Halloween ship meme | idc what the calendar says I’m still accepting
Chooses the pumpkin: They each choose their own.Carves the pumpkin: Again, they each carve their own. Adora’s is simple and nostalgic, a classic frightening face. One might expect that Moist would go over the top (he usually does, after all), but the pumpkin he carves is actually remarkably understated: an elegant, stern face, with one candle inside to light the eyes, and another long, thin candle dangling from its mouth.Gets scared and clings the other in a haunted house:Neither. Adora’s too stone-cold badass, and Moist is too familiar with all the cheap little tricks that haunted houses use to spook and startle customers. In fact, Moist doesn’t flinch at all- until in the very last room, Adora turns to him and whispers “Boo.”
Matching costume idea:Moist has so many ideas. Adora is not participating in any of them.Makes a cozy bed-fort to cuddle in:Moist initiates the effort; Adora shakes her head and smiles just a little and helps him build it better.Steal’s the other’s candy:Moist does, but then returns it just as stealthily as he took it. Adora pretends not to notice these shenanigans.Accidentally gets lost in a corn maze:Moist. When he finally finds his way out, though, you can bet it’s a damn dramatic exit.Tells spooky stories to scare the other:Moist.Collects cool-looking leaves:Adora, secretly.
“Oh, don’t-” He makes a half-hearted attempt to block the projectile, then gazes at it where it landed in a sort of sad flop on the floor. “Is that- oh, is that supposed to be bread? I don’t think it’s meant to be quite that, hm… I don’t think it’s meant to be quite like that.”
“Weirdly enough, yeah.” The penguin shrugged. “I mean, I ain’t sure whyyy… or how it happened, but I like ya. Yer a fun guy to be around. An’ the truth is… I don’t got many friends myself.”
((In the end, I decided that this was all too stupid to be put in any actual reply, and besides it made the reply far too long, but here’s a snippet of Frobisher’s thought process:))
In the little stained commonplace book of his head, Frobisher had started two lists: why these fishy boys might be fishy timelords, and why they might not be.
They Might Be Timelords:
They look like timelords.
They died, and they aren’t dead anymore.
Sort of English but sort of not.
Teatime is excited by the prospect of a time machine.
Neither of them ever said that they weren’t timelords.
The Humans:
Lots of species look like timelords.
Everybody but him and Peri seem to have English accents these days.
In the main verse, this applies to a lot of people. He doesn’t trust anyone else at the dinner party (and honestly, who can blame him) but he does like a few of them, mainly Mary, Fyodor, George, and Lenore. Lenore would probably top the list of people he likes- they have a lot in common when it comes to style and snark, and they’ve had the most time together on account of everyone else on the list is gone- but he still doesn’t trust her. At all.
For every ♪ in my inbox I'll post a song I listen to for character inspiration.
Habits - The Postmodern Jukebox
This is a good one to capture the feeling of Frobisher when he’s caught between being bitter about Francine and maintaining the “one penguin party” lifestyle.
((okay, when I started this blog, I fucking promised myself I wouldn’t end up posting about Bosie (this was supposed to be a good time) but here we are. god fucking dammit. buckle ur fucken seatbelts I’m about to make myself sad.))
He is young and handsome, and charming in spite of his spite. He is used to getting what he wants, and that fact is written in the corners of his smile. He is a storm, and the destruction that follows him does not stop one from getting pulled in. He says call me Bosie, and Oscar is doomed from the start.
An introduction through a mutual acquaintance becomes an intimate friendship, and then friendship becomes love, and then love becomes turmoil, and then turmoil becomes love again, and again, and at some point the line between love and turmoil is no longer visible. The world urges shame; Oscar’s friends urge caution, but this is a love that can know neither shame nor caution. This is a fire that will burn until there is nothing left to consume.
It is love that pins Oscar to Bosie’s side through every insult and every illness. It is love that uses him, love that reduces him to a tool in someone else’s fight. It is love that sees him humiliated, torn down, stripped of everything he has built. It is love that sees him jailed.
Jail is not kind. In fact, jail will kill him, though it will do so a piece at a time (he is used to that, by now). They cut his hair, they give him nothing, they take away the name he left at the bottom of all his love letters. He is called C33 now, after the cell where he lives. He wastes away; he falls victim to injury and illness from which he will never recover, though it will be years before it finally kills him, destitute in a foreign land, abandoned and renounced by the love that led him there. But in his second year of imprisonment, his jailors finally allow him to write again- one page at a time. And prisoner C33 picks up his pen (even the act of holding it must have been unfamiliar after all that time; how his hands must have shaken) and begins to write:
