#this headcanon has absolutely nothing to do with my fear of needles

[beanghostprincess]

Sanji being scared of needles is something so real to me. He avoids any tests Chopper asks the crew to do. Has been for years. When Usopp finds out why he's so scared of those (Germa's fault, of course) he promises Sanji he'll never leave his side whenever they need to do any tests. Nobody in the crew really knows why Sanji has changed his mind about needles so suddenly, but he never misses any check-ups Chopper offers if Usopp is there with him.

[inviisiiblelee]

The Beginning of a Lifetime

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Word Count: 2,030 Rating: Teen and Up Audience Relationship: Alastor/Vox Additional Tags: Vox is named George Taylor, Vox is Brand New, Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Fluff, First Meetings, i love writing about first meetings, Vox died in the 40s, Probably only a handful of years after Alastor at most, Alastor Takes Vox Under His Wings, porting from AO3, link included above if prefered. Notes: Always based around headcanons. I named him George Taylor simply because its a really non-unique and generic type of name. Meant for a boring, plain little man. I thought about V names like how Angel is Anthony, but I was looking up popular names for boys born in 1890's when I headcanon Vox was probably born and wanted to stay within the top of popularity. A (late) entry for RadioStatic week day 1. Enjoy! <3 Meant to rival in name my other work, The End of a Lifetime, too.

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George Taylor was not a violent man in life, and to be faced with so much violence immediately in Hell? He was absolutely not ready. Not only was he unprepared for the levels of pure chaos, but even his own body was beyond a little different. He couldn’t say it didn’t make some sense, he’d only died with a large television set dropped directly onto his head. Turns out that’s quite enough pressure to cause the skull to give in and be crushed completely. He had enemies, sure, while alive, it wasn’t something that could be easily avoided in the line of business he had pursued, at the end of the day. And some of those people were more temperamental than he was, but that was where his disarming charm was used the best. He could talk a majority of people down from a direct conflict, could sugar his words just right so that they would feel reassured. White lies, little seeds of doubt or warmth, a way of wriggling into their hearts and minds. He was good at it. He was just a plain, simple man, anyway. What was intimidating of someone as plain as him? Dressed well and groomed, with an easy smile and all the patience in the world. A soft voice, dulcet tones, easy airs of confidence and pleasantry. It worked.

Usually. 

His life’s final confrontation was impossible to ease down, and George was not a fighter in any way. He could be quick on his feet, but fear, while motivating, didn’t make it easy. It wasn’t as though it wasn’t a fair experience - he’d gotten the man booted from his job, needled down with debt, and serving time for something he definitely did not do, as a star witness who lied on the stand in full confidence and with the performance of a lifetime. It made sense he was murdered, and it made perfect sense he found himself here in Hell, something he did, at least, gather quickly.

He didn’t anticipate some sort of warm welcome, of course, no group of happy campers to explain how things worked or to help him out, but he also didn’t quite anticipate being jumped and pushed into an alleyway by a small group of three rough looking demons (he had to guess? Surely that was what they were called?) who threw him to the ground, searched his pockets, slammed his head against a wall, and took his slightly worn out jacket and his shoes of all things, considering he had nothing else to offer. He wasn’t sure how a television of a head could lead to the pain shooting through his back and limbs, and while he was unsure of anything else that was injured, it hurt more than he liked to admit, and trying to stand led to such severe vertigo that he slid down against the wall and just stayed there. 

He had never been so beaten down so fast while alive, even as a sickly sort. He was often ill, pushing through regardless and a little less than sturdy as a result, but he’d always been able to keep some sort of victimization at bay. Yet here he was now, exhausted already, in pretty poor shape and relative thundering pain, hazy vision and some sort of buzzing in the back of his mind that was steadily growing. It was a little distracting, really, and he sort of leaned into the sound, trying to follow it, the odd tones and shifting noise. It reminded him of an older time, before he was a television personality, back when he worked in the industry fixing problems with the tech. It was a sound mostly associated with audio problems, really. He wondered how deep the effects of having such a … changed physical form went. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to really look or examine it much before things went down, anyway.

Static was building in his head, and George was finding it hard to think. The sound of it shifted and changed every moment, pitch and tone flowing up and down like someone trying to tune an old instrument, except interspersed by buzzing and screeching of something electronic. Like a speaker ruined by water, or being in general interfered with. He tried reaching out to it mentally in some way, a sort of … internal troubleshooting. It felt weird and almost nauseating to explore, but he was trying to make any sense of it. He found he could sort of lower the volume of it, but it kept rising even when he did, steadily, and eventually he gave up, letting the buzzing, shrill feedback take over his mind. 

He barely noticed a shadow tower over him.

But he did. He saw it projected along the ground and over his person, and his heart dropped into his stomach. A soft little plea for mercy escaped him, and he realized he had been whimpering quietly for a little while now. He hadn’t noticed in the whirlwind of emotion and sensation, and something akin to tears appeared to be dripping from his screen. It felt weird. A chill settled over him, and he felt fear sink into his soul. 

George looked up at the person causing the shadow. Shades of red, black accents, a demon dressed rather formally and holding something that looked like both a cane and some sort of … microphone? The buzzing was so loud in his ears, and then it abruptly cut quiet as the looming form spoke.

“Good to see you, old friend.” A hand was outstretched to him, the friendliest gesture anyone had shown him so far, at all. 

Old friend? For a moment, all George could do was stare at him, this strange … person? Man? Devil? And then it clicked. 

Was that Alastor? They had met a couple of times over the years they lived on Earth simultaneously. A radio host, whose voice George was fairly familiar with when he would make his trips through his area. They’d met in person only a handful of times, at various functions that George ended up at per his workplace. The two had shared a few conversations, and he remembered them well, one of which being recommended to look into broadcasting himself, a compliment that George had taken quite seriously. Alastor had been a hell of a man when alive, certainly, in spite of what he thought he knew of his potential crimes. It wasn’t as though it was his job to judge, and it wasn’t as though he felt he had been in any danger. He remembered hearing about his death, finding it quite regrettable and sad, even. It was quite the accident to learn of. But Alastor was far from who he expected to run into, let alone to be recognized by.

“Alastor?” 

Idiot. It was the only thing he could seem to say, even as he reached forward and placed his own hand in the other’s. His blue fingers contrasted so starkly against the red of his old acquaintance’s. But he found support and strength in the grip of his friend’s, and Alastor helped him stand and steadied him easily when he swayed. He was smiling wide, and George wondered if he was really that happy to see him. He couldn’t help but feel a little relief - okay, a lot of it. A weight was being lifted from his chest, seeing someone familiar, someone he would happily trust in this moment. Maybe a little naive, or a dangerous line of thoughts, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“The one and only!” Alastor replied, chipper energy in the words. “You look an absolute mess, friend, what happened?”

“Oh, uh,” George hesitated to respond, but it was hard to miss the clear evidence of an attack, anyway. Or at the least, the torn clothing and dazed expressions. “Someone stole my jacket and shoes.” He said it with a shrug, and he offered his own easy smile. It was something he could do, at least. He could pretend, in this moment, that it didn’t matter. 

“How shameful of them! Come along, I’ll get you sorted out straight away. What did they look like?” The question had him blinking, and then scrambling to remember. It hadn’t even happened more than an hour ago, so he gave what description he could. Alastor simply nodded, looking away in what he thought was some sort of consideration. He placed a hand on George’s back, urging him out of the alleyway finally, leading him down the sidewalk.

“Sorry, I’m just a little out of it still,” he said quickly. “Just got here and I didn’t quite think it would all be so … immediately exciting.” Carefully chosen words as he examined his surroundings, peering around to finally get a sense of where he might be, the state of things around here. He’d barely made it a few blocks on his own, before. 

“Worry not, we’ll get you right as rain in no time at all,” was all Alastor offered, and George fell into step with him cautiously. 

Things were odd. Alastor brought him to what seemed to be a tailor, offering to cover him getting repaired and refreshed clothing for the time being. He didn’t ask for anything from George as they left, but he couldn’t help feeling relieved. He noted that many seemed to shy away from Alastor for some reason, fleeting glances and then people crossing the roads, as if to get away from him. It was a weird thing to see - Alastor was still only smiling, seemingly unbothered by any of it. 

“What’s with the parting of the crowd?” George finally asked after a little more walking, entirely unsure where they were even going, now. 

“Oh, they’re merely getting out of the way,” Alastor said simply. “I’ve made a few waves here, they know to move pretty well.�� He said it so jauntily, George couldn’t find a reason to mind it. If Alastor had made a name for himself already, then all the better, right? Good for him. 

They walked only for a few blocks before George realized they were within sight of the group that had attacked him. Stepping a little closer to Alastor, without realizing it, he tensed up. Alastor seemed to notice, however.

“Is that them?”

“I- I think so? The one on the right has my jacket, at least.”

“Stay here, yes?”

“Uh. Okay.”

Alastor broke away from him with a few strides and approached the small group of other demons. Alastor’s height towered over them, and they seemed very startled by his presence. George stayed where he was told, unable to hear the conversation, though it was clearly mostly Alastor speaking to them at length before holding out one hand, palm up, expecting something. A moment passed, and then something in the air changed, and the buzzing static and feedback roared in his ears all of a sudden. He saw the space around Alastor darken, saw a long, strange set of antlers begin to grow from his temples. Dark shadows formed around the trio, and those around otherwise were quick to clear away at the display, but George could only seem to stare. The shadows traveled up and wrapped around each of the demons, and he snatched George's jacket and shoes from them, as well as other belongings. The shadows squeezed harder and harder, until they were certainly pleading desperately, before being abruptly consumed into the ground without further showing. Alastor draped the jacket over his arm and returned to George’s side, holding his things out.

George blinked a few times before remembering himself, taking them from him with a rushed set of thank you’s, which Alastor only waved away with a quick dismissive comment. They fell into step together again, and Alastor asked if he felt fine enough to join him for lunch.

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll be fine, thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. What else are friends for? You must catch me up, I’m sure we have plenty to discuss, so stay close, hm?”

“Definitely will do.”

And, well. Vox would be a man of his word, for as long as Alastor wanted him there.

[tortillasconsal]

Headcanons and lore for The Splendorman

By me. Because I'm reliving my childhood.

Splendorman is known as the older brother of the famous leyend, The Slenderman.

But unlike his eldritch more sinister counterpart, The Splendorman is a being of kindness who's intentions are nothing more than to spread joy and support to those who find themselves in difficult situations.

Splendor is known as this innocent, naive man who only expects the best in people. Someone who does nothing more than playing with kids and making balloon animals. He's emotional, he's childish, he's oblivious.

But there has to be more than that.

Splendorman is a couple of centuries older than Slenderman. He's the second oldest faceless person out of the four that we know of the oldest being Offenderman and the tallest one of all.

Despite this he looks very young (or at least as young as an immortal cryptid can be). Mostly because he spends a lot of time with children and his upbeat attitude makes him feel like that. He doesn't really feel old either, he's pretty comfortable with his own age especially when he sees his younger brother getting back pain from watching over too many edgy teens.

Kids are ruthless sometimes though.

He, unlike his pale white relatives, has a sort of brownish/natural skin color. This is because he spends most of his time surrounded by humans and human culture. He even is capable of blushing because he is way more open with humans and their positive energy and sense of wonder sticks with him.

Splendor is probably the most capable of the family in the physical way, his psychic powers aren't that good. He can carry around a tree like it's nothing, is very flexible and incredibly fast, but since he doesn't use his powers much they're not as intense as one might expect. Meaning:

He has the weakest "sickness". Since he doesn't use his psychic powers besides luring people towards him, Splendor is limited to use visual and sensory alucinations like seeing an old memory or a toy, feeling a sensation of warmth or smelling something that reminds you of your happiest moments.

He doesn't use it to attack but when needed he goes for overstimulation, causing seizures or epilepsy on some people, driving them mad with "pins and needles" on their whole body or making them ill with the gross and awful sick smell of too much sugar.

Splendorman is very much a pacifist (another reason why he doesn't use his sickness a lot) and he doesn't like to get involved in physical fights. However, my version still has his short temper and is something he is very self-conscious about.

When he is mad he goes absolutely feral on whoever provoques him, and if anyone tries to stop him they're guaranteed a visit to the hospital.

And since he's not used to use his powers he straight up gets his hands dirty. Faceless People's sicknesses don't work with each other and lets not forget that he's the strongest (physically) of the family so they won't even bother.

He has a deep connection with World War I and II.

It was during that period of time when he had the most "work" to do: taking care of both victims and soldiers, plus dealing with the depressing energy of the world and learning about the human ethics of war and the military back then.

Those wars really warped his vision of the world and he was in danger of becoming a menacing and dangerous figure just like the rest of the family due to all the stress and fear he sensed during that time.

It really left an impact on him, so much so that he still keeps lots of trends of the era on his clothes and domain because he hasn't been able to completely process it all yet.

His domain now..

All Faceless people when they reach a certain level of power find themselves a dimension all for their own made by themselves. They have complete control over it, they can warp it and change it to their taste and needs and time is paused unless they say otherwise.

Splendor's domain is a wide open field of grass and colorful flowers. When it's day it's always sunny and warm, when it's night the sky is full of vibrant and colorful dancing stars. And in the middle of it all there's a mansion even bigger than Slenderman's, where the children Splendorman takes in reside.

Besides de wild flowers of the field, the mansion has a huge garden filled with any plant one can think of. In the center of this is a wide cristal lake with a thin river that goes through the whole garden towards a nearby forest. This forest is a whimsical one, filled with random objects that pop here and there every time (like bath tubs, chairs, bicycles, etc.), colorful leaves falling every second and giant rocks that move when no one is looking.

Fungi and moss makes up a path where everyone can find their way back if they ever get lost

But the star of the show has to be Splendor's Carnaval.

It's just your regular carnaval nothing new. It has games, food, a ferris wheel, a carousel, bumping cars, etc. It shows up at night at the other side of the forest so the kids won't go spending all their time there.

The whole domain is a form of escapism for all the children, teens and adults Splendor lets in.

The place is filled with a sweetened aroma and a feeling or dreaminess. People would describe it as revisiting an old memory or living in a dream. There's so much calmness in there, one can actually forget everything that they've been through and sleep on the ground without a worry.

Just be aware when Splendor is upset. He is a very emotional person though he usually is in control of his domain despite it, but in his times of immense distress the children can find giant craters where bombs had explode, extremely dried out plants, and a feeling that they are no longer safe.

And now: the juice

Aka. the family drama

Faceless People feed off of energy. They don't drain all the energy from a person, they just get contagious by different feelings or emotions. Mainly bad emotions like envy, anger, fear or despair since those toxic feelings are the strongest and easiest to get. Therefore, the Faceless family is a very toxic family since they just consume toxic emotions.

They're known to be vain and manipulative. They think they are superior than humans, ghosts and demons are just minor annoyances and other cryptids are like animals.

Splendor is not like that. He was able to break out of the toxic energy and now feeds off of love, happiness and joy. All that positive energy that mainly kids carry (hence why he sometimes comes off as childish or naive), but he also goes behind older people or anyone who still has any sense of wonder.

And since these feelings are healthier he is technically the healthiest of the family. And that also contributes to his physical strength.

This makes him the "black sheep" of the family.

Because of this he is the main subject of criticism during family gatherings and he's not taken seriously most of the time because of his "goddie-two-shoes" attitude, however he is far from being oblivious to all of this. For this reason he is the king of passive-agression. He has developed a thick skin when dealing with them, sometimes being straight up cold with his comments out of spite, giving him the title of a "fake" when he's just reciprocating the gesture.

He has a little bit of a supperiority complex too because he is stronger and has a higher moral than his family but he won't admit it. He gets a little too cocky sometimes tho.

He has distanced himself from his family now (the only exception being Slenderman and yet they don't see each other often), but he hesitates on cutting them off entirely. He desperately wants to get rid of having to see them every single reunion, but he's more terrified of being alone.

Splendor would absolutely bully Slenderman every single time they meet tho. He can't break the big brother code.

