#it's MY headcanon and you can't take it away from me!

[astracora]

Cold Metal, Warm Sensation

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc, Caleb x gn!mc (Caleb POV)

Warnings: Spoilers for Caleb's story.

Word Count: 3363

Written: 18th February 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. Ok I finally got this done, amidst the pain... This is pre Caleb joins Polycule fully, but it's post Caleb stops trying to lock MC in a box. (Unless they ask nicely). Polycule understand the agony of not being able to touch your loved one, lucky (and unlucky) for Caleb.

Now Playing: I'm With You, by Avril Lavigne

Masterlist AO3

The first time his arm comes up, is after he says goodbye to you one morning. You have a mission with Xavier in the Fusion No-Hunt Area, so as you say goodbye to everyone, Caleb takes your right hand in his own.

It's become something of a routine for him, or a ritual, he thinks. He can't feel the metal of your prosthetic against his unfeeling right hand, but he can squeeze without worrying about hurting you. He looks down at your clasped hands, and watches as you squeeze back. Your other hand goes to his cheek and then you press a kiss to his skin.

It's fleeting, and quick, as you release and race off to follow Xavier. Yelling a final goodbye behind you, Mephisto follows on a gust of feathers.

He sits back at the kitchen counter, staring down at his hand, raising it to his cheek, and exhales a sigh.

No matter how much he touches you, it never seems to be enough. Like he is always missing something. An unending yearning or greed he can't sate properly. He can touch you with his left hand all he wants, but he still cannot stop feeling the loss of emptiness in his right like an eternal agony.

"You should let me take a look at it, if it bothers you that much tin-man." Sylus speaks from the side, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he reads through some documents the twins have handed him.

Caleb is trying not to chafe around your polycule. He is, he tells himself. Even if he glares or huffs, faking smiles when you're around to not hurt you. They care about you, almost as much as he does, he supposes. So they'll do, for now. If nothing else than shields if things get bad.

If EVER want access to you, they can get through these four first.

Instead of responding to the N109's king, he turns away, grabs his coat and leaves.

He isn't their tool to experiment on. He's only ever a tool in your hands.

The second time it comes up is much later, he was injured in a fight, throwing himself in front of a Golem to protect you. Taking the things fist to his raised arm. He'd pushed through the pain, even as his arm was mangled in the process. Firing rounds into the thing's head.

As soon as it was felled, you'd pulled him to the side, furious and agitated. He'd laughed, "I'm fine." He promised, even as he felt the fever rising up through his body. His body failing him as the agony ripped through his system.

He vaguely remembers collapsing, hearing you call his name, and then talking to someone. When he wakes, he's back at your home. Their home. His home? In one of Sylus' rooms where he tinkers on Mephisto.

Spread out over the table, as the man works, humming along mostly in tune to a song Caleb has heard you singing to.

He feels like he's floating, and it's hard to speak, when his body feels so dreadfully heavy. The flash and heat of a soldering iron as parts are repaired, is familiar, though not comforting. Taking him back to cold lab walls, and agonising electrical storms through neurons.

It is one point of heat in his left hand, that tells him he's not there. Your head is on the table next to him, asleep as you grasp onto him like he'll disappear without your hand anchored to his.

Caleb thinks for a moment, that he probably hasn't given you reason to believe he wouldn't.

"They didn't stop crying until you stabilised." Zayne speaks as he enters the room. Mugs on a tray, as he places them down out of the way. "At least your recklessness hasn't changed, Caleb."

There's something quite disconcerting about the disapproval he sees in Zayne's cool eyes. There's a familiarity to it, one he's seen multiple times growing up, as the man had tended to wounds he'd gotten trying to impress or amuse you.

Climbing trees, jumping off a roof, trying to fly with his EVOL, standing up to bullies.

Any manner of reasons that had ended up with him with torn skin or bruises, that Zayne had then sat him down and tended to. Bandaged with careful, and far too steady hands for a child.

Zayne goes to hand him a mug, before realising he has no free hands, smiling softly down at you with warm eyes. Caleb feels his heart and chest twinge and twist. For all the ways he knows you better than he believes anyone else has, that he is the only safe harbour for you… he feels like he's banging up against the wall of realisation every day.

It feels like he's been sent out without coordinates for where his home base is. Waiting for you to walk away and leave him behind.

Not needing him, where he knows he still needs you.

Is he so easy to replace?

"You're thinking stupid things again, tin-man." Sylus speaks, pausing his work to reach over for his drink, and to tug Zayne down by his tie to place a kiss of thanks to his forehead, "Always staring like you're waiting for the doors to close in front of you. Loving someone isn't easy. It's a choice."

Caleb wants to snap, that he doesn't need lectures from a criminal, but truthfully what part of his hands aren't caked in blood that marks him one too. Battering against the realisation that every choice he has made, has made him someone you argue with, struggled with. That your heart is kinder than his is, because he only cares for you, and you care so much for so many.

Even though his heart aches, as he goes to pull his hand away from your tight grip, you stir. The three watch as you blink awake, one eye opening to look up at him. A sleepy, soft smile tugging scarred lips up into endearment, as you tighten your hand again. You exhale a 'morning', on an airy voice, and then nestle closer, "I'm glad you're ok Caleb."

He watches as your eyes close and your breathing evens out again, exhaustion clear in the lines on your face, but the strain softened by relief, and feels the deep urge to cry.

"Maybe you should give us a chance to help you. Instead of continuing to close doors on yourself." Zayne offers, indicating where Sylus has resumed his work, fixing Caleb's arm.

Despite himself… the man's work is clean, and careful.

He files it away to think about, but not now. When your hand is so warm in his.

The third time, is when he's watching Rafayel paint your prosthetic. Occasionally, you flinch under the brush, laughter spilling out. When he questions it, you smile at him, mismatched eyes twinkling. "It tickles."

