#however he also has a lot of issues with his appearance due to looking so much like owynn

[multishipper-baby]

I still have wing brainrot so... Some very simplistic concepts with Rayray. Featuring the colors of the animal he was based on, and both of his dad's colors.

[hazbinwhoree]

General Adam Headcanons

SFW

100% dresses like Adam Sandler under the robe

Pronounces bruh like “brah” unironically

Has a high body count, but not as high as you’d expect

He has abandonment issues cause of Lilith and Eve

He’d never admit it but losing both Lilith and Eve to Lucifer really fucked him up

Lilith left him for Lucifer, and Eve cheated on him with Lucifer

Due to knowing the pain of being cheated on, he will never cheat despite the fuckboy persona

Man can actually settle down with the right person

Wears his mask all the fucking time, he only takes it off to sleep

He thinks it makes him look badass and his favorite feature is the horns

He’s tall as fuck (6’5) but he’s kind of thin, so he wears a big ass robe to make up for it

You can only tell by his arms

He likes to appear big

His favorite thing about himself is his dick (surprise)

Listens to heavy metal

Can’t cook for shit

Needs therapy but will never accept therapy

Doesn’t realize how misogynistic he is and if you tried to tell him he would get defensive

“What, I fucking love women, they’re hot.”

Says “nuh uh”

Cried in front of Lute once– they never talk about it

Shockingly, he doesn’t have any STD’s and he’s very proud of that

Sees Lute as a best friend but he’d never let her know she means that much to him

Has a colorful vocabulary of cuss words and unique nicknames, ie “Danger Tits”

Is really good at coming up with unique insults too

Never get into banter with him, he will hurt your feelings

Sleeps like a rock but moves a lot in his sleep

Seriously, he’ll hit every position in one night

His band is actually really popular in Heaven, and he’s renowned for being the best guitarist

Of course, that only strokes his ego

Ego bigger than his dick, for real

But if you can get past his ego, he can be fun to be around

Touch starved

Cares for very few people, but he would die for the people he does care about

NSFW

Absolutely has a size kink

He’s tall and he loves to be able to look down at his partner

It makes him feel powerful, but he also finds it cute

Has tried every sex position possible but his favorite is missionary

Rarely does he do missionary however because he only likes it with someone he cares about

Phenomal at giving head

He has a long tongue and he knows his way around a vagina

Actually has a big dick, he’s not kidding

Like no wonder he walks around like he’s a god

Also has a virginity kink and it’s definately related to his abandonment issues but he’ll never address that

Whenever he has sex, he always goes for a round 2 in the shower

Actually hates being called things like “daddy” and “master”

While he has some kinks, he’s actually not a very kinky guy

But he’s down to try anything

Has been pegged, doesn’t prefer it

His third and final kink is a breeding kink

He has no idea why but its imperative that he finishes inside his partner

Messy, loves being feral in the bedroom

The kind of guy who’s gone right after a hookup

But if he has a partner, he insists on cuddling after sex

Perfers tits over ass

Will bury his face in his partner’s while they cuddle

One time he came from looking at himself in a mirror during a hookup

Eye contact goes crazy with a partner

Needs to see partner’s every reaction and expression

Also needs control the whole time

Will never sub again, he hated it

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

(translator use, Sorry if there are any mistakes in this)

First, I love you, I'm super in love with hyugo and you're one of the few people who made x reader content with him, and the writing is so well done that God. It's beautiful 😭💙

Could I request some headcanons with a shy reader? Just like the one you did with Geo but with Hyugo?

Reticence (Hyugo x Shy! MC/Reader)

Thank you for being so patient with me Anon and @cuentademeri *quietly despairs and prays for forgiveness* and for reading my work! I had fun writing this (however, reminder that I am someone who isn't even remotely shy,so if the shyness part seems inaccurate, well, I tried). Hope you enjoy! :D

P.S Thank you for the compliments. <33 They're appreciated.

A/N: Btw if I take longer to answer requests, it's not because I gave up on them, it's simply the fact I don't want to make this blog quantity > quality. Also an original work for TKATB shall be out soon, so uh rejoice.

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

Reticence: an unwillingness to do something or talk about something, for example because you are nervous or being careful.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Hyugo first met you, he simply thought you were quiet, like Sol. Until he noticed you essentially never talked.

He wasn't concerned per se, more so curious. Did you feel awkward with him and Sol? Why even sit if you weren't gonna chat?

Tries to befriend you, is the type to wave to you and grin if he sees you around.

Is honestly a tad surprised when he finds out you're shy and reserved.

Doesn't have any issue with it though.

Will make more of an effort to chat you up. Words of affirmation and aggressive positivity galore. "The girls keep saying I'm hideous. I don't believe them but..." "You're not." "Yeah but-" "No buts! Those are for sitting! And I'm going to make sure said people who called you that won't be able to comfortably sit ever again!"

When you star talking more, he's a very happy man.

Likes it when you tell him things, doesn't matter what. He just enjoys hearing you chat about nothing.

He'll ask you at some point why you are shy. He's never been shy so he was curious.

You just explain you're simply not as outgoing as a lot of other people are.

But if you feel shy partially due to appearance woes? He'll tell you you look gorgeous! (He means it he just hasn't realised the extent of said words).

Oh, but if you get bullied? Doesn't matter for what, Hyugo'll fight those responsible (Sol's got too much on his plate already *sob*). Will stand up for you if conflicts arise, mf won't even bat an eye.

He honestly doesn't understand why people target you. You're sweet, cute, even funny when you start crawling out of your shell.

He's honestly angry about it.

He doesn't even fully understand why he feels so strongly about you, nor why he's so eager to see you.

Until one day it hits him. Hard.

It's not like he couldn't see it coming, he suspected it deep down, but refused to admit it.

He has too much shit on his shoulders to catch feelings, no matter how angelic or beautiful or smart you may be.

Alas, his heart has other plans, because it eventually will decide to beat solely for you.

Y'all are the classic "Shy x Outgoing" trope.

He's fine with it. He gets to boost your self-confidence, get you to open up bit by bit, until he's got tens of files on you; with only the necessities of course: - Where you were born - When? What time? - Parents? Carers? Financial situations (doesn't know about the debt teehee) - You get the point

Asks you out right after graduation if he's alive then anyway, to which you say yes. Obviously.

Becomes a very content guy, literally spoils you more than a king ever could. He's rich af.

Will hold your hand in public if you're shy or anxious, is okay with also not holding you if you wish although he will pout at the latter with his plump fucking lips.

Also boosts your confidence, eventually you and him end up having the most absurd, comical banter known to man.

Hyugo is am 11/10 bf, will cater for you, and will never tire of ensuring you're comfortable, content and cordial with him.

And you most definitely are. <33

[crystal-moon-101]

A while ago I had made up a Zak for each day of the week to match Zak Saturday and Monday for fun, and because I wanted to give Zak some more AU similar to how Ben gets a lot of them. So not only do they all have different last names, but each have their own backstories and colour theming! So I hope you enjoy my little AU concepts.

-Zak Saturday-

Classic original Zak. I decided to draw them all when they're 11, start of the series vibes. So that's why he doesn't look like the ways I normally draw him currently, since those are when he's 14. Nothing different with his design here, beyond still giving him those vivid orange eyes.

-Zak Sunday-

Also known as Zak Argost, having been taken in by the man after he had a certain encounter with Zak's parents, resulting in their deaths. When Argost found the young toddler, seeing the start of Zak's power, he was happy enough to take the child with him and use his powers to his benefit. Due to being taken when he was very young, Zak doesn't remember his parents at all, fully believing in anything Argost tells him, the only family he has. So he happily helps his guardian in keeping cryptids tamed during Weird World shows, or during trips to learn about them, even if Argost puts Zak in more danger than he should. Due to his appearances on Weird World, Zak is a celebrity of sorts, even if he doesn't get to go out often. Argost also gives him a lot of gifts, keeping the child in a positive mood to keep him under his thumb. So Zak truly believes that Argost cares about him.

Though things start to turn when Argost finally decides it's time to hunt down Kur and take his powers, hiring Van Rook and Doyle on the mission. This leads to Zak and Doyle getting to know each other, with Doyle feeling protective over this random kid for some reason. Eventually this leads to him taking Zak away when this whole Kur business gets out of hand. While Doyle can't seem to convince Zak that Argost doesn't care about him, the pair do at least agree to try and find Kur first, Zak worried that even Argost shouldn't handle such powers. However, only time will tell if the pair discover the truth behind their unknown family history.

-Zak Monday-

The good old twisted gremlin of a child, Zak Monday and his family were a result of the smoke mirror. They come from a world that twists the very nature of people, a poor reflection of their negative aspects. If you're naive, then your mirror self is incredible dumb. If you're a bit of a perfectionist, then your mirror self is a control freak. And Zak Monday represents the twisted doubts of Zak feeling like a monster, so why have any doubts when you can be the monster?

I decided to change Zak Monday a bit to have the green eyes and green shirt with his own logo, cause I liked the idea that after his first appearance, they switch back to what they're suppose to look like. But other than that I kept the concept of him looking just like Zak, minus the inverted hair colour.

-Zak Tuesday-

The young naga is the son of Rani Nagi. Born solely to have Kur's soul enter and be a host, but whoops! Looks like Kur's memories aren't there, but that wasn't going to stop Rani Nagi, who thinks if she keeps at her plans, eventually her son will become the old cryptid king she once knew. Even going as far as to solely call her child Kur, who secretly calls himself Zak due to him often watching humans in the shadow, curious about them and wanting a name for himself. Zak Tuesday has a lot of identity issues, not helped by his mother's teachings towards him, ignoring all his dreams and personal thoughts. Eventually he just got really good at lying rather than convincing Rani Nagi.

However, the young cryptid prince is suddenly kidnapped by Argost one day, as he figured out where Kur's soul was currently living. Zak knew he would have died that day if not for Drew and Doc recusing him, having been chasing Argost over this Kur situation. Though they're a little surprise that upon meeting the new Kur, they find it's just a young naga who really doesn't know who he is. At first Doc and Drew didn't know what to do with him, but Zak begged them to not send him back home, and let him stay at their place until he could figure things out. He wasn't foolish, he knew the nagas were planning a war, and he wasn't keen on being the face of it all. So now the Tuesdays just have a snake living around the house, but they can't exactly complain as he is a well mannered guest at least. And perhaps the house doesn't feel so lonely with him around either.

-Zak Wednesday-

Some of you might recognize this one, but this Zak is from my old Zur AU, where Kur was reborn via the Kur Stone due to it being an egg, and Zak is a dragon that shapes between human form and dragon form. I decided to update him, making him Zak Wednesday now, with a pink theme! I also decided that instead of Kur being reborn, I wanted to shake things up a bit and have it that Zak was directly Kur's son. His mother is unknown, and as Kur saw how the world was at the time, he put Zak's egg into a stasis situation until it was discovered again. After saving it from Argost, the egg hatched among the secret scientist, leading to them chasing the child of Kur. But upon using his shapeshifting abilities to look like a child of Drew and Doc, they just couldn't help but adopt him on the spot, siting there was no sense in blaming Kur's son over what happened years ago.

The growing dragon is very playful with a cheeky personality. He exhibits a lot of draconic behaviors, with a wild and free spirit. He is aware of his family history, but he doesn't like to think about it, unsure in how to view his father based on the stories he's heard. Besides, Doc and Drew are his parents, and that's all that matter to him. Though perhaps this sudden appearance by Argost, claiming he was going to far Zak's father, has been a bit rattling to deal with.

-Zak Thursday-

When Kur knew he was going to die, and also knew his soul wasn't able to live the mortal realm, he made plans to make it so his reborn self would both be born in hopefully a better time, and be without his memories. It was better that way, so that his new self could live a lovely life without the sins from his past. But that didn't exactly pan out properly, as Kur was reborn and sadly remembers everything. It took him a while to understand this growing up, his young human mind not processing it until he was roughly 7-8, and even then he needed time to think about it. And now he's a depressed 11 year old who now has to be stuck with the fact his plan didn't work, unable to run away from the person he once was. Doc and Drew found out the truth when Zak tried running away one day, their son sitting them down and telling them the truth in hopes they'd just leave him, it would be better that way. But to his surprise they disagreed, as he was still their son, Kur or Zak, and it would be too dangerous to leave him alone.

So now Zak lives with his parents? Are they really his parents? The family keeping this dark secret to themself, even from the other scientists. Doc and Drew still reach out to their son, doing their best to connect with him, but he can't help but push them away. He doesn't deserve this, and they deserve better. However, their secret might come out after Argost stole the Kur Stone and now hunts for Kur, not realizing the truth right in front of him. So now the family tries to get the stones back, wanting to protecting Zak/Kur from others finding out. Doesn't help that he has to go through being a child again with such dark memories lingering in his head, feeling tired and overwhelmed with the world. Hasn't he suffered enough?

-Zak Friday -

In a world where Kur and cryptids successfully wiped out humans, the king ruled the lands for a while after, before one day he mysteriously vanished. Many concluded that he had died somehow, the details unknown, but this lead to a prophecy that one day their king would return, leading to many claiming to be him, or praying that they will be him for the power and wealth. In this universe, Zak and his family are all cryptids, with Zak being a a Chuvash Dragon, Drew and Doyle are Epimeliads, and Doc is a Gargoyle (Other characters are also cryptids in this timeline). Zak is a serpent like dragon that breathes fire, as a very twistable body, and can freely shapeshift. He's heard about the legend of Kur returning, but frankly he thinks they don't need him, even if the cryptid world has been shattered without a king for years now.

But when a yeti named Argost claims that Kur is back, being backed up by the Nagas, everyone starts to gossip and run around trying to figure out who the new Kur is. So maybe it's best that Zak doesn't tell the whole world about his sudden new powers to control and communicate any fellow cryptid is walks by.

[tinycheesecakedetective]

...I'm baaaack.

I mean, I made one post about Swap!PV and then got distracted for months, so I wouldn't really call this a comeback. The moment I did come back though, apparently a bunch of lore just fell from the sky! Beast Yeast is upon us and all of a sudden I remember making an alt. version of this goober.