Being an immortal cryptid being becomes lonely when there's no one else like you. All there is left of his people are his family and he can't leave all his emotional support on children.

However.

Nothing can ever be compared to his feelings towards his uncle Offenderman.

He doesn't like the use of the word "hate" very much and he tries to not show or feel it a lot, because he believes it's a very strong, toxic and negative feeling.

However, he breaks this rule with Offenderman.

He despises his uncle and the sentiment is reciprocated, yet nobody has ever seen or heard of a discussion or a fight between them. Like- something definitely happened, but they won't speak.

It's better to leave it there anyway. Those two can destroy a town in a matter of seconds if they feel like it.

The Splendorman is a very underestimated person. Him being a happy-go-lucky creature doesn't mean he isn't capable of doing harm. Or wishes to.

He is as deep as he is mythical. Someone more than a cryptid- a fairy tail.

Humans talk about a tall kind man, who takes them to his paradise and grants them one last happy wish before returning to their sour lives, someone who makes teens laugh like when they were children, and houses kids when no one is looking. The Faceless people just talk about a disappointment, a deviant who pretends to be a good person to distract himself from his "true nature", a clown even.

Splendor just lets them talk.

[leviathans-watching]

Idk if the requests are still open, but if they are, could I get headcanons for the demon bros with an mc who's extremely fearless except in the face of needles? I just got my blood taken and I hate needles. Sorry if this is bad, I've never really done this before. Thanks in advance :)

the brothers with an MC who’s afraid of needles

includes: the brothers x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .7k | rated g | m.list

warnings: needles, blood, blood being drawn, hospitals/doctor's offices

a/n: dw, you did great! i hope i did this prompt justice, as i'm not really scared of needles, but know people who are. thank you for requesting!! my inbox is open to chat, leave feedback, or, for a limited time, participate in matchups, but requests are temporarily closed!

please like & reblog !

➳ lucifer doesn’t really understand why you’d be afraid of needles, of all things. like, there are much worse things in the world than them, but to each their own, he guesses. he resolves to do everything he can to help, even if he can’t really relate, uncharacteristically hyping you up and convincing you it’s okay. he promises to stick by your side the whole time and distracts you as your blood is being taken, holding your hand the whole time. when it’s over he gives you a hug, saying “hey, it wasn’t that bad, now, was it?” it was that bad, in your eyes, but at least he’s trying his best.

➳ mammon is also kind of scared of needles, so maybe he wasn’t the best choice to pick when you asked someone to come with you to the doctors. he’s gripping your hand tightly, teeth clenched, eyes fixed on the wall so he doesn’t accidentally look at your other arm. it’s sweet how he tries so hard to be there for you even when he’s obviously uncomfortable. it distracts you a little bit, so hey, he ended up doing his job in the end. when it’s over, he’s almost more relieved than you are, hopping up and leaving the room quickly.

➳ levi has played games where the mc is afraid of needles, so he thinks he has some experience dealing with something like this. he doesn’t. when you practically tremble as the nurse applies the disinfectant he quickly realizes he’s out of his depth and doesn’t know what to do. your eyes are squeezed shut, and your biting your lip, and levi wishes he could help. he settles for hooking his ankle around yours, starting up an explanation of the latest show he’s been watching. when it’s all over he apologizes for not knowing what to do, but when you tell him he did good he’s so relieved.

➳ satan thinks getting blood drawn is kind of cool, actually. human biology and medicine are so different from the stuff down in the devildom, and it’s just fascinating. he tries to explain to you that there’s nothing to be scared of and goes into unnecessary detail about what’s going to happen, which is obviously unhelpful, but you’re so caught up in trying not to listen to him it helps you ignore the feeling of the needle entering your arm. satan watches your blood enter the vials, taking notes the whole time. you’re pretty sure the nurse thinks he’s got a weird obsession with blood.

➳ asmo really doesn’t want to go to the doctors with you (he just. hates hospitals and doctor's offices), but sucks it up, even though he hates it the whole time. pushing back his discomfort, he playfully teases and flirts with you, hoping to get your mind off of it all. asmo’s always been really good at putting you at ease, so it helps, and even though you still really don’t want to get your blood drawn and absolutely want to cry the whole time it’s happening, you have to admit that it’s not nearly as bad as it could have been without him there.

➳ beel also doesn’t really understand the fear of needles, but he understands fear, so he’s prepared to do everything he can to help you. he sticks by your side the whole time, letting you grip his arm, not even flinching as you dig your fingers into his flesh. when all is said and done, he grins at you, giving you a high five. “you did it!” he praises, rubbing his arm where you held it. “do you want to get a treat or something as a reward?” of course you do, so he buys you everything you even so much as glance at, feeling very proud of you and wanting you to know it.

➳ belphie does care much one way or the other about needles or blood, so he accepts your invitation to go with you with a shrug. he knows you claim to be afraid of needles, but you’re so fearless when it comes to everything else he honestly has a hard time believing it. he believes it when you’re sitting there, eyes glassy as you try to hold it together, squeezing his hand. belphie’s never been very good at distractions, but he hates seeing you suffer, so he does his best, still kind of failing miserably. you appreciate the effort, honestly, and you appreciate the hug he gives you when you stand even more.

leviathans-watching’s work - please do not repost, copy, or claim as your own

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Hi lovely! I just want to say, your writing is amazing!! Do you think you could do little headcanons for each bayverse brother where the reader is almost ALWAYS super happy and chipper, super kind to everyone all the time, but then one time somebody (turtles or readers family, doesn't matter) says something to really piss them off? Like... Teeth clenching, furious, silent, and boiling kind of anger that terrified the SHIT out of them that they've never seen before or expected from them?? 😂

Usually, when my Dad and Stepmom are arguing, the fight is blamed on me because I'm "the oldest" and "the most responsible" and I become extremely upset, completely opposite of what I usually am, and there's nobody I can talk to. Thank you so much, for taking my request!! Love your writing!! -Captain trash 🐌

Ohhhh 💢😡 love this, and I do this all the time. Out here bottling my emotions like I'm canning pickles.

TMNT Headcanons

The boys reacting to the quiet type of rage

Leonardo

you were an absolute angel

this was one thing Leo knew to be true

to him, you were like a carbonated beverage, bubbly and sweet

but what he didn't take into account was that like most carbonated drinks, you always hit just right

he learned that the hard way

no, he wasn't sure what he'd actually said to set you off, but he knew it probably wasn't about him insulting potato chips

you weren't that passionate about potatoes, shockingly enough

but he'd ran his mouth when he shouldn't have and immediate correction was provided via a VERY solid punch to his plastron

then you were up and storming out of the kitchen to your personally designated shelf at the other side of the lair, snarling as you went

you stayed up there for the rest of the day and when dinner came around Leo had to tackle Mikey to the ground to stop him from throwing a paper airplane up into your nest

a wise choice

Splinter was the one who informed you that it was time to eat

Another wise choice

Personally, Leo's never seen anyone eat fettuccine with the afterthought of murdering god but damn if you didn't look like you were considering it

Your jaw was clenched so tight that he feared you'd break your teeth

He felt bad of course, how couldn't he? But he also knew from experience that it was best to leave you be until you came down from your anger

Raphael

Now, Raph is no stranger when it comes to anger or rage, especially the silent type

He likes to think he knows it better than anyone

But holy shit- he never expected it from you

You were always kind and sweet and every other synonym for those words under the rainbow

In fact, Raph had gone so far as to assume that you didn't have a mean bone in your body

That turned out to be lie

The argument was something dumb, it had to be, but it quickly escalated. Much faster than he thought it could

And he made the mistake of running his mouth

"Oh yeah? And what could you ever get outta being with a freak like me, huh?!"

Big mistake

He actively watched your face darken and your lip curl into a snarl

"You need to stop using your appearance to win arguments."

And then he had to watch as you turned your back on him and simply walked away

You were silent at dinner, only speaking when you needed the salt or something else

You declined all offers to be walked home and left by yourself

They could all tell by your stature and your tense jaw that caused the veins in your neck to bulge that you were beyond pissed

Despite that Raph still received your text informing him that you made it home safe

But that was all

Two days went by before he showed up at your apartment to apologize

You'd never been one to hold a grudge against anyone

Especially not your boyfriend

You accepted his apology and he hasn't crossed that line since

Donatello

From the day he met you, Donnie knew you were different

Your social anxiety and self esteem overlapped in some of the worst possible ways

But damn if you weren't an absolute sweetheart around everyone else

You defended your friends better than Fort Knox security and that was a fact

So in truth he really shouldn't have been surprised by your outburst

But in his defense he'd only ever seen you react verbally, yelling, threatening, the works

When they were all returning from a scouting routine that night the last thing Donnie wanted to listen to was Leo's lecture

Donnie had gotten in a little too far and banged himself up, bleeding from a few cuts and scrapes but nothing major

And none of them had realized that you were there

So when Leo went in for an attack on Donnie's intelligence and worth you'd done the only reasonable thing you could think of

The glass bottle shattered on the wall next to Leo's head and sent them all ducking and covering their faces

You stood opposite of them, murder dancing in your eyes like a ballerina

You pinned Leo with your gaze and held him there for a painfully long minute

Then you were taking Donnie's hand and pulling him to the needle room

You were both silent while you patched him up and he was relieved to know that your anger wasn't directed at him

Your entire body practically melted when he touched your cheek

"You're going to break your teeth if you keep that up."

"Well I've never been one for self preservation now have I?"

Michaelangelo

You and Mikey's personality and mentality were basically identical

You might as well have operated on the same vibrational frequency

He just worked so well with you

If it wasn't for the fact that he clearly wasn't human you could've been twins

It wasn't that you were necessarily angry with him at that moment, but the argument you were having was quickly escalating so you both opted to shut it down before it got any worse

Things usually turned out better when you both went nonverbal

Ended with way less hurt feelings than it could have

But you both found it best to take some time alone during these situations, things were easier to smooth over if you were both calm

The others found this terrifying however

Because silent, angry you was one thing

Silent and angry Mikey was another thing entirely

But fortunately you both typically resolved things rather quickly after giving each other some space

I know the last one is a little off but I kinda ran out of ideas and brain power. The dreaded wall of writer's block has hit me and I think I just made a nest under it and took a nap. But in all honesty this week has really stressed me out so I apologize for the lack of postings. I'm doing my best to get back into it. Thank you all for being patient with me. 🧡

-Mars 🌠

[c-c-cherry]

Jojos Doing Jojo Things (with each other)✨😌

*sweating as the part 5 hc asks start piling up in my inbox*

 *looks at the one that mentions Jonathan*

Hello~~ I’m sorry for being criminally inactive here, I forgot during that long 6 month lockdown that I actually had a real life outside of the internet and now I have to go do real life things?? Instead of doing nothing but writing?? Crimes, I tell you.

I love the idea of Jonathan interacting with all the other jojos so I thought I’d take a little break from part 5 whump headcanons to fulfill this one :D SO HERE’S SOME SELF-INDULGENT HEADCANONS ABOUT JONATHAN DOING FUN LITTLE ACTIVITIES WITH THE OTHER JOJOS BECAUSE I KNOW WE ALL NEED IT RIGHT NOW😭😭😭

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Joseph (lets say Youngseph in this case because shhh)

-Hear me out but KNITTING

-Let this man do some nice calm things please

-Joseph has absolutely no way to connect with Jonathan. Like. Nothing.

-He doesn’t see the two of them as anything alike even though they both have the star, and when it comes to connecting with such a righteous, nice dude he’s a bit :/ about it

-He also doesn’t want to do anything stupid (In his words.) He hates baking, he’s never been into reading and school, and the two can never really click with sports

-Our man Jonathan has searched his heart and soul for something to bring the two of them together but Joseph is always just not into it >:(

-He’s almost given up on connecting at all BUT—

-One thing they do have in common? Erina.

-BOOM. Johnny-boy suddenly has ideas >:)

-Joseph is really put off when Jonathan shows up with a ball of yarn and needles and in the most innocent way possible he’s like “I have something to show you ^-^”

-the first thing Joseph thinks is NO FUCKING WAY. If Caesar or his mother or anyone caught him fucking knitting he’d never be able to live it down

-So instead he just watches as Jonathan sits by the fire, and it looks really boring at first but he just starts going at it

-And of course the gears start turning and all his brain sees is “fast task?? task I can be good at? something quick my hands can do??”

-And Jonathan looks up to take a break to see Joseph perched on the edge of the chair in complete awe, but the moment he asks if he wants to know how to do it, Joseph gets really withdrawn :/

The rest of their conversation goes a little like this:

“Isn’t that meant for girls?”

“Why would hats and scarves be only for girls?”

“But its—”

“You know...I’m making Erina a matching hat and scarf for her birthday. I could use a little help with the scarf…”

“...”

“We can make it a race.”

And with a fire lighting in his eyes, Joseph accepts the contest even though he has no idea what he’s doing. But isn’t that what he does best?

-Needless to say, he becomes obsessed.

-When his greatest fear comes true and Caesar finds out, he’s too obsessed to care about the teasing

-Joseph is good at something that Caesar isn’t. Caesar is jealous. Caesar picks up knitting.

-Are knitting contests even a thing?? I don’t care because Joseph and Caesar could probably open a fucking etsy shop with all the stuff they make (and absolutely shamelessly at that)

-Anytime they meet someone new it's immediately “which hat is better?” “Joseph’s is worse, right?” “Can you start the stopwatch for us?”

-Even in his older years, he never actually stopped making things for Holy, Suzi, and even sometimes Jotaro (thought Joot wouldn’t be caught dead wearing any of it in public)

-He actually progresses past knitting and making clothes in general becomes a secret passion of his

-The hat he’s wearing in part 4? He definitely made that. And don’t even think he doesn’t send Josuke the tackiest shit in the mail

Jonathan is very proud :)

Jotaro

-Animals. Is that even a question?

-Jonathan was always more of a dog or cat person, but the moment he finds out that Jotaro’s interested in marine life? MAN GOES ALL OUT

-He not only researches the shit out of marine biology just so he can hold up a conversation with him, but he also buys A SHIT TON OF BOOKS for his favourite angst man

-We all know that Jotaro isn’t exactly a man of words, but his heart is touched when they exchange a few sentences and Jonathan shows up the next day with a book all about what they were talking about🥺

-Like—Jonathan was always scolded for never listening to his father, but when it comes to stuff like this, Jotaro swears he’s able to read his mind

-Most people can barely get him to utter a sentence, but when these two are alone they’ll talk for hours about the ocean

-Holy was actually pretty worried for a while that Jotaro rarely ever opened up to anyone, but after seeing the two of them talk it was like a weight lifted off her shoulders :)

-They go on trips all the time to study water life. First, it's just to the river a few minutes away. Then they start going out to the lake nearby, and then they’re suddenly borrowing Joseph’s private boat and going on all these “research trips” together

-Which just consist of Jotaro taking hundreds of pictures and surprisingly never shutting up about what he sees (which is definitely a first)

-They pass by snooty, rich fishermen all the time who make fun of them for only looking at the animals, and Jonathan secretly uses Hamon to attract the fish to anywhere but where the fishers are lol

-I can blame snipster on instagram for introducing me to Smiletaro but the pure happiness and smiles of happy Joot on this boat with Jonathan is like a DRUG

-Star Platinum is absolutely thrilled, and when Jonathan realizes that Star is an amazing artist, he actually buys the stand a cute little purple notebook to draw all the ocean life they come across :3

-The moment they get back to shore Jotaro’s all -_- again around people, but you can still see the excitement in his eyes if you look hard enough

-When he gets into school for marine biology, Jonathan is so fucking proud

-This is an au which means anything can happen so I formally declare that Jonathan definitely got Jotaro those golden dolphin-shaped coat pins when the man first goes off to Uni

-He wears them as a good luck charm :3

Josuke

-Josuke is soooo easy to get along with, especially since both of them are such warm people :)

-Jonathan figures that it wouldn’t be hard to find something fun to do together, but when he actually thinks about it...he really knows nothing about what Josuke likes to do

-He ends up just asking the kid next time they see each other, and they end up just agreeing to teach each other one thing the other doesn’t know

-Because the power of KNOWLEDGE BABYYY

-Josuke shows up the next day with an entire fucking Nintendo 64 and is absolutely set on teaching him how to play something

-Erina just kinda watches like 👁👄👁 as Josuke plugs it in and Jonathan is confused but also SUPER EXCITED because he barely even knows what a video is but there are also video games??

