#blithe hcs

[etruatcaelum]

On Salem’s Religion.

Her practice is a highly syncretic form of Ruakhian polytheism (although it would also not be inaccurate to say that Ruakhian polytheism evolved from her practice).

The underlying cosmology imagines a tripartite cosmos: there are three primordial realms, one of water, one of fire, and one of earth, whose confluences give rise to the younger realms, Remnant among them. At the center—the soul of all things—is the place-that-is, which is also called the river or the forge.

(It is a key tenet of this belief system that there is only one soul, and it is fractal; some beings have smaller souls than others, but all are the same soul because they are self-similar parts of the soul, which is the place-that-is.)

The historical Ruakhian pantheon was arranged loosely into five houses: the gods of fire, of earth, of water, of the soul, and of the world. (Sometimes seven, with dark and light, but Salem does not hold to this view.) On top of this core, Salem has adopted many new gods over the centuries.

These are the major deities she worships:

Gods of the Soul.

These are not the rulers per se, but they’re the eldest of the gods and given special deference accordingly. As they dwell in the place-that-is, the gods of the soul are reached from within; offerings made to them are ritually consumed.

Lombe, the Artisan, is primarily a god of craft: spinning and weaving, pottery-making, wickerwork, metallurgy, musical instruments. Salem also regards her as a hearth-god.

Shrithe, the Walker, is a god of stillness and motion: he is associated with the winter and with way-finding. He is also the death-god of chief importance in the Ruakhian afterlife, as the dead rested with him and received his guidance before beginning the long ascent through the primordial realms back to the waking (living) world.

Kané, the Singer, is a god of secret knowledge, song, poetry, and the written word. Alone of the elder gods, it touches the waking world as the breath of life and wind that moves the stars; many of its rites pertain to augury and haruspicy.

Margh, the Sleeper, most enigmatic of the elders, is a god of magic, selfhood, memory, dreams, and emotion.

Gods of Water.

The realm of primordial water is called the Wending Sea. It is the lowest realm, flowing beneath the skin of the world—Salem locates her realm, the one formed by her semblance, in the Wending Sea. These gods receive libations of saltwater, blood, atrum, or dark wine, and all have associations with grimm.

Striga, the Witch of the Wilds, is a god of witchcraft and war, storms and wildfires, rot and rebirth. She is the herald of the moon-god and associated with bloodshed of all kinds, including childbirth. Salem has fully divorced her own worship from the historical identification of Striga as herself. But this is why her emblem is called the Sigillum Strigis.

Ictifex, the Night Wyrm, is a god of darkness and underground things: caverns and sinkholes and the like, but also worms and burrowing creatures. He is formed from the cast-off skin of the serpentine Shrithe, and his is the death of water. When the dead traverse the Wending Sea, Ictifex hunts for them, and if he finds them and bites them, they will return to the waking world as grimm.

There are eight minor gods of water; the eight most common grimm morphs of the Taiyin Steppe are named for them: Ursai the Bear, Matagot the Lion, Khorkhoi the Viper, Almasty the Ape, Tulpar the Wind-Horse, Corocotta the Hyena, and the winged dog Chamrosh.

Gods of Earth.

The realm of primordial earth is called the Garden of Thorns. Its position relative to the others is somewhat vague—historically, it was often placed below the Wending Sea, but Salem thinks of it as a sort of cosmic membrane: the skin of the world and the skin of the sky. Whether these gods receive libations or burnt offerings varies; the libations are mostly of wine or blood, the offerings mainly in the form of animal sacrifice.

Omadios, the Vulture, is a god of wild things and wild places, of the hunt, and of hunger. She is the wilderness; hers is the death of earth. If the dead rising from the Wending Sea are unmarked by Ictifex, she will call out to them, inviting them to join her revelries; should they choose to partake, they will return to the waking world as faunus. Ruakhian tradition held that your animal patron was the thing you ate in the Garden.

Shiqmá, the Shrike, is a god of herds and the slaughter—the domestic counterpart of Omadios, in a sense. She was sung into being by Kané, and shares its association with poetry and language.

Erlik, the Wolf, is a war-god and a god of wrath, vengeance, horsemanship, and destruction. He is a companion of Striga and the mountain-smith; earthquakes are the reverberations of his hammer, and volcanoes are his forge.

There are ten minor gods of earth: the Crow, the Sparrow, the Hawk, and the Pheasant; the Hare, the Ferret, the Horse, and the Fox; the Snake and the Spider.

Gods of Fire.

The realm of primordial fire is called the Wailing Sea. It is the uppermost realm, burning white and gold above the skin of the sky. These gods receive burnt offerings, primarily of herbs, flowers, or wood.

Mar, the Moon, is a god of truth, justice, atonement, oaths, and mourning. They are the creation or offspring or a dream of Margh, and theirs is the death of fire. When the dead climb up from the skin of the sky to travers the Wailing Sea, Mar sees them through the sundered gate—the maw of the broken moon—and, to those for whom they weep, they offer the secret of silver.

Caleb, the Sun-Holder, is a hearth-god and god of familial bonds and healing. The sun itself is a clay lantern shaped by Lombe, which holds the life-giving fire. Salem regards him as a god of plantings and the harvest as well—agriculture featured very little in Ruakhian culture, but she gardens.

Iskra, the Vermilion Witch, is a god of mirrors, firelight, aura, and falling stars. She is a companion of Striga, and something of a stricter counterpart to her: scorched earth to the wildfire, dust-conjured lightning to the thunderstorm.

There are twelve minor gods of fire, represented by the constellations of the ecliptic.

Gods of the World.

Remnant is the waking world, the land of the living, the place without. Most of its gods are small: spirits of a mountain or a river or a household, culture heroes, ancient grimm, tutelaries, and the like. The roster of Salem’s big gods hasn’t expanded very much—when she does adopt new deities as gods of water, earth, or fire, she more often approaches them as new aspects of her own gods—but she has, by now, literally thousands of small gods. Some of them are very small indeed. Those that follow are only the most important to her.

Samandar Khan was her son and the founder of Ruakh; he began to receive cult after his death. Salem doesn’t worship him exactly, but she keeps a shrine and practices his rituals as a way to, at least symbolically, keep him alive. She calls him Irem when she is feeling sentimental.

Sykites was the tutelary deity of Irem’s deme before their decimation and continued to be his patron and that of his family, Salem included.

Kultarinta the Bear is a culture hero of the Yslenic peoples of northwestern Sanus, a warrior variously attested as an ursine faunus or a shape-changing turnskin. (She was both: Salem taught her shapeshifting.) At the end of the Third Era, she killed Patricius Eternus, put the Circle, his fanatical cult, to the sword, and became the second summer maiden in the process. Worship of her as a bear-god persists into the modern day among the Yslena as well.

Valravne is the leviathan of the Evernight horde: an ancient nevermore as massive as the wyvern of Mountain Glenn. Grimm of such size are invariably hollowed out into living hives by their hordes, and they are to grimm hordes somewhat akin to what culture heroes are to people. All of them are very, very old. (Monstra, incidentally, was not a leviathan: Salem hauled the corpse of an actual dead whale out of the Tarth Sea, marinated it in an atrum reservoir for several months until the meat was all mostly grimmified, and then started sculpting. Monstra was a battleship.)

Vangtand, Knaggli, Náttfari, and Turibriga are four of the five tallest peaks in the world: Evernight perches on an escarpment between Náttfari and Knaggli, with Turibriga accessible through the pass to the north and Vangtand—the highest of all—piercing the sky beyond that. Salem’s horde nests in all four mountains and has excavated a vast labyrinth beneath (and pushing up into) these mountains; the peaks have become more or less equivalent to household gods—horde gods, as it were.

Balfyr is an important deity in the folk religion of the Vitrine Peninsula: a god of the ghastly ‘witchfire’ often seen at night in the marshes and bogs that dominate the region, traditionally held to be the lost souls of the newly-dead; Balfyr is a psychopomp who gathers these wandering spirits and guides them home. Salem has adopted them as a guardian of Alukah’s wetlands.

