#The blandest headcanon ever

[mobbu-min]

☆ yummy in my tummy ☆

requested by:

After reading the pretty boy fics, I got to ask: "How would the dorm leaders (and the rest if you want to write about them) react to being given food from the reader (who cooks and bakes god tier food) who is concerned for their wellbeing?" - anon Headcanons for Dorm Leaders with an s/o who loves to spoil them with delicious homemade meals, sweets and snacks. - anon Could I request something domestic? Housewardens with an s/o that cooks for them almost everyday? -anon

a/n I decided to combine these three requests! I'm not sure if there were anymore of the same variety, so if I missed it, I'm sorry T^T Gonna split this into three parts, so keep an eye out for the other two! I wanted to keep this vague, i didn’t mention any type of specific food, but make it known, i am craving tamales so badly

included: grim, all of heartslabyul and savanaclaw

tw none

Ramshackle <3

⋆ He eats your food every day. Your best customer is the one and only GRIM THE GREAT! Food always tastes good to this little guy, but food made by you? Top tier! Nothing could beat it (the overblot stones probably could) He’s a pain in your ass when you're cooking/baking, constantly trying to get a nibble from your ingredients. His hungry ass is just too impatient. After a long and hard day, all he wants is to lay back and eat some tuna and one of your sweet treats for dessert. It's the best way to end his day.

Heartslabyul <3

⋆ You see once you start cooking for them, you’re not going to stop. Cater and Ace make sure of it. They all love your cooking! They feel so loved and cared for with each dish you lovingly made for them. Does this contribute to their ever growing feelings for you?

⋆ Yes, yes it does.

⋆ Riddle was kinda on edge by it. Not because he thought you were a horrible cook, he’s tasted Ace’s cooking before, but because he didn’t understand the warm feeling in his chest. Riddle’s mother never cooked, instead she had chefs cook the blandest (healthy, she claimed) foods for them both. He’s never felt the warmth and comfort from a home cooked dish. Trey is an excellent cook, and even better baker, but it’s Trey. You were different, always had been to him. Riddle almost moaned at the taste of the different spices and flavors that exploded in his mouth. This boy has never tasted so many all at once. It was truly an eye opener. Riddle asks if you could teach him some recipes.

⋆ So relieved. Trey is just the epitome of a parent finally sitting down after a long day when you come to help in the kitchen or bring containers of food. Trey finds himself visiting you at Ramshackle more often, with the intention of learning or cooking with you. But ends up with you ushering him to sit down and you’ll be back with some fresh soup. He really does appreciate your presence, everything about you is so comforting and lively, so you making amazing food is an added bonus. Loves to learn about different foods from your world, even more so any type of pastry/sweet! Considers asking if you want to do a bake off, but decided not to, because he knew everyone would choose you. (he would do the same tbh)

⋆ If you didn’t have a magicam account dedicated to your cooking before, well now you do! Cater will take photos of every dish you made, going on a long rant on how this is the most delicious food he’s ever eaten. If you let him, he'll post pictures and videos of you cooking/baking on the account. The account is as comforting as your food. Ofc, he has tons and tons of photos and videos on his phone of you. Cater looks forwards to whatever you make, but is especially touched when you bake something that isn’t incredibly sweet or something entirely different then what you made the others. It makes him feel special.

⋆ Ace didn’t consider himself a picky eater, at least not until he ate your food! Boy will not leave you alone. He's constantly begging you to make him food and treats. Saying 'you just killed a poor starving boy, gootbye-' and just crashes onto you. Ace just really enjoys your cooking and he melts whenever you bring him food without him asking (begging). He’s the type of person to sit on the counter and talk while you’re busy doing things all around the kitchen. It briefly reminds him of his own childhood. It’s oddly domestic that it sikes him out for a moment. But then he glances at you and suddenly that feeling is replaced with a warm fluttering feeling in his chest. (don’t question the blush on his cheeks ofc)

⋆ Deuce isn’t one for taking photos but every thing you’ve ever made him has been instantly snapped and sent to his mom. (who loves knowing that her darling son is eating well) He’s not as obvious as Ace, but Deuce tries to slyly suggest that you make him more food. And of course, he’s more than willing to help. Again, unlike Ace who sits and talks, Deuce follows you around the kitchen like a duckling, patiently awaiting your orders. He wants to be helpful! Will gladly take anything out of the oven and carry any heavy materials. Will crash if you hold up a spoon for him to taste test. Isn’t this romantic? He asks himself as he shakily takes the spoon into his mouth. Omg, and if he sees you do your own taste test with the same spoon? Oh sevens, help you both.

Savanaclaw <3

⋆ Another group that doesn’t let you stop cooking/baking for them. But at least you have free access to a buttload of money and two very eager helpers (for very different reasons)

⋆ Leona isn’t a stranger to good, probably excellent, cooked meals. He’s a prince, duh. But when it’s a meal cooked by you? Everything that he’s eaten up til now is straight trash. Pride is one way to describe how he feels, quickly followed by smug. Of course, you’d dedicate your time and energy to cook him a meal. And of course, you poured your love into every step. He’ll eat practically anything you give him, though he will side eye the vegetables and discreetly give them to Ruggie. As for sweet things, he’s not a big fan of sweets. I feel like he’d like savory flavors, maybe a little bitter or maybe a little tart. Or perhaps something with subtle flavors but a hearty texture. I’m just speculating of course, so it’s always a hit or miss when it comes to baked goods with him. Though, don’t worry, nothing you make goes to waste. Ruggie is always ready to swoop in when needed. And as mentioned before, Leona knows ingredients can get spendy, so he’s more than willing to hand you his credit card.

⋆ Speaking of credit cards, Ruggie just always happens to be in the same vicinity when that black card hits your hands. Ruggie wouldn’t call himself the greatest chef, but he is resourceful. With everything you cook, Ruggie shows you how to get the most out of your ingredients. He even shows you some low-budget/free ingredients you can find all over campus and how to make it. Ruggie is honestly a good person to have by your side when it comes to cooking, you learn plenty of new things and you get to share your own knowledge to someone you know will share with others. However, Ruggie isn’t someone that does something for free. So he expects to be taking half of whatever you're making back with him. On a cuter note, Ruggie practically bursts into two when you show up with a container full of warm, mouth watering, doughnuts. Judging by how fast Ruggies tail was wagging, you were afraid that he was about to fly up into space.

⋆ Despite his tendencies to try to keep his emotions to himself, Jack really does appreciate the effort you put in to make his meals protein pack and nutritious. And while he’s not the greatest cook, Jack helps the best he can in the kitchen. Though, he’s a little clumsy (if his culinary crucible says otherwise, no it doesn’t) but he’s eager! Jack is a quick learner so it doesn't take him very long to get the hang of things. Definitely subtly brags about it to the other first years. But if any of them dares to mention how fast his tail is wagging, he gets all pouty with embarrassment. I definitely suggest keeping it to meals and not sweet. Jack is not a sweet guy at all. Though he might indulge if you give him puppy-dog eyes.

[fanganfessions]

Okay, I feel like people need to stop generalising characters and making them feel one note, I love Ocean Unknown and her videos inspire me to make my own on characters, but her interpretation of David is the most blandest thing I have ever seen, literally Nagito but better paced, like I much enjoy the David who's absolutely NOT a good person in any sense of the word but who also isn't a guy who boils puppies, like man is WAY more layered then people want him to be and yet they flanderised him yet talk about her 'layered' their single wafer biscuit version of him, which REALLY annoys me (separate from Ocean unknown and more so fandom related) Same with Levi, like the people who said "he kills people for inspiration for his clothing" genuinely make me want to put my head through a blender, like that kinda of shit is literally edgelord haven, like man is SO much more interesting then the ideas I've seen of him before Part 2, and yet people are complaining that it isn't what they wanted, I can't stand it, it feels like I'm in an echo chamber of the most cringe inducing headcanons I have every heard

(I don't mean hate to anyone, I just think it's a general issue we're facing)

I love their videos, but I can see where you're coming from.

[le-veilleur]

kotor 1 crew cooking ability headcanons

or what you can expect if it's a given character's kitchen duty day.

Revan: Very basic. Will reheat rations without blowing up the microwave and remember to boil water for the space instant ramen. If pressed, can boil a space potato, but it will be the blandest mushiest potato you ever ate.

Bastila: Even more basic. Whatever cooking lessons were imparted to her in childhood and/or the Order's self-sustenance course, were all but erased by the intense battle meditation training and the subsequent clusterfuck of a life. Probably will not blow up a microwave either, but will totally munch on dry space ramen, and her boiled potatoes are likely to come out burned.

Carth: Steady intermediate, bc married and has a kid. Knows how to cook a simple soup and stew. Half-decent at barbecue. For dessert, you are likely to get a space Snickers, of which he has an emergency stash.

Mission: Very basic. She's fourteen and more interested in space McDonald's. Will surprise you, though, by her ingenious way to cook a sewer rat so that you don't throw up immediately. If hungry, will break into Carth's Snickers stash.

Zaalbar: Intermediate, but it's a Wookiee intermediate. Better get used to very rare steaks. Also you know how in a house with a cat hair is a spice? Wookiees have a lot more hair than an average cat.

Canderous: Basic, but it's a Mandalorian basic. In his opinion, adding some spice to life never hurts. Your space oatmeal is getting jalapeñoed to the point your shit burns. But will make uj'alayi if you ask nicely.

T3-M4: Non-existent. Will tell you exactly where the kitchen is, though. Maybe look up some recipes on the space internet.

Juhani: Actually not bad, just doesn't have much experience. Due to starvation experience, food is her love language. Will shyly ask for your preferences and try to make something nice. If it isn't to your liking, shut up and thank the girl, she's trying her damn best.

Jolee: Actually good, bc a) married b) had to cook for himself for literal decades. Knows how to make edible something from basically anything, including pies from rations. Teaches Juhani.

[one-half-guy]

A bunch of headcanons of Sonic characters regarding cooking, eating habits and etc because I felt like that.

Knuckles' sense of smell is so keen that he can tell you what seasonings you used in the food.

