#this is far more headcanon than canon-backed

[inky125]

Mary Linton and Jack Marston meeting in 1922

Okay but these are just my headcanons for the very improbable scenario that they end up bumping into each other in the future. / My headcanons for what they would do with their lives after the events of rdr/rdr2

(I'm going to explain them under the cut)

Okay so, starting with Jack:

I want to believe Jack lived a more or less normal life after killing Ross, successfully getting away with this one (1) murder, and having that as a skeleton in his closet. Not finding peace really, so the whole revenge thing doesn't fix his miserable life but he can go on to try to do something with his life. Gunslinging doesn't really have a place anymore here.

When the US joined WWI I know that boy DID NOT join the US Army, he would NEVER join the group that killed his dad, or make the same mistake as him and make a deal with the government. He would rather be jailed for dodging the draft, what will they do, threaten him with what? He has nothing to live for really, so they can't make him. I don't think he cares much if he gets shot (he has a like saying as much in rdr when he duels Ross).

After the whole jail thing he'd go back to a more or less normal life, I'd guess he would have to have a regular job and write whenever he's able (I want to believe that one Easter egg in GTA is canon...it is to me...), but I don't think he'd be able to make a living just from writing.

As for Mary, I always wondered why Mary was dressed the way she was during the credits cut scene in Rdr2. Because I'm guessing it takes place in 1907 (given that most cut scenes appear to happen at the same time more or less than the epilogue). But I wondered why Mary was dressing in black; I mean, during the Victorian era there were very specific mourning traditions, especially for women. Wearing black was pretty much a part of a social thing, you'd publicly mourn. The extension of your mourning would depend on who died and what was your relationship with them.

And here is the thing, Arthur had died 8 years ago by then, we could assume Mary had found out shortly after of his dead because newspapers in the Rdr2 universe love to brag whenever law enforcement/Pinkertons kill renown outlaws. (Even Arthur and Hosea get mentioned years later in some sort of article in 1907 too). And additionally, we know that Mary kept up with how the gang, especially Arthur, was doing through the news on the newspapers. So again, it wouldn't be crazy to assume she knew about Arthur's death back in 1899.

So then, why is she wearing a black dress to visit his grave in 1907?. Black is the color of mourning, but as far as I am aware (and correct me if I'm wrong) it was not required to visit a grave back in the day. So I like to headcanon Mary mourning Arthur like a widow, because widows would have to wear their black weeds for 2 years (there were different periods of mourning, for instance Mary's clothes could be classified under the 'half-mourning' type, meaning there has been at least 6 months since her loved one passed away, meaning she could now wear some jewelry, other colours, ect.

But here is a little extra, Queen Victoria popularized among some women the practice to never abandon their period of half mourning, and especially, keep wearing black the rest of their lives even if they move on, as a sign of love for their dead husband.

Mary and Arthur never got married, but I like to think Mary lived as a widow for him. Continuing with her life as normal, of course, but always having that bittersweet ache in her heart, dressing in black out of respect and love for him and the life they couldn't have. Even if she had wanted to move on from him after she realized they couldn't be together as Arthur wouldn't leave the gang, I think she would have folded if Arthur had gone after her (I mean she did re-initiate contact after they were supposed to never speak again), and I think she was still preparing herself emotionally when she heard the news that Arthur was dead, ironically not moving on from him.

She didn't remarry, Jamie made good money and maintained her, Mary knew the kind of life she didn't want and she could be respectable and old as a widow. Plus marrying someone new at her age would be a titanic task.

I think Mary kept her mother's brooch Arthur returned for her as her reminder of him, given that she returned the picture and the ring. In fact she's wearing it when she visits Arthur's grave in-game!. So I kept that

It just warms my heart to think of the very few people left who knew about the gang finding each other in usual ways. Maybe next time I'd do Sadie or Charles. I'm just a sucker for this kind of things

[coldgoldlazarus]

I know the metroid timeline is purposely pretty vague, but do you have a headcanon for how long it's been since metroid 1? I figure it has to be at least a few years, even in the games themselves don't take place over a long period of time each

I think my initial off-the-cuff guesstimate would be somewhere in the vicinity of eight to ten years, with Samus in Zero Mission being in her mid twenties, and in her early-mid thirties as of Dread. Wanna double-check what little canon info there is later to make sure there aren't any glaring contradictions, and it's hard to say how Prime 4 may alter things or not, but here's my rough guesses about the timeskips between games.

Zero Mission to Prime - A couple years, enough time for the escaped frigate Orpheon to set up shop on Tallon IV before Samus comes calling. For simplicity, let's round to an even number; my instinct would be to say two years, but apparently one source says it is actually three. I'll split the difference and say 2 Years, 6 Months.

Prime to Hunters - A couple months at most, mainly because I'm pretty sure it was said explicitly somewhere that Prime and Echoes were six months apart. 2 Years, 8 Months

Hunters to Echoes - A few months, probably a slightly bigger space on this end of Hunters, but still not too long, in keeping with the aformentioned six-month gap. 3 Years.

Echoes to Corruption - Approximately a year, give or take, allowing for Urtraghus's near-complete seed conversion (unimpeded compared to Tallon IV) and creation of Urtraghan Pirate Phazon Cult, along with the other logistics groundwork laid for their massive attacks seen in the game. 4 Years.

Corruption to Federation Force - Merely a few months, as Samus would still have to have been recovering from her phazon corruption for the pirates to have feasibly captured her, and for the Federation to switch gears from their now-useless PED technology to Project Golem. (Meanwhile, I hold the headcanon that the Pirates are quite vast and decentralized compared to what the games claim/imply, thus the Urtraghan Phazon Cult was not representative of the entirety of the Pirates, and the Doomseye crew were a completely different branch who had been setting up seperately from the Urtraghans during the same time period, and were unaffected by their fall.) For rounding purposes, let's say that's four months, putting us at 4 Years, 4 Months.

Federation Force to Samus Returns - This space is the big unknown variable, especially given this is most likely where Prime 4 will fall, and we don't yet know whether it will ultimately be a one-off or start a brand new trilogy or what. But for now, assuming only Prime 4 goes in this space, I'll give it something like a round two years, with P4 happening closer to the back end of that, to lead fairly directly into Samus Returns with only a few months between them, with whatever incident occurs there finally spurring the Federation to order the Metroid extermination. But if they do wedge in even more games after Prime 4, I would stretch this section out to three or more years. But for now, 6 Years, 4 Months.

Samus Returns to Super - I detailed in another post that while I originally agreed with the general consensus that Super follows extremely closely off of SR, I have since changed my mind. Even though I have my issues with the forced inclusion of Proteus Ridley and the general tonal mishandling of Metroid II's ending, if we are to aknowledge that that event occurred, I feel like Super must make far more sense with some temporal distance between it and SR. Ergo, I posit that rather than them being a week apart at most as popular consenus goes, there must be a minimum of four months between them. Enough time for Ridley's attack to be written off as a fluke, and somewhere in that time Samus and the hatchling Metroid embarked on an adventure that convinced her it was unsafe at her side - either in too much danger, or too much of a danger to others, or both, thus prompting her to bring it to Ceres Station, kicking off the events of Super. So going with that conservative estimate of four months, that puts us at 6 Years, 8 Months.

Super to Fusion - (I am of course just not aknowledging Other M in this timeline. Fed Force is overhated IMO, but I don't have enough patience for OM.) Given that enough time must have passed between Samus Returns and Fusion for the Biologic Space Laboratories asteroid space station to have been set up around SR388 and brought into operation for the habitats to be filled, but the X parasite propogation on said planet only reached the station shortly before Fusion begins, I would guess about a year or so passed, with the bulk of that time being spent simply building the station before operations proper began only a month or two out from Fusion's opening. But that's relative to Samus Returns; relative to Super I would estimate that gap to be somewhere around eight months, bringing our total up to 7 Years, 4 Months.

Fusion to Dread - This is another kind of weird one given how Dread just has Samus working with the Federation again, even if presumably on rockier terms than before. There must have been at least a solid couple-month stretch of initially dealing with the fallout of Fusion, then things settle back into an uneasy status quo, before the transmission comes that sets off this newest adventure. At the same time, not too much of a long stretch, given Samus still has the Federation-loaned purple Gunship and her new/old AI friend. So another eight-month stretch there puts us at 8 Years.

If I say Samus is like, 24 in Zero Mission, (given it seems she was in her early 20s when she was with the Federation, and had already been a bounty hunter of good repute for a couple years as of ZM) then that puts her at roughly 32 (or 33 or 34 if I do stretch out the period between FF and SR) in Dread, which just feels right to me. These are of course all rounded to exact numbers, I imagine the actual stretches of time to be a bit more uneven, but still amounting to this overall length.

[piraticalwit]

i dunno, i’m always yelling about trauma on lucas (in different ways) and I don’t mention it as much on here simply because hook is a very much conceal, don’t feel type of dude .. but he sees concentrating on what happened to him as a weakness/sign of cowardice. I don’t mean the get even part of things, of course he wants to get even. But that’s because of a you took something from me vibe, not a I’m traumatized and only vengeance can help me move on. But anyways, hook really plays off a lot of what truly happened to him and i think a lot of people sort of clump it as ‘physical’ trauma but like .. bro. in any verse where he is a pirate (so like non modern aus etc i guess??), the dude had his dominant hand severed and his ship’s cook had to saw it the rest of the way off with a fairly dull blade that they kept in the ship kitchens that usually served for such things. that’s a lot of rum to try and get through that (unsuccessfully) and then at the end, they stop the bleeding by cauterizing it. the normal method while at sea was to use gunpowder. and i just. it’s a defying of the odds that he lived, let alone that he stayed a captain and became as competent of a fighter with his non dominant hand that he did.

so i know he comes across as playful sometimes, and very non threatening but that’s just his style of trying to get people to underestimate him. he’s actually quite capable. he’s tenacious as fuck and he will let nothing stand in his way of not being a coward and keeping his pride intact. 

[ltleflrt]

Figuring out I'm on the ace spectrum was so difficult because I have always been a horny bitch. I knew what sex was at a fairly young age, because I'd asked my mom and she's one of those good parents who'll answer questions like those, and as I grew older and would ask more complex questions, her answers would evolve along with my curiosity and understanding of the world. And I remember having fantasies as young as 9 or 10 years old, even if they were hella vague and nothing close to what sex actually is lol

So as I became a teenager, and all my friends' focus turned from playing with dolls to flirting with boys, I automatically thought I was attracted to boys. And I paid more attention to Cute Boys than I did to Cute Girls, because girls were just nice to look at while boys were People To Have Crushes On. Because of heteronormativity. Looking back on it now, I know there were girls I liked to stare at just as intently as boys, although less often because I wasn't trying to pay attention. And I certainly didn't fantasize about girls because I started reading romance novels in 5th grade, so I was fantasizing about male romantic partners because that was the fiction I was consuming. I didn't even realize fantasizing about girls was possible until I was 17, and I had a few "am I a lesbian" internal crises for years because of it.

So when I did start having sex, I had A LOT OF IT with SO MANY different guys, and eventually a couple of women once I started accepting that bisexuality was real. But it was never really fulfilling. Not like my fantasies were. Not like my books were. I was slutty because sex was fun, I was horny, there were plenty of options so I kept searching for that satisfaction I was craving.

Getting married was a relief (even though it turns out I'm aro-spec too lol) because I was tired of hunting, and even if sex with my husband was meh, at least I had someone around to scratch that itch if I had it, and he didn't mind if I occasionally took care of things on my own because I'd read an especially hot scene in a romance.

I learned about asexuality in my early 20s, but I brushed it off. Couldn't be me, I'm far too horny for that. But I think that comes from the fact that everything you hear about Aces is attached to sex-repulsion or sex-indifference. I wasn't either of those things. I was horny all the dang time. I was fantasizing about sex all the dang time. I figured actual sex was meh because my imagination was so vivid that real life could never match up. Which could be true to an extent, but I think not as much as popular opinion would have us believe. If fantasy was really that much better for everyone, then I think we'd have less incels and unplanned pregnancies than we do.

In my 30s I finally saw people talking about The Spectrum, and I started examining my past, and I figured out I wasn't really attracted to anyone I had sex with. I do occasionally find someone attractive; there are men and women and enbies who make my skin feel tight and give me a little wave of lightheadedness lol... but it's always always the fantasy that gets me really going. If given the opportunity I wouldn't have sex with any of those people. Thank you, but no thank you, I'd rather just imagine it than physically participate in the act with them.

(Ok I might go down on them, but that's less about wanting sex, and more about being able to add them to my Tally. Hell yeah I want to brag about making *insert hot person* have an orgasm. There's PRIDE in that kind of accomplishment lol)

I have a lot of respect for aces that are not horny. I understand it even if I don't share the sentiment. And I feel like most of them understand me even if they don't share the sentiment. There's a solidarity between us.

Until I go into a fandom tag for a character that the aces have glommed onto because they're canonically ace or headcanoned as ace. Good lord, the non-horny aces can turn into downright vicious bastards if a horny ace sexualizes their blorbo.

This post is for them.

Horny aces exist. Please look up "autochorissexual, lithosexual, and aegosexual."

Refer to those definitions in regards to romantic attraction as well as sexual attraction.

Some aces may not fall into one of those definitions, because asexuality is a spectrum, but they may still be horny.

Horny aces are not disrespecting you by enjoying being horny on main. We promise we'll wash the stickiness off our hands before we hold your hands in queer solidarity.

And most importantly: Your blorbo is fictional and does not need to be defended from icky sexuality. They exist in an infinite multiverse, so your blorbo and my blorbo are not the same, even if they appear to be on the surface.

AND:

This post is also for the people who are confused about themselves because they're horny but don't actually feel attraction. You're not crazy, you're not wishy washy, you're not "waiting for the right person to come along" (unless you are, in which case I hope you find them). You're just a thin strip of color on a massive rainbow that holds more unique shades than anyone can perceive at a glance.

You're valid. You're one of us too.

And don't be mean to the non-horny aces. Tag your smut so they can avoid it. (But actually so I can find it lol)

[hazbin-writings-and-musings]

Lucifer Morningstar x Pregnant!Reader Headcanons

As much as dear Lucy and reader enjoyed themselves in this headcanon post, I can't help but imagine such activities might lead to Charlie become a big sister, so I put some headcanons together for such a situation. I know that Sinners can't get pregnant as canon currently stands, so I typically employ either the Rules of Fanfic or I imagine reader is a living human that ended up in Hell through magic shenanigans (will elaborate with a prompt post once I've got the spoons), though of course you're free to imagine them as Hellborn or whatever suits your fancy!

Warnings: Pregnancy Mention, Implied Smut

- He's insistent you see the Royal Physician as soon as you start experiencing symptoms, but he's not at all prepared for the diagnosis you bring back, and he might need you to repeat it a few dozen times. You're pregnant? With a baby? And it's his? He put a baby in you? You're going to have his baby? An actual baby? He's going to be a dad again?! So goes the conversation for a good ten or so minutes, and suffice to say he's far from calm once the news finally does sink in. Given that the two of you had assumed that an angel and a mortal couldn't reproduce, this is more than an unexpected surprise, and Lucifer knows all too well how much of a fuss this will create from Hell's lowest ring all the way up to Heaven. That's to say nothing of how Charlie might take the news...

