)

• If he tops, he prefers them to ride him

• If he bottoms, he likes being fucked against a wall or made to bend over a desk, anything like that

G - Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? Etc.)

• He’s more humorous than anything, he wants the other person to relax and feel comfortable and thinks being serious kills the mood

H - Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? Etc.)

• Very well groomed, he would wax but his skin is sensitive so it’s rare he does. It’s the same shade as his natural hair, a dark brown colour.

I - Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

• Surprisingly not that intimate or romantic, especially if it’s just a ONS, he doesn’t think it’s the place for romance

J - Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

• Pretty much every night, he’s stressed a lot and it’s the best way for him to relief stress

K - Kink (One or more of their kinks)

• Anything semi-public

• He’s very submissive

• Being made to look at himself in a mirror or something of the like (I cannot find out if this has a name)

L - Location (Favorite places to do the do)

• As previously mentioned, anywhere semi-public. Bathrooms, changing rooms, closets, etc. It’s the risk that gets him off.

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

• Someone making him look at them, like grabbing his chin and forcing it up, it works wonders. It immediately makes his legs weak.

N - No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

• Hair pulling. His hair/scalp is sensitive from overly being bleached so he will just end up stopping because it hurts.

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

• Absolutely prefers to give, he loves it when people shove his head down. He’s very skilled, he has a slight oral fixation so it’s one of his favourite things.

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

• He prefers to let them set the pace since he doesn’t really have a preference, he’s not a fan of it being anything sensual though

Q - Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

• Half of his sexual encounters are considered quickies, he’s a fan of them

R - Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? Etc.)

• He loves risk but experimenting needs a little bit of convincing for him, he’s always a little hesitant to try anything new

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

• He can go maybe 3 rounds until he’s done, and that’s with a little break in between. He lasts pretty average, around 8 minutes.

T - Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

• He has a little collection for himself, he’ll use them on the other person but they are mostly just for him

U - Unfair (How much they like to tease)

• He’s a little shit for teasing, he absolutely loves to do it but will whine about it when they do it to him

V - Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

• He’s always really loud, the thing is that he doesn’t even realise it half of the time.

W - Wild card (A random headcanon for the character)

• 100% crymaxes, he thinks it’s adorable when other people do but he’s so embarrassed that he does it

X - X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

• Around 5 inches, it’s a little darker than skin tone and curves a little to the left

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

• Pretty high, he’s horny a lot of the time

Z - Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

• Either in a minute or right after eating, those are the only two options

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Reflections

Chapter Two

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: a lot of angst, grief, growth, please note I know nothing about inheritances or how they work in other countries. Please take everything with a grain of sand. 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library  with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

~

It wasn't until Mia woke up halfway across the Atlantic disoriented and in pain that her rational brain snapped back on, and she realized what she'd done. She was on a plane to freaking Scotland at the encouragement of a man she didn't know, led there by another man she didn't know, all without asking for proof or any ID. 

"This is how people disappear, Mia," she hissed aloud, climbing from the bed to stumble into the bathroom. 

The light made her wince, but the terrible state of her face only made her sigh. For a split second upon waking, she hoped it was all a nightmare. The bump of turbulence said it wasn't when it sent her lurching against the sink. 

She was such a mess. Her unruly mass of copper-coloured hair stuck out around her head. Her face was pale, one eye a shiner and the other not much better with how dark the circle beneath it was. The bleached pallor of her skin made her freckles stand out starkly and the ocean blue of her eyes that much darker. 

As a kid, the other children always teased her for the heavy smattering of freckles that darkened her cheeks and nose and scattered across the rest of her face, shoulders, arms and chest. She'd hated them as much as her mother adored them. 

Evelyn MacAlasdair was a firebrand. Even at only seven years old, Mia knew her mother was a unique and indomitable spirit who loved with every ounce of her heart and soul. When she said each of Mia's freckles was beautiful and unique, something to cherish, not abhor, Mia didn't agree at the time, but her mom persisted. 

Placing her in front of the mirror, Evelyn squeezed her shoulders and said, "I want you to stare at your reflection, really look at yourself. Now, pick out three freckles that you don't hate."

Mia scowled but knew her mother wouldn't let her escape until she did as asked. She sighed and dragged the collar of her t-shirt aside to point at three in the shape of a triangle hidden beneath her collarbone. 

"Why those three?"

Rolling her eyes, Mia muttered, "Because they're hidden."

Her mother smiled and tapped the bridge of Mia's nose. "I love these three because they can't be missed. Now, tell me three good things that happened to you today."

That part, the three good things question, was one her mom asked Mia every day - or what felt like every day - since Mia could understand the words. Now, she couldn't remember her answers, but from the age of seven to eleven, every day before bed, Evelyn stood behind Mia in the mirror and asked the same two questions. 

Which freckles do you hate the least? What are three good things that happened today?

After her parents died, Mia continued with the ritual until she moved in with Colt, who found her cute eccentricities quaint when they weren't living together but told her to cut it out once they were. 

Gods! How did she miss that giant red flag? Or all the ones that followed when he insisted on buying her makeup that toned down and then fully covered her freckles. Or when he changed her wardrobe, throwing away her favourite sleep shirts because he found them frumpy and buying her slinky, scratchy negligees instead. Pretty and good for seducing a man, but not that comfortable to sleep in.

