#keeping this headcanon through the reset

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

vox more than anything fic ending with fluffy makeup sex is all i need :,))) LET ME HOLD THAT TV MAN!!!

I didn't end up adding the spice because it didn't flow naturally with how this came out. I do headcanon that Vox would 100% try to initiate spicy times during a makeup because he wouldn't know how to handle the emotional vulnerability in any other way. Homeboy hasn't exactly had any healthy fight aftermaths. Hope yall are ready for the fluffy pain <3

Tag List: @luzzbuzz

More Than Anything Part 3 [Vox x Reader]

Part 1

Part 2

Part 2.5 (Vox POV)

Things at the Vee's Tower seemed relatively normal when you stepped into the lobby. It felt a little weird if anything. When Vox was upset, it could shut down the entire tower for days on end if it was something more serious. You didn't hear the hum of the overbearing generators that would keep things running during his fits and your worry only grew as you stepped into the elevator. You swallowed down your anxiety as you scanned your badge that would let you onto the elite floor where the penthouses of the Vee's were at the top.

Did something happen to Vox? Was he not here for some reason? Where would he go? Did he... just not care?

Anxiety swirled in your mind as the elevator doors slid open. You saw Velvette on the couch scrolling through her phone and the young overlord perked up when she saw you.

"Bout fucking time," she groaned as she pocketed her phone and got off the couch. "Do you have any idea what a pain in the ass it's been to babysit the man-child?" Velvette poked at your chest and you couldn't help but notice the dark circles under her eyes as she frowned at you. "You owe me for this."

Ninety percent of hell didn't see past Velvette's tough-as-nails exterior and if it hadn't been for the time you'd spent with the Vee's due to your relationship with Vox, you doubt you would have ever seen through the cracks in her demeanor either. For all her bark and bite, you could tell she cared for Vox and Valentino deeply. She wouldn't look so damn exhausted right now if she didn't.

"I'll make it up to you," you sigh in relief as you drop your bag to the side. "Where is he?"

To say you were less than pleased when you saw the door held shut by the smokey chains of Valentino's magic was an understatement. You were pissed. While you still felt a semblance of gratitude for the other Vee's keeping Vox from doing anything rash, you were going to tear them both a new one for keeping him caged like a fucking animal.

Velvette lifted her hands and got the cue to leave as you triggered your demon form and slashed Valentino's magic to wispy shreds. You yanked open the door and your eyes searched the room for Vox maniacally. There we no cameras and the windows had been covered with some sort of blockers. It looked like the Vee's had the sense to leave him with some comfort items and non-tech-involved things to pass the time, but the only technology you saw was some ancient Nokia-looking phone lying by his foot that he wouldn't be able to use to teleport out of the room.

"Vox?" You breathed as you saw him curled up in a corner with his screen buried against his knees.

His head whipped up and he breathed your name, only to curse as his body glitched hard from the prolonged stress.

"Y̶o̸u̴ ̸c̶a̷m̴e̸ ̸b̶a̸c̸k̴?̷," he asks, and your heart aches as you watch him flinch at the static in his voice.

"Oh hun, come here," you sigh as you get down on your knees and pull his screen towards you. You didn't know much about tech, but his personal repair sinner had shown you some of the basics to take care of Vox if anything ever got out of hand.

You reached around the back of his head and did a hard reset for him, holding him close to you as he went limp against your chest. When Vox powered back up, he flinched hard and pushed himself away from you, backing up with wide eyes and frantic breathing before he processed it was you who had been holding him and not Valentino.

"Woah! Easy," you gasp, not expecting the sudden movement. You look over him and instantly regret leaving him for as long as you had. "What... What happened?"

Vox's heart was pounding rapidly in his chest as flashes of Valentino's manipulative words flitted through his mind. The promises of affection if he crawled back. The venom in his voice as he told Vox you'd never love him again. The back and forth between gentle lies and cold hard truths. The one time he almost, almost caved into Valentino's whims.

With a shaky breath, Vox stomped down on as much of his weakness as he could and turned away from you. "It's not important."

"Like hell, it's not," you frowned as you reached toward him, only to pause as he flinched at the tone in your voice.

It was obvious there was a whole new can of worms to handle and most likely a moth to strangle. But you steady yourself and take a deep breath, deciding to take things one step at a time.

"I'm sorry for leaving," you start slowly as you sit properly on the floor with Vox. "I was scared and angry and processing everything. I needed space. But I should have at least texted you back or checked in. I didn't..." your voice wavers. "I didn't think that..."

"It's fine," Vox sighed. "I get it. What I don't get is why you're here. Why did you come back?"

"I was always going to come back," you say as you reach towards him slowly. Your heart ached to know he had genuinely started to believe you'd just abandon him, but given the pieces of the unsettling image of what happened while you were gone, you understood where it was coming from.

Vox looks at you and hesitates before he leans into your touch and lets you cup the side of his face. "I was angry and hurt and scared," you admit. "I needed time to process my feelings. I didn't want to say something I'd regret."

You shake your head and chuckle, "I'd say I should have known better, but this is our first big fight now that I think about it. It's uncharted territory for us both."

Vox was silent as he slowly reached up and took your hand. He let out a shaky breath as he looked down. "I've... any connection I've had with someone. It's never... survived this sort of thing. Once shit hits the fan, that tends to be the end of it. I thought... I thought you were gone for good."

"I won't let you think that ever again," you say as you cup the other side of his face with your free hand. You make him look at you, but you're gentle. "We'll talk about this. I'm in this for the long run, you dorky TV man."

"But I tricked you," Vox shook. His face flickered between heartbreak and frustration. "I stole your soul. You have no reason to fucking t̵͍͌r̸̰̈u̵͉̍s̸̯͛ẗ̶̫ me."

"I love you," you say without hesitation. Vox's eyebrows furrow and he opens his mouth to retort, but you shake your head and stop him. "You did a bad thing. You did break my trust. But I know why you did it. Loving you doesn't mean I'll forgive you every time you cross a major boundary, but it does mean that I will do whatever it takes to worth through the bullshit together," you say softly.

Your thumb swipes over Vox's screen as you feel him tremble in your hold. "You're worth that effort to me, Vox."

"Why?" Vox asked as his eyes darted over your face as if the answer to his confusion would be found there. He didn't understand. How could you come back? How could you want to forgive him? How could you be here in front of him, looking like he was the one who hung the stars in the sky rather than the one who drew souls to their doom like a siren song on a screen?

You kiss his forehead and pull him close as he shakes harder in your arms. "W̸̻͝h̴͖̒y̵̞̍?̵̝̕"

His claws dig into the back of your shirt as he hangs onto you like a lifeline. "I̵ ̷d̴o̶n̵'̶t̶.̴.̶.̵," Vox growls in frustration at the emotion that sticks in his throat. "I can't... I don't d̷e̴s̶e̷r̷v̴e̷ this."

"Because loving you has never been about what either of us deserves," you sigh as you kiss his head. "It's because despite everything, I know I could never replace you. So I'm willing to put in the work if you are."

A broken sob ripped itself from Vox's chest unwillingly as he held you tighter. Your heart broke, knowing this very well could be the first time anyone had actually tried to stick around after any of his fuck-ups. You held him close, rubbing his back as he worked through his emotions. You were there for him as he glitched and let out an anguished scream as everything he'd been holding in for so long finally poured out.

You don't know how long it is before he finally calms down. He looks up at you and you know his eyes would be bloodshot from the breakdown if that was how his screen functioned. He let out a deep breath and you smiled softly as he cupped your cheek.

"This isn't the first time I've thought you didn't belong down here," Vox admitted. His voice was hoarse from exhaustion and the pure angst session some cruel fucker decided would be entertaining to put him through. If he ever found that bitch, he'd wrangle her neck.

You laugh as you feel tears prick the corner of your eyes as you finally see the familiar spark in his eyes for the first time since you'd come back. "Nah, you know heaven wouldn't know the first thing about how to put up with my shit."

Vox barked out a tired laugh. "Damn right, they wouldn't. You're a menace."

"Yeah," you giggle as you press a kiss to his cheek. "But I'm your menace."

Vox reached up, his fingers tangling softly in your hair as he brought you in for a proper kiss. "Yeah. You're my menace. And I love you, more than anything."

[sordidmusings]

WIP TUESDAY - Sugar Daddy Headcanons with Shanks and Garp

Saw Schoute's wonderful art WIP and writing and wanted to join the fun! Have some ridiculous Blorbos as Sugar Daddies headcanons that have been on my backburner LOL I've got Shanks and Garp ready for y'all 🫡 They're pretty much done, I moreso have to fill out everyone else on the list 🤡 No warnings really! Just some allusions to spice but nothing explicit. Lots of silliness. I believe they're gender neutral but I'm going to tag as afab just in case because I fear it may be in the subtext since that's the perspective I wrote it from and the one people generally expect for sugar babies. Might be fun to subvert sometime by writing them with explicitly amab sugar babies. I will Ponder lol I'd also love to see what everyone is working on so please take this as a sign to post something of your own!!

The song I blame for everything (I love u Thot Squad):

“This fine old man, he played three

He can knickknack this coochie

With an Amex black card, get a girl a Benz

Reset and do it again”

Word Count: Shanks ~750, Garp ~400 (sorry about the favoritism Vice Admiral 😬)

Shanks

shanks absolutely pursued this type of relationship with you

Your pretty face and open smile snagged his attention but the way you easily met and fed his energy had him at you like a dog with a bone

He’s no stranger to helping people laugh their way into his bed, but the journey with you felt different. He took extra time simply because each moment with you was too good to keep from savoring

You didn’t hide your attraction at any point but he did appreciate that you would try and prod back at him in good humor to test his will and want

You found he had both in excessive abundance

It felt nice to have someone so attractive, established, feared, and adored seek your company and watch him become more interested with each minute he got of you. It also felt nice to see that while he certainly had an abundance of confidence he held no arrogance with you - he played no games in making you question his interest or to assert his importance to you. He treated you as a person (one he mainly wanted to turn to his bedroom tenant but still-) and it made him feel more like a man than a myth for you both too

And holy hell did you like that man - he made you laugh even if at his own expense, he impressed you when he’d let some of his cunning slip through the jovial pirate shtick, he kept your interest with how he could entertain any topic you brought forward, he made you feel beautiful with the way his eyes and hands soaked you in, and he made you feel wanted with the way he treated everything about you with genuine interest. 

The only thing that made it better is how he made sure you wanted for nothing. The first night it was making sure you didn’t pay a cent for anything, you always had food and drink right before you realized you wanted it, his coat found your shoulders the moment you felt a chill, you found yourself in fresh air right when the heat and the noise of the bar became too much. 

After that it was an endless stream of trinkets, from priceless to silly but sentimental, all coming with letters that had you laughing, blushing, and swooning.

Every time he’d visit you (and it was at first as often as he thought he could manage but that managed to get even sooner and sooner because of his need for you) you’d indulge in each other like it was the first and last time

He stopped wanting anyone else - there were enough people across the seas he had to apologize to after explaining why he’d gasped the wrong name and they were never right to scratch the new insatiable itch he had anyway

When it dawned on him how much you had him wrapped around your finger, not just physically and financially but also mentally, emotionally, and he’s pretty sure even spiritually, he may have had a crisis (the crew was very torn between amusement and true wory watching it unfold, especially when the usual rum and patented Beckman Shoulder Pat with Nod didn't ease his turmoil)

It wasn't because he didn’t want to love you, but he truly never thought he’d ever find someone he wanted and needed the way he does you. It was such a foreign concept to him that he felt like the world had tilted and left everything slightly unfamiliar. Especially coming from a relationship he stapled together with riches. Sure, there was also joy, camaraderie, and intimacy holding it together, but he found it harder to trust that someone such as you wouldn't find someone younger and more present to belong to than to trust that you could need him to sustain a lifestyle of ease and abundance.

If he couldn't be sure you'd want him, he'd try and find solace in you needing him, even if it was only for what he could afford you

When he finally told Beckman of his plight, he was slightly offended by the “it took you this long to figure it out?”

He’s currently trying to figure out how to convince you to live on his ship with him. He needed to let you know you’d be safe regardless of your experience level with the seas or battle. 

He’d bring the world to its knees if anything touched a hair on your head

Luckily for him, you knew. Anyone with eyes would from the way he smiles at you.

Garp

Garp was decidedly not in your plans. Yes, you wanted someone older, someone with wealth, someone with influence, someone who would take care of you, but you thought Gilfs were an urban legend told to see what face it would get out of freshies

You’re not complaining tho

He has certainly convinced you that the rarity of his kind just pointed to what a prized role it was to shack up with one

He was rough around the edges to be sure - brash and loud and stubborn - but he used all those traits to get you both exactly what you wanted

All your needs were met without you having to even think of them anymore (you were surprised that needs in the bedroom were included in that, but you supposed you shouldn’t have underestimated a man who could still punch apart battle ships, nor one with such a lust for eating)

Neither of you had any illusions of sweeping romance

You were more than happy with the care and respect that built between the two of you in your roles, growing with each act of service to each other, each piece of comfort, each unintended moment of vulnerability

Don’t get me wrong, the vulnerability ain’t common; most of your time is this man having fun watching you light up when he took you out and tossed his money around for you before taking you home to have multiple courses of dessert

You’ll never get over his gruff voice and curling accent - they helped your brain turn to mush while he coaxed and praised you through happily giving him everything he wants as a thank you for all his care

That voice along with all that burliness and age, which you thought would’ve been a turn off not on, ended up making you feel small yet so protected

Garp didn’t think he’d enter a relationship like this that went on so long and so easily but any reservation or second guessing was lost the moment he saw you and everything just felt natural

Tho he’d still make jokes that always make you groan about how you keep him young better than his troublesome recruits (that he is stuck between wanting to parade you around to see their jaws drop and wanting to keep you hidden away from any young bucks who may try to get your attention before he’s ready to let you go)

Thank you for reading 😘🤍🤍

Masterlist

[isa-ghost]

✨️ The Philverse Lore Masterpost ✨️

So I planned on making this a while ago and forgot but now I'm doing it.

And the formatting of this post MAY change in the future (like me providing other reference links and such for each Phil), but for now I'm gonna keep it simple.