He watches as the fish gets gleeful at this, dipping it back into the metal-safe paint and swirling it up and down your arm. Your laugh escapes you in a boom, and you pull away from him, "Raffy, stop!"

Xavier's head is jostled out of your lap, and you fling yourself forward, to take the brush from the man's hand, painting over his nose, then his cheeks, then his throat. When you're satisfied, you pull away and nod, "What a good piece of art I've created." Sticking your tongue out at him.

Rafayel pouts and pokes your nose in retaliation, taking his brush back to draw a heart and then a fish on your cheek, "But you've smudged my masterpiece." He indicates the smeared paint on your prosthetic.

Caleb has watched this routine several times, every now and then, you need to get the casing of your prosthetic properly cleaned, not just wiped down. When this happens, the 'decoration' Rafayel paints on, has to be replaced. You say this like it's of the utmost importance, and he doesn't really understand.

He would never have thought about decorating his own, hiding it away often, because that's easier. It's better. If he doesn't see it, maybe he doesn't have to think about it. Even if the abyss of sensation reminds him every moment.

Still, he has seen you look down at the finished paintings, turning your arm to smile at them, and the way your eyes soften.

So that day he asks why, why is it so important? While Xavier complains about being disturbed, and finds his way to Rafayel's lap, who uses one hand to brush through his hair, and the other to clean up the mess of your arm.

You look at Rafayel, then back at Caleb, reaching out with your left hand to brush strands of hair away from Xavier's eyes.

He watches the way you tilt your head, the way you flex your fingers, and then the way you turn to look back at him. Serious, and considerate. Like you'd never actually put it into words before, just felt it.

"I didn't like it originally, my arm. It was a reminder of failure, a reminder that I was different." The words ache in Caleb's chest, like a dagger through the heart. He wants to pull you into his arms, tell you you're perfect, but he watches how carefully you hold your arm for Rafayel's work and stills himself. "When Raffy first painted it, it looked pretty. I wanted to look at it." Caleb watches, as the fish takes your metal hand in his and places a kiss to the wrist, before resuming his work.

The brand has gotten softer over time. Less painful.

He doesn't grate and ache and burn, to watch them hold you. He's not sure when he changed so much.

"Over time it just became a routine, it made me like it more. Like my body more, to decorate it. Now I can look at it without the art and not hate it, but I still like to see Raffy's art on my body." You kiss the man in question's head.

"I have a good canvas, cutie."

Xavier nods against Rafayel's lap, "Pretty." is mumbled against his legs.

You look over at Caleb then, eyes bright, hopeful. Warm. He's always likened you to the sun, and every moment you grace him with your presence is a moment he's too lucky, too blessed and too spoiled. "I bet it'd be nice on yours too?"

He notices the fish's eyes flicker to him, sees the careful observation, and forces a laugh through a tight throat, "Maybe." Is all he can offer.

Because truly, wouldn't it be too good for him, to be given the right to love the thing that helped make him a monster.

The fourth time, he brings it up himself. He's watching the stars on the balcony, as Xavier and Sylus play a game of kitty cards they're both far too competitive with. As Zayne reads and Rafayel sketches.

You're in his arms, staring up at the sky, eyes flickering closed as you become more and more drowsy.

As Caleb looks at you, he reaches his right hand, to entwine your metal fingers with his own. Running his thumb over your hand, the ache deep in his bones to do it with his left hand so he can feel it.

He wants to feel it with both. He wants to hold you in both hands and feel complete again.

Instead of staring and willing himself to suddenly know the heat of your skin under his right hand again. Instead of seeing agony in your face when he's in pain, and that's the only time his right hand responds to the sensation of you.

His throat is tight, when he speaks, turning his head slightly to the others, "If you can fix it, then do it."

Caleb is not used to asking for help, or letting anyone see his weakness. He has always been told all through growing up to protect you, that you need him to be strong, that you need him to keep you safe. If he was weak, how could you ever want to rely on him?

He's had to learn through yelling matches, and doors closed in front of you. Through bitten off insults and frustration. Through you leaving and threatening not to come back. Through days of struggling to get himself to breathe, to see you again. To listen to what you were saying, before he could let you walk next to him.

Even if his heart still won't relax. Even if he still thinks about that maze he wants to build, that world just for the two of you.

He doesn't want to capture the butterfly and watch it die in his hands.

He thinks if that happened, he truly would hate himself.

When eyes turn to him, including yours, blinking in disbelief, he turns to face forwards. "If you can, anyway." His voice steady, he forces his heart to be stable, his emotions to stay level. Every part of him is trembling under the weight of being watched by people who see more than he wants them to.

"Sure tin-man. You can trust us." Comes the chuckle from the side.

"I'll get in touch with some specialists." Zayne adds, placing a bookmark in his page and leaving the balcony.

You turn in his arms, so you can sit facing him, hands releasing his, and moving up to hold his cheeks. He's sure there's a blush colouring his cheeks at the way you lean in, small smile twisting and press your lips to his forehead. "You can trust them." You affirm, nestling against his neck, when he finally wraps arms around you. A lump in his throat he fights back, "You can trust me."

He knows, above all other things in this world. Caleb knows he can trust you.

He always has.

He sits through testing, but instead of the kind of tests he'd faced with the Fleet and EVER, you are there. A warm familiar presence that reminds him he's not a lab rat. A weapon. A tool. He's Caleb, he always remembers he's Caleb when you're there.

He sits there while you talk to him, and he follows along with the specialists Zayne has called in, while Sylus and Xavier work on his arm.

Both far more adapted to technology than he'd have known.

It's a slow process, as they adapt and change his circuitry. He sits and he tries to be patient, gritting his teeth through when the pain is clawing, and tries to remember what he's aiming for.

It's always easier when you're holding his hand.

During the time he grows somewhat used to the more constant presence of the others.