Still, as she got ready for bed every night, Mia cleaned the makeup from her freckles and smiled as she revealed them. Her mother loved them. That mattered more to her than what anyone else thought. And as she brushed her teeth, she would mentally run through three good things that happened. 

Those things were lean during the last few years, but she still made the effort. 

"Three good things," she whispered, staring in the mirror. "A manilla envelope hit me in the foot. I found a heritage I knew nothing about. I finally quit Colt."

Mia glanced toward the shower. "Four. Showers on private planes." 

Ginny said she could use it when she woke up as long as the red lights in the bathroom above the door weren't on and she was fast. Falling in a shower due to turbulence would be a lot worse than falling in the shower on land. 

As she'd already stripped to her t-shirt and panties to sleep, Mia had both off in less than ten seconds and was under the instantly hot water in another ten. 

A luxury brand of soap waited in dispensers on the wall. 

It was one Colt often muttered about the partners all being agog over, but it was too expensive and exclusive for him to justify. He was still only an associate working his way up the ladder. 

A little vindictive piece of her enjoyed lathering her hair and body in the products, but she mostly felt tired. 

Emotionally and mentally drained, she dragged herself out of the shower, wrapped up in a fluffy robe, and returned to the bedroom to rummage through her backpack for clean underwear and a fresh t-shirt, dressing swiftly before returning to the main cabin. 

"Miss MacAlasdair," Ginny smiled, quickly getting up. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mia, please. I slept," Mia nodded. She wasn't sure sleeping like she was dead was sleeping well, and she still felt like death warmed over, but the world wasn't fuzzy anymore. "I did have a moment to wonder if I'm being trafficked, but I don't think kidnappers use luxury planes."

Ginny burst out laughing. "No, they certainly don't! You're not being trafficked, Miss Mia. I promise. Why don't I make you something to eat? You slept through lunch, and we should be landing in another hour."

"I slept seven hours?" Mia gasped.

"I think you needed it." Ginny eyed her carefully. "I think you need a little more."

The absurdity of it all set Mia off. She started to laugh and finally had to sit and put her head between her knees when she hyperventilated. 

"Mia? Mia, are you alright?" Ginny asked, gently patting her back. 

She groaned and shook her head. "I think it just hit me. I went from broke, broken up with, and homeless to rich, running, and owning real estate in under thirty minutes. I packed up everything I owned, threw myself onto a stranger's plane, and I'm jetting off to Scotland to learn about grandparents I knew nothing about. I may not be getting trafficked, but my life imploded, and I don't know what to do about that!"

Ginny, who couldn't be more than twenty-five, patted her back as Mia tried not to lose her mind. "Just breathe. Try to go slow."

"You are way too calm right now!"

"Look, Mia. Things may seem out of control now, but it will all make sense once you get where you are going.

Mia groaned but sat up and lightly thunked her head against the armrest of the chair behind her. 

"How about we get you in a seat? I'll make you some lunch and maybe some tea to calm your nerves. I'm sure you could use some painkillers again, too. Here we go. Up now," she encouraged, pulling on Mia's arm. 

As her tone had gone up an octave into a panicked form of perky, Mia relented and climbed into the seat. 

She wished she hadn't let Colt talk her into donating her stuffed animals at times like this. It would have been nice to hug a pony or bear right now. Instead, she grabbed the pillow off the opposite chair and hugged it.

While she listened to Ginny putter, Mia breathed slowly and tried to meditate, but the bubbling panic wouldn't let her. 

"Do you want a book, or to watch TV, a movie? Something to distract you?" Ginny asked. 

"Oh, Gods, yes!" Mia moaned.

Though she tried to keep it quiet, Ginny snickered and hurried back with a ham and cheese quiche that smelt amazing, a tossed salad, and a basket of rolls with whipped butter she set beside Mia. 

She hurried off and returned with tea in a pot, a glass of juice, a bottle of Tylenol, and a remote.

"You're my new favourite person," Mia murmured as she gracelessly dug in, suddenly famished. 

"There's an extensive library. Anything in particular you want to watch?"

"That 70s Show or The Golden Girls."

Ginny blinked at her, clearly confused, and Mia sighed. 

"I'm neurodivergent. My anxiety is so high right now that watching something new would make it worse. Watching something I've seen enough times that I practically know the words allows my brain to ride the edge of the story without having to worry about what might be coming next."

"Ah. Okay then." Ginny started a search without asking anything else. 

Mia could tell she didn't understand, not really, but was either too polite or too well-trained to pry. 

But when the familiar strains of the opening music to That 70s Show began to play, Mia felt some of the tension at the back of her head begin to unwind.

Colt absolutely hated it when she explained about her "weird" brain and all her "quirks," but Mia wasn't self-conscious of her different brain. She revelled in the gifts it gave her and how it opened up her creativity on levels hard for others to fathom. 

Did it sometimes cost her things? Sure, but she wouldn't change her nature for anyone… anyone but Colt.

Sighing, Mia forced herself to eat the quiche, half the salad and a roll before pushing the food away. 

The grief for her lost relationship hit her when she looked down and found she forgot to leave her engagement ring behind. It was still on her finger, and she twisted it until she finally tugged it off and stuffed it into the bottom of her backpack. She'd get it back to Colt somehow.

~

Fergus was almost exactly what she expected when she left the plane. 

The man had to be six-two and pushing three hundred pounds of straight muscle. He looked sixty, sixty-five, at most seventy, but was so fit it was hard to tell. His dark hair was grey at the temples with that distinguished silver fox look that made men ridiculously gorgeous, as did the smattering of salt in his full beard. 

