#meme ans.

[inheritedname]

❝ what are you going as for halloween this year? ❞

autumn/halloween sentence starters! 🍂🍁🎃 (accepting)

…

Archer looks back at him, and then looks back at the store shelf, pulling out a costume at random.

“... how does this look to you?”

[vvillgrhm]

@vrtuous​  asked,   ‘   4 , 5 , 11 !   ’   𝙼.

4. If you could tell your muse one thing, what would you tell them?

use and abuse hannibal... it’s what he deserves <333

5. If you could give your muse one gift, what would you give them?

a blunt. 🍃🍃 bc he could rly use it

11. What do you hate about your muse?

go get all your fucking dogs back moron quit picking up 20 strays and getting attached if you’re just going to abandon all of them-

i really don’t know if there’s anything i actually hate about will, rather just things i wish for him; for example i hate that will’s colleagues knew he was mentally ill and constantly acknowledged it yet never did anything very progressive for him themselves; his mental health was quite literally left in hannibal lecter’s hands. will was as much taken by hannibal as he was given to him by others sans his own agency on the matter. one of the people who i believe did treat will appropriately during this time was beverly- because while being wary, she always kept trust in him. when he told her something, she took it into account instead of actually dismissing it- part of it, of course, is her personality, and i find that to be one of beverly’s most admirable traits. but i guess i’m just talking about the balance of all of will’s other relationships, how when will teetered, others continuing to take and then mark him off. always ‘you’re breaking-’ but never ‘let’s give you a break, put you back together’. and this isn’t coming from me as like, a ‘will stan’, it’s coming from someone who’s also been in that position and being able to recognize the difference in conditional and unconditional love in others during a tough situation. i’m also an empath, so i’m able to recognize certain things that happen with will’s character that not everyone might see. empath’s are very commonly taken advantage of and it’s a very hard cycle to recognize and break.

this is why i really don’t get the big idolization of s1 will (ok like he’s adorable but-) bc s3 will knows himself. once an empath knows the intimate ins and outs of manipulation it’s easy to not only recognize but utilize it- which is basically what we see come s3.

[rich-brook]

@perdefinitio asked, 4, 5, 8 <3 vanilla sunday meme

4. Does your muse initiate a lot of physical contact?

platonically, richard is most likely to reach out and initiate physical contact/move past that boundary to comfort someone over anything else. other than that, richard is quite distant with others; this includes maintaining physical ‘space’- he’s not a super touchy-feely acquaintance. ex. he’ll give you a hug on your last day of working with him and it’ll feel wholesome but richard’s just going to feel awkward about being in your space because he doesn’t know you like that.

romantically, once he’s comfortable he’s very affectionate. he’s enthusiastic, but only if he feels... like he and his partner are on equal ground- that the enthusiasm is reciprocated (like in our thread!). richard craves validation and he’s a bit touch-starved come main verse because by that time he hasn’t been in a relationship in a good... couple years, at least? 

5. Is your muse comfortable with public displays of affection?

he is but he’s the bashful type about it depending on location/company. he’s the type to quietly be like ‘knock it off-’ while fighting a smile. but further into a relationship he’s the type who’s very comfortable with a lover. he’ll sit by you at the cookout w his knees against your thigh while typing on his phone whilst his significant other chats with someone else.

8. Is your muse comfortable with, or proud of their body? Are they insecure?

i wouldn’t say richard’s insecure, but. this is not an easy question because you have to first... understand the complications between the twins, their relationship over the years and how that’s directly affected how richard looks at himself.

richard’s not... the ‘frumpy’ twin. he dresses well, clothes that look nice on him but are a lot more normal and less expensive than what jim can afford because richard has a regular income- although there were times he was working two jobs (teaching but bartending on the weekends). i’d say he’s comfortable. he knows he’s not ugly, but he doesn’t have jim’s ego.

he’s probably one of those people who has a gym card he doesn’t use because he’s too busy- but he runs around so much for work and errands and out walking the dog that he doesn’t really need it.

i would also say he never gels his hair because it reminds him too much of his brother when he looks in the mirror, but that he used to back in his twenties.