- Once the initial panic fades, after a solid hour or so, he gathers himself and focuses on setting a course of action. A very important decision needs to be made. He says it's up to you, but upon being asked what he'd like to do, the King of Hell surprises himself and answers without hesitation that he'd love to have this baby with you. He's surprised because he knows better than anyone that it will be challenging, but he can't deny how much he wants it regardless. Having Charlie was the greatest thing he'd ever done, and the thought of another little bundle makes his heart swell in ways he can barely describe, but ultimately he'll support whatever decision you make. Carrying a half-Archangel is no easy feat... Hearing that you want the same and intend to carry through is enough to make him lift you clear off the ground in a spinning airborne embrace, wings fluttering like a hummingbird as he breaks out into a celebratory musical number or two. He can't wait to be a dad all over again!

- If you thought he pampered you before, you were wrong. He doubles the amount of servants at your call, ensures there's always a physician available at a moment's notice, and hires a full team of chefs to cook whatever you might crave at any hour of the day. From beginning to end, he doesn't want you to want for anything, and the man knows a thing or two about spoiling, and he goes all out to ensure you're surrounded by comfort at all times. That's to say nothing of his own personal dedication to more or less worshiping your existence. Even the tiniest indication of pain or discomfort has him leaping to your assistance. Backrub? Footrub? Full body massage? You name it, he's quite happy to provide. If it wasn't such a cliche he'd be rather happy to feed you grapes from a golden platter. His efforts are borne from the deep sense of pride he feels every time he looks at you and thinks of how incredible it is that he's with you, that you're carrying his child, and that the two of you are bringing something quite wonderful and unique into existence. Said pride fully extends to the public view, where he doesn't hesitate to show you off and humbly brag to anyone that will listen about the news.

- You'll also find that as protective as he was before, he doesn't even hesitate to get his fangs out now, not that many in Hell are stupid enough to mess with the King's beloved. He expects you to be treated with the highest levels of respect, and if he can't accompany you somewhere, he'll insist on an armed escort to keep you safe. This fear isn't completely unfounded, as there are some willing to risk everything for an upper hand on Lucifer, but he's got ample experience keeping the opportunists at bay. He did the same when Lilith was expecting Charlie.

- Speaking of Charlie, the only thing that gives him any kind of hesitation is his fear that she might take the news poorly. Though she took your relationship well, what if she isn't thrilled about a younger sibling? With their relationship so recently repaired, he fears she might worry about being replaced or pushed aside, and he doesn't know how to reassure her that nothing will ever make him love her less. Thankfully, with her boundless kindness and eternally upbeat personality, the Princess of Hell puts his worries to rest as soon as she gets the news. In fact, she reacts much the same way her father did; a massive hug and a delighted musical number, albeit with far more happy sobbing. She promises through tears that she'll be the best big sister Hell has ever seen, and that she simply can't wait.

[sim0nril3y]

Meet the Family

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon has the joy of meeting your family and finding out why don't you see or talk about them all that much. This brings up some unwanted memories and feelings for him too. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), family drama, shouting, very small mention of Simon's childhood, family disapproval, family arguing, reader has family, reader has siblings, family names are established but no descriptions, canon-typical swearing.

It appeared that your phone was making more of a ruckus than usual later. It seemed to buzz and beep much more frequently, each time your eyes cast down to check it they narrowed, then rolled before you pushed the device far, far away from where you had to interact with it. Yet still it actively vied for your attention. “Everything okay, babe?” Simon quizzed, pulling the cork out of the wine he’d chosen and beginning to pour you a glass. “Fine.” You short answer replied, picking up the glass and taking a large gulp.

Taking a seat opposite Simon battled internally about whether to push this conversation anymore. He wondered, if the situation was reversed if you would have tried to get more information out of him. Bloody hell. You would. “I just couldn’t help but notice you seemed a little… upset by your phone.” Nodding his head in the direction of the device. “Is something up?”

For a moment you paused, mauling over the situation for a moment before letting out a low huff and answering. “My sister is having a ‘get-together’ for her anniversary…” You announced with a heavy amount of disdain in your voice. “We’ve been invited.” Of course, you’d mentioned your family before but until this point Simon had never met them and the opportunity had never been there. “Honestly, I’m surprised I’m invited Anna said it’ll just be close family…”

“Well, I guess you count as close family considering you’re her sister, love.” Simon pointed out and you let out a low huff again. “Who else is going to be there?” “My mum and dad. My little brother Peter. Obviously, my older sister Anna, her husband Barney and their son Hunter.” Simon couldn’t help but frown at that. It would be a lot of your family to meet at once. “And do you… want to go?”

Again, you didn’t have a response right away, eyes darting away before back towards him. “I… I don’t know…” Then shaking your head. “Anna is begging me to come, but I know that is only to get the heat off her because if I’m there then all my parent’s attention will fall to me and they will explain exactly where I’ve gone wrong with my life.” Simon couldn’t help but frown at that comment, he didn’t like the thought of your family speaking poorly of you. A heavy sigh escaped your mouth. “Would… you want to go?” The question came out tiny and vulnerable, like you might scare him off with that alone.

“They know about me?” Simon quizzed, he’d never met them and he’d never really pressed to do that, he was in love with you and that was all he needed in his life. “They do…” You replied evenly. “They don’t approve... It isn’t because of you.” You quickly add with wide eyes. “They don’t approve of anyone outside of the family. They hated any girl that Peter brought home and they tolerate Barney, but that is only because they gave them a grandchild to fawn over.” You explained before frowning. “Si, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to come…”

For a moment he mauled over his options, he could go and accept whatever snide comments and berating came from your family, or he could send you to the wolves and stay home like a coward. Simon Riley was not a coward. “Tell her we’ll be there.” He leaned over to clink his glass against her own.

It was a bit of a drive to Anna’s home she shared with her husband and their son, but that gave you plenty of time to fill in all the dirty details about your family. You had started with your older sister, she was seen as the golden child and your parents bragged about almost everything that she did, her perfect marriage, her perfect children, her perfect house and her perfect holiday home. You explained, Anna had gone to a top University to study finance, but during her gap year galivanting about the US she’d met Barney who’d promptly fallen in love with her and got her pregnant. This wouldn’t typically be too big of a problem, apart from the fact that Anna been engaged before setting off and in a desperate need to escape the monotony of her relationship and her perfect life she’d thrown it all away from another lad.

It was a blow to her parents that their perfect eldest daughter had this mishap, however the fact that Barney came from an incredibly wealthy family and owned his own tech company certainly helped ease him into the family. Then their grandson Hunter came into the picture and everything was a perfect ending from there.

On the other hand, there was your younger brother Peter who had barely scraped by in his school and your parents had to persuade Universities to accept him. He spent more times in clubs than in his classes. Your parents saw him as a typical boy, causing some trouble and chasing the ladies. Boys will be boys; they’d excused with a hearty laugh as Peter would be trotted to the cells for indecent exposer or public indecency. Still even after all the trouble he’d caused Peter was still the apple of their eyes, your mother fawned over him and your father tried moulding him into his protégé.

Then there was you. With a sister that was perfect and a brother that they dotted on that left very little time or energy for you. It seemed like you just slipped through the cracks. Even when they did have time spare for you every decision, you’d made they hadn’t approved. In their eyes, you were simply the wild little fuck-up. It pained and riled Simon that anyone thought of you as anything but perfect and good and kind.

Once they arrived at your sisters’ home Simon was surprised to find that it was an expensive looking townhouse that had been renovated to have some modern features. This strangle matched the dreamhouse that you’d muttered to him one night in your post-sex chatter, it made Simon wonder who had desired the house first, maybe it was you and Anna had simply stolen that dream to taunt you. Approached the modern frosted glass door, it opened and out stepped an older woman with a disguised smile on her face, dressed in a smart, conservative dress with sharp kitten heels. Your hand squeezed his own as you approached, announcing nicely. “Mum…” Ah, your mother, Cynthia…

“Hello darling.” Her voice was soft but hiding something, like a sickly sweet venom that was encasing you both. You had mentioned that she was high strung and highly critical, that remained to be seen. If there was one thing that Cynthia enjoyed in life it was gossiping, followed by bragging about her family, or at least some of her family members, certainly not you, you’d joked to Simon but there was a pained reality to that snide remark. “Look at you, that is certainly an interesting dress…” She observed, cupping your face then. “You look very tired, are you sleeping well?” The snide remarks had already begun, Simon observed.

You complained lowly. “Mum…” Then looked towards Simon, eyes pleading for some form of help or safety or escape but only found his own dark set that matched your own fear. “This is-” Cynthia cut you off and turned her viper grin towards at him, those dangerous eyes scanned him and searched for any little weakness or vulnerability. “This must be Simon.” Cynthia let out an almost cynical laugh. “Now, I must ask your sister to set another place, we weren’t sure that you were real…” It was another little dig that made you wince.

Cynthia then allowed the two of you to follow her further into the house, a lounge area stood before them and three men lingered inside of it. An older man sat on the sofa, drink in hand and head drooping, another around Simon’s age stood behind a small make-shift bar, cleaning glasses and straightening bottles of the labels faced out and proud and then across the room a younger man was texting on his phone. “Simon, make yourself comfortable with the men. That is my husband, Harold. This is my son-in-law, Barney.” Cynthia even gifted him a snide smile, the same she had done to Simon, they were outsiders after all, not as important as blood, simply there to give her grandchildren. “And that is my son Peter~”

Turning to you and lowering her voice, Cynthia said. “Darling, don’t worry that you didn’t bring a present, your sister understands that you don’t make a lot of money-” “N-no, I just left it at home.” You attempted to explain but your mother just chortled lowly and squeezed your shoulder. “Oh, I’m sure… just like how Peter ate all your Christmas chocolate when you were 10, hmm?” Then she poked your tummy in jest. “But I think we all know where it went.”

Simon forced himself to grit his teeth, looking between and watching you purse your lips, accepting the vicious attack with a tight smile and glossy eyes. “Now, don’t make that face~” Cynthia smirked directly at you, as if knowing she was pushing your buttons. “Come, your sister will want some help in the kitchen, I’m sure you’ll survive being apart from your boyfriend for five minutes, hmm?” Then looking towards Simon and asking. “You won’t mind if I borrow her, will you?”

More than anything he wanted to deny her, snatch you up into his side and away from anymore of her cruel remarks, but her claw-like hands were already circling you and tugging you from the room before he had a chance. The next moment, a presence walked up behind him and Simon turned to see a very happy looking man stood there. “Hey man…” A thick American accent rolled from him. “My name is Barney, you must be Simon, right?” He was quick to shake his hand and comment. “Quite the grip there, you play golf?”

Shaking his head Simon followed him back to where he’d been lingering (or probably hiding) behind his bar. “Do you drink, man? What’s your poison?” Barney asked enthusiastically, very proudly gesturing to the array of bottles that were placed behind the bar, squeaky clean but hardly used. “Whiskey. Neat.” Then leaning against the bar and waiting for it to be made. Another approached, this time your brother, tucking his phone away into his pocket as he sidled up beside him, elbows resting on the bar too, matching him stance for stance. “Simon, right? The latest addition to our fucked up little family.” Peter commented, his tone just as snide as his mother’s – the apple didn’t fall far, he supposed. “I’m sure my sister told you all about me…”

“She mentioned a few things…” Simon answered evenly, reaching out to take the offered drink from Barney, drinking it down a little too quickly to appear casual. Bloody hell, he’d been on battlefields and felt less anxious. “Well, I’ve got a few stories about my sister that I’m sure you’ll want to hear too~” The young lad began before Simon glanced in his direction, testing and bothered by his presence.

Sensing the impending tension Barney let out a hearty chuckle and said. “Maybe another time, huh?” Then giving Peter a pointed look. “Simon… what do you do for a job?” He asked in a friendly enough way, this seemed to catch the attention of Harold who actually glanced in his direction, quietly accessing and judging, it felt like you were the only normal one to actually come out of this family. “I’m in the special forces.” Simon explained, keeping his answers short and sweet, not allowing too many details to slip out, it wouldn’t be professional. They all had different reactions to this little piece of information. Peter quirked a brow whilst Barney grinned and nodded. “That’s tight. Respect, man.”

“A solider…” Peter muttered. “Lieutenant, actually.” Simon corrected in a sharp tone. There wasn’t many things in life he was proud about but you and his career were among the only few.

Again, your brother seemed to stir from beside him. “So…” Looking at him, wanting to judge Simon’s reaction. “How many people you killed?” The question was so crass that it actually made Barney gasp before letting out a nervous laugh and saying. “Pete, I’m not sure you can ask questions like that, man…” Then another laugh before giving his brother-in-law a soft punch on the shoulder, followed by a pointed look, don’t push.

There was this clear power struggle that Peter was trying to win. This happened often with rich boys like your brother, they saw Simon as a threat because he was physically much more impending than them, feeling even worse when they discovered that Simon wasn’t as dumb as they thought he looked.

“Not something that I keep count of…” Simon answered keeping his face straight, remaining unbothered. It was a good answer, it was formal and dignified, not to mention filled with some honesty. It wasn’t like Simon could even keep count anymore, even if he had wanted to. Peter seemed unimpressed with that answer and simply huffed before saying. “Bet you could think of at least five different ways to kill me in here, right?” Again, this spiked the interest of Harold, glancing in their direction.

Another challenge. Another prod. Another opportunity to attempt to make Simon look unhinged. Attempting to break the tension Barney laughed awkwardly. “This joker-” “I could think at least ten.” Simon retorted, dark eyes watching Peter to see that smugness falter for just a moment as true fear sank in. From across the room for just a split second Harold smirked then it washed away as he finished his fifth drink of the night.

The room was thick with an air of tension as you stepped inside looking completely flustered. “It’s uh… it’s time for dinner.” You informed them, frowning as you tried to access the atmosphere, approaching Simon to rest a delicate hand on his forearm, wrapping yourself around the limb. The room cleared out as Barney escorted his in-laws to his dinning room. Gazing up at Simon, you asked. “You alright?”

Simon’s eyes seemed to focus on where Peter had been escorted from the room, watching that area on alert for a few moments before his gaze flittered back in your direction. “Told your brother I could think of ten ways to kill him in this room alone…”

You blinked. Slow and calculating. Attempting to understand the words that Simon had just rushed in your direction. “Excuse me?” You muttered, staring up into his eyes in confusion. “Why… why would you say-” “He was pushing me.” There was an edge of frustration to his tone. You brother had gotten under Simon’s skin a lot more than he was willing to admit aloud. Reaching up you cupped his face and looked into his eyes with such care and sincerity, it really did pain you to witness your family treating him in a way that left him so anxious and wound up. “I believe you.” You whispered. “I believe you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. My fucking family… It’s my family, they make it their mission to push and prod and make your life misery. I’m sorry-”

A short huff came from Simon, leaning in to kiss your forehead gently and replying. “You don’t ever apologies for any of them.” He told you, voice firm and sure. There was no part of this that was your fault. You were born into a family of cynical fakers, wanting to make everyone else’s lives as miserable as their own. He hadn’t even been around them for an hour yet, but Simon could see that you were the only good thing to come from your family. He could force himself to survive the rest of the dinner party for you… but when this was over, he never wanted to see these people again.

“Come on, now…” Your mothers voice entered the lounge and she lingered in the doorway, big fake smile on her lips and glass of wine in hand. “You were late to the party and now you’ll be late for dinner too…” Cynthia chortled, clearly still holding that grudge. “I swear, my darling girl would be late to her own funeral too…” The comment was made as she swayed down the hallway towards the dining room, Simon simply grit his teeth and continued to bite his tongue. A few more hours, he reminded himself constantly.