He was ruddy checked from the cold wind on the tarmac, but his bright blue eyes were piercing and direct as he looked her over. They settled on her shiner, hardened into ice, then warmed substantially when they locked with hers. 

"Camila, it's a pleasure to meet you at last, lass."

"I go by Mia," she said, holding out her hand when she reached the bottom stair.

He grasped it but tugged her forward the last step, engulfing her in a bear hug that felt like a bear was embracing her. 

"Mia, then. I've a need to hug you, brave girl. Not just anyone would say, bugger it, and throw their life over to start anew as you have."

She laughed and took a second to soak up the giant man's affection. "Thanks. I keep wondering if I've lost what little good sense I was born with, so that helps."

He laughed, and the warm honey tone rumbled beneath her ear before he clasped her shoulders and turned to urge her toward the car. "C'mon, lass. The wife is beside herself waiting to welcome you here."

Here being Edinburgh. 

Mia resisted long enough to collect her backpack and box from Ginny, thank her and the pilots for the smooth flight, and wave goodbye. 

He saw her into the limo, stopped long enough to give orders to the men unloading the plane, and then slid his large frame into the car with a fluidity she envied. 

Mia had tripped on the cuff of her pant legs when she wore heels—another bone of contention between herself and Colt.

"There isn't much to see, I'm afraid, not from the airport, but once we've ye settled in, the missus and I will be happy to take ye 'round. Edinburgh's a beautiful city, though it's a dreich day today."

As it was grey, rainy, and windy as heck, Mia took dreich to mean yucky and nodded. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I'm really confused. Am I here… legally?"

Fergus blinked at her, then burst out in hearty guffaws. 

"Well, I never went through customs going out or coming in!" Mia huffed. 

He wiped his face as the tears flowed and the laughter ended. "You do ken to make a man laugh. Aye, you're legal, Mia. We've arranged it. There are some documents and some legal jargon to go through in the comin' days, but aye, it's all legal. As ye're looking a might peely-wally, and had a rough go these last twenty-four, I didnae want to throw all that at ye right now."

She sighed in relief. "Alright. I just don't need to get arrested because someone thinks I snuck into the country."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Naw, lass. We won't have that."

Mia nodded and settled in, watching the world go by through the pelting rain, though she could feel Fergus' eyes on her face. 

"I ken someone who can look at that. Ye should let Sebastian press charges on the dunderheid for damagin' yer face."

"It's being taken care of," Mia murmured. 

"Don't haver to me, Mia," Fergus grumbled. 

She glanced at him, found the thunderous scowl and tilted her head. "Haver? Does that mean lie?"

He gave a sharp nod. "Aye."

She turned her attention back to the window. "I'm not lying. It's being taken care of. Just… not by traditional means." 

"And what does that mean? I assure you, we've done our research on you. We had to ken we had the right relative to the MacAlasdair estate. Ye've no ties to anyone who could take care of the bastard in the way yer implying."

Mia gripped the box beneath her hand tighter. "Do you believe in karma, Fergus?"

From the corner of her eye, she watched him squint as if trying to decipher a puzzle. 

"In a fashion. Though, I prefer to bring about my own justice."

She dug her nails into the box. "What about religion? Are you religious?"

"I was raised in the church."

Mia sighed. "Then let's just say I'm letting my God sort it out." She didn't bother to explain which God, having had very poor experiences before. It didn't matter that his ancient ancestors likely worshiped the same Gods she did now; many people didn't take it well when she was honest about her leanings. 

She wasn't ashamed by any means, but she'd been called witch, demon, whore, evil, and been told she would burn in hell so many times it was exhausting. She didn't need to justify her beliefs to anyone. But that didn't mean she wanted to do battle over it every time, either.

"Yer a woman of faith?"

"Yes." She looked at Fergus and smiled. "And He hasn't let me down yet."

He arched a bushy brow before nodding. "As ye say then. I still think Sebastian should scare the pants off the plab."

Mia chuckled. She doubted Sebastian could do anything worse than what Loki would accomplish, but she wouldn't put it past the Mischief God to use Sebastian in his schemes.

~

Fergus's wife was a steamroller.

Ivy, fifty-five if she were a day, took one look at Mia and mother henned so hard that the first two days were a blur of food, advice, men bashing, and sleep brought on by the copious amounts of whiskey-laced tea Ivy insisted would cure all Mia's problems.

As the bed in their guest room was a thing of beauty right out of some fairytale, Mia was happy to let it happen. Between naps, she managed to get through much of the legal mumbo jumbo, though she didn't honestly understand everything Fergus said. 

But five things she knew for sure. 

One. She owned a house near the town of Kelso, close to the Scottish border. Though it was a small estate, it had roughly thirty acres of land, including stables, assorted outbuildings, gardens, orchards and riverfrontage. 

Two. In the town of Kelso, she owned multiple buildings, all managed by a company that saw to the upkeep, rent, and leasings. Fergus assured her it was all on the up and up, and Mia surely hoped so because accounting had never been her strong suit. But he said the company was reputable, their legal accounting department ensured that, and she could trust they would see to her properties without screwing her over.  

Three. There was money. Lots of it. More than she could hope to spend in a lifetime. One trust was hers to use as she pleased. The other was some portfolio, something or other, with interest and investments from which they drew the estate costs. All the staff, utilities, and assorted upkeep bills came from that one. 