This post is an explanation of how the Philza Cinematic Universe(tm) works, along with some widely accepted fanon things. It will update as cc!Phil changes things or canonizes new ones.

"Main" rp!Phil

"Main" Phil is Hardcore (hc) Phil, SMP Earth (smpe) Phil, DSMP (c) Phil, and QSMP (q) Phil. This is also the Phil that The Beginning by MaepleTea features.

It's important to note here that rp!Phil is canonically immortal (this is probably true for ALL rp!Phils, not just "main" Phil, cc!Phil has said things along these lines on multiple occasions in the past).

cc!Phil has described rp!Phil has hundreds of years old, though we have no idea how many centuries he's been alive. What we've seen is more or less just the last decade of his life, unless cc!Phil chooses to construct a timeline that says otherwise.

The timeline goes something like this:

HCS2 -> SMPE -> HCS4 -> DSMP -> QSMP -> ???

Obviously it's not linear like that, HCS4 is simultaneously going on during SMPE, DSMP & QSMP. In roleplay, the canon explanation is that hc!Phil can travel to other universes through what is basically dreamwalking. This gets explicitly confirmed in QSMP lore.

In other words, the Hardcore World is rp!Phil's universe of origin. A common headcanon related to this is that all seasons of Hardcore are one universe, which resets itself each time rp!Phil dies. After each reset, rp!Phil retains his memories of the previous iteration and starts over again, but with new knowledge to avoid dying again.

A better way to visualize this timeline would be to refer to IRL dates, like this (click for better quality):

Note: I didn't include HCS3 because it lasted like two weeks. Consider it a blip in rp!Phil's long immortal lifespan, if anything. I also didn't include HCS1 because Phil basically never refers to it other than the way that it ended. Considering there wasn't really any lore about hc!Phil being a historian/explorer prior to HCS4 anyway, this is basically fine to assume.

All of the above being the same guy is canonically confirmed, either explicitly stated BY cc!Phil himself, or with undeniable implications within roleplay.

SMP Earth is the only one of these that gets a little iffy to call confirmed because it's never been explicitly stated and technically SMPE wasn't a roleplay server, BUT: Considering the references and parallels c!Emduo make when they move to the tundra to get away from the rest of the DSMP, it becomes pretty obvious it can be considered canon. There are also multiple occasions where c!Emduo refer to what they did during the Antarctic Empire times. Furthermore, and I'll reiterate this in a moment: q!Phil tells stories to Chayanne & Lullah of things he and rp!Techno did during SMPE.

HCS2 (more specifically Phil's death) obviously gets referred to constantly in and out of roleplay, making it canon whether cc!Phil wants/considers it to be or not. This is one of few deaths we know rp!Phil has experienced, if not the only one. I imply there may be multiple deaths here because I don't remember if cc!Phil confirmed that rp!Phil died at the end of The Beginning before being saved by Goddess of Death or not. If so, that means rp!Phil has died at least twice: then, and in HCS2.

QSMP is actually the key universe to all of these other Phils being connected, since that is where cc!Phil chose to do lore to confirm all of these are the same guy. Prior to QSMP, we only knew SMPE and DSMP were connected thanks to c!Emduo.

QSMP confirmed that q!Phil is hc!Phil formally via the dreamwalking lore. Additionally, prior to this lore being dropped, again: there were multiple instances in which q!Phil told Chayanne & Lullah stories from his time on SMPE. Obviously, if SMPE is canon to both DSMP and QSMP, then those two are also connected by default. These stories were not the only reference to DSMP made during QSMP either. Multiple previous DSMP members also canonized DSMP and QSMP being connected.

And during all of this, rp!Phil is dreamwalking from the Hardcore World to these other worlds.

Origins SMP Phil (o!Phil)

This version of Phil is his own separate guy with a fully unique story from "main" Phil.

While "main" Phil is an immortal historian and explorer from Hardcore that can travel to other worlds via his dreams, o!Phil is an even more avian-coded guy trying his hardest to be a villain but failing at it miserably /aff.

As confirmed by cc!Phil: o!Phil comes from a dirt poor family who didn't want him to suffer the horrific reality of living in poverty, so his parents spoiled him rotten to the point of making themselves suffer. They later mysteriously disappeared (and are likely now dead). o!Phil's story in-rp (eventually) begins with him searching for them.

o!Phil has no idea he's not actually the entitled royalty he thinks he is. He eventually bonds with o!Sneeg, who chooses to be a "villain" with him, and they have a whole riveting, silly, weird ass codependent besties thing going on for the rest of Origin's multiple reboots. Their friendship in OSMP is what inspired 1/3 of the current theories for tr!Phil, who I'll get to momentarily.

o!Phil also canonically appeared in Rats SMP as a guest, as did o!Sneeg. They were searching for each other in the wake of OSMP "ending" (read: dying, again), and this intensified the fandom's interpretation that they're inseparable/codependent. This cameo also confirmed that both o!Phil and o!Sneeg can travel universes like "main" Phil.

Another important note: Some Crows consider cc!Phil's cameo in Aimsey SMP (ASMP) to be o!Phil because they share very similar attitudes and penchants for material goods, especially "shiny things."

Squidcraft Phil (sc!Phil)

The easiest rp!Phil to explain. cc!Phil himself said that sc!Phil is an alternate timeline version of "main" Phil, specifically q!Phil.

This is probably only due to the fact that Missa and several other QSMP members were in 2023's Squidcraft event, and cc!Phil couldn't resist being an angsty little shit with Missa throughout the event until his elimination.

The Realm SMP Phil (tr!Phil)

As of early 2025 when I'm making this post, we have no idea how tr!Phil fits into the Philverse. cc!Phil explicitly states he has no plans or intentions whatsoever to do lore on TRSMP, even if he does roleplay with other players like Sneeg or Fit. Assuming he doesn't change his mind on that, the following is ENTIRELY what the fandom headcanons/theorizes is true.

There are 3 main interpretations for tr!Phil's origin and I explain those in depth in this post here!

If or when we get more to go off of, I will update this section of the post. :)

Bonus Note(s)

MCC

The MCYT fandom widely headcanons MCC as a weird multiverse Hunger Games type thing where Noxcrew and Scott Smajor, whatever kind of higher power they may be, drag MCYTs across several universes into their little liminal space/pocket universe type place and have them to compete in the championship.

There have been references to MCC in SMPs during moments of varying degrees of roleplay were occurring. In rp!Phil's case, it's safe to consider "main" Phil is the one who gets put into MCC.

None of this, to my memory, is considered canon by cc!Phil, just silly popular fanon.

(If/when we get more versions of rp!Phil, I'll add them wherever they belong in this post!)

[astracora]

EVER's Tool

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (Sylus POV/MC POV)

Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Spoilers for multiple anecdotes and all current story.

Word Count: 10348

Written: 10th January 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. A lil AU almost, set after cat curse and turning point. I had the mental image of EVER making MC into a personal weapon, using the fact their memories reset so it's easier to manipulate them. I also think about the line that 'sincere emotions are hard to forget', and how the LADs are basically EVER's worst problem when it comes to controlling them. As a side note, I fucking hated Leon when I read the anecdotes, so so much. The creepy way of calling a child 'little bomb' just set me wanting him smacked in the face. So I'm channelling that dislike into ruining his day. The way I screenshotted so many main story things to pull into this. It's upsetting... I had to double check so much stuff cause I have a terrible memory. My final lil note is I have no idea how MC's resonance works, but there was a line in one of the anecdotes that EVER wanted it to absorb Xavier's, so I've run with the concept.) I have no idea if anyone else will care about this lil brain thread, but hey, have at ye. Will there be more? Gods only know. Now I can finally sleep its 2am and my brain refused to let me rest.

Now Playing: Bite Marks, by League of Legends (ft TEYA)

Masterlist AO3

Next ->

Missing for months now… He's reached out to every source he can find. Has sent Mephisto all over Linkon, the N109 Zone, beyond.

He has looked in every shadow, every dark hole he can find. He has searched and searched, and still found no trace of you. He has never felt this powerless, this lost, to have all the resources of Onychinus and still unable to find answers to the only question he really cares to have answered.

How can you have disappeared? Vanished on him, on them, when you have built a life together? The house has emptied, the halls are quieter, the bedroom you all share is hard to sleep in.

It is like they have acquired ghosts. Griefs that will not rest, that cannot settle… because they have no answers. No response, no way to seek you out to soothe open wounds, and apply salve to scars.

He cannot stop, he cannot stop looking. He looked for you through time, and space, he will not stop now.

If you are out there, he will find you, and bring you back home. To them.

He did not vow and share his soul with you, to lose you.

He has spent most of his days looking, and searching. When he is not forcing himself to keep being Onychinus' leader, he barely sleeps for investigating. If he stops for a moment he thinks of an empty bed, and cold sheets. Of limbs no longer tangled with his. Of fingers no longer soothing through his hair.

Sylus cannot bring himself to tremble and to crumble, he does not have time. Not when the answer has fractured his home. His loved ones.

He watches Xavier hunt, carry out his job. Kill and fight. Mindless and driven, because he wants to protect the Linkon you cared about too. He wants to keep his blade busy, so that his mind does not wander. Then, Sylus knows he searches and he looks. Under rock, across desert, in the mountains. Everywhere his missions take him, he searches.

He comes home empty handed, and tired, but never seems to sleep properly anymore. Restless and unsettled, no matter how often someone soothes his hair and holds him. Xavier sits in the cycle that Sylus knows they cannot break.

He has tried to reach out to Rafayel, the fish beached and unbreathing. He sits in his art room and stares at paintings he cannot finish. Empty canvas and snapped paintbrushes. There are days, he tears them, dry sobs in his chest, eyes burning for tears he can't quite shed. He splatters paint up walls, and stares at what remains. His hands cut and torn from violent actions.

He finds no inspiration, and he ignores all of Thomas' calls, and he sits as the doctor tends to damaged skin, and clings to hands to keep himself grounded. Whispering things that he doesn't want them to hear. Fears of it being his fault. They can only respond with tight arms, and affirmation. It is not, they're sure. It is not.

He watches Zayne pick up more shifts than he should handle, only home when forced to be. Sinking into work, and sleeping in call rooms. When he does return, he waters plants you have left behind, feeds the cats outside the house that seek you out, and keeps your things neat. He traces trembling fingers over photo frames, looks through albums, and reminds himself. So he can stop mistaking every hunter he sees as you.

His sleep is more uneven, and he trembles awake with nightmares, hands reaching out for comfort, and clinging to chests to cry. To weep, to shake. He cannot find solace no matter where he looks, and Sylus can only offer presence and love because he does not know where the solace is found either.

His home is torn and hurting, and he cannot fix it. He will not stop trying to fix it.

He has to fix it.

It is a late night, ninety-two days after your disappearance, when Mephisto's feed flashes. He watches, and he waits, and he sees a flash of familiar white hair and jagged scar down your cheek, through your mouth.

His hand tremours in front of the screen, as he reaches out with tentative fingertips. As though he can reach through it, and pull you through…

His legs force him up before he can second guess himself, before he can waver on the edge of unsurity. Before he can hesitate to long to miss you. He calls the prince, and he leaves. On the first winds of hope, since you vanished.

—-----

The prince stands alert outside the building, while Sylus breaks in. It is old and condemned, the same kind of building that collapsed down around you. Landed you in hospital as they put you back together.

It is not a place he would normally spend his time at. Yet he trusted Mephisto's eyes better than he trusted most things.

The perks of a robotic bird, that he has upgraded even further after your disappearance. Desperate, though he isn't sure he can admit that. Not without falling to pieces, as he digs and he digs and he searches.

Sylus is quiet as he ascends floors, his mist drifting up walls and through broken door frames. Seeking and searching for the familiarity he can never mistake. No matter how many floors he climbs, he cannot feel you. Cannot seek out the sparks of gold he knows so well, and the soul that cannot complete without his. He finally approaches the final door, and pushes it open. An apartment in ruins, but the smell of acrid blood hits him. Familiar and cloying. It does not appeal to his sense, nor to his hunger.

He looks at the walls, where blood has splattered, across the floor where bloodstains mark it. There is a body, throat cut, arm torn partially off. It takes him a second to assure that it is not you, but it is a second too long. The fear drops his heart before he can pick it back and place it where you placed your own.

Approaching the body, he cares little for the blood on his hands as he rummages through pockets, inspecting the wounds. Another stab mark through the temples. A dagger, curved. Familiar. He's seen it before. Designed by the fish, for you to use, adjusted lightness for the metal of your arm. Replacing the trusty claymore he used to witness you swinging with abandon.

Cleaving through enemies.

Cleaving through him.

He presses his fingers against it, assuring himself that he is not seeing what he wishes to. It would not be the first time he has caught glimpses of you in shadows, in alleys and chased the ghast. It is never you, it is always a cut into an already fragile heart, and he rights himself quickly.

To keep moving forwards.

This, however, he is not mistaken about. So he takes photos, sends them to the fish to evaluate, to the prince to be on guard. That someone is here, with your dagger. If it is not you, it has been stolen from you.

He will greatly enjoy cleaving through whoever has taken something precious to you. To lay their dirty hands on something that is theirs. His home, his family.

Footsteps approach him, and he hears a song he knows is yours. The notes though, they are buried in dust. The tune is not familiar. Your feet shouldn't make that noise, your heart is too familiar to him to be mistaken. To be misheard.

He whirls as a knife flies past his head. Stabbing into the broken sofa behind him. Sinking into moulding fabric. Releasing a smell he wishes he hadn't experienced. It fills the air as you step forwards, twirling a dagger around your fingers like he knows you've seen him do.

Like he taught you when you poked fun at him, asked him how he made it move so smoothly.

'Is it a crime lord aesthetic thing?'

'You have quite an image of me.'

'Am I wrong?'

'You just haven't looked closely enough.'

You are a flash of light, and a chill. A ghostly vision against the dilapidated backdrop. The dagger is dripping blood with each spin, splattering it against the floor and against your clothes. Black and loose. Harness over shoulder and around your chest.