Zayne seems to fall back into old habits, of taking care of his childhood friends, though you often now sit him down to make him tea, instead. It doesn't stop him asking questions, 'Are you alright', 'where does it hurt most', 'do you need anything?'. The guilt at how he'd reacted to Zayne on their reunion bites at him most when he sees real warm concern in the man's eyes.

He's been offered snacks by Xavier, while he sits through tests. While it had never crossed his mind to question the safety of them, it was odd being offered the kindness. He isn't sure when he last was.

Rafayel mostly pokes his head in to snipe at Sylus as he works, and occasionally comments on Caleb's 'really bad poker face', as he tries not to respond to the taunt. He always comes with some water though, shoving the glass into Caleb's available hand, and then leaving.

Sylus' idea of comfort is singing while he works, and Caleb often wants to remind the man that doesn't comfort anyone but himself. You sometimes join in though, and he bites back the retort. It's not that out of tune, anyway.

He finds himself face to face with a lot of things, he doesn't feel he has the capacity to process in these moments. Pushing them down to deal with when the agony isn't great, and he's tired after long days.

On the day they finally finish, he feels as though he wants to sleep for weeks afterwards. He's drained and worn and though the tests and the refittings had been nothing as bad as under EVER's hand, it is tiring nonetheless to be changed.

Despite himself, however, he is glad for the careful hands. Though he would never admit this too loud to them.

When Xavier and Sylus step back, putting tools down and do one last check over with the screen next to them. You sit nearby, your leg shaking up and down as you wait, none too patiently.

He's seen you like this before, excited, nervous and stressed. Waiting and waiting and waiting. All the energy built up, ready to be released.

He can't say he doesn't feel the same.

"Ready?"

He nods, but he cannot make himself speak. He's waiting for this moment for too long. When the electronic voice rings out with 'rebooting', he doesn't feel anything. No change, no adjustment, his arm doesn't feel any different.

There's a drop in his stomach, like he's waiting for the realisation that it's failed, that nothing can help, that he'll never feel like anything but a robotic tool for EVER again-

Then there's warmth, as a hand slides into his, squeezing.

His heart jumps, and his throat becomes impossibly tight. Eyes moving to where your hand is inside of his. He can feel the pressure, and as he goes to squeeze, he has to remind himself to be careful, because you're flesh and blood. Warm skin, soft and real against his metal.

You're familiar and you're warm and you're there.

And he can feel you. The weight and the reality.

You wrap your metal arm around him to pull him closer and he cannot release your hand no matter what, because he finally, finally, finally, feels you. Careful cool fingers wipe the tears spilling from his eyes, as you hold him, smiling against his cheek as you pull him as close as you can, as he hiccups.

When he finally releases your hand, it's only so he can run his fingers over every part of you, letting you adjust yourself onto his lap, so that he can run fingers through your hair, over your cheek, your nose, across your lips. When you part them, to exhale, the gust against his hand makes his shoulders jump.

So he places his hand around the back of your neck, and kisses you. Salted tears and gasping desperation, as he traverses metal over the column of your throat, absent through the air he's stealing out of your lungs. Over your arms, that steady yourself around him, over your ribs, feeling every dip and every roll, he squeezes at your thighs to feel the weight in his hands, and gasps. Pulling away only because he needs to, as he rests his forehead on your shoulder.

You run fingers through the back of his hair, over his neck, as he tries to stop shaking. To stop shuddering at all the feeling of you in his arm, your skin against his hand. It's overwhelming and too much, and everything, but never enough. Like his brain could short circuit and he'd die in bliss.

Like he finally found everything he wanted again.

Like he feels whole.

He's acutely aware for the audience, as he sits overwhelmed on the table, so wrapped around you, he doesn't want to ever be two separate people again, and this time when he looks at his metal arm. Where his hand rests on your skin, where he can feel you alive and under his touch, where he sees the flesh give under his grip and can feel it once more.

Maybe he understands why you love to have yours painted.

Maybe he thinks about how he'll let Rafayel paint his own, if he wants.

Maybe he chokes out a thank you to the people he isn't sure he hates anymore.

Maybe you've led him back home once more.

[miruac]

dating nanami headcanons

masterlist

navigation

warnings: nanamin being the absolute green flag he is(im so in love with him it isnt funny)

a/n: i love this man. i love him so much. the blueprint for my type irl. i love u namin <3

nanami thought he would never date-want to date, while being a sorceror

but when he met you, it was like a switch turned on in his brain

he suddenly fell head over heels when you walked onto the campus, as a teaching assistant who worked under gojo

you stepped into the room behind gojo, and behind his glasses he was STARING at you

everything gojo was yapping about came in through one ear and left through the other

when some people write nanami they write him as if hes absolutely bitchless and has never felt like any attraction to ANYONE whatsoever

but not me teehee :3

sure nanamins had some crushes on the past, but not so bad that he would be daydreaming about them everyday while laying on his bed and kicking his feet

it's been a while since he's crushed on someone, so he dismisses his feelings

his heart racing? too much caffeine. blush on his cheeks? thermostat cranked too high. sweaty palms? wore too many layers

hes so oblivious but also not how tf do i describe him

so observative. he saw how you shifted your weight away from gojo when he leaned on your shoulder and nanami SWOOPED RIGHT IN

'y/n-san, are you feeling alright? here, let me take you to shoko.'

oh im feral lol AWOOOOOGA

it went from being assigned on missions together, to small waves and smiles at each other in the halls, then shared lunch breaks 💔

hes so protective its sooo hot

he manages to always tuck you behind him and shields you with his body

his shoulders....his back...his arms...🤤🤤🤤

smash WHATTT WHO SAID THAT

i did im admitting it and im proud to admit it

he does the thing that like whenever someone he doesn't like comes up and starts flirting with you grabs your waist and pulls you against him

he does it so easily too its scary but so hawt of him

HES SOO OBSERVANT

knows when ans how to cheer you up if youve had a bad day

he never never wants to get angry at you

if he gets too heated, he politely asks that both of you find some time to cool down

always knows how to comfort you

you want time alone? yeah youll get some space. you want food? hes ordering it. whatever you want, he does

oh my baby. my old baby. i love him.

hes such a sleepy guy

hes used to not getting as much sleep due to him working so much overtime in the past

so much that its become a habit for him to sleep for like at most 5 hours at a time

sometimes when he comes home, he beelines straight for you

he throws his blade and blazer to the side, kicking his shoes off

and then he just lays on you

its crushing but in the most comforting way hes like a giant weigted blanket

you can't count the amount of times he's fallen asleep on you like that

he just feels so safe around you </3

im sad now

[burgerrat]

"No one gets me like you do."