When she found that out, Mia's jaw dropped. She had a house she never had to pay for because the family she never knew existed set it up to keep her safe… forever.

Four. She had family ties to the community. Well, she did before the grandparents she didn't know existed died. Apparently, their search for her father, their youngest son, who cut ties because they disapproved of her mother, a Canadian on holiday with no blue to her blood, began shortly after he left Scotland. But like any angry, hot-headed young man, he and his new bride up and disappeared so thoroughly it took years. When the detectives found her parents, they'd been dead for two. It took eighteen more for them to track Mia through the foster system, through her schooling, and then Covid hit. Unfortunately, her grandparents didn't survive the pandemic.

While her heart panged with sadness, Mia hadn't known them. She hadn't even known they existed until a few days ago. But it was a missing piece to her past she could never get back, and that hurt a little. 

It also made her wonder how anyone could dislike her mother. Evelyn was incredible. Her dad, Callum, was intelligent and funny and worked hard to give them a good life. How could her grandparents ever think their love was a mistake?

The other two boys in the picture Fergus sent were her dad's brothers, who died young. Angus - the middle child - died at ten when he was thrown from a horse and broke his neck. The eldest son, Noah, was killed in a car accident by a drunk driver at fifteen. 

It left her with a shadow of loneliness she couldn't quite shake.

And five. She had permanent residence status. Mia didn't know how; she didn't know who they paid to make it happen, what hoops they jumped through, what wheels they greased, or what palms they silvered, but there was a shiny new Scottish passport with her name and picture on it. 

She was home if she wanted to be. 

~

It took a week for Fergus and Ivy to finally let her go. The pair had no children and, therefore, no grandchildren and unofficially adopted Mia as their own. 

They toured her around the city, took her out to restaurants and pubs, and even the theatre. Ivy took her shopping, though Mia insisted on buying regular clothing, nothing that reminded her of Colt or his obsession with all things designer. 

Mia spent hours browsing shops, buying books, art supplies, and things that tickled her soul. Some would go on Loki's altar. The rest would decorate her new home. 

At the end of the first week, and with her bruises now a sickly yellow-green, Mia climbed into a car - town this time, not limo - for the hour drive to the outskirts of Kelso. 

This time, she left with three suitcases and a dozen shopping bags, though her box with Loki's altar sat beside her, and her backpack remained at her feet. 

The God was strangely quiet while she stayed with the MacDougals, but as they pulled away from the house, Fergus clutching the envelope that held her former engagement ring - which he promised to return to Colt - a flash of red caught her eye. A raven dipped and spun, playing on the breeze, and though the day was grey and overcast, the sight of it made her smile. 

Did you miss me, girl?

Mia closed her hand over the box beside her, content in the knowledge he wasn't far away.

Next Chapter

[creepywrites]

Vicky Genocidal

Trigger warning: self harm, mutilation

Warnings: death, self harm, trauma

Vicky used to be an optimistic and happy kid before everyone's incidents, always cheering people up, afterwards she became more depressed and aloof.

She eventually tries surrounding herself with people that make her feel better.

People at school already thought her and Jeff were dating when they were friends, that only intensified when she was the only one unscathed from his attack.

She loves Bingus with all her heart and makes sure he's well cared for.

She's a very anxious person, Vicky chews on her fingers and sleeve to help with her anxiety.

She picked up smoking from her dad, she snuck a cigarette because her dad said it helped him.

She switches to vaping once becoming a killer because she didn't like the smell of cigarettes.

If someone asks her about her mum, Vicky says she died.

She hates the weird light blonde kind of colour the bleach made her hair, and always dyes it black or dark brown.

Her hair sometimes falls out in chunks because of how damaged her hair is.

She used to always carry a switch blade just in case someone were to attack her again.

She wears a lot of jewellery, bracelets, rings on most fingers, her labret, two lobes and helix piercings.

Vicky always thought she'd hate to be a mum, that she wouldn't be a good one or be in the right mental state, now she has two and even now still questions if she's doing a remotely decent job.

She's completely stopped killing, now she's just trying to live her life as peaceful as she can with her friends and Bingus.

She even goes out in public with sunglasses and a mask or something similar on occasion, and has started trying to make a living for herself, not wanting to completely rely on Liu.

She refused to touch alcohol because of her mum, who used to be an alcoholic, but as she got older started drinking wine.

She has a weird friendship between Randy, she thought he was a cool rebel, like in a Hannah cool way, and he liked her because she grounded him.

She sympathised with him because of his dad and bonded other ghostface.

Although she likes Randy, she couldn't tolerate the other two.

She got closer with Sully when all her friends were gone.

Victoria doesn't have good judge of character, and will often miss red flags or excuse them.

Her fashion style is all other the place and changes often.

Her favourite bands are Cryoshell, Lana Del Ray and My Chemical Romance, she completely changed her music taste to get closer to her dad, friends and to try and express herself, before all of that she liked Taylor swift, and Rites of Spring.

She was 16 going on 17 after Jeff's incident, and was 19 when her incident happened.

She was apart of a CNA program to get experience to become a doctor.

A lot of people didn't take her seriously.

Ghostface was inspiration for her first few kills.

She collects vintage clothes, mainly 80's emo outfits.

Vicky sometimes mimics the style from that period.

