#I know it's all rather crude and clumsy

[privatebooth]

Previously

Hawke considers his options. He needs to be careful about using attack spells lest it makes Fenris wake up, and he needs to keep him here to talk.

Carefully he takes out the fear demon burning it down (without Fenris noticing, as he is immersed in his vision). Then he uses a frost spell on the nightmarish image of himself and makes it shatter.

Fenris turns in his direction. Hawke approaches him cautiously and tries to smile. Fenris stares and Hawke notes that he doesn't look good - haggard, slow, eyes dim and apathetic and almost devoid of color. He wonders if this is the projection of how Fenris currently feels about himself, or does he really look like that in real life now. Has he been able to get any night's rest with dreams like this? Has he been eating at all? He must have been drinking, too... Hawke really hopes that Fenris will be able to hear and understand him. He takes it slow and doesn't say anything for a while, letting Fenris take a good look at him, searching his face.

(I honestly tried to tweak his textures to make him actually look "not good", but it proved to be useless. He's simply too beautiful, no matter what D:)

"Not giving me much credit, are you? I thought you knew me better than that!" Hawke makes an attempt at a pout. Fenris peers into his face.

Hawke doesn't know how much time has passed - his own time here fighting demons felt like an eternity. Fenris must have been tormented by his demons for quite a while, so Hawke doesn't expect him to be quick about his reactions. He decides it best to not do or say anything for now, just give Fenris time. There are no demons in sight, and no reason to rush things, so they spend a few moments simply looking at each other. In the meantime Hawke is trying to come up with just what to say, but when he finally meets Fenris's gaze his mind only screams It's me, it's really me, please see me, hear me.

Finally Fenris asks what's going on, and even his voice sounds wrong. Hawke asks if Fenris will hear him out. Fenris wonders sceptically if there's anything left to be said. Hawke heaves a deep sigh and groans that It's going to take a while. He takes a seat on the ground and suggests that Fenris do the same. No, really, it's going to be a long talk, you should sit down.

Fenris eyes him suspiciously but complies. They sit opposite of each other and keep staring.

Awkward silence ensues. Hawke hopes that if it drags on long enough with nothing happening for longer than expected and Fenris starting to get bored, he may be more susceptible to the new information. After all, demons aren't exactly subtle with their temptations, they usually get straight to the point!

When it feels like the time is right he starts talking.

We have a problem.

You don't say.

You're dreaming, and this is a very bad dream. There are demons out to get you, and you already let them in.

I did not! Fenris gives him an offended glare and frowns. Hawke is happy to see a genuine emotion on Fenris's previously blank face and it makes him smile. Fenris is watching him intently, as if trying to see through his deception.

I am here.

Fenris finds it surprising. He talks about Varric's letter which said that... (His face turns blank again as he recalls the exact phrasing). Before it arrived he'd been trying to reassure himself that Hawke's dream goodbye was a result of his own deep seated fears and anxiety.

Hawke winces imagining just what soul crushing words his writer friend used to notify Fenris of Hawke's apparent death. The dwarf was dangerously good with words, so it must have messed Fenris up pretty badly. Hawke also recalls that his own "last words" to him were frighteningly genuine (he believed it himself then!). He shifts uncomfortably.

Varric had a lot on his plate at the time. He had no way to know what happened later.

Hawke doesn't think it wise to share all the truth with Fenris, especially about the spirit he encountered. Nevertheless he needs to give him something to go on. He struggles to continue their conversation.

I appreciate knowing that you'd put me out of my misery should I go off the deep end, wouldn't have it any other way (if it ever comes to that)! But It's early yet. I'm still kicking!

Hawke is searching Fenris's face, and braces himself when he says

I may have rushed with conclusions last time we spoke. My goodbye to you was premature. I mean, I'm still trapped here, but it's not as permanent as I had thought. I'm working on a plan to get out!

Fenris's look is so intense, Hawke is ready to believe that he got through to him.

Look, I know you're worried about me, but right now you are the one who's in danger.

Hawke has a request. He asks Fenris to find a jar of very specific herbs at a specified location at his workplace back home. (After they left Kirkwall and settled down in a quiet remote place Hawke took to advanced herbalism. It became his hobby to experiment with effects of the herbs. He really wanted to do something that would help people). The jar is labeled "for extremely bad times". Fenris should brew a pinch of those herbs in a cup of hot water, let it draw for at least an hour, and drink it before going to bed every night. For Fenris this will block out all dreams - preventing demons from entering them. He will be completely out, not seeing any dreams whatsoever (I haven't yet thought of how Hawke would use it for himself or other mages). Also he really should refrain from imbibing any alcohol, lest it messes up the effect of the herbs. And it's just not very good for your health

He pauses, and holding Fenris' gaze pointedly states

I'm not giving up. I'll find my way back to you, but promise me you'll take care of yourself. I need you to be there.

With a timid smile he adds

It looks like you're the one who's going to have to save me!

Hawke presents to him the basic outline of the plan which involves finding a weak spot in the Veil, Carver coming to hold Fenris's hand, and Fenris pulling Hawke out. They will need to coordinate their movements, but for now Fenris needs to regain his strength.

Fenris lets it sink in. He is afraid to believe. He'd already sort of accepted that Hawke wouldn't come back, and now this? But this request is so simple. Something he can actually try and see.

He points out that without being able to dream he won't be able to see Hawke either, to which Hawke replies that it won't be necessary. He still needs to find a way to reach Carver, and if it works out he'll send a message through him.

Fenris asks if Hawke is a Dreamer now, and Hawke chuckles and says that apparently in his current state he can mentally connect to those he loves most.

Fenris ponders.

Finally he looks up at Hawke, and when he speaks his voice sounds stronger:

If you don't come back I don't know what I'll do with you.

Hawke is overjoyed because Fenris finally sounds like himself again.

He can't resist the urge to move closer to Fenris and touch his face.

If I do come back you can do with me whatever you want.

Fenris seems to relax a little.

Hawke notices a faint glow in the far end of the dream space and sees Hope tentatively poke Its head into the "room". Their eyes meet, It smiles brightly and waves at him excitedly.

(It's very happy about being able to come in!)

Next

[hughiecampbelle]

Supe Preference: Asking You Out

Requested: hi, idk if you write for the supes, but I will try request anyway :D how would the supes ( the boys series) ask a gn reader out? Ty - anon

A/N: I hope this is okay my love! I tried to stay true to character as much as possible, so I'm not sure how romantic some of them are. I tried writing for new Supes too, at least new for me, so apologies if it's not totally in character! Feedback is always appreciated! 💜💜💜

Homelander doesn't exactly ask you out. Rather, on live TV during an interview or event, he grabs your hand and proclaims that you're in love, that you're a couple. Whether or not you're into him, it still comes as a shock. Afterwards he'll ask you on a date where the public and paparazzi can see and take pictures. It's not as intimate as you'd like, but the date goes well. He takes you to an expensive restaurant where you've gotten rid of your suit for something classy and elegant, but he sticks with his regular attire. It's definitely not how you were expecting to be asked out or how you thought your relationship would progress. Ashley thinks it's great! You are both insanely powerful and, for selfish reasons, she wants Homelander off her back. She appreciates that you'll take some of the attention off her.

The Deep probably makes more than a few inappropriate, crude, raunchy jokes about and around you before he properly introduces himself. It's almost compulsive the way his jokes come out. He just can't help himself. He later apologizes and asks to start fresh. Would you want to go out on a date with him? When you say yes, he instantly tells you about all his ideas. You could go to the aquarium or to dinner or to the amusement park or coffee or whatever you want to do. You stick to coffee. It's pretty cute how excited he is. He wasn't expecting you to say yes, so he really didn't have it planned all the way through. He was expecting, like everyone else in his life, for you to call him stupid and move on without answering.

A-Train and you have been dating forever, but you haven't been out on a date in ages. He's still shy trying to ask you out even now. Of course you say yes, excited you'll get some time alone. You might have to reschedule once or twice because Homelander is on the rampage, but when you do get together, he takes you rollerskating. Despite how fast he is in sneakers, he's awful on wheels. He holds your hand the entire time and definitely drags you down when he falls. He stays pretty casual in his clothes and tries to keep his hood up, but it just falls down. You guys find a roller-rink in the middle of nowhere, so you're pretty safe in being discovered. You make fun of his clumsiness and check him for bruises when he falls, especially hard. He makes the same joke over and over: that he "fell" for you. You think he's an idiot, but this is by far one of your most favorite dates.

Queen Maeve asks you out over text. When you say yes, she shows up in her civilian clothes. She makes sure she isn't followed and that Homelander is distracted the entire day. She takes you to the movies. It's dark and secluded, but she knows you love movie theater popcorn specifically with all the butter and the blue raspberry slushies, and you picked the only movie not funded by or produced by Vought. It's a really terrible comedy, but you two can laugh at it anyway. Maeve even holds your hand during the movie which makes her heart beat out of her chest. Afterwards she makes you stay after to kiss you and tell you she had a really great time. It's the first time in forever where she's felt like a real person whose allowed to do real person things. She wants to get your read on it, but you're both excited for a second date.

Firecracker would ask you on a date to some fast food restaurant where you can get the best greasy food and the thickest milkshakes. She'll definitely be sported because she doesn't go incognito and ends up spending a few minutes at least taking pictures and videos for everyone who wants one. She apologizes for them, but secretly, she loves it. You don't mind. You knew what you were getting into when you said yes to the date. She tells you about her life growing up and her past with Starlight. You tell her about your own life and how you came to New York to follow your dreams. She tells you about joining The Seven and what she really thinks of Vought. It isn't the most magical date, but you're glad you said yes. It made you feel like a teenager again, getting food with your old crush, trying to play it cool when you're actually freaking out.

Soldier Boy doesn't really ask you out on a date. You two *get busy* in bed and afterwards he asks if you'd want to go to a bar. You say yes and find yourself at a local hole in the wall, a place that definitely doesn't see new faces. Most of the patrons are as old as Ben would be if he'd aged. He looks so familiar to them, but they can't figure out where he's from. An old friend? An old co-worker? Regardless, they don't pay attention to the two of you. You and Ben start trying to out drink one another and though his tolerance is astronomically higher than yours, you keep up enough to impress him. You two probably go back to bed and keep drinking, sharing stories about your lives between sweaty sheets and shared sips of whatever booze he has lying around. It's not too official, but you both kind of think of it as a date.

