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veldian · 3 years

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tell us more of ur think tank hcs i personally am at the edge of my seat

HELL YEAH ALRIGHT HERE WE GO. some of these might be against canon in some way but that's your fault for trusting me with this

ALSO, AS USUAL, I HAVE TO APOLOGIZE. THIS GOT VERY LONG. when i think about the tanks i go fuckin wild with it

starting with pride headcanons to get the ball rolling

all the tanks are nonbinary, but additionally, dala is a trans woman and 0 is a trans man

8 hates gender he fucking hates it. every day he wakes up and says "today i will make gender my bitch" and then he does. he says this in the game too you just don't know cuz he only speaks in static (don't factcheck this)

if you ask 8 what pronouns she uses, they will shrug and give you a "i dunno" noise. sometimes it'll make a non-committal hand movement and some unintelligible noises. good luck

god this bitch (borous) is gay! good for him! good for him.

he's also intersex! i don't remember where we got that hc but i like it and im holding onto it

okay but borous calls himself bi because yeah Men, but he also loves dala very much and doesn't want to misgender her. also as previously stated, 8's main goal is to confuse everyone about their gender so the tanks all stick with mspec labels to be on the safe side. you never know what'll happen. gender is a ticking time bomb

bi gang: klein, borous, 0

pan gang: dala, mobius

don't ask her about any of her identities she doesn't know the answer either: 8

have i gone off about polytank dynamics enough? i don't think so

8 and dala started dating first because horny bitches gravitate towards each other. they can also "pass" as a "straight couple" so hopefully no one at work will look at them and call them slurs. hopefully

klein and borous knocked things out of the park for being the first gay scientists ever

8 and dala became polyam icons and pulled 0 in. trans bitches gravitate towards each other

klein and borous did the same with mobius. bitches with facial hair gravitate towards each other

???????

idk and then all six of them started dating somehow. the end

somewhere along the way klein and 8 were like "i like you a little too much" and now they're inseparable

okay anyway. misc hcs

ive mentioned this before but when i pretend everything is in modern times, 0 is a tiktokker and he thrives on the attention and making fun of his coworkers on the internet

"watching steven universe repeatedly when i felt even slightly bad transed my gender" - doctor 8 old world blues

i just remembered i made a carrd for the tanks as if they were kinnies in their early to mid 20s

8 kinned pearl su. borous kinned werewolf cookie. 0 kinned rimmer red dwarf. mobius kinned... morbius forbidden planet. obviously. klein refused to put his kins on it. DID DALA KIN FROM DANGANRONPA

i think at one point we had a half-joking hc where klein gets nauseous if he sees blood

and then that changed to he can't see others blood, only his own

while borous can't see his own blood, but he's fine seeing other ppl's

i know borous said that gabe barked at everyone, but i think gabe trusts the other tanks because he knows borous does

borous set up a kissing booth with gabe. the crowd goes wild

when the tanks get together they usually go to klein's. he's the leader or something. also he has a fucking bar in his house.

he complains about them the whole time but you can really tell he loves having people over. why else would he deck his house out like that? he LOVES hosting stuff. house husband

if you saw my chart where i said klein would rather die than do dishes, i was so wrong. his house is pristine. its easily the cleanest

klein's love language is acts of service. he goes over to his partners' houses when they feel awful and clean stuff up for them when they can't. he also makes them food if they want it. he only complains a little, but you can tell he's mostly teasing

did you know klein has five mugs in his kitchen in-game. he's literally prepared to host his partners at any given moment.

the group have learned that letting 8 come over when their house is a mess is a Huge mistake. it goes from 8 trying to help "tidy up" to "im going to put your books and albums in alphabetical order by artist also your clothes are going to be hue-sorted"

"8 why are there only 8 books on each of my bookshelves"

"it looks better"

"it literally does not"

8 can no longer stomach going into 0's house

on the other hand, 0 hates staying in 8's house. the ticking of all their clocks is sensory hell

on 80 date nights they have to do rock-paper-scissors for which house they go to. or they go out. they love each other but their houses drive the other fucking nuts

oh speaking of their houses. yes dala said she didn't like Literal Teddy Bears but that is null and void considering she has teddies in her house

and she has 5 on her bed. five of them :)

she named all of them after her partners! its mostly cute but there is a slight bit of concern because they know what she does with them <__<

not that 8 has any place to judge. mobius found batteries under its pillow once. all 8 said was "they can vibrate." mobius regrets touching them.

i don't know what to say about dala's mannequins i don't have anything funny im just scared

WHY ARE 0 AND KLEIN THE ONLY ONES WITH BATHROOMS IT DRIVES ME INSANE 0'S BATHTUB ISNT EVEN LAYING DOWN ITS AGAINST THE WALL WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT GENERATOR IN HIS BATHROOM DO THE OTHER TANKS JUST SHIT OUTSIDE I'M SEEING RED

mobius and 0 are both into robotics, and they worked together to make muggy, so they've had date nights where they mainly tinker with electronic things.