Turns out there were a few things I wasn't satisfied with in the first one, so here I am with my Swap!Vanilla 2.0 human edition! Even after all this time I still don't have a name for him. There's more white in his design, he has four horns instead of two and they form a crown on his head(that might be a bit hard to see), he also has a halo, his staff changed drastically, and he lost his soul gem. Instead he has two new smaller gems on his "ribcage".

This time around I tried to invoke more death themes, hence the ribcage, more wrappings, the halo, and the burn marks from, y'know, being re-baked and essentially reborn. The halo also makes for a nice double meaning, showing his somewhat good intentions behind the violence and spreading chaos gig.

Speaking of intentions, I maybe or maybe not have mentioned the only swaps happening in this proposed AU are between PV and WL and [possibly] Black Raisin and Red Velvet. I say maybe because if I checked, all the writing would disappear and I would have to start over again. However, I have wondered if those two swapped, how would PV handled the kingdoms? Would it be the same as DE or would the fates of each kingdom end up being swapped as well? It's something I definitely need to think on and develop.

Anyways, ramble break, here's a few doodles I did for Swap!PV!

Yeah, I had a lot of fun doing this. SO! A few changes not mentioned prior. Eyes! There are more eyes, especially on his coat. I took a bit of inspiration from a certain blue jester and his realm of nightmares. It also plays nicely with the whole "truth revealed" theme. Why not give the holder of the light of truth a bunch of opened eyes to represent his awakening? Also they looked good and his cape-coat was too plain without it.

Fun Head Canons: He's always floating, even when he's relaxing his feet never touch the floor. This PV still has a lily garden, it's just hidden away because while he still misses WL despite everything, he refuses to show weakness in front of others. His coat can take the shape of angel wings when angry and multiple eyes can appear when furious or in distress. Speaking of eyes, the ones on his coat glow. Those gems on him are pieces of moonstone that got corrupted after saving him.

As for the story behind him, I had to make a few adjustments. For one, DE and WL are two halves of the same whole, and the only reason either of them exists is thanks to precautions taken by Elder Faerie. Which means Pure Vanilla somehow has to get the stuff from Lily, who came to Beast Yeast without saying much of anything to anyone beforehand. Secondly, it means the Pure Vanilla Kingdom can't be the last kingdom explored. Pre Beast Yeast, the order in which the kingdoms would be explored would change, where White Lily's area would be explored first instead and the Vanilla Kingdom would be last. I'll address the second issue on a different post related to White Lily, but first things first. Fair warning, I wrote quite a bit.

~~~

After forming the seal, White Lily falls ill due to the immense amount of power used. She's not used to using so much of her soul gem, much less creating a seal to lock away ancient evils. Seeing her faltering state, Elder Faerie takes her away to his palace to help her recover. During her time in the palace, White Lily becomes distressed because not only does she feel like she's being a burden, but she won't be able to continue her research on how cookies were made. That was the whole point of coming here, after all. She left her friends and home behind to find the truth and ended up sick and bed ridden instead. The least she could do to redeem herself was to find the truth.

Racked with guilt and regret, she asks Elder Faerie for two favors; she wishes to know the secret behind cookies' creation, and she requests a pen and paper to write with. Before long, White Lily gains a messenger(Silverbell) who gives her books from the library to read, and a way to reach the one other person she understands. Someone who should've known where she was most of all. Pure Vanilla Cookie.

From there the two keep exchanging letters as White Lily brushes up on fae and beast lore. But eventually White Lily would learn about the Night of the Witches in a similar enough way to canon, i.e. finding the book about it. While she's recovered enough, she's still not well enough to go, and Elder Faerie isn't risking her well being and safety for a banquet. She's devastated that her questions may never be answered. If only she could go, if only there was some way to witness it while being in the Fairy Kingdom. And then... she realizes something. Perhaps there is a way for her to know after all...

White Lily, in the discomfort of her hospital bed, writes a letter to Pure Vanilla and asks him to go to the Witch's Banquet in her place. She knows that this is a huge ask, and he has every reason to refuse the favor, but it would mean the world to her if he did. Elder Faerie hears about this and is rightfully worried, telling her about the dangers, and any cookie that goes doesn't come back the same, if at all. He sends his own letter to Pure Vanilla to warn him of the dangers that lie ahead. A few more letters come in from WL apologizing for her request, saying it was out of line and inappropriate. "What a selfish request," she thinks, "after leaving him in the dark for so long, I have the nerve to ask him for anything at all?"

However, despite everything, he eventually decides to go. He knows that this means everything to her, and a part of Pure Vanilla secretly wondered about it as well. White Lily searched heaven and earth to find the truth so she could help others. Why would he keep avoiding it for so long? If he knew the truth as well, perhaps he could use these secrets to help the people of Earthbread alongside her. Maybe now he would finally understand White Lily more.

He wrote a letter addressed to both WL and EF about his final decision. White Lily is surprised at his decision, and is eternally grateful, while Elder Faerie is more resigned and concerned, knowing that he won't be able to change his mind but still wanting to help. He asks her to help write her next letter, and the two send a package to Pure Vanilla. Inside was another letter with the faint smell of lilies, as well as a map to the location of the banquet and a moonstone from Elder Faerie as a show of goodwill and for protection. He in turn sends what would become his final letter to her, unbeknownst to the two reading. He expresses his gratefulness to both WL and EF and declares his determination to find answers both for her and for the sake of everyone, stating, "Let me be your hope when you have none, and you my guiding light in shadows..."

Pure Vanilla proceeds to head to the Witch's Banquet, discovers the bitter truth, and in his attempts to save the other cookies falls into the ultimate dough. The fleeting scent of lilies is the last thing he grasps in his final moments, and the faint glow of a moonstone ensures his survival. His soul gem shatters under the weight of the truth and is scattered across the world, longing to be made whole once again.

~~~

Well! I think I have said everything I can say about him for now. I'm sure I can come up with more things later, but if you read this far, thanks for reading! I did not know I was going to say this much, so yeah. Next post is for White Lily specifically, I hope. I'm also taking suggestions for ideas about the other kingdoms and ways this could go, so if you have anything to suggest, let me know. Y'all have a good evening!

[arzuera]

Conner isn't a clone of Luther and Superman,but Danny phantom and Superman.

Phantom looked at the monitor in the med bay dumbstruck. Several other leaguers were in the same situation. How could this have happened? WHEN did it happen? Sure during the early years of crime fighting, Danny hadn’t been the best at keeping his blood in his body but he had grown by leaps and bounds since then. With GIW and his parents trying to figure out how to take him out, it had become instinctual to make sure that he didn’t leave much of a trace wherever he went. Yet, somehow it had been leaked.

And to Lex Luthor no less.

“I don’t understand. Phantom wasn’t even a part of the league when the Cadmus project was in operation. So how could this be?!” Flash stated as his eyes scanned the results over and over but they remained the same.

“I’m… I’m just as confused as you are.” Danny admitted still feeling overwhelmed by this new information. When Cadmus was in operation he had finally appointed as the King of the Infinite Realms at the age of 21. He didn’t join the Justice League until a little over a year later when some idiotic cultists had thought it was a good idea to try and merge the death realm with the living. Now, going into his second year with the League, Danny was finding out he had been cloned.

Again.

Batman grunted as he leaned back in his chair. “The results don’t lie. I’ve run them about ten times and it has all come up the same. The records on Cadmus had stated that Superman and Lex Luthor were the donors in creating Connor. However, Phantom’s DNA is a perfect match.”

The halfa looked to the teenager who was lying on a bed in the other room unconscious. While out on a mission, Superboy had taken several nasty hits and was severely injured. He had needed a blood transfusion and the poor kid had a horrible reaction when Manhunter tried to use an IV of Luthor’s blood which was supposed to have been a match. (Superman donated his blood as needed. It's not that he didn’t want to help but it was really hard for him to give blood with his body the way it was. Most needles just bent out of shape when they tried to pierce the skin.) It was touch and go but it appeared that Danny’s was a perfect match in more ways than one. Phantom pulled out his cell phone and started texting Jazz. She was not going to believe this.

“Phantom, what are you doing?” Batman asked when he saw him pull the device out.

“Texting my sister.”

Flash, finally, peeled his eyes away from the monitor. “Why?”

“Because, apparently, I have a long lost son who I didn’t even know about and she is going to flip that Superboy is her nephew,” Danny responded with a smirk. He wished he could have delivered the news in person. Oh! He also needed to get a hold of his other sister. Dani was going to be so excited to learn that she was no longer the only clone in the family.

Thoughts were swirling inside of his head. Conner currently lived at the base of the Young Justice team. Mainly because he didn’t have anywhere to go. Would the boy mind if he took him home with him? His castle in the Ghost Zone was massive and a lot of the rooms were unoccupied. Conner could pick as many of the rooms as he wanted for all he cared. So long as he was happy. Danny’s apartment was a lot smaller but he could probably upgrade so that Conner could have his own space. Money wasn’t really an issue anymore. It would probably do wonders for the teen’s mindset if he had a proper home to come back to instead of the reminder that the one person who was supposed to care about him didn’t.

“You are taking this awfully well,” Batman said as a statement but Danny could feel the questioning gaze of the bat when he put his phone away. “I would have thought you would be mad.”

“Oh, I’m livid all right.” Phantom replied and what he said was true. “I just found out today that I have a son because the boy was put into the hospital due to the severity of his injuries and he had existed for at least two years in this world without my knowledge. Two years that were filled with an unprecedented amount of physical, emotional, and mental trauma as he tries to figure himself out and separate his identity from the man who is supposed to be his other father and mentor. Only for that man to have treated him as an abomination for existing in the first place.” The room temperature dropped to the point that the breath of the other Leaguers showed. “To be honest, I had already low-key adopted him because of that fact but now that I know I’m related there are going to be some changes.”

Flash and Batman exchanged a look seeing the green eyes of the ghost king flare for a few moments before settling into a soft pulse. Both were thankful that Superman was off-world, at the moment. Clark would have probably said something that would have set the man off if he had been there for the startling revelation. Superman cared about Conner. He did but he was having a hard time overlooking the fact that he was cloned without his consent. So Conner’s life was basically denied by the one person he wanted to be acknowledged the most.

Superman would have to be told before he came back so that he would be prepared for when Phantom was going to come at him. Hopefully, enough time will have passed so that Phantom will have calmed down and had a chance to figure out what he wanted to say. Regardless, it wasn’t going to be a fun conversation. For now, Batman nodded to the halfa and turned back to the monitor. “Why don’t you go check on Conner? He should be waking up soon and this news might be what he needs to hear.”

“Maybe he won’t see himself as a villain anymore because he shared DNA with one.” Danny nodded and flew into the teen’s room trying to think of a good way to tell him. How was he going to react? What was he going to say? Would he accept Danny as a father? It didn’t have to be a father role right away, maybe even a cousin or brother. Whatever the boy felt most comfortable with. After all, it didn’t matter what Conner picked in the end because he was family.

And he would never be fighting through things alone again.

[ratwithhands]

1 - Diantha security detail comic

2 + 3 - Emmet's UDF uniform vs Kalosian Guard uniform

4 - Lore/Background comic

Hooo boy ok so this idea has been simmering on the backburner for a while now. So Legends Z-A had its trailer released a few days back and I figured I'd make something around it. I know logically it's going to be a game set in the past but I found myself wanting to work on something more futuristic/sci-fi which is why we have our little Cyber Emmet here.

There's a lot of different things to mention so I'm just gonna break them down by the images.

1:

Diantha is attending a conference/ceremony where she will be discussing the plans for the urbanization of Kalos with the assistance of neighbouring tech giant and long time trade partner Unova. As a sign of goodwill, the Unovan Defense Force sent several people to either work as security or to help organize and prepare the ceremony. Among the list of people is Emmet, who was recently "working with" the UDF, and who is going to serve as Diantha's bodyguard for the event

Emmet's uniform was made by a mix of Unovan and Kalosian designers. It's meant to mimic the shapes while still keeping aspects of his Unovan uniform (mainly the collar, cuffs, and silver trim). He is carrying a handgun from his UDF uniform, however due to the public nature of the event, he is using his charge pistol instead of his wired pistol. He's also using a different face shield, using a silver one as opposed to his black one, since it better matches the uniform he's wearing for the event

Diantha's fur coat still has the angel wing shape. This isn't lore relevant I just couldn't fit the full thing onto the panel but it's definitely there

2 + 3:

Emmet uses a wired pistol (left side holster) and a charge pistol (right side holster). Both are standard issue firearms used by the UDF, however charge pistols are more common thanks to them being easy to hold and carry. A wired pistol connects to a battery pack of some kind to fire at a greater speed, whereas a charge pistol will generate its own power but take longer to fire and load. Emmet's wired pistol connects to the battery network that powers his body, allowing him to take advantage of his fast reflexes by using his faster weapon

Emmet doesn't get anything to wear for his Unovan uniform! Part of the contract he signed for his cybernetics states that he can't cover the prostheses unless it could lead to a breach in confidentiality (such as going to a foreign region or appearing in public outside of work reasons) since he's meant to effectively advertise the quality and construction of the body built for him. Of course he refuses to go outside completely naked to fight so the UDF got him a cropped version of his coat and shoes so he can have some more cover

The face shield is meant more for form than function. Technically the only purpose they serve is to cover his face when he's out on patrol, though it can also act as a screen to show him information about what he's seeing (kind of like an AR headset). He could technically get the screen function though cornea implants but he's not doing that + he wants the anonymity provided by the shield

Sections of the body can split open or be removed. The front abdominal panel can do both due to the different processing mechanisms inside needing easy access for repair/maintenance. Limbs can be swapped for different prostheses provided they have a compatible socket

The sockets in Emmet's back can be used to power other weapons/devices if he has a compatible cable. Emmet was given a bag of different attachments and cables to hook into his back so he can power a range of things from phones to laser rifles

He has removable skin. Any shot of him with the black body is the body without skin. In situations where he could possibly have skin showing or he is required to wear something that shows more skin, he'll have material rolled over the sections of his body that will be visible so they look more normal

4:

Emmet got run over by a train ♥ long story short is that he went to rescue a passenger who had fallen off the platform and miscalculated how much time he had before the train pulled in. Once he got stabilized in the hospital afterwards, he only has around 30% of his original body intact, along with some sections they were able to somewhat repair but required new hardware being installed in order to return their function. Anything under the waist and a large portion of his arms were crushed beyond repair and as such, he's been connected to different machine to mimic the functions of his organs

The UDF (in a rather scummy play) contacted Emmet for business, asking him to sign a contract that would ensure he would live by letting them test their confidential new tech on him. He is the only ethical candidate they have for testing such prostheses so to get him to agree, they offer to cover the cost of everything relating to his health and work, as well as paying him a salary for the trouble. Since the only other options are "die slowly" or "lose all self sufficiency and go bankrupt living in hospital", he agrees, and so begins his second job as a living experiment and tool for the UDF

I think that's the most I've written for one post yikes. This isn't even everything but I'll cut it here because my hands are not pleased with me typing.