Tarth is the name of both the cold sea to the east of Alukah and the monstrous grimm that makes its home in the depths. Tarth is, by a wide margin, the biggest grimm in the the world: an eel-like behemoth massive enough to swallow an Atlesian dreadnought whole. Salem reveres her as a living manifestation of the sea and its dangers.

& On Belief and Realness.

Salem takes all of this very seriously. While she’s perfectly aware that little of it is accurate in the strict factual sense—and she’ll never shy away from factually discussing the Brother Gods and her ‘Elder Gods’ (which, being aspects of the Tree, do exist)��she feels it is all real in every way that matters.

Namely: she finds meaning and spiritual fulfillment in her beliefs, and her rituals work, and it feels true in some essential way that ancient worship of the God of Light (and Darkness, from a distance) didn’t. Ipso facto, it is true in some essential way that is deeper and more important than factual correctness.

Outside of contexts where factual accuracy is of crucial importance, i.e. recounting what the Brothers did and/or discussing Ozma’s mandate, she makes not the slightest distinction between gods who exist and gods who don’t. It does not matter to her.

She is going to start worshipping the spirits in the relics as soon as they’re freed and integrate the Ever After and the Tree into her cosmology, as parts of the Garden of Thorns, once she learns about them. None of this remotely fazes her; she merely slots new information or new gods wherever they fit best into her existing belief system.

Her actual praxis is exactingly methodical and constructed around reciprocity—do ut des. The purpose of every act of propitiation, every prayer, every vow, and every ritual is to either receive something in return or repay a favor in kind. Broadly speaking, her rituals do work even when her gods do not actually exist because she’s had thousands upon thousands of years to figure out how to make things happen, whether by creating the conditions that will cause it or by magic; that knowledge undergirds her religious praxis.

(Salem’s absolute disdain for the God of Light is less a response to his cruelty in and of itself than it is his violation of that reciprocity, not by refusing but by brutally punishing her for asking at all; likewise, although her feelings about him are complicated, she made her peace with what Darkness did to her long ago and began to worship him in memoriam because he did act reciprocally before his brother intervened.)

[hoiststowline]

envy/jealousy hc’s [ratchet, sunstreaker, ultra magnus & hound]

ratchet is agitated, not jealous. he’s so kind to explain it to you in grave detail, going in circles about how he is not jealous, and how absurd it is for you to assume he is, and why were you talking to that person for so long?? there’s a few ways to tell if he actually is a little envious, and that is he’s either more temperamental than usual, or he’s seeking your attention a little more hastily. he makes it abundantly clear that you understand it isn’t a trust issue, but sometimes he feels disconnected in the relationship because there is so much he can’t do, at least with you. so seeing you interact in such friendly manners with others ignites some sort of long stored away feeling, a jealousy ratchet never knew he had. seeing you so happy makes him momentarily blind to the moments of happiness he's had with you, later becoming annoyed with himself for such a ignorant surmise. yet, seeing it laid out in front of him is like a fleeting punch to the gut. however, that all disappears when you turn and catch his gaze, arises a smile that is saved special just for him, different than the ones you share with others. it immediately dissipates all of the tension in his shoulders, meeting you halfway in greeting.

evidently the most likely to display jealousy, sunstreaker's does not arrive without purpose. he's not only protective over his s/o, but is is very possessive of your attention. seeing you laugh and smile with others is not an image he really cares to see, so it's an often occurrence that he drives off, leaving you stranded wherever he promised to pick you up. sunstreaker will blame it on everybody but himself, disingenuously explaining that you took too long, or he was called away on a task. he refuses to acknowledge his own issue with your compassionate nature, a night and day difference from his demeanor. primus knows it's not a self confidence issue, but he wonders all the time why you would even put up with his less than disagreeable attitude. you can't directly bring it to his attention, anything regarding envy, but you come to learn that he just needs reassurance. and when you do try to apologize, feeling bad for inadvertently hurting his feelings, sunstreaker scoffs. but it's more so in disbelief, enamored that you even realized something was amiss. he's willing to discuss it with you, and once he does, he realizes how stupid he sounds out loud. but you disagree, wanting him to feel that he could talk about anything with you.

ultra magnus isn't aware he is jealous until it's spelled out for him. if he's injured and unable to do something for you, gestures he's blithely accustomed to, a spasm of what he thinks is guilt arrives in his chest. your company is where he is the most relaxed and disburdened, so seeing you off with someone that isn't him, gets him not only confused but also riled up. the only solace magnus has is while you're friendly and flexible amongst others, your relationship with him swims below a surface level. there's things you share with each other that some souls have never heard, and to that, he's not as envious as he may outwardly appear. he can focus on getting better as quickly as possible so as to return to your side, momentarily satiated with the fact you were in the best hands possible, aside from his own. sure, he still feels that sense that he's missing out on something, but it departs from him the instant you arrive back from wherever you went. the jealousy doesn't last long, but magnus isn't so convinced it was ever there in the first place, his only reminder is smokescreen's relentless teasing.

quite the opposite, hound is the least likely to be anywhere near displaying blatant jealousy. he's no stranger to the feeling, but it doesn't consume him, allowing it to be pushed aside for another day to resolve. 'if you're happy, i'm happy' kinda guy, but sometimes that twinge of envy arrives without warning, unable to articulate it well enough without coming across as arrogant. similar to ratchet, he feels it the most when he observes you with friends or co-workers, feeling that sense of loneliness in a room full of people. out of any of them, hound is the one to bring this feeling up in conversation, wondering if he really is isolated from your life because of the things he can and cannot do. you're there to comfort and ease his nerves, explaining that it didn't matter what you did with him, you are always the most content just being in his company. this satisfies his woes, but the sensation of envy still sometimes rears its ugly head every now and then. though now, he's better suited to dismiss it, understanding it's all a natural reaction and has nothing to worry about. all smiles, your compassion and empathy is something that he treasures, confident that he could bring anything up to discussion and you'd be there to talk it out with him.

[jujuicykaisen]

I was wondering if I could request a fun hc for Gojo and Nanami reacting to finding out that a fellow sorceress (who might be part of their squad or someone they work closely with) is an amazing baker? She loves to bake and often shares her creations with friends! 🍰🧁🍮🍩🥮🥐🍞🥖

I had so much fun writing these, and spent far too long staring at photos of baked goods...

Characters: Kento Nanami, Satoru Gojo

Contents: lavish, near-erotic descriptions of baked goods

Kento Nanami

Other sorcerers tend to find Nanami a little distant. He treats them like colleagues rather than friends; once he's clocked off the day, that's that. He'll put his life on the line for them, sure, but will he go for drinks after his work day? Doubtful.

This to say, he probably won't know about your hobby until the first time you show up to a mission or a meeting with a baking tin. He gives the contents a look of mild interest first few times, but graciously declines. As delicious as your cookies, brownies, and cupcakes look, he doesn't have much of a sweet tooth so your efforts would be wasted on him.

Nanami isn't prepared for the day you appear in the faculty lounge with something large and loaf-shaped. You place it on the table. It's wrapped in brown baking paper that's lightly spotted with oil, crackling as you begin to unwrap it.

Nanami looks up from his book in time to see you open the most heavenly-looking loaf of bread he's ever seen. A braided pull-apart loaf, the crust golden and shining. The loaf gives a soft, garlic-laced sigh of steam as it's unveiled.

His gaze is locked. He clears his throat slightly, placing a long finger between the pages of his book so he doesn't lose his place.

"What did you make?" he asks, unable to stop the note of interest in his voice.

It's hard, but do try to contain your glee. It's best to act as if you didn't deliberately bake something to appeal to Nanami's tastes. It hasn't sat right with you, how he politely declines your baked goods, so you decided to get him where he's weak: bread.

"A cheese and garlic tear and share loaf," you say blithely.

You reach out and pull one of the segments away from the rest of the loaf, thick strings of soft, melted cheese stretching in the intervening space. The smell of garlic and freshly baked bread intensifies.