0 gets very excited when he makes a breakthrough, and seeing that warms mobius's heart. mobius made a habit of kissing 0 on the forehead or squeezing 0 into a hug when they figure things out.

(0 remembers he likes men.) 😳

dala/klein date nights are essentially just them drinking and gossiping chatting

i asked polycule for some more, so here are ones from your local think tank kinnies

borous -

"klein and borous both like classical music in very different ways. klein mostly likes it to feel smart (see: wheatley) but he just started associating it with the others so it felt nicer And borous just likes it bc hes borous"

klein also likes jazz, but so do all the rest of them

8 has a cochlear implant

"dala likes dressing up to look pretty (see: runway) but is personally embarrassed by it (until she gets encouragement) bc she feels like the others dont support that"

"0 loves collecting and reading those stupid magazines with the birthday party products and themes that ud wanna buy from as a kid but are way too expensive"

"mobius has a secret love for puppetry and will try to bring it up sometimes whenever he can. hes made 3 separate sets of the other tanks as puppets and they freak 0 out"

"borous, in an attempt to better his faults, has started learning from dala and 8 on how to take care of plants instead of what he did before. his basement turns into a cool little green house cozy cuddle area"

"to add on: 8 gardens to cope whenever hes alone bc (projects onto ur kin) he mood drops very fast when alone"

"mobius likes dressing in cozy sweaters and fancy stuff"

0 -

"0 doesn't like anal that much" (thanks.)

dala -

"their new rap album called boyz in the tanks" (THANKS.)

and to top things off, :) here are the normal names for them all, created primarily by our borous kinnie

klein - Ernest Klein (nicknamed ernie)

mobius - Wilbert Mobius (nicknamed bert)

borous - James H. Borous (nicknamed jamie)

dala - Dala Theodore (HER NICKNAME IS TEDDY ITS GENIUS)

8 - Emmett Handley (nicknamed 8 + emmy)

0 - Robert O'Barrick (nicknamed 0/O + robbie (HIM SHARING HOUSE'S NAME IS INTENTIONAL. HE'S TRANS HE PICKED HIS NAME WHY DID HE DO THIS))

#tech.txt #old world blues

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erenwrites · 7 years

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kakyoin poem

warning: contains major stardust crusaders spoilers

a sad little jotakak thing i did a while back that i hope you enjoy!!! please give feedback!

there is no feeling i could ever describe that could compare to how i felt the instant i locked eyes with him. but, i assume that would be hard to comprehend. i guess i'll go back to the start.

once in your life, you've probably been the child picked last to play a sport. you've been the kid who didn't get a partner. you've been the one who got to the swings last. you've had to sit alone at lunch.

these are all completely normal scenarios to endure as you grow up. i may even go as far as to say they're healthy, to know what it feels like. yet, there comes a time when you get that pit in your stomach once too many. there comes a time where you wonder if it's that you're bad at the game, or if you're bad as a whole. you wonder if there was no room at the table, or if they only said that all along.

this may seem pointless. to any normal person, it probably would be. but, my entire life, that child was me. i spoke to the others around me, but i never really understood anything about them. they never sought to understand anything about me. my life was filled with utter small talk until, ultimately, silence.

a world of silence is so quiet that a single word can shatter your reality. a single word can set you on edge, or make you doubt yourself. you feel invisible. more importantly, you are invisible. you don't matter to the world. you are silent and so is everything around you, and the world keeps spinning its course.

i met a man who tried to fill the void. he understood me in the most essential of ways. he could see a part of me nobody else ever had, and i was overjoyed that finally, someone knew, someone realized what i was, someone understood even a part of me... and i made a fatal mistake. i let him control me. i let him use me in the worst of ways, and put my life on the line.

that's when i met the love of my life.

they say that when you meet your soulmate, time stops. and, as i know now, that easily could've happened. he seemed to move in slow motion to me, cascading down staircases as if he were a mountain and nothing could move him.

part of me knew, then, that i wouldn't ever be the same after that moment. part of me knew, deep down, that i couldn't be invisible anymore.

yet, i attacked him. i lashed forward, and hurt others in my path. i killed innocent people, and i ruined my own innocence at seventeen just because someone had finally even begun to try to understand me...

