#had tons of fun writing this one

[necrotic-nephilim]

i personally have very complicated feelings on the Gotham Knights video game and the routes it takes with characterization. i think it has a charm to it and it goes in an interesting direction with everyone (especially within the confides of the plot of the game) but it does have certain moments that veer painfully fanon for me. (such as: the dialogue where Tim drinks too much coffee) it's an interesting story for what it is but i don't view it comics-based for characterization and therefore don't care to interact with it much for like. fanfic purposes.

that *said* though. i do have to give the game some kind of credit for giving one of the top five JayTim moments that lives rent free in my mind. every since i played the game, the cutscene lives in my mind daily. it's the specific cutscene where Jason and Tim are arguing about whether or not Jason's non-lethal bullets are too dangerous for the field, and the argument leads to TIm *standing in front of the target* Jason is shooting and telling Jason to shoot him. it lives rent free for me. i never stop thinking about this.

the absolute certainty Tim has that he is in no danger standing in front of Jason, who has a loaded gun pointed at his face. the way Jason *hesitates* for just a moment before lowering the gun. he thinks about it for just a second. Gotham Knights JayTim seem to get along very well and can rely on each other, but Jason still clearly holds a bitterness about his death and Tim that flickers through in some lines of dialogue under the guise of jokes. especially since this game deals *heavily* with concepts of Pit Madness causing an altered state of consciousness, i think it's believable that occasionally, Jason fights the urge to fight and hurt Tim for the feeling of being replaced.

i like their tension so much in this canon. they get along but you can *tell* Tim is afraid of addressing Jason's trauma or even addressing Jason head-on, and Jason leans into spooking Tim about it. which isn't very comics feeling in their dynamic, but it is an interesting way to place their dynamic if you're playing with a more timid Tim who's newer to the role of Robin. (which he seems to be in-game) he really doesn't want to offend Jason, or worse, piss him off. but he'll still face Jason head on for things like this, while completely aware of what Jason could be capable of.

and Jason seems very protective of Tim and respecting Tim as a Robin in typical Jason fashion. if Tim pushes, Jason *will* relent. he knows this is a kid who's proved himself and should be treated with equal respect, sometimes even more than Dick and Babs do in-game.

so for all that to culminate in Tim stepping in front of Jason's loaded gun that he *knows* is on the edge of being too dangerous, just to force Jason to listen? it's the most unhinged way Tim could've gotten his point across in this scene. he was literally daring Jason to hurt him and playing with a very dangerous fire. but he did it anyway bc he believed he could make Jason heel just at the thought of hurting Tim. and he was *right*. they're gay and i'm feral ty.

[seiwas]

for writing game, iwaizumi + assistance <3

hope this sparks some inspo and thank you in advancee

hi there!! thanks for sending in a prompt 🫶

contains: friends to lovers (ish), halloween parties, reader is dressed as catwoman, expletives, iwaizumi is thiiiiis 🤏 close to murdering seijoh4 (jk)

iwaizumi + assistance

this is a set-up.

iwaizumi knows he shouldn't have fucking believed anything the boys "promised" him back when they assigned him this costume.

the suit is fucking tight, spandex digging into his groins and all other crevices that definitely should be aired out after after a few hours. he's had to constantly readjust his stance almost every few minutes, the black fabric compressing his thighs and torso, significantly constricting the range of motion his shoulders and arms are typically used to. if anything else, it could double up as a back brace from how rigidly straight it's kept his posture all night.

he'll give it to makki though; he did outdo himself sourcing this year's costumes―this batman set looks pretty damn legit.

except for one tiny problem.

there's no fucking pee hole. it's a zip-up, zip-down one-piece situation. and that normally wouldn't be a problem, except that oikawa "accidentally" knocked over a cocktail straight into his pants, the sickeningly sweet liquid now seeping straight into the fabric and past his boxers―cold and sticky as it touches his skin.

and so, the problem: his pants are wet, it makes him want to fucking pee, and coincidentally, the only vacant bathroom is across the hall, at your apartment.

this is why he believes this is a set up. that, and the fact that you're dressed in an outfit strikingly similar―just with cat ears.

he's been asked five times in this party if you're in matching couple outfits.

it catches him off guard, flusters him because of how badly he wants to say yes. but, you're just friends, and he doesn't even think you like him that way (despite mattsun and oikawa practically begging him to confess. makki tells him he thinks you're going to do it first).

so he politely smiles and says no, but you look good, your costume clinging to you in all the right places. thank fucking god he has a cape because he's pretty sure he spent the first 30 minutes in the party hiding his boner.

"hajime, it's fine, i swear," you stand beside him in front of the conveniently locked bathroom in oikawa's apartment. from the other side of the door, he's pretty sure he hears mattsun and his girlfriend mumbling. maybe fucking? who knows. "you can just use the bathroom in my apartment."

he glances at you before closing his eyes, contemplating, before finally agreeing to you.

"okay."

if he's being honest with himself, friends is definitely an incomplete label to what you are. as oikawa's neighbor, you are conveniently around all the time; and oikawa being oikawa, the ever-social butterfly, he's somehow managed to carve a space for you in the friend group.

(never mind the fact that oikawa's sniffed him out from the moment he first introduced you.)

you were a crush, then a friend, and now you're someone he picks up from work and drives back home three times a week, because he "has to train oikawa." you don't question it, even when you both know he stays over for dinner way past the gym's open hours.

"you know where it is," you open your apartment and urge him in.

"sorry again," he turns to face you.

"yeah, yeah, just pee!" you laugh, shoving him towards the bathroom door.

getting out of the suit is manageable, and he's able to wipe off a bit of the cocktail that's leaked to the suit and his boxers just to make sure it isn't gross and sticky when he gets home later. peeing is a big relief once he gets it over with, but it's when he has to suit up again that things become difficult.

stretching out the spandex one body part at a time is a workout in itself―the hardest task being when he has to pull it over his shoulders, adjusting it to fit properly over his arms and chest.

but then the zipper breaks.

and he truly thinks makki has fucked him over.

iwaizumi contemplates what to do next for a good, good while. he tries calling oikawa, only to no success every time; no way in hell is he calling mattsun in the middle of having sex. and calling makki isn't even an option; he'd never hear the end of it.

then you knock on the door, your voice soft and concerned as you ask, "hajime? you good in there?" you hit it spot on, too, "do you need help with your suit?"

iwaizumi presses his palms to his eyes. he's a rational man, straightforward and logical in thinking. there is literally no other option for him right now but to ask help from you. again.

fuck.

.

it's 30 minutes later when oikawa barges in your door, and the sight that greets him is iwaizumi in nothing but a hoodie (the hoodie you borrowed some time ago) and his boxers, with his hands on your waist as you hover your hairdryer over the crotch of his batman costume―cat headpiece off and all.

"you finally got together?!"

