walk tall my friends

(Not at all serious, the serious one comes later lol)

INFJ 1: EVERYTHING MUST BE PERFECT RIGHT NOW OR YOU WILL DIE! Uh I mean…um….*slowly walks away*

INFJ 2: LOVE ME!!!! *throws roses with thorns at you*

INFJ 3: THIS IS FINE, IM AMAZING WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT :))))) haha help….

INFJ 4: I AM AN INDIVIDUAL AND YOU WILL VALIDATE THAT…but really it’s okay if you don’t I will understand :) BUT NOT REALLY…okay maybe…

INFJ 5: *gives detailed yet useless information about everything* *has a super sucky Fe* what do you mean I’m not a IxTx???? Of course I am! Well….no…but I could be!

INFJ 6: ok I trust you and whatever but am I really safe??? Can I ACTUALLY trust you??? Lol you really gotta Help me out here.

INFJ 7: *tries not to be stressed and upset about things but fails* WhY aM I LiKe THis????? *has a lot of Fe and acts like an extrovert*

INFJ 8: I WILL FIGHT YOU RIGHT NOW LETS FIGHT…lol jk you thought I was being serious??? Nooooo not at all I only fight people on Mondays…. *very sarcastic* *constantly in an Se grip*

For Day Two of @gladnisweek!

Title: A Tribute to the King Prompt: OMG, so drunk… Rating: Teen Pairing: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia Summary: In the aftermath of Noct’s death, his friends raise a toast in his memory. Gladio suffers, but Ignis lifts his spirits.

It’s been five days since the dawn returned. Five days since Noct died. Gladio sits in the cramped kitchenette of the caravan he’s renting with Iggy, a bottle of cheap beer in his hand, and stares at nothing with puffy eyes. He left sobriety behind three and a half days ago. The booze numbs the pain, the guilt that cuts like a sharpened blade, though he hasn’t been blackout drunk. He’s kept himself just buzzed enough to forget, if only for a little while, that he’s a massive fucking failure. Because Noct’s gone. Noct’s dead. Noct’s rotting in some shallow grave they dug for him. And Gladio’s still here. What the hell good is an Amicitia without a king to protect? Worse, Noct ain’t the only one he let down. Listening to Iggy’s muffled keening behind the folding vinyl door that separates the bedroom from the rest of the caravan has been driving that knife deeper. Iggy’s tried to be strong. He knows that. They’ve all tried to be strong. They’ve all done their share of crying—privately, the way his dad always said men should—but it’s been hardest for Iggy. Among all of them, he loved Noct the most.

What ingame fights look like before you figured out the controls.

Video by Maul Cosplay.