Harley Sawyer x Reader

NOTE: gender-neutral reader, mentions of gore, threats of violence & light angst.

(I'm gonna be honest the positive feedback with my headcanons made me wanna make s'more Harley stuff. Praying that I kept his personality as close to I think he'd act canonically. Ough

My main inspiration behind this was dovewingkinnie's art piece mixed with that scene in Sonic 2 where Dr. Robotnik's grabbing Agent Stone's face

Aaaaandddd the prompt that makes the title comes from melamemea's prompt list here!

Hope you enjoy!)

It felt like you had been watching the procedure for years, when only 30 minutes had passed by as the Doctor poked and prodded at some unfortunate, sedated Smiling Critter's insides.

Sprawled on an operating table as a robotic, three-fingered limb attached to the ceiling of the room, worked away with a scalpel; a mechanic vessel bent over the operating table, a singular, wide eye displayed on it's screen as it observed the process, also lending its pair of hands, when they were of need. 

He was gruesome in his work, yet his hand was gentle in the most skilled of ways, in however form it came.

A professional in his field, until the very end.

"Do I really have to sit through this?" You huffed, resting your head in your palm.

You were spooned into another of Harley's vessels, sitting cross legged as the metal giant behind you remained still, like a protective shell.

"Squeamish, are we?" The Doctor casually asked, not bothering to actually acknowledge you with one of his physical forms.

"No! I just- ugh, how do you sit through this without falling asleep? It's not like taking a walk around inside here will be the death of me."

Soon as you responded, the scrap robot behind you hummed to life, the operation before your eyes coming to a pause quickly, and now... the screen of the vessel behind you turned on, displaying that oh so familiar eye.

"Your blathering is distracting enough." The Doctor hissed, his anger thinly boiling over.

"I might as well put you on that table instead. Perhaps you'll find my work more 'interesting' once it's skin-deep?" He chuckled.

This was Dr. Sawyer's attempt at humor, only his sadistic side could see the amusement about his threats.

But you knew better, you knew he bluffed each time, because he'd never acted upon it. Not when he was furious, not when you were asleep and vulnerable.

You glared at the vessel behind you, as if to say:

'do it, I dare you.'

The eye on the screen squinted, a quiet confrontation.

Then, dropping all hints of sadism, his voice returned, gentle and monotone.

"I cannot, and will not allow you out of my sight. Set one foot outside of my laboratories, and you'll be just another lamb to the slaughter, I can guarantee the probabilities." 

He'd told you this a million times before, each time more frustrated than the last that he had to deal with such a thick headed person.

His apathetic logic brought him once more to question why, why he kept you. Why did this type of recognition mean so much to him, when it came not only unprofessionally, but brought him objectively nothing?

"I know, I know, Harl. Look, I'm sorry-"

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. His eye, once zoned out, focusing back on you.

Harl.

He liked the ring of that.

Only you bothered to give him nicknames like that.

He liked whatever this was that he was feeling, it... helped him relax.

"I just can't do it like you do- the patience. And at least you're doing something. Maybe I can be your assistan-?"

"Absolutely not." He interrupted before you had even completed your question.

"It's my work and my work alone. You may take notes if you wish, but I will not allow any interference. Especially from an unqualified hand." He sternly said.

You sighed in defeat, you knew how much his work meant to him, you happily engaged- but watching it actually happen? Much less intriguing (or violent, really) than you'd imagined at first.

"However..."

His sing-songy tone as he continued caught your attention. His metallic hands gently took hold of yours briefly, before they snaked up to cup your face, the vessel's head lowering slightly so his eye could analyze your expression. Your entire face, really.

You could feel your cheeks heating up slightly against the cold touch of the machine's fingers as they smushed your face gingerly, his fingers slowly moving in small, smooth circles.

"Mmm, yes... I think we can build a little enrichment area for this little mouse."

He purred, his eye squinting playfully.

He knew what he was doing.

For a moment, a brief moment, he indulged exactly what you wished for: more of his attention, his touch. His hands did not come off of your face at any point, one moved to knead your head as the other continued to study your physiognomy, observing your behaviour, taking mental notes.

But all good things must come to an end, regrettably. And, much as he cherished you, his work was more important, you (or anything else) weren’t above it.

"I do wish to study your reactions upon being presented with certain... situations." The Doctor trailed off as he readjusted his position around you, his consciousness switching back to the other vessel and the robotic arm hovering over the operating table, casually going back to digging his scalpel around the Smiling Critter’s guts mixed with stuffing. His tone became fully professional, as if he were discussing business with you.

"E-excuse me??" You babbled out, face still red from his probing.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I won't place you in any hostile environment. Since my surgeries are so boring to you, I might just have to leave you with some homework to do instead, mm?"

Once his response was met with silence, he continued.

"I'll just place a few seeds around a labyrinth for you to find and collect, and see how well your cognitive abilities are. After that? Who knows! I might reward you with some cheese." He mocked.

You raised an eyebrow, unamused.

"Fine. So long as I'm doing something." You huffed, earning a contented chuckle for a response from the Doctor as he worked.

You were tempted to ask him to elaborate instead of speaking about his metaphorical 'lab mouse', to satisfy your curiosity, but you didn't want him to think you doubted your safety around him... he'd kept you alive this far, was ever-so vigilant to make sure you were well and alive.

