#who the hell made these birthdays up

[parfaitfever]

WHAT???

[lynxfrost13]

KLBR-S2306 “Wanze”

commissioned art by Phosology!

- pretty typical sierpinski-23 kolibri unit for a while there. She was a less seasoned kolibri and tended to be very clingy with her cadre. Her cadremates liked to tease her affectionately about it.

- Really loves physical touch of all sorts, especially having her hair played with and her face touched, it’s very soothing to her!

- Her name Wanze comes from the German word for bug/bedbug! She got it due to her clinginess. Eventually she also received the name Fehler in a derogatory way, it means bug but more in the context of an error or failure.

- Her usual duties involved shifts down in the mines to monitor gestalt workers and ensure that they weren’t being disruptive and decreasing productivity.

- during one of these shifts a few gestalts were VERY disruptive and during a scuffle involving the gestalts, Wanze, and a poor mynah unit equipped with a mining laser, Wanze received a severe head injury from the mynah suddenly misdirecting the laser and hitting her.

- That injury would have killed her if she were a gestalt, but thanks to that handy titanium skull and nearby protektors rushing her to the hospital wing to be patched up, she survived. She had to get her faceplate replaced :(

- Wanze also completely lost her bioresonance due to the accident, and the medical officer who oversaw her care, a eule named Holt, was unable to restore it, leaving her with a pretty useless kolibri.

- Holt stepped in to keep her patient alive, and after arguing that Wanze was harmless to the kolibri hivemind (now simply just not a part of it) and through being very persistent (annoying), Adler allowed for Wanze to be reassigned to more standard protektor duties since she could still be useful, with occasional check ins to make sure she wasn’t degrading.

- This was hell for Wanze for a while, adjusting to the lack of mental noise and connection to her fellow kolibris was a shock, and she was expecting to be decommissioned.

- After finding out that she had to keep living without the hivemind, Wanze became incredibly frustrated both with herself and Holt, blaming the medic for extending her suffering. The two of them had a tense relationship for a bit due to Holt not fully understanding Wanze’s grief and Wanze refusing to cooperate with Holt. They come to understand each other after some hard talks and the two become friends, and eventually fall in love.

- In many ways Holt was the only thing in Wanze’s life that made her feel comfortable, Wanze still had to sleep and share a living space with the other kolibris, which was awkward and awful for her. There was a coldness and a distance that there hadn’t been before between them. It constantly reminds her that she’s not like them anymore.

- After the accident she also tries to avoid looking at her face, especially her forehead, where there’s three dead bioresonance crystals ready to look back at her. To make her feel better Holt likes to kiss them <3

- Her days in her relationship with Holt are some of her happiest, the two of them spend a lot of time together whenever possible. Wanze loves reading with her and pestering her as part of her “patrol route”. They love bugging each other generally and are just ridiculous your honor

- Of course those happy days don’t last :)

- I talked about this before, but tldr Holt falls ill with the sickness overtaking sierpinski, and Wanze stays by her side in the hospital in between shifts. When coming in from one of those shifts Holt tried to attack her, fully corrupted by the disease. Wanze shot and killed her in self defense… now she’s all alone :(

BONUS

Pinterest Board (forever in progress)

Playlist

[urfavisananimegirl]

walter white from breaking bad

Walter Hartwell White (Breaking Bad) is an Anime Girl!

[carlyraejepsans]

i don't think I've ever enjoyed a birthday party with friends as much as today i am genuinely getting a bit teary eyed

[utilitycaster]

I don't begrudge anyone their campaign preferences, and I think there's plenty of valid reasons to like Campaign 3 the best and this is not directed at people who are genuinely having a great time with it, but it feels like virtually all the nostalgia and wishful thinking I see surrounding Campaign 3 is screaming "you guys want Campaign 2." You want more slow travel and downtime and interparty conversations and slow-burn romance? You wish their main focus was fighting governmental corruption? You want a party that only semi-settles down at the end and keeps adventuring and remains very close? You're frustrated by how everpresent and overarching the moon plot is? You miss when they were just fucking around in a city? I genuinely believe you want Campaign 2, or at best you love a specific ship or a character from Campaign 3 but aren't happy about basically anything else, and would vastly prefer the tone and events and plot of Campaign 2. And I don't really care if you watch Campaign 2, or if you think I'm being annoying here; I simply genuinely believe you'd be happier watching Campaign 2 than Campaign 3 and are so deep in a sunk cost fallacy well you can't see it.

[jasperyourmutt]

Thank fucking god for doctors who give a shit about your health. I just met my new doctor who is going to be prescribing my T and I feel so relieved to have someone who actually CARES

[thecityofdoors]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SOLIDER!!!!!

[beancalzone]

[man who is so normal about his ocs voice] fuck this post happy birthday Alex and Rhys

[wolfietheangel]

aie-aie-aie - i’m your little butterfly! 🦋

[pyrriax]

ANYWHO goodnight tumblr i'll be back on the art grind tomorrow i think 🙏

[ferromagnetiic]

Absolutely NO ONE could have been able to prepare Linn for one of Kid's infamous birthday parties. She was very aware of there being lots of drinks; finding herself too indulging in one or other intoxicating liquor, however, was not on her list tonight. And all after telling herself she will be responsible and stay sober. Oh well. That was something the mink was promising hours ago. Time really was fleeting. Her little fluffy head is fogged up, waddling clumsily around the table and trying to maneuver her feet towards the birthday boy in question.

     ❝ CAPTAAAAAIN   !   How arr yoo doin'   ? ❞     Her rough tongue brings out only slurred words, accompanied by happily narrowed eyes. Bloodshot already. Patting her captain's broad shoulder with a prideful purr, Linn managed to position a finely wrapped box, not even small, onto the redhead's lap.     ❝ A li'l somethin' frum the ship's kidden, y'know   ? ❞     An embarrassing giggle, which most likely will be a weapon of teasing tomorrow.

Knowing her captain oh so well, the feline got her hands on a starter kit for wood and metal work. Something you would not gift a grown adult, rather a child between six and ten years old. He liked tinkering, right   ?   Maybe the shopkeeper misread her description of searching for a present for a tech fanatic 'kid' wrong. Unfortunate name his mother picked for him in that case.

     ❝ C'mon on now. Open it. Open ~ . . . ❞     Idly 'holding' his drink, taking a sip juuust to make sure it was not poisoned, and soon having trouble gulping down the burning liquid, a sharp breath. The cat lounges against his arm, eyes fixed on the box. He must like it.     ❝ Fffuck whad the hell arr yoo zzrinkin'   ?   Kerosene   ? ! ❞

     【 KID'S BIRTHDAY 2024. 】 @medicus-felini

           The cat's pissed.      Completely and utterly sloshed. The celebration has only just started, and she's obviously completely lost herself to the juice already. She rarely partakes in casual daytime drinking nor wild drunken partying alike, so Kid supposes it's inevitable that she would succumb to her intoxication faster than the rest of them. She's slurring her words and giddily stumbling around, but she looks like she's loving every moment of it, so he can't say he has any objections. It's nice to have her joining them; he was concerned she might become overly paranoid and start trying to lecture him about not accidentally meeting his untimely end by poisoning his liver. As long as nobody needs to get their stomach pumped after she inevitably blacks out later, it would all be fine.

She ambles over to him like a newborn kitten just learning where her feet are, and then she is swiping his drink from him and barely downing a single sip from the glass. Copper eyes follow her movements, though he does not intend to restrain her before the liquid has slipped down her throat.

❝ Naw, nooh kerosene; gotta ask Heat for that. Tha's absinthe. Bit much for the ship's kitten, ay? ❞

Though he is usually averse to being touched, tonight he is hammered, he is surrounded by people he loves, and he is happy. With scarcely enough time for her to catch her breath, he abruptly ensnares her with his right arm to pull her tightly against his side in a drunken embrace. His body radiates warmth, and his breath carries traces of all the drinks he has already finished, but he still holds her directly against him anyway.

❝ Oi, oi. Bein' spoiled, am I? Figured ye'd just write me a prescription. Nooh a half chewed rat, is it? ❞ The part about the dead rat is obviously a joke. The part about the prescription is also a joke unless she decides to actually take him up on it.

His smile is broad, all teeth, like he's thoroughly entertained by her inebriation. Taking the box she's delivering to him, he continues to squeeze her even more firmly against his torso, pinching her between his arm and his body as he uses both hands to unwrap the gift in his lap. It was beautifully presented until he peels the paper apart, and he automatically hands the decorative ribbon to her for her to play with if she pleases.

The picture on the front of the box and the colorful letters leave no amount of room for questioning what it is. A children's woodwork project kit, which when completed will create a little wooden boat with metal wheels on the underside so it can roll across the floor. There are no sharp instruments involved; only pre-cut pieces of wood, some screws, tiny metal wheels that must be assembled, and a square sheet of soft sandpaper. It was the kind of simplistic design that even tots barely out of their infancy could piece together without much assistance from an adult.

As soon as he's registered what it is she's given him, he's lifting the top of the box to peer at the pieces inside. The wooden blocks, intended for the smallest of hands, feel vaguely familiar, despite the fact he was never gifted a set like this in his youth.

The memory is hazy, but he still distantly remembers almost twenty years ago — making his own toys out of whatever pieces of scrap he found lying on the ground. In the days before he had anyone on his side, he built his friends out of tin cans and pieces of wire. He vaguely recalls one in particular; a soup can 'robot' with a menacing smile he painted on for its face. The can he used for his head had originally been crudely stabbed open with a knife, and the ends of the wire he used for his body were exposing needle-sharp tips, so every time he played with it he would end up with fresh cuts and smears of blood on his hands — yet, despite that, he carried that little silver doll around like his favorite toy for as long as he could hold on to it.

          He doesn't remember exactly what became of it. It was just a painted tin can, after all.

That younger him would've fawned, thrilled, and marveled over the cast metal and limewood underneath the press of impatiently indulgent fingers. A toy of similar caliber would’ve never made it into his possession, no matter how much effort he invested in saving up. It's a few years late, but that's just how things work out sometimes, he supposes.

Red lips abruptly plant themselves on top of the Mink's hair, delivering a swift kiss to her head, staining her in a perfect blotch of lipstick; an obnoxious patch that would doubtlessly remain for the rest of the night.

Had someone else amongst his crew been the one to hand him such a ridiculous gift, he would've perhaps taken it to be a good-natured prank; or an affectionate tease at best, aiming to bait him. The whole lot of them: playfully, wonderfully annoying in the only way that's familiar to their petulant captain. It seems unlikely that Linn would be guilty of committing the same crime. She was the sweetest of their bunch — and would sooner profusely apologize than risk aggravating him.

Hell, Kid won't even allude to the fact that it's been a pretty damn long time since he last considered an entry level kit like this as being anywhere near challenging. Gag gift or not, the sight of her earnest excitement made it clear that the present had come from a good place with thoughtful intentions. He merely snorts, and continues to drawl.

     ❝ Ah, yer a guid girl, Linn.           Thank ye. ❞

          With that, he's then replacing the lid back on top so he doesn't disrupt any of the pieces inside, mindful to not let anything fall out only for it to become lost for the rest of time underneath a chair.

     ❝ ...Hoo plastered d'ya think I can get if I take a shot for e'ery piece I put together? ❞

          The gift is so well appreciated it will now be turned into a drinking game.

[magpigment]

i find it rlly funny when i make a character and i’m just like. tumblr would love them. tumblr would be all over this character. why isn’t tumblr obsessed w them already. and then remember they exist only in my mind :(

[waugh-bao]

[heybinnie]

.

[sufficientlylargen]

It always gets me that the name "Gandalf" literally just means "Wand-Elf" or "Stick-Elf". I'm imagining old Gondorians just being like:

Librarian: I saw that weird guy at the library again today.

Guard 1: What weird guy?

Librarian: The old guy with the beard? Kinda elfy-looking, apart from the beard?

Guard 1: Oh, with the big-ass stick?

Librarian: Yeah, looked like he was carrying an entire tree branch.

Guard 2: Yeah, that's the Stick Elf.

Guard 1: Hell yeah, I fuckin' love the Stick Elf.

Librarian: The "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: He comes by every few years, usually after some weird book or other.

Librarian: Oh. Yeah, he wanted a treatise on goblin breeding habits.

Guard 2: Like, how they have sex? We have books on that?

Librarian: Yeah, turns out we do. I was as surprised as you are.

Guard 1: What'd the Stick Elf need a fuckin' goblin-fuckin' book for?

Librarian: I didn't ask. So you just call him "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: I mean, he looks kinda elfy and he always has that stick, so, like, yeah.

Guard 1: Dude also has some fuckin' dope pipeweed.

Guard 2: Oh yeah, his pipeweed is awesome.

Librarian: How long has he been coming here?

Guard 2: Oh, for decades. He's, like, super old.

Guard 1: More like fuckin' centuries. Dude's old as balls.

Guard 2: Wait, really?

Guard 1: Yeah, my gran-gran used to talk about him. She loved his pipeweed too.

Librarian: So he's… an immortal pipeweed dealer?

Guard 2: I think he's just, like, a connoisseur. He doesn't sell it or anything. He just always has some really top-notch pipeweed on him.

Archivist: Oh, are we talking about Stick Elf?

Guard 1: Hell yeah we are!

Librarian: You know about the Stick Elf, too?

Archivist: Oh, totally. Stick-Elf's a super chill dude. Gave me some awesome pipeweed when I was maybe 12, and tee-bee-aitch I think I'm still a little buzzed from it.

Guard 1: What'd I tell ya, fuckin' dope pipeweed!

Archivist: Also he's really old.

Guard 1: Old as balls.

Librarian: Yeah, so Éodan and Jenniforomir were telling me.

Archivist: My grandpa used to tell me stories - he said one time he saw Stick Elf enter a smoke-ring contest.

Guard 1: Ooh, I'll bet he kicked fuckin' ass.

Archivist: Apparently the guy made an entire warship out of smoke and it flew around shooting down the other rings.

Librarian: And how much of this "fuckin' dope" pipeweed had your grandfather had by this point?

Guard 1: No no, that's totally plausible. Dude's got weird elf powers and shit for sure.

Archivist: He brought fireworks for the king's birthday one year, too.

Guard 1: Oh fuck, I forgot about those! Fuckin' incredible fireworks! Dragons and knights and glowy trees and shit! I was fuckin' 6 years old or something, they totally blew my mind. Hey Éodan, did you see that shit?

Guard 2: No, I think that's before I lived in Gondor.

Guard 1: Wait, you're not from here?

Guard 2: Oh, no, I grew up in Rohan. We moved here when I was, like, thirteen because my uncle Éojeff said he could get my dad a sweet job. And also that there were houses that didn't smell like horseshit.

Guard 1: Oh shit, are you related to Éojeff and Éosteve who run that æbleskiver stand on Norndîl St?

Guard 2: Yeah, they're my uncles!

Guard 1: Shit, they cook a fuckin' great æbleskiver!

Librarian: Ok, hold up a sec, "Stick Elf" can't possibly be his real name.

Guard 1: Why not?

Librarian: What? You think his parents named him in the hopes that he would carry around a fucking tree when he got older?

Guard 2: Maybe they gave him the tree when he was born!

Archivist: I don't think a baby could carry that stick.

Guard 1: You ever seen a baby hanging onto something? They're hella strong.

Archivist: It's not a strength thing, their hands are tiny. That staff is enormous!

Guard 1: My halberd's bigger 'n I am, I can hold it just fine.

Archivist: You're not a baby.

Librarian: Also why would elf parents name their kid "stick ELF"?! Presumably they know that their kid's going to be an elf!

Archivist: Is he actually an elf? I didn't think they grew beards.

Guard 1: How'd he get old as balls if he's not an elf?

Guard 2: His ears aren't that pointy. Maybe he's just a really old guy? Like, a Numémoriam or something?

Guard 1: Did you just say "Numémoriam"?

Guard 2: Nûnenorman? Munimõrbitan? Y'know, those guys like the king that can get super old.

Guard 1: You mean the fuckin' Númenóreans?

Guard 2: Yeah, the Númenóreums.

Archivist: Even the Númenóreans don't live THAT long.

Guard 1: Plus he carries that fuckin' stick around.

Guard 2: Wait, what does the stick have to do with it?

Guard 1: That's an elf thing. Y'know, trees and shit? Very elfy.

Librarian: Ok, look, but his parents naming him "Stick Elf" would be weird whether or not he's an elf. In fact, it's even weirder if he's not - what human names their kid "elf"?

Archivist: Huh. Yeah, you're right, he probably does have another name.

Guard 2: Yeah, I guess so.

Librarian: He's been coming here for decades and nobody's ever asked his real name?

Archivist: I dunno what to tell you, he's Stick Elf. Even his library card just says 'Stick Elf'.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah, the Stick Elf!

Guard 2: Maybe we could, like, ask him his name sometime?

Guard 1: Hey, look, Elrond's over there. He's old as balls too, maybe he knows?

Guard 2: Oh, we shouldn't interru-

Guard 1: HEY ELROND, YOU'RE OLD AS BALLS, RIGHT? WHAT'S THAT OLD ELF WITH THE STICK'S NAME?

Elrond (coming over): Do you mean an old man cloaked all in grey and blue, leaning on a rough-cut staff, who came to the great library this day?

Guard 1: Yeah, the Stick-Elf!

Guard 2: (Sorry to bother you, sir...)

Librarian: He's got to have a real name besides 'the Stick Elf', right?

Elrond: Indeed, for no elf is he. You speak of the wizard Olórin, wisest of the Maiar, older even than Eä itself. Many are his names in many countries: Tharkûn among the Dwarves; Incánus to the south; Mithrandir he is called among my people, the Grey Pilgrim.

Librarian: Oh.

Elrond: And here in the North he is called Stick-Elf.

Librarian: Oh.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah!

[jorisjurgen]

the rule of fandoms is that if someone has a character in their url or bio they either understand that character well enough to give a 3 hour unscripted lecture on the subject OR they're really obsessed with their version of that character thats an entirely different made up guy. and theres literally never an in between