You look as you should, jagged scars and crooked lips, mismatched eyes, arm of meta-

His eyes halt and hold on your form, there is no metal. He looks at the twisted carapace of a wanderer. Segmented into a limb, and long clawed fingers. Sylus feels as though he is staring at his own limb, long ago. When his claws could cut through your flesh with ease, and he could not feel the heat of your skin properly through his own.

It is black and twisted and cracked. Like a well used tool.

It is not yours.

It is not yours.

Yours was silver, painted by the fish, well worn and trusted. A tool as well as a part of you. A shield and a weapon in one.

It could trace his face gently, and swing a dagger with ease.

This is not yours.

The chill that you bring becomes ice down his back. It feels like the cut of a sword through his skin. Tears away at flesh and bone. Your eyes are empty, there is nothing in them but the glow of a gold he recognises. The resonance lurking under skin like a serpent waiting to strike. He levels his look on the dagger, and then back to your eyes. Seeking something out. Seeking you out.

You're in there, you have to be in there.

"Did you forget to check your phone, kitten?" He manages, but his voice is weak and cracked. He wants to grab you, to tell you it's fine, as long as you're safe now. He reaches out, and barely pulls his hand back quick enough before the dagger slices through where it was.

You tilt your head, then look down on the floor, "I was curious to know who sought out my target." The smile is crooked, it's wrong, it's twisted at the edges and broken. Like the horns he cut off years ago. "You're not on my list though."

It's a dismissive shrug, and a turn away. As though he is a stranger… as though he means nothing.

He barely holds the growl, though he is not angry, he advances on you, moving himself out of the way when your dagger darts out again. "Claws out kitten? Watch it, you could hurt someone." He manages, voice low, but pulling his tone to heel. He looks down at you. Reading at the empty gold glow, looking for something. Anything.

Disgust even, if there is disgust… you know of him.

There is nothing. Empty and cool. The abyss he should recognise but it is nothing he has seen before. Like you are missing. Like your body is empty.

You look back at him, unflinching, unbothered, watching him stare at you. It is the EVER symbol on your collar, he notices, it is like a brand against you. It is the flaming fury in his chest. It is not you.

It is them.

"Are you done?" You offer, stepping back out away from him, so he grabs your arm. The twisted skin against his flesh. Warm and pulsing under, but hard as stone. It is a painful thing to touch. It is not yours.

He looks at it, stares, and as he goes to speak, you tug it away from him. Spin, and kick him in the side.

The force makes him see stars for a moment, falling to knees. He gasps before he rights his body, before he forces adrenaline into his veins to catch the next kick you aim at him. The gold glitters under your skin, as you attack, and the leg he catches shakes his limbs. Throwing it away from him, as you spin and back away.

Sylus stands, and advances as you back up further, "That wasn't particularly nice, Kitten, we were having a chat."

"You shouldn't grab someone you don't know. It's impolite." You growl back, showing canines, and narrowing cool eyes at him.

Don't know.

He almost laughs.

He knows you, more than he knows himself. He knows you because you are part of him. He has lived with questions for who he is all of his life, has struggled to decide who he should be and who he is. You? You he knows.

He knows every piece of you, inside and out. He will always see you.

This is not you.

This is them.

"Then we should get to know each other." The words burn to say, and he reaches his hand out, ready to pull you to him. With skin, with mist. He cares little. He will capture you again, and he will make you wake up from whatever nightmare EVER have placed you in.

"I have orders, you're not part of them." You incline your head. He's used to a smile accompanying such an action, a tease, a lilt in your voice. Yet you are flat.

Then with the elbow of the wanderer's limb, you smash the window… and fall back.

He follows, on quicker feet than he has ever moved, melding into mist. Over the edge of the fall, watching you fall back. He has caught you so many times in his life. On the winds, with his wings, with his EVOL. He has followed you over the edge of many cliffs.

He will follow you over any others.

As he reaches out, you twist, hand on his wrist, pulling and turning, so that his back is to the impending floor. "You're determined." You snarl, actually snarl at him. His EVOL catches the dagger you aim for his chest, pushing it back, and he grabs your other arm, keeping the claws from closing around his throat.

You sink your teeth into his hand, biting down hard enough to draw blood, tearing at his flesh like he is a piece of meat you could devour.

The pain shoots up his arm, but it's not important. His wounds can heal, and while you can kill him, you have not levelled that fiend blade at his chest yet. Getting you back is all that matters, no matter the blood seeping down his wrist. You have bitten him before. You have come for him with daggers. You have shot him in the heart. Stabbed him through his joined heart. Cursed him.

Every drop of his blood that you bleed is another drop that belongs to you.

"Want to mark me that badly?" He laughs. He can only hope the prince has rested enough to hear the shattering glass. That he is still capable of hunting.

Your resonance bursts out of the wrist he holds in his mist, shattering it, and you kick, pulling away. Reaching out with claws to grab at the building. Grooves left behind you, as you slow your descent, he watches the gold shimmer again. Watches as the limb hardens further, claws thicker, digging deeper.

Spitting blood from your mouth, as you do.

He slows, balances himself. Without wings he cannot hover, can only slow his descent by a margin. His mist reaches out to yank you back. Into arms that cage around you, tighten around ribs he would normally be scared to break.

He holds, tight, and squeezes as much as he can. He feels you writhe, an angry cat held in a grip you do not want. Clawing and scratching. Willing to draw blood to escape. He feels the jagged claws of your hand grab at his wrist, digging into his flesh, tearing. Your EVOL bursts, and shatters, but it cannot shatter his bones, and he keeps the grip as you fall with him, as he ties you to gravity with him.

"Get off!" You growl, fury in your tone, and he's glad to finally see something from you. Some spark of who you are, even if it's angry and violent and vicious.

He sees a flash of light reflected off the glass of the buildings, and then he is caught and swiftly righted. Alongside a curse, and a huff.

Sylus turns to Xavier, who makes to speak before his eyes focus on you. Yowling and clawing. He reaches out a hand, only to have it knocked back by mist, "Don't. Your wounds don't heal like mine."

You snarl, "No, go on, let me slice you up." Claws flexing against the flesh you're serrating.

He'll heal. The pain is harsh, and burning. He's fought wanderers, but they don't have your mind. The knowledge of where to slice, the strength behind your anger.

"Starlight?" Xavier's voice does not waver often, he is used to seeing things that have hurt him. He has killed people who once followed him, he has fought those that were his loved ones. He has blood on his hands that burn to feel, but can never be washed off. Now, he wavers, watching someone who wears your face, but hisses and snarls to bite and snap. To cut and rip.

You kick back, into Sylus' shin. He avoids the second one, he knows is aimed to break his leg. Squeezes harder to creak your ribs. "EVER did something to them." He manages, using the mist to move the mark on your collar so Xavier can see it. He watches a jaw tick, the muscles jumping, blue starry eyes turn to ice, and focus on the point.

"We need to get them back." The prince approaches, and Sylus tightens his arms once more. If you have to be knocked out to get you back, well he can live with that. He's done it before. Hand around your throat, watching the life flickered in your eyes. Can your disgust hurt him more than the lack of any personal acknowledgement?

It is too soon for him to think, as you let out a snap of teeth at the prince, then smash your head back into his nose. The pain jolts up into his skull, so you reach your hand up, grab him by the hair and yank, then snap back one more time.

He's fought you before, he knows you. He knows you can beat him, he's been pinned by you in a test match before. Watching the glee in your eyes, seeing the fire at your victory. He has watched you practice swordsmanship with the prince. He has seen you cross daggers with the fish.

Everytime, you are cunning, you are ready to win. Everytime joy lights up your face if you succeed. Thrilled and happy to learn and improve. Crooked smile and bright eyes as you thank them for taking time for you to clash with.

It is not joy that lights your eyes, it's savage and it's gleaming. You do not extend your hand, or press a kiss to his cheek in your victory. You let him fall away from you, as blood sprays, and then you reach out with a clawed hand to rip at the prince's chest.

As soon as both have stumbled back, you turn, and you disappear.

Sylus' patience is strong. He has lived a long time, waiting, and living, and managing. It is when he has his prize so very close, that his desperation comes through. It was moments where he asked if you truly wanted him. Voice trembling and begging.

To touch, to taste, to hold, to seek pleasure with.

It was times when he had found you at last, growing impatient to feel your resonance against him. Moving too quickly, too desperately. Seeking memories locked behind a seal. Greedy for his beloved to look into his eyes and see someone worthy of flowers again.

It is the moments where he waits for your missions to end, and the message that you are returning, that he can no longer sit still.

It is when he saw your new home for the first time, a life built where he was not a monster, a family where he had nothing. Need bubbling to the surface to paint it in colours and fill it with song.

His patience has held until the last moment where relief is in sight. That it shatters, and it demands.

As he holds his bloody mangled arm, and spits blood on the floor, it breaks into shards. As he reaches out to Xavier, checking the wound, turning his face to check for others, he tears his already torn shirt to hold to the jagged claw marks.

As his fingers tremble and he shakes at where he is holding, he reaches for where his patience has gone and finds a small boy with broken horns. The absence of his calm, built on the back of his agony, lost to the fear and the doubt that circles his head.

It is the memory of the empty eyes, and the snarl that he can still hear in his head, the warm body in his hands, even though you had not been you.

You were finally so close, and now you are gone.

A hand tightens over his, the prince pulling his focus, and reaching up through the pain to ease tears that can't fall out of his eyes, "They're alive. We can find them again." He bites out, warming the chill in Sylus' hands, and waking him from the nightmare.

He will, and he'll melt every EVER building until he does. Rip the rot out by the roots, and become what Philos sneered at him for. A calamity.

Their evil is similar, afterall.

—------

He does not find any joy or relief in the information he brings back. As he watches the doctor stitch Xavier closed. Waving off his assistant. He eases the pain with his EVOL. Part of him wants to feel it, a reminder. You were there, he had you, and he let you go.

It does no one any good for him to be useless, or deeply wounded. So while the moon is still high, he repairs the damage, pushing his nose back into place. You'd told him it was beautiful, he hopes you still thought so when you returned. As the blood stops, and his wounds close, he leaves the room to shower.

The heat as high as it can go, to sear his flesh. It leaves his skin pink, as he finally turns the water off. Seeking out clothes that don't bear the ruins of your violence. When he returns to the living room, the prince's stitches are complete and bandaged, and the fish is looking at the photos he sent.

Before you tore at him like a beautiful and horrifying monster.

Had it been you, he would have welcomed your dagger and your claws.

He will not die to EVER's machinations. They will not make you their tool.

When he dies it will be because you have chosen willfully to cut through his chest and his joined heart. It will be your choice to sever your curse, and scatter his soul to the wind like the petals of deadly flowers.

Sylus eases himself into the sofa, leaning back and taking the fish's head into his lap with ease. Fingers finding purple locks and smoothing them out as they look at the photos.

He won't comment on Rafayel's feline-like purrs. He is too tired and worn. His heart hurts more than his arm did. "It was really them?"

"It was kitten, alright… Their body at least."

Zayne helps Xavier ease into a new shirt, cool hands sliding down sore skin, and turns his head to speak, "You think EVER are controlling them?"

The fish snorts, eyes narrowing, flames at his fingertips, "Is it surprising, after everything they've done?"

"That wasn't my question. Nothing they do at this point would surprise me, but controlling a person is…" The doctor flinches, and Sylus can see it. The image of you. Cold eyes, claws extended, tearing through Zayne's jugular. Blood splattering over your face, but you don't blink, or flinch. Simply move onto the next.

"Their eyes were empty, doctor. They didn't recognise or care when they saw me or the prince. They wanted to hurt us to escape… They didn't care how."

He finishes with the shirt and rubs at his forehead, trying to ease a headache that brews. It is better a headache, Sylus thinks, than him focusing on the aching pain in his chest. The fear of someone being broken by EVER. Experiments that defy morality. That twist and snap and destroy anything worthy of protecting.

That left him with twins, bearing scars. Inside and out. Who thought death would be an entertainment worthy of hunting for great prey.

That made you a child with a broken heart and a grandmother who didn't look close enough at what she did to you. Her morality flexible, because of your broken, twisted memory.

The doctor is a moral man, who believes in the power of medicine and science to save and protect the sanctity of life. That has rejected every offer for using his knowledge to twist that boundary. Who stares into the face of loss and believes dying in control of yourself, is better than living as a ghost or beast. Who has healed every wound you have held, and stitched up every injury.

Who nurses your heart, no matter how fragile it can be, or how much work it is.

What EVER stand for is so strongly opposed to the doctor, that Sylus can watch the tick in his jaw. The pain in his eyes. The tremble in his hands. The snowflakes drifting from fingertips, and the chill arching up his hands.

Rafayel removes himself from Sylus' lap, reaching over with heated hands and takes icy ones. Easing the cold back slowly, as the doctor fights for control over an EVOL that is soothed by you. It is a slower process with the fish, but it is worth it, as the chill recedes and the heat returns to the doctor's skin.

His trembling slows before it ceases, and he removes his glasses to rub his eyes, "Thank you."

The fish shrugs, sitting down next to him, ready just in case he is needed. Sylus looks down at his hand, flexing it in his lap, as he thinks about you taking his hand, pulling him forwards. No matter who he has been or will be, your hold has not wavered. It is his job to pull you back.

"We have a target." The prince exhales after downing a glass of water, looking over at him, and he nods, thinking. He can narrow down the search, look for traces, documents, records. EVER have always been simple to understand. Their methods are outdated to gain traitors, their experiments never stopped, no matter the state of the N109 Zone. No matter what destruction they left in their wake.

So he just has to find the thread back to you. While he has no intention of bloodying the doctor's hands, he has a fish who has killed those responsible for his people's suffering, a prince who has hunted any who dared raise a blade to you, and himself. A dragon whose treasure has been ripped out of his palms.

It is a foolish mortal that steals from a dragon.

—--------

Your return to their compound is slower after you've exercised that new EVOL you had been fed. It sticks in your maw, like a bitten on bone. It is uncomfortable, untrained, and aching. Your shoulder aches, your arm is covered in blood, and you need to clean your dagger.

The door swings open as you push through, slamming your fist on the wall to find the light. It brightens the room and you look down. Muscle and flesh in the grooves of your arm, sticking into the carapace. Stuck under segments. The feeling is a violent rejection. You rip the thing from you, throwing it across the room so that it smashes an unused lamp. Splattering some of the gore across the scientists whiteboard.