Bonus! Annie asks you to go bowling with her. Like in the show, she plays it off like she's not very good until you point it out to her. That's when she starts kicking your ass. She's really embarrassed and worried that you'll think she's showing off or just trying to make you feel bad, but you love it. You love her strength. You love her showing off and almost breaking the pins with the ball. You get really awful bowling alley food and beers, and it's a really fun night despite all the drama that comes with being Starlight. It's the first time in a long time she's felt normal and safe and excited to be here, excited to be herself. You're not shy about asking for a second date, though you know you're risking a lot by wanting to be with her. She makes that known before anything else.

[valtsv]

Do you have any tips to get better at writing? Your word usage is so amazing. the way u describe things are so utterly unique, it’s so mesmerizing. You motivated me to write more but I want to reach your level of skill

i'll be honest, i personally find my writing to be rather subpar and lacking in the necessary technical skill to justify its overly stylised prose and excessive wordiness, so i wouldn't necessarily recommend taking inspiration from me. that being said, i'm my own worst critic and i am very flattered that my writing resonates so strongly with you. i'm not a professional writer, so i can't offer much in the way of advice beyond what has, through trial and error and years of practice, worked for me.

something that people often point out to me when complimenting my writing is that i have a rather lyrical style, which i can see. i try to pay attention to the way that words flow together - which words best complement one another - and choose how to structure and order sentences based on that. i do have a fairly extensive vocabulary thanks to reading a lot from a young age, but i also frequently make use of the thesaurus (my most dearly beloved). obviously, trying to beef up your writing by simply using more obscure words that you found in a book will come across as clumsy, and detract from your writing rather than enhancing it, but if you learn how to stitch words together in a way that has a pleasing ear or mouthfeel, you can mitigate that somewhat, and even make it part of your repertoire of skills.

speaking of vocabulary, the more expansive it becomes, the more doors it opens to you in terms of what you can write and how you can write it. this is pretty straightforward common sense stuff, but you'd be surprised by how effective is if you actually start paying attention to it. likewise with grammar. not everything you write needs to sound like it was written for a sophisticated publication in a well-respected 19th century newsletter, but if you read widely and often, you'll find that your understanding of just how many ways the scaffolding of phrasing and punctuation can be used to support incredible linguistic architecture there are grows immensely, and start seeing opportunities to make all these little adjustments and additions and substitutions that enhance your work's overall presentation.

with regard to the above, i'd also recommend considering how you want your audience to feel. you can alter a reader's entire undercurrent of sensational experience simply by changing a few words, according to whatever emotional (or even more primal) response you intend to provoke. you can also mix your palettes, and flirt with crossing the wires (horror tinged with eroticism and vice versa, fantasy with a dose of down-to-earth pragmatism, tragicomedy, and so on). the more you experiment, the more your confidence will grow, and your skills begin to take shape, from crude instruments to refined, specialised tools.

one word of caution i'd offer you, based on my own shortcomings, is that my style of writing does very much neglect realistic-sounding dialogue. the way that i write and the way human beings talk to one another clashes without much grace or redemptive quality (at least in my opinion), and i have yet to find a satisfactory solution to this. i'll let you know if i ever figure it out.

[zombiec4ke]

hello, this is my first time requesting something ever but could you do a wheatley x gn reader? like maybe where the reader finds him a dumpster after the stuff that happens in portal? maybe just some fluff and wheatley being a needy boi

A/N: OMG MY FIRST REQUEST YIPPEE :D Warnings: nothing besides some swears, toothroting fluff, and wheatley being a drama king

Since the day you stumbled upon Wheatley in that dumpster and, for sheer lack of anything better to do, deciding to give him a better chance at life (you repaired him) life with him has become....rather...strange? Wheatley never shuts up and it often irritates you since you're the quiet type. But even then Wheatley really likes you despite everything, and your presence is everything to him. The adorable little robot does everything to get your attention and that's honestly cute. but not how he sometimes tries to get your attention ...like this time.... "Hey, hey! y/n," Wheatley's sphere body rolls until it reaches your feet "Hey, Mate look at me, look at me, look at meeee!" Wheatley says while slamming his spherical body against your leg...'thats definitely going to leave a bruise....' you say to yourself you sigh deeply putting down your sandwich you were making and you look down to see what wheatley wants to show you this time "Oh, thank splendid! You're finally paying attention to me." Wheatley says his single blue eye 'winks'. "Look, I've been working on this, a little project of mine. It's the greatest thing since sliced bread, or maybe even better." Wheatley says his body rolling back, revealing a small pile of what appears to be Lego blocks, hastily assembled into a crude, almost…wall? like shape. "what…is it if I may ask…?" you ask with an eyebrow raise wondering how did he even make it in the first place…he's just a..sphere…? "Well, it's a… a… divider, of course! You see, it's a way to separate your space from mine. I' know you've been saying you want some privacy, so I thought, 'Why not?'" Wheatley says doing a little spin "It's brilliant, right? I mean, look at the mastery, the workmanship, the sheer genius behind this. It's a stroke of brilliance, isn't it?" The little robot gestures with his eye, trying to sell the idea, even though it's a bit of an eyesore. The Lego creation is hardly a thing of beauty, but it's the thought that counts, right? And, well, y/n, you have to admit, it's something. He's trying to make your home a better place for both of you, in his own, clumsy way. "I'm more impressed how you managed to build this without hands" you say slightly chuckling "Oh, that's easy, mate. I just roll over the pieces, you know, one by one. It's simple. And then I just… push them together with my sphere-ness. It's all about force and momentum. I'm quite the multitasker, if I do say so myself." Wheatley's eye sparkles with pride, as if he's just solved the world's energy crisis with his little Lego creation. The truth is, he's just happy that he made something, and even happier that you're looking at it. "So, what do you think? Do I get a pat on the back, or am I just a moron who can't even build a wall properly?" He tilts enthusiastically It's obvious he's trying to impress you, and even if it's a bit misguided, you can't help but smile at his efforts. you smile and pick up wheatley and give him a boop on his not-a-nose-noseish-area (idk what to call it lmao-) "you did good buddy, I love it" as you give him a boop wheatley sputters before getting the human equivalent to an adrenaline boost and he speeds around your legs going in circles "Splendid!! I knew you would love it!!" you cant help but smile at this and you pick up your sandwich "Thanks again Wheatley, Ima finish making a sandwich and you can continue working on your divider" ""Enjoy your sandwich, y/n! I'll keep working on this masterpiece. I'll make sure it's up to your standards." And with that, Wheatley returns to his Lego creation, rolling back and forth, adding more blocks to his wall. and you while you make your sandwich you can't help but let your mind wander that this whole thing kinda weird…I mean come on…your only friend being a robot you found in the dumpster…you mom always said you would end up a lonely outcast…but you never thought you would be this lonely…

But then again you gives a fuck in this society, you yourself is happy so go fuck whoever tells you otherwise. all you need in life is your sphere robot buddy even though sometimes hes an idiot and set your house on fire one time.... *cough* but that's another story....

A/N: I really hope you like it!! I did my best, dont be shy to send in more requests :D

[dastardly-imbecile]

Mechanical Butterfly (III)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

---

Viktor doesn't run from Singed. Silco sees the burgeoning inventor in the young girl he found, after Vander. Collaborations abound!

---

Wordcount: ~2100

Singed is back by the time the knock comes, which he’s thankful for. He allows Viktor to answer the door himself, absorbed in methodically sorting through the brains of an overgrown rat. 

Standing before it, in the alleyway, is the woman who’d come in Silco’s entourage the day before, and Jinx, the man himself nowhere to be found. Viktor can’t help but be glad for that—he doesn’t know how he’d possibly teach with that man peering over his shoulder at all moments. 

Then again, looking at the sharp expression on her face, she may not be much better. 

Jinx, however, is the picture-opposite to her—face bright, a smile already tugging at her lips, standing tall. A moment of hesitancy flashes over her expression, as she looks up at him, but it doesn’t quell the clear excitement thrumming through her. 

He steps back, murmuring a quiet, “come in.” 

She does so eagerly, and the woman slower, scanning around the lab, clearly looking for danger. 

“Viktor?” She asks him curtly. He nods, though surely she recognizes him from the day before. 

“And you?”

“Sevika.” The answer is sharp. Singed glances up at the name, some note of recognition in his gaze, though he soon turns back to the rodent’s cracked-open head. 

“My room,” he says to Jinx, nodding towards the open door. It’s a small place, cramped, nothing but the bed and the mass of the half-built forge in it. 

“Not so fast,” she growls, “let me check.”

She bustles off towards the room before he can tell her not to touch anything. For what’s essentially glorified babysitting duty, she seems rather serious about it all—then again, she works for Silco. There’s probably a lot of motivation to be good at her job. 

He follows, finds her poking through the space underneath his mattress. 

“I assure you,” he says, “it’s safe.” Not like he’s hiding a bomb in the room—what does she think he wants to do? Blow up a child, her, and himself?

She mutters something inarticulate, strides over to the far wall and leans against it. A vantage point to look at both the room and, in the lab beyond, Singed injecting the rat with a vial of glowing magenta. 

“You can sit,” he tells Jinx, indicating the bed. She does so, padding over to the spot with the attention of a child in a schoolroom, as if he’s some sort of actual instructor. 

On her lap, she holds a small brown bag. He nods at it. 

“What’s that?”

“Oh!” She opens it, and from inside, withdraws a handful of crude, clumsy tools—a screwdriver that’s hardly more than a rusted rod of metal taped to a block of wood, a small mallet with a chunk missing from the end. They look like something a beleaguered shopper trying to exert minimal effort would scrape up in the cheapest parts of the market, which he suspects is exactly what they are. “I brought my own tools. And Silco told me I should make something for you, so I thought-”

Here, from the bottom of the bag, she extracts something else, holds it gently pinched between two fingers and extends her hand for him to take it. He leans forwards, unsure of what it is at first glance—it is only when she drops it into his palm that he realizes. 

It’s a small butterfly. Deceptively delicately crafted—at first glance, it is nothing but a twist of wires, but as he examines it closer, he sees the shape of wings and even gossamer-thin legs. And, lining its back-

Gears. Experimentally, he prods at its wings, and they move, flapping up and down. Everything about it is so small, so carefully put together, that he could not imagine the patience it must have taken. 

“You made this?” He doesn’t bother hiding the admiration in his voice. Just the minutiae of the body and wings is enough, but to attach the mechanisms for it to move is beyond what he’d expected of her. 

She smiles wider, the last of the anxiety melting away. “Yes! Is it… do you like it?”

