20 y.o
Writer and artist in general, also a bot maker!
Multifandom
Sometimes I translate others works
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Idk if I can call it headcanons. Whole verse is pure headcanons people agree to call canon. Every headcanon feel like a new canon fact like fr...
Time for some oldgen hcs
Jeff is very thin, with pale, dry skin. He is nearly blind in one eye, and his long hair is always dirty and tangled. His clothes are never clean either. Most likely, you'll notice the disgusting smell of rot and metal before you even notice Jeff himself. His repulsive appearance, lacking eyelids and a nose, along with the carved smile on his face is enough to frighten anyone.
As for his brother and everything he did in the past, Jeff couldn't care less. In fact, he finds it amusing. He never misses a chance to mock Lewis and remind him what a "masterpiece" he created on Jeff's face. Jeff often taunts and provokes his brother, frustrated that Lewis rarely reacts to his attempts to get under his skin. A few times, however, he has gotten punched in the face for it. Even then, he found it funny, entertained by the fact that his younger brother still couldn't bring himself to finally kill him and get his revenge.
He often forgets that his dog even exists, despite the animal's unwavering loyalty. But on the occasions when he does remember, he shows affection mixed with a fair amount of teasing.
Jeffrey is the biggest nuisance in the entire mansion. Nearly all of the residents dislike him because of his personality. He loves breaking the boredom with another fight, so there's almost never a peaceful day in the mansion. Whenever Jeff leaves for a mission, everyone breathes a sigh of relief, they finally get a few hours away from the psychopath. His evenings are always the same: he either gets drunk like a pig and goes to sleep or causes another mess. Usually, however, Masky and Hoodie quickly step in and restrain him.
He also has a peculiar relationship with the two Janes. He absolutely loves the fact that both women still hate him for his "little pranks," one of which ruined one of their lives. Seeing the result of his work embodied in the Eternal is a special kind of pleasure for him, which is why he "likes" her more than the Killer.
When it comes to victims, Jeff rarely rushes. He enjoys watching them suffer and approaches the process in an extremely twisted way. Jeff is notoriously perverted, making his victims even more unfortunate. During a kill, he completely loses himself, his mind becomes clouded, and he loses all self-control. This is exactly why Lewis is often assigned to accompany him on missions ordered by Slenderman. In that state, Jeff can easily attract unwanted attention, so someone has to keep an eye on him.
Jeff is highly unstable and incredibly stubborn. He often talks to himself, and the smallest inconvenience can send him into a rage. He is also extremely narcissistic. He sees himself as perfection and firmly believes that no creature in existence is more beautiful than he is. He's often found staring at himself in a mirror, admiring his own reflection. Even in ordinary conversations, he never misses an opportunity to remind others what an "ideal" he is and refuses to accept any criticism. Any insult or suggestion that he isn't perfect immediately enrages him, which is why the other mansion residents usually just ignore him whenever he starts talking about himself.
If Jeff were to fight the other residents of the mansion to the death, he would lose to most of them despite his agility and hyperactive nature.
Jeff has an extremely tense relationship with B. Jack. They can't stand each other, and clashes between them are common, usually because Jeff starts them. The fact that Jack is larger and stronger doesn't bother him in the slightest, so he eagerly throws himself into conflict. Because of them, things in the mansion are frequently broken.
Yet somehow, this psychopath managed to find a good friend in the virus teenager. Nobody knows how Ben is able to tolerate Jeff. Their friendship is quite unusual, and while arguments and fights do happen between them, they're far less frequent than the conflicts Jeff has with everyone else.
The longer you live with him, the stronger and more intense his obsession and dependence on you become. During everyday life, he starts finding signs of rejection in your words and behavior, causing him frequent stress. Peter never talks to you about it because he believes it's his own fault. Instead, he begins making deeper cuts on himself so deep that, before long, you start noticing them even in obvious places. Because of this, you eventually take him to a psychiatrist.
As a review blogger, he regularly receives products from various brands to feature in his videos. After your arrival (even if it may not have been entirely voluntary), he often invites you to appear in his reviews, where the two of you test different products together. For him, it's another excuse to combine work with something enjoyable while also spending time with you.
At night, while you're asleep in your room, he may quietly enter. Most of the time, he simply approaches your bed and watches you sleep, occasionally running his thumb across your palm. To him, there's nothing strange about this, even if it might seem unsettling to you at first.
Quite often, you can hear sounds coming from his room, it's video tutorials on various household topics such as doing laundry, ironing, and similar chores. When he finally allowed you to take short walks near his house after a certain period of time, he spent that time watching guides on how to load clothes into the washing machine, where to put the detergent, and then trying to figure out how to start the machine, since he hadn't used it in a very long time.