he saw how broken i was.

i possessed a helpless woman. i used her to kill my fellow classmates. i felt no remorse. i was happy to do it.

he saw that i wasn't happy.

he knew, even then.

i should've known it was no problem for him to defeat me. it didn't surprise me in the least. i lost consciousness, and i remember thinking that if that was where i died, it would've been a worthy death.

then, i felt a surging.

when you die, it's a strange feeling. it's like floating, but under water. you're flying through the water at a certain level, and everything is slow and bright and muffled... and then, suddenly, you're grabbed by the ankles and dragged out against your will, and you hit the air like a racket smacking the net.

my eyes flew open, and there he was. he was hunched over me, holding me delicately still. there were lines in his face. he told me that my life was in his hands, and i could feel the softness that was there. i wondered if i had actually died all along. i felt something, something, something... change. something i hadn't realized was lost was being returned to me, ever so slowly.

little did i know it was my sanity.

that man, the rotten king of hell, had used me beyond repair. i was no more than a puppet, all this time. but, at the end of it, i was a puppet who could remember. and, of all things, i remembered how i felt the instant i saw his face.

i recall looking into his eyes at that moment. i couldn't tell you what i was looking for. maybe some sign, or some answer, or some reassurance. but... i do remember feeling a strange comfort. it felt like being somewhere familiar, where you know everything by heart. it felt like being somewhere safe, and warm, and home.

funny, how after my entire life, this is the first time i can ever remember feeling at home.

something in those eyes was so soothing to me, and i wanted it. i wanted it- them- him- all to myself. i knew it, even from that moment.

i always told myself it was my fault nobody understood me. maybe if i wasn't different, so unbearably different, i could live with the others in harmony.

every time i look into those eyes, i am understood in the way that one longs to be their entire life long. i feel a sensation pound through my heart, and i clutch at the idea of being in love with someone who understands the way no one else could within a lifetime.

i wondered, and wondered, and wondered if he would ever see that side of me.

he could see all of my facets, of course. but there comes a time where seeing all the parts of someone and seeing someone in the way they wish to be seen are clearly distinguishable.

i didn't know how he would react. as much as i saw when i looked at him, he always seemed so shut off from me. it was as if he was hiding himself inside of a shell, and nobody could ever crack it open.

yet, he was kind.

it all began to happen so fast. i saw someone lunge for him, and there i was, throwing myself in the way. i didn't even mean to- my soul had to protect him, no matter the cost. then, the blood.

i was covered in so much blood.

he began to yell at me, because that was what he always loved to do. he told me about how he could've handled it, and how dumb i was for taking the hit for him.

i smiled and nodded. i felt consciousness tinging the corners of my vision.

the last thing i felt was him picking me up in his arms, and i remember wishing, hoping, and praying he would be there when i woke up.

he was.

i opened my eyes to see him there beside me. he was asleep, with my hand locked in his own.

i wondered if it was intentional.

he began to stir as i tightened my grip, going from limp to actually holding the curves of his hand in mine. his fingers were so rough, and his palms so calloused. his knuckles were so tough from a lifetime of fighting, and everything about him felt right.

his eyes opened. my heart paused.

his hand didn't move.

instead, i remember him coming closer to me. telling me i was stupid to worry everyone. telling me i didn't need to worry about him. but, i think he knew.

i couldn't help it if i tried.

i remember tears coming to my eyes. he sighed in annoyance. i didn't care.

i was already so in love with him i didn't ever want the time we spent there to end.

that was the first time i ever saw him smile, and it beamed so brightly even remembering it now makes my day shine.

i hope he'll love me back.

it's been fifty days, now, since we met. an odd number, for sure. he's not by my side right now, but i know he will be.

i think of all the times we kissed.

i think of how he smells.

i think of how his hand feels in mine.

i'm head to head with the enemy, and my thoughts are all on him.

i think about how his friends changed my life forever.

i think about what's at stake for him.

i think about if he'll ever meet my parents.

i'm thrown against the water tower. there's a huge hole in my torso. there's blood everywhere, god, there's so much blood.

i think of the last time i told him i loved him.

i think of how he grinned.

i gaze at the clock tower across the way, and summon hierophant green, using the last emerald splash i will ever make.

i wonder if he'll be able to make it out of this alive. i'm sinking further and further under the water, and there doesn't feel like there's any escape now.

and, suddenly, there's no more.

NORIAKI KAKYOIN HAS DIED.