It is not really satisfaction at the viscera painting pristine EVER surfaces, but it is something. Or it is until a throat clears behind you.

"Little bomb, you should really behave yourself in the labs."

The feeling turns to biting fear, before you grab it by its throat and remind it. You do not fear foolish men. You do not cower to his slimy, disgusting voice. You do not run, or hide. You are not a child.

He is nothing.

You are a weapon.

"I don't recall you being the one I answer to, Leon."

You move through the room, seeking out the sink, and splashing water over blood on your clothes with one hand.

"Is the new attachment that unpleasant?" He points, indicating the weapon you had thrown. "If you want something better, we can provide it?"

The scoff isn't entirely in your control, but it does narrow the man's eyes, "You can't provide me much of worth Leon, don't act like you have any more power here than I do. It just needs cleaning. Drop it in a bucket. I'll care about it later."

"You're in a worse mood than normal, did you even carry out your orders?"

You round, dagger in hand and flick its tip under his soft throat, the tip pricking into skin, and bare canines, "When have I ever failed a job?"

He watches your hand, the dagger, then looks into cool, icy eyes. You can feel the resonance flickering, angry, uncontrolled. It is always harder to control some days. Like the sensations and the feelings are too hard to read, too uneven. You think about it failing when that man with white hair had you in his grasp. Refusing to help you break, to make yourself stronger. The panic of being held, the anger at being weak, the fury that breathed fire into your chest.

You do not know who he is, but you will slit his throat if he shows his face to you again. Tear his throat open with your teeth and drown in his blood.

"Kitten, tch." You hiss, pulling away from the scientist watching you with fear flickering in his gaze. "Starlight… What world do they belong to?" You spit at the floor, clearing more blood that still feels caught in your teeth.

"Seriously? Can you stop that?" Leon looks down at the blood now splattered on the floor, mixed with saliva.

"Clean it up if you're so unhappy. I'm going to clean this mess off me." You push past him, heading deeper into a compound that does not feel like anywhere you want to be.

"Stop, you have another order."

"Give it to me later."

"I'm here now, little bomb. You may as well listen."

It bubbles, it burns. You despise him, you don't really know why. You looked him in the eye when you opened yours for the first time and hatred and disgust and fear, embedded so deeply in your chest that you almost threw it up onto him. Leon greets you with his greying temples, and his sickening glimmer in his eyes as he stares at you, and he calls you little bomb.

It tears at your nerve and chews at your heel.

You want to tear his throat out, but you won't drink his blood. He is sullied, and disgusting…

But you have orders.

"What is it?"

"A doctor, he's wanted to do work here."

"Then offer him money, and immortality, I'm sure he'll jump at the chance." You spit again, this time aiming for Leon's shoes.

He rubs a hand over his face in response, looking at you like he is seconds away from locking you in a cage. You want him to try. The feeling is under your skin.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It simmers and burns and you want to cut and rip.

If he wants to try to tame your fury, he is welcome to try. To send you to one of EVER's toy boxes. To jolt you, and burn you, to remind you who holds the leash. Maybe the pain will shake out the feeling in the back of your gut. Maybe they'll put you in a ring, and watch you fight someone else like you. A tool, a weapon. Maybe you'll let someone pierce your chest for once. Spilling blood over the floor. Seeking escape in the splattered walls.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It lurches in your brain, words you don't remember, and irritation that has no place. "What on earth happened out there?" Leon finally asks, watching you wary. Good. Wary is good. Wary is careful.

"Your target had friends." You snap, dagger twirling around the skin of your hand, unbothered when it catches on fingers that don't move fast enough. The pain grounds you, washes out the voices, so you run a finger over the blade, and watch the scientist. He looks away from the blood and you almost have to laugh.

He can torture you, but he doesn't want to watch you bleed on his floor.

"Did you deal with them?"

"They weren't on my list."

"If they were there-"

This time you do nic his neck, dagger fast. His EVOL is worthless, pointless, and has no way to stop you. Not like the mist, not like it curling around your wrist like warm fingers.

"I follow my orders, Leon. They weren't on the list." His blood trickles down his neck and the scent is sour. So you push him away, turning and walking off, even though he protests, hand covering his throat, "Send me the name. I'll capture him."

The walk through the compound is full of people whose names you cannot remember, whose faces you see every time your feet carry you through halls. There are rarely new faces, a close iron grip held over tools in a grand scheme. The dagger twirls and twists, and you are given a wide berth.

Unicorn, Subject 001. It is an easy title to hold. Thanks to it hanging around your neck like a noose, you are unbothered by others. It is like you are a beast that they keep their chains around, but no one is willing to feed you from their hand.

They would rather throw flesh through the bars, and run away.

It is fear and disgust, you muse. As it should be. As if any of them are better than you.

It is bitter hatred that bites at your heels, that reminds you of every experiment, of every time waking up on a cold table, chest flayed as you are dug around in. Heart pressed and prodded.

It is your orders that keep you off that table. You are useful now. If you stay useful, you don't have to wake up in a cage.

It is the closest you can get to relief here, as though the sick doesn't swirl in your stomach still. There is no one to seek out for help, you are alone.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

Your snarl is unbidden, and you shake your head like a cat trying to shake out fleas. As if that will shake out the ghost of voices, for fools who get in your way. Bright red molten eyes, tinged in glossy tears, and star blue constellations, gazing at you in wonder.

No one has looked at you like that.

The scientists have stared at you in greed, in hunger, with curiosity. But it is not wonder, it is hungry and cruel and brings pain.

You stomach and you move forwards.

These voices will fade, you will not see red and blue eyes again, and you will forget the curling mist. 

As you enter the room you have been given to clean yourself up, the photo on the side stares back at you. A man you do not recognise, but whose name is etched into the frame. Caleb, your family… You do not remember him, your memories do not summon him. He has died, they've told you. Cut out of your life by people who stand against EVER.

Your home destroyed, so now you stay here. In a compound with cold walls… and a box of a room that cannot be filled because you own nothing. Except a photo frame you have been handed, and the clothes you are to wear when working.

You think you feel grief at the concept of not having him. You think that there are moments where something aches so deep in your chest that you can't find an answer to it. Like you are missing something integral. Seeking something out, but can never find it.

Sometimes in the shadows, when you enter and forget to turn on the lights, you think you see plushies along pillows… you have seen some with them on their desks. They are not for you though, you do not even know where you'd begin to find one.

There is a cold broken feeling in your chest, whenever you turn the lights on and they are gone. Just a mirage from a mind you think is fractured by the tests. You don't know what the feeling is, but it hurts, so you move onto another job, and move forwards.

You wonder if Caleb would look at you with disgust, to see no recognition in your eyes, to see you, with dagger in hand and blood splattered over your mouth and face.

Or was he like you? A tool to be used.

It is a question that has no answer, the dead don't speak. You will never find out. You will never have a voice answer you back, questions you speak out loud, when the room is too quiet and too cold.

So you scald your skin with heat in the shower, and burn away the remnants of the memories of voices calling out for you, and the pain. As the blood rushes down the shower drain, and leaves you as close to clean as you can get.

—------

Leon is cleaning up the blood when you return to the lab to pick up your arm, it is hours later, but he seems harried. Hair falling out from where he normally slicks it back.

You debate saying something, but decide against it, especially when you see that the gore has been scrubbed from your arm. A job you did not wish to have to handle. Even thinking about it, makes you think of the feeling of muscle under your claws. The hissed pain through clenched teeth. The arms pressing around your ribs, tight but wary. Like you would break under them.

You strap it back on, and spin the dagger in practiced claws in relief. No nics, no cuts. You don't remember who taught you, you never taught yourself. It eases you though, something familiar. A motion that is practiced and quick.

"You can get a better weapon than that, you know." Leon sighs, standing, relieved to be finished removing the mess you'd spread. So that he experiments could continue on. His finger points over at the dagger in your claw and you watch as he throws cloth into bucket.

The way he looks at the dagger makes your hand clench around it, slipping it back into its sheath at your side, and glaring, baring canines. It feels like an open wound. To be separated from it. Like it is as much a part of you as… your arm…

Itching in the back of your neck, a feeling of wrongness. It is not your arm.

Silver, and painted. A beautiful red fish swimming over metal.

You shake your head, pulling away from Leon before he can get his hands near you, or near the tool at your waist.

It is yours. It cannot be replaced. "It's killed enough of EVER's targets to be a fine weapon. Perhaps you should be replaced instead."

The bite does not agitate the man, but it does satisfy the little voice asking you to snap him. A little. There is no response but you are done with him, until a question gnaws.

Like a little beast at your heel. Demanding something.

You're not quite sure what.

"Why won't the doctor join you?" You ask, pushing some equipment to the side none too gently to sit on a table.

"Stop throwing things around, we need those." Leon snaps, "Your temper is too short, little bomb."

Your laugh holds no humour, it is a choke of a noise, that means nothing, "You call me that, and expect my fuse to be long? Unluckily for you, Leon, you are the only one who doesn't fear to talk to me. So you are to bring me orders, and answer my questions. If your things are in the way, that's not my problem."

He rubs the space between his eyes, and for a moment you get a flash. Forests, and snowflakes. Drifting through branches and alighting on white petals. Blending, and freezing, then falling.

Pushing his glasses back up, he speaks, "He doesn't agree with the tests we are running."

"You think capturing him will help?"

"I think capturing him will make him less likely to help, but surely the order came for a reason."

You scoff, but shrug, "Can't imagine what they could offer him, that means enough to make him agree. I suppose all of you science types have a price though. Something they can tug at to make you abandon your souls."

His voice is cold when he speaks, and you watch the spark of irritation. It's rare, he tries to keep his calm false mask, but sometimes. You can poke and prod. Like he is a beast you want to see bite. White hair ruffled and soaked as he laughs through-

You blink, and Leon returns to his bespectacled brown hair, and brown eyes. He speaks but you don't hear, and you push off the table, waving a hand, "Whatever." You don't want to hear it anyway, whatever he has to say won't remove the scalpel. Won't ease scars that don't disappear.

Won't mean you can lay down a clawed arm of beasts that they experiment on.

You're not too different you suppose, if you were maybe your arm would have rejected your body. Demanding something closer to home. Instead it follows your demands, moves smoothly, easily. You were told it was the ideal weapon and tool, and using it has certainly made missions easier.

It does not mean you wish to see it more than you have to.

Fabric catching on the segments of hard stone-like skin. Every sensation through it feels like it's felt underwater. Distant and abstract. A picture you can't fully see.

You step through the hallways, flexing the clawed hand carefully, as you approach the testing rooms. Inside is the usual, an old man with goggles on his head, greying brown hair. Wrinkles. He pushes the goggles up as he looks over at you, "Phi, I need my check." You approach.

His chuckle is low, and he eases you. There is something about him that is familiar, against all other backdrops of the compound. This man is familiar.

Sometimes if you stare at him for long enough, you can hear his voice telling you to stay calm.

You're not sure what it means, if he was there during your hazy wake-ups that you barely remember. Just the pain of the pressure on your heart.

"The Unicorn has wandered over finally. Come on then, you're weeks late." He indicates the black reclining chair beside him.

It normally grates at you, Unicorn. It is not a name, it is a subject title. You don't remember if you've ever been called anything else though. If any other name has ever mattered to you.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

'Cutie'

'Darling'

They swirl and then you shake, like a dog shifting water from its coat. You will not drown to voices.

The chair is cold to the touch as you lie back, but Philip's hands are steady and careful. He checks over you, scans with his tools, checks your EVOL levels. "How are the new additions?" When he asks, you can actually hear concern. It's rare… it's not offered often. He is here just to manage your health, to track it. Leon is here as your keeper.

He proclaims that he knows you best. His little bomb. His reason to be in that lab. The core in your chest is his proudest test subject.

You think about the 'additions'. EVOL's fed into your resonance, powering it, making it more useful. You think about the pain, the snarling voice that wishes to devour and swallow. You would tremble at the sensation of the heat in your core. The ripping and tearing. The gold enveloping, and the rippling power that explodes outwards.

Broken glass and twisted shards of metal.

You think about how hard they are to control.

You think about fiery red eyes watching you as you fall, and the resonance failing to come to your hand at will.

You think about heat from skin like a memory you could grasp if you tried hard enough.

You think about when it finally answered you, so you could leave the call of snapping beasts at heels behind.

Questions left unanswered. Blissful ignorance, so your heart does not shatter. You don't want to know the origin of the fever or the broken splinters.

There is nothing on the other end of the thread.

"Temperamental." You finally answer, "They're harder to control than just my resonance is. I can't call them at will."

He nods, jotting things down, as he reads. As you look at his goggles, you see a leather jacket reflected in it, but when you turn there is nothing there.

Perhaps not sleeping is leaving you as useless a tool as Leon is.

A problem to solve later, when you can finally chase out broken parts of your brain, and swallow something to ease the screeching behind eyelids.

"You need to practice with them."

You huff, turning your head away, "I didn't need to practice with my resonance, what kind of tool can't be used straight away?"

When he doesn't answer, you return your gaze to him, watching as the man frowns. Staring at his tablet, like it holds news he does not want to see, but the tablet is empty. "Phi?"

He looks up, wavering eyes, and tired bags. He also does not sleep, you remember. You've never had it in you to ask why. If he's as haunted as you are. If this place keeps him from escaping his nightmares. You could ask, or you could dig for information… You do neither.

You always do neither.

"Your tests are fine, you should get some rest though, and make sure you take your medication. Leon said you've skipped it for two days now." He extends a hand with pills shaken out into them. Suppressants, for the core in your chest. To stabilise it.

You've taken them since waking up. They taste bitter, and they stick in your throat.

You grab them out of his hand, and throw them back. You feel like spitting them back up into his face, but manage to swallow them down, relieved when he has water prepared. You down the bottle, easing the sensation of the chalky taste, and run your tongue over your teeth to clear the residue.

It's no surprise to you that Leon would rat you out. Like he thinks he is your keeper. Like he owns your soul, and your body. Not just the warden responsible for your pain. The object of your abject hatred.