• Loid always double-checks that the front door is locked, even if he locked it himself. Even with an excellent memory and responsibility, it is always better to be on the safe side.
• He drinks coffee before having a proper conversation with anyone in the morning. It's not because he can’t do anything without it, it's because it’s a stupid weakness, it’s just his ritual as a person, and not as a spy
• If someone in the house gets sick, he's at their side with medicine and a thermometer within minutes. This is a manifestation of care and practicality all rolled into one. (Rapid Response Mom)
• Sometimes he buys snacks that aren't on the shopping list just because he remembers Yor or Anya likes them.
• He often catches himself smiling at Anya's antics, even though he tries to stay serious. This behavior is impractical and irrational, but Loid will not realize this until the very end.
• He always carries a small first-aid kit with him.
• He never leaves the house without making sure everyone has eaten.
• When Anya shows him a drawing, he carefully looks at every detail. He will convince himself that this attention to “stupid little things” is just a precaution for an emergency, but he is already more of a father than a spy.
• He enjoys rare, peaceful evenings when nobody has anywhere to be, but at the same time they make him very nervous because of his overthinking.
• He has PTSD
• He'll absentmindedly fix a loved one's collar or smooth down their hair.
• If something breaks around the house, he'll try to repair it himself first.
• He often brings home books or magazines he thinks Anya might enjoy.
• Even when relaxing, he tends to sit with perfect posture.
• Sometimes he falls asleep in an armchair with paperwork still in his hands. (Previously, he couldn’t allow himself to relax so much, especially when surrounded by people, but he himself didn’t notice how domesticated he became with Yor and Anya.)
• He likes a quiet home, but if it's too quiet for too long, he starts getting suspicious and nervous. (Post-traumatic stress disorder after Anya)
• He tends to ignore his own exhaustion until someone points it out.
• He frequently says, "Just in case," before doing something overly prepared or cautious.
• He keeps spare pens everywhere,like fr, his desk, his coat pocket, his briefcase.
• He unconsciously straightens things that are slightly crooked.
So, I recently watched Talentless Nana and somehow I liked that so here is some content.
I thought about AU when Nana is one of the others espers. Not much but still some thoughts.
Nana is one of the espers
If Nana herself were an esper, her ability definitely wouldn’t be something openly destructive like fire manipulation or teleportation. Nana is far too, let's call it, “quiet” of a character for that. Her power would be psychological type.
Her ability would probably be called something like “False Reflection” or “White Noise.”
She would be able to subtly influence people’s perception. Not full mind control, but more like gentle manipulation: making people doubt their memories, confusing their sense of time, causing them to overlook small details, amplifying fears or suspicions.
The longer someone stayed around her, the stronger the effect became. Because of that, people would start trusting her almost automatically without understanding why.
She would hate her own ability. Because she’d never know whether someone genuinely cared about her or if it was just her power affecting them.
As a child, she probably accidentally manipulated the emotions of people around her, which made her grow up extremely cautious about relationships. Despite that, outwardly she would still remain sweet, friendly, and “safe-looking.” Nana understands perfectly well how others see her, and she uses that as a weapon.
Her power would be almost useless in direct combat. If someone cornered her physically, she’d be done for. That’s why she would rely even more heavily on analysis, traps, and psychological tactics.
She would immediately get along with calm and observant people. The kind who don’t pressure her or constantly demand emotional attention from her. She’d probably like quiet introverts, intelligent but emotional people, people who can sit in silence comfortably, people with dark humor.
( She would slowly become friends with Nanao and only on her own initiative get to know him better, he was hardly the first on her list, but nevertheless, she still liked him. She would have become friends with Michiru almost like in canon, because she attributed her behavior to the action of her ability. She would find Kyouya strange, but nice. Maybe they would just be buddies. She most likely got along just as well with Fuuko.)
On the other hand, loud, impulsive, and aggressively dominant people would drain her very quickly. Especially controlling people. She would be extremely wary of telepaths or empaths. Almost paranoid around them.
(She would dislike Kaori and Kirara not only because she bullies her friend, but also because she finds them disgusting. She might have avoided Koharu. Moguo, his gang, and Kori too. Without knowing about Rentarou's true nature, she would most likely have liked him. Shinji and Sasaki would have given her strange feelings, so they'd be out of the question. But Tsunekichi would have evoked nothing but disgust.)
(+ if her character is the same then if someone ever saw the “real” her exhausted, angry, scared, Nana would either start avoiding that person or become deeply attached to them.)
