#my inhaler seems to be curing my constant headaches so lucky me

[space--cadet-glow]

Theory: The Odd Headcanons of Vaati, Part Fifty-seven: Fake it ‘till You Make It

Vaati has a bit of a "mask" theme going on, and it's not exactly the way I thought it was going... Just how far does Vaati's mask go?

What I mean by this is... Once he becomes Hylian, his very appearance and attitude are mere façades. His Hylian body is fake. He is a Minish masquerading as a human. His attitude is more confident. But he is a "meek, miniscule nothing" pretending to be big and mean!

The Magic Hat is able to bring its wearer's wishes to life, but... Even though everything conjured is real, the MEANING behind the wishes is for masking purposes.

Vaati became a false persona that he perceives to be the "real" Vaati. As far as he can see or feel, this is the "true" him.

But to those who know better, he's a puppet on strings to his own twisted desires. And that's not even the worst part about it. Vaati wound up so warped and disturbed by the time of his imprisonment in the Four Sword and onwards that the Figurines call him an "it". He lost himself that much. And that's STILL not the worst part.

The ACTUAL worst part? I don't think Vaati has the slightest clue on how to NOT BE FAKE.

It's Vaati's Wrath that survives- a transformed eyeball-bat-flying-abomination. Nowhere NEAR his original Minish form. And he just parades it around, revelling in the fact that he doesn't remember a single darn thing of his past. Of his TRUE past. All he cares about is his FALSE PAST.

His "mask". His cover-up. His LIES.

The mask he set up for himself was that of lying. Of deceiving. Trickery. To get what he wanted- the Light Force. He didn't get it (permanently, that is), yet all the transfiguring he did to himself remained.

And Vaati remained "masked Vaati" for all eternity. All because he WANTED it.

Oh, the tragedy...

[shozaii]

could I request some dabi, aizawa and hawks taking care of their s/o who is maybe sick or has had a rough day? 💕

(a/n): hello hello anon! ahh thank you so much for sending this in! always wanted to write for dabi too <3 enjoy, love! ❤❤

masterlist.

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rough day.

pairings: dabi x reader, aizawa x reader, hawks x reader.

warnings: none!

i’d like to think that dabi does care, and would even go as far as he could to show you that he does. maybe when you two first started dating, he would tend to be a little reserved, quiet.

well, of course he has the love. of course he has the affection. then again, of course he has to take time to ease himself with you - to give his all for his s/o.

a scenario; it was a long, long day of constant stress and pressure. it wasn’t like your body wasn’t used to this. you knew what you signed up for - might as well endure it, put your heart and soul into it when you can. after all, rest would always come later on.

or so you thought. it went even longer, the more you started thinking of your bed. more jobs, more deadlines within a day. more ruckus. geez, what was with the world today?

the world took most of your precious time, because by the time you stepped your foot into home, it was nighttime.

more like, the next morning.

you groaned, looking at the time. 

“babe...? your boyfriend called out in what seemed like a groggy voice. “damn, look at you. rough day?”

your figure sloppily fell into dabi’s chest, inhaling his enthralling scent. he let out a little ‘oof’ before saying, “you did, huh. come on, stinky. bath time.”

your arms have never felt this tired after so long, because when it reached out to punch him by the chest, it wobbled. “i have a name, you know.”

“yeah. stinky.”

“shut up.”

mans came prepared. doesn’t show it but he’s super duper aware of your schedule. doesn’t need to write it down, doesn’t need any reminder. on the dot. a fine gentleman indeed.

leads you carefully to the bath he prepared for you. he helps you scrub your back (i headcanon him being a master of massaging) he then pecks your scars/stiff areas. “seen this a lot on the shows. hope it works.”

yup, you both had a good laugh after that.

he then gives you your towels. offers to dry your hair because you nearly tucked yourself into bed while your hair was still soaking wet. 

even bought you your favorite dinner, and then chuckled softly when he watched you yawn as you rested your jaw on your palm. “bed.”

“wow. another way of saying, take me to bed, my dear prince,” his gosh darn attractive smirk appeared again. 

oh my god he is a sucker for you. 

when you both are finally on bed,  he pulls you close, peppering you with the last few kisses before you both fell sound asleep. the best part is that sometimes you two stay like that until the next morning.

oh wow. let’s be real here, we have three wonderful gentlemen in this area. now aizawa is a little different. he knows what rough days are like, especially when he himself has gone through them. almost everyday. 

resulting in the yellow sleeping bag. 

but that does not stop you from caring for him. most nights when he returns home late, you treat him like a king because hey, he deserves it. he works so hard taking great care of his students, watching them overnight at the dorms (which results in no sleep). ah, the things you do make him so happy and loved.

so he vows to do the same to you. 

this time he was home earlier than usual - which was weird because usually you come home first. he checked every room, but to no avail. he tried calling you, but you didn’t answer.

okay, weird. where were you? maybe he’s been so used to seeing you return first till the point where he completely forgets about your schedules - basically anything you were doing. and damn does he feel terrible. 

which is why he decides to own up to it.

mans dashes through the apartment, getting the stuff that you like, ditching the stuff that you didn’t like seeing when you got back home, made sure he was wide awake for what he was about to see right in front of him - a representation of him (except that it’s not his son shinsou) or you, still in your best form.