#very long post #jotakak #fanfic #kakyoin #jjba #stardust crusaders #eren writes

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chocolatechiplague · 7 years

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Delete. -Yuri On Ice Fanfiction

Story Also On Ao3

Summary: Sometimes it’s easy, other times it’s scary how numb his fingers felt, how slow and heavy when he talked to people in his skating community, when he responded to those that looked up to him. How every word was just another lie, another fragment of a make up persons story, a made up personality, everything simply made up, just an empty smile and just an act. It was scary how easy it was, and it was easy to feel how scared he got because of it all. Ever think about how easy it would be to delete? Yuuri always did.

Ever think about how easy it would be to delete? Yuuri always did.

Every single breath felt like it was being sucked into a dark, uncaring hole. A whirlpool to never come back. It would rattle inside his ribs, in his lungs, push blood that couldn’t find where the heart was with how it was replaced with a black hole. It felt like a void. That everything that there once was, it was all gone and nothing else. It was as if every emotion had packed up, picked up their safe deposit from the landlord and took off from the empty shell. The wall bare, not even white, an unattractive off color that was a mix of pale mucus from the back of the throat and the color found when a bug is squished against your shoe.

He had tried everything while growing up. From bad TV shows, watching his favorite figure skaters including his Idol, showers where he could vent his emotions, hiding himself under the cover of rushing water, nights huddled in the corner of his bedroom because his bed felt like a luxury he didn’t desire. He had tried staring at pill bottles, pausing when cooking to look at the knife, walking a bit too close to a steep and sudden edge when he left the house, and while they gave the closest bit of comfort he could find in the span of time not on the ice, none of it did anything to push away the emptiness.

It wasn’t always so much suicide that was on his mind, though it came up often in his thoughts, it was the blankness in his chest, the empty shell, the starless galaxy that ripped at him piece by piece. There was no one to talk to about it either. The few times he tried, either they didn’t understand and told him to just think of happy things, he was just being a little sad, or after finding out this entire large chunk of who he was, they stopped listening, stopped caring, turned the focus from just being there for him in these times to talk about themselves. How much harder they had it, how much they went through in life and yet they weren’t ‘asking for attention’ like he was.

Food flip-flopped between it stopping in sounding appealing, even when his stomach screamed as it shrink from eating nothing but a small handful of chips and some bubbly soda, to trying to fill the void in his chest with what comfort food he could find in his mother's home cooking. Water itself was replaced with said soda outside the rink, because if he had to be some form of hydrated, he may as well lace it with all the crap he could and maybe let it encourage an early death.

Sleep was always an issue on its own. It ran from him at all hours. When wide away, it taunted him. When drowsy, it winked and promised later. In bed it would stand just far enough off the edge of his bed that it was out of reach, saying how he wasn’t trying hard enough. Unless he knocked back sleeping medication, sleep would only embrace him with reluctant arms in the morning rays clawing up the curve of the earth.

Every smile, every joke, every laugh was fake. Even in the times they felt real to even him, it was fake. He had just gotten so good at the lies that even he was starting to believe them. Or was it that he was so desperate for even a scrap of happiness that he ran head first into his own lies? After late night confessions of depression, of how fucked his world was in the darkness of his and Phichit’s room,, he would pop up with nothing but jokes and happy words, saying it was just an odd emotion from lack of sleep. As if those thoughts weren’t his every waking moment.

Sometimes it’s easy, other times it’s scary how numb his fingers felt, how slow and heavy when he talked to people in his skating community, when he responded to those that looked up to him. How every word was just another lie, another fragment of a make up persons story, a made up personality, everything simply made up, just an empty smile and just an act. It was scary how easy it was, and it was easy to feel how scared he got because of it all.

Ever think about how easy it would be to just delete? To delete everything? Fail competitions so retiring was the obvious choice, they would want you to quit, delete all social media, everything that connects you to people, delete all records and traces of yourself, delete every breath you take. He thought of that a lot, almost every day. Some days only for a second, other days would be for hours on end in the panic of anxiety under his sheets.

How easy it would be to delete the empty feeling in the chest. To just delete everything there is. How easy it would be because crying doesn’t help when there is nothing to cry about beyond the very fact you even exist.

So many times, it wasn’t his practice heavily schedule that kept Yuuri alone. So many times it was people just not wanting to deal with him, not wanting to accept when he did let them see a hint of who he was. He had some people that he had known years, talked to daily, who after so much trust, got to see a little of his insecurities, his self hate. Soon after they just. . . left. They just took off.