She’d most likely fall in love not with a “perfect” person, but with someone who noticed her lies understood she was manipulative and still stayed by her side. With her superpower she only wishes to be seen.
(Potential with Kyouya and Koharu ,yeah)
At first, she would probably see that person as a threat.
Her love would be very anxious. She’d constantly analyze her partner’s tone, pauses, expressions, and behavior for reassurance. At the same time, Nana would show affection through acts of care like memorizing habits, helping quietly behind the scenes, making sure they’ve eaten, protecting them even when it hurts her.
She’s jealous, but in a hidden way. She wouldn’t make scenes, instead, she’d grow colder and more observant, paying attention to every little detail.
If someone truly became precious to her, it would be the first time she used her ability not for survival or manipulation, but for protection and that would become her greatest weakness.
+ my biggest headcanon. Nana is sound like song: "Sometimes" [Mattyeux & Princess Chelsea]
Ah, this hcs is really old ,but I found them so why not to post? Hope I didn't this earlier
Oh god, if you ended up dating this guy... good luck to your nervous system. The guy barely had any relationship experience. Hell, not even online flings, really. (Unless you count people purring at him for loot drops during matches.) So he’s completely lost. This guy is literally the embodiment of anxiety and insecurity. To him, love is very different from friendship, which means it’s ten times harder. Despite having hundreds of otome games behind him, Shroud has absolutely no idea how real relationships work. He only picked out the routes he found interesting and hot, and trust me, there wasn’t even a hint of healthy relationships in those. Bro built his entire romantic worldview on the wrong characters.
Jealousy is completely normal for him because of his insecurities. His biggest fear is you leaving him for someone else. It’s already hard enough for him to open up and trust someone, and distance from the person he got so deeply attached to feels like the end of the world to him. He gets jealous constantly, even if you just stole his teammate, but he fully realizes those are the dumbest reasons to feel jealous over. He hates this part of himself and will keep silent about his feelings until the very end. Even at gunpoint he wouldn’t admit it because he doesn’t want to burden you with his problems.
His jealousy shows itself in different ways depending on the situation and how bad it gets. He can quietly endure it all day, then suddenly start casually tormenting you with questions like:
“So, what do you think about that guy?”
“His voice is annoying, don’t you think?”
“Would you still love me if I were a worm?”
And so on.
But he can also get active about it. Idia suddenly becomes really talkative and arrogant, constantly trying to put the other person down though that usually only happens in games. Either way, his clinginess toward you increases dramatically, and the aggression in his gameplay rises too and unfortunately, not always toward the opponents.
In any case, Shroud’s jealousy is visible from space.
You walked into the workshop, and he noticed the new thing immediately, not because of your pleased expression, not even because of the way you walked. August sensed foreign material with the instincts of a professional whose perception was tuned to recognize cut, texture, and fabric quality.
His gaze landed on you and froze.
You were wearing a new coat, soft, ash-gray, made from some pleasant-looking wool. Long, slightly fitted, with large pockets and intentionally rough stitches along the collar. You looked good in it, very good even, but it wasn’t his work, not his fabric, not something shaped by his hands.
August didn’t say a word. He simply finished pinning a sleeve onto the mannequin with an unnatural slowness, carefully set the needle aside, placed the pins down with silent precision, and only then turned toward you. His face was smooth like perfectly ironed silk, not a wrinkle, not a shadow of irritation, but in his eyes, behind the red lenses of his glasses, flashed that same gleam he usually hid behind loud laughter and dramatic gestures.
— “Come in, darling,” his voice was calm and polite. Too polite for someone who usually shouted
— “My muse!” the moment you entered.
— “I just finished sketches for the new uniform designs. As always, inspired by your silhouette.”
You moved to hang the coat on the rack by the entrance, the same hook where your favorite sweater, the one he had made for you, usually hung. August followed the motion like someone watching a poisonous butterfly he desperately wanted to crush but couldn’t because it was beautiful.
— “You like it?” he finally asked, stepping away from the table.
He touched the coat with only the tips of his fingers, careful, almost disgusted, the way people touch something someone else's and potentially infectious. His fingers slid across the collar, judging the fabric. August inhaled faintly, then his hand moved to the shoulder seam, and he grimaced so subtly you only noticed because you knew his face by heart.
— “The cut…” he drawled. “Acceptable. But the seams…” He shook his head, and there was so much professional contempt in the gesture, as though this wasn’t a coat but an insult to tailoring itself.
— “Too rough. Wrong thread. And the stitching jumps. Look here.” He pointed at the armhole.