Vicky feels she didn't go through enough, that she doesn't deserve the title as a victim because she wasn't disfigured like Jane and Hannah, or dead like Sully. To make herself more deserving she would burn her stomach or hips with her lighter, she wasn't able to do it for as long as she liked, and it caused faint scarring.

After Kyle and Anna attacked her, she had chemical scarring dotted all over her, and a shoddy half smile.

She was friends with Jeff because he had no friends and she felt bad, eventually she actually saw him as a close friend and helped him with the bullying, now she just sees him as this monster, that's no longer human.

To this day she has survivors guilt and often blames herself.

She's fluent in English, Mandarin, Spanish and knows some German.

Vicky knows a lot of asl, because she found it really interesting.

She uses humour to cope with her trauma.

Vicky loves to draw on her legs, she usually draws stars, skulls, and hearts.

She was one of the smartest in her grade, she studied extensively so that she could get into a good med school,

It took Vicky 5 years to find Hannah and Jane.

Jane and Vicky looked very similar, a lot of people mistook them for twins, they even dressed up like each other and pretended to be each other when they were kids.

She adores Sphynx cats, she'd love to give them little boots and sweaters, if she ever finds one she'd probably adopt him and make it Binguses brother.

Because Anna managed to avoid any kind of punishment for what she did to her, Vicky looked everywhere for her once she moved, it took her a year but when she did, it was very bloody and sloppy, taking all her anger on Anna.

Because of how badly it was cleaned the police found her easily and she went to jail for 1 year, this is how Liu knew where she was.

When she was in there, it was horrible for her, because she would always pick fights with the guards or get in peoples business.

Vicky eventually just minded her own business because she was scared she'd die there.

Vicky was into true crime, she was very curious how someone could kill and what they did wrong to get caught.

She doesn't know how to do much with her hair, and only knows how to do a half ponytail and a full one.

She doesn't really care to learn, either.

She currently lives with Hannah, Jane and Andie, before she used to bounce around in motels.

Vicky used to be active on social media, having 1k followers, but had to completely delete any apps because she would constantly get harassed.

She was stalked, bullied and threatened for close to 3 years before her incident, it was so bad she started skipping classes or school in general.

[tempkiriri]

For the fandom ask game, for Tiger & Bunny: could I please have 1, 3, 12, 22 for *rolls mental dice* Antonio and Ryan, and 23, please? 😊🩷

Alrighty! 1: OTP This is honestly a tricky one for both men, and people may be surprised by the answer. Who I pair Antonio with may change later since I still need to read the Manga, but I do picture him as having a 'buried so deep he doesn't acknowledge it' crush on Kotetsu and used to have one on Tomoe as well but of course kept his lips shut (which also answers the OT3 question for him as well haha). With *just* the anime taken into account, his crush on Agnes isn't belivable, you 100% need supplementary material to even have his 'I'm trying to get *Agnes* a gift' thing at the end of S2 come across as believable and not just a cheap expectation divergence for the sake of it. So right now it's kind of, no OTP for him, but Antonio/Kotetsu is crammed into a little box in the corner in my head. As for Ryan, I don't ship him with anyone too strongly bc the only 'older' (aka mid 30s at youngest in my head) women in the show are Agnes and Nathan, and whilst either could be interesting in theory I don't think it would work out for either of them lol. I'm a Ryan Milf Hunter truther, meaning I don't ship him with Karina at all. Like, I dunno man, him flirting with her mother right in front of her is kinda sending clear signals to me. Someone please write Golden Ryan x MILF!Reader fics I think that would be funny.

3: NoTP This one is also tricky. I classify a NOTP as something that is able to render me physically uncomfortable if discussed, which aside from some generally obvious child / adult ships and similar ships in here, I don't think I have that reaction to anything. Closest is for Antonio is that I think Ivan is allowed to have a crush on him but Antonio would like, nephew-zone him, much like how Kotetsu has niece-zoned Karina at least twice now. And similarly while not exactly an NOTP for Ryan, I again just don't see him with Karina, she's not in the age bracket he's interested in; too young.

12: Funniest/Craziest AU? Honestly there's not a lot of AUs I can think of that revolve specifically around a character. Antonio has a bit of a sad one I have saved for him so it's not applicable here, but for Ryan I *did* write a fic where he and Ivan go to the beach bc he wants to help Ivan 'hunt for babes', that was pretty fun to write. Molly comes with, btw. But I don't consider that an AU bc I tried to keep it canon compliant, so...yeah, don't have much for ryan, at the moment.

22: Give us a HC Antonio - He's secretly semi-fluent in Japanese because he wanted to learn due to being friends with Kotetsu and Tomoe and wanting to communicate with them in private when in public (at least when in Sternbild). Ryan - Everyone seems to make fun of just how *fake* of a shade of yellow his hair is, but it's also very hard to get it to that colour if your hair is naturally dark (everyone remember Morita's The Live Incident? Bleached his hair so hard by best he could achieve was some cherry red-brown). Naturally, Ryan is a Platinum Blond like Ivan is, but with the colour being so un-vibrant combined with Ryan's desire to stand out, he dyes it a horrific yellow.

23: Has Fav ship changed overtime? Across all fandoms and my time being alive, certainly. As a young kid I got into Avatar, as one does, and something both outright turned me off from Katara with Aang and hooked me on Katara with Zuko. I don't know, I think it's just a difference of how chemistry can be forced in terms of writing. Tunnel of Love is the bane of like 8yo me's existence is all i'm gonna say.