-After much internal debate, Josuke decides on Ocarina of Time because he’s worried Jonathan will have a fucking heart attack if they play something like Mario Kart

-Also he thinks Jojo would enjoy the whole “righteous hero coming of age” archetype thing because,,,you know,,,

-They start it up and immediately Jonathan is like WHAT and has no idea how to play and dies in ways that Josuke didn’t even know were possible, but they somehow make it to the first temple with a lot of help from Josuke

-Right before the boss fight, his mom pulls up like “bitch we gotta go come on” so Josuke sees no harm in leaving the system at Jonathan’s and coming back next week

-Oho,,,ohohooo,,,

-He comes back a week later to a dark house,,,Erina’s off on some trip, and he can hear the faintest “HYAH!” coming from the living room

-He walks in to find Jonathan in the exact same spot he left him, ALL OTHER SAVE FILES ARE COMPLETE, and he’s in some obscure location doing a side quest Josuke didn’t even know existed

-Turns out he’s really good at quest games

-After Josuke realizes that Jonathan’s managed to beat the game more than once, he asks if he wants to try out another game

-To which Jonathan replies: “There’s MORE?”

.

-Aside from giving Jonathan a crippling video game addiction, Josuke also learns a vital thing about Jonathan Joestar

-Hamon ^-^

-Josuke’s a little surprised that Jonathan can even see his stand, and Jonathan has no other way to explain it than that it must be connected to his Hamon somehow

-To which Josuke is like “what” and Jonathan realizes that his stupid fucking grandson decided not to tell ANY OTHER Joestar about Hamon

-He’s no Zeppeli, but he could try and teach him...even if it didn’t work, it would still be a nice bonding activity

-When Jonathan finds out that Josuke’s stand ability is revolved around healing, he’s overjoyed because he might have a better chance

-They start small with breathing exercises and meditation, which eventually lead to Jonathan trying to teach Josuke how to make things like flowers

-Since it doesn’t exactly come naturally to Josuke, things don’t exactly work out,,,but both are unsurprisingly happy when Josuke manages to make a single flower bloom :3

-It’s not much, but it’s there and it honestly makes Josuke feel much better knowing that he could eventually learn how to heal himself, too :)

Giorno

-Jonathan considered teaching Giorno Hamon a while ago, but he realized that his stand already has the properties of Hamon, if not just in a more humanoid form

-And when Jojo puts two and two together that he and his son can both grow a lot of plant life, he has the perfect idea

-Garden buddies!!!! :D

-They grow everything you could possibly think of, and to top it all off, Giorno fills the garden with all this animal life :)

-When it comes to biology, Giorno never shuts up about it. He’s the quietest kid when it comes to virtually anything else but prepare for MAJOR info dumps about frogs and his vast knowledge of flowers

-Speaking of flowers, them just sitting and growing them together and talking about all of their favourites? Yes please

-Although they love to accelerate plant growth, there’s one patch in the middle of the garden that they’re determined to grow naturally

-Also them growing and eating carambola (star fruit) together because it’s my pocket dimension that makes no sense and I get to decide what fun fruits the Joestars get to eat together

-the garden becomes a great place for picnics and outings and the best place to go when things get too chaotic

-Giorno starts a plant journal where he records everything that ends up growing there, and Jonathan starts impulse buying all these flower guide books so they can look at pictures of them and put their favourites in the garden :3

-They end up creating a little pond in the middle of everything, and Giorno puts a whole bunch of frogs and fish in it and it's all very tranquil and calm and nice :))

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I was gonna do part 6 (maybe part 7 too?) but mental energy? I don’t know her, sorry y’all :(

Feel free to add on though!! I wanna see what y’all would think Jonathan would wanna do with Jolyne or anyone else I missed :D My first thought for Jolyne was Rugby because Jonathan was a rugby KING and I feel like she’d be really good at it lmao

[ask-hunterxhunter]

Headcanons for Hisoka, Illumi, and Chrollo losing their female s/o to childbirth? Like the moment labor starts their s/o is in unbearable pain and she bleeds too much and passes away. How would they cope with losing one of the few people they actually love & having to be responsible for a baby on their own now? Thank u so much :3

Hisoka

This is one of the few occasions when Hisoka is lost for a while. Even as he holds your hand and feels life leaving your body, he just doesn’t react immediately. It’s not he never considered you dying before, it’s just that it doesn’t feel real when it happens. You can’t be gone. You just can’t… It’s like this event has no place in reality. It’s also one of the few occasions when Hisoka becomes a little more… Sentimental. Oh, not while the doctors are in the room (in fact, his lack of bigger reaction will either be considered shock or him being a cold bastard in their eyes), but once they leave him alone with your body… Hisoka doesn’t cry, he doesn’t scream, but he brushes your face gently as he says goodbye…

 All in all, he seems to be taking it rather well, right?

 Wrong. Dear Lord, wrong.

 When he arrives home, Hisoka just sits for a moment… And screams. He isn’t someone who takes refuge in denial, he doesn’t go on how this isn’t happening… But it doesn’t make acceptance easier. As used to death as Hisoka is, he has always been a lone wolf who never cared for anyone else but you. Accepting the death of a loved one is never easy for anyone, but we can’t say Hisoka is exactly well-prepared or adjusted for such things.

 His initial reaction is downright scary. He screams, his bloodlust overflows (it’s the only way he knows how to deal with things), but there isn’t anyone to blame, anyone to go after (it’s sad, but those things do happen), just this awful pain. The façade he keeps just drops and everything just overflows and fills the room. It’s suffocating and terrifying.

 What stops him? The baby crying. Hisoka is not exactly an emotional guy, he isn’t used to dealing with those deeper emotions, but remember that he wouldn’t enter a real relationship (let alone have a child with you) if his feelings weren’t this serious. So, yes, it might be strange to imagine Hisoka caring for a baby, but this is his child. Yours and his. As soon as he hears the cries, he stops and remembers he is a father now. And yes, he does love the baby.

 He isn’t feeling any better, but he holds the baby and tries to calm down.

 Hisoka won’t admit it to anyone ever, however, he is almost scared now. He had admitted to you he had no idea of how to be a father (and was pretty sure he wasn’t the best material for the role), and now he has to be a single father. Does that seem like a good idea? He already admitted to Illumi he has issues. Just because he’s happy with his lifestyle and doesn’t give a crap and has no intention to change, doesn’t mean he is so much of a bastard that he doesn’t care about his own child!

 Simply put, he has no idea what to do.

 Wherever your soul is, you can at least rest knowing Hisoka will do his best. Will he change his lifestyle? No more than he absolutely has to (so, very little). Will he mess up? Yes. Like everyone does. Will he love this child and do the best he can? Yes. Will he care for them? Yes. He might not be the best father ever, but he won’t be an awful one, either.

 Yet, Hisoka will never recover from losing you.

 And just because he calms down after your death because he scared his child, it doesn’t mean he will remain calm. In fact, he may (try to) deal with it the only way he knows how: By turning to violence. He’ll be staying at Heaven’s Arena for a while and people will at once fear that they’ll have to fight him because Hisoka won’t just “not attend” the match. It’s doesn’t matter who it is or how strong they are: Hisoka will be there. And this won’t be even a fight as much as murder: He will be going after blood.

 It won’t help as much as he hopes. By the end of the day, even if he uses fighting as an escape valve for what happened, he is still hurting and you’re still dead.

 Illumi

To put it in one word? Badly.

 Being pregnant with Illumi’s child (well, anyone from the Zoldyck, really) means you’ll have the best care money can afford (and God knows this means top care), but the fact remains that those things still can happen. Not that this means much for Illumi. Remember he doesn’t care for anyone beyond his family, so the fact that he wanted to start a family of his own with you already speaks volumes for how much he valued you. At first, he is in shock. You can’t have just left you, it’s impossible, you’re his wife, you weren’t supposed to die, this was to be the happiest day of both of your lives… But he won’t be able to refuse the fact that you died for more than a couple of seconds.

 If he even suspects there was a mistake, that the doctors weren’t careful enough, anything, he’ll take it out on them (if by a lawsuit or by taking matters in his own hands, it depends), because people often want someone to blame, somewhere to focus their pain on and Illumi is one of them. Once the initial shock of the loss pass, he will want to know exactly what happened and why you died.

 Not that this will bring any comfort. Even if a doctor can be blamed for what happened and Illumi deals with them, this won’t bring you back. There’s no satisfaction. There’s nothing.

 As unemotional as Illumi can be, this is one of those rare cases when it looks like all the emotions he keeps away (or doesn’t seem to have at all) just explode. Think about when he felt Alluka’s power… That is tame compared to how it will be then. The only change is the nature of this explosion. I repeat: The loss of someone you love, no matter how it happens, is always painful and can always be traumatic. It doesn’t help that Illumi is, well, how he is. This event won’t help Illumi’s mental state and it might, in fact, push him further into his darkness (after all, it isn’t as if he sees anything wrong with himself to make him want to change for starters).

 It's hard to tell how Illumi will deal with the loss. We know it won’t be in a normal way, let alone one we could consider healthy, but there is the presence of his family to be taken into account as they will offer support and help as much as they can which might help to reign him back a little. While he might seem to be okay with being killed by someone he “cares about” such as Killua in order to “be kept in their hearts” or controlling them with needles “for their own safety”, but losing them to death? Something that can’t ever be fixed? Not the same.

 As much as his family might try to help (despite being how they are, they are still somewhat more balanced than he is), there is a limit to how much they will be able to do so. Illumi may dedicate himself to the job more than never, go after Killua (in an “I already lost my wife, I won’t lose my brother” frame of mind), or anything else that may give him the sensation of recovering control in his life and that demands attention. Again, hard to predict exactly how he will deal with it, but it won’t be by keeping good memories, remembering he will see her again in heaven or anything remotely healthy.

 Regarding the baby, he won’t abandon them (as if!) and will dedicate himself to raise them well, but the problem is that without you around to “balance” his behaviour and beliefs, his methods might be worse than what his parents did to him. Illumi won’t remember your words or will just “twist” them to fit his views. Not out of disrespect for your memory, but because he truly believes in his family’s methods. Yes, he will love the baby, very much so, but again… This is Illumi we’re talking about.

 On a note, about Alluka, despite his desire to do something about your death, he won’t be dumb/desperate enough to consider using Nanika’s power to bring you back, at least until he is 100% sure this won’t backfire on him (and chances are, it will anyway. I mean, when did this sort of thing ever work for anyone who tried? Read “Pet Sematary”, “Monkey’s Paw” and whatever else deals with the subject. He is twisted, not stupid).

 Chrollo

Surprisingly, despite being a criminal, Chrollo can make sure you are well-cared for during pregnancy and when the time comes to give birth, you’ll have great doctors. Sadly, again, this doesn’t mean death by childbirth cannot happen (it depends on several things, even if you have top healthcare).

 As someone who lives so close to death and who has little to no care for human life, Chrollo doesn’t have a moment of denial. Being in the room while you give birth, he feels life leaving you and a part of him seems to go with you… He tells the doctors to do something, to help you, but it’s too late. And he knows it. He has killed enough people to know when they are gone with no chance of getting back. He stays with you for a while, not talking, not crying, just holding your hand as if you were asleep.

 Because the Spider has so many enemies, he will make sure it was indeed an accident and not someone trying to take revenge by killing you or anything of the sort (and if it turns out this is what happened, well, everyone involved is as good as dead). And also because of his lifestyle, you might think he will be somewhat better prepared for this event and know how to deal with it…

 Well… No, not really. Losing you is worse than losing another member of the Spider, as it is more personal. Chrollo doesn’t make a show of how much this hurts him while there are others around (in fact, even with the Spiders he might keep his emotions under control), but when he is alone, he doesn’t care to keep a façade of calmness. Differently from Hisoka or Illumi, this won’t be an explosion of rage or a long scream, but it won’t be less of a huge blow: Chrollo feels lost and for a moment, he can’t even focus on the Troupe or what to do. He just feels your absence and a future he can no longer have while he holds the baby close.

 Although he is used to “carry on” when a member of the Spider dies (and searching for whoever killed them to get revenge), this is different: Not only because he has no one to blame for, but again, it’s far more personal. You were his partner, the person he wanted to start a family with… He never allowed anyone to get this close, keeping his focus on the Troupe and its objectives and now he has to deal with losing you forever. He knows he needs to carry on. He knows there is nothing he can do now except caring for the baby and continuing with his plans. In a sense, his rational side continues to work because Chrollo basically programmed himself to be like this with the years of being who he is.

 Only that this doesn’t help when emotions, that are far harder to be controlled, get involved. There is no other way of putting this: Your death leaves Chrollo devasted. And this depression may last a long time. He may get to the point of continuing his plans, keeping the Troupe’s goals and all, but underneath it all, there will be this hollowness that just won’t go away. If Senritsu was to hear his heartbeat, she would point out how worse it became.

 The members of the Troupe that are closest to him, such as Machi, will know that Chrollo needs help in this moment, not as a villain or as their boss, but as a human being who lost a loved one (considering how many people they took away from their loved ones without a care, you’re free to call them hypocrites). It must be said that this help will be balanced: Enough to remind Chrollo he is not as alone as he behaves and not pushing to the point of being suffocating.

 Because of that and also due to Chrollo’s ability to not lose focus despite emotional turmoil, as depressed as he gets, he won’t forget that he has a child to think about now: The uncertainty that one feels when having to be a single father is present, he isn’t sure of how he’ll balance being the Troupe’s leader with protecting and raising a child. He isn’t just going to forsake the Spiders, but he won’t just drop the kid in an orphanage and take off (unless there is so much danger closing on him that he literally has no choice, but the chances are preeetty slim). Some members of the Troupe may help Chrollo in this department (such as Machi or Pakunoda, if she is still alive when this happens) as he finds ways to reach this balance between his goals and his personal life.

[yandere-wishes]

Yandere Fling Posse Headcanons // Hypnosis Mic X Reader//

NGL I didn’t really like Fling posse before writing this,but now ....💓💓💓 Also huge thanks to @minoux-x​ for the help with writing these HC’s!!

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ramuda amemura

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At first glance, Ramuda can't even be classified as a yandere! He's so sweet and loving, constantly showering his sweetheart with candies and new clothes. Every word that leaves his mouth is a love-filled melody that melt's his s/o's heart! He's just the absolute best boyfriend anyone could ask for!...

But life isn't a fairy tale and Ramuda must certainly isn't the prince charming he pretends to be. All those gifts and sweet words where just strings to tie you up with turning you into his little dancing puppet. You'll soon find yourself all alone, walking on a tight rope of Ramuda's lies. Everything is so blurry, just when did you stop texting your childhood best friend and when was the last time you even saw your mother and father. Every single memory you can recall seems to be centered around the pink-haired lollipop enthusiast.

"Sweetheart..."

Sometimes when you lie in bed next to your "boyfriend", squeezed tightly to his chest. Your mind rushes back into the past, burrowing through each and every nook and cranny of your soul to attempt to recall any stretch of the imagination that may have even hinted at life before Easy R. Sometimes you recall certain hobbies you use to take pleasure in, reading, writing, drawing, basic things that everyone must have enjoyed but...but then he said that you didn't need them, all your books began to slowly disappear, all your sketchbooks just vanished one day and every time you tried to type a single word, Ramuda would lay himself over your lap demanding attention. Funny how now, the tables have turned and you're the one begging for the pink-haired man's attention every second of the dame day.

Ramuda practically treats his darling like a little doll. He's persisting in making sure to erase anything in her life that isn't him. He doesn't mind her being numb and brainless, so long as conscious enough to give him kisses and hugs, suffocating him with all her attention. He adores dressing them in the "cutest" most girly dresses that he can make. styling their hair and fixing up their makeup. But be warned one wrong move, one simple word about not liking one of his dresses and you're in for a painful punishment. 