And he learned the smell of every seasoning Amy ever used, that because he frequently helps Amy to cook.

Sonic will eat ANYTHING you offer to him, of course if you give him the right of choice he will straight up say "chilidogs", but if you throw a suggestion of any different dish he'll be the first one to agree.

Tails is far the kid with the worst eating habits among Sonic's friends, he inherited his bro's habit of eating junk food only while: Vector is always making the possible to Charmy follow a healthy diet; Cream was from a toddler encouraged into the most healthy vegetarian diet in the world; and Blaze works hard along the Coconut Crew to correct Marine's eating habits.

Cream's eating habits are so exemplary that Amy sometimes asks advices to diets without even ask Vanilla first, it because most surely mother and daughter will say the same thing.

Eventually Cream will start a full vegan diet, she stays as vegetarian mainly because of ice cream.

Espio will sometimes tries to annoy Amy showing off recipes of books he speedread in the previous day... Although everyone will always agree the pink hedgehog cooks and bakes a way better.

Vector asks G-merl of cooking lessons to try impress Vanilla, he doesn't asks Espio because the chameleon would mock him forever, he also doesn't ask to Amy because he fears she would accidentally reveal.

Shadow mostly prefers to make his food himself because he doesn't like of the way everyone else does and wants to avoid stress... Rouge would complain if he didn't do the dishes.

In a Dadow scenario, Shadow puts a lot of effort in search about healthy diets to make food to Silver and any other child he adopted, he wants his non-alien hybrid kids have the best healthy eating habits possible.

Silver can eat anything, no matter how gross it is, he can eat! Insects? He can! Flowers? Why not? Wood chips? Yep! Dog food? Don't doubt! Onyx City blandest "nutritive" bars? You can bet! Even a Silver who grew up in a decent world retains this ability and is not afraid of return to those methods of survival if needed and Shadow is hating it.

Buuuuut, Silver is always willing to get better in cooking and Shadow's strict methods won't scary him out because he will put as much effort as Shadow in make the most delicious food possible for his friends.

Gold loves coffee and she loves it more when it's sugary, the more sugar is better for her.

Eclipse never tried anything but the Black Arms' fruits, so he gets surprised in learn Mobius' fruits can match their taste.

In the end he's an alien addicted in apples, he's also impressed in how a full sized apple can sprout even in bonsai sometimes, it makes him love this fruit more.

[infinitystoner]

🐊 headcanons...

If Loki was somehow forced to buy birthday presents for Thor, Tony, and Nebula on their birthdays...what would he get them?

God of Gifts

Masterlist

Word count: >900 Author’s note: I don’t think I’ve ever written anything so quickly, but I couldn’t stop imagining Loki giving gifts to everyone! Here’s a sweet lil’ gen fic/drabble featuring some of my favorite Marvel characters.

This was ridiculous. Nevertheless, Loki followed his brother into Stark’s cabin. 

“Happy birthday to us!” Thor bellowed, flinging his arms open and nearly knocking Loki back out the door in the process. 

It was not Thor’s birthday, nor Loki’s. It was, however, the birthday of the Iron Man himself, Anthony Stark.

“We don’t know when our birthdays are,” Thor had bemoaned as Pepper handed out party invitations earlier in the week. 

“Oh, how heartbreaking!” 

“I know when my birthday is,” said Loki, rolling his eyes at her sympathetic look.

Thor was shocked. “What? How?” 

“I asked.” 

Of course, Loki didn’t know his exact birthday, but the day Frigga had claimed him as her own was good enough for him. Loki also knew Thor’s birthday, but that was of little consequence. 

“You are more than welcome to celebrate with Tony, Thor. You too, Loki.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Loki replied as Thor gave Pepper a hug so mighty that her feet left the ground. 

And now, Loki was at said party. Worse still, he’d procured gifts. 

He surveyed the room, giving a cordial nod to Banner and Colonel Rhodes before approaching his first target.

“Many happy returns, Stark.” Loki gave a hesitant smile to the man leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“Glad you could make it, Horns. Can I fix you a drink?” Tony asked before taking a sip of what Loki surmised was scotch. 

“No, thank you. But, speaking of potables…” 

Loki pulled three amber vials from his pocket and placed them on the countertop. 

Tony set down his glass, picking up one of the tinctures instead. “And what exactly is this?”

“A gift.” Loki rocked back on his heels before continuing. “Your wife has you on a special diet, does she not?” 

Tony’s brow furrowed. “Yeah…”

“Well, one drop of these elixirs will make even the blandest of health foods taste like,” he tapped his finger on each jar as he explained. “Cheeseburgers. Fried potatoes. And doughnuts.” 

Without a word, Tony retrieved a piece of broccoli from a veggie tray on the kitchen island and poured a drop of liquid onto the florets. With a flourish, he took a bite. Loki watched in satisfaction as Stark’s eyes widened.

“Schiiit–” he mumbled. “Unbelievable.” 

Loki was caught off guard by the hug.

After explaining the magic behind the concoctions, he headed towards the living room – and his next target.

“Best regards, brother.”

“Ah, thank you for playing along, Loki,” Thor laughed, wrapping an arm around the younger prince’s shoulders as he sat on the couch. “I am glad to celebrate with you.” 

“In honor of this most special occasion,” Loki replied, pulling a small brown parcel from his pocket and handing it to Thor. He picked at his palm as his brother opened the box, revealing four miniature figurines.

“Loki,” whispered Thor, his voice catching in his throat. “I- I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

Blinking back tears, Loki watched as Thor carefully sat the small figures on the coffee table. First was Frigga, resplendent in gold. Next was Loki, with gilded horns and emerald cape. Then Odin, complete with Gungnir. And finally, Thor, strong and mighty with lightning in one hand and his hammer in the other. 

“Is this what you’ve been toiling away at in your workshop all week?” 

“Yes, and I actually quite enjoyed the process,” Loki confessed, leaning forward to observe his own handiwork once more as he donned a mischievous smile. The figurine of himself was a few millimeters taller than Thor’s – practically undetectable, but Loki knew, and that was all that mattered. 

“Just don’t let the Valkyrie see these, or she’ll want me to make enough to sell at the New Asgard gift shop.” 

After promising Thor he’d work on figurines of the Warriors Three next, Loki headed out onto the front porch. There was still one gift left to give. 

Nebula sat alone on the steps, looking up into the night sky. 

“Heading back out there soon?” Loki asked, settling down beside her. 

“That is the plan.”

“Here. For your adventures.” He handed her a tarnished skeleton key. 

“Is this going to make our ship smell like eggs or something?” Nebula turned to him as Loki chuckled. Her skepticism was warranted. He was the trickster prince, after all. 

In truth, the key was a relic from his youth. Long forgotten until yesterday, when he discovered it in his workshop. 

“It is enchanted,” he explained with a grin, “but for use as a tool. That key will successfully pick any lock and open any door in the galaxy.” 

“Liar,” she hissed, but Loki caught the twinkle in her black eyes as she observed the serpent at the key’s bow emit a green glow, twisting into itself.

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough,” he said, straightening himself before walking to the front door. “Happy birthday, Nebula.” 

“How did you–” By the time she turned around, Loki had already disappeared. 

***

“Some Migardian traditions aren’t so bad, are they now, brother?” Thor teased as they walked back to the compound later that evening. 

Loki shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the smile spreading across his face. No, maybe life on Earth wasn’t so bad after all. 

tagging @loki-cees-all @sarahscribbles @cleo-fox @tripleyeeet @use-your-telescope @the-lady-amphitrite @liminalpebble @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @joyful-enchantress @superficialdomina @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @tallseaweed @maple-seed @loopsisloops @mischief2sarawr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fandxmslxt69

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 06: Halcyon

an invitation sent, an summons answered—igeyorhm gets more than she bargained for. female azem x igeyorhm. endwalker spoilers + pandaemonium spoilers. written for ffxivwrites2024. rating: explicit. tags: explicit sexual content, seduction, strip tease, voyeurism, many many amaurotine headcanons 5424 words ao3 link rip to every debate team kid out there, i'm sorry rip to my brain for having to write igeyorhm 40 times and, like the formatting of a tumblr post, not getting it right on the first try once

Nothing ever happens in Amaurot.

That is Igeyorhm’s opinion. She has lived in the capital for countless centuries, and now she is quite certain that it is the prettiest, but blandest place on the Star.

Some would argue this is a good thing. Amaurot is a halcyon bastion of perfect paradise, cultured, peaceful, and pristine. It is a city safe from harm, safe from disaster, the crown jewel of their society and culture. Outside its walls, there may be mayhem and chaos, but here life is peaceful. Wonderful. Kind. Slow. Time to learn, time to live. Time to perfect that which isn’t and preserve that which is.

Boring. Dull.

She would not wish for chaos upon anyone, but some days she finds herself yearning for change. She may very well lose her mind without it—a poor look for the Rhetorician and auditor of knowledge and logic and reason. She is supposedly the cleverest of the Convocation, though she often does not feel like it. That title belongs to her cousin, the current holder of the office of Lahabrea. Clever, brilliant, bold. He is much older than her, but age means little after the first few centuries.

She sighs, casting a glance across the terrace. Like all members of the Convocation, her home occupies a penthouse suite in one of the tallest buildings in the city. Beautiful, airy, with a garden terrace open to the sky. This is where she passes her time when she is not in office. Her garden is lush, filled with vibrant and exciting plants and flowers, some unofficial creations passed to her by Halmarut to keep things interesting. A sunken rectangular pool sits as the focal point, filling the centre. Her favourite divan sits near the edge, surrounded by half-shelves stuffed with books. Her formal library is on the floor below, but she has been slowly moving more and more of it outside.

Igeyorhm purses her lips and turns a page of her book. It is a gorgeous day—a clear, cloudless sky, the sun high and bright, a pleasant breeze in the air. She should be content.