.....maybe he didn’t need to think of the second choice. he was right with the first.

“my back hurts. so, so, bad,” you whined softly as he walked towards you.

“come on, kitten.”

“you should’ve gone to bed, shouta.”

“unfortunately my senses told me not to.”

“but they tell you that everyday.”

“....today was different.”

he lets you sit down on the couch for a bit, worried that you might as well collapse and then fall into the deepest sleep. once that was settled, he lightly tapped your shoulder. “you rested enough. bath time.”

conversations stay light with shouta. he knows what it’s like to be tired, and to constantly have noise around him. at the same time, he doesn’t want you sleeping; hence the small talk.

“are you sure, love?” you asked him. “you know i can-,”

“too late.”

you laughed drowsily. oh, what a man.

he frowns when you were hesitant to take a few bites from the light supper snack he prepared for you. they were your favorite.

“eat up. then we could sleep for as long as we want. i’ll even join you and never leave.”

best wild card pulled out of his pocket because you chomped down on your snack.

i headcanon him to be a little scared when it comes to massaging his s/o, worried that he might hurt them, but when he does, it’s god-tier. his hands work like magic. your back pain was almost all gone in that instant.

the both of you were already pooped out, so at the same time, you headed to bed, finally landing on your fluffy pillows, taking it all in.

and right next to you was the man of your dreams.

okay! two rough day scenarios, now for this majestic bird boy’s s/o who isn’t feeling well!

you weren’t at your best. your nose was runny, you sweat a whole lot. for a while you felt really really hot, so you put on your blanket. suddenly you were freezing COLD. pulled them back up.

gave up and covered one half of your figure. your headache was not getting any better and you used ointment/took a painkiller to get rid of the stinging pain on the top part of your head; but to no avail. it kept getting worse. 

the worst part was that you had to skip your work schedule, and you were really precise with it no matter what. but you just couldn’t when your body hurt as if tons of rocks were placed on your back. this was definitely not going to end soon.

lucky for you, keigo was taking a nap right next to you. he got up abruptly. “um, i had a nightmare. i was...falling down....oh my god, y/n, you are RED! what did you have?”

“i had the same thing as you dummy,” you replied with a different tone in your voice. “ugh, my head.”

“you’re sick, chickadee.” he placed the back of his hand on his forehead. “nothing.” he then did so on your forehead. “you are burning hot.”

“why thank you.”

“y/n, i love you but i’m serious. your temperature is soaring hot.”

“aw, man. i can’t ditch my schedule today.”

“in this house, a ‘schedule’ does not exist. you’re staying at home, and i’m going to spend the day with you. got that?”

you blinked a few times with your sore eyes, before replying with a sniffle. “okay.”

“good little birdie.”

and boY does he finesse his way to giving you the best treatment. 

he may or may not have learnt making chicken soup over the years he has been with you, so cue him making probably the best one for you. (we all know why he learnt this anyway)

feeling cold? gives you warm water for your sore throat. feeling warm? puts a little stand fan for you to take in all the fresh air. might as well even fan you with his wings because keigo loves being extra for his s/o. 

he sits with you and holds your hand. he doesn’t like seeing you like this - who does? all he wanted to do was to head out with you, hold hands, fly with you if he could, eat some yakitori.

no, no. must cure y/n first.

he’s such a cute lil baby 

he’d place the wet cloth on your forehead, and comes checking on you every 10 minutes while he’s out of the room. 

bath time? yes please. the right scents for your already blocked nose and to also prevent you from feeling dizzy from the stronger ones that you owned. even offers to wash your back 🥺

gives you his clothing because you look so darn cute in them. he breathes this huge sigh of relief when your temperature decreases from where it was initially. then proceeds to kiss your cheeks.

“keigo! you’re going...to...get...sick!” 

“i’m practically immune. so don’t worry.” he smirked.

you started feeling a little bit better, so you moved to the living room. but the pains were still there.

“y/n. these medicines would help. you came prepared.”

“that’s because i was worried i’d get the flu once again. i hate this.”

“come on. it’s fine, love. you will get back in action in no time. i’m here for you, aren’t i?”

the day ends with more cuddles, more kisses, chicken soup, laughter, little naps, and finally to bed. it was a long day, and you were feeling a lot more better. the fever died down even more, the pains reduced.

and it was all thanks to this lovely number two hero - more so - your lover.

“get well soon, birdie. i love you.” you heard before your eyelids sealed shut.

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(a/n) : i. am. so. sorry. this took so long. ARGHH FORGIVE ME😭😭😭

but i do hope this is a wonderful read! 🥺❤

[ittakesrain]

alright so this might be a biiit dramatic, but for anyone who might relate or for anyone who feels the need to understand this bullshit...I feel like I’ve said everything there is to say about bipolar at one point or another, but putting “this time” into words has been helpful and cathartic

I am completely exhausted. Insomnia has finally given way to excessive sleeping, or maybe it's just because I've been taking multiple doses of multiple sleep aids every night, starting at five, just to become unconscious. I don't want to have to think. Although I say that as if thinking is an active process at this point. It's something that just happens. I'm dragged into it. The thoughts come in, rising like floodwaters, forcing me wherever they want me to go. My moods move in a similar, violent fashion, dragging me with them in a deranging pattern that seems never to end. I'm scared, as dramatic as it may seem to say. There's no other way to describe it. Nothing else seems to capture what this feels like, although everyone I come across who sees my dead expression and my body twisted with anxiety seems to "understand." Because, apparently, they've felt the same way at one point or another. I need that to not be true. Because if "everyone" feels this intensely terrible, then what in the fuck is wrong with me? Have they really experienced the painful ripping of their sanity from their brain? Repeatedly? Have they suffered the debilitating fear waiting for it to happen again? Have they been pulverized by the gravity of the rage within them, caused and quelled by absolutely nothing? Have they collapsed into bed, exhausted from staring blankly into space trying to summon the will to move. Have they laid there in agony that stems from nowhere, that goes on without a beginning or an end, an explanation or a solution? Cried empty tears for hours? Heaved heavy sobs until the accompanying headache stops them in their tracks? Yes, sadness happens to all of us. And yes, even depression can be felt by those still lucky enough to not have bipolar disorder. But do not. do NOT tell me you understand. Don't insult me like that. Don't compare your commonplace emotions to the colliding hurricanes of unwarranted pain I am tortured into feeling. Your sadness was caused by something, and I don't deny how much that sucks. But my suffering comes without reason. There is nothing to blame it on, and nothing to repair to try to end it. It is meaningless, but its omnipresence demands it be given a meaning. Confusion rips into every aspect of who I am. My concentration is turned to smoke and dissipates like it never existed. I am sick with it. My appetite is stolen and morphed into disgust. Mr. Hyde to its Dr. Jekyll, they are one and the same, and maybe one is an excuse for the other as goes the moral of the story, but how can I be blamed for the defect thrust into me, for the malfunction that invaded my body and soul like a virus and continues to violate my every moment. Survival is all I can hope for. Day to day, minute to minute. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. It is heavy, the air like lead, but there is no cure. There is nothing left to do. Deal with it. Barely get by, but get by. It requires constant distraction. Frantic, panicked distraction. One wrong thought and I'm paralyzed. One spare moment and I'm incapacitated, another day wasted in the darkness of my mind in the darkness of my bedroom in the darkness of life itself. It wouldn't be so extreme if it didn't bring powerful uncertainty and unintelligible, mangled discomfort. All-consuming distress. My deadened eyes announce the signs of visible resignation. The dark bags have never left, and I don't need a mirror to know they're getting more pronounced. I scream into my pillow, not actually hearing the blood-curdling slice through the silence. It's a faraway sound. It might be coming from something outside of myself, but what does it matter if I don't have a concept of who in the fuck I even am? Spiral again. Spiral further into it. Rather than reaching for relief, clinging to whatever remnants of happiness I can find in my memories, I give up. Relief would only be fleeting. Why bother? Maybe giving myself up for consumption will get this whole ordeal over with sooner. But for now, existing is difficult. Building myself up over and over again is futile, but I have to keep doing it if I want to drag myself from under my covers to the bathroom at least twice a day. My brain is mush, but it's still firing neurons or something, I'm still alive or something, so I'm left with gray matter leaking down into the rest of me. It's sticky, and a sickening sight. And it lacks the neurotransmitters that might be some sort of help in this fucked up situation, lucky me. I am left with a mind disconnected, sensations out of my control, moods trying to escape the bounds of their intangible nature, and a stomach ache. Congratulations to me, I’m having en episode.