#headcanons are your sandbox

[messiahzzz]

mildly entertaining how certain people in this fandom are claiming that others “force” their headcanons onto them, while doing the very same thing by equating everything as canon.

[blindmagdalena]

i wish folks could better appreciate that fic, headcanons, etc don’t necessarily have to come from a place of “this thing i am saying about this character is Factual and all of fandom should accept it as The Truth” and can instead be from a place of “this is the way i choose to interpret this character/media because that is how i personally best enjoy them”

[angelsdean]

people will say stupid things abt dean winchester everyday. the good thing is we can just say "that's dumb" and keep on being so good and sexy at media literacy. and loving dean winchester.

[koicrimes]

i think if you think someone is a bad person simply because they view/portray a character differently than you do, you need to take your ass outside and talk to real people. this is ESPECIALLY true when yall know that you're almost entirely projecting who YOU are as in individual onto these characters. you cannot expect people to portray a character as you with better hair-- none of us know each other. we're all strangers. your story- the one you use to try and force parallels with your fave- is nonexistent as far as the next person is concerned.

im not saying there's anything wrong with projecting on to your faves. TONS of people do it-- which is why, you're not always going to find people who view the character the exact same way you want them to. because their projection looks different from your projection.

if you want a character to be portrayed exactly like you want them to, if you want a character that shares your likeness (whatever that means to you) create your own original character. no one can "take that away from you" because it's your own creation and you dictate what's true or not.

everything else is all entirely up to the individual's interpretation that's consuming the media, same as you.

[swiftiefirefighters]

does anyone else ever get tired of being told they're enjoying things the wrong way or is it just me

[youngpettyqueen]

I don't see it as trivializing issues since discourse about headcanons about BJ — which are mostly seemingly based on fanon and extrapolations of canon — are a dime a dozen when looking at MASHblr, in favor of discussing anything else. I don't ship anything on MASH so I do not have anything to add, but I am a POC who finds watching parts of the show upsetting because of the lack of any Korean characters that are fleshed out, Klinger, the only main POC being made the butt of the joke constantly, Oliver Jones being written off for an incorrect and inaccurate reason, and the lack of fan content for POC in MASH by in large, even ones with substantial storylines, like Soon-Lee, compared to white characters with much less of a presence. I find that more upsetting than some headcanon about BJ that differs from mine, given that everyone's interpretation of him is probably different on some level, and in my opinion, assigning some headcanons a level of wrongness seems strange given that everyone interprets differently, and there seem to be more pressing issues that are rarely talked about. I didn't mean to offend, or anything. I apologize.

I completely get why you'd be upset with parts of MASH. the racism is upsetting, its impossible to ignore. I could write several posts about this, the reason I dont is because other people already have, and I reblog those when I see them. youre completely right with the treatment of women of colour in the show as well, and how theyre ignored by fandom and passed over. its a huge issue with fandoms in general, one I agree is insanely frustrating

when it comes to discourse over queer headcanons and such, I actually dont care much what people headcanon different characters as. I might disagree with some, but I ultimately dont care. why I get heated over the thing with BJ is a lot of people are just super rude about it, and go out of their way to butt in on posts and act super condescending and rude, and like theyre somehow in the right. thats where my issue is, not with the headcanons themselves. the biphobia element comes in when anybody tries to say BJ loves his wife and women, and they get mocked in response, and treated like shit by certain parts of the fandom. so, its not about BJ, its about how people are just downright rude for no reason. maybe I havent been clear that thats where my annoyance lies, so I want to be clear here

your apology is accepted anon! I apologize for any rudeness on my part. racism, misogyny, and the constant passing over of women in colour are issues that matter to me a lot, and ive always tried to make that clear on my blog when those topics come up

[shomatoriashi]

10/07/24; 05:40pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when you watch them fall in love with someone else ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

notes and warnings: unedited; non!mc reader; unrequited love; angst, no comfort. do not ask for a part 2. mc names for each story ( lorelai, ashley, teresa, melody )

thank you @/nyashykyunnie for providing the banners for this story ♡

{ she's got you mesmerized, while i die | why would you ever kiss me? | i'm not even half as pretty | you gave her your sweater, it's just polyester | but you like her better... i wish i was heather. }

to sylus, you were simply someone he hired to help with making his life easier. his relationship with you was nothing short of a mere business deal, with your mere existence seeming to be a means to an end.

yet foolishly enough, you had fallen for this cocky bastard, knowing you would do anything to please him-

anything to make him happy.

you couldn't count the instances where you sacrificed your own dignity for the sake of furthering his agenda alone. from sleeping with his enemies to obtain their secrets, to risking your life backing him up in various situations that more often than not, ended up in a gunfight-

you truly didn't understand why you would put your body and heart through such torture, simply to receive a mere nod of approval in response. it was during times like these, when you're so busy nursing your wounds, that you wondered why your traitorous heart beat so strongly for him, despite knowing how he didn't reciprocate your feelings.

in order to feel better about this whole situation, you managed to convince yourself that sylus was a busy man. that he didn't have time to feel such trivial emotions like love; that he treated you well enough, and as long as you could forever remain by his side, then you had no complaints.

you were a fool, purposely living in this tiny sandbox, convincing yourself that you could survive on mere scraps alone when it came to sylus.

yet that all changed when a certain hunter crash landed into his life, changing not only the course of his life-

but yours as well.

you had simply tagged along, being sylus's all too willing shadow when the young woman foolishly stepped into the n109 zone with an agenda of her own. as sylus takes her back to the warehouse, you could detect the fear and anxiety in her voice even when she willingly went against sylus.

and it was with those eyes, so filled with conviction, that you could see the way the walls around sylus's heart was beginning to crumble. he makes a few snide remarks to the woman, yet you could hear the amusement in his voice when he steps closer to her, pressing his hand over hers that felt much too sensual for your eyes.

envy was felt choking you, and you had to turn away from the scene. ice was felt coursing through your very veins at the sight, and you bit down against your bottom lip with such intensity that you swore that you were close to drawing blood.

thoughts pertaining to your denial kept repeating itself in your mind, like a never-ending mantra, and you knew that deep down you were simply trying to lie to yourself.

sylus was simply using that hunter as well.

she was just as much of a tool to him like you were.

that woman is nothing special.

yet it all came crashing down one late evening, when you stepped into his room in hopes of seeking some sort of comfort from him. you were dressed in a thin nightgown, with your heart racing with anticipation within your chest. while admiring his sleeping face, you were filled with a longing for him, finding yourself praying that he would somehow return your feelings and take you in his arms all while admitting that he never wished to let you go.

when your hands reached out to him was when he began mumbling in his sleep, stating the syllables that made up a name that had your heart cease its beats almost immediately.

a name that wasn't your name-

"lorelai..."

you felt like you couldn't breathe, hearing his deep voice becoming so filled with yearning for that woman that it made you sick to your stomach. hot tears were felt streaming down your face, and you quickly turned away from him all while biting down against your fist.

lorelailorelailorelailorelailorelai! it was always her!

the woman with the smooth, pale skin and alluring gaze; her doe eyes and perfect hair managing to captivate sylus within mere minutes of him meeting her. your heart was utterly destroyed along with your confidence and love for him.

after everything you had done for him, he still refused to give you his heart-

yet it was stolen so freely by that perfect woman... lorelai-

you didn't think you could forget the way sylus spoke her name, filled with such reverence that it made you feel dizzy with envy.

spending several days avoiding sylus, doing your best to cut him out of your life. you wanted to skip any confrontations, not wishing to even admit the truth about your feelings when it came to him-

but as always, you were foolish into thinking that sylus would ever give you an easy way out.

you had been taking your usual trek home, ready to enter your apartment complex when a flurry of black feathers begin marring your vision, making you stop dead in your tracks when the onychinus leader appears before you. his large hands grips at your wrists almost painfully, making you cry out.

but perhaps more so than the pain was the fact that he treated you roughly, clearly not caring about your own well-being whereas he treated lorelai like she was made of porcelain.