And yet…

She glances at the chronometer on the wall, rapping dark fingers against her seat. Fifteen past the bell. She’s not going to come after all…

The invitation was an impulsive decision. Azem is recently returned to the capital, and gods know she has better things to do than entertain the dullest Convocation member. Hermes’ inauguration as Fandaniel is on the horizon. He is still recovering from whatever disaster happened with Kairos and an investigation into the malfunctioning machine is underway. Emet-Selch has a hole in his memory, which does nothing for his demeanour. Lahabrea is handling that mess in Pandaemonium. And apparently a stray or feral familiar belonging to Azem has been running about Elpis, though she has said nothing of it nor has she claimed it as her own.

Igeyorhm would have very much liked to see it. But here she is, stuck in Amaurot with her books and her rhetoric, doing nothing.

She admires Azem. Tall, strong, witty, clever—she is striking and she knows it. Unlike so many others on the Convocation, she has never been one to bend to tradition, going about her duties in her own way as she sees fit. The last time she came back from a long journey she came very close to being asked to forfeit her seat. Her journeys across the Star led her to many new places, and to meet many new peoples. It is her duty to give hear their stories and give them counsel.

For one in particular, her counsel was a little too close.

Children are rare among Amaurotines. Child created the organic way, so to speak, even more so. Her dalliance with a non-Amaurotine could have ended her career had she not been a force to be reckoned with. As her brother, Emet-Selch was more furious than the rest, though even he could not bring himself to punish her for her trespasses. Her child was born some time ago, though as Igeyorhm understands it, she is being raised far away from the capital.

Azem terrifies her. Fascinates her. How dearly she would love to learn from her example—to commit wholeheartedly to one’s way of life without suffering the fear of shame. She has tried, but she can’t bring herself to do it. She is cold, aloof. Private. Standoffish. Others have noticed. Others have commented.

This is the way she is. The Rhetorician, with the heart of ice.

Metal scrapes against metal and the lift arrives.

Igeyorhm rises from her seat, shocked as Azem emerges from behind the golden grate and enters the terrace. She is gorgeous today—as she is every day. Though her robes are of an Amaurotine style, they have been adjusted and tweaked, creating a lavish outfit of flowing silks belted at the waist. She has forgone the classic black for soft oranges and yellows; together with her pale hair and her glowing orange eyes, she looks very much like a sunset. Her mask sits comfortably on her face, obscuring the hint of high cheekbones and an aquiline nose.

She moves with such determined grace Igeyorhm isn’t sure if she is making up for time lost or if this is simply how she is.

“Azem,” she says in greeting, bowing politely. Her unbound hair hangs about her, shading her face with a curtain of blue-black curls.

Azem laughs and crosses the terrace, sweeping her into her arms. “So formal,” she says, kissing her on either cheek. Her lips are as soft as silk. She smells of citrus and flowers and something Igeyorhm cannot place. “May we do away with titles for today? My head is already spinning and I haven’t yet met with the Convocation.”

Igeyorhm swallows the lump in her throat. Though their names are known to each other, it’s the principle of the thing. “Wine?” she asks, gesturing to a gilded decanter on a nearby table.

Her sunset eyes sparkle. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Igeyorhm pours the wine and hands it to her, retreating quickly to her divan. She sits on the edge and plucks her own glass from the ground, sipping quietly, the awkward silence pressing in on her. Azem does not seem to mind. Nothing seems to bother her. “I’m glad you have returned,” she says.

“A fair amount has happened in my absence, I see.” She perches at the edge of the pool and folds her legs beneath her, taking a sip of wine. “I have yet to speak with my brother. Hythlodaeus tells me he is in a… distraught state, shall we say.”

“Emet-Selch is often distraught.”

“He is. I fear my brother is wound too tight to be anything but distraught.”

Igeyorhm pauses. “Did you enjoy your time away from the capital?” she ventures cautiously. Gods, why is she stalling? She seems incapable of having a normal conversation with her that doesn’t amount of anything but meaningless small talk.

Azem smiles that soft, mysterious smile of hers and sets down her wine. Rising to her feet, she sweeps across the terrace, her vibrant sunset robes whispering around her. She reaches the wall and leans against it, turning her face westward towards Akadaemia Anyder. The light catches her hair, bleeding through the pale gold, setting her profile ablaze. She is not the flames of creation—no, that domain belongs still to Lahabrea—but she is the fire of the sun. Bright, enduring, eternal, and endlessly alluring. Stare too long and you will find yourself blinded.

Fire and ice are opposed. They cannot mix. One will always overpower the other.

Igeyorhm cups her drink in her hands, staring into the glass as she swirls the deep red liquid about. “Tell me honestly,” she says quietly. “Why come here, Azem? I know it wasn’t for the wine.”

“It could be for the wine. You have exquisite taste.”

“Thank you, but answer me truly.”

“Because you asked me to.”

“You could have refused my invitation. Many do.”

“Very rude of them.”

She flushes. “It was a last minute decision, you were under no obligation to say yes. Not when the Convocation gathers tomorrow. We could have met then.”

“And avoid the fun of sipping wine on your beautiful terrace and enjoying the pleasant weather?” She pauses, her gaze lingering on the institution in the distance. “But even if you had not invited me, is it so unusual for a friend to call upon a friend?”

“You consider me a friend?” The words are out before she realizes she has spoken.

Azem throws her head back and laughs. “Igeyorhm, what is in that ice-cold heart of yours that gave you that impression? How many years have we known each other?”

“I could not say. Knowing is different than friendship, is it not?”

“True.”

“And you have never sought to call on me in private before.”

“Our positions are quite distanced. Rhetoric and debate on one side, counsel and pilgrimage on the other.”

“Hardly. I do not believe they are that different. One could argue they are the same.”

Finally, Azem tears herself away from the view. She leans her back against the wall and turns her gaze on Igeyorhm, those intense orange-gold eyes burning into her from even this distance. “You think so?” she says, arching an eyebrow from behind her mask. “Then let’s play a game.”

“A game?”

“A game of debate. Put your texts aside, Igeyorhm. Take your nose out of your books. Let us have a sparring match. The winner receives a boon.”

Igeyorhm wets her lower lip. Her heart is thundering. “What kind of boon?”

“A gift. From me to you, or you to me. Whatever our heart’s desire.”

The pool ripples in the wind, its water lapping against the edge. To Azem, the sound must be negligible. But to Igeyorhm it beats like a drum pounding with the rhythm of her heart. “And who will be the judge? I cannot conceive of asking Elidibus here.”

Azem snorts, a grin spreading from ear to ear. “No, no,” she says, chuckling with mirth. “Please, no. Open the floor to Elidibus and soon you will have the whole Convocation gathered on your terrace, fast-tracking our session from tomorrow to today.”

Igeyorhm smiles. She loops a curl behind her ear, her fingers brushing her mask. “I would hate to see that. Not even my cousin has been extended an invitation.”

“He does not come here, then?”

“Even if I opened my doors to him, he would seldom have the time to visit. That sour business in Pandaemonium still weighs on him.”

Azem says nothing. Silence presses heavily on them both, the weight of the words sapping the levity from the room. Then she shakes her head, her pale gold hair rippling over her shoulders, raises a hand, and snaps.

A small fire familiar pops into existence. It is vaguely humanoid in shape with butterfly-like wings sprouting from its back. Green and orange flames lick along its sides, curling into some semblance of hair as embers trail off it and dissipate into the air. It floats gently above the pool, whistling with glee as it bobs up and down.

“Oh, stop that,” Azem says, giving it a sharp look. “Keep that up and I will send you back.”

The familiar makes a wheezing sound.

Azem’s lips twitch, trying to hide a smile. “Vesta will be our judge. It will make the calls, unless one of us calls to concede.”

Igeyorhm raises her chin. “And how am I to know it will be impartial?”

“You can’t. You will have to trust me.” Pushing off the wall, Azem crosses the terrace to settle on the end of Igeyorhm’s divan. She leans in close and whispers conspiratorially in her ear. “That’s the fun in it.”

The proximity of her presence sends an enticing shiver rolling down her spine. “And the loser?” she asks. By the Star itself, how she wishes Azem would unmask. She is the sole member of the Convocation whose face she has not seen. What does she look like beneath it? Is she as beautiful as her grace would suggest? “In the halls of debate, the winner may be rewarded with congratulations and cheer, but it is common practice for those who do not to denote their failure. If we are to play this game in the spirit of my domain, surely there must be some punishment.”

“Punishment?” Azem reaches for her glass of wine. “You certainly enjoy an escalation—”

“Penalty, then. Consequence, if you prefer. Or shall I keep digging through synonyms until I find one that appeases you?”

She chuckles and takes a drink. “What should this punishment-penalty-consequence be?”

Igeyorhm drums her fingers against her chin, lost in thought. The idea forming in her mind is… bold. Unlike her. Its out-of-character nature only makes her want to suggest it more. “The removal of one’s mask,” she says archly. “If we are friends, then surely we see one another exposed.”

Azem pauses. She takes another drink. “Done.” The wine has stained her lips red. “Then shall we begin?”

The rules of debate are simple: assert your thesis, defend it, and find the logical fallacies in your opponent’s. Argument and counterargument are etched into the building blocks of Amaurotine society; even from the earliest age, they are taught to defend reason. Theirs is a culture that prides itself on logic and wisdom, settling disputes with words and discussion first and warfare and combat second. Regardless of what Nabriales argues, as custodians of the Star, it is their solemn duty to protect it, not to sunder it apart.

Rhetoric and debate is oft considered the least impressive of any Amaurotine art. In a society of well-spoken individuals, being articulate and eloquent with words means very little. It is not enchanting like Altima’s compositions, nor beneficial to society like Deudalaphon’s inventions. It does not heal like Emmerololth’s medicinal practices, nor does it create like Lahabrea’s phantomology. But to shift the mind, convince others to see the way you do—it is a delicate art, powerful in its subtleness. And no amount of spellbinding creation magicks can turn one into a powerful orator.

It is not typical for Igeyorhm to become stuttering and tongue-tied. On most days, she is cool and clear and succinct—when she has time to prepare, she can shift the direction of the Convocation with just a few words. Debate is an art easily learned, but difficult to master, and its strength cannot be underestimated. Each member of the fourteen could claim to be an orator, but none of them have expertise. Her own cousin is too frank and blunt. Emet-Selch has yet to understand the role charm plays. Elidibus is too young, and his seat requires him to be impartial. Only Azem’s erstwhile mentor, Venat, understood the power speech can hold and how to wield it. Who else could convince the Convocation that she would not return to the Star upon her retirement?

With the right words, anyone can be convinced of anything.

“The floor is yours, Azem,” Igeyorhm says, leaning back casually on the divan. The movement tugs at the neckline, pulling at the neckline, exposing her collarbone. She hooks an arm over the back, running her fingers across the rich embroidery. “Your opening statement?”

“Already?” Azem brushes her long hair over her shoulder. “I admit I was not prepared to begin. Perhaps you should take the lead.”

Igeyorhm smirks. This coy display is an attempt to disarm her, convince her to take to the stage first out of kindness. Azem must know as certainly as she does that those who speak first are often the ones to lose. “This is my house,” she says. “It is my honour to go second. Your opening statement?”

Azem catches her eye. “Should I stand?” she asks, already rising to her feet. “I have been gone for some time, I’m uncertain of proper procedure.”

“If you wish.” Igeyorhm looks her up and down, lingering on the way her robes hug her curves. Her travels beyond Amaurot is etched on her body; it shows in the bare arms corded with muscle, in the strength of her legs, in the confident preciseness of her movements.

Azem cocks her head, a little smile on her lips, and bows theatrically. “Our seats are of opposing nature,” she says. “I am a traveller. I see the Star for what it is beyond the narrow walls and minds of Amaurot. Yours is the reverse—embracing the uniformity, upholding the status quo. Your rhetoric is not designed to bring change, but to uphold existing laws without question. I look outwards, whereas you look in.”

I don’t disagree with that. Not that she can say it aloud. “But as you travel, you offer guidance to the people, no?” she counters. “What is the difference between guidance and rhetoric? To give counsel is to convince. The wisdom you impart persuades them to your side, to your point of view. In that way, our seats are the same.”

“Hm.” Azem’s smile widens. She raises her cup. “What does Vesta think?”

The familiar’s flames hiss and whistle and it performs a little loop in the air, pointing a fiery finger at Igeyorhm.

“Ah. You are the winner, I see.”

Igeyorhm blinks. Over already? They had hardly begun. Her win is deflating, not satisfying. “Victory, then,” she says. Her nails scratch the divan’s embroidery, catching on the fine threads. “You do not have to keep to arbitrary rules made in jest—”

The familiar whirs.

Azem arches an eyebrow. “Oh, I see,” she says, tracing a finger absently over her belt. “Vesta says it should be the best out of three. To give me a fair chance, naturally. I am arguing against the Amaurot’s finest orator, after all.”

Igeyorhm pauses, mesmerized by the movement of Azem’s hands. The way her long fingers trace the bright brass, then float across the gossamer silks, gentle yet firm. This is no longer a game. They are vying for something, but it isn’t the prestige of their seats. “Even if it is best out of three, you have still lost this round,” she breathes, her voice low. “I believe you owe me something.”

Fingers against fabric. Twisting. Pulling. Touching. “Not my mask. Not yet.”

“Then something else.”

Water laps against the edge of the pool, gentle and pulsing.

Azem smiles and unclasps her belt, letting it fall to the floor. The silks fan out around her and grasps the overlayer, drawing it up and over her head.

Igeyorhm inhales a sharp breath, a rush of heat coursing through her. Azem is pale beneath her robe—her breasts full and round, her skin marked with a flash of stretch marks and a silvery scar on her side. Beneath the curves of fat, she is strong and firm. “Aye,” she rasps. “That will do.”

Azem tilts her head, her fingers toying with her skirt. The band sits low on her hips, the skirts flowing flush with the floor. “Defeat me again and I’ll lose another,” she murmurs, orange eyes blazing.

“Then it is my turn—” Igeyorhm exhales a breath, fingers now scraping against the embroidery. She rolls onto her side, her gaze drawn to Azem’s, and squeezes her thighs together. The pressure only inflames the desire blooming deep within her. “And I submit to you: the purpose of the Rhetorician is to gather knowledge. And so does the Traveller.”

“Is the knowledge gathered or is it hoarded?” Azem pulls her hair to the side, letting it flow over one shoulder and across her breast. Slowly, she slides a palm across her stomach. “With whom is it shared? Is it knowledge for all, or for the few who are worthy?”

“Knowledge is for all, but not all are for knowledge.”

“A nonsensical statement.” She cups her breast, squeezing the soft weight.

Igeyorhm muffles a strangled noise. Her skin prickles with heat. “The question at hand was not for whom knowledge is gathered, rather that it is. The Traveller guides the people of the Star, understand them, speak for them. The key to understanding is a knowledge itself.”

The little familiar whirs.

“And there we go—I have no choice but to accept defeat once again.” Azem smiles a hooks a thumb over her waistband. “I knew such games would lead to nothing good.”

She pushes her skirts down. Naked save for her mask, she steps out of the pool of bright fabric.

Igeyorhm grips the back of the divan. “I have won twice,” she breathes. “Care to challenge me a third time?”

Azem laughs quietly and pads across the cool floor. She throws out a hand, dismissing her familiar with a single gesture. It puffs out of existence like a candlelight snuffed. “I am amiable to a third,” she says, reaching the foot of the divan. She rests a knee against it, one hand caressing her breast. The other slides across her thigh. “But an addendum: this time, if I win, take off your mask. If I lose, I will remove mine.”

She exhales a trembling breath. “Yes.”

Azem smiles, that impossibly alluring smile. Her palm brushes her inner thigh. “There is a world unlike any other beyond this city,” she says, her fingers slipping between her legs. She exhales a soft breath, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek as she sinks into her own desire. “The Rhetorician seeks to record it, to study it, to learn all they can from it.”

Igeyorhm’s eyes widen, lips parted as she watches. She is fascinated, enthralled, arousal rushing through her as she imagines what those fingers would feel like slipped between her own. Ignoring her clothing, she presses cups a hand against the space between her thighs, pleasure washing over her.

“But the Traveller…” Azem lets out a small moan, her gaze lingering on Igeyorhm. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes alight. “You would examine it from a distance, Igeyorhm. But I…” She sighs, bringing herself closer to the brink. “I would experience it for what it is.”

She trembles, bucking against her own hand. There are a hundred counters to this argument, each one better than the last. But her mind is a haze, muffled by desire for the woman at the foot of her divan, endlessly yearning for her touch.  

She could win, easily. But this time, she does not want to.

They have long since stopped arguing the merits and purpose of their Convocation seats.

And this is no longer a game.

“I concede,” Igeyorhm says. “I concede.”

Azem’s eyes blaze.

Igeyorhm meets her gaze—and nods.  

It happens in a rush. One moment, they are staring at each other, hearts pounding, the soft afternoon light warming Azem’s naked skin. The next, her weight sinks into the divan and her lips and hands are on her. Azem climbs on top of her and kisses her deeply, her tongue slipping between her lips to tangle in her mouth—she tastes of summer and wine. Her fingers tug at the straps of her mask; despite the rough pace of her kiss, her touch is gentle, reverent.

There is still a sense of propriety here.

“May I?” she murmurs, her voice muffled against her lips.

Igeyorhm nods. “Yes,” she breathes. “Please.”

The mask slips loose. Sunlight warms her skin, bright and pleasantly searing, like the woman who has her pinned to the divan. She pauses, thrown for a moment by the removal of its weight. It has been a long time since she has taken it off, even in private. She can’t remember the last time she took it off. She can’t remember the last time she saw her own face in a mirror with out it.

Azem places it carefully on the armrest. “There,” she says, stroking her fingers across Igeyorhm’s face. Her blazing eyes pass over her, lingering on the beauty mark on her cheek, the broad shape of her nose, the depths of her dark eyes. She brushes a lock of blue-black curls from her forehead and leans in close. “I win.”

She kisses her again and this time—oh, this time, she melts. Azem’s lips are everywhere—her brow, her cheek, her jaw, her mouth, her throat. She sucks at the delicateness of her collarbone, leaving wicked marks peppered and aching across her skin. Her mask is smooth and cool when it brushes unexpectedly against her, the sensation leaving a strange observation lingering in the back of her mind. They are reversed: Azem, naked yet retaining the sanctity of her mask, while Igeyorhm remains clothed but exposed, her features visible for the first time in an age.

Azem tugs at the neckline of her robe. “I owe you a boon,” she murmurs, voice muffled. Her head is buried in her neck, her mouth hot and warm as she kisses her throat. “Name it.”  

“I…” Words. She cannot think of the words. Gods damn it all, she is the bloody Rhetorician and she’s been knocked senseless. “I…”

“Name it, Metis.”

Her name, not her title. A wondrous shudder rolls through her—she is light-headed, hazy, and yet has never thought more clearly in her life. “Touch me.” Soft at first, then firm. Strong. A demand. She links Azem’s hands with her own and puts it on her breast. “Touch me. Kiss me. Do what you wish to me.”

Azem laughs, her breath rippling enticingly across her skin, and she squeezes her breast. She rolls off and stretches out beside her, tugging at her robes. Metis lies motionless, anticipation coiling deep within her as Azem pushes her skirts up and the weight of the robes pressing into her stomach. Her lover—lover is it, is it not?—strokes a hand across her thigh, slow and sure, and her legs fall open.

Her mouth covers hers, kissing hungrily and she swallows her gasp as her fingers slip easily into the slick heat.

If she returned to the Star right now, she would do so happily.

If she could float away in this haze of ecstasy and release all her responsibilities, she would.

If time could stop and this moment could last forever, she would welcome it.

A cry escapes her, soft, gentle, humming on her lips, and she closes her eyes, sinking blissfully into the cushions. Azem’s weight presses beside her, anchoring her to this moment. Her lips wander, her hands roam, touching, caressing, stoking the fire. Metis sighs, her back arching as two of those long, pretty fingers slip with her in a single stroke. They thrust, curl, slow and deep, coaxing pleasure out of her until she is shaking. She bucks her hips, chasing the sensation, demanding more—a demand her lover is happy to oblige.

