#uhhhh who else... gomen

[flyingspicerack]

hi

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #4 (human shield)

TW: child death, somewhat grisly descriptors, hurt/no comfort, I’M SORRY

Fandom: Good Omens (Crowley, Aziraphale, Hastur)

Notes: uhhhh, I’m totally intimidated to try out writing in the Gomens fandom but here we are. Angst, as always. Lightly edited because I’m trying to let go and I don’t got no time for that. Yes, I’m a day behind on these and that will likely be the case until next weekend SORRY GUYS.

-----

“So let me get this straight. Hell - “ Crowley peered over the rim of his sunglasses. “And we are talking about the same Hell, right? Bad plumbing, worse health plan, bunch of ugly faces - “

Hastur scowled in Crowley’s direction, the frog perched on his head mirroring the expression.

“Present company excluded, of course,” Crowley swallowed, smothering the lie with a wide, toothy smile. Wouldn’t do to piss off Hastur this early in the morning. “But, I mean, it’s a bit odd, don’t you think? Hell wants me to tempt some tin-pot dictator into releasing a bunch of kids from imprisonment?”

Not that Crowley would mind. (And not that he would ever admit that to anyone, except maybe the angel.) The kids didn’t deserve it, were being used as pawns (or worse) by the latest in an ever-revolving door of loathsome excuses of humanity looking to get their kicks. So no, he’d be more than happy to let the kids go.

But it was weird and Hell didn’t do weird.

It was a trap, it had to be, the way Hastur was doing that thing where he curved his lips upward just enough to be creepy. The man in question, Crowley didn’t bother with his name, already had one-way ticket stamped to downstairs, so why throw this wrench into things?

Crowley shrugged, trying to exude indifference. In another thirty minutes, the sun would rise, speeding to its overhead post where it broiled every living thing in this dusty, sand-ridden part of the world.

“Seems like a waste of effort, if you ask me.”

“Well then it’s a good I didn’t,” Hastur growled, surly as ever. “Unless you’re not demon enough for the job.”

Nice one, Hastur. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. Not.

“I’m more than demon, enough, Duke Hastur. Come on!” Crowley spread his arms wide in dramatic fashion, something he know Hastur hated. “I am damn well - damn bad - ugh, you know what I mean. Ask Dagon, they’ve got my personnel file. Long list of commendations.”

Crowley, against all instinct and good taste, leaned towards Hastur, waggling his eyebrows. “Bet mine’s bigger than yours. Wanna compare?”

A sharp shove sent Crowley hurtling away from Hastur’s none-too-aromatic personal space.

“Just get it done, Crawly.”

——-

There had been no way to finesse this one, no loophole Crowley could find to finagle his way out actually doing what he was told. But what was the harm, really? He was freeing kids from the grasp of some power-hungry asshole with a vendetta and laundry list of psychological issues. It was probably the best assignment Hell had given him in centuries, one he might not even mind taking credit for.  

With little else to do, he traveled to the makeshift headquarters of the revolutionary leader. Sidled up to him, whispered in his ear. Told him the kids had a better purpose. (They did. To be kids. Alive kids.) Told him to let them go, that they would prosper under a far better sun, that the ruler would reap benefits he couldn’t possibly imagine if he just let them go. The squat man thought about it, brushing his beard with his hand, legs splayed out from his would-be throne. And then he smiled, blade-like, a kind of look that made Crowley uneasy, even though he was a demon.

“I think I will take your advice, young man.”

Crowley bid a hasty retreat from the compound.

The seed had been planted. He did what he was supposed to, Hell would be placated, and the children would be safe.

Almost too easy…

So easy, in fact, it shouldn’t have surprised him when Hastur showed up at tavern. Four wines in, Crowley’s features had softened, his head spinning with thoughts of a certain blonde-haired angel back in London.

Hastur clapped him on the shoulder, taking a seat on the wooden bench.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, Crawly.”

Crowley recoiled, picking Hastur’s hand off his shoulder as he would a soggy, used tissue.

“What, tempting a stupid dictator?” The wine allowed him to be brave, to ignore the fact that demons don’t touch, unless it’s to inflict pain. “Could do it in my sleep, Hastur.”

Of course, Hastur did that thing with his mouth again, the same aborted attempt of a smile from the other day. Worse yet, the Duke of Hell brought his hand back Crowley’s shoulder, this time digging his torn fingernails past fabric, into his actual muscle in a way that would leave a mortal without an arm.

“Demons don’t sleep.”

Crowley didn’t yelp when Hastur tightened his fingers further, but it was a near thing.

“Figure of speech,” he hissed.

Hastur, for his part, regarded Crowley as he would an animal in a lab experiment, coal-black eyes trained on the other demon’s expression as he used no small amount of his powers to all but press his fingers past skin, into the actual sinews of Crowley’s shoulder.

And then, all at once, he let go, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fucker, Crowley spat.

“You haven’t read the papers, then?”

And there it was, the other shoe dropping, plummeting, really, Crowley’s gut along with it. It was a rhetorical question - not that Hastur would know what that even meant - filled with gleeful, malicious anticipation.

Crowley managed to squeak out a somewhat breathless “no.”

“I mean,” he added, willing himself not to stutter, “I had…other thingsss to do.”

Hasted shoved a crumpled newspaper in his face.

Crowley’s eyes were sulfur-colored, a permanent mark of Hell’s claim on his soul. It was often assumed Crowley’s eyes belied his original serpent form, a testament to his role in the creation of Original Sin.

This assumption would be correct.

Partially.

Sulfur is a funny thing, though. Normally found as a solid, when burned at a high enough temperature, it melts to a blood-red liquid emitting a blue flame.

Crowley’s eyes are weeping crimson, glowing with a pure azure matched only by the Angels above.

In a single, furious movement, Crowley stormed from the tavern, Hastur cackling in his wake.

——

(Soho, London)

“…had reported the use of children as human shields in the latest violence between the two sides. Investigators say the children, ranging in age from 6 to 15, had been taken as prisoners during last week’s attack on the capital city. This had been seen by experts as the first step in a widening strategy to destabilize the region, courting further retaliation with no end in sight.

With the surprise execution of the leader and his closest circle of advisors, the fate of the region seems to be in question. NATO soldiers reported a gruesome scene in the capital city, bodies cleaved partially in two, eviscerated corpses hanging from their feet in the public square.

To date, no group has come forward to claim responsibility for the sudden execution of the splinter group leadership…”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed with each paragraph, every new description of the horrors of the article punctuated by a sharp intake of breath, a small “oh my.”

A terrible picture, one he knew had been sanitized for publication.

Humming absently, Aziraphale set the newspaper on his lap and closed his eyes, casting his metaphysical sight - hundred of eyes watching just beyond the threshold of this world and other-world, peering past the walls of his shop, pupils, cornea, irises (as much as Aziraphale’s true form had eyes that resembled the human eye.)

Aziraphale’s real eyes were golden, solid, yet malleable, able to travel through the smallest pinholes between dimensions. His gaze, his true gaze flew, from England to France, burrowing through middle Europe, sprinting through Turkey, landing on a dusty plain in a forgotten part of the world.

He steps into the dusty amphitheater, bodies still hanging from their toes, sawed partially in half from their…oh dear. Most of the corpses have had their inner organs ripped from their body cavity, seemingly by hand, red staining the sand beneath their lifeless bodies. As for the organs, it’s…it’s, well a right mess, parts where they shouldn’t be, used as rope, stuffed into pockets, or in the case of one,  shoved into his mouth.

While Aziraphale can’t quite make himself feel sorry for the men - they had set their own fate far before this unfortunate event - the presence of demonic rage, the pure, unfettered evil of the other side is undeniable, even with Aziraphale projecting himself from thousands of kilometers away. While oft times humans needed little provocation from Below to commit the most heinous of acts, this one had certainly been helped along by some foul agent of Hell, one so corrupted they would desecrate human lives - even these humans, in such a way.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s muffled and Aziraphale feels it more as a metaphor than reality, but he draws inwards, leaving behind the dusty, bloodshed streets, soaring above continental Europe, a comet, a shooting star. He feels the wishes of the humans, the ones who wake late, who watch the cosmos, yearning for the undefinable, for the ineffable, for a bit of hope to be found in an old mythology. He blesses them on his return to Soho, needing this small bit of Grace, this bolster, before confronting the presence he now realizes is committed to tearing down his antique front door.

A presence that was entirely demonic, and entirely familiar.

“AAAAAAANGEEEEEELL!”

Oh good lord.

The knocking escalated, a series of thick, violent thuds as the entire room shuddered with Crowley’s exertion. It seemed the demon had forgotten he could overcome the simple hurdle of a door with a simple snap of fingers.

Knowing he would be in for a long night, Aziraphale polished off the glass of wine sitting on his table in a single gulp, steeling himself for an armful of drunken, distraught demon.

(If he was lucky, it wouldn’t be as bad as the 14th century. To date, nothing had been quite as bad as the epic bender of 1378.)

“A-zi-ra-PHAAAAALE!”

Pulling one last time at his waistcoat, straightening his bowtie, Aziraphale headed to the front door. (And if that was not an act of faith, nothing else was. He knew full well his meticulous clothing would be rumpled, pulled at and thrown askew within minutes of allowing the demon inside.)

“ZIIIRRRAAAAAA!”

He should leave Crowley out there, as a lesson. The caterwauling really was getting to be a bit too much, and Aziraphale could’t imagine what had gotten Crowley into this state to begin with.

“Come on out, Angel! Smite the Evil One! Or have you grown soft?”

Perhaps this would be as bad as 1378.

Casting a glance upwards for strength (or something. He wasn’t certain Heaven would be all that thrilled to be called on in aid of a demon), Aziraphale huffed out the last of his annoyance, opening the front door with a singular flourish, plastering on his best angelic look of Unending Patience.

“It’s about damn time, Angel. Let me in, gotta do this prop - prop - the right way.”

Crowley was - there was no other word - a disaster, black shirt halfway unbuttoned, vest hanging off one arm, bottle held between his long fingers. The red stains under his fingernails didn’t go unnoticed by the angel, nor did the brown, viscous smudge of something he’d rather not identify smeared across his right cheek.

“Crowley, what happened? What the Hell is going on?” Aziraphale snapped.

So much for Unending Patience. The demon stared at him, uncomprehending, before tilting his head back with a maniacal, desperate cackle.

“That’s a good one, angel. In fact, Hell is exactly what is going on. Right here, in your bookshop.” Crowley popped the p, weaving inside the front room. “A real demon? Can you believe it?”

The door shut with a wave of Aziraphale’s hand.

“Yes, you are a demon,” Aziraphale began carefully, knowing the topic was dangerous ground even during the best of times. “I believe we ascertained that fact quite some time ago.”

Crowley leered at the books piled haphazardly on the front table. After a moment of contemplation, Crowley pushed at the stack with a single finger, sending the masterworks toppling to the ground.

“Crowley!”

The demon responded with a withering look from above the rims of his sunglasses.

“A real demon, angel. Come on, I know you lost that sword at the start, but you’ve got to have something else, right?” Crowley threw his hands out to the side, sending the bottle crashing to the floor, breaking into a million pieces. He eyed Aziraphale expectantly.

The angel gaped, twisting his hands together in front of his stomach. “What, you come crashing in here at who-knows-what time of the night, destroying my property, making a mess, demanding that I - that I - “

Aziraphale stomped his foot. Not what one would call appropriate behavior for one of the Heavenly Host, but they had never had to deal with a drunk, self-destructive demon on their doorstep at three in the morning.

“Crowley…no! Sober up and sit the fu - just sit down.”

“Nah, don’t feel like it.” Crowley swayed towards the red leather armchair Aziraphale had so peacefully been occupying not minutes before.

“Really, I must insist.” Aziraphale went to take the demon by the shoulders, stopping halfway. It would only escalate matters, Aziraphale making any kind of physical contact with the demon, the way he was itching for a fight, trying to provoke Aziraphale.

Crowley’s gaze flitted about the room, perhaps calculating where he could cause the most amount of chaos, before landing on the newspaper Aziraphale had left open on the table. Crowley lurched, grabbing the periodical, waving it like a revolutionary on the front lines.

“Did you read about this one, angel?”

“Dreadful, I know.” Aziraphale shuffled closer to the demon, skeptical as to where the conversation was going.

“That’s the work of a real demon. Pure Evil, capital E.”

“Yes, I imagine so. And I’m glad you were nowhere near that scene, Crowley."

Crowley laughed. It was a terrible empty sound, a nothing that somehow echoed throughout the bookshop, a heavy void, as if the gates of Pandemonium itself had opened on Earth. In that moment, something truly demonic, truly evil had invaded Aziraphale’s Earthly sanctum.

Instinct kicked in, the air crackling around Aziraphale’s form, which had begun to shed its corporeal skin, the tell-tale tang of ozone a warning, much in the way a a snake rears upwards, or a canine bares its teeth.

“That’s the stuff, Angel, come on!” Crowley taunted, shouting above the growing din of righteousness.

Aziaphale froze, aghast. Crowley was square to him, having pulled his shirt open, bare chest exposed, long scars criss-crossing his abdomen and where had those even come from?

Aziraphale backed away, shaking.

“Crowley, I’m sor - I didn’t - I mean - “

But the demon advanced, shedding a bit of his own corporeality, red scales manifesting down his arms, broken halo rising from his red hair. The room darkened, turning oppressive, clautroophoic and sweat beaded on Aziraphale’s forehead despite it being the middle of February in London.

“Come. On. Angel.” Crowley took a menacing step forward, his arms open to the side, head thrown back, neck exposed, chest thrust forward. The demon was panting, bony chest flush, heaving.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice cracked. He swallowed over the lump of anxiety in his throat, mustering his inner strength. “Crowley, please stop this at once. I am not going to smite you.”

Crowley met his gaze, mask slipping, eyes round and red-rimmed.

And then Aziraphale was slammed against a bookcase, long, sharp fingers gripping at the lapels of his jacket. Crowley’s sharp teeth snapped near his lips, yellow eyes boring into Aziraphale.

Never had his friend looked so…demonic.

“You sssshould, Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eassstern Gate,” Crowley growled like a wild creature.

Never before had Aziraphale actually feared Crowley.

“I think you should go.”

Crowley glared, rearing at the polite, reserved request. Something shifted in his face. Azirphale felt the grip loosening on his jacket, cool air whisking into the space between angel and demon. Crowley made a dissatisfied grunt, lightly shoving Aziraphle back for good measure, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“You should have done it, Angel. It’s what I deserve.” Crowley nodded towards the paper. Aziraphale felt the sudden urge to vomit.

There was no - he couldn’t have, not Crowley. He must have been coerced, or blackmailed, or -

“No mistake, angel. All me.”

And Crowley stared at the ground, silently begging for his punishment, for what he’s due and Aziraphale just couldn’t wrap his head around that fact that Crowley, of all beings -

“Please leave, Crowley.”

The demon jerked his head up, just long enough for the flash of hurt to illuminate all over his face.

“Yeah. Good. I’ll just, uh. Right. See you in a couple hundred years.”

Crowley stepped out the door, barely making a sound.

Azirpahale slithered to the floor, back still to the bookcase. He summoned a bottle of wine, not bothering with a glass, not even bothering to look at the vintage. The dreadful photo of the execution site stared back at him. With a snarl, Aziraphale waved the paper away, sending the offending item into the ether, where it was ripped into atoms.

He drank late into the night, until the rose-colored fingers of dawn peeked above the horizon, thinking of nothing at all.

legobiwan does whumptober

[questir]

introducing: masaki qestir ;

► Name ➔ “... Masaki.” ► Are you single ➔ Cue nervous darting eyes. ► Are you happy ➔ He shrugs lightly. ► Are you angry? ➔ There’s a tense silence as he considers the question. His expression speaks for itself: he seems frustrated. ► Are your parents still married ➔ He rubs his arm as his gaze points towards the ground. “... I only have my mother now.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “Azim Steppe.” ► Hair Color ➔  Masaki blinks and lifts a lock of hair to inspect. His violet hair seems to be graying already.... Welp, not too much of a big deal for him. ► Eye Color ➔  His gaze is steady. One eye is rose gold, and the other is as blue as the summer skies. Both are ringed in white. ► Birthday ➔ “The seventh sun of the seventh moon.” (July 7th.) ► Mood ➔  He makes a so-so gesture. ► Gender ➔ His gaze turns flat. “Man.” ► Summer or winter ➔  “Summer.” ► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Morning.” He pauses. Then his eyes turn fond. “I rise with the dawn.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ Cue more shifty eyes, now including nervous laughter. ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ He gives a noncommittal shrug. (Yes. Yes he does.) ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ His eyes turn somber. “Me.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ Masaki nods as he rubs the back of his neck. ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ He shakes his head but the doubt in his eyes betray him.  ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ His lips curl into a small grin as he nods.  ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ He tilts his head in confusion. What’s a secret admirer? ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ The laugh that falls out of his mouth is derisive and bitter.

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Love.” ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ He scrunches his face at the drinks. “... No?” ► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Both.” There’s no room for argument judging from the look on his face.  ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “Ah...” he trails off, scratching his cheek sheepishly. “Few?” ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ His body seems to slump. “Night in. Too tired.” ► Day or night ➔ “Night.” Masaki’s eyes seem to sparkle. “So I can meet Nhaama.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ Masaki grins wickedly and doesn’t say anything. Interpret that as you will. ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ He shakes his head. ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ His body visibly stiffens at that.  ► Wanted to disappear ➔ This time when he laughs, it sounds hollow and weak.

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ He taps a finger below his eyes as an answer. ► Shorter or Taller ➔ Masaki thinks this over for a bit---then he grins. “Shorter.”  ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ He shrugs. Either or is fine, in his opinion. ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Er.” He rubs the back of his neck. what’s a hook-up...? “Relationship...”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ His eyes are mournful. “I hope...” He trails off and doesn’t finish that thought. ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ Masaki’s laugh is loud and harsh. ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ When he calms down, he looks somber. “Yes.” ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ He shakes his head.

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ His brow furrows. Why would he be friends with someone he hates? That’s absurd. ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ He nods resolutely. He trusts every one of them with his life. ► Who is your best friend ➔ He starts counting them off on his fingers. “Horn. Malika. Ember. Shade. Kite.” Masaki thinks it over and then continues. “Ahlis. Koko.” He blinks and looks up with a smile. ( @warsung, @meditaticn, @xarysse, @shadowedsnows, and @ahlis-xiv for the mentions :’) ) ► Who knows everything about you ➔ He hums in thought. “Koko. And...” Masaki stops himself. He takes a deep breath before pressing on. “... And Minfilia.” ( @faithfulstories for two mentions---gomen, LOL;; )

tagged by: @home-halone (thank you!! ;u;) tagging: @warsung, @dreamingxne, @xarysse (for any of ur characters tbh), @nangarlond, @briidunviing, @stalwartxknight, and uhhhh anyone else who wants to do this!!

[askthegreenguys]

Post 8 facts about your muse and then tag 8 people to do the same! I was tagged by @bonkakira-and-friends

*Oh geez I’ve got 13 muses, uhhhh have a bunch of random facts

1. Twilight has a pet twilit kagoroc named Trumpet. Midna had him help out with clearing the Twilight Palace of the remnants of Zant’s takeover she hadn’t gotten to yet and came across the baby kagoroc, who latched on to Twi and wouldn’t stop following him. When he got bigger and the twins were born, they’d ride around on him, which of course made Twilight the most Nervous Dad Ever.

2. Time has a one-eyed, three-legged, extremely bad tempered white cat. He rescued it from a literal catfight in an alley one day and tended its wounds and nursed it back to health, although it always looked a bit scraggly with patches of fur missing. The cat tolerated Time, but hissed, bit, or scratched anyone else who tried to get near it. The only reason Time was allowed to keep the cat was Zelda noticed that whenever he’d have a real bad PTSD episode, the cat would appear out of seemingly nowhere and would curl up in Time’s lap and purr until he calmed down. 

3. After Brown and his terrifying array of spells (one of which can turn a person inside out) the one you really wouldn’t want to cross would be Wind. He’s usually pretty easygoing but once you cross a line he will come at you with literally anything close to hand. He’s once went one-man-army against a ship of slavers with nothing but the hookshot and a cutlass he nabbed off someone on the ship, leaving no one alive. I’ll spare you the descriptions of just how he managed to kill people with the hookshot, because only a couple of them actually got slashed with it. 

4. Brown is surprisingly a good dancer. He’s got a good sense of rhythm and knows how to work dem hips. (Song on the other hand, despite being a drummer has a terrible sense of rhythm when it comes to dancing. There are lame ducks more graceful than he.) However, it’s nigh impossible to get him to dance in public. He’ll dance with his princesses or his family members if they ask but that’s about it.

5. Quarters says his animal form is a fox because of his mischievous nature. If you asked Sky and Mini (who are older than him), however, they’d say it has something to do with the fact that when he met the girl he’d later marry, he was so startled by how pretty she was that instead of introducing himself he literally just screamed. 

6. Light and his Zelda would telepathically talk throughout balls and state dinners and whatever other formal functions they were both present at, claiming it was the only thing that kept them sane. They both have excellent poker faces, so they never got caught or found out. Light would also give her a heads up when he encountered a suitor coming her way, along with any general impressions of them. 

7. Never, ever play poker with Light. Not only can he tell when you’re bluffing pretty much without fail (he can’t turn off his telepathy, at best he can make it background noise, and since he senses emotions rather than thoughts he can always tell when someone’s lying), he also has one hell of a poker face and no one has ever been able to call his bluff. 

8. Green, Red, Blue, and Vio all believe that even though Shadow was never brought back to “life”, he’s still alive somewhere in the shadows, and they always talk to their shadow when they see it. They swear that sometimes they catch it moving in a way that they aren’t, as if he’s responding. 

Tagging: I forgot who got tagged already gomen @askthegreenknight @ashadowbetweenworlds @alinkbetweenportraits @it-takes-three @kitterahsdollhouse @askthefwrp @luciombre (I know you already did ALBW Zelda so one of the other girls?)

[jakehercy]

Tagged by @pallomine

nicknames: Jake, Jay, James, Jeramiah gender: Non-binary/Queer star sign: Virgo height: 5′2″ (162cm) time: 12:32am birthday: September 1st, 1992 fav bands: SHINee, f(x), Clean Bandit, etc fav solo artists: Jonathan Young, Caleb Hyles, Studio Killers, etc. song stuck in my head: “Let’s Face It I’m Cute” by 11 Acorn Lane last movie watched: Saw II last show watched: Golden Girls what do i post: YOI, Voltron, Politics, funny shit, art, etc. last thing i googled: Speedpaint videos lmao do you have other blogs: Yes, namely a few art blogs and some I’ve been inactive with, like a reference blog do you get asks: Occasionally! Mostly on my art blog though why did you choose your url: I was a baby artist and I was trying to think of a username for my DeviantART account, and it’s a combo of my nickname and a play on my surname. It became a silly pen name afterwards and my preferred address. following: 434 followers: 1,099 (this blog)

favorite colours: Pink, purple, and pastel green average hours of sleep: 7~8 when I sleep in lmao lucky number: n/a instruments: I can play the guitar and a little piano what am i wearing: A GDxTaeyang “GOOD BOY” sweater, comfy gray sweats, a headband, and an f(x) Amber ring how many blankets do i sleep with: 1 (one) dream job: Graphic/concept/character artist for a big company, or a translator dream trip: On it right now! (Japan) favourite food: Pierogies nationality: American favorite song right now: “Let’s Face It I’m Cute” by 11 Acorn Lane lmao tagging @squishysnake @applescraps UHHHH i can’t think of anyone else who hasn’t been tagged yet gomen

[angry-beibers]

Tag, you’re it! I was tagged by @justanordinaryreader rules: answer the 20 questions and tag 20 amazing followers you would like to get to know better
name: Jake
Nicknames: Jakey, Jakeypants, Jik, Cookster, Cookie, Jake Del Rikiorockiorikio, Jacob, Jacopo the list goes on
zodiac sign: Libra
height: between 5'6
orientation: Pan-romantic Demisexual
ethnicity: Latinx
favorite fruit: Mango!
favorite season: Autumn
favorite book: The Shining I think
favorite flower: Snapdragons!
favorite scent: Uh i dunno i like muskier more cologne-y scents but vanilla and other darker spices combined is also good
favorite color: Navy blue because i’m a slut for the nautical aesthetic
favorite animal: Bears! And deer. stags in particular.
coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: I like coffee but i can’t drink it cuz it kills my stomach, and i never finish my hot chocolates, so tea i guess. i like floral stuff.
average sleep hours: 6-8 i think. i can’t function without a regular sleep schedule because i barely slept correctly for like a whole decade.
cat or dog person: I love both! 
favorite fictional character: Remus Lupin/Sirius black god bless
number of blankets you sleep with: 2! i just ordered a new super soft blanket i’m so excited about it
dream trip: Hum disney cruise with my buds, but honestly i get super excited about any trip with friends so
blog created: sometime in early 2011 i think
number of followers: uhhhh around 1600? I tag @magicalplaylist @beextonpoet @raimijenner @trashbaphomet @irialexander @cron and nicole but i can’t remember your new url gomen. also everyone else who wants to do this

[thaiceprince-blog]

tagged by: @junjoueros tagging: nah

GENERAL

name:  satoda/sato/jiji birthday: may 10 sexual orientation: something bi school status: over

YES/NO

drink?:  no smoke?:  no eat cake?:  there’s some in the fridge hmm believe in true love?: it’s cute afraid of the dark?: it’ll eat you alive cat person?: HELL YEAH virgin?: i’m magical apparently even these lips are pure ayy

FAVORITES

shampoo: head & shoulders disney song: ??? be our guest?? idk i didn’t grow up on disney actress/actor: uhhhh my fav VA is tattsun if that counts car: the bus person: i, me, moi, ore, all of that aka idk  type of weather: the windy kind where you get hit by a face full of wind it’s so fun i love it color: red 90s sitcom: shrug emoji does malcolm in the middle count was that 90s

QUESTIONS

what is your special talent/skill as a roleplayer? easy to read writing i guess?? 

what is your favorite type of roleplay genre, and why? fluff and smut because i am weak and that’s some good shit i am the master of fluff btw come at me for some cute shit

why did you pick your muse? phichit was my favorite since i saw the character sheets like i didn’t need the anime to pick tbh and he also fits well with my usual choice of bright cheerful boys?? why couldn’t i pick yuuri that’d be so much easier maybe i’d have more rps with people orz

if you could write any other muse - but know you don’t have the muse for him/her - who would it be? a lot of lesser known characters, like Nazuna-nii from enstars or I really would like trying Tokiya and I’ve always wanted to do a female muse, a super cute one like maybe Momoi? She’s my best girl ok. But I can’t get the muse for a chara in an inactive rp comm and I don’t have the attention span for more than one blog and I’ve learned people ain’t the quickest to interact with a multimuse now so shrug

what is one thing you think you need to work on as a partner? I’m terribly slow at longer threads, and I have a bad habit of leaving them in my drafts for a while and the longer I leave it there the less interested I get. And maybe I shouldn’t be so salty about things that don’t really have to do with rping. Andd I probably should talk to more people and get rps going with ones I haven’t interacted with, but I am a shy bean and also there are just so many ideas I can think of for rps with main characters like Yuuri or Viktor

what would be your warning label to other roleplayers? I’m one of the few who thrive on short threads and I don’t feel motivated enough to get on and instead spend the day being depressed in bed and also I’m terribly polite in first conversations I promise I’m friendly I just think of politeness as my way of showing respect orz I’m also bad at talking with new people gomen this is a long warning label get out your magnifying glass

what is your favorite episode/scene of your muse? Every scene?? I lie I’m salty over some of the later ones but I really like the GPF SP it gave a lot of insight into what weight he’s carrying I wish we could’ve seen more of what was going through his mind when he cried

what crack!ships do you have for your muse? lol idk i ship literally everyone with phichit just look at all those ship names with chuchu at the end how can you not. but like phichit got so little strong connection with others outside of yuuri that literally anything else is kind of a crack pairing l o l . . ....

what is your senpai blog? me myself and i. senpaiception