— “See? Either the machine was poorly adjusted, or the hands were crooked. Probably the second.“
You opened your mouth to explain that it was a gift from a friend in another city, that you simply liked the color, and honestly, why was this suddenly an interrogation? But August was already speaking again, quieter this time, the kind of voice he only used when he was boiling inside and desperately trying to hide it.
— “And the color. Ash.”
He removed his glasses, cleaned them, put them back on, and stared at the coat as if it had personally offended him.
— “Ash, my muse. It buries you. Do you understand? It extinguishes the inner fire I try so hard to emphasize. It makes you…” He paused, searching for the word. “Flat. Without dimension. Without life.”
August spoke softly with that dangerous, hissing whisper that sent shivers down your spine. You hadn’t even known he could sound like this. What burned inside him wasn’t ordinary jealousy, not “who gave this to you?” or “why wasn’t it me?” It was the jealousy of a creator, an artist for whom your body was the most important canvas in the world. The acid eating him alive had nothing to do with someone else daring to touch you. It was because someone else had dared to dress you in something that hadn’t passed through his filter.
— “You know,” he continued, stepping back and crossing his arms, his gaze flickering between you and the coat, “when I create a dress for you, I don’t think only about appearance. I calculate how the light will fall across the folds when you move. How the fabric will settle when you turn your head. How it’ll shimmer when you laugh.”
He paused, and vulnerability finally slipped into his voice beneath all the forcefulness.
— “I put intention into every stitch. Protection. I don’t just want you to be beautiful. I want people to see you for who you are. And this…”
He nodded toward the coat, lips twisting with something close to disgust.
— “This is just fabric. No soul. No history. No me.”
And finally you exhaled, because you realized it had never really been about the coat.
— “August,” you started softly, taking a step toward him. “It was a gift. I didn’t choose it.”
He jerked his shoulder sharply, like brushing off a fly.
— “A gift?” he repeated, and for the first time that childish, disarming hurt slipped into his voice.
— “Who? Who dared? I’ll kill that aesthetic vandal. No, first I’ll ask how they dared choose this for you. Then I’ll kill them.”
— “Her.”
— “Especially her.”
He turned toward you, and suddenly the professional mask vanished entirely. In front of you was just August, messy, flushed, eyes full of something hot and turbulent.
— “Damn it, I… I’m insanely jealous,” he blurted out, and there wasn’t a gram of embarrassment in the confession, only truth.
— “I know it’s stupid. I know it’s just a coat. But it’s on you. And I didn’t make it. I didn’t put myself into it. And that… that…”
He grabbed his head and started pacing through the workshop, wildly gesturing with his hands.
— “It’s like someone repainting your portrait. And painting you wrong, do you understand? Wrong brush. Wrong palette. And everyone would look at it and say, ‘Ah, what a beautiful girl!’ but it wouldn’t actually be you. Just something vaguely similar!”
He stopped in front of you, breathing hard like he’d just run a marathon.
— “Take it off,” he asked quietly. “Please. Right now.”
You removed it, and the coat fell onto the chair like something unnecessary, foreign, something disrupting the harmony of his world. August exhaled with his entire body, from head to toe, and within seconds he was beside you again. His hands settled on your shoulders where the unfamiliar fabric had been moments ago, gripping slightly, like he was wiping away traces of it.
— “Thank you,” he whispered. “Sorry. I’m insane. I know.”
— “Insane,” you agreed without malice, pressing your nose against his chest. “But my insane.”
He hugged you tightly enough to make your bones creak and rested his chin on top of your head. And while you stood there listening to his frantic heartbeat finally calm down, you could feel his fingers absentmindedly smoothing over your back checking if any marks from those rough foreign seams were still there.
— “I’ll make you a new one,” he said, and now the hurt was gone from his voice, replaced only by excitement.
— “Better. Warmer. And the color…”
He leaned back to look at your face, eyes already burning with inspiration again.
— “You’ll look like… like a sunset beam. Or moonlight on water. No, like—”
— “August,” you interrupted with a smile. “I liked that one too.”
— “That one no longer exists,” he cut in immediately. Releasing you, he already rushed back toward the desk, snatching up paper and a pencil.
— “It won’t exist. Never again. Do you hear me? Never again will foreign fabric touch your skin. I forbid it. This is… this is a declaration of war.”
He kept talking while you watched him, messy, flushed, eyes blazing, a man who had just thrown a full emotional breakdown over a coat and all you could think was: God, I love you, you insane tailor.
The coat stayed hanging over the chair until evening. Later, he moved it away not throwing it out, because even in jealousy he still respected someone else’s craftsmanship. But he hid it somewhere it wouldn’t catch his eye.