Her lover laughs and presses a kiss to her brow. She slips her fingers free and with a quick shift of her weight, traps her hips and straddles her. Metis’ eyes fly open and she inhales a sharp breath, a protest on her tongue—

Azem presses a fingers to Metis’ lips, then to her own. She rolls her hips—a test, a challenge, her intense sunlike gaze lingering on every part of Metis’ face—and arches her back, raising her hands behind her head. She lifts the length of her hair and lets go, the curtain of pale gold-spun silk glowing in the midafternoon sun as it falls free.

Metis watches, enamoured, mesmerized. She cannot look away from this woman in the mask atop her.

“I…” The words will not come. She is breathless, weightless, her mind numb, her body yearning for an end. “Azem…”

She shakes her head. “Iphigeneia,” she murmurs. She yanks Metis’ skirts up to her stomach again, rougher and coarser this time, and slides a hand between them. “No titles here among friends.”

“…friends…?”

“What would you say we are?”

Her fingertip ghosts across her clit—feather-light and impossible—then presses firm against it.

A wave of pleasure crashes through her.

Metis moans, chest heaving. Her hands tear at the divan, uselessly trying to find something to hold onto. She is too good, too much, too everything. Her thigh clench, muscles spasming as she draws nearing to her peak, an impatient whine fluttering on her lips. She is falling apart in Iphigeneia’s hands. Both of them are on her now, the fingers of one stroking her core with deliberate, tantalizing motions, the other working her clit in slow, languid, circles.

“Geneia,” she moans, too overcome to say the whole of her name. “Geneia, I—please…”

Sweat shimmers on Iphigeneia’s chest, her breasts, her stomach. Her mask catches the light, silver and white reflecting the light, its metallic surface so polished Metis could very well see her reflection within it. “This is good?” she asks huskily.

“I… yes…”

“What do you want? Would you like to let go? Or would you close you eyes and see where I can take you?”

She bites her tongue, wound so tight with desire she is close to snapping. “I… mhm.”

A small, little measly sound. She has never sounded so ineloquent.

Iphigeneia smiles.

Her orgasm ripples through her in, numbing her mind and soul. She cannot think, she cannot do, she cannot be—all she is, all she has become is the sensation coursing through her. Her name falls from her lips in a half-scream of joy, the syllables falling in a stuttering, helpless staccato through her gasps as she trembles and relaxes, her swollen cunt clenching around her fingers.

The tension courses through her again and again.

And again until there is nothing left in her.

When her mind clears, the fog of lasting pleasure hazing the fringes of her mind, she is lying limp and boneless on the divan beneath Iphigeneia’s comfortable weight. Her eyelids flutter open and she looks upon the golden sun burning bright above her—the flame that has done what none thought possible and melted the ice in her heart.

Her mask remains in place, safe and secure. If she had half a mind—which she currently does not—Metis would ask her to remove it. Seems silly not to, after what they have shared. There is nothing more intimate than this, save perhaps sharing one’s transformation.

Iphigeneia drapes herself over her, brushing her fingers across her cheek as she stares into her dark eyes. She brushes damp curls from her forehead. “Are you all right?” she asks quietly.

“I…” Metis trails off. “Mhm. Thank you.”

“You owe me a boon,” she continues, linking her hand with hers. She raises it to her lips and kisses the soft skin. The hand of a custodian. A librarian. An auditor. One who has never left Amaurot. “Since I have granted you yours, it’s only fair you return the favour.”

Metis strokes her other hand through her hair, enjoying the feel of the soft locks between her fingers. She lets it go, strand by strand, and brushes her fingertips across Iphigeneia’s collarbone, down her chest, across her breasts. She cups one gently. “Let me give it to you, if you want,” she murmurs throatily, her voice low.

Iphigeneia kisses her. “I am sated for now.”

Her stomach twists with disappointment. She isn’t quite done herself. Perhaps she can convince her otherwise…

“But for my boon,” Iphigeneia begins.

“Forget the boon,” Metis croons. “It was a jest—”

“I had something else in mind.”

“Very well. What is it?”

She meets her eyes. She takes a breath. “Your cousin is proving to be quite a hindrance and I am tired of it.” The shift in her tone from hazy bliss to cold and businesslike hits like a winter breeze. She is Iphigeneia no longer; Azem has returned in her full determined force. “I would ask for your help. I need to reach the lower floors of Akadaemia Anyder. To the Words of Lahabrea. There is something I need to see for myself and I would not have him interfere. And you have a way in that I do not.”

It is not quite a question. The words carry more command than a request.

Igeyorhm pauses. A command, not an ask—from a fellow Convocation member. There is something going on here, something she cannot put her finger on. Azem’s motives may be shrouded in mystery, but there must be a purpose behind it.

Nothing happens in Amaurot.

So, who is she to say no?

[gaymakima]

How good is STRQ when it comes to cooking?

woe. strq headcanons be upon thee.

Summer: We already know Summer at least was good at baking, arguably even great since that was one of her primary characteristics for years (and still kinda is 😭). Her desserts are legendary, to the point that they became something of a legend back in their Beacon days. This woman made baking into an art. Literally. She would bake some elaborate over-the-top cake as a hobby if given the tools and time.

But when it comes to anything other than baking? Uh. Well. She can make it look nice, at least, but the taste will either be the blandest thing you have ever tasted or a blend of flavours that REALLY don't mix well together because she decided to 'experiment'. She's not bad. It's edible. Sometimes even great! But her strength lies with desserts.

Taiyang: There has never been a more Grill Dad on Remnant. You put this man in front of a grill, give him some sausages and a pair of tongs and he will deliver the perfectly grilled barbeque you need. If Summer's expertise is dessert, his is dinner. And lunch, and breakfast, and—

Point is, Taiyang puts a lot of care into what he cooks and everyone's dietary needs. He's the one writing a meal plan every week and making sure his team has a balanced diet that compliments their lifestyle. He's shit at desserts but hey, he's packing their lunches for them, he can't be good at everything.

Raven: Surprisingly, pretty... decent? Because of his semblance, Qrow was often left out of hunting, foraging or even cooking in the camp—which was sort of bad seeing as the tribe's 'everybody out for themselves' mentality meant that they were likely hoping he'd just starve. This left Raven as the one who had to cook for the both of them, using what limited materials they had. She learnt all she could about poisonous plants and fungi, what she could find around her that was edible, how to make sure neither of them starved. If Taiyang is the health nut, Raven is the safety nut.

I think her (and Qrow too) would also hate wasting food, given how close they've come to dying of starvation many times before.

Qrow: Has a fear of cooking due to his semblance and many, many incidents in the past. Would much rather stick with 2 minute noodles instead thanks. Though, once someone drags his ass to the kitchen and starts teaching him how to cook, I think he'd be really into it. He'd push himself to learn until his cooking was on par with Taiyang's. The problem is for him to overcome that barrier and also make something that isn't a depression meal.

Just do NOT expect him to wash the dishes. This man will eat soup out of a shoe if he has to.

[sleepypsyducks]

I'm working on a fic right now and slightly exploring Larry and Geeta's work relationship / friendship and honestly am having fun. So...headcanon time!

I just...I really like the idea that they have known each other for a long time and that Geeta is fully aware of Larry is capable of. She struggles, and has struggled for years, to understand how he just...changed to being normal. She has seen him at his best and finest hour and watched as he just...accepted normalcy and wears it like he has for his whole life. She watched how he traded fine trainer clothes of the highest quality for a few mid-quality suits and silk dress shirts. However, despite all of that, their dynamics never changed. People may think he's being serious about how she is as a boss and she thought so at first once his behavior changed but then she realized his humor is just...incredibly dry and flat. (She thinks she misses the sarcasm at first until it's directed at her in the blandest of tones. Then she finds she still hates it.) But she likes it because it compliments hers. She knows people are unsettled by her, that they have their views of her management skills and her person. Her blank gaze scares them, her attitude and behavior alienate her from people, and her smile is often misread. Yet she can pop into Larry's office with a grin on her face and stare at him as he tells her whatever is bothering him on his Spreadsheet of the Day.

Larry is one of the few people that Geeta can really just be herself around. She can let her stare become distant while she talks to him, can sit up a little straighter and become rigid as she discusses League business. She can let her words become a little sing song-y, let her body sway like it's floating when she tells him about her day. She can let Glimmora float around his office and Larry won't mind when she tries to bite his hair or burrow into his walls. She'll threaten to dock his pay for working overtime past acceptable overtime because she wants him to go home and not being a workaholic. (She knows that a lot of his money goes into Medali, goes to random trainers to pay for snacks and supplies, goes to Poppy's fundraisers and pays for Rika's obscene amount of magazine subscriptions. She knows that he has a frankly large amount of losses to bets against Hassel and that the money he gives Hassel goes to the Academy to help low income students. She knows that a large chunk of his money is also sent to another region of which she cannot figure out. She also knows that his money is spent on Pokémon clothes that she has never seen his team wear and also on gems and jewels that she knows for a fact sit in a jewelry box she got him when he accepted being the Medali gym leader. She knows that he's a man who cares not for anything but a good meal, so money doesn't actually mean much to him.)

She can put her socked feet on his lap while he glares at his computer, complaining that as his work wife she feels neglected. He'll dryly respond that there are divorce papers in his desk but please wait until Thursday to fill them out he has deadlines he needs to finish. He'll sigh when she hands him another file on an up and coming gym challenger yet they will spend the next several hours battling just so that Larry can take out his frustrations of having to stop his work to battle. She'll smile when she catches the way Larry smiles ever so slightly when he sees the diamond on Staraptor's head and the balloons on Flamigo's. She'll watch as he sits with Flamigo after their match and discuss what they need to do better next time while Glimmora floats over to say hello to her best friend. He'll not comment on how Flamingo was extremely close to successfully beating her team while she calls for repairs on the room.