I still have a lot to think about for this concept, mostly what kind of work Emmet will do while overseas in Kalos and whether something dangerous enough will happen to warrant him using his body for what it was made for. That might be funny, only two settings and they're "I love macarons :)" and bloodshed.

Anyways hope you guys enjoyed this dump, feel free to ask on anything (it helps me write too ^^). See you later and have a nice day!

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Closed Position: Meet the Characters

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist

With the first chapter of the Dancing with the Stars fic, Closed Position, finally posting next week, I thought it might be fun to get to know Dieter and Kat a little bit more. I mostly did this for myself to try and get the Destiny & Deliverance version of Dieter out of my head. I also wanted to figure out Katarina a little more…because again, I still have Talia on the brain. 🤦🏻‍♀️

So, given that, you guys get some fun details on these two that will hopefully help me switch gears and give them a little more depth.

About Dieter Bravo in Closed Position

At the beginning of this fic, Dieter is eight months post rehab. This is the first time he has successfully kept clean for any meaningful length of time, and he is determined to stick with it. His acting career hasn't been going well because no one wants to work with him. He's looking to change his image and prove that he is a different man to get his life back on track. However, that process is proving harder than he would have thought as no one is taking his recovery seriously. As a last-ditch effort to save Dieter's career, his agent books him on Dancing with the Stars.

In an effort to hold on to his sobriety, Dieter has cut pretty much everyone out of his life that he considered to be an enabler or a bad influence. He spends a lot of his time alone and fills it with hobbies - painting, reading, music, taking care of his plants and the stubborn stray cat that won't leave his beach house.

Dieter has also been making an effort to present himself as less of a slob. When he leaves the house these days, he tries to look presentable and even dresses appropriately for work meetings. He slowly starts to embrace fashion and wants to look his best. He has held onto his longer curly locks, but instead of leaving them in an unruly mess, he does try to style them so that he looks more put together. As he gains more confidence, he embraces this version of himself and doesn't think twice about the old worn clothes he used to live in... except for his green robe. He still wears it around the house.

Even though Dieter keeps busy, he's lonely. He feels misunderstood and wishes people would give him a chance to prove himself. Ultimately, his dance partner gives him that opportunity. Sure, he finds her attractive, but it goes deeper than that. She gives him true friendship and the non-sexual intimacy that he has starved himself of most of his life.

About Katarina Stamos in Closed Position

Katriana Stamos has been involved with ballroom dance since she was very young. She has spent the last 13 years on Dancing with the Stars, where she often does not make it very far into the competition. Mainly due the partners she is paired with because they are just not physically able to keep up. She has suspicions that there are other nefarious reasons for it too. Those suspicions are confirmed during her last season on the show when she is paired with Dieter Bravo.

Kat isn't old by any means, but she is past the typical age of retirement for a ballroom dancer at 39. While dancing appears to be all about the glitz and glamor, behind the scenes its full of struggle and pain. Kat's body is wearing down and aches constantly due to worsening rheumatoid arthritis in her feet, knees, and hips. She's often too tired and achy after rehearsal to do things like clean her modest size house or go out with her castmates. She's a little messy and at times struggles to keep it together. However, she isn't going to let these issues get her down during her last season, not when she has finally been paired with someone that has potential to make it to finals.

This is an amazing opportunity for Kat, financially speaking. One would assume that being a cast member on Dancing with the Stars would be a good payout. It is, for those who make it further into the competition. Since Kat hasn't been lucky enough to do that, things can get tight with finances. Especially since she is trying to save up to open her own dance studio once she does finally retire from professional dancing. If she can make it to the end this time, her funding problems will be solved.

The last notable thing about Kat...she is dating another dancer on the show named Alec. They've been together for six years. Alec is kind of a jerk for many reasons that we will see play out through the course of the story. He becomes almost unbearable to deal with when Dieter comes into the mix even though Alec is the one that has a terrible history when it comes to fidelity.

There are some other tidbits we find out about Kat early on that explains why she is so accepting of Dieter and willing to give him a chance. What she doesn't expect are the feelings that come with their budding friendship.

How are you guys feeling about these new characters and this different version of Dieter? Excited yet?

I have done a TON of research around the behind-the-scenes workings of the show. I plan to share some of that with you as we go along. It has actually helped form a lot of the plot. While I don't claim 100% accuracy on it, I do plan to try and incorporate details as accurately as I can from what information is public.

With all that said, we finally get to really meet these two next week. I can't wait to finally share them with you!

💜Mysty

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble. 

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on Dancing with the Stars to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo. 

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence, alcohol abuse, and drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

CP Taglist: @secretelephanttattoo @titlee78 @maggiemayhemnj @legendary-pink-dot @linzels-blog @morallyinept @survivingandenduring  @wannab-urs @harriedandharassed @hisandsnakes @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @sin-djarin @cakipy-blog @missladym1981 @guelyury @weho2kcmo @alokaerza @girlofchaos @trulybetty @rhoorl @bitchwitch1981 @madnessofadaydreamer @darkheartgatita @jazzloveslatte @timpletance @musings-of-a-rose @samiamproductions @myloveistoolittle @for-a-longlongtime  @copperhalfcent @auteurdelabre @drewharrisonwriter

[box4brains]

I just want to talk about Law…

Kinda hc-y, could I get other ppls opinions and views on these things?

So!

I hc Law as someone who has extreme issues with control. In fact, he knows he can be unreasonable and extreme when it comes to being in control, however due to his trauma he associates not being in control with the worst moments of his life and thus fear it more than anything else.

He can’t not be in control and not fear he’ll lose anything and everything he holds dear.

I know there’s a lot of jokes about how relaxed Law was before the time skip and while it’s possible that it’s just Oda not having cemented his character, I generally look at it as Law just… being a cocky little shit.

Law is someone I see as extremely cautious, strong and clever. He wouldn’t put himself or his crew in danger if he could avoid it. And in case he can’t avoid it, try ending it as fast as possible and in whatever manner is safest to him and his crew.

So unlike Luffy he never had any close calls all through the first half of the GL. He never encountered any truly strong marines or enemies the same way Luffy did.

I don’t think he’d go out of his way to be antagonistic or pick fights like Kid either.

Law is definitely still cautious, but the first half of the GL basically being a breeze would definitely make him a cocky little bastard. At least until the war between the WBP and the marines gave him a wake up call in the form of a metaphorical slap to the face.

But it it still doesn’t adequately explain his “new” personality in Punk Hazard (imo).

He appears to act hastily, is grim and severe and appears to be in the middle of a suicide attack. Seems weird and kinda ooc… at least without a good reason for it.

I generally look at it like this;

Law is acting more hastily than he’d prefer, because he knows he’s running out of time.

We know his original plan to take down Doflamingo wasn’t what he’d actually wanted to do. Law wanted revenge, he wanted to fight Doflamingo himself, not set up this elaborate scheme that basically used Kaido to do what he couldn’t.

So what’s the rush?

I believe that Law designed the Heart pirates logo/jolly roger and picked the name as a way to honor Cora’s memory, but it was also meant to send the message to Doflamingo “I’m your Corazon, I’m coming home”. That’s why the flag look so alike, remember, Doffy doesn’t know that Law was present when he killed his brother. Doffy doesn’t know that Law knows that Doffy means to use him to further his own agenda.

From Doffys pov it probably looks like Law disappeared only to appear maybe 5-6 years later as a pirate, practically wearing his symbol and carrying the title/name he raised him to inherit.

I believe Law would know Doflamingo well enough that Doflamingo would take it as a sign that he was (perhaps slowly and meticulously, just as he was taught) making his way back “home”.

Hell, Doflamingo probably was all happy and smug about it. His 3:rd Corazon was working his way up in the world, making his way back to his side, despite his own brother having done everything in his power to mess everything up.

Remember, Law was in no hurry to make his way into the New World. I think it’s because he knows he can only prolong his appearance in front of Doffy for so long if he did.

Now, I hc hard that Law and the Heart pirates deal in the black market, specifically because Law knows that Doflamingo is Joker, and he needs all the dirt and information he can get to try and stay one step ahead of Doffy, and to try to find his weak spots.

Well, he finds out about SAD, Smile and Kaido. Finally he’s got something he might use to his advantage. However, he also finds out that Kaido’s almost done creating his army of world domination. Maybe he gives it a year or so before the whole world will be dragged into a war guaranteed to change the world forever, both politically and geographically. And then all his knowledge will be useless.

And Law knows Doffy won’t wait another decade or so before he might be able to tackle Doflamingo again.

No, his only choice is to get in front of the storm brewing on the horizon, to take charge and use the pieces all around him to place himself in the eye of the hurricane and use the powers around him to accomplish his own goals.

He needs to use Kaido to take out Doflamingo. It doesn’t matter if Kaidos army of beasts is almost done, practically done or just a single person short. Kaidos temper is legendary, and his rage against Doflamingo failing to fulfill his duties would lead to a clash between them, a clash Doflamingo has no hope of winning.

A strong and clever pirate could sweep in after an stake his claim in the New World. The probability of coming out on top is abysmally small, but Doffys defeat is practically guaranteed, and the rewards of success is incredibly enticing. Not to mention he has no other choice.

Now Law is a warlord during this. He needs the contacts in the navy and he needs something to be a plausible reason for not turning up at Doflamingos doorstep with a smile and begging to be his puppet.

Law knows, Doflamingo likes useful pawns, but Laws biggest use is to die so Doffy can live forever, and Doflamingo isn’t going to wait forever, regardless of how much Law improves his abilities and allure as someone who’s usefulness is off the charts.

So he gets his hands on a eternal pose to PH and says goodbye to his crew… They don’t want to part, but they know that his orders are absolute, to disobey orders is to be kicked from the crew, so they go, and pray to anything that will listen to please let their captain come back to them.

And Law negotiates with Ceasar. He gives him his heart, his freedom, his most precious thing, what Cora-san died slowly and agonizingly to give him. And then… Luffy

For the second time in Laws life, Luffy crashes into his life, turning everything upside down and blowing all his carefully laid plans out of the water.

Luffy who’s freedom itself, Luffy who’s the very definition of the D that Cora-san spoke of. The storm that declared war against the world, the enemy of the gods that punched a celestial dragon in the face without a moment’s hesitation.

In the face of such an free soul, the invisible leach that Ceasar has around Laws neck chafe something terrible. Listening to the clown happily talking about how he made drug addicts of small children, something in Law finally snaps and he ends up hunting down Luffy with the goal of making an alliance.

Because some part of Law trusts Luffy, regardless of how much he hates it, swears up and down that he doesn’t, that he shouldn’t…

After all, Luffy and his crew are perhaps the definition of the type of people that he can’t help but open his heart for. (Strong-willed, happy-go-lucky and determined with a tendency to do everything in their power for those they care for). And that terrifies him. Because Luffy can’t be controlled, and therefore Law cannot protect him.

And Law just can’t handle losing a loved one again. Never again. There’s a reason he always makes sure to place himself between anything that would do them harm and his crew.

Anyway, I sure would like to hear other people’s thoughts and/or hc of Law and his character

… I spent most of the night writing this 🙄 oh well…

[seven-stars-in-his-palm]

okay so a couple of days ago i saw this ask on @fellshish's blog about a need for a full 1941 discorporated aziraphale angst fic, realized i had an entire outline already in the hull, and... this happened:

a "what if crowley didn't miss in 1941" fic, including but not exclusive to the moment itself, the hours leading up to it, and the aftermath; a fanfiction (chapter 3/4)

summary:

It's Fell the Marvelous' awaited debut performance on the West End. He has his marksman, his turnips, and things appear to be going as planned—that is, until said marksman does the one thing he was supposed to avoid. Not missing. (or: the bullet catch goes wrong, and due to a tiny technicality, crowley's afraid aziraphale is gone for good. and crowley himself—for the first time in quite a while—is well and truly alone.)

warnings: full of blood, sweat, kissing while crying, blown up heads, prayers, nostalgic churches, polaroids, alcohol, and aziraphale being a discorporated bastard and bitching his way back to earth while a plot we should probably be focusing occurs as we ignore it entirely. and written extremely slowly. oxymoron but i couldnt get this out of my head fast enough and now you must endure it (should you choose to accept). i think i'm gonna be pretty proud of this though. excited!

(also thank @tforthetea for the inspiration because a conversation with them helped spark this the first time. all hail)

ao3 link for those who didn't check the title, and fic under the cut! :)

chapter 1: number thirteen

One of the things Crowley liked gloating about on occasion was that he was older than Death Itself.

He wasn’t technically wrong, per se. The humans think him mad, and the demons think him stupid, but he was still right. Human concepts, despite their hold on the population and overall importance, were non-existent before or even during the Beginning. The Four Horsemen and other ideas evolved right alongside the humans, so technically, Crowley was older than all of them. He rather liked having something to lord over War (in his head), during the few unfortunate meetings he would have with her. Famine was a non-issue, and Death could not touch him regardless of how much he didn’t like him. There were failsafes.

Now, however, actually being in the room that Aziraphale could potentially walk into and never come out of, Crowley would gladly take all of it back and pretend he never even thought about it at all.