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 26 - Nightmares

title: almost unintentionally

fandom: hermitcraft smp

continuation of days 8 and 23, the sleep cycle au!

~

They’re holding him down.

They’re always holding him down, tying him up, hurting him—

They snap a muzzle around his face and he thrashes, he can’t he won’t, they can do anything to him but not this—

He can’t see, blinded by fear, but he knows, somehow, that he’s in the room with the burning floor. He gets a moment’s respite, a moment to claw at his face with mittened hands, before he feels the floor begin to heat up beneath his bare feet—

Ren wakes with a gasp.

For a moment, he thinks he’s still back there, on that stupid folding table with those idiots coming for him, ready to hurt him and restrain him and for what?

He snarls, and snaps his teeth, and raises his hands to defend himself—

But there’s no one there.

He’s alone in his bed, the sheets wrapped tightly around his body. The shadows around his bedroom are innocuous, and none of them hold the faces of his tormentors.

That’s . . . what, the sixth nightmare in six days? He needs to get a grip.

Ren kicks his legs free of the sheets and sits up, pushes his sweaty hair out of his face. It’s still dark, which means he should probably try to get back to sleep, but he feels sticky and overstimulated and a shower sounds really nice right about now.

He strips quickly, his soft pajama pants dragging like sandpaper against his legs. Really overstimulated, then. He might need to break out the weighted pillow for this one.

He picks up his communicator, but doesn’t check it. He just carries it with him, in case someone needs to reach him in an emergency.

Ren leaves the light off in the restroom when he limps in (his feet are still recovering from their burns, curse them, and each step is less than pleasant), just turns the shower on and waits for the water to heat up until standing is uncomfortable, then steps into the tub, settling into the shower chair that he’d borrowed from Scar.

The hot water falling onto his shoulders and head feels heavenly, switched to the highest pressure possible so that it practically drums into his skin. Ren sighs and melts under it, runs one clawed hand through his hair.

They hadn’t even wanted him. Not really. He was just bait, bait for Doc and Tango to follow.

Bait.

Ren’s fingers clench in his hair.

He’d gotten off easy, all things considered. Some bumps and bruises. Scratches on his face. A broken rib, quickly healed by a potion. Some burns on his feet that kept him on bed rest for a couple of days, but nothing major.

(Nightmares, every night, reliving the captivity.)

Better than Tango, who hasn’t spoken to anyone since.

Better than Impulse, who had been tortured the entire week and forced to stay awake.

Better than Mumbo, malnourished and trembling, left there for two months, no one searching for him.

Better than Doc, his entire goshdarn arm missing, his horns shaved down to nubs, his mechanical eye mangled, his molars pulled and more.

Xisuma wants them all to go to therapy. Probably for the best, but Ren feels a little like a baby, pulling up with his tiny problems compared to the others. So what, he’s got a couple of lousy nightmares. That isn’t the end of the world. That isn’t worth wasting some professional’s time.

Cleaning himself would probably be a good thing to do in the shower, so Ren grabs some shampoo and squeezes it into his hand, massaging his scalp aggressively. He didn’t check the bottle, but when he smells roses he realizes that he grabbed Bdubs’s shampoo. Good, it’s better for his thick hair.

He likes the smell, too. It makes him think of Bdubs, of his tight hugs and chipper smile. It smells fresh, not too overwhelming.

It’s calming.

He rinses it out, eyes closed to allow for the suds dripping down his face.

He hadn't bathed during his captivity. His body had grown grimier and grimier, sweat staining his days-old clothes, his usually well-trimmed beard getting scratchy and stubbly. He'd hated it, hated the feeling of his clothes against his sticky skin, hated that he couldn't do anything about it.

He rubs a bar of soap along his skin now, as if cleansing himself of the memories. The shower chair makes it a bit awkward to wash everything, honestly. He should get around to returning it to Scar soon, now that he's no longer in the phase of needing to wrap his feet in plastic to keep the wounds dry for every shower. He's pretty much recovered, six days after the ordeal.

He spent longer there than it took for him to heal.

Isn't that weird?

Isn't it weird that this whole thing elapsed two weeks, and nothing more?

Ren shakes himself—physically, even, his hair slapping against the wall of the shower. For him it lasted two weeks. Impulse is still having trouble sleeping, Tango hasn’t been seen by anyone. Doc won't be alone. Mumbo doesn't talk.

He doesn't even have it bad.

He wishes he could fall asleep under the spray of the shower. He feels calmer here than he has in days, worried over nothing serious.

But he can’t hide in the shower forever.

Even so, he takes a couple more minutes, just sitting there and basking in it, before he reluctantly switches off the shower, the last couple drops bouncing off his chest. Then he stands, grimacing at the wet seat against his bare skin—fine while the shower was on, unbearable now that it’s off.

He rubs his wrists while he towels off. There’d been divots in the skin there when he was first rescued, but they’ve filled back out with a health potion and time. They’re still a bit bruised, but no longer tender to the touch.

Barely anything.

He limps back to his bedroom, grabs a fresh pair of boxers out of his dresser. It’s the last pair—he’ll have to do laundry. Might as well do it now, seeing as he doesn’t exactly plan on going back to sleep. Heck, then he’d have a nice, toasty, good-smelling pile of laundry to flop onto. That might lull him into sleep.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

Ren scrunches his eyes closed for a moment. What time is it? Is it still early enough to reasonably ignore visitors?

He squints at the wall clock—three in the morning. Yeah, it is.

But he won’t do that.

He grabs a t-shirt out of his dresser and pulls it on over his head, clumsily sticking his arms through the holes. It’s a little bit small—probably belongs to Scar. Then he makes his slow way out of his room and to his front door, which he opens without checking to see who might be there.

It’s Doc.

Doc, his horns missing, his arm unfinished, shadows of bruises still painting his face.

Doc offers him a half-smile. “Hello.”

“How’d you know I was up?” Ren rasps, and he suddenly realizes he hasn’t drunk any water since getting up, making his voice still heavy with sleep. 

Doc lifts his communicator (in his organic hand, his mechanical arm not entirely reconstructed). “You stopped being AFK. Did you move your communicator?”

Ren doesn’t think about how that means Doc was already awake, watching the server list. He just shrugs, turns around to head back to his room, leaving the door open in his wake.

Doc follows him in, his footsteps heavier than Ren’s, all the way back to his bedroom, where Ren starts grabbing the various articles of dirty clothing strewn about his room and throwing them into the half-full laundry basket in his closet. Doc doesn’t move from the doorway, simply observing.

“Did you just shower?”

“Mhm.”

“Mind if I use your shower? Scar said you have his chair.”

Is that what Doc came over for? Ren shrugs.

“Go for it, dude.”

Doc leaves, and a few moments later Ren hears the sound of the shower running again, so he finishes gathering up the clothes and throws them all into the washer.

It’s too early to be doing chores, but Ren’s already started, so he picks up the dirty dishes in his room and takes them all to his kitchen sink, where he starts scrubbing methodically.