Geeta may not understand why Larry chose to accept normalcy as his way of life, why he stopped battling with the passion he once had as a younger man, but she has slowly come to accept it, even if it's hard for her to do so. She doesn't understand how her rival, the one who brought out the best in her battles and of her, could just turn away from all of that to a life of letters and numbers. However, she is forever grateful that despite that he didn't end their friendship and alienate himself.

Larry struggles to understand Geeta's management style and why she has turned away from her worldly goals to focus just on Paldea. While he himself understands his dislike towards her at times, a fact she is well aware of and it brings her joy to know he can express his dislike, he doesn't fully understand why other leaders do as well given that she is very upfront with her expectations and goals. He doesn't understand why she insists on him using flying type for his Elite Four team when that was just the silly dream of a child. However, he is grateful that there is someone who understands him, who has sought to continue to understand him.

So yes, they don't always see eye to eye, they snark and get on each other's nerves, but they are the only two people who really understand the other.

However, Larry would really like it if Geeta would just let him work overtime. It's not harming anyone and it's less work for her to do.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

I’m rereading How I Live Now because I just finished the book of the same name (fantastic titling, the depth of the allusion was lovely) and that brief exchange about time travel in chapter four took me out. This time Tom gets to cryptically reference absurd happenings and never explain it. Of course he just went home and didn’t mention that that happened, of course the Animorphs don’t know about it

1) How I Live Now is on my list of sci-fi books that are just... life-changingly, life-ruiningly good. I'm a huge sucker for the ant's-eye view of the apocalypse, when there are heroes off fighting the eldritch abominations but that has nothing to do with our protagonists who are just trying to survive. That story is epic and intimate at the same time, which is not easy to do. So if I induced anyone to read it by accidentally advertising it in a fic, then that's wonderful news.

2) The moment in How I Live Now the fic where Tom passingly alludes to having time traveled and offers no actual explanation was part of my broad headcanon about him, that he never bothers to make waves or draw attention when he doesn't need to. He didn't go rushing home after the events of Escape from L.A. and tell Jake all about it; he called the Matter Over Mind office's security team, added a layer of screening to their mail without bothering to explain why, and then stopped to get a pizza on his way home to take a nap. If it'd ever come up he'd have mentioned it, but otherwise, why bother?

Broadly, I headcanon Tom as coming off like the single blandest, most boring person in existence. He doesn't draw attention to himself, he rarely smiles, he rarely raises his voice, he has a bad habit of trailing off mid-sentence and never picking back up... You can be in the same room as him for half an hour before you even notice he's there, and then your first thought will be "is that guy still breathing?" People who don't know him that well mistake him for being dumb as a rock and emotionless to boot. People like Jake and Bonnie who are fluent in his quirks know that he's often sarcastic without sounding sarcastic, and can be highly competent at everything from jump shots to logistics planning. But Marco can be forgiven for dismissing Tom, or else overlooking him entirely.

[akonstruction]

Creepypasta general headcanons

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚general head cannons for the creeps⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

characters ; jeff the killer, ben drowned, slender man, eyeless jack & nina

fandom ; creepypasta

note ; i didn't know if you wanted all in one or just a few so i picked 5 out and just added some in all ones at the end!

DONT INTERACT IF 13-

jeff the killer ~jefferey woods~

while chasing a victim in the forests he's probably accidently swinged at himself which caused him to get really hurt at least once.

he has little bite marks in the collar of his cotton shirts cause whenever he gets nervous, he bites his collars, for sure.

his room is the blandest in the whole manor, he seriously does not give a shit about decorating his room.

in my opinion he's also just like a walking zombie.

and last but not least... i personally think instead of him being all lanky, thin, brittle boned (aka how zombies would be) he's actually like hella buff.

ben drowned ~benjamin lawmen~

ben doesn't age, ever. hes gonna be a 12 year old forever.

he can also float, go through walls, doors, make lights flicker by using energy, overall, just whatever ghosty ghosts do!

and i don't think he teleports through tv's or whatever but actually he can find people easier through them.

slender man ~eric knudsen~

like mentioned before i said manor instead of the established mansion because i feel as slender man would find mansions just un useful and whatnot and just overall just strongly prefer manors any day.

slender man is not a "loving father" to the creeps but instead he is a greedy, acquisitive, rapacious, being towards them and not at all petrified to act when he doesn't get what he wants.

also, he is a phantom entity who lacks in age wise, which meaning he does not have an age, he is ageless. some may say he could be even in the millions which isn't true in my opinion.

eyeless jack ~jack nicholas~

he only hunts for dinner, he strives on eating new fresh human meat, organs and whatever that is in a human.

he doesn't sleep whatsoever. he has never had shut eye after becoming a creep, isn't that crazy?

he may only see at night whenever he has to hunt. when making the deal the slender man they agreed on allowing jack to see when necessary and slender man gets a new sacrifice and a new... employee you may say?

uses it/its pronouns

nina ~nina hopkins~

she's never liked jeff, ever.

she makes them cute kandi bracelets in her free time.

i never do sexuality head cannons since it just doesn' make sence in my head but she's 100% lesbian.

gay lord overload!!!

reads fanfics on wattpad, qoutev, a03 etc.

IN ALL

they don't just go on random ass killing sprees because why the hell would they?

and no, they don't just do paperwork and meaningless shit like that, they're meant to serve slender man not just do paperwork. not even the big boss slender does paperwork.

everybody hates each other besides jeff and toby may get along okay since they are sort of related not by blood of course but by the fire incidents.

[mobbu-min]

☆ rawr XD ☆

(ft. vil, rook, azul, riddle)

requested by @trixiegalaxy

Can I request TWST headcanons with a female S/O doing this bear prank (from the anime, Acchi Kocchi) to Azul, Rook, Vil, and Riddle.

It's April Fools Day at NRC, and S/O gets Crowley's permission to dress up as a bear, go around the different dorms, and try to scare everyone. What would be Azul, Rook, Vil, and Riddle's reaction to this? Would they get scared or not, and would any of them join in the fun?

a/n at first I thought you meant like an actual realistic custome, but after watching that video it all clicked lol

tw: cursing, vomit, some suggestive stuff in rook's part

 “It’s more cute than anything,” Ace muttered, staring at your furry bear costume in confusion. There were plenty of things he witnessed in his short time at NRC and even more with you beside him and this wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d see. Standing up, he flicked at the puffy tail, “How are you supposed to scare anyone with this?”

 Pouting, you placed your pawed hands on your hips, “I have my ways!”

  “Your face is on display, dummy. You’re not those damn twins,” Grim deadpanned. Flopping down on his side.

 To this, Ortho perked up from his spot at your side, “Don’t worry, Ace Trappola and Grim! I made sure to cover that feature when I was making this!”

 “Yeah! Ortho pulled out all the stops!” You grinned mischievously.

 Ace and Grim watched you click a button at your paw and the opening for your face was instantly covered with metal coverings with brown fur and a muzzle. Two glowing orbs replacing your bright eyes. The strange resemblance to your temporary dad is outstanding. 

 “RAWR!” You screeched, jumping up to try to intimidate them. 

 Tilting his head, Ace mumbled, “Yeah, it's way more cute than scary.”

 “You’d have to be blind to get scared.”

  Stomping your foot, you pointed at them and declared, “Just you watch! I’m going to be so scary, I’m going to get Animal Control called on me!”

 Running out the door, Ace winced as you collided with the door. Standing back up, you did what he could only decipher to be you flipping him off and marched out the front door. Muttering something about ‘being surrounded by fake love’ and ‘the world being your hater’.

 Shaking his head, he mumbled, “We should go after them, huh?”

 “Yup! From my calculations the percentage of Animal Control being called on them is quite low, but facing death isn’t!” Ortho chirped. 

 “Just great.”

☆☆☆

Vil Scheonheit <3

⋆ You really expect the Vil Schoenheit to scream? 

⋆ Then you must not know him at all. Jeez, he has more class than that. 

⋆ Literally gives you the blandest reactions. He just raises his slim brow and gives you a look that radiates ‘Really?’

 “Who made this?” Vil scrutinized, picking up your arm to touch the soft fur. 

⋆ Though, he will applaud you for trying. It takes a ton of guts to walk around in that. 

 “Ortho!” You chirped, your voice muffled from the bear mask. Spinning around, you posed cutely, stars and hearts practically coming off of your pose, “Cute, right?”

 “Hardly,” Vil tsked under his breath. Though anyone with a brain could see the way his pale cheeks lit up. Of course, you just had to be so cute and that damn bear costume didn’t help at all.

  “I’m I scary at least?” 

 Taking your paw, he moved you to sit down at his vanity, “If I were anyone else, and a child under the age of one, then perhaps. Remove your mask please.”

 “Aw man,” you sniffed sadly while doing as he said. “I thought I was totally going to scare some pants off!”

 “Well, with the way the suit is making your skin break out, you could certainly scare someone’s pants off,” He teased, gently scrubbing about the dirt and sweat that was accumulating on your skin from the mask. The softness of the rag combined with the calming scent of the cleanser made you sleepy. 

 Yawning, you leaned back into Vil’s plush chair, “Y’know I think I’m done scaring today…that was too much fun…-snoooorrreee-”

  Vil huffed in amusement at how fast you fell asleep. Applying a thin layer of moisturizer, he gently moved you to his bed and patted your head, “Perhaps, I’ll buy you a pair of bear pajamas? It certainly suits you. Don’t you four think so?”

 On cue, three figures fell out of Vil’s closet. Turning around, Vil watched the three of the four complain and curse at each other. While the young robot laughed at his friend's misery. Floating up to Vil, Ortho exclaimed, “Wow, Vil Schoenhiet! You added another possibility to the Prefect’s possible endings!”

 “And that would be?”

 “Animal Control or death!”

 “Oh…” Glancing at Ace and Grim, he asked, “I assume that’s why you both came? To watch over them?”

 “Yeah…” Ace mumbled, rubbing the growing bump on his head. Already at your side, Grim curled up into your arm and yawned, “My henchman has no survival instincts, that why Grim the Great is here to…take..care of them…-snooooorrre-”

 Pursing his lips, he turned to Epel, “But that doesn’t explain why you were hiding in my closet, little apple. And with one of Rook’s arrows, no less.”