The dinner that was severed was nice enough. Honestly, the only cooking that you actually enjoyed nowadays was anything that Simon served up for you and it was something he was more than happy to take care of for you. It was mundane and simple and peaceful, just for some time he could force his noisy brain to shut off, it simply wasn’t warfare.

You sat beside him, food pushing around your plate, probably each little biting comment from your mother stripped away any hunger from you. Cynthia had persuaded your siblings to list all their recent achievements to you, which they seemed all too happy to do. Maybe they knew that if all that vitriol that poured from your mother was aimed at you, then they’d continue to escape it… or maybe they enjoyed it because they were just as cruel as she was.

“Are you enjoying the food?” Cynthia quirked a soft brow at Simon, it was a strange observation but Simon noted that your mother wore a face so similar to your own, maybe more than the rest of your siblings but not even one of your expressions matched. There was so much pure and true joy and easiness in your smile, but each time your mother did the same it seemed like it might crack her face into tiny pieces. “I’m sure you aren’t used to a good homecooked meal, hmm?” Then laughing lowly. “Especially with this one’s cooking…” Pointing a fork in your direction.

“It’s fine.” Simon responded evenly, clearly not to exaggerated praise that your mother had been expecting, simply narrowing her eyes and taking back another gulp of wine. “I like to cook for us…” His hand then rests on your knee beneath the table, reminding you that you weren’t alone facing your horrid family, but that Simon had your back. “Between the two of us, I have more time to cook, anyway.” Then he shrugged, gazing in your direction and seeing your desperation to find safety and warmth within him. “With all the hours that she works and then the time she spends on her art, I like to keep her fed…” Too afraid to continue aloud, Simon thought, keep her warm, provided for her, keep her happy, keep her satisfied. Just… keep her.

A deep scoff came from Cynthia then, another big glug of wine until her glass was empty. It seemed that Simon had given Peter the opportunity to speak then, smirking from across the table. “Speaking of work…” Those dangerous eyes loomed as you sat a little straighter in your chair. “Heard from a friend that you missed that interview dad set up…” The comment was thrown out there so casually but you were left reeling as you knew the chaos that simple comment would cause. Besides, how did he even know that? There wasn’t a chance in the world that Peter had friends to be able to tell him that information, so what? Was he following you? Keeping tabs on you? Before you even had the chance to interrogate him Cynthia spoke first.

“No, no…” Placing down the wine bottle onto the table with a heavy thud, eyes fixed on you. “Please tell me that isn’t true.” Raising her brows, as if waiting for you to deny Peter’s allegations but you remained sheepishly quiet. “You lied to me.” There was a fiery rage in her eyes now and you knew that you were in for it. “You told me that you went. I can’t believe you would lie to your own mother…” Your mouth opened then, as if to defend yourself but Cynthia was much too quick to continue her tirade. “We have spoken about this again and again… I made it clear it is time to give up on this silly little fantasy that you’ve been holding onto. It is time to grow up and join the real world. You need to be more like your brother and your sister…” Gesturing wildly to them as Anna sat almost ashamed with her gaze down to her lap and Peter sat there with a smarmy smile the instigator of this.

Again, you opened your mouth, but her hand came up sharp in your direction. “Do you know the strings your father had to pull to organise that interview?” Then gesturing towards Harold who seemed completely unphased, cutting his steak into another bitesize piece whilst his wife continued to berate their daughter before the audience. “You are such an ungrateful brat and you always have been. When will you understand? You have absolutely zero desirable qualities so finding a decent job will be very difficult for you… who in their right mind is going to want to hire someone like you, hmm?”

Everyone apart from Cynthia and Peter appeared mortified, Anna looked to you with horror on her face and then Barney spoke, careful smile on his face. “She still had plenty of time to figure out what she wants to do, right? Anna took a gap year during college… Pete did the same… So, she isn’t going abroad or whatever, instead she’s trying to… to… figure out if she can follow her passion, I think it’s-” “Be quiet.” Cynthia growled at him then, teeth grit. “Don’t talk such nonsense… Peter and Anna were working hard at college and needed a break to find themselves and after returned to college and get their degrees. What does she have? Nothing. I couldn’t even convince her to apply to any colleges… She is a lazy, stubborn, silly little girl and you are chasing a hopeless dream-” “Enough.”

Every set of eyes then turned to look at Simon who sat with a furious look present on his face. At the beginning of the evening, he could maybe accept those biting little comments, he could certainly accept the way that Peter had provoked him, Simon could even accept the way that your mother had sat there bragging about your siblings but he wasn’t going to allow her to utterly humiliate you like this. “You don’t fuckin’ talk to her that way.” Carefully from beside him, you muttered his name, a soft plead to try and calm the fight that seemed inevitable now. “No.” He told you firmly, quietly, gazing down at you with a set jaw and narrowed eyes. “I won’t just sit there and let her fuckin’ talk to you like this… I wont… I can’t…”

It wasn’t like Simon had grown up in a good household. It was clearly different from your own. Simon had witnessed his father completely decimate any good in his family and he was too young and too small and too scared to stop him or do anything. This is why he is the man he is today; he wouldn’t allow that again and seeing your family ripping you to shreds, tearing apart any good and hope and light inside of you was too much for him. Not you. Never you.

“Simon, please. You simply don’t understand...” Cynthia began. “My daughter lives in this word of make believe where she thinks she is going to become and artists and be able to make money and buy big houses like her sister. It’s just ridiculous. I’ve tried getting through to her, but-” “Your daughter is a fuckin’ adult.” Simon growled then, leaning into the table slightly so he could talk across at her. “She doesn’t need you to find her a job and she doesn’t need you to approve the choices that she makes in her life.” Simon growled, feeling this need to protect you and keep you safe, that very same one that had grown for his mother in his childhood. Different, but… the same. “Your daughter… your daughter is fuckin’ amazing. There isn’t a thing about her that needs to change. She’s intelligent and she’s soft and kind and she’s really fuckin’ talented and I wonder how all of that managed to happen when she grew up around you cunts-” The entire table seemed to gasp in unison.

There seemed to be this stunned silence before everyone erupted, Peter almost fell off his chair laughing, whilst baby Hunter wailed from the commotion. Cynthia stood stark upright, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Unacceptable! Disgusting! Unacceptable! He’s an animal! He’s feral!” Stalk through the house on a tirade of insults aimed in his direction with her husband trailing behind her. Anna was trying to hopelessly clean a puddle of wine from where it had teetered over onto the table. “It’s fucking vintage!” There were real tears in her eyes, much to Simon’s surprise.

Just then Barney stood up, bouncing his son in his arms and looking between you and Simon. “I think… I think it would be best if you guys left.” There was sorrow in his eyes as he suggested it, not wanting to be unkind but just not wanting anymore drama. It was probably for the best even if Simon did have a few more choice words for them.

The entire car ride home you were unusually quiet beside him. He was actually a little lost on how to handle this situation. There weren’t a part of him that was sorry for what he’d said to your family, or more specifically your mother. Simon just couldn’t handle the fact that she could talk to you in such a vile way. There was only so much that Simon was willing to take and he’d lost it. Fuck, had he scared you? Were you mad at him? Were you sad for causing a rift in your family? Had he even caused a rift? Clearly, they hadn’t thought very much of you before he’d been there…

A small sniffle from beside him caught his attention, glancing in your direction and under the glow of the streetlamps Simon saw your face wet with tears. Without hesitation Simon signalled and pulled his truck onto an empty road, clambering from the driver’s seat and around to yank open your door. A moment later his arms were around you, hand supporting the back of your head burying your face into the crook of his shoulder. “You’re alright. Shh. You’re alright, babe.”

After a few moments of allowing, you to just sob into his shoulder, your voice muffled against his shirt. “Don’t ca-care what they s-say about me-” “Well, I do.” There was a thick edge to his voice, pulling back to cup your face and looking for any sign of fight towards your family but you seemed defeated, you seemed emotionally drained. Where was that witty girl that had corned him on a night out? Where was the one that had to almost twist his arm to open up? Where was that fight for her own pretty self? “I care about what they say about you because they are dead fuckin’ wrong, babe. No one deserved to be talked to like that. I won’t allow it.”

There was something deeper simmering here behind all this. There was something that Simon didn’t want to confess or discuss. The berating. The belittling. The treatment of less than… This was something that Simon wouldn’t allow for you because he had experienced it and much worse. “You don’t deserve it.” It was like Simon was talking to all the people in his life that hadn’t deserved the fate they were given. You. Him. His mum. His brother. His friends he’d lost. The soldiers that had died in his arms. “Okay?” “Okay.”

Masterlist | Ask | 04-02-2024

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

You know that feeling when you want to make a good impression and eveything you do feels low-key humiliating

Or when you're just perpetually mortified about every word that leaves your mouth by default regardless of what's happening or who you're talking to like I am—

ANYWAY HERE'S SOME HEADCANONS ABOUT THE BOYS BEING EMBARASSED OR SOMETHING—

Oooh Nooooo

Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy x Reader

Needless pointless fluff with the tiniest bit of hurt-comfort or something

Live-action or anime/manga canon, either or both

I don't think there are any TWs?

Sorry for wasting all of our time with this silliness

Anyway here's some Nu.

Zoro

He just pushes himself much too hard sometimes.

Sitting down and "taking a nap" after training, when he's clearly well beyond his limit.

Or rather "passing out from utter exhaustion with his swords unsheathed across his lap."

It could have ended a lot worse than a rogue wave washing across the deck and a gash on his arm.

Grumbling about how he's fine and doesn't need any help the whole time you're wrapping bandages around his arm and chiding him.

Going silent and tense for a moment when you wrap him in a tight hug and softly ask him to be more careful.

No, he's not blushing, he's never blushed in his entire life, shut up

Hugging you back? What are you talking about?

Gives a little growl of annoyance, refusing to let you go for longer than he's willing to admit, and will probably say it was for your benefit if anyone asks.

Sanji

The old *whoops* with the pepper shaker.

It had already been a long day, he was just trying to wind down in the kitchen.

Trying to season a very simple, very straightforward sauce.

And the entire lid falls off of the pepper shaker, and into the pot, along with a massive pile of ground black pepper.

And he just lets out a groan of defeat, dropping to his knees and letting his forehead fall against the edge of the stove with a weak little thunk.

But no no no, you're already hurrying over to help scoop out the excess pepper, reassuring him that it'll definitely be fine.

Your rush to assist him is enough to make him smile in itself, to let out a small affectionate chuckle as he watches you grimace at the taste the ruined sauce, before you meet his eye and try to fake a smile.

Decides to repurpose the sauce in question, to get back at the idiots that loosened the pepper shaker lid in the first place.

The two of you are left snickering to yourselves while the rest of the crew fights over the nearest jug of fresh water after tasting it themselves.

Shanks

Man could probably drop a knife and sever three of his toes and still manage to laugh it off, what is "embarrassment...?"

Well, it's a little more subtle.

It's having to relearn how to use both a sword and a pen after losing half of his dominant arm.

It's laughing off how his handwriting looks like a child's now.

It's getting mildly annoyed at trying to button a shirt one-handed and simply tucking it into his belt instead.

It's refusing help with simple tasks that could be made far simpler if the stubborn idiot would just let you help already—

It's hearing him chuckle and agree when you call him a stubborn idiot for refusing any help, settling his hand in your hair and pulling you close.

The whole process is embarrassing in itself, but he's got you, and he's got his crew, and that makes it all so much easier.

Mihawk

What on earth could he possibly have to be embarrassed about?

World's Greatest Swordsman, one of the seven Warlords, with a sense of wit as devastating as his blade.

And yet, despite all his efforts to hide it, he's just a big softie.

As if it wasn't already evident from how he allowed Zoro to live after challenging him and subsequently trained him, with the convenient excuse of wanting a worthy rival.

He's going to glare at you with a sharpness that could slice clean through diamond if you suggest out loud that he did any of it out of kindness, much less fondness.

But he's also going to sigh in an irritable sort of defeat when you kiss his cheek and compliment him for finding such a perfect balance between mercy and murder.

And mumble just as irritably about how you're lucky he finds you endearing enough to keep around, begrudgingly proving your point without even realizing it.

Buggy

Lives in a perpetual state of embarrassment that he tries to mask with haughtiness and aggression.

It mostly revolves around the elephant in the room.

The very red, very round elephant in the room, attached to the very center of his face.

The one he might just slaughter anyone for mentioning in front of him.

Who nose what that could possibly be *wink-wink*nudge-nudge**stupidest-pun*

But the second you plant a kiss there and say how cute it is, in a way that makes it clear you're not condescending or taunting him about it, he's too busy blushing and sputtering over his words to remember what he was supposed to be angry about in the first place.

[sagaduwyrm]

DCxDP Idea: Ra's Al Ghul is a Rat-Ass Bastard

Since Damian was a test tube baby, why did Talia have to know about him? Couldn’t Ra’s create an infant on his own?

Danyal was born like this some years before Damian was, even before Talia had the idea to have a kid with Bruce. He was raised by Ra’s to be a weapon, rather than an heir, and was eventually sent to investigate the Fenton's research into what Ra’s suspected to be the source of the Lazarus Pits. Their research was minimal at the time, and Ra’s was getting annoyed with Danyal’s lack of progress (read: problems with authority and strong moral code (I headcanon Danny as morally gray in the way of most supernatural beings, but that’s still more moral than Ra’s)), so it became a long term infiltration mission.

This eventually led to the events of DP Canon, and Ra’s began supporting the GIW as a way to get that research on the Infinite Realms he wanted and as an attempt to control his wayward grandson. Unfortunately for him, Danny has grown into himself away from his grandfather, and he has friends who are ready to throw down with his asshole ancestor, both ghost and human.

This connects to how the batfam finds out. They’re keeping track of Ra’s and began investigating the GIW after he failed to hide his tracks. They find a horrific series of sapient rights violations against a race of supernatural/interdimensional spirits. The Justice League didn’t know, and occasionally even accidentally helped the GIW. The only force holding the GIW back is a small group of ghosts and human mages that are waging war against them and Ra’s, even going so far as to drain the Lazarus Pits.

Danny Phantom, one of the leaders of this group, looks nothing like Damian, in the way that siblings can look nothing like each other once you’re familiar with them. But he does look eerily reminiscent of both Talia and Bruce, and Ra’s had been acting weird about this whole thing…

Danny could know about the batfam and Talia or not. I think he would know about them at least vaguely, just for security reasons, but I also think Ra’s would have made them out to be people Danny can’t reach out to. He would definitely make it seem like Talia and Damian knew about him so that Danny would think they're on Ra's' side.

This is even an opportunity for Good Mom!Talia, for her to try to do better with Danny than she did with Damian, for her to finally break free of her father, and maybe even repair her relationship with her younger son.

[fangsandfeels]

The vagueness of Astarion sleeping mechanics drives me mad sometimes

So, the game says that elves don't sleep - to the point where it's ironically stated that the only way for them to experience sleeping is to either drink a potion of Angelic Slumber or "get hit really hard with a chair".

Instead, they enter a semi-aware meditative state (Revery) where they experience memories from their past lives (usually most positive and emotional parts). Or they just sorting through their current memories.