Nanami sets down his book slowly, and tilts his head forward to eye the loaf over the top of his glasses. His mouth is beginning to water.

"I see," he says, his voice a touch deeper than normal. "For your lunch?"

It's hard not to smile. That's Nanamin for "Can I have some?" You tear away a generous chunk and put it on a plate, extending it toward him.

"That would defeat the purpose of a tear and share, no? Dig in. I'd appreciate your opinion~"

Nanami breathes in the smell of the bread, stretching out a hand for the plate. You're a god of gluten, a siren of sourdough. He raises the bread to his lips and takes a bite.

Thick, expensive cheese, heady garlic, soft airy bread in a fragile, flaky golden crust. Nanami is heaven. Nanami is on a beach in Malaysia, retired before he turns thirty. H opens his eyes and reality comes crashing back down, but the bread is still really fucking good.

"This is...excellent," he says, his voice slightly rough. "Please. Bake this more often."

Nanami sounds almost emotional, and for once his expression is neither blank nor a frown as he eats the rest in slow, measured bites.

Give it...three more loaves before he starts ring shopping.

Satoru Gojo

Gojo has always been able to smell something a little heavenly about you. Something sweet and sugary seem to hang around you like a perfume, and he always finds himself edging subtly closer, trying to inhale more of that sweet aroma.

He finds out why you smell so good the first time you show up to a meeting with a tupperware of cookies. Gojo's gaze zeroes in on the cookies, and you find a white-haired scarecrow looming over, you grinning.

"Hope you brought enough to share~"

He waits (im)patiently for you to open the box, and immediately takes one of the large thick cookies. He bites into it, groaning as chocolate chips melt on his tongue, and the cinnamon and vanilla hits his tastebuds. The cookies are still warm and deliciously chewy. In seconds, he's licking crumbs and smudges of chocolate from his fingers.

"You're officially my new favourite person," he declares.

You think he's joking. He's not.

From then on, it's like you've acquired a Satoru-shaped shadow. He's busy as hell, yes, but he somehow always finds time to track you down and see if you've got anything delicious to hand. If you don't, he gives you a disappointed pout. If you remind him that he could just go to a fancy patisserie and get whatever he wanted, he protests that it's not the same if it's not made "by your loving hands."

If you have baked something, he always gives you rave reviews. For Gojo, it really is heaven that there's a cute little sorcerer bringing in handmade treats. He finds himself growing more and more distracted by thoughts of what you might be bringing, his mouth flooding with saliva at the thought of that beautiful, airy chiffon cake (which he ate half of).

Or that time you got a little experimental and made eclairs pumped full of honey-infused cream and glazed lavender icing, sprinkled with edible gold leaf.

Those things still keep Gojo up at night. You've got him in a choux pastry chokehold.

What really proves Satoru Gojo's undoing is the macarons.

You spend an entire weekend on them, and when you show up, the scent of sugar is infused in your skin, your hair, your clothes. You're practically caramelised, carrying a stack of flat paper boxes.

Gojo is on high alert, his nose twitching like a bloodhound's.

When the lids fold back, he has to pull up his blindfold to get a proper look at what lays within. He goes full shoujo protagonist, with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks as he surveys the neat rows of macarons—a rainbow of delicate pastel shells, each a tiny work of art—decorated with edible pearls, multicoloured sprinkles, flowers, tiny fondant fruit, coffee beans, and some just dunked wholesale in chocolate.

His hands start to shake as if he's already on a sugar high, coming to cradle the box as tenderly as if its his firstborn.

"You're an angel," he gushes.

Biting into his first macaron is almost as transcendent as when he first learned to use reverse cursed technique. He moans as the delicate shell cracks under his teeth, giving way to soft buttercream that melts on his tongue.

Rose and white chocolate with edible pearls and candied petals.

Birthday cake flavour, with a purple shell, vanilla filling, and funfetti sprinkles.

Matcha dipped in dark chocolate with a coating of biscuit crumbs.

Coffee and walnut, with candied coffee bean decorations.

Pistachio and vanilla cream with a rasbperry ganache.

After Gojo has devoured them, he sits there with an empty box, crumbs around his mouth, looking dazed, breathing hard.

"...marry me."

AO3 | Other Blogs: Bleach | Bungo Stray Dogs | BNHA | Naruto

[sxprot]

can u do reader x Shelly, where reader is comforting their girlfriend as Shelly feels like she's not good enough to be part of the main cast because she's so "forgettable" no problem if u don't want to!

All alone in my bedroom, with the lights turned off and my roommate gone

Author's note: Your wish is my command. It's no big deal so I can do it! Although, I thought she's being ignored and not forgotten. Did I miss something lol?

Thanks for requesting!! you're the first one 🦖

Shelly x Toon!reader (romantic)

---------------

"Was I not good enough?"

Shelly always thought about how weird she is. No, she always thought about how she never got the same treatment as the others.

She got her own room, merchs and plushies and yet, never once Shelly saw children or adults bought anything of her. While the others has ran out of their own merchandise, hers remained the same and untouched. The bitterness burning inside her chest with emotions swirling around her little fossil head, she doubt that she will have the attention as the others.

"Shelly?" You call, gently putting your hand on her shoulder.

Then she said nothing. Feeling guilty of worrying you, Shelly keeps silent. Yet, you don't mind, blithely saying that you cherish and love her for who she is. It's already enough for the little fossil to sob and cry on your shoulder.

Shelly finds solace in your presence, for you are her home, her safe place. For you that always there with her despite her reassurance that she was okay, you were nothing but her most valuable treasure, the most beautiful and always brighten her days.

After that, you went to the place that's stored the plushies of the main cast. With no hesitation, you take half of the plushies (you forgot the bag, which you feel awkward) and take it back to your room!

You would spend your time drawing Shelly and you, the time you two have met, loving and accept each other. You put love in your drawing, making Shelly cries out of joy as she hugs you.

You two spent a day watching dinosaur films like Jurassic Park and others,... you literally could see her eyes beamed with joy despite already watching them. But you could care less if it means seeing her happy.

I also hc Shelly to be up to games like imagine her excitedly telling you to find her gifts that's digging under the sand!

And oh, it's a heart shaped paper and with two dinosaur bracelet that's meant to be matching. Oh, you were in awe. By the time you're admiring the gifts, Shelly quickly say "I love you!"

"Thank you for being with me-!" She sputters nervously, fidgeting with her hands. But Shelly feels you kissing her cheeks, never can miss the way you laugh at her red-like-apple cheeks.

(I'm sorry if this is short! I'm out of ideas )

[marzipanandminutiae]

more crimson peak HCs?

The Sharpes don't drink alcohol, except when they're running the con and/or courting investors and need to appear normal around other people (wine with dinner being de rigeur among the upper classes back then). Any interest they might have had in it was killed by their father's drunken rages long ago.

The baby wasn't the first time Lucille got pregnant, or the last. Just the only time she tried to keep it. before, and after their son died, she ended the pregnancies with a homebrew pennyroyal tincture and never told Thomas. There haven't been many, since malnutrition during puberty left her not overly fertile, but there have been others.

Edith had her ears pierced when she was eight, after Eunice taunted her for being "too scared" to do it. Her mother caught her in the bathroom with a needle, working up the nerve, and insisted that they have a jeweler do it properly- many had similar methods to modern professional piercers, albeit less sterile.

Lucille's were done by a sympathetic housemaid around the same age, the old-fashioned way, with a needle in the attic. For many years she just wore the loops of silk thread used to keep the holes open while healing, for fear that actual earrings would get ripped through her earlobes during a beating. After the asylum, where obviously no earrings OR thread were allowed, she re-pierced them herself.

This one is very common fanon: Lucille's hair was forcibly cut off in the asylum, and now she has hangups about it. Specifically people touching it. In OT3 scenarios, Edith has to earn Hair-Touching Privileges, and it's a very big deal when she does.

Edith calls the dog Dante, to honor his Italian roots.