 Placing the arrow behind him, Epel stuck his head up and mumbled awkwardly, “I saw a bear running around and my meemaw always said bear meat tasted amazing, sooo….”

 “You were going to stab ‘em!?” Ace screeched, taking big steps back from Epel. 

 “No!....well, yeah…” Epel trailed off, kicking at the carpet and pouting.

 “Wow! Epel Felmier, you could have been one of the leading causes of death for the Prefect!” Despite the grim meaning behind it, Ortho said it like he was announcing the next Emmy.

 Pinching the bridge of his nose, Vil sighed, “I can’t believe this…”

Rook Hunt <3

⋆ Oh, you think you’re doing the hunting? How funny! How cute! Babe, you’re gonna die.

⋆ Rook knows it’s you in the bear costume. His sweet trickster doing their trickster things. How beautiful! But damn, does that want to make Rook go hunting.

⋆ Of course he’s doing it lovingly, with no intentions to actually harm you, but he wouldn’t mind hearing your fearful screams as you run away from him. 

⋆ Won’t you be a dear and play a little game with him?

 “Omg, Leona! I’m so happy to see you!” you wailed, jumping onto the, surprisingly awake, lion. Clinging onto him, you let your snot get all over his chest. “Protect me!”

(me personally would shit myself and die if I saw Rook giving me the look he gives in his groovified bean day card, or alternatively, get on my knees for him)

 Staring at you in disgust, Leona pushed you away, “Get off of me, Herbivore.”

 But you persisted and jumped back on him. Shoving your face into his welcoming chest, well as welcoming as it can get with Leona glaring daggers into your bear suit self. “Please, please, please! Leona! Help me! I’m getting hunted for sport!”

 “Aren't you supposed to be doing the hunting, ya big ass bear?” Leona asked, moving around so he could get a better hold of you. 

 “Apparently not! I thought you had to have a permit to be able to hunt endangered animals!” You exclaimed. 

 “Endangered?”

 “Yeah, me soon!”

 Rolling his eyes, Leona asked, “Who’s even hunting you?”

 Before you could respond a flamboyant laugh cut through the air. Ominous and oh so frightening. Even Leona tensed up. His tail stopping mid sway and ears picking up. 

 Ridgedly, you and leona turned to meet the oddly jovial eyes of your hunter, Rook Hunt. His bow tight in his grasp. Lips split into an unfairly pretty, yet scary, smile. 

 “It seems like Roi du Leon has found my sweet Ourse~ Now would you be so kind as to hand them over?” He asked, the edge in his tone betraying any form of pleasantry.

 Turning down to look at you, all you could do is wordless shaking your head and cling tighter onto you one and only hope. Green eyes twitching, Leona sighed. But before you could get your hopes up, you were suddenly hoisted into the air and flung with full force at your hunter. 

 “LEEONNAA! YOU AAAASSS!”

 Scratching his head, Leona turned around and saunted off, “yeah, not my problem. Have fun, I guess.”

 Fully expecting to hit the ground, you were surprised to feel a strong pair of arms capture you and hold your bridal style. Staring up at Rook with wide eyes, you smiled nervously, “Rawr?”

  “Shall we head to my room, my little Ourse? There’s plenty I must teach in the name of the hunt!” He joyfully hummed, tightening his hold the moment you began to squirm. Gleefully skipping all the way to your demise. 

 Oh lord, have mercy on me!

Azul Ashengrotto <3

⋆ This guy has never seen a bear before. So the moment he sees you barreling towards him with the speed of Floyd, man's about to shit himself out of fear. 

⋆ It doesn’t matter who’s next to him or if he’s with a potential client, he’s bolting the other way. He swears he can hear the gate of the afterlife opening up for him. He’s never been this scared, no amount of the leech twins could get him to want to cry to mom this badly. And omg, his lungs are literally about to burst because of all this running. He just wants his octopot so badly! Tears are streaming down his face!

⋆ After you come clean to him, he’s shaking you by your shoulders practically screaming at you about ‘how could you do this to me!’.

⋆ He rethinks everything he knows about you. Consider you to be as bad as the Leech twins. Maybe even worse. 

 “Azul! I’m sooo sorry!” You wailed. Tears streamed down your face and into the pool that contained your doom. 

⋆ He’s never living this down, so why not make a deal with him? It’s the least you can do, right?

 “Hm? What was that, dear Prefect?” Azul said, pulling the lever that lowered you down. Watching the way you squirmed in your tight binding. “I’m sure they’re dying to play with their new playmate.”

 “Azul! This is practically murder! I’m too cute for this!” You sobbed. You gasped when you saw Ace with Grim and Ortho, “Ace! My Savior! Help me!”

 “I suggest you don’t, Trappola. Lest we forget the incident you, oh so desperately, want to keep away from your housewarden.” Azul threatened. Glaring daggers at the boy. 

 Paling, Ace stared apologetically at you, “Sorry, but Imma have to sit this one out.”

 “ACCCCEEEE!” You wailed louder. The rope holding you swaying faster with your frantic squirming. Green quickly becoming a permanent color to your skin. 

 “Have fun, my dear Prefect~”

  “Azul, I swear to—blegh!” 

 In an instant, two long beings jumped out of the pool and landed with a ‘thrawk!’ on the tile floors. Grim and Ace lost their shit on the side and Azul broke his cane in the process. Ortho, sweet angel, was the only one to get your passed out ass out of that tight binding. 

 “I think they’re dead…” Ortho murmured, running a full body scan on our limp figure. 

 “They better be! Shrimpy, that was so not cool!” Floyd pouted, staring at your puke floating down to the bottom of the water with a grimace, “Nasty shrimpy.”

 “Yes, how gross,” Jade muttered. 

  “Blegh!”

 “Get them out of here, so help me, before I throw them and their bear costumes into the sea!”

Riddle Rosehearts <3

⋆ He doesn’t scream as much as he jumps. Jumps so high, you swear he could have touched the moon. Who knew such a small body could launch themself that high. 

⋆ Riddle is not having it. First you burst into an Unbirthday Party, but you made him break a Queen of Heart’s rule? Nu-uh, he’s having your head for that.

⋆ Honestly, you should count yourself lucky because you're not a part of his dorm. If you were, you’d have hell to face. 

⋆ Though once everything is said and done, Riddle might find himself having a little chuckle at your shenanigans and how adorably funny you looked. 

 “Riddle, I said I’m sorry! Now can you please take this collar off me! It’s itchy and heavy!” You complained. Pulling at the thick collar in hopes that it would snap in half. Unfortunately you weren’t Leona or Malleus, so your attempts were utterly futile. 

 “Until, you can memorize all 100 of the Queen of Heart’s rules, then I’ll uncollar you,” Riddle hummed, sipping from his tea. 

 “Dude, I’m not even from your dorm! Why does it matter?” 

 Staring at you like you were a misbehaving child, Riddle tsked, “You’re always here, Prefect. Might as well make you an official member, no? Afterall, this is much easier than what the others have to memorize.”

 Flopping on your back, you wailed childishly, “Nooo! I don’t wanna! The collar is uncomfy and I have a wedgie from this dang suit!”

 “Wow, they’re really not having it huh?” Cater mused, taking a photo of you in your lowest moment. The sight of a bear rolling around on their rose detailed carpet complaining about their wedgie certainly wasn’t something he'd think he’d ever see. 

 Humming, Riddle smiled at you, “They’ll get over it.”

⋆⋆⋆

  Outside, hidden into the heart shaped rose bushes, laid our super spies, Ace, Grim and Ortho. A thick pair of Hatsume Miku themed binoculars in Ace’s grasp. Shaking his head, he sighed on your behalf, “I don’t know why out of everyone, they chose to go for Riddle. Bad planning on their part.”

 “So much for them having the braincell,” Grim huffed while fixing his sunglasses. It’s such a nice day, so why wouldn’t he sunbathe?

 Clad in spy merch, Ortho beamed, “The chances of death and Animal Control just went into the negatives thanks to Riddle Roseheart’s intervention!”

 Rolling his eyes, Ace placed the binocular at his eyes again, “That’s just perfect…”

[dabruzzy]

ooo i think you like atla? if thats the case

8 and 12 for katara

and also 14, 22, and 25 (favorite design hc?) for Lyle

For Katara:

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

I haven't interacted with the fandom much outside of occasionally checking the tag, but from what I remember I don't like how so many people forced the "mom friend" role on her (usually for ship war reasons). Yes, I understand that she's very empathetic and caring and even in the show she's referred to as "motherly" but she doesn't like it and she shouldn't have to try to act like an adult around people who are her age or older. She took that responsibility because of the trauma of losing her mother but she's only 14. Literally in the first couple of episodes Aang reminds her that she's a kid and she liked him not only because he brought hope but also fun. Like it was the entire point lmao.

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

I actually can't think of any right now, I haven't watched ATLA in years

For Lyle:

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

This:

Sorry, I love bullying my faves. For a more serious answer, not to copy other people's ideas but a while ago someone on Tumblr, I think it was spandexinspace, talked about anti-surveillance fashion for Lyle and yeah I think that's the one that fits him best.

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

I love when people bring up his past as a spy and how it still affects him, or his childhood with the Foccarts. I like when he's portrayed as a generally friendly and unassuming guy who is also a liar and never opens up about himself, basically the embodiment of "I'll keep all of my emotions right here and then one day I'll die", and it's hard to get to actually know him because of how repressed he is.