"where the hell have you been?" annoyance twists sylus's features, morphing it into an expression of absolute disdain for you. "i've spent weeks trying to get in contact with you, and it turns out you've had me blocked this entire time?"

anger surges through you, and you use that sole emotion to fuel you when you manage to shove sylus away from you. his eyes go wide, taking a few steps back while giving you an incredulous expression. strengthening your resolve, you meet his gaze and give him the iciest glare that you could manage.

"we need to stop this charade, sylus. i can't go on working for you, not when you make it so damn obvious that i was never the one for you."

a flash of emotion was seen within his crimson gaze before quickly disappearing. his jaw seems to tighten in response to the way he was now gritting his teeth, "what are you talking about?"

you sharply inhale, finally spilling your darkest secret to him, "i love you, but you don't give a damn about me- not like you do with her."

surprise flashes across his features, and he takes an unsteady step towards you, "you... what?"

shaking your head, you angrily wipe away your tears, "i love you, that's why i can't be with you anymore. everything i've done, i've done for you, to make you fucking happy- to make you acknowledge me."

with your head held high, you meet his gaze and tell him (all while managing to keep your voice even), "if you want me to come back to you, then you need to make a choice. knowing how i feel about you, how i've always felt about you, you need to choose-

if you want me to come back, it's me. but if you choose her, then i'll be forever gone from your life."

sylus looks away from you, remaining silent for just a few seconds before his body began to shake, his laughter seeming to pierce through your heart, "you have no idea how long i have yearned for her... so to have lorelai so much closer to me than ever before, it's clear that i would accept any losses, including you."

the devastation you felt in that very moment was almost too much to bear, with you quickly running away from him. the tears continue to cascade down your cheeks, and every memory you shared with him continues to play within your mind.

your love-

the sacrifices you had made for him-

it had been all for naught.

when you were hired to work as one of the general surgeons as akso hospital, you felt as though you had hit the jackpot, landing a job at such a prestigious hospital in the heart of linkon. feeling happy at being able to further your career, you didn't think that anything could possibly distract you.

that is... until dr. zayne came into the picture.

you had heard about his achievements in the medical field, and you held a great deal of respect for him. becoming a cardiac surgeon of his caliber was no easy feat, and the fact that someone so young could accomplish it was commendable to you.

in fact, you were eager to start your work life with dr. zayne-

however, what you didn't expect was to fall so deeply in love with him at first sight. his bright eyes and the way his tiny smiles would constantly invade your mind was taking its toll on you. each time you would think about him, daydreaming of scenarios with your beloved doctor, your coworkers could see your lovestruck expression and take note of how your cheeks would suddenly go warm at the sight of zayne.

you were just so enamored with him that you gathered your courage and asked him out, first. after all, there was no penalties for developing a relationship between coworkers as long as both parties kept it professional while on the clock.

the memory of you confessing to zayne became a fond one. you had heard from yvonne that his favorite food were macaroons, and you figured that you had a better chance of winning his heart by gifting him his favorite food. so, with the box of colorful cookies in hand, you step into zayne's office and offered the gift to him all while confessing your feelings for him.

"zayne, i apologize if you find this... unprofessional, but i can't hide my feelings for you any longer. i... i truly like you so much, so please, will you give me a chance and go out with me?"

you watch as his eyes grow wider, an embarrassed expression taking over his expression as he hides his lips from you with the palm of his hand. he seems to be deep in thought, and after much deliberation, he accepts your confession and agrees to date you.

for the first couple of weeks, you were on cloud 9. zayne was nothing short of being the perfect boyfriend, taking you out on weekend dates at the end of your long shifts while giving you special trinkets here and there.

but there was one glaring issue-

zayne never once kissed you.

sure, he gave you gentle hugs here and there, yet each time you would lean up to try and kiss him, zayne would inevitably look away from you, saying that he was tired or how it wasn't the right moment to kiss.

despite how he never once complained or said a word to you, his lack of affection-

or rather, the lack of him reciprocating your affections, was taking its toll on you.

and you couldn't figure out the reasoning behind his distance until much later.

you had just come out of surgery, and as you stepped out into the lobby, you saw something that made you freeze, unable to move or say a single word.

standing a mere few feet away from you was zayne, and he was smiling at a petite woman. never before had you seen zayne appearing so soft before. the woman seemed to be chattering on about something to zayne, and your boyfriend did nothing but smile at everything she said-

as if he were hanging on to her every word.

feeling the pinpricks of jealousy beginning to surface, you march towards zayne and take a hold of his hand, doing your best to maintain a casual air as you cling to zayne and smile at the other woman. "zayne, i was looking everywhere for you!"

your laughter was strained as you eyed the woman, feeling the envious feelings begin to rise upon seeing how... perfect she looked. with kind eyes and full, rosy lips tilted up in a smile, she greets you. "hello, you must be zaynie's girlfriend! my name is ashley, and zayne's been my friend since we were little kids! he talks a lot about you, and i'm happy he's met someone so wonderful."

from your periphery, you could see the way zayne winces upon hearing ashley's words. it was clear that her calling zayne as simply her friend was enough to earn a wounded expression from him-

and that was the moment your epiphany came.

there was a reason why zayne never kissed you; why he never went beyond hugging you while taking you on simple dates-

it's because his heart had never been yours to begin with-

it belonged to her.

the blood had already rushed to your ears, blocking out whatever ashley had said before she excuses herself, leaving the hospital lobby. in your daze, you look down to see zayne clutching on to something tightly, realizing that ashley had made lunch for him.

feeling your throat go dry, you manage to tell him, "we need to talk."

zayne gives you a stiff nod, following you towards the upper floors and into his office with almost robotic movements. upon reaching the privacy of his office, you close the door, watching as zayne gingerly places the container filled with ashley's homemade lunch on his desk.

"who is she?"

zayne doesn't meet your gaze, simply staring out the window, answering your question softly, "it's like she said, she's a childhood friend."

"...a childhood friend that you love."

your heart was felt shattering all over again when zayne stiffens momentarily before visibly relaxing, as if feeling some type of relief-

like he didn't need to lie to himself or hide it anymore.

you thought hearing him confirm your suspicions would be the end of your heartache, but it was so much worse when he admits to you, "ashley is the reason why i worked so hard to become a cardiac surgeon. she... she has a heart defect, and i wish to save her life... to keep her alive and live a happy, fulfilling life."

his admission has left you reeling in response, the pain becoming so palatable that you could feel your heart begin shattering into a million pieces. "if you love her so much, why aren't you with her?" you ask him, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes.

zayne simply shakes his head in response, "she doesn't feel the same way for me... and truth be told... she deserves better than me. even though i've loved her through every timeline and universe, i-"

your heart couldn't take zayne's pain any longer, the hurt you once felt for him quickly becoming overshadowed by the unconditional love you still felt for him. taking him within your embrace, you feel the way he trembles against you, clinging to you as soft sobs were wracked through him.

and when he finally lifts up your chin, meeting your gaze while sayig your name with a broken gasp, he finally kisses you-

the taste of your first and last kiss with him was salty with his tears, yet you were too far gone to realize that this single kiss of desperation was made in response to his own lingering emotions for ashley-

never for you.