The cool of the seat starts to burn, so you pull up and step away. Shoving one hand into pockets, claw loose at your side. "Anything else?" The man asks, his expression becoming warmer, a smile loose on his worn lips. The familiar feeling sparks in your chest, and you wish you could ask.

Maybe if you ask you'd understand.

If you ask, you wake up from a nightmare, and you're not sure if the outside is better.

So you shake your head, "No, see you." and turn on a heel, leaving as quickly as you can. You can't thank him, you can never thank him. He is the only one who does not treat you like something to cut open for experiments, and you cannot thank him.

Because it is a low bar to clear?

Because you should not have to thank for that?

Because you blame him too?

You do not go to find food, though there is a cafeteria. You don't need to stay here. With the cold walls. Stared at by wary mad scientists.

You have a job, you can always do some research. Something that requires the movement of your feet, and the use of your brain. Something to distract from the feelings that bubble and overflow. That leave a lingering bitterness in your mouth like chalky medication.

That make you look over your shoulder, and not focus on the target.

It is an agitation you cannot shake out, so you have to focus it.

Your feet take you back to Leon's lab, but his lab coat is over the chair, as his tools are left behind. So you dig into his pockets, and pull out his wallet. Relieved to find cash, and not just card. You could figure it out, but it's always a pain.

Instead you take all the cash he has to hand, and leave, throwing his wallet back on the table.

If he wants to demand a punishment, he's free to. If you get results, he's less likely to get what he wants.

You want to watch him chafe under the pressure.

—------

Linkon is familiar in a way you aren't sure how to word. You've been told you lived here, that you lived with Caleb in a house in a nice little neighbourhood, before it was taken from you. You've walked to the area before, and while you sometimes can feel heat against your skin, you cannot quite bring the image to mind.

Like you're staring at a static tv screen. Sometimes there's a shape you think you can make out, but it could just be the broken image, flicking so fast you've fooled yourself.

It's like desperately grabbing at something, only for it to slip further under sand. One thing you do know, however, is that your feet travel before your brain focuses. That you pass by things called kitty cafes, and hesitate for a moment. Looking through glass, and wondering what it is you're seeing. You almost entered once, before dread settled somewhere in the pit of you. Pushing you back.

A warning.

So you simply look through the windows, to watch the small creatures and the floating OTTOs that tend to them.

It is enough. Perhaps.

The acknowledgement of something that you enjoy. Or think you enjoy. Perhaps you played with Caleb.

Before he was taken away from you.

Would he be able to remind you of things you have forgotten? Records of things you should know, photos of times you'd spent together? Would he be able to spark the image if he stood before you?

Your memory just a casualty of EVER's saving your life… It is a low price to pay, you've been told. That memory can sometimes be reclaimed. That your life cannot.

You cannot help but feel like a haunted ghost though. Sparks and flashes with abstracts and feelings you can't explain or name. Things that lurk along the edges but cannot be grasped. You have nothing for yourself, but the jobs you are given, and the titles you cannot shake.

Perhaps if you keep following the path, you'll find an answer at the end of it. Even though you want to turn from it. Run the opposite direction. Would the answer even make you happier? Or would it make the feelings worse?

Could Caleb really have cared about someone Leon calls little bomb? Could a tool be more than itself? Or were you both tools?

Perhaps it was easy to exist, because neither had anything else to claim.

If that were the case, you think you could accept it. At least then you would not be alone, surrounded by things that want to twist and snap and break and bend you. Make you into a weapon sharper than a dagger.

You still await the moment they pierce your skull with a sword, so you bear the horn of the beast, they're so proud of naming you after.

It is the smell of sweets that draws you to a cafe, and you are relieved that no one bothers to look at you for your arm. Though you have passed at least three people with panda costumes, so you think perhaps, this is a low scale of concern for Linkon residents.

As you enter, money in your pocket, you rattle off as many cakes as you can read, and afford with stolen cash, and then ask for a black coffee.

You pause, and then correct yourself. Cream, two sugars.

You can see it placed next to your head on a bedside table, you can hear a snort of disgust against your neck. You shiver, the sensation of lips on the back of your neck making you scratch at it with sharpened claws.

The blood that catches at the edges, makes your panic rise, but no one is looking at you. Couples too caught up with each other, groups laughing, and people alone working. Linkon, you decide, is an interesting but strange place.

At the compound you are stared at. Watched warily. There is no step you can take where you are not eyed, as though you could begin howling and snarling at a moment. You wonder if they fear you will turn into a wanderer. Will the core in your chest make you as horrifying a beast as the Myst's that EVER manipulate? Augmented protocores giving them powers beyond understanding?

It is an interesting thought. You hope if that happens, someone will silence you quickly. Lest you lose even the semblance of you that you have.

As you find your way to empty chairs, stuffing a macaron into your mouth, hunger tearing at your edges, you feel the aggravation and sensitivity calm somewhat. The itch easing, and the feelings leaving you be.

'Food is important, sweets can fill your heart as well as your stomach.'

The voice isn't familiar, it is a whisper on the edges. It does not bite at you though. The edges softened down, no longer sharp and broken. So you stuff more into your mouth, unconcerned with the world around you. Sating the beast that purrs as you feed it sugar.

As you finally stop starving your body, though you still refuse to let it sleep. Perhaps the confectionery will do for now.

With one hand you continue to claim sugary treats, while the other flicks through information Leon had sent you.

Zayne Li, cardiologist. Highly respected, has rejected offers of work over sixteen times.

You can't imagine why he'd suddenly decide to take up EVER's offer, if he has steadfastly rejected every time they had tried. Perhaps they finally had enough money for him. Money, equipment, a curiosity. It was always something that summoned the science types into EVER's hands.

They never fought or rejected for long. Denied enough opportunities, they would come running. Desperate.

Ice EVOL, uncontrolled, appears to create backlash when used.

Ice shards, tearing through skin, ripping into flesh, and rattling air from the chest. You choke on a sip of your drink, spitting the coffee on the table as you rub at your forehead. You can feel the cold on the tips of your fingers, and you aren't sure why.

It is not one of the EVOLs that was fed to you.

Just more static, things that don't belong to you, that won't stop haunting your vision. The lack of sleep has to be the reason.

Still, to have an EVOL you cannot control… That hurts you when you do. You think of the ones that aren't yours, that have been devoured by your resonance, and you rub at the space over your chest.

The core in your chest will eat anything it can grasp.

The file gives you his main location, Akso Hospital. Kidnapping a doctor from a hospital, would likely result in more mess than you want to deal with. You'll just have to follow him to somewhere else when he leaves.

Surely he has a home.

Why it's not in the file is a question you will have to ask Leon later. You'd expect them to give you more than minimal lines.

It is not as though you will fail… failing means tests. You think of isolation rooms. Of fighting people haunted, with protocore syndrome. That shatter when you fight back. You think of the agony in your limbs when they poke and prod.

You think of shocks, and scalpels. You think of what EVER means when they make you their tool. When you are their test subject.

You think of how, even if you run, they will always be able to find you.

You think of how pointless it is to fight back, when they break you down.

You think of their buildings in Linkon, office workers who mill about with their symbols on their chest.

You think of the news reports you hear, with their technology selling to everyone you pass.

It is an encompassing web, and you are barely a fly.

EVER have reminded you, that being a tool is better than breaking.

You're unsure if that's true, but you know that death never seems to save you. You have plunged your beloved dagger into your chest, trying to cleave the core out, but woken up on a table. Unsuccessful, reminded of your place.

You are hazy, if someone stops you, if you're always being watched that they can grasp you before. You wake up though, staring around you, and it continues. You continue. Dagger in hand, EVER's mark on your collar, and given orders.

It is as you lean back, finished with your bounty, sipping the last of your coffee, that the door swings open.

"I don't think now is the time to eat sweets."

"And I know you're not feeling great, when you can say that doc."

Static.

Like in that broken down apartment building. Staring at a man who looks like a ghost to you. Slowing your dagger long enough to look.

Crackling along the edges, filtering through your vision. Overlaying so many images against the other. It is noise and it is broken images.

It is a force of a wall you cannot break through.

You look, as two men enter. Tired, drawn eyes. One you know by the file in your hand.

The other, you know by the signs and posters.

Zayne Li and Rafayel Qí.

It is an easy thing to sit and watch as the one rubs at his eyes, and the other nudges him, hand easing strain from back.

They do not know you. No matter if they pick out the symbol on your collar, there are countless EVER employees, and your face is only known to the ones you're ordered to kill.

And now capture.

Still, your eyes want to move away. Looking at them hurts. The static is loud, and the feelings are back. An uncomfortable ripping at the fabric of what's inside you.

So you stand to leave, hoping you can pull away and come back another day. It is no use tracking a man when he has company, for all you know the artist is a bodyguard in his spare time.

Complications are not worth testing with.

It is the movement of your chair, and the way you stand, grasping at your chair to push it back in, that draws their gaze to you. It sends a chill down your spine, as they look.

As forest green eyes and burning pink and blue stare at you. Wavering.

You are hit with the static, louder now, pushing down on your head, trying to drown you. You want to cover your ears, but you can't. You can't stand out. You can't be odd. Not out here. Not more than you already are.

No one has looked, or cared. So you put one foot in front of the other, and it shatters the silence.

"Cutie?"

"Darling?"

It tears at the fabric, and it rips at the gauze. The open wound in your chest. You feel the ice though skin, the water in lungs. There is a sensation of falling, and an aching where you land.

They approach, and you wave off. Claw in the ground trying to right yourself, pull yourself together. Remember what you're supposed to do. Get out, leave. It doesn't matter if they remember your face… It won't matter when you knock out the doctor and take him back.

Even if the artist remembers you, EVER can cover it up.

They've never failed to do so before.

You just have to get out. To find your feet.

Why is there so much static?

Someone kneels by you, and a cold hand touches the claw digging into the ground. It cuts through the carapace, rips at the seams. You pull away, and it gives you enough shock to cut through, to give you a door. You back up, and shake your head, "I'm fine, sorry."

You don't look at teary eyes, or stop long enough to be grasped at, you don't want to know why they looked at you, or saw something.

You don't want the static.

You just have to get back, and do your job… Then shake out the voices who call out names that settle softer than Unicorn.

[barksenji]

I was going through a tough time, so here's some headcanons about Horror and Dust. I love them sm.

Dust Sans (Dusttale)

- His psychosis began long before his first kill, probably as a result of the stress and trauma from multiple resets. It was a major factor in his eventual decision to embrace the killings.

- He doesn’t actually "see ghosts"—his visions are hallucinations. Along with hallucinations, he also experiences delusions, disorganized thoughts, and speech patterns that can become erratic.

- He has a "masochistic" streak, though he keeps it hidden. Whether it stems from self-hatred or a way to feel something real is debatable.

- Despite everything, he's still Sans at his core. His humor and personality are still there, but his psychosis has distorted his perception of the world, warping his sense of morality and reality.

- His tendency to talk to “Papyrus” could be a coping mechanism as much as a symptom—he might be trying to rationalize his actions, seeking approval from a figure that no longer exists.

- He's probably schizoaffective or schizophrenic, though it can be debated whether or not he was at risk from the start. His depression and anhedonia could have been early signs, possibly prodromal symptoms. He is extremely paranoid of everyone in return, constantly terrified, disoriented, and confused.

Horror Sans (Horrortale)

- He has severe disordered eating, partly due to guilt. He doesn’t feel deserving of food, and despite his hardened exterior, self-loathing gnaws at him. Even if food was readily available, he would deliberately starve himself as a form of self punishment.

- He is deeply paranoid and distrustful of others—something that is already suggested (if not outright stated) in canon. His head trauma led to mood swings and erratic behavior, but combined with what he endured emotionally, he likely developed C-PTSD which worsened those symptoms.

- His head injury probably affected his impulse control, which may explain why he destroyed the Core. If his ability to regulate emotions and actions was impaired, moments of extreme frustration or distress could lead to catastrophic decisions. People with TBIs do tend to exhibit impulsivity and disinhibition. He probably wasn't able to fully think through the consequences of what he was about to do.

Again this is kind of technically canon, lol.

- Experiences sleep paralysis often.

- He still cares about Papyrus, but in a worn-out, fucked-up, hopeless way. Deep down, though, he doesn't even fully trust his brother. His paranoia has seeped into their relationship.

I love making these two interact because they're both incredibly paranoid and snappy, so. Hehe. Yeah.

[qin-qin16]

Why I think Horror shouldn't be part of the Bad Sanses

[cw: Long yapping, i’m a mediocre fan of Horror and Dust, dadmare and bad sans poly fans this one isn't for you]

@howlsofbloodhounds @what-have-i-unleashed

note: If you disagree with me, feel free to discuss the matter! Just don't be rude and respect my views on this!

I might get torn apart by my mutuals for this, but... I don't think Horror should be part of the "Bad Sanses" (or the bad guys, as some people have referred to them), especially if we're talking about Nightmare as the “leader” of the group (more like a cult leader but whatever).

I'll clear up any confusion about MTT choosing to work for Nightmare – no, they wouldn't choose that. None of them would make such a foolish, dumb decision. They're all too clever to willingly serve someone as arrogant and cruel as Nightmare.

To support my point, I’d like to say that, in my opinion, it makes sense for both Killer and Dust to be manipulated by Nightmare. Killer’s situation is pretty clear – not only does his canon show that he’s forced to work for Nightmare, but his whole history with Chara makes him the perfect victim for Nightmare to shape to his own will. That being said, I won’t go into too much detail about their troubled and extremely toxic "relationship" (I’m using the word "relationship" here because there’s no better term for this situation that I can think of for now).

And what about Dust? Okay, confession time: I’ve never seen any canon facts about him. Don’t throw stones at me – I know my charm is being a mediocre fan of these multiversal skeletons.

Unlike Killer, Dust probably didn’t even realize he was being manipulated by the devil. He already knew all the possibilities of a reset, all the choices the human could make — so why not take the one time in life chance to escape that world and boost his LOVE? A little more LOVE would definitely put an end to the endless resets. With enough LOVE, the human could finally be defeated! All he needed to do was increase his LV just a bit more and then return to his world before the human reset.