There aren’t too many. He finishes it quickly (though not quickly enough, his feet aching where he stands) and finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the dark floor.

He’s tired.

He’s been tired since they got out, and it doesn’t seem to be letting up any time soon.

The shower turns off.

Ren sighs, runs a hand down his face. He needs to shave. It can wait until morning proper, but he doesn’t like the stubble on his cheeks.

How long will the laundry take? Probably thirty minutes. Have thirty minutes passed? No, it would beep its freaking head off to let him know.

He’s so tired.

After a couple of minutes of staring at the floor, he hears the restroom door open. He listens idly to the rustling of Doc making his way back to the room, then the way the floorboards creak under his weight as he crosses the bedroom.

Doc rummages through Ren’s dresser without asking, pulling out a shirt and throwing it on awkwardly, his half-completed robotic arm still wrapped in dripping plastic. The shirt is one of Doc’s own, and he growls frustratedly as he shoves his arm through the sleeve, then tears off the plastic and balls it up.

Doc misses the trash can when he tosses the plastic, but he doesn’t try again. He just comes round to the other side of Ren’s bed and rolls in, shoving the blankets away.

“You need to sleep,” Doc grumbles. “Lie down.”

Ren sighs.

Then he complies, slumping back against the pillows. He only resists a moment before leaning into Doc’s slightly damp shirt.

Doc takes it one step further, wrapping his good arm around Ren and holding him there. The heavy weight of his arm feels nice, and Ren buries his face into Doc’s shoulder where the neckline of the shirt has slipped slightly, letting him shove his nose into Doc’s fur. It smells like citrus, orange and lemon, good and clean.

“Keralis,” Ren mumbles.

Doc hums. “Couldn’t find my bodywash.”

“Probably just as good. He’s always bragging about how expensive it is.”

“Rich bastard.”

Doc’s chest rumbling against him is comfortable, homey. Ren’s eyes droop; he yawns.

“Haven’t been able to sleep so well,” Doc admits quietly, in the darkness of Ren’s room. The washer whirs somewhere in the distant background. “Nightmares.”

Ren’s been having nightmares, too, but he can’t help but feel guilty. They can’t be anything compared to Doc’s.

“About what they did to you,” Doc continues, and Ren freezes.

What?

“What?” he says aloud, pushing back a bit to see Doc’s face. “I—but I was fine!”

Doc’s eyes are closed, his brows furrowed. “I saw you,” he says, after a long moment. “They showed me you. With—with that muzzle on. I know you hate those things.”

“I—”

“What they did to me hurt,” Doc says. “What they did to you hurt, too.”

“It’s . . . it’s different,” Ren says weakly.

“I don’t think so.”

Ren sighs. “I don’t want to argue about it, dude. I’m too tired.”

Doc shrugs. “Okay. We’ll talk in the morning. But you went through hell, too, dude. You don’t have to feel bad for us just because you think we had it worse.”

Typical. Typical Doc, always guessing exactly what he was thinking.

Ren doesn’t respond to that.

He just snuggles back up against Doc and lets himself fall asleep.

When he wakes up a couple hours later from another nightmare, terrified and ashamed, he’s still in Doc’s warm hold.

So Ren lets himself doze. They both deserve a lie-in, he thinks.

The laundry can wait until later.

[13eyond13]

love it when a character that's hard to read intuitively for you has like a dedicated fandom interpreter who can just glance at their blank face in a panel and then give you a 3k word essay on their innermost thoughts & desires & fears and neatly tie it back into the themes & whatnot as if it's the most obvious thing in the world

[good-beanswrites]

Hear me out:

Kotoko adopted Es, and Fuuta went ballistic.

Rip Fuuta... he can never catch a break... Asdfsdf thank you for this, it was a blast thinking of all the ridiculous ways this could have played out! (One possibility I toyed with was Fuuta's competitive instincts take over, he fights her for Es, only to realize too late "*I* don't want to be responsible for a whole child WAIT") It's a similar format to the last one, with a knock-at-the-door reveal, but I still think it works 😂

“Don’t fuck with me, Es.”

“I would never.”

Lying brat. Fuuta knew they would every chance that they got. It was the reason he was so relieved that Es decided to find somewhere else to live after Milgram’s end. Fuuta had nothing left to fear from his former warden, but the others’ suggestions that Es become his new roommate still made him shudder. Three interrogations in a closed space with the rude kid were enough for him, thank you very much.

However, it wasn’t all a relief. He couldn’t help feeling concerned about who they’d gone to live with. Given how cryptic they were being, Fuuta would have been convinced they walked into the woods to find a furry family of Jackalopes or something to raise them –except, they showed up for this walk with clean clothing and internet access. 

“I don’t believe you. You’re fucking with me right now. Why can’t you just tell me who it is?” 

“It isn’t any of your concern. Hey, I thought you swore to stay out of others’ business. You turned over a new leaf and all that?”

“Tch. I meant other people’s business. You’re different.” 

If Es had vanished off the grid like some of the other prisoners, Fuuta wouldn’t have cared. But they were here, near enough to arrange some lame meetup, which meant they were going to remain in his life for a while longer. And that meant, as the model citizen that Fuuta was, he felt responsible for ensuring they didn’t get themselves kidnapped by some creep. 

He asked, “how much do you know about them, anyway? I mean, what kind of person can house a random weird kid on incredibly short notice? That’s definitely suspicious.”

Fuuta pulled the mask up on his face as they turned down a more crowded street. He knew people were going to gawk at his eye anyways, but it still helped him feel like he was blending in. With his thoughts on the injury for a moment, he was glad that bitch Kotoko was one of the prisoners who had gone off the grid. Good riddance.

“I promise, she’s fine. Not weird with children at all. In fact, she’s really good with them, which is why she could help me on such short notice.” They muttered, “but it’s not like I’m that young…”

“That’s still not normal. Is she some old housewife or something?”

“Ah, are you trying to do the interrogation this time? Actually, I’d say she’s around your age.”

“It’s just you two living alone? I’m still worried about Milgram coming looking for us again – can a girl like that really protect you?”

“Is everyone supposed to live with a big, strong man, like you?”

“Wha–!” Fuuta’s cheeks burned red. “That’s not what I –!”

“I’m only teasing. It’s cute that you care about me.”

That only agitated him more. “It’s not cute! I’m being realistic! One of us has to think about your safety while you’re just distracted by some pretty girl.”

“What makes you think she’s pretty?”

“Well, why else would you be so careless in deciding to live with her?”

All of the sudden, he saw it in Es’ eyes: that spark of mischief that Fuuta had come to loathe. He could never tell what they were plotting, but it was never a good sign.

Es held up their hands in mock surrender. They put on a ridiculous, overdramatic voice. “Ah, you caught me, Fuuta! I’m hiding her identity because she’s the most beautiful, capable woman in all of Japan, and I want to keep her all to myself!” 