"there's a new girl that's going to be my partner at the association... and i'm in charge of looking out for her."

xavier tells you as you prepared dinner for the night. you frown at this information, but thought nothing of it. after all, he was skilled at his job as a hunter, often receiving praise for his strength when it came to dealing with the wanderers that roam the world.

"that's fine, i know what your work entails, xavier. you're a hunter, and if there's a newbie you need to train, then that's the end of it." you tell him with a hum, your back now facing him as you focused on cooking once more, missing the relieved expression on his face.

you serve dinner and ask him about his day, only to receive one word answers in response. this also seemed a bit strange for you, since xavier never really shied away when it came to telling you about his day and how he felt.

you had both been dating to close to a year now, with you growing closer after becoming friends. you realized that you both shared similar interests and just... naturally progressed your relationship into something a bit more romantic. at the 6 month mark of your newly developed relationship, you decided to move in together with him.

it was true that you dated and had a few other boyfriends before, yet none of them were quite as serious as your relationship with xavier. despite never once saying the l word to each other, deep down, you knew that you were falling for xavier. in fact, with the sheer amount of times you had gushed to your family and friends about how much you adored him, they were confident that you would get engaged the moment your one year anniversary hit.

with the date quickly approaching in just a few weeks, you began to paint your daydreams, thinking of different ways xavier would propose to you while giggling like a little girl. you had always dreamt of having the perfect proposal, and you couldn't help but feel giddy at the thought of what was to come.

after serving dinner, you sit across from xavier, taking a few bites here and there all while sneaking glances at him. you couldn't stop grinning at him, which makes xavier raise his eyebrows at you in suspicion.

"what? do i have sauce on my face?"

you snort and quickly shake your head, reassuring him that you were simply caught up in your reveries. xavier doesn't bring up the subject any longer, simply returning to his meal.

later that night, as you both got ready for bed, you were dressed comfortably in your favorite pajamas all while anticipating xavier's return to you. after his usual shower, he comes out of the bathroom with a plush towel wrapped around his head. tossing the damp towel into the hamper, he gets into bed, with you expecting your boyfriend to face you while taking you in his arms.

but when he gets into bed with his back turned towards you, you had to fight back the strange pang felt within your chest. your mouth kept opening and closing, asking him if he was okay-

"sorry, i'm just a bit exhausted. let's just sleep..."

ignoring the way your throat seemed to clench in response, you give him a stiff nod, only to realize that he couldn't see you. "r-right... i understand, you're tired, that's all."

the tears were felt brimming against your eyes, but you quickly wiped them away, falling into bed while clenching your eyes shut. you tried to ignore the lingering suspicions, distracting yourself by counting sheep until you could fall into a restless slumber all while trying to convince yourself that everything was going to be okay...

{ ... }

the weeks leading up to your first anniversary with xavier was strained, to say the least.

for starters, he seemed to be taking on more missions than usual, all while telling you that teresa was still new and needed someone with experience like him on these higher level missions.

at first, his reasonings didn't bother you or raise any alarm, and you simply allowed him to work with teresa because it was his job and that woman was his partner. you couldn't let your insecure thoughts put a damper on his job.

even when you saw him less and less-

your love never once wavered for him.

on the day of your one year anniversary, you decided to surprise him at work instead. surely, he would have completed his mission sometime during the late afternoon, and you were certain that he would appreciate your kindness.

with his favorite takeout in hand, you walk into the hunter association building, weaving your way through the area. it takes you a few minutes to locate him, but when you went down to the lower levels and could see his familiar, blond hair, you quicken your pace, his name already on the tip of your tongue when you freeze in your steps.

"i thought i had lost you!" xavier's voice was heard cracking as he wrapped his arms around another woman, seeming to crush her slender frame against his chest. your heart begins to ache at the sight, making your labored breathing feel even more painful as you struggled to remain calm and not hyperventilate.

but, it was clear that such a heartbreak would not break even when he opens his eyes and sees your trembling form staring blankly at him. even after seeing you, xavier does not move away from the woman, seeming to hold her even closer to him as he shakes his head at you.

while meeting your gaze, he mouths a few words, and you could read his lips while taking in those harsh syllables. you drop the bag of takeout, your choked sob echoing throughout the area as you ran out of the building.

your sobs coupled along with your gasps for air were making a scene, with some of the civilians looking at you with bewildered expressions. yet you stopped caring, allowing your mind to piece together what had always been in front of you ever since teresa had come into his life.

xavier distancing himself from you-

xavier suddenly filled with the desire to protect teresa, a woman he had just met-

the way he held her so tightly at the memory of nearly losing her-

a sudden cry of your name stops you from taking another step, your stupid heart suddenly filling with hope when you hear xavier's voice and his rapidly approaching footsteps.

you hear him stop a few feet away from you, his voice strained once he begins speaking once more. "i... i'm so sorry, i didn't want you to find out like this, but you have to know the truth."

it takes you a herculean effort to fight back your tears, but you knew you had to hold it together and allow xavier to finally explain himself. "i do care about you... but... fuck, the moment i saw her, everything else just melted away. all of my life, my entire existence, was simply waiting for her to come back to me. i've waited so long for her... and what i feel for her... it's like... like gravity isn't what's keeping me grounded, but she is."

you had no idea what kept you rooted on the spot, knowing that both your heart and mind were screaming at you to move away. but, you couldn't find the strength to do so. instead, you had to listen to his words once more, the same ones he had mouthed to you earlier-

"i'm sorry, but i love her..."

when the beautiful and charming rafayel confessed to you, you accepted his feelings and simply wished to date him just to have fun. despite his occupation as an artist, rafayel was so full of life- so full of light that you couldn't stop yourself from basking in his brilliance.

during the first few weeks of your relationship, your rafe was achingly sweet and cute, often giving you sketches he made of you when he drew your portraits on a whim. he liked calling you his muse before pressing audible kisses against your features, earning a series of joyous laughter from you. because of how much you adored rafayel, you often liked to spend the night at his place, where you would both order your favorite seafood and simply watch cheesy rom-coms together.

as time went on, you began to realize that you were falling hard for the young artist, with him being constantly on your mind even when you were at work. and just when you thought you couldn't love him anymore than you already did, he surprises you by gifting you a gorgeously crafted bracelet that had cute little seashells along with aquamarine gemstones.

altogether, your relationship was achingly perfect with rafayel, with you being certain that he would become your endgame. truly, there were times where you felt like your relationship with rafayel was too good to be true-

yet sadly, you would learn the harsh reality when it came to his feelings for you, realizing that the love rafayel had given you had been his own way of coping.

when it was nearing your 8 month mark of being together with him, rafayel suddenly became distant with you, often locking himself within his studio as he seemed to produce copious amounts of artworks. of course, when you tried to see his new paintings and sculptures, rafayel would hide them all away from you, covering them all with a thick sheet while distracting you with a date.