Punishments are where Ramuda's dark side really shines through, where his carefree "playful" person cracks, revealing the ugly truth nesting within. His punishments are always dehumanizing in a way, always reminding you that you are nothing but a doll, a marionette with the sole purpose to entertain him. His favorite discipline is pokes sewing needles into his darling's flesh, making her scream out in pain and confusion. Oh, how her cries of pain are sweeter than any dessert! Speaking of sweets, if you dare misbehave than Ramuda is going to take away your "eating privileges" only if you beg will he let you have a tiny scrap to eat. Usually in the form of the vilest tasting candies in all of Japan. 

"wanna have some fun with me?"

Gentaro Yumeno

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Gentaro is an extremely manipulative yandere, who's also greatly delusional, he'll slither his way into the mind of his darling, twisting their every thought to revolve around him and only him. He likes watching his lover fall into an endless pit of despair, making them question their own reality and truths. 

It took almost an eternity for "Phantom" to find his one true darling. He's all so extremely picky about what they must be like. He wants an intellectual who he can compare wits with. Someone who understands him on spiritual bases. Easy to say that such a person was extremely hard to find. But when he does find "the one" there is no way in hell that he's going to let them get away that easily. He'll stalk them where ever they go, following them, day and night, memorizing their schedules. When he starts to notice the lack of his attention his darling gives him, Gentaro will start to take his delusions out on paper. Writing draft after draft about the "perfect" love story between you two. How he's the intelligent scholar that recuses the poor maiden from her mundane, dreadful life, whisking her away into a world of fantasies and knowledge. But soon, very, very soon, poor Gentaro will get bored with these tales and wish to experience the real thing. It's then that he truly becomes the protagonist of his stories. "saving" you in the dead of night, open the door of both your heart and mind to his great reality. "I love you (Y/N)~"

Life with Gentaro is extremely complex. You never know what true and what's a lie. Your self proclaimed "lover" is a pathological liar, with an icy heart! Failing to distinguish between his lies and reality often leads to both punishments and parts of your sanity chipping away. Of course, Gentaro would never hurt you, no, no he loves you too much. If you wake up to a broken leg to finger pulled out of their socket it must have been someone else. He twisted the fables in such a dreamy manner that you are just about to believe him...that is until he says he infamous catchphrase "that's just a lie" and continues to degrade you for not being able to distinguish such a clean distortion.

Over time you begin to cage yourself in a glass cage made up of Phantom's lies. Using those that benefit you and make you truly believe that he loves you to guard you against the harsh reality of all the cruel, inhumane things he has done to you.

YOU LOVE HIM AND HE LOVES YOU...... OR IS THAT TOO JUST A LIE?

"I promise that is no lie, my love"  

Dice Arisugawa

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Dice is a very hard yandere to pin, mostly due to his rather air headed and careless nature. But a good way to describe him is a delusional obsessive. In the eyes of Dead or Alive you are nothing more than a prize, a valuable trophy much more precious than any gold or diamond, but a prize never the less. He will do anything to win his lovely darling. Noting is off the table. killing some punk that made eyes at you? Sure, let him just roll his dice to see whether he should use a knife or ax. Maybe you require money? That's no problem, he just needs to borrow some cash from Rio to play with and hopefully win you a generous sum. Of course, he is going to expect some reimbursement sooner or later. 

Dice isn't a fool, he's going to aim for a more unfortunate, desperate darling. One that he can easily talk into joining him in a "friendly" game of cards. It's the game of a lifetime, nothing is off the table. Dice is ready to bet his every last yen he owns, his arms, legs, heck even his organs. Just so he can lure his naive little lover in so deep that she'll have no choice but to bet her self as the final prize. BET IT ALL, That's when the gambling junkie will swoop in, revealing his final hand, a royal flush!

That look of utter despair and helplessness in his darling's eyes is more addicting than any Slot Machines. It's making his heart rush a mile a minute. He's almost positive that his rib cage is going to break from the sheer pressure of each heartbeat. You're him now! He won you! Oh, luck was truly on his side tonight! 

"You're my lucky charm (y/n)...."

Life is just one long game with Dice Arisugawa, he'll teach you every rule, ever outcome. But it's all up to you, every breath you take has it's consequences, every step has to be pondered on. But all so very soon you will become an expert at his little Backgammon game. Gradually Dice will let his guard down, after all the name is rather naive and far too trusting for his own good. This would be the perfect time for his sweet darling to escape...that is if she hasn't become too broken and addicted to Dice. 

Dice isn't very harsh on punishments, he's quite lax with any form of disobedience. A quick slap to the face or some shouting is as far as he'll go. Of course, they're also the lingering threats that he so casually spews. "(y/n) if you don't behave I'll bid you off the next time I'm out of cash." 

"Now, now (y/n) is that any way to talk to the man that practically owns your life? Why don't I just kill you right here and now? I'm sure your body parts must be work some yen, right?" 

They're mild, bordering on humor, but it's hard not to take them seriously when you see just how obsessed Dice can get with any game at any time. There is always the possibility you'll wake up without a kidney, or a lung or maybe even your right arm, just because he ran out of money for a poker game. These tiny threats and obsessive tendencies are enough to make his darling completely docile and submissive, out of pure fear for what the unpredictable blue-headed man may do to her. 

"...I'm never letting you go~

[batsforbadones]

I enjoyed reading your headcanon and analysis about why you think Herbert might be a necrophile. Do you have anymore headcanons about Herbert?

When someone asks about Herbert my heart grows three sizes. I’m very glad you liked my little necrophiliac spiel. HERBERT WEST HEADCANONS

- Allow me to talk about this man for hours. Please. - Not particularly anti-social, but very asocial. Herbert West isn’t against social interaction, it’s just not often extended to him. He’s fully aware that people find him creepy or off putting, but it’s better that way. Not many people, especially not in the 80′s, are going to be open to his rather- radical ideas about life and death. He’s also not going out of his way to find people to understand. - It’s pretty established that Herbert has a dark sense of humor. He only gets a start in the movies at seeing Dan spooked. He’s also very prone to gloating in a kind of funny way. He was fully aware of the pun he was making by calling Hill a ‘ No-Body ‘. - I genuinely do believe he gets joy from scaring the shit out of people. He likes to see them tense up and turn around to look at him in fear. Makes him feel strong. Gets a kick out of him, truly. - He often overestimates his size. A passive symptom of his little god-complex he has going on. Every time Herbert throws himself in front of someone bigger than him, clearly stronger, or more physically capable, take a shot. The amount of times he goes to step in front of his work or something he’s trying to hide only to have some guy at least half a foot taller absolutely body him is astounding. - Herbert West uses a gun so well because of his god-complex as well. It gives him a sense of power he knows he doesn’t have otherwise. - His height is a genuine point of contention for him. He hates it. Really, really hates it. He values his brain over his body, of course, but anytime he is reminded he is barely 130 sopping wet, he is mortified. Link this back to the complex. Nobody should be allowed to move god in such an easy manner. - I’m over shooting this complex because in his head Herbert West legitimately believes he could fight god and win. He’d challenge god to a human making contest if he could, but Herbert, being the smart boy he is, knows how truly crushable he is as a human being.  - Anytime he steps infront of a door- you can hear it in his voice- ‘ You’re not allowed in there- ‘ But he knows theres nothing he can do to stop it. To stop them- - Same thing with his drug addiction !!! WOooooOO *clinking of a musical triangle* I wish this was canon but it would’ve made the movie weaker if they expanded on it !!!  - I didn’t even know this was a thing until very recently, but oh 100% Herbert West is addicted to his reagent. He’s used more than his fair share of dirty needles in his hay day. - First year of med school Herbert could be found in a damp alley way, clinging to sanity because the Heroine just wasn’t doing it the same anymore and the next thing he knows his creation is flowing through his veins and every single nerve in his body is screaming and then... back to a whisper. He’s awake again. He knows where he’s at. This isn’t his dorm, but god with his current level of focus, it’d be criminal not to work on his reagent - I think he revived a corpse for the first time around nineteen. Up until then he wasn’t sure he could really do it, he was just perfecting it, but age nineteen is the first time he slammed that needle into his dog’s dead body or something equally messy.  - A very different turn to the current vibe of these headcanons, but Herbert West has a praise kink. He most definitely has a praise kink. Nobody can convince me otherwise. - He’s a virgin, nobody in their right mind would- ever actually sleep with this man- not that he has the time anyways- - But he has a big praise kink. If you thought his ego was big, imagine how big it gets after being stroked. He internalizes every single comment made to him about his work- about his anything, really, but about his work especially. - Herbert West sees himself as a being above needing physical touch and pleasure but that’s a dirty lie. If you can manage to actually get him on you for just a moment or two, he melts horribly. He’ll try to cling onto excuses about needing to do work and insist he doesn’t have time for this- He’s a very busy man- but he truly hates having to pull away from anybody showing him affection. - He’s very unused to it, the only touching he usually does on other humans being very medical.  - You already know I think he’s a necrophiliac, but I also think he has a thing for- getting his partner really close to being dead and then- Yanking them back into life or saving them. See Nurses Who Kill/ Angel of Death types. He’d probably get off on things like - choking / water boarding / blood letting / anything risky enough to give you the appearance of a dead body momentarily before he bring you back.  - Once again see a god-complex. Everything loops back to Herbert being a narcissist highly aware of his mortality. - Don’t even get me started on Herbert West and his undying fear of death that’s it’s own post. - And a weird little fun one to even out the dark tones, I think he has a sensitive palette. Herbert just seems like the kind of guy to be very selective with what he consumes- A very high food, ratatouille kind of guy.

[softschofield]

tidbits i’m thinking about today ♡: 

blake and scho hand-stitching their lance corporal stripes onto their uniforms, and scho hand-stitching on his wound stripe. like, just imagine scho hidden away somewhere by himself while the other soldiers of his company chat and laugh around him. and dusk is falling, and shells are bursting beyond the german lines, and there’s a warm breeze, and his back is resting against the trunk of the tree, and the needle in his hand gives him something to do, something to keep his mind quiet and orderly and gentle - bring the thread through, pierce the wool, repeat. he’s alone. he’s always alone. it’s almost peaceful.

and i know it’s not accurate, because even if blake was snatched up for promotion as soon as he was conscripted (x) (x) he would have stayed at kingston-upon-thames or wherever he had been based after enlistment, but it’s such a soft thought to imagine his mother sewing on his stripe in their kitchen on a warm, gentle evening, with the sun setting and tea brewing and the birds singing the last of their songs, before her boy goes off to war :’)

scho didn’t enlist for patriotism - he probably wouldn’t have enlisted at all had conscription not been introduced, a white feather in his mail box be damned. he wasn’t swept up in the fear mongering and the tide of patriotism - he was more level-headed, more thoughtful, more empathetic; he wasn’t overcome by love for his country, he didn’t fear the hun marching down the london streets like monsters of old. he knew they were just people like him. he wanted to stay with his family, where he could actually make a different, where he was needed, where he mattered. he understood it was war, unlike the younger boys; understood that war was not an adventure.

what’s also very interesting is the fact that scho isn’t an officer, given that he’s clearly more middle class than either joe or tom and almost certainly more wealthy, a little more distinguished, and better educated (and, as we know, that’s check, check, check for officer school). it’s very likely scho enlisted only wanting to do the bare minimum - he could have been an officer, but he chose not to and he didn’t have that ambition and he’s made an effort to make lance corporal the highest he’ll rise in the ranks, and even that he’s only allowed because it means he’ll be able to help people a little better.

my own tags on this post: #like have they tried to promote scho and he said no?? has he just sunk into his silence and become almost invisible and forgotten? has he done something wrong and they won't promote him because of it? bad behaviour? did he go mad after thiepval and do that thing some soldiers in the trenches did where they just try to go over the top and get themselves killed? and they've been watching him distrustfully ever since in case he has another outburst? did he used to be a higher rank and they demoted him because of shellshock or a lapse in ability because he just went silent after his trauma? did he ask to be demoted? has he really just stagnated at lance corporal? there's so much DEPTH there. like i feel like someone can only be that... quiet and Given Up and distant if they’ve absolutely lost it at one point and then just accepted that there’s nothing they can do and crumpled into learned helplessness by the time we meet them. that’s my headcanon now: he lost it and was just unhinged and raging and screaming against the injustice of all his friends dying and he was given an official warning and maybe demoted and eventually just faded into a silent nothing when he realised no one cared and no one would do anything and nothing would change

continuing on from that - maybe, if he were ever a higher rank, whether it be corporal or sergeant, he earned a reputation with the officers of caring too much about the boys under his command. it frightened and unnerved them, that perceived weakness of his, the danger of it, and they disapproved. an NCO can’t worry about whether the boys in his platoon live or die - they’re only there to follow orders and see that their inferiors follow theirs. but scho couldn’t do that. he was never close to them - he’s too shy, too anxious, too withdrawn and odd for that - but, my god, he cared. he raged against the wilful waste of life. and then, one day, he went too far. he snapped and assaulted an officer, whether physically or verbally - and he would have been demoted, had he not been the one to tear the stripe off his shoulder first and throw it at the officer’s feet. “find someone else to send them to their deaths,” he snarled, eyes wild and hateful and insolent. he stormed off, and he was left to rot as a lance corporal and disappear into that quiet, hardly interacting, unimportant, just a forgotten NCO who’s given up, who pretends to himself he’s hardened his heart and doesn’t care about all the boys being sent over the top if he’s not the one who has to order them up, who knows he cares so much and his heart is soft and bleeding, who’s dismissed and sneered at by the officers, who drops his gaze because he’s so close to apathy and numbness and he’d be there already if the sight of something beautiful in all the horror - a budding flower or a lark - didn’t make him tear up with grief. 

basically, scho as a bit of a renegade who’s been bruised and broken by the military establishment for his natural protectiveness. because even if he’s stiff and awkward he’s still a father and his heart is full of so much love and i’m a wreck!!!!!!!!!

[self-ships-ahoy]

Still determined to get you guys acquainted with my ship w/ Medic and caught up with where I am mentally (not to mention shake off the nerves that act up when I post about him/us publicly), so I thought I’d compile some statements given by some tf2 x reader blogs. (If any of you want me to take down your mention and headcanons, I will)

From @kangaroo-sniper-imagine depicting a relationship with an s/o who’s inexperienced in romance (the sfw side):

“Is very worried about your health, not because you’re chronically ill or anything, its just how he shows his affections. Knowing that you are well puts his mind at ease and makes him less manic. Since he started dating you, he’s been significantly less manic and his experiments no longer toe the line of “crazy medicine man” and now pertain solely to improving the team’s health.”

Being able to calm him down and stop putting himself/others in danger is something I’ve really hoped I could do for him (even if their lives are protected by respawn-- we’re not gonna be in Teufort forever you know). I also worry for his sake; I’m going the route of headcanoning mental illness instead of the ‘likes being evil’ one (both of which are ok, I just prefer the former), and with any mental disorder, there’s personal suffering. I don’t want him to help himself cuz he’s “”problematic””. I worry for him. So knowing I’m making a bit of a difference by being myself is a great comfort.

On the other side of that coin, @tf2-x-reader-trash describes him (and the others) lovesick, saying why he loves the reader. I recommend reading the whole thing cuz it’s accurate to our relationship, but this is the best part:

“Medic loves you so much because you embrace his eccentricities. He loves that he can do whatever he wants and you don’t care as long as he’s not putting himself in danger (though he sometimes does intentionally, as he loves to be fussed over/given attention). You encourage him and appreciate his enthusiasm, even if you’re grossed out by his unique occupation. But he really loves that you love him despite how weird he can be. He can sit with you and tell you about his latest experiment or talk with Archimedes and you’ll just watch or listen like he’s completely normal. He loves not being treated like he’s nuts or creepy.”

