#but one thing abt it is that i wish i could arrange the brush order or delete some ...

[teardew]

pls rb for larger sample size n___n and feel free to add why you prefer your app of choice in the tags/replies

[doubledgesword-2]

hello! i saw your tumblr page while I was scrolling for headcanons and HOW COME I ONLY FOUND OUT ABT THIS PAGE😭 I love your content and your headcanons about hxh characters😏 so I dropped by and saw that the requests are open👀...so I wanted to request a scenario where Illumi is forced to participate in an arranged marriage by his parents but illumi doesn't like his soon to be wife his parents planned for him bc they're quite annoying and rude (was that too specific 💀) but illumi alr likes someone (his "friend") whom he's pretty close with because they hang out a lot with Hisoka and Illumi.

you don't really have to do this if you don't want to because it's probably too long💀...but still, Thank you so much💕

Heck yeah!! I’m all up for the angst and the heartbreak. One order of Rose tea with extra tears in it coming right up! For all the other lil’ sugarcubes that requested, rest assure your teas are coming. Hope you like this!

Enjoy!

You heard the moment your heart snapped.

Here he was kneeling in front of a woman you had never seen, looking as handsome as ever with a small velvet box open and a ring protruding from the inside.

The pair turned to look at you, and amidst the hurting in your heart, you swallowed the lump in your throat, widened your eyes to stop the tears from falling, and offered a joyous smile.

"Congratulations on your engagement."

"Oh, he isn't finished yet, you interrupted. Please continue, dear husband! You! Retire before I call the butlers to escort you out. You're ruining the moment!" Her high pitch voice grated your ears, and after her words, you felt even worse than before. You schooled your expression and nodded, retreating from their bubble.

But Illumi was looking at you. His head was turned in your direction still, looking how your body screamed sadness, but your smile was so convincing he felt sad himself. Perhaps, you wanted to spend some time with him today, and here he was, declaring his love to someone not worth his while. He wished the woman in front of him was you.

You heard him ask the question in that tone you had learned to love, and her obnoxious shriek of a yes, made the situation sink in further.

Illumi was getting married, and it wasn't to you.

You swallowed thickly and excused yourself, going back to the forest from where you had come, before Illumi could turn to look your way. Illumi's eyes lifted to look for you, all the while trying to pry his 'lover' from his waist, but you weren't there. You left so quietly; your absence discouraged him. His parents came around, and you heard the congratulations from both sets of parents like they just closed a business deal. Amidst your tears, you clamped a hand over your mouth as every word poked the wound in your heart.

And that's how Illumi had found you.

The two of you hadn't seen each other ever since that day with the ring and the yes. Instead, you were cooped inside your apartment, letting the hurt pass. Still, you worked and went on your merry way to solve things whenever something important came up. But even Hisoka was concerned when your kills felt way too heartless or whenever he looked into your eyes and saw nothing.

He wouldn't deny this side of you turned him on quite a lot, but that tiredness of the soul reflected in your eyes killed the mood. He knew something was up, and judging by the lack of Illumi during the work or how you two seemed to ignore each other, him more than you, Hisoka deduced Illumi was the culprit to your emotional state.

Said devil was standing by the window of your apartment on the fire escape. His dark eyes focused on your puffy, bloodshot eyes and how Hisoka comforted you with magic tricks that made you smile and chuckle occasionally. His stomach flipped seeing you smile so tired and hurt.

"It's fine Hisoka, I'll be alright." You said to the magician as he made his way to the door. Your croaky voice truly pulled at his heartstrings; it wasn't often you cried with this type of pain and not over a movie the two of you were watching.

"Mmm, let me know if you need something else (Y/N)-Chan, and if you need someone to punch and fight, always give me a call~," You snorted and pushed him out, giggling.

"Goodbye, Soka" The minute the magician was out, your smile fell, replaced by an exhausted look.

You closed the door, not turning around; you couldn't feel it in you to face the deafening silence in your apartment.

"(Y/N)" Illumi called, and in your mind, you thought you were hearing things. You missed him so much your mind was hearing him called your name longingly.

Turning slowly, prepared to be disappointed, you were greeted by Illumi standing in your living room. You gasped. He stood right under the light, and it wasn't fair how beautiful he looked in comparison to your puffy eyes and lifeless eyes.

"I want to talk to you," you swallowed, feeling your throat tighten at those words and again offered him a smile.

There was a twinge of anger threatening to bubble up to the surface. He had ignored you during missions and left rather quickly when you came up to Hisoka and him. But you didn't have it in you to fully return what he did to you.

Your practiced smile always made him doubtful. It was so worked it looked natural, and as you walked up to him with it on your lips, he felt threatened.

"Congratulations again on your engagement, Llumi. I hope you're thrilled."

"Stop" His clipped tone shocked you, and it made your smile fall. "I don't want to be with her. She's annoying, her voice grates my ears, and she's utterly unprofessional. Her nen is useless, and she's too clingy."