this behavior was strange, but you thought nothing of it. perhaps he was nervous about an upcoming art exhibit, and he didn't wish to reveal anything until the day of his exhibition came.

so, you went along with it, making up excuses each time rafayel would stiffen when you hugged him, or suddenly turned his head away from you each time you tried to kiss him.

but perhaps what hurt the most was the day you found out the reasoning behind his growing distance. rafayel told you he needed to take a break from making art and invited you over to enjoy the evening with him. you arrive an hour earlier (unable to contain your excitement at finally spending some time with him), and caught him with streaks of paint decorating his outfit.

he mentions how early you are, yet still allows you inside, telling you to make yourself at home while he takes a quick shower. as you rest against his kitchen counter, you hear the shower go off and smile. a few minutes pass, and you felt the palm of your hands begin to itch with a sudden sensation.

biting down at your bottom lip, you look towards the area where rafayel keeps all of his artwork. you were filled with curiosity, wondering what he was working on that made it such a touchy subject for rafe each time you asked about it.

you close your eyes, still hearing rafayel in the shower when you decided to push yourself away from the counter. "i'll just take a quick peek, then put the sheets back in place. he won't even notice."

stepping into his gallery room, you turn on all the lights, coming closer to the sheet as you gripped at the corner of it before pulling it away-

only to reveal a gorgeous carving that depicted a mermaid. she was by far the loveliest creature you had ever seen, with her soft features carved with a gentle smile as she held a pearl within her slender hands. from the amount of care rafayel had put into making her, it was clear that this sculpture was made with love.

there was just one problem-

the mermaid looked nothing like you.

your throat was felt painfully clenching at the sudden realization, but you brushed it off as mere paranoia. surely, there was some other art piece that held your likeness. as you trail your eyes towards a canvas now, you felt your heart sink even further.

it was the same woman; her features matches that of the mermaid sculpture, but this time, you could see the colors. her cheeks were painted in a rosy hue, with each paint stroke seeming to accentuate the soft beauty the woman displayed. around her neck was an aquamarine pendant in the shape of a banded tulip seashell. trailing your eyes further downwards towards the frame, you felt your heart clench upon seeing the title of his painting:

melody, my beloved queen

your mind was racing now, and the sheer intensity of the hurt and envy you felt renders you incapable of taking another step. you were so caught up in your reveries that you didn't even realize that rafayel had come out of the showers until he places the sheets over his works once more.

"you- you weren't supposed to see that."

slowly, you turn around to face him, and his guilty expression was more than enough proof, confirming your suspicions that the woman he kept painting and sculpting- this melody-

he loved her.

"why did you even approach me when your heart was never mine to begin with?"

you were proud at how even your voice came out, and when rafayel tried to stutter out some excuse, you immediately cut him off.

"no more bullshit lies, rafayel. tell me."

the artist lets out a string of curses, running a hand through his damp hair. unable to meet your gaze out of shame, he sighs before admitting, "it's because she doesn't remember me... even after meeting her, she only sees me as a friend. she... doesn't remember me."

your throat was burning now, and you could feel the tears streaming down your face, "then why waste your time with me?"

rafayel meets your gaze, a pained expression painting his features. yet his next words succeeds in absolutely devastating you:

"i used you as a means to try and forget her."

the agony you felt was indescribable, with you immediately turning away from rafayel. the sting of his betrayal was felt coursing through your very veins when you rushed out of his home and into the cold, night air.

you wanted to grip at your hair and scream at the top of your lungs-

you wanted to claw at the sidewalk, making sure that your nails bled with each scrape against the concrete-

but perhaps most of all, you wanted to rip your heart out for still loving rafayel despite it all-

even when you were no longer his muse.

[ all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!! ]

[mitskicain]

navi | m.list

. ⁺ . ✦ ‘sayang’ is a double-edged sword — kuroo x reader

© mitskicain all rights reserved. the modification, translation, and plagiarism of my work is strictly prohibited.

synopsis: based on the headcanon of a half-Indonesian kuroo. in which he learns that the language is full of contradictions.

content warnings: ANGST, mentions of bullying, homesickness

word count: 3.5k

· · ─────── ·{ ✐ᝰ.ᐟ}· ─────── · ·

Sayang. A two syllable word that was the unofficial translation of love in the Indonesian language. Technically love was ‘cinta’, but you didn’t like how it felt in your mouth—bulky and awkward—too big for anything. You liked the way ‘sayang’ sounded better, the way it rolled off the tongue so easily—fleeting, almost carelessly. Sayang.

Aku sayang kamu. I love you.

Your mother called you sayang. You recalled running up to her after school, her arms outstretched and wide open, waiting to wrap around you. The sweet scent of her skin that was like honeysuckle and summer, the warmth of her smile—beaming at you from the driver’s seat as you babbled about your day. She would call you that term of endearment whenever she had the chance.

Sayang, come down for dinner. Sayang, it’s time to wake up. Sayang, have fun at school!

Indonesian was your mother tongue. The first language you had learned how to speak. In a way, your entire childhood was defined by it. There were things in your everyday vocabulary that didn’t make sense, or were different when translated. In that way, you always felt like there was something missing when you spoke English or Japanese. When you left Jakarta during the 1998 riots, your mother, alongside a handful of other families, managed to escape from the fiery wrath of the protestors, sought asylum from any other country that was willing to take you. Some of your friends moved to Singapore, others, Malaysia, or Taiwan—for you it was Japan, a country that once had colonized yours but was now your saving grace. With only two suitcases to your name and your mother’s limited Japanese learnt during her high-school years, the two of you tried to make home in the foreign country. You were starting all over again. Language. School. Friends. It would prove to be difficult.

Japanese kids were mean. Not beating-you-up kind of mean, but snickering-behind-your-back mean. Back home, they would say things to your face, pick fights and shouting matches with you, but here, they talked about you in hushed whispers and lingering gazes. It was in the sharpie doodles on your school shoes and the scattered laughter that echoed whenever you slipped up when you read aloud for the class. You were still bad at Japanese—the language a tangle of syllables in your mouth. Your mother told you that it was because your tongue was just used to speaking Indonesian. You thought it was because Japan was foreign to you, in the bad way. In the way that your body silently rebelled against it by fixing your jaw in ways so you couldn’t say things right—so that years later, even after you became fluent, the trace of your mother tongue still lingered.

That was the first thing that Kuroo Tetsuro pointed out. You talk funny, were his first words to you—finger pointed straight between your eyes. A rage bubbled in your chest at the mention of it. It was something that you were insecure about, something you felt the need to hide. You didn’t even know you were muttering to yourself when you played in the playground’s sandbox until he pointed it out to you, and you hated that, and you made sure to let him know how much you did—through a mash of fists and bruises and a black eye (his, not yours).

Your mother made you apologize—the Japanese way—kneeling, on the floor. You were red hot and flushed, humiliated for having done so. Not for beating up the kid but rather for having been caught, and having to apologize. Why should you? He started it. He was making fun of you. “You talk funny,” psh, he looked funny. His sharp cat-like eyes and almost permanent bed head—how could his parents let him out of the house looking like that? Someone might mistake him for a stray.