The Sharpes' china set is NOT actually Royal Crown Derby Old Imari 2451, but an identical Davenport imari pattern that was produced until the 1880s. Just seems like something their family would have bought in more prosperous times, and the RCD imari started being produced only after Davenport folded. (Note: in the movie it is in fact the RCD imari- I own a teacup and saucer set used in the filming; can confirm)

Thomas keeps trying with the mines not because of actual interest, but because he's trying to be a better Sharpe patriarch than his father. He'd be much happier- and make more money -as a maker of luxury clocks and automata.

Lucille's French is better than Thomas' grammatically, but because he had lessons and she taught herself out of books, his accent is better.

Edith does not love Alan romantically, and never will. I always feel like pairing them up as a couple is kind of a cop-out for a movie that does so much to avoid the "this woman's love is a prize for this man to win" trope and show a healthy friendship where one person is in love with the other, but respects that she doesn't feel the same way (especially rare for M/F friends where the man is the lover). They might get married platonically after the events of the movie, but I don't like imagining that Edith falls in love with him. The official novelization does this. The official novelization is a bunch of dreck.

Eunice is aroace; she's only concerned about getting married so she can continue having a comfortable lifestyle. And maybe also get away from her mother. She'll never live to see a term coined for that, of course, but that doesn't mean the feeling doesn't exist.

And while we're on orientations, Edith is bi and thinks all women are. She's never talked about it with anyone or encountered any references to it in fiction (or homophobic medical texts), so she just blithely assumes it's the norm. Again, for women. She's not sure about men; probably they're the same way, though.

Lucille is gay and will never figure that out because, even though her feelings for Thomas are not normal adult attraction, the sex is physically pleasurable and they love each other so much generally that she'll never untangle it from what she (unwillingly) feels for other women. Even in an OT3 scenario, she will always assume that the ways she feels about Thomas and Edith are the same, so she couldn't possibly be An Exclusive HomosexualTM.

Thomas is straight. Very few people who've met him- and who knew that Gay was a possibility -have believed this, but it's true.

[into-fiction]

do you think elphaba truly ever liked fiyero? or was just

1. projecting her feelings for galinda onto him (cough cough blithe smile lithe limb gold hair with a gentle curl cough cough) or

2. convinced herself she did bc she thought it was what she was supposed to be doing since he was the first man to be remotely interested

i hc elphie as bi so do i think she was, at some point, genuinely attracted to fiyero? yes (he's damn hot in movieverse so cant say i blame her lmao). do i think she was also attracted to the general idea of fiyero and finding someone who chose her? yes.

plus, i do think glinda's relationship to both of them greatly impacted things. i do tend to think that, even if her feelings were true, a part of elphie only became interested in fiyero due to the idea of being chosen over someone like glinda.

[lookingforhappy]

dumb little hc incoming

the Hargreeves all had "individual training days" in which they honed their powers one-to-one with Reginald.

there are 7 Hargreeves. there are 7 days of the week. there is a rhyme that goes along with said days of the week.

Luther = every Monday = Monday's child is fair of face.

Diego = every Tuesday = Tuesday's child is full of grace.

Allison = every Wednesday = Wednesday's child is full of woe.

Klaus = every Thursday = Thursday's child has far to go.

Five = every Friday = Friday's child is loving & giving.

Ben = every Saturday = Saturday's child works hard for his living.

Viktor = every Sunday = And the child that is born on the Sabbath day is bonny and blithe and good and gay.

make of this what you will.

[verdicloud]

pouncival ideas

before, i never really paid close attention to the ending of the show “the ad-dressing of cats”, there wasn’t much dancing or plot, and i just listened to ken page’s legendary singing. but i recently noticed something. pouncival. he’s front and centre of all the cats, and he even does slightly different poses/choreo than the rest of them. pouncival is also one of those cats that i never paid too much attention to, but he’s been nagging me ever since this discovery.

the more i thought about it, the more i realised that he doesn’t really have a proper “role” in the tribe other than being a troublemaker, which doesn’t help anyone. when i searched for inspiration on tumblr, there were hardly any pouncival hcs that were exclusively him. and even then, it was just things we already know about him.

i NEEDED to know him better. he would not let go of my brain for the past three days. but i’d like to thank him for giving me something to think real hard about. here’s my ideas for him!

this next part is a review of pouncival. feel free to skip to “finally, my ideas” below the screenshot of pounce —

what we know :

- pouncival is the youngest tom cat in the tribe

- he’s a mischievous and childish kitten with a knack for troublemaking

- he’s carefree and playful, just a happy kitten, sometimes callously so

- his alternate is carbucketty, a name invented by t.s. eliot for a “knockabout” cat

what we can infer :

- he loves his friends! (he pranks grizabella at tumble and plato’s idea, and he lets victoria snuggle up to him at the start of “mister mistoffelees”)

- he’s a comedic kitten who loves making people laugh, even at his own expense

- he’s the type of kid to roll in the mud and eat dirt (affectionate)

- he’s the class clown who’s lowkey an icon

• in my personal list of the cats and their three words (or more specifically “three adjectives describing their personality”), i gave him childish, blithe, and puckish.

his main character moments :

- causing trouble, and being the first “cockroach” to appear, during “the old gumbie cat”

- pranking grizabella twice

- getting reprimanded by jellylorum and electra during the jellicle ball “chant”

- being the pollicle who leads the march (it goes wrong, naturally)

- falling over a bunch, the little rascal (he’s very good at it too. top job, karl morgan /srs)

finally, my ideas :

other than the “boys group”, pouncival is also close friends with electra (and therefore etcetera). electra is something of a fussy and uptight kitten, like the type of girl who always wants to be the “boss” of the friend group and twist the story so she wins during roleplays. pouncival gives her the perfect excuse for someone to yell at as a frustration outlet. his carefree and playful attitude means that, not only does he not mind, he plays along and sometimes does cheeky things on purpose to rile her up or lift her spirits (electra is secretly very grateful).

pouncival’s childishness also means that he has a vivid imagination, and this lead to him being very inventive. also, as previously established, he has no qualms with being unhygienic, so he is very resourceful in digging through the trash, no matter for food, supplies or props for electra’s roleplays. as such, he was actually the one to make the costumes and props during jennyanydots’s number and for munkustrap’s play…

once, electra got really upset during a group roleplay, so as an apology and also to cheer her up, pouncival made mice and cockroach costumes, and along with the rest of the kittens, they performed a hilarious, modified to comedic version of the nutcracker for her. the costumes ended up being reused for jenny’s number.

another version of this could be: once, electra was scolded by jenny, and being especially sensitive to the disapproval of the older cats, especially one she admired, she got really upset. so pouncival and etcetera “took revenge” for her by sneakily asking demeter and bombalurina to help them write a musical number about jenny. pouncival made the costumes and they secretly performed it for electra, twisting the meaning to make fun of the old gumbie cat instead. normally electra wouldn’t be too happy about this, but she was still upset at jenny at the time and it gave her the catharsis she needed.

both were more than successful.

pouncival also made the notorious candy cane bagpipes. plato, being tugger’s other biggest fan, begged pounce to help him create a special birthday gift for him to give to tugger. pounce isn’t sure what tugger’s response was, but it left plato smiling for days.

during the production of “the pekes and the pollicles”, an extremely stressed out munkustrap gave pouncival the job of costume design, collaborating with mungojerrie and rumpleteazer. with the help of their smart looting skills, the three made exceptional costumes for all four breeds of dog as well as rumpus cat, earning them lead roles (though munkustrap might have regretted that) and a pat on the head.

pouncival the knockabout cat lives!!! or maybe pouncival the invention cat?

(also why are his eyes lowkey so beautiful)

[amorgansgal]

Wrote a little something for me mostly! I get to be indulgent because it's almost my birthday! As Vanya is my beloved, oblivious druid I've always hc that it was actually the whole gang who had to point out she was pregnant before she caught wind of it herself, so with Astarion at the end saying she was glowing and Shadowheart basically said she was fat, my little fanfic heart got excited!