Now, we've seen Astarion meditating if his way of lying on a bedroll is anything to go by. He is also immune to sleeping spells. We could also see him sleeping (in a Durge run). I know that devs technically recycle the same sleeping pose for all romanced companions, but still. Also, Astarion has nightmares, which is not typical for elves.

Of course, when I was going through the lore, I scratched the surface, but from what I understood, Revery is supposed to be a controlled state, and nightmares aren't exactly controlled.

But, I've found a very interesting bit that (so far) is still considered part of the official canon:

Elves can sleep and dream just like any human, but almost all surface elves avoid doing so. Dreams, as humans know them, are strange and confusing to elves. Unlike the actual memories of one’s primal soul, present life, or past lives, dreams are uncontrolled products of the subconscious, and perhaps the subconscious minds of those past lives or primal souls as well. An elf who dreams must always wonder whose mind these thoughts first arose from, and why. Priests of Sehanine Moonbow are an exception: they sleep and dream to receive signs from their god, and elves consult such priests to interpret their own dreams."

From: Mordenkainrn's Tome Of Foes, Chapter 2: Elves

And not only does this little bit explain a lot, but it also provides some food for your fic writing purposes.

Now, I'm entering the headcanon territory, so be warned.

Astarion's access to Revery got horribly fucked up after he had been Turned. Not only does he no longer have access to his previous lives since he is technically dead and plucked from the cycle, but he also can't even have his happy or good memories before he became a spawn. Even if they are still there, somewhere in the memory palace, getting to them requires going through the catalog of traumatic and painful memories he acquired after being enslaved by Cazador. It's like running through a burning house trying to rescue your family photo - and the hall gets longer each time. So, entering a trance means confronting the worst memories of his life over and over because there is nothing else there.

Due to this Astarion may resort to sleeping, which elves don't usually do. Elves don't like dreams because dreams are subconscious, and they can't be controlled, which scares them. For Astarion, however, it means there is a chance of him subconsciously dreaming of something nice or just being blissfully empty. However, it doesn't safeguard him from nightmares which (because they are the product of his unconsciousness) get even more twisted than simple memories.

Additionally, there can be a possibility that after becoming a spawn he got cut off from meditation and trances completely, relying on sleeping only: at least, the cut spawn epilogue by Withers mentions how while Astarion needs to sleep again, he doesn't sleep alone. While we don't know what that means exactly (and whether it will ever be implemented in the game), I assume that the tadpole gave him the ability to meditate back, but it was a small improvement because his memory headspace no longer holds happy memories capable of offering solace or refuge.

So, my personal headcanon is that he switches between meditating and sleeping depending on how aware he needs to be, and whatever option feels less torturous at the moment.

For instance, in his Origin run, when he remembers the moment of Cazador carving scars into him, he is in a trance. Which is why the memory is so horribly vivid, as if he is reliving it anew.

However, when he has a nightmare where Cazador finds him, he is sleeping and experiencing a memory affected by his subconsciousness. Which is why he jolts himself awake and desperate to know the limits of his freedom.

So, yes, the man literally can't catch a break.

On a happier note (and for your hurt/comfort fanfiction purposes), once Astarion starts traveling with Tav and the group, his memory bank gets updated with memories that are actually fun and nice, so he has something to linger upon when he is meditating. Sleeping gradually becomes a bit more pleasant experience because his subconsciousness got more material to work with, so the quality of his non-controlled dreams has to gradually improve.

[obssessivethorn]

More Yuu Headcanons

Here are some more TWST headcanons of our favorite little shrimpy prefect that I pulled from the depths of my mind which needed to be freed. This mainly builds off of my first Yuu hc, so take a look at that if you'd like!

[Yuu Makes Constant References No One Else Gets]

[Masterlist]

Yuu humming/singing Two of Hearts if they’re in a relationship w/ Ace or just hanging out with him as a friend

Yuu refers to the cast as handsome as a casual fact and is surprised when most of them are confused/surprised/flustered by this 

“What? The guys in this school are handsome. That’s kinda just a fact.” 

Yuu being nostalgic on their Birthday 

Deuce: “I bet your family’s celebrating your birthday even if you’re not there.”

Yuu: (hopeful) “yeah. Or, who knows, this could be a whole Narnia situation and no time has passed there at all.”

Ace: “Narnia?”

Yuu: (somber) “oh, just some popular story back home. Maybe I’ll tell you guys some time.”

Ace and Deuce always wanting to hear about stories from Yuu’s home world but being too scared that it will make them sad 

Fem!Yuu being really excited to meet Deuce’s mom because they’ve been surrounded by  only guys at an all boys school for months 

Bonus: Dylla absolutely adores fem!Yuu and is more than willing to help fashion some more feminine clothing for Yuu if they ever wanted.

Bonus +1: fem!Yuu wanting to meet the cast’s moms and sisters whenever the boys mention them.

Bonus +2: All the boys’ families just accepting Yuu as their child regardless of whether they’ve met or not simply because of how often the boys talk about them 

Yuu getting really giddy and excited when they’re able to travel to a new place in twisted wonderland other than Sage’s Island (i.e. cast’s hometowns, etc.)

Yuu asking Crewel for help whenever/if they want to dye their hair 

Based on a voiceline, Crewel canonically bleaches half his hair white and maintains that to keep with his style (the dedication of that man is inspiring)

The moment Yuu realizes they’ve fallen too far down the rabbit hole and are now attached to everyone in twisted wonderland, meaning their leaving will hurt more and more with each passing day. 

The feeling of being incredibly torn between their previous life they were forced to abandon, years of work they had put in to reach the goals they wanted to accomplish, and the new friends, experiences, and opportunities before them in this new world. So they push the feeling down further with each day. Force themself to ignore the inevitable. 

They don’t want to think about the idea of who will take care of Grim when they’re gone? Or how Ace will get his assignments done if they’re not there to force him to do it. Or or who will calm deuce down enough before he gets into a fight and ruins his goal of being a perfect honor student? 

Who will be there if someone else overblots?

This one I kinda stole from Private Thoughts of a Moray Eel by @mochinomnoms, but I love the idea of Yuu, Ace, and Deuce being so close and completely comfortable with each other. I mean, they’ve gone through literal life or death situations together from the start, so it makes sense that they would be closer than most. 

But not just the closeness we see in game with them being a main friend group who always hangs out. But close physically, in the sense that there are few boundaries left between the three. 

For a few examples, I like the idea that the three will commonly be seen cuddling together or leaning on one another when they’re lounging in the courtyard or around Heartslabyul/Ramshackle. 

Ace often times has his arm around the shoulders of Yuu or Deuce. Sometimes leaning in to whisper something stupid or gossipy in their ear. 

Yuu has taken to giving the Adeuce duo kisses on their foreheads and cheeks as thanks or as a goodbye when they head back to Ramshackle with Grim. 

Deuce grew a habit of holding Yuu or Ace’s hand when he gets ticked off by some oaf he wants to punch. The two will respond by giving his hand a squeeze or rubbing a comforting thumb across the back of his hand. It’s a silent thing, no one outright acknowledges it, because it’s become such a common practice for the three. 

Another habit Deuce has developed is that he’ll face-plant directly into the lap of whoever is sitting down after a long day. The first time he did it, it was Yuu’s lap and it spooked them so much they accidentally threw their phone at Ace’s face. Deuce felt horrible after that, but after some reassurance, he started doing it more often. Albet, making sure the landing was softer than the first time. 

In response to Deuce planting his face on their thighs, Ace and Yuu both took to immediately playing with his hair and massaging his scalp with their free hand. 

Yuu’s way of asking for comfort when they're stressed or scared (which they will always refuse to admit, they swear, they just need them as a human shield! It’s just for defense!) is by hugging one of the two around their torso and ducking their head into the crook of their neck to hide their face. Most times, the hug from the back so whoever they’re hugging can’t see what they’re feeling. But they of course still love hugging from the front because the two will always respond by immediately wrapping their arms around Yuu and rubbing their back. 

Because of this slightly abnormal friendship, (I failed to describe the abnormal part here but I can always write more) there have of course been some rumors started about them being in a romantic relationship. Are they polygamous? Are Ace and Deuce fighting over Yuu in an epic and dramatic love triangle? Is Yuu playing both of the boys? Are there hidden feelings between the three they all refuse to talk about? 

While most of the school and some of their friends wonder this, the trio completely ignores it. As if the rumors don’t exist at all. When asked about their relationship or if anything being said is true, all three of them look at each other, shrug, and say completely different things. 

Jack: So, are you guys in a relationship?  Epel: Yeah, you’re all awfully close for just friends.  Sebek: Please, the details of their relationship have nothing to do with us! But if you three are romantically involved in a relationship with each other then I will support you entirely as long as it does not affect my lord.  Ortho: Well, let’s hear them out first, are you three dating each other?  Ace, Deuce, and Yuu: *tangled in a cuddle pile on Ramshackle’s couch with Grim asleep on the arm of the couch next to them* [simultaneously] Ace: Maybe. Deuce: No? why? Yuu: Only on Tuesdays. 

The main part taken from Private Thoughts of a Moray Eel is the idea where Ace and Yuu visit Deuce’s home one summer and Deuce’s mom Dylla immediately believes the three are an adorable couple. 

Regardless of whether they are, aren’t, or are secretly pining, Dylla would decide in that moment that she had two new children she would die for. (Whether through adoption or as an in-law, should secretly hopes she can have Yuu as her child) 

AdeuceYuu is probably my favorite ship in all of Twst but this concept of them being physically affectionate and comfortable with each other transcends simply being a romantic headcanon and something I personally believe to be true as platonic and any other relationship dynamic you can imagine. Because let’s be honest, all three of them need comfort from others after going through so many overblots. And who better to comfort you than the ones who stood beside you through most of those experiences.  

Yuu being seen by the cast as a very passive and soft-spoken individual who couldn’t hurt a fly even if they tried. Only, the projected image of the protag they’ve come to accept is shattered when they witness Yuu tearing a random student a new one after said student had pushed them over the edge after a very stressful day. (Separate HC post for that concept coming soon) 

Yuu, who stood against beasts, overblots, and literal titans and gods, being too scared to ask for extra ketchup in Mostro Lounge. 

Additionally, Yuu who lives with a direbeast, being afraid of squirrels (don’t ask me why, this just feels correct, so we’re going with it)

The first idea that got me to start writing twst headcanons: Yuu having a very different way of speaking in Twisted Wonderland than they do back home. Because many of the references and slang they typically use in everyday speech doesn’t make sense to anyone but them in TW, they talk less and have a very plain way of speaking compared to most people their age. Here’s how I imagine this specific scenario goes:

When hanging out with Adeuce and Grim one day, Ace brings up (jokingly) how boring the prefect sounds when speaking. 

Yuu makes a comment about how they speak very differently from how they do back home.

This piques Ace and Deuce’s interest. 

While Deuce is more reluctant to ask, Ace begins asking questions and hounding Yuu for examples and for them to say things in ways they normally would. Deuce and Grim eventually join in on the barrage of questions. 

Finally, and a little hesitantly, Yuu decided to give them one day where they talk in the way they normally would back home. 

In this case, that means a lot of references, stupid internet jokes, and generational slang.

While the majority of it goes over the heads of Yuu’s friends, prompting more questions than it does answer, it’s still a day in which they see a whole new side of Yuu. One that’s evidently more relaxed and natural for the beloved prefect. 

It’s a confusing day for most, listening to Yuu speak as if they’ve lost their mind and started spewing nonsense, but it also became one of the highlights of the school year for the cast.

I have plenty more headcanons i can rip from the crevices of my mind, so if you would like to see more let me know! I love thinking of these silly little moments and dynamics and overall making the main character feel a little more real and personal for myself and hopefully others.

@thisisafish123 (you asked to be tagged for a part 2, not exactly sure if this counts for you but I hope you enjoy!)

[ovaryacted]

WISH YOU KNEW || CH. 1

─ KISS THE GIRL

─ Logan Howlett/Wolverine x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: Another mundane afternoon rolls around that quickly turns into a new beginning after Logan abruptly meets one of Wade's close friends.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. NO SMUT. Worst! Logan / Variant! Logan. Friends to lovers vibes. Mutual pining. Sexual tension. Close proximity. Flirting. Playful Banter. Kissing. Alcohol Consumption. Profanity. Logan catching feelings. Wade being an instigator. Age gap implied [Logan is his canon age, reader is mid to late 20s]. Reader has an established friendship w/Wade. Descriptions of reader's clothing. Mentions of other characters.

WC: 7.9K

A/N: Super excited to be posting this today, I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it despite it taking me a little while. This whole story and first part is an extensive addition to these headcanons I posted a while back. Huge thank you to @ozarkthedog for the proofread and encouragement to finish this project, and shoutout to my baby @joelsdagger for helping me with the aesthetics and vibes of this post. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT PART | AO3

Leaping into a new reality after everything he’d been through was far from the strangest things Logan had to experience in his incredibly long life. If anything, he was secretly appreciative to be given a second chance, a way to redeem himself from the horrors of his previous timeline and possibly live up to the expectations of his former self.

Though, he imagined things would be much more different. He thought that by now, he’d be living independently with a stable source of income outside of taking odd mercenary jobs alongside Deadpool, of all people. Crashing on the couch of the culprit that brought him into this mess was far from what he wanted, but getting adjusted to this new way of living was taking much longer than he anticipated.

Wade whistled to himself as he stayed busy in the kitchen. Still dressed in his pjs, the pink kiss-the-cook apron was neatly tied around his waist, paired with an obnoxiously crisp chef’s hat. He poured some batter into a flat pan, watching it puff up and sticking his tongue out in concentration as he flipped the pancake, ensuring the edges didn’t burn.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, usually full of playing reruns on the TV and sleeping off the previous night of copious whiskey drinking. The alternative was dealing with Wade’s get-togethers, where his friends stopped by for game night. Logan could, in theory, stay behind and beat everyone at the table in a good game of poker, but having so many individuals in the tiny one-bedroom apartment he was already sharing with two other people and a dog could be overstimulating. 

The doorbell ringing disrupted the rarely calm atmosphere, sending the hairs on Logan’s nape to rise. He didn’t think it could be Blind Al coming back home so soon unless her daily walk was cut short. Wade made quick work of the pancakes in the current stack, setting them to the side and striding into the entryway to look through the peephole. Squealing to himself, he gave the grumpy man on the couch one more glance as a warning to behave and swung the door open to let an unknown figure come into view.

In walks a new stranger, someone Logan hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting personally. He was presented to Wade’s inner circle once he was brought into this world, surprised at the diverse group of people who tolerated his behavior longer than he had. Your face was refreshing compared to who he usually saw, and your abrupt entrance captivated him.

He diligently observed how you rummaged through the kitchen, tearing open the overhead cabinets and searching for something he couldn’t quite decipher under your mumbles. You have yet to sense an additional presence in the apartment, and you’re too busy in your quest to take a peek at the couch. 

“Where the hell did you put my wine, Wade? I told you to hold it for me, not pop it open.” Your voice cut through the room, hitting Logan’s discerning ears. As strange as it was, he thought the pitch of your voice suited you, or at least what he suspected would closely resemble it.

“Well, happy Sunday to you too, honey bunches. Are you looking for it? Sorry to burst your bubble, but Blind Al drank all of it,” he joked with a devilish grin. There he was again, jerking someone’s chain when given the chance, and yet Logan found himself curious about your dynamic with his roommate.

“Since when did Althea drink wine? I swear if you opened my rosé without telling me, I’m never bringing you anything again,” you playfully threatened as the corner of your lips curled up in a smirk.