[jmriarty]

@postguilt asked, 7. Is your muse the big spoon or the little spoon?

vanilla sunday meme

jim definitely has a preference for being the little spoon. he’s short af (actually a friend, @snipertigermoran reminded me today that in canon sherlock calls jim ‘short-arse’ in the victorian episode lmao fucking wild) and his preference in lovers are... bigger than him, by far. i think his shortest ship partner/lover on this blog out of the lot is like 5’9 (chilton, @cozeios) and other than that the majority are 6’ and up.

jim likes affection, in fact he vies for it as long he’s of steady footing in the actual ‘relationship’ (or usually lack thereof) so any little things like spooning where it’s just a lover’s arm over his waist- he eats that up. he’s just so selective on who he’s ‘giving’ with because he’s a ‘taker’ as a person. spooning someone in return seems like a lot more giving intimacy than taking it so i could see him spooning someone in return but tbh at this moment in time only with like... some of his closest plotted relationships where he actually feels something for that other person and struggles it with happens now and then but not often.

[foreaft]

🙄 Roll their eyes at my muse

meme.   not accepting.   [ @lonerebor ]

* LUNA   —   ITHILRIEL   :   Poetry had promptly poured forth from fair lips — her thoughts riddles of which she readily shares with whomever will listen, those with willingness or those who are begrudging .  .  . it mattered not.  She would speak, and she would never be silenced; not unless of her own volition.  Though, well aware she is of her friend’s .  .  . disliking   &   disinterest .  .  . in such speech; finding exasperation evident ‘pon features in his expression of emotion — a roll of the eyes.  Her own of empyreal embodiment observe him, and she smirks, thoughts of his the color of a storm at sea swirling ‘bout her mind.  And mouth opens, momentarily .  .  . yet closes just as quickly, the smirk still ‘pon her features.  He has yet to grow accustom to her speech, to the speech of most ELVES.  Decidedly, it tickles her deeply.   “   You know, you are a stone that will weather the water of many rivers; a rough, rugged rock .  .  . but, you’ll be smooth,   ”    she speaks effortlessly, suppressing her smirk now,   “   and steady, when all is said   &   done.   ”

[jcsefinepettersen]

“Can I kiss you?”

Dating had never truly been something that was on Francine’s general radar. She would flirt around innocently with her peers simply because she had no sort of commitment and out of fear that dating would lead to an eventual soul shattering heartbreak. She had watched many adults around stay in love for as long as she could remember - her parents included - and she could only dream of finding that person for herself at night. In her actual dreams. But then there are the things that happen out of your own control and for Francine, that came in the form of developing feelings for her best friend. Merlin, he was a sure fire idiot with a one track mind and the stubbornness of a mule but did that stop her from looking half way across the great hall time and again just to see his gorgeous smile or even get a glimpse of eye contact from those big eyes? Nope. Not at all. It was almost painful how obvious she was becoming with her sentiments but thankfully they seemed to be reciprocated since she’d gotten asked on a date by said Gryffindor sixth year. 

Said first date had been lovely up until the end where she had watched James fall on the ice they had been skating on just to end up in the infirmary for the night. That really wasn’t the type of impact she had been hoping to make at all. Not if they were really going to try to be more than friends.

However, the time soon ticked away and Francine found herself on a second date with the ever so coveted young man walking through Hogsmeade. It was an odd feeling, really. To be out with someone you’d known so long but with completely different intentions than those of wanting to push them over or make them feel embarrassed. Since they had done all they could truly do, the hufflepuff and gryffindor now were making their way up towards the castle. “I had a really nice time, Jamie, much better than the last time since you got out of this one without a single scratch!” She teased playfully, earning her a small shove, “Not true. I burned myself when we were looking through J. Pippins This was clearly more dangerous than before and I need to learn my lesson and stay away from you, Longbottom.” Rolling her eyes, the girl came to a stop along the path and turned towards James, “You could never stay away from me. You need me to keep you from losing your head like a crazy chicken.”