“I do,” he says softly. He glances at her fingers, the small hands of a child, thin and nimble, and has a sudden idea. “Come here,” he says, beckoning her forwards, towards the forge upon the ground. 

She obliges, slipping off the bed and approaching it—it’s almost as tall as her, and he’s gratified to see similar awe in her eyes. Singed’s appreciation for what he does is nothing more than the occasional comment on his talent, always said in a detached, observational sort of tone. It feels good to be recognized. 

“Inside,” he says, grabbing a flashlight off the top and shining it inside, “can you see that exposed panel?”

“Where it’s peeled back?” She asks, peering in. 

“Yes,” he says. 

Outside, there’s the clatter of a door closing. 

“Where’s he going?” Sevika asks immediately, making him turn, peer out the door. The lab is empty—Singed must have left. 

“I don’t know,” he answers semi-truthfully, “out.”

“Who’s he getting?”

“Nobody,” he says. Does she suspect an ambush? 

Her eyes dart down to regard his twisted leg, and he gets the ugly feeling that she’s currently considering how easily she could beat him in a fight—the answer is, very easily—before they flick back up and she lets out a low sigh. 

By the time he turns back to Jinx, she’s already halfway into the forge. 

“What are you doing?” He asks. Her voice, when it comes back, is muffled. 

“All you have to do is- is connect the green wires, I think, and then make sure to plug the switch in, and then I think you’re missing a part.”

“Missing?” he asks. 

“Yes, you need something to ignite the spark with, right?”

“I’d planned on installing that later,” he says, but she makes a sound of negation. 

“It’d be best here.”

He steps back, takes a moment to think on it—and, yes, it would be most convenient. For the first time, he smiles, and she extracts herself from the forge interior, blue hair a mess and a nervous cast to her mouth. 

“...Would it?” She asks, and he realizes he never responded to her last point. Suddenly, all that confidence is gone, drained out and replaced with something vulnerable. “You know best, obviously, you’re the inventor and you made this and-”

“No,” he says, cutting her off, “no, you were right.”

Still, she doesn’t move. He nods at the forge. “You were doing a good job. If you wish, you can continue with the wires.” He holds up his hand, wriggling the fingers slightly. “My hands are a bit too large.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, and for what, he’s unsure, but he nods anyways, watches as she returns to the forge. 

Must be an hour, maybe two, before Sevika steps off the wall. Currently, he’s walking Jinx through the construction of a filter, watching her fumble with the delicate meshes, but both of them pause as she approaches. 

“Time to go,” she says, huffing out a breath, “boss wants you back. Same time next week?”

The last question, she directs at Viktor, who nods. Jinx stands without complaint, dropping the filter—and he hesitates before speaking up. 

“No. Keep it.” 

Questioningly, she reaches for it. He nods. “You know what to do, no? Finish it by next time. Consider it… homework.”

The delight on her face at the prospect is both startling and slightly gratifying. He tries to smile back. 

Sevika fishes about in one of her pockets before withdrawing another brown pouch, this one jingling musically. She tosses it to Viktor, who just barely manages to catch it, the weight bowing his arm down. 

“For you and your father,” she notes, and steps out without waiting for his response, escorting Jinx with a careful hand on her shoulder. Even as they leave through the front door, he stands immobilized, carefully considering the pouch. 

Singed is not a father, not in the way that Viktor’s ever thought of him, even though he can perhaps see the logic in calling him that. But no, he had a father, one who died upon the bridge, and Singed is simply a man who fed, sheltered, clothed him, though he cannot think of an equivalent word for that at the moment. It has always felt faintly transactional in nature—always, Viktor has had a job, no matter how trivial, that he does in exchange for this bit of care. 

First, it was caring for Rio, and then it was as an errand boy and lab assistant, spending long afternoons hunting down rats in the gutters or ferrying chemicals to Singed during his experiments. Then, as he began to build, to tinker, it became creating contraptions for the lab, and now it’s this work, bringing in enough money to buy things like food while the other member of the household is off experimenting in the cave. 

Which, speaking of, he’s still not back from. Viktor leaves the bag of coins upon his desk before returning to his room, beginning the work on the nine other filters he needs to make. At least Jinx will take the load of one off of his shoulders. 

—

It is not until late night that Singed stumbles back in, closing the door with a heavy thud. Late enough that Viktor is usually asleep, but he had work to do, and besides, he tries to stay up and wait for Singed if he can. Does not want a repeat of that night of the explosion, does not want to be sleeping while the man bleeds out in the next room over. 

Tonight, he’s unharmed, though tired—he sits down at the lab table with a heavy thump, arms ridgid on the desk. Viktor approaches quietly. 

“You remember Rio,” Singed says—a rare occurrence, him starting the conversation. He nods. 

“Of course.”

“How did you do it?” He asks, swiveling around to regard him, “help her with the Shimmer. How was it done?”

“I… don’t know,” he replies, thinking once again of the giant salamander. Always affectionate, even in her last days, curling around his legs as he slept so she could share his warmth. He’d wanted to bury her, after she died, but Singed insisted on dissection—a process he was normally accustomed to, but in this case, sat out. Viktor left the cave during the process, spent those hours as she was cut to pieces sitting by the river and stretching his leg in the cool water. “Did you not find anything? In her blood?”

“No,” he says, “I’ve attempted distillation, but it is a fraught process. Little has come of it. Cannot preserve it, either—the meat spoils. Not physically, but the Shimmer inside does not take to being extended.”

He winces at the thought. Too soon, still. 

“All the ones before,” he continues, “and all the ones after, the Shimmer changes irrevocably. It is some malady that runs molecule-deep. In small doses—” now, he indicates himself—“it heals, somewhat. But what I’m working on requires too much.”

“What are you working on?” 

“A vast project,” is the answer, more crumbs of knowledge yet. The next words rest heavy on Viktor’s tongue, the words that he doesn’t dare say—that of his daughter. He knows, obviously, from seeing the room and the coffin, from doing his own bits of illicit research. Coming across the name Doctor Reveck, catching glimpses of a girl in Singed’s scratched golden locket. 

And Singed knows that he knows, because how could he not—has alluded to the matter, dancing around the topic with all the grace of a spy. 

It is part of the reason that he has never considered Singed his father, he supposes—because the spot of the child is long-filled. 

So he doesn’t say it, and instead shrugs, an uncomfortable movement with the cane. 

“I do not know how I did. Rio simply… survived.”

And how different it would’ve been, if she hadn’t.

Singed lets out a long sigh, the most emotion that he allows himself to show, before standing from the chair. “Perhaps you are uniquely brilliant. I’ll find the key. You should rest.”

Hypocritical words from the man that Viktor’s sure will stay up the rest of the night, but that’s another effect of the Shimmer. Honestly, that facet of the drug, the ability to need so little sleep, is almost as tempting as the prospect of fixing his leg. 

“The money is on the table,” he says. Singed makes no move to grab it, instead striding over to one of the long rows of jars upon the wall, selecting one with a litter of baby rabbits floating within. With his other hand, he reaches for a loaf of bread that sprouts clumps of glowing pink mushrooms. 

“Goodnight,” Viktor adds.

This, finally, garners a response. 

“Sleep well, Viktor.”

He doubts he will, thinking of Rio as he is, but the sentiment is nice.

[holdmeandhauntme]

she’s a silver lining (climbing on my desire)

word count: 2.1K

summary: the tale of shauna’s complex relationship with knives and jackie taylor

CW: hallucinations, self harm, suggestive content

authors notes: RAH, alrighty so this is my first fic, so i hope y’all enjoy and please let me know if you’d like more content!! this is an idea i’m super keen on and i’d like to explore more :) ALSO BIG BIG THANK YOU TO @lottieshauna for helping to beta read and edit this for me, you are amazing and i love youuuu <3

1996

The soft crunch of freshly fallen snow mocks Shauna as she hastily makes her way towards the meat shed, each step bringing her that much closer to Jackie, prompting her with a constant reminder of what she’d done.

She remembers all the winters from before the wilderness, trying to desperately cling to them and engrave them deep into her mind. Memories of the way the snow would delicately catch in Jackie’s hair and shimmer in the light, as if she were covered in diamonds. Part of Shauna always thought maybe Jackie resembled a diamond too much. All that pressure that weighed on her shoulders moulded her into the perfect spectacle, how she would dazzle crowds in a way that seemed so effortless as the spotlight hit her. Shauna knew better, though, knew it was nothing more than how light would refract through a diamond. Taking these traits that people surged forward onto her and letting them pass through her hollow body to create something beautiful, something valuable.

Jackie had never been a fan of winter, anyways; it was far too cold and the amount of things you had to take into consideration at that time of year just doubled. She would rather spend her time curled up on Shauna’s lap next to the fireplace with a hot chocolate in hand, sipping happily. Shauna always imagined the hot chocolate tasting sweeter from Jackie’s lips than from the mug, but she’d always settled on sipping from Jackie’s cup instead of ruining a friendship over poorly controlled fantasies

The exception to hating winter was ice skating, which Jackie absolutely adored. She remembers the first time she saw Jackie on the ice and how her eyes traced the long stretch of her toned legs, the effortless look on Jackie’s face as she leapt and skated across the rink and towards her. She used to watch in awe as the blade effortlessly glided across the ice underneath Jackie’s command, leaving delicate cuts in its wake.

She wonders if Jackie was in awe now of the blade Shauna brandished, of the way she meticulously butchered their dinners, how her hands guided the blade to glide across the fur clad carcass of whatever Nat and Travis had managed to hunt down for them. Recalling how her once clumsy hands had crudely hacked at the meat and tendons, she thinks that maybe Jackie wasn’t perfect. Perhaps before her body became one with the ice beneath them, she had something she butchered, too. Did her legs tremble as she took a shaky breath and, with the close of her eyes, learned to trust herself?

It all seems like a lifetime ago, a time before she knew the feeling of how the bone would pop from the socket of a shoulder as she dislocated it with her own bare hands, before she knew the taste of Jackie and how she lingered in her mouth and settled down into her stomach, bringing the pair closer than either could have imagined. Before the snowstorm came and left, penetrating her heart with frostbite. Before the wilderness turned her into an animal. But in some sick, twisted way, maybe Shauna was always like this.

She casts a quick glance over her shoulder before entering the meat shed, shaking the snow off her clothes as she closes the door behind her. She’s met with Jackie, arms crossed, eyeing her up and down. “Wowza shipman, way to be courteous to a girl.“

She rolls her eyes, glaring at Jackie in response, though she can’t help the pang of guilt that bubbles in her chest. “Whatever…” Trudging over to take a seat across from Jackie, who’s giving her a playful smile with a raised eyebrow. Shauna lets out a huff, eyes narrowing in on Jackie. “What?” She all but barks.