A righteous aha! came from you as the bottle manifested in your hand, smiling widely at your successful find. You turned around, spotting Wade in his apron before your eyes moved further to the right, noticing the aged man for the first time since you barged into the apartment. He could see how your pupils dilated at taking him in, the cogs turning in your head as you tried to figure out who he was and his association with Wade.

“Who’s the big guy?” You jutted your chin toward the mutant, forcing Wade to take the initiative to bridge the introduction between you two. 

“Ah, him. Yeah, that’s Logan, the Wolverine. Kinda resurrected him as Marvel Jesus and brought him from his timeline into ours after saving the world. Now we’re happily married with a kid,” Wade said with full confidence, another one of his meddling tactics. 

“Oh, oh. This is Logan?” You tilted your head to study the man in question, all while he fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. Has Wade mentioned him to you before? “So you two are…”

“No, no we’re not,” Logan finally spoke, quickly rising from the couch to end the dubious dialogue. A pout formed on Wade’s face at his friend’s intrusion, no longer feeding into the delusion that they were somehow more than cohabitants.

“Don’t know what he’s told you, but I’m crashing on the couch since your friend brought me here.” Somehow after the brief explanation of how he got here, it sounded even worse coming from Logan’s mouth.

“Peanut, do not embarrass me right now. I know you’re shy about our true love, but sugarplum here is very much an ally,” Wade lifted a finger at him, more comical than the overall discussion, as Logan sighed in annoyance. He figured he might as well introduce himself properly since he’s gotten this far.

“Logan,” he opened his palm to offer a handshake, catching your name grace your lips as you clasped your hand over his. The squeeze you gave him was reassuring, and he reciprocated in kind, holding your gaze and drawing his hand away. 

“I’m guessing how you got here is a long story?” Your eyes dashed to Logan in interest, sparing him the embarrassment of denying the initial claims your mutual friend made without his knowledge.

“Very long.” Before Logan could smack his hand over Wade’s mouth, he closed his eyes, waiting for the raunchy commentary soon to follow.

“That’s what she said!” Wade clapped his hands, receiving a groan from the older man and a chuckle from you.

“You’ll have to tell me about it some time then. I’ll never understand Wade’s quests, all he talks about is who he kills and how much fun he has doing it.”

“Honey, the complexities of the space-time continuum are way too extreme to explain in one sitting. I’m going to need a podcast and a projector to elaborate on it,” while Wade kept responding to you, Logan observed the exchanges between you two, making mental notes as he read your body language. 

“I think you’re banned from the tech stores within the tri-state area, but maybe you can try Amazon,” you offered him, the same lively smile popping up once again. “The new season of Love Island USA drops this weekend. Are we still on for our watch party?”

“You must be fucking crazy if you think I will miss this premiere,” he beamed at you, mimicking your expression of delight.

“Then I’ll bring some of those sweet ‘n salty pretzels you and Althea like next time I stop by,” you announced, kissing Wade’s wrinkly cheek to honor the words threaded onto his apron. Your hand hovered over the front door handle, meeting hazel eyes to the right. “I hope to see you around Logan.”

One final glimpse at them, and you were out the door, the silhouette of your shadow no longer in the older mutant’s peripheral. Wade returned to the kitchen to continue cooking his late breakfast, putting strawberries and maple syrup on a stack of chocolate pancakes and cutting into the sweetened heap. 

“Is she another one of your friends?” Logan asked, his encounter with a new face birthed a sense of novelty that flickered in his mind.

“Mhm. Met her at a grocery store when I was finding something for Blind Al and kept bumping into her throughout the city. We just became friends, plus Althea loves her, probably because she’s always bringing her sweet treats,” Wade answered casually, his mouth half stuffed with the pancakes he bit into.

“Hmm. So I should be worried about seeing more people entering this apartment?”

“She comes for our religious reality TV and movie nights. It’s no biggy, she’s like everyone else I know. Think of me, but with a brain, and maybe not with the whole ‘immortal’ thing I got going on here,” he clarified, the thought of having to deal with anyone remotely similar to Wade filled Logan with inexplicable anxiety. Yet, all he did was shake his head and cross his arms across his chest.

“Great, the more the merrier.”

“You know, maybe if you weren’t such an asshole, you could actually have friends in this world, or even get laid. But instead, you’re too hellbent on being a grouch,” Wade replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Maybe I’d have friends and get laid if people didn’t think we were fucking all the time,” Logan reacted defiantly, grabbing hold of Mary Puppins and attaching the leash to her collar, getting ready to take her out on a walk around the neighborhood.

“Live in your truth, Wolvie. Be who you are!” Wade exclaimed again, ignoring Logan’s curses as he stepped through the front door to get some fresh air.

Logan held on to the leash with one hand as he walked down the block with Dogpool, taking in the acquainted streets and ignoring the looks that came his way. Thankfully, after being in Wade’s world for a while, the stares have transitioned from hate to mere tolerance, aiding his adjustment. As he turned the corner, his intrigue spiked as he thought more of his brief interaction with you, another of Wade’s friends who will inevitably return for a visit. 

Who are you?

Sticking to Wade’s words, you stopped by the apartment more than Logan expected. You’d come by and drop off some dinner and pastry dishes bought on your way home from work when you had the chance, and you shared what you got with Wade and Blind Al. For the most part, you made delivery stops to Wade’s place once every other week, walking into the space with a couple of pans of food and placing it on the nearest kitchen counter. You’d stay for a few minutes talking to either Wade or Althea, giving each of them a friendly kiss on the cheek or the top of their head before heading home.

Logan wouldn’t always be around when you visited the other two, missing you by a few minutes when he would be fulfilling a job or out and about. Still, when he was home, he’d be in the background observing you, talking to everyone while keeping himself at arm’s length. You supposed he had the whole grumpy, mysterious vibe that made him tough to approach. So, instead, you’d offer him a cordial wave and a mutter of his name, at least something that acknowledges him when he was in the same space as you.

Week by week, your face became a regular thing for Logan, mainly on Saturdays when you joined Wade in watching whatever current reality TV show was occupying your attention. The brutish man would be on his way to the local bar when you rang the doorbell, dressed in some comfy loungewear and your tote bag full of snacks.

Logan made it a habit not to intrude on your time with Wade. He was already with him for most of the day, the least he could do was respect your time when granted. That didn’t mean he wasn’t wondering what you were like outside of being friends with his companion.

Eventually, he got his moment.

A Thursday afternoon rolled around when Logan came home from the gym to an empty apartment, a rare occurrence he planned to relish. A note on the fridge from Wade mentioned he was out with Big Al and Mary Puppins doing God knows what, not that he wanted to know nor ask. He took a shower to rinse off the grime from his workout, threw on a ribbed tank and sweats, and headed to the kitchen for a cold beer. Popping the bottle cap off, he managed to take one sip before the front doorbell rang, his eyes squinting at the entrance and internally sighing as his moment of tranquility was interrupted.

Leaving the bottle on the counter and opening the door, he was surprised to find you on the other side of the threshold with a covered tin foil pan, no doubt containing something edible. You were still in your work clothes: a pencil skirt and button-down shirt on your body with heels to match, your purse hanging off one of your shoulders.

“Oh, hey, Logan. Came to drop this stuff off for Wade. Do you mind?”

“Nah, ain’t a problem,” Logan shifted to the side to grant you entry, eyeing the back of your head as you wandered past him and into the kitchen.

“I’m guessing Wade and Al are out?” you asked the man as you handled your business, inserting the tin pan into the fridge and closing it with your hip.

“Yeah. Probably doing something I shouldn’t worry about.” You laughed at that, a light sound that he preserved in the imprints of his consciousness.

“Let’s hope they don’t bring back some cocaine. Lord knows the last thing that lady needs is a sniff of powder.” It was Logan’s turn to chuckle, the rumble of a hum you considered equivalent to a laugh.

“So it’s just you in here?” you said as you placed your work bag on the nearest surface, an attempt to rest your arm from lugging the extra weight around.

“Just me,” his broad shoulders lifted and dropped as he leaned against the kitchen wall. “They’ll be back in a bit. You can wait for them if you want, and I can head out.”

“You don’t need to do that. Do I really make you that uncomfortable?” you raised an eyebrow at him as his features softened at your inquiry.

“Uncomfortable isn’t the right word,” he shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest again, the muscles in his biceps tightening as he did so. “You and Wade, you’re close, were close before I got here. Not trying to bother what you two have going on.”  

You hummed then, standing straight on one leg and entering a more relaxed stance. Logan could tell by your body language that you weren’t disturbed or intimidated by him, which he assumed was a good sign.

“Sure, I’ve known Wade and Al for a while, but I don’t mind having you around. You’re a little hard to talk to. Figured you were one of those types who liked to brood in silence, at least from what Wade told me.”

“What exactly did he tell you about me?” Logan contested, looking directly at you when he could.

“Do you want to hear the pg-13 or the explicit version? He had a lot to say. Not sure you’d be too happy about it, though,” Logan’s lips pursed, and his eyebrows furrowed at the thought. Knowing Wade, he probably said more than enough, and everything under the sun that wasn’t true.

“Fucker has a big mouth,” he almost took back what he said until he caught your nod of agreement, easing him a bit.

“He doesn’t know when to stop talking, but I can’t hate him for it. He’s just…honest, maybe a little too honest,” you claimed. “If you’re that worried about what he said, I didn’t take any of it literally. You’ll just have to prove him wrong.”

Logan’s sight bounced to you, curiosity laced in your stare as you glanced at him. For a moment, he was taking another read at you again, debating if you were as trustworthy as Wade makes you seem. He sensed your heartbeat and the steady pulse at your neck, even in pace, without a singular beat missing in rhythm. You were already here, and he reasoned he’d have to get used to all of Wade’s acquaintances sooner or later. Why not add you to the mix?

“Guess so,” his lips slightly turned upwards as his focus remained on you, deeming it acceptable to quit hiding in the background. A beat of silence filled the kitchen, one watching the other and your eyes unmoving from Logan’s face. For a split second, your pulse spiked with an intake of breath and releasing it, shaking you out of the sudden trance.

“I gotta go, but tell the deadly duo that there’s tiramisu in the fridge. You can take a piece too, I know they can be stingy,” you grabbed your work bag and threw it over your shoulder again, heading for the front door and offering Logan one last smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

There you were, out the door again and off to your place with only the conversation you shared and the tiramisu you brought as proof of your presence. Logan huffed a breath and reached for the beer bottle sitting on the counter, making his way to the couch. He plopped down, sipping away at the lukewarm beverage and throwing his head back along the edge, staring at the ceiling with your words playing on loop in the space between his ears.

Don’t be a stranger.

He tries to deny the slight tug of warmth fluttering in his chest, manifesting into an exhale and a shake of his head, followed by another sip of his drink to wash it down.

He makes sure he won’t be.

Integrating Logan into your established dynamic with Wade and Althea was seemingly effortless. You didn’t make a big fuss about forcing him into joining the weekly TV binging when he was home, but it was nice to hear more of your voice directed at him occasionally. Whenever you stopped by Wade’s place with baked pastries or dishes, Logan hovered in the backdrop, returning your gestures when you threw one his way.

He liked having you around, not to mention the food you dropped off would fill him with a sense of comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. Once, you handed Wade these red velvet cookies Althea liked from a downtown bakery. Logan side-eyed them munching away at the baked goods, silently judging them for satisfying their sweet tooth to such an extent. His facade was maintained until the middle of the night when Wade and Al were asleep in the bedroom, walking on muted footsteps to finish the rest of the cookies in the pan. He goes back to playing the part of being the nonchalant roommate once the sun rises, pretending to be shocked when Wade starts pointing fingers and gets into a blaming match with the blind woman he shares a bed with.

It was a matter of time before you offered more than just food, keeping the newest member of your friendly circle in mind the next time you decided what to bring to the household. There was a double knock on the door, and Wade was on the other end, waiting for you with girlish excitement.

“Hey, Wadey. Hi Althea,” you wiggled your fingers at the elderly woman. Dropping the pans on the dinner table, everyone gathered around the middle of the apartment, anxiously lingering to see what you had brought. 

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for this all fucking week,” Wade approved happily, nudging you by the shoulder. “Show daddy the goods! Come to papa.”

You giggled and unwrapped two tin containers, unveiling baked lasagna and penne a la vodka. You could practically hear everyone’s stomach rumbling at the collective awe of the food in front of them, still warm to the touch as the scent of the meal wafted through the apartment.

“Thought Italian would be good, so I called this restaurant a while ago to set some dishes aside for pick-up. Got devil’s food cake too, I hope you’re in the mood for chocolate,” you voiced, smacking Wade’s hand away that threatened to dip into the pasta.

“Honestly, I think we should get married. You don’t even have to see me at all. As long as you bring me food like this, I’ll give you one kill a week.” Wade’s proposal made you smirk. Though it was tempting, you knew better than to get associated with the mess of his job.

“Don’t want to be a homewrecker,” you gestured to Logan, who rolled his eyes. “I did bring something for the grump, too. Consider it a very late welcome to this world gift.” 

He watched as you handed him a paper bag, your fingers wrapping around what appeared to be the neck of a bottle. Logan held the familiar weight in his large hands, peeling back the bag to drag out a nicely sized whiskey bottle, Johnnie Walker, to be exact.

He didn’t realize how high his eyebrows raised at receiving a gift, much less something from you. The food containers did get bigger after Wade complained about somebody eating everything after 24 hours. But knowing you were somehow thinking about him revived that pulse in his chest.

“Thank you,” he said genuinely, russet irises focused in your direction. “Really, this is nice.”

“It’s the least I could do since I’m always coming over here,” you said, appreciating Logan’s kindness and mirroring his grateful expression.

There it was again, the beat of silence that entranced the both of you when you entered the same room. The space between Logan’s ribs ached, a strange and unnerving thumping that carried a wave of unfamiliarity.

“Are we going to fucking eat or what?” Blind Al muttered out loud, disrupting the moment you shared with Logan.

“Aht aht, being greedy isn’t nice, Althea. I’m still pissed you ate the corner piece of the brownies I called dibs on last week,” Wade squinted his eyes as he blamed the elderly woman for a crime she didn’t commit. That was, in fact, Logan.

“Motherfucker, if we stand here any longer, the lasagna will get cold,” Althea criticized, the two bickering amongst themselves beside you. You shake your head in disbelief, going to the kitchen to grab some plates, with Logan following behind to help you bring the utensils and cups.

“You want to stay a while?” The suggestion tumbled out of him without thinking, anxious that he had just shot himself in the foot. When your smile reappeared, his worries passed.

“Yeah, I got time,” you held a few plates, heading to the dinner table to join the others in fighting over the pieces of lasagna.

Logan reached other milestones in your bond over the upcoming weeks when you invited them to dinner at your apartment to celebrate your recent job promotion. He didn’t know why he stressed about which shirt to wear or how to style his hair, wanting to put some effort into his appearance this time. Deciding on a red flannel and a leather jacket, he didn’t say a word when Wade was messing around with wigs to wear for the evening.

After a few threats of slicing Wade’s head off if he didn’t hurry the fuck up, they were on their way to your place. An 8-minute walk around the neighborhood and a buzz of the intercom later, you happily greeted the two men at the front door. Stepping aside to let them both pass, you briefly eyed the breadth of Logan’s back flexing under his jacket as he trekked inside, closing the door behind them.