You trust him.

You care.

~

"Most would come to think I'd be laying some sort of trap. The logical outcome." Harley observed once he concluded his procedure on the Critter, the robotic arm once more going still, the vessel remaining active and now... focusing on you.

"Oh, to be so blissfully void of paranoia."

"Yes." You agreed, then shaking your head, "but I know you, Harley. You word it like we're strangers." You added. "I should be able to trust you."

Silence.

"Do you know why?" The Doctor vaguely asked, his monotone voice sounded like he was miles away, yet he was so close to you. The automaton had begun approaching, the one behind you had turned on again. Yet he seemed... disconnected.

Not in the technological sense of his vessels.

"Why won't you lay a trap for me...?" You tried to clarify, "or why I should be able to trust..?"

"Neither." He scoffed.

"Why it is human nature to seek pointless connections, such as this. Nothing of value is extracted, there are no means to an end. What's the value of a life, when it can mean so much more? When it can be so much more?"

You tilted your head slightly, raising to your feet.

"Why does it have to mean anything?" Your answer was another question.

"It has to mean something to me." He barked.

That hurt a little. No… maybe not his intention, but your expression changed, and it didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Don't I?" Your voice softened.

He made a noise, like he was about to respond, yet held himself back the moment the words were going to leave his speakers. The main vessel he was using to express himself retracted a little.

You'd caught him off guard enough to remain speechless.

Because you were right.

You meant something to him.

You, who interacted with him even when you had no need for him, unlike the company who'd betrayed him twice.

You, who listened, who liked him even through his irritable, sadistic nature.

You, the one person that came back to find him, even if there wasn't much left.

And it wasn't because of his research.

You came back, for him.

"Harl...?" Your voice quivered a little, concerned with what his reply would be. Now, you were starting to doubt your safety through the hurt.

"You do." 

His response came out quick but monotone, void of emotion.

He wasn't sure what to make of himself. He hated it when others displayed sympathy towards his experiments, but he was telling the truth: you meant something to him, and, much as he hated to come to terms with it, it wasn't for his research.

You sighed in relief, your expression softening as you looked to the ground.

"I apologize, I was merely... pondering." His tone now took on its usual, eloquent speech. Or at least he tried to keep it that way, like how he'd word a presentation.

"Wondering why humans need to seek... connections... what drives this.. urge. This feeling." He rasped that last bit with spite. He couldn't understand himself, this counterproductive hypocrisy, and oh how he hated it.

This was his indirect attempt of saying 'I'm sorry that I hurt you', having taken notice that his selfishness had actually caused damage to the one person who gave a damn to even look for him. It wasn't good by any stretch, but it was an attempt to mend things up with clarifications. 

"I don't think... you need to know specifically the why of it...we're social creatures, it's, uhm.. normal, to want connections.." you tried to explain, approaching the automaton, reaching to hold his hand.

Were he in his human body, he would've noticeably tensed at the contact.

"Why still bother, when you have been betrayed over, and over again? And the funniest part: there is no prize for it. It has no meaning." He spat, once again void of emotion. He was subtly venting at this point, really, not even trying to hide that he was talking about himself.

In this moment, his complete detachment from humanity matched with his current body.

"Must have some meaning, if our relationship is an indicator of it." You played with his hand, intertwining your fingers.

Even when he had little regard for how you felt, you gave him compassion. You cherish him.

"I don't understand what drives you to it. What compels me." The Doctor's grip tightened around your hand for a moment, frustrated.

Then, he relaxed, his other hand tenderly taking hold of yours. Even though he was machine, it was his gentle handling that reminded one that he was still a man, despite the sharp metal.

"But.. one thing I do know, is that no one gets me... like you do. There is something there... and I intend to study it, why you, and nobody else."

Part of you knew that you both knew what it was.

Perhaps he was in denial of it, or maybe this was another indirect attempt of his, to say 'I love you' in his own way.

[skyguytoast]

Heyy bestie!! 💖

Idk if you take requests, but I saw some vids on TikTok of Anakin as a Formula 1 driver 🏎️🔥 and I need some headcanons for that!! 🫠💭

Hey babe! 💕 I’m always down for requests, especially when my brain’s running on empty 😂 Anyway, hope you like what I came up with!

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who first saw you at a race event, standing close to the fence. You weren’t even trying to get his attention, but when his eyes met yours as he slid into the cockpit, it was like the whole world went silent. His heart raced faster than the engine beneath him.

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who, after securing a breathtaking victory, used his celebratory speech not to brag about the win—but to call out, "To the girl in the black cap with my team's logo…you should really send me a DM." He winked at the camera, knowing you’d know exactly who he meant.

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who can't hide his smug smile whenever you show up wearing one of his team jackets or caps. He always makes sure you have the newest designs, even if it means sneaking them into your wardrobe like little surprises.

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who stitched a tiny picture of you inside his racing jacket, right over his heart, because as he says with a shrug, "Gotta keep my good luck charm close."

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who gets carried away in interviews after wins, mentioning you so often that fans make compilations of his lovesick ramblings. "Yeah, the car handled well today, but honestly? Knowing she's here cheering me on—nothing beats that."

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who brings you to every sponsor event, proudly walking through the crowd with his arm slung around your waist. He whispers sarcastic remarks about boring speeches and sneaks kisses when no one's watching—until someone inevitably catches it on camera.

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who practically leaps from the car after a tough race, yanking off his helmet and running a hand through his messy curls before pulling you into a kiss so deep the pit crew exchanges awkward coughs.

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who teaches you the basics of driving a race car one evening on a closed track. He can’t stop laughing as you nervously grip the wheel, and when you finally get the hang of it, he swears you look like you belong right there beside him.

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who, after every podium celebration, finds you in the crowd no matter what. Champagne-soaked and grinning, he mouths "For you" before stepping down to wrap you in his arms.