They left him without a single word of why, without care. It was the normal once he hit eighteen, when he accepted that this was just another side of how people were when his little support system was torn off in an entirely different continent across what was essentially a vast bathtub seasoned heavily with salt. You couldn’t let anyone know you, the mask had to be there constantly. Phichit had seen hints, but every time, he laughed it off as being sleep deprived, over working himself to land a certain jump. He couldn’t accept that if his best friend saw it all, he could possibly think he was pathetic, a pity case, weird. That none of it was true. Look at these comedical stumbles over his skates and silly falls, aren’t they funny? Aren’t they stupid? Aren’t they fake? Aren’t they pathetic and forced? Don’t they just tell a stupid story that covers up the normal, the boring, the pathetic they become over time? Don’t they symbolize everything he is? Don’t you feel better once they fade from existing and leave your life? Of course they do, because over time, nothing matters anymore.

With his job, it would be nothing at all to ‘slip up’, twist ever so slightly in a jump to land wrong, not only give up the dreams that once kept him going as a child that now meant nothing to him, but also to give up the hopes those around him had of his own future. It would hurt to hurt them, sure. It would feel like he was being put to his knees, head down, muzzle to back of his neck, to the spot between his eyes, under his jaw, in front of the spot he was suppose to have a heart instead of a black hole and just give up on him with broken hearts at what he could have been. But in a way, it would make things so much easier, to not have those high expectations pushed on him.

Really, the topic came to mind rarely, at least anymore, but it came up. There was something to be said about what he went through, that he could tell the difference between those who gave up, those who tried even a bit for any reason to survive this, what the chemicals in the brain refused to give and refused to do their best, and between those who romanticized the every day fucking suffering of his anxiety, haunting depression and self hatred. The people who thought it was so fucking beautiful, the scars, physical, mental and emotional he walked with every day on his soul. Those who thought having a single bad day could be compared to anything like this. The ones wanting to talk loudly about what they thought it was like, that made everyone uncomfortable because how hard they tried to be ‘beautiful just like you people’. The same people that thought the daily pills that kept every day barely survivable were a curse and should be banned.

These were the people that always seemed to be there in your life to rub salt in every wound. You can't do this as well as me, you didn't do how I want you to do it, you don't do enough here and there, and any attempt to show your own view of it, to explain, open your mouth for once and actually speak, it's just rubbed in harder, cutting off your voice that they have a high expectation of you, they obviously know more and their experiences are more important than anything. Don't like a certain food? Well it's my favorite, it's so good. Don't like a certain type of animal? Not only did I rescue mine from a horrible place but then they saved my life! Fear of something? Oh how I adore this thing, what a silly thing, my own fear is far worse and harder to handle. Work your ass off with bloodied feet trying to land a quad Salchow? Ha! I got it on my first try.

People often make dark emotions worse, they backhand with making everything about their lives when under the guise of helping and caring, then throw in ‘well if you were only more like me with this subject’ in the end. People feel just as much as a cancer as the deep anxiety that roots against the ribcage and lungs. If anxiety is a cancer to the lungs, depression as a heart’s black hole, then people are the ones cutting off someone's feet then scoffing about how tired they are walking, a nail gun to what should be a support system.

It was something so hard to accept. That not everyone was grinning as they watched you fail in front of them, fail yourself. It was something that took years and years to build any kind of trust to open up, accept any help. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do to say outloud and not in the dark corner of the room at night with a tight chest that he needed help, an intervention before he was truly taken over by the hole where he should have a heart. It was almost impossible for so long to swallow down the reality that he could be loved, that there wasn’t hidden hatred and pity towards him by a tiny handful of people. It wouldn’t ever fix him, nothing ever would, but in time, it eased him through some of the panic so he could keep trying for dreams.

The extended hands, those who shared his blood, the best friend that sat with him for years in a tiny dorm room as he cried into their shoulder without asking, never pushing Yuuri for answers he didn’t have, the glowing ball of wonderful of a man who pulled him into a warm lap, crook of a neck with soothing knuckles along his spine when he felt nothing inside. They were all the ones who tried, that started to notice more and more once he let them see past the blindfold he forced on them. While they couldn’t fully understand, never would, they didn’t judge or leave him, they worked their asses off to prove it when his doubt raised and continued to love him and be next to him, holding his hand when he needed it.

Ever feel like you should delete? Everything would be better? That feeling would never leave, but it could be slightly dulled, a hesitation to the button so easy to press.

#yuuri katsuki #victor nikiforov #yuri on ice #fanfic #my writing #phichit chulanont #anxiety #panic attacks #depression #mention of suicidal thoughts #hopeless feeling #black hole #soft light of hope at the end #comfort #loved ones #vent piece #inner dialogue #inner thoughts #victuuri at the end

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