But before he knew it, he was already trapped in Nightmare’s filthy claws, unable to return to his world and stop the human from advancing through their endless genocidal routes. (Shoutout to my mutual @what-have-i-unleashed and their amazing post that I can’t seem to find, about the headcanon that Nightmare is a dream eater, and that it’s by eating Dust’s dreams that they end up meeting. [I’m not sure if that’s exactly what it was, but I trust my memory.]).

However, all he did was make it easier for Nightmare's sweet words to slip into his mind, twisting his thoughts into believing that Nightmare was a friend. My headcanon is that, after recruiting Killer, Nightmare chose to take a more ““““peaceful”””” approach to "recruit" his next servants.

Now, the point that made me want to write this post: why the hell would Nightmare choose Horror? Killer and Dust's worlds are basically universes on the verge of collapse, with no real reason to keep going. But Horror? His universe isn’t even close to ending; a new chapter just began with the fall of a new human (something extremely rare when compared to other timelines). It wouldn’t make sense for Nightmare to want to recruit someone who’s so deeply rooted in a place — and someone who would never abandon his brother to follow a cheap, terrifying version of himself.

Let’s be honest, out of the three, Horror would probably be the first to turn down any deal Nightmare might offer — both of them are way too manipulative to trust each other. And unlike Killer and Dust, Horror would definitely be unpredictable for Nightmare (he literally tortures Aliza just for fun! What wouldn’t he do to pass the time and be less bored?). Plus, he has no real use for Nightmare (ouch, sorry Horror fans).

His LOVE, no matter how high it is compared to the average Sans, still doesn’t come close to the extremely high LOVE that Killer and Dust possess. And while he might be bigger than other Sanses, he definitely has the most fragile, cracked, and scarred bones — wounds that even the strongest healing magic can’t repair. For Nightmare, Horror is probably just a bucket of negative emotions — his AU is merely a smorgasbord for Nightmare, nothing more.

[beetlethebug]

Emmrich x Rook x Lucanis Headcanons

Note: i'm still very much in act 1 and early game so this is just me making shit up. i'm just feeling out the vibes that I have in my heart. Rook head canons are based on my Rook, Quil, but feel free to snatch them for you own (and please send me anything you have about any of them because i'm like a man starved.

NSFW head canons under the cut ;)

Emmrich

Despite being a tea enjoyer he can, in fact, make a mean cup of coffee and takes great pleasure in making cups for Lucanis

Has a habit of using his professor voice on Rook or Lucanis when he catches them getting into trouble or not taking care of themselves

He's absolutely threatened and then made good on putting Lucanis to bed himself when he learns about how terrible his resting habits are

Honestly Emmrich is about 90% of these two's practical self-care. Which makes it extra sweet and surprising to him when Rook and Lucanis pull it on him

Actually cried the day that Lucanis referred to Manfred as "his son" or his "firstborn", whichever of these is funniest to you in your heart

Loves to adjust outfits as an excuse for touch. It takes him a while to get hands-on with Lucanis but once the permission is established, he cannot keep his hands off him.

Canonically a "Dear" and "Dearest" but he does have names for each of his boys

Rook is his "little prince"; honestly any endearment/descriptor with "little" in front of it is being thrown Rook's way

I like the idea of Emmrich using "my heart" for Lucanis; I also like the idea of something like, "My protector" or "My knight" because the idea of the famed Mage Killer protecting our beloved Necromancer hits Just Right

On days when his knees ache he uses Lucanis or Rook as support. It doubles as an excuse to run his fingers through their hair or slide along their shoulders.

Certified Hand Kisser™️

He hates seeing Rook and Lucanis hurt and it always so, so tender when healing them. Knows that they're both capable, but his fear of mortality is so strong that sometimes it gets the better of him. Being unable to let them go after tough fights. Setting and resetting bones again and again because it has to be perfect. He cannot risk them getting injured because he healed them poorly.

Lucanis

Calls Rook "mi constelación" (constellation) because of all their freckles

His pet name for Emmrich might be "el cuidador de muerte" or simply "mi cuidador", meaning "the caretaker of death" or simply "my caretaker."

He also gives me just. Very poetic pet names once he's comfortable. The most romantic shit pours out of his mouth when he's been awake for 48 hours and no longer has any semblance of a filter. Very much a, "my moon, my stars," kind of man. Spite likes to tease him after but he's down just as bad. His nicknames for Emmrich and Rook are just...more colorful.

Taught Manfred to swear (on purpose)

Rook has trouble eating due to Trauma™️ and Emmrich is vegetarian, so this man is doing so many acts of service through his cooking. He has a whole soup pot dedicated to Rook that's constantly going to Rook can get food even when he's not around. Always keeping them well stocked on small, easy to grab things for when they're busy with their work.

He and Emmrich bake together, and he has definitely gotten lost looking at Emmrich's arms with no jewelry/accoutrements. and when his sleeves get rolled up?? This man is a goner.

Loves to dress his partners up. Emmrich has good style but Rook? He needs all the help he can get. And Lucanis is more than happy to oblige

"Let me kill for you. Please, let me kill for you."

Because Emmrich can hear Spite, you know the demon is flirting with him 24/7. The amount of explicit content the two of them have to sift through and summarize for Rook is enough to drive the plot of at least five of Varrick's smutty novels.

Rook

Taught Manfred to swear (on accident)

They're all touched-starved as hell, but Rook is the boldest at getting the touch they need. Will clamber into laps, wrap themselves bodily around arms, bump shoulders together as they're passing. Loves when he gets to be extra sneaky about it, like leaning over Emmrich's shoulder while he's sat and reading or tapping out an attack pattern on Lucanis' arm before entering combat.

Terrible cook but loves to watch Emmrich and Lucanis in the kitchen. There's a designated spot on the counter for them to sit. Kicks their feet whenever Lucanis lets them try a bite of whatever he's making.

Blushes super easily

Isn't the smoothest talker when it comes to flirting (easily flustered + afraid of being reckless with their words) --most of their charming lines come out that way because they just so genuinely mean whatever it is they're saying

Very much a "The most intimate thing I can call you is your name" kind of person (especially after tying themselves so heavily to a code name).

#1 clothing and jewelry thief. Will ask before taking any of Emmrich's grave-dowry, though. Loves when they wear jewelry meant for them specifically to steal off of them and make their own (rogues, am I right?)

You can pry purring Elves from my cold dead hands. Rook purrs and they purr loud.

Has a possessive streak

Lucanis and Emmrich are both their first relationship, so they do a lot of mirroring at the start. Copying their different affections, trying them out and testing to see what they like and what feels disingenuous.

They're all acts of service people but Rook. Rook. Very much the "use me until there is nothing left" mindset. Has some unhealthy thoughts about having to "earn" their affections that they're all working on unpacking together.

Perfect height for forehead kisses

NSFW ;)

Lucanis might have a little to unpack about masculinity (particularly in the bedroom) and the way they deal with that is by Emmrich talking Rook through dominating Lucanis

Rook is a sub but very versatile when it comes to topping vs bottoming; tell them what to do and they'll do it. So eager to please

Lucanis and Emmrich both get to be switches as a treat. Emmrich takes the more dominant role at first simply because Rook and Lucanis are inexperienced and awkward as hell. But once they get more settled, roles and dynamics switch very fluidly between them (especially with Spite egging Lucanis on to Dom That Old Man)

The communication here is fucking great. They are so fucking good about talking to each other and adjusting as they go. Rook in particular loves hearing consent checks pressed against their ear. And Emmrich? The first time Lucanis asks, "Am I doing right by you, cuidador?" he cums on the spot

Rook is an Elf, as established, and his ears are sensitive. Turns into putty the minute that Lucanis and Emmrich start kissing and playing with them.

Praise! Kinks!!! They all have 'em!! I don't make the rules!!

Lucanis and Emmrich have fun domming each other through Rook. Emmrich is also quite the voyeur and enjoys calling out ideas/suggestions when watching Rook and Lucanis have sex

Lucanis was like "meh" about choking (his only familiarity it with was as a murder method, and there are much better ways to kill someone), but the second he watches Rook choke Emmrich (with the hand wearing all of the jewelry Lucanis bought for Rook) he is a Changed Man™️

Lucanis also loves hand feeding his partners. Especially Emmrich. The man always looks so surprised and touched to receive such gentle, intimate care from his lover that Lucanis does it every chance he gets

Rook has a hand kink and an oral fixation. Someone's fingers are always in his mouth.

Rook becoming an anatomy model as Lucanis and Emmrich draw all over him. Mapping about bones, talking about the best place to apply pressure during interrogations to get someone to crack. Touching and teasing to watch Rook's muscles flex under their hands. They get to Rook's cock and have a debate about whether one's hand or mouth is better for a "quick death" and simply have to test each to see which is the most efficient.

Another anatomy one with some knife play. As a treat. Emmrich calling out body parts/muscle groups/specific bones and having Lucanis find them on Rook. Using the tip of a blade to very carefully trace the outline and having Emmrich come over to check the work. Emmrich healing anything misplaced and taking the knife to show Lucanis himself. Perhaps info-dumping about that area of the body (as yet another treat).

Rook being a huge fucking masochist and Lucanis being a little unsure at first, so Emmrich talks him through spanking Rook. Points out all the tells in Rook's body that show they're enjoying it, showing him the best ways to introduce pleasure beside the pain. Making Rook ask Lucanis for it. Lucanis becoming enamored with this sobbing, moaning creature begging for mercy by the end.

[snurtsnurtcreations]

Phillip Graves Headcanons

A character study, of sorts (all sfw btw)

Has committed war crimes and will do it again >:)

Cares deeply about his Shadows and the Shadow company as a whole

Sooome loyalty to those who employ him, but at the end of the day he is a merc working for personal gain

He won’t turn on someone just because he got a better offer, he’s got some morals, plus reputation is important

Loves seeing a plan come together (let’s fucking gooo!!)

When a mission goes ass up and he loses some good men, you know it’s serious because he’s dangerously quiet, not cursing, jaw clenched

Coffee addict. Creamer is a must tho.

Suuuch a smart ass, will try to get the last word in on everything. Also loves to playfully argue

As a child he used to have a pet raccoon

Just. Just imagine this, right. Teeny tiny Phillip, his two front baby teeth just fell out. He’s holding a raccoon up by its armpits swinging the thing all over the place as he bounds up to his ma all excited-like, asking if he can keep it, please please please

Very touchy. Hugs, pats, hip bumps, shoulder touches, etc, usually done practically subconsciously.

Especially with a S/O, his hands would be aaaall over em. Hand on their back, head on shoulders, hand holding, hell even just sitting really close together or brushing shoulders… he’s all for it

Has a particular fondness for booty grabs as well

Sometimes he has to spend some time just sitting down with a blank stare into nothingness. Error 404. Factory reset. Etc etc. It’s good for the soul, or so he says.

As a teenager he used to break into abandoned buildings

Loves watching trivia type shows like jeopardy, family feud, who wants to be a millionaire. Gets really stoked when he gets something right before the contestant

Is a decent enough cook but Hot Shit when it comes to baking. Somehow always gets the recipe wrong, or takes it out before it’s done baking… or after its already burnt. Took him way too long to realize that baking can’t be treated like cooking and that he can’t just eyeball things or measure with the heart

He’s a master with a grill though. His cookouts are the BOMB

100% has one of those “kiss the cook” aprons

Man’s is rich rich. Has a whole fancy property with a mansion for a house, complete with an outdoor pool + hot tub, fountain + waterfall, personal gym, huuuge tv, wine cellar, pool room, heated bathroom floor, etc etc

Owns a navy blue velvet armchair that wildly contrasts with all other furniture. He’s not entirely sure why he got it in the first place, it just Spoke to him. He’s definitely fallen asleep in it and got a horrible crick in his neck too many times to count

Talks to inanimate objects a liiiittle too much tbh

Will NOT tell his Shadows when his birthday is. He knows they’ll hold it against him or try to do some prank or WORSE throw a surprise party. He gets reeeaaal dodgy when they ask, and neither confirms nor denies any of their guesses

Somehow Bigfoot came up as a topic of interest in conversation once and now the Shadows have an ongoing argument on whether Graves actually believes in Bigfoot or if he’s just bluffing

He is the crazy uncle in his family. His sister is constantly amazed by what new insane junk he can teach her children, but, hey, the kids love him!

He abso-fuckin-lutely beat up his sister’s abusive ex husband

Is the type to let mail pile up on the table for a week or so before going through it

Fairly good at wood carving. It’s a fun little hobby of his

Hates fishing with a passion. One time his sister convinced him to go fishing with her children and while he was trying to remember how his father had taught him way back when (those are bad memories actually… he can figure it out on his own), his seven year old niece pulled out a crawfish and started screaming, Graves slipped in the mud and fell flat on his ass, his five year old nephew tried to get a closer look at the thing but it wiggled the wrong way so he started running and somehow got the hook caught in his shoelaces while the crawfish escaped…. Needless to say it was not a fun day for Graves. The kids laughed up a storm though and his sister constantly teases him about it

Can’t handle spice. Like not even a little. It’s kinda pathetic actually.

“Graves” is not his actual surname. He had it legally changed to that once he became a merc. (“C’mon, man, Fill up Graves? That’s hilarious and cool. It’s perfect.” His sister watches unamused as he tries to explain his decision)

100% acts like he’s dying when he catches a cold. Will cough and snivel and bemoan his life

Sooooo jealous of folks that can play guitar. He’s tried on and off again but somehow it just doesn’t click in his mind

Performs a sick air guitar. Has held an air guitar competition for his Shadows once. All agree it was a blast but refuse to provide details on who won. Newbies always hear about it as the legendary air guitar battle but don’t actually know what happened

Shadow HQ breakroom has pages with drawings stuck up on the fridge with abc magnets. It started as a joke but it’s an actual thing now. Middle of the fridge is a place of honor and respect, and the judge of it is of course Commander Graves

[floweypilled]

ive never talked about it here and im procrastinating going to sleep even though i want to so here are my asriel age headcanons.