That apology was how you found out Kuroo was a little bit like you—half-Indonesian, from his mothers side. The tiny Indonesian population in Japan meant that whoever was from the motherland clung together like thieves at sea. Maybe it was because of familiarity, maybe because of homesickness. In a way, all they had left of their home country was each other, speaking the same language, knowing the same songs, the same streets—sometimes even the same people. For them, this was the closest thing to coming home. This was how you eventually became friends with Kuroo, after years and years of living down the street and your mother inviting him over and attending the same school and making the two of you befriend the other.

It was rough at first. You refused to speak Japanese around him, fearing the same insult would come and jab at you when you would. Despite his mother’s nationality, he was never able to understand or speak the language that you did—part of himself almost denying that part of him after his mother left. Maybe that was his way of getting revenge, refusing to acknowledge his mother’s culture, her homeland.

The two of you would pass the time playing congklak, the Indonesian version of the mancala. You practiced counting this way, dropping the shells in each divot one by one—starting again if there were any remaining. He babbled on about TV shows he watched, or mangas he read, trying to make a point about how Japanese he was, how un-Indonesian, and by extension, how unlike his mother. Sometimes you would watch Ikkyu-san together. Sometimes he would flip through the comics you had brought over—Mahabhrata and Gundala and Bobo. You remember the look on his face as he traced over the pages, his nose scrunched in confusion.

“It’s too confusing, all these words look foreign to me,” he would say, putting them back on the shelf.

“So what?” You shot back, “I had to do the same thing when I came here. Kanji still looks like scribbles to me.”

There was no mashing of fists or sound of crying this time, just a mutual understanding of the others’ struggle. You watched him swallow the lump in his throat and pick up the book again, finger tracing the sentences, sounding out the words—like a child learning how to read for the first time. You sighed, defeated, and sat down next to him, trying to teach him. He was a persistent child, often needing to get his way regardless of whatever circumstances but here he was—docile, obedient. Something between the two of you shifted.

Kuroo began to grow out of his shell in middle school; making new friends on the volleyball team and tagging along during their after-practice escapades, oftentimes raiding the local convenience store for all the goodies. Sometimes you would come with, slipping into the background of conversations and keeping to yourself. You still didn’t like talking in front of anyone—so you kept your lips pressed together and our gaze downcast, a faraway look in your eyes. Of course, this caught the attention of some of his teammates.

“Is she mute?” One of them had asked, hands shoved in his pockets, walking a few steps ahead of you. Despite you hanging back, you could still hear him, but then again, it wasn’t like he made any attempt to speak quietly either. Or maybe he thought that you were also deaf.

“Dude,” he sounds, offended for you, “she’s right here.”

“So? It’s not like she ever says anything. It’s like she’s deaf, or mute—or both.”

Kuroo frowns at this statement. At home, he sits across from you, pencil tapping against the pages of his ignored math homework. You look up at him with your eyebrow cocked, as if, beckoning for him to spit it out already.

“Would it kill you to make some friends?” He asks, words sharp and unforgiving. Your shoulders slump at the question, and you give him a deadpan look before returning your attention to your assignment, already miles ahead of him.

“I don’t need them,” you mumble, “too much of a hassle.”

“How do you survive without them? Like seriously, nobody to lean on?”

“That’s how I like it.”

He grumbles inaudibly under his breath at your response, a mixture of frustration and annoyance echoing through his voice. He chews on his bottom lip before speaking up again, this time, rather boldly.

“You’re not alone.” You look up at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. He thumps his chest with his right hand almost solemnly, like making an oath. “You have me. I’m your friend. I’m here for you.”

Your eyes widen in shock, a blush creeping up to your cheeks. You press your lips into a thin line, not knowing what else to say. Instead, you nod your head in acknowledgement, and return your attention back to your homework. When you are done with the practice questions, you flip over your notebook so that he can copy your answers.

The first time he called you ‘sayang’ was in the spring of your freshman year. He said it after having heard your mother say that as she bid you goodbye for school. He had let it slip, almost by accident, as he repeated the word over and over in his mind as the two of you walked—sounding it out, feeling the weight of it in his mouth. He liked the way it rolled across his tongue, and something about it—the curve of the letters when spelled out, the softness of it seemed so you. When you had heard it, you stopped, the hair on the back of your neck raising as you looked back at him, almost incredulously. He stares back, puzzled at your reaction. This was the first time he had ever seen your reserved demeanor crack.

“What? What did I do?” He asked, genuine concern evident in his voice.

“What did you say?”

“What, ‘sayang’?” His hands move up to straighten his tie, suddenly nervous. “I’m sorry, was that a bad word?”

“No, it’s..” your voice trails off, cheeks reddening. You turn around and stomp forward, hands tight around the straps of your backpack. “Forget it. Don’t call me that.”

He stays at his place on the street, feet glued to the pavement, wondering what he had done wrong. The guilt creeps in, and in an attempt to absolve it, he hands you a steaming hot pork bun in between classes, even though the heat burns his skin and his fingertips are still red at the end of the school day. It’s something he’s willing to do for your forgiveness. Over the years he will find that he’s willing to do a lot for it, actually. Later, over dinner, he finds out through your mother that it's actually a term of endearment, something close to ‘my love’. The two of you exchanged awkward, embarrassed glances across the table.

The second time he called you ‘sayang’, it was by accident again—spoken absentmindedly as he thanked you for explaining the assignment. Thank you sayang, he said, before realizing and slapping his mouth with his hand. You looked at him with an equal amount of shock and horror. You excused yourself to the bathroom to compose yourself, and when you returned, the two of you acted like it had never happened. He wanted to apologize, but apologizing would mean having to explain himself, and that explanation would mean having to tell you that he had tried learning Indonesian and thought of calling you ‘sayang’ the same way they did in your mother’s sinetrons (Indonesian soap operas).

And you weren’t sure the exact moment that things had changed for the two of you. Before, it was a co-existence, the understanding that you existed in each other's worlds and just that. Now, it had warped into an odd and unfamiliar shape. He was running up to you in the hall, babbling on and on about every single thing—he was more Kuroo than he ever was before around you. And you couldn’t help but notice how much bolder and brighter he seemed. In the mornings on the walk to school, next to you, smiling through his stories of his strange dreams—you couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were actually hazel and not brown, and for a moment, before your consciousness kicked in, you thought he looked beautiful.

The third time he called you ‘sayang’, it was on purpose. No longer a freudian slip or accident, but deliberately—with intention.

The two of you were in the infirmary—you, pressing an ice pack to his swollen cheek, and him, wincing at the sharp sensation. A fight had broken out. It was his friend, that same friend, calling you mute again, but this time Kuroo wasn’t as forgiving. There was the mashing of fists and bruises and a black eye again. His, not yours. Just like when you were kids the first time you met on the playground.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” you speak up, finding some strength in the words. A rage bubbled in your stomach. You couldn’t make up whether you were upset at him or for him. He reaches out to touch the skin of your wrist, the first time he had ever done anything of the sort, and tries his best to keep his swollen eye open. The red will turn ugly and purple within a matter of hours.

“I wanted to,” he says softly, almost like a whisper, voice hoarse from yelling. “They don’t get to do that. Not to you.”

Your expression is almost pained, torn between screaming at him for his showmanship or kissing him for it. You couldn’t decide.

“Still,” you sound, “you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he repeats, this time, even softer. His other hand plucks out the second button from his uniform, his chest peeking through. He removes the ice pack and slips the button in between where your hand and his cheek meet. It’s still tender and aching, but the skin of his neck, where your pinkie finger grazed over, was so warm and inviting—so soft it seemed like a shame not to touch. You run your thumb over his jaw, tracing over the shape of it, and he winces. Still, he grabs your wrist and presses your hand against his cheek even harder, turning his head to plant a kiss on the skin of your palm.