Both of your eyebrows rose in surprise at his outburst. "Do you want to talk about that?" Your facade was up again, and for a second, you could see the pain in his eyes at your approach.

He was expecting you to tell him to leave her. He was expecting you to scream how much you loved him. Illumi swore that if you told him to leave the arrange marriage and run away with you, he would.

But instead, you offered to listen to him.

On the other side of the spectrum, you wanted to scream at him how much you loved him, your heart broke at his uncomfortableness, it hurt to hear him say how unhappy he was, and you were powerless to help. So you did the only thing you could as a friend, offer to listen to him.

"Would you like a cup of tea before you vent or perhaps something stronger?"

"Something stronger, please."

It was painful to look at how your thoughts and emotions were so close and yet so far away from touching him. You knew it could never be; this was not a fairy tale. It was the real world, and this world was ruthless. Illumi was too gripped by his parents and their influence. He wouldn't go against them just because you willed him so. You did what you were good at and what must, pretending that nothing was wrong. Pulling the mask down to cover your face before anyone could see what's behind. Creating another layer, building the walls up higher and caving in all the exits, so your emotions didn't accidentally escape, and you confessed how miserable and how utterly destroyed you felt. Instead, you’ll think of all that might’ve been and fool yourself in the dark of the night.

"Now, tell me how I can help, Llumi,"

Your hand laying right next to his, fingers brushing but never touching.

[ernmark]

Weve seen the keep babysitting arum and rilla, how abt with damien?

I for one think that the Keep would adore Damien. Arum had to keep it from absolutely coddling Rilla; you know it’s gonna love someone who actually needs taking care of. 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude–”

“You aren’t,” Lord Arum grates, even though Damien knows how he enjoys his solitude. 

“But it really isn’t necessary.” Damien sits “I could go back to the barracks, and I wouldn’t be any trouble at all–”

“And the moment my back is turned, you’ll be on guard duty again.” Rilla presses his shoulders back onto the cushion. It’s soft and comfortable, as he knows it’s meant to be, but it isn’t a knight’s lot to be comfortable, it’s his lot to be useful, and he can’t be useful just lying here until his broken bones mend themselves.

“I don’t see why I couldn’t–”

“Because you’re resting. Now rest.”

Lord Arum gives her a sideways glance. “Does he do this often?”

“You might say that.” She looks like she might like to tear out her hair, if only to strangle a certain knight with it. “That’s what what he was doing when he met you, remember? The day after he broke his leg in five places.”

“Ah. Yes, well…” Damien averts his eyes from hers. “That turned out for the best in the end, didn’t it?”

“That’s also how he met me– he decided the best way to get over a lethal dose of poison was to wrestle a harpy. The only reason the fall didn’t kill him is because he landed on my hut.”

“I did repair the roof when I recovered–” 

“That’s not the point!” 

Beside her, Lord Aurm would be blanching if his scales could show the color. “Perhaps it’s best that you stay here until you’re well.” 

“But my duties–”

“Can wait. There are plenty of other knights in the Citadel who can keep an eye on things while you get better.”

“But I wouldn’t want to burden them–”

“Do you think of it as a burden when Sir Angelo recovers from his injuries?” Rilla asks.

Damien bites his lip. “No, but–”

“Then why would he think that of you?” 

“But– but I’m sure to be beset by demons of sloth and idleness–”

“Not buying it,” Rilla tells him, at the same time that Lord Arum says “you aren’t going to find any of those here.” 

They’re determined not to let him leave. It would be intolerable, if he didn’t love them both so dearly. 

“I know how busy the both of you are,” he says, in a last rally. “I couldn’t bear to keep you away from your work.”

“Of course not,” Lord Arum says. “Which is why the Keep will be seeing to your care.” 

“The Keep?”

He knows the Keep is alive and aware– even now, it’s singing cheerfully in reply to Lord Arum’s command. He knows that it can move its walls and light its rooms and even defend him, should he need it. But that’s hardly the same as caring for an ailing human. 

Not that he would disparage the Keep in front of Lord Arum, of course. Or inside its walls, come to think of it. 

“The Keep will ensure that you have everything you require,” Lord Arum says dismissively, then adds almost in an undertone: “And that you don’t have the opportunity to fall in love with anyone else while you’re ill. I think three is plenty for this arrangement.” 

That sticks with Damien long after Lord Arum and Rilla have left him to see to their own projects and experiments. 

“Why would he say that?” Damien asks aloud, when he’s sure nobody can hear him. “Does he think I’m really so faithless? My affections are so fleeting?” He stops himself. “No. No, certainly not. He knows how I feel. I’m certain of that. And yet…” He swallows. “And yet, it’s easy to be strong in one’s fidelities when one is at peak condition, but when defenses are down– but I would never– he must know I would never. Then why did he say that? And Rilla? Has she lost faith in me, as well? Has she ever had any? I love them both– they must know that– I need to let them know, I need to prove it–” 

He starts to rise from his bed, only to find thick vines wrapping around his shoulders and pushing him back down.