Next I moved onto sonic and oh man there were so many goddamn ships. Sticking strictly to Canon on Canon, I think my first fav sonic ship was Tails and Cream, and currently it's Sonic with either Blaze or Knuckles (though for Sonaze specifically I view it as starcrossed and I do have a fic idea on exploring that *evil laughs*). If anyone wants a thicker rundown of the sonic ship timeline feel free to ask for 23 again and state sonic only lolll

Then I caved into despair like lord Enoshima would have wanted and got a double whammy of Hetalia and Danganronpa around the same timeframe. For Hetalia, you can rip the old bickering married couple of France and England from my cold dead hands, and then I had several for Danganronpa but the one I think I championed for the hardest out of sheer 'it's getting drowned out by the less interesting shit' was Shuichi x Kaito. Like, my guys, Shuichi catches HIS GAY THOUGHTS ON KAITO IN THE MIDDLE OF AN FTE. I genuinely don't know how other ships have stronger bases bc of that one moment. But also, that would require the DR fandom to know how to read, so (/j).

And then came Persona 5. So many good ships in here, I still adore stuff like Joker with both Yusuke and Ryuji, and I also got a soft spot for Ryuji with Yusuke or Haru. (In fact I have an AU fic I promise I havent abandoned abt Ryukita. The two men are early 20s in the fic with jobs and Ryuji is even a single father.)

And now we arrive at present time, where these petty argument idiots have taken over my brain, send help. Honourable mention will have to go to Keith with Cis bc that episode completley destroyed me it's like a brain worm and I cannot pluck it out.

[fablesuntold]

🩸Biography. Yoshiki Kishinuma🩸

Most of this is made up by the mun— do not steal or reblog as I’ve put a lot of thought into this. Also do not copy this layout.

Basic info:

Name: Yoshiki Kishinuma.

Age: 18 years old.

Birthday: Born November 8th.

Zodiac sign: Scorpio.

Gender: Male.

Sexuality: Heterosexual.

Nationality: Japanese.

Born in: Fujisawa, Japan.

Currently residing in: Fujisawa, Japan.

Morality: Chaotic neutral.

Occupation: Student at Kisaragi Academy/Part time convenience store employee.

School: Kisaragi Academy Senior High School.

Class: 2-9.

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Appearance:

Height: 172 cm / 5'8".

Weight: 62 kg / 9.7 stone.

Hair: Bleached blond.

Eye colour: Smokey grey.

Piercings: Currently Yoshiki doesn’t have any piercings, but he’s debated on getting his ears pierced for the hell of it. He tried to do it himself once, but.. that attempt didn’t go so well and ended in bloodshed and a minor infection in his right earlobe.

Scars: Pre-entering Heavenly Host, the only scar Yoshiki has on his person is a faded, jagged one just above his upper lip. He sustained it during his last encounter with his father when a fight broke out and a punch landed square to his face, busting his lip within seconds. It’s barely visible to the eye anymore and anyone would have to be up close and personal to see it.

Other: Often has dark bags under his eyes from working late and trying to juggle a healthy sleep schedule along with schoolwork— which he fails miserably at. He also has a birthmark on the back of his right shoulder.

Psychical appearance:

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Friends/Family:

Mother: Ayako Kishinuma.

Status: Alive.

Relationship: Strict and uptight, it’s no surprise that Yoshiki and his mother have never seen eye to eye. While he doesn’t loathe her as much as he loathes his father, Yoshiki would still rather spend an entire day watching paint dry than have to spend quality time with the likes of her constantly nitpicking at everything he does. His best is never good enough in her eyes and much like his father, she is more than ready to cut all ties with her son.

Father: Isao Kishinuma.

Status: Alive.

Relationship: Yoshiki despises his father more than anyone in the world and describes him as a deadbeat. They have never gotten along, not even in his youth. He was never supportive of his son and wrote him off as a failure the second his grades started to decline in high school. After things got ugly over a family dinner one evening and a psychical altercation broke out between them, Yoshiki was quickly disowned by both of his parents and forced to move out immediately that night— warned never to come back to their house ever again otherwise they’d call the police on him and get him arrested.

Siblings: Yoshiki has one younger sister (14) named Miki whom he’s quite close to despite his bad blood with the rest of his family who often try to keep her away from him, deeming him a bad influence. That doesn’t stop the two from meeting up in secret though, and she brings food to his apartment in order to make sure he’s eating well. Yoshiki wishes she could live with him, but given his financial situation and the fact he can barely provide for himself, he refrains from inviting her to do so— not that his parents would allow that anyway. At the end of the day, he just wants what’s best for her.

Spouse: N/A. (Depending on the verse, I usually ship him with Ayumi Shinozaki and have a few plot ideas if anyone is interested.)

Pets: Given the fact that his grumpy landlord doesn’t allow pets into his apartment complex, Yoshiki doesn’t own any animals.. but he’s always wanted a dog. He has considered sneaking a puppy into his home several times but ultimately decided against it since he can’t risk being thrown out onto the streets.

Friends: Yoshiki has few friends and is described as a bit of a loner, however there are a select few people he would say are real friends. He would consider Satoshi Mochida his best friend, Ayumi Shinozaki a close second. As for the rest of class 2-9.. he finds them tolerable at most. The students from other classes simply don’t exist to him. He does however, have a soft spot for their home room teacher Ms. Yui and her kind heart. She’s possibly the only adult he’s ever trusted.