You didn’t know your hands could ever feel like that. It was as if there were a hundred million nerves that you didn’t know previously existed, and now, suddenly all firing. It was almost too much.

“Sayang,” he mumbles into your hand, lips tracing on your skin—you don’t pull away. You are mesmerized, struck. How you went so long without having reached out for him you wouldn’t know. Again he calls you sayang, whispering it with his eyes closed, almost like a prayer. You bite your lip.

“Yes?” You answer.

His eyes flutter open, a small look of shock painted that is immediately replaced with relief, and then—a grin splitting his face, lips stretched as far as they could with the swelling. His hands wound tightly around yours, and again, that feeling of electricity, soaring right through you.

“You answered,” he says, almost breathlessly.

“You called,” you reply.

It would take 2 weeks for the black eye to heal completely, but even less time for him to slowly integrate ‘sayang’ into his everyday vocabulary. The word that once seemed awkward and bulky now slid off smoothly from his mouth every chance he got. He liked it. Liked the way it felt rolling off his tongue, liked the way you looked every time he did, but most importantly—he liked how nobody else (apart from your mother) called you that. Like an exclusive nickname, but thousand-fold. He tried learning Indonesian again, as an easy way to impress you. Selamat pagi (good morning). Terima kasih (thank you). Cantik (beautiful). On your birthday, he had prepared and memorized a little speech in your mother tongue. You laughed when he said ‘aku cinta kamu’. You tell him nobody says ‘I love you’ like that.

“They only use ‘aku sayang kamu’”, you explain.

“Why not ‘cinta’?” He pouts, flustered at his mistake. “Cinta also means love, right?”

“Cinta and sayang are different,” you explain, cutting into the cake your mother had baked: pandan with coconut and brown sugar frosting. She searched for the ingredients for weeks.

“Cinta is a declaration. Sayang is a promise,” you place the slice of cake on his plate, pushing it towards him, “sayang is the promise of loving someone no matter what—whether that love is reciprocated, whether it is burdensome.”

He shoves his mouth full in an attempt to soothe his embarrassment. The cake is fragrant and light, a foreign medley of flavors on his tongue. He looks over in your direction, happily digging into the treat, and worries that no matter how much he tries to learn about your culture, there will always be a divide—some unabridged gap he will never be able to cross. When the two of you join a cultural exchange trip to Indonesia in the summer before your senior year, he witnesses firsthand how you spring back to life—like a wilting plant finally being watered.

The two of you ravage through the city, attending bustling night markets and festivals. He watches in shock as you devour heaps of sambal with your food. You bargain with a lady for a fair price on batik, a souvenir and reminder of Indonesia that you wanted him to have. You wear these in weddings, you tell him. His mind wanders to you wearing white, walking down the aisle. You run up and down beaches, drink out of coconuts, plumeria flower tucked behind your ear, and chat with the locals—relieved to finally be surrounded by people who looked and talked like you. He watches you throw your head back laughing, and feels his heart ache. You had been homesick all this time. Trapped in a foreign country and forced to abandon your culture for his, living in a society that merely tolerated her identity, never embracing it. His home was not yours, this he now understood.

So when you told him that you were going to move back for college he wasn’t surprised. The country had recovered from the bloodbath of ‘98 and was now brimming with potential for growth. Even Forbes had called it the tiger of Southeast Asia. Some of your friends were also returning. It was a land of undiscovered opportunity.

“I have to go back,” you explained to him. “In Indonesia, I can be somebody; here, I am always second-class.”

And it stung, because he knew you were right, and he knew that it was cruel to make you stay—like keeping a butterfly in a jar. When he sends you off, he can’t help but think of his mother. That was one of the things the two of you had in common: the both of you leaving him. However, this time he doesn’t cry or scream or beg the way he did. He lets you go, maybe even with a little bit of grace, and he does so because cinta and sayang meant different things and he meant the latter.

“Aku sayang kamu,” he tells you as he waves you off. I love you. I love you enough to let you go.

When the two of you meet again, it will be years later and you will be older. You will be dressed in white and he will be in his batik that you had gotten for him all those years ago. He will stand, awestruck, as you walk down the aisle—not towards him, but towards somebody else, and his heart will ache in the way that it did only for you.

Sayang, he will think, but not in the affectionate way. In the way that implies unbelievable loss.

Sayang. A two-syllable word that’s used to convey both love and loss in the Indonesian language. It was strange, the way something could mean the exact opposite of itself, but Indonesian was strange like that. A language that was filled with metaphors and contradictions. One that is hard to forget, and even harder to unlearn. Each word carried a weight, a duality that made almost every conversation a dance between clarity and ambiguity. It was as if the language itself knew that life was never just one thing; it was a series of paradoxes, constantly contradicting itself, where joy and sorrow often walked hand in hand.

Its counterpart definition implied grief. You used it when talking about missed opportunities, or something that goes wrong when you wish it hadn’t. It almost means: what a shame. It was just one of those things that can’t be translated just as is, because the definition was so much deeper. The same way its first definition meant to love someone unconditionally, the second meant to describe the heartache that lingers in the face of loss, a longing that never quite fades. A word that blended affection and regret all in one and could only be understood by someone who felt both at once.

He felt it then, watching you get married to somebody else.

Sayang sekali, he says.

I love you, and also, what a waste.

· · ─────── ·{ ✐ᝰ.ᐟ}· ─────── · ·

author’s note: my debut entry in the haikyuu fandom and its angst 😭😭 aNYWAYS WHERE ARE THE KUROO FANS MAKE SOME NOISE 🫵🫵🗣️🗣️‼️‼️ huge shoutout to @zumicho for having to hear me ramble on and on abt the fic and take forever to write it but it’s finally here !!!! and I’m so excited to share more w u guys aaaa I hope you guys like it 🥰🥰💥💥💥💥

[ladybugmonkey13]

LMK Pokémon Trainer ID’s!

Ta-da! An Updated Version Of The LMK Trainer ID’s!

As Of (8/24/2024)... And as I mentioned in my original post, I usually fall behind on “updates” or simply keeping up with the current going ons with fandoms and in general, stuff. So if this becomes inaccurate (as in more Trainer ID’s for the LMK cast of characters are posted), please let me know so I can update!

And I thought I’d take up less room on your screen and make the cards share spots with each other. Besides our favorite (but very traumatized＞﹏＜) main character. So, to get a better view of them, just click on 'em! If this is an issue for anyone, just let me know and I can just stack them all on top of each other.

These, of course, are all created by Ashe Jacobson, a storyboard director for our beloved show, Lego Monkie Kid! And from the post that I saw that alerted me to the new ID cards, I should state that these ID’s aren’t exactly canon, likely being headcanons made by Jacobson. But even so, I think most of the fandom agrees to what’s described/shown on these ID’s. Additionally, as long as you're respectful, who cares about canon! You can make whatever you want in the sandbox!

My Original Post Of The Trainer ID’s: OUTDATED!

The Post That Alerted Me To The (Two) New ID Cards: CREDIT!