“Unhand me, Keep!” he commands, though his voice is already cracking. “I must go to them and speak my heart. I must–”

The Keep merely sings its strange, wordless song and wraps tighter around him.

“I will not be detained!” his cry turns frantic. “What if Lord Arum thinks I don’t care for him? What if he doesn’t care? What if he’s never cared?”

The Keep sings again, but this time the song is changed: two notes, high to low. A negative. 

“You don’t know that,” Damien shrieks.

The next song is just as unmistakable: I do so.

“But– but–” 

Before he can form the words, Lord Arum’s face appears in the doorway, his high brows knit in concern. “You needed to speak to me, Honeysuckle?”

And that’s how Damien learns an important detail about the Keep’s relationship with Lord Arum. It’s a little unnerving– but in others, reassuring, especially once he has its assurance that the things it overhears won’t be passed on.

“Does he find my singing annoying?” Damien asks. “I would understand if he wanted me to do it less, but I know he’s far too dignified to say so himself if he hated it.”

No, the Keep assures him in those same gentle notes. 

“What about my poetry?” he asks. 

The Keep doesn’t speak to him in words, but it’s remarkably helpful with his poetry. The first time along it merely listens, gently squeezing his shoulders in rapt attention as he recites the half-finished verses. The second time it sings along, matching his rhythms and lines with wordless tune to help him find the places where the syllables don’t quite line up, humming approval and dissent when he suggests new words. 

When Damien’s mind strays from the beauty of words-- it always does, eventually-- the Keep keeps him occupied in other ways. It brings him his bow and hums to him while he waxes and reserves the string. It brings him his knives to sharpen-- and then Arum’s knives, and Rilla’s, and apparently some blades belonging to Arum’s neighbors. He doesn’t ask how it procured those; hopefully they’ll be returned better for having been borrowed.

He tires far too early (”Because you’re healing,” Rilla tells him, squeezing his hand), and the Keep fluffs his cushions and tucks him in. Maybe it’s summoned Rilla to his bedside, but his eyelids are far too heavy for him to look for her. All he can hear is a soft, sweet voice singing a lullaby as he drifts off to sleep.

When he wakes, there’s a bowl of fruit and a cup of juice waiting for him at his bedside. 

The Keep seems to enjoy petting Damien’s hair. 

It makes sense, he supposes. Arum doesn’t have any to speak of, and as luxurious as Rilla’s locks are, they’re so long and thick that they’ll tangle and snag if they’re touched by unskilled hands. Damien’s hair, far shorter, carries no such risks, and so he’s happy to indulge the Keep’s habit.

Besides, it isn’t often that he gets to be petted like a house cat.

Eventually the Keep stops trying to keep Damien in bed. Perhaps it thought all that wriggling would only exacerbate his condition, or perhaps it has better things to do than try to wrestle him into place for hours on end. Or-- and perhaps it’s wishful thinking on Damien’s part-- it can sympathize with his boredom and frustration.

It still doesn’t allow him to hobble out of bed, though-- Rilla’s orders were very specific after all-- but it picks him up in its vines and holds his weight as he makes his way to the edge of the Macracnids’ enclosure. 

Arum has introduced him to the creatures, though he’s hardly had a chance to get properly acquainted with them. They’re giant spiders, roughly the size of deer, and nearly as skittish. He confesses to the Keep that he feels a fondness for the anxious, chittering creatures, and they seem to take to him, as well. It isn’t long before they sidle up to him, nibbling daintily at his hands with their mandibles and leaning in so he can better brush the dust from their fur. 

When Damien wakes up, his first impression is that he must have fallen asleep under a mountain of blankets and cushions, all of them cozy and warm and pressed around him.

His second impression is of Arum and Rilla standing over him, exchanging strange looks and trying to hide even stranger smiles, like they’re trying not to laugh.

He yawns. “Have I... have I done something foolish?”

There’s that look again. But Arum crouches low and brushes a tender claw over Damien’s cheek. “No, Honeysuckle. Not at all.”

“Can you get up?” Rilla asks him. 

Damien wouldn’t know. He hasn’t tried-- and now that he thinks about it, the task might be difficult. He seems to have drifted off in a pile of Macracnids, all of them clicking and squeaking softly in their sleep.

He never thought he would think of a nest of giant spiders as being quite so comfortable.

He tries to get upright, but it’s impossible to get any purchase without elbowing or kicking the sleeping creatures, and he couldn’t bear that. 

“I don’t think I can,” he admits sheepishly. 

Arum and Rilla exchange glances again. 

“Keep,” Arum begins, but the word is barely out of his mouth before vines descend from the ceiling and wrap around Damien’s waist and legs, and lifts him gently from the pile.

“Come on, Damien,” Rilla says, as warm as tea after a long day. “Let’s get you to bed.”