Francine watched as the taller brunette circled around her, sheepish grin on his face before coming to a stop in front of her, “Who’s to say I’m not doing that already?” He beckoned as Fran’s green eyes simply locked with his. “Then I guess I’m gonna have to find a new pretty boy to look at.” Silence fell between the pair as she watched his grin widen at the compliment she had just thrown his way, regretting it almost instantly but not bothering to take it back. Now, the just stood there looking at each other with but a mere arms distance between them much like what had happened on their first date. Except this time you could hear the chatter of people in the distance and he wasn’t whining like a big baby over how much he hated winter. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked with ease, an ease that almost made Francine’s heart leap out of her chest. It was unexpected and underappreciated because Francine was now thrown into a panic. What if she was a horrible kisser? What if that was the defining moment between them and they’d just be stuck in an awkward friendship where things failed? What if he sucked? “I-I...” she stammered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear nervously, averting her gaze down towards her hands, “If you want to then... like... I can’t stop you. I don’t even understand why you asked instead of just doing it since that’s like your life motto or something?” He definitely said something after she did but Francine had no clue what it was since she soon found his lips connected to hers, time suddenly coming to a complete halt around them as her eyes slowly closed. It took her a moment to regain her sense of consciousness, lips responding to the kiss very cautiously as if every second was precious. 

It was; she was in h e a v e n.

She couldn’t tell you how long the kiss lasted if she tried and would likely just respond with a simple infinitely because that’s what it felt. In that moment, all her worries had faded away and she’d come closer to the realization that she could get used to this. Kissing. Them. Together. Eventually the time came for their lips to part to which Francine was quick to form a frown in response since she could have waited it out a few more seconds. Call her greedy. Eyes slowly opened as they looked with his again, bodies close, pulses racing. But only one word slipped from her lips, “Wow.”

[foreaft]

😍 ; Is there anyone who inspires you or that you look up to?

meme.   accepting.   [ @regalmalfoy ] !

😍   :   is there anyone who inspires you or that you look up to?

[ OOC ] There are certainly other writers that I have, and do, look up to!  They inspire me so much, and I’m grateful to be friends with them.  A few that I can name are : Verona @ CINDERSPEWED !  Vana @ HERBAELOGIST !  Peaches @ BITEHEIR !  Sophie @ THEOSDORONS !  Kezzy @ WITHOUTCHOICE !  Jenny @ OFWARRIORSMADE !  Steph @ MURKYHAZED !  Lio @ ICECURSE !  Honestly, these are the folks who inspire me & my writing a good deal.  Some of these folks, I’ve written with a lot and spoken with a lot, others I haven’t, which is a shame !  Though, every blog I follow, I adore tbh.  A couple of these folks are those who’ve given me exceptional & honest constructive criticism on my writing when I’ve asked, and that’s been a blessing to me.

@cinderspewed, @herbaelogist / @moonescent / @beastgale / @turbidwaters, @biteheir, @theosdorons, @withoutchoice / @cursecarried / @patientbravery / @humanbludger, @ofwarriorsmade, @murkyhazed, @icecurse !

[foreaft]

09. a ‘glasgow’ kiss .

meme.   accepting.   [ @lonerebor ] !

* LUNA   —   ITHILRIEL   :   her breathing is fairly shallow .  .  . breaths soft and strained, as she gazes wearily ‘pon the faces of warriors who wander within the entrance hall of Erebor.  All are bruised   &   battered, bloodied .  .  . and as weary as she is, their expressions marred by exhaustion.  Eyes drift to   &   fro, watching : some are broken ( visibly ) — with bones obtruding, lacerations and gashes, armor mangled, limbs askew .  .  . and some are not so, their injuries internal, but broken all the same.  Yet, beings are built to mend, and wounds would heal, but wounds leave scars .  .  . ‘pon the body   &   ‘pon the mind; scars that cannot be forgotten.

It is all so unknown to her .  .  . unfamiliar, an eerie serenity pressing ‘pon her chest as if it attempts to split her at the seams.  She is reasonably skilled in the wielding of a blade   &   in archery, trained so by her elven brethren, yet she be no worldly warrior .  .  . she’s unaccustomed to battle   &   bloodshed.  But, Ithilriel is steel of heart and mind, willed so, and she bore the mantle ( with HONOR ) as if it were placed ‘pon her delicate shoulders to defend.  It had been persist or perish, kill or be killed, and so she slew — taking life, after life, after life .  .  . to preserve her own and those of her friends.