({Edit (8/24/2024 - Later That Day (￣▽￣)") I personally tried the link for the 'Post That Aleted...' and it didn't work, sooo, hopefully now either way works correctly!})

Links To All Of The Orignal Twitter/“X” Posts:

Ashe Jacobson’s Account: Ashe Jacobson (@OffBrandLink) / X

MK: CLICK ME!

Mei & Red Son: CLICK ME!

Tang & Pigsy: CLICK ME!

Monkey King & (Six Eared) Macaque: CLICK ME!

Yin & Jin: CLICK ME!

[the-froschamethyst4]

My Favorite Animal

————

COD men Headcanons

————

König

My favorite animal is when my almost 7 foot, Austrian Husband, gets in peoples faces whenever they look at me the wrong way or catcall me in front of him

The clip of him getting in a guy face spit flying, red faced, and yelling, you couldn’t hear it because of the music but you can tell that is not a happy König

The same almost 7 foot, Austrian Husband whenever I tell him ‘no’

And the clip is of him playing in your kids sandbox letting the sand run out between his fingers and doing it again

————

Ghost

My favorite animal is my 6’4, gruff, Lieutenant Husband whenever he’s on the field

The clip of him gun loaded and pointed at anything, skull mask covering his face but you could tell he was as extremely focused

That same 6’4, gruff, Lieutenant Husband when our kids mess with him and he doesn’t even budge

Clip of Simon sitting on the couch both his daughter on each side of him, one sticking stickers to his mask and the other coloring in his tattoos

————

Price

My favorite animal is my golden retriever, Husband when someone picks on our daughter

The clip of Price standing tall, arms crossed over his big and broad chest as he was giving the dad to the bully a good and nice long death stare

The same golden retriever, Husband who wouldn’t let his daughter leave for college

The next clip of him holding his daughter for too long as she trying to push him away and tap on his back to sooth him that she was leaving

————

Soap 

My favorite animal is my Scottish Husband when he is fighting

A clip of Soap hitting a punching bag, sweat dripping from his forehead as he keeps hitting with all his might

The same Scottish Husband whenever I don’t give him kisses

The clip of him chin on your chest, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes, bottom lip out and pouting and red eyes…he was drunk and cried for 30 minutes straight because you refused

————

Alejandro

My favorite animal is my Mexican, Doberman, Husband whenever a guy gets in my face and tells me all the shit he’ll do to me since I denied him

A clip of Alejandro quite literally kicking ass and taking names, the guys face on the ground bloodied and bruised as Alejandro took a swig of his drink and walked over to you to hug you

The same Mexican, Doberman, Husband when his child is crying

Clip of him on the couch with tears in his eyes wondering if he did something wrong? He was accidentally loud and was apologizing to the baby

————

Gaz

My favorite animal is my British, Sargent, Husband when he saw a man harassing a women

The clip of Gaz standing his ground in getting in the guys face, the tips of his fingers digging into the guys chest as the guy was giving a random excuse that didn’t sit right with Gaz

The same British, Sargent, Husband whenever he child tells him ‘no’

The clip was of Gaz sitting on his child’s play mat and his child hitting his arm telling him no and a pout grew on Gaz’s face

————

Alex

My favorite animal is my Operations Officer Husband whenever there is someone disrespectful

A clip of Alex sipping on his drink while a guy was yelling at him for being with someone like you but Alex was ignoring him till suddenly Alex broke the glass over the guys head and the clip stops

The same Operations Office Husband whenever his tomato’s didn’t grow

A clip of him sitting in his garden pouting that his tomato’s didn’t grow and you behind the camera trying hard not to giggle at his pouty face

[notsorryiml8]

Ok, maybe a hot take or not, but I have been thinking as they're two of my Naruto favs and my favorite father-son duo and father's day is next weekend here, but nobody ever talks about how Sakumo messed up Kakashi's life. Okay, before you get on me, yes, people do talk about him un-aliving himself and the impact that had all the time, yes, I get that. BUT, nobody ever talks about how he put Kakashi into the ninja academy at 4 (!) and essentially robbed him of the possibility of EVER having a normal childhood and as a result, a normal life. I get it, I mean your child is this exceptional prodigy who's not "normal" - probably was talking at 3 months, walking at 6 months, reading at 18 months and maybe had 2 chakra natures by the time he was 3 🤷🏾‍♀️. *headcanon alert* Single-parent Dad had to work all the time as a legendary shinobi in a world at war and probably had NO idea what to do with this child with that kind of intellect and talent and would see it as a waste to keep him home (daycare/sitter/where all the other babies go who have active shinobi parents??). So he wanted to nurture those talents - to him it made sense, and in a lot of ways it does, but still...the shinobi world was messed up. 4 year olds should be learning their ABCs - yeah yeah yeah, he already knew his - or playing in the sandbox - okay, so he didn't play well with others, but still, just sayin'...

Then we get to Hiruzen. Sakumo in all likelihood had to ask permission from Hiruzen to enroll his child, who was only born 4 years prior, in the academy. But Hiruzen only saw this child as another tool. Even in the (filler) anime, Hiruzen was all hyped about watching that little 6-year-old in the chunin exams and the Forest of Death. Then, apparently, saw nothing wrong with putting that baby boy on multiple squads with teenagers and adults(!) who kept kicking him off because they refused to take orders from a baby with an attitude problem and then was also sending him on missions during a war (ngl, he'd make a good decoy and would be good at hiding and espionage bc they'd think he's just a cute little kid - Hiruzen, my man, I get it - a six year old is like 3 1/2 feet tall and weighs like 40 pounds on a good day).

Going to give gramps some benefit of the doubt. In looking at mission stats, Kakashi did a heck of a lot D-ranked missions - after Iruka, Kakashi has more D-rank missions than any other shinobi, so thinking Hiruzen possibly felt some guilt and did keep him in the village for some time because of his age (hopefully?? like "here's a mission, go pet some lonely puppies at the animal shelter and spend the day with them to build social skills."). But still...make it make sense. Everybody gets on Hiruzen because of how he treats Naruto, but old man's been treating kids that way long before Naruto was born. And don't give me that, "well, Kakashi was a genin at 5, chunin at 6, so he was technically grown" bs...because then I will say go see the first paragraph about his daddy unintentionally setting him up from the start. Everybody was trying their best, I guess...

Okay, now getting off my high horse and going to bed 😊...

[cuppajj]

are there any rules about your au? Like rp or etc etc.

Please don’t rp with my au characters as a general rule of thumb? Beast ancients AU is very new, I’m still yet to share a lot of the lore I have for them, so I don’t want people attaching their own ideas to something that’s still so fresh.

This isn’t a sandbox sort of thing, I would still appreciate art or fics of it if people want to make something like that, but roleplays, imagines/headcanons, things that require making something new about the AU and its characters, I would not be comfortable with. Thanks for asking so I could clarify!

👍✅Fanart, fics (with permission, and I can help make sure they’re in character/fitting the world and whatnot)

👎❌ Roleplays, headcanons/imagines if you are not asking the creator of this au which is me

[EDIT: If you’re roleplaying in private like on discord or something then it’s fine, but if you’re thinking of rping publicly like as a blog or something then I’m less comfortable]

[luwyv]

So… i just opened tumblr to discover that the fandom had a very not good moment today…

I didn’t see any of the posts that led to this yet but here’s the reminder that Headcanons are the little sand castles we make on the fandom sandbox, they are not canon and fic writers and artists make them because it’s fun and it make us happy! You are not obligated to read any fic or look at any art that you don’t like, they don’t affect the canon at all and are made FOR FUN! You can just not read them and scroll past the art and mind your own business!