When chara falls, they’re 12 and Asriel is 11. Chara turns 13 a little before they died, and Asriel is still 11 then. (Chara stayed in the underground for maybe 3/4 of a year.. In my brain that makes sense)

Flowey IS ageless, but i can’t imagine him maturing past like 14 mentally through all his resets. (also, my hc for how long he’d been resetting ranges from a number of months close to a year or at most like a year and a haaaaaaaaaaaalf?????? Keeping in mind that he like. Had to do that in real time not videogame time eheh) He’s always gonna be a bit immature because of what he’d gone through but postpacifist he’d be ablet o grow up a bit...

[natsuki208]

My own Silver the Hedgehog headcanons! 🤍

Just Silver

• As a child, it was very difficult for him to take control of his physic powers and often caused unintentional messes; this led to his family cutting him off.

• Even if he learned to enhance his abilities as he grew older, occasional outbursts were still common. Luckily a tech friend built the bracelets to keep them intact.

• In the future, there are legends about an unstoppable hero who would always save the world with his speed and endless optimism (his name was lost through time) . Silver grew up with these stories and was inspired to be like a hero too.

• The Silver which has been seen since ‘Rivals’ isn’t the same Silver from 06; he can be more calmer and doesn’t go straight to killing his foes. However, his urge for justice is still somewhat there.

• Oddly enough, Silver has met some of his friends’ descendants before. How does he know this? Either with similar looks or the families praising their ancestors as old-time heroes.

• His favourite subject to study is history, which explains his fascination for what the past was like and how he stays there for some time after helping to save it.

Silver and Blaze

• Silver doesn’t usually talk about his troubles that much, not even to his friends, but Blaze is different. She’s mature for her age like him and is a good listener.

• He’s gotten to know both Cream and Marine pretty well thanks to Blaze; from the rabbit inviting them both for tea to Blaze allowing the raccoon to visit Sonic’s dimension once.

• Whenever Silver feels afraid to return back to his time due to possible resets (this doesn’t happen often) Blaze allows him to rest in her dimension for a short while. Another chance to meet Marine as well.

• Together with his psychokinesis and her pyrokinesis, they can be the most unstoppable duo together - possibly pass the ultimate lifeform himself.

• Despite them meeting for the first time in Sweet Mountain, they have his deep feeling of something familiar about each other. They’re confused about this, but they feel safe around one another, and work greatly in battle. Hopefully someday they’ll find the answer.

[azmstea]

HOW THSC TIMELINES WORK IN MY POINT OF VIEW

[An unnecessarily complex concept created by me]

Welcome to another section of Azm yapping about random headcanons and concepts!!

I have been thinking a lot about the game and how it could work if it wasn't so focused on comedy. Trust me or not, but the game has a huge potential for interesting plots if we view it in a more detailed way.

I decided to create my own take on this topic since most of the time, what I see is the concept of Henry being able to time travel as much as he wants through timelines. This isn't bad! In fact, it's super interesting! However, I wanted to spice it up a bit after analyzing the game as a whole. So if you feel like hearing me yap about this, just keep reading!✨️

So, how does the concept work?

To make it short: Henry is unable to go back in time and start a new route. Instead, he is able to multiply himself.

Let's go in parts: In this headcanon, Henry believes he can get away easily from any consequences. Considering that he can go back to retry a wrong choice, he strongly believes he can do it for entire routes as well. For this, we will start with Toppat Civil Warfare Henry.

Personally, I believe Henry would start with this route due to his apathy towards other characters. He knows he is in a "game" and how he can control time, which makes it way harder for him to develop any connection with anyone. He uses people for his own advantage and doesn't understand how actions affect others around him. Furthermore, he only cares about what he wants: money, power, or anything you can imagine. Besides, he can retry if anything goes wrong, right?

Once TCW Henry chose to restart, he noticed that he didn't return to Breaking the Bank. In fact, he was still stuck in the desert with his allies. Instead, the "Restart" option actually COPIES Henry, creating a whole new timeline. Like this, it's like two timelines exist at the same time. The "New" Henry is exactly like the previous Henry with all the memories from the last ending, willing to choose another option to get "what he wants."

When TCW was completed, Henry noticed how abandoning Ellie (Ghost Inmate) affected his chance to be powerful, so restart from the beginning sounded like a great idea: He restarts and tries another path that Ellie couldn't bother him. Well, it works, kind of.

The idea is: Henry clones himself every time he chooses to Restart from the beginning, creating a whole new timeline that follows a different path. With this clone from TCW Henry, he will choose anything that avoids Ellie from "interrupting" his plans, which leads to the Revenged ending (RPE + TB).

IMPORTANT: The clone DOES NOT know about the "Restart" effect, so every copy will handle this discovery in a different way.

Everytime Henry resets, the next copy will get more memories from previous timelines (Which means there's a specific order of paths that Henry does in this headcanon). For example: "Special BRO-vert Ops" Henry remembers many previous timelines, while "Revenged" Henry only remembers TCW events. It's like the memories overlap for each "Restart".

For each timeline, Henry has a completely different mindset and personality. The reason for a specific order of endings in this headcanon is to show Henry's progress as a character. He learns more from his mistakes, and the next clone is ready to try something else. That's why Toppat Civil Warfare Henry and Triple Threat Henry are SO different. TCW is the very first path he chooses when he doesn't understand about emotional connections or care about others around him. While TT is the last path he chooses, and at that point, Henry learned more about sympathy/empathy and started caring more about people around him. The plan is to make all timelines exist "at the same time," considering that all endings are canon (confirmed by PuffBallsUnited).

When all possible timelines are done, Henry still can Restart and multiply himself, but since TT Henry was the last one (and the most satisfied with his life), he is less likely to continue this cycle (which is good for chaos control). If he DECIDES to continue, well, more timelines will exist, which WILL increase chaos levels in this world.

For now, I'm still building Henry's whole path, but all I can say is: Toppat Civil Warfare, Revenged and Jewel Baron are the first endings, while Special BROvert Ops and Triple Threat are the last ones.

If we only consider Completing the Mission, then there are a total of 16 clones! The secret ending is a way to keep everything stable.

WELL, I hope this all made sense! The main focus here is to play with the idea that Henry can NOT undo his mistakes. In a way, he can, but not in the way he expects. I don't know if I'll draw/animate this concept, but it'll be really cool to explore!!✨️

Hope yall enjoyed another section of yapping💔

[bonbonshideout]

Who I think the crp would target pt.1

Ticci Toby:

Personally, I feel he would mostly target abusive parents, but if he's out and just bored out of his mind, he'll kill whoever he stumbled across. When ut comes to abusive parents, I feel he would be a bit stalkerish, he'll find a parent or an adult, stalk them for a few days, see how they handle life and treat their families, if he sees any forms of abusive in any manner, he'll go for their ass, at night, in broad daylight, he doesn't give a fuck.

Ben Drowned:

He wouldn't really kill people, but instead, electronics; he would be one of those viruses that you'd find on social media. Once he gets ahold of your device, it'll go haywire to start. Suddenly it'll reset and seem like nothing happened, however Ben would 100% love to mess with the person, opening random apps, turning on/off any alarms they might have, call random people in the contact list, etc. He would end up causing the person to go insane— be it or not his intention— to the point they probably kill themselves.

Jeff The Killer

Like Kuchisake-onna, I feel Jeff would wear a mask of some sort, go up to people, and ask if they think he's pretty, not matter what they say, he'll carve a smile into their face anyways. He just likes to do it. If ya run into him, group or alone, you'll most likely be found dead later on anyways. He likes to kill everyone he runs into

Eyeless Jack

Steming from my headcanons for EJ — linked here — He would kill whoever he finds on the Appalachian trail. He would definitely stalk them throughout their hikes and find a moment where their guard is down and can make one swift motion. He prefers a clean and quick murder. He would probably use his voice to trick people into getting closer - like that of a skinwalker or wendigo - and get them that way. Usually leaving the trails unbothered and a way to keep people coming without much worry.

Clockwork

Doctors, or psychward doctors. Just anyone in the medical field; they're what pretty much why she's kinda what she is now, she holds some sort of grudge, even if it wasn't entirely their fault. She especially hates those that work at psych wards because patients usually end up worse than they were when first arrival. She wants them all to feel what she felt and just understand the suffering they inflict on many people.

Jane The Killer

I feel she wouldn't really kill anyone, she's mostly going after Jeff so she's trying to mostly keep people safe, if that makes sense? But if she were to kill, it would probably be security. As bad as she may feel for doing so, it tends to happen that they get in her way to find and properly locate Jeff.

Nina The Killer

She just does it for fun. She kills whoever she wants to. She does prefer killing other serial killers, though, usually gives her a bit of a challenge, and she's always up for that.

X-Virus

He doesn't have a preference, he'll see a passer by and spike their drink with some crazy concoction he's created and watch as they slowly start dying whilst taking notes of the effects of said poison.

Sally

She goes for pedophiles and rapists. She tries to help kids when it comes to situations that she had gone through while she was alive, having two forms - which I detail more in my hc, linked here - she l9ves to terrorize these people and make them for crazy, though she doesn't like to get her hands dirty, she prefers making them believe they're hallucinating, which she probably can do. Usually driving the individual to commit suicide in probably the worst ways possible, as she likes to cause more damage when there's a higher chance of them committing.

[volatile95]

What? Here? Marvel? Yasss! Enjoy original with me on my sunshine's @marshalllir telegram channel. English version of our headcanons and more under the cut. Thank you for the translation, dear~

Marshall: Hakon Matyjas and Brock Rumlow are very similar in their essence. Both work for the bad guys, both aka spies are on the opposite side of the conflict, and no one suspects their double loyalty.

The Winter Soldier and Aiden have memory problems, partial amnesia, and enormous strength compared to humans.

Brock Rumlow oversees the Winter Soldier, Hakon oversees Aiden.

Hydra and the Renegades have at least one scientist experimenting with the serum, and what Waltz created can be called the supersoldier serum.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers are pure Peacekeepers, aka local fighters, for justice and for all good against all bad. The survivors are civilians, often dissatisfied with the work of local defenders.

The heat of the plot is that Aiden doesn't remember anything because he's being reset. That is, he even sees Hakon every time like the first time. Hakon calmly watches the reset as a supervisor, but as a person, he feels pangs of conscience. And Aiden, every time he sits down in the treatment chair, looks at Hakon through the protective glass and feels something between resentment and betrayal, but then he forgets everything again.

Volatile: One day, Hakon drunkenly, when Aiden is supposedly already sleeping on the table, talks about what connected them before everything. And even though Aiden is being reset, he still remembers this conversation somewhere deep inside.

Marshall: By the way, given the fact that Aiden is reset after each mission (upon returning to base) (erasing his memory and purely using him as a living weapon without a personality), Hakon can, after getting drunk, confess to Aiden about Hydra, Waltz, Lawan and the VNC Tower, knowing that he will not remember it the next day.

Volatile: And Aiden has a glitch. And he's like, "I despise you" after confession?

And Hakon was like, "But I saved you."

Like, it's impossible to save everyone. And he continues to persistently save Aiden.

AND AIDEN'S LOOK AT THE ART TURNS OUT TO BE ON HIS FINGERS. WHAT'S THE CHANCE THAT AIDEN AND HAKON SLEEP TOGETHER AND THEN AIDEN FORGETS EVERYTHING?

Marshall: MAXIMUM

Volatile: I think this ring belonged to Aiden before he was a soldier. And Hakon keeps it in the hope that Aiden will want it back one day.

Since Aiden has one prosthetic arm, even before everything, during the crash Hakon found only Aiden's severed arm, he thought that he was gone. Hakon took the ring in memory of Aiden.

Marshall: As military special forces, they're not supposed to wear jewelry on missions, but I think they might have worn rings on their left hands instead of their right ones.

Volatile: Or it could be a tattoo. When Hakon was burying Aiden's hand, he could put his ring in the coffin (put it on his finger). Hakon buried his heart. And he got a tattoo on his finger so he wouldn't forget. And he won't forget, of course.…

Marshall: God, it's painful and beautiful, but it's heartbreaking as hell. I can't even imagine Hakon's condition at that moment.

Volatile: It is necessary to open the topic with a thousand first dates - Hakon seduces Aiden every time, and in the morning he does not know where and with whom he was. Hakon wants not only physical intimacy, but also feelings. And Aiden is always indifferent afterwards, because for him it's just needs.

Hakon has severe PTSD, while Aiden has no personality and has brains that are periodically ground in a blender.

Marshall: Two peas in a pod, God

Volatile: Hakon constantly hits on Aiden, who is surprised, but they still have a working relationship, but he does not refuse free physical intimacy.

For some reason, Hakon also likes to stroke Aiden's hair and always asks him to take off his mask.

Hakon might even love Aiden like that. Bribes the guards. He enters the laboratory. Hugs him. He kisses him, looking for a spark of recognition or understanding in his wide, indifferent eyes. Talking to him.

What is the probability that due to such sessions, the code in Aiden's brain will turn towards "I can't forget this person. But I forgot it once. Who is he?"

Aiden's brain will accumulate a critical amount of errors, and one day it will give out a residual memory of Hakon. Which he will reinforce with his usual actions towards Aiden. And break the firmware even more without knowing about it.

But Aiden isn't dumb, he doesn't tell anyone that he's starting to think about his work cycles. And that his memory was being erased. And that he's in a state of hibernation waiting. And how Hakon keeps coming and loving him. It's wild at first. But this is what allows Aiden to cling on and not fall into unconsciousness.

Marshall: IT'S BEAUTIFUL! Aiden knows what he should say about the errors, but he doesn't. He's redeveloping his "I", might say.

Will Rowe and his 404 peacekeepers squad drag Aiden and Hakon to freedom at a critical moment of escape?

Volatile: OH, YES!

Why isn't Aiden talking? Because the memories of nights with this man... Are they pleasant?

After the battles and tortures, feeling his hands, lips, heartbeat, warmth, breath tickling in his hair is so reminiscent of life.

Marshall: I can imagine how at first Aiden is in a state of "sleep" and doesn't react in any way, then he begins to hear and listen, and then he begins to react in small ways, like watching, trembling from touch, tilting his head, moving his fingers, and shortness of breath.

And Hakon may initially attribute this to the fact that it seems to him that Aiden hears, watches and "responds" that he is just an old fool in love.