Listen... I know what that feels like. I myself have an undiagnosed mental condition, and was always treated differently for it. I would never, ever, EVER do that to him. Doc has impulse problems, empathy problems....morality problems..., but he is so much more than his problems! As long as he isn’t crossing any lines for me, I love supporting him and his enthusiasm! I love that nothing’s killed his spirit! I even love when he acts kooky or “weird”. Not saying I’ll always understand him, or react positively all the time to what he says, but he’s still the man I love. And I make it my absolute priority to make sure he knows that.

And how he loves me? Here’s an example of that, also provided by tf2-x-reader-trash: what it’s like to be in his medical care, and how it depends on your relationship with him.

“He’s like a complete opposite if he loves you though. He’s very careful with you and he’ll rarely do anything risky with your body unless he has to. And unlike with the other mercs, he actually asks if you’d like to participate in an experiment instead of just doing it without your consent. He also tries to help you stay calm if he’s doing a procedure or something that scares you. He’ll ask you to look away and will talk to you to keep your attention on him, and if you’re his S/O, he’ll give you a ton of kisses. He might lightly tease you by calling you a baby, but he’ll stop quickly, especially if it bothers you. Overall, he’s surprisingly considerate when you’re under his care.”

As stated in the previous imagine, Doc becomes less selfish and surprisingly more considerate to me and my feelings. He’s not intuitive about those feelings, so he asks and remembers. It’s...pretty much common knowledge to my friends that hospitals and needles are a huge weakness of mine. Even that sterile smell of a doctor’s office can trigger my fight or flight response (...ok, just flight). When we first met, I was trembling with fear, and was scared of him for quite a while because I didn’t want him to do anything to me.

I know how much he loves his procedures, and...admittedly he does find a bit of fun in freaking people out. So...knowing how much he cares about my comfort and my opinion and my choices, I feel really special. He’s so...gentle, so considerate. I trust him now. I’m not scared for my safety in the slightest, seeing how much he respects me. It makes him happy to see how much I’ve grown to trust him, but I just say that’s because he was kind to me. He earned it. 😊

[celestialholz]

Inspired by your recently posted Continuum story and if you still do the event: It ended with Q thinking, he will find out about the others secrets. So what if, in a positive turn of events, he does find them out and can blackmail himself to the top of the proverbial food chain of the Qs. Now he can do whatever he wants without any stupid council telling him no. Picard is torn between feeling glad for Q or unsure about one of the most morally gray beings he knows gaining absolute power.

Oh, excellent. Love a good follow-up! ^_^ Allow me to reward this wonderful ask with something rather different and a little longer than usual, though it may have to avoid our positivity tag just this once…

(Related to this, for context: https://celestialwarzone.tumblr.com/post/615422269797384192/the-continuum-is-not-entirely-sure-what-to-think)

Got any fun, fluffy or just Soft™ headcanons you’d like as fics for our positivity event, friends, despite this delightfully dark diversion? My inbox is open!

Seven o’clock creeps up on Jean-Luc Picard as though through treacle, slow, heavy and plodding; the problem with deep space, he’s been musing since morning, is that everything is so desperately far away, and inevitably, there are days where little of merit can be accomplished until they’re where they ought to be. With a sigh of something suspiciously like relief, he heads from the ready room and his sixth tea of the day to meet his First, deeply glad to leave the trail of electronic paperwork behind.

“Long day, sir?” Riker asks conversationally, though the question is rather rhetorical; he imagines the weariness will be etched into his features, plain for all to witness. Inactivity has never really suited him for any length of time, and this is their second day in a row of simply ‘boldly going’.

“At least we’re only several hours away from Deep Space Eleven,” he replies simply, expression quirking into reassurance. “Can’t imagine you’re faring any better.”

Riker’s lips twist into a warm grin. “Well, at least holodeck two’s been mostly free. You’re relieved, Captain.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” comes the dry riposte, the grateful smile. “Safe travels, Number One.”

“Is that an order, sir? I could really go for a battle fleet right about now.”

Amusement creeps into a smirk, head shaking.

“Yes,” he answers wryly as the turbolift doors slide shut. “Deck nine, officer’s quarters.”

Safe from prying eyes, Picard lets out a lengthy sigh; he’d always been more tolerant of steadiness before Q’s continued presence in his personal life, acknowledging it as something to merely accept as a drawback to the job he adored, but forty-nine entire hours of tedium had left him almost wishing he could snap them to their destination himself.

Well, at least he could finally sink his teeth into some delightful diplomacy tomorrow - and in the meantime, perhaps the god could whisk them off somewhere wondrous, full of exploration and academic curiosities to sate… though he’d seemed uncharacteristically distracted recently, and unusually unwilling to discuss the reasons.

An ancient city, perchance, he ponders quietly as he makes his way down hallways. Interesting enough to avoid eye contact, quiet enough to speak your mind.

He smiles, keying in his code on autopilot, and as the door opens to simple, vividly white nothingness, all hope of solving the enigma easily fades into the ether of his quarters. It’s uncomfortably familiar, and he’d rather thought they’d moved past such things…

“Q?” He questions softly, stepping in with a series of rapid blinks, beginning to simply wander for lack of a clear path. “Q, why on earth are we back here?”

“Earth, dear? Oh, hardly.”

His brow creases as he finds him, and the prickles race higher up his spine; it’s almost identical, down to his lover’s white robes, the metaphorical distance between them painfully obvious.

To hell with this, he thinks furiously, wasting no time in closing the symbolic gap; there aren’t realms between them now, simply things not yet disclosed, and his hand claims his lover’s in silent acknowledgement.

“What is this, Q?” He urges, grey gaze earnest. “Are you alright?”

Grasped fingers tremble then tighten, free hand flung out to the void.

“You see this, Jean-Luc? It’s mine.”

Something distinctly unpleasant splinters through the captain’s very being. “Yours?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t -” Picard swallows, almost dreading the response. “What does that mean, mon dieu?”

“Oh, whatever I feel like, really,” Q answers cryptically, unnervingly blank for a being usually so theatrical. “What do you think it should mean, mon capitaine - this, perhaps?”

He clicks sharply, and the void shifts instantly to space, pure black and twinkling.

“Or even this.”

Another snap sends them into chaos, swirls of brightly coloured gas spiralling madly around them, and every inch the commanding officer, Picard abandons his astonishment, frantically clasping his other hand in a pointless effort to cease his whims.

“Q!” He states firmly. “That’s enough!”

Disturbingly neutral eyes blaze with the scope of the universe; fire and stoicism, the ultimate parallel. “I don’t need to click, Jean-Luc.”

I know you don’t, but what else am I supposed to - he silences his inner desperation, focuses down. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, dear,” he demands gently. “Please.”

Kindness is all it takes to strip down shields, both clasped hands squeezed almost to the point of pain as a shadow steals over omniscient vision.

“They threatened you.” His voice trembles. “Just before Utirion, they were keeping something secret…”

They’re back to the starkness of white in a blink, though the captain barely notices, too locked to those wondrous eyes, the unfolding, pained narrative.

“I found out, Jean-Luc. Oh, they can misdirect all they like, of course, but the right application of blackmail works wonders.” The faintest of smiles half-raises a lip. “And my son can’t lie to save his own omnipotence. It was written all over his vaguely ionised being.”

“Threatened me?” Picard repeats, desperate for full clarity, and the darkness only seeps further into an anguished deity.

“Oh, only for a moment.” He sets, rigid, livid. “More than long enough.”

An understanding shivers between them for a protracted moment.

“So, you -”

“Made sure it wouldn’t happen again.”

Picard curses himself for the shudder that braces across his shoulders; there was nothing to fear from this entity, he’d long since known that intimately, but that phrasing -

“How?”

A frown etches into an ancient expression for a second, distressed at the clear horror in his beloved human. “I didn’t kill them, I assure you. Oh, I was almost angry enough, but - well, I’ve learned from the best. Billions of years of acquaintance rather familiarises one with weak spots.”

Picard’s mind whirs as he slots together pieces of a bankrupt jigsaw, eyes widening.

“So this, the void, space, is truly - mon dieu -”

“Capital D,” Q expresses, brow quirking. “King of the proverbial hill, Jean-Luc. Captain of the starship Continuum.”

He glances pointedly down at his robes, and Picard balks, spontaneously letting go of hands.

“You are not God!”

His lover’s features flicker in recognition, almost entertained. “I wasn’t, then.”

Picard reels, stepping away, struggling to process the magnitude of what such a concept could mean; he’d always accepted the wealth of power that stood insurmountably between them, but one thing needles at him above all others, a nasty, clawing anguish he can barely describe before the words burst forth.

“… And you did all this for me? To keep me safe?”

Confusion claims the all-powerful entity, stare shining. “And I’ll do it over and over again, if I have to. Didn’t you know that, darling?”

A soft, strangled cry tears itself from Picard, dashing back solely to tightly embrace him.

“You can’t do that!” He protests furiously against a robed chest, even as arms encircle him fiercely. “This isn’t healthy -”

“Less of your human morality, thank you,” Q scolds quietly, eyes falling closed as he drops a kiss to his captain’s skull with a gentle shiver. “I’m reliably informed that homelessness is desperately bad for the soul, Jean-Luc.” 

Tearful eyes meet his, divided almost perfectly by outrage and despair. “I’m not worth this, you fool.”

A head shakes in pure exasperation, expression almost unfathomably tender.

“Au contraire, mon capitaine,” he whispers, and they hover in an extended breath, fractured and ironically whole in perfect harmony.

“Now what?” Rises a deceptively simple question from his beloved, and the ashes of bitterness sweep across Q’s lips, crease into his face as he stares into eyes that believe he’s ultimately capable of using his absolute power for kindness.

It’s enough, he acknowledges silently. It’s always been enough, that belief; it doesn’t require further proof over time.

“Oh, now?” A finger runs up a cheek, smile warm. No regrets, Q. “An ancient city, perhaps… well, at least after you wake up.”

Picard’s gone in an instant after a tender touch to his temple, and God swallows fire.

Jean-Luc Picard has more than enough to deal with. He doesn’t need the burden of knowing the lengths a homeless, frightened entity will go for him, however many times he must.

————–

“Can’t say I’m not mildly offended. Infinite scope of time presented permanently to me, mon capitaine; I run ten minutes late in an exceedingly rare instance of miscalculation, and you fall asleep on me.”

A familiar voice permeates his consciousness, rouses him from a deliciously restful slumber; he blinks, briefly confused, and meets an amused gaze.

“I…” Since when had he ever come back to his quarters and instantly drifted off? “I was asleep?”

“The light was well and truly out, my dear,” Q assures him, eyebrow hitching. “Dull day at the office, I take it?”

He thinks of their seemingly endless trek to Deep Space Eleven and wrinkles his nose just slightly. “Rather, yes. Ought to have asked you for a lift.”

“Indeed,” Q murmurs, gaze piercing. “I’d have done it, too. I’d do anything for you, dear - do hope you know that. Capital of Tenhaglion, then? Rather delightful four millennia ago.”

He offers him a hand, and something in Picard pauses for a long moment as he meets the rich bronze of eternity, the absolute tenderness that resides there, that flashes with the most heated warmth and desperate trust.

… There’s something decidedly different about him today, he acknowledges to himself as he accepts the help, gifts him a bright smile. He’ll have to ask him about it later.

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Mourning at Midnight

(UwU so Hey. i’m back with some more trash)

Word Count: 7480

Summary: It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

Warnings (could potentially be small spoilers, nothing too big, but if you don’t have any triggers I’d suggest you skip reading this!):

There are no u!sides in this, nor does anyone have malicious intent, but the other main three (Virgil, Patton, Roman) and Thomas, to a lesser extent, treat Logan unkindly (not on purpose) and don’t realize their errors. This will be resolved! Just… not yet OwO

Being ignored/talked over

Mental/emotional breakdown

An unidentified illness with symptoms including: [extreme persistent nausea (lots of mentions), vomiting (once), bile, weakness/weariness, shaking, lightheadedness, double vision (once), headache, body aches/pains, breathing difficulties]

General negativity including: [self-doubt, self-deprecation/depreciation, feeling worthless or unloveable, self-hatred]

Anger management/temperament issues

Unintentional self-harm (not anything like c-tting, Logan gets a bruise as a result of an angry outburst)

Separate small, vague allusion to self-harm, but it’s not outright and not detailed in the slightest. Could be read as not even talking about self-harm

Potentially triggering descriptive imagery (metaphors and similes to describe how a character feels or percieves a situation, not anything that actually happens) including but not limited to: [glass, sharp things, blood, injection, live wires, loud noises, screaming, general mentions of pain, masochism, sound torture, knives/blades, wounds, drowning/suffocating, pressure]

Temporarily unresolved tension between Logan/Deceit/Remus and the other sides/Thomas (there will be a happy ending in the next fic, though, don’t worry!)

A few vulgar threats of violence (somewhat explicit, be careful) to the other sides from Remus (out of protectiveness; Remus means well but he does Not express it in a healthy way) that is not carried out or even humoured

Remus’ morning star and descriptions of its destructive capabilites

Loceit as a romantic pairing (for now…. UwU)

Sympathetic “dark” sides

That should be it for warnings! Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: So! This is finally done :D !! I’ve been working on it on and off for the past week or so, and although I know it could be way better, I think this is where I’ll keep it! This is technically a sequel to my other fic Tea at Twilight and it takes place in the same universe, and although you don’t need to read that before this to understand the story, I strongly suggest reading that first to get more of a feel for the dynamic! 

This is inspired by @illogicallyinclined and her absolutely amazing Disaster Trio™ headcanons/au, and was prompted by this post so I just started writing! I meant for it to be a bit shorter, but of course my brain would Not let it go, even despite my ADHD, executive dysfunction, and massive amounts of writer’s block. 

This is also unfinished! It is the second of three main works, all happening chronologically in the same universe. The first one is Tea at Twilight as stated previously, then this one, and there will be a third and final installment added to finish off this short little trilogy! I’ll be adding this to the series on AO3, so when the final fic is up, it’ll all be together for an easy reading experience. It is also possible that there will be other small fics in this universe (UA, as has been recently coined) that operate outside of the timeline of the main story, so be sure to watch out for that! 

Thanks to Jay once again for creating these lovely headcanons that haunt my dreams every night, and for inspiring me to get back into my writing groove despite a writer’s block that’s lasted for over three years! Hope this isn’t too terrible, Jay! ilyy <333</p>

Also, a huge thank you to @illogical-anxieties for being such a good cheerleader/enabler! You really do help to keep me motivated and on track (and keep my ADHD in check), which is probably why this was even able to become a full-fledged story rather than a WIP to be buried where unfinished fics go to die T~T Love you tons <3</p>

(If I’m being honest with myself, this is just an excuse for me to live up to my IRL title of “Living Thesaurus”, coined by a friend many years ago and has since spread around to other friends and family. My title is thriving, and I suppose that means I should actually have proof of it, so there’s that.)

(Cross-posted to AO3)

(Read Part 1 here)

He can feel it building.

There’s far too much left to be desired when it comes to frustration. The natural helplessness that makes way for anger when you try so hard to do something or be something for someone and you’re pushed down by anything and everything between ignorance and antipathy. The fear that nothing you can do or say will ever be good enough. The buzzing, ticking, pinpricks upon pinpricks of heat injected into you until your blood and heart have been replaced with glass, fragile as a crumbling stone wall. It’s not as if he hasn’t had his outbursts before, spurred on by the familiar sharp pulse of rage that courses through him in a split-second whirlwind. It builds inside him, and he can feel the pressure in his limbs expand until it feels like his muscles are being squeezed out of existence and then he snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too taut. He’s not in denial of the fact that his impulsive, blinding reaction when met with frustration is not okay, and only detrimental to the demeanour he’s trying to retain. He knows it’s childish. He knows it’s immature, and pathetic, and wholly invigorating, at least until the adrenaline has worn off and he’s in the aftermath of his knee-jerk reaction to the tension coiled in his arms and legs and head.