The damned magician. Crowley never caught his name, but if he had, he would wrought him with the most annoyingly small curses that no one would ever believe to be true after today. Tonight wasn’t just about impressing the audience or even repaying that wine-filled debt, it was about them. Tonight, Crowley was to play the trusted stooge, and…shoot the angel. Point blank. In the face. And make it look real. And not discorporate him. And not get them fired. And—

There were a lot of things to consider, alright? To contrary belief, Crowley did, in fact, not think Death was silly or stupid. He’d also been there when It was born, you know. Crowley liked Abel. Watching It happen was, plainly, fucking terrifying. It brought up something new, and change was just as scary as Death. Ask anyone, and they’d tell you.

Crowley has been running that unfortunate meeting involuntarily through his head for the first ten or so minutes of waiting for the actual show to begin, while also listing out the terrible things he would do to the magician man had he ever held the opportunity again. He’d been sort of gunning (no pun intended) to stay backstage and avoid the riffraff, but been ushered out the dressing room the second he’d given his (admittingly harsh) two cents on the situation. Aziraphale said he wanted privacy before the big show, but Crowley knew he was just ticked. Aziraphale was an angel who thrived with a supportive devil over his shoulder.

So, Crowley is just milling around in the crowd as the Allied soldiers and their companions filter in. They come and go—a Lady even comes to check on him at point, mentioning odd vacant gazes and looking over shoulders paranoid-like, but he waves them off before they can pry. He really shouldn’t be so worried—even if Aziraphale…‘didn’t make it through the night’, he’d eventually be fine. As long as he discorporated a certain way, nothing too lethal—some deaths were harder to come back from others.

They’ve been discorporated before, of course. That was how Crowley knew this. Six millennia offered many opportunities for the event. But never, and it was never, at each other's hand. On paper, yeah, they killed each other on occasion, but truly…

Crowley shifts nervously, sending a glare at anyone who got a bit too close, but the brief discomforts aren’t enough to lift his spirits. There was one entity faffing about who refused to bugger off even with direct acknowledgements, though that might be because Crowley was imagining It. Or It really was here, and interested in the affairs of potential angel discorporation. Or a bomb was going to fall here and It was just beating the rush. The theories were far from endless.

Death appeared back there as soon as Crowley had been kicked out. He’s simply been dealing with it since then, and It probably wasn’t helping to lift his spirits. He shouldn’t be so antsy—both logic and mechanics deemed it so.

They’d be fine, Crowley repeats to himself near constantly, finding a proper seat in direct line of sight where Aziraphale will be standing. He readjusts his tie as the humans sit around him, creating a perfectly isolated bubble of red velvet seats. What did it matter that twelve humans died doing this before? They weren’t human. Death had no claim on them. It couldn’t take them even if It so desired.

Crowley scowls at the hooded figure standing near the entrance of the theater, cold scythe gleaming under the warm bulbs of the West End. Its just…standing there. Making no move to come closer, either. Odd.

Crowley sinks lower into his plush seat, as if trying to avoid Death’s gaze. But being one of two immovable objects on this Earth, It’s always on him. If Death had a goal, there would be no point in warding It away.

Seeing Death is a famous bad omen, and would send a chill down his spine had it been anywhere else. At this moment, however, Crowley is simply irritated. If It was looking for another soul in this theater, that was fine by him, let It take them, but It would not be ruining whatever this was. Humans were ever plentiful—there was only one angel deserving of Earth.

Before Crowley can decide whether or not he should be stupid and confront the omen in the room, the lights go dim. The crowd’s murmurs die down, and Crowley has no choice but to stay seated and watch the show. Aziraphale wouldn’t be coming on until the Ladies of Camelot had their first number, but Crowley could easily endure it. The gaze aimed straight at his head could be ignored.

World be damned if It took the angel’s enthusiasm. They’d be fine. Crowley just has to remember that.

-----

Things are, indeed, not going fine.

Crowley is meant to go up on stage any second now. Aziraphale has no inkwell in his gloved hand. No amount of snapping is removing said turnip from line of sight. He reads the pamphlet—then again, then again, then again, but there is no second option for apparently miracleless individuals.

Fucking. Hell.

Whatever false bravado Aziraphale is spewing is null and void compared to the should-be-non-existent nerves running through frantic hands and finding absolutely nothing useful. Crowley flips through the same two pages—give the stooge the bullet, poise, and shoot. The miracle would’ve ensure that the bullet would never leave the barrel. But now—now, well, he really regrets not considering a Plan B. Did they ever consider a Plan B? Apparently not.

Getting there is a blur. Aziraphale is essentially shoving the rifle into Crowley’s care, which is honestly becoming a worse idea by the second. He’s switching between the demon and the audience so quickly that Crowley can’t tell who he’s addressing. They’re deathly quiet, and Crowley would feel embarrassed if his heart that shouldn’t be there wasn’t pounding with too much blood in too little time. His mind is a soup. Muddled, feverish, and incredibly foul tasting. You wouldn’t want to drink it even if you were starving.

“I would ask you,” Aziraphale says loudly, cutting through the fog of utter mental mush, “to take this bullet, and load it into the rifle. Very carefully.”

Crowley nods belatedly, squeezing and turning parts of the gun to get the non-existent warmth running back through his fingers. He takes the bullet, and turns it round a few times while Aziraphale stares at him with excruciating anxiety. Is he stalling? Honestly, even Crowley wouldn’t be able to tell you.

“It's perfectly simple,” Aziraphale mutters softly, pushing the gun a bit closer. “Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear.”

Crowley can’t find himself to agree here. He’s staring at him, and that would usually get him to listen regardless of shades, but Death is boring into them like the harshest of theater critics. His skin is slick, almost clammy, threatening to let the gun slip and fire a stray bullet anywhere but its intended target. His back is sore, oddly enough. Irritating.

Crowley has questions, like he always does, but the time has long passed. What he wants to ask is ‘do I just squeeze that little bit there?’ pointing at (what looks like) to be the trigger—but then that would just make Crowley look incompetent, so he swallows it back and nodly lightly. He’s never fired a gun like Aziraphale seems to believe whole-heartedly, but he’s certainly watched it happen. He’s picked up enough of the motions to figure it out on his own.

That thought still doesn’t help when he’s being told to insert the bullet, though. Crowley fumbles through it, opening a mislaid hatch or two, but manages before Aziraphale could raise any alarms. He’s already stood back in position (when did that happen?) when Crowley raises the loaded rifle for all to see, proclaiming as such. He bites back the tremor threatening to appear—he wasn’t nervous. Excited, more like it. Excited to finally get an excuse to make a throw at the angel non-suspicious like.

That was all it was. Really.

Crowley turns the rifle one last time as Aziraphale spins more useless pageantry for the audience to woo at. They’re both grinning, but tightly and annoyingly false. It wasn’t the eyes that were the problem—what, do you think that demons ever got stage fright? Absurd!

It was just...well, there weren’t just humans in this audience. Crowley couldn’t forget the shadow looming at the end of the theater no matter how tight he grips the side of the weapon. But, just like Someone had laid out all that Time ago—Death could only perceive them.

It could not touch them.

It would not touch them.

It would not touch him, if he could help it.

The drums begin their incessant titter as Aziraphale finally turns to Crowley properly, blue cloak glimmering under the warm light of the stage before them. “A-are you ready, sir?”

Crowley would scoff at this if he could. Sir. Only humans ever addressed him that way; angels look down on him, demons sneer at him. Though he supposes this angel would be different—always throwing the curveballs, him.

“When you hear my signal,” the angel says, voice growing quieter, “shoot.”

Aziraphale removes his tophat, revealing preciously white curls. This pings something, the remaining traces of damned sense he’s got buried inside. Crowley isn’t sure what has possessed him—but he shakes his head. It’s all he can do. Don’t make me do it, he nearly warns out loud. Not if you know what’s good for you.

Aziraphale stills, but not before mouthing words that would be akin to an ashamed mumble if he were close enough. Trust me.

Trust me.

Satan, he got him there. That’s why Crowley was here, after all. Stooge. 100% Reliable Marksman.

Right.

Aziraphale isn’t nearly as good as Crowley at hiding his anxious gaze. “Ready?”

Oh, Heavens no. He never would be, but no better time than the present. Or something like that. He can’t recall where it came from.

“Aim…”

Crowley can’t ignore it anymore—he’s shaking. Extremely so, at that. It’s knocking around the air in his lungs very unkindly. It’s quite difficult to aim. His head is bobbing around in the scope.

Just about…

There it is.

Crowley waits—just like he’s done for the last…however long. A long time. His arms are starting to hurt, frankly. He rests his finger over the trigger to ease the trembling a tad.

And the magician remains silent.

Crowley ignores the sweat crawling down his neck. (Wasn’t it supposed to be freezing?) He waits some more—it’s not like one can forget where you are. Benefit of the doubt and such.

Nothing still. Nary a nod.

He’s been staring at him for a minute. The crowd hasn’t uttered a peep. Is Crowley just supposed to…do it? Did they talk about this? They must have. They talked about this. They talked about it, right? Yeah. Yeah, they must have—

"Fire!"

He startled him.

The reason why he listens is easy to explain. Aziraphale made Crowley flinch. A bit of a spook, really, not that bad of a fright. A sudden jolt—a tap on the shoulder, one that said ‘oh, look, you’ve got perfect aim already! Shoot!’

And he did.

What’s the first rule of approaching someone with a weapon again?

Right. Don’t fucking scare them.

The handle is warm. Slick, heavy, shaky. The scope aims with guilty target missing at the helm. A puff of smoke is spewing from the barrel. A thump, a sickening thump, deafening in the cricket silence of a post-trick world.

And Aziraphale…is on the floor.

(Where else would he be, really?)

There, obviously. On the floor. With a blown-up head. Bleeding like blessed Heaven. Bleeding like bloody Heaven, while Crowley has to take in the sight and smell the blessed thing.

It fits. They fit. Like a perfect crown on a decapitated head.

God, his head’s just gone, isn’t it?

A noise cuts through the thick silence like a stubbornly determined knife. Far away, above it all, there it rings. It’s muffled, soft, and almost awkward in the way it cuts through the air. A camera click. A reluctant, malicious camera click.

And that was just the perfect way to say it, no? He blew his brains out. Crowley blew his angel’s fucking brains out with a fucking gun that he’s never fucking held before.

Trust me.

Well. That, no doubt, was Aziraphale’s fault—it’d be a funny old world if angels and demons went around trusting one another.

-----

hgh. hope that was decent. chapter two coming as soon as it can because im invested now :))

[alexiswritingstuff]

Hello! I was wondering if you’d be okay with writing a Gus piece where maybe Gus and the reader are having an argument and the reader gets scared or flinches if he says something (in THE tone). Naturally, he feels really guilty and comforts the reader or something with a happy ending? Thank you!

Okay, this took wayyyyyy to long to write, and I'm very sorry to the person who requested this. I really hope that you like this, and that I conveyed this in a way that feels natural, but most importantly correct. And that it's also what you wanted.

Just a truck.

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x Gender neutral reader.

Content: hurt/comfort.

Warnings: arguments, implied past abuse and/or trauma.

A/N: If anyone has any issues with phrasing, anything, then please inform me! The last thing that I want to do is offend someone with my writing.

I would also like to say that this fic is very long, so please grab a drink, take a seat and a snack.

I hope you enjoy!

More Gustavo fics.

Taglist- @sukunamybeloved - @viviennemuerte - @miwagila - @marksassybanana

“Sir?”

The time of day had arrived where the restaurant had grown calmer, passed the designated hours that people usually chose to have a meal with the things served at Los Pollos Hermanos.

It sounded like it echoed when the knuckles of your dominant hand knocked on the door in front of you a good few times. “Gus, It's Y/n.”

There was a beat of silence. The cause of which unclear due to the wood blocking your vision, but it was something that created an urge to fidget as you flexed your fingers.

And then you heard the muffled sound.

“Come in.”

Now, any other person who had to do this probably would have walked in already without knocking. Most of the guys on your side of the business had attitude problems, that whole thing where they thought of themselves as higher than each other.

In turn, it usually meant that a lot of people would just do things without proper thought.

But not you.

It's wasn't like you were scared of Gustavo. At this point you had known him and worked alongside him for so long that it was honestly difficult to remember when it had started.

However, when the door in front of you slowly swung inwards, revealing the office that always seemed to be engulfed in dark lighting, a ball of nerves gathered at the bottom of your stomach.

Your posture straightened, attempting to present yourself as stoic as possible when you finally took a step in.

Here we go.

The door latched behind you after a few more slow and careful steps further into the room. And then you halted, looking down at the man who was staring right back at you.

Regardless of the fact that he was simply sat in a chair, the way he held himself always brought a feeling like you were about to start sweating. He was unmoving, the breaths he took not appearing to expand or deflated his chest.

Gustavo didn't even twitch. And neither did his eyes.

This time, when the air passed into his lungs, you could hear the whistle from his nose. “I'm listening.”

Every joint in your body felt as if it stiffened the longer he held your gaze. It was like he could see into your soul and, from his tone, your mind as well. “We believe that one of the trucks has been stolen.”

It felt like you were stood in the centre of a stage. As if the words said had just echoed around a grand hall and you now awaited some kind of response from an audience. Either overlapping boos or shocked gasps.

Gustavo merely raised his chin, “And how do you know this?”

“The truck didn't arrive when it was supposed to.” You swallowed, “We asked the men at the previous checkpoints and it appears that it had missed quite a few before that as well.”

It was probably the need to deliver bad news that had your body feeling as stiff as a board, so, when you finally allowed yourself to take a proper breath, your shoulders lowered with it, “We're not sure who did it.”

Now, since the moment the door had opened, was the first time that Gustavo looked away. His gaze dropped, lowering to a neat pile of papers you guessed he had been going through before your appearance.

Was he mad that you interrupted? Processing the news? Thinking of what to do?

When Gustavo started to lean back it had your eyebrows itching to furrow. 

It was a slow movement that shifted almost every part of his body, except his hands that remained in the same position on the desk no matter how stretched his arms became, until his back fully pressed into the chair. And then he met your eyes again. 

This time it had you gulping.

“May I ask why you've come all the way out here to tell me information that could've been passed over the phone?”

You blinked for a second, waiting for the words to process even though they already had. Your head slightly tilted, “Pardon?”

