LET'S SHOW OUR PRIDE! LET'S MAKE SANS WIN AGAIN!!!!!

"I heard...these voices talking to me"

"Voices? Of...who?, my love"

"Of....you"

Okay so gaslighting!mare, brainwashed!dream and ghost!night

✨ STUPID HEADCANON ✨

MC gets kidnapped by a cult that worships the brothers, and while the cult leader is monologuing about how MC is going to be sacrificed to the great seven lords of Hell, this poor human is just sitting there like “Damn this is gonna be hella awkward once I summon the brothers during the most dramatic moment”.

Cult Leader: We call upon our seven demonic princes of the Devildom to accept this sacrifice-

MC: Princes? Ugh, I almost forget those bastards are royalty. Though, it does explain why Mammon is always so iffy about doing his own laundry.

Cult Leader: What-

MC: Nononono, don’t mind me, continue on. Sorry for the interruption.

Cult Leader: …ahem. We call upon Belphegor, the Avatar of Sloth.

MC: Pfft, sleepy brat probably isn’t even listening right now.

Cult Leader (getting annoyed): We call upon Beelzebub, the feared Avatar of Gluttony-

MC: Oh, shit, you might not wanna call upon Beel, if he finds out you’re bothering me you all might end up as second breakfast.

Cult Leader: AND WITHOUT FURTHER INTERRUPTIONS. We ask Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust to-

MC: You’re not even going to give Asmo an extra compliment? At least call him the “divinely beautiful” Avatar of Lust.

Cult Leader: WE SUMMON THE VERY VERY SCARY AVATAR OF WRATH AS WELL.

MC (remembering how the last time they hung out with Satan he started spontaneously weeping because he remembered the sad ending of a book he read): …yeah. Hella scary, that one.

Cult Leader: And the Avatar of Envy, the master strategist, Leviathan!

MC: Master strategist? You know what? I’ll give you that, that one checks out.

Cult Leader: And the Avatar of Greed Mammon-

MC: My first man :D

Mammon: Hell yeah, human! Up top!

The cult: …AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

MC: Wow, they didn’t even get to Lucifer. How’d you get here so fast, Mam?

Mammon: Oh, I just heard you refer to me as your first man, as ya should, obviously, and I was so happy I decided to pop in and give ya some positive reinforcement. Now where’s my high five?

MC: I’m tied to this alter thing.

Mammon: Oh shit, ya are-

I love you Mirage transformers

I’m so excited for all the new things you’ll be writing :D if you’re cool with it, could you write hawks with a broken darling and him just providing comfort? I’d imagine that when it comes down to it, hawks wouldn’t be all too happy about having his darling become a shell of who they used to be. I feel like he’d just hold darling and pray with all his heart that he’ll fix the problem.

Title: Sunday Regret [Yandere Hawks x Reader]

Synopsis: He didn’t meant to do it. And now he’ll do what it takes 

Word Count: 1312

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of violence

 If he wasn’t in the middle of cooking, he’d probably carry you into the dining room for a change of pace. But he doesn’t want to burn it, lest you get scared at the sound of the smoke detector. 

You haven’t moved from your spot on the sofa in hours. If it weren’t for him, you’d probably still be in bed, tucked on your side, alternating between staring at the wall and burying your face in a tear-stained pillow. 

But it’s not good for you to lay in bed all day, so he carefully picked you up and carried you into the living room after a while. He even left your walker next to you, though you’ve never bothered using it.

You don’t bother doing much of anything, anymore.

At least the living room had more stimulation for you than the bedroom. He worried when you spent hours in there, staring at a blank wall. In the living room, there were books or decor to look at, or he could turn on the TV or play some music, if you wanted. Not that you would say what you wanted, because you haven’t spoken properly in… he doesn’t want to think how long. You’ve made noises. Grunts of assent or disagreement. Sighs. Whimpers, sometimes, at night, when you think he might be sleeping.