“Al didn’t come along?” you questioned, half expecting the elderly woman to join you.

“Nope, she’s fast asleep. You know how old people are, strict curfews and powdery smells,” Wade quipped, glancing around the table to see what you had prepared.

“Surprised you don’t have a wig on right now,” you lightly jested, straightening the collar of Wade’s polo and approving of his outfit choice.

“I was deciding between a short bob and a tapered fade when Logan threatened to tear me limb from limb. I think that’s his way of flirting.”

At the mention of the other male, your gaze landed on him as he surveyed his surroundings. Your apartment was nice, small yes, but homey, just enough for one person. The living room consisted of your TV and a plush couch, a colorful blanket thrown over its edge, and a leather armchair beside the windows draped in sheer curtains. Two sets of bookshelves rested on the walls closest to the entryway, a collection of books and knick-knacks filled the shelves, a mix of genres from thrillers to romance to fantasy. He took in the setting of your space one last time before pivoting to face you.

“Sorry, Wilson, but you’re not my type,” Logan replied, his hands digging into the pocket of his jeans.

“He’s in denial and emotionally constipated. Don’t worry, Wolvie. I will wait for you forever, as long as you return home to me.” Logan ignored him, mumbling a quiet shut the fuck up under his breath.

The rest of the night went by smoothly, and Logan used it as an opportunity to learn more about you. Through conversing with Wade, he discovered you work at a media studio further downtown. Initially, you were just a journalist pitching stories that would sometimes be published or given the spotlight. Your promotion now makes you the head of your department, giving you more creative control over the stories you want to be told, something you’ve worked hard to get. In your own words, you were happy that bitch Janice at your office didn’t get the role, and now she will have to deal with you being her superior.

Logan liked how you smiled from ear to ear after being so accomplished, and when he mentioned he was glad it worked out, the way your face lit up wasn’t overlooked.

Munching into the lamb chop you cooked for tonight, Wade retells the stories of the recent mercenary jobs he’s completed with Logan by his side, throwing innuendos and graphic details of his missions between every couple of sentences. You listened to him talk, drinking your wine and resting your chin on your hand, nodding and providing commentary when needed.

At some points in the conversation, Logan would jump in when Wade allowed him to, roping him in to tell you about the cool shit he can do with his claws. Your eyes sparkled at Logan’s words, hanging on to whatever came out of him and holding it close as if it would be the last time you’d hear him speak. He couldn’t bring himself to deny that having your attention on him felt good, and when he let Wade control the dialogue again, his eyes would stay on you for a second longer, sipping on the beer you saved for him.

He hopes you didn’t notice.

Other times, Logan joined you and Wade on the couch for reality TV and movie nights, something he figured would help him become more of a social butterfly. Though he didn’t always understand the current events of 90 Day Fiancé or Love Island USA, you didn’t mind catching him up on the episode that played despite Wade itching to give out spoiler warnings.

You’d be situated between them on the small couch, the popcorn bowl on your lap, and sharing it with Wade, who wore his patterned PJs. Although Logan was relatively quiet while you watched the TV screen, you’d let him take a handful of popcorn, washing it down with a drink to enjoy a somewhat tasteful combination.

What he didn’t expect from you was how welcoming you were of his touch. Of course, given that the couch wasn’t that large, you’d be hip to hip with Logan and Wade on either side of you. The larger man did his best to stay in his corner of the couch and to manspread less to give you space, but you stayed close to him.

Maybe too close.

One night, his arm slipped from its perch on the edge of the couch, dropping on your shoulder and causing you to jolt from the sudden contact.

“Shit, my bad,” he was fast to mutter an apology, but you were just as quick to shake your head, quelling his worries.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind, really.” You were permitting him to leave his arm on your shoulders, and he wasn’t going to say no to that, the heavy bulk of muscle making a new home over the width of your back.

The fleeting touches persisted when you watched Australia for Wade’s sake, suddenly growing fascinated with the main male character and proclaiming Logan somehow favored him. He grumbled, zoning out of the movie and not realizing Wade had fallen asleep within the first hour. It was just you and him for a while until you also dozed off near the two-hour mark, still with 45 minutes left.

Logan had lost track of the plot within the first 30 minutes, so he no longer cared for the film. He focused on your torso, slowly leaning into his body on the couch, gravitating toward his warmth. Instinctively, he moved his arm on your shoulder, bringing you closer so you were flush with his chest, snuggling against the stability of his figure.

Logan swears he could hear a happy hum fall from your lips in the form of a sigh, getting more than comfortable against the man who had become a new addition to your life. If you were awake, he was sure you could hear how hard his heart was beating inside of him, providing a comforting squeeze to your arm to signal he was still here with you.

For the next little while, he’ll enjoy his current position without qualms, and he can imagine just for a second that this was a part of your usual interactions. This is as close as he’s going to get anyway.

“You like her.” Wade’s voice filtered through the static noise of Logan’s channel surfing, settling on a Tom and Jerry episode that played in the background, his head twisting to scrutinize the pain in the ass he called a roommate. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know,” he grinned mischievously, “Honey bunches, you have the hots for her.”

The neurons in Logan’s brain fired at rapid speed as he comprehended what his friend was insinuating. Sure, he liked having you around and looked forward to when you stopped by every week to sit on the couch. He ignores how you smell or breathe next to him or how you don’t mind when his arm is on your shoulder. He doesn’t care that you inch the slightest bit closer to him, hip to hip, eyes still on the screen during movie nights. He dismisses how you look at him, how you smile when he’s in your space, and how his heart skips a beat when it happens.

“No, I don’t." He knew he was lying.

“Really?” Wade’s Cheshire smile broadened, dissecting Logan by the minute. “You sure, Logan? Are you sure your stone-cold skeleton doesn’t melt when you graze your fingers together?”

“What is this? Couple’s therapy? Shut the fuck up and drop it.” Logan’s mask was cracking the more Wade badgered him about his suppressed emotions, and frankly, he wasn’t sure how long he could keep the truth from his friend or himself. 

“Oh shit…Wolvie, you’re in denial. Are you scared of rejection?” Wade covered his mouth in faux shock, taking Logan’s deep scowl with pride as he hit a nerve. “It’s alright, Casanova, no need to be worried about your unrequited love life. I’ve watched enough episodes of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette to put romancers to shame. I will make this happen.”

“Wade. Drop it.” The threat came out with a paired growl, the mutant’s fingers curling into a tight fist as the skin of his knuckles split to unsheath the blades embedded between them.

“This is now a telenovela baby. Just imagine how much we’d make with you two as the leads. ‘Loving the Wolverine.’ The title is a work in progress, but we’ll revisit that later.”

“Wilson.” Logan’s nostrils flared, the metal claws fully out with a sharp schling. The vein in his forehead bulged as his blood pressure skyrocketed from his anger, ready to slice the man any second now.

“You can be angry all you want, but feelings are feelings. And if you don’t say something soon, I fucking will!” The apartment filled with a loud squeal as Logan pierced Wade’s thigh with one hand, the other aiming for his torso, puncturing him through his hoodie.

As pissed as Logan wanted to be towards Wade, he knew he was right. Whatever sentiments had developed between you and him were undefined, and he hated himself for believing there was a chance it could be anything beyond friendly. You were younger than him, a given anyway, with an established life he didn’t want to ruin or get too involved with. Why would you choose him when you could have anyone else?

It wouldn’t work, not in his book. As Logan continued to puncture Wade’s body like a voodoo doll in the name of stress relief, he still had a hard time ignoring how he felt. He doesn’t think he will anytime soon.

His inner turmoil peaked when Wade hosted another get-together at the apartment, and of course, he invited you. He mentioned this would be a chance to set you guys up, and Logan tried his hardest not to shove his claws into his head or ruin the vibe before the party started.

The people closest to the host bustled into the apartment the following Friday night, along with the few new additions brought back from the void. Logan was entertained by talking to Laura and watched the entryway every few minutes to see when you’d walk through it. The time couldn’t come soon enough, the familiar notes of your scent hit his nose the second Wade opened the front door to let you inside, showing the assortment of alcohol bottles you brought to make cosmopolitans.

From where he sat on the couch, he studied your appearance. He raked his eyes over the casual jeans that hugged your thighs and the low neckline of your top, the jewelry adorning your neck brought more than enough attention to the dip of your collarbones.

Logan must’ve been starting too hard when you caught him in the act, your mouth bending up when you noticed him. Without a word, he only smiled at you, drinking his beer to wash down the incessant pounding in his body.

You busied yourself with making drinks in the kitchen, periodically darting to watch Logan while he mingled as much as his social battery allowed. You chatted with the other partygoers, catching up with Vanessa to ask how things were going with Wade and talking to the bubbly Yukio, who stood beside her girlfriend as you joined in teasing the host for the party hat on his head.

Everyone eventually had a red solo cup in their hand, uttering their thanks to you as the influx of a new alcoholic thirst quencher streamed through their bodies. The space to the right of Logan was empty after Laura rose to steal more chips from the dinner table. You took your chance, having a plastic cup in one hand as you strolled over to the gentleman sitting comfortably on the couch.

“That seat taken?” you asked, the bister eyes you’ve come to adore ran over your features, glinting slightly under the hanging light above.

“It’s free now,” Logan jerked his head to gesture you to sit beside him, the smell of your perfume hitting his senses when you walked past him. He swallowed his beer again, hoping it would help curb his growing urges.

“Avoiding me, huh?” The lively tone of your voice conveyed something he couldn’t precisely define despite it making him nervous. “Didn’t get up to say hi or anything…”

“You were busy making drinks for everybody, wanted to have you focused. Don’t want anyone to get alcohol poisoning from fucked up proportions.” You chuckled at his words, rolling your eyes and spinning the ice in your cup.

“Surprised you’re even here. Did Wade force you to stay around this time?”

Yes, he did. That was what he wanted to say, but one glance at your face, and he couldn’t be mad that he listened to the bastard for once.

“Decided to be a little social,” he answered calmly, the tip of his bottle lined up with his lips.

“You? Social? That’s a first.”

“Are you complaining, bub?” he remarked, turning to you with a raised eyebrow and a teasing attitude.

“No, not at all,” you shook your head, giddy in anticipation of what qualified as “social” for the man next to you. “Nothing wrong with trying new things.”

The world tuned out as you conversed with the older mutant, taking every word in stride. Believe it or not, Logan could talk for a while if you ignore the curse words he adds every other sentence. Still, it was nice to just talk to him, even if your sight wandered. On your second cosmo and probably Logan’s fourth beer, the distance between you on the couch closed with each shift of your hips, leaning into the back of the couch and facing him while he rested against the length of it.

With each passing word from Logan, you watched his jaw flex and his lips part as he spoke—counting the wrinkles of skin beside the slight hints of gray at his temples. You took another sip of your mixed drink, discreetly running your eyes down the column of his throat and his collarbone, peering at the coarse hair that peeked from his flannel’s first two undone buttons.

You didn’t know if he could read the signs of your desires or sense the palpable tension brewing in the air, but you remained willfully ignorant. Oblivious to you, the notion was reciprocated when you spoke, rambling about stuff with your job to bits and pieces of your childhood. Logan’s eyes never left your face, landing on the shimmer of your glossy lips or the pendant that dangled on your chest when you weren’t looking.

In the next breath, the topic changed to something concerning Wade’s most embarrassing instances and jokes that would only come from him. Logan must’ve said something right when you broke out in a fit of laughter, deep and hearty, as it came straight from your stomach and emitted through your chest. He didn’t say anything to disturb your moment, commemorating your eyes scrunching up and your mouth opening wide to laugh harder. He didn’t jolt when you smacked his sternum a few times, the warmth of your touch radiating through the layers of his clothes.

He craved more of it.

“I think you’re spending too much time with Wade. He’s rubbing off on you,” you calmed down from your laughing fit and wiped the tears that threatened to spill.

“Maybe. Gotta tolerate the guy,” Logan was carefree as he spoke despite the stirring emotions.

Your hand was still on his chest, resting comfortably on his body. You didn’t move it as quickly as you should, nor would Logan tell you to take it away. Grazing your thumb over the fabric of his shirt, you whizzed lowly to yourself, the alcohol pumping through your body, loosening your inhibitions as you continued to touch him.

Much to Logan’s disappointment, you pulled your hand away, looking over his shoulder to see Peter showing off the chain that connected his nipples to whatever was underneath his pants. Downing the rest of your beverage, you placed the cup on the coffee table, sitting up straighter.

“I think that’s my cue to leave. It’s getting late anyway.” The nagging voice in your head pressed a question you wanted to admit, an invitation you knew wouldn’t work if asked incorrectly. Thankfully, you didn’t need to speak out loud.

“Let me walk you home,” Logan suggested through the racket, firm and determined in his proposition. “Could use the fresh air if I’m being honest.”

You didn’t need much effort to say yes.

“Sure.” You rose from the couch to say goodbye to everyone, giving kisses on the cheek and hugs when warranted, your last stop being Wade. He looked between you and Logan, throwing the older man a thumbs up as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

Side by side, you walked down the block, Logan keeping you on the opposite side of the street and serving as a barrier between you and the road. He didn’t reach out for your hand despite the urge to hold you steady, nor did you hold on to his bicep as you strode beside him. But you both talked on your joint stroll, confessing things amongst yourselves that would otherwise be omitted by all the noise.

He followed you through the lobby of your apartment complex, up the flights of stairs that dropped you off on the second floor to your front door. He remained vigilant, standing behind your figure as you inserted your key into the lock, guarding you until your door opened and looming as you spun to face him again.

“Thank you for walking me. It was nice,” you expressed, the cosmopolitans you consumed earlier heightened the glassiness in your eyes.

“Ain’t a problem. It was good to get off the couch,” his hands went to his pockets. “You gonna be alright by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m a big girl. I can handle a little alcohol,” you snorted, the sound bringing a grin to his face.

As your hazy vision landed on him, he felt the pull in his chest again, the one that comes when time and space stop moving in that beat of silence shared only between you two. He sensed the change in your demeanor, the increased pumping of your heart, and the rush of your blood flowing faster.

Logan halted his breathing when you stepped forward. You preemptively set a hand on his chest and tipped upwards to kiss his stubbled cheek.

“Really, thank you, Logan.” Your serene voice was muted when you said his name, sweet on your tongue that drew him in like a siren’s song. He’d do anything to hear you say it like that again, and again, and again.

“Any time,” you held his gaze, eyes going from his tawny pupils to the tip of his nose and plush lips. He was right there, right in front of you, and the only thing you had in mind was to get a proper feel of him.

There was a jolt of hesitation, taking a step back to get more space between you until you felt the heavy weight of Logan’s palm reaching for your hip. He kept you in place, squeezing your frame and curling his hand to your lower back. Your heart hammered in your ribcage, glimpsing up at him one more time as his head tilted towards you, the only signal you needed to get what you both yearned for.

Your lips landed on his, soft and gentle, testing his reaction. Logan didn’t let you venture too far from him, holding you close and kissing you more fervently, opening his mouth to make room for your tongue as it traced his bottom lip. The groan that reverberated deep within him grew louder when your hands went up to drive through his hair, changing your position to have your back against the entryway of your apartment.

You whimpered when he squeezed your waist, a sound that would haunt his dreams for the next upcoming nights, causing him to push further against you. Your fingers tugged at the collar of his flannel, seeking more of him than you could reach. The metal of his belt buckle pressed into your lower stomach, a faint moan tumbling out of your mouth that Logan hungrily swallowed.