Halsin x Female Tav (Vanya)

CW: Pregnancy, references to signs and symptoms of pregnancy, alcohol consumption

‘So,’ Shadowheart sauntered over to Astarion and leaned her head close to the man. ‘I’ve heard tell you were a little more subtle than I, you said Vanya was glowing!’

‘I did. Why, what did you say?’

‘I may have said she was a little more… solid.’

Astarion almost guffawed with laughter. ‘You called the woman fat! Shadowheart, where is your grace and decorum?’

Shadowheart rolled her eyes and took another sip of the wine from the goblet she was holding. They both watched Vanya excitedly chit chat with everyone, she was currently in animated discussion with Gale and Karlach. Not much had changed and Shadowheart let out a soft, contented sigh. It was nice to see everyone, even if she had rather put her foot in it. Though she was surprised Vanya hadn’t immediately told everyone the good news.

‘Wait…’ she said and Astarion quirked a brow. ‘You don’t think… Do you think she doesn’t know?’

‘She’s a druid, isn’t all natural life sacred and important? Surely, she would be able to tell immediately.’

‘Well… Vanya can be…’ Shadowheart gestured with the wine goblet.

‘Vanya can be Vanya,’ Astarion finished for her and she gave a rueful shrug and half nod. Granted, she was one of the heroes of Baldur's Gate and granted she was a powerful druid, but Vanya could also be blithely unaware at times. Sometimes he wondered how they managed to survive and why they had all seemingly chosen her as their leader, given she had a propensity for charging into situations without forethought and relied often on blind luck and relentless optimism! She had been exhausting at the best of times, but Astarion would be lying if he ever said he wasn’t fond of her.

‘Do you think Halsin knows?’ Shadowheart asked.

‘Oh, surely, he must do! That bear nose of his must be able to tell when she is… most fertile as it were, he must’ve noticed that her courses have stopped. Is Halsin just waiting for her to figure it out or is he just-?’

‘Waiting for who to figure out what?’ Halsin’s warm baritone rumbled behind them, they both jumped and then turned around, looking rather sheepish.

‘Uh… nothing!’ Shadowheart said quickly.

Astarion sighed, she’d been much better at lying when she followed Shar. ‘We were both just commenting on some changes we’ve noted in Vanya,’ he said, waiting to see if the elf would confirm their suspicions or question them further. Halsin’s eyes twinkled in merriment and he looked over their heads at Vanya, as she smiled and gave Karlach a very happy hug.

‘I have noticed changes in her, but I think she has dismissed them. She told me first of a stomach complaint and when I lay my hands there I knew what actually ailed her. She no longer likes the taste of fish - a shame to me, but one I can live with as long as I can still hunt for boar and deer with her - and yes, her scent changes with the waxing and waning of the moon, but she has only missed two courses. I am waiting for her to realise and to tell me the news,’ Halsin said.

‘Oh! Can’t you just tell her now, Karlach would be so thrilled and Gale too, Wyll as well I’m sure…?’ Shadowheart said.

‘Nay, she will realise it in due course and we will have another excuse to meet again and celebrate.’

‘Spoilsport!’ Astarion muttered, but gave Halsin a smile. ‘Congratulations to you both.’

‘Thank you,’ Halsin replied. ‘But don’t forget to look surprised when we tell you again, in a month’s time or so.’

‘Although,’ Shadowheart mused as Gale and Vanya made their way over to the feast laden table. ‘You may wish to say something, given that there are several bottles of plum fizz on the table and Vanya is partial to that.’

‘Ah…’ Halsin said, watching Vanya’s as she eagerly picked up one of the bottles and read the label. ‘A point well made, good evening to you both,’ and with that he quickly strode over to Vanya.

‘I have a feeling we might have a revelation by the end of the evening, if Halsin does tell her. Gods knows Vanya can’t keep something like that to herself!’ Astarion said and Shadowheart laughed softly. It was good to be amongst friends again.

[morgaknight]

Rolan HC's (soft family and tiefling stuff)

-Rolan is 3 years older than Cal and Lia

-Cal and Lia are twins (Lia is 2 minutes older)

-Rolan was dropped off at an orphanage at birth. He was swaddled in nice blankets, and it was assumed his mother was likely a non-tiefling from a noble family, and did not want to be saddled down with a tiefling child. (whether his father was a fellow tiefling, a cambion, or some other brand of fiend is unknown)

-It's often joke that all tieflings are "kin" in the eyes of non-tiefs, and that everyone assumes all tieflings are related... but when a 6 year old Cal and Lia saw a 9 year old Rolan... they really did think that he was kin.

-Cal and Lia grew up with their mom in a tiefling community, but it was mainly mephistopheles tiefs, so when there was another red skinned, black horned, and yellow eyed tief, they instantly gravitated towards him and the next several hours Rolan spent playing with kids that didn't look down on him.

-When Cal and Lia heard their mom calling for them to come home because dinner was ready, they were confused why Rolan wasn't coming along too. They had to drag him. Rolan: YOUR mom isn't MY MOM. Lia: How do you know? You said you don't know your mom! Maybe she is! Rolan: Because MY mom was a noble woman. Cal: Okay but if Mom ISN'T your mom.... maybe she knows your mom. Mom knows everyone. -With the whisper of maybe finding his family, and the promise of dinner... Rolan was convinced to come along.

-Cal and Lia's poor mother. Lia had a habit of never meeting a stranger, and Cal had a habit of bringing any wayward strays... but she tried to hide her surprise when her children came home with an orphan...

-Rolan was pretty mature for his age, and was embarrassed when the young woman tried to politely hide her surprise at her children's blithe immaturity and excitement. Mom: Okay okay, well you can tell me all about this after you've washed up and sat down at the table. Rolan backs out of the doorway as Cal and Lia run in to wash up. He felt so foolish. His heart ached watching them sprint away from him. He swore to himself to never pass through this neighborhood again while walking back from the library. Mom: You're not hungry, Rolan? Do you have a curfew? Rolan: Uhm, Harvark's doesn't care where we are as long as we're there for roll call in the morning. She recognized the name of the orphanage. Noticed his embarrassment. Mom: Well, I made far too much stew today so you'd be doing me a favor by helping us eat it. So come in, wash up, and have a seat at the table before it gets cold! -They sat at the table and for the first time in Rolan's life, he ate dinner with a family. -The only time he went back to the orphanage was the next morning (before roll call!) when Mom interviewed (aka paid) to adopt him. Lia: I TOLD YOU Mom was your mom! I was right!

-Sometime after his official adoption, angsty Rolan got into a fight with Lia and screamed that he wasn't really their brother, or a part of this family.

-which made Cal cry (Cal still is the crybaby)

-Mom explained to him that though they aren't blood-related, they *are* a family. That someday there might be a time where family was all the three of them had. -Mom got sick when Rolan was 16. It was a long sickness that slowly took her life over the course of 2 years. -On her deathbed, as a final request. She asked that Rolan Look after his brother and sister. Stick together and look out for each other.

-Rolan is thankful Mom passed long before Elturel fell into Averus.

[hoiststowline]

_sunstreaker x reader

[a/n: from this hc!]

Fingers slip between staticky sheets, setting up to turn to the next page alongside a deep set sigh. A drowsiness was coming and going, complimented to the quiet that had burrowed within the four metal walls. While the peace hadn't lasted very long, you were pretty set on finishing the book up before the days end, not much left to the story and excited to see it conclude.

It's blithely interrupted when the door opens across the room, captivating your attention all at once. Contentedly, you move you gaze upward, expecting Sunstreaker, but not anticipating him to look so run down, physically exhausted. More so than his usual languor, optics shuttering until they lock with yours, brightening ever-so slightly.

"Rough day?" You ask, setting the book down on your lap whilst marking the page with your finger.

Immediately, his stare follows the object, watching as it with enough wordless spite that he hopes it gets the memo to move. "Sort of."

"Oh." Tilting your head to the side, you attempt to find the underlying message in his vagueness, but turn up empty. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He shrugs, not going out of his way to maintain a steady conversation.

You put forward a reassuring smile, having no issue carrying it. "Have any plans?"

"I'm going recharge." Sunstreaker grumbles, taking a step forward so the panel will pick up on the sensor to close it behind him. Irritation buds as he walks over toward you, and he's half tempted to just pick the damn book up and throw it into the furthest corner of the room, hating how it rests in his spot. "Move over."

You effortlessly oblige, shuffling into the area where the berth meets the wall, book still atop your legs. "Do you want me to go somewhere else?"

"No." He replies a bit stiffly, additional to his normal approach.

You know he'd tell you if he did, so with a hum of acknowledgment, you turn your attention to the book in your grasp. However, in the span of about thirty seconds, Sunstreaker doesn't get very far. Before you can get comfortable once more, you can feel his stare piercing the side of your head adjacent to a complacent scowl.

Opting to bite, you softly ask: "Yes, Sunny?"

"What are you doing?"

It's not a question of interest, you're fairly certain just based on the approach. Though, you remain surprised that he's inquiring anything at all, evidently pretty set on going to sleep rather than chit chat.

"Reading?" You offer, looking over his way with placid expression.

Just by his demeanor, it arrives that he's looking for something from you that he doesn't want to implore for. Sunstreaker is sprawled on his stomach, arms folded by his helm as he rests his cheek glumly against the metal of the berth.

Slowly, you lift the book from your lap, holding it a little bit higher than your nose. At first, he plays dumb, raising a brow at you whilst feigning confusion.

"You've been looking at this like it's your worst enemy," You gingerly laugh, gesturing with your eyes. "Come here if you'd like."

He doesn't want to admit it vocally, but he's impressed that you caught on to his inclination so easily. "I don't hate your stupid book."

The contradiction is obvious, but without interrogation he lumbers your direction faster than you've seen him lately. Before you realize what he truly wants, his hands circle your back and his helm lowers into your lap, mouth brushing the side of your knee.

He isn't dead weight as you predict, but you assume he's holding some of himself up partially onto his forearms. Sunstreaker is warm, yet, he leaves you jolting somewhat when he speaks, lips moving against your skin.

"You can go back to whatever you were doing." He murmurs, relaxing a little further into your touch. "M'good."

Hesitantly, you lower your book, supporting it above his helm as his digits squeeze you just a little tighter, copiously satisfied.

[tumblingxelian]

I’ve made it clear I hate those HCs that have Jason struggling with science, technology or basically anything intellectual given the varying shades of classism and character assassination going on.

I do however think it would be very funny for him to see which characters are dumb enough to fall for such a ruse.

People who don’t fall for it, least to most:

Cassandra can tell when people are lying and doesn’t like or trust Jason and is newer to this stuff than him in some cases. She’d probably punch him if he tried it and so he doesn't. 

Stephanie and Jason have a pretty decent regard for one another and Stephanie doesn’t trust faux male incompetency like that given her dad. So her response would be, some variation of “Perish/Don’t fuck with me.”

Dick is the next least likely, he rarely doubted Jason’s intelligence, just his intent and they have that whole annoying sibling thing going on. So it’d be like, “I’m not falling for this Jason.”

Duke and Jason have a good relationship, Jason even mentored Duke a little so there’s respect. Duke’s better nature/relationship is the only thing that slots him into fourth place with, “You can’t? Wait a second, no, not falling for this.”

Barbara is last on the list, she tutored Jason, but did have a mixed memory of him and can have a bit of an ego at times and so assume the worst. It’d basically be, “You’ve got to be shitting me, all right I’ll... Wait, you are shitting me.”

Note: Babsgirl would 100% fall for it, unlike Oracle.

People who fall for it the most, least to most:

Damian doesn’t think highly of Jason but he does think highly of his mother who mentored Jason, but also thinks highly of himself. He’d fall for it for longer than you’d expect, give up ‘helping/ in frustrating only to realize when rooting around in the fridge that Jason was screwing with him.

Bruce’s memory of Jason is wildly inaccurate, but he can also often default to assuming the worst and doesn’t always trust Jason. Still, his mixed memories and complicated dad feels would ensure he sticks out trying to ‘teach’ Jason something very basic for a long ass time and then he’d be left doubting whether it was necessary.

Tim has near zero respect for Jason and loves being ‘right’ and ‘the smart one’. As a result it would only be his dislike of Jason that would eventually, after anywhere from days to weeks before he realizes Jason was fucking with him. If someone told him however he’d double down on assuming Jason can’t do it cos he can’t have been fooled.

Alfred would just do the task and blithely assume incompetence, or get someone else to do it and blithely assume incompetence and not really think on it more deeply than that, its the only reason he’s below Tim.

[alagaesia-headcanons]

Hi! I just wanted to say it's been really cool to see the amount of effort and thought you're putting into Clear Horizons. In response to your recent post looking for inspiration, I thought up a couple of prompt ideas (possibly loose outlines - sorry if this is the wrong level of detail) for short fics with Murtagh and Orrin that I'm happy to share. I'm not sure that they're drabble length, but still, I hope these can be useful to you.

1. It might be fun to see the two of them have a conversation where they trade stories related to their interests. I'm picturing something like "I was investigating [sparsely documented scientific process] and while my experiments were successful it turned out way different from what I'd hoped" "wow that's wild I was investigating [obscure magical rumor/curse somewhere in the countryside] and while I solved the mystery things turned out way different from what I'd expected", but obviously you can play it however you like.

2. I personally hc that Murtagh really loves camping. I also suspect that Orrin doesn't have much experience camping, at least not so far off the beaten path without servants or knights for support. I think it would be cool to see a conversation from their first time out camping together - it could be fun to explore the reasons behind the camping trip, or how they reconcile their differing levels of experience, or the trust required to rest well all alone in the wild, or what it's like to be away from prying eyes for a bit, or the different things they associate with the activity of camping, or anything else you might find interesting about the situation.

No worries if neither of these speak to you, but hopefully this helps! Feel free to shoot me a message about it if you'd like. Best of luck to you. :)

Thank you so much for the lovely encouragement and the lovely prompts!! I've written for the first one here! The second one actually feels perfect for an idea I have near the end of Clear Horizons, so I may use it as inspiration for that 👀...

(All this writing has been an interesting look at the kinds of world building details I never would have thought about that I end up needing to decide. This time, I've decided the other planets in their solar system are all named after gems~)

-

The peace of the empty room is almost jarring after the long, crowded feast. “Now that we have a quiet moment to ourselves...” Murtagh drifts over to his bag. He deliberately waited for just such an opportunity to have Orrin’s full attention and also an unobstructed view of his reaction. “I have something for you.”

Orrin makes a grieved little noise, insisting, “Murtagh! You didn’t need to do anything like that; it’s too much. Having you here is a gift in itself.”

“Well, thank you,” Murtagh replies, pleased. “But! You’re wrong- It is imperative that I give you the best present that you’ll love so much, everyone else’s will pale in comparison.”

“Ahh, so it’s part of your peacocking.”

“Yes. Don’t peek!” Orrin holds his hands up and sits back in his chair. “That’s cheating.” Diligently keeping his back to Orrin so that he can’t see, he leans down and extracts a carefully wrapped up bundle from his pack. Hefting it up in his arms, he wrangles away the thick cloth protecting the large, leather bound book beneath. Sidling closer to Orrin under his curious gaze, Murtagh finally turns and hums blithely while he slides the book from his arms onto the table.

The moment the title comes fully into view, Orrin slaps a hand over the cover. “Holge’s Treatise on Natural Phenomena?!” Murtagh straightens up as he deposits the book and preens- just a little. “You can’t be serious-! I’d all but given up hope of learning of a copy, much less owning... When was this penned?” With immense eagerness measured by the caution of someone who both reveres books and handles rare texts on the regular, he thumbs through the introduction. “Where in the world did you get this?” he gasps in awe as he turns to the first chapter.

“In Ceunon,” Murtagh answers, but then pauses without elaborating. As he expected, Orrin’s eyes have zeroed in on the page, scanning it rapidly, and he won’t hear a thing he says until his focus relents again. Smiling softly, Murtagh waits patiently as he reads, silently counting out the beats of time.