He didn’t mean to break you down like this. Truly. How was he supposed to know--know what would happen, and know his own strength. You probably don’t believe him, which hurts (you’re supposed to love him, after all) but he didn’t actually mean to break your leg. You were trying to run, and you made it outside and tripped--all your own fault--and when he’d grabbed your leg as you tried to scurry away, he’d gripped your calf and then.

Crunching. Your screams, no, they were more like wails, primal sounds that made his gut curl. He’s not proud of the way he slapped a hand over your mouth, then, pulling you inside with no delicacy, only hurried fear that someone heard you and might come snooping.

And maybe he shouldn’t have screamed at you after dropping you unceremoniously on the bedroom floor, maybe he should have offered you painkillers right away instead of jabbing a finger in your face and telling you that you could just-deal-with-it.

Maybe if he’d treated you tenderly from the moment of the break, you wouldn’t have become so depressed and downtrodden. The next day, stuffed with painkillers and leg wrapped (courtesy of a favor--no questions, no answers) you simply… stopped existing. You wouldn’t talk, barely nodding or shaking your head at his requests. You stopped bathing yourself--getting to gently bathe you in the tub himself is one perk of all this, he thinks, though he’d never say it out loud. You barely eat, and when you do, he usually needs to feed you.

He’s threatened you with a feeding tube and you didn’t even flinch; he doesn’t want to go that route, but he can always call in a favor. You sleep erratically, sometimes all day, sometimes all night; you stare ahead of you for hours, tears leaking onto whatever pillow is tucked underneath your head. All of his attempts to get you on a sleeping schedule failed, so he stopped trying. You probably needed more sleep to let your broken leg heal, anyway.

He tries to be understanding, because in a way, this is his fault. If he’d been a better boyfriend, you wouldn’t have tried to run from him, and he wouldn’t have broken your leg. (He often reminds himself, that if you hadn’t run away, he never would have needed to grab your leg--but what good does it do to point out that it’s partly your fault, too?)

Besides, he knows that you need lots of forgiveness right now. You’re hurting.  You’re sad. But it’s hard. It’s hard. And he doesn’t blame you, not really, but he wishes he had someone to talk to about his problems. He misses you. He misses watching TV together. He even misses the arguments, in a way. At least you were talking. At least you were feeling something other than the sadness that kept tracks of tears on your cheeks all day.

Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference in the end. Maybe you would have done this regardless.  It’s not important. What is important--and he knows this in his heart--is that the regrets it, all of it, and he’ll never do it again. And he’s going to make sure you get better by being the best damn boyfriend there is.

“Lunchtime, babe,” he says, quickly scooping together two bowls of rice, some veggies, wanting to keep things light on your stomach. It’s easier to feed you when the vegetables are soft--he worries less about you not chewing properly, at least--so they’re a bit overcooked, mushy in the bowl.

You don’t respond. But it’s okay. He doesn’t expect you to. If anything, this entire ordeal has taught him a lot about considering your needs. He wasn’t exactly a great boyfriend before all this. He got a bit too selfish, making you sit on his lap, getting annoyed if you cried while he made you try on lingerie. Now, though? It’s all about you.

So if he has to miss an interview because you broke down sobbing in the tub and need to be held for a while, so be it. If his new couch gets food stains because you don’t want to get up and he feeds you right from the comfort of the sofa, so be it.

Whatever it takes--he’ll do it.

When he cranes his neck back into the living room, the sight makes his feathers rustle. You’re standing, leaning on the walker he’d left behind, arms trembling from the effort. You got up! It’s the most you’ve done on your own in a long time. A grin instinctively breaks out and he can’t stop himself from practically running up to you, eyes bright, smile brighter.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, practically breathless from the change. “Do you--shit, this is great, do you want to do something? What do you need? Want to take a walk on the balcony or--”

He pauses when he sees your mouth moving, sees you looking at him with sad, puppy-dog eyes. It’s a tentative gesture, and he’s reminded of an infant, staring at their parents and trying to force through words through unpracticed lips.