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Other:

Personality: To those around him, Yoshiki can appear to be cold and uncaring upon first glance— unapproachable with endless sarcasm and wit at the ready as a defence mechanism to keep people at arms length. It’s often hard for him to open up to people, and he tends to keep his emotions and problems bottled up due to the trust issues he developed from his hectic relationship with his family and school faculty. But there’s a secret softie hidden away within this school delinquent, and he can be extremely loyal to those he holds dear to him. Deep down, Yoshiki has a big heart and would do anything to keep his friends safe— even if that means throwing caution to the wind and giving into reckless behaviour— putting his own life at risk to save theirs. He always means well despite his bluntness.

MBTI type: ISTP. Introverted, Sensing, Thinking and Perceiving. An ISTP is energized by spending time alone and having quality time with people they care about.

Bad Habits: In his early teens, he picked up smoking as a means to combat stress. The nasty habit is also used as a way to act rebelliously in school too, purposefully doing it to piss off the teachers who often catch him lighting up a cigarette on the roof much to their dismay. He’ll never admit it, but smoking is quickly becoming a little bit of an addiction and as the days go by, he finds himself itching for a cigarette more and more whether at work or sitting at his desk in class. Something he blames himself for.

Weapons: Upon arrival at Heavenly Host, Yoshiki will use anything he can get his hands on to protect himself and his friends. Whether it be a pair of rusted scissors, a piece of broken floorboard or broken glass. Anything.

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Backstory:

Unlike the majority of his peers at Kisaragi Academy, Yoshiki doesn’t have the perfect, happy family to go home to after a long day of studying— curtesy of his no-good parents who were quick to disown him on a whim because he didn’t quite fit their standards. From the day he was born he’s always been the black sheep of the family, constantly disappointing his parents with bad grades and overall poor attitude both in and of school. Something they penned down to a series of behavioural issues— yet still made no move to seek him any help. This of course sparked a chain of events which led to Yoshiki’s deep distrust toward adults in general, especially those who appeared selfish and full of themselves.

On a particularly eventful night in the Kishinuma household, a disagreement broke out and Yoshiki found his face on the end his father’s fist after a fight broke out between them— a fight that swiftly ended when his mother threatened to call the police if he refused to leave their home. With barely any time to say goodbye to his younger sister— who was in floods of tears watching her big brother being shunned out of the door, Yoshiki found himself couch surfing for the next few weeks at Satoshi’s house, where he soon found a part-time job at his local convenience store in hopes to be able to afford rent on a cheap apartment.

Luckily for him, an opportunity to snag an apartment was right around the corner, and Yoshiki grabbed it with both hands. Unfortunately, living alone and renting out the apartment came with a whole new batch of troubles in itself.

Barely able to afford rent as well as food and other basic needs to keep him going, Yoshiki finds himself working more and more hours just to try and make ends meet, all while struggling to juggle his schoolwork on top of it— which often ends in late night study sessions in a futile attempt to get homework done.. and even then he’s falling asleep during class as a result, falling behind everyone else. Yoshiki doesn’t know why he still bothers with school anyway. He fails to see a bright future ahead of himself, as do various teachers at Kisaragi Academy who constantly voice their disapproval for his lack of enthusiasm and rebellious nature. Back-talking them sure doesn’t help his case either.

Little do they know that his insubordination is a desperate cry for help— which often goes ignored by both teachers and peers alike— passing him off as ‘just another dumb delinquent student who will never learn from his mistakes.’

In all of this, Yoshiki struggles to find the will to continue with school and often thinks about dropping out. Who would care anyway with exception of Satoshi!? With barely any friends to miss him when he’s gone and the rest of the students thinking he’s a lost cause, he thinks it would be better off for them too if he wasn’t there. Fortunately Ms. Yui and Ayumi were finally able to talk some sense into him, convincing him to stick it out and ‘try his best’ which he did for them.

Without Satoshi, Ayumi and Ms. Yui, Yoshiki doesn’t even like to entertain the thought of where he’d be right now..

..and then cue Heavenly Host entering the picture to shake all of their worlds on its axis..

[h7p3r4ct1v3-h0rn3t2]

Haiiiiii I don’t really know what to say but I saw you said you were bored so

Uhm you should tell me about whatever OC is currently floating about in your brain

So i already talked about Austin (this goofy goober) But I haven't talked much about his sister who doesn't like him, Elaine Nash. Or, as she's known throughout her high school, Elaine Hansen.

Elaine is one of the most popular girls in her school in Vermont. If you ask around about her, you'd get very similar responses from most of everyone: She's vain, cruel, and holds no regard for the opinions of others. That last part is untrue! Let me explain.

Publicly, Elaine does her best to keep up the idea that she does what she does out of impulse. She's mean to people just because she wanted to in the moment. In reality, everything she does is calculated down to the gesture. She analyzes every social situation to determine what actions and words will keep her at number one, like some kind of High School Patrick Bateman.

She keeps track of her position on the food chain, so to speak, through hard numbers. Every stutter, every voice crack, every misstep in the hallway subtract from her Social Statistics, and she needs to make the losses up in some way. Usually, by calling people slurs or something.