He groaned, but they weren’t deterred. “She’s got everything, I couldn’t risk you falling for her! She’s quite capable of defending me. She’s very strong, with protective instincts much like your own. She understands our situation like no one else could. She’s got intense eyes, and you wouldn’t believe her singing voice. She enjoys deep conversations, she’s a dog person, she –”

“ – now you’re being the creep! Just shut up, I get it already...”

When they finally had the decency to pull it together, they reassured him. “It’s all true, though. So there’s no need to worry about me. I’m in good hands.”

Good hands, his ass. In only a brief conversation, the caretaker had gone from sounding a little suspicious to sounding way too good to be true… meaning she was extremely suspicious.

“Maybe someday I’ll introduce you, if you’re lucky...”

He turned his eyes away. “At least let me run some background checks on her first.” 

(He would just stalk her on social media, but that still counted.)

“You’re just going to stalk her on social media. That doesn’t count.”

“Eh? I have legit methods!” He hid deeper under his mask.

Even after the topic was dropped, after he and Es parted ways on an awkward goodbye, Fuuta was left thinking about this mystery woman. It took a bit of digging (and maybe a tiny bit of social media stalking) but at last he found where Es lived with this stranger. Contrary to what they may believe, he had turned over a new leaf. There would be no more hiding behind screens or letting others do the confrontation for him. Now that he was a changed person, he’d do the healthy and normal thing with this information: he’d march on down there himself and confront her like a man. 

He made it all the way to the front door with his chin high. He knocked with confidence. 

Then he began to shift nervously. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the woman’s description out of his head. Sure, he was here to check on Es, but if someone happened to check him out at the same time, it was only right to be prepared… He straightened his shirt collar. He ran his fingers through his hair. He wondered if he should have covered up his eye to look more presentable.

The door swung open. 

The surprise on Kotoko’s face was nowhere near the amount on Fuuta’s.

“Oh, for fucks sake –!”

From somewhere behind her, Es’ laughter rang out.

[marimbles]

at the risk of sounding like really entitled….

does anyone else have a fic that is their most popular, but you don’t want it to be, because you don’t think it deserves it, and you have better stuff, and while ofc you are grateful that people like something you wrote, it’s almost annoying that for some reason That one is the most popular. lmao

[beesinspades]

Pairing: Vash the Stampede/Nicholas D. Wolfwood Rated: Explicit Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Trans Vash the Stampede, Asexual Vash the Stampede, Greyace Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Penis in Vagina Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Top Nicholas D. Wolfwood, but many mentions of them being versatile, Domestic, Banter, wolfwood number one dumbass-sexual, the sillies, trans ace author at your service, written for Day 1 of @trans3gun Word Count: 3k

read on AO3

[peasant-player]

An odd meeting in the Night

Started here and here in case someone is into reading role-play I guess?

@zrii-the-orc

The unusuals manuscripts of the conversation between Elleth and Orc

I shall continue to write in my old tongue after all how many can read Quenya still?

I traveled far and wide, met wizards and Hobbits,saw the Sun come up for the first time after years of darkness and ice.

Grieved over Kings and Queens.

But yet I never met a Orc that doesn't go for the kill the moment it's beady eyes see me.

Would this just be me,I might not think about that much.

The Valar blessed me with luck and a silver tongue.

But it Zrii has another Elleth. A young naive girl,that thought traveling alone is safe.As if the shadows are gone!But I know there are not gone. Evil will preserve the same way as we do. Hiding

Oh Eru Ilúvatar is this a test? To see how far my kindness go?

Elven fairer, wiser and stronger told me many times that just Death can give those poor creatures Peace.

But as long as Zrii is kind I will be-

There are some rustling and shuffling in the bushes that stops the elven-lady in her writings.

But she didn't worry as she knew from the pungent Odor that whiffed over that it is her Guest of the night.

Greetings frie-Zrii !

Glad to see that my second bird survived your War-sibling.

I thought alot about you and your kin in the past days but I like to answer your questions first if you don't mind.

And to give you something to fill your belly and keep your mind at rest, I brought you some blood sausage and sautéed liver!

It goes well with this "black bread" that's what the race of men call it.

Give it a try! For me it is too tart and metallic tasting so it should be to your liking.

Now listen closely.

You will find nor here nor there a Elve of any kin that marks you different because of your gender.

*The elven women stares directly in your eyes,the silver light making you squint*

We are all Eru Ilúvatars children.

*She looked away and sighted heavy*

The race of men have some different beliefs depending where you look.

Why?

I don't understand either.

But they are short lived and marred by Morgoth since the beginning. The big black what your grandmother called him.

She must be powerful. None of my birds remembered anything specific even though they did found you.

There is great and powerful witchcraft going on in the misty mountains.

I never thought it would be a old Uruk but oh well...

It seems to be going both ways, as you come here alone and I don't think that has something to do with your kindness

*there is a knowing smirk on the elven face*

Do you know how to do magic perhaps?

Regardless!

My condolences to the passing of your brother. May he find peace in Mandos Halls.

Or where do you think he will go?

As you mentioned before that the Elleth would like to bath. Your right and that is very thoughtful of you.

For touching her hair...it is commonly known as rude to touch a Elve without permission. And we take much pride in our hair.

There are of course exceptions like if you are secretly a King, but that doesn't happen often.

Maybe show her that you mean well and let her touch your hair first?

After a good thorough wash please

Place the...bone charms next to her and let her choose. The same with the clothes your willing to give her. Before I forget!

Please take my cloak with you as a gratitude of mine.

*you receive a dark grey cloak with no adornments but the softest material you ever touched,so light ; warmth is spreading to your fingertips*

This will compensate any Clothes you might give the young girl.

You might want to hide it so that your Leader can't steal from you but the cloak should be unassuming looking enough!

*The Elven women soft smile wanes and she looks sadly over to you*

If you mind can you ask the Elleth what her name is again?

She should be calmer by now and I know of a few missing Elleths...

I also would like you to d-

*a small birds comes flying through the bushes its chirping sound aggravated in you ears, but what do you know? you are a orc all birds sound the same to you*

It is time for you to leave Zrii.

Go forth and go swiftly with the twilight of the night.

Until we meet again.

[tricoufamily]

update tinder guy superliked me, asked me on a date, spent the entire thing belittling and making fun of me and seeming vaguely angry at me. then asked me for a second date

[junco-baby]

Now that we're in November, that means the most exciting time of the year is fast approaching: Spotify wrapped!

Last year on twt I predicted my top 5 artists (and got pretty close!) so I thought it'd be fun to do again! And I'm on tumblr more often now so figured I'd do it here instead lol.