+18(SPICY HEADCANONS)

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who, in the throes of an intense training session, receives a explicit image on his phone that makes his breath hitch audibly. The sight of you draped in his jacket alone, a tantalizing expanse of creamy skin and curves of your breast, sends a bolt of lust straight to his core. He has to grip the device tighter to keep from dropping it, his other hand instinctively palming himself through the straining fabric of his racing pants. A groan threatens to spill from his lips as he imagines peeling that jacket off you, revealing what lies underneath.

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who, in the privacy of the pits after a grueling practice, pins you against the cool tile wall of the shower. The steam from the spray mists around you as his lips claim yours in a bruising kiss, his hips driving forward to grind against your cunt. Your gasps and moans echo off the porcelain as he fills you, his large frame dwarfing your smaller one, taking you with a desperation born of pent-up desire and adrenaline-fueled high.

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who lays you down on the scorching hood of his race car, the metal still radiating heat from the intense laps. He pushes your thighs apart, a wicked gleam in his eye as he settles between them, his broad shoulders forcing your legs to fall open wider. A single, sharp inhale as he takes in the sight of your glistening, aching sex, flushed and swollen with desire. Then he dives in, his mouth claiming you in a hungry, ravenous kiss that steals your breath. His tongue delves between your folds, stroking and probing, parting your slick tissues to reach your throbbing, sensitive clit. He suckles the bud, his lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you wild with pleasure, your fingers twisting almost painfully in his sand-blonde hair as he feasts on your most intimate place. The hood creaks and groans beneath you, a lewd symphony mixed with the desperate sounds of your ecstasy as he takes you apart with his mouth, his tongue, his single-minded determination to make you come undone.

FORMULA 1 DRIVER! ANAKIN who navigates the treacherous turns of the track with a white-knuckle grip, his knuckles aching from the force of his hold on the steering wheel. But his other hand, that hand that usually grips the wheel with such confident control, is tangled in your curls, guiding you up and down his rigid, throbbing cock. The car speeds around the curves, the engine roaring like a beast unleashed as he fucks your face with wild abandon. Your lips stretch obscenely around his girth, your tongue swirling and stroking as he plunges in and out of your hot, velvet mouth. Drool escapes the seal of your lips, dripping down your chin and onto the racing uniform he wears. The car surges forward, the wind whipping through the open cockpit, as he chases his release, the pleasure of your mouth and the thrill of the high-speed ride pushing him closer to the edge. With a guttural groan, he hilts himself deep in your throat, his hot seed spurting down your neck as he takes the final turn at a breakneck.

[ducktoonsfanart]

Scrooge McDuck and Flintheart Glomgold in another world and depart from the mortal world - Adult Huey Dewey and Louie with older Donald and Glomgold's nephew Slackjaw Snorehead - Shocking discovery - Quack Pack AU - Duckverse, Ducktales and Duck comics - My style and my version

WARNING: This is just an alternate future, and it doesn't necessarily mean it will be my canon (maybe some ideas are), so don't think that Scrooge McDuck and Flintheart Glomgold are really dead because they aren't, at least not in my Quack Pack. This is an alternate future of the Quack Pack and what happened when they went to the other world. And it contains only my joke and don't take it at face value.

Inspired by how my friend @michimonie did the Quack Pack version of Donald's nephews as adults, I decided to do something in my own way, in my own version. And yes, this is inspired by the Donald Duck comics and Ducktales 1987, and has nothing to do with the Ducktales 2017 version. Scrooge McDuck and Flintheart Glomgold, long-time rivals and the richest ducks in Duckburg and the world, have gone to another world. And as usual, they still have their rivalry matches and their quarrels. However, in the end they decided to see how their heirs, that is, their children, inherit their wealth and what they see they cannot see with their own eyes. They were related all along! Glomgold's nephew Slackjaw Snorehead was in a love affair with Scrooge's niece and Donald's sister Della Duck and they secretly married and Della Duck gave birth to her sons and named them Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck. Donald actually gave them their names. Since they were not allowed to tell their uncles, they had to wait until the right moment until they went to the other world and eventually Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck grew up and found out about their biological father, and as adults they inherited both Scrooge and Glomgold's fortunes. So much for how the feud between Scrooge and Glomgold and their families being blood enemies actually fell through. Scrooge and Glomgold can't believe what they see from their previous mortal world. XD

Yes, since I can only see them growing up through Quack Pack, I determined and drew what Huey, Dewey and Louie would look like as adults. Huey is the president of McDuck Industries Corporation and is mainly involved in the management of video game production, as well as sports clubs, and he also plans to be the president of his country one day. Dewey is a scientist, more precisely an astronomer, but he also does programming, chemistry and physics and works at the Duckburg Science Institute. Louie is a bodybuilder who also runs a gym, but he is also a basketball coach, as well as writing and drawing comics, plus he is also a historian and the guardian of the Duckburg Forest. By the way, the triplets in this drawing are somewhere between 25 and 30 years old, maybe over 30. Donald and Slackjaw, as you can see in my drawing, have aged quite a bit. And yes, Glomgold in this version of mine is a mix of the comic book Glomgold who is Boer and the Ducktales 1987 Glomgold who is Scottish. And as long as Slackjaw wasn't with Della, Flintheart wasn't related to Scrooge.

I hope you like my idea and these drawings and feel free to like and reblog this, just don't copy these versions of mine and these ideas of mine without mentioning me. Thanks! Plus, this is just an alternate future, which means it doesn't have to be accurate nor is it my exact headcanon for my Quack Pack version. But certainly the occupations for the Quack Pack triplets that I assigned them are their future occupations. Although honestly I'm not so sure Huey, Dewey and Louie will be fully grown, but that's just my opinion.