Elaine wasn't always this hyper-analytical. She used to have a sunny disposition and straight dark hair. But over the years, she realized certain behaviors get her more attention. more validation. More of the good feelings that never came to her when she acted nice. Her old personality was eventually lost in the façade and she bleached her hair a platinum blonde colour. She misses the little girl she used to be sometimes. Sometimes, or maybe 70% of the time, or maybe every day, she feels hollow and wonders if she'd feel more alive if she had stayed who she was. but then she remembers that if anybody knew about those feelings, it'd tarnish her reputation, so she bleaches her hair again and pushes it down.

Elaine vehemently denies the rumours that she is secretly in kahoots with a group of social outcasts to find out just who or what is targeting her local supernatural museum, which has been suspiciously losing entire exhibits. Why would she do that anyway? She doesn't care about museums.

Elaine crimps her hair to the point where it looks more sharp than curly. She thinks it suits her.

[ashensamurai]

hey I have a stupid story and why you shouldn't trust hairdressers ever

I got my hair dyed after my exams as a congratulations from my mom for completing them because they were so stressful.

when I went in I decided to get my hair temporarily dyed because it came out cheaper and I had school again after the exams in maybe 2 months or so.

my hairdresser said that since my hair is naturally brown/ dark blonde it wouldn't stay in my hair very well and would wash out in about 3 weeks. no bleach because I don't want my hair to die.

I got my hair done, looked great all summer. then school rolls around. my hair is still red.

it's been 6ish months. MY HAIR IS STILL RED.

about an inch from my roots Is my natural hair colour again but everything else. IS. STILL. RED.

like obviously it's dull now but in the right lighting, ie. sunlight, you can still. see. red.

anyway, that's my story of why my hair is brown at the roots and red at the tips. I have no idea why the dye stayed in so well lmao

firs off, not a stupid story! also, that's fun, i think? as long as you like that your hair is still red. i just don't trust hairdressers because they always cut my hair too short (i am not out as trans, so male haircuts is what is assumed. i'm also really bad at, y'know, telling people what i want, so that's also an issue) and when i've been trying to grow it long i'm just not doing that. fun story, though! that explains why your hair is always a fun color in picrews. if you like it being red, then cool! if not, then i am sure it'll get out eventually. sorry for answering so late!

[uninformedartist]

About that Velvet post usually when people say "black features" they usually mean lips and hair yeah but sometimes body type I don't know if you mean that as well but let black ladies be petite cuz people make them thick all the time and let them have thin lips represent those poor made fun of thin tall thin lips black girls I remember in high school a black chick who was tall and lanky with slightly thin lips would always be upset with 2 others blacks always making fun of her so I don't mind Velvet

Also we don't get to see everyone's skin color cuz all them bitches got fur or leather colored skin 😂 idk not an attack btw in case you see it that way I know a lot of people take things offensively on the internet due to lack of tone

Hey, thank you for the ask this is my first ask and I'm not really good at this sort of thing but. What I ment by post by black features is that Velvette as a character especially that designed by Viv has the same facial features as her white characters like Charlie or Cherri, one could recolour her skin as milk white as Charlie and you would think she's a white character, not to mention her hair texture, like I said Viv had the opportunity to delve more into creating black hair texture for her. Her skin tone is also not an acurate depiction of a back character (setting aside she's a demon) the colour itself is reminiscent of black/darker skin tone sensorship in media (one sees it mostly in anime or recently genshin impact) and it is so degrading to any black person or dark skinned person to see media to see their rich skin tone reduced to an ashey tone, my friend said is reminiscent of skin bleaching which she herself had it done on her as a child, its reaching maybe but the connotations are there especially since it was pointed out by my black friend. To the body type I'm skinny myself, and I'm not dictating how a character's body type should be, you get skinny black girls I know that and cool but I ment this in the general scheme of Hazbin Hotel, there is not one plus size main character (Not including Mimzy as she is a background character or won't be in the show anymore). Viv has over the years not broken from her comfort zone of making skinny stick or slim thick character's, thats basically the 2 body types she draws and both are skinny essentially (slim thick is quite difficult to get naturally, its achievable but is considered being thin by black woman/ other women of colour. This I have consulted with many of my black friends and sister as many do naturally development a fatter tummy with having bigger breast and bottom, I can mostly justify this as this is my sister's body shape so she's my first hand knowledge. She is also currently trying to get "thinner" by loosing her mid section so there is that).

Also I'm from Africa so the black features I'm used to seeing can vary quite drastically to African American black people's features so sorry I can't really speak on African American black people since I'm not there lol, I'm not African American and I'm actually a coloured South Africa thats white presenting. That post was mostly stirred up by my sister and black friends who were discussing Hazbin hotel and its representation. I basically just vented my frustration but its stemmed heavily from theirs too. Sigh, in all of this I do want to end on saying that Viv is without a doubt from all evidence comfortable drawing mostly eurocentric characters featuring eurocentric features but just slaps on a "dark/ black" skin tone. Her art will never straytoo far from its confort zone. Most people want more from her because she can give more especially since Hazbin hotel could've had other designer input but no its her show and vision so its only limited to her limited design characteristics that she likes to draw and see.

Sorry if its a ramble I'm not again good at this sort of thing but I took no offence to your question thank you for asking again, my tone can come off harsh in my postings haha.

Also I need to say this not to you but because I got in hot water before, I'm very comfortable referring to black people as black people, that is who they are and I live in a multi racial and cultural country so I got no shame in saying things how it is, and just talking the way I talk, English isn't my 1st language so sorry if anything sounds off.