#noel!light

“Well, he–”

Spell a tumblr url in my askbox and my muse will tell your their headcanons on:

C: Can they swim well?

“Probably? I’ve never asked.”

A: What are/were this character’s best subjects in school?

“Literature, maybe. I’ll guess literature.”

U: What’s their voice like?

“Usually rather quiet, even when he’s angry about something. He doesn’t like to draw attention to himself.”

S: How stealthy are they?

“According to Mikami, not nearly as stealthy as he thinks he is.”

E: How are they with children?

“If I had to guess, he’s one of those people children gravitate towards and find hilarious even as he protests to everyone around him that he has no idea how to interact with children.”

T: Where are they ticklish?

“…That isn’t something I’ve ever considered. Feet? Armpits? I don’t know.”

O: What would it take to break them, inside and out?

“Killing Near would be a good start. Or a bad start, depending on your perspective.”

R: What are their hands like?

“As long as he isn’t touching me, I don’t give a damn.”

M: What is their favourite dessert?

“He seems like an ice cream type.”

B: Do they have any allergies?

“Probably not.”

L: What is their favourite board game?

causetotremble

Janus was hunting him.

Though he never looked back, he knew she had a gun, knew it with the strange, terrified certainty of dreaming. Unable to scream, he ran faster, his footsteps echoing off an endless maze of corridors. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t outrun her. No matter what he did, she was right behind him, laughing...and in her hands, the gun.

A door loomed before him--metal, enormous--and then he was through, stumbling to a halt in the empty warehouse. She was already there, in front of him now, and this time he couldn’t run. Something cold and clammy wound its way up his body, binding him to the spot, filling his mouth, suffocating him...

She fired.

Light woke gasping, wide-eyed in the darkness, frantically trying to remember where he was. His right hand throbbed insistently, constrained by a rigid cast, and his face itched and burned. Reaching up to his cheek, his fingers brushed a mass of tape and gauze below his eye. Janus is dead. Roger is dead. Near sent me back.

Now I remember.