For those who can't see what it says on these drawings of mine that I drew, it says this:

Scrooge McDuck: "Kills me bagpipes! So you joined me in another world?" Flintheart Glomgold: "Voetsek! (Go away!) Gonnae no dae that. (Cease your actions. I feel sick and am going to throw up.) You may remain the richest duck in the mortal world, but your legacy will perish." Scrooge: "Did I? I don't think so, my nephew and my grandnephews are the legal heirs and will do as I asked." Scrooge: "Your lazy nephew has no chance against my family." Glomgold: "We'll just have to see." Later... Scrooge and Glomgold: "WHAT?! ARE WE RELATED?! YOUR KIDS INHERIT YOUR WEALTH?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Also Scrooge: "So my niece Della was with my rival's nephew the whole time?!" Quack Pack Dewey and Louie as adults to Slackjaw Snorehead: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD! Thank you for accepting us as part of your family!"

[ehh-is-the-name]

you know what, idc what the poll says.

In my heart of hearts, s1 Mephone4 picked up the "unknown gender freak" line from Cobs just like he did with the "get set, on your mark, go" one.

Cobs may respect your pronouns now, but in 2011..? Hell, before that??? I don't wanna say it, but I know what I know.

[laughroditee]

Pretty positive that Kyle Garrick has the most secure attachment style out of anyone on the 141, proving that he is by far the best boyfriend material.

[moldy-flowers]

I've been hyperfixated on Sasuke for TWO years and that's too long.

Look, I love Sasuke. He's a cute lil emo guy. But he's stolen my music from me. I cant listen to songs anymore if they don't relate to him. And if they don't then I force au's on him.

Like, I'm sure you are the best American girl Sasuke, but can I listen to Mitski in peace, please??

[mars-ipan]

some postgame doodles for pride month

[firstroseofspring]

thinking pondering to me john torres is like. what if u met a woman. with confidence and dignity and a strong moral backbone. you meet and she makes a distinct impression with her honesty and her frankness and she seems like she's always sure of what she wants and what she needs and she's so different from anyone else you know and thats exciting and she's exciting and she likes you specifically you. and you don't think much of you but it feels good to be liked by someone like that. you love her of course. you marry her. of course!

[deceitfulmorals]

Misc. tag drop.

⋆Pixie Prince; Future Sadistic Ruler. - headcanon/aes

⋆Do you even see what you do to me? - Sanderson/Cosmo♡

⋆Allow me to be your escape; take you away from all of this - Anti-Cosmo/Wanda♡

⋆Can't believe you've got me still thinking about you- Anti-Cosmo/Cosmo♡

⋆I actually fully despise you. For everything. - Sanderson & Wanda

⋆You are my sunshine; my only sunshine - Leo/Mikey♡

⋆Together's where we both belong - Leo/Bishop♡

⋆No matter what the cost. Every time. - Leo/Raph♡

[tvrningout-a]

i need y'all to know that cyrillo knows rin bc she was hired to steal from him, and he's one of the only people who has ever caught her in the act asdfh and not bc of any skill!! cyrillo's smart and observant, but he's not a trained rogue. dude is a mage and waaaay too busy to notice every little detail. he's got people for that uvu

but that's not how he caught rin. he caught rin by talking to her. she was on her way to his office to steal some contract a businessman made with him concerning something or other when cyrillo approached her, looking much too handsome and much too curious for her liking. the little event he had welcomed all sorts of people that night, so it really did feel like fate working against her -- why would he approach her, of all his guests? some random elf?

he liked her laugh :' ) that's the reason :' ) at the beginning of the evening, cyrillo heard her laugh by pure chance as she spoke to one of her men; the way she threw her head back, laughed without holding back, and the way her eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief as she clapped a hand on her companion's shoulder grabbed cyrillo's attention completely. and as he continued to watch her, he decided he'd like to know her. she seemed like fun, and he needed a little of that. work was... taxing lately.

so fast forward to their conversation and rin, very begrudgingly, decides she doesn't particularly wanna steal from cyrillo. he's not some stuck up rich guy who deserves a little inconvenience. very unfortunately for rin, he's a nice guy. he's a nice guy acting in the best interests of his people. and he doesn't even!! try to lie to her once!! is totally honest as she pries into his business bc oh my gosh he doesn't have anything to hide.

well, she's sure he has something, but still. how's she supposed to steal from him now?? when she's starting to like the guy?? this is why she doesn't ever meet the people she steals from >:(

so what does rin do? she sighs very deeply and goes " listen, i was gonna steal from you bc i was hired to, but i'm not gonna anymore. you're too nice. you want me to steal for you instead?? " and cyrillo laughs so hard he's got tears in his eyes asdfg he's not even mad :' )) just really amused and tells her nah, no stealing, but how about a little spying? and thus begins a very lovely partnership that's more like a friendship ( rin just won't admit it bc then she couldn't accept payment from him anymore asdfg )

[itsbrucey]

Drawing Glenn is tearing me apart bc Yes. Freddie/Glenn reference Glenn having abs. but also I remember like Freddie ONCE mentioning that Glenn has a dad bod and that's my canon SORRY GUYS

[ikkaku-of-heart]

@umbrx​ asked: 📃

If you slip in a little  📃 I will discuss one scenario that had been living in my head rent free (Still Accepting!)

Well, Nabi, since it’s you, I don’t have to fear talking about this scenario since you seem to like my obsessed!Hawkins BS and I know you love Bad Times, here’s a scenario that has been living in my head rent-free:

(CW for below the cut - nothing explicit but references to torture, sexual assault, and abuse)

Hawkins manages to capture Ikkaku on Wano about the same time Law turned himself over to save Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo. Hawkins, knowing his fated end is near unless he can get her to his side, keeps Ikkaku locked in his quarters. He makes her dress as the High Priestess, reads her cards and speaks of her past and present with shocking accuracy (talks about her dead twin, Law murdering Ushi, the Light Keeper stuff, etc), and basically tries his damnedest to make her believe in his fantasy that she’s destined to be at his side.

Ikkaku, of course, isn’t easily swayed, though she does find herself wavering a bit when he talks about how her belief in her captain made him powerful enough to kill eldritch gods, because how does he know that? But that’s still not enough to make a loyal, feisty gal like Ikkaku drink Hawkins' Kool-Aid, as it were, so she continues to defy him.