It doesn’t mean that Logan is particularly in control of it though, despite his self-awareness being far above the level that most people with anger management issues are at. Maybe there’s a certain quality to it that allows for growth; it’s not as if Logan stays angry, or that he wants to hurt people. He loves the others, painfully so (as much as he loathes to admit it), to the point where he’s so desperate for their approval that he tampers down his passion, that spark that used to drive him to learn and speak and be happy just to avoid being cast out and abandoned, alone in the way he never wants to be. He wants to find a way to temper the fall into those dark, consuming waters, a way to mute the buzzing and ticking. He wants to seal those exposed live wires and release the tension to the point where he never lashes out ever again. He wants to, and he doesn’t know how to, and that fact infuriates him in an ironic, endless cycle of self-imposed and self-directed enmity.

Logan still thinks on this often, even now, wracking his brain for solutions to problems that realistically won’t be solved as easily as he wishes they would. Excerpts and quotes and data and statistics from many different studies about anger and temper management and irritability and everything in between seem to figuratively run amok through his brain, a screaming crowd of witnesses to the chaos and failure found in his ability to filter through the nonsense and come to a satisfying conclusion, any conclusion at all. He notices how his fingers tremble as they slip into the handle of his coffee mug, endures the dull ache in his mid-to-lower back from falling asleep at his desk for the majority of the day under the guise of work so important he holed himself up in his room to complete it. He ignores the way his head pounds, how he feels so dizzy that he might fall over and pass out any second from lightheadedness. He suffers through the loud conversations between the other three that are typical to the dinner routine that Logan cannot deal with today, not with this headache poking at him like figurative needles in his head.

When he senses the summons from Thomas stirring up the familiar but nonetheless odd ticklish sensation on the back of his neck, Logan can feel the tension knot up his muscles, and the combination of the two just makes him want to growl in irritation. The others, having also felt the summoning, seem to get impossibly louder, ringing and stinging and singing in his head. He still persists, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be out doing anything today that’s likely to exacerbate his sickness, because Thomas is important, more so than Logan himself. No matter how much he wants to hole himself up in his room and sleep the day away, his host needs him, so Logan simply forces his mask of indifference to melt into steel. He refuses to budge, not for the first or last time, and he rises up in the real world standing straight and rigid and as put together as he’s always expected to be.

When he’s finally settled into his usual spot, as still as he can possibly be to not exacerbate the roiling nausea disquieting his stomach, he’s able to take in the other four arranged in their usual positions in Thomas’ living room, already having begun a conversation that Logan has missed the premise of entirely through his all-eclipsing, obfuscating malady. His vision doubles, like broken fractals of glass reflecting onto themselves, and then it pulls back together, merging back into something visible, something manageable.

“Well, I’m sure Danny likes you, too! You just gotta ask him, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, high voice pushing through the heavy, suffocating cotton in Logan’s ears, and the words snap the bespectacled side to attention. He needs context, needs to know what they’re talking about, needs to be able to help for once. Maybe he has to endure the bad to be able to put out the good, and this is where the climax is, the top of the rollercoaster at such a high altitude that oxygen is thin and dispersed before he shoots down the tracks in a rush of fresh air, relieving and calm and sanguine as he’s finally able to ground himself. A shiver runs through Logan’s body, between his shoulder blades and down his hip and through his leg, and his eyes flutter under the weight of consciousness. It recedes, the flow is ebbed, and his head clears to a more sustainable level.

“Oh, that’s so boring, Padre! Thomas should hire a band to play! And we can rig up streamers and confetti and there can be a cake and dancing and a party to celebrate!” Roman crows, throwing his arms and hands up into his signature pose to match his full, booming tone. Patton squeals, clutching his cardigan in his hands to pull excitedly at the sleeves as he bounces giddily on his feet. At the suggestion, as the polar opposite to Patton’s reaction, Virgil grimaces, hunching over even further in his jacket as he protests with every way he can think of that the situation could go wrong. Unsurprisingly, Roman takes personal offense to it and refutes Virgil’s points with the same intensity and fervour that’s been present in himself and his interactions with the anxious side since day one. Logan sort of understands, can infer that they’re discussing how to ask out Danny, a new friend of Thomas’ who has very quickly turned into a crush. In that case…

“If I may interrupt? While I don’t share all of Virgil’s worries, I do agree with his position in regards to the fact that there isn’t a need for such extravagance. It might embarrass Danny, for one, and for two, there are many ways such an excessive venture could backfire, such as technical difficulties or general human error. The idea is, while exciting, frankly outrageous,” Logan says, his role as the voice of reason renewed once more. It’s his job to sift through the conversations they have and get to the important parts, and he likes his job. He’s good at micromanaging, mediating the chaos, good at storing information to sort and consider and veto and bolster. It’s how he operates, how he copes. “We can think of something else to–”

“Oh, shut it, Pocket Protector. We all know you don’t care about romance, but this is important! Thomas wishes to find love with the second most handsome prince in the world! After me, of course,” Roman exclaims, in that boisterous, self-aggrandizing way of his, the way that hides his real insecurities he buries so deeply in himself he doesn’t know how to find them again. Oddly enough, it’s not Roman’s defense mechanism that throws Logan off, it’s the way that Logan stopped talking almost reflexively to allow the other side to finish his statement, as if the prince’s words were more important than his own, and it speaks as testament to how much Logan’s been conditioned (or maybe he’s conditioned himself all on his own) into putting everyone else before himself, even when it hurts him or Thomas. Logan is ignored in the face of his implicit trust, and he hates that even as it pours salt in the open wound, he finds himself taking a depraved, spiteful comfort in the familiarity of it all.

“That’s not what I–”

“Awe, c'mon, Logan! Thomas deserves to have a happy relationship and someone he can live out the rest of his life with! Doesn’t that sound nice, to grow old together with someone you love? Isn’t that romantic? Oh, it just makes me so warm and fuzzy thinking about it!” Patton interrupts, hands clutching each other over his heart as he swoons. Logan knows Patton doesn’t mean to be rude, but he still can’t help but be a little hurt by it, especially since he’s now been ignored twice consecutively. He’s just trying to help, and if that means reigning in Roman’s exorbitant ideas that border on egregious at times, then Logan knows it must be done. Although he encourages Thomas to seek a relationship to improve his mental health and provide more financial stability, there is a limit to how much he can disregard himself and others in doing so, and that doesn’t mean that Logan is the bad guy for pointing that out. He knows that. He knows that, so why does the dismissal still feel so sharp in his chest?

“Yeah, romance is cool and all, but what if it doesn’t work? What if Danny actually hates us? What if we ask and he laughs at us or says no and then we’ll be standing there like an idiot and then he’ll never wanna talk to us again because he thinks we’re pathetic and stupid and–”

“Hey, now, don’t be such a Debby Downer, kiddo! I’m sure it’ll go just fine! We’ll just ask him. The worst thing that can happen is he’ll say no, right? Shouldn’t we give it a shot?” Patton consoles before Virgil can go into a spiral. Although his well-meaning reassurances are meant to be comforting, his voice just grates on Logan’s ears, tinny and hollow and misdirected.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!”

Logan wants to keep listening, he really does, but the noise is rising to levels where it’s too much to handle. He’s already sensitive from his illness, but the discussion that is very quickly turning into an argument falls in pulses through his head, sound torture to the broken, hopeless masochist. He’s barely holding onto himself at this point, consciousness like a dangling thread that swirls and dances and twirls with even the tiniest breeze, a hint of movement sending it shivering and quivering as it spins. It wouldn’t take much for the thread to fray from the weight pulling it down, or to saw through it in a clean slice that leaves it floating feather-light upon air currents, petals spiraling to the ground.

Petals. Flowers. Thomas could bring Danny flowers! It’s perfect! Danny is especially predisposed to gardening, and he frequently talks about different flowers and what they mean based on the type and colour. His interest in botany could make this a sweet gift, to show that Thomas pays attention to what Danny enjoys, and can be the perfect segue into asking him on a romantic outing. Yes, this could work! It would appease Roman’s inclination to classic romanticism while still being practical and not unreasonably expensive, give Patton his ideal relationship fantasy (and a “warm and fuzzy feeling”, apparently), and allow Virgil a little more breathing room, so-to-speak. This is something they all should be agreeable towards, and that confidence is enough to supply Logan with enough energy to push past his lightheadedness and offer a solution. He’s proud of himself for taking the others’ feelings into account, something he knows he’s not always been the most proficient at, and for coming up with a compromise that will likely satisfy everyone’s wants and needs.

“What about bringing him flowers?” Logan asks, pleased and antsy as he feels hope well up in his chest. He doesn’t push it down this time, and he thinks maybe, just maybe they’ll finally listen to him, that they’ll tell him that he did well, that he’s being considerate and maybe even say thank you–

“How would you even know, Roman? It’s not like we just go out and hire mariachi bands every Saturday!” Virgil says with furrowed brows, and Roman huffs in indignation, and Patton sighs as he looks between the two of them, and Logan’s words fall on deaf ears. They didn’t even hear. They didn’t listen. They didn’t care they didn’t care–

“Uh, hey, Virgil, what if–” Logan tries once more to speak, nausea rolling angrily in his gut, head spinning dizzy round and round and round and round and Virgil flinches.

He flinches. Because of Logan.

Virgil hasn’t been afraid of any of them for a long time. Sure, in the beginning, when they fought one another on nearly a day-to-day basis, there would be a moment before he could pull on his figurative mask that a flash of fear would go through Virgil’s eyes, and the sadness kept within wouldn’t subside even when he growled and snapped and blustered whichever side had the misfortune of picking a fight with him during a time where his first instinct was to keep away the pain and longing and loneliness the only way he knew how. Over time, that flash of fear dulled, morphed into something more manageable, more trusting. The sadness never really went away, but it was met with warmth, a soft contentedness that danced in his eyes when he realized he had a family to turn to. He hasn’t been afraid for a long time. And yet, he flinches away from Logan, just from him speaking.

Is he really that bad?

Does even simply the sound of his voice have such a negative association for Virgil that it prompts genuine fear and discomfort? Has he really scared Virgil that much? What did he do? How can he fix this?

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Logan’s felt disconnected from the others for quite a while now. He loves them, of course he does, but he doesn’t feel like he fits. He’s the metaphorical jagged puzzle piece, the one that should snap into the final vacant space but is so broken beyond repair that it doesn’t fit quite right. He wants to belong, to feel at home whenever he’s with them, but he doesn’t. He yearns for the acceptance that Virgil earned, the support that Roman is held up by, the respect and adoration Patton seems to acquire so casually and naturally that it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. Logan wants to be like them. He wants to be loved, but… that isn’t really his place, is it?

Love is not an inherent thing. It’s something that’s earned, by doing good things and being important enough to someone that they give it freely. It’s something Logan doesn’t understand, but despite that, still desperately, painfully yearns for. He wants to be loved, the way he loves the others. He wants to be a part of their famILY, to have that implicit trust in each other that only comes from acute, profound, deep-seated love. He wants that fondness directed towards himself, that devotion borne from hapless, radiating appreciation. The humbled esteem, the maudlin, theatrical longing, the passion and yearning and helpless, acquiescent love that bursts from the seams in a manner that will never diminish or fade. He wants that. Badly. And he’s finally ready to accept that he will never have it. He’s okay. He’s okay. He just needs a moment. He just needs to breathe.

The others must have continued with their arguments long ago, seemingly unaware of anything outside of themselves. Logan supposes he shouldn’t really berate them for that since he often falls victim to getting lost in debate as well, but something is wrong with Thomas, going by his expression and demeanour and the logical side can’t ignore it anymore. It’s highly unlikely that the other three will come away from themselves for long enough to notice, and it doesn’t sound like they’re anywhere close to coming to a conclusion amongst themselves, so Logan is perfectly fine with bearing that responsibility upon himself to check up on his host and make sure he’s okay. He’s the most important one here, after all, and it’s Logan’s job to help him, guide him in his life and decisions.

“Thomas? Is there something wrong?” Although the words come out clear and precise as usual, Logan’s throat burns, and he can barely breathe. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, but Thomas needs him, and that doesn’t happen often nowadays, so Logan does nothing but wait impassively. His host bites the inside of his cheek, then sighs as he stares off at the wall, lost in thought. Since he says nothing, the logical side assumes he will continue to say nothing for a few more moments, and decides to give him a once-over to gather more information and any possible context. Thomas’ eyebrows are furrowed, and his posture far from adequate. His expression is troubled, and his arms are crossed loosely, a pointer finger scratching at his elbow unconsciously. There is no obvious cause for his confusion and/or upset in himself or anywhere in the room, apart from the current dilemma, but he was fine before, so something must have changed to distress him now. Logan cannot ascertain what Thomas needs simply from observing him, so he concludes that the best thing for him to do is wait.

So he does. And he does so for a minute, two, five. Every second that ticks by feels like a needle is being shoved into his eyes, his brain, his legs, his everything and it takes more effort to stand than he’s used to. Breathing is difficult, but that isn’t exactly a new development, so at least he knows how to ignore it. Eventually, ten minutes pass with only the sound of the other three arguing in the background, and it doesn’t seem like Thomas is really all there. Although the action makes him want to throw up, Logan shifts forward, moving out of his usual spot and into Thomas’ own. He still doesn’t acknowledge any kind of input outside himself, so Logan lays a hand on his host’s arm gently, which snaps him out of his trance in a slow, unhurried kind of way. Thomas gives him a glance when his logical side sighs, tampering down any audible signs of his nausea in a manner that is unbeknownst to the host, but returns to staring at the wall without a second regard.

“Thomas?” Logan murmurs, bile rising in his throat and shoving his hidden suffering even closer to the forefront of his mind, as though it hasn’t been there all along. It’s hard to think, through all of the white noise and weary irritation and the tiniest sliver of hope that he crushes immediately, but thinking is his job, and he needs to help. “Are you alright? You can talk to me.”

And then Thomas is shrugging him off, turning away as he tells him he should “just stop” with piercing words, that he “can’t do anything to help”, and the rejection feels like a metaphorical knife has been shoved into his gut. Logan can feel the pain and the heartbreak and the insecurity materialize into a cold blade, twisting and twisting just to make him hurt more. Logan is ignored for the fourth time today, by the person it hurts to come from the most, and he can feel the sun whipping and screaming in his chest. His breath is stuck, sucked down into his throat, a sharp pain localizing in his neck, and he can’t help but bring his hand up to rub at the spot with trembling fingertips as he unsteadily lurches back to his regular spot. The others don’t notice, of course, or if they did, they don’t care. Then the nausea he’s been fighting against surges like a violent wave at full force, drowning him and the hurt is forcing its way into his mouth, his throat, his lungs, and he can’t breathe–

His fist flashes down from his neck to the banister, punching the railing so hard it echoes in the reverberation created from his vicious, angry snarl.

It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

There’s a very short window of time where the logical side rushes into the en-suite bathroom after rising up in his bedroom, trembling legs aching with exhaustion. Barely a second passes between him falling to the floor and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet, the bile burning in his tender throat as a reminder of his failure. The floor is cold and hard beneath him, ridges of tiles pressing unrelenting into his knees through his wrinkled jeans. His head spins, unbalanced as it whirls through itself, words and thoughts and ideas that mean nothing and everything simultaneously existing hollowly in a falling echo. There is pain, and aching, and soreness, and exhaustion, and Logan wants to sleep.

It’s hard to rise to his feet, head throbbing and knees shaking as he wipes the spit from his mouth on a folded square of toilet paper. The pain nags at him, persistent and irritating in its attempts to shut Logan out, almost clear in a way that belies the foggy haze blanketing his nearly incoherent thought process. Marking a clear vantage, a faultline to anchor onto is no easy task, and all Logan wants as he stumbles over to his bed is a landmark to pinpoint and find his way back to. He careens toward the mattress once he’s close enough, finally letting his legs give out underneath him when he’s as near as he can bear. It’s so difficult to stay upright in stiff misery, pangs and twinges of sharp pain coursing through his limbs and his back as his muscles are forced together under pressure.

In another familiar, frustrating bout of anger that seizes his breath before it can escape his lungs, Logan shoves his fingers in the knot of his tie, yanking it forcefully even as the motion jerks his own head forward uncomfortably along with it. His fingers run down the length of the fabric, and it falls apart at the end of its cycle, much like Logan has, and he snaps his arm back to chuck the dark blue, silky length to the ground in a motion that does little to relieve the rage built up inside him.

He can feel it building. The buzzing, the pressure, the glass in his veins running on shards. He feels the pinpricks upon pinpricks, the fire burning in his lungs, and the stone crumbles, and tumbles down, and he’s like a rubber band pulled taut.

He cracks, shrill pressure in his knuckles and head and torso, and nothing happens.

Then Logan hears the telltale squeak of his door swiveling on mildly rusty hinges, and a familiar voice echoes right through his bubble, shatters the stone wall like a bulldozer running at full speed, and then the wetness spills over his lashes and over his stony, impassive face.

“Oh, Lo,” Deceit murmurs, sad and tender as the breath rushes out of him and Logan can’t do this. He wants to throw out his fist in a wide arc and pummel the wall next to him until his knuckles are raw and bloodied and bruised beyond repair. He wants to scream until his throat is torn and his voice is gone, lost in the uncaring, empty void that coldly swallowed up his passion. Happiness has never seemed further away, and he knows he deserves it. But then he remembers all of the times where the pressure in his limbs and the buzzing in his brain forced him to lash out, to hurt others, and he thinks that maybe it’s okay for him to hurt right now to even the score. With the last of the metaphorical wall around him in tiny pieces, fragments of a life he never wanted to live but he desperately fought to keep, he lets his guard down for the first time in years.

Logan’s face crumples under the weight he’s burdened his being with, body immediately drooping under the heaviness that he’s forced himself to fight through. He finally submits, and the tears come in an endless stream over his cheekbones, itchy and hot and terribly, mindlessly relieving. It feels so good to finally let the negative emotion he’s pent up inside him out, to fall out of his cage he’s lived in high above a swirling ocean of release and fear and freedom. And he’s so, so lucky because he has someone to save him from the fall.

Deceit’s kneeled down in front of him, wiping away the tears as they fall with uncharacteristically degloved thumbs, and Logan can feel the smoothness of the scales twisting and trailing down his fingers. Every so often, Deceit’s pointed thumbnails catch lightly on the skin of Logan’s cheek, and it just causes him to cry harder. The vulnerability in the room is palpable, a wispy breath of worry and insecurity and trust trailing over their skin, blanketing the room in a warmth that runs even warmer when Logan reaches up to gently lay his hand over Deceit’s own. He shows his appreciation through tactility when the words he so desperately wishes to say are lost in his throat, blocked by the barrier that separates his newfound submission and the part of him that’s still clinging to the feeble grasp at acceptance he craves so dearly.

Logan can barely tell what’s in front of him through the kaleidoscope in his vision, but he doesn’t really need to see to throw himself forward off the bed and bury himself in Deceit’s chest, of whom lets out a surprised noise but doesn’t hesitate a single second in wrapping his arms tightly around the other side. He strokes Logan’s back comfortingly and offers him whispered reassurances through the heart-wrenching sobs and broken, croaky whines that disappear into his cloak, hand coming up to cradle his head in the overwhelming reflexive instinct to keep the logical side safe and happy. It feels like a dagger has gone through Deceit’s chest at the knowledge that Logan has been suffering for so long and hasn’t been able to let it out or just simply be held, the self-preservation that is at the core of his function as a side going off like alarm bells with every sniffle. Logan curls into the first person who’s ever offered him physical affection and emotional safety, and his fists clench the fabric at the snake-like side’s shoulders as tightly as he would if he were to never, ever let go.

Logan is out of breath even as his heart begins to calm, beating and beating in his ribcage and in his lungs. The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, but he figures it’s okay to not be heard audibly, just this once, and speak with his actions. Although he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he pulls back and wraps his arms around Deceit’s neck, laying his face in the crook of other side’s neck like a small child would, not really, he hopes that his intent still comes across in some sort of intelligible, hopeful way. Deceit seems to take this as a request, a promise, and slides his grip to a point where he can hoist the smaller side up in his hold, carrying him just like a parent carrying their kid to their bed after they fell asleep during a visit to a friend’s house. This situation is much more loaded, stained with impurities and unsure withering, but it’s just as raw, just as real, and Logan finds himself feeling safer than he ever has before.

At some point, they end up on the bed, Logan having been manhandled into a more comfortable position for both of them, which is laying across Deceit’s lap without ever having let go of his neck. The logical side feels small and vulnerable, something that he would normally hate, squash down, bury so deep within himself that he doesn’t even have to acknowledge it. But honestly, right here, right now, he’s so goddamn exhausted, and forcing himself back into the state of repression he’s been in for so much of his life would take too much of a toll, more than he already has on himself. The wetness rolls down his cheeks, bold, blue precipitation falling in droplets onto his skin and the fabric of Deceit’s cape, sinking and spreading and thinning out into airy nothingness. And the nothingness enraptures him, pulls him in even as he breaks and whimpers and spills wisps of forgotten feelings into empty space, at least until his bedroom door opens once more with a loud click, because nothing Remus ever does is truly quiet.

“Hey, are you guys having a sexy party without me? How c–… are you… crying?” Remus asks, suggestive tone split and watered down into something confused, and surprised, and angry. The younger twin kicks the door shut behind him with his foot, more out of muscle memory than conscious forethought, something that stands with nearly every action Remus executes. Logan turns his head wearily, not lifting it from where it rests on Deceit’s collarbone. The latter of the two takes that chance to clear away some of the tears that didn’t get absorbed into his clothing, hoping that since the stream is slowly dispersing, his cheeks will stay dry this time. Remus slowly approaches, body tense and eyes piercing as Logan’s face is wiped off for the nth time, offering no other sounds or words as he crouches down to examine how the bespectacled side’s skin is rubbed red and sensitive.

Logan just whines softly, stare falling to the bedsheets, observing nothing in particular as he tries to figure out why words are failing him. Something that’s such an intricate part of himself, the communication of thoughts and ideas and knowledge that defines so much of who he is and how he exists, it’s dwindled and diminished into nothing. Deceit seems to understand, he always does, and reads him so perfectly it’s a wonder the two didn’t become closer in the beginning, with how much they truly are alike. A scaled hand makes it’s way up to Logan’s head and cards through the soft, disheveled hair there, scratching lightly at his scalp in a motion that seems to draw the aching tension caused by his distress out of his body, leaving his muscles to relax and melt into the chest that holds him upright.

“Something happened before I came in here. I assume it has to do with the others,” Deceit murmurs into thick, heavy air, stale with shame and tired hopelessness. Remus’ eyes flick to Logan’s own, actively searching for some sort of confirmation or denial. There’s a beat of silence, and Logan’s eyes flutter in a fatigued attempt to stay awake, and the nausea creeps its way into his stomach once again like a predator stalking its prey. Deceit repositions himself quietly, pulling the smaller side impossibly closer, as if he knows that he’ll need the added comfort. With his body squished into a protective embrace, and his tie laying flat on the floor below, forgotten and scorned for what it represents, Logan swallows hard around the sharp block in his neck and nods through his nonverbal affliction.

At the minimal admission, something in Remus’ eyes darkens, bathing the bright craze that typically resides there in something hateful, and vicious, and dripping with chemical absolution. He shifts away, rolls onto his haunches in a way that doesn’t read as entirely intentional, as though he’s been physically forced back with the weight of the confession. There’s so much there, in the way his breath comes out shallow and gravelly and low like a beast biting and snapping at the bars that contain it, fighting against the cage it’s locked inside. Nostrils flare, and jaw sets, and fists clench white as bone, and Remus straightens up to his full height, intimidating and looming and dangerous.

“Who?” he spits, venom coursing through the single word in molten streams. It’s a protective fire, serious in a way Remus rarely is, and the storm in his eyes and aura only becomes more turbulent and intense and solid as he reaches behind himself to slowly seize his morning star from where he keeps it at the ready. Pulling it to the front of him is an unexpectedly slow event, yet still ferocious in its quiet, cold fervour. The silver weapon swings in a steady arc around the side of Remus’ body, catching the dim light in a threatening glint, the gleam alluding to its deadliness in a way that’s almost unexplainable. The spiked mace finally comes to its resting point, hovering in the air just beside the fierce side’s leg, unassuming and ready to drive its way into an unlucky antagonist’s skull.

“I’ll cut their fucking throats. I’ll rip off every single limb from their bodies until they’re nothing but a pile of flesh and blood. They’re gonna pay for this,” Remus snarls, each threat bathed in acrimony and malice and choked by fury ripping through the tempest. Logan stares through misty eyes, half-lidded and concerned but too out of it to muster much of a coherent thought. Thankfully, Deceit is still there, soft and warm and well-equipped to deal with Remus and his behaviour. The snake-like side sighs, reaching out to just barely snatch up a frilly black sleeve, tugging him closer and meeting surprisingly little resistance despite the rigidity of the tallest side’s posture. Each breath from Remus comes out like a bullet, brisk and arduous and punctuated by a pang of impermeable guilt.

Even as Deceit motions Remus to lower himself onto the bed in front of them, the latter of the two is still apprehensive, terse movements and restless eyes that flit between anything and everything they can to avoid stagnation. It’s almost fearful, in a way, primal in its aptitude to think, and cultivate, and vindicate a wrongdoing that was never his fault or responsibility in the first place. Logan hates that they need to save him, hates that he doesn’t truly believe they actually care. There’s a level of certainty with himself and with others that the logical side hasn’t reached yet, and it feels too close and yet too far, kept obscure and secluded and almost clandestine in the way it’s ostensibly unreachable.

With the help of Deceit’s hand to guide his way, Remus slowly lets go of his morning star, tossing it to the side with a pensive, trembling swallow. It clatters to the ground, metallic clang resounding in vibrations, tilde-shaped waves that bounce off the façade and yell out to one another. Muted shrieks upon perfect, flat, neutral paint, sepulchral oscillations attacking the drywall.

“You can’t hurt them. I know you’re angry. I am too. But hurting them won’t solve anything, Rem, you know that more than anyone,” Deceit says meaningfully, smiling in a way that’s sad and distant but caring and compelling and relaxing for the tension wrapped so tightly around the three of them. The snake-like side lifts the hand that’s not in Logan’s hair and reaches out to grab Remus’ own, firmly but gently as he squeezes his fingers in a way that reassures, and consoles, and reprimands, not unkindly. He admonishes, and breaks that anger and frustration, and builds up positivity and alleviation and reprieve from everything that allows that buzzing, ticking, those pinpricks upon pinpricks. His care and concern washes over you, paternal in a different way than Patton operates, and it’s why Deceit is so comforting to be around. He manages a respite from vexation, a refuge in sanctuary, discreet freedom for the flawed, defeated dreamer.

“I’m mad. I’m mad that they hurt you, Lo-Lo. I want them to feel the pain you’re feeling,” Remus mutters, frigid and defeated, head bowed and gaze distant in that transparent manner of his that easily broadcasts all of his thoughts and feelings and wishes. Logan feels the pride welling up in his chest without even realizing it, quietly delighted at the progress Remus has made in being clear and forthcoming with his emotions and impulsivity. A weary grin makes its way onto his face, predictably aggravating the soreness in his cheeks, yet he finds himself indifferent to it, unperturbed by the plight that’s ravaged his body for the day, and probably longer without his notice. He wants to reassure the younger twin, to smile and laugh and brush all of it off, but his eyelids droop, and a pathetic mewl is the only thing able to escape his lungs. Of course, since there’s something Logan wants to say, Deceit somehow knows how to communicate it, just as prompt and courteous and perceptive as always.

“We can talk about this later after Logan has slept. Don’t worry too much, Rem, and don’t do anything stupid. If you get angry again, please go to your paints instead of your legs,” Deceit instructs, more of a suggestion than a demand, but he hopes Remus will listen and be mindful anyway. The latter of the two bounces his leg anxiously, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion. As Remus makes his way over to exit the room, Logan nudges Deceit’s hand with his head gently, trying to bring his attention back to the massaging motion that ceased sometime during the conversation. The snake-like side’s eyes flick downward to meet the smaller side’s own half-lidded, teetering gaze, and he huffs a laugh after a moment of searching. Logan doesn’t know what he finds, but he realizes that he doesn’t really care that much about worrying over every little interaction anymore.

Remus finally turns and glances back as he swings the door open, brows still furrowed and shoulders still hunched, but simply shakes his head and leaves. The door closes much softer than before, thankfully, so as not to be too harsh on Logan’s migraine, an unusually conscientious thought from someone that rarely shows consideration to the needs of others that the logical side appreciates that much more. As the sound of Remus’ footsteps slowly fade with his retreat down the hallway, the two of them left are bathed in silence, one that is marginally less heavy and thick than before.

A small while passes afterward, only punctuated by soft breathing and light scratching noises from nails trailing through messy hair. Logan feels like he might pass out any minute, what with the comfortable, quiet understanding the two have come to rest at, but some part of him says to wait, to push through the mind-numbing exhaustion for just a little while longer. That part of him is probably just being considerate toward Deceit, who Logan can’t imagine would be very comfortable with another side falling asleep on him and laying on him for an extended period of time, but he figures that it’s a good of a reason as any. It’s not about him feeling like a burden. It’s not.

Eventually, Deceit must start to get tired as well, or maybe he’s sore from Logan’s weight on his legs, so he sits forward, apologizing quietly for disturbing the peace, and he moves them into a more comfortable position. The new arrangement is far more snug and cozy than the previous one, Logan thinks drowsily, as his head hits the pillow across from Deceit. They lay there on top of the blankets but make no move to pull them up, just content to stare lazily at one another in the dim, ambient light cast by the desk lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“Why?” Logan finally asks, and although he loathes disrupting the silence, he needs to ask. The words are scratchy in his tender throat, a charcoal whisper on a steel canvas that scratches and sketches away with nothing viable left to keep through the wind that blows the dark dust off the surface. “Why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

Deceit just hums, sending Logan a weak, distracted smile. He mulls over the words, tossing about the meaning and possibilities in his head and on his silver tongue, rushing in an uncertain river through valleys of golden sand.

“I am self-preservation at its core. I exist to keep Thomas safe and healthy and thriving, and that also means you and the other sides by extension. But… it’s not just that. Even though I feel physical pain whenever one of you or Thomas is hurt, I specifically want to help you because… I care about you, Logan. I love you, and want to see you healthy and happy. I haven’t really been doing a good job of that lately,” Deceit mutters, gaze somewhere on their shared pillow, and there’s a quality to his tone that’s bitter beyond the line of frustration. Although Deceit doesn’t expand on it, doesn’t offer up a single clarification despite the heavy air and his resigned demeanour, Logan gets it. He understands, and he wants to prove him wrong.

So he does.

And that comes in the form of surging forward, fighting against the current, the pinpricks in his stomach and shoulders and abdomen, disregarding the exhaustion for just a little while longer so that he can let Deceit’s lips meet his own. Logan’s so close he can feel the shocked rush of air leave Deceit’s nose, feel the vibrations through the air as his body trembles in fear and anticipation and relief. The other side eases in, sinks closer, closer, and finally moves his lips in a careful, emotional dance that leaves Logan dizzy and breathless, for entirely different reasons that have plagued him for the past day.

“Lo,” Deceit breathes, low, wanting, and he pulls back to give Logan a chance to catch up. A scaled hand comes up to caress the logical side’s cheek, a soothing, cool balm for the raw skin beginning to heal there. “I didn’t… I didn’t think…”

“I love you,” Logan breathes, the words he’s refused to say, to acknowledge, to confront welling up through his throat and for the first time, he lets them spill out. The dam has broken, debris left to descend and submerge in the depths of the sentiment crashing through in a roaring, passionate rapid at the narrowest point yet. The words come, and they don’t stop, and Logan almost can’t believe how right they feel on his tongue. “I love you, I love you, I–I love you so much, Dee.”

Logan is like a rubber band, pulled taut and still and trembling under the pressure. And maybe he’ll split, shoot apart, torn in two pieces that will never fit back together again. But maybe he won’t. Maybe instead of snapping in half, he’ll snap back, and that thought alone gives him a quiet comfort that he’s not used to allowing himself. He’s waiting, hoping, and he’s okay enough for now.