Most of the fics I read were good and he was characterized well so I can't think of many things I didn't like tbh. I guess these are the perks of liking a minor character from a 30 yo run

For the design hc, I just like when he looks like the blandest boy ever and is also kinda short. I also remember someone on Twitter mentioned that his suit was completely black without any highlights unlike other Legionnaires, which is true only for some panels drawn by Chris Bautista in The Legion but I like to think that his suit is actually that black. It's like Vantablack or something. He's wearing the void

[impishtubist]

Semi related to the lack of kinks and monsterfucking-type AUs, this fandom has some of the blandest enemies-to-lovers things I have ever seen. This series features not one but two wars and some of the characters were involved in both (some were even involved in 3 if they were around when Grindelwald was active), where is the spice? This is a goldmine world for enemies-to-lovers given how many people are fighting, why are some of these so boring? Some are like “Characters A and B punched each other, felt really badly about it, had a heart-to-heart, and now they’re in love.” This is a world with a spell that causes instant death, some people do not include nearly enough “enemy” in “enemies to lovers.” As this is sort of related to the crack chaos headcanon, Sirius sleeps with a Death Eater in the First War but it’s “enemies and lovers” as opposed to “enemies to lovers,” they’re fully on opposing sides the entire time and keep on fighting, even if they’re also sleeping together. Sirius almost cuts their head off in one battle and the DE is all “that’s really hot, murderous is a good look on you” as they try to set Sirius on fire; Sirius redirects the fire to a different DE that’s attacking James as he retorts that everything is a good look on him.

Okay I got a good cackle out of "enemies AND lovers", so true bestie. Sirius would have lovers who are enemies. 🤣

But yes, you are 100% correct, a lot of the enemies to lovers stuff that I see is actually mild-dislike-to-lovers. Even Jegulus, which is prime enemies to lovers material (they are literally on opposite sides of a war!) puts out fics that are just. so plain.

[inthejunegloom]

dumb evangelion headcanon about the chars playlists:

all of the kids of eclectic ass playlists. this is highly encouraged by misato, who firmly believes in the healing power of music.

shinji is especially egregious, to the point that asuka is perplexed that shinji's mixtape on his SDAT has like, city pop, fleetwood mac/classic rock, mf beethoven and mozart, and some pop song they heard on the radio in misato's car last week. and it just fucking works somehow and she's infuriated by it. shinji has a playlist for every occasion. one for crying in bed. one for crying on the train. one for crying while walking. one for crying in his test plug during tests. you know, he's organized in this one facet of his life he has control of, so while the songs don't necessarily seem to fit together, there's definitely an emotional narrative in the order.

(a shinji inspired mix here)

asuka's got a taste towards rock, punk, and emo. she also has a dramatic, theatrical side. so? misato DEF introduced her to my chemical romance and fall out boy, and asuka Never Looked Back. she's got heavy heavy guitars and strong female vocals and has maybe like, 2 playlists. Good mood (pop/pop rock/pop punk heavy) and Bad Mood. some of her favorite songs are actually heavily influenced by misato's tastes when it was just the two of them in germany, but she's too embarrassed to admit it and would lie that kaji showed her or she found it on the internet or something. she fucking loves mcr. like. she has hidden, but Strong Opinions about the "emo" trinity, ie that panic! fell off & that her opinions on "the best" mcr and fob songs are Absolute. she's def super into all types of alt rock, knows the entire history of emo & its off shoots as a spectrum, a la tiktok music historians.

(asuka inspired playlist here)

rei herself doesn't have an interest in types of music or any of that. she just likes it because it calms her like swimming does, not really understanding why she particularly "likes" a song at all, similar to how her viol playing would be very technically correct yet lacking a bit of the emotion in the instrument. anyway, asuka and shinji made her a mixtape together. as two kids who prefer to fill the silence but perhaps don't like talking, this is the only thing they can gift their fellow pilot: a mixtape. as such, rei's playlist is somehow even more eclectic than shinji's, but the vibes of all the songs asuka and shinji chose are somehow really eerie when put together. this irony is completely lost on rei, who usually only listens to it alone in her apartment anyway.

(a rei themed mix here)

bonus goofy side thoughts:

kaworu has One spotify or youtube playlist with Every Song He's Ever Heard And Liked, in no order or logical flow, no organization at all. this horrifies shinji nearly as much as the revelation that kaworu's an angel

gendo DEFINITELY is the one who left shinji tapes of city pop when he sent him to kyoto. that's what he listened to in college because of yui and kyoko, and he actually does still listen to it secretly. only fuyutsuki knows this. the rest of NERV is under the belief that gendo listens to like, evil villanous badass classical if anything at all. But no, his plotting playlist is city pop.

misato has excellent taste in music. she's got cds for cruising in her sick car, of course. she's still got a flash drive of all the music she, kaji and ritsuko pirated in college. after her temporary mute period, she hates to have complete silence unless it's dire.

something asuka scoffs at misato over? misato may have excellent taste, but she only has a shallow pool of songs from each artist she knows.. typically, the artist's greatest hits exclusively. asuka calls her a "fake fan" because she can't pass the "name 5 songs" test for most musical artists.

kaji was in a band in college. they made maybe 6 songs before breaking up.

ritsuko's guilty pleasure is radio pop. the blandest, most generic dancey pop songs? she loves it. she's GREAT at karaoke parties because of this.

aoba gives shinji and asuka band recommendations occasionally when they seem extra down. he offers one or two times to hook shinji up with a guitar teacher he knows but shinji rejects it every time.

i see hyuga as being. like. REALLY. into vocaloid. like this is a man who definitely has three hatsune miku concert tshirts in his closet that no one knows about.

maya ibuki is a lesbian. she fucking loves utada hikaru and reol, two gay icons.

[natasha-in-space]

Hi

What are your headcanons of Saeran having a s/o that’s an athlete?

Oh, Saeran will be delighted. He doesn't know much about sports, and his body was always too weak and sickly for him to try out any proper exercise as a child... and during his time at Mint Eye? Well, he never had the time needed for something like exercise or seeking out a specific sport to pursue. Deep inside, he has always believed that there's simply no point in even trying... since his thin and frail body was no good for anything productive anyways. So, he focuses all of his resources on the job he could better himself at, no matter the cost.

As Ray, he did his research on you. He knows about your athleticism, and how proud you are of the hard work you put in. He's so incredibly enamoured by you and your determination. After a brief research in order to get to know you better, he learns just how much effort you must have put in to get to where you are now. That's how he knows you're the person he needs.

Ray sees your passion and your perseverance, and he knows that you'll be perfect. As he progressively gets closer to you, he sees the sparkle in your eyes whenever you tell him anything about the sport you love so very much. It makes his heart feel so full and warm... He is so happy that you have something you enjoy doing. You inspire him to focus a bit more on his gardening and cooking, instead of the work he has always done. Just maybe... he can become useful in something he loves doing too...?

And now, he's your biggest supporter. Saeran never misses any of your practices, and you get tons of celebratory kisses and cuddles regardless of the results. He finds you absolutely amazing... and watching you in your element? It makes his heart skip a beat each and every time. He even took a few photos of you practicing, just to try and capture the same beauty he sees!

As Saeran, he did everything he could to intimidate you, to provoke you, to prove to you, that he's so much stronger than you, even if you don't think the same. Truthfully, your physical strength scared him. It scared him, because you could use it to your advantage. You could hurt him, and he didn't have anything to prove you wrong. He could scream and push as long as he wanted, but his body was as weak as always. And that... that infuriated him.

Yet, you never did try to hurt him. You never lifted a single finger to harm him. You... you never used your strength to intimidate others. And that's exactly what he realized as he retched all of the elixir out of his system. He may not be as strong as he wants to be... but he wants to be strong enough to protect you and Ray, so that you can be happy together. You made him learn a very valuable lesson, and he's forever grateful for that.

Thanks to you, Saeran has decided to start working out as well. While actively pursuing sports might be too much for him... focusing on his body and establishing healthy habits is extremely beneficial for his recovery! You never pushed him to do more than he felt comfortable with, and you helped him not to overwork himself. Just like you, Saeran gets kisses and cuddles after each and every exercise! It's a mutual exchange.

The other thing Saeran does, is focusing on your diet. If you're pursuing sport as a career, it is extremely important to follow a healthy and nutritious diet, which he is delighted to help out with! He makes you the cutest bentos you've ever seen, causing your teammates to feel just a tad jealous at times. Saeran can make the blandest of ingredients taste great, so you'll never have to worry about eating anything unpleasant ever again.

Overall, Saeran is your biggest cheerleader, and he'll always be there to support you however he can.

[jackoshadows]

Also every other day there is a post on asoiaf reddit about Sansa hate

And I never see this 'TOO MUCH HATE' that's allegedly thrown at Sansa...the legitimate criticism that Sansa gets is nothing compared to the hardcore sexist hate thrown at Dany from Sansa stans. Seriously, political!Jon is an actual theory flaunted and popularized by Sansa stans.

It's the same on Tumblr. Unfortunately Arya's AGOT story is tied with Sansa and her character has self-esteem issues from bullying by a sibling and we can never discuss any of this because immediately there's like a dozen posts about how Arya and Sansa are the best sisters ever and apparently each and every one of those posters treated their younger siblings exactly like Sansa did Arya in a fictional, medieval, feudal, grimdark, fantasy world 😒

And there's a lot of whining about why can't people like Arya and Sansa equally and the 'Stark sisters foreva!' nonsense - which 99% of the time come from Sansa stans who just like Arya there to be a Sansa cheerleader, assistant, executioner and prop.

Oh and also this from the same reddit post -

Imagine saying that about one of the blandest characters in the series with the least character growth amongst all her peers who knows nothing and understands nothing while all the intrigue happens around her with characters 10 times smarter than her because the author uses her as a narrator for the actual players of the game.

The fact that actual readers not accepting made up Sansa stan headcanons and fanon about the character is equated to us having low IQ tells us everything there is to know about the average Sansa Stan and the way they think.

And believe me, this idea that Sansa stans have higher IQ because they like the character is actually very popular and used to be bandied about even on the Westeros.org forums. Same folks who think they are very edgy and special for calling AFfC the best book of the series, that Jaime, Cersei and Sansa are the best characters for high IQ readers - the David Benioff and Dan Weiss types who then went on to ruin the TV show with their absurd fanfiction.

I have literally never heard any Arya stan say they liked her because she's an NLOG character.

The only people who ever say that mess grossly misunderstand her character and boil her down to "oh she's a badass assassin." Which, as you can tell by now, are not Arya stans.

Stop this shit.