So, my guess for my top five artists is:

Charli xcx

Hana vu

Foxes

Remi wolf

Aly & AJ

I'm pretty confident in the top 3, but the fourth I'm a little iffy on, and the fifth I'm very iffy on lol, so some honorable mentions/other artists I think could possibly squeeze in there instead (in order of likelihood) are: Foster the People, flor, Everything Everything, Chappell Roan, Dua Lipa

Anyway, feel free to reblog with guesses for your top artists! Or make your own post and tag me. I looove seeing people's Spotify wrapped!

[find-the-path]

Deep in the pits of flooded Isengard, Lothrandir searches for a path to the surface.

Or: It's a great stroke of luck that the Rangers got to Isengard in time! It'd be a shame if they... hadn't...

[good-beanswrites]

Could you write a drabble for Mikoto and Shidou plus Blood? This request miiight be inspired by the fact that Mikoto mentions his body hurting a lot but doesn't seem to be receiving any medical treatment, either because Mahiru and Fuuta take priority or because there's no obvious cause, and therefore cure, to his pain...

👀👀👀 Thank you, this is such a good combo ough!! It's so interesting how much focus the others get when it comes to physical health, since Mikoto has clearly complained of his condition :( It looks like Milgram is trying to push the idea that he's completely oblivious to his alters, but I spun it where he's aware, just deep in denial. So have some Mikoto angst to get us hyped for Double!

Mikoto should be grateful. He was lucky. That’s what he kept repeating to himself. He had both of his eyes intact. Both his arms. He was strong enough to walk around freely. He wasn’t on the verge of death, or collapse. Thus, he should be grateful no one was offering him any help, because it meant he didn’t need it. He repeated it again. Maybe this time he would believe it.

With a groan, his body rolled out of bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up actually feeling rested. Everything ached. His muscles tightened with soreness. His throat felt as raw as his knuckles, though he hadn’t been using either. He had no desire to lift his arms over his head, or twist around too much, so he didn’t change out of yesterday’s uniform. Maybe the belts and buckles had made it difficult to sleep. The theory wasn’t a convincing one, but dwelling on things like that had never gotten him anywhere.

He ran his fingers once through his hair, combing out a bit of the mess. Looking in a mirror was the last thing he needed. He made his way to the dining hall. 

The others trickled in for breakfast. His appetite, at least, hadn’t suffered. He hardly noticed the others giving him wide-eyed stares. What were they expecting? Of course he was looking worse for wear, given the circumstances. He ignored them, glad to focus on the hot meal before him.

A hand weighed heavy on his shoulder.

“Mikoto,” Shidou’s voice may have remained calm, but it was urgent. “Do you need some help?”

“Huh?” He shrugged his hand away, offering a weak smile. “I’m fine! Oh, I think Kazui was saving a seat for you over there, if you --”

“-- How about we go to my cell for a moment? Or yours, if that would be more comfortable.”

What was everyone’s problem this morning? Mikoto did his best to keep his voice pleasant. “Really, man, I’m good.” 

Shidou’s expression remained unmoving. Very carefully, he informed him, “you’re bleeding. Pretty badly by the look of it. You’re coming with me.” 

Mikoto blinked. He looked over his shoulder, following Shidou’s gaze. The back of his uniform was torn across the center. A significant splotch of blood seeped into the material, growing even larger as he shifted to see it. 

“...Oh…” 

Back in Shidou’s cell, sad to have left his breakfast plate behind, he slumped into a chair. Shidou gathered together some supplies. As always, he got right to the point. “What happened?”

“I… I’m not sure. I don’t remember anything from last night. I don’t remember most nights, recently. I know that sounds crazy, but…”

“It’s fine. I have definitely heard crazier.” He smiled, something gentle and reassuring. As usual, there was something hidden behind his eyes. It was as if he already knew what Mikoto was up to late at night that earned him so much soreness the following days. He didn’t offer an explanation, though. Mikoto didn’t press him for one.

He winced as he was helped out of his uniform. Removing his shirt revealed the mysterious gash. Shidou’s eyes widened at the array of scratches and scars. Some were fresh, but most originated long before Milgram. Though he didn’t ask, Mikoto answered.

“I’m pretty clumsy, huh?” Maybe this time he would believe it. 

Shidou was kind enough to pretend to. “Here, allow me…”

Shidou got to work cleaning and dressing the injuries. Mikoto closed his eyes. Even though the disinfectant stung, and sometimes those gloved fingers pressed a little two hard, it felt nice to have things patched up. 

“Is there anything else going on? Are you feeling pain anywhere else?”

Mikoto could have laughed. He didn’t. “I’m just sore. And my head’s been killing me, but I’m used to migraines. Perks of the verdict, I’m sure.”

Shidou hummed in thought. 

“Thanks, by the way. I’ll try to be more careful.” Not that he had much choice in the matter, it seemed. But he’d do his best. 

Shidou kept his face straight, but there were traces of pain in his voice. “I will too. I’m sorry, Mikoto. If I had known… I’ve been distracted lately, but I should have paid closer attention.”

“It’s fine,” he flashed a grin. “I know the others are pretty fucked up. And I’m not dying or anything. I’m lucky, you know?”

“I wouldn’t say so. Doctors don’t only treat the dying.”

Mikoto frowned. 

It didn’t take much longer to finish treatment. Shidou gave him a few instructions about the bandages, then offered him a clean shirt. “You’re good to go. I’ll be checking in more often, now. I’ll see if I can find something for your head.” 

“Thanks. Really.”

He returned Mikoto’s torn uniform. “You should talk to Es about getting a new one. Until then, you’ll want to clean this with --”

Mikoto waved a dismissive hand, heading out of the cell. “Don’t worry, I know how to wash blood out of my clothes. Er, that sounds bad. I’m just a clutz, yeah? The blood’s always been my own.”

Maybe this time he would believe it.

[justgayrevolutionnaries]

The sun, the stars and everything in between

My gift for @fructidors for the @drinkwithme-exchange ! I chose to write for Enjolras and Jehan, with maybe a bit of Triumvirate and Jehan/Grantaire friendship because I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy !

Find it on ao3 or read below for those who prefer tumblr

1826

It was not that Enjolras distrusted rich people. He just couldn't stand them, and would rather forget that he was one himself.

So naturally when Combeferre pointed out to him a student he had met at la Sorbonne, who seemingly had no trouble with paying the monthly fee asked of him by the school, he couldn't help but at first consider him with the usual level of scorn he felt when looking at anyone coming from the higher classes.

He was soon to be proven wrong, however, for the young man turned out to be everything but what Enjolras expected.

His hair was longer than what was socially considered conventional, he spent hours looking at anything and everything with a thoughtful look on his face and seemed to be taking more interest in the sky than in the world of men. Enjolras immediately had him pinned down as a Romantic- which wasn't necessarily a good thing, since he couldn't help but feel irritated toward people who, in his eyes, spend their lives contemplating the world in melancholy but doing nothing to change it.

What really caught Enjolras's attention, however, was when he overheard the Romantic talk to a group of other students in a café often used as a gathering point by- well, young students. It sounded more like he was delivering a poem than properly talking, actually, seeing how smoothly the words were coming out of his mouth. And those words were explaining the misery of the world- and of orphans. From what Enjolras could hear, the young man was deeply affected by the fate of orphans in Paris, and seemed more than willing to act about it.

After that, Enjolras felt more than willing to talk to the redhead, even though Combeferre had been begging to introduce them for weeks. It actually seemed surprisingly easy to approach him- maybe it was the way he always looked at everything with a dreamy look on his face, or maybe it was the way Enjolras sometimes found his eyes fixed on him at gatherings, as if he was studying Enjolras or looking for something specific in him. The point was, he seemed nice. And maybe easy to talk to. Maybe that was why Enjolras found himself walking toward the young man's table at the café, forgetting he usually had no idea how to start conversations.

"I liked what you said earlier," he said bluntly. As the other looked up at him in surprise, he felt the need to elaborate : "your poem, about the night and, um, orphans. I really enjoyed listening to it."

"Well, thank you. If is not my best, but I was kind of proud of it, so I figured… why not share it with the class ?"

He had an awkward smile, much to Enjolras's surprise- for some reason he had expected him to be very laid back, like Courfeyrac, another one of his friends, but it turned out the redhead was about as talented as Enjolras to start a conversation in a decent way.

After a rather awkward moment Enjoras was wondering what he was supposed to say next and silently cursing himself for trying to start a conversation without Courfeyrac there, the poet held out his left hand for the blonde to shake, while his right one was busy trying to extract what looked like an old smoking-pipe from his pocket. He had to take out various items, including three rocks of various shapes and what seemed to be peacock feathers (Enjolras decided not to ask) before he found what he was looking for and could focus back on Enjolras.

"Jehan Prouvaire, at your service. Does it bother you if I smoke ?"

"Not at all" answered Enjolras, somewhat amused by the manners of the young man. "Jehan, huh ?"

The other waved aside with a nonchalant look. "Mere fantasy of a poet. You can call me Jean, or even Prouvaire if you like. Do you happen to have a name, or am I expected to find one for you ? Because I have multiple ideas that would quite suit you. Did you ever consider-"

Enjolras thought it wiser to interrupt him there. Not that he disliked listening to the other man, who actually had a very soft and pleasant voice, but he was afraid of the kind of nickname the eccentric redhead thought would fit him.

"That will be quite unnecessary. I am Enjolras." He said, finally reaching out for Prouvaire's hand. "I am glad to make your acquaintance… citizen."

The last word had escaped his mouth after a second of hesitation, carefully watching Prouvaire's face for his reaction. He was not, however, expecting the small laugh that came out of his lips.

"I am only amused by your carefulness. Do I look much like a royalist to you ?"

Enjolras felt the pressure on his stomach untighten. He had witnessed the unconventional behavior of the young man and heard the way he talked of the world around him, and he actually would have been very surprised if such a man turned out to be anything but a supporter of freedom- but again, one never knew. For the first time he found himself smiling genuinely at him.

"Not really. And I shall admit, I am rather happy you aren't. I would have been very disappointed to find out I was wrong about you."

"I shall be happy to have proven you right, then," the poet, who at this point was surrounded by a cloud of smoke, answered with a mocking reverence.

***

1828

He didn't know exactly what Prouvaire was doing here. Despite openly having political opinions that answered more or less those of Enjolras, the poet had never struck him as what he would call a fierce revolutionary. Not that Enjolras was unhappy to discover he had misjudged him, he was always more than content when a new friend joined their group. It was just that he suspected the poet of dropping by the café only to try and meet people who were as interested as him in studying in detail a play of Corneille, the appearance of a new constellation or the shape of the clouds.

While Enjolras was wrong in that the poet was indeed one of the most helpful members, and certainly the one that cared most about doing everything he could to help others, it was true that Jehan wasn't helping by always choosing to sit near one of the newest members of the group, whose only purpose in life seemed to be to empty as many bottles of wine as it was humanly possible.

As a matter of fact, when Enjolras happened to overhear one of the conversations taking place at the table in the corner, the two men always seemed to be talking of any imaginable subject except for the revolution.

"... must have been nice to be one of those gods living on Mount Olympus", Grantaire was currently saying. "To spend your days to eat, drink and contemplate the world- what more could one possibly ask of life ?"

Prouvaire reflected thoughtfully : "The greek gods, huh ? I have always found it quite nice that Apollo was for them not only the god of the sun, but also the god of music. After all, isn't music a way to bring light and warmth in our lives ?"

"What I like about those gods is that they seem to live on, even today, in some of us. For me, I guess I shall be Dionysus, for obvious reasons." Grantaire gestured vaguely at his body, as the poet threw him an amused look. "You can be Apollo if that pleases you- would it only be because you are such a strong defender of poetry in our world, and you can play the lyre."

"The harp, actually," Jehan interrupted him with an offended tone, "and I am surprised the comparison did not arise from my ability to brighten your life a considerable amount."

Grantaire made a disdainful gesture while rolling his eyes to the sky.

"The harp, the lyre… same difference to me. If I touched either one, all I would get out of them would be an atrocity that would so gravely offend one of your music gods that they would probably-"

He stopped abruptly when he noticed that Enjolras had left Combeferre and Courfeyrac to argue on their own on the other side of the room and was making his way toward them.

"I should probably leave now" Grantaire muttered, and before his friend could stop him he had grabbed his coat and made his way through the (extremely) crowded room to the door.

He had probably sensed that Enjolras was not in a mood to be nice with him- and he had been right, since as soon as the blonde reached the table where Jehan was left alone, seemingly wondering whether or not he should run after Grantaire, his first words were : "Do you ever wonder why the man even bothers coming here- does he at least have fun annoying all of us with his meaningless talk ?"

The words probably came out way more rude than he intended to and he immediately felt guilty of it- Jehan hadn't really done anything to deserve this.

"You should give him more credit, you know" Prouvaire said absently, his eyes still fixated on the bottle his friend had left on the table without even bothering to finish it.

Enjolras turned to him, not even trying to mask his irritation. "What should I give him credit for ? Being here ? Those meetings are for serious matters. Everyone here genuinely cares about our revolution, about helping people, fighting for them. Everyone here believes in something better that keeps them going. Grantaire doesn't believe in anything, save maybe wine."

"Doesn't he ?" There was a thoughtful look on his face, as if he hadn't been expecting Enjolras to say that. "You know… sometimes I wonder."

Prouvaire got up, most likely to try and catch up with Grantaire, leaving Enjolras to wonder what he had been trying to say.

***

1830

Prouvaire was vaguely aware that he and Enjolras were the only people left in the café, and that all the others had left when it had started to get dark. He was also vaguely aware that his friend had been talking for a while, most likely about what the better place to build a barricade would be or Courfeyrac's latest idea to find ammunition- sometimes a few words reached his ears, such as "strategic area" and "take back their freedom".

But he was only vaguely paying attention to all of this, because he had spent his afternoon in the café doing what he did best- living in his own world and writing endlessly. For some reasons the ideas were flowing to his mind today, and he had covered countless sheets in scribbled words, unfinished verses and distracted doodles. But now he had been stuck on this verse for a while and did not like it.

At this moment he heard Enjolras clap his fingers and ask, in a voice that seemed worlds away from him : "Prouvaire, do you really find me this boring ?"

The sarcasm passed unnoticed as the poet, not looking up from the sheet in front of him and seeming incredibly focused on the quill in his hand, managed to let out enough words to communicate like a normal human being. .

"I think I need your help, actually." Paying absolutely no attention to his friend's sigh, he added : "Can you find a good synonym for "loyalty" ?"

Surprised at first, Enjolras's look was quick to soften and since he knew that it would be useless to try and blame Jehan, and was not even willing to, as he felt a kind of tenderness where the soft nature of the poet was concerned, he chose to be helpful and answer the question.

"Faithfulness ?" He suggested. "Devotion ?" As if his own words had brought a new idea to his mind, he frowned and added "things I wish more men would have."

Jehan was about to answer that "faithfulness" had too many syllables for what he was trying to do, but surprised by the bitter tone, unusual in the usually passionate voice of his friend, he managed to get out of his bubble and looked up to find the blonde staring into space, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, that sounds like an optimistic thought coming from you. What do you mean by that, if I may ask ?"

His friend sighed and opened his arms. "I don't really know myself. I guess sometimes I feel like I have lost faith- we are doing something so important here, but we have no guarantee of anything. No guarantee that what we do will change something, no guarantee that the men will have the heart to come and help us in this fight. I know I shouldn't think that, because I believe in our fight, but I can't help it."

Prouvaire interrupted him with his soft voice, putting a hand on the other man's arm : "why shouldn't you ? It is normal to have doubts, you know. But as long as you remember what you are fighting for, those doubts can not stop you."

Enjolras let his head fall back with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"I envy you, you know."

The poet glanced an intrigued look at him.

"Before I consider myself flattered, I am going to need you to elaborate. You are really looking quite weird today, Enjolras."

"You always seem to be so optimistic, you know. About pretty much everything- the flowers in your garden, the friends you meet, the fact that any of this-" he gestured with a bitter look at the empty tables surrounding them, "has a chance to ever succeed. This is why I admire you, and with you all the poets. You know how to find hope in the smallest things, be it a ladybug in a garden or a burnt-out candle."

"But you seem to be quite the poet yourself, my friend."

Enjolras merely shook his head, although his friend's suggestion had managed to bring a smile to his lips.

"I leave such activities to those worthy of them. I fear one couldn't call anything I do poetic- all I ever do is talk of revolution and mythic battles, and you can not call me a poet for merely writing speeches."

"You are wrong here. I have seen how you always have your way with words. It is why they admire you, you know. People such as our friends, Grantaire, myself… everyone. Unlike so many people, you know the power of words and how to use it. Maybe it seems to you there is no poetry in your thoughts, but I can assure you your speeches and your ideals inspire me as much as any poem of Dante or anyone else could. And this is a compliment, really."

Enjolras, whose only reaction to this had been to smirk at the mention of Grantaire, had to admit softly :

"If you say so my friend. I suppose I can trust your opinion on those matters. As long as you do not ask me to start smoking the pipe or write what you would consider a poetic verse, I am fine with being considered a poet in the way you mean it."

Jehan burst out laughing at this.

"Don't come and give me ideas. And I am sure you would love it, by the way."

***

1831

"I can not believe I got out of bed for this. Did we really have to be there this early ? The night hasn't even fallen yet" Courfeyrac complained.

"You didn't have to come, then" Combeferre replied mockingly, which earned him a scandalized look from the former.

It had been Prouvaire's idea, unsurprisingly- to spend the evening in the Luxembourg garden so they could look at the stars. There were only four of them, Prouvaire, Combeferre, Enjolras, who was there half willingly and half because the first two had threatened him or dragging him to a ball later if he did not come, and Courfeyrac who could not possibly imagine not being involved in an evening between friends. Grantaire had been invited as well, but for some reason he did not elaborate on, he had refused to come.

"You know," Courfeyrac reflected, pensively looking at a flower he had picked up a few minutes ago, "I have always wondered why you poets always enjoyed looking at the stars so much. I am not saying they are boring, but to look at them your entire lives… what do you find in them that we," he elbowed Enjolras in the ribs,"mere mortals, don't ?"

Jehan let out a small laugh at this. "There is not one answer to this, you know. This is why I like the stars, actually. They mean something different for everyone. I guess I like how they mostly remind me of how small we all are- or, if you want a more optimistic thought, they are at the same time a symbol of hope. Simply consider the way they are so far away from us, yet they are so big that their light still reaches us from over there. And they have been shining like this for longer than we could even imagine."

"Stars can die too, like everything." Enjolras couldn't help but point out, which caused Prouvaire to frown slightly.

"Who is talking about dying ? Dying can wait for now. I would much rather spend my time listening to the sound of a river, watching flowers grow or studying the stars, like now. And like you are doing right now for what I believe is the first time in your life. Enjoy life for a moment, my friend."

He put an arm around Enjolras's shoulders, smiling encouragingly at him, but the blonde shoved him back playfully.

"Contrary to popular belief, my friend, I actually do enjoy looking at the stars."

Combeferre looked at him, raising his eyebrows slightly in a disbelieving manner. "Do you now ? Not so long ago I would have sworn you would rather take a bullet to the chest than even take a second to contemplate the world around you, let alone the world above you."

Enjolras purposely decided to ignore the mocking undertone in Combeferre's voice and answered with a simple shrug. "I don't know any more than you do. It simply happens that they have a calming effect on me, so I like to look at them every so often. And even objectively speaking, stars are beautiful. You shouldn't expect a man to just pass them by without ever looking at them once in his life."

"Actually, you can," Courfeyrac chimed in for some reason. "Look at Pontmercy. He is always so absorbed by his thoughts, I doubt he even noticed there is a sky above us."

As Combeferre rolled his eyes to the sky, as often when Pontmercy was mentioned, Jehan pointed out softly : "you can not blame him for that, Courfeyrac, if he is in love with one of them."

The three of them got into an argument to decide whether or not Pontmercy was actually in love, and Enjolras smiled softly at the stars, thinking that Prouvaire might actually be right about them- like he was about everything.

Life was good.

***

1832

Jehan had been blindfolded. That was the only thing clear to him right now. His memory felt foggy. All he could remember was looking at Bahorel in horror as he got stabbed in the chest. Then lots of noise, screams and shorts, and then a new voice (was it Pontmercy ? It sounded like Pontmercy) dominating all the others. After that he remembered being dragged away in an alley, and trying to scream for help- Enjolras's name, Grantaire's name, anyone that could come and help him.

And red. Lots of red. So much red… everywhere.

He felt someone seize him by the shoulder and push him forward- against a wall. He didn't even need to listen to the declaration of the captain -he guessed it was a captain, a general wouldn't bother with this- to know what was going to happen next.

"Any last words ?"

So many.

He wanted to see his friends one final time, tell them how much he loved them. He wanted to write so many poems, many small verses that would just make one long poem, and claim it to the world.

He wanted to look at everything around him- Paris, his friends, the sky- one final time. He wanted to tell Grantaire all about the sun rising. He wanted to promise them, all of them, that they needed to hope, that the future would surely be brighter, it was only a matter of time. He wanted to tell Enjolras that he needed to look at the stars again, because it might be his final chance to do so.

But he knew he couldn't do any of this- he was out of time.

So all he did was raise his chin proudly and smile. And now he could smile genuinely, because he knew what he believed in- because it was what Enjolras had taught him. Because he had hope for the future, if not for now.

"Vive la France ! Vive l'avenir !"

***

"Vive la France ! Vive l'avenir !"

Enjolras clenched his jaw. His hand was still on Combeferre's arm when the shot rang out, and he used it to steady himself as he realized -as they both realized- what the succession of noises meant.

"They killed him !" Combeferre gasped in horror.

Enjolras nodded slowly. He had expected it, they had talked about it- he just didn't expect for this to become real. He didn't imagine a poet could actually die like anyone else, let alone Jean Prouvaire.

But apparently it was real. Not that it could change much, at this point. He knew that he couldn't afford to lose hope- not right now, not until this was over.

But for now…

He turned to the spy attached to the pillar, who still hadn't moved. "Your friends have just shot you," he said.

[cuz-reasons]

Summary: According to their parents, Ingo and Emmet are "too young" for a Pokemon, but they both think that's stupid rule. They take matters into their own hands and try to find the perfect birthday present for each other.

Day 16: Trade!

I once again must state that I love writing kids

[icekingsimon]

Simon has been alone for a very long time. He has photos of people, so there must have been more, once upon a time… right? But as far as he can remember, this frozen wasteland has only ever held monsters. Worse things than oozers stalk through the apocalypse.

The crown can't keep him safe when he doesn't want - or can't want - to be saved.

[abyssembraced]

Headcanon Generator Meme

((Except that some are reacted to ooc and others are in character))

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ghost:

"If Ghost likes someone, they will give them a pretty rock."

((Yeah, I could see that! Headcanon accepted. Their mindset is along the lines of: they know that Giving Gifts is a Good Thing that People Like. But they don't know what actually constitutes a good gift. They know that many people like receiving flowers and that Ze'mer's flowers are especially precious, but they don't know why that is. They also know that most bugs like Geo, which are basically shiny fossils and rocks. So maybe this other rock is also a Good Gift? Here you go, Friend!))

"If the source media was a musical, Ghost would be the one character that asks why everyone is singing."

((I think that'd fit them really well actually, yeah! Not a verbal question, of course, but just a silent wondering! It fits in with them slowly becoming more conscious and 'alive' throughout their journey in Hallownest. They're not familiar with their own genre, so they wonder why everyone's singing! But over time they eventually come to understand or at least accept that That's How Things Work.))

"Ghost does not know what sleep is."

((Mmm. While it's true that they wouldn't really Need sleep after obtaining Void Heart, on account of becoming fully Void, they are familiar with what sleep is! And they're also sort of capable of it in at least some capacity.))

"Ghost will go feral. Watch out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meta Knight:

"Meta Knight speaks only in meme references."

((I mean Honestly if we're talking about Kirby Right Back At Ya's Meta Knight, I could absolutely see a YTP featuring that. But! My Meta Knight is Not That, save for a couple details I took from it, so Nope asgshfhf. I could see Magolor doing that for like a day or something though just to annoy the others.))

"Meta Knight can hug you, but won't."

"Correct." Save for a select few people who might be able to force one out of him, anyway.

"Meta Knight is awful with kids."

"I am inclined to say so, yes, but... Kirby seems to insist otherwise." Surely he was just an outlier, however. A unique exception, solely due to the fact that they were each the only other member of their species that either of them had ever met. ...Why are you pointing at Sailor Waddle Dee. Stop That.

"It would not take much for Meta Knight to turn evil."

"I believe the strength of my will is powerful enough to resist such corruptive forces." Though as much as he might like to, he couldn't deny that the stray Dark Heart had gotten the better of him some time ago. Not to mention whatever it was that had happened to his mirror counterpart...

"Meta Knight likes to eat straight coffee beans."

"Though I do prefer my coffee black, I... Fear the raw beans may be too bitter, even for me."

...He was lying about even drinking his coffee black. He would always dump tons of sugar into his drinks. Straight coffee beans would be a definite 'no' for him.

"Meta Knight had an emo phase."

((Absolutely hilarious mental image that I will neither confirm nor deny, lmao))

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GLaDOS:

"GLaDOS knows the lyrics to every Hatsune Miku song by heart."

((Technically correct, but only because she's a robot and can just search for all the lyrics and download them if she desired. But I don't think she'd even know who Miku is unless she was prompted to research her.))

"GLaDOS will remind others in the midst of chaos how good *she's* being."

((. Yeah I could totally see this ashsdgwgdvf. But it'd have to be something specifically said to Chell while other people are Causing Problems and not her ((for once)). I don't think I could see her saying it to anyone else.))

"GLaDOS is in your house."

((If you live in the Aperture building then she is your house lmao))

"GLaDOS is a very good singer."

((So Very True <3))

"GLaDOS is going to hell."

"We would once again like to remind you that here at the Aperture Enrichment Center, Android Hell is a real place where rogue androids will be sent at the slightest hint of dissent."

"Unless you can turn on the neurotoxin emitters quickly enough. Which you don't have."

"GLaDOS is awful with kids."

"I don't know, I would consider my performance at the Aperture Science Bring Your Daughter to Work Day to be a great success. Though I do work better with cats."

"GLaDOS is constantly singing for no reason."

"And you are constantly bumbling around like a useless idiot for no reason. What do you think of that?"

"GLaDOS can't make the voices go away."

"I did, actually. But it involved me being betrayed and murdered by a friend that I trusted, so I can't say I recommend my method."

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Tagged by: @bladesfromthedark (thank you!)

Tagging: @distrxst , @tazmilyxfamily , @musescfmusic , @quillheel , @hopeful-hugz , @pri-rp , @legalbrats , @galacticnova3 (I know you've already done it for your Lor blog, so. Maybe one of your other ones if you feel like it?). Just. Tags Everyone again so no one can feel left out dgsgsgf. And once again, feel free to do it for any blog(s) and muse(s), not necessarily the specific one I tagged!