So if you read our thoughts and still here, thank you, dear stranger💖

So bonuses. So much pain in his eyes. So much hairs in his face. Heheheh

First idea and sketches and final sketch

Soldier Aiden’s booba are my religion, Hakon’s exhausted face is my wife’s kryptonite

Thank you for watching~

[snow-lavender]

post finale headcanons pt 2

centuries from now, when the story of the new gods has been passed through generations of storytellers, the threat they faced will be seen as nothing more than a power hungry, golden eyed monster of pure evil. it's an unfortunate tragedy that comes with becoming a myth, the loss of nuance.

despite technically being from the old pantheon, malitae is usually lumped in as a new god by scholars, as a result of their age

when seaside is still a small village, kai will set aside some time each week that she turns the beach into what is essentially a wave pool for the local kids

ulysses gives fenris parenting advice that he doesn't realise is not universal and actually a bit fucked up. things like "it's a good idea to have more than one hiding spot, and use them in a rotation, so that if one gets found out, it's less statistically likely that she'll be there. don't make the pattern too predictable, though. and make sure each spot has an important toy to keep her calm."

jerry plays the fiddle. kai learned to accompany on the bodhran in her first reset. the drum got lost in the shuffle of resets, unfortunately, but as a wedding gift (for the actual, big wedding), jerry gave it a new one, handmade, and with carvings on the edges of cornflowers and lilies

athena and soul find the scoria sanctuary, after a lot of searching, and hold a memorial for netherum there. kinaxus makes zyrself known as well, and offers comfort. and grabs athena and pulls him into lava for a hug. this definitely does not make soul freak the fuck out. nope. (hey, no one ever said the primordials were good at delicately handling emotions)

[heliads]

Headcanons for readjusting to england after spending a lifetime in Narnia with Peter? If you don't want to write for Peter general/platonic headcanons is good too.

anything for the pevensies

masterlist

It’s hard to describe how it felt to show up in England after a lifetime in Narnia

At first, you didn’t think it could be real– this was a dream, perhaps, a nightmare that would torment you briefly before you woke up

After days turned into weeks and you were still small, still plain and ordinary instead of a royal, you had to accept the truth of it eventually

You did your best to find the silver lining of it all, but it’s miserable, obviously– you had everything, everything, and now you have nothing at all

You are a child again, still unable to do half of what you want without adult supervision

It is a good thing, then, that you are not going through this alone

The Pevensies have been your best support, ever since you were small the first time around and snuck into their house overnight so you could travel into the wardrobe with them

You keep in touch with all of them well enough, but you spend most of your time with Peter

You were engaged, actually, in the other world; betrothed after Peter finally got up the courage to ask you the one thing he’d been waiting to hear his whole life

Now that you’re both young again, finally getting the wedding you’d both wanted is out of the question for many more years, but that doesn’t mean you’re willing to abandon him in any way

This is the best part of the reset, you suppose:  you get more time with Peter

Both of you had confessed your feelings far too late, scarcely a year or two before you left Narnia

At least this way you get to start from scratch, and love each other for longer than you thought possible

Peter’s secretly relieved that he doesn’t have to follow through with the intricate courting traditions favored in Narnia, although he does put considerable effort into every date

You can study together and watch the sunsets side by side, plan out a new life after you had a trial run of your first already

It is a terrible thing to lose your crowns, yes, but maybe, just maybe– maybe you and Peter can find joy in it after all

narnia tag list: empty for now!

[silverflqmes]

What about playing with oikawa, atsumu, osamu, kuroo and akaashis hair? Like...just pulling them on top and stroking their hair would be the most comforting shit ever😴

໒⦂ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖/ 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑.

notes. hello anon! thank you so much for requesting, this is a really cute prompt oml<3 i hope i was able to do it justice :’) i wasn’t sure if you wanted drabbles or headcanons so i did a mix, enjoy!

genre. fluff + comfort

ft. tooru oikawa, atsumu miya, osamu miya, tetsuro kuroo, keiji akaashi

tw. implied to be post timeskip, so there might be spoilers if you haven’t read the manga!

gender neutral! reader.

     ➫    𝓞𝗜𝗞𝗔𝗪𝗔   𝓣𝗢𝗢𝗥𝗨   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ oh. he loves it so much.

⌗ always happy and willing to have you play with his hair! might tease you at first about it though.. i mean — come on. it’s tooru.

⌗ “see y/n-chan, all those long showers and amounts of conditioner are worth it in the end! fluffy hair doesn’t happen just like that!”

⌗ doesn’t really have a particular position he prefers. but, if there’s an opportunity for him to be able to watch volleyball matches while you play with his hair — then bingo

⌗ makes him sleepy though tbh so you do it when he doesn’t get his ass to bed

“tooru-san..” you murmured quietly, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you made your way to the brunet, sliding onto his lap. “the bed feels cold without you.. are you almost done..?”

a chuckle left the setter’s lips as he turned the volume down a bit on the tv before placing your head on his shoulder. “that so? did you really miss your tooru-san that much?” he asked you softly, laughing at the whine that left your lips. it was enough to answer his question. “okay, okay.. i’ll tell you what — we cuddle here for a bit while i finish this set, since this match has two more sets..” he muttered before clearing his throat. “and then we’ll go in our room together, okay?”

you weighed his words, contemplating his suggestion before nuzzling into his neck, loosing a quiet breath. “you promise?”

“i promise.” the brunet confirmed, smiling softly as you got more comfortable on his lap, slipping one hand idly into his hair- an old trick you would use to either calm him down.. or in this case, serenade him.

tooru hummed at the action, aware of your true motives, but he couldn’t complain. he had his most favorite and beloved person in the universe clinging and cuddling him while running their fingers through his hair. and although it made him sleepy, he was on cloud nine.

“goodnight, y/n-chan.” he chuckled once he felt your fingers slow to a stop, rising from his spot on the couch to carry you back to your shared bedroom.

     ➫    𝓜𝗜𝗬𝗔   𝓐𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗨   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ he loves it a lot too!

⌗ atsumu is definitely the one to initiate the most in your relationship, so whenever you approach him first �� oh, his heart soars.

⌗ but he teases you for it. why wouldn’t he? his dearest lover wants to be close and card their fingers through his hair!

⌗ “do my ears deceive me, y/n-chan? ya wanna play with my hair?? hold on lemme get my recorder so i can keep this on file-OW! DON’T PULL!”

⌗ playing with his hair honestly calms him down really easily, especially when he’s on edge from a game, argument with osamu, or whatever else might be bothering him in the moment. it just resets him a little :’)

“you okay, ‘tsumu?” you asked upon stepping into your shared flat, doggy bag in hand. “samu asked me to bring you this when i went to onigiri miya today after my shift.” you added softly, joining him on the sofa. “everything okay?”

the blond looked over at you for a moment before letting a huff out, shaking his head. “don’t wanna say. yer gonna think it’s dumb.” he grumbled back, sinking more into the couch while you blinked.

it couldn’t be that bad, right?

a sincere smile crossed your lips as you petted his head gently. “come on, ‘tsumu. you can tell me anything! i promise i won’t laugh or think it’s dumb.” you assured him, placing the food down before patting your thigh.

for a moment he looked you up and down, then at the food. perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to tell you.

he let out a breath before lowering his head onto your lap, feeling your fingers weave through his hair in such a soothing manner. he could never tire of it, and somehow, it made him less reluctant. “i was playin’ switch with shoyo-kun and bokuto-kun, when this tiny ass spider suddenly crawled onto the table and freaked the shit outta omi-kun.” an exasperated sigh. “so he took his cleaning solution and started sprayin’ all frantically.. which got onto the joycons.” he confessed, pointing to the envelope on the coffee table. “so i have to send them for repairs, meaning NO SWITCH THIS WEEKEND.”

silence.

“y/n-chan..?” he called out, looking up to see you shielding your mouth — from laughing. “YER LAUGHING?? TRAITOR!!”

“I’M SORRY I’M SORRY PFFT-”

     ➫    𝓜𝗜𝗬𝗔   𝓞𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗨   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ he likes it a lot! he’s on the neutral side with physical affection compared to atsumu, but doesn’t reject it lol

⌗ whenever you ask he’s always happy to oblige, loves feeling your hands in his hair, anyway. it relaxes him and just feels super good in general.

⌗ honestly takes him back to lunch time in high school under the trees, just laying on your lap while you ran your fingers through his hair.

⌗ doesn’t really say much when you play with his hair, he’s just got his eyes closed while you do it or is watching the cooking channel with you.

⌗ “should i make this for dinner tonight, or too much?” the answer is and always will be yes, because this man’s food is just<3

“hard day at work?” osamu asked from the kitchen, feeling your arms around his waist as you nodded against his back.

“something like that.” came your low sigh, followed by an annoyed grumble. “my boss gave me this really tough manuscript to edit.” ah, of course.

“did they now?” he asked, to show he was listening, and you hummed in agreement.

“sure did. i don’t get it, samu. they’d publish this piece of shit work, but not my story?? it’s preposterous.” you grumbled, pouting when your lover let out a laugh. what was so funny anyway? “hey!! don’t laugh! i’m genuinely irked by this!”

“sorry, love.” he chuckled a little, sliding the vegetables into the curry he was preparing before turning to kiss your head. “didn’t mean to laugh, just thought ya sounded a little cute there.” he responded, and it was true. you did sound adorable to him. “but you’ll find the right publisher someday, the world’s just not ready for yer book to destroy the market.”

you were reluctant at first with his words, but gave in, anyway. it was osamu miya, your everything. how could you possibly resist? “i suppose, i can wait a bit longer..” you agreed, albeit begrudgingly. “but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook!”

the gray eyes male rose a brow before turning the knob on low. “that so? well, what would i have to do to be off the hook?” he asked, placing one hand at your waist while the other cupped your cheek.

a grin spread across your lips before you slipped your fingers into his hair. “i think you know the answer to that.” and that he did.

    ➫    𝓚𝗨𝗥𝗢𝗢   𝓣𝗘𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗥𝗢   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ this man is so for it, he’ll literally be smirking like a cat who wants petting.. might even purr ( or moan ) as a joke..

⌗ you could honestly ask him whenever or he might just even approach you half the time tbh cuz he’s not even worried about getting his hair messed up ( i mean.. that bedhead is unmoving )

⌗ doesn’t really mind the time or place, but prefers being in bed since he can lay his head on your chest while you play with his hair; it’s just easier and more comfortable lol

⌗ “cut me some slack y/n-chan, i worked super duper hard today.. the all star team sure is high maintenance!” — says this when he was literally doing nothing but laughing his ass off from the sidelines while hajime was scolding all of them ( tooru and atsumu.. ) over an altercation.

⌗ once your fingers slide into his hair, tetsuro is not moving. got a shift today at work? you’re calling sick. got plans with your friends? consider them cancelled.

“oh?” tetsuro rose a brow, noting the ds in your hands, which had his suspicions rising. “dare i ask where you got that from?” he inquired, taking up the vacant spot on the bed as he leaned over your shoulder.

your eyes barely lifted from the screen as you hummed, directing your character to a save point before looking over at your lover with a smile. “i think you might know the answer to that already.” you laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “kenma let me borrow it for the week.” just as he suspected.

a hum left the cat eyed male’s lips as he got comfortable in his spot, scooting closer to you. “i figured as much.” he mused, draping an arm around your waist. “think you got room for one more on your chest? or is that reserved for video games only?”

you rose a brow at his response before letting out a laugh. “is that pettiness i detect, tetsu?” you asked, snickering further before letting out a breath. “i suppose i can make room for tonight..” you drawled out, turning off the device before placing it on your nightstand to charge.

a feline smirk etched onto kuroo’s lips as he wrapped his legs around your waist, moving his head to your chest as he closed his eyes. “perfect, that saves me the bribery.” he snickered out, feeling your fingers card gently through his hair as you scoffed, but smiled anyway.

➫    𝓐𝗞𝗔𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗜   𝓚𝗘𝗜𝗝𝗜   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ i don’t think he would mind it honestly, but at first he might be a little confused as to why you would want to play with his hair — or more like he wonders what enjoyment you might get out of it — and now i’m overthinking😐

⌗ anyway, if you do ask him, he will allow you to play with it! he’d never say no to you, as he wouldn’t want to deny your happiness.. and might be a little curious himself

⌗ “are you sure this is gonna help, y/n-san? it seems a little too simplistic to rid me of my — oh.” it was needless to say he took his words back immediately.

⌗ once he realizes that he enjoys it, it’ll become your go to if he’s ever super stressed or having one of his mini anxiety attacks ( those two manga panels resonated sm with me )

⌗ likes to have his head on your lap while you run your fingers through his hair ( might read too as you do it ), it’s very relaxing<3

“keiji?” you called his name softly, lifting your head off your pillow to find a male silhouette kicking off their shoes at the doorway. “it’s late.” you told him when he stepped into the dim light of the tv, frowning a little. “i was beginning to worry..”

“i know- sorry for missing dinner with you.. tenma-san wanted me to stay longer to try and figure out the direction of the new chapter he’s writing.” akaashi sighed out, sleep evident on his visage. he’d been working hard on finishing the chapter for three days now to meet the deadline, but it was taking a toll he hadn’t quite acknowledged yet.

but you did.

“keiji..” you murmured quietly before patting your lap. “come, lay down for a bit.. you’ve been working really hard, so you deserve to give yourself some time to relax.” you told him, smiling a little. “at least the chapter is finished so you can rest for a little without worrying of what needs to be done next.”

it was true, the turquoise eyed male knew it to be true, but he just couldn’t relax.. he kept thinking back to it, if what he done was good enough to be published for the public to see. the last thing he wanted to was let tenma down after all and —

“keiji.” you called again and he snapped from his thoughts, nodding slowly.

“sorry, sorry..” he muttered back, laying down on the vacant space while he rested his head on your lap. “how is this meant to help, though?”

a sigh left your lips, thinking the boy to be clueless. a few days at the office and he was up in the clouds. “just give it a second.” you told him, removing his glasses before carding your fingers through his hair, massaging him gently.

within a few minutes, he was out like a light.

notes. hi hi, i hope this was what you were looking for! i tried to keep them all somewhat diverse, but thank you again for requesting! some feedback would be much appreciated<3 so feel free to send another ask to tell me your thoughts if you prefer to stay anonymous!

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