“You have just told me that one of my trucks has been intercepted,” Gustavo rephrased, pronouncing his words a little slower as if he needed to speak more clearly, “And Instead of trying to find it. You are here. In my restaurant.”

Whenever it was time to tell someone bad news, there was always an ability to get consumed in the what ifs. There was no way to accurately guess how a person was going to react to something, especially when it came to Gustavo.

But this hadn't been one of the possibilities you imagined.

Your eyebrows officially furrowed, “Sir, we already have men on the job-- I came here to collect Victor and Tyrus, and I just thought it would be good to inform you--”

“Do you have a last known location?”

His tone had switched again, his words fast in a way that said enough. He was looking at you expectantly, the expression on his face making it clear that his patience was being tested.

“Um...” You just blinked for a moment again, jarred by the sudden change in topic, “Yes... Yes, we do, but I'm afraid it's from a long time ago.”

Within about five seconds, Gustavo rid his hands from their overlapped position. He slid them towards himself across the smooth surface and, when they got to the edge of a table, he pushed.

His chair rolled for about a second, the wheels squeaking being the only sound throughout the room, until he could stand on his feet, “Great.”

Gustavo grabbed one of the armrests, stopping the big chair from smacking into the corner of the table for the printer and moved it to the side so that he had space.

Above the printing machine was the only window in the office. The bottom portion of it was the vent system as the creation for viewing the outside world was just for that. It wasn’t openable.

And though the blinds were mostly drawn, the slats so close to turning to their full extent, you could just see a sliver of the outside world. Gustavo turned towards it, his stiff hands slowly clasping behind his back.

There was some accompanying noise, like the muffled sound of cars outside, chatter from the dinning area in the restaurant, the blow of air that almost brought goose bumps to your skin.

But the silence was what you could hear the most.

You cleared your throat, attempting to do it in a way that wasn't to loud. Now you understood why Mike didn't want to interact with Gustavo when he was angry.

I mean, you could understand his frustration. It wasn't like you were happy with having a truck go missing yourself, or that you wanted to say something that could make Gustavo upset.

However, this was a reaction you didn't properly know how to respond to. And that meant that it could escalate within a breath.

“My intention wasn't to... disturb your peace,” you began, trying to word your sentences as carefully as you could, “Is there a particular way you would like this to be handled?”

Once again the man remained still. The wind was coming from right in front of him and yet his body didn't even sway. He was just staring out of the window. “Isn't that for you to judge?”

His voice was flat this time, like he wasn't even paying attention to the words he was saying.

The ability to stomach his attitude was getting a little harder with every statement Gustavo made, but you remained calm. It was better to get this all over and done with than to argue like a game of ping pong. “I could make a judgement, yes, but it isn't my truck.”

“We also don't have that much information on the whereabouts, so--”

“Well, did the truck just disappear? Into thin air?” By the time you had blinked he was facing you once again, his expression matching the way his words snapped throughout the room.

You tried to hide the shock from your face, but in doing so your confusion seemed to take over instead, “No... But, Gustavo, we don't know where it went since it's last destination--”

“Then follow the tracks.”

You leaned back within a second of the sentence catching your ears. Your eyes crinkled, lips curling upwards at the joke... But Gustavo’s expression remained the same.

He was being serious.

“You can't...” Your head slowly rose, your brows remained furrowed while every other feature had dropped, “Sir, with all do respect, that could take hours. The truck would have already reached wherever those people wanted to take it.”

“And not to mention that wind-- The sand has probably shifted by now.”

The more you spoke, the more you realised that you could say anything and it wouldn't change the way his mind was working right now. He was frustrated, the tension visible in the way his muscles sat.

Gustavo wasn't going to listen.

“Then I suggest you start making progress.”

Unbelievable. His tone, the look on his face, the request-- No, the command. It was unbelievable.

Of course, you could understand where he was coming from. You knew what was being transported in those trucks, and you knew what could happen if other business found out how easy it was to take Gustavo Fring's stock.

He had every right to worry about the situation, though he seemed to be too stuck in the possibilities of what could happen.

It was strange to see him like this. You were expecting to see the intimidation tactic you had seen him use more times than you've seen him smile, fuelled by anger which was very common in this line of work.

But as he stood in front of you, the way his body presented itself, the way his face remained in the same expression like he was trying to stop something from appearing. You could see it in his eyes.

Right now, he wasn't angry, he was... scared?

Gustavo Fring was scared.

“What if we don't find it?” you finally spoke up. If he was going to make you do this, he would need to think about all the other possibilities and consequences, “What if we send people out in that desert searching for hours, but the only thing we get is heatstroke and sunburns? Hmm?”

His eyelids lowered enough that it hadn't really narrowed his gaze, but the movement was visible. The lines closest to his mouth had deepened and you swore the side of his nose had twitched in way that made it look almost like a snarl. “That truck holds a shipment of something that has any person of the law waiting to strike.”

“If they found it, if the people that took my truck let others know that they have taken my truck... What could happen is endless.”

A sigh huffed through your nose as you looked back at him. This was pointless. The decision to talk to him was pointless. 

Maybe he's had a bad day, maybe being the owner of a business like his had gotten too much this morning and then you just decided to come in later in the day and add onto that.

But now you couldn't just back off. You couldn't apologise, leave and pretend this never happened. You were too far in.

Gustavo was staring right at you. He was stood in place, the breaths that he took now visible in his chest as the emotions started to attack his facial features.

It was like a standoff. A fight just because two people had an understanding of a situation with different perceptions.

Who would've thought.

“I get that... I do, okay-- Just... Look, we have no idea who is behind this, Gus. ” you started up, wanting to fully collected your words before attempting to speak, and Gustavo's head slightly lowered at the phrase, “We don't know if those people are waiting for us to act, and if they are, then we could start something far worse.”

“What we need is more time--”

Out of nowhere, all at once, was this sound that purely rippled through the air as if it was played through a multitude of speakers.

It was something that felt like it had engulfed the room longer that it had rung out. Something that had then been followed by a set of words that you were guessing came from Gustavo. But you couldn't hear it.

You couldn't hear.

It was only when you tried to look for the source of sudden panic that you notice that you couldn't properly see either... And that's when you realised.

Your arms were up, your hands held in a way almost lined perfectly with your eyes. Your palms were open, but your fingers were ready to curl as if they needed to ball into a fist. 

They were twitching, doing so with every second that went by until your brain clocked onto the fact that they weren't in fact twitching.

They were shaking.

The movement was almost staggered when your arms finally attempted to lower, and soon you could see over your limbs. Right as Gustavo's hand had removed itself from the desk.  

This silence was different.

Your eyes were wide, your heart on a rampage within your chest, by the time your arms stilled at your sides. And despite the movement of Gustavo’s arm, he was frozen as well.

It replayed over and over in your head. The moments prior, the words said, the second you saw something erupt within his eyes. The attention that you had on him seemed to end with your mind missing his movements.

He had slammed his hand on the desk.

His anger had gotten the best of him so much so that it overrode his usual ability to maintain a calm exterior, and though Gustavo still resided behind his desk, you were now stood closer to the door than him.

No words could find themselves flowing through the air. Every attempt Gustavo made, every twitch of his mouth, ended with the same silence.

The two of you could stand in the same opposing position for hours and still no words would be shared.

You had been doing so well.

After however long it felt, the ability to feel began to return throughout your body, and soon your shoulders deflated once again. Like the stance you held upon entering this room, your spine was straightened as much as it could. Your chin rose, expression devoid of any emotion.

Until you smiled.

It was small. Weary, though held in a way to show otherwise. “You're right, Sir.” No matter how many times you swallowed, the lump formed in your throat never ceased, “I'll-- I'll get right to it. Sorry, for the... inconvenience.”

And then you turned, your body stiff enough that you had to actually force it to carry out any sort of movement. You could feel it regardless of the way your muscles shifted. 

By the time you next blinked the door in front of you was open once again, allowing the cool air in the hallway to meet with your skin, that you didn’t even realise was as warm as it was. 

You began to walk through.

Gustavo's mind was screaming at him to move his legs, to walk round that damn desk and close that door before you could... But what would he even say? 

What could he do that hadn’t already been done?

His actions had caused this. His inability, for once, to not control himself ended with you... you thinking that he was going to harm you? Hurt you?

He didn't move. There was a spasm of a muscle throughout multiple parts of his body, but it wasn't enough to set him off. Gustavo remained where he stood, watching as the door to his office slowly closed so that it wouldn't make sound.

~

“Oh, come on.”

Nothing. 

There was still no sign of that truck. It had been hours since you were first informed of the news and yet there had been barely any progress, no step closer to finding it.

Sure, a multitude of people had been out, wondrously travelling back and forth across the same dirt and sandy road. But it's not like you could follow tracks when you got to the tarmac.

So, you were lost. Unsure of what to do next.

You leaned forward in the chair beneath you, waiting until your elbows could land on the table to stop. 

A sigh seeped from your mouth, your hands raising to your face. Your fingers pressed into the sides of your nose, almost touching the corner of your eyes that had been closed.

The room was well ventilated. Cool air flowed around often enough that it could be felt, but it also seemed like the hotness of most places of America was a tough battle to defeat.

Your skin felt clammy despite being indoors, out of direct sunlight. But whenever it got to the point where it was too much, the cold air would complete it's cycle. Meeting with your body once again, though it apparently couldn’t ease the warmth of your face.

When another breath was sucked into your lungs, your hands slid from their previous position. They glided to the top of your head, smoothing out the hair beneath, and then followed the back of your skull until they reached the nape of your neck.

Your head sunk a little the moment your fingers began to press down, letting your eyes fall closed all over again.

This was supposed to be your job, something that you were supposed to be good at. 

I mean, sure, this wasn't the exact reason that you were hired, but surely you were expected to be able to handle something like this? You should be able to handle something like this.

Yet here you were, sulking in the meeting room of the poultry farm while your team tried and failed again, and again, to find that damn truck.

At this point, you didn't even care to find it because of what was in it, what could happen if some officer stumbled upon the hidden compartments. All you cared about was Gustavo.

If it got to the 24 hour mark, he wasn't exactly going to be happy about it. I mean, he wasn't before when he...

But this was your fault. You were the person that dedicated more time talking to him when the truck was first lost, and maybe that was what made this whole thing worse.

You lost the truck and made Gustavo mad.

Your body was about to give into the urge to slump forward, wanting to lay against the table in a way that might grant the ability to sink through it and the ground beneath it.

But then the door to the room unlatched.

Instead of carrying out any of the wanted movements, you stilled, an attempt to gage any other sounds that may follow more clearly. Though, it proved to be a bit difficult when your ears caught onto a set of footsteps.

Finally, your head rose, the bones of your elbows beginning to ache due to the amount of time they remained on the table.

Your eyes were almost lazy when they opened once again. You were expecting to see Mike, or other members of your team so that they deliver some other form of bad news. You did not prepare for anyone else.

It took a moment for your vision to focus on the new figure. They had taken a few more steps before they remained in place, even clearing their throat.

Truth be told, your eyes didn't even need to rid themselves of the blurriness to catch onto who it was.

You could recognise that stance from miles away.

In about a second, all the tiredness seemed to drain from wherever it clung both inside and outside of your body. The features on your face relaxed but your eyes grew wide instead.

You jolted up from the chair you sat on enough so that the back of your knees bumped into it. The legs squealed in an echo as they scraped backwards against the floor, “Sir.”

“Sir, what-- What are you doing here?”

Like before, when the door shut, the surrounding room was engulfed by a silence that was hard to ignore.

Now, the two of you were stood on opposite sides. You were the one behind the desk while Gustavo was the one waiting to speak.

Despite how you imagined the man presenting himself at this hour, he wasn't in one of those fancy suits that always looked like they were freshly bought even if he had them for a long time. He was still in his uniform. Like he had come straight from Los Pollos Hermanos... But he never did that. 

Gustavo always changed first.

“What am I doing in my own factory?” The tension wasn't in his face anymore. It had dissipated, leaving behind a much lighter look that settled across his skin and within his eyes.

He even had the slightest smile worn on his lips but it was hard to tell if it was genuine or the one he usually used to hide.

You cleared your throat, the amount of blinks your eyelids allowed increasing as you processed your past phrasing, “I meant... I mean, I thought you needed to be at the restaurant?”

“All that is awaiting me now is more paperwork.” Gustavo insistedsimply, even sounding as if he was about to chuckle through his words, “You don't have to worry about...”

In real time it only happened for about a second, but Gustavo suddenly sort of froze. His lips were parted, the words still urging to roll of his tongue while the skin under his eyes crinkled.

And then his face dropped. It was a subtle movement, one that you had almost missed if it wasn't for the way his gaze narrowed almost immediately after.

That feeling came back again. Being centre on a stage with all the lights shining right on you. Only this time there was no tension, there was no fear created by the attention being put onto you.

Just general confusion.

“Sir?”

The man before you merely hummed to acknowledge your voice, the expression on his face remaining as he started to move forwards.

He was analysing you, taking slow steps closer to the opposite side of the table as if you were about to take off running if he did it any other way. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Gustavo stilled himself right behind the back of the chair on his side. His posture was the same as it always was, straight as a ruler, though his shoulder looked a little lower than usual. His chin slightly raised.

He could see it. He could see the sort of dullness to your eyes that seemed to have increased the more the day had drained you of life.

He took in your stance, the rigidness clear within your arms that were held by your sides and sometimes even twitched in a way that made it clear that they wanted to drop down, hang loosely in the air.

Usually the lines of your face weren't visible to the naked eye like Gustavo's were. When you would smile, make a face in response to something, it would bring them out, show them off to whoever was looking for about a second until you needed to focus again.

But there they were, carved beneath your eyes in a way that made the skin almost look like someone had pulled on it for hours.

You looked as if you shouldn't have been able to stand without swaying but there you stood, determined to act any other way than you had earlier.

“Sit down.” It took a minute for even Gustavo to realise the words had left his mouth.

You blinked, the previous reluctance to move further stilling your body regardless of the command. Thus, when you still made no sign of compliance to his words, he even gestured to what you had previously been seated in for further insistence.