As a result, Hawkins snaps further. If he can’t get her to believe in him out of love, he’ll get that belief out of fear. He’ll make her believe he’s too powerful to die, even if he has to break her to do so. So the coercion turns to abuse. He beats her up, pins her down, gropes her, assaults her, probably even forces himself on her. Of course Ikkaku fights back at first, but there’s one problem - he’d anticipated potential harm, and thus had linked his life to Law using his Life Minus technique. So any harm Ikkaku tries to inflict on him to defend herself will be transferred to Law. This allows Hawkins to do as he wishes, because he knows Ikkaku could never hurt her captain, especially when she knows he’s already getting tortured in the prisons.

Later, when Hawkins goes back down to interrogate Law about the alliance’s plans in Wano, that’s when Law takes Hawkins out as in canon, though he isn’t aware of what Hawkins has done to his engineer. He was at least informed by Drake of her location though. Law gets to Hawkins’ room to find a bloody and beaten Ikkaku in the white High Priestess robes, though she’s instantly relieved to see Law. Law of course demands to know what Hawkins did to her, but Ikkaku, seeing Law’s own battered state and scared that Hawkins might manage to kill him or use her to hurt him, insists that it’s more important that they focus on escaping. They limp out together, Law already having strong suspicions of what happened but Ikkaku refusing to confirm anything until they’re far away because everything is too fresh and she’s too frightened and she just wants to go home to the Tang and feel safe again. Law absolutely wants to go back and actually kill Hawkins instead of just leaving him in pieces, but unfortunately the attack on Onigashima must take priority.

Later, during Killer’s fight with Hawkins, Ikkaku does briefly believe Hawkins can’t be killed because of his technique, and for a split second, he nearly gets what he wanted. That Light Keeper’s belief that could give Law the power to kill gods is in his grasp. His plans to avert fate and have his High Priestess’ powers fueling his quest to godhood are in his grasp.

But then Killer continues to fight for the sake of Kid, and he cuts off Hawkins’ arm, pointing out the flaw in the Life Minus technique. In this moment, Ikkaku is no longer in Hawkins’ thrall, because she 100% believes that the Massacre Soldier can kill Hawkins, especially when his captain’s life is on the line. Any power Hawkins might have gained due to her fear fizzles out, and Killer is victorious.

And THAT is how I weave this Hawkins obsession for Ikkaku bullshit into the canon story. *bows*

[anarchistgarden]

The unknowable being in a creaky suit that looked back at Thorn

my other absolute bullshit is in no way correct theory about burrows end is that all the powder is from a gender reveal gone wrong and that the blue is from like blue smoke from a stupid fucking gender reveal. i don’t think it’s right at all. it was just a dumb thought and i need to share it with you all.

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

This one goes out to all the bitches who love some good Safehouse Era Horror. It's me, I'm bitches. I want Jon and Martin to be fucked up and eldritch but I want them to be fucked up and eldritch and loved

(Notes under the cut because I can't help myself. Heads up, I do go into some detail of how Jon gets injured so I can explain my thought process for how I designed his scars. All canon-typical and fairly clinical in tone.)

Here's how I picture Safehouse Jon!

He doesn't need glasses anymore by this point, so he should just be wearing empty frames, but I drew this before I settled on my glasses headcanons. This drawing looks better with the reflection anyways.

He hasn't gotten a haircut since before his promotion to Head Archivist. He doesn't love the weight of it on his neck, but he also uses it to fidget, and he really doesn't want to go through the whole process of cutting it. He's disliked haircuts since he was a kid (People: Bad. Small talk: Bad. Touching: Bad. Loud sounds: Bad. People talking all at once: Bad) and since his time with the Circus he's only grown more reluctant to go and get it done.

At this length his hair is naturally pretty curly but he is. Not taking care of it. I actually put a lot of effort into trying to make it look brittle and tangled (I have a lot of experience lol, my hair is quite thick and I've always hated taking care of it. Yes I am also projecting my feelings about going to a hairdressers onto him why do you ask.)

The various scars were a bit of a strange task, but anyone who has seen my takes on The Bad Kids knows I'm not averse to selective realism in my fiction. Easiest one was the neck, I always pictured Daisy making a vertical cut based on "through the voice box". The larynx is longer than it is wide, so I think Daisy would go for the method that dealt damage across the largest total surface area. Yes I am aware that I'm speaking the same way Martin does when he explains his corkscrew.

The worm scars were easy because I barely drew any. There are a few marks on his cheek, but they're just surface bites. I picture most of his encounter with Prentiss showing on his legs, particularly on the right side, with enough damage there that he starts using a cane after the incident to keep weight off his right leg. More research to be done on this particular detail.

Finally the burn on his hand from Jude. This was the weirdest one to figure out just because of the nature of the injury. How do you quantify the damage done to an epidermis by a living manifestation of sometimes-boiling wax that can heat and cool at will? I settled on it being a second-degree burn that healed supernaturally fast, containing the damage to the space Jude had direct contact with. He'd probably have some mobility issues there as well. I know there are ways to help with mobility and pain after a severe burn, but I don't know how much of it Jon would actually. Do. Like I said, definitely further research to be done on these last two.

Hey so I'm gonna ask you to stop and consider the horror of the watcher. The helplessness. The guilt. The inherent terror of being a spectator, a participant by proximity but not by action. The horror of not being able to look away, of being a bystander. Jon forgets to blink sometimes. But wouldn't it be so much worse if there were no eyelids at all? That's how I interpret the description of The Archivist being "All Eyes" :D

I love a good Many-Eyed Jon, so I whipped up my own interpretation here. I think the more he Becomes the more he starts to resemble the thing from the dreams. He has a lot more control of it in S5, but it still creeps up on him and he has to consciously go back to a human shape.