Still, beneath such collected complexion .  .  . she is slightly unnerved by such deeds, distressed by grief; her fingers are curled ‘round hilt, clenching her bloodied shortswords — knuckles white   &   taut, for she knows if she were to sheathe them, her hands would tremble if empty.  But, Ithilriel must remember that deeds done were of desperation, to defeat the darkness clawing the world asunder, to stay its hand.  Lives lost, lives taken — they are the price to pay to rid the world of evil, the sacrifices of good : for good   &   evil are a war ever eternal.  Even after such loss and peril, no one race spared ( not the elves, not the dwarves, nor the humans ) .  .  . the battle had been won, only hours after it began.  The forces of good had won, but at great cost .  .  .

Blood clings ‘pon her fair face, as paint does a canvass .  .  . it is wet   &   sticky, and the taste of iron lingers on her tongue as it swipes across her dry, parched lips.  She swallows HARD — it is jarring .  .  . for ne’er has she taste claret; such a metallic tang .  .  . as if she were a horse biting a bit.  Yet such pensive thoughts swirling ‘bout Ithilriel’s mind are pushed aside as gaze floats, finding familiar faces .  .  . a few of her friends .  .  . entering Erebor : Bofur, Bombur .  .  . Balin   &   Dwalin !  A sense of sweet relief courses through her, so much so that she forgets herself and sighs heavily; regret prompt ‘pon a weak whimper   &   wince — a pang of pain betwixt ribs.

They, too, are a wee worse for wear — but they’re alive, replete   &   right as rain, and that is what matters most ( in her opinion ).  Soon after, trailing far abaft, are the crowned princes .  .  . Fili   &   Kili, and the KING, the King Beneath the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield.  Ethereal eyes like that of an eagle’s follow him; he’s hurt, yet bits of bliss bubble forth from him .  .  . she can feel so.  Withal, wounded   &   worn out, the king trudges ‘bout, lingering .  .  . likely expressing sympathies and gratitude to those who fought for him, for homeland, and for humanity — in the end.

Ithilriel observes a .  .  . curious yet charming .  .  . custom : a butt of heads, a nutting that be natural betwixt dwarves; she’s seen so on several occasions, but never experienced so herself .  .  . she may be small, but she is no dwarf.  She’s not privy to the entirety of their tradition .  .  . even so, it is rather amusing — given a glimpse of a culture, a gesture she believes be akin ( in a way ) to a certain elven gesture.  Though, after many an exchange, Thorin’s gaze finds her among the array of kinsmen crowding the vast entry hall, and he approaches her.  As he nears, her head dips — a bow, her attempt to offer .  .  . in some formal form .  .  . indication of respect, favor   &   friendship, and .  .  . fealty, of sorts.  And as he nears, change is crystal clear.  Such a victory, such a spoil ( the reclamation of Erebor ) .  .  . all’ve altered him; his aura .  .  . it is smooth, like polished stone, warm   &   welcoming as if from hearth.  No longer does anger brim within him .  .  . his rage now extinguished.

Before her, he stands .  .  . and there is a silence ‘tween them; a stillness .  .  . and with Thorin’s proximity, his emotions are even more potent ‘pon her presence.  Yet, Ithilriel flinches slightly, as his hands ascend to cup her face — she is bewildered by such fight or flight response; though, it is a reward of strife .  .  . gifted by battle.  But, quickly do her thoughts ebb, eyes rooted ‘pon his face : he looks .  .  . pleased, a faint touch of fondness ‘pon his features; whereas before, he seemed rather scornful anent her.  It is then, that he surprises her further .  .  . brows bumping, forehead against forehead, albeit with less force than foreseen.  Perhaps Thorin was being softer with her, knowing she doesn’t have as hardy a head as his dwarven brethren do.  

She blinks, blank expression bore as she shakes her head slightly, somewhat confused,   &   yet content, in her daze.  And, as he releases her, nothing is said ‘tween them .  .  . but much is known, and so he takes his leave of her, to continue on.  Lips curl, a soft smile spreading ‘cross Ithilriel’s fair features .  .  . a sense wells behind her eyes   &   nose, a tingle touching   &   tugging ‘pon her heartstrings as she holds back tears.  For she has killed, but she has endured; and so, she ( and her friends ) will live to fight another day, and so will the good of the world.