“Do you want to come inside?” you breathlessly invited him as you pulled away, face heated to the touch and body thrumming with a need you didn’t expect. He could read your reactions, almost smell your arousal in the air, but the last thing he wanted to do was fall into the pattern he was familiar with when it came to partners. You deserved better than that, better than just a fun night, even if that’s what you wanted.

“I want to, I do,” Logan tried to say, already noticing your look of disappointment at his upcoming rejection. “But, maybe we can try this again when you don’t taste like fucking vodka and cranberries?” You laughed a bit, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, relishing the tingling sensation left behind from his kisses.

“Thought you didn’t mind alcohol?”

“Vodka isn’t my favorite. More of a dark liquor kind of guy.” Even as he spoke to you, his hands stayed on your body, a reassuring weight you didn’t want to leave your midriff.

“Then you can make it up to me with dinner. That sounds good?” You were cheeky in your response, refusing to let the prospect pass you by, and Logan wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he warmed at your proposal and accepted one more kiss as he let you part from him.

“I’ll see you around, Logan.”

It was the last thing you said to him before you closed your front door, leaving him in the hallway to deal with the feelings washing over him. He could still discern your heart beating on the other side of the door, probably grounding your breathing and walking further into your apartment. His eyes fell to his feet, mind running a mile a minute and exhaling, deciding to take the longer way home back to Wade and Blind Al.

The apartment was empty when he came back. Althea had fallen asleep in bed, and Wade was busy cleaning up the leftover mess in the dining room. The lopsided party hat was still on his head, brown eyes scanning Logan’s features and analyzing him.

“Well, that was fast. Thought you’d last a bit longer, peanut,” Wade mocked with a grin, detecting the leftover gloss on Logan’s lips and a spot on his face. “I’m guessing Cupid was successful tonight?”

“Not another word,” Logan was back to his prickly mood, murmuring under his breath that he was going to the bathroom to take a piss, locking the door behind him.

He looked in the mirror and noticed the faint shimmer of your lip gloss still on his features, leaving your mark on him without realizing it. He chuckled, smirked wide to himself, and privately enjoyed the remnants of your touch.

He’ll make a note to pick places to take you out in the morning. For now, he’ll appreciate this feeling for as long as possible.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[reverie-starlight]

lucifer in love

in which the avatar of pride tries and fails to get you out of bed

gn!MC, no physical descriptions. fluff. fluff. fluff. lucifer is scared but it’s okay, he’s just not used to being in love yet, he’ll get there, he swears it. pet names (including little lamb once bc it’s canon). he’s literally so in love.

this has no bearing on the fic, but in my mind this is OG game a few months into your relationship, not NB setting. also I sprinkle in some of my own lore headcanons here.

lucifer was not a morning demon.

everyone in the house of lamentation knew it. his brothers would normally steer clear of him until breakfast (aside from the days that satan and belphie were feeling particularly confident), even diavolo and barbatos knew better than to start drowning him with work before a certain time of day.

coincidentally, you weren’t exactly built for mornings, either.

but still, lucifer had incredible resolve and far more years of discipline built up within him than you did. which obviously made the mornings you’d wake up in his bed difficult for both of you.

“my love, it’s time to wake up,” he leaned over your sleeping body placed a hand on your shoulder. he was already fully dressed and (somewhat) ready to brave the early morning hours. he wanted to let you sleep in as long as possible, and it pained him to rouse you from such serenity, but he also knew you’d miss breakfast if he let you rest any longer. and then you’d really be cranky.

his lips formed a small yet genuine, fond smile when he heard you grumbling. “nooo, just a bit longer…” your voice was muffled by his sheets, and you tried to turn away from him.

“little lamb…” he warned, but there was no real bite behind it and you knew it. lucifer knew well that you were as stubborn as he was, so it wasn’t surprising to him in the slightest when you kept pleading with him.

“pleaseee lucifer, come lay with me for a bit longer. I want you near me.”

he sighed. he dared not show any signs of how tempted he was by you. the irony of a human being the one to tempt a demon.

but he did not waiver. “MC, you’ll be late if you stay in bed any longer.”

“so what?” you whined indignantly. “I haven’t been late or even missed a class in weeks- in fact you showed me just last night how deserving I was of a reward for good behaviour. let’s just play hooky today.”

he rolled his eyes slightly. of course you would use his excuse for getting you into his room last night against him to sleep in longer.

you turned to him, laying on your back and staring up at his unamused face with a still-sleepy grin of your own. “come on, baby, just lay with me. we don’t have to skip if you insist on going, but being a little late won’t hurt, you know?”

he blinked and tried to keep his composure. he still wasn’t quite used to being on the receiving end of pet names, and human ones at that, but you had been growing quite comfortable with throwing them at him lately.

this was the third time you had called him that in the past week, and he still wasn’t sure if he liked it or not… he’d need it to be tested a few more times before he could make a final decision.

He didn’t feel the need to test out terms of endearment- he knew what he was comfortable saying and calling you, and you never seemed to complain with him sticking with some of the more… classic? is that how you put it? names. with the exception of little lamb. obviously.

if he was being honest, though, he had been holding back. human world terms of endearment felt so lacklustre in comparison to those in infernal. he would never admit this, but he was… hesitant to use devildom terms of endearment on you.

often times they couldn’t be translated into any human language, nor could the feelings they spoke of be conveyed differently. the things that lucifer wanted to call you were akin to that of a declaration of complete devotion forever and always. even by demon standards they were intense, because they basically promised that even after death, there would be no one else.

his hesitation was not because he was unsure if he felt the emotions they conveyed for you. not at all, he knew his feelings and yours as well.

but you’ve thrown him for a loop. even if he was sure… he wanted to wait a bit before showing you just how deep his feelings ran. because the intensity of it all was something he had never felt for anyone in all his millennia. the fact that he had someone he could even toss around the idea of using those names on… those feelings were just for him to get comfortable with, so that when he was truly ready, he could pull it off without a hitch.

he wondered if lilith had felt for her human anywhere close to what he felt for you, sometimes, but he always buried that thought away as quickly as it popped into his mind.

blame it on his pride getting in the way, or call it what it was- fear of what being in love was doing to him and what it would continue to do to him. and what it meant he would be willing to do for you…

“uh, lucifer? my love? you’re staring off into space, is everything okay?”

your voice brought him out of his thoughts and the concern within it made him warm inside.

he was still leaning over you, hand gently gripping your shoulder, and your face was wrinkled with worry. he loved you.

until he had it all worked out, he’d show you as much as he could through human declarations of love and lots of action.

he looked down at his wrist as if to check a non-existent watch. “fine, I suppose there’s time to spare.”

he let the sound of your victorious laughter wash all over him and bathed in the feeling of your arms around his neck after he crawled over you to reach his side of the bed.

your smile was radiant, and he felt another piece of the armour encasing his heart chip away. he had been feeling that a lot since you first started the exchange program, but even more so since you both began your relationship.

there was no stopping this, he was falling headfirst into unknown territory for the second time in his life, for a completely different reason this time.

but he’d never ask for anything else. because just like the first time, he figured that this could only result in changing his life for the better as well.

once again he had to shake himself out of his thoughts. you were smiling and talking about one thing or another- he missed the start of the conversation- and playing with his tie.

lucifer was not a morning demon. he woke up exhausted, he dreaded the pile of work forever thrown at him. but his resolve was insanely strong.

maybe he’d give in to you more often if it meant he got to have you like this, in his arms, laughing at his ruined resolve and how weak he is for you, for the rest of your life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

haha get it? rest of your life bc you’re mortal and he’s not?

anyway I hope you enjoyed!!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Yandere Silver Headcanons

adhlbfypfqeyvf If you want to know why this is coming out of nowhere... I've been cooking (talking) with friends about this concept for over a month and now I'm going to dump it all onto you 🤡 This interpretation of Yan!Silver is in part based on Elbert Greetia from Ikevil 💀 so uh… be warned…

Regular Silver, staring at this monstrosity: 😨 TRIGGER WARNINGS: (slow burn) yandere themes, (unintended) emotional manipulation, gaslighting, spying/stalking, unhealthy possessiveness and obsession, mentions of blood, (Silver’s) delusions, minor character death

***PLEASE NOTE: writing yandere content is NOT the same as supporting or approving of these behaviors irl. This is also NOT what I believe Silver is canonically like; this is only meant to be a creative reimagining/"what if" scenario.***

Curiouser and Curiouser...

It all starts off like a fairy tale come true. But like Hansel and Gretel stumbling upon the witch’s candy house or a frog set into a simmering pot, the heat—the horror—isn’t fully cranked up in the very beginning. A dream doesn’t start like a nightmare, the nightmare comes later. And you, like the fool you are, were lured in by the promise of sweets and a prince.

The boy you've been crushing on for the last several weeks shyly approaches you and confesses. Handsome, earnest Silver takes your hands in his and gives you that lopsided smile you've been admiring from a distance. He swears himself to you as your loyal partner, vowing to protect you from the things that slither in the dark and prey on the unsuspecting. To keep you from hurt and sadness forever and ever.

You're giddy—positively over the moon and the stars—to finally (and proudly!) call yourself his. Every time you look at him, you swear it feels like a thousand butterflies are fluttering in your chest, or like you’re losing yourself in the aurora of his eyes.

You tell him his eyes are mystifying and unique, that they’re something you could stare at forever. He doesn’t seem to get it at first, but is pleased nevertheless and thanks you for the compliment.

It’s not until a few weeks later that the ramifications come. One day, out of the blue, Silver gifts you with a piece of jewelry (a ring, a necklace, an earring, etc; whatever your preference is!). Embedded in it is a clear gemstone that refracts the light in pastel pink, baby blue, and pale purple… exactly like his eyes.

He helps you secure it on for the first time and oh, how gentle his touch is as his fingers brush against your skin. Silver gives that small smile that melts your heart. “There. This way, you’ll always have ‘me’ watching over you,” he says, lightly tapping the aurora-colored jewel, “even if I am not right at your side.”

Sometimes you feel Silver’s own gaze lingering on you too. You know him to be an airhead or half asleep most of the time, so the thought never occurs to you that this spacey behavior is odd. But once or twice, when you’re stealing glances back at him, you notice a seriousness set in his eyes, a darkness creeping into the light. The same deadset look that scares off children and makes others mistake him for someone far more aggressive than he actually is, you think.

He lingers close when you walk to and class together, his protective instincts sending him into action to catch you if you so much as stumble, and remove errant leaves and petals that tumble onto your hair. “I have you,” he reassures you, oblivious to the electricity in his touch and how it makes you leap. “Don’t worry.”

Silver acts as though you’re as delicate as glass and as pure as freshly fallen snow. It’s not uncommon for him to praise your positive traits (while totally overlooking your flaws) or talk about how good of a person you are—and that also drives him to keep you that way. Untouched, untroubled. He’s so quick to steer you away from stressful situations or charging in to settle an issue himself, typically by talking down the aggressors. That’s thoughtful of him… right?

He has the habit of falling asleep on you when he gets to be comfortable. You usually don’t mind it, but sometimes he gets a little too clingy in his sleep. It’s hard to pry him off when he looks so peaceful and mutters your name under his breath while he has your body in a death grip.

Silver takes you on quiet nature strolls. You often drift off the beaten path and wander deep into the woods behind NRC, far, far away from the other students and staff. The sun sinks and sinister sounds come from the dark—you get nervous and leap into his arms, asking Silver if you should turn back now. He agrees every time, walking you back and wishing you sweet dreams. By the time you collapse into your bed from exhaustion, you don’t realize he has stolen you away for the entire day for himself.

It’s strange. You start to get the sense that you’re seeing Silver in your dreams just as much as you see him in the waking world. Rarely do you fully recall the details of your dreams, but there’s always that vague feeling of catching a flash of silver hair or feeling the heat of his eyes uncomfortably pressing into you when you wake up.

You tell him about this and joke that maybe he’s using his UM to haunt your dreams. “It’s impossible. You’re not Rook-senpai,” you laugh. He chuckles at the idea. But oh, how weird. Somehow the conversation tends to steer toward whatever you happened to recall of last night’s dreams. If Rook appeared in your dream, Silver coincidentally slips him into the discussion. Lightly probing questions like, “What is your opinion of Rook-senpai?” and, “Are you comfortable around him?”

Silver tells you about the stories his father has shared with him from his travels. Many are folklore from different regions in Twisted Wonderland, but more recently he has been fixated on fairy tales from the Shaftlands. “A couple finds true love and live happily ever after, nothing able to tear them apart…” he says dreamily. “It sounds just like us.”

Silver appears stoic on the outside, but you know that’s not the case. A few months into the relationship, you become acutely aware of his insecurities and his low self-worth. Not strong enough, not long-lived enough, not alert enough, not… enough. He will never be able to repay his debt to his father, Silver has confided in you many times.

“It’s okay. You’re here now, and you’re doing your best to keep the people you love safe.” You do your best to soothe him in those moments of weakness, for which he is thankful for. With shining eyes, auroras in the dark, he whispers, “You’re so kind to me.” Raptly, as if beholding a higher being. “What did I do to deserve someone like you…?” And there it is again, that seriousness, the light fleeing from him, as he vows to repay your kindness.

You’re acquainted with Silver’s animal companions and get along with them. Now you’re noticing them everywhere, not just around Silver. In fact, you see them without Silver. Birds in the trees, a rabbit hopping alongside you, the stag poking its head out from the bushes.

Then those animals reappear when you meet up with Silver later, looking all innocent, while Silver asks you about your day. If there’s a slight discrepancy (due to poor memory) or a detail you overlooked, he’ll gently correct you or clarify. “Blueberry muffin? As I recall, you had a cranberry muffin for a midmorning snack.”/“Ah, you forgot to mention you asked Ace if you could borrow a pencil for the exam.” You blink, surprised. How did he come upon all that information? How can he recite your day better than you can? It doesn’t hit you until much later that his animal friends have been serving as his eyes and ears.

He sincerely apologizes to you when you confront him about it. “Please tell them I don’t appreciate them snooping!” you cry out. Silver promises he’ll ask them to curb their curiosity—and while it’s true that you no longer see the animals following you, you can still feel their beady gazes around every bend and corner. Paranoia claws at your scalp, and you try to calm your doubts with one thought: No way would Silver be encouraging this. I must be imagining things.

You try to get your mind off of your worries by hanging out with your classmates. Sebek, ever boisterous and over-the-top, uplifts your mood. Pretty soon, you’re chatting away with him at the lunch table (even if he loudly refers to you as a HUMAN), paying no mind to the shadow that has fallen over it until a deadly quiet voice speaks up.

“Sebek.” It is so cold, so hollow, it startles both you and Sebek when you realize the speaker is Silver. “I don’t like it when you talk with them like that.” Sebek makes to say sorry to his fellow knight—or is it to challenge him? You never find out, for Silver has grabbed you by the wrist and is yanking you away from him.

He doesn’t let go until you’re in a secluded area of the courtyard. There’s a red mark left behind, and it causes tears to well up in him. Silver collapse like a house of cards. He’s extremely apologetic—he has hurt you, hasn’t he? He failed to protect you. How terrible. He shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have been so petty and jealous.