Predictably, when he reaches forty, Orrin stirs and then says, “...Ceunon? Not Ilirea?”

“I didn’t look in Ilirea. It’s possible there’s a copy in the old citadel, but I’m not so sure. Besides, it’s your birthday: that deserves thought and effort. I wasn’t going to settle for the easy pickings by just rummaging around in there and swiping whatever seemed suitable.” Then Murtagh pauses and tilts his head.

“Just don’t ask how I got the money to-”

“So where’d you find money for such-”

Both cutting off simultaneously, Murtagh glowers at Orrin’s warm laugh. He sniffs primly and declares, “Someone might as well put Galbatorix’s hoarded wealth to good use, considering that he never did.” Orrin’s sound of agreement still wavers with a hint of laughter and Murtagh rolls his eyes fondly. “And it’s not as though that made it any easier to find the book. A librarian in Narda tipped me off, then when I searched out the collector I was directed to, I learned he didn’t actually have it, so he eventually told me who he thought should- then repeat that about five times over. Then I spent no less than three hours vowing to treat the book better than my first born child to convince the man to take my money once I finally found it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” He flips to a page filled with equations. “Because it’s so specialized, it requires an expert to make a verifiably accurate copy, so very few exist. I still can barely believe it...”

“I hope it is accurate. I’m certainly not smart enough to know. Although I did read the chapter on astronomy while I travelled.”

“Astronomy?” he echoes in surprise. “I didn’t know he wrote about that. I’ve only heard him mentioned for his study of elements in nature.”

Nodding towards the book, Murtagh says, “The bulk of it seems to be about that. Hopefully that holds up better than his foray into astronomy.” Orrin glances at him and Murtagh confesses, “I thought most of it was bullshit.”

“Oh?” He rests the edge of his jaw in his palm.

Murtagh shrugs. “Well, I’ve spent a lot of time a lot closer to the stars than almost anyone else can reach, and I’ve inevitably noticed things.”

Orrin grins. “I’m not sure proximity determines your authority on astronomy.”

“It makes a difference though! You don’t realize just how much more I can see up there. Looking the other way is the most obvious proof of it. The sky can look perfectly clear, but once we’re up high enough, the ground below looks hazy and blurred and veiled. All of that is in the way of the heavens when you’re on the ground.” Orrin shifts his chair so he can lean in towards Murtagh, distractedly trying to find the chapter in question. “I don’t believe his argument about the moon and its implications about the arrangement of orbits. He assumes too much- other planets do have moons. I’ve seen them!”

Orrin abandons the book and latches onto that with full fascination.

“Thorn is best at tracking all the stars and planets; he always knows where the Opal is. They can’t be seen from the ground, but with a spyglass up there, I can see two moons around it. First, I figured they might be distant stars, but I know they’re moons.”

“Because they move?” Orrin infers, excitement in his breath.

“Exactly! They’re sometimes on one side, then on the other, or they’re out of sight, entirely behind the planet. But I’ve never seen them move away.”

“That must be beautiful...” Orrin muses longingly.

Even with the spyglass, the planet and its moons are mere pinpricks of light, and yet Murtagh knows what he means. “It is.” He hopes to show him one day.

At last, Orrin turns to a page with several planetary diagrams and he hums appraisingly. “You know, there are theories that the alignment of the planets are partially responsible for Eoam’s Floating Crystal.” Murtagh purses his lips skeptically. “Your mark against these kinds of models-” he runs a finger down the page- “actually supports that idea, I’d say.”

“Really? But that’s magic,” Murtagh counters. “I have a hard time believing the heavens have any hand in it.”

“True, but it’s a rare case where the magic itself is a natural phenomenon. I felt quite the same way, honestly, until the Southern Islands were added to Surda’s territory and I had the chance to visit myself. I found first hand records of how the Crystal’s behavior changed with time, with the days and nights, and also through the seasons. Once I was there, close enough to see it myself, I noticed how it consistently responded to the tides, even. I never would have realized if I couldn’t go.”

“Hmm, so it seems like the proximity helped you understand?”

He links his hands behind Murtagh’s waist. “Alright, alright, you win,” he surrenders readily. “Yes, I’ve taken those theories much more seriously since then. And these other models are the most common counter argument. For my own amusement, I tried applying those old records to the proposed equations to calculate when the next transit of the Ruby will be. But alas, I still have to wait another...” he tilts his head and stares up towards the ceiling- “twenty seven years to know if I was right.”

“You always are- I’ll clear my schedule.” Orrin laughs.

Murtagh sways restlessly as the pause extends itself, then abandons subtlety to prompt, “So you like it?”

Orrin meets his eye with a little, incredulous scoff, so utterly fond. “Dear, I adore it. It’s absolutely incredible.” His hands fidget with his tunic. Quietly, “It’s kind of staggering; you didn’t have to go to so much trouble for me.”

Murtagh shakes his head. “I wanted to give something you’d truly love... because I love your love.” Orrin’s exhale shivers as he pulls him into a kiss.

[cultfed]

the  world  holds  no  room  for  child-like  wonder;  morbid  be  the  boy  whose  eyes  sought  the  nameless.   vindicated  by  excuses,  children  were  so  inclined  to  vivid  imaginations,  pay  no  heed  to  the  terror  writhing  at  blackened  peripherals.  he  understood  silence,   the  necessity  to  hold  one’s  tongue,  even  as  strident  chatter  rung  in  his  ears,   the  grotesque  creaking  of  a  neck  as  it  rotated  to  stare  at  him,  unblinking.   his  stomach  churned ,  hands  clammy.   he  yearned  to  tow  his  mother’s  skirt ,  seek  haven  in  the  familiar ,   he  wondered  what  that  reprieve  was  like.   swatting  hands,  dismissive  -  tremoring.   she  raised  her  voice  enough  to  drown  them  out  until  her  rejection  was  the  only  sound.   he  sat ,   eyes  affixed  to  translucent  wings,   in  the  light  they  shone  prismatic.  it  was  too  large  to  be  an  insect ,   too  other-wordly  to  herald  from  anything  other  than  his  imagination.   the  other  children  avoid  him ,  laughter  raucous ,  its  wings  echoing  a  soft   hum  as  it  takes  off.   a  rock  skitters  to  a  halt  in  its  shadow  ,   retrieving  him  from  the  apparition’s  thrall.  he  doesn’t  know  whose  voice  it  is  but  one  of  them  lurches  forward  ,   hands  planted  firmly  on  his  hips ;  calling  him  a  weirdo,  a  freak.   he  wanders  home  that  day,  fingers  wrapped  firmly  around  his  bag  straps  turning  it  over  in  his  thoughts.   a  freak ,   was  his  mother  right.  his  father  was  not  inclined  to  hear  of  his  drivel  but  did  not  don  consternation  in  the  furrow  of  his  brow  like  his  mother.   he  comes  home  late ,  the  sky  pitch  black,   even  the  stars  withered  in  his  wake.   a  man  walks  in  behind  him ,   an  important  person,  the  stark  white  of  his  clothes  and  kindness  that  creases  his  eyes  says  so.   he  says  that  this  child  will  find  salvation,   his  parents  are  relieved  so  it  must  be  a  good  thing.  others visit  sometimes,  often  in  the  evenings  and  are  met  with  profound  gratitude ,  he  had  learnt  to  also  be  thankful even  though  he  did  not  know  why.  he  learns  that  reticence  appeases  them,  that  his  uncanny  descriptions  are  the  reason  he  is  disliked.  he  ruminates  upon  it ,   asking  quietly  why  he  is  the  only  one  who  can  see  them.  the  neighbours  have  stopped  coming  over  ,  he  doesn’t  inquire  why  but  his  mother’s  face  tightens  around  their  ostracism.  her  words  wane  into  cruelty,  her  patience  a  river  -  dried ,   earth  worn  down.   his  father  says that  they  will  be  moving  soon  and  that  there  will  be  no  more  of  his  absurd  ramblings.  he  doesn’t  look  forward  to  it  -  but  feels  that  he  should.  dark  lashes  flutter ,  beneath  the  shade  of  a  tree  he’s  fallen  into  the  past.  it  haunts   him  sometimes ,  a  dull  aching.   part  of  him  wants  to  return  to  his  youth  if  only  to  tell  the  child  that  he  is  not  alone.  laughter  passes  the  familiar  ,  blithe  grin  of  his  classmate  -  satoru  and  somewhere  ,  under  the  warmth  of  the  afternoon  sun,  a  translucent  pair  of  wings  flutter.  

a little rambling i've had in my brain courtesy of @sugurau's hc's. <3

[creepy-spooghetti]

Heya dear fella! ^^

I was wondering... What about some platonic Hcs for BEN, Jeff, Helen and Toby (Sepparetly) with an early teen fem!reader (like 12-13 years old)?