Talking about tropes and headcanons that you like and dislike is ok, it can be a fun conversation sometimes, but doing this and hating on creators is a completely different thing.

And to close this off, if you can’t find any content that pleases you, the sandbox is really big and there is aways room for more people, just come in and make your own castle! And be respectful!

[linkemon]

What type of person would they be into?

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi.

Other headcanons from this series can be found here.

Epel Felmier

• Epel would love someone full of contradictions. In his mind, he needs someone delicate and charming, who would allow him to emphasize that he is not like that, even though his appearance suggests otherwise.

• As is often the case however, what we want and what we really need are two separate things. Therefore, despite everything, he would have to confront his dreams with reality. It would turn out that he would fall in love with someone who, apart from being gentle, would also have courage and readiness to act. You two are saving your friends and you jump into battle instead of standing on the sidelines? This isn't how he imagined it. In his mind, he saw you safe behind his back. And yet, this surprise doesn't seem bad to him, quite the opposite.

• The day you stood up to Vil would be the day he would understand clearly why he chose you and why he was wrong before. Although he would never say it out loud to you.

• Bonus points if you can come up with crazy ideas every now and then. For example, borrow a motorcycle from Deuce and come pick him up when the prefect isn't there, to take him for a ride. Let him ride in front and hold him around the waist, otherwise his ego will suffer...

Ace Trappola

• Ace would fall in love with his friend. But not in the way books and romantic comedies present it. You wouldn't have known each other since childhood, playing in the sandbox. This would be a later, more mature realationship, established already in the NRC.

• Trappola would have to grow up to this. For a long time he didn't take girls seriously. In you, he saw only a friend. Someone like Deuce to hang out with and laugh. It would take him almost the rest of school to realize that he was wrong after all. Around his last semester would be the time when he would realize that things weren't quite what he thought.

• Ace would find himself feeling torn more and more often. He really valued your friendship and wouldn't want to ruin it. This relationship would be more important to him, so he would be able to swallow his growing feelings, if it weren't for the fact that he saw subtle signals that would indicate that you felt the same. So he would try to take advantage of his chance.

• In a relationship, you are friends and that is more important to you than all the cute things that couples do. At the end of NRC you would still be pranking teachers and sneaking under Riddle's nose. In a more mature relationship, you would know that you could count on each other unconditionally and there would be verbal flirtations that would annoy everyone around you.

Trey Clover

• Trey is a person who has experienced family warmth since childhood. His attachment to family members would be what would determine what he is looking for in a relationship. Someone calm and composed would be his dream other half.

• He wouldn't fall in love at first sight but he would see your qualities right away. It's how you treat people around you, whether you can show them compassion and help. It would mean a lot to him. There's nothing to make tarts with and you offered to go to the store because he has his hands full? He would melt from such small gestures.

• He would definitely introduce you to his family members as soon as he was sure that you were his chosen one. He would know that they would like you but he would still want to hear what they had to say about you. Watching you interact with each other would be  forever preserved in his memory. He hopes that you would like to have children someday because you get along perfectly with his siblings.

• Bonus points if you can cook. He could share his greatest passion with you. If not, that's fine. You can always be his taste tester!

[hollersparrow]

why the fuck was all might allowed to be a teacher. he's teaching at what is widely regarded as the best school in the country, particularly for heroes, but also just in general from what i understand. there is no way in HELL that a school like that would let a person who is uncertified and has no higher education to teach, regardless of how famous they are or how much pressure the hpsc put on the school or even how eclectic and eccentric the school/its teaching styles are. there is simply no fucking way.

at most he'd be allowed to be a guest in some of the hero classes to provide additional feedback, etc etc. he probably couldn't even do administrative work as that generally requires either ample teaching experience or some level of training/school to do as a job.

also, i don't care how much nedzu loves chaos, he also loves his job and wants to protect/care for his students. he would not just skip over all might's lack of ability for this, no way no how; he would expect him to follow the rules set up to ensure that the teachers are equipped to handle the position and to teach the students

semi-related to the above, it is a personal headcanon of mine that many of the UA teachers are not as popular or as widely regarded as other heroes BECAUSE THEY HAD TO GET A TEACHING DEGREE. many of them worked as heroes or sidekicks to gain field experience but did so while also attending university to get an undergraduate degree AT THE LEAST. then, depending on the person, they either went straight into a teaching assistantship or continued working as a hero for a few more years to get more experience. however, many of them weren't able to reach higher levels of notoriety simply because they didn't have the time or the energy to market themselves and they ALSO didn't have a need to, as they were working towards a different goal.

for some, especially those in the support course (i'm thinking powerloader but i'm sure there's others), i could see there being waivers like many schools offer for folks teaching a trade (at least in the US). if you've worked in a trade for long enough, you might only need to get your teaching license which is usually not as long as getting a degree since your work experience shows that you know what you're doing. so i could see some of the teachers for support courses or even business courses being hired through a similar process.

i also think that most of the teachers don't work as heroes during the school year. i think that they keep active hero licenses and are able to be called on at any time (i could also see staff wide training/sparring being a part of this), but that they generally are taken off the roster. there are definitely some exceptions to this, like aizawa who's quirk is super valuable and who is also insanely willing to sacrifice himself and his health to help others (he needs therapy and some sessions on how to set boundaries). i think yamada is also an outlier with his radio show, although i think that started while he was getting his teaching degree and was working for the university's radio channel and he just decided to keep up with it. however, everyone else just teaches and then picks up freelance work during the summers (also see them only being on 10 month contracts or an equivalent type of work schedule).

i also know next to nothing about the requirements for teaching in japan, so take most of this with a grain of salt. but, at the same time, i think bits and pieces of this are probably universal.

it should probably also be mentioned that i really like bnha for the potential and the amount of room left for fanfic and the fandom to play around in the sandbox that is the world that Horikoshi Kōhei has created but i literally can not finish the manga or the anime. i have tried. multiple times. and i can't get past the sports festival for either of them. so maybe this gets better explained or something or maybe my standpoints on the characters are a little off.

[rocksibblingsau]

Currently watching the election and am terrified.

I need a distraction.

May I please know your favorite headcanons for your AUs?

Don't be scared! The election is gonna jump around a bit, it's gonna be close, but it's way too early to call.

I think technically all my headcanons are just

canon

considering they're my AUs.

So here's some fun facts about Rock Sibblings:

Everyone at Death Metal Brew knows that a certain table is Branch's table. If anyone else sits in it when Branch is about to show up, everyone lets them know that's Branch's special table.

On weekends, Branch and his family eat breakfast at Rosemary's diner.

Rosemary normally sneaks Branch free pie

Rose's Uncle T is married to the woman running the pastry shop on the other side of Fleet Street Guitars. Yes both of them are Sweeney Todd references, his wife is based on Mrs. Lovett.

Rosemary is related to Rose and Thorn

Val's parents got married when Morticia dragged Dragula to their wedding and told him they were getting married. Drag was happy because in his mind all his attempts at seduction worked. Morticia didn't even notice them, she just thought he was funny.

Val used to kick sand at kids in the sandbox

Petra's parents are into racing, which is why she loves vehicle-critters so much

Branch now raids Barb's "makeup" for himself. She keeps offering to get him his own but he likes taking hers.