“But...” It felt like it took hours for your lips to move for a singular word. It was the most confusing feeling too because you had worked so many shifts like this, so what was the difference? Why were you reacting the way that you were?

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, even if it was going to return either way, your stiff arms now allowing movement as you clasped your hands together in front of you. “I-- I shouldn't have been sitting in the first place, Sir.”

Your eyes weren't on his anymore. Your gaze was sort of mindlessly flickering about as it succumbed to many thoughts that swirled through your head, “I didn't-- I didn't mean to sit in your seat.”

“My seat?” The skin between Gustavo’s eyebrows crinkled. He wasn't angry, or looking at you like you had done the worst thing in the world. It was genuine confusion, “Y/n, that is a plastic, foldable chair.”

“It is not mine, or anyone else's-- It is an object with a purpose that I would hope that you're familiar with.”

He was trying to not be direct this time. The command of telling someone to sit down felt harsh, forceful. He had already been both of those things today.

When there was still no movement, his jaw clenched. There was a quiet breath that seeped through his nose, the cold air almost making it feel like he inhaled water, until he blew it back out.

“Please.”

Maybe it was the difference in attitude that made it hard for you to choose the proper reaction. Earlier he had looked at you with such hatred that even though you weren't the direct cause or reason for it, it still affected you.

But now his gaze was light. It held remnants of the tiredness he always felt after a shift, though he would never tell. You could see the mixture of emotions that stormed as the release from work allowed a genuineness that he couldn't always feel. That he didn't always want.

He wasn't commanding something this time. He was asking.

After another breath filtered through your system, your body finally made the choice to move. You took a step to the side, hearing the way the floorboards creaked beneath your feet. And then you took a seat.

The slight relief was visible within Gustavo's face as you brought the chair a little closer to the table. But like it always did, the look disappeared within a second.

“Now,” By the next time you blinked, resuming your position from earlier, Gustavo had began to walk along the length of the table, “I'm guessing you found Victor and Tyrus?”

Your eyes were on him not matter how fast or slow he decided to move, “Uh, yeah-- Yes, I did.” You watched him move round the edge of the table, aiming towards a set of four cabinets that sat against the wall. Each both a different colour and height, though not by much.

“We followed the tracks as far as we could-- As far as they went.” you insisted, taking a moment to lean your elbow against the table again while Gustavo moved towards a certain cabinet.

“They went onto the main road.” the man concluded as his feet finally stopped. You could hear a slight breath huff out of his lips, his head even tilting a bit before it went right back.

Just in the way it had earlier, the ability to part your lips had become a sort of struggle.

He hadn't shown an ounce of hostility, and even now, as he stood with his back towards you, it should allow you some feeling to be able to speak your mind. But that cautious feeling reappeared like you were dealing with a wild animal.

“Yes.” you finally confirmed regardless of the fact that it felt like your voice was caught in your throat. It was a wonder that the words even left your mouth, “I'm sorry, Sir.”

In about a second, Gustavo had turned his attention from what it was previous on. He looked over his shoulder, most of his body still facing the cabinets, until his eyes met your own. “No need to apologise, Y/n.”

“You weren't the one driving that truck.” That was it. The was his only other comment in response to yet another one of your failures before he turned right back to the wall.

“What about Mike?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, your back leaning further into the chair while your gaze remained on whatever he was doing, “Mike? Um... He was the one to figure out which ways the truck turned.”

Gustavo reached for the top of the cabinet farthest to the left. It was a sort of greyish green, contrasting with the carpet and the particular wood the walls were made of.

There was this white fan that sat atop the set of drawers. It was an item that you honestly hadn't realised was there until now, even if it was one of the main reason that the heat hadn't completely consumed you.

Gustavo's hand moved along the long neck of the object and soon it arrived at the front grill. Though, when he began to shift it, moving it to face more to the right, your train of thought sort of slipped.  

“Oh-- Actually I forgot to... tell you, but Mike managed to find an angle from some of our cameras where you could see the number plate.”

Gustavo lowered his arm back down, seeming to get lost in the spinning blades as he just seemed to stand there for a moment, “He found it?”

Your excitement fizzled out almost as fast as it had appeared. Alas, when you thought a piece of information was usual, in reality, you were a step further back than you were before.

Still so far from solving the problem.

“The truck was very fast.” you informed and that seemed to jump start Gustavo's brain again as he turned away from the cabinet with a slight hum.

“It would disappear by the time you blinked... Too blurry every time we tried to pause it.” He started walking again, following the wall that was now to his right until he got to a table closest to the corner.

This time Gustavo didn't respond as he stopped himself once again. Instead he reached for the divided tray, that was always brought to this room for Mr. Fring himself, the cling film over it crackling when his fingers touched down. 

You should’ve known he was coming.

“But he's-- He's working with a few of the guys right now. Trying to see if they can fix it up enough to get a match.”

Once the plastic was peeled back, Gustavo took the tray into one of his hands and lifted it from the surface below before twisting back round. “Good... Good.” he remarked in a way that had your eyebrows yearning to furrow, but your mind lost focus when he chose to walk behind you.

Your body stilled, waiting for him to appear in your peripheral vision once again. But even when he did, your muscles never managed to ease the built tension.

“And what about you?”

Before your eyes could snap towards what could be seen of him, his arm suddenly reached to the side as he rounded table corner closest to where you sat. And now, for whatever reason, the tray that he took was placed right in front of you.

“What about me?” you questioned a little lazily as your mind zoned in on the new presence. There was a different vegetable in each section, cut up smaller than they actually would be so that they would fit. And also because it looked nicer.

“What are you doing?” The clarification allowed your attention to shift and this time, when you got yourself to look up, you found Gustavo stood to the side of table. 

The question had you just staring at him for a moment. If he had asked this earlier, your heart would have been pounding in a way that felt like it would come up your throat.

But his tone was normal. One that held nothing but genuineness that conveyed curiosity. Not anger, or burning hatred. He just wanted to know.

Either way, you will admit that it had you almost gulping when you realised it in fact looked like you hadn't been doing anything when Gustavo first walked in.

So, you cleared your throat, “Well, I... I didn't want to stand around while Mike and the other guys did their thing, and Victor took Tyrus with him to gather more information, so.. I decided to wait here at a local point so that people could easily keep me updated.”

On the table, in front of where Gustavo stood, sat two metallic bottles.

“Makes it easier for me to pass it on too.”

The one to the left helped the water within maintain it's heat if it wanted to accompany a tea bag, or keep a coffee hot. You could even put a hot chocolate in their if wanted.

And the other, the one Gustavo had took in a hand, kept the water cool. Useful for days like these, as if you left the water out on the table you could half expect it to start bubbling. “Hmm...”

“Good system.” He reached for the set of tall glasses that sat in front of the bottles. It slid against the uneven surface of the table, slightly managing to scuff up the wood, until it was close enough to Gustavo.

The thumb of his other hand pressed into what you were guessing was a button close to the neck, and soon, the lid clicked, snapping open. All Gustavo had to do was tilt his wrist and then the stream of water began to spill into the glass below. “Any word from... local businesses.”

It was piecing together. A lot of things were. The longer your eyes trained on watching the glass get fuller and fuller, the more points began connecting in your head.

“No.” You blinked, trying to bring back a sense of reality as you attempted to swallow the sudden feeling of thirst. “Noone wants to make any moves.”

There was something going on here. Something Gustavo was doingsince he entered the room.

If he needed something he would have already asked. He would have immediately sat right down in the chair opposite you and said whatever he needed to say.

But he wanted something.

“I heard that were even hesitant about...” Something that he apparently couldn't get with ease as you watched that glass begin to get dragged in your direction. “About?” Gustavo questioned, his arm slowly extending the further he pushed.

“About...” you repeated, the next few words proving difficult to locate through your mind, “About conducting meetings--”

In a split second, before you could even process it yourself, your elbow rolled until your forearm met with the wooden surface. Your hand barely had to reach out, as within about a second, it was pressing into the oncoming glass, halting it before it could fully get to your side of the table.

“Okay, what is this?”

Gustavo's head snapped in your direction, eyes aimed on your hand that trapped his own against the glass for a good few seconds before his gaze flickered to yours, “I'm trying to give you water.”

“No, not--” you huffed out a breath, fighting the urge to shake your head, as you freed both yours and Gustavo's hand from the grip. “All of this. The-- The pouring me a glass of water, which I can easily do myself. The turning the fan in my direction, even though I made no remarks of wanting that.”

“And this.” You grabbed the tray in front of you, the cling film sticking to your fingers as it still hung on the side, and held it up between the two of you. Your eyebrows were completely furrowed now, “Why did you give me this?”

“There has been no one else who was allowed to even put a hand near it, let alone eat it for themselves,” Gustavo's eyes were practically the only part of his body that moved as the travelled to what you held. “So, now I am asking you.”

“What are you doing?”

That silence was back again, layering across every surface that it could in a way that even made the fan sound loud, while the two of you stared back at each other.

The next breath that he took was heard by your ears. Finally, he removed his hand from the glass, that had begun to feel like it was freezing his skin, letting it remain where it was placed on the table.

His footsteps echoed once again as he begun to slowly move along the side of the table, rounding the next corner so that he could do the same on the next side.

It felt like your heart was in your throat by the time Gustavo had reached the chair opposite you. Even more so when he pulled it from its tucked position.

When the chair was a good distance a way from the table, he sat down, his back straightening in a way it usually did. Which you could never managed to do yourself.

He leant his forearms down onto the table top, his palms flattening against it while the fingers on each hand overlapped, resuming the familiar position that made it seem like you were back in the Los Pollos Hermanos office.

But you weren't. 

This was the factory. A place settled far within the middle of no where to the point that you couldn't hear those cars anymore. You couldn't hear the chatter of customers, or the people working away in the kitchen.

The only thing that met your ears were your own breaths. And Gustavo's which were steady, though the look in his eyes told you something different.

“There are... a lot of things that need to be said...” He was almost nervous, the fingers pressed onto each other begging to twitch the longer your gaze stayed on him, “And yet, I forget that a voice is needed for that.”

For once, Gustavo didn't care how he felt. He didn't care about the argument, or that damn truck, even if it still made him anxious to think about what could happen.

But even then, the consequences wouldn't just effect him. They would damage his employees for both this business and the restaurant, which could then extend to their families, and that meant that it would end up at your feet.

This situation wasn't just about him.

It was about you.

“Y/n, I don't want to make you uncomfortable by sitting here, and talking at you about... what happened.” There was no name for that moment. No word to accurately convey the events, how it made either of you feel.

Still, it was like your body wanted to shy away from the singular mention of it.

“But, I can't ignore it.”

You wanted to get up. Wanted to move through the room as fast as you could and just bolt out that door, “Sir, we have more important things to talk about--”

“No.” His voice was louder than before. It wasn't enough to echo, or make you almost jump out of your skin, but it was a sound that had your mouth snapping shut. “No, we do not.”

It was like he was staring into your soul. As if he could read every thought that so much as passed through your mind, even just for a second. 

“A truck is a truck. You are a person, living and breathing.” Gustavo continued, this unwavering insistence held within each word, “A person who, even after... wrongful treatment, stayed working hours on end for my benefit.”

Your head was shaking before the sentence had finished, “You didn't... Sir, this is my job.” No matter the difference in conversation topics, or the change of reasoning, your eyebrows always remained furrowed.

“Sure. Your job is whatever I say it should be,” Gustavo began, the slightest shrug shifting his shoulders, “But do you know how many people would have quit if I told them to do what you did?”

The nerves within your system had fizzled out at this point. “So what? Were you trying to to test me?” The only thing rampant through your veins was the exhaustion. A feeling that would soon lead to frustration, “Trying to find a weak spot to see if you needed to let me go?”

“No, I'm trying to say that there is no one else here like you.”

Your back pressed further into the chair you sat on, the upper half of your body almost slumping with it, “Mike could easily do what I did today.”

“Maybe so,” Gustavo did the opposite, he leaned forwards. And this time when he spoke, his voice was filled with this simplicity that it almost annoyed you, “But doing it without complaining? No... No, I do not think so.”

“Gustavo,” One of your hands raised to your face, while your head shook, in a way that sort of squashed your nose.

Your fingers rubbed at the muscles, trying to ease the tension that had begun to ache, and then your hand lowered so that you could look at the man across the table once again. “Are you going to give me a medal? A gold star? I was just doing my job--”

“And I am just trying to-” Gustavo caught himself. He let his lips fall closed, and so did his eyes while a breathing sucked through his nostrils. Though, when the breath cycled back out, they opened like before. 

“This morning. What I asked... What I forced you to do-- The way that I spoke.” Gustavo's brows lightly crinkled. There was this look on his face while his head lightly shook, like he could see the past events right in front of him, “It was completely unacceptable.”

“I am... very sorry for what I caused.”

Your hands lay still in your lap, your fingers gripped onto the edges of your shirt as you stared back at Gustavo. “You didn't...” you started, almost forgetting that you could speak in a way that made you pause for a moment, “You didn't do anything.”

Gustavo nodded his head without a second to waste. “I did.”

The expression on his face remained regardless of how much time passed. His gaze flickered, his iris jumping from side to side, up and down, as if he was scanning every feature he could see. “I don't... I don't know what has happened in your life. And I don't need you to tell me.”

“But I know what I saw.”

You wanted to look away. Wanted to look down at the surface of the table below and let your mind zone in on the discolouration of the wood, or the difference in texture.

But you couldn't. You couldn’t move your eyes away from his face, the look on it that was such a thing that you had never seen it before. At least not on Gustavo.

“What I am trying to say-- What...” He took in a deep breath, attempting to unscramble the words in his head. And for the first time, you recognised the look of tiredness that washed of his features.

Or maybe it had been there all along.

“There is only one thing I want from you. One thing that I want to ask.” he finally managed out, and though their was clear frustration over the struggle, he spoke in such a careful way. Correcting himself of his past mistake.

“Okay.” Your voice was just above a whisper. In all honesty, it didn't feel like the sound was going to get passed your throat. But it did. And now, there was this look of relief that almost cleared the lines of Gustavo's face.

His back straightened, something you didn't even notice that he had to do.