“I--I--I…”

He rises up on his toes in anticipation. Moving on your own and talking, all in one day? Maybe this is your breakthrough, maybe this is it, maybe he’s pulled you across that threshold back into health. Back into you.

But you don’t--can’t--finish whatever it was you wanted to say. You huff instead, sighing in defeat, face falling and thick tears dribbling down your splotchy cheeks as you give up entirely.

You burst into short, pitiful sobs, arms shaking violently as your grip on the walker weakens, as your physical strength seems to drop.

He doesn’t wait, and immediately swoops you up in his arms, cradling you as he sits on the sofa, careful of your leg as he tucks you into his lap. You don’t resist as he pushes your head towards his rest, letting it rest there as he rubs your back, stroking softly.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

It makes you cry harder, leaning your face into his shoulder like you do the pillows on the bed. Which is good, isn’t it? You’re getting it out. And when is the last time you let him hold you like this without struggling, legs and arms kicking, nails scratching?

So he won’t deny that he enjoys this moment, enjoys getting to comfort you in the way he’s always wanted to; in the way that you’ve always, especially right now, needed.

It might take a long time to get you back to yourself. But he’ll be here, every step of the way, waiting for you to come out on the other side.

REBLOG IF THIS RELATES TO YOU:

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How many times do you think that Hawk’s S/O has walked in on either a shattered mirror or Hawks knocked out in front of a mirror because he’s mistaken it for an intruder?

Too many times. But things have gotten better. 

You raised the handheld mirror right in front of his face, steeling your nerves to ensure that you won’t panic in case he reacts violently. 

He stares at his reflection intensely while you study his body language. No shrinking of the pupils, no bristling of his wings...he’s handling it much better than last time. It’s time to ask the big question: “Who do you see, Hawks?”

Without missing a beat, he answers. “Me. It’s just me.”

Your shoulders slacken from relief. “That’s right. Good job.”

Next, you guide him to the bathroom mirror. His second test was the ‘intruder that likes to watch you groom yourself.’

“Who is that behind me, Hawks?” You ask. 

He calmly watches himself. “Just me.”

You smile. “That’s right.” He’s making amazing progress, but there’s still one more test.

The two of you enter the bedroom and stop in front of the full-length mirror. So many times have you replaced this poor piece of furniture after getting heavily damage. So many times have you seen Hawks writhing on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass.

He may have passed the other two mirrors, but how will he handle his greatest enemy: the full image of ‘another’ handsome male?

You take a deep breath and say it. “Who do you see standing there, Hawks?”

One beat.

Unlike the previous ones, Hawks doesn’t instantly answer, and that makes you anxious.

Two beats.

You really like this mirror. Please don’t destroy it.

“Me.”

Wha...you can’t believe it. 

“Hawks...Hawks, you did it!” 

He lets out a silly squawking noise when you roughly embrace him. “Well, this is embarrassing. I really was just fighting myself this entire time?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you smother his face with rapid-fire kisses. “I’m so proud of you.”

--

The two of you celebrated at the nearby park, feeding ducks at the pond.

“Sorry that I’ve been stressing you out all this time. I always thought I was doing you a favor, keeping the house safe and all that,” Hawks said as he tossed seeds into the water. The ducks gulped them down in a flash.

You decided to feed the shy fish instead. “It’s alright, I know your bird instincts get the best of you sometimes. I’m glad we got through this together.”

“Gosh, this is worse than the time I picked a fight with that stuffed...” He trailed off.

You were about to ask what distracted him until you saw his face. He was frozen, glaring fiercely down at the water.

At his reflection.

Your cheerful mood quickly switched to something more terrified. “Hawks, no.”

He didn’t appear to hear you, choosing instead to threaten the mysterious figure in the water. “You got a problem, buddy?” His wings were slowly spreading out for extra intimidation. He smirked when his reflection did the same. “Tough guy, huh? I know your game. Trying to hide among the fish and pounce on my girl when I’m not looking, are you?”

Already panicking, you grab his shoulders to try and pull him away. “Stop, Hawks. It’s you. Just step away from the pond and calm down.”