[zwritestuff]

astrology au hc: what if they drank a sort of potion that let them touch for like, some mintues? Miserable minutes, but considerable minutes together. What would they do? (GO FULL ON SOFT ON THIS IF YA WANT IM READYYY)

Hey there baby, I’ve decided to make this a fic, because fuck it. It’s too cute for just being a headcanon. Hope you enjoy it.

Just A Touch Of Your Love

“You want me to do a potion for what?” Sharon exclaimed in surprise, staring at Nina as if she was crazy.

Nina sighed. “I’m sorry if it’s unrealistic, I… I wanted it for one of my friends from the Volcanos and her pisces girlfriend,” she explained. Sharon then adopted a thoughtful pose.

“Hmm… I’ve never done a potion for that, actually,” she mumbled, looking at her shelve full of bottles of many colors and shapes. Sharon then turned back to see Nina, with a strange fire in her eyes. “It’d be a good experiment, now that I think of it — but, of course, if anything goes wrong remember that you asked me to try it.”

Nina couldn’t say she was surprised to hear that — Sharon, while she was a wise, powerful witch, also preferred to not take responsibility for what her potions could cause in the case they failed. She’d take it as a failed experiment and keep trying, ignoring her customers’ complaints.

She thought about it for a moment. It was worth the try; anything to help her sister in love.

“We have a deal, then?”

Sharon smiled wickedly, causing a chill to ran down Nina’s back.

—

Scarlet was peacefully brushing her hair under the waterfalls when Yvie came earlier than she always did. A smile graced her lips as she saw her girlfriend wave and sign at her so she’d come closer. Scarlet dived into the waters again and appeared in front of Yvie, quickly sitting on the rocks like she used to.

“Morning kitty,” she greeted with a wide smile. Yvie sat next to her and then Scarlet noticed the bottle hanging from Yvie’s neck. “Whatcha got in there?”

A smile grew on Yvie’s face as she touched the bottle, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach when she thought of what could happen if what Nina said to her was true.

“You know the sagittarius witch that lives on the other side of the forest?” she began. Scarlet cocked a brow.

“You mean Sharon Needles? The witch whose daughter is part of the Water Signs Council? Of course! What about her?” she wondered, Yvie took the bottle in her hands and showed it to Scarlet.

“Nina went to see her to ask for a potion…” the words got stuck in her throat, unable to believe it was real. “A potion that will make us able to actually touch each other for a short period of time.”

Scarlet opened her eyes in disbelief and shock. “Yvie if this is a joke I swear to Astra—” Yvie cut her off.

“It’s not! I mean, the potion it’s still experimental, but… But it’s worth the try.” Scarlet looked at Yvie and then the potion with half-closed eyes, clearly skeptical.

She wanted to say it wasn’t possible; no witch, despite how powerful they were, had ever tried it. Everyone just accepted their nature and that some love affairs, like theirs, weren’t meant to be. Why should they go against the nature Astra imposed for them?

However, even when she had more reasons to not try it and leave it that way, Scarlet was still a mermaid. And if mermaids were known for something, it was their curiosity. She bit her bottom lip.

Yvie was trying to convince her that it was a good idea and if it didn’t work, they would try again. She was so stubborn about it, that Scarlet ended up taking the bottle from her hands.

“Fine. How does this thing works? Do we have to drink it, or just one of us?” she inquired, staring at the red liquid inside. Yvie took it from her hands again.

“Apparently just me,” she replied, removing the cork. Scarlet wrinkled her nose at the smell.

“And what will do exactly?”

“I think it’ll make me stop radiating heat for Astra knows how long.” she shrugged, not giving it a second thought. Yvie looked at Scarlet, who had a hopeful look in her eyes. “Well, here I go.”

She drank the entire bottle as Nina had specified her. When she was done, she didn’t feel any different, to be honest. Yvie frowned a little, did Sharon scam Nina? She groaned, about to throw the bottle away when she realized she couldn’t feel her hands.

Scarlet asked her many times how was she feeling, since she had a look of fear in her face. Yvie felt numb; it started with her hands, then it spread to her arms, and made its way to her legs. The words got caught in her throat, now thinking that it hadn’t been the smartest idea to blindly trust Sharon.

“Yvie, seriously, you’re scaring me,” Scarlet protested, when inside she was dying to touch her and find out if the potion had worked.

“I…” Yvie choked out, “I think Sharon…” her body didn’t answer for a moment, falling from the rocks and going straight to the lake. Scarlet yelled her name, scared sick for Yvie.

Scarlet jumped into the lake again, instantly reaching for Yvie and trying to pull her to the surface. She didn’t notice in that moment, but nothing changed when Yvie was underwater; no hot water, no bubbles caused by her heat — absolutely nothing.

Scarlet tried to pull her to the rocks with difficulty, she screamed for help, in the hopes that Brooke and A’keria would come. Scarlet was holding Yvie’s body tightly and repeating over and over again what a bad idea it had been, when A’keria arrived to the scene.

“What’s ha— Scarlet! What are you doing?! She’ll burn you!” A’keria exclaimed. Only then Scarlet realized it; Yvie’s body no longer radiated heat.

“She’s… She’s not burning me,” she managed to let out. “I can explain, I swear, but first help me get her on the rocks.” A’keria was about to say something about getting a burn, but Scarlet cut her off. “Please! She won’t burn you, I swear.”

A’keria, still looking at her youngest friend with skepticism, sighed and helped her by pulling her from her legs — finding out Scarlet was right. She looked at the couple in astonishment. She decided to not ask now and left to tell Brooke.

Once they were alone, Yvie started coughing, the numbness fading away. Scarlet reached for her face but Yvie flinched, not wanting to cause her any damage — old habits die hard, they said.

“Are you okay?” Scarlet wondered, placing her hand on Yvie’s knee. She was surprised by how tender her skin was.

“Yeah, I’m—” Yvie interrupted herself when she noticed how Scarlet, for the first time since they met, wasn’t whimpering in pain by attempting to touch her, even when she had a hand on her knee. “You’re… You’re touching me!”

A smile grew on Scarlet’s face. “I am! And your skin is the softest thing I’ve ever touched,” she chirped, now placing her head on her lap.

Butterflies fluttered on Yvie’s stomach just like the first time she saw Scarlet.

Yvie slowly but surely approached her hand to Scarlet’s cheek, and unlike the other times they had tried it, she didn’t flinch or wince in pain. She caressed her cheek with her thumb and she was surprised of how surprisingly warm she was. Yvie smiled, not knowing what to say.

It wasn’t as if they needed words, because Scarlet proceeded to jump out of water and fall over Yvie. Yvie hugged her tightly, not wanting the potion’s effect to end.

Scarlet cupped Yvie’s face with her hands and didn’t hesitate when she, finally, gave Yvie a kiss. Her lips tasted strangely bitter and with a hint of sweet due to the water of the lake.

The action caught Yvie out of guard but she couldn’t say she hadn’t thought about it. She put her hands on Scarlet’s waist, enjoying the moment.

When the kiss broke, they panted for air a little before trying to find a position to cuddle.

“I can’t believe Sharon actually did… Well, this, possible” Scarlet commented with a giggle, resting her head on Yvie’s shoulder. “That witch, we gotta figure a way to thank her, don’t you think?”

Yvie hummed a response, with other things in mind now that she was able to touch Scarlet.

[shinigami-mafia-imagines]

Who are your fav and least fav hxh char?

This is actually really really hard cuz I don’t see any of the characters as Bad in the sense of being poorly written and that’s usually what I base my favorites off of. I’ll probably be giving more explanation through the lists.Favorites:5) Alluka Zoldyck - The reason she’s number 5 is because while I adore her and love her personality, I do agree with some sentiments that she was a shoe-horned character in the Election Arc. She’s obviously important to Killua and his character development, but since we haven’t seen much out of her not only in that arc but anywhere in the series, it’s hard to judge her and truly fall in love with her character.4) Kite - Another one that’s more or less iffy for me. I do enjoy his/their character a lot and how important he was to Gon and his development, but I’m of the mindset that if you want to kill off a character, one that’s very important and that you know will further(or destroy) another character’s development, they should stay dead. And you can argue that Queen Kite and Human Kite are different people altogether, but there’s still the fact that Kite somehow got reborn as an Ant even though, as far as we see, there’s no nibbles taken out of his corpse at all. I guess this could be written off as Togashi not explaining his Nen abilities too well or just yet, since apparently that mace he summoned is only ever used when he wants to win or at least get out of a fight alive. 3) Leorio Paradinight - I adore Leorio just like everyone else but my god I can’t help but feel like he’s more 2 dimensional than 3 dimensional. He’s an all around good guy, he does have his faults, but they’re so minor that they aren’t even brought up beyond the Hunter Exam Arc. He wants to give people a free alternative to medicine and getting medical help and that’s amazing. He goes to college, he studies a lot, great. I can understand the struggles of money, sure, but I’d like to see him actually struggle and show more 3 dimensional qualities other than ‘GOOD BOY’. And since we haven’t seen him at all very much this arc, I don’t think we’ll be really seeing him go through the struggles that we want him to go through. There was the election arc where he wanted to see Gon get healed up, we did see him cry when he saw he was okay. But I want to see him when he can’t save someone, where he feels utterly powerless about something, where even if he has his Nen and can detect tumours and what not, he still can’t do anything to help them. I want to see his morals be challenged, I want to see what he will do when faced with a severe choice, one that will leave someone dead or suffering or not in the right state of mind once it’s all said and done. I just want to see him actually face the struggles the other characters have faced so far and not just be this all around good guy.2) Kurapika - We’ve seen soooo much about Kurapika since the start of the series. We know about his past, we know about his morals(somewhat) and we know what lengths he would go to to reach his goals. This current arc does have me scared for Kurapika and what will happen to him. But this is also the second arc where we’re focusing more on him than the other characters which is totally fine, I get it. His whole character arc does need a resolution and a conclusion. And we’ve seen his character develop really well, where he used to prefer doing things on his own, pushing himself too far(and it can be argued that he’s STILL doing this with Emperor’s Time), even questioning himself during Yorknew(at least in the 1999 version). And now he’s more than happy to have help and partner up with a group or individuals in order to ensure the safety of everyone and figure out what the correct course of action is rather than just letting his rage cloud his better judgement. Of course, there’s still so much more to this Arc that we haven’t seen yet so for what could possibly happen, no one really knows. 1) KIllua Zoldyck - I can relate to Killua the most out of all of the cast and that’s why he’s number 1 on the favorites. Throughout the series, we see him grow and develop into a proper human being. He has his hiccups and he has his moments of thinking he can do things alone for his friends’ sake. But he tries his best and he does his best to be the person that Gon has taught him to be. He moved past his horrible upbringing, overcame a fear that he didn’t even know he had, he stood up to his abuser, he saved his little sister from said abuse and potential further abuse, he has made leaps and bounds to try to help Gon and save him from a certain death only for that special friendship to wind up broken to the point that it may not even be repaired. But he’s made so many more friends and a new family that he adores and can be himself around. No need to be afraid of his family, no need to be scared of his older brother coming to get him in the middle of the night, no being alone, no killing people just because his family said to. He is his own person with his own faults and, of course, his own ambitions now. For someone who’s been abused/currently in a bad situation, he’s an inspiration and very obviously goals.Least Favorites:5) Hisoka - Obvious reasons. He’s a well written, very creepy character that you can’t help but like BECAUSE he’s such a creepy, morally ambiguous character. I just wish, you know…He wasn’t the way he was.4) Illumi - Again, obvious. I do adore him, and I do adore writing him, but being abusive, manipulating his younger brother to the point that he actually is so afraid of him as well as just jamming a needle into his brain is just despicable. He’s just downright evil, though he doesn’t see anything wrong with what he’s doing. I guess you could call him Lawful Evil? Or at least True Evil. And you could argue that he was made that way by his parents, BUUUUT KIllua was raised almost the same way, so that doesn’t really apply to Illumi. I doubt we’ll see any development for him beyond wanting to control Killua and Alluka, though, which really sucks but HEY at least he’s really fun to write.3) Kastro - NOW PLEASE DO NOT BE ALARMED. I ADORE KASTRO WITH ALL MY HEART. What makes him a least favorite is the way Togashi wrote him. I hate characters dying for silly or no good reason. I still stand by the fact that the injuries he got would in no way cause him to die, but HEY. I AIN’T A MANGAKA WHAT DO I KNOW? I love Kastro and he deserved better. I wish we got a little bit of background on him, too. Like where he came from, why he was so interested in Martial Arts, What lead him to going to Heaven’s Arena, etc. I made my own little headcanons for him and where he came from, but those don’t even count. Togashi you let me down. Togashi you are my least favorite character(JK I love you and everything you do, please don’t stop writing and being an inspiration).2) Ging/Genthru - These two are together for different reasons, but I wanted to include them both on this list. Ging is a deadbeat dad who made his son feel like absolute shit because he abandoned him. Because of Ging, Gon has severe abandonment issues and we can see that throughout the series in the way he talks and refers to his dad becoming a hunter. I know what it’s like to have those horrible thoughts spin through my head BECAUSE I was made to think I was a burden and shouldn’t have been born by my own parent. It’s just horrible, especially when he doesn’t even show any concern for the boy during the Election Arc.Genthru is on this list more or less because his character as a whole sucks. Can you remember his motive for wanting to blow up the whole player base of Greed Island? I sure as fuck can’t. And if the reason is ‘Just because!’ well guess what, that’s the shittiest thing a character’s motive could be. If there was a a huge treasure at the end of it, or like just a chance to, I unno…maybe get a card made after you? Then I guess I could understand a motive? Greed is a very strong motive for a lot of Shounen Villains, so that’s not too far off. But otherwise, Genthru isn’t that great of a villain and honestly very forgettable.1) Chrollo Lucilfer - Again, I mostly dislike this character more for moral reasons. I do enjoy writing him and I do enjoy his character and what he brings to the dynamic of certain arcs. But as a person, he’s despicable, too. He’s a True Neutral character, only looking out for himself and getting whatever he wants. He only cares for his Troupe and that’s it. He doesn’t shed a tear for people he’s killed for petty reasons, yet he sheds a tear and becomes enraged when one of his own friends is killed either in battle or suddenly and horribly. He could care less about those around him, and purposefully riles others up just for entertainment(this is speculation). He’s the type of character you dread interacting with in a game/DnD because you know that he doesn’t care if you have to die nor does he care if you did die while going to fetch a treasure for him. YOU are the NPC, HE is the Player. Nothing more, nothing less.

[gryffindordaughterofathena]

I FUCKING DROPPED MY PHONE WHEN I SAW THIS!!!!

You know I want those headcanons, I'll read them even if you just write a single line. Cause girl Harry Potter is my life and the only thing plastered in my heart and bedroom walls (yes I am dramatic no I am not sorry) As you put so eloquently "HP slut first and human second" I am tattooing it on me if I ever get through the fear of putting ink on my skin with needles.

The Matching patronus gahhhhh, sure Ethan it's a normal thing no it has got nothing to do with a certain green eyed Gryffindor, absolutely not

Also our minds are on the same freaking wavelength, cause I HC Di to be a muggleborn and E to be a halfblood.

Ethan IS a Ravenclaw. No one can change my mind.

Minnie being a constant in this universe too... Also McGonagall's reaction🤣 I somehow imagine McGonagall in cat form sitting with Minnie and both having deep cat conversations

Please tell me Ethan hates Snape despite loving potions

Also Remus being Lilac's favorite as he should

Wait why is Ethan's boggart Minnie?

Landrat is the literal Wormtail in this universe.

Also I need those headcanons.... How do E and L get together and how he helps her and are on run... Because gaaahhh it's so exciting!!!

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH AND YOU CAN BE SURE THAT THIS ALL I WILL THINK OF FOR THE REST OF MY DAY. THE POTTERHEAD PART OF ME (which is like 99% of me) is extremely happy 😭❤❤❤

Amortentia (Ethan x Lilac)

AKA Hogwarts AU

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