“Will you work for me?”

Your eyebrows furrowed like they had many times before. Your head slightly tilted to the side, lips about to part in a way that Gustavo seemed to predict. “Not for the business. Or the company-- Not for any other person...”

“Just me.”

It felt like one of those jokes that took too long to understand. A phrasing of words that everybody else could get within a second. But not you. The most you could do was stare back at him. “What for?”

“Whatever you would like, I just-- Today made me realise a lot of things.” Gustavo began to lean backwards until his back was pressed against the chair. “I get so caught in what people do, what they say, that I only react for myself.”

“I am controlled by my own wants and needs, but my ability to react, or to feel, has only been allowed because of you.” The way his eyes crinkled, the upturn of a corner of his mouth. He was trying to be serious, but there was something else peeking through. “What you have done for the business, for me, surrounds us everyday, and...”

Suddenly, the expression on his face drained. Whatever sentence was about to roll off of his tongue got put on hold in a way that made you almost want to look around for whatever caused it. But then Gustavo cleared his throat.

He almost looked... shy.

“I... I do realise that the timing of this makes it sound like I'm trying to bribe you.”

It had felt like it had been the longest time since the urge to smile had tugged at your own lips. And at this point it was almost a strange feeling. You shook your head, “No, I get it.”

For the first time in what felt like days, the corners of Gustavo’s lips allowed themselves to curl. He looked down, nodding at your assurance that visibly eased his mind.  

Finally, the two of you were on the same page. 

“What I know... What I see is that there is a difference in a lot of things when you are in charge.” His voice oozed with a sincerity. It was this genuine and confident sound, like he had seen whatever he was a million times before. 

With his next words, when he had mustered up the courage that was usually so easy for him to utilise, his eyes found your own set across the table, “When the mornings comes back, there is want to get through the stages of a day instead of a need to.”

His gaze swirled with an intensity, something that he almost looked confused about, unsure of how to deal with. And either, it was because he had never felt it before, or it had been a very long.

“I want you to work with you by my side.” It was insistent at this point. The way he sounded, the tone he used, the look on his face. Gustavo wasn’t asking anymore. It was a want. 

A need. 

It clicked. In a second, that very feeling sort of faded after his phrasing settled within his own ears. He was thinking about himself again. Acting based off of what his mind was telling him to do. 

So, Gustavo’s back straightened, his head rose high and the expression on his face returned to the usual one he held when needing to deal with business. “If you would want that.”

It didn’t matter how tired you were. It didn’t matter what you had been doing all day, or the way your bones were practically aching by now. In fact, it was like your mind had completely forgotten that there was even a world outside the room you were in. 

Right now, you were looking at Gustavo Fring. A man who was feared by many, not just because of his job. A man who was fuelled by the want for revenge, to seek justice for things no matter what extent he had to go to for it. 

Yet here he was, sat on the opposite of the table he usually ruled at, naked under your unmoving gaze. 

There was no part of you that wanted to leave the room anymore. No part that wanted to succumb nerves that told you to avoid the eye contact, and his presence all together. 

When you finally spoke, finding the voice that felt like it was going to falter like a flickering candle, it was the fullest it had been all day, “Yes.”

No fear. No want to run for the hills and never come back. You remained in your seat. 

Gustavo fought for control of the muscles beneath his brows as they nagged to pinched together. He was nodding again, fully processing your confirmation in a way that allowed him to properly breath again. 

And, for the first time in what felt like months at this point, the two of you were smiling at each other.

After all, it was just a truck.

“I would.”

[twistmusings]

Character Analysis of the Twisted Wonderland Dorm Rooms - Pomefiore

Dorm Room Character Analysis Series

Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia

Vil Schoenheit

Vil actually has quite a few interesting little details in Vil's room!

Of course, Vil has workout equipment as well as yoga equipment. We know that Vil cares a lot about his appearance. Canonically, we also know that Vil works out the Jack in the mornings, and the two are friends. I feel like it's not a surprise to say that while it's fine to be interested in looking good, Vil tends to take this to an extreme. (Of course, this being a callback to the Evil Queen from Snow White.)

It's also interesting to note, though the theme color of Pomefiore is already a violet color, Vil has additional items in his room in a Violet color beyond what is the standard issue items for NRC, including his bedspread, pillows, chaise lounge, and additionally, it looks like most of his books on his shelves are a violet color, leading me to believe he likely uses book covers on them. Similar to with Trey and Cater, this leads me to believe that Vil's favorite color is likely Purple/violet. (This also tracks with him having a purple fashion color in his hair.) Violet colors typically are associated with Royalty due to it being a hard color to create in the early days of dyeing clothing, however psychologically it is commonly associated with ambition, power, creativity, and wisdom - which are all pretty apt descriptors for Vil.

Though wisdom might be a bit questionable in some cases - examining how Vil interacts with Epel in particular is a good indicator of this. Vil knows that being hyper masculine isn't attainable for Epel, so he guides him toward finding his own definition of his masculinity. Even if Vil is tough-love and doesn't always go about teaching this the correct way, it's clear that Vil has matured in a lot of aspects and actually wants to guide the others in his dormitory toward things he thinks will make them feel more fulfilled and whole. Vil is particularly interesting because of his dichotomy - there are times where it's easy to forget that Vil is barely an adult because of how he speaks and then he hits you with something like having to ask to be held back from punching Neige during the VDC. Speaking as an older person who has been there, it's a pretty accurate portrayal of early adulthood where you're still figuring things out! I definitely have a soft spot for Vil because of it.

Vil's room also features a bouquet! Though it's a little less clear than Riddle's bouquet, but if I had to hazard a guess, they appear to be pink carnations, baby's breath, and a hard to distinguish yellow flower. If I had to hazard a guess as to the yellow flower, it looks a bit like Yellow Cushion Pompoms but it's honestly hard to tell. Pink carnations are often associated with fondness or motherly love, Baby's breath is often associated with sincerity and purity, and yellow cushion pompoms which are generally associated with joy and passion. To be quite honest, none of these particularly ring with Vil's storyline unless you count him being something of a matriarch figure to his dorm, but I think an interesting take may be that they may have been sent by fans or a fellow actor/actress given the flower meaning!

All of Pomefiore feature an apple theming, particularly Epel and Vil. Vil has notable themeing in his rug pattern and his apple branch framed mirror.

Another thing of note, Vil has a crown motif over his bed. All of the other rooms we see in Pomefiore have a canopy, but Vil is the only one who has a whole crown over his bed. This lends to his royal theming, and in addition to one other item in the room...

the Chaise lounger at the foot of his bed, Vil has all of the hallmarks of a dramatic victorian woman in an old movie. I have said it before about Twisted Wonderland Characters, but he is cringe and he is free. Vil loves dramatics - he's an actor, he's a drama queen, and he's definitely draped himself over that Chaise Lounge and had Rook grab the smelling salts when he's feeling faint.

Now while I've talked a lot about Vil's penchant for dramatics, I think it's worth noting that even if his aesthetics are important to him, Vil is the only person to have a normal ballpoint pen on his desk. It's a fancy ballpoint pen with a stand, yes, but I think there is a takeaway from this. Whereas Riddle and Azul have a rather dramatic version of this, Vil, arguably the most dramatic Dorm Leader, does not have a quill. Why would that be? Well, probably the obvious reason. Convenience. Why would Vil want to use a quill pen when he could more easily use a ballpoint pen? It tells us that Vil is not averse to taking an easier route when it feels reasonable to him.

Stick with me for a moment, because while this might seem like a silly train of thought over a pen, but I think it gives a bit of insight into how Vil thinks. In book 6 (and yes, spoilers for those of you who have not been able to complete the story yet, I understand your pain), but Vil makes a point when talking to Idia to point out that unless he makes an effort, the chances of something he wants to happen actually happening aren't likely.

So, in combination with his pen, let's examine a little further. We know that Vil comes down hard on Epel for basically everything, which would seem to contradict the idea that he likes the ability to take a more convenient route though, right? No, actually, and that's because of one main thing - Vil hates to see wasted potential. Sure, when it comes to something like using a ballpoint pen or a beauty product that's more effective, he's all for it, but he also knows that in order to get anywhere meaningful, it's not likely at all to fall into your lap. Vil latches onto Epel because he sees that he has potential, even though Epel doesn't understand why he's doing it. From Epel's point of view, it feels like Vil thinks everything is wrong from him, but Vil actually just wants him to change his perspective. Vil expects a lot, of course. An unfair amount, even, however you can see that he is trying to be a mentor. Basically, this entire TLDR is about the fact that I think assuming Vil is a hardass just to be a hardass isn't the way to look at this - he values efficiency and he values people working toward getting what they want. He comes down hard on people who try and shirk work and avoid reaching their full potential as he sees it. he isn't against them taking a more efficient route to get to that potential so long

Mickey is hidden just above Vil's headboard.

Epel Felmier

Epel, of course, has the most apple themed room! Like several of the other freshmen, there's not a ton to examine here. Of course Epel's apple decorations lend to the pride he seems to have for Harveston, but he does have a couple of notable things.

To start, let's take a look at Epel's pinboard. He has a lot of photos on his pinboard, and likely a lot of these are either family or group pictures with his school mates. Epel doesn't talk about photography a lot in canon, so this is an interesting thing for him to have, especially when he has more photos on his pinboard than Cater, the one who is known to be a photographer. What does this mean? Well, simply put, Epel is sentimental. He likely hangs these photos up because they remind him of people he likes and fond memories. Epel does express a lot of fondness for his home town, but it's neat to see that he goes out of his way to make sure he holds onto photographs that are important to him.

Epel is one of the only Freshmen who brought a comforter with him to use on his bed! Given what we know about Harveston, this would seem to be a Scandinavian-style quilt. We know that Granny Marja Felmier is a talented seamstress, so it seems likely that she probably made him this quilt!

Epel's hidden Mickey is in the box of apples in his room!

Rook Hunt

Disclaimer as I know these posts reach beyond my normal audience, but Rook is by far my least favorite character in general. This is not me trying to yuck anyone's yum, of course, I just am saying this because of all of the characters, I have read the least of Rook's Vignettes, as I tend to leave him as far from my class lineup as possible. I honestly can't say that I know as much about Rook as I do the other characters.

To start with, let's start by stating something that most people know: Rook is loosely based on the Huntsman from Snow White, so of course we see a lot of hunting memorabilia in his room - particularly arrows and bows. Now, given that this is a magic school, we can't be sure that the rules are the same, but that does pose the question are hunting weapons prohibited on campus? If yes, then this is pretty normal, but if no, then it's entirely possible that Crowley doesn't know that Rook has weaponry in his room. Not that Crowley would do anything about this, of course, but I think it's worth saying that if it weapons are prohibited, this means that Rook is willing to bend or break rules.

It's also worth noting that of all of Pomefiore in general are cleanly. I imagine having Vil as a Dormwarden means that he probably doesn't allow much mess in their dorms. This ties in a little with the next point:

As has been pointed out by several others before, Rook has photographs attached to the wall behind the wallpaper that he has pulled down. This implies that these photos are something that he would normally hide, and as they aren't brought up by the others to my knowledge. People have speculated a lot about what they could be, and while i can't give any real additional insight, the common consensus is that they are of Neige or of other students at NRC that he considers his "quarry". Regardless, this implies that these photos are likely ones that he hides behind the wallpaper in his room and that Rook has reason to want to hide them, be that embarrassment or something else.

Of note, Rook also has a framed photo on his desk, though as to who is in it, it's hard to say. We know that Rook has a large family, so it's hard to say that it's a family photo given that it's a portrait photograph and likely to be of one or a handful of people. My best guess is that this is probably a photo of Rook and the other two from his dorm, considering it's on his desk. It could also be a photo of Rook and Neige, as we know that Vil is aware of him being a fan of Neige. (Vil likely has a reason to think of this beyond Rook having his album of Niege memorabilia, as Vil seems unlikely to just go snooping through Rook's things without asking.)

Rook also has a pair of Binoculars on his desk, ready to go. If I had to guess, these are likely for people watching, given that it's shown that Rook likes to do just that.

Now, something of note that I haven't seen pointed out before, but should be recognizable to anyone who has played through book 5 - does the droplet motif on Rook's comforter look familiar? It should, if it doesn't.

It's the same droplet motif that's on Neige's sweater. Now, while this is less noticeable in the English release, in the Japanese release I'm sure this was one heck of an easter egg to see while book 5 was still releasing if you were able to put two and two together. It's of note that these blood-drop patterns are not seen with any other characters in Pomefiore as a motif - it's literally just Rook and Neige. What does that mean? Well, the obvious about Rook - he likes Neige, obviously. However for the story, it means that Twisted Wonderland hides easter eggs toward story events in character's rooms, including characters that are not the Dorm Leaders. So far, we've seen the most clues about the events that happen in the Dorm leader's rooms, but it doesn't seem to be exclusive to the Dorm leaders.

Rook's Hidden Mickey is on his lamp. I have included the night-time version of the room in this as it's incredibly hard to see otherwise.

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

hey, may i please request domestic headcanons with zora, luck and yuno?

Hiya~! ^^

Of course! It's been a while since I've gotten anything domestic. Hope you like this!

Pairing: Zora x gn!reader, Luck x gn!reader, Yuno x gn!reader Fanfic type: Headcanons Length: ~0.75k Genre: general/fluff

Zora

Zora is very good with housework. Which surprised you in the beginning, because he certainly didn’t look the part. But it turned out that he was more than familiar with doing things around the house.

The first time you had asked him to do laundry, you expected him to mutter something, or maybe even ask how does one do it, but he just uttered a “sure” and did as he was asked to do.

Late it turned out that he had had to learn how to do housework ever since a young age, which explained why he was so knowledgeable. And it was then that you realized that a lot of little things just ‘mysteriously’ had got done, without you doing them or asking someone to do them. Which meant that Zora had done them in passing.

It was a habit he had, doing things as they appeared and he got around to them, without a word. He never made them seem like chores in the sense that it would have been taxing to do them.

Little did you know, he found it .. nice, to be able to do chores, now that he had someone in his life. The idea of coming home to a neat house, was lovely. And he was damn sure that he was going to do his part in assuring that it’s take place; that the house was clean, the laundry and dishes were done.