Like- The reader is just this sweet, kind, caring child who is always trying her best to make people happy always with a smile on her face and make sure their okay (that goes for physical and mental) but is always the one everyone forgets about, the one that's always left out, the one that always fades into the oblivion.

And so one night (at likely 2 am) the creep in question just finds her sitting on the sofa and he, kinda shocked, asks her "hey, you 'kay?"

And then the reader just looks at him with a confused expresion until she starts crying and shaking her head no while saying "I never was!"

This is my kinda prompt :D

Thank you for requesting!!

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

BEN

In all honesty, this dude can be pretty oblivious to what's going on around him, especially when it comes down to peoples' feelings. So he genuinely took your blitheful front at face value and assumed you were alright! How could you not be? You seemed so happy all the time!

However, these false conclusions came crumbling down when he spotted you alone in the living room, sporting a blank expression as you stared at what was seemingly nothing. It was a concerning sight, to say the least. So he laid down the food he'd just raided from the refrigerator and walked closer, waving a hand in front of your face.

"Uhh...Y/n? A-are you, like...okay?"

The response he got was certainly not one he was expecting, and it took him greatly off-guard. He was not good at dealing with this sorta stuff, and the way his body stiffened significantly was proof enough of that.

Still, he wasn't about to leave. That would just be immoral. So he took a seat on the coffee table in front of you and tilted his head, letting you ramble on about how no one seemed to care about you even though you made it your #1 goal to ensure everyone else felt heard and accounted for. He held his hand up to halt your words and offered a sincere grin. "Hold up, hold up. I care about you. That counts for something, right?"

Jeff

He figured after seeing you around for a while that something had to be up with you. After all, nobody can be that happy 24/7. But you had never made any effort to signify that you wanted someone to acknowledge the potential struggles you had, so he kinda just shrugged it off with the thought, "if she needed comfort or something, she'd go to someone about it".

This theory of his backfired when he saw you looking so lost and saddened on the sofa, and it honestly startled him; what could have happened that made you so...gloomy? He had just returned from a mission, so his hoodie was coated with patches of fresh blood and his hair was messy, but he figured taking a shower could wait.

Hesitantly, he approached, raising a worried brow. "Y/n, hey. You good?" The glance that he received for that question made his stomach tense, and before he could really process it, you just started to cry, burying your face in your hands and explaining through tears how you felt ignored and insignificant. He blinked in confusion but sat down beside you nonetheless, resting his arms on his knees and leaning forward to get a look at your expression. His voice softened a bit.

"...Has this been happening for a while?" When you nodded, he huffed in contemplation, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Ya know, if you wanted help, you could've just asked. I know this place is chaotic, but bearing a burden like this alone is just not ideal. You gotta let people know how you feel. Otherwise they'll probably never catch on. They're all idiots."

You sniffled, and he gently patted your back, lacing a lighter tone into his words. "Feel free to come to me, okay? I know I can be an asshole but I promise I won't give you a hard time about it."

Helen

Like Ben, he's a bit unaware of what people are feeling, but only because he's always so lost in thought. From the way you carried yourself all the time, he was almost jealous of you. Why couldn't he be that content with his life? What was he doing wrong to prevent that?

He just kinda shut down for a few seconds when he noticed you on the couch, appearing solemn. What was he supposed to do? He's not a 'people person' by any means, and even so, the two of you were never very close. Then he thought back to that time he was being tormented by Johnny and you stood up for him, and a decision was made.

Hesitantly, he willed himself to walk over and sit a couple of feet away from you, staring at the floor and speaking in a low voice. "Are you...alright?"

"No. I haven't been. Not for a long time." It was difficult to comprehend, as you had never once acted miserable in the past, but here he was, and here you were, experiencing it. He listened unsurely to your venting without interruption, and when you tapered into a sob-brimmed silence, he took it as his cue to - albeit reluctantly - place a hand on your upper back and provide words of attempted consolation.

"...Sorry you've had to deal with that. If you want to...you can come up to my room and we can sketch or something? I have some extra supplies you can use. Just to...get your mind off of everything."

Toby

Toby is no stranger to feeling lonely or disregarded, except he never purposefully convinced people that he was 'okay'. He knew that you weren't what you seemed, however, and though he never attempted to further confirm this (he has his own troubles to worry about, after all), he still watched closely on occasion, as he's a naturally observant person.

Seeing you on the couch in the middle of the night rose questions within him, and he didn't put much thought behind the matter before stepping over and speaking with a muted voice. "What's wrong with you?"

"Everything," is what you mumbled after several moments, and he leaned away in mild alarm when you started crying. This was certainly a concerning thing to witness. Still, instinct kicked in, and he sat down close by your side, brushing some hair out of your face.

He didn't say anything, as he was never very skilled with verbal comfort, but when he realized that your emotional breakdown might last a while, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him, expecting to be pushed away, but you only reciprocated.

And like that, you stayed, until you settled down enough to uphold a conversation. Then he opened his mouth. "Hey... Jane and I are getting together tomorrow to play chess. Wanna join us?"

[everyones-least-favorite-bard]

LOWKEY IT BEING KIND OF CANON IS WHY I LIKE IT SO MUCH

like he already blithely goes on his way having near kisses and intense borderline frotting sessions with every guy he spends more than an hour with in canon and i am unfortunately a bit of a slut for staying within reasonable bounds of canon. microdosing malicious compliance by keeping bruce wayne straight but making him still neck ghostmaker whenever they fight

FOOD IS MADE WITH LOVE,, ,youre so real for that though goddd. yeahghgjh. he works so hard someone SHOULD take care of him. i would do it. i would do it for him

my reason isnt wholly mine though i have to give that credit to one of @/husborths fics for planting that idea in me. although her idea is WRETCHED (affectionate)

i personally dont think its bad music but i do have unconscionably bad taste lmao. the idea mostly stems from my personal hc (also stemmed largely for my amusement) that damian listens exclusively to like early 2010s vocaloid and like nightcore remixes. i bet that boy loves miku

SOOO TRUE ABOUT TALIA LIKE WHO WOULDNT BE BROKEN AFTER LOSING THAT

🔥 for the brucester

OOOOH thats kinda hard actually i feel like i dont have very strong brucie takes

that being said while it isnt something i genuinely believe i do like to entertain the idea that bruce is actually straight just because i think itd be funny if he has all these deeply intense, deeply emotionally fraught, and deeply, deeply, WEIRD homoerotic relationships with other men because hes just Like That. thats just how he makes friends. he doesnt want to fuck any of them even a little bit.

what else. hm. i bet he actually can cook pretty well but pretends hes really bad at it so alfred+his kids can "help" him in the kitchen. i think he likes dad rock too. i bet he listens to steely dan. john mellencamp. completely unfounded but i think itd be fun. imagining damian in the car witheringly sitting through fuckin pet sounds or something while bruce hums and taps the steering wheel

hm. is saying hes still not over talia a hot take or just true. i bet he cries himself to sleep on their anniversary. sniveling wretch (affectionate).

there are probably things i could say about bruce-and-batman regarding the split identity idea but i want 2 save those thoughts for a proper post but still. i dont think my take is very hot on that its really just an extension of what btas established