“I bet you were just dying to see me." Her lips curl up enough to flourish her sharp canines as she snickers at Shauna.

She can feel a surge of heat wash over her as her body tenses at those words. Whipping her head towards Jackie, a low growl echoes through the room as she speaks, “Can’t you just shut up for once?” She’s almost certain that if they were any closer, the other girls would have heard them. Her chest is heaving as she takes deep breaths, which are illuminated by the frigid cold that surrounds them.

Jackie’s eyes soften for a moment, her lips forming a pout. Shauna despises how she feels her guard drop immediately, how she has to beg her body not to move so close that she would fall into the gravitational pull that is Jackie Taylor. Nails dig into the splintered wooden boards below them as her eyes lock onto Jackie’s lips far longer than just a friend’s would. But hasn’t it always been like that? They’ve always precariously walked the line between friends and something more. It was written as a fundamental part of who they were.

It was ingrained in everything, intertwined in the way that Jackie would always find purchase on Shauna’s lap and in her arms rather than Jeff’s. When Shauna got her license, she’d always been the one to pick Jackie up, only fueled by Jackie’s insistence to Jeff that it made sense for Shauna to drive her since she lived closer. And then, of course, the inevitable time of the night they always ran into during Lottie’s parties, both of them are far too intoxicated to care about anything but the other. Jackie would pull Shauna to the dance floor, weaving through the crowds until they were pressed so close that Shauna could feel Jackie grinding into her, head thrown back onto Shauna’s shoulders. She would relish in the soft gasps Jackie would make when Shauna’s grip on her waist would tighten as Jackie pressed back into her. The two girls, trapped in the waltz of forbidden lovers, always doomed from the start. Always destined for one to desperately follow the other with every step they took, mimicking each other, parallel lines never meant to touch.

Jackie had led their dance; she always did, not that she ever meant to. The hold she had over Shauna simply always had her taking the lead. But with that unwanted power came the uncertainty, the faltering, and with such an unpredictable nature, Shauna always found herself struggling to follow the steps, to know what moves to make.Because of it, she learned to overcompensate at times, letting her emotions get the best of her, trying desperately to wrestle the lead off of Jackie and take control into her own hands for once. Jackie would have happily given it to her if she could, but that wasn’t the reality they lived in. Shauna was always destined to step on Jackie’s foot, sending her tumbling backwards into her cruel fate.

Jackie reaches over, planting her hand inches away from Shauna’s, leaning forward to close the gap between them. Before she even processes it herself, Shauna feels her body tugging itself forward to meet Jackie halfway, her eyes still trained on her lips. “If you really wanted me to shut up, then you could. You know what you want, don’t you, Shauna?”

She swallows back the thick saliva that coats her mouth, completely hypnotized, her chest restricting as Jackie speaks, her voice silky and filled with a desire Shauna isn’t quite sure she wants to hear right now. The lack of visible breath coming from Jackie is what grips Shauna, sending her tumbling backwards into reality. She can feel the bile working its way up her throat and threatening to spill out of her mouth. Closing her eyes tightly and shaking her head, she tries to rid herself of the ghost, pleads and prays to be free of the constant reminder of the guilt and disgust that she fills Shauna with. “No! That’s… That’s so fucked up Jackie, I can’t, I won’t, I’m not like that-“

She can feel a shift in her lap, prompting her to open her eyes, only to be greeted by Jackie straddling her. A cold finger hooks its way around the necklace that adorns Shauna, tugging it forward and pulling her with it. She can feel the ghost of cold breath down her neck as Jackie moves to her ear, a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh Shauna, don’t flatter yourself. You’re exactly like that. I mean, you must be really sick to be thinking about this, huh?”

Shauna freezes as Jackie’s grip on the necklace tightens, tugging her impossibly close. Her breathing ragged, she stares blankly at the wall behind them in horror. “Cut it out, Jackie." Splinters of wood embed themselves into her fingertips as she claws at the floorboards.

“What’s wrong, Shauna? Don’t you want me? Or are you too hung up over that little parasite that Jeff put in you?” A cold touch grazes over Shauna’s stomach and under her shirt as Jackie speaks, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

Shauna’s hips jolt in retaliation to the touch on sensitive skin, bucking Jackie away to give them enough space for Shauna to push her off her lap. Jackie lands on her back, her hair spread out below her, letting out a whine as she collides with the hard floor. In another lifetime, this would be something that would leave Shauna breathless, something that would play in her mind for the next several months. Now, all it feels like to her is some perverse dream, cruel and twisted.

Jackie giggles before looking up at her, her face contorting into something more sensual as she lets out a breathy moan. “Tell me what you’re going to do to me, Shauna?” Her voice is airy and pleading, only serving to mock Shauna. She watches as Jackie’s eyes darken, a sadistic smile working its way onto her face.

“I said stop it! This is sick!” Shauna’s hand dips into her pocket, fishing around for the familiar feeling of cold steel. She pulls it from her jacket, her knuckles clenching tightly around the handle of the knife. Jackie’s eyes flick down to the knife, then back up to Shauna and scoff.

“Do you really think you have the balls, Shauna? Aren’t you already guilt-ridden, or are you just a masochist?” She can feel the familiar heat that rushes through her body, her teeth grinding as her jaw clenches. There’s a force that drags Shauna’s knife down, down, down, closer to Jackie. She takes this moment to hook one of her legs around Shauna, sending her tumbling down into Jackie’s lap, effectively swapping their positions from mere moments ago.

“Don’t.” Shauna grits out. Jackie’s hand reaches up to hook her finger in Shauna's shirt, pulling her down closer to her.

“What? You don’t like being my lap dog, Shauna? Are you finally going to be your own person?"

“I said shut the fuck UP!”

She feels the knife sink down and meets resistance as her hand slashes across skin. The ghostly laugh that echoes through the room and haunts Shauna only fuels the blind rage that’s starting to consume her whole. Her mind goes blank as her body is set ablaze, only conscious of the sound of Jackie’s voice that rings in her ear as she watches the blade slice repeatedly through skin.

She’s not sure how much time passes once she finishes, chest heaving from the exertion. Only when the anger quells does she realize it’s her own clothes and body that are torn to shreds and covered in an addictive shade of crimson. She could have sworn it was Jackie’s arms dripping in blood. Her breath comes out ragged as her heart rate spikes again and she's vaguely aware of the dull burn that’s covering her body, now littered with cuts.

“Oh Shippy… I knew you had shit self esteem, but I didn’t know it was that bad. Must be all that guilt that eats at you, huh?” She can’t help the shudder in her breath as she feels a cold touch delicately graze up her spine, spreading chills across her body. She closes her eyes and pretends that maybe this is how Jackie felt that night, that maybe it was a feeling she welcomed with open arms.

It’s the touch that sends her shivering and panting as she keels over into Jackie’s lap. Shauna whimpers as she feels the grip of a familiar cold hand curl around her throat, fingers digging in intently. Jackie’s hand fits so perfectly around her throat that it’s as if that’s where it belonged. Shauna can feel her head begin to spin as her vision blurs and the corners of her peripherals darken. The last thing she remembers is the echo of Jackie’s voice. “Let’s hope they find you in time. It would be such a shame to only do this once.”

[elitadream]

I’m sure you haven’t been asked this before (let me you know if you did)

BUT! How would you’d draw Wario and Waluigi compared to the Mario Bros? since Wario and Waluigi are supposed to be exaggerated versions of Mario and Luigi, how would you’d describe them in your own version? would they be the same or drastically different to match your versions?

and How would they interact with your Peach and Bowser? I imagine your Peach would be very shocked and appealed or at least be surprised and curious about Wario and Waluigi? 🤔 Also fun fact, Wario and Mario were depicted as childhood friends at one point so would that be the same for your version? I’m just dying to know! 🙇‍♂️

I remember I've been asked about these two before, but it was admittedly a while ago! 🤭 And to be completely fair, I've never drawn them either. 👀 Oh, it's not that I don't want to! But I'm just really unsure about how I want to portray them exactly. x3 As distant and shady relatives? As mere competitors? Adversaries? Unexpected allies? An odd blend of the two?

Something that I've always liked about Wario and Waluigi is that they are neither villains nor heroes, but rather an indifferent in-between with pure gremlin energy sprinkled on top. They're the very definition of "chaotic neutral"; Doing things not because it benefits evil or the greater cause, but because it benefits themselves, be it good or bad!

If anything, I'd definitely aim to keep that vibe if I were to include them in my art at some point. One specific image that I always have in mind when picturing them is the two standing invasively on either side of a cringing and visibly annoyed Mario, teasing him crudely about Peach or trying to sell him an idea. 😆🗯

Simply put, I'd say I paradoxically view them as mild bullies and very clumsy helpers at the same time, lol. Like those awkward and slightly toxic friends that just won't go away, but at the end of the day aren't all that awful or mean either. 🤷‍♀️😅

I would need to give their characterization a bit more thought to imagine what their interactions with Bowser or the princess might look like, but if that's something people are interested in, then I just might!^^

[twistedtummies2]

Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes - Number 8

Welcome to A Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes! During this month-long event, I’ll be counting my Top 31 Favorite Fictional Detectives, from movies, television, literature, video games, and more!

SLEUTH-OF-THE-DAY’S QUOTE: “Just one more thing…”

Number 8 is…Columbo.

There is a particular friend of mine, whom I hope is reading this, and who I suspect will be VERY happy to see this character and series in the Top 10. Just wanted to throw that out there; said friend, for the record, shall remain anonymous.

ANYWAY…Columbo is arguably one of the most unique detective programs to ever grace the television screen, in my humble opinion. I suspect this fact is a big part of why the show lasted as long as it did: the show ran for ten seasons, and almost seventy episodes, running all the way from 1968 to 2003. The premise of Columbo was essentially a reversal of the “Whodunnit” formula: a concept sometimes referred to as a “Howcatchem.” At the start of every episode, some villain would commit murder most foul: the discovery of the murder would lead to the summoning of homicide investigator Lieutenant Columbo (whose first name is ostensibly “Frank,” but such is never actually stated in the series). The plot would thus focus on the audience trying to see how Columbo would take down the villain, as he pokes and prods for hints and evidence. In a way, he’s actually the antagonist rather than the protagonist! Typically, Columbo uses some hidden detail that the criminals (and likely the audience) never considered as the lynchpin that proves their guilt, and thus forces them into revealing themselves to the rest of the world.

Columbo himself is a big part of what makes the series so great, just as much as the gimmick of him finding clues to catch a criminal the viewers are aware of, rather than the audience and the detective alike trying to identify the villain. Usually, not only do we know who the criminal is, but Columbo seems to at least have a hunch right from the start; the plot really focuses on him trying to figure out a way to identify them and take them down. The Lieutenant is one of those great deceiving characters I like, whom I haven’t really come up with a specific phrase to describe, that uses a foolish façade to bamboozle his opponents. At the outset, Columbo is something of a buffoon: he’s a bit clumsy, has good manners but speaks in a somewhat crude fashion, and often looks very dissheveled, given his rumpled trenchcoat and frazzled hairstyle. He seems more interested in smoking fat cigars and cracking bad jokes than he does actually solving the crimes he’s been put to, and often seems to go on random tangents when talking.

Most of this, however, is a total sham: it’s Columbo’s way of disarming his opponents. It’s worth noting that many of Columbo’s most popular adversaries were rich and highly proper people: well-educated and clean-cut folks many would never suspect of murder, and who certainly seem to consider themselves superior to the apparently lunkheaded lieutenant. Since he doesn’t seem threatening to them, at first, they underestimate him and are therefore ultimately teased into steadily revealing their hand. As the story goes on, Columbo, in turn, shows more of his iron will, crafty mind, and at times even hints of righteous anger. Slowly but surely, he becomes the one in control, while our villain protagonist loses that control bit by bit, till finally the whole tapestry of their crime is unraveled. Only then is Columbo is able to make the arrest.

I absolutely love characters like this: ones who seem silly and frivolous and perhaps even satirical on the outside, but are dead serious and at times downright scary on the inside. Characters like Sans, The Doctor…and, of course, Columbo, who is easily one of the most definitive examples of the idea. Peter Falk’s performance in the role is consistently spectacular throughout the series’ long, LONG runtime, and when you combine the wonderful balance of steely determination and somewhat dopey goofery with the unique gimmick of the show’s style, it’s a small wonder he and his series remain among the most applauded detective shows in history.

Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 7!

CLUE: “Now, I may be wrong…but frankly, I doubt it.”

[ghostsandgod]

The Vile Truth of Barbas

From the notes of Pelagius Habor, Council Daedrologist-in-Residence, Imperial City

A scholarly essay on the relationship between Clavicus Vile and Barbas

Every true Daedrologist has a favorite Prince. We rarely admit it, but it's true. Each Prince, while horrifying, has a curious and often hilarious quirk. Sheogorath's peculiarities are well known, but when you really think about it, all the Princes are a bit silly. Hircine has the clumsy head of an ungulate. Sanguine is an inveterate drunk. It's precisely these eccentricities that make the Princes a source of endless fascination for Daedrologists such as myself. Unlike the stuffy and aloof Aedra, the Princes suffer from the same neuroses, flaws, and childish fixations that trouble men and mer. They are more like us than we care to admit. As for me? Of all the Daedric Princes, Clavicus Vile is my favorite—and it has everything to do with his loyal hound, Barbas.I have come to believe that Clavicus Vile is unique in that he exists in two persons. This is, of course, the subject of vigorous debate in Daedrological circles. Many of my confederates would argue that Barbas is merely a greater Daedric servant—no more linked to Vile than a horse is linked to its rider. But I urge you to consider the evidence. The first and most obvious proof of their consubstantiality is found in art. Crude, hand-carved idols dating back to the early Merethic Era depict the masked figure of Clavicus Vile standing beside a large hound, as do ancient cave paintings. I have explored the width and breadth of Tamriel in search of Daedric oddities, and in all my travels I have never found any depiction of Vile that does not include Barbas at his side. I've also read hundreds of firsthand accounts detailing encounters with the Prince. Each of those accounts, without exception, features Barbas in some capacity.If we accept the premise that Clavicus Vile and Barbas are (at least in some sense) the same person, the natural question is "Why?" Why would an entity possessing godlike power allow itself to be bifurcated? I have a number of hypotheses, but my best guess is simply this: companionship. The "life" of a Prince is one of near-total isolation. Some Princes, like Hermaeus Mora and Nocturnal, appear to revel in this solitude. But everything we know of Clavicus Vile indicates that he is a profoundly social being. His love of bartering, his willingness to bestow wishes upon those that engage with him, his bewitching mask—each of these things point to a being that thrives on interaction, conversation, and play. A being so inclined would likely go mad without some companion to speak to, argue with, and complain about. One might even view it as a marriage of sorts, albeit an inverted one. Rather than two becoming one, as in the Pledge of Mara, one has become two—a paradoxical reversal of the Aedric ritual."But why a dog?" you ask? I've puzzled over this for years. Again, I can offer little more than supposition. My best guess is that it has to do with power roles. If Clavicus Vile sheared off a larger share of his animus to create an equal, the two would plot and scheme against each other constantly. In creating a canine counterpart, Vile ensures his position as master. Dogs are ancient symbols of loyalty and submission. They are servants and never masters. So it is with Barbas.Of course, Barbas is not always a dog. Like other Daedric Princes, Barbas can present himself in a number of different forms. He has appeared as both man and mer, as animals, lesser Daedra, even inanimate objects! This ability to bend his shape, but retain his fundamental animus is a power that no other Daedra on record has been able to replicate—aside from Princes, that is. Coincidence? I think not.We will likely never know Barbas's true nature with certainty, but the evidence points me to only one conclusion: Barbas and Clavicus Vile are one person in two forms. The master is also the servant. The handler is also the hound. It's a unique and fascinating paradox—the sort of mystery that makes Daedrology worth studying!

[hopes-memorial]

If any 4 of your ocs were inflicted with the despair disease from SDR2, what kind of disease would they get?

Hm... I kind of want to try all of them, ngl. I'll figure something out...

Amai

Truth: No longer able to mask, they speak in a more serious and somewhat sad tone. They're more cynical, and they're not nearly as flirty or excitable as they normally are. When it's all over, they don't bring it up or acknowledge how they were at all. Ever.

Ayane

Energetic: She's more likely to get up and start working on something or another, whether big or small. She's also more critical of people resting too much, and she has to be watched to make sure that she doesn't hurt herself.

Botan

Coward: Losing his stoic nature, he's far more timid and afraid of the world, hiding under his bed and refusing to go anywhere near the weapons that he would normally be all too comfortable around. He'd try to keep his composure, but it would fail and he would start apologizing for it.

Daisuke

Selfish: Instead of his usual caring towards everyone, he's completely apathetic to their likes, dislikes, or their condition. Instead, he's focused solely on himself and what he wants, and whenever he can't, he lashes out and tries to hurt people with the secrets or pieces of information he managed to gather on them.

Elodie

Gullible: She becomes easily influenced, even believing that the performances on stage or screen are real instead of acts. She believes everything that she hears, and she won't be able to perform like she used to as she'll truly believe that she is that person.

Haruka

Paranoia: While under the influence of the disease, she's more fearful of everything, believing that something out there wants her dead. She focuses solely on keeping herself isolated and hidden away, that way no one will be able to find her and hurt her, even if it is boring.

Kanai

Forgetting: Her perfect memory would go completely haywire for a moment, and she would forget everything aside from the necessities such as her and everyone's names and how to care for herself. Everything else, she wouldn't be able to remember at all.

Masao

Anger: Losing his pacifism, he's easily provoked, and he lashes out quickly and without mercy to anyone on the other side of that anger. Due to his strength, he's even more dangerous and would likely have to be locked away.

Matsuri

Normal: She loses interest in everything fantastical or horrific, and instead, she acts like the stereotypical idea of a girl: obsessed with mainstream fashion, makeup, and romance novels and movies. She also hates rice cakes like this.

Mei

Deception: Unable to tell the truth, everything that comes out of her mouth is turned into a lie. Even her emotional responses and her instructions are lies or misleading.

Reiichi

Social: The asocial nature would go away, and he would be incredibly cheerful and social, even choosing to spend time with his classmates instead of being anywhere near his computer to the point that he'll even pretend to not know what he' doing when on it to avoid having to be alone.

Shirou

Clumsy: The surgeon's precision that he has would go away, and he would cause far more harm accidentally rather than on purpose while infected. He would be constantly tripping or dropping things, and he would be unable to do simple tasks without accidently hurting himself or breaking something.

Sumire

Confidence: She would lose the more timidness that she has, and instead, she would turn to a rather vulgar and loud person. She would insult everyone and make crude comments along with breaking the dolls that she loves so much because she thinks that they're creepy and not pretty enough to be her's.

Takara

Insecure: The confidence that he has would disappear, and he would go back to being incredibly hung up on things that are wrong with him and doubting himself. No matter how small the decision, he wouldn't be sure if he would be making the right choice or not, and he'll avoid situations where he'll have to be in the spotlight.

Yotsuba

Loner: The friendly nature would go away, and she'd be incredibly standoffish and quiet, standing in the background and refusing to work with anyone as she thinks she can do everything on her own.

Yukihiko

Apathy: He stops caring about anything: studies, grades, the others, their safety, his own safety, etc. While like this, he'll laze around and stare at nothing as he just wastes away. Not even threatening his life would get him to care.

[oblivions-dawn]

The Curse of Elanor

As part of an amazing art trade with the awesomely talented @crysdrawsthings, I wrote about the silly OC Elanor! It was so fun [and hilarious] tackling a character that just EMITS clumsiness and chaos. Please go check out Crys and follow them for stunning art if you haven't already!! Always a joy to see you on my dash friend! I hope you enjoy~!

            “Elanor.”

            The Altmer twitched at the sound of her name in that cruel, bored voice. She glanced over her cup of tea, a wary sip at her lips—only to find Elenwen far more interested in the book in her hands than the Thalmor across from her.

            “Find something useful to do,” the woman quipped.

            “Such as?” Elanor asked thinly, biting her tongue to stop herself from distastefully insulting the First Emissary out of spite.

            Elenwen flipped the page. “Perhaps Estormo can distract with his little project.”

            Ah, Estormo. Ancano’s friend and assistant. He was stuck here in the Thalmor Embassy with the rest of them, although Elanor was certain that he would rather be at the College of Winterhold—she knew she would. She swallowed the rest of her tea with a large, forceful gulp, then went off to find Estormo.

            He was, for once, surprisingly easy to find; he was pouring over tomes and alchemical equipment and magical energies in the general laboratory, where he muttered to himself in deep concentration. Elanor, with her hands behind her back and a pep in her step, approached him confidently.

            “Estormo—”

            The Altmer man screamed in fright and whipped around, his eyes wide with fear as he clutched his chest. Elanor blinked, uncertain of the reason behind his reaction. Surely, he had heard her come in? She wasn’t exactly quiet.

            “Knock next time, would you!?” he snapped in huffy exasperation. “My research is very delicate, and I will not have some lowlife ruin it!” She pursed her lips at the insult, which throbbed painfully in her chest. Nonetheless, she was silent as he composed himself, his tone softening. “For what reason am I being disturbed?”

            Elanor stiffened. “I was told to assist you?” She sniffed dismissively. “Whatever that means.”

            “Assist me?” He glared in disapproval. “What could a peasant like you possibly . . .” His expression faltered, an idea alight in his eyes. “Perhaps you aren’t so useless after all. Quickly—stand here.”

            Elanor followed his finger and briefly observed the crude chalk circle he had drawn on the floor. She stood in its centre and tried to make sense of the runes before her thoughts were broken by Estormo again.

            “Oh—and hold this. Don’t drop it.”

            He hastily handed her a skull, although it was without its lower jaw and had an amethyst and sapphire in its sockets. Elanor stared at the intricate swirls that had been carved into it with immense interest. It reminded her of the skull she had gifted Elisif, and wondered if Potema had given the Jarl of Solitude a piece of Oblivion or merely killed her off. The memory brought a smile to her lips.

            Estormo’s soft yet passionate murmurs brought Elanor out of her reminiscing. She raised a golden brow.

            “Do you even know what you’re—”

            “Shh!”

            Her mouth snapped shut. His eyes were closed in concentration as he made vague hand movements towards her. Then, he fell silent.

            Nothing happened.

            “That—That should have worked!” Estormo crossed his arms and huffed as he tapped his foot, frustrated. “Why won’t it—?”

            Elanor idly placed her hand on the crown of the skull.

            Crack!

            Both of them jumped at the sound. The skull now had a massive fracture down the centre. Elanor lifted her hand—and it crumbled into pieces to the floor. For a long moment, neither of them dared to speak, stunned.

            “What a shitty skull,” Elanor finally said.

            “You—” Estormo’s face became a deep shade of angry red. “You ruin EVERYTHING!”

            “Elanor.”

            Her eyes snapped towards the voice. Her stomach sunk when she saw Elenwen, who looked on with disapproval.

            “Perhaps you would be of better use in the kitchens.”

            And so she went to the kitchens—and, in less than five minutes, proceeded to spill an entire cauldron of soup onto the floor.

            “Elanor! Go write for our scribes.”

            Everything was going rather well for her—until a shiny beetle scuttled across her desk, and caused her quill dug too deeply and tore several pages of beautifully crafted parchment.

            “Oh Elanor. Can’t you do anything right? Clean it up.”

            Out of frustration, she knocked expensive ink all over a stack of books and missed her intended target: the scribe’s hand. No matter what she did, Elenwen’s sharp voice rang across the space and pierced her pointed ears. The Thalmor Embassy was a sliver of Oblivion in Nirn that Elanor desperately wished she could crush beneath her own hands.

            “That’s quite enough out of you. Go to your room, Elanor.”

            With a flare of her nostrils, she began to trudge to her room—then Elenwen stopped her.

            “And take this,” she snipped as she shoved a letter into her gloved hands.

            Elanor’s interest was piqued as she went to her room, her eyes pointed at the scroll tied with a silky blue ribbon. She entered her room and shut the door behind her, then sat on her bed. She tugged on the ribbon and it unravelled with ease. She unfurled the scroll, then gasped. She recognised the elegant yet straightforward handwriting.

            Silence elapsed as she read Ancano’s letter. Sadness swelled in her chest. He was just as cruel as ever; although it was merely a letter, she could hear his sneer as if he was beside her.

            “Thuri.”

            A small scream escaped Elanor’s lips. With her attention torn away from the contents of the letter, she turned to find—to her surprise—Alduin. Somehow, the dragon had fit his very large head through her window—and without her notice. Her red eyes gleamed down at her.

            “Whatever is the matter?” he asked, his voice gruff yet genuine. “I could sense your so from across Taazokaan.”

            Elanor gaped openly at him. She had a million and one questions to ask him, and they all rushed her at once at a dizzying speed. How in Oblivion did he get through the window with his massive head? Was she projecting that much, or was he just messing with her? Was he really here for something so simple, so human? And why on Nirn would a dragon—much less the World-Eater himself—involve himself in such petty matters?

            She had no answers—and frankly, she didn’t want them. She simply held up her letter and watched as his eyes darted across the page, his expression unreadable.

            Then, he opened his mouth, and moved forward. She quickly snatched the letter away just as his jaws clicked shut.

            “Don’t eat it!” she screeched.

            “It’s upsetting you, thuri,” Alduin argued as his nostrils flared. “A dovahkiin should not suffer from such petty—”

            “It is not petty. I’m sad because . . . because I miss him.” Elanor’s shoulders dropped as her eyes skimmed the letter again. “I really miss him.”

            “You . . . joor mey.” He shook his head. “He is cruel with his words. You are worthy of more than that.”

            “See, and this is why it’s my letter and not yours,” Elanor defended. “I understand him. You don’t. Because you’re an idiot.”

            Alduin bristled, his eyes narrowed. “I am not—”

            The door burst open. Elanor whipped around to find Elenwen. Panic clawed at her throat. How was she going to explain why a dragon was—

            “Elanor,” the woman huffed. “I have an assignment for you.”

            “Uh . . .” She glanced over her shoulder—and found that Alduin was gone. She was bewildered. Had she imagined his presence? No—that was impossible. She wasn’t that crazy. She knew what crazy was—and it certainly was not her. How he had appeared and disappeared was a mystery to her, and one that she would have to solve another time. She nervously turned her attention back to Elenwen. “An assignment?”

            “Yes.” She clasped her hands behind her back, her face settled into a blank slate. “I’ve received word that you’re . . . needed at the College of Winterhold. Savos Aren is proving extremely difficult as late, so it was suggested that you and Estormo go and investigate with Ancano to find the root of the Arch-Mage’s newfound arrogance.” Her glare hardened. “This mission is the upmost importance, and I will not accept failure. Are we clear?”

            Butterflies fluttered in Elanor’s stomach. The College of Winterhold? With Ancano? The news was so sudden that she had to repress the urge to cackle with joy. Nirn was on her side after all, for not only would she see Ancano on a daily basis again, but she would get out from beneath Elenwen’s snobby nose. Perhaps, when she returned, she would curse that nose of hers to never smell again.

            Emboldened by this news, Elanor allowed a wide smile to stretch her lips.

            “Yes, First Emissary. We are crystal.”

[oc6lar]

 satoru knows the essence of his soul . the way it bends and cries for a touch of his fingertips , satoru knows what he'll grow into and what he'll leave behind . first experiences are always sweeter than the rest , slightly frightening if you're not that familiar with the person on top of you – it doesn't work like that with them . satoru remembers his own , clumsy and breathless , eventually falling into a fit of giggles and shy insults with his black haired lover . not as long as the day he lost him , but smooth and tangled between his fingers as he tilts his head back to stare at the roots of his lashes . lids fall close , rather helpless against the waves of pleasure that's finally mingling with the pain of being stretched ; satoru knows suguru's limits but not his own , that says something about how careful he is with him tonight . the tears that dry on the corners of suguru's feline like eyes are normal — well , he has to hurry up , doesn't he ?

 he easily grins , with parted lips to match suguru's voiceless whine . lower half rolling with smoothness born from experience , grinding in and out of the tightness that engulfs him . he doesn't want to make any crude comments about what's happening , he'll save the mocking reminders of suguru's tears for tomorrow when he's not feeling like sitting down will kill him .

 ❛ i’m not disappearing again . ❜  the younger strongest did , disappeared somewhere into the space or perhaps all the satoru gojos from every single universe were him . here , thrusting into his younger lover with fervor and need . after a particular snap of his hips , satoru pauses to gather himself and shift their position slightly . a firm grip on the thighs , suguru's back snug against the messed up sheets . after fixing the grip of his legs around his waist , satoru returns both his hands to black locks . trapping the slightly smaller frame between his body and the bed , moving up and down as their lips brush with each one of his thrusts . ❛ . . don't disappear . ❜  all a fragments of his active imagination , in fact he was thinking exactly that until he actually touched suguru . somehow the time bent and twisted to let him have another chance , no – the time didn't bend willingly , satoru was out toying with the balance of the universe to nuzzle his lover's warm neck and take him on their bed for the second first time . white lashes curled against suguru's neck , he lays his adoring kisses along the expanse of his beating vein . and whispers again ; ❛ don't disappear , suguru . ❜  his grip tightens on the roots of black locks , he pulls away to stare down inside brown eyes , their chest pressed flush and rubbing rather uncomfortably . just so satoru can kiss against suguru's tongue . ❛ open your eyes and look at me . . i missed you . ❜

    * - ' cont. @ily6a6y

[karltface]

My dude is back in business!

Monthly Greasiness has returned, my friends. This one's a banger.

We'll start with the animals. The sealed Imperial beetle is just swell, and those truly ancient spider rings look a hell of a lot like our local "grass spiders". Lounging frog charm is basic but fun, the roaches are stellar sculpts, and the pterosaur is striking in black and white. The rat is in a bag for a reason:

It's a grow toy. You know the ones, hard rubber that expands in water, leaving you with a puffy, slimy copy of an already crude sculpt. Well, this one looks just as good as any generic rubber rat, so the detail might actually hold. Close to 6" as it is, this thing could conceivably clear 3 feet in length if the packaging is to be believed. I'm not dragging the aquarium out of storage to find out.

The figurines are many and glorious. From left to right, we have a pair of old Hong Kong fantasy warriors, bearing various weapons and looking like subhuman mooks from a Frazetta painting; a knockoff Bowser figure (possibly a stamper in its original release); and a pair of Pocket Goblins, wildcards in the war between the Pocket Ninjas and Pocket Skeletons. All five stand in defense of their dark god, Dee-Kahl.

I'm rather alarmed by the number of heads in this box. 16 heads. That's twice the amount you can comfortably fit in a duffel bag. I feel like I've been sent a message, but damned if I know what.

Anyway, there are resin recasts of Whiplash and Skeletor in here. It's something I never knew I wanted, and these two work really well together somehow. Couple shiny skull rings, sure. Plenty of Madballs beads. And that creepy green dude.