He was also an excellent cook. But not in the sense that the food would have tried to be more than it was, just good, simple home cooking. Heart-warming food.

Yes, he was an excellent spouse, who had no issue taking care of the house.

Luck

Luck isn’t well versed with housework. He does know how to do the basic chores and how to clean, because he had to participate at the orphanage, but he’s not big on it. In fact, when he was still young, he broke more while cleaning than clean, which is why he was excused more often than not.

But after joining the Bulls, and being a part of the squad in making the Hideout into a home, he begun taking more responsibility with domestic chores. Which didn’t mean that he still liked them, but he did do his part.

However, he never fusses about chores. Yes, they are something that need to be done, but if you’re having a bad day, or he can just get a feel that doing housework is very taxing on that day, he’d do something fun with you instead. The dishes can wait. The dust can be swept on the next day.

And he will take care of his share too. He might not, still, be the best at housework, but he can cook simple food, he can dust and do laundry. He is able to do all the things that is required, but making life enjoyable is more important to him.

His goal is to make you laugh, and keep you happy. And sometimes he does bring you flowers after a cleaning day just to cheer you up.

You are the most important thing in his life.

Yuno

Yuno is able to handle all chores due to growing up in the orphanage, and he is very organized and meticulous about it, usually preferring to stick to a predetermined cleaning days in order to handle the chores.

Though in the Golden Dawn, he didn’t need to partake in them anymore. But in an odd way he misses it, even if only a little bit, because it was a part of his childhood. All of the kids, Sister Lily and Father Orsi just worked together to get the church cleaned. At the time it wasn’t particularly fun, but it grew to be a treasured memory nonetheless.

Especially since as Spade Royalty, chores aren’t exactly in his future either.

But he does stay very organized throughout his life, and at times you can catch him dusting something with his magic, even if he wouldn’t need to. It’s just a little quirk of his.

Once he surprises you at a trip to the country side, where he has rented a small cottage for the two of you, and he cooks for you. Just because he can. And it’s like you two were living quiet, simple life, even if for only that trip.

He finds joy from little things, along with being able to chase his dreams; which include a life with you.

[ingravinoveritas]

Have you seen his latest tweet? He’s having one of his moments and is blocking people left and right. I got myself blocked for commenting on a comment… TF is this poop? 😒

@phantomstars24 Okay, so...I have seen what's been going on on Twitter with Michael and there is...obviously a lot going on. Let me first put up the screenshots of his other tweets, which followed the initial one in @ourtubahero-blog's screenshot (the first one is most recent):

I think there are a few things (well, a lot of things) that are getting missed in all this, specifically the context for why Michael wrote the original tweet in the first place. It appears that it was meant to be a reaction to this incident, which just occurred today in the UK:

The wording of Michael's tweet was not clear, and I also don't think anyone outside of the UK would readily know what he was reacting to, so straightaway this seemed to lead to a lot of misunderstanding. A large portion of the criticism of that tweet stemmed from people thinking Michael was taking a neutral stance on the situation in Gaza/Israel, which is what then led to him making a clarifying tweet in that regard. For my part, I did not interpret Michael's original tweet as neutral, but rather that he is and does stand with innocent people of every stripe, and wishes for there to be no more bloodshed or further loss of life.

Michael's subsequent tweets only seem to have compounded the problem, as they appear to have been made out of an emotional response on his part, which is not a good thing when it comes across as defensive. Emotions are running incredibly high right now, and sadly that is the time when misunderstandings are most likely to occur. In the interest of clarity, in his second tweet, Michael did not say that he had no time to do research, but rather that he "has no time for people telling him to do research." What I took this to mean is that he already has done research and thought very carefully about this entire situation, and therefore felt slighted at people implying that he had not.

The problem inherent in all of this, however, is that this is an extremely difficult subject to have nuanced conversation about, particularly on social media and especially on Twitter. This then leads us to the issue of blocking. I think what Michael was attempting to say (again, badly worded) in his tweet about blocking people was that he was blocking people due to what he perceived as personal attacks. This would explain people being blocked for saying apparently innocuous things, as Michael was on the defensive and does not really have that button in his brain telling him to stop or back off once he gets going.

It goes without saying that Michael seemingly blocking people indiscriminately is definitely not a good look (though it is not without precedent, as I remember well him doing the exact same thing four years ago, albeit under different circumstances). But what is also not acceptable is people sending him death threats, or tweets such as this falsely accusing him of horrific things. In this instance, it is more than understandable that he would have a strong reaction to being dogpiled and block someone, because no one should have to accept threats to their person on their own social media page.

I think what is also happening is that a lot of fans (not either of you who sent in these asks, for the record) are correlating online activism to activism in real life. Michael has always been about walking the walk and not just talking the talk, to where we know he donated almost all of his money to the Homeless World Cup in 2019. He is also a UNICEF UK ambassador and has visited Lebanon, Chad, and Guatemala to meet and help refugee children. All this to say that we have no idea what he has done outside of social media to assist refugees and victims, or if/how much he has donated to Palestinian charities or other relief funds for victims and their families. And for my part, I would rather Michael be clumsy with his wording on social media (again, not defending the indiscriminate blocking) and taking tangible action in real life than engaging in performative Internet activism that ultimately goes nowhere.

(Also, I cannot help but facepalm at people asking Anna to weigh in, under the assumption that a) She would even care about this; and b) She has any influence whatsoever on Michael's behavior, which it is abundantly clear she does not or else he would have stopped flirting with David years ago. I just really hope people do not tag her or expect her to have the ability to somehow "rein him in," because they will be very disappointed...)

So yes, I think what made Michael make a statement tonight after all this time was the above-mentioned MP. I think his intentions were likely good and that his heart was in the right place--as are all of ours, in wanting to protect innocent civilians and stop the horrific violence that is happening. But I also think that if Michael wasn't prepared to handle certain types of criticism, then it probably would have been better for him to say nothing at all, or at least certainly to not escalate things by continuously tweeting. I am also sorry for the fans who were hurt by his actions, because I know fans who have been there before, and it really sucks.

I am hopeful, however, that we can all step back and breathe once emotions are no longer so heightened and try to find a way to listen to each other and engage meaningfully. Because it is truly disheartening to see how things escalated so quickly tonight, and I want to believe that we as a fandom and as human beings can do so much better. I suppose only time will tell...

[crumpet-doodles]

Hey! Umm, can y'all give me your headcanons for Solar from the Sun and Moon show? I'd just like to see them, no matter how weird you think they might be! Here are a few of mine:

☆ Solar might have claustrophobia

I honestly do think that he might have some sort of claustrophobia. I'm basing this off of two things that happened in the lore vids:

In "Eclipse MOVES IN in VRCHAT," when Moon says that he could convert one of the party rooms into a temporary living space for Solar, Solar says "I'm more uh... I don't really like rooms." I know this was probably a bit overlooked, but on my second re-watch I noticed it, and an idea started forming in my brain-

Another example is in "Eclipse has a NEW IDENTITY!? in VRCHAT," where as he and Moon walk through this long, horrendously yellowish-orange hallway, Solar says "I hate this room. This hallway." This could be taken as to how empty the hallway is (As Moon comments) or to how it reminds him of a Half Life 2 map. (I think that's what he said-) Again, this could be easily ignored, but it just adds to my little theory~

One more thing is just something I speculate- he might have claustrophobia from some kind of trauma from his old dimension, specifically from the Moon that he lived with. I think that his Moon was highly abusive to him, and I can imagine him being put into a similar situation as Sun, where his Moon trapped him in a magical barrier, and left him there alone for an unspecified period of time. I can also imagine Solar just generally being trapped in a room/isolated, because Moon didn't know what else to do when Solar first... appeared? I guess? In his Sun.

Also, he'd probably try to hide it because he thinks it's stupid.

☆ Solar is an insomniac

I honestly think that he just has a hard time sleeping, his brain is just running around everywhere 24/7- (Damn he's pretty relatable)

He will literally run himself into the ground before taking a break/resting. In "Eclipse has a NEW IDENTITY!? in VRCHAT," Moon calls him an "insane motherfucker" when he admits that he fixed the Daycare, Theater, Gift Shop, and more, in a week. A WEEK. Then after a tour and some talk, he passes out from running out of battery, due to being on 1% charge. He's overworking himself. He needs sleep.

HE SOUNDS ABSOLUTELY EXHAUSTED IN "Lunar and Earth's GROUP THERAPY in VRCHAT," LIKE BRO- He said he was working on 2 separate things, both for 5 hours straight- He really needs to sleep- get him a beanbag or something-

Also, this could be another trauma-related thing, where he just doesn't feel safe sleeping, or he has nightmares. However, this is probably just me overthinking and reading too much into this situation.

When he DOES fall asleep, it's usually in the most arbitrary places ever. At the desk in the daycare, in one of the play structures, etc. I... have a feeling that he's probably fallen asleep on that green little mat/platform thing in the ball pit before. Or just literally in the ball pit itself.

☆ Solar's just generally insecure about his looks

Looking like the OG Eclipse model, he probably has some issues with what he looks like, and is most likely frustrated about how people keep mistaking him for Eclipse.

Also, coming back to the whole "his dimension's Moon giving him trauma" thing. His Moon probably called him a lot of things, all of them horrible. Solar keeps mentioning how aggressive and angry his Moon was, so again, it would fit the profile.

In "Lunar and Earth's GROUP THERAPY in VRCHAT," When Solar talks about him working, Earth says "That might have something to do with you not feeling like you fit in." Please, he needs comfort and more therapy-

☆Solar is touch starved

Do I even have to explain?

Also, I feel like even though he IS touch starved, he doesn't... realize it, exactly. He has really closed off body language (For some reason I can imagine that his idle pose/stance is having his arms crossed) and is just generally unsure about how he should properly show physical affection.

Do you know what I mean? Like, you think you just don't like physical touch, but it just turns out you were full of anxiety on how to properly show it that when somebody DOES end up giving you a hug or something similar that the realization just... hits you? Really hard? (Dear Stars this is over-specific am I ok???) Solar might also be comfortable with one person/small group of people actually touching him. Or if people ask. (Ok I need to shut up, now I'm just projecting my personal experiences into my headcanons for him-)

This could also be attributed to the insecure thing but eh.

Quick thing I'd also like to say, his model, (or "suit," as they call it in the show) is slightly different from the other's, because as his dimension's Moon stated, it was an older model that never got used. I think it's just lankier, skinnier, and maybe has a tail, as these features were being experimented with for the newer daycare attendants, the ones who actually got used (Solar's dimension's Sun and Moon.)

(Note: I might edit this post as things change/lore vids drop!)

(Damn, this turned into a whole-ass essay-) So yeah! If you've made it this far, thank you, and if you have any headcanons of your own that you're willing to share, please do! I'd be delighted to see them!

[paperback-rascal]

From the outside Calm and Rascal appear to know each-other very well - some even assume they are batchmates.

They are not.

For most of their lives they didn't know the other even existed just to meet each-other few weeks before they were transferred to the regiment.

Calm was a hematologist at Kamino cloning facility. His work there was extremely mentally taxing - he was forced not only to work very long, irregular shifts back to back but also had to falsify many results and rapports so the data would look presentable not only for Kaminoans but for current and future investors.

Since Calm has OCD tendencies, the hectic, extremely long schedules, working under pressure, cutting corners during testing and being forced to outward lie in the rapports made him have a breakdown at the mess hall where he met Rascal.

Surprisingly working at 347th with all risks and chaos involved with post-battle environment is less stressful for Calm than the "cushy" job with state of the art equipment at the Kaminoan cloning facility. If anyone ask Calm about it, it's mostly due to fact that at 347th there is a sizable hematologist team (mostly thanks to Mercy having a soft spot for them as his first master, Hypatia, was a hematologist alongside being a healer) but also that at 347th properly done testing is more valued as it's a matter of life or death.

Not to mention, Mercy understands the gist of the lab work flow thus allows 347th specialists to arrange their schedules to be the most effective in such harsh environment,resulting with them rarely having to rush things unless the situation is extremely dire.

As for Rascal, just before he was about to be deployed from Kamino, Kaminoans re-arranged whole training structure and chunk of clones were given non-combatant, almost administrative roles. Due to the restructuring he was "demoted" (in his mind) to an instructor position. On top of that he was also tasked with more of a "home-room teacher"-type of task: He was given a quite sizable group of adolescent cadets to supervise. He handled rapports from other instructors, tracked his charges' progress, resolved issues within the group and listen to complains more than praises about the cadets under him. All of that equaled to insane amount of paperwork - space!Excels, tables, lists - you name it, Rascal had to fill it at some point or the other.

Rascal came to loath his position which gave him a lot of anxiety. When he asked about the transfer or at least, change of responsibility he was threatened with decommissioning.

When he finally was transferred and joined 347th, 40 suggested he'd be perfect to take care of kids/orphans when stationed at war torn areas, Rascal almost broke down, begging the major to give him ANY job but that. Flabbergasted by such a visceral reaction, 40 promised it won't be his main job but in dire situation he won't hesitate to use Rascal's skillset and experience.

However Rascal's issues are not with kids/teens themselves - working with his younger brothers was the best part of his instructor job (also that's when he got his nickname - "Rascal") but the fact that he is afraid to be potentially forced back to all the paperwork and responsibility that comes with taking care of underage people that crushed his soul the first time around. Also he hates to admit it, but despite clones views on death for Republic/at the battlefield as anything but heroic, he is aware that some deaths are more heroic than others and hearing stories how troopers that just few weeks before were under his care succumbed to their injuries, made his chest tight and his task seem more grim and daunting.

At 347th, Rascal mainly does odd jobs that require to be taken care of at night, as he prefers to be a part of the "graveyard shift crew". He also prepares and gives (mandatory) lectures about variety of topics because well... he WAS an instructor at some point so he knows how to prepare and pass on information in a cohesive way.

TL;DR: Calm's and Rascal's issues weren't combat-related. Both of then suffer severe burn-out at their respective jobs at Kamino training/cloning facilities.

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See more posts about 347th regiment here -> [LINK] <-

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STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney