Tim: *jumps From One Far Fetched Conclusion To Another*

Tim: *jumps from one far fetched conclusion to another*

Tim: hardcore parkore

Wish By Spirit And If By Yes Sabo Headcanons

It has come to my attention that I prolly ought to talk about my Sabo and why he’s this civil-masked broken child who only feels safe being nasty to those he loves. Have some thoughts: His references for emotional stability growing up were his family and Ace. Yeah. Sabo literally grew up with Ace as his touchpoint for emotional health, and they spent most of their day trying to beat each other up. When most people are trying hide their rough edges, he spent that time sharpening his, and most people aren’t prepared for that. And then he forgets. Yeah. (Garp and Luffy show up late and he barely had a year with them; they don’t count but also don’t help) He hates nobility and his family and what he is so much he’d rather live in an actual dump, and yet to this day he wears the trappings of a noble (top hat, cravat, jacket, etc). That takes a really special kind of self-hatred.

The Revolutionary Army has a child army. (I can accept Sabo as a one-off thing because extenuating circumstances, but there were too many children in that flashback for coincidence. Not that many kids are morally driven enough to hunt down and join a revolution.)This is an organization that raises children to be soldiers for their cause. We can assume they indoctrinate them too but that hardly matters to someone in that deep already. But consider: in this group of lonely, broken, probably nothing-left-to-lose child soldiers…even in that company, he still stands out as too vicious and strong. Unpopular opinion: I don’t think Koala and Sabo are friends. I think they’re partners, and she and Sabo get along so well because she respects both his subtle crazy and his suicidal willingness to defy and attack any authority ever. Of course, in my headcanon they have this snipy, mutual respect, unable to pull punches type of masochistic relationship. Like, mostly they laugh and spar and dance on the razor line of propriety, but they know each other’s weak points and can’t help but poke every now and again, and then it gets dirty and vicious and bloody so fast, but they keep it private and it’s kinda a release mechanism because occasionally you just really need someone to remind you that you’re an awful monster, and they’re that for each other he learned high manners and fancy language and he’s very good at pretending to be society-normal, but his normal is a casual violence and words as weapons, which is why he and Ace work so well together. Ace is blatantly mean and straightforward and rude, but he uses it to hide his squishy hope-y center that really wants emotional connections. Sabo wears a polite and nice veneer over his cutting and cruel nature, and he knows better than to think about emotional attachment Basically, that throwaway line about Ace being the emotionally healthiest? Not exaggerating. At least his type of broken can be bettered. tl;dr: Sabo is a small ball of seething self-hatred and anger, and that was before the Army made him into a weapon. Boy is not even a bit okay but he’s very good at hiding it, and those few who know see no reason to fix it.

Jason: hey, do you think I’m going too far?

Tim: you went too far eight hours ago

Tim: now you’re going to jail

You’re not stupid, or worthless, or a failure. I-I’m so, so sorry that I made you feel like that. You’re my brother, and I love you… and I should have told you sooner.

I have had this weird scene in my head for a while where Ford has to rescue Stan from his mindscape… and has to confront the fact when he sees Stan’s memories, he finally realizes Stanley sacrificed so much of himself for him.

Tim: I know everyone sees Jason as the edgy batboy just cause he smokes and kills people or whatever

*shows picture of jason smoking*

Tim: but I do crazy things that can result in bad health too

Tim: *eats raw cookie dough*

Tim: see I’m the real bad boy

#11 for the soulmates au prompt!!!!! + horrible exorcists heheh

11. the one where soulmates share extreme physical sensation — if one gets hurt, the other gets hurt, and etc.

When it hits, Natori is grateful he’s alone, because the pain brings him to his knees. His glass shatters on the kitchen floor, but he barely hears it over the roaring of blood in his ears.

His eye. His right eye. It’s burning, it’s being torn out — No, the quiet, rational part of his mind tells him, it’s in your head. Nothing is happening. But the pain is fierce, and he’s still shaking when it subsides. For a moment, he curls down to rest his forehead on the cool tiles, then he bolts up. Before he has time to let his mind catch up, he stumbles to the bathroom to inspect his face in the mirror.

His eyes are a bit watery, but clear, intact. Nothing has happened. And yet it’s still throbbing, a sharp, insistent sting that has subsided but not disappeared.

His right eye. At last, his brain catches up with the feeling, and he thinks he feels the world tilt, just a little.

Since becoming clan head, Matoba’s movements have slowed. Natori isn’t sure if it’s compensation for his half-obstructed vision, a consequence of the heavy robes he seems to wear all the time now, or just an attempt to project some kind of grace, to make his elders forget just how young he is. His hair is long enough to tie back now. If it is his plan to seem something other than human, he is succeeding.

Natori does not usually keep an eye on him at gatherings. That is what everyone else is for — there’s never any end to discussion of the young prodigy of the Matoba clan, turned able leader. But today he tracks him carefully. Clearly, the curse remains. He can find no change in the man.

Maybe it was ridiculous to think the pain meant anything. Why should it? Perhaps it was some rival’s flimsy attempt at a curse. Spending the evening watching Matoba would be a waste of time, so he busies himself in conversation, pushing the incident from his mind.

It’s sheer stupidity that gets him hurt — chasing the ayakashi too quickly without watching the ground, without knowing the terrain. His foot catches on a root and he sprawls, ankle twisting, and yelps in startled pain. The ayakashi is gone in an instant, anyway, so there’s nothing to do but hobble back.

It’s healed by the time of the next gathering, his limp gone entirely. He chats genially with other exorcists, a skill he acquired in his day job, and picks up useless gossip. A marriage being planned, a family’s bankruptcy, a rebellious son leaving the practice. In the summer, it becomes oppressively hot in the villas where meetings are held, between the number of bodies and long robes and old buildings without air conditioning. He excuses himself to get some air.

Outside, it is barely cooler, the sun only half set, and he catches sight of a silhouette that makes him want to turn back at once. Matoba must have heard his footsteps, though, and turns to look.

“Natori.” A smile — slow — curves up. “Or else his onryō here to harass me.”

He is no longer in the mood for conversation. “Neglecting your guests?”

Matoba laughs. It’s a different sound than it had been, once. “You should host sometime. I remember your family had quite a nice house.”

“It’s a bit crowded.” What family remains there is more than enough.

“All the same.” He glances up to the house. “You’re right, though. I have people to greet.” As he passes Natori, he adds in an undertone, “I’m glad your ankle is better now.”

He leaves Natori with that, to stand alone in the fading light.