It breaks your heart to see Silver a mess, blaming himself so profusely for what happened. You do whatever you can to calm him, and eventually the conversation somehow turns to you accepting some fault. It’s not, though, the little nagging voice in your head protests. You silence it, prioritizing the emotionally vulnerable Silver. “I’m sorry, I should have considered your feelings and avoided giving Sebek the wrong message. I’ll avoid getting all buddy-buddy with him in the future, okay?”

And it happens again, again, again. One by one, your friends are cut off from you in a similar manner. It’s always something they do or say that concerns your boyfriend, something that impedes or disrupts that pristine, picturesque fairy tale he has laid out in his head.

Silver’s presence in your life becomes increasingly invasive, like unwanted briars creeping into a garden, thorns cutting off your access to air. He’s soon consuming every second of your day, whether physically beside you or planted in your worried thoughts like a demon disguised as a guardian angel. You can’t do anything anymore without feeling anxious and watched.

He starts to talk about… strange things. Tall towers, glass coffins, the bars of a bird cage. All manner of motifs pulled from fairy tales, items and places meant to keep a character shackled and stowed away from the world. “I feel bad for the person locked up in them,” you’d tell him. “Sometimes,” Silver murmurs mysteriously, “people will take drastic measures to protect the ones they love.” You cannot explain why, but those exchanges leave you feeling immensely uneasy.

You timidly share your experiences with people you think are safe. Silver’s dorm members, his friends, his family. The people who know him best, who can maybe talk some sense into him. To your dismay, your concerns fall upon deaf ears. You earn many blank looks and dismissive comments, all citing Silver’s good nature. (“He loves you very much. This is his way of demonstrating that, he’s just sort of clumsy with it. Give him another chance.”/“That doesn’t sound like him. Are you sure you’re remembering it correctly?”/“You’re overreacting.”)

It beats down your spirit, starts to make you question your own judgment. You second-guess your words and actions. Is your perception of reality right when everyone else is telling you that you’re wrong, that Silver could never harm a fly.

Then comes the guilt like a wave crashing into you as you think about all the good times you’ve had together. Rose-colored days under a balmy blue sky. Your thoughts are like a brewing storm, and every evening when you tuck into bed, dread, unease, and uncertainty follow you.

You’re waking from the lovely dream that was a whirlwind romance, seeing Silver for the imperfect and obsessive person that he is. Unfortunately, you don’t have the heart to bring up the tough subject with him. He looks so darn happy with you, continues to dote on you and act the part of a valiant knight. Your mouth will open, then close again before any words can come out. It hurts, it hurts, and it is eating you up from the inside out.

You bottle it up for Seven knows how long, but it comes torrenting out one night. Silver is walking you home as per usual when you blurt out the suggestion of taking a break from each other. He stills, hurt crumpling his face. And then he has you by the shoulders, softly demanding to know what is wrong, has someone made you feel unwell? You, it’s you, you’re suffocating me, you want to say, but you cannot.

Silver presses and you resist, the two of you taking up the middle of main street with your desperate quarrel. He’s becoming increasingly frantic and desperate, his eyes dark and obsessive. It’s then that a passing mob student angrily speaks up, giving you a rough shove. You meet the hard ground, pain shooting through you. “Move already!” he gruffly stomps by—but he’s caught by Silver, his expression like clouds that have drowned out the moon. “You put your hands on them just now,” he says evenly. “Please apologize.”

“Like hell I will! They shouldn’t have been in my way,” the mob student grumbles. He attempts to leave but to no avail. There’s Silver walling off his escape route, an icy fury overtaking him.

You can’t bring yourself to watch what happens next. Wrenching your face away, you do your best to block out the horrible noises that come. The crunching of bones, the dull thud of flesh against something solid, agonized screaming. And then it’s silent.

You slowly gather the courage to dare a look at the scene. The world tilts, and bile rises in your throat. Silver calmly stands over a fallen figure. The street—and him—are painted in red. The mob student isn’t moving. Not anymore.

He smiles. The small, awkward one that once made your head buzz and cheeks flame. It only yields a gaping hole in your heart now. Silver strolls toward you, caked in blood but acting as though he isn’t.

You’re too paralyzed with fear to attempt backing away or rejecting his advances when Silver tenderly embraces you. You tremble violently, hiccups and tears spilling out.

A hand strokes your hair, his voice a lullaby to soothe you. “Shhh, shhh, shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe. I took care of the big, scary monster. You don’t need to look at it—it’s not fit for your eyes.”

Silver holds you and allows you to sob until you’ve tired yourself out and into a dream. He will carry you home, setting you down on your mattress like laying a corpse in its glass coffin and taking in the sight of you from the foot of the bed.

Not realizing that he, the knight, is the monster that keeps his beloved in a gilded cage. His arms and body, the bars that lock you in. Irony is a cruel mistress, and twisted is the love that it propagates.

[falmerbrook]

Ear Headcanons

So this was meant to be just my headcanon for the differences between the different mer races' ears (size, shape, if they can move on their own, etc.), but there's a tinge of just general visual differences between them in there too (because this ended up being really good face practice for me). I'll mostly talk about ears though. Obviously this is more meant to be general trends than hard and fast rules.

I'll start with the playable races.

Altmer

Tall and skinny ears that can move out and back a bit (moderate range of motion). They mostly are close to the head but can also stick out a bit.

Dunmer

They have a wide variety of how their ears can be shaped; small, tall, wide, big, straight up, curvy, etc. The typically stick out more than Altmer's and have a larger range of motion.

Bosmer

The largest variety of any of the races. Their ears can look like just about anything any other race has (except maybe Maormer) from any mer ears, to more human ears, to more animal-like ones. They have a large range of motion regardless of how they look.

Orsimer

Small, almost human-sized ears, but they stick out more from the head than humans and can be wider. The pointed end tends to stick out. They can rarely move.

Breton

Breton basically just have human ears with a little point at the top. I thought it would be fun to draw a sort of comparison to your average Nede and average Breton to highlight the subtle more merish look that I think Bretons should have too.

Ok now for non-playable races

Snow elves/Falmer

Ok so I have terminal Falmer brainrot so I have a lot of completely made up headcanons for these guys sorry lol.

Snow elves have the least variety. They are usually shorter and closer to the head than the other mer races (which evolved as an adaptation to counter frostbite in my headcanon) and can't move. Conversely, I like to headcanon that falmer are on their way to evolving rudimentary echolocation, and therefore have huge ears that stick out far from their head, and are very mobile (this is also why their faces are covered in wrinkles). They can look more traditionally merish, or some of them have real funky shapes.

Chimer

Basically a mix between how the Altmer/Aldmer and current Dunmer look (both in their general appearance and ears). Think of it like the transition between the Aldmer look and Dunmer.

Dwemer

Dwemer have relatively short ears (compared to other mer) and don't stick out much, but they can be wide along the side of the head. Their shape is usually pretty angular and have limited mobility.

Aldmer

Your standard pointy fantasy elf ears. So I technically headcanon the Aldmer as many different (although similar) groups that are referred to as one group due to the nature of retelling history and some propaganda sprinkled in there, but in general, since the other mer of Tamriel descended from them, I see them as sort of generic. Nothing particularly notable in their ears. Minimal to moderate ability to move them.

Ayleid

Curvy. They have Aldmer sized ears with twisting and curving in different directions. Limited movement, and not too much range in size (just shape). I have 0 reasons for thinking this, I just thought it would be fun and unique and maybe fit their aesthetics.

Maormer

I like that canon Maormer ears look fin-like but I want to turn it up to 11. Large variety of shape and size, but usually large and fin-shaped as a general trend. Huge range of movement.

Ohmes/Ohmes-raht

They aren't elves, but they are described as human/mer-like, so I figured I'd include the Ohmes. They usually have pointy, mer-esque ears, but less distinct than most mer. Despite being relatively small, they have a wide range of movement for their size (and move in similar ways to the way cats ears move for the rest of the Khajiit). They can be extra fuzzy or have little tufts at the end for Ohmes-raht.

[lucky-ladybugs-lovelies]

Watching the wonderful Advent Children this morning, I was hit by something absolutely heartbreaking and devastating. This famous exchange between Sephiroth and Cloud inspired the train of thought:

Sephiroth: Tell me what you cherish most. Give me the pleasure of taking it away.

Cloud: I pity you. You just don’t get it at all. There’s nothing in this world I don’t cherish!

But … the sane Sephiroth did get it. He knew what it was to love. He had people he cared about very deeply. They all left him.

When he lost his mind at Nibelheim, no one fought for him. No one tried to get him back. No one believed it was even possible. Zack at least acknowledged something was horribly wrong when he said, “No! You’re not the Sephiroth I knew!” But then, as near as I can tell, he didn’t fight for Sephiroth either. He just “accepted” Sephiroth was a lost cause.

(In Zack’s defense, he’d struggled so hard to get Angeal back and couldn’t. After seeing what happened to both Angeal and Genesis, seeing Sephiroth fall too was probably the final blow and he just lost hope.)

Now, I would like to think that Zack did at least try. During their fight in Crisis Core, you’re actually playing it out, so there’s no talking between them. (I don’t think? I haven’t got that far and I’m dreading it for sure.) But during the actual fight as it would have happened, I want to believe he did try. It would frankly be OOC for Zack not to try, when he never stopped fighting for Angeal.

However, regardless of what one wants to headcanon in there, as far as actual canon shows us, everyone gave up on Sephiroth.

And honestly? I believe that if someone really did fight and fight and fight for him, as shown in @prismaticpichu ’s amazing fic Candle in the Rain , they could have saved him. Sephiroth kept it together far better than Angeal or Genesis did, and yet in the end he fell harder than they did. But he was shown to have loved deeply and desperately. I feel like he needed love more than they did because of his horrible upbringing. He was love starved. That was likely a lot of why Jenova was able to get her claws in him so much; she was filling that void of the lack of parental love that he wanted and needed. And I fully believe real, true love could have reached him and broken that hold.

But no one gave him that chance.

[shmisky]

Thinking about Alex’s recent interview and its confirmation of how I view Stancest... Desperately needing each other! Indeed!

I think what many people don’t get about Stan and Ford’s dynamic as children, or even as teenagers, is that, no matter what Stan and Ford think or say about it, they were not like Mabel and Dipper. That just highlights their lack of self-awareness, my poor dumbasses.

Here’s a more lengthy analysis for any friendly soul and fellow shipper who cares to read:

Mabel and Dipper have overall very different interests and hobbies and act separately on them. They have other friends and spend time with them—well, at least Mabel has Candy and Grenda, as the bubbly social butterfly she is; Dipper seems way more preoccupied with deciphering the mysteries of Journal 3 than anything else. As fraternal twins of different genders, no matter how alike they look (and despite Mabel’s joke of being “girl Dipper”), they still manage to retain pretty distinct identities. No issue here.

With Stan and Ford, things were very different. First of all, the absurd codependency. When asked about Shermie, Alex observed that a crucial part of their dynamic is that they only had each other. No younger or older brother to support them. From my own observations about their parents, that point is only driven further home.

Filbrick is, well, Filbrick. I don’t think I need to explain much here; every one of us has different interpretations and headcanons about him, but they seem to all agree on the common factor he wasn’t a good father—how much that can be justified by their time period or stretched to accommodate the most heartwrenching stangst is up for debate, just not a subject for this post.

Caryn is more complicated. I think there’s a big tendency to treat her as a good mom, something I particularly don’t agree with as I take a Watsonian approach—that is, she might not have been intended as a questionable mother, but a questionable mother is the woman we ended up with given the writers’ lack of thought about their side characters.

This is not to say she was a horrible person, not necessarily. I think Filbrick was definitely ‘worse’ than her, so to speak, at least in a more obvious way, and she has canonically demonstrated a modicum of care/affection towards Stan. According to her, Stan’s rambunctiousness can be attributed to an excess of “personality,” he’s her “little free spirit.” She was, most notably, one of the two people present at Stan’s funeral if the info on the new website is to be trusted. We see her smiling brightly in the picture of baby Stans included in TBoB, which hints at the fact she liked her kids.

(Interestingly enough, we have so little on her relationship with Ford. Wouldn’t it be ironic if Stan was her favorite child? Most irl people with siblings I’ve encountered seem to think there’s always a favorite.)

But the fact that she, as an adult, didn’t intervene when Stan was kicked out is simply, in my point of view, inexcusable. One could say she was momentarily paralyzed from an overwhelming fear of Filbrick, as a supposed victim herself, but a) that’s already entering headcanon domain, and b) I think that’s far from the truth and directly contradicting the comics, in which she looks quite comfortable in the company of Filbrick: kissing him on the cheek, comfortingly stroking his back... I don’t think Filbrick is meant to be seen as a monster, not in an exaggerated way. (He’s shown to be touched by Stan’s little stunt with the golden chain, too.) Just a really shitty father, in a common, boring, more nuanced, no less traumatizing, way.

To me, the most telling thing of all is the fact Stan calls for Ford to help him, not his own mother. Ford, his brother, same age as him, who was at the moment beyond furious with him and very unlikely to show any compassion. Ford, whose attempts to change Filbrick’s mind would more likely than not have been unsuccessful. Not Caryn, adult, who probably had much greater sway over Filbrick. They say a child’s first instinct is to call for their mama. Clearly not in this case!

I find it fascinating how easily, in the comics, baby Stan opens up to Ford about his feelings of inferiority towards Ford himself. The sheer vulnerability of that moment. The implicit, profound trust, especially coming from someone like Stan, packed to the gills with toxic masculinity. And the manner with which Ford gently comforts him, as if he were used to do so. As Stan, too, had been shown to do when Crampelter mocked Ford’s fingers. They were clearly accustomed to being each other’s emotional pillars, in the way kids who learned early on they can’t count with adults or lean on authority figures in their lives start building their own little safe space.

(The way I see it, they got along extremely well, for better or for worse. No sibling bickering. No fights. How could they? They were literally each other’s only friend. If anything, their first major fight was caused by lack of communication, among many other things; they repressed their frustrations with each other to a ridiculous point instead of simply externalizing them like you would expect of a normal sibling dynamic.)

Second of all, they were monozygotic aka identical twins, as strongly hinted in the show, comics, and books, and as confirmed by Alex on Twitter. They were both named Stan, they had the same face. I’ve read irl identical twins’ confessions about the nature of such a relationship re: identity issues and how people tend to treat you, and it’s often not pretty. In the Stan twins case, their sense of identity was beyond blurry, and it’s not difficult to see why. If you pay attention to the show or the comics, you’ll see many hints of this unhealthiness: the way they were both called to the principal’s office, the way Stan was called a dumber, sweatier version of Ford by Crampelter, the way they had already pretended to be each other before, not in their childhood but adolescence (Stan’s idea, according to hilarious extra material in the DVDs).

I find it adorable that Ford, in the comics, basically grounded himself for Stan! Filbrick had been very clear about grounding Stan, only, not both twins. But Ford stays with him as if he were grounded as well, as if he didn’t even have a choice. Where Stan was, there was Ford, not far behind.

(As an addition that occurred to me just later, after you guys have already started reblogging my post, is that baby Ford has demonstrated this tendency before, in a much more unhinged way, when he exclaims, “Oh my God! We killed the Sibling Brothers!” Ford, honey, if anyone had killed the Sibling Brothers, it would’ve been your brother, the person who shoved them in the first place. Not you.)

They were an unit. Inseparable. As simple as that.

Until they weren’t.

In the same interview, though, Alex added: they, quote unquote, “desperately need each other” as old men. And honestly? It can’t get more intense than that.