“No,” Hawks turns to you. “Don’t fall for it, dove. This is the real deal, I can see it in his eyes. You think I’m stupid enough to get fooled by this reflection bullshit again?”

Your eyes awkwardly look to the side while your mouth opens, then closes.

For a second, Hawks looks genuinely hurt, but before you can say anything, he returns his attention to the water with newfound fury. “You made my own lovebird doubt me, you son of a bitch!”

It happened so fast. The ducks quacked loudly and flapped away in shock when he suddenly dove into the water.

“Hawks!”  You watched him splash wildly in the water, at first attempting to strike at the rival that he could no longer see, but his anger was replaced by fear when he realized his situation.

“Help! I can’t swim!” The number 2 hero of Japan was screaming and flailing in a duck pond, in serious danger of drowning.

You didn’t even bother to take the time to appreciate how absolutely ridiculous this scene was. You already removed your shoes and hopped into the water, dodging his swinging arms and wings to grab and pull him back up on the grass. Thank goodness for his light hollow bones.

Hawks was shivering on his hands and knees, spitting out water and...a small unlucky fish that you quickly picked up and tossed back into the pond.

“Bastard almost killed me,” he sputtered. 

“No, you almost killed you. This is no different than the mirrors, Hawks. My god, do I have to teach you how to not fight water now?!” 

He shook out his wings while you squeezed out as much water as possible out of your shirt. “Baby, you didn’t see him. You didn’t see that annoying look on his face and those badass wings. He was a threat. I don’t know where he went but-”

You notice him eyeing the water again, where his reflection is slowly reappearing as the ripples calm.

“There he is!”

“Hawks don’t do it!”

He did it.

With another splash and more confused quacks, he was thrashing in the water again, and when he lost sight of the winged stranger for the second time...

“Help! I can’t swim!”

Working the Late Night Shift

What happens when poor keigo finally realizes it’s a plush?

(This is based on this, btw)

Therapist: What’s bothering you today, Hawks?

Hawks: Well, I just found out my son isn’t really my son.

Therapist: I see, his father is someone else?

Hawks: No, not like that. He’s actually a stuffed toy.

Therapist: ...Oh...of course.

Hawks: It’s so much to take in, ya know? All the time I’ve spent with him. Our days at the park, the fun talks we had at the dinner table. He was always a quiet little chick, but I didn’t mind. It does explain why he was having so much trouble learning to fly. Every time I gave him a little toss, he’d fall flat on his face.

Therapist: Yes, it makes sense that he wouldn’t be very responsive.

Hawks: Oh but don’t get me wrong. My girl has cheated on me before. Maybe this is all my fault for giving her a second chance. For god’s sake, the bastard still lives with us!

Therapist: The other man she’s been seeing lives with you?

Hawks: Yes! Stupid peacock bastard. I’ve been trying to play nice around him for her sake. It’s not like he ever says anything to me but...I just know that he thinks he’s better than me. That stupid patient look, like he’s always waiting for me to snap so that I’ll look bad in front of her again! Well I’m not going to let him win this time.

Therapist: You called him a peacock. Is that related to his quirk?

Hawks: Yeah...I think. I have a pic of him on my phone.

*Hawks shows therapist a photo on his phone*

Therapist: Hawks...this is a toy.

Hawks: What?

Therapist: He’s not real. Neither your son or your...rival, are real.

Hawks:.........

Therapist:.........

Hawks:...How much of my life has been a lie? Is my girl a toy?

Therapist: No. Going by the pictures you’ve shown before, she’s very real and alive.

Hawks: Are you a toy?

Therapist: I don’t believe so.

Hawks: Am I a toy? Has my entire life been nothing more than someone else’s playtime, where the people who own me get a kick out of imagining me in any role they want? Is that why those bastards expect me to be capable of doing anything they ask? They think I don’t have a mind to break??

Therapist: Hawks-

Hawks: I'M NOT A FUCKING TOY.

Therapist: Hawks, deep breaths.