You all know how this goes. Suck up slime with the thing, then squeeze it and watch it vomit. Wholesome family fun. Well, these don't quite work the same way: the upper rear cranium is wide open; you just pour slime in there and jam a knuckle into the hole to seal it. Clumsy, but effective:

Yep, that's pretty nasty. But fun!

Assorted Other Toys! Couple more Atom Age lookin' sci-fi vehicles, a saucer and another one of those sweet space cranes. Peg Checkers is basically tic tac toe on a triangular, 15-spot board. Still 3 in a row, though. The rubber rings were also sold as belts for action figures. In fact, I'm using one on the shelf now.

See? Looks great.

Flat Fun is two buttons and a classic gag. The same trick can be done with lemon juice or milk, which makes me wonder if the non-toxic material here is one or the other in powder form.

Anyway, Zac's back. Show him some love on Patreon, or at least hit up the store. It'll brighten your day somethin' fierce.

[venstm]

it’s lynx’s fault — or so he’s decided, the conclusion snowballing in his mind as he trudged through the absurdity of his current predicament: baking cookies for sampo koski, of all people. the incongruity tasted bitter on his tongue, yet here he was, flour smudged on his sleeves & a faint dusting of sugar still clinging to his hair. if lynx hadn’t made that offhanded remark — something about how bleak it must feel to have no one to celebrate the holidays with or to receive no gifts — he never would have entertained the notion. but, perhaps, he was softer than he gave himself credit for.

the memory of her words clung to him like frost on a windowpane gradually thawing into a guilty resolve. it wasn’t pity, he told himself, but some fleeting sense of decency that had pushed him to gather ingredients, fumble through the motions of baking, & scrape together this half-hearted offering.

now, the final product sat nestled in an ivory-wrapped box, tied with a disfigured blue ribbon that mirrored his own vacillation about the gesture. the package felt almost too pristine for its contents: cookies that were crudely decorated with shaky, uneven piping in wobbly red icing. no name accompanied the message; he wouldn’t dare risk that kind of vulnerability.

the underworld was quiet, its dim glow casting long shadows as he slipped into natasha’s clinic like a thief in the night, clutching the gift as though it might shatter under the weight of his reluctance. natasha’s knowing eyes barely softened the heat rising to his cheeks as he placed the box on her desk & all but begged her to keep his involvement a secret.

" don’t tell him i was here, " he muttered, his voice low, almost pleading. " don’t tell anyone, actually. "

she raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her silence heavy with amusement.

as he turned to leave, the door creaking shut behind him, a strange sense of peace settled in his chest. everyone deserved something during the holidays, even someone as vexing as sampo. maybe the cookies weren’t perfect — they were lopsided & clumsy, much like the sentiment behind them — but they were enough. it wasn’t much, but it was a gesture, a kindness wrapped in hesitation & second-guessing. & maybe, just maybe, that was the point of it all.

/ gepard & sampo, holiday inbox

Eventide mantles jarilo vi in a silver veneer of rime and the shadowy apertures of sinuous alleyways unleash one, duplicitous merchant before the yawning entrance of natasha’s clinic. As darkness circulates through those narrow vennels, ushering in the imminence of a festive culmination, he is left both with the sense that this was quite an auspicious opportunity to turn to his advantage and the strange, nameless hollow that came with simultaneously belonging and being a stranger to these glacial streets. Inside, soft, ambient light spills from the solitary room still occupied, it was late, later than he had intended to slink back in at but he knows, almost as certain as the finesse of his own two hands, that it would be natasha who remained awake at these peculiar hours drenched in solitude. Across the vast, constricting distance she meets his eyes and her mouth, just slightly at the corners, crinkles with a fondness reserved for him and his late-night antics. Sampo’s wave is a meek, noncommittal sort, as if he had been caught in the midst of some illicit act and when it came to the abstruse businessman who could truly say if he hadn’t. She guides his attention with her gaze, deliberately resting on her neatly kept desk, atop it sat a gift, evident by its pristine wrapping and the incongruous way it contrasted almost every other thing present. It was his eyes then, emerald and dancing with depthless intrigue, that trace the contours of the package like it were something to be understood rather than accepted. There’s a tacit understanding between the two of them, the origins of it shall not be spoken aloud lest the tenuous moment of kindness be dispersed. It was strange, to recognize how a man whose hands wore down to calluses, resolved to protect in the most inexplicable ways, could meticulously slow his hands and pay attention to the delicate folds in the paper that fit around the present snugly. The sound he makes is an expelled, incredulous breath, leather gloves easing through his hair, like he needed to shake it free, dispel the laughter that crept up the back of his throat before the onset of a harrowing bout. Too strange to believe, the one so set on his capture could extend such benevolence, was it an accolade to be pinned to his pristine white liveries, rivalling those undulating hills of hibernal white, or an unprecedented act of generosity levelled at his chest, just as dangerous as his clenched fist. He circles the desk warily, each long, languorous stride precisely measured, fingers clasped idly behind his back, leaning in just low enough that his gaze was almost directly in front of it. “ it’s almost too good to be true, the captain of the guard showing such kindness to sampo koski of all people.” amusement curls indolently between his rumination, the curve of his mouth an impish premonition of what he might say the next time their paths fortuitously cross, those pretty, cerulean eyes narrowed in umbrage at sampo’s next clever enterprise. It felt almost felonious to strip away the neatly wrapped paper, to inspect the contents of the box like it was a crate of exquisite rarities. perhaps an act such as this, from someone as exalted as captain gepard landau, was indeed a rare gift to be savoured. He leans back, inhaling and exhaling the utter disbelief, the precariously stacked cookies, each decorated heavy-handedly, as if the delicate act of piping it was too much to bear, was so endearing it made his insides twist. He could, with alarming clarity, envision what gepard might have looked like toiling over a bench coated in white flour, sedulously deciding what festive decoration fit each slightly misshapen cookie. Gingerly he picked one out of the box, suspending it pinched between his index finger and thumb, it left a slight smearing of icing on his gloves and under the light he could only just tell it was intended to be a tree. Encircled in jagged red tinsel, a crude star sat proudly at the very top.

He sunk into natasha’s chair and it spun just once before his shoes hit the ground and he lowered his head until it was almost resting on the desk, the cookie still held carefully, protectively in the palm of his hand. Gepard Landau, what a person he was, every time Sampo seemed to have him pinned, finally comprehending the absurd regulations he lived by, he would prove him wrong yet again. This game of theirs continued to evolve beyond the orthodox and into something even he could never fully expect, someone who preferred to be pulling the strings reduced to a mere participant. Natasha stood in the doorway, the light illuminated her silhouette and managed to distract him from this spiralling, disorienting moment of untangling every nuance that made up the esteemed captain of the silvermane guard. “ soooo, do you want one ?” he lifted the cookie in offering, casting a side-long, intense gaze at it before flitting back to her giving a loose, insouciant shrug. Having seen the captain’s flustered expression Natasha shakes her head, this was a gift intended for Sampo Koski, it seemed only right he was the one to really enjoy them. Giving it a bite his nose crinkled, despite all it’s gaudy piping and its less than appealing shape it was actually rather good, he could positively add this to the list of things he knew Gepard was good at. Colour him impressed. 

[oneprompt]

I'm not sure what your character limit is, as your rules don't state it. Feel free to ignore this if it's too much! Can I request headcanons with the strawhats and a crybaby crush? They're very emotional, clumsy and somehow always getting hurt one way or another.

authors note : i don’t exactly Have a limit , truly .. my writing may just decrease in length / detail the more characters i write for in one post .. Anywho <3 here you go ! please enjoy <33

Luffy x Crybaby! Reader Headcanons

• Luffy isn’t bothered by how sensitive you are! Everyone processes things different, whether it be severe physical pain or even just something to pokes at your bubble. Who cares if you cry too much? Luffy loves ya! That’s not to say Luffy won’t tease you from time to time, pointing and laughing at the tears that prickle your eyes if you get butt hurt over a silly remark, but he’s quick to reassure you after he’s done snickering..

• Luffy is the master at cheering people up! It doesn’t matter what’s upsetting you, Luffy is going to brighten up your tearful expression in a jiffy! He’ll make crude jokes, funny faces, he’ll do whatever it takes to see you even just crack a smile.

• If anyone hurts his loved ones, they best be counting their days. And if it’s you they happen to be hurting? They’ll be gone in the blink of an eye. How dare they mock you! You aren’t pathetic or anything that those freaks say! Sure, you cry a lot and get yourself into trouble but who cares? That doesn’t make you weak!

• He gives you so much physical love! Luffy will happily swing off your arms, giving you tight hugs. I mean, Luffy doesn’t really understand having a crush. He isn’t sure how to go about it and honestly sees zero reasons on why he should treat you any different.

Zoro x Crybaby! Reader Headcanons

• Zoro isn’t the type to sugarcoat his words. If he thinks some of your behaviour is idiotic, he’s going to specify. His bluntness can be a bit of a head turner but he means well! Zoro just wants you to be safe, with and without his protection. He isn’t the best at expressing care…

• He’s quite brash, regardless of his feelings for you. If you’re touched from his actions of affections, Zoro is quick to shout and say, “ what, was i supposed to let you die? don’t overthink it!” He’s quite shy with his feelings, definitely in denial of his love for you.

• Zoro is only hard on you because he wants you to tap into the strength you have within, the sheer will you possess. He’s aware of the potential you have, all the endless things you can do with your raw power alone. He wants you to stop letting your feelings hold you back so much, Zoro wants you to be the best version of yourself you can be. And if tough love is the way to go, then so be it.

• Zoro will be soft with you when he must. He knows you don’t cry just to cry, you’ve had a rough time and he understands. He may only do so in private, but he’ll give you all the hugs and love that you require. Just don’t tell anyone!

Sanji x Crybaby! Reader Headcanons

• Sanji finds your soft behaviour to be the absolute cutest! You remind him of a bunny, all cute and gentle, so meek and pure. Ahh, you’re the cutest! Your timid behaviour makes him act rather protective. Sanji must have you on his arm at all time! It’s totally not because he wants you up against him or anything pervy like that. ( obvious sarcasm . )

• He gives you all the special treatment in the world! Sanji will fetch you your comfort food and drinks when you’re upset, letting you stuff your face in his glorious cooking until the food is gone. Or, he’ll give you a whole lot of hugs and cuddles to cheer you up! Oh, he doesn’t mind either options at all, as long as he can make you happy.

• Sanji shows no shame in his feelings, constantly proclaiming his love to you, even bellowing his feelings for you from the roof tops. You’re just so cute! So sweet! What is there to not love? He’s sure to show you all the love in the world!

• He has no limit with people who upset you. Oh, someone made you cry? Someone ran into you? They’re already beat up by Sanji, at this point! Even if you say he shouldn’t, that it’s okay, Sanji needs to teach that wicked person a lesson for doing anything remotely cruel to his beloved Y/n!

Nami x Crybaby! Reader Headcanons

• Just like Usopp, Nami tries to get behind her own fears when it comes to you. But… she tends to fail miserably. She’ll act all heroic but the moment she sees the offender, she’s up in arms, begging and sobbing for your help. Yes, your help, the very one she was attempting to save.

• Nami tries to get you to toughen up! She’s not harsh about it but she holds Bellemares words very close to her heart. Everyone is supposed to be strong, even the weakest men and girliest of girls, presentation and gender holds no bounds! Everyone is strong in their own way, even you.

• She’s so encouraging! The moment Nami sees you defend yourself for the first time, landing even a single hit onto a person, she’s screaming and cheering, saying rather vulgar things like, “kick his ass!” or, “take no survivors, Y/n!”

• If you two are out together and somebody mocks you for your clumsy behaviour, Nami has a whooole lot to say to that scum bag! She may not display the most open crush towards you but she’ll sacrifice her pride to whoop some ass for you!

Usopp x Crybaby! Reader Headcanons

• Usopp hides his cowardly personality the best he can when he’s around you, amping up his Sogeking persona around you. You deserve a prince, a true knight in shining armour! And what sort of man would he be if he didn’t rescue his dear Y/n?

• Usopp tries to be the best man he can be for you, the best warrior! To say the least, it usually ends with him embarrassing himself, the two of you stuck in the infirmary afterward. Usopp knows he isn’t as strong or cool as Zoro, Luffy and Sanji, he’s not as capable. But he wants to be the one to save you, even if it gets himself hurt. Always.

• He gets so flustered around you. Usopp is absolutely terrible at hiding his feelings for you, not being able to mask away the harsh crimson that drapes onto his face, or cover up his endless stuttering. You’re just so adorable, Usopp can’t help but feel his chest tighten when he’s even near you!

• Usopp is so so understanding of your sensitivity levels. He’s not the type to shy away from dramatic emotions, often being soft himself. He sees no shame in the way you act, and really doesn’t understand why the others may find it funny… Self expression is healthy!

Nico Robin x Crybaby! Reader Headcanons

• Robin is so gentle and loving with you. She has all the patience in the world and is more then happy to show off her tolerance when she’s with you. Oh, you hurt yourself? She’s carrying you straight to Chopper. You’re crying? She’s already embracing you, tracing circles into your back.

• She finds your sweet and timid nature to be the cutest thing. Robin can’t help but giggle to herself when you’re in squabbles over the smallest things. You’re so dramatic… How cute.

• Robin often helps you avoid danger, whether you notice or not. If you’re about to fall backwards, Robin will have an extra set of arms to help push you back up, returning to your balance. And if you’re about to run into someone, a hand will shove you in the other direction. She’s a true care taker, even from afar.

• She gives you so much love and praise! Robin understands where sensitivity may stem from and gives you a ton of love. She notices how insecure you get from time to time, sometimes viewing yourself as a burden to your crew… But Robin is eager to remind you of how much they all love you, how the Straw Hats couldn’t shine as bright without you.

Franky x Crybaby! Reader Headcanons

• Franky is so protective over you. He’s used to protecting beings who are weaker, more vulnerable then him. He’s bound to protect you! He’ll constantly be beside you, making sure nothing shifty happens. If anyone tries to hurt his Y/n, they’ll get their teeth smashed out of their face.

• He finds your reactions to things amusing! It’s no secret that Franky is an …. expressive man, crying at the slightest of things. So, he’s rather thrilled to have such a thing in common with you! If you two are told a sad story, the Sunny will be full of sobbing and hiccuping, all from you and the silly cyborg.

• Despite Frankys evident love and care for you, he’s a total tease. Your overly worried attitude reminds him so much of his big brother, he can’t help but laugh loudly and mock some of the things you say. He has no ill will, no! It’s all just soft jabs… It makes Franky nostalgic to his days with Tom and Iceburg. You feel just like home!

• Franky is always trying to get you out of your comfort zone. Whether it’s throwing you onto one of his machines, having you fight somebody one on one and so on. He knows you have more strength then you’re letting on, and no way in hell is he letting you stay at the bottom! You deserve the best of the best! You deserve all the recognition!

Brook x Crybaby! Reader Headcanons

• Brook laughs at your reactions a lot. He misses having the capability to make such reactive expressions! He only giggles when it’s tears out of a more… mellow situation. When they’re serious tears, Brook is stone faced, ready to lay even his life on the line for you if anyone hurt you.

• Brook kept his distance from you at first, often avoiding you. Not because he desired to do so, no! He just- he figured a person like you would find him terrifying. I mean… Nami and Usopp did, why wouldn’t you? But he’s shocked once you start to show a sense of fondness towards him. Brook is grateful to have you overlook his form…

• He holds your hand 24/7! Thank goodness for the fact Brook can’t blush like a normal man… he’d be a cherry, with how often you two are clinging to one another. Brook always wants you to be okay, what’s the use in getting hurt for no reason? Nothing!

• Brook holds back his perversion around you, never asking for you to flip your skirt or push down your pants. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and Brook wants you to feel respected by him. He shows his love for you through small mannerisms, acts of service.

Jinbe x Crybaby! Reader Headcanons

• Now, Jinbe isn’t the best with comfort through words but he is the absolute best with physical comfort. If you’re crying over something that happened, Jinbe is more then willing to have you snuggle up to his side, using him as a pillow. It flusters him, yes, but it’s worth it to see you smile again.

• He’s understanding of your tears completely, regardless of the situation. It doesn’t matter if you went through a minor inconvenience or a huge one, Jinbe always validates your reactions. He may not be the type to be so tearful but he understands how your emotions differ from his.

• Jinbe is a peacemaker, he won’t lash out to people that mock you, like the other Straw Hats. He’ll tell you to take a few deep breaths and if the rude comments from strangers get to you, Jinbe will give you a whole day for yourself! He’ll get Sanji to make your favourite food, Jinbe will sit with you for hours. There’s no need for pointless violence, Jinbe can comfort you in other ways.

• He’ll offer to teach you Fishman Karate. Jinbe knows how clumsy you are, often landing into trouble, whether that’s in your lonesome or getting into unprompted fights. He wants you to be capable of protecting yourself, the thought of you getting hurt and him not being there to save you is… not a thought Jinbe likes to have. So, he wants you have you ready to meet any hit you’re offered!

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Prompt: “You’re both my source of strength and my biggest weakness” Pairing: Yami x Charlotte Fanfic type: Oneshot Genre: general/fluff Length: ~0.8k

Sunlight filtered through the clouds that floated through the sky, creating veils of light that seemed as if cascading onto those walking through the spaces, as if spotlights. And Yami, couldn’t help but look at Charlotte, as she walked through one of those spotlights, because the light played around on her hair, making it flicker. How the gentle rays flowed over her, along with her movements, as if the strands that could be seen, were liquid gold.

Still, even after the confession, after stating to date her, he couldn’t understand how she had fallen in love with him. Because he… wasn’t someone he thought she’d be interested in. He might have been strong, but it wasn’t about strength, or magic, not really anyways, because there were so many other aspects to take into consideration while choosing a spouse.

If one could choose a spouse. If. When usually it was more about feelings, which couldn’t be chose.

But still, he hadn’t thought of her, with someone like him. Someone who was… rugged, and… maybe crude. Actually, yeah, he was crude, compared to her. He didn’t sugar coat anything, and was more than ‘rough around the edges’, though a lot of people wouldn’t call it as that. They’d just tell him that he was crude, if they wanted to be nice. Bastard if they weren’t as eloquent.

Not that he was eloquent himself.

Which was just another aspect of himself that made it difficult to believe that she loved him. And yet, they were there.

He looked at her, as her hair glimmered, and as she walked through the streets, holding her head high.

“’ey,” he greeted, raising his hand to her.

“Hello,” she smiled back.

She smiled. She smiled to him, which used to be something she didn’t do… not… a lot at least. But now, she smiled.

And all he could do, was look at her. With a blank expression, as her smile turned into a slight frown.

“What is it?” She asked, as if something had been wrong, when nothing could have been further from the truth.

Everything was good… wonderful… perfect.

“Nothing,” he tried, closing his eyes in a slow blink, but all it did was make her frown harden.

“Tell me,” she told him, almost insisting, but there was softness in her tone, even if only buried underneath the layers of wanting to know.

So, he sighed, and looked up at the clows that were floating by, the gentle sunrays filtering through the air, and birds flying high up in the sky. He thought about what to tell her, what to say. Or rather, which words to use to say what he wanted to tell her.

“You are…” he begun, thinking about all the things that she was to him, having hard time choosing. “You make me strong,” it was a clumsy statement, and he wasn’t sure what exactly he meant by it himself.

“I… you are strong Yami,” she told him, as her frown turned into that of confusion.

“I am,” he agreed. “But you make me want to be even more strong, and … I think you make me better.”

She wasn’t sure, not… precisely at least, about what he meant by that. But it was genuine, and heartfelt nonetheless. She couldn’t say that him, think that she made him better, could have been a bad thing, unfortunate thing, in any way she chose to look at it.

“Just… promise me one thing,” he told her, looking into her eyes. There was an implore in his gaze, but it also insisted.

“What thing?”

“That you take care of yourself,” he answered, as if it had been the most natural thing in the world. “Because I can’t be there, with you, all the time and I… don’t know what I would do, if something bad happened to you.”

She blinked, taken aback by the statement.

“I think I would…” he begun, but hesitated. Even if only for a moment, because he ought to tell her, even if only through some clumsy attempt to speak it out loud. “Break…” he whispered so quietly that any passing breeze might have carried the words away, had there been one.

She blinked again, but still, looked at him.

This was him, being vulnerable. Being open. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t vulnerable, ever. Not that she had seen him. Before. At least.

“I promise, if you promise it back,” she replied, meaning just that. The door needed to swing both ways.

“Yeah, I promise,” there was a sense of a faint chuckle in his tone, but it was a promise nonetheless.

And that promise they would carry with each